13 June 2004

Story: Tears of Frustration

Misc Story.  Please read disclaimer (copied from "Raven's Black Tears").

Before I go on, I want to post a disclaimer. So here it goes: The author of this story in NO WAY believes in the NONconsensual spanking of teenagers with psychological problems. If you are a parent or friend and think that someone you know is cutting, don’t spank them, please. As a cutter and friend of many cutters, I know that sometimes this isn’t the right answer. But *sometimes* it is, depending on the situation. I wrote this story because I know there are cutters in this lifestyle who probably would wish this happened to them, or just want to read about a situation they can relate to. And once again I want to say that if anyone needs a friend, you can message me :) Please do not read this story if the idea of cutting bothers you, or if the idea of a consensual spanking of a cutter bothers you. Thanks! And enjoy the story.

Tears of Frustration
by Breanna Carter

I had the music so loud in my car that I feared the speakers might blow. It was necessary, though, to turn the volume up as high as it could. It’d been a horrible day at work and I feared that at any moment, I might decide to cut my wrists to kill the pain that dwelled inside me. I just wished for some kind of escape. That’s why I went to Joel’s house that night...

I pulled into the driveway and most of the lights were off. I saw the tv lit up in the living room, so I decided to knock on the door anyway.

I heard rustling inside then the door cracked open. “Oh, hey!” the voice said, then opened the door wider. It wasn’t Joel, but his roommate, Freddy.

“Hey,” I mumbled back, sniffling a bit to keep myself from crying.

“What’s up? Come on in.” Freddy was a 25 year old guy, a little taller than me who listened to heavy metal and had a goatee and hair in the shape of devil horns. He was so adorable.

“Nothing,” I muttered and walked past him. “Joel’s not home?”

“Nah, not yet, girl. He’s still working.”

I nodded. “Just wanted to see him for a little while.”

“Ohh, okay, I see. You have to work tonight?” He closed the door and offered me to have a seat on the couch.

I sat. “Yeah, and it was hell.”

“What happened?”

I shrugged.

“Ahh, you can tell me,” he said, plopping down next to me.

“I dunno... they’re just all assholes. I was yelled at all night for no reason. It pissed me off.”

He nodded. “I know how you feel. Used to happen to me with my old job and I just said ‘fuck it’ and quit.”

“Heh, I was going to do that tonight, but I need the money.”

“I know what you mean.” It was quiet for a moment.

“I feel shitty.”

“Awww, don’t feel shitty,” he said, patting me on the back. “Before you know it you’ll be in college and then out of college and you can get a real job without people yelling at you.”

I nodded, but it didn’t help. “It sucks, cause when people get pissed at me, I get pissed at myself and want to cut.”

I said that as he was about to take a sip of his beer, but he stopped mid-air and looked at me. “What?!?” he asked, slamming it back down on the table. “What are you talking about?”

I shrugged. “I just feel horrible and cutting’s the only thing that helps out, mostly.”

“No no no... that’s not good. You can’t do that.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Sure you can.”

“I’m so upset.”

“There’s other ways to get out your frustration. Ways that aren’t dangerous. Your cuts could get infected. You could die.”

“I don’t care.”

“Hey now, don’t say that. You do care. We’d all miss you.”

I sniffled again.

He turned my chin to where I was facing him and stared at me with his deep brown eyes. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

The way he said it gave me chills... There *was* something he could do, and the look on his face insinuated that he knew exactly what it was. But how could he?

“Well, er,” I muttered, glancing at the tv for a second and then back at him. “I guess so...” It was hard to put into words.. I wanted to be punished for thinking such thoughts, I wanted to be punished for being such a horrible person, and how else could I be punished? But it was weird... how many people actually *ask* someone to give them a spanking?

“What is it, Kate? Just ask me...”

I took a deep breath in and steadied my shaking hands. “A sp-spanking...”

He nodded. “Somehow, I knew that’s what it was,” he said, letting out a soft smile. “I think I could tell from the minute I met you that you were into that kinda stuff. The way you act around... well, nevermind, that’s not the point.”

I smiled uneasily.

“Kate, are you sure you want this?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Yeah... I need to be punished for fucking up so much.”

“Hey, don’t talk like that. You don’t fuck up a lot... I should spank you, instead, for being so hard on yourself. I want to take that load off of you, okay? You’re a great kid. A good friend to Joel and I enjoy talking to you. All right?”

“Okay,” I said, voice still hoarse.

“How do you want me to spank you?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I dunno...”

“Yes you do, I can see it in your eyes. Just tell me. You don’t have to be scared.”

It was nearly impossible to not be scared. I’d never been spanked before.

He noticed my hesitation. “Okay, then I’ll just spank yout he way I want. Is that okay?”

I nodded.

“And that’s bare bottom... so if you would, stand up and pull down your pants and panties, then get over my lap.”

I quivered from fear. The thought of baring myself from the waist down in front of Freddy scared me. But I knew what had to be done. I knew that I deserved this punishment.

Thus, I stood and sniffled again, moving my hands to the button of my jeans. I stood there for a minute, unable to do anything. I was too nervous.

“Can you do it?” I whispered.

He let out a soft grin. “Sure,” he answered, and moved my hands away. He unbuttoned my jeans as I sniffled again, looking away so I wouldn’t cry, then I heard the zipper go down and felt a gentle breeze as my pants fell to the floor. He then tugged my panties down, too, to meet my jeans.

I bit my lower lip.

“All right, over my lap,” he ordered while patting his lap.

If I hadn’t been half naked, it’d have probably taken me a few minutes to muster up the courage to lie over his knee, but standing there, feeling the cool breeze on my backside and legs, realizing that he could see my womanhood, I decided to go ahead and get over his lap.

