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Subject: Re: The Tulip Stamp


Author:
gentbb
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Date Posted: 10:05:14 11/02/16 Wed
In reply to: Marek 's message, "The Tulip Stamp" on 00:36:53 10/15/16 Sat

>The Tulip Stamp

Excellent story. very heart felt.

Thanks
GentBB
>
>I ring the doorbell, although I don't really want to.
>Still, I know it's the best way. Unpleasant, but
>necessary.
>It's Katie who opens the door. Of course she is.
>"Hi, Tess," she says. "What brings you here?"
>I sigh and pull the note from my bag. "Is your dad
>here?"
>She nods. "Yeah. You want the stamp?"
>"Yes," I sigh.
>"Dad!" she shouts inside. "Tess is here for a stamp!"
>It doesn't take long before her father comes down.
>He's a freelancer and usually works from home, which
>makes him an ideal candidate for stamp-giving.
>"Hello, Tess," he says. "So, what is it about now?"
>"Well..."
>"Oh, and come in. I guess you don't want to do this on
>the porch? Of course, if you do, I'd be happy to
>oblige."
>"No," I sigh. He's a good guy, but I'd just wish he
>didn't always make me the butt of his jokes.
>Bad choice of words, I know.
>
>Once inside, I give him the note from school. It's not
>that bad, but also not that good either. He reads
>through it once. It's really not that important what
>it says.
>"All right, how many stamps?" he asks.
>"J-Just one," I say. Really, there's no need for more.
>He nods, and he just opens his mouth to say something
>when the doorbell rings again.
>"Dad! It's for you again!" shouts Katie.
>Wow. I knew he was busy, but that busy?
>This times it's Carlson twins. Two girls, ten years
>old. Babies, really, compared to my twelve. I trail to
>the door after Katie's dad.
>"Yes?" He sounds grumpy, grumpy because he got
>interrupted. Which is really a bad idea for all
>involved. Grumpy means worse for me. Worse for them,
>too.
>Both girls look absolutely identical, down to their
>clothes. But that's okay, I think, not like this calls
>for any distinguishing.
>"Mom sent us here," says the right one.
>"Because we were brats, she said," says the left one.
>At this point, you might be wondering whether I mean
>the "right" and "left" one from my point of view or
>from theirs.
>Trust me. It doesn't matter in the least.
>"She wanted to bring us here," says the right one,
>"but we managed to talk her out of it."
>"We're big enough to get stamps on our own," says the
>left one.
>"And the note?" asks Katie's dad.
>They sigh and pass it to him. He reads through it.
>"Hmm, sounds like you will need two stamps each."
>I wince. I'm glad my note only requires one stamp.
>Katie's dad moves from the door and the twins come in.
>They seem more excited than scared. It's the first
>stamps they get on their own, without a parent
>present, so I suppose that's a milestone.
>As for me? I passed that millstone a long time ago.
>I'm not a baby like them.
>Which means that I'm not excited at all, and more than
>a little scared.
>It's just one stamp, I tell to myself. It's not that
>bad.
>"So, um, you're busy today, huh?" I say. Why the hell
>am I trying to make small talk with him?
>"Oh, it's not that bad," he smiles. "I had seven of
>you lined up once. But I suppose we'd better get to
>it, or it's just going to accumulate."
>Me and my big mouth. Yeah.
>I'm worried that now that the twins are here, he's
>going to take me last. I don't like when that happens,
>I think it's better to get it done with, but
>fortunately, Katie's dad has strict "first come, first
>serve" policy.
>Unfortunately, he takes us all into his study, and
>that means that the twins will get to watch me. I hate
>being watched. I get all self-conscious.
>I run the mental checks. Am I presentable? My school
>uniform is prim and proper, and I've changed to my
>reserve panties when I decided to get the stamp from
>Katie's dad.
>No reason to put it off.
