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Subject: {ASSM} Shannon, Lessons Learned    by Sam B
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Subject: Repost For Victoria - Shannon, Lesson Learned
Date: Mon, 16 Oct 1995 22:37:01 GMT
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Shannon, Lessons Learned    by Sam B

	Shannon trudged up the stairs, dragging reluctant
feet that suddenly seemed to be made of lead.  Her
destination was the upstairs bathroom, where she was to
fetch the big, old-fashioned wooden hairbrush and bring it
back down to where her family was waiting -- not just her
immediate family, her mom and sister Megan and
stepfather Henry, but also Henry's brother Ron, Ron's wife
Kate, and their children, 13-year-old Kevin, and Liz, who at
17 was the same age as Shannon.
	From the first time Shannon had heard that Uncle
Ron and his family were coming for Thanksgiving dinner,
she had been upset.  Her stepcousin Liz went to the same
high school she did, and although their paths rarely
crossed at school, Shannon had seen enough of her there,
and at family gatherings, to develop a strong dislike for
her.  Liz was an "Eddie Haskell" type of teenager,
nauseatingly polite to adults but a hell-raiser when she
was away from them.  Liz bragged of her exploits to
Shannon -- smoking, drinking, drugs, sex, she'd tried them
all.  She was supercilious, condescending, and insulted
Shannon at every turn.  And then they'd get around adults
again and Liz would become the perfect, well-mannered
little angel, brownnosing like crazy and being held up to
Shannon as a good example at every turn.
	It was infuriating.
	Up until dinnertime, Thanksgiving day had gone
pretty much as Shannon had expected.  She had worn her
new holiday dress, a darling Victorian-inspired Laura
Ashley design in a small floral print with big puffed sleeves
and a full, calf-length skirt belled out by three layers of
petticoats.  She had even gotten underwear to match the
nineteenth century look: a lace-trimmed camisole and
pantalets, both of a fine linen, along with white stockings
and old-fashioned button-up shoes.  She had curled her
long, chestnut-colored hair and tied it up with a bow to
match the dress.  She had adored the outfit -- until Liz
showed up, sophisticated in a raw silk pantsuit, and told
her that it made her look like an overgrown child.
	The morning continued in that way, with Liz at her
most patronizing, ridiculing Shannon at every turn, making
her feel gauche and unsophisticated.  By the time they sat
down to the dining room table for dinner, Shannon was
fuming -- and Liz's silken compliments to Shannon's
mother about the decorations and the food set her teeth on
edge.  Especially when, under cover of the adult's noisy
conversation, Liz continued to slip snide comments to
Shannon.  She grew angrier and angrier, until finally when
Liz murmured, "Really, Shannon, a girl your age should
know how to tell the difference between a salad fork and a
dinner fork," she blew.  "Will you just shut the fuck up?"
she exclaimed.
	There was a sudden, shocked silence at the table
that made Shannon realize what she'd just said, and both
hands flew to cover her mouth.  Desperately she wished
she could take back the words, but they couldn't be
recalled.  She glanced over at Liz and saw the look of
smug satisfaction on her face.  Finally, Shannon forced
herself to look over at her stepfather Henry.
	He looked even grimmer than she had thought he
would, and she felt her insides twist with apprehension.
When he spoke, there were no words of reprimand, no
demands for apologies.  He didn't even raise his voice.
He just fixed her with his most no-nonsense glare and
softly but firmly spoke the five words she most dreaded to
hear:  "Shannon, go get the hairbrush."
	Knowing protests to be useless, and wanting
nothing more at that moment than to escape the staring
eyes of their guests, Shannon flew from the room.  But
when she reached the staircase, her steps slowed.  She
had to force herself to keep moving, knowing that delays
would only make Henry angrier.  But when she reached the
bathroom, opened the drawer, and picked up the hairbrush,
she paused again.  She felt its substantial weight in her
hand, rubbed her finger over the smooth wooden surface
that had so often made sharp and painful contact with her
bottom, and the image of the brush blurred as tears filled
her eyes.  It just wasn't fair.  Liz had used foul language all
day.  In fact, she had used the word "fuck" so often that it
had begun to sound almost normal to Shannon, which
accounted at least in part for why she had blurted it out so
unthinkingly.  But she knew it wouldn't help matters to
mention that fact.  Probably nobody would believe her in
the first place, and even if they did, Henry would just say
that it didn't excuse Shannon's behavior.  She knew there
was no escape from what was to come.
