Off-Court Slapshots

Perverts 'R' Us

Off-Court Slapshots

Submitted by Grade School Nurse ( M/m+/b/f, spank, voy )

As told by Forrest F. Ford III

My dad's our history teacher and hockey coach at the high school I go to in north Jersey. He used to take care of all the disciplining of our sisters, until last year when I graduated and now he lets me help with Susan, the youngest, who is fourteen. Needless to say, the first time he handed me the "new improved version" of the hockey stick after showing me how to use it on Susan, I thought I died and went to heaven.

I'm almost 20 and since I'm attending a community college near our home, I still live there. I have two brothers, Jeremy "Josh" who is 17, and Terry who is 12. Claudia, the oldest girl, is now married and living in Denver. Jennifer is 16 and dad thinks she's just too old to be spanked by a brother. With little Susan, it's different. He keeps her on just the same strict behavior standard as always, but he's spacing her spankings so he's less directly involved as in the past and likes -- I should say loves -- more and more to outsource her to me. I don't think I'm bragging when I say that the deputy in this case occasionally outdoes the sheriff, and that's saying a whole lot.

Dad is nothing if not old-fashioned and especially as it relates to the rearing -- I should say "rearing" -- of girls. And he's got an awful lot of high-fallutin' rationalizations as to why this is. Mostly it has got to with anatomy. And a girl's anatomy has got everything to do with God's will.

We boys were real demons, and we got our just deserts for misbehaving, but it had to be something egregious. By just deserts I mean dad never spanked us because he found it "aesthetically" repugnant. He sincerely believed that the Good Lord had reserved that particular form of punishment for girls and women, based again on anatomy. When Josh or Terry or I now mess up, he usually attributes it to the "boys will be boys" scam and tends to laugh it off. If it's something dire, like burning down a barn or taking shots with a BB gun to some old dame's windows, he gets agitated and either he will grab us by the back of the neck and plow our head into the wall, or fine us in proportion to the damage, or ground us or all of these.

With the girls, it's a whole different thing altogether. Dad always used to say that if a father did not see to it that his daughters spent half of their at home hours with panties at half mast over his lap, he was not doing his duty to them. So right up to this day and right down the line from Claudia to Jennifer and now Susan, he marches them up the stairs to their bedroom where the bawling culprit who usually is taking the blame for something one of us boys did is sent to stand in the corner holding her dress hiked up in back over her nice big plump-cheeked ass swelling out into her tight white silk crimson lace-trimmed panties.

Dad sends them up in front of him holding the hand crafted business end of the hockey stick paddle under his arm and rolling his right shirt sleeve up to his biceps. This is cause he likes to see that nice plump butt shaking its way up the stairs and he's picturing it just the way it's going to look in a matter of a short time when it's arched upward bare naked over his lap. We boys are running up after them and I can see when I pull up to dad that he's got that shit-eating grin on his face and a kind of wild look in his eyes.

He sits down in the straight-back chair that Josh has pulled out for him, but not before picking up the crimson plush heart-shaped pillow that was sitting on it when it was in its usual spot on the chair by the desk. Dad has a thing about girls being in comfort when not over his lap, which is why he insists on them sitting on pillows at their homework and at the dinner table. He tossed the pillow on the table beside the bed and sat down.

Claudia or Jennifer and now Susan are standing in the corner with her face to the wall and bawling fitfully in between pleading her innocence and begging to be let off. Like I said, more often than not it was something one of us boys did and we "complicated" the thing to the point that they ended up looking bad and having to take the blame or else dad was in a heat to do some spanking of girl butt and set them up for a big fall on their nice big girlish ass.

Now begins the long lecture that left poor little Susan rubbing her sweet, rotund, oversized ass underneath her snug, white, red-lace-trimmed panties and us boys laughing uproariously and hooting and punching each other silly with glee. Dad's half-whispered, tired-sounding monotone cloaked a raging torrent of testosterone within and a rock hard hardon, "... It's alright for you to rub your lovely buttocks, Susan, so feel free. The Good Lord gave those beautiful hinder cheeks to girls as a sign of special love. They decorate a girl's posterior anatomy so daddies know where to direct the hellfire that they deserve when they do something to displease Him or their daddies. One look at a girl's arse, sweetheart, and there's no doubt in his mind as to where to send the firepower.

