“JUDGE JOANNE AND THE SUCKER BET” by the Crimson Kid
LATE MARCH 1999
My palm is patting Philip’s left buttcheek, making him shiver…Oh, that’s so adorable, I love the way he reacts when he knows he’s about to undergo a really long, hard, bare-bottom blistering, and that’s certainly what he’s facing right now. I should know, since I’m the one who has determined what his payoff for the sucker bet he lost will be.
Both of his bouncy buns are quite unprotected by the cherry red thong brief which he’s wearing as underpants; his sweatpants and sneakers have already been taken off by Bethany, so he’s wearing only his favorite University of North Carolina t-shirt and white athletic socks, other than that thong-style underwear.
She’s quite a pretty brunette, I can see why my naughty boy has developed a bit of a schoolboy crush on his second cousin, now that they live in the same town and go to the same school. (Of course, it doesn’t hurt that she and her lake house neighbor spent most of last summer whuppin’ up on his baby-naked buttcheeks either, does it?)
“Such nice, resilient buns.” I give his right nether globe a playful pinch. “They look so cute sticking up and out like this.” Philip squirms a little, but he’s been strapped down over the vaulting horse very securely. “They can take plenty of punishment, which I know from experience.”
Bethany’s smile is devilish as she moves to stand right behind his backthrust bottom rounds, while she pats her mother’s Spencer paddle against her palm. “So do I, Joanne—and they’re going to get as much whomping as they can handle; the girls I’ve chosen are really eager to blister this very naughty bare bottom. You’re a terrific judge, you should have your own television program.”
How sweet of her to say that. “Thank you, Beth…Philip wanted a whole lot if he won the wager, so clearly he should have to pay off a great deal since he lost it—that’s only fair.” He’d desired a release from his promise to allow Bethany and Moira McCartney, her summertime neighbor, to act as his fanny-tanning disciplinarians until his twenty-first birthday. He’d accepted the arrangement before his family had ended up moving back to Sunset Hills, thinking that he’d rarely have to suffer any consequences from it—but now he lives only two blocks away from Bethany, and goes to Heartland High School with both her and Moira.
She’s slowly rubbing the sturdy paddle’s smooth, flat surface all over those firm, meaty masculine buttocks, which are divided by his cranberry-colored thong brief but remain totally unprotected; those buns are trembling slightly. “What’s the matter, Philip honey, are you afraid that we little girls are going to hurt your tough, macho tushie too much, that you’re going to bawl like a baby for us?” She’s grinning with glee. “Well, that’s exactly what we’re going to do, dear cousin, and you’ll be crying us a river of tears…Oh, am I so ready to plaster your baby-naked bum-bum cheeks, toddler boy, but I’ll wait for my teammates before getting started—we’ll all want to watch each other work over this helpless hiney.”
Speak of the devil, or actually a trio of avenging angels, the other three teenaged females are bursting into the girls’ locker room right now. Damn, they’re all so cute-looking, almost as attractive as Bethany is—I hope that Philip will appreciate their prettiness while they’re stinging him thoroughly, right where Mother Nature intended him to be stung quite sharply. Black-haired, rather statuesque Moira looks nearly as athletic as Bethany, being slightly taller and slimmer but still showing the necessary feminine curves in the right places; the other two girls are the Manion sisters, fifteen-year-old Serena and fourteen-year-old Dakota, both with flowing, golden blonde hair, aquamarine eyes and peaches-and-cream complexions, who are several inches shorter than Bethany and pleasingly plump in body type.
All four of the young ladies are wearing the stylish playing outfits of the Heartland High girls’ tennis team, sparkling white with royal blue and canary yellow trim, but they’re not carrying tennis rackets—instead, Moira’s gripping the handle of a black rubber Canadian school strap, while Serena is casually flicking a bright red riding crop with a heart-shaped leather tip and Dakota, who’s a lefty, holds an oversized, flat-backed cooking spoon made of sturdy oakwood by its rubber grip.
Perhaps the Manion girls have never before seen a sixteen-year-old male’s exposed nether moons, because Serena is giggling while Dakota is virtually squealing in surprised delight at the sight of Philip’s nicely-rounded nates. Moira has seen them numerous times before, but nonetheless she’s obviously enjoying the ‘rear view’ being presented, especially the way that those naked buttock rounds are plumped out, seemingly begging to be all-out blistered; her calm smirk reminds me of the cat that ate the canary—or perhaps instead has caught the yellow bird and is about to consume it with eager relish.