	Henry had been married to Shannon's mother for
three years now.  When he had first come to live with them,
Shannon was fourteen, and she ran wild, her passive
mother seemingly helpless to control her headstrong,
spirited daughter.  Henry tolerated her behavior for a few
months, but finally he decided to crack down.  He tried
various punishments -- grounding, withholding allowances,
assigning extra chores, even making her write lines -- but
they had had little impression on Shannon.  Finally he had
tried spanking, but the first paddlings were across
Shannon's jeans, and although they had been somewhat
humiliating and they had hurt, the sting wore off quickly
enough.   Then Shannon had been caught cutting school,
and, knowing that the spanking she would get would
probably be unusually severe, she decided to pad her
jeans with a washcloth.
	Henry was extremely angry when, alerted by the
soft thuds of the hairbrush, he had found the washcloth.
"I'll teach you to try to hide things from me, young lady!"
he fumed.  "Just to ensure no further deception, I'm going
to give you this paddling on your bare bottom!  Pull down
your jeans and panties, and do it now!"
	"I will not!"  Shannon objected in an outrage.  "You
can't make me undress!  You're not even my real father,
and besides, I'm too old to be spanked!" Shannon argued.
	"I will give you one more chance to bare your
bottom," Henry warned.
	"Stuff it!" Shannon responded.
	She wasn't prepared for the level of Henry's
resolve.  Henry quickly and methodically tied her hands
together with a scarf, then secured them on the bedpost;
then, despite her wild struggles and very loud protests, he
unzipped her jeans and lowered them to her ankles,
followed closely by her panties.  She felt a wave of almost
frantic embarassment but her hands were well secured and
all she could do was pin her legs together and huddle up in
an attempt to hide her nakedness.  Henry, still unflappable,
put an arm around her waist and pulled her into a standing,
bent-over position; then he proceeded to apply twenty
extremely vigorous slaps to her unprotected bottom with
the hairbrush.
	She couldn't believe how much more it hurt than it
had through her jeans.  The brush strokes felt like bee
stings, and being applied rapidly on alternate cheeks just
at the fullest part, the part she sat on, the burning sting
built up quickly to a point that felt unbearable.  She
wriggled and twisted and shrieked as the brush scalded
her pale round cheeks, and ended up with tears running
down her face.
	Henry let go of her and she collapsed to the floor,
still crying, on her knees to keep from touching her bottom
to the carpet.  He regarded her for a few moments and said,
"I think we're finally getting somewhere.  A good bare-
bottomed spanking appears to make a real impression on
you.  So I think I'll use that very technique to help you
learn some obedience."
	"I'll be good from now on, honest I will!" Shannon
sniffled.  It seemed prudent to be humble while her hands
were still tied, her burning bottom still bare, and Henry still
holding the brush.
	"I'm glad to hear that, but I'll believe it when I see
it.  You see, this spanking wasn't for cutting school.  This
was for disobedience, refusing to strip when I told you to.
Your spanking for cutting school is yet to come."
	"You can't do that!" Shannon protested, before she
remembered that she was trying to be humble.
	"It's exactly that kind of attitude we have to
eliminate.  I can and will do exactly what I need to do to
ensure your good behavior.  Here's how it will work.  Every
night I'm going to try again to give you your spanking for
cutting school.  I expect absolutely prompt obedience to all
my commands to prepare yourself for that paddling.  If at
any point you balk, refuse, or even hesitate, the spanking
will immediately become a spanking for disobedience.  I'll
tie you up and strip you myself, just like tonight, and give
you a good, hard paddling with the brush.  Only if I have to
do that tomorrow night, I'll add ten strokes.  And we'll do
the same every night, attempting a fully obedient spanking
for your original transgression, but moving to a spanking
for disobedience if I don't get complete compliance.  And
every night I'll add ten more strokes.  So it would be in
your best interest to give me that compliance as soon as
possible."
	Shannon was too shocked by what she was hearing
to be able to respond, so she was silent except for some
remaining sniffles as Henry came and untied her hands.
The pain in her bottom had dulled to the point where
modesty became her uppermost concern again, and she
quickly reached down to pull up her panties and jeans.
	"Not yet," Henry snapped.  "After every bare-
bottomed spanking you will go stand outside in the hall,
facing the wall next to your bedroom door, and exhibit your
punished backside until I tell you that you can get dressed.
Now get out there -- and if you give me any lip, you get
more of the hairbrush."