You see, darling, your daddy is like a knight in shining armor doing his damnedest to keep his darling girl on the straight and narrow and out of the dragon's clutches. And it's not enough for him to slay the dragon. That's the easy part for him. He does that with his lance. Right through the mean old dragon's gullet. What's harder by far and even more important is to build the fire in the naughty girl's big round sit-down place cause it really makes him feel sorry for the poor little girl's, er, smart. You know what I mean by 'smart', darling? Sure you do. I told you that before. You've heard me use that word lots of times before, haven't you?"

"N-N-N-Nooooooo, D-D-Daddy! ... N-N-N-Nooooooo, D-D-Daddy! ... N-N-N-Nooooooo! ... I-I-I d-d-didn't d-d-do it! ... N-N-N-Nooooooo! ... I-I-I d-d-didn't d-d-do it! ... OOOOOhhhhh! ... W-W-Whhhaaahhh, D-D-D-Daddy! ... I-I-I d-d-didn't d-d-do it! ... J-J-Just ask T-Terry!"

Making no impression on Dad except as a delightfully pathetic interruption, he cut her off, "So what I'm saying, darling, is that however smart you might think you are -- and I'm sure you're very, very smart, there's just one thing in this man's world that is better at 'smart' than a naughty little girl, and that is the smart that Daddy puts into her lovely big bare buttocks...

So you see, Susan, sweetheart, when Daddy says 'watch your step, Missy' he means it. You should be smart enough to know that there's a hell of a hot price to pay if you mess up again and you know that he's just waiting for your lovely plump fanny to return to its alabaster smoothness and ivory white bloom so that he can pay out all the ass burns you've been needing while it was in… in the… er, 'recovery stages.'"

As usual, Susan knew she was being framed and shrieked out in rage and shame, " ... H-H-He saw it all. ... It w-w-wasn't me! ... T-There was this girl from my class who d-doesn't l-l-look a-anything l-l-like me a-a-and s-she s-s-stuck her t-t-tongue out at Mrs. M-Manning ... a-and ... a-and ... A-A-Arrrrrrgggggghhhhhh! ... W-W-W-Whhhaaahhhhhh! ... T-T-T-Terry s-saw it all! ... A-Arrrrrrgggggghhhhhh! ... W-W-W-Whhhaaahhhhhh! ... A-A-Ask T-T-Terry!"

Susan turned around and looked toward the far window and there in the window, standing behind the curtain and holding it aside slightly at eye length was Mrs. Eugenia Manning, the neighborhood gossip.

Mrs. Manning was known to be subject to delusions and hallucinations, and most of these were fairly harmless, except for the ones that had to do with the conviction that she was being mocked by the young girls in the neighborhood. Truth to tell, she was probably right about that, but it had nothing to do with poor Susan, who was far too cowed by the fear of bringing her beautiful naked backside into painful contact with her Daddy's horny right hand, or the dreaded "new improved" version of the hockey stick.

Mrs. Manning had over the years been responsible for a sizable percent of the girls' spankings on totally trumped-up charges, but the poor old woman's sole joy in life was to see her abuses vindicated and this had meant mainly to see each of my sisters in the outrageously "impure" (her words) and abject position of being face down over Mr. Ford's lap with panties at "half mast" and her plump naked arse cheeks spanked from a fresh gardenia white to an angry, hot, neon day-glow pink. Her major ally in these persecutions had been Terry.

Dad let her look behind her to Mrs. Manning, just long enough to see her stifle a giggle behind her curtain and peer wide-eyed into the room where she had found the aperture into the erotic spanking of girls that had provided most of the fun in her life for the last dozen or so years. He looked over at Terry, hanging like Josh and me around the door, and said, "I asked Terry about this before, Susan. He says he's almost certain it was you. What about it, Ter? Did you change your mind?"