I rested my head on the cushion and lay my hands down next to me. He shifted me a little then rested his hand on my bum.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I replied, shivering. Whether it from fear or being cold, I have no idea. Probably a little of both.

He rubbed my bottom ever so slightly then lifted it up and brough it crashing down.

“Oooowwww,” I groaned.

“Oh, that’s nothing, Young Lady,” he answered, slapping my backside again, this time on the right cheek. I groaned more. “After this spanking *SMACK!* you will never want to cut yourself again *SMACK!* Right?”

“Owww, yes...”

“Good.” He got some sort of rhythm, but I never really figured out what it was. I thought he’d spank one cheek twice, then the other twice, and he’d screw it all up so I’d never know what to expect. “I can’t believe you want to cut yourself, Kate,” he lectured, spanking inbetween words for emphasis. “You’re a good girl, made good grades in school, you have a good job... how can you see yourself as so inferior?”

“Oooowwwwwwiiiiiessss.. I dunnooo,” I whined, gripping onto the couch cushion.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re so awesome.” It was weird hearing him say that as he spanked my naked, tender flesh so harshly, concentrating mainly on my sitspots and upper thighs.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered.

“Sorry for what?” he asked, spanking me a little harder.

I tried to think about it, but I could only concentrate on the pain being inflicted onto my body. “I dunnoooo,” I wailed.

“Not a good enough answer, Kate,” he replied, spanking even harder.

“Ahhhooowwwwwwww,” I yelped, squeezing the cushion more and trying not to kick fiercely.

“What are you sorry about, Kate?”

“I’m sorry for hating myself and wanting to cut!”

“I see.” He kept spanking me though, a few times on the cheeks, then back down to the sit spots and thighs. “You’re worth more than that, okay? Those people at work who piss you off, they’re not worth the skin you waste while cutting, okay?”

“Okayyyyy...” And that’s when the first tear fell. I don’t know why it fell, but it did. A gentle tear, sliding down my cheek and cleansing my face. And then another fell, and another, and next thing I knew, I was bawling like a baby and it felt so great. All that anger and frustration that had been built inside of me was finally being released and even though my bottom throbbed like crazy, it felt good in a way.

That’s when Freddy gave me the final three swats and rubbed my bottom a little, then lifted me up and cradled me in his arms. He rubbed my back as he hugged me, saying, “shhhh, little one, it’s okay, baby.” But I just kept on crying, lost in these tears, lost in his embrace. I felt all these feelings of love swim over me. I realized just how much my friends and family loved me... and how much it would hurt them if I mutilated my body. I realized how much Freddy loved me... showing me the appropriate way to deal with my anger, by crying it out, or talking to someone, or even being spanked to tears. And this realization made me cry even more.

“I’m sorry, Freddy,” I said through tears. “I won’t cut anymore, ever again!” I promised.

He just kept holding me and rocked me back and forth. “I know, baby, I know.”

And from that day on, when I had a hard day at work, I visited Freddy, and never again did I want to do anything stupid.

05 June 2004

Story: Lizbeth Home Alone

First story in the Lizbeth series.  The curious pre-teen sneaks a cigarette from her dad and nearly burns the house down trying to smoke it.  Something else will be burning when her father finds out what she did (ha ha ha... i know, that was dumb, but I couldn't resist).

Lizbeth Home Alone
by Breanna Carter

The piercing sound of the smoke alarm scared me more than the flame itself. I guess because I knew it was loud enough to be heard throughout the duplex that I was staying in with my father, and at any minute, his friend, who just happened to be off of work, would run into the room and see that I'd stolen one of my father's cigarettes and somehow managed to set the curtains on fire. But I had no idea what to do. I was just one scared little eleven year old, and I stood there, sobbing.

I heard the noises from next door, then someone pounded on the door. "Lizbeth? Lizbeth! Let me in!" he said.

I wiped a tear from my eyes and ran to the door, swinging it open. "It's a fire!" I wailed.

Javier moved past me, muttering things in English that I couldn't understand. Sure, I knew some English, but not the cuss words, which is surely what Javier was saying. All I did was cry more. I'd only been in America for a little while, and already I was causing trouble.

But the fire was out before I knew it, and the loud noise ceased. "What were you doing?" Javier asked, coming back into the room, cigarette in hand.

"Nothing," I replied, blushing.

He shook his head at me. "This is no good," he told me.

I nodded.

"Come on," he ordered, taking me by the upper arm and practically dragging me to his side of the duplex. "You can stay over here and watch tv until your father comes home."

I bit my lip. I didn't know my papa too well, but I knew he wouldn't be pleased with the fact that I'd smoked one of his cigarettes. Well, tried to smoke it. I didn't get much farther than lighting it and sticking it in my mouth before I nearly choked on the damn thing and dropped it. I'd only seen my papa angry once, and that was when I was only three or four years old, the day he'd left us in Mexico. And I don't even remember that day that clearly... I remember my mama sobbing in the corner of the room as he packed his things, and I remember begging him to stay. But he said he couldn't handle living with my crazy mom and he was going to leave, never coming back. Even so, he still called me all the time, always in a good mood, happy to talk to me. The coolest thing ever was when he called on my eleventh birthday and invited me to spend the summer with him. How could I turn that down?

And I'd gone and screwed it all up.

It was already close to nine when Javier had dragged me out of my part of the house, so within an hour or so, I heard Papa and his roommate pull into the driveway. Javier peeked out of the window, then turned back to the tv. I just stared at the window in anticipation. Another car pulled into the drive. I heard voices, then felt them walking up the steps. With each step my heart skipped a beat. Sweat formed on my brow. I gulped. They were at the last step...