>But still I have to watch, together with the twins
>whose excitement starts to slowly drain away, as
>Katie's dad moves the straight-backed chair in the
>middle of the room. He always uses that chair, and he
>only has it in his study for that purpose; he normally
>uses swivel office chair when he works.
>He opens his desk drawer and takes out the stamp pad.
>We all gaze at it.
>I need that stamp. It will make talking to my own Dad
>much easier.
>"Uh, Dad, I got a note in school today, and you have
>to sign it. But I already got it stamped!"
>Every dad on the block has his own stamp and Katie's
>dad chose the tulip. I once asked him why and he said
>that tulips are red, which I think is really dumb
>reason. First of all, tulips come in all sort of
>colors, and also, all the stamps are red because they
>are done with red ink. But still, I kinda like tulips.
>I tried getting my stamps from Caroline's dad for a
>while, but his stamps was a teddy-bear. For an
>almost-teenager like me, that was too embarrassing.
>"All right, Tess, let's start," he says.
>My knees get weak and my stomach gets butterflies. My
>desire to get it done with is completely gone. I'd
>give anything for those two snotty brats to get their
>stamps first.
>But I still walk towards Katie's dad and that chair.
>He sits down.
>I reach under my uniform skirt and hesitate.
>"Bare?" I ask, as always.
>"Bare," he says, as always.
>I slowly take my panties down; he always dashes my
>hopes. At least I have a skirt; the twins just have
>shorts, which means that they will have to pull them
>down. That's worse. I'm almost positive.
>Yep, don't worry about having to pull your panties
>down. Could always be worse.
>Right?
>I only pull them down the bare minimum -- pun intended
>-- and then take a deep breath and go over his lap.
>Last week, I went swimming at the lake with my family
>and I didn't want to get in the water because it was
>too cold. But my brother went up to the big rock and
>dived to the water from there. I asked him "How could
>you do that? It's so cold!" and he told me that the
>longer it takes me to get to the water, the longer it
>feels cold. "If you just dive in, it feels REALLY bad
>for a second," he said, "but then it feels fine."
>I was too scared to try it, but his advice comes in
>handy for me today. Going over the lap is the scariest
>part, because it's the last thing you have to do
>yourself. But I did it, I took the plunge. I hope the
>twins are impressed. I steal a look at them, and they
>are both watching me intently. Yup, that's me --
>reduced to an afternoon entertainment for a pair of
>baby brats, like I was a cartoon show.
>Katie's dad adjusts my body a bit for maximum effect.
>His hand rests on my bare bottom, which means it's
>going to start. He doesn't say things like "Are you
>ready?" -- some dads do, and I hate that. I'm lying
>there, with my bare bottom in the air, and they ask me
>if I'm ready? No, I just like that position because
>it's a good way to get a tan -- of course I'm ready!
>By the time he asks and I hesitantly answer -- because
>you are always hesitant at this point -- I could be
>already halfway through my...
>Gulp.
>...Through my spanking.
>Nobody uses the word, of course, not nowadays, we all
>call it "earning stamps", but it's a spanking and
>there's no point denying it. I press my lips together
>to keep quiet. It's hopeless, of course, but I want to
>impress the twins. They are sitting there, watching,
>wondering how much I will cry. And how soon I'll start.
>Well, I am going to cry a lot, I know that from the
>past experience, but I can postpone -- somewhat -- how
>soon it starts. I focus on not crying.
>And then I stop feeling the hand resting on my bottom
>and that means it's starting and the twins are
>watching and I panic and give that weird yelp and...
>SMACK!
>The hand falls, it's starting and I yelp again, and
>again when the hand falls for the second time, third,
>fifth, and by tenth time all my focus is shattered and
>I start wailing like I was ten again, or even worse,
>eight, it's like each swat is taking away a month or
>two, soon I'll be reduced to a baby who knows nothing
>but bawling.
>Not a good perspective, but then again, it's not like
>I can do anything about it at this point.
