[Reluctant] Charity Drive (public spanking)

[Donovake]

My name is Danny Deeter and I live with my parents in the Shady Grove Mobile Home Community, which is right in the middle of Ozymandias County, which is right in the middle of nowhere. My dad, Don Deeter, is a shit-sluice operator at the Continental Crap Sewage Reclamation Plant, which is the only major employer in the county. My mom, Darlene Deeter, is a cashier at the Con-Crap Co-Op, which everyone calls Crap-Mart. Everybody shops there because it's all there is around here. There's not much to do in Ozymandias County so any opportunity for entertainment is welcome. This is the story of how I created a lot of entertainment at the school carnival when I was 12 and made a pile of cash besides, with my mom as an unwitting accomplice.

My best friend Bobby Lee and I had everything set up and ready to go by the time Mom showed up that warm Saturday morning at the Ozymandias County Junior High Spring Fair and Carnival. (Bobby and I had been best friends since his family emigrated here from Virginia when we were both 6.) At the age of 12 I still thought my mom was the hottest woman in the world and it was plain from the looks that the men and boys at the carnival gave her that some of them came close to sharing my opinion. I could see their eyes following her as she walked toward us across the dry grass of my school's all-purpose athletic field, where the carnival was set up. Tall and slender with long, curly brown hair, nice shaped boobs, though not too big, and a firm, round rear end that all the males behind her were obviously focusing on. She was wearing a sleeveless knit dress, white with little blue flowers on it, tight down to her hips then hanging loose and swingy to the hem just above her knees. Her legs were bare and she had on a pair of high-heeled sandals made out of this kind of basket-like material that matched her purse.

Can you see why some of the feelings I had about my mom were not exactly the kind you would want to tell anybody about? I mean, I didn't want to have sex with her or anything but, damn she was hot. "Hi, Danny! Hi, Bobby!" she called out with a smile and a big wave when she spotted us.

Before I could say a thing, Mr. Armstrong, the principal of our school (a short, fat, bald-headed dipshit) came running over and shook Mom's hand. "Mrs. Deeter," he said, "I can't tell you how grateful we all are to you for volunteering this way! When Danny came up with this idea I had my doubts, but he insisted that you would go along with it and I certainly believe it will raise a lot of money for the school. I just want to thank you for being such a good sport. Not many parents would do something like this. You're a real heroine, Mrs. Deeter!"

"Well, uh, you're welcome," Mom stammered in response, a little confused by the whole thing. To tell the truth I hadn't been too specific about what her part in my great plan was going to be, only that her participation was vital and that it would raise a lot of money for a good cause. Just then though, I knew I had to get her away from big-mouthed Mr. Armstrong before he told her too much and scared her off.

"Come on, Mom!" I half-whined, taking hold of her left hand (Mr. Armstrong still had a grip on her right) and pulling her away as if I were just anxious to show her the project I'd put so much work into.

"OK, I'm coming," she said. "Sorry to rush off, Mr. Armstrong. I'm sure I'll see you later."

"Absolutely!" Mr. Armstrong agreed. "I'll be keeping a close eye on your son's exhibit, I certainly will!" As Bobby pitched in to help me drag Mom over to the booth we could hear the principal yelling, "That boy of yours is a genius, Mrs. Deeter! A genius!" Our principal was just about as complete a jackass as any one man could be.

"Oh, my," Mom commented when she saw what I had put so much time and creativity into constructing. The booth was built around a stout wooden workbench from my shop class, about 6 feet long, and 20 inches wide. The sides and front were covered with canvas and the back was left open. Placed in the middle of the flat top was a basket of tennis balls and behind the booth was big plywood target, mounted on a 2 by 4 frame, with a tennis ball-sized hole right in the middle of it. Hand painted on the canvas front of the booth was "Paddling Booth -- $1.00; Try Your Skill; Ring The Bell And Paddle Danny's Mom."

Mom seemed less than enthusiastic when she read the sign but I told her that little hole with the bell hidden inside was almost impossible to hit and encouraged her to try it and see. She did and came nowhere near it. Sensing that she was softening to the idea I moved in for the close. "Even if a few of them do manage to ring the bell," I assured her, "they're just kids. How hard could they hit? You aren't afraid of 12 year olds, are you?" In point of fact, since the school encompassed grades 7 and 8, about half of the students were 13 and few were 14 but I saw no reason to bring that up.

"No, of course not," she said, still sounding a little unsure.