There was pounding on Javier's door. "Who is it?" he asked.

"It's Santa Claus!" the voice said.

"And your girlfriend is here, too," another said.

There was a pause, everyone was waiting for the girlfriend to speak, but she didn't.

Javier got up and answered the door, Papa shoving him out of the way and giggling, then his roommate, Alberto, slapping him on the back, and behind them, a pale girl, clad in the same uniform as my father and Alberto, shirt untucked, red hair fallen down past her shoulders. She couldn't have been older than 18 or 19. She gave Javier a hug as Papa and Alberto made fun of them and she just rolled her eyes.

She looked at me. "You must be Lizbeth," she said, extending her hand. "I'm Katrina."

I smiled and shook her hand, thankful that I knew English, because otherwise, I'd be screwed. "Nice to meet you," I said.

"Likewise. I've heard tons of good things about you."

I blushed.

"What's she saying?" Papa asked me in Spanish. He was the one who needed to learn English, not me... he actually *lived* in America.

Javier shut the door and took Katrina's hand and led her to the couch to sit next to him. Alberto took a seat in a chair across the room, and papa on the other side.

"She said that she's heard good things about me," I repeated, blushing more.

"Because you're a good kid," he answered, grinning.

I looked at Javier and he looked back at me, both of us obviously thinking the same thing.

"Well are you going to tell him?" he finally asked me.

I shook my head.

"What?" Papa asked, getting confused.

By this time, everyone's attention was adverted towards me. I couldn't help but blush more and bury my head into my hands. I felt Katrina's hand on my back, and she rubbed softly. She didn't have a clue what was happening, due to the fact that she couldn't speak any Spanish.

"What is it?" she whispered in my ear.

"I smoked... the curtain caught on fire... I didn't know what to do..." I whispered back, hearing Javier explain the story to Papa.

"Oh man," she said, putting an arm around me. "It'll be okay. I'm sure he won't be too mad."

She said that right before he started yelling at me. "Lizbeth! What the hell do you think you were doing!" he said. "Smoking a cigarette of mine! You're eleven years old, not even remotely close to being able to smoke yet!"

He waited for an answer.

"Look at me Young Lady!"

I sniffled and looked at his disappointed face. He was no longer leaning back in his seat, but hunched forward gazing at me. The look in his eyes was enough to make a few tears stream down my face.

"I'm sorry Papa!" I cried. "I just wanted to try it! I didn't know anything would happen!"

"You know you're not supposed to do that. It's no good!" he said, pointing his finger at me. "You're getting a spanking, and that's all there is to it."

I gasped. "But Papa! No!"

"Yes, right now. Get over here!"

"Not in front of everyone! Javier's here, and Alberto, and Katrina!"

"I don't care. Come here, right now!"

"Pleaseeeeee, Papa! Please don't spank me!" I'd never been spanked by Papa before, but I knew he would spank harder than Mama. Number one, he was definitely stronger than Mama, seeing as he worked out everynight. And number two, he was much angrier than Mama had ever been at me. Of course, I'd never done something so stupid before.

"Lizbeth, if you don't get over here right now, I'm going to come over there and get you, and believe me, you will not like that."

I began crying harder, burying my face in my hands, but shakily standing up and ambling towards him. I knew that all eyes were on me. Alberto probably pitying me, Javier the same, and Katrina confused as could be. But I couldn't look at them. I had to hide my face.

Somehow, I made it to the other side of the room where Papa was sitting, and I realized that everyone was going to have the perfect view of my spanking. I was still crying when Papa removed my hands from my face, putting them down to my side and looking up at me.

"You know that you are not supposed to smoke, much less steal cigarettes from me, much less while you're home alone. If you wanted to try it that badly, you could have asked one of us and we would have let you have a puff of ours, and you know that."

The sad thing was, I did know that. It was the advantage of living with a bunch of 28 year old Mexicans... they didn't mind letting you drink a sip of beer or have a puff of a cigarette. "I know, Papa. I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

"You're still getting a spanking, Lizbeth Marie."

I winced at the use of my middle name. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that it's deep trouble when the middle name is used.

He moved his hands from where they were still holding my arms at my side to the button of my jean shorts.

"Papa!" I squeaked. "No! You can't pull my pants down!"

"Yes, I can, Young Lady, and I am."

"Nooooooo," I cried, trying to push his hands away. But it was useless, he was too strong and in an instant he had my jeans unbuttoned and unzipped and was throwing me over his lap. I kicked for a minute, trying to get up, but he held onto me tightly and smacked my rump with all his might. "OOOWWWW!!!" I shouted, breaking into a sob and stopping struggling for a moment.

"Stop it!" he warned, tugging my shorts down to my ankles, then pulling my panties down to join them.

"Papa!!!!" I begged. "Pleaseee!!! There's people in here!"

"And you sure are putting on a good show for them!" he replied, smacking my barebottom really really hard.

I squealed in pain and bucked up a little, kicking my legs.

"Stop squirming!" he shouted, landing another smack, right on my sitspots.

"ACHHHHHOOWWWWW!!!!" I cried, moving my hands to cover my bum. "Please Papa! No more! I'm sorry!"

"I haven't even begun yet," he answered and hit my hands with not nearly as much strength as he had my bottom. "Now move your hands."

Tears stung my eyes but I moved my hands anyway. I knew that keeping my hands back there would just earn me a longer and more painful spanking, and I could already feel the eyes of onlookers. I didn't want it to last longer than it already had to.