Moira taps each pale hemisphere twice with the strap’s smooth striking surface. “My, these sassy cheekies seem very familiar,” she muses playfully, “But the proof of the pudding is in the punishing—I’ll have to thrash them severely to be certain that I’ve encountered them before.
“You’ll have plenty of opportunity to do that,” I inform her cheerily, “But let me explain to everyone exactly how this extended spanking session is going to work.” I walk to the other side of Philip’s strapped-down, bare-bottom-up form, so that the young ladies will be looking at his double-cheek target area while facing me. They’ve quieted down in anticipation of my little speech, although they’re all grinning in a self-satisfied manner. Their near-future victim, on the other hand, has a striken expression on his handsome, lightly-pinkened face, giving him the adorable visage of a naughty little boy who’s due for a good, sound dose of corporally corrective comeuppance—which he most certainly is going to receive, even though he possesses a male mid-teenager’s strong, athletic body rather than a child’s.
“Uhhhh…Oh, Joanne,” he moans as my left hand squeezes his hind end quite insistently, making him squirm helplessly within his restraints.
He’s so boyishly cute, reacting so predictably. “Hush, sweetie pie, I’m busy right now.” I’m going to have to explain exactly how to spank this tied-down, bare-cheeked boy, so that Serena and Dakota will feel comfortable about doing so—that’s not going to be an issue for Bethany and Moira, quite obviously. “First of all, be aware that the naked buttcheeks of a healthy sixteen-year-old male are made to endure a great deal of very sound corporal punishment—in fact, they were designed by Mother Nature specifically with thorough thrashings in mind.” The two older girls are nodding in agreement, but the two blondes look uncertain. “Beth and Moira already know this from personal experience, and as a trained nurse I can verify it as a medical fact.”
“Nurses know what Mother Nature thinks?” Serena’s eyebrows are arching.
My right hand lightly smacks Philip’s right nether moon. “We know how she designed the masculine anatomy, and I also have had extensive personal experience in blistering boyish bare behinds—especially this one. Feel free to squeeze these buns yourself, ladies, to see how firm and resilient they are.”
Although Bethany and Moira need no convincing of the accuracy of my assertions, they’re obviously happy to comply with my suggestion. “Indeed, what totally spankable glutes these are,” Moira affirms, giving Philip’s left asscheek a hard pinch after fondling it for several seconds.
As his hips wriggle, Bethany’s palm slaps each vulnerable hemisphere in turn, right followed by left, with considerable force. “Oh, stop that babyish squirming, dear cousin, just you wait until we’re giving you something to really react to.”
The sisters are clearly a bit bashful about touching this boy’s unprotected posterior, so I don’t insist on it at the moment. “Okay, that’s enough for now.” The other girls step back slightly, smirking in anticipation of employing their implements atop their helpless victim’s defenseless derriere. “Now, just because Philip’s rear end can absorb plenty of physical punishment, that doesn’t mean that he’s going to enjoy it—not at the conscious level of his awareness, anyway.” Of course, down deep in his psyche he will feel highly gratified at being spanked and humbled, but I won’t bother explaining that. “In other words, expect him to be crying very childishly while you’re working over his bare bottom with your implements—if he’s not bawling like a baby for most of the time that you’re walloping him, then you’re not doing it effectively enough.”
Bethany snickers. “As my mother always says, a good fanny-tanning is supposed to hurt a whole lot, and the person getting it should be crying a river of tears for most of his butt-beating.”
“Exactly.” I nod in agreement. “He’ll also be howling and wailing, plus knowing him, also babyishly begging for mercy—just be certain that you don’t give him any, because this is a situation that he’s gotten himself into of his own accord.” Truly, he’d insisted on making what I considered a sucker bet with his second cousin, wagering that the Tar Heels would somehow advance further in the so-called ‘Big Dance’ than the Blue Devils–once he’d predictably lost, it was “Judge Joanne” who was the mutually-accepted arbiter of his payoff.
“We’re supposed to really hurt him?” There’s a shine in Dakota’s eyes as she gazes at Philip, even in his current highly-embarrassing position, and it involves something other than eagerness to whack his hind end with that wooden spoon she’s gripping. “Ummmm, I thought this was going to be, you know, kind of playful and friendly…I didn’t know that he’d be tied down like this, with his pants off and hardly any underwear covering his backside.”