	Stretching the tail of her T-shirt to cover her pubic
area, Shannon awkwardly and with great embarassment
shuffled out into the hallway, hobbled by jeans and panties
around her ankles.  On Henry's instructions she lifted her
shirt in back to reveal her bright pink rear.  Although the
only other people in the house were her mother and
younger sister, she felt horribly exposed, and it was with
great relief that she got dressed by Henry's consent about
a half hour later.
	It took four nights -- by which time her paddling for
disobedience was up to 60 swats -- before she finally
managed to attain the level of obedience that Henry
demanded.  By that time, she was actually desperate to
comply with his wishes, but she found it very difficult to
muster up the self-control to do so.   It was extremely
difficult in the first place for her, at nearly fifteen years old,
to bare her most private parts to the scrutiny of a man.  But
even more difficult was that act of removing what little
protection her clothing afforded in order to offer her
already-tender bottom to what she knew would be a
horrendously painful punishment.  To deliberately place
herself in harm's way, when her self-protection instincts
were screaming for her to flee, was an exercise in
willpower like she'd never had before.  And every night it
got worse -- with her bottom still blistered and sore from
the previous night, her reluctance increased daily, and she
tried everything she could think of -- crying, pleading,
promising to be good, even threatening to run away -- to
forestall what she finally realized was inevitable.   So on
the fifth night, under the threat of 80 strokes, she forced
herself to obey Henry exactly and promptly.
	He took full advantage of the situation, pushing to
test how truly obedient she had become.  He made her
strip completely instead of just baring her bottom, and then
made her stand there naked while he lectured her; then she
had to go fetch the brush herself, bring it back to him, and,
under his coaching, humbly ask him to give her a hard
spanking.  Then she had to drape herself over his lap -- it
was incredibly embarassing to bring her own naked body
into such direct contact with his thighs, and she was
grateful he was at least wearing long pants -- and count out
the fiery strokes of the brush while resisting the urges of
her body to protect herself with her hands.  Afterwards,
again under his coaching, she thanked him for his just and
loving discipline, then stood with her scarlet bottom on
display out in the hallway, still completely naked, without a
murmur of protest.
	Henry was ecstatic at the change in her and,
whenever she misbehaved, gave her regular boosters of
sound and thorough paddlings to retain the effect.
oftentimes with her mother and Megan as an audience.
Shannon had hoped for some protection from her mother,
but it turned out that her mom had fully consented to
Henry's plans to shape Shannon up and, no matter how
hard Henry spanked, only said things like,  "I hope you
understand that Henry is only doing this for your own
good" or "You only got what you deserved, young lady".
Megan was a little angel and only occasionally merited a
few swats on the seat of her pants, and although she was
sympathetic to Shannon after a thrashing, she seemed to
share the opinion that Shannon brought it all on herself.
Shannon had no choice but to learn the lessons of
obedience that Henry taught, and it had been a long time
since she had been in any way tempted to evade or
question his punishments.
	Until now.  Now there were four additional people
downstairs, including two males and her smug,
supercilious arch-rival Liz.  And it appeared that Henry
might be planning to paddle her right in front of them.   She
could only hope that he would be somewhat merciful and
let her remain partially clothed.  She knew he wouldn't find
it acceptable to spank through her layers of skirt and
petticoats, but maybe he would let her keep her drawers
on.  It seemed a small enough thing to hope for, but she
greatly feared that he wouldn't even show her that much
mercy.  She also knew that refusing to cooperate would
only make things worse very quickly.   If he intended to
bare her bottom in front of them, he would do it one way or
another, and disobedience could only make things worse.
	And yet, she couldn't seem to bring herself to turn
and head back down the stairs.  She was practically
nauseous with fear and embarassment and her feet
seemed glued to the floor.   The warnings of one part of her
brain, to get downstairs QUICK! before things got any
worse, warred with the part that urged her to put as much
distance between herself and her angry stepfather as she
could.  She found herself immobilized by the inner conflict
and was nearly thrown into a panic at the thought that she
might delay until Henry found it necessary to come up and
get her.  Finally she chose the lesser of two very scary
evils, and made herself head back.

	Forcing one foot in front of the other, a step at a
time she finally made it down the stairs and to the dining
room doorway; she paused outside and desperately
gathered her flagging courage before stepping into the
room.  She blinked back the tears forming in her eyes,
determined not to lose her last shred of dignity and cry in
front of everyone.  Finally she entered the room, and all
eyes turned towards her.  She could feel her face flaming
just at the thought that they knew what was coming.
	She focused her attention on Henry, who held the
power of both pain and mercy over her.  She approached
him on legs gone rubbery and held out the brush.  "Here it
is, sir," she said softly, forcing the words past the
tightness in her throat.  She had never called him Dad, and
usually called him Henry, but when she was under
punishment all he would accept was "sir".