He positioned me over his lap to where my feet weren't touching the ground, and the tips of my fingers could reach the floor. I kept my eyes closed. At any moment I knew that I'd feel his large hand crashing down on my poor little bottom. And I was embarrassed that everyone was seeing me get it. I guess I wouldn't have been as embarrassed if Katrina wouldn't have been there, but she was, and that made it so much worse. I'll bet she never got a spanking before!

"Lizbeth," Papa began, slapping my rear. "I'm disappointed in you." He landed another smack and I squealed in pain, eyes still closed, fists balled up. "I can't believe *SMACK!* that you'd steal a cigarette from me. *SMACK!*"

"OOOOWWWWWWWW!!!!!" I howled. He was clearly leaving a good impression on my rear end.

"And I can't believe that you were so careless that you almost burned down the house! *SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!*"

"OWW!! OWW!! OWW!! I'm s-sorry!!"

"I know you are," he replied, landing another one, and another, until finally he got a steady rhythm and I was bobbing all over the place, attempting to dodge some smacks, but not succeeding.

"Oooowwwiiiiiieeeesssss!!! Ouch! Ouch!" I howled. "I'm s-OW-sor-OWW!-ry!"

He just kept up the spanking, whacking away at my poor bottom, he covering my entire bottom. And it was hurting so much... I couldn't help but kick... and I couldn't help it when I reached back to try to get him to stop.

"Plllleasseeeee stoppp!!" I begged, hands covering bottom.

He didn't miss a beat, though, just grabbed ahold of my hands with his left hand, pinned them to my back, and gave me four extra hard smacks right on my sit spots and scolded. "I told you not to reach back!"

"I'm sorry!!!"

My cries didn't phase him a bit. He just kept spanking, and spanking, and I felt like I'd spent hours over his lap. I'm sure I was crying like it! His spanking was nothing like Mama's were... sure, she spanked really hard, and I cried even when she only spanked me with her hand. But Papa... geeze... his spanking hurt more than getting whapped with Mama's wooden spoon! And it didn't take much until I was bawling like a baby and kicking and struggling and trying to do anything possible to make him stop. I tried begging and pleading, I tried apologizing, I tried to stop struggling so much, but nothing worked! He just kept on spanking, and before too much longer I figured I'd never sit again! Then he gave me four sharp smacks on each thigh and let go of my wrists. I was bawling so hard I couldn't even heard him stop. Surprisingly, my hands didn't fly to my rear end as I'd thought they'd do, but they flew to my face, and collected my tears and hid my shame.

Papa let me lie over his lap for a little while to regain composure, but I wasn't sure if I was actually going to regain it. I guess he felt the same way, because after a few minutes, he lifted me himself, but I just kept my face covered so I wouldn't have to look at him or anyone else. He gave me a hug and rubbed my back a little, and I debated on whether or not to collapse into his arms and let him hold me the rest of the night. I didn't debate long, because after a few seconds of hugging him, I felt someone else's hands, and I knew instantly that it was Katrina. Maybe it was the smell of perfume mixed with pizza, or maybe it was just the gentle way that she touched me. She stroked my hair and picked me up from under my arms, carrying me like a baby over to the couch. She sat down and held me in her arms, my face buried into her chest. She rubbed my back and rocked me back and forth.

"Shhhh, baby, it's okay," she said in a soothing voice. "It's okay, honey. It's all over. Calm down, baby."

I couldn't help it, though. All I could do was cry. My bottom ached and I'd let my Papa down.

But she still held me, no matter how long I cried. She held me until my tears dried and I was nearly asleep in her arms.

"Is she going to be okay?" I heard Papa ask her.

But she didn't understand, and I knew she was looking around to figure out what he said. So finally, he said it in shorthand English, and I'd have giggled if I wasn't in so much pain.

"Oh, yeah, she's fine."

I smiled a little and lifted up, wiping the dried tears and my nose. I saw that three pairs of eyes were staring at me, worried expressions on their faces. "I'm okay," I assured them.

Papa sighed with relief and came towards me, hugging me gently. He ruffled my hair. "You scared us, kid. What if the house would've burned down? I don't care that the house is gone, but if I'd have lost you, I don't know what I'd do."

I smiled weakly. "I know, Papa. I'm sorry. I definitely won't do anything that stupid again."

"Good. But I was thinking... maybe you should have a babysitter while you're here..."

I gulped. "But, Papa..."

"Katrina offered to stay with you."

My eyes widdened. "Really?!?!" I looked at her, her arms still around me, and she looked like she was looking at a calculus problem, that's how confused she was. "You want to watch me?" I asked.

She smiled. "Yup, sure do!"

"Yay!" I exclaimed, hugging her, then hugging Papa. "It'll be fun! We can go shopping together and listen to music and, yay!"

She giggled a little and kissed my cheek. "We sure can. I still have to work some nights, though. Only three nights a week. But I can watch you during the day time everyday. And those three nights that I work, well one of them will be your dad's day off, and the other'll be Alberto's, and the other'll be Javier's, we hope."

I smiled. "Sounds like fun!"

"It will be."

I looked at Papa. "I won't smoke again, Papa. I promise. I didn't even like it."

"Good," he said, ruffling my hair once more and yawning. "I'm going to take a shower. You can stay over here if you want."

I nodded, wanting to spend more time with Katrina. I hadn't realized how much I missed having a girl around until I met her. It's hard living with a bunch of guys when you're used to living with a mom and a little brother.

I watched Papa walk out of the door then I sat up a little.

"Ouch!" Alberto said, giving one of those faces like he'd just touched a hot stove. He moved towards me and felt my rear, then shook his hand out, insinuating that it was really hot. Everyone laughed. Javier then proceeded to feel and see how warm it was, then Katrina. I just rolled my eyes at them and pulled my panties up, deciding that my shorts could stay on the floor. I squeezed in on the couch next to Katrina, slowly so I wouldn't hurt my backside too much.