"That's the spirit, Mom!" I replied as if she had whole-heartedly agreed.

"Come on, Mrs. Deeter," Bobby encouraged, "we'll help you get into position."

Mom laughed and went along with the game as we led her around the booth until she saw the paddle hanging on its hook on the side. I had made it in wood shop and it had been a true labor of love. It was just under half an inch thick and made of solid ash, the stuff they make baseball bats out of, finely sanded, heavily varnished and polished to mirror smoothness. Its 'business end' was 3 inches wide and 16 inches long and its handle was long enough for a good 2-handed grip. Mom's eyes got as big as saucers when she caught sight of my masterpiece of woodcraft; she stopped suddenly and said, "Uh, wait a minute, here. Maybe we ought to rethink this."

"There's no time for that, Mom," I insisted, pulling on both her hands while Bobby pushed from behind. "The carnival's already started! Every minute we waste is money that won't be made for the school. You want to help the school, don't you?"

"Of course I do," she sighed as we guided her into position. Bobby took her purse and stashed it under the booth for safekeeping.

"Great!" I said. "Then just stand here behind the booth, right here at the end, lean over, rest on your elbows and grip the front edge."

"Like this," she asked, doing as I'd instructed. As she leaned over the hem of her dress went up to about mid-thigh in back.

"Yeah," I said. "Just like that."

Bobby moved to the front of the booth and quickly fastened Mom's wrists into a pair of Velcro straps that were nailed to the edge of the counter top. "Don't worry, Mrs. Deeter," he said when she started to object, "it's just for show. Showmanship, you know. That's what makes a successful carnival display."

"Yeah," I agreed. "And that's what brings in lots of money, too."

"Yeah," Bobby averred.

"Well, OK," Mom assented. "As long as it's for a good cause."

"Oh, it is!" I assured her.

Bobby stepped back a bit to take in the whole picture and gave me a thumbs up. Mom and I were both behind the booth, her leaning forward over the top at the right end, from Bobby's point of view. The direction of his eyes told me that he was getting a good look down the front of her dress, I hadn't thought of that before but it would definitely help to draw a crowd. I was standing behind the left side, ready to hand out the tennis balls and take the money, the target waited behind and between us and that hand-painted sign told potential customers everything they needed to know. Almost everything, that is.

Actually there was a little more to the whole set up than I had let Mom in on. It was true that the target was almost impossible to hit because the hole was hardly bigger than the tennis ball and if you didn't hit it right on it would just bounce off the edge. However, it was also true that hitting the target wasn't the only way to ring the bell. There was a lever under the booth that I could push with my foot, which would pull a carefully concealed cord that would cause the bell to ring just as if the target had been hit.

For helping in the design and construction of the Paddling Booth, Bobby Lee and the Finnegan twins, Pat and Mike, would get to ring the bell every time they tried. They could play for free but everyone else would have to pay. Bobby and the twins would pass the word around quietly that anyone who slipped an extra buck to yours truly was guaranteed a hit, in more ways than one. That would bring in a lot more business than if we were playing it straight so the school would end up making more money and I would bring home a bundle besides. On top of that, everyone would have a great time, not just the participants but also the crowd of onlookers that would get the rare privilege of seeing a grown woman soundly spanked by a bunch of 12 and 13 year-olds. It was a win-win situation, really.

For everybody but Mom that is, she was about to spend the entire afternoon having her rear end paddled by a horde of junior-high kids in front of the whole school, including the faculty and most of the parents. I was pretty sure she wouldn't have gone along with that part of the plan so I neglected to fill her in on it. That was the real reason for the wrist straps, that way she couldn't turn around to watch the target and maybe notice that some of the winning pitches had obviously not hit the mark. Of course, other people would probably catch on but, as I've said before, entertainment is scarce in Ozymandias County and no one would want to be known as the person who spoiled this much fun.

The only one who might have messed things up, if he were there, was my dad. On the other hand, he might have thought it was just great. He had a paddle of his own that he kept hanging from a nail in the wood paneling of our trailer's living room. It was made of cedar and wasn't as long or as thick as the one the ash one I'd made in wood shop, a fact I took a lot of pleasure in. (I don't know if I'd heard of the Oedipus Complex by then but I guess mine was more complex than most.) Dad had used that paddle on me now and then but I'd seen him put it to good use on Mom's butt many times over the years. It was mostly in a spirit of playfulness but he always gave her a good walloping.