	He took the brush and laid it down by his plate, then
said, "You will remove your dress and petticoats, and your
shoes and stockings, then go stand in the corner while I
finish eating."
	Still holding onto her resolve not to cry, she
murmured, "Yessir," then, staring at the floor to avoid
having to see her audience, she reached around and
untied the bow on her dress, then fumbled with the zipper,
hating her awkwardness as she imagined everyone
watching her.  Finally she slid the dress off her shoulders
and stepped out of it.  Henry held out his hand for it and
she gave it to him, then stepped out of her petticoats.
Lastly she removed her shoes and stockings, then stood
before Henry in camisole and pantalets.
	"What's that you're wearing?" Henry demanded.
	"It's ... it's my underwear, sir," she replied, terrified
that he would ask her to remove those last articles of
clothing, also.  As it was, at least she was decently
covered.
	To her relief, Henry merely said, "Hang your
clothes on the hatrack, then to the corner with you."
	She took back her clothes from him and hung them
as directed, then went to stand in the corner.  She stared at
the wallpaper pattern that was quite familiar to her.  For
infractions at the dinner table she was always sent to
stand in this very corner and wait for Henry to finish his
dinner before paddling her.
	She tried to get her mind off her upcoming ordeal,
but there wasn't much chance of that with the turn the
dinner table conversation took at that point.  "Henry," Uncle
Ron said, "I take it you mean to spank the girl with that
hairbrush?"
	"That's right," Henry agreed.
	"I would have thought she was too old for that."
	"If she acts like a child, I punish her like one.
Anyway, I really  don't see why I should quit using a
method that really works just because Shannon's had a
few birthdays in the meantime.  Spankings have been
extremely effective in making her better behaved."
	"I wouldn't think a teenager would be too impressed
by a few swats on the rear."
	"Well, you're probably right about that.  The
punishment has to be severe to make the proper
impression.  Which is why, as you're about to see, I spank
her hard and long.  And most important, I always spank her
on the bare bottom."
	Shannon's last hope of preserving a shred of
modesty flew out the window, and she bit her lip hard to
keep the tears back.  It was awful, listening to them chat
about her as if she wasn't even there, in a tone of voice
that might be used to discuss the weather.
	Kevin, the thirteen-year-old, broke in excitedly.
"You mean she'll have to pull her pants down?" he
exclaimed.
	"That's right," Henry agreed.
	"Can I watch?"  His eagerness was obvious.
	"If it's okay with your parents, it's okay with me.
The humiliation of baring her bottom is part of Shannon's
punishment.  And of course, the strokes just plain hurt
more on bare skin.  Plus, I like to be able to see the effect
the swats are having.  I never tell her ahead of time how
many she'll get, I just paddle her until her bottom is the
shade of red I think she deserves."
	Shannon was practically choking on her humiliation
by this time.  It was all she could do to keep from running
out of the room.
	"Well," Ron acknowledged, "I guess it would be
instructive for Kevin -- for all of us, for that matter -- to take
a lesson in how to discipline a willful girl like Shannon.
Not that I'll ever have to use what I've learned, of course;
Kevin's too sensitive to need more than a scolding, and I
don't remember that last time Lizzie has misbehaved."
	If only you knew, thought Shannon mournfully.
	The dinner conversation turned to other things and
Shannon experienced that peculiar ambiguity that always
accompanied an anticipated thrashing:  she wanted to get it
over with, so time dragged, but she wanted to avoid it as
long as possible, so time flew by too fast.  So it seemed
like forever, and yet no time at all, before Henry gave a
sigh of satisfaction and said, "Great dinner, my dear," to
Shannon's mother.
	She heard the scrape of his chair legs then, and
finally he said, "Shannon, front and center."
	With her gaze carefully fixed on the floor, Shannon
approached him, her innards twisting with fear and shame.
He had pulled his chair well back from the table and sat
there awaiting her.  "Stand over here," he said, motioning
to a spot in front of him.  She went to the indicated spot and
stood facing him, head hanging, still fighting tears and
trying to control her trembling.
	"Shannon, I've warned you about using foul
language, and today I hear you using the foulest.  You've
insulted our guests and ruined a dinner party that your
mother worked very hard to prepare for.  What do you have
to say for yourself?"
	"I'm very sorry, sir,"  she mumbled.
	"Speak up, so everyone can hear you."
	"I'm s-sorry, sir,"  she repeated more loudly,
anxiety making her start to stutter.
