This short story is an entry in the 2003 Soc.Sexuality.Spanking Summer Short Story Contest and is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission. Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice. The author would appreciate your comments
Category: Line
Ed's note: This entry uses the first six SSC first/last lines -- in order!
First, Last, and the Rest in Between
By
"If you feel an itch in your palms again, tell me! Such things can be cured."
"Well, it's not really an itch. It's more of a burning sensation."
"Look Kid, it's okay to be quick out of the gate, but you really have to pace yourself. You've got another hour and eighteen minutes until Crawford comes on. That SOB should have checked in by now. Yeah, that it. That's better. Let me tell you, Kid, you've got what it takes. But you don't want to burn out. I was on the rise on the Orient circuit. But I pushed too hard when I was living in Bombay. In the first leg, you don't need more than 2500 to 3000 smacks. I tried pushing for 3500, and was out in six months. Trust me, Kid, the burned hand teaches best."
"Bombay, huh. That near Lexington?"
"It's in India, Kid."
"India! You mean you have lived in India?"
"Keep it steady , Kid. Yeah, me and Dorothea. Dorothea was perfectly lovely, but she ruined me. She had this cute round bottom, you know, the kind that never quite lost its baby fat. She had just enough padding to handle that initial burst out of the gate. She'd take 500 smacks without a whimper. Other whackers would change bottoms once or sometimes even twice before Dorothea would tag off. Sure, I lost bonus smacks for total subs, but I more than made it up in the time saved whacking away rather than in sub switches. And then she'd come back on for the final leg, letting me begin the final sprint a good ten minutes ahead of anyone else. Course, in those days, we went the full marathon by ourselves. We didn't have relievers like you spoiled kids today. In those days, you had to be tough. You couldn't get distracted by a little whimpering or kicking legs. You had to be prepared to attack each bottom with same fervor."
"Same fervor, huh?"
"Yeah, the first, last, and the rest in between. Work the top of the thighs a bit. A little lower. That will wear the sub out a little faster. And those white thighs will cool your hand, until you get your breather at the mandatory break at the hour. Good. She's getting nice and pink. Well, about time asshole! You're Crawford, and you're late. Check in was over two hours ago! Thought Jones here, was going to have to do it the old fashioned way."
"Hey, Captain. I've got the itch."
"Okay, Kid. Spread your fingers as far apart as you can."
"No, the hand is fine. I mean that you've inspired me. I'm going to go the whole way myself!"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"And that, ladies and gentlemen, was my first All World Spanking Marathon. I picked up smacks with every sub. Now as I am about to compete in my last marathon, seven North American championships, three World Titles, and 1700 bottoms later, they haven't caught up with me yet!"
The End
© Copyright BCCFafnir, 20 June 2003
Reviews
Kessily
This was a wonderful piece. It reminds me of every movie or book I ever came across with Grampa telling the kids how much harder things used to be. And of course the old times were alwayyyysss much more difficult. Just wonderful to read, it left me thinking how great it would be if spanking could become a competitive sport!
In addition the author has managed to use all of the first/last lines in his story, in order no less. That had to be extremely difficult and is well worth noting.
Ted <quixotoes(at)aol(dot)com>
The thought of an international spanking marathon is intriguing but I don't think the author made it either absurd enough or funny enough. The epilogue is like a thought balloon that explains the preceding 450 words in a way those words did not themselves.
<comjustacatfish(at)aol(dot)com>
In my view, anecdotal and not a short story. Rather, the relating of a conversation between two individuals, the essence of which, does not qualify it for a short story.