My first erections, before I even knew what they were, had happened watching my mom, stretched out over my dad's lap on the couch, kicking and squealing like a little girl while he laid that paddle across her upturned bottom with glee and gusto. Dad plainly enjoyed spanking her in front of me, almost as if it were just for my entertainment. Sometimes he even handed me the paddle and let me give her a few swats while he held her in place on his lap. Hey, some families bowl together, our family spanks together, I'll take it over bowling any day. If he was at the carnival, though, it's likely that he would have tried to take over. But that wasn't going to be a problem; he was working Saturdays all this month and wouldn't be able to make it. It looked like I was in charge of the show.

The kids started lining up right away I got into my carnival barker routine, shouting, "Step right up, folks! It's just one dollar! Ring the bell and swat the lady's behind!" I saw Mom tense up a bit when the first one threw, then relax when she heard the dull thud of the ball hitting outside the bull's-eye.

After the second one missed she got into the act herself, laughing and saying, "Nyah, nyah nyah, you missed!" When the next one missed she started taunting the crowd, "Think you can do any better? Go ahead and try! Ha-ha-ha!" I could see what she was doing; confident that no one was going to get a hit she was trying to get them mad enough to try anyway. She was a natural at this, before long she had them all fired up to see her get what was coming to her for teasing them that way. Some of the parents and teachers were standing around watching and they were all getting into the spirit too. Everyone loudly encouraged each pitcher and there was a disappointed, "Ohhh," when he missed. Then Mom would launch into her act and they would all be cheering the next kid in line. The crowd really wanted to see somebody paddle her butt by the time Bobby Lee stepped up to the booth.

I had asked Bobby and the Finnegan twins to let a few other kids go first and then to space themselves out so it wouldn't look so suspicious. Also, I thought it would help to build the sense drama if the first several pitchers missed. "Hi, Mrs. Deeter," he said with a grin as he paid his buck and picked up a ball.

"You think you can ring that bell?" she challenged.

"I'm going to try," he answered.

"Ha!" she laughed. "Go ahead and try, I dare ya!"

"OK," Bobby agreed.

He went into a big theatrical wind up, like he was pitching the World Series or something. The crowd held its breath. I could see Mom looking sidewise at Bobby with a smug smirk on her face, ready to dog him out completely for missing.

Bobby threw.

I pushed the hidden lever with my foot.

"DING!" went the bell.

The crowd broke out in cheers and laughter. Kids rushed up to pat Bobby on the back.

"We got a winnah!" I announced.

"What?" Mom demanded.

Bobby, red-faced and grinning with excitement, folded his arms and stared down at her in triumph. "Well," he said, "I guess somebody's gonna get it now!" To laughter and cheers from the crowd, he strutted around the booth, grabbed the paddle from its hook and took up position to deliver the spanking they were all so eager to see.

Mom gave me a reproachful look over her shoulder then sighed and seemed to resign herself to the inevitable. Still with her elbows on the top of the booth she pushed back until her head was between her forearms. This way her bottom was perfectly presented for the paddling it was about to receive. She stood there with her knees bent; her butt pressed backward and upward, causing her hemline to creep further up her legs. She dropped her head forward like she was trying to check out her own cleavage and let her hair fall over counter-top. I noticed her peeking at me through the hair that had fallen across her face and hoped she couldn't tell how excited I was. I knew my face was turning red and I couldn't keep the grin off my face as I watched my best friend line up the paddle across her butt.

Bobby held the paddle with both hands and drew it back like a baseball bat. The crowd was deathly silent in expectation. Mom tensed up for the coming swat. I was glad to be wearing baggy jeans because I was starting to get a stiffy already. The paddle whooshed through the air and landed with a resounding WHAP! that made the seat of Mom's knit dress billow out around the impact zone and propelled her forward to slam her hips against the top of the booth. Her head snapped up, sending hair flying all around, and she yelled, "YEOW!" The crowd went crazy with cheers and applause. Bobby held the paddle over his head in triumph. Mom glared over her shoulder at me and whined, "I thought you said 12 year olds couldn't hit very hard!"

"Uh, not really, Mom," I corrected. "Actually I just asked 'how hard could they hit?' It was a question you see, not a statement." I was pretty proud of myself for coming up with that one. I wondered if maybe I would go into politics some day.