Well, he is a seriously good-looking guy, plus he’s also a sweet person too, in spite of his shyness with the opposite sex—if I were her age, I might also be a bit smitten with this handsome boy. “If you want him to respect you, sweetheart, you’d better be willing to paddle him long and hard with that seat-smacker you’re holding. Philip’s expecting to get a good, sound spanking from you, two of them in fact before we’re finished, and those punishments are supposed to hurt a great deal.” She still looks somewhat conflicted. “Naturally, you don’t want to harm him, causing any long-term damage, but I’ll be monitoring the whole procedure, and I know how much whomping his behind can safely take—it’s probably a lot more than you’re figuring.”
Moira’s head nods. “Yes, trust us on this, Philip’s rump is built for very hard whacking, and he seriously deserves what we’ll each be giving him.”
“Uhhhh-Okay, if you all say so.” Dakota’s tongue licks her lips.
“It will be playful too, but he’s used to playing intensely when it’s time for him to be spanked,” I assure her; she does appear to relax a touch. “Now that we understand HOW to plaster his baby-naked buns, which is extremely emphatically, the next item is to learn WHERE on his bouncy bottom to place our stinging-hot swats.”
“On his ‘spank spot,’ of course,” Bethany offers.
Moira chuckles. “My mom calls it the ‘sweet spot,’ right at the bottom of a bare bottom, but it doesn’t feel all that sweet to me when her paddle lands there while I’m being walloped.”
My right hand begins lightly making circles on top of the lower half of my darling boy’s left buttock round. “It won’t be all that pleasant for this young man, either, once his ‘sit spots’ are being fired up for him. Those are all terms for the same location on the human posterior, the area just above a person’s thighcreases, that is the borderline between his glutes and thighs.” My right eye winks at the two older teenagers. “What are the two main benefits of the spanker focusing her swats on this particular place, do either of you happen to know?”
Bethany smiles knowingly. “Sure…Because the ‘spank spot’ is plump enough to take a whole lot of really hard whomping, plus it’s nice and tender, so those spanks will sting like a son-of-a-…Well, you know what.”
“Somebody certainly knows quite a bit about delivering butt-blisterings, doesn’t she?” I’m impressed by the sixteen-year-old’s expertise, which I’m aware was obtained on both sides of the paddle, strap and switch. “Yes, Beth, you’re correct on both counts.” My pointer finger gently traces the thighcreases of my masculine ‘interactive demonstration model’. “Here’s as low as you should go in applying your strokes, ladies—some people like to strike the spankee’s thighs as well, but in my humble opinion the posterior is the only part of the human anatomy intended to be the ‘seat of correction,’ as it’s called.” I poke my finger against the crown of Philip’s asscheek. “This is as high as the swats should land, dead-center in the middle of each chubby cheek, where there’s still plenty of padding to absorb the impact. You need to give the sides of his derriere some smacking attention too, but try to avoid actually hitting his hips—keep every stroke landing on his behind, and direct at least half of your spanks to the very bottom of Philip’s bare bottom.” My palm sharply slaps down twice, once on each of his plump ‘sit spots,’ making him gasp softly. “Right there!”
Serena sighs. “There’s more to whipping a guy’s butt than just swinging this cute little whip at it, isn’t there?” With her left hand, she casually fingers the leather crop’s red-trimmed, heart-shaped tip.
“Not really, Serena,” I respond, “It’s simply a matter of focusing a tad on the placement of your strokes, not to mention being woman enough to chastise your naughty boy as thoroughly and intensively as he needs and deserves to be disciplined. I believe that every female was created by Mother Nature to be a caring but very strict spankmistress to the menfolk she’s close to in her life—that basic ability is within you, so you’ll simply have to draw it into your conscious awareness.” I glance toward Moira. “Isn’t that right?”
She nods eagerly. “Absolutely, Joanne—I love spanking males who’ve misbehaved smack on their naked fannies, turning their rear ends dark red and making them cry for me, and it’s so easy to do once I simply get started.
The two younger girls aren’t entirely convinced yet, I can tell that they’re dealing with what’s called an ‘approach-avoidance’ conflict. “Stand back, ladies, I’m going to give you a demonstration of how to employ each of your implements on these chubby cheekies, just so you can see that Philip’s naked nates can endure plenty of punishment…Dakota, I’ll be using the wooden spoon to start with, so please hand it over now.”