"No way, Dad. It was Sue. I'm not 100% sure. It was kinda dark out, but Mrs. Manning thought so too. It was Sue. It was Sue. Just like the lying little ...'

"That's enough, Terry. That's enough." Dad told Susan to turn around. He was patting his left hand softly with the paddle. He rubbed his chin. He knitted his brown eyebrows like he was pretending to be deciding, but Susan knew there was a better chance of an ice cube in hell not melting than that she could hold onto her panties.

He smiled meanly, "It's your word against his, Susan. Who do you think a father is going to believe? ... When you come right down to it, who do you think a father is going to believe? ... A naughty little girl willing to say anything to save her, er, fresh cool hinder cheeks, or a fine upstanding American Boy Scout? ... Huh? ... Huh?" He made a disgusted whistling sound and slapped the paddle sharply against his right palm.

Susan let out a pitiful howl, "N-N-N-Nooooooo, D-D-Daddy! ... N-N-N-Nooooooo, D-D-Daddy! ... N-N-N-Nooooooo! ... I-I-I d-d-didn't d-d-do it! ... N-N-N-Nooooooo! ... I-I-I d-d-didn't d-d-do it! ... OOOOOhhhhh! ... W-W-Whhhaaahhh, D-D-D-Daddy! ... I-I-I d-d-didn't d-d-do it!"

Dad had been softly patting his hand with the hockey stick paddle and now sat it down on the edge of the bedside table. He winked at Mrs. Manning in the window and says in a barely audible almost whisper, "Come over here, Susan."

Dad was trying hard to stifle his rising mirth, but started laughing softly in spite of himself. Then his mood changed.

He turned to me and said, "Forrest, you know what this is? ... Sure you do. You've seen me laboring over it in the shop and devoting hours to its design and construction. You even helped me sand it down to a satiny finish before giving it several coats of wax as the final stage. What's more you've seen me, er, use it with regularity on Claudia and Jenn and Susan. ... I think it's time you started helping your old dad in this, for want of a better term, er, the 'rearing' of your sisters.

It's time you started helping Dad in putting the fear of God in little Susan here, in her head like I put a lot of 'heat to her seat.' ... I'm going to let you do this one. And I want old lady Manning to get a good look." With that he went to the window and pulled the curtain all the way aside and fixed it against the wall.

I rushed into the room and sat down in the chair he just got out of. He warned Susan once more and she knew better than to cross him, "Get on over here, Susan, or I swear to God I'll have Forrest double the swats! ... Get on over here!"

Naturally, though, she took tiny, cowering steps toward me, and there was the inevitable bawling, "N-N-N-Nooooooo, D-D-Daddy! ... N-N-N-Nooooooo, D-D-Daddy! ... N-N-N-Nooooooo! ... D-D-Don't l-l-let him! ... D-D-Don't l-l-let him! ... D-D-Don't l-l-let him!"

Dad was grinning from ear to ear and pointing for Mrs. Manning's benefit with his thumb to where Susan was taking her place over my knee. I had gotten a hardon that had to be really freaking her out. Dad said to pull her dress up behind and then hold it a minute. I knew instinctively from watching so many red-hot spankings in this very room how to raise my right toes up to form the perfect arch for a girl's big, round, pantied buttocks to be projected at the perfect angle.

Making sure Mrs. Manning could hear him, Dad started his prologue, "Susan darling, true or not, it seems that our neighbor Mrs. Manning thinks it just might have been you sticking your tongue out at her in the near dark last night. Your loud and tearful protestations of innocence notwithstanding, your Daddy has after due consideration decided to give the dear woman the benefit of the doubt in the interest of discouraging the barest imagining or dreams of you ever doing such a thing. Daddy has been more than careful of the, er, "rearing" of you and your sisters in the past, but in view of your big brother's arrival at young manhood he is not averse to an occasional "outsourcing" of these duties." Wow, that was an understatement!

"Based on his star performance with the slap shot in the hockey rink, I have no doubt that the object he now holds in his hand, which is in fact an instrument that he has had some small share in inventing, will fit his hand well and serve its purpose admirably as it has his father's.