>
>When, after an eternity, the spanking comes to an end,
>I spend another full minute lying across Katie's dad's
>lap and crying. He always leaves me lying there as
>long as I want, which is really nice from him. Some
>dads stand you up as soon as you're done, and
>sometimes you have to spend some time in the corner.
>Katie's dad spanks hard, but that's all he does.
>I eventually stand up because I need the stamp, this
>is all for the stamp, and Katie's dad has to use his
>desk for that. I watch him go there, taking his tulip
>stamp and pressing it to my note from school. That's
>it, I survived, and I have the stamp to prove it. But
>my bottom burns and I don't really feel like a
>survivor right now.
>I check my panties and note, with satisfaction, that
>despite sliding down somewhat they are still above my
>knees, which is a personal victory. It's embarrassing
>when you kick too much and they slide way down and
>then you have to pull them up so you could walk
>without stumbling.
>I slowly walk to the door and out without saying a
>word; I'm still sobbing so that would be hard, but
>Katie's dad has a rule that once you get your stamp,
>you can go to the bathroom and "get presentable", as
>he says.
>In the corridor, I meet Katie who pretends she wasn't
>eavesdropping on my spanking.
>"It was pretty bad, huh?" she says. There's sympathy
>in her voice. Spanking is like a hurricane, you are
>never sure when it hits you, and it's important to be
>there for your friends when they get spanked. There's
>no teasing.
>I just nod because I still don't trust my voice, and
>dive into the bathroom. I spend a few minutes there,
>washing my face and adjusting my clothes. When I
>finish, I don't look like a girl who just got spanked
>-- at least I hope so -- but no amount of washing
>can't make me not FEEL like one.
>
>When I re-enter Katie's dad's study, it seems that
>they were all waiting for me. In the time I was gone,
>Katie's dad could have easily give the twins their
>stamps -- or at least one of the twins -- but they
>watched my spanking so it's only fair that I get to
>watch theirs. Katie's dad is all about the fair.
>I notice, with some satisfaction, that the twins look
>really scared now. Their mom asked for two stamps,
>after all, which means they are going to get it worse
>than me.
>Katie's dad doesn't say anything to me, but he turns
>to Katie who is right behind me and says: "Katie,
>honey, bring me your hairbrush, would you?"
>I shiver when I hear it. Last year, me and Katie
>watched a horror movie on her laptop, it was about
>some guy who killed people with a chainsaw. We were
>supposedly too young for it, but we weren't scared --
>we laughed because it was just so goofy. They should
>make a horror movie about a guy with a hairbrush. THAT
>would be really scary.
>And the twins think so as well because once the word
>is uttered, they both erupt in sobs. But they don't
>try to talk him out of it. It shows they are growing
>up as well. It would be meaningless to try, they would
>just embarrass themselves even further.
>Katie returns with the hairbrush. It's a sturdy,
>wooden one, not too big, but it's clear that hair care
>wasn't the only thing taken into account when it was
>bought. Katie places it into her dad's outstretched
>hand, and he sits right back on the straight-backed
>chair.
>"All right, come here," he says.
>Both twins take a hesitating step forward, then stop.
>Each of them tries to let the other one go first.
>For a second I imagine Katie's dad taking them both
>across his lap together and spanking four little
>bottom cheeks at once, but I doubt that would really
>work. Some things, the twins can't do together.
>The twins take another hesitating step, still unisono.
>"Oh, for the love of... Tess, could you pick one,
>please?" he says, and so I grab the twin on the right
>-- I'm standing behind them so their right and my
>right is the same, for those of you who need the
>details -- and push it forward. Then I put my hands on
>the other twin's shoulder to keep her in place.
>The twin I doomed is now crying for real. I started
>crying easily this time, but I'm still proud that I
>managed to put it off until the spanking actually
>started. But these two are just babies, what would you
>expect?
>The twin I'm holding is shivering under my hands and I
>feel sorry for her. But I can't say anything that
>would make it better -- she's now going to watch as
>her sister gets the hairbrush, and then she will get
>the same treatment, it's just a fact and there's no
>silver lining to it.
