DIC” (AS) by Phil


Dirty Ice Cream

His sister-in-law’s visit was almost over. Max really didn’t mind
having his wife’s younger sister Tammy and her two kids stay with
them for a week. The Hall family had a pool and with the warm July
weather that is where they stayed all day. Tammy’s husband Tom was
still in the service, so Max felt like he was helping out by giving
his wife and kids a place to vacation while he was deployed.

Donna and Tammy were very close growing up in Florida, getting into
plenty of trouble together. Donna always claimed that she had taken
several paddling that Tammy had earned, but Tammy’s stories seemed to
have a different take on it. The sisters almost looked like twins –
tall, blond and athletic. Both had their mother’s blue eyes,
substantial bosom and belief that child rearing required a sturdy,
wooden backed hairbrush.

Having two Southern women in his house meant that Max was well fed,
that the kids were well behaved and everything was in order. The
added benefit was two well built blonds by the pool. Max tried to
remind himself that one was his wife’s sister, but at times that just
added fuel to his thoughts. It didn’t help that Tammy could be
flirtatious, a habit that Donna claimed had earned her sister a few
serious spankings even as a teen.

It was Saturday. Max had planned on mowing the lawn and his plans
were confirmed when he heard Tammy and Donna having issues with the
kids. “Megan and Rachel, if I have to tell you one more time to quit
pestering each other, its going to be the paddle. Understood?” The
ten and eleven year old cousins were so similar that after a week
they were getting on each other’s nerves and it was only a matter of
time before one or both ended up with sore bottoms. Max decided it
would be quieter out front.

It took about an hour for Max to mow the front lawn. It was only
11:30 but he had earned a beer. He headed into the house, but stopped
short as he entered the kitchen. There was Tammy, a flurry of motion
in a white bikini. If the sight of his tanned, toned sister-in-law
hadn’t caught Max’s attention, then the two girls with their bikini
bottoms pulled down, hands on the kitchen island would have. Megan
and Rachel had apparently failed to head their mothers’ warnings,
because both seemed poised to get a reminder of what Southern
discipline meant, even if given in Colorado.

“Maxie, be a dear and help me find that spoon your wife was telling
me about.” Tammy was digging through drawers and cupboards, pulling
utensils out as she went. And now that she was bending over, going
through a lower kitchen drawer, Max couldn’t help but notice how
Tammy’s bikini was barely covering her bottom in this position. “Max,
did you hear me?” Tammy was now standing with her hands on her hips.
Max came to and realized that his sister-in-law was referring to what
Donna called the “spanking spoon.”

“Let me look.” Max walked into the kitchen as Tammy found a
candidate – more like a spatula than a spoon. She took it and stood
to the side of her daughter, eleven year old Rachel, whose black
bikini bottom was pulled just below her cheeks. “Not sure this will
work.” Tammy gave Rachel some solid swats that jiggled her cheeks and
left some redness. Rachel squealed and Tammy told her these were just
a “test.” She then grabbed a wooden stirrer that had come with a rice
cooker and walked over to Megan. There was no question about Tammy’s
authority to spank her niece and Megan received twenty stinging licks
with the utensil. But Tammy was not satisfied.

“I am going to find something to really teach you girls a lesson.”
The response was subdued, but clearly Rachel and Megan wished that
she was not successful. By this point, Max remembered where the
spanking spoon was kept and grabbed it out of a pantry
cupboard. “Here you go, Tammy.” Max handed over a large wooden spoon,
made of hard wood and with some heft to it. Tammy called Max a “dear”
again and took the spoon over to Rachel, standing to her left side
and measuring the distance to her bare bottom. Pulling the spoon
back, she snapped it into Rachel’s left cheek, then right,
alternating stinging swats. “Keep your hands on that counter” was
Tammy’s response to her daughter’s slight movement as the spoon went
back and forth, causing what had once been a very white bottom to
turn red. Tammy’s spanking technique was impressive, thought Max, as
were her long, tan legs. Max wasn’t sure he had ever seen a bikini
clad woman so determined.

Rachel was sniffling and had tears in her eyes as her mom announced
that her “warm up” was over and moved over to Megan. Tammy had to use
a well manicured finger to adjust Megan’s suit down a bit, and then
began a rhythmic lesson on her niece’s bottom. Once both cheeks were
red and Megan was crying softly, Tammy walked back to her own
daughter. “Both of you were told to stop arguing, stop fighting and
watch your tone. Neither of you listened. Now you are both getting a
real spanking and you are going to apologize.” With that, the heavy
wooden spoon made solid contact with Rachel’s bottom, leaving a
darker red oval shaped mark.

Tammy spanked hard and fast, pausing to ask her daughter to say she
was sorry, to her cousin and the rest of the family. Rachel was
crying now, but resisted the request. Tammy’s jaw clenched and Max
knew his niece was in trouble. Tammy grabbed hold of the bikini
bottoms that were still gripping Rachel just below her buns and gave
a sharp tug. Rachel was now bare from the waist down and her mom
wasted no time smacking her daughter’s upper thighs with the spoon. A
high pitched scream was the response, as was an overall reddening of
Rachel’s brown legs. “Momma, please, please I am sorry” came out
between sobs. Tammy gave a number of additional swats to make sure
the lesson was learned.

