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|Subject: Cindy, the Ginger Girl|
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Date Posted: 15:19:48 07/18/10 Sun
In reply to: Cindy 's message, "Cindy, the Ginger Girl" on 15:19:12 07/18/10 Sun
>The moment I walked into the room the conversation
>around the card table stopped, and I knew something
>was up. The women were all smiling, none so much as
>Mrs. Crabapple, who never really seemed to be happy,
>except for when I was doing my cornertime or she was
>slicing Peter's bottom into mincemeat at the swimming
>Aunt Betty's clear, stern voice broke the menacing
>silence. "Cindy, did you tell Mrs. Crabapple to shove
>the ginger up her backside during the B-B-Q last week?"
>I certainly did not. Mrs. Crabapple had suggested
>that she'd like to put the ginger in my backside, and
>I merely observed that if "shoved it up her own ass,
>she wouldn't have to trim it to a single finger, since
>her butt was huge enough for the whole hand." She had
>been too drunk to comprehend my witticism, but her
>friends were not, and they were now gathered next to
>Mrs. Crabapple to witness my doom.
>My Aunt didn't have the story right, but I didn't
>think adding the word "ass" would help me, or that in
>this case the truth would set me free. I tried a
>different tact. "I dunno," I mumbled. "I don't
>"I remember!" Mrs. Dill carped. "I've never been so
>insulted in all my life."
>Given Mrs. Dill's extreme girth, I very much doubted
>that, but I decided to let that matter go as well.
>"Cindy, Mrs. Crabapple has brought you a present. I
>want you to take it from her."
>Reluctantly, I went around the table to where old
>Crabapple was beaming like the Cheshire cat. No bonus
>points for guessing that her gift to me was the
>largest piece of ginger root I had ever seenů
>I swallowed hard. I love Oriental food, and ginger is
>one of my favorite spices. I didn't see how something
>that tasted so good could feel bad, even when it came
>in the other end; after all, it never felt bad going
>out. However the memory of Peter sobbing gently and
>stamping his feet and wiggling his adorable little
>bottom as the ginger punished his bottom hole was
>still fresh in my mind.
>"Do you know what this is?" Mrs. Crabapple taunted.
>I wanted to say, "One of your moles?" but I did not.
>"Ginger, Ma'am," I squeaked.
>"That's right. And do you know what it's for?"
>I knew the sadistic bitch was doing this just for the
>joy of watching me squirm, but I was so submerged into
>my teenage persona that I couldn't pull out. "A lot
>of things, Ma'am" I stammered, trying to postpone the
>inevitable like any other naughty teen. "Cooking
>mostly, I guess."
>"That's right, Cindy, cooking. And today we're going
>to use it to fry the bottom of a naughty little girl
>who thinks she's smarter than everyone else."
>That one was too much. "But I am smarter," I whined.
>Can you believe it? Everyone in the room LAUGHED at
>me! They laughed at me, even though they knew I was
>smarter, and they knew that I knew that they knew!!
>(Sorry about that last sentence!) Granted, I didn't
>look very smart, examining my shoes as I fidgeted
>nervously in front of Mrs. Crabapple. But I was
>When the merriment subsided, Mrs. Crabapple continued.
> "I picked out this piece of ginger especially for
>you, Cindy. It's fresh and tangy and spicy, and it
>will sizzle up your naughty bottom quite nicely, and
>get it nice and tender for Peter's strap. That's
>right, we're going to have Peter come over, too, so we
>can test out your new strap. Won't that be nice?"
>It wasn't "nice" at all, and she new it. It had been
>a week, and apparently Peter was ambulatory enough to
>crawl out of the grave I had dug him at the swimming
>hole. Given his reaction to Mrs. Crapapple's ginger,
>seeing me suffer through the same would be quite the
>treat for him!
