In honor of her wedding

A very specific friend of mine inspired the short-story “A Lunch Date With Professor Richards”, which is the first story in Butt Stuff. In honor of her wedding last weekend, here’s part of that story. (Note: Professor Richards is a woman.)

I’d left my bedroom door half-open, and when I heard Richards come down the hall and go into Hillary’s room, I breathed a silent sigh of relief that I’d have a short reprieve. Of course, it was immediately followed by my heart hammering away because now I would have to hear what Hillary went through and know I was about to get the same.

I’d never had to hear someone else get punished before. It wasn’t a fun experience.

I couldn’t quite make out what Richards was saying to Hillary, but I heard a little gasp and then the rustling of clothing. Richards was taller than both of us, and slender; Hillary and I were both curvy, and honestly I was bigger around than I liked. We weren’t small, either of us, so how would she even put us over her knee in the first place?

I didn’t get much time to consider it because the next thing I heard was the sound of a palm smacking bare flesh. I crossed my legs tight. Richards was spanking Hillary’s bare backside, and that meant my bare backside was in for it too.

I counted in my head as Richards spanked Hillary — fifty swats, in a steady rhythm, without stopping. Toward the end, Hillary was making little noises on the edge of my hearing, and my own bottom started to ache in sympathy. Which sucked, because in a few minutes it would ache for real.

There was a quiet chat after that. I heard some of what Hillary said: “yes, ma’am. No, ma’am. I promise, ma’am.”

And then something that didn’t sound like a hand, and didn’t sound like a hairbrush, and I was sure Richards didn’t keep a paddle in her purse. But it was definitely wooden, and it was definitely hitting Hillary’s bottom harder than Richards’s hand had done. There were lots of ouches and whimpers, and eventually I heard Hillary break down into sobs as Richards spanked her over and over. I lost count of the swats this time, but I know it was more than fifty.

Tears filled my eyes and I blinked them away. I dimly became aware of the spanking ending and Hillary crying, and I hoped that Richards was hugging her and letting her sit on her lap, like Don used to do with me.

Then the sound of sensible, professional shoes on the carpet.

Then Richards, in my doorway, holding a heavy wooden spoon from our kitchen.

Oh. Shit.

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