“Sure, Joanne.” Her bluish-green eyes are wide with astonishment that this isn’t just a silly childhood game, instead that some serious butt-whacking is actually going to take place. I’m patting my hapless victim’s exposed moons with my left hand as the cooking spoon’s slim handle is placed atop my right palm. Gripping it tightly, I take a step backward to allow myself a full arm’s-length swing at my pale, quivering twin targets.
“The sweet thing about a spanking spoon like this one is that it’s flattened back has a round striking surface, so that it fits quite nicely upon one of our naughty boy’s ‘sit spots,’ rounded spoon to rounded bare bumcheek.” I press the implement’s back against Philip’s lower right buttock, while the Manion sisters nod in mute comprehension. “I’m only going to give him a couple dozen very smart swats, just enough for you ladies to see how effective this kitchen seat-smacker truly can be when applied to a defenseless derriere, even though it looks rather light as an instrument of corporal correction.”
Now I’m spanking my darling boy’s firm, fully-rounded naked fanny, alternating from his right asscheek to his left one, swinging with swift downward strokes of the relatively lightweight implement. His posterior is optimally exposed, allowing me easy access to the bottom of his bottom, and I’m taking full advantage of that by walloping that sensitive ‘spank spot’ with enthusiasm. Bethany and Moira are tittering at my hapless spankee’s yelping and wriggling, while their younger compatriots look awestruck at his painful predicament. With the sound spanks being delivered at five-second intervals, I’m finishing this demonstration within two minutes of starting it.
Dakota gulps. “His hiney looks so red, doesn’t it”
Bethany’s head shakes. “No, it’s just a mild pink right now, those buns have barely been touched yet—they’ll be glowing a dark maroon before we’re finally finished lambasting them this afternoon.”
(Since I had the keys to the school’s east entrance and the girls’ locker room, given to me by my close friend Carlissa, the tennis team coach whom I’d been covering practice for today, we did indeed have as much uninterrupted time as we’d require—nobody else was scheduled to be using the building on this Saturday.)
I hand the oversized oaken spoon back to Dakota. “Okay, next in order is going to be the Canadian school strap, so if you please, Moira, I’ll borrow it from you.” After she’s placed the rubber implement’s corrugated rubber grip in my waiting right hand, I take another half-step backward, gauging my swinging distance again, since its sinister black striking surface is about thirty inches long—getting a full arm’s-length swing remains quite desirable. “This is a semi-flexible spanking implement, not as swishy as leather but still not rigid like a wooden paddle. It was developed for application to the rear ends of Canadian schoolchildren, who might have several layers of rather thick clothing covering themselves down there during the winter months; their teachers were only allowed to spank misbehaving students over their clothes, so they needed to employ something with enough impact to sting quite a bit even through heavy protection.” I’m raising the strap up over my right shoulder, while Bethany giggles gleefully at her cousin’s anxiously twitching, pinkish southern hemispheres.
“Philip already knows what it feels like on his totally uncovered hind end, that’s why he’s so nervous,” she informs the two blondes.
With a lead-in like that, I proceed to deliver twenty-four blistering-hard cracks of the rubber across my squirming, squealing and eventually weeping spankee’s upthrust, naked nether globes, neatly overlapping the broad crimson bands thus produced with one another and methodically marching them upward from his thighcreases to the crowns of his buttock rounds, then back downward, covering already-strapped territory. I’m breathing a tad heavily by the time I’m finished, about three minutes after beginning, while Philip is sobbing raggedly, trying with difficulty to control his own breathing.
“Give him a bit of comforting, Dakota,” I suggest to the seemingly shocked fourteen-year-old. “Why don’t you rub his back a little, sweetheart?
She’s doing so, somewhat numbly, as I return the school strap to Moira, who coolly removes the riding crop from Serena’s slightly shaking hand and gives it to me. “It’s not nearly so terrible as it looks,” she explains quietly. “Philip’s taken much, much worse lickings from Bethany and myself, not to mention my mother; he’s used to undergoing an extreme amount of corporal punishment—this has been simply a mild warmup for him.”
