> Traditions by Swillary Hank
Andra Taylor knew she had mis-calculated on a number of levels. First of all, she had underestimated how much her father would care what happened to that old white Landrover. She had figured that since he had three or four newer models, there was no way he’d get so upset about a relatively minor scratch/dent. Second, she underestimated the political influence her father had over local law enforcement. Apparently, his reach was not fully state-wide. Third, she had mis-calculated the available credit on her gold card. It really wasn’t enough to pay for the Spring Break hotel for her friends and buy her a $10,000, get out of jail ’til trial pass.
So Daddy really wasn’t too happy to have to pay one of his attorneys to fly down to Palm Beach to bail her out. And he wasn’t too happy about the Landrover. It was a cheaper model, primarily used for puttering around, and a couple years old, but had sentimental value to him. And he was embarrassed that this was happening just before an election cycle.
Andra’s mis-calculations started to make her bottom feel nervous. She assumed, quite rightly, that she would be spanked. The question in her mind was whether this was going to be merely a punishment hour or, perhaps, more.
She was startled out of her reverie by the ringing of her cell phone, as she slouched down in the back of the limo headed for the airport.
“Hello,” she said nervously, recognizing her father’s number immediately. She pressed one hand to her face, bracing herself.
“Andra, you’re getting way out of hand,” her father said, getting right to the point.
She immediately recognized the tone that he and her mother always used when they were about to pass sentence.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she replied. It wouldn’t do much good at this stage, but she knew it wouldn’t hurt to try.
“I know you’re sorry. But you will have to be punished of course,” he said. Andra swallowed hard and shut her pale blue eyes tight. “You’re in for a punishment day,” he continued.
“No! Please!” she whined. “I won’t do it again.”
“I expect not after this,” her father said. “Goodbye, pumpkin. I love you.” He hung up, knowing that the only conversation that could possibly follow was his daughters pleadings and his refusals to listen. He simply wanted to spare them both the stress.
Greg Taylor, Andra’s father, and his wife Becky immediately began sending out invitations to all the appropriate family members who would participate in Andra’s punishment day. Additionally, they booked caterers and blocks of rooms at the local Imperial Suites for out-of-towners.
Andra could only think of one person she needed to call – her boyfriend.
“Doug, I’m not going to be able to make it to your yacht party,” she blurted out after he’d answered his phone.
“Sorry to hear that, babe! Why not?” he asked.
“Long story. I ended up getting arrested for D.U.I. and my dad had to bail me out.”
“Ouch,” Doug empathized.
“Ouch is right. I’m getting a punishment day,” Andra explained.
“What do you mean? Are you getting grounded for a day?” Doug asked.
“I wish,” Andra continued. “It means I’m getting spanked most of that day.”
“What?!” Doug was caught in a rare, speechless moment.
“Yeah. My family really believes in corporal punishment. I mean really! One thing they do to you when you’re really in trouble is have a punishment day. A bunch of relatives and family friends come by and bring their favorite implement. They each get to give you ten spanks.”
“That sounds abusive. Can I ask why you’re going through with it? Can’t you just not go home?” Doug’s question was reasonable, logical, and Andra had heard the question and responded to it from others hundreds of times.
“Honestly, I can’t not go. If I don’t show up, they’ll cut me off, and I’m just not meant for the menial labor I’d be condemned to. I’ve always taken it and I have to take it to keep my lifestyle. In other words, it’s worth it,” Andra said, being brutally honest with both herself and Doug.
“I see,” Doug said. “Well… I don’t know what to say… Call me if you need help.”
“Sure, Doug. But I won’t. There’s always plenty of breaks for water and food. And, of course, they have the best medical staff on retainer in case someone goes overboard. But thanks for offering.”
“I love you, Andra. Good… luck…” he stammered.
“Yeah,” Andra said, “Love you too.”
All around the country and in parts of Europe, the Taylor family and its branches were receiving their invitations. Observing tradition, they never asked other family members if they had received an invitation, trusting the wisdom of confidentiality. While booking their airline tickets, they searched through closets and chests for their favorite paddles, belts, straps and canes. Some packed nothing, realizing that there would be plenty of good switches on the land to choose from, or simply believed in the power of the palm against bare bottom.
After a long flight involving plenty of martinis, Andra arrived in her home town. From the airport, she rode in another limo, appreciating how comfortable it was to sit at that point, and relishing it.
Upon arriving in her bedroom, she searched through her underwear closet for the traditional white t-back underwear. The punished were expected to take it bare-bottomed, but definitely not to show their privates. Andra always wore the t-back.