>The doomed twin is now standing next to Katie's dad's
>lap, seemingly forgetting what it is that she's
>supposed to do, even though I was magnanimous enough
>to give them a demonstration not even ten minutes ago.
>Finally, Katie's dad breaks the silence. "Shorts down,
>panties down, over my lap," he says.
>But the twin can't do it, she's just standing there,
>crying, and so he eventually sighs and pulls her
>towards him. He puts his arms around her and gives her
>a hug and she puts her arms around him and cries and
>cries. That scene looks like she has been already
>spanked.
>And while this is going on, my twin also starts crying
>and so I turn her around and give her a hug too. And
>she's holding onto me tight because that way she won't
>have to look, she won't have to see what's in store
>for her.
>I hold her while I watch as the other hug comes to an
>end. Katie's dad and the doomed twin apparently came
>to a silent understanding and she holds onto his shirt
>as he unbuttons her shorts and takes them down. I see
>her panties for a second -- baby panties with a pink
>rhinoceros, probably some cartoon character, though
>I'd peg rhinoceros as more of a boy thing -- and then
>they get taken down as well and she's soaring through
>the air and she's gently deposited in the lap. I
>notice that Katie's dad leg-locked her, he didn't do
>that to me and I feel proud that he didn't deem it
>necessary.
>Katie's dad seems to be in a sort of a pickle now
>because he put the hairbrush away when he went for
>that hug and now it's on the ground and he can't reach
>it, not with the twin over his lap, and I can't help
>because I'm holding the other twin, but fortunately
>there's Katie who comes in from the door, picks up the
>hairbrush and hands it to her dad. He gives her a look
>like he's not too happy with her, and she shrinks back
>to the door. He's still giving her the look, and she
>closes the door and stays in the corridor, though I
>don't doubt that she's not going anywhere far.
>I see Katie's dad raising the hairbrush and the doomed
>twin starts crying louder and I hug my twin tighter
>and I just wish I could cover her ears. But I doubt
>even industrial ear protection could do anything about
>this noise, about the smacks of wood on bottom and
>desperate crying of a naughty girl earning two stamps
>at once.
>But there's a way to take her mind off her sister's
>spanking, and that is to focus her on her own. I reach
>for her shorts and start taking them down. She
>stiffens, but she doesn't resist.
>"Katie's dad is strict, but fair," I say. "You know
>that, don't you?"
>She nods, her chin rubbing against my chest.
>I reach for her panties.
>"And you know that you need this?"
>Another nod, but more hesistant.
>I pull her panties down over her bottom and she cries
>out a little.
>Crying and blubbering of her sister who is getting the
>hairbrush sounds distant; this is a moment for the two
>of us.
>I pat her bare bottom and she holds me and her tears
>are soaking my uniform blouse. I watch the hairbrush
>rise and fall and I time my pats to have the same
>rhythm; they don't hurt, but it calms her down
>somewhat to feel them at the same time her sister
>feels hers.
>And when the hairbrushing finally ends, I decide to
>break Katie's dad's rule. I took the hand of my twin
>and lead her to him before she can realize what's
>happening or change her mind, and then I take the twin
>who just got spanked and lift her from his lap even
>though she's not ready to stand up. She's not, but I'm
>there and I'm holding her and giving her a hug and
>Katie's dad knows what I'm doing; the moment I release
>the other twin, he takes over and raises her across
>his lap, and by the time I lead the spanked one away,
>the hairbrush already starts to do its judiciary work
>on the bare bottom of her sister.
>Now, when I don't have to pep-talk the girl, I can
>focus on her spanking more. It's not that long since I
>earned two stamps from Katie's dad as well so I know
>how much the hairbrush hurts. There's no point in
>describing it -- if you haven't felt it, you won't
>understand.
>When the second twin's bottom was reddened to order, I
>picked her up from Katie's dad's lap once again and I
>held both of them.