"You really wanna go shopping?" she asked.

I nodded.

She smiled. "First thing tomorrow when I get here, k?"

"Okay," I answered, and watched tv with them until I fell asleep on her shoulder.

03 June 2004

Story: Yay! Chili's!

This is the first story in the Yay! mini series.  It's time for all-state orchestra, and Natalie is annoyed that she's stuck spending the weekend with crappy viola players and an asshole conductor.  When she has a couple of drinks at Chili's, her inhibitions are lowered and she says a few things that should get her spanked.  Oh wait, they do.  :)

Yay! Chili's!
by Breanna Carter

I walked towards the hotel with my viola over one shoulder, suitcase over the other. It was the weekend of all state orchestra in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and I wanted to be there as much as a kid wants to go to the dentist. That’s really what it was to me... like I had to be there. If I didn’t go, I’d have to pay for it, like at dentist where you have to pay the copay if you cancel the appointment less that 24 hours in advance. I don’t know why I even tried out for that damn orchestra. I guess just to prove to myself that I could make it. And I did, for the second year, and, unlike the first year (my junior year), I didn’t chicken out and cancel at the last minute.

I was there with all of the other viola players from my class. There were eight of us, taking up half of the section at all state. Even with all of the familiar faces, it didn’t help my anxiety.

I entered the hotel and went to the check-out desk. “Natalie Bookman,” I told the man who glared irritably at me. I’d be irritated, too, if I had to put up with a bunch of stupid high school kids for the weekend.

“Room 402,” he said, slamming the key on the desk.

“Thanks,” I murmured, rolling my eyes at him as I turned away and headed towards the elevator.

I must admit, it was actually a nice hotel. Had couches in the lobby where guests sat waiting for their keys because their room wasn’t ready yet. Four elevators, one which was broken down so everyone had to pile on the three remaining with tons of luggage and bumping one another. Okay, so maybe saying it was a nice hotel was an over-statement.

I squeezed through a crowd of people and pressed the “up” button by the elevator. I began feeling claustrophobic. Too many people, most of whom I knew, but none the less, I decided to take the stairs. So I hauled my damn heavy viola up the stairs as well as the damn heavy suitcase, and after two flights of stairs, I thought I was going to pass out. But I kept going anyway, and eventually made it up there, and learned that my room was right next to the stairs. At the time I didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. Good because I could take the stairs instead of crowding on the elevator... bad because the moron high school kids like to run up and down the stairs at ungodly times of the night.

“Natalie!” I heard.

I turned from inserting the key in my door to see Jonathan, a guy in my orchestra who sits first chair. He’s a junior with dark hair and eyes, wears a hat most of the time, and is an awesome viola player. I’d known him for two years and we got along pretty well, seeing as most of the time he was the person I shared a stand with. In other words, we sat next to each other most of the time. He was always super nice to me and really funny, and that’s always a plus.

“Ah, hey, Jonathan,” I said, finally figuring out how to work the key and opening the door. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. This your room?”

“Nah, I’m breaking into someone else’s room,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Hey... watch it,” he said in a warning tone.

I shook my head. “Yeah, it’s my room. Come on in,” I offered. I began to pick up my suitcase that I’d dropped on the floor, but he got it instead.

“Well, it’s cool that this is your room. I’m right next door.”

I nodded.

“Nice rooms,” he said.

“I’ve seen better.” I couldn’t help it, I was cynical towards the whole weekend and didn’t want to be there at all.

“Well, uh, yeah, so have I.. but they’re not bad. I mean, come on, how many nice hotels will actually host 300 kids?”

I raised my eyebrows. “I’d rather be at home right now,” I admitted.

“It’s not so bad. You practice all the music?”


“Might wanna do that. Especially practice the hard parts in the songs... that’s what they’ll use for tryouts.” By tryouts he meant tryouts to see who sits in the back and who doesn’t.

“I don’t care,” I murmured.

“Hey, don’t talk like that. If you really didn’t want to come, you shouldn’t have tried out in the first place.”

“I know... and I regret it like you wouldn’t believe.”

I guess he finally got sick of my cynicalism because he finally left and announced that he’d see me at tryouts. I was glad that Jonathan was there. If he hadn’t, I’d probably do something totally stupid and get myself kicked out. That’d earn me a failing grade in orchestra.

I walked around for a little while after getting settled in my room. There was a Chili’s next door and some fast food restuarants down the street a little. Chili’s would be my choice of food. Definitely.

That evening we had tryouts to see where we would sit in the orchestra. It was nearing five, and there were over a million places I could think of that I’d rather be. I figured maybe not caring about anything would help my anxiety go away, but it didn’t. It sucked more that they went in alphabetical order and I just happened to be the second one to play. Lucky me. And I screwed up like crazy. My hands were shaking like you wouldn’t believe and I messed up all the notes and I wanted to cry afterwards. Not cause I did so badly, but because I hate having panic attacks.

“How’d you do?” Jonathan asked afterwards, obviously not noting the tears that were forming in my eyes.

“Shitty,” I answered. “See ya.”

I rushed past him and ran up the stairs, finding my room and collapsing on the bed, television blaring through the room. At least if I were at home I could be eating dinner, or enjoying the damn television.

Our first practice as an orchestra was that night at seven. I was hungry and on the verge of another panic attack. I was seated as 13th chair out of 15. Isn’t that shitty. I didn’t mind, really, because I knew how badly I’d played. Also because it was all state, and most of the kids were probably better than me. But somewhere inside of me I was bothered because I was third chair in my own orchestra, out of eight. Logically, you’d think that there’d be at least five people behind me. But oh well.