The next morning she awoke to the smell of bacon frying and coffee. She pulled the velvet mask off her eyes and slowly opened her eyes to let the bright sun in. Andra had finally gotten to sleep a couple of hours ago. Up ’til then she was too consumed with thoughts of choosing between the rock of living without her family’s millions and the hard place of another marathon spanking. She finally had cried herself to sleep, feeling as sorry for herself as ever.
“Perhaps,” she thought, “I’m too cried out to cry any more. That would save me some embarrassment.” Andra knew this was wishful thinking. She had plenty of tears left to drop down her cute cheeks. Usually, she could taste the salt of her tears in the corners of her turned down, pouting mouth, during these punishments.
Becky, Andra’s mother, came into the room followed by one of the domestics, who carried a breakfast tray. Becky shook her head and tch tch’d.
“Mom, please,” Andra said. “I don’t need this today. Besides, you and Daddy are over-reacting. It’s only a minor dent. You both know I didn’t mean to.”
“Andra, you never mean to.” Becky was tired of dealing with her daughter’s spoiled behavior. “Just finish your breakfast and put on the robe.”
Andra nibbled on the bacon and had a couple bites of the egg and toast. She had never been able to eat much when she was about to be punished this way. It was partly the nervousness and partly the fear of farting during her punishment, thereby adding insult to her injury. Setting the tray aside, she pulled off her pajamas. Noticing herself in the mirror, Andra became aware of the fact that her tan lines indicated she’d been wearing a thong bikini at the beach. Some of the older-fashioned family members would definitely not be happy with that. No doubt, this relic of her fun would result in some hard licks. Andra moaned.
She pulled the ceremonial robe out of her closet, donned it and proceeded to the punishment room. Her father and mother were waiting there and pointed to the spanking bench. She swallowed hard, her eyes widening. Somehow she never got used to the idea that they had had this piece of furniture built expressly to facilitate punishing her. It just seemed so cruel. She knelt up on the lower, padded shelf, designed for her knees. Once there, she bent over the higher shelf. Her father began fastening her wrists into the padded cuffs, stretching her arms out in front of her. Meanwhile her mother pulled up the back of her robe and tied the robe’s sash in such away as to keep it up, even when Andra would start wriggling her bottom to avoid the blows that she would feel like she simply could not take.
Once she was in position, bending across and tied down to the bench, her mother pressed a button on the nearby desk and the whole apparatus tilted forwards, making her bottom jut more into the air. It positioned her as if she had been placed over the lap of a giant. Her father and mother looked at each other. Satisfied that each other was satisfied, they turned to let in the first of a long line of family members that would contribute to her punishment day.
Uncle Ted was the first in line. He carried his trusty, smooth-polished, eight-holed paddle. Seeing his niece awaiting her punishment, her bottom so vulnerable looking and untouched, a part of him felt soft-hearted. Becky must have sensed this sympathy in him. She said, “Don’t let her sucker you. She can take your paddle and a lot more. She’s a Madison as much as she is a Taylor. She can take it.”
Uncle Ted shrugged and walked over to stand beside Andra. He pressed the paddle against her bare bottom to measure the exact stroke. It wouldn’t pay to be at all inaccurate with the paddle. When Andra felt the paddle being pressed against her bottom she couldn’t help but let out a moan. Ted pulled back, sweeping a fairly wide angle with the paddle. He brought it swiftly against Andra’s bottom.
“Owww-ah!,” Andra whined. Whacked again, she yelped, “Ow!” Upon the third whack Andra began giving the first of her moot instructions. “Slow down! Wait. Don’t… Ow!”
Others waiting in line heard the punishment begin and were feeling a combination of relief, sympathy, and the exhilaration that comes with any exercise that is so primal. They all understood spanking. They knew that this thing being done to Andra was both necessary and helpful. It would not kill her or even seriously injure her. Yet it would be painful. They hoped on a number of levels, for a number of reasons, that it would be the most painful experience of her life.
As Uncle Ted reached strokes nine and ten, Andra began to cry. Her cute little turned down mouth was stretched into an exaggerated frown. She looked forlorn as if no one loved her. But of course, she missed the entire point that this was happening because she was loved.
Having given his alloted ten strokes, Ted walked out with his paddle. Following him in the punishment line was Cousin Brenda. Unfortunately for Andra, she had just come from a trip to England, where she learned about caning. Loving artifacts, Brenda had purchased what had been advertised to be a conventional schoolroom cane. She was chopping it up and down in the air and it made a whippy sound that was most horrifying to Andra.
“Oh no!” she said, not even having seen what was making the sound. Brenda approached her cousin