	"And what do you think I should do about it?" he
asked.
	Her earlier obedience training held true, and as she
had been taught she said, "I think you sh-should use the b-
brush to spank me v-very h-h-hard ---" she paused, fighting
for control -- "very h-hard on the b-bare bottom."  She could
hear a snicker behind her, Kevin's or Liz's.
	"I intend to do just that," Henry replied sternly.  "I
intend to teach you a good lesson and spank you until you
are scarlet.  Do you understand?"
	"Y-yes, sir."  Her stomach clenched as Henry had
just made it clear that this would be an unusually severe
paddling.
	"Very well.  Fetch the brush."
	She had to turn back to face her audience in order
to go get the brush off the table, but she kept her eyes
lowered as she picked it up and brought it back to Henry.
He took it, then said,  "Hands on your head."
	She laced her fingers and put them on her head.
She was shivering now from fear, but she tried to control it.
Henry balanced the brush on one knee, then reached
forward for the waistband of her drawers.
	    It was just too much to think of being bared in front
of the assembled guests.  Shannon's self-control broke,
and she took a step backwards.
	A look of amazement crossed Henry's face; he'd
become so accustomed to total obedience that this breech
truly surprised him.  "Step back here this minute!" he
snapped.
	Shannon knew she had made a mistake, but she
was still paralyzed with anxiety.  She couldn't seem to
keep herself from saying, "Please, sir, let me keep them
on! "
	"I can see that you need a refresher course in
obedience, and I intend to give you one!" Henry exclaimed.
"Rest assured that you'll pay for your defiance!  Now get
back here!"
	It was hopeless; there was to be no mercy.  She
faced her fate and stepped back towards him.  He reached
for her underpants, and she held still, shivering and
sniffling.  She closed her eyes and felt the waistband of her
drawers sliding down her bottom and then down her thighs,
finally forming a loose hobble around her ankles,  She felt
the cool air on her newly exposed parts.
	"Open your eyes," Henry ordered.  She did, to find
him looking steadily but impassively at her body, naked
from the navel down.  There didn't seem to be anything
sexual in his perusal; when he was stripping her for
punishment, he seemed to see her strictly as a naughty,
spankable girl -- but it was still hotly embarassing to her to
be so exposed before him.  And she could just imagine the
many eyes gazing at her bared backside.  At the thought of
it two big tears finally overflowed from her eyes and made
their way down her face.
	Henry picked up the brush again and said, "Now
bend over my knee, young lady,  and present your bottom
for its punishment."
	Choking back a sob, she lowered herself across his
legs in an agony of reluctance.  Her bottom was the highest
point of her body, in perfect position for receiving the full
brunt of the hairbrush; her head hung low so that her hair
brushed the floor.  She grabbed the chair legs with a white-
knuckled grip and bit her lip.  She hoped desperately she
could keep from crying out or squirming around in front of
Liz and family, but knew from past experience that it would
be quite a challenge to keep still and quiet under one of
Henry's hairbrush assaults.
	"Are you ready?" Henry asked.  This was a ritual
question; the only acceptable answer was the one she
gave:  "Yes, sir."
	With that he raised the hairbrush high and brought
it cracking down on her left cheek.  The smack of wood
against flesh sounded like a pistol shot and pain exploded
at the site of contact.  As many times as she had been
paddled, Shannon was always surprised -- and horrified --
at the pain, and despite her resolve not to cry out, she
couldn't hold back a small, strangled yelp.  But there was
no time to gather herself together:   the next blow came
quickly, followed by the next, as Henry applied one hard
stroke after another  to the firm, round globe of her left
cheek, every smack landing in pretty much the same place.
	     He had never spanked her this way before, all the
swats landing on the same site, and Shannon was
dismayed at the effect his new technique was having.
There was no time for the fiery sting to diminish between
smacks, so it just kept building.  Shannon's resolutions to
preserve modesty and dignity were quickly forgotten and
she began to twist and buck desperately -- not with an
intent to escape Henry's lap, which was absolutely
forbidden, but with the intent of at least diminishing the
pain of the strokes.  The hairbrush easily followed her
every movement, though, and the scalding pain grew until
Shannon was sure that the punished spot was going to
burst into flame.  She couldn't hold the tears back, either,
and although she obeyed Henry's standing rule that she
must not ask him to stop, the loud smacks of the brush
were accompanied by her yelps and sobs as her tears
made a small pool on the floor beneath her face.
	Her sobs were the only sound in the room for a few
moments when the strokes finally ceased, and then Kevin
breathed, "Wow!  Thirty-seven swats!  All hard ones, too!