The conductor guy was an asshole. The people there were assholes. I talked to the guy I sat next to, a guy in my orchestra who was a freshman, and told him that I was never trying out for this again, even though I couldn’t anyway because I was a senior, but if I could, I still wouldn’t try out for it. He just shrugged at me.

And thus, the night was finally over, and I talked to my friend Katilyn and we discussed eating at Chili’s the next evening before practice. Then I scurried towards my room and went to sleep.

Looking back on it, I guess the weekend wasn’t so bad. I probably made it out to be worse than it actually was. That Saturday, though, waking up at seven in the morning was the hardest in the world. Not only did I hate this place, but they were also making we wake up early! I once again wondered why the hell I signed up for this crap.

Luckily, though, a chamber music group played for us the first half of the practice. That was comforting, at least for a little while. So after they played, we practiced some more, then had a short lunch break, then played even more, in the concert hall, where it was bigger and we had different seats. See, logically, when you arrange an orchestra, you have first and second chair making up the first stand. And generally, you have them in order. When you run out of room, you just start over from the front. For example, in the very front is first stand, then behind them is second, then behind is third, then forth, then fifth. At this time, it is common to run out of space. So next to second stand, sixth is stand, and seventh behind them, and then the last person would be next to seventh stand. Logical, do you get it? That’s how it was set up and it was fine, except I hated the person who sat in front of me. I mean, by this time in the practice I was totally pissed off because I didn’t *deserve* to be 13th chair. I’d seen all the other kids playing and our first chair sucked! Jonathan should have totally beaten him. This all gave me more the reason to hate orchestra.

Finally, our two hour long dinner break was given to us and I rushed out of the hall with Katilyn.

“Let’s go to Chili’s,” I exclaimed, happy to be anywhere but with the damn morons in the orchestra.

“Yay! Chili’s!” she said.

We practically skipped next door to the restuarant, telling the hostess that there were, indeed, two of us, and we preferred non-smoking. She sat us in a little booth in the back corner where we proceeded to get sodas and chips, then scanned over the menu for something yummy. I already knew what I wanted, because I always got the same thing, I’m a picky eater, but Katilyn hadn’t decided yet, so I looked anyway. Finally, she picked something and we talked and ate our chips.

“Dude, this orchestra sucks, yo. I wish I’d come last year so I’d have known not to try out this year,” I mumbled, taking a sip of my coke.

Katilyn nodded. “The conductor is just an asshole.”

“And the music sucks.”

“Let’s talk about other stuff...”

I nodded. “Good idea. If I think too much about this damn orchestra, I’ll get all pissed off again.”

We were quiet for a moment, the only sounds being heard were those of other guests laughing and talking, until the silence was broken by the waiter bringing out our food. He struck up a conversation with us and we talked back, then babbled to each other about different stuff, talked about the trip we were taking to Australia over the summer with the orchestra, then suddenly, Katilyn said, “we need to get drunk before we go to Australia, since the drinking age there is only 18.”

I nodded. “Hellz yeah!”

“We can have a party at my friend’s apartment. It’ll be fun.”

I smiled. “Australia’s going to be the coolest trip ever. We’ll be graduated and we can do whatever the hell we want.”

She grinned and pushed her plate out of the way, then picked up the drink menu. “Hey! Let’s get a margarita.”

“I’ve never had one..”

“They’re just like daquiris, only different alcohol.”

“Ohhies. Okay!”

“Hey, you think we could get em alcoholic?... nah, we better not even try..”

I just shrugged and finished the last of my meal, and the waiter came out to check on us. “Everything okay?” he asked.

“It’s great,” we chanted.

“Hey, you think we can get two strawberry margaritas?” Katilyn asked.

“Sure!” he answered, taking our plates from us. “I’ll get those right out for you.”

He walked off and we talked a little more, and in a matter of minutes, he was out with, not two, but FOUR margaritas. Katilyn stared wide-eyed at the glasses being handed to us and I choked on my laughter. We hadn’t realized that Chili’s had two for one margaritas. He left and Katilyn took a sip of her margarita, I was still laughing too much to take a drink, and her eyes got wider and she whispered, “take a sip.”

That was when I began cackling. I knew exactly what she was thinking... so I took a sip and I giggled more because they weren’t non-alcoholic. Cool points for us!

We chugged down the first drink and asked for a “to-go” cup for our second, and drank them on our walk back to the hotel. We were a little tipsy, but we were making it out to be ten times worse than it really was. We were just excited that they actually gave us alcohol!

When we got to practice, I think after five minutes everyone from our school knew that we were tipsy. We’d told one or two people, and they’d told someone, and by the time practice actually began, random people from our orchestra would come up to us and say “heard you’re drunk,” or something dumb like that.

So anyway, we’re sitting in the same spot that we’d sat in all afternoon, my stand partner and I, and I was in the middle of asking him if he’d ever played a viola drunk. He didn’t even get the word “no” out before this stupid girl started bitching at us.

“You’re not supposed to sit there,” she said, blond hair bobbing up and down.

I glared at her.

“I’m a higher chair than you, you should sit behind me.”

I blinked. “Uh, this is how we’ve been sitting all weekend.”

“No it isn’t,” she said snobbily, scrunching her nose up.

I glared. “Yes, it is,” I replied, balling my fist up and gripping my viola tighter.

“No it’s not... you should sit in the back ‘cause you’re one of the last chairs.”

“Well, you’re a bitch, but you don’t hear me complaining.”

She rolled her eyes and turned around, muttering something to her stand partner.

“Hey, if you got something to say to me, just say it,” I said, louder than I thought because a few people turned around and got a little quiet.