Mom was red-faced; it must have been pretty humiliating for her to be paddled by a 12 year old kid like that, especially with the whole school and just about the whole PTA cheering him on. It looked like the sting from that swat was just starting to really set in. She was twisting her butt around and pulled back against the Velcro straps like she was trying to reach back and rub her behind but forgot that she couldn't. Everyone had a good laugh at how uncomfortable she looked. I guess I should have felt some sympathy for her but I couldn't help joining in the laughter, she just looked so ridiculous.

She recovered pretty quickly though. As soon as the next kid got ready to throw Mom yelled, "It was luck! It was just luck!"

The kid missed and whined, "That's not fair! She messed up my throw!"

"Sorry," I said. "One try's all you get. Get back in line if you want to go again."

"Hee, hee , hee; can't hit me!" Mom sang.

The kid went back to the end of the line looking sullen and sorrowful. Everyone tried to cheer him up saying, "You'll get her next time," and stuff like that. Mom must have believed that Bobby's hit was just luck because she was really asking for it. The crowd couldn't wait to see somebody else give her a good whack.

They didn't have to wait long either. One of the Finnegan twins stepped up with a big smile and said, "I'll give it a try now."

"So ya feelin' lucky today, huh, Pat?" Mom hazarded.

"It's Mike," he replied, "and yeah, I'm feelin' pretty lucky." He gave me a wink as he plunked down his buck and got his tennis ball. I couldn't blame Mom for not knowing which one he was, no one can tell them apart. They don't make it any easier either since they always dress alike. Sometimes they pretend to be each other, too, just for the fun of it, so when one of them tells you who he is you still don't know for sure. Sometimes I wonder if they even know for sure which one is which, or if it really matters.

Anyway, Mike (or Pat) gave the ball a toss and the bell rung again. "Oh, crap!" Mom exclaimed. The crowd cheered, they all wanted to see her get it again. And they weren't going to be disappointed. Mike took the paddle off its hook and lined it up against her butt. Mom didn't set herself up like she did for the first one, she just let her head drop forward and tightened her grip on the front of the workbench top. Mike drew back and let her have it, WHACK! The crowd went wild. Mom complained, "OWW!" as she tried to stand up but was stopped by the straps on her wrists.

Mike hung the paddle back on its hook and patted Mom on the head before he walked away. "Bye, Mrs. Deeter," he said. "Let's do this again soon." Mom didn't look terribly happy at that prospect.

A few more kids tried and missed and Mom got back into her teasing routine but a little more hesitantly than before. Still, it was enough to convince everyone that she really needed another whacking. And that's just what she got. Pat Finnegan put down his dollar and rung the bell, with a little help from yours truly. Like Bobby and Mike before him, Pat took the paddle in both hands and applied it where it would do the most good. "OHH!" Mom yelled, spanked again by another 12-year-old kid in front of an audience that figured she had it coming and a lot more besides. And a lot more was just what she was going to get.

It wasn't long before my moneymaking scheme started to pay off. A kid walked up and plunked down his buck then, kind of shyly, slipped another one across the booth toward me. I scooped it up and gave the kid a wink. He didn't come anywhere near the bull's-eye but the bell rang out loud and clear. I shouted, "Anothah winnah!" in my best ballpark voice and the kid just stood there grinning like a Possum. "Well?" I finally asked. "You gonna do it or what?" The kid nodded his head vigorously but the others in line had to give him a push and some loud encouragement to get him moving.

He recovered pretty well though, once he got the paddle in his hands. Laughing like an idiot, he drew back and gave that behind a mighty SMACK! "YIPE!" Mom complained. The crowd loved it and I knew that my plan was working out.

A few more kids tried and missed before the next one ponyed up an extra buck for the privilege. He got his money's worth and more followed behind him. The word must have gotten out pretty quickly because more and more kids were ringing the bell. My mom was getting a good paddling in front of an ever-growing audience and yours truly was making a chunk of change.

The back of Mom's skirt, which was already pulled up a good bit by her bent over position, crept ever further up the backs of her thighs from the constant swatting of her rear end. Everyone could see what was happening and kids started angling the swats upward to accentuate the effect. Before long the hem of her skirt was across the middle of her butt and the lower part of her white panties were in open view, as well as the seam of her sheer pantyhose and the much-reddened skin below them. People in the crowd were laughing and pointing, several were taking pictures.