“Which is going to continue immediately,” I note briskly, swishing the flexible leather implement through the air, “So you’ll have to step away just a touch, Dakota dear.” She does so, although not before giving our boy’s blond hair a quick, affectionate tousle—oh yes, she’s definitely attracted to him. “Since you’re all tennis players, you shouldn’t have any trouble with the wrist-snap required to whip the crop’s supple tip against this young man’s red rump, sharply enough to make it sting him good.” I’m taking aim at Philip’s bare buns, which now are evincing a shiny scarlet coloration. “You don’t yet know what spanking implement you’ll end up wielding during our second time around, so it’s important—especially for you two, Serena and Dakota—to carefully watch each of them in action.”
This is challenging, giving my boyish victim an effective ass-whipping with the riding crop, because I’ve only used one a couple of times previously, but I take my time—allowing ten seconds between flashing lashes—and apparently do a creditable job of it, judging from the teardrops trickling down Philip’s facial cheeks, well before I finally snap the crop’s cruel tip against his cutely quaking nether ones for the twenty-fourth time. I’ve spread the whip-cracks around on those twin-moon targets, but all of them nonetheless have landed on already smarting, brightly-reddened areas.
“My, you do carry on like a kindergarten baby, naughty child,” Serena tells him rather flippantly afterward, as he’s sniffling in his strapped-down but bottom-up position.
Her little sister bristles with annoyance. “How do you think you’d feel if you were whipped on your naked hiney like that, Sere?”
Once I’ve handed the riding crop back to the older blonde, I accept the Spencer paddle from Bethany, gripping its taped-up handle tightly and hefting it with my right hand, appreciating its sturdiness (half-inch-thick cedar), its full-sized rectangular head and the eighteen small, beveled holes dotting its smooth striking surface at regular intervals; a solid fanny-whacking spanker like this is a terrific ‘lesson-teacher,’ as long as a person is on the swinging side of it—but of course Philip’s going to be on its stinging side instead.
“Your sister does have a point, Dakota,” I state pedantically, while adjusting my stance facing my spankee’s left hip, “Because males do tend to react to a little friendly fanny-tanning as though they’re being tortured by the Spanish Inquisition. They’ll howl like a banshee and bawl like a baby, trying to get the females blistering their bare behinds to stop spanking them, or at least take it easy on their rear ends. I’m going to give Philip only a couple dozen paddywhacks with this Spencer paddle, but you can expect him to weep and wail like a toddler getting his seat smacked by his mommy.”
“Ooooh,” he murmurs, clearly feeling seriously embarrassed by my analogy, not to mention having been whupped on his naked buttcheeks in front of four female teenagers, especially two younger than him who are nearly strangers. Obviously, I’ve never been a teenaged boy who’s being walloped on his bare nether moons by a former female babysitter while four girls close to his own age are witnessing that chastisement, but I’m guessing that it has to be an extremely humbling experience. Once they’re spanking his upturned bare bottom themselves, Philip’s degree of embarrassment will undoubtedly be heightened even more—which will be much to my amusement
My right hand raises the cedar paddle high over my shoulder, ready to strike downward. “Okay, girls, here’s how to apply this sturdy fanny-whacker to a deserving male’s defenseless derriere.” I’m administering this sound chastisement rather deliberately, plastering Philip’s bouncing bumcheeks with bridging strokes across both of his ‘sit spots’ that are connecting fifteen seconds apart, giving him plenty of time to anxiously anticipate the next stinging swat. (In spite of my relatively small stature, I’ve become an expert at applying a wooden paddle, even a good-sized one, to unprotected masculine hindquarters.) He’s blubbering shamelessly as I deliver the final half-dozen wallops; all four of the ladies, even Bethany and Moira, seem to be suitably impressed with my paddling proficiency.
“Look at his hiney,” Dakota says in a near-whisper, “It’s as red as a fire engine.” She may be awed, but her assessment of the coloration of the fiercely smarting posterior she’s regarding is completely accurate.
Presenting the cedar instrument of chastisement to Bethany, who grins at me as she grasps its handle, I nod in affirmation. “It definitely is glowing like a stop light, which means that Philip is ‘hurtin’ for certain’ back there, even though that was merely his warmup procedure—you young women will be the ones truly collecting his sucker-bet payoff.”
Dakota sighs softly. “Oh, I don’t know about this.”
I’m focusing my gaze on her sympathetic aquamarine eyes. “You and I need to have a private chat, honeychile. Let’s step into the coaches’ office, so I can enlighten you concerning this bare-bottomed baby boy…”