“All I have to say is that you don’t deserve to be this close to the front.”

I stood up and handed my viola to the freshman who was sitting next to me. “Well YOU don’t deserve to be in this fucking orchestra and sure as hell shouldn’t be in front of me.” I didn’t even see Jonathan getting up.

She rolled her eyes at me again, and by this time, all of the people in my section, and some of the violins, were staring at me.

“Don’t roll your fucking eyes at me,” I spat. “There are plenty of people in this section that are better than you so pull the fucking stick out of your ass and stop being so goddamn arrogant!”

Her mouth dropped like I’d committed a sin.

“Natalie, calm down,” I heard Jonathan’s voice say, and he touched my shoulder.

I pulled away. “I won’t fucking calm down until I kick her ass!” And at that time, I proceeded to lurch forward and push her. She nearly fell out of the chair and it’d have been funny if Jonathan hadn’t caught me by the arms and pulled me back before I punched her in the jaw. And I was pretty pissed off... I didn’t even realize that I was yelling obscenities at her until Jonathan covered my mouth and dragged me out of the room. Talk about causing a scene. I think nearly everyone in the orchestra was staring at me. It’s not normal for me to be the center of attention, and if I hadn’t been drunk, I’d probably have had another panic attack.

“What the hell are you doing!” Jonathan scolded, dragging me by the upper arm through the hallway of the hotel.

“That bitch!” was all I could answer.

“I don’t care if she’s a bitch, Young Lady, you do NOT fight someone, got it?”

Those words caused a knot in my stomach and I allowed some of my anger to dissolve. “Sorry, but she pissed me off.”

“Not a good excuse,” he replied, arriving at the elevators and pressing the arrow pointing upwards.

“Where are we going?” I asked, out of breath from having to walk so fast.

“We’re going to have a talk.”

I sniffled, waiting nervously in this awkward silence for the elevator to arrive.

The ding from the elevator broke the silence, then the doors opened and I was dragged inside. He pressed the “4” causing the circle around the number to light, then the elevator creeped up slowly and I could only hear my heart pounding. I could feel the sweat forming on my brow. I couldn’t believe that Jonathan was about to yell at me... I was so stupid for trying to fight with that girl...

The doors pushed open and I was dragged into the hallway and towards Jonathan’s room. I couldn’t believe he was still dragging me everywhere! Like I was going to escape or something.

He inserted the key and I saw the green light and heard the beep, then saw him turn the handle. How come the doorhandle was so much more interesting than the disappointment in his eyes?

He pushed me inside and shut the door behind him. I took a deep breath in and looked at him. There he was, standing a good three or four inches taller than me, hat tipped up a bit, brown hair fallen down to his eyes. And that look in his eyes... oh man... he looked more upset than I’d ever seen him before. It was that same look he’d given me when I’d popped off with a smartass comment to him, the same look he’d given me when I hadn’t practiced an important part in a song we were playing... but there was more to it. There was a fire in his eyes, and behind that fire, something I didn’t quite notice, but it didn’t seem like such a good look to me. I bit my lip. The anxiety attack was coming on.

Jonathan moved past me and sat on the bed. “Natalie, I am very disappointed in you, do you hear me?” he scolded, glaring at me. I wondered why he was sitting down instead of towering over me... it’d have been more intimidating if he were above me... “I can’t believe that you’d just go and fight that damn girl over something so stupid... You could get kicked out of the orchestra and then fail the class, and hell, you could even go to jail for fighting like that! Not cool, Young Lady, not cool at all.”

I bit my lip harder.

“You shouldn’t have drank those damn margaritas, but you did, and now you’re going to have to accept the consequences.” He patted his lap. “Pants down, and over.”

I blinked. “Huh?”

“Pants down, and over,” he repeated, as if I hadn’t heard what he said.

“I mean, I heard you, but... wh-what are you going to do?” I asked.

“I’m going to spank you for picking a fight and drinking. Something I should have done a long time ago.”

I blinked again. What? Was this really happening? My head was spinning and I thought I was going to pass out. Spank me? He sounded like my father! “But... y-you can’t spank me!” I said pathetically.

“Sure I can, and I am. Now, pull down your pants and get over my lap or I’ll do it for you, and trust me, that will not be fun.”

“No, no, no...” I murmured. “You can’t!”

“Natalie, I’m not going to ask you again,” he said, staring me straight in the eyes.

I whimpered. “Please, Jonathan,” I whispered, not wanting to be embarrassed like that. “I’m not a kid... don’t spank me.”

“You sure have been acting like a kid, Natalie. Am I going to have to pull them down myself?”

“Noooo,” I said, hands rushing to the buttons of my jeans. I stood there for a moment, contemplating. Like he’d said, it’d be worse if I resisted, but how could I submit so easily? I hadn’t been spanked since I was really young, and it didn’t seem right, me being a 17 year old girl, over the knee of a 16 year old guy... what if someone walked in? What would they think?

I heard him sigh. “You’ve left me no choice,” he was saying, and he reached out and grabbed my wrist, where my hands were still on my button, and pulled me towards him.

“Noooooo,” I whined.

“The less you resist, the easier it’ll be,” he reminded me. “Now move your hands.”

“Nooooo, Jonathan, please!” I begged.

He sighed again and pried my hands away with both of his, and as he moved his right hand to the button of my jeans, I couldn’t help it, I had to reach back down there. “Natalie!” he scolded, smacking my hand. “Move your hands!”

I whined loudly. “Pleaseeeee don’t spank me!”

“You sound like a three year old!” he told me, successfully unbuttoning my jeans, then unzipping them.