>And with that, Mrs. Crabapple handed me the ginger and
>I reluctantly shuffled into the kitchen for the
>culinary preparations. If it had been MY kitchen, I
>would have "accidentally" dropped the horrible root
>down the garbage disposal, and if Mrs. Crabapple had
>pressed the matter defended myself with a butcher
>knife. But this was Aunt Betty's kitchen, not mine,
>and I was not the mistress of this domain. Instead I
>meekly got the pearing knife out of the drawer and
>began the shameful task of preparing the ginger for my
>Mrs. Crabapple supervised me closely, making sure that
>I peeled off just enough skin to keep it "tangy" but
>not so much as to make the "finger" too thin. She
>guided me through carving a little knob at the end,
>which would act as a sort of retention bulb my
>sphincter would snap around, to ensure a "snug and
>cozy fit." During this she explained how she selected
>the ginger, and how she stored it in a plastic bag in
>the fridge for a few days "to maximize the zing." The
>ginger smelled wonderfully fresh and spicy and the
>long finger I carved was truly a work of art. I would
>have found it all quite interesting really, and
>amusing, if I hadn't been painfully aware of where my
>infernal creation was going to be placed
>As we were finishing up the ginger Aunt Betty phoned
>Peter know that it "was time." "Cindy will do some
>corner time with the ginger until you arrive," she
>explained. "Then we can try out the new strap. Peter
>promised that he would hurry."
>Ginger root in hand, I was ushered back in to greet
>the so-called ladies, all of whom were very pleased to
>see me. I felt like barfing as I watched them pass
>the ginger finger around, giggling and chattering like
>schoolgirls as they complimented Mrs. Crabapple on the
>length, width, and overall perfection of the infernal
>"My, that is a long one!"
>"Lovely workmanship. Nice and smooth."
>"Yes, that will slide in quite easily."
>"And I could smell it from across the room."
>"Yes, I'm sure it has quite the kick to it."
>"She needs quite the kick. And it will be a kick in
>the right place, too!"
>When the merriment ended Aunt Betty turned and ordered
>me to strip from the waist down. I had already
>changed from church, which means that I had to
>surrender my sneakers, slide off my shorts, and hand
>in my cute-as-a-button "Sunday" panties, which
>garnered quite a bit of amused laughter when they came
>into view. I modestly held my hands in front of my
>privates, but modesty went out the window as Mrs.
>Crabapple beckoned me over.
>I watched as Mrs. Crabapple dunked the ginger root
>into her water glass to wet it down. I closed my eyes
>as she baptized me with flying droplets as she shook
>it down. Satisfied by the slickness, she turned to me
>and said, "Turn around, spread your legs, bend over,
>and pull your cheeks apart."
>I almost died. Everyone was watching! Was she
>actually going to make me show everyone by butt hole?
>I turned to Aunt Betty. I didn't speakůmy eyes said
>it all. But Aunt Betty replied with her sternest
>look. "Embarrassing, isn't it? Almost as
>embarrassing as having a niece that insults your
>guests on a weekly basis when they come over to play
>cards, or tells a neighbor to stick something up her
>butt. Don't give me that hangdog look. You brought
>this on yourself."
>I'm never rude or insulting, and had never done
>anything in my entire life that would warrant this
>sort of indignity. But as I was vastly outnumbered by
>a sea of smiling moms determined to see me disciplined
>I reluctantly obeyed.
>I bit my lip and stared back through my legs at
>everyone's shoes as I listened to the voices behind me.
>"My, that does look tight back there. Are you sure
>you'll fit it all in?"
>"Don't worry," Mrs. Crabapple said. "I always like to
>do this part slow."
>I winced as I felt her tickling my anus with the tip
>of the root's finger.
>"Little pig, little pig, please let me in," one of the
>mom's said, imitating the Big Bad Wolf.
>Tickling my winking, twitching bottom hole Mrs.
>Crapabble replied, "Not by the hair on my
>"Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your
>house in!" And with that, Mrs. Crabapple slowly,
>slowly, slowly began forcing the long root past my
>tight backdoor and into my bottom.
>It took her a good two minutes to work it all the way
>in, and by the time she had I was already feeling the
>fire. "It burns!" I shouted, biting my lip.
>"Good! It's supposed to. That means it's working."
>"Please, take it out!" I wailed. "I'm sorry. I
>apologize! I'll be good." I meant every word.
>"Yes, you will be," Aunt Betty replied. "And you'll
>be even better, with this as a reminder. Remember,
>Cindy, this is a lesson you need to learn."
>Aunt Betty was right, of course. My counselor had
>made it clear that I wasn't going to get out of this
>place until I had experienced the ginger firsthand. I
>had signed up for this, and it was time for little
>Cindy to take her medicine.
>With the flaming ginger properly inserted I was
>allowed to straighten up. An unnecessarily sharp SLAP
>from Mrs. Crabapple sped me into the corner, where I
>remained, with my hands on top of my head, while the
>women played cards.
>"My, look at her stamping her feet and wiggling her
>toes! Isn't she just adorable!"