Is she ever red -- on one side, at least!  Are you going to do
the other side?"
	"Yes, after we've had our dessert," Henry
answered, his friendly tone of voice belying the fact that
he'd just delivered a scalding spanking to the weeping girl
draped across his lap.  Shannon's tears came even faster
upon hearing that she was going to have to go through this
all over again in just a little while.  And she still had no
idea what her punishment for disobedience would be.
	"I'll bet that spot where you hit her is hot!" Kevin
added.
	Through her misery  Shannon heard Liz's chuckle.
"Hot and red on one side, milky white on the other," she
said.  "Puts me in the mood for some cherry pie a la
mode!"
	There was more laughter at that, and then Henry
said, "Kevin, do you want to feel how hot her skin is?"
	Shannon thought she would choke from the
humiliation when she heard that, but she didn't dare say a
word.  Kevin said, "Sure!" and she could hear him getting
up and coming over.  She couldn't hold back a gasp as she
felt his hand on her freshly spanked bottom -- both from the
pain of having anything touch such her raw skin, and from
the acute shame of having a thirteen-year-old boy's hand
on her bare bottom.
	"It's hot, all right!" Kevin agreed as he returned to
his seat.
	"All right, time for dessert," Henry continued.
"Shannon, back to your corner." Shannon stood stiffly and
reached down to pull up her drawers.  "Leave those where
they are," Henry ordered, leaving Shannon to shuffle
awkwardly back to the corner, hobbled by her underwear,
her well-spanked bottom on display to all.
	She stood there wiping her eyes and sniffling as
she listened to the sounds of dessert being served,
gritting her teeth against the urge to reach back and rub
some of the sting from her bottom.  Aside from the fact that
she was forbidden to do so, she certainly didn't want to do
it in front of an audience, so she just had to stand there
and bear the pain.  It gave her a feeling of unreality to
listen to the normal, everyday noises of silverware clinking
and dinner conversation going on while she stood half-
naked and hurting.
	Once again came the conflicting urges to have the
punishment done with and to delay it indefinitely, but just
like last time the moment finally came when Henry once
again repositioned his chair and summoned her over.  This
time she had to face the assembly with her lower half
naked, and she folded her hands in front of her pubis as,
still manacled by her underwear, she minced up to the
table to fetch the brush.   He made her put her hands on
her head and repeat her request to be spanked hard, then
once again she laid across his lap, deliberately placing her
bottom back in harm's way.  And again Henry applied the
brush sharply and repeatedly to the pert round posterior of
his stepdaughter as she writhed and squirmed under the
sizzling smacks, digging her toes into the rug, bouncing
her hips against his thigh, yelping and moaning in pain.
This second spanking was just as hard and long as the
first, the spanks laid on soundly and crisply, creating a
glowing scarlet oval at the fullest, roundest part of
Shannon's right buttock.
	Again her sobs and gasps continued after the
resounding slaps ceased; again Kevin was invited up to
feel the heat of the punished spot, which he pronounced to
be perhaps even warmer than the previous one.
	Shannon was allowed to stand and ease her
underwear back up.  She gasped in pain as the waistband
scraped against her tender flesh and then she faced Henry,
uncertain as to whether he was finished.
	He set her straight right away.  "I'm not through with
you yet.  You've been punished for using foul language in
front of guests, but you still haven't been punished for
being deliberately rude to your cousin -- or, might I add, for
disobeying me."
	Shannon wanted to sink to the floor and sob, but
she just stood there in a haze of misery as he turned to
their guests and said, "Let's go out on the sun porch for a
bit, while Shannon performs an errand for me."

	Shannon had never been whipped, although Henry
had threatened it more than once as the next logical step
beyond paddling unless Shannon mended her ways.  She
really didn't know what to expect, except that it would be a
profoundly unpleasant experience, especially since her
bottom was already so sore that the lightest slap would
make her gasp.
	Henry didn't leave her to wonder long this time,
though; the sting from Liz's paddling had barely begun to
die down when he said, "All right, Shannon, let's get on
with it.  Go to the dining room and fetch one of the chairs."
	She didn't know whether to be relieved or dismayed
that she wasn't going to be made to wait any longer to get
the whipping over with, but for the moment her
embarassment was uppermost on her mind as she
scurried from the room, naked from the waist down, with all
eyes upon her.  The straight-backed wooden chair from the
dining room only made a partial shield as she toted it back
into the living room.  Henry had moved the ottoman back to
its normal place and indicated that the chair was to be put
where the ottoman had been, in front of the TV, facing the
audience.
