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Spanking Den Member's Spanking Stories Jan - Feb 2006 You Want to Scream?

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Hardwood
New member
Username: Hardwood

Post Number: 2
Registered: 09-2005

Posted on Thursday, December 29, 2005 - 08:50 pm:

“Excuse me? Sir?”

“Good morning, miss.”

“I have so many groceries….. .. could you give me a lift home? It’s only a short way from here.”

“Of course. It’s Christmastime, after all. Hop in.”

“Thank you so much.”

We drove a few blocks, came to a stoplight. She says: “Fifty bucks, right now, or I’ll scream.”

“You want to scream? How droll.” I started to laugh as she fumbled with the window switch. “Here, let me do that.” I rolled the window down. “Scream your little buns off.” I positioned my pickup truck right next to a cop car. “Let me get my earplugs in, will you?”

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Help!!! Police!!!”

I pulled my truck to the curb so they would not have to do the red light routine.

The cops came up to the truck, one to each window.

“Hi Jim, hi Katie, how’s police work?”

“Howdy, Lars. Who’s this?”

“Don’t know. Met her at the grocery, offered her a lift home.”

“Did we hear you scream just now, miss?” asked Katie.

“Do you know what he tried to do to me? Do you know where he touched me? Do you know what he said to me? Did you know he threatened me if I didn’t go home with him?”

I was laughing too hard to speak. I simply pressed two buttons to playback my cockpit voice recorder. It came right out of the stereo speakers:

“Could you give me a lift home?”

“Fifty bucks, right now, or I’ll scream.”

Now Katie and Jim were laughing openly. I know darn well what Katie has in mind when she says: “Let me have your ID miss.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because I’m filing a report of a malicious complaint, that’s why.” Now lets have your driver’s license.” Katie copies down all the info: name, address, et c., so she can summon my errant passenger again if the need arises. “Listen carefully, both of you. I have to finish that report by five o’clock. You, miss, will be at my office in the police station at that time.” Katie pointed across the street. “Lars, I’m going to give that report to the DA unless you come in before five and talk me out of it.
She pauses: “Is that recorder off now?” I turn it off. Katie looks right at the would-be blackmail artist: “if you were my daughter, miss, I would give you a damn good spanking, and I mean right now.” Katie and Jim walk back to their cruiser, and drive away, leaving my passenger looking at me open-mouthed.

Two full minutes pass while she contemplates the consequences of going to court in a small rural town.

“What did she mean by a good spanking, anyway?”

“You know as well as I do. Skirt up, pants down, your bare bottom getting smacked by a hairbrush. That’s how she was raised, that’s how she raised her kids.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“And why not?”

Why not, indeed? Lifting that skirt would be a very great pleasure.

“Well, I don’t have a hairbrush.”

“Pity, neither do I.”

I start the truck and drive her to the drugstore. “Go inside and buy a brush, the biggest one they have.

“What if it’s too small?”

“Then I’ll just send you back.” I was running out of patience. She complied, buying a nice flat-backed oval hairbrush. It looked like a perfect fit for her rear.

It was. I drove back to my house and gave her what she deserved, a scorching reminder, delivered to her quivering bare bottom, that brought tears of repentance from two dark eyes. I hugged her and sent her on her way.

She was so predictable. The phone rang about 30 minutes later.

“Lars, that woman is down here. Says you assaulted her.”

“Do tell. Assaulted, huh? With what?”

“A hairbrush. Says you hit her bottom with it.” I can hear Katie laughing in the background, while Jim is going through the motions.

“Bottom, huh? Ask to see the evidence.” I heard shrill outrage come over the telephone; I hadn’t realized we were on speaker.

The microphone was working too ………… “Hey! Wait! You can’t do that! You have no right to see that! Eeeek!”

Then Jim was back: “Yep. Evidence of an assault, all right. Section 509 of the Penal Code: Wood to the Butt.”

I laughed. “Yep. And just where is this felonious hairbrush now, anyway?” Poor dumb girl didn’t know I put it in her handbag before she left. Katie, of course, found it in less than a minute.

Jim is still on the phone: “Wait a minute. She was hit with her own hairbrush?”

“I don’t know, Jim. She probably hit herself with it. Look. I’ll be down there later on to deal with that first malicious complaint. How about she sits there and waits there until I arrive.” I laugh again: “Or maybe she prefers to stand?” Katie laughs. “Meanwhile, why not ask around town where that hairbrush came from.”

I take my sweet time getting there; when I arrive, I see that Katie had taken my hint. Our miscreant was standing up all right, in the corner of the police station. Jim had indeed contacted the drugstore clerk and found out the hairbrush was purchased only three hours ago. He concluded that she had hit herself with it, and was ready to file a second report of malicious complaint. I looked at the clock, it was almost five, I said: “never mind all this paper work. Let’s go get some dinner.”