That was when Hallie Burton, captain of the girl's softball team, stepped up to the booth. She didn't plunk down the extra buck although the wink she gave me told me that she knew what the deal was. I had to admire her; she was going to do it on her own. And do it she did! I was beginning to believe it wasn't possible to ring that bell without my clandestine assistance but she damn sure did it. Hallie strutted over to the paddle like a rooster and took it off the hook with pride. I heard Mom groan in expectation as Hallie wound up and swung the paddle. WHACK! It landed right on target and sent the hem of my mom's skirt flying up to land on the small of her back. The crowd applauded while Hallie took a little bow. I even joined in, I couldn't help it, that swat had been a work of art.

Mom lay across the booth muttering "ow, ow, ow," and twisting her butt around for awhile, a butt that was now covered only by a little pair of shiny white panties, until she seemed to notice that something was wrong, She looked back over her shoulder and gasped when she saw her exposed undies. "Danny!" she shrieked. "Pull my dress back down!"

"Sorry, Mom," I said, trying to stop laughing. "That would be interference. It would be bad for business." I noticed Mom's shoes, kicked loose in mid whack, also lying nearby.

After that the show really got under way. More and more kids were paying the extra buck. Bobby and the Finnegans went back through several times, as did a lot of the other kids. The paddle swung again and again and Mom's panty covered butt bounced and jiggled under the blows. Mom didn't tease the kids anymore, they taunted her now, bragging about how they were going to spank her or how they had or how they were going to again. Some of them made a big show with theatrical windups and cries of, "It's a line drive!" or "Here's one right up the middle!"

The crowd of adults cheered every swat. They laughed at Mom's ever-louder yelps of pain, calling her a "big baby" and a "brat" who deserved what she was getting. Every now and than one would yell, "Hey Darlene, that was my kid there!" They all seemed to have cameras and a few had video cameras. My mother's paddling would be a favorite slide show and home movie feature at barbeques and beer parties all over Ozymandias County for years to come and I could tell by the way she tried to hide her bright red face behind her tangled hair that she knew it too.

A guy from the local paper showed up and started taking pictures. After getting a few shots of her beet-red behind in the little white panties that failed to completely cover it he moved to the front of the booth and said, "OK, Mrs. Deeter, give us a big smile." Mom flattened herself on the top of the booth with her face down and wouldn't look up.

Just then Hallie Burton came up to the plate again. "I'll make her look up," she promised. Hallie threw and rung the bell, without my help again. Once she got hold of the paddle she took up her best batter's stance and gave in all she had. The paddle landed with a deafening KA-POW! Mom's high heels shot up in back and her head and shoulders did the same in front, leaving her weight on her hips and elbows. The newsman's camera flashed in time to catch my mother's face, surrounded by flying brown hair, her eyes clamped tightly shut and her mouth open in a perfect O. That would have been enough to guarantee a front-page photo but, unbeknownst to anyone, while Mom was flattened out on the top of the booth she had managed to snag the neckline of her dress on an exposed nail. When she jerked up the front of her dress ripped completely open, exposing her little white lace bra to the whole county.

The kids standing in line laughed so hard that some of them nearly fell over. A man in the crowd yelled, "Nice tits, Darlene!" A woman added, "Yeah, for a 12 year old!" I thought that was uncalled for, like I said before, her boobs aren't all that big but their still nicely shaped. Mom stayed in place for a few seconds with a 'deer in the headlights' look on her face. Her eyes were wide open now and the realization of what had just happened spread across her features. She slowly lowered herself back down and looked like she was trying to burrow into the wood. Her heels were still up in the air, her knees bent and her ankles crossed. I know her butt had to be as hot as a stove by then; she wiggled around some and made little whimpering sounds that everyone thought were pretty funny. I guess I should have felt sorrier for her than I did, but I didn't.

Mom probably thought that things were about as bad as they could get right then, but she was wrong. At the head of the line was none other than Biff Buford, the school bully. He motioned me over and I hesitantly complied. "I wasn't gonna come to this stupid carnival," he said, "till I heard what was goin' on. Now I'm gonna throw this ball and that bell is gonna ring. Is that clear?"

"Uh, sure thing, Biff," I replied. It was obvious that he knew the whole setup but had no intention of paying the extra buck. At least he did pitch in the dollar for the school. Biff threw the ball pretty straight but it wasn't quite dead on. The bell rang anyway, of course, as I stomped the hidden lever --three times. Dad always told me to suck up to the school bully whenever I can because it's good practice for dealing with bosses.

DING-DING-DING the bell rang out. "What!" Mom objected. "That's not possible!"

