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| Subject: Re: The Tulip Stamp | |
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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? [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ] |
| Subject | Author | Date |
| Re: The Tulip Stamp | Marek | 03:00:35 11/03/16 Thu |
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