	"Now fetch the switch.  It's still on the sun porch,"
Henry instructed, and Shannon scurried again, glad to be
away from those fascinated gazes for just a few moments.
When she picked up the switch, her nerve almost failed
her; she thought of fleeing, and probably would have done
so if she wasn't virtually naked.  Her steps back to the
living room were much slower than her steps leaving it had
been, but all too soon she had arrived.  She covered her
bare front with her hands, the switch in one of them, as she
entered.  Henry was standing by the chair.   He held out his
hand for the switch.
	She approached, starting to tremble in fear, barely
able to keep from pleading with him for mercy.  She held
out the switch and he took it, then said, "Face the chair,
bend over and put your hands flat on the chair seat."
	With infinite reluctance, she did so.
	"Listen to me well, Shannon," he said.  "The switch
was the main means of discipline in my town when I was a
boy, and I can assure you that it hurts like hell.  But I'm
still going to expect obedience from you.  Remember that if
you hadn't disobeyed me to begin with, your punishment
would be done now -- and it'll only get worse if you disobey
me again.  I'm going to give you six strokes with the
switch.  Before I will give a stroke, you will have to be in
the proper position:  hands flat on the chair seat, legs
straight,  bottom properly presented.  Since this is your
first switching, though, I'm going to be lenient.  In between
strokes I'm going to allow you to yell, beg, hunch up, dance
around, or whatever.  I'm allowing it because I don't think
you'll be able to keep from doing it.  But the next stroke
won't be given until you're in proper position and quiet
again.  You've got ten minutes after each stroke to get
ready for the next one, or I'll give you one anyway, but
won't count it towards the six.  It's largely up to you just
how long this will take and how many strokes you get."
	Shannon listened in a daze.  Her choices were all
horrible.  She could bear the pain in silence, or she could
make a spectacle of herself.  She could get it over quickly,
or she could make it take all afternoon.  It was up to her.
She didn't know how much self-control she could muster;
she hurt so bad already.  At least it was only six strokes.
	"Do you understand?" he asked.
	"Yessir."
	"Very well, let's begin."  He swished the birch limb
in the air a couple of times, and at the vicious whirring
sound Shannon instinctively bent her knees and tucked her
bottom in.  "I haven't even hit you yet!  Straighten up!"
Henry ordered, and she slowly returned to the required
position.
	The birch whirred again, only this time it connected,
imprinting a fiery line of pain on Shannon's bottom.  She
gasped in shock, howled, "Owww!" and dropped to her
knees.  She gripped the edges of the chair seat and took
deep breaths against the vivid pain.  Behind her, she
heard Kevin exclaim, "Whoa!  That was a doozy!"
	"I can see this may take a while.  Tell me when
you're ready for the next one," Henry said.  He laid the
switch on the floor next to her and went to take a seat on
the sofa with his guests.
	They chatted among themselves as Shannon
continued to crouch in front of the chair, trying to hold down
her panic.  She couldn't take five more strokes of the
switch, she just couldn't.  It was like a glowing poker had
been laid across her bottom, which was still exquisitely
tender from its earlier punishment.  And what made it even
worse was that Henry expected her to initiate each stroke,
to put herself into position with her bottom stuck out and
ask him to hit her again.  She didn't think she could do it.
But if she didn't he'd hit her anyway.
	Henry was a master at putting her into these
dilemmas, at making her admit that in the end he held all
the cards.
	She wondered how much of her ten minutes was
left.  She started to stand back up, then lost her nerve and
squatted back down, then worried yet again that she was
running out of time, and finally stretched herself back into
that totally vulnerable, bent-over position that Henry
required, and said, "I'm ready, sir."
	If her heard her, he made no sign, and she said in a
louder tone of voice, "I'm ready, sir!"
	Henry pardoned himself to his guests then, rose,
and approached her at a leisurely pace.  He picked up the
switch; her stomach clenched.  He swished it a couple of
times; her bottom muscles clenched.  Finally, after he had
her worked up to a fever of dread, he raised it and brought
it slashing down again.
	She shrieked, clapped her hands back over the
newly forming welt, and made small frantic jumps from the
pain.  But when Henry laid the switch down and started to
head back for the sofa, she bent back over and said, before
she had a chance to chicken out, "I'm ready, sir!"  She
wanted to get this over with; anticipation was only making
it worse.