Biff shook his finger right in front of her face and said with an evil grin, "You are so gonna get it." Mom tried to bite his finger but he jerked it back then grabbed her nose between his thumb and forefinger and gave it a wicked twist.

"Ow-ow-ow," Mom complained in a nasal whine. She put her feet back on the ground and tried to pull back but Biff had too tight a grip. Everybody laughed as my mom twisted and whined but couldn't escape the 12-year-old bully who was tweaking her nose. With all eyes on Mom's face, no one else noticed Biff's Mom slip behind the action and approach Mom from the rear. And, rear is the operative word here. Biff's Mom grabbed the waistband of Mom's pantihose, causing Mom's eyes to really pop open wide. "My pantihose!" Mom wailed, just as Biff's Mom depantihosed her in a twinkling of an eye. "But, but" Mom sputtered. And Biff's Mom said "Butt is exactly right!", as she reared back and tossed Mom's balled up pantyhose deep into the crowd, causing even more laughter. It didn't last long though; Biff was in a hurry to get to work. He let go of Mom's nose, which was now as red as her cheeks (both sets) and stepped around to the back of the booth. He didn't stop to pick up the paddle, which struck me as odd until he stood behind Mom and grabbed the waistband of her panties with both hands. I knew from painful experience what was coming next.

The kids all started chanting, "Wedgie! Wedgie!" In a quick, jerking motion Biff hauled the waistband of my mom's panties up to the small of her back. The seat of those panties disappeared into the crack of her ass leaving her tomato-red buns totally exposed. She yelped and jerked her head upward, exposing her bared bra to the crowd again. Biff walked calmly over and picked the paddle off of its hook.

The crowd cheered. Mom shot me an accusatory look over her shoulder. I shrugged my shoulders like, hey, what can I do? Biff took the paddle in both hands and gave it a powerful swing. Mom squealed, "AI! AI! YIEE!" as Biff gave her three good hard ones, one right after the other. The crowd broke into wild applause. Mom twisted her bare butt around and moaned, "Oh my God."

During the rest of the afternoon my hapless mother had her bare bottom paddled by just about every kid at the carnival. She stomped and kicked and wriggled around like a worm on a frying pan. Mascara was running down her face and she was flashing her white lace bra to the whole crowd. The crowd loved it, the kids had the time of their lives and the school made a shitload of cash. Besides which, yours truly was a local hero and made a bundle on the side. Like I said before, it was a win-win situation, for everybody but Mom.

But all good things must come to an end, and so it was with the Paddling Booth. Principal Armstrong, who'd been watching all afternoon -- jumping up and squealing like a girl whenever Mom got paddled, came over and announced the sad news that it was time to end the carnival. There was a disappointed "Awww," from everyone but Mom who muttered, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Bobby Lee undid the Velcro wrist-straps while I got the money squared away; the money for the school, which I gave to Mr. Armstrong, and loot I had collected for my self, which went into my backpack. Mom stood up slowly, letting her dress fall back into place and gingerly rubbing her bruised behind with both hands. I could see by the way she was twisting around that she had just realized that her panties were still tightly wedged into the crack of her ass but there was no way she was going to lift her dress back up to try and pull them out. Then she said, "Oh shit!" and grabbed the front of her dress with one hand to cover her bra.

She told Bobby to get her purse out from under booth. He did so and held it while she rustled around in it with one hand, still holding the front of her dress together with the other. All the while she was muttering in a sarcastic tone, "Why don't you help out at the carnival, Mom? It'll be fun, and it'll make lots of money for the school. Oh, yeah! That was fun alright!"

"It did make lots of money," I helpfully suggested.

She shot me a look that would have fried a bug at thirty paces then shouted, "Aha! I knew I had one of these," and pulled a safety pin out of her purse. She quickly pinned her dress together then started to reach back to rub her butt some more but, eying the still watching crowd, pulled herself up into a dignified stance and said, "Come on, mister genius, we're going home."

"Wait!" Bobby shouted. "You can't go yet. They're going to give the award for the best exhibit. You've got to win!"

"Come on, Mom," I whined.

"Oh, all right," she sighed. "Let's get it over with."

Principal Armstrong was sitting on a stool on a little wooden dais. When he saw us coming he stood up and announced, "There he is, folks! The winner of the Best Exhibit Ribbon, Danny Deeter!" Everyone cheered while I went up to get my ribbon. As soon as he handed it to me the principal said, "And how about a hand for Danny's mom, Darlene Deeter!" There was thunderous applause and Mom looked pretty embarrassed. "Come on up here, Mrs. Deeter," Mr. Armstrong added.

