Grafitti (M/F story)

"So can you get it for me?" Jackie said, looking eagerly at her friend.

Lucy shrugged her shoulders, confusion apparent in her face. "Sure I can. I can get anything if the price is right. But... why would you want a fake ID?" She shook her head. "I mean, you're old enough to drink. There's no NEED for you to own one." She looked once again at the note Jackie had brought her, the details she had wanted for her new identification. "Not to mention that your new persona ISN'T old enough, I might add." She glanced at her friend again. "Why do you want the ID of a 16-year-old girl?"

"I have my reasons," Jackie said, the tone of her voice revealing that she had no desire to expand upon those reasons. "Are you going to help me or not?"

Lucy shrugged. "As long as you pay me, and as long as you're willing to swear you DIDN'T get it here..."

Some time later, Jackie stared at the card of Diane, her new 16-year-old imaginary friend that happened to look just like herself. She had no idea where Lucy got these, but they looked frighteningly real. She put the ID in her pocket as she glanced at herself in the mirror.

She was wearing a pair of cut-off jeans that showed off her legs, and a green shirt that failed spectacularly at covering her stomach. With her make-up, that for the occasion had been deliberately applied in an amateurish style, with a matching hairstyle, few people would guess that she wasn't in the middle of her teens. She grinned, thankful that her petite form would strengthen the illusion. She looked much more like Diane, the lazy teenager, than Jackie, the 22-year-old hard-working student.

Not for the first time, she thought back to the night that had changed her – the cause for her little charade. In her teens, she'd gotten some new friends of the misbehaving sort, a group of vandals that spent every night out in the streets. One evening, they'd decided to paint some graffiti on the high school they were supposed to go to, a pretty decoration on the institution that had brought them so much boredom.

They'd just started painting when they heard an angry shout, and saw the school's janitor come running towards them. The rest had taken off, but Jackie, unfortunately, wasn't as quick; rough hands closed around her wrist, and she was dragged into the school, into the rooms he used as an office.

She tried to get free, she tried to promise him she'd never do it again, and she even tried threatening him, but no matter what she did, he ignored her. She bit her lip; she knew standard procedure was to call the cops, and she really didn't want that to happen.

She was told to sit, but as he picked up the phone, she started to plead with him again. She'd never do it again, and she'd do anything, just don't call the police. He'd glared strictly at her, clearly quite angry with her, but there was an element of compassion that she hoped her tear-filled eyes could stir.

For a while, he was just standing there, phone in his hand. Finally, he'd given her a choice. He could call the cops, and they'd take her to the station... or, if she wanted, he could take her over his knee and give her a spanking. He'd teach her a lesson, but no one needed to know – not the cops, not her parents, no one. She looked at him, the tall man who looked quite rough despite his young age – he was in his mid-twenties, but looked like he could stare down a bear. She thought about those rough hands of his striking her poor defenceless bottom, and made a decision she still regretted to this day.

She chose the police.

But as she stood there, years later, dressed in her little costume, she imagined she had chosen differently, that she had taken the spanking. In her mind, he'd sat down as he pulled her over his knee. She'd blushed as he pulled her shorts down, his rough hands squeezing the soft flesh that quivered at his touch. He'd lifted his hand, bringing it down hard, and she'd cried out, begging for mercy as he took his anger out on her backside, rough hands covering her delicate posterior. It was a powerful image.

She took her cut-offs down, and soon, she was on the floor, her experienced fingers bringing herself to an orgasm.


As she shook the can of paint, ready to decorate the wall at her former high school, she realized how silly she was acting. Her whole plan was to recreate the scenario, trying to make all the variables the same, and hoping everything would play out the same as it did back then – apart from her own poor choice, of course. But she hadn't thought to check whether he still worked there, for one. In addition, she had no way of knowing whether he'd offer her the same choice – she could find herself back at the police station, trying to explain to the officers why a woman in her twenties was carrying the ID of a teenager that didn't make her sound like the pervert she actually was.

She was about to place the can of paint back in her backpack, when she heard an angry shout that brought those memories flushing back again.