>"Tess, could you, um, take them to the bathroom?" said
>Katie's dad. He looked a bit embarrassed, though
>really, what did HE have to be embarrassed for? We
>were the one who got spanked!
>And so I took the girls to the bathroom. I waited
>outside for them to get refreshed, and when they went
>out, they were still crying a bit, but they had their
>shorts back on and I could no longer detect which one
>of them was spanked first and which second. That's
>probably how they preferred it.
>
>We went back into the study. Katie's Dad gave the
>twins their mom's note which now had four tulip stamps
>on it in a square. They took it and they even managed
>to thank him.
>"Thank you," I said as well.
>"Oh, it was no problem," he said. "But try to not end
>up back here too soon, all right?"
>That's one thing I don't like about adults -- they
>seem to think that behaving is easy, but it's not.
>Misbehaving, that is easy, and it's so easy you can do
>it and not even know it. And then you just suddenly
>see that you've made a mess of things and people are
>scolding you and, well, it usually ends with you
>handing a stamped note back to them.
>
>I walked the Carlson twins back home -- they live just
>a short way from my house -- and when we get there,
>they run towards the door where their mom is already
>waiting for them, and they hug her with one hand each
>while they vigorously rub their bottoms with the
>other; that's mostly for effect, I think, because the
>worst sting has already subsided, just as it subsided
>for me.
>
>* * *
>
>"Uh, Dad?" I say after he comes home from work.
>"Yes?"
>I try to say something, but I can't find the right
>words and so I just give him the note.
>He reads it.
>"A tulip again, I see," he remarks.
>I give him an awkward shrug. "Yeah. I like tulips."
>He smiles. "I will have to thank Katie's father for
>all the good work he's doing with you."
>My Dad has a stamp too. But I don't even know what it
>is. I never got one from him.
>He's my Dad. Mine. He's for hugging and for helping me
>and being on my side. He's not for spanking my bottom
>and giving me stamps when I goof up.
>There's lots of other dads for that. Well, Katie's
>dad, mostly.
>One dad for hugs, one for spanks. I believe that's how
>it should be.
>
>The doorbell rings and I open the door.
>"Hi, Katie," I say. "What brings you here?"
>But I only say that as a formality because I can see
>the note in her hand. Is it because of her
>eavesdropping today or were there other problems? I
>don't know and I don't ask. Sometimes we show each
>other our notes, but not often. It's a personal thing.
>"Is your dad home?" she asks. Hard to say whether she
>hopes that he's here or that he's not.
>"He is," I say and lead her in.
>
>And so now I'm lying on my bed, on my stomach because
>my bottom still smarts, listening to the sounds of my
>Dad spanking Katie. It's a weird feeling and I wonder
>if Katie feels like this when she listens to her dad
>spanking. I know she's getting his hand on the bare,
>just like I did, and I know that she deserves this
>spanking, just like I did.
>Tomorrow's Saturday, so no school. Katie asked Dad if
>we can have a sleepover and he said yes -- just before
>he told me that I should go to my room and wait for
>Katie. He doesn't have a study room like Katie's dad,
>so he spanks in our living room.
>I take out clean PJs since Katie didn't bring her own.
>The sounds of spanking from the living room finally
>stop and a few minutes later, Katie hobbles into my
>room; she's clutching her bottom with both hands but
>she's not crying anymore. I give her the PJs and then
>I pull down my own a bit and we compare.
>"You're barely even red," she says.
>"Oh, trust me," I reply, "it was much worse before."
>"I hope mine will fade until morning," she said. "We
>could go swimming tomorrow."
>I nod. "We could."
>"So, are you finally going to jump off the big rock
>like you said?" she teases me.
>But I nod. "You know, I think I finally found the
>courage."
>After all, if I can earn a tulip stamp without fuss,
>like I was already a teen, what's to fear about taking
>a dive into cold water?

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Re: The Tulip StampMarek03:00:35 11/03/16 Thu


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