Mom was shaking her head and saying, "No, no, no," but people started pushing her forward. She held back and someone gave her an open-handed slap on the behind that made her jump and squeal. She was looking around to see who'd swatted her when she got smacked again. That one motivated her to move. She trotted forward, picking up several resounding spanks along the way, and hopped up onto the dais.

The principal reached up to put his arm around her shoulders, he was about six inches shorter than her, and announced, "What a trooper!" The crowd cheered, Mom just stood there rubbing her butt with both hands and dancing back and forth from one foot to the other. Her hair and make-up were a mess, the front of her dress was held together with a safety pin and she was wincing in such a comical way that everyone burst out laughing, including Principal Armstrong and yours truly.

Everyone cheered so loudly for her that Mom managed a half-hearted smile but then one of the kids yelled, "Hey, Mr. Armstrong should paddle her! He's the principal!"

"Yeah," another added, "That's his job!"

"I'd give ten dollars to see that!" a man shouted.

"I'd give twenty!" a woman countered.

From there on a bidding war commenced and it was soon clear that the school could make a tidy sum if Principal Armstrong paddled my mom. She was backing up and looking pretty nervous when the Mr. Armstrong turned to her and said, "It is for a good cause Mrs. Deeter. Not that I really want to do it but..," But it was plain from the sweat on his face and the bulge in his pants that he wanted to more than he wanted to take his next breath.

The school secretary stepped onto dais and handed Mr. Armstrong the official school paddle, a wicked-looking instrument of gleaming hardwood with holes drilled along its length. Those holes could raise blisters and invariably produced an effect that the kids all knew as 'waffle-butt'.

"I think ten is the customary number," the secretary said.

"Actually that's the maximum," the principal corrected.

"I think it's called for, don't you?" the secretary replied.

"Oh no!" Mom defiantly objected. "I don't think so!" Before anyone could react she turned and leapt off the dais into the crowd.

"But Mrs. Deeter," Mr. Armstrong called. "What about the children?"

That wasn't enough to get Mom to stop but it did give a sense of purpose to the crowd. Before they'd only been motivated by a craving for entertainment. Now, with one simple question, Principal Armstrong had turned it into a righteous cause. No way would they allow her to skip out in so cowardly a way on 'the children'.

A woman grabbed her by the back of her dress and shouted, "You get back here!" Mom pressed on ahead, the dress, already torn in front, came off her with a loud RRRRIP! She lost her purse in the process but made no effort to recover it. Instead she broke into a headlong sprint clad only in her bra and panties (still wedged up the crack of her black and blue butt).

Another woman took hold of the back of he bra and spun her around so that she was facing the dais. The bra was the kind that snaps in front and it came off in the woman's hand, leaving my mom running, bent over with both arms wrapped around her bare boobs, straight back toward the inevitable. She still seemed to think that she was headed for safety until she tripped over the side of the dais and did a belly-flop onto it. Two men from the crowd leapt onto the dais and helpfully took one of her arms each to pick her up. Another man jumped up behind them and took hold of her ankles and lifted them as well. The three of them carried her that way to where Principal Armstrong sat on his stool, paddle in hand, shit-eating grin on face, and deposited her over his lap. As she landed, her bare breasts bounced beautifully, and no one could miss how perkily erect her nipples had become.

As soon as her arms were released Mom covered her bare boobs with them. There wasn't much else she could do lying belly down across Mr. Armstrong's thighs, pinned in place by his left arm on the small of her back. She looked over her shoulder just in time to see the paddle lifted high over the Principal's head. She tossed her hair and kicked petulantly while yelling, "No, no, no, OHH!"

The crowd chanted, "ONE!" as the paddle landed with a powerful CRACK! across my mom's purple butt. The first swat was followed immediately by a second and then a third. The crowd counted the smacks as they fell. The air was full of the sound polished wood against bare behind -- WHACK! SMACK! CRACK! KA-POW! -- the cheerful chanting of the crowd -- TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! -- and my nearly naked, thoroughly humiliated and soundly spanked mom shrieking, "That's enough! OWW! Stop it! YIEE! No more! OOO! I'm warning you! AIEE!" Of course threats from a woman in her position were hardly to be taken seriously.