Back across the kitchen, Megan awaited her fate, knowing that she had
better say she was sorry. Aunt Tammy tattooed her bottom as well and,
to be fair, pulled down her bottoms and spanked her thighs too. Max
was impressed – that woman could spank. And standing to the side of
Tammy, the view of her cleavage was as impressive as her discipline.

Donna walked in as the spankings were ending. Two very red bottomed
girls, bare except for bikini tops, still had their hands on the
countertop. The contents of multiple drawers were strewn across the
kitchen. And her husband appeared to be staring as her sister
adjusted her top and bikini bottom. “Nice show?” Donna asked as she
gave a playful swat to her husband’s butt. Tammy noticed what was
going on and in her most innocent way said that it wasn’t her
fault. “Never is, sis, never is.” Donna laughed. At least someone was
having a good time in that kitchen.

*******************************************************************

Dirty Ice Cream

When I was a child, my parents used to take me to church down the street. it was a non-denominational church, run by a pastor from somewhere in the states. He was a pretty emotional preacher, and really got things happening. It was pretty exciting…He was a great preacher on family values, and used to spend some time talking about the whys, the methods, the whole purpose behind discipline. He was, of course, talking about spanking. He would say a prayerful approach to spanking, with both parent and child asking God for his mercy, would be the proper christian way, and would be a purification for the whole family. Pretty heavy stuff, most of which I dozed through, because those were sermons where he was very cool and calm, not the waving shouting preacher he was usually. Anyway. From time to time, I would ask my parents about it, but, they were definitely not spankers. All this thought and discussion came to a head when I was nine, after I got caught playing hookey, and my school and parents found out that I had been forging absence letters. I got a real talking-to and the school laid it on with my parents. I felt very bad for them. I knew they would do nothing to me, but, I needed to do something, anything, to make things better One Sunday, after church, I asked my mom if we could go see the pastor (dad was away). We sat and talked it out with him for a good hour, and at the end of it, he sat back, turned to my mom and said: “I think Michelle needs, and I do mean needs, a good spanking.” I turned very red. My mom shook her head “I couldn’t do that, I just couldn’t.” I looked at my mom and then at the pastor. He was looking at me, and nodded his head. “Mom,” she looked at me, “maybe the pastor could do it…” “Would you?” she said. He was an older man, maybe in his late fifties, and he nodded, again. Then held up a hand. “First…we pray together. The lord will guide us.” So we did, all three of us. After a while, we all stood, and the pastor sat in front of mom and me. He turned to his intercom, and called in his wife. He told her what we had been talking and praying about. Then, he sat, very quietly. He turned to my mom. “Before we do this, there is one more thing that has to happen.” Mom looked puzzled. “You have to learn your lesson, as well.” He paused, then patted his legs, “over my knee.” My mother gasped, and shook her head. I called out something about it not being fair. The pastor looked at her. “You. You have to learn your responsibilty. If Michelle is to be spanked, you must know something of what she suffers. Come.” Woodenly, mom walked over to him, and lay across his knees. He raised her skirts, and began a quick hard slapping. Mom’s mouth popped open and she began gasping and sobbing. Then, she began to bawl. I had never heard her cry like that. She just howled, tears pouring from her. He stopped, and set her on her feet. “Go sit down. Michelle. Over here.” I lay across his lap, hoping my jeans would protect me. I had begun to regret the whole thing. “Wait John,” the pastor’s wife spoke, then walked over to me, “let’s do this properly.” She grabbed my jeans and panties, and pulled them down to my knees. I remember whimpering in protest. “Now. Now, she’s ready.Remember what this is for, Michelle.” I felt the air on my bare bum. The pastor said,”Dear, tell me when three minutes is up.” SMACK! SMACK! “Owow!” SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Ohohoh…oweee!” He spanked and spanked. I yelled and writhed and sobbed. “OHHH! UH!UH! OWEEEE! OH! OWOWOWOW!Pleasestopstop!pleaseohpleaseohplease stop!!!I’m sorry mommy! owowowow!!” smack! smack! smack! On and on it went, and, at last, I just dissolved in tears, bawling so loud I hardly recognized my own voice. And then, it was over. He pulled my jeans and panties back up, and set me on my feet. He held my face in his hands, and said: “No one wanted to do this, Michelle…But I hope you have learned your lesson.” I stood there, for a moment, sobbing, then flung my arms around his neck. As we walked home, my mother put her arm around me. “I never want to go through that again, Michelle.” She stopped, then put her hands on my shoulders. “The pastor will never do that to you again. No. Don’t interrupt. That is something that is going to stop, too. And, you know why? Because my bum hurts (she started laughing)and from now on, when you do something naughty, (She reached into her handbag and pulled out a wooden-handled hairbrush) this, my dear will be used on your bare bottom. Understand?” I nodded. But, of course, me and that hairbrush did become very well acquainted, indeed

 

2 thoughts on “DIC” (AS) by Phil

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