“I feel like a three year old,” I murmured.

“That’s the point,” he murmured back, grabbing my left arm and throwing me over his lap. “I told you it’d have been easier if you would have just done what I said..” he began, tugging my pants down to my knees, allowing me a little modesty. Next thing I know, he’s pulling down my white cotton panties.

“Noooooooooo!” That seemed to be the word of the night. I squirmed and wiggled and put my hands back to pull my panties back up, but he caught them with his left hand and held them tightly behind my back, delivering a sharp smack to my upturned rump. “OUCH!” I said. That’d hurt a lot!

“Stop squirming,” he ordered, smacking me three more times.

I winced with each one and finally stopped squirming so much.

He adjusted me back into proper position. I felt so young and vulnerable, lying there, bottom on display for the world to see, though the only person around was Jonathan, and he definitely wasn’t the world. None the less, I was blushing furiously. I wished that I could get up already and just go apologize to the girl and everyone in the orchestra. That wouldn’t be as embarrassing as being spanked like a child!

“Now,” he began, delivering two smacks, “I am spanking you, number one because you picked a fight, number two because you’ve had such a negative attitude this whole weekend, and number three for resisting, got it?” SMACK!! SMACK!!

“Owwww, yesssss,” I groaned.

“Good SMACK! Because once I get finished with you SMACK!, I don’t think you’ll ever forget this weekend. SMACK SMACK SMACK!”

I winced with each smack, trying not to cry out too loudly because I didn’t want anyone to hear what was happening.

“You SMACK are seventeen SMACK years old,” he began, finally getting a definite rhythm, “and you know that SMACK this type SMACK of behavior SMACK will not be tolerated. SMACK SMACK!!”

“I know,” I whined, kicking my legs a bit and feeling my pants and panties slide down to my ankles.

He kept up the spanking and lecturing. “Fighting is never okay, Young Lady,” he told me, spanking as doing so, to make sure I got the full impact of the statement. And oh, did I. “I don’t care if you’ve been drinking or not... if you’re going to be someplace you might fight, then you needn’t drink... and you shouldn’t drink anyway, you’re too young.” He kept spanking, and I was beginning to feel my bottom grow warmer and warmer, and the smacking began getting harder and harder. I could imagine that my rear was a nice pink color by this time. “And as for the negative attitude, it’s gotta stop, Natalie, got it?”

“Oooowwwwiiiiieesssss, yesssssss, I got it,” I howled.

“And when I tell you to do something, you will do it, understood?”

“Yesssssss, ooowwww, yessssss! I will!”

“Good!” And with that, he proceeded to spank harder, and lower, concentrating mostly on my sit spots and thighs, and that was when I started yelping and the tears slid down my face, falling onto the carpet.

“Pleasseeeee stoppppp,” I begged, biting my lower lip and being blinded by tears.

“I won’t stop until I know that you’ve learned your lesson,” he replied, whacking my left thigh as hard as he could, then my right.

“Oooowwwwwww! T-that OW hurts!”

He didn’t let up, though... kept spanking and spanking and spanking, and I cried harder and harder, kicking a little, and trying to squirm, until finally I was howling in pain and my bottom throbbed so much and I was exhausted from the whole incident and I lay limply over his knee. I just lay there and sobbed, feeling terrible for the things I’d done. Feeling stupid for buying those damn margaritas, stupid for trying to fight that damn girl, stupid for trying to get out of being punished. I deserved every smack he delivered to my upturned rump, even if it did hurt like hell.

And finally, he stopped. I couldn’t even feel it... I guess the only way I noticed was because the only noise I could hear was my weeping.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” I groaned. “I r-really am-m.”

“Shhhhh, it’s okay. I wasn’t too hard on you, huh?” he asked.

I shook my head, still sobbing, and feeling his hand on my bottom, rubbing it a bit to lessen the sting. He released my hands and lifted me, holding me close to him and allowing me to press my head into his chest and dampen his shirt with my tears and snot. But he didn’t mind, I guess, else he wouldn’t have held me for so long. He just held me and rocked me, neither of us speaking. I felt forgiven, and didn’t feel so bad anymore.

Eventually, my crying died down and he lifted me from the hug. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, sniffling and wiping my eyes.

He smiled. “Sorry I was so hard on you, but you’ll never try to pick a fight with that girl again, huh?”

“Nopers,” I whispered, wincing as I pulled my panties over my throbbing bottom. “It was really dumb,” I admitted.

“Yes, it was. I’m glad that we’re seeing eye to eye here.”

I rubbed my backside.

He glanced at his watch. “Well, there’s still an hour left of practice, so we have to go back down there.”

I whined. “I don’t feel up to it...”

“Too bad. You gotta go down there... unless you want more...”

I shook my head. “No, no more,” I said, tugging my pants up and wincing again at the sting. “I’ve had enough.”

He smiled slightly then put his arm around me, leading me back downstairs. “And after practice you can take a nice cool bath and feel lots better, okay?”

I nodded.

We walked downstairs together, I wincing with each step, and entered the concert hall, his arm still around my shoulder. I knew that my face was still streaked with tears, and everyone would probably wonder what had happened. I wasn’t sure what Jonathan was going to tell them, but I was going to say that he just smacked some sense into me, which was true, but they hopefully wouldn’t see it the way it really happened.

The hardest part of the practice was not the way everyone looked at me when I entered, nor was it apologizing to the bitchy girl, nor was it explaining to the conductor and my teacher that I’d really learned my lesson, but it was sitting on my aching rear end and attempting to play my viola.

Yep... I learned a lot that weekend but the one thing that sticks in my mind is that it’s harder to play the viola on a sore bottom than it is when you’re drunk.

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