Principal Armstrong's face was beet red, covered with sweat and wearing a grin that looked bigger than his head. Mom's bruised and blistered butt bounced like crazy as the paddle was applied to it again and again. She gave up on covering her tits and grabbed the legs of the stool with both hands. It looked like she was trying to push herself up off Mr. Armstrong's lap but was getting nowhere. Our principal may have been short but he was stout and held her easily in place while he delivered one sizzling swat after another to those bouncing buns. My hapless mom kicked like a mule, screamed like a banshee and flung her bare tits wildly to and fro but to no avail. Principal Armstrong was determined to see that she got the full effect of ten wallops from that punishing board and he carried out his intent.

Then a voice in the crowd called out "For the charity! I'll give $20 bucks for her thong!" The crowd roared, and suddenly a bidding war was on. When the bidding reached one hundred dollars, the principal announced "I'm sure Darlene would be happy to help the cause even more." So - as he pressed down on Mom's back, a lady nearby on stage quickly grabbed the waistband of Mom'd wedged up panties , and - whoosh, away they went, down her legs, past her feet, and tossed to the high bidder. Mom squealed in protest, but of course she was the one who'd been whining about the wedgie. Now, well, no more wedgie for Mom.

The last five swats fell fast and hard while the crowd dutifully counted them and Mom cried, "Let me OW! go you AI! stupid AOO! son of a YIEE! b*tch AIEEOWWW!" All the while her legs kicked wildly, and the audience became very well acquainted with Mom's lower charms. And now the whole neighborhood knew how being spanked turned Darlene on, as her 'lips' were very noticably and plainly sopping wet with arousal.

Darlene moaned "Ohhh, my pussy. everyone can see. Cover me." After the last swat Principal Armstrong did just that, letting his palm come to rest low on Mom's butt, then rubbing in little circles lower and lower til his hand came to rest right on Mom's swollen mound. He began making a speech about the town and about charity and good citizenship, all the while his hand and fingers were caressing and exploring Darlene. Folks right in front of the stage would have sworn two of his fingers had completely disappeared inside Darlene. But she'd stopped talking by this point, now just mewing and squirming and humping her hips up and down on his lap. She could try to fight it, but Darlene knew herself well enough - she was about to cum a gusher. After a few minutes, Darlene shuddered, squealed and then moaned.

He let go of her waist then and Mom rolled off his lap to the stage. Then she leapt to her feet and gave him a swift kick in the shin. He was in such a state of rapture that he probably didn't feel a thing. Only then did she see the huge wet spot on his slacks. And Darlene knew they were each partially responsible for that wet spot. They'd obviously come to a mutual understanding. She then grabbed her blazing buns with both hands and started hopping up and down repeating, "Oh, oh, oh," over and over. The crowd burst into wild laughter and applause, some of the men gave wolf whistles. Mom looked down at her bare, bouncing boobs and went, "EEEK!" She quickly brought both arms up to cover her exposed tits. Her eyes darted around the dais till they landed on me with a look than could have peeled the paint off a pick-up truck. Before I could move she pounced on me like a jungle cat, grabbed my T-shirt with both hands and yanked it over my head. With one quick motion she pulled it over her naked upper body. It was short and tight, the thin white cotton stretched over her boobs like paint and her nips were sticking out like thermometers from Thanksgiving turkeys but at least they were covered.

Then she turned to me and said in an icy tone, "Come on. We're going home now." She stepped off the dais with her nose in the air. Her face was bright red and streaked with mascara, her hair was a tangled mess, her tits were perfectly outlined by the too-small T-shirt and her behind, which her little shirt failed to completely cover, was glowing like the burner on a hot plate but she walked through the crowd with a strange kind of dignity and they parted to let her through. Bobby Lee ran up with a big grin and handed her her purse. She sn*tched it from his hands and whomped him over the head with it. I was right behind her and couldn't help giggling, even when she turned around and bonked me with it too.

Since it was a warm day Mom had left the top down on the car. She pulled the keys out of her purse and tossed it in the back seat. As she opened the driver door she yanked her big, rose-tinted sunglasses from the windshield visor and slipped them on while she was sitting down. When her blistered butt settled onto the sun-warmed vinyl seat a sound like steam from a teakettle came from between her clenched teeth. She was determined not to let anyone see her squirm but as she turned the key and looked out on the long, pothole infested road home she sighed, "This is going to be an interesting ride." And it was.

[murryd1]

I think there are other stories in this series. I cant find them on the web. Does anyone have them? Please post if so.