Later on, it had seemed like a miracle, how he'd acted exactly as he had all those years ago, but at the time, Jackie's mind had been filled with fear – sure, this was what she'd wanted, but the tall janitor scowling at her was still an incredibly scary man. She could feel tears at the edges of her eyes and instinctively pushed them back, before realizing that letting them flow would be more to her advantage.

Just like last time, she was pushed into the office and told to sit. Just like then, she started to plead with him the second he picked up the phone. Just like then, he had a thoughtful expression on his face as he considered her pleas, but this time, there was something else – like a memory was trying to find its way to the surface of her mind. She turned pale, hoping it would stay buried. If he remembered her, it could bring some awkward questions she didn't want to answer.

He looked at the ID he'd forced her to give her, and the steel in his eyes caused her to shrink in her chair. "I'm going to give you a choice here, Diane. Either I call the cops, and they'll give you a ride downtown. Or option number two: I take those shorts of yours down and give your bratty little behind a good spanking."

Looking shocked was easy enough, but it took a bit more effort to appear unhappy at the choice she was presented with. For a few seconds, she glanced around as if she was trying to decide. "I'll take the spanking," she said at last.

"Let me warn you," he said in that deep voice that made her stomach feel funny. "If you take the spanking, I'm going to give you a long, hard trip over my knee – on your BARE bottom." He glared at her. "Don't think it's going to be easy, because it won't, and don't think you won't cry, because you will. You'll sob your eyes out long before I let you off my lap. Are you still sure you want the spanking?"

Right now, there was nothing she wanted more in the world. "Y-yes," she whispered. "I don't want the police involved."

"Okay then. Stand up and lower your shorts."

She rose to her feet, her hands shaking as they started to undo the button. Slowly, she pulled her shorts down to her knees, glancing up at the janitor, as he sat at his desk. He gave her a strict look that made her knees weak, before patting his lap. She stepped towards him, and he grabbed her arm, pulling her over his lap. She squealed as his thumbs found the waistband of her thong, pulling it – along with her shorts – completely off her.

She was nude from the waist down, over the lap of a rough-looking man who was about to begin his assault on her bottom. She was more scared than she'd ever been in her life, and yet it was the fulfilment of her fondest desire. She could feel herself growing wetter, and she wished he'd just start the spanking already.

As he brought his palm down on her unprotected cheek, a sting she never could have imagined spread, followed by a similar sting to her other cheek. She cried out in pain as he brought his hard hand down, the sound ringing out in the air as he smacked her. She kicked her legs, shocked at the pain she was feeling, and a cold shiver ran down her back as she began to realize what she was in for.

The spanks rained down on her bottom, and it was having quite an effect on her; she kicked, she squirmed, she pleaded with him to let her go, and she pounded her fists into his leg to make him stop. Nothing had any effect whatsoever, except the fists, but since those only made him spank harder, she quickly stopped.

She was sobbing loudly, the sting in her bottom growing to unbearable levels with every fresh smack. But no matter how much it hurt, she still found herself enjoying it.

When he was satisfied that he'd made an impression on her, he helped her up. She sat on his lap, crying into his shirt as he tried to comfort her. She squirmed around on her freshly-spanked behind, trying to find a position that wasn't murder on her bottom.

When the sting had died down somewhat, she got dressed, hissing in pain as the rough fabric of her shorts pressed on her bruised skin. Before she left, the janitor warned her that he would do far worse to her if she tried her stunt again. She wasn't sure he COULD, but she wasn't about to tell him that – or test him on it, for that matter.

As she got back to her apartment, she undressed in front of her mirror, studying her spanked flesh in the mirror. Her backside was red as a tomato, and as she reached back, rubbing, every touch was agony. She stared, fascinated, at the pale prints her fingers left, before the skin turned bright red again.

So, her dream had been fulfilled, her long-held desire, the event she'd worked towards for so long. How did she feel?

Fatigued. More tired than she'd been in years. She decided to find her bed, and sleep for the rest of the evening – on her stomach, of course.