>"She's adorable like that. When she's talking she's a
>saucy smart mouth."
>"Yes, this is long overdue, Betty. Long overdue."
>"She's feeling it now."
>"Yes, you can tell by the way she's clenching and
>unclenching those tight little cheeks."
>"Doesn't help much, does it Cindy?"
>"I love the way those tight little cheeks wiggle and
>"Yes, like two mounds of jello."
>"I should really have my sun come over with his video
>"Yes, he could post it on the web. I'm sure the boys
>in her class would love to see her like this."
>I stood in the corner, listening intently, and biting
>my lip to hide my sobs. My tears were flowing freely,
>and the suggestions I was hearing left me mortified.
>Worse still, the ginger inside of my bottom had turned
>into a red hot poker!
>I listened to the women chatter happily as they
>discussed the pros-and-cons of where my video might be
>posted, and how wonderful it would be to let all the
>boys see my jiggling, wiggling bottom. I was PRETTY
>sure Aunt Betty wouldn't let them do it, but the
>thought that she might preyed on my mind. I knew
>that's precisely why she wasn't objectingůshe wanted
>me sweat it out.
>"If everyone saw her like this she wouldn't sass in
>"Yes, every time she opened her mouth they would just
>"Cindy, the little ginger girl!"
>I didn't have a clock, but It had been a good ten
>minutes, and still no Peter! "When will Peter get
>here?" I wailed.
>"No comments from the peanut gallery!" one of the
>"I wouldn't be so anxious to see Peter, if I were you,
>Missy," Aunt Betty said sternly. "When he arrives,
>we're going to put some strap oil across that dancing
>bottom of yours."
>"Yes, and her cheeks will really dance them," Mrs.
>Crabapple said merrily.
>Aunt Betty was right; it was an agonizing paradox.
>Peter had to arrive before my corner time anguish
>would end. But when he did arrive, I would be
>spanked. I was both dreading and hoping for his
>At long last, there was a knock on the door, and Peter
>entered. "Sorry I was late; I was caught in traffic,"
>he explained lamely, as if this jerkwater town had
>As I stomped, twisted, and squirmed in the corner,
>Peter passed around his latest masterpiece, the
>spanking strap that would soon toast my bottom. The
>craftsmanship was universally admired, and everyone
>agreed that it was the perfect tool for the job.
>Mrs. Crabapple thought the ginger should remain in
>place for my spanking, but Aunt Betty, perhaps mindful
>of the way she had overdone my mouth soaping, ordered
>the offending object expelled. Mrs. Crabapple
>followed me into the bathroom, and kept the door open.
> As a result, I could hear the laughter from the other
>room as my tormentor landed in the toilet bowl water
>with a loud PLOP!
>I was crying pretty hard when I went over Aunt Betty's
>knee already, so she took it easy with my strapping.
>10 strokes, bare bottom, with everyone watching, as a
>reminder "not to sass my betters, at home or in
>"This is for your own good, Cindy!" SPANK!
>"This hurts me more than it hurts you." SPANK!
>"I'm sorry I have to do this, but I'm glad Peter's
>made such a wonderful strap." SPANK!
>"We'll hang it right by the door, so you can look at
>it whenever you go in or out of the house." SPANK!
>"It will be an excellent reminder to behave yourself,
>don't you think?" SPANK!
>"And whoever comes to the door and sees it after Peter
>decorates it will know that it's yours, and will know
>how we handle you when you're a naughty girl." SPANK!
>"When we're done, I want you to kiss the strap and
>thank me for your punishment." SPANK!
>"Then I want you to go around and apologize to each of
>the ladies for interrupting our card game today."
>"Then I want you to thank Peter for making you such a
>lovely strap." SPANK!
>"My, it does wrap around that tight little bottom of
>yours nicely." SPANK!
>"Quite effective, don't you think!" SPANK!
>Yes, I know. That's eleven spanks. "One for you to
>grow on," Aunt Betty claimed.
>I kissed the strap, and, with my hands on top of my
>head, made my apologies to each of my tormentors.
>Peter was the worst, as he insisted on telling me how
>he had spent all week oiling the strap to get it "just
>And with that, I retreated to my room, and the comfort
>of my vibrator, contented to know that I had yet
>another spanking under my belt (so to speak) and had
>thus moved myself one square closer to home.
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|Sorry! I reposted my own post||Cindy||15:29:19 07/18/10 Sun|
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