	He came back, picked up the switch, and tapped it
against her backside this time before lifting it and once
again whipping her across the bottom with it.  Oh, LORD, it
hurt!  Once again she grabbed her behind and hopped like
she was standing on hot coals -- although she more
accurately felt like she'd been sitting on them.  This time,
though, Henry didn't sit down immediately.  He stood and
watched her for a moment, then said, "How does it feel,
Shannon?"
	"It hurts, sir!" she said with considerable feeling, no
longer caring who was watching or how undignified she
might appear.
	"And do you remember why I'm doing this?"
	"B-because I dis-disobeyed!" she stammered as
sobs began to shake her.
	"And have you learned your lesson?"
	"YES!  Yes, sir, I'll be g-good from now on -- please,
I p-p-promise, don't h-hit me again, it hurts so B-BAD!"
	"This is working splendidly.  I should have whipped
you long ago," Henry observed, sounding quite pleased.
He set the switch down, said, "Three more, young lady,
just tell me when," and took his seat on the sofa again.
	There was no hope for it, he was going to carry this
all the way through.  She had to get back into position --
she wasn't going to risk even one more stroke of that
vicious switch.  After a few moments spent gathering her
resolve, she bent over, choked back a sob, and said, "I'm
r-ready, sir!"
	He came up behind her again, and she almost lost
her nerve and crouched back down as he raised the switch
again.  It made its terrifying swish through the air and this
time, to her shock, landed across the backs of her thighs.
"Ohhhhh!" she howled, clutching the chair seat and
drumming her feet on the floor in a fruitless effort to relieve
the pain.  But again she held onto her self-control long
enough to gasp out, "I'm ready for the next one, sir!"
	The next one came, on her legs again, and this time
in addition to stomping and howling and dancing from foot
to foot she reached back and frantically rubbed the burning
stripes.  Henry had time to retire to the sofa again before
Shannon could bring herself to ask for her next -- and oh so
thankfully, last -- red hot stroke of the switch.  But finally
she bent and presented her already thoroughly punished
bottom for that last stroke, and Henry complied with her
request for that stroke by landing the hardest stroke he'd
delivered yet, on her bottom again, forcing a final cascade
of shrieking and hopping and frantic rubbing from his
stepdaughter.
	Finally it was over.  She knew better than to try to
escape until she was dismissed; she knew she might still
have to serve some time with her nose in the corner or
draped over the ottoman again, displaying her well-
whipped bottom.  But at least she wouldn't have to put
herself in position to receive another livid welt from that
dreadful switch.
	"That was six, Shannon," Henry said, "but I've
decided I want you to bend over and receive one more
stroke."
	A shock went through her that almost made her
lightheaded.  "But you said six!" she blurted out before she
could stop herself.
	"I know, but I want you to remember that I not only
make the rules, I can change them at my discretion.  I want
to make sure my lessons of obedience have been well and
truly learned.  I'm going to give you one more, but it could
be two or three or more if you don't do what I say, when I
say it.  Now bend over."
	Awash with tears of fury and outrage and misery,
but under threat of a prolonged whipping with the switch,
Shannon bent.
	"Ask for it," Henry ordered.
	"P-please hit me, sir," Shannon said shakily.
	"Hit you where?  With what?"
	"Please hit me on my b-bare bottom with the sw-
switch."
	"Why?"
	"Because ... because I was n-naughty and I
deserve it."
	"Remember, Shannon," Henry said, adding the final
insult to her injuries, "I'm only doing this for your own
good."
	And with that, he slashed across her bottom with
the switch again, then watched until her frantic dance of
pain died down, and said, "I'm going to set the timer for
fifteen minutes.  Stay bent like that until it goes off, then
you can go to your room."
	Thoroughly chastened, she obediently held the
position as instructed, even though Kevin came up for a
closer look at her welts.  It seemed like an eternity before
the bell rang, and she fled from the room without a
backwards look.  She ran to the upstairs bathroom and
inspected her bottom;  it was scarlet, blistered and striped -
- just looking at it brought on fresh tears.  She wet a
washcloth with cool water and applied it to her soundly
punished bottom, and while waiting for the pain to die down
she reflected on what she'd learned today.  She'd learned
never to cross Henry when they had guests; it turned him
into a maniac.  She'd learned not to disobey him during a
punishment or she would be risking another run-in with the
switch.  But most of all, she'd learned that Liz was her
lifelong and stalwart enemy, and she was determined not
to rest until she'd had her revenge and seen Liz's bottom
spanked just as scarlet, blistered just as thoroughly as
hers was right now.   She wasn't sure how she would do it,
but she would see justice done.

To be continued ..????

-- 
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