For the instrument I am referring to, dear Mrs. Manning, is the, er, "business end" (if you will allow me) of a common hockey stick: the handle fine-sawed to the shape of a paddle, carved, sanded, polished, and waxed to conform to the burly hand of a strict father or the sinewy one of an athlete brother; the "business end" broad enough to cover a sizable segment of a bawling girl's bare buttocks and thick enough to instill a nice hot sting with each swat.

So we shall see in no time at all, dear lady, after her brother leisurely prepares the 'target' for the 'artillery' attack just how sorry poor little Susan is for the imputed insult ... and how sore her, er, her lovely saucy posterior unmentionable is after the first well-aimed and expertly delivered shot.

... Susan, darling, I am certain that brother Forrest will perform his, er, happy duty in a manner that will more than satisfy your Dad and Mrs. Manning. ... So, Forrest, please proceed."

I slowly fondled Susan's delectable big buttocks through the sheer silk of her panties, but had to stop unless I wanted to cream my BVDs. The audience was very understanding and amused at my flushed face and the explosions of bursts of hot air from my tightened lips. Dad was holding the paddle. I recovered a bit and arched her ass up higher and started lowering her drawers to the middle of her smooth, thick thighs. I was sweating and had trouble getting the fore part of her panties over my hardon. I'm sure she could feel the wetness from my pants.

I was ready to faint but took a break. Susan was looking behind her at me, tears rushing in torrents from her eyes, but obviously aroused and I think it's weird how she looked up at me, almost hopelessly in love through her tears. Where she was bawling and pleading, she was moaning now. She ground into my groin and her pussy was as hot and moist as my cock.

I was rubbing her lovely, fat-cheeked ass all over and delicately running the side of my right hand all up and down in between the smooth deep cleavage and tickling her immaculate pink asshole. I reached for the paddle that Dad was holding out toward me because I couldn't take it anymore. Her moaning enraged me.

I bent down and kissed the crest of her right ass cheek, and then the left. Then I kissed her smooth rotund hinder cheeks, right at their plumpest part, just outside of her asshole.

They tell me my face changed from blissful to mean as a mad grizzly bear. I raised the paddle high above my head and left it there. Dad said, "Before you start, Forrest, let's explain something to Susan. Susan, darling, you've heard of the slap shot on the hockey rink, right? ... Yeah? You've heard of that? ... Well, there's only one thing a hockey player loves more than acing a slap shot on the ice and your brother is going to show you what that is right now."

Susan was raving, "N-N-N-Nooooooo, F-F-Forrest! ... N-N-N-Nooooooo, F-F-Forrest! ... N-N-N-Nooooooo! ... N-N-N-Nooooooo! ... OOOOOhhhhh! ... W-W-Whhhaaahhh, F-F-Forrest! ... N-N-N-Nooooooo! ... N-N-N-Nooooooo, D-D-Daddy! ... N-N-N-Nooooooo, D-D-Daddy! ... N-N-N-Nooooooo! ... D-D-Don't l-l-let him! ... D-D-Don't l-l-let him! ... D-D-Don't l-l-let him!"

I took a deep breath and brought the paddle down ... SPLAT! ... with lightning speed and blitzkrieg heat dead center on the plumpest part of her tender white right ass cheek. She let out a shriek like a banshee, "E-E-E-Eeeeeeek!"

A glowing red imprint of the paddle showed up immediately on her butt cheek, which she started rubbing frantically, bawling all the while, "W-W-Whhhaaahhh! ... W-W-Whhhaaahhh! ... W-W-Whhhaaahhh!"

Dad grabbed her hands and held them out of the way of Mrs. Manning's view. He put his hand around both of her wrists, held her arms up and, grinning from ear to ear in a bowing gesture, traced an elegant sweep of his upturned hand, as if to present a miraculous presence through dissipating clouds with a hearty, "Ta taaaaaa!"

She was cowering again behind her curtain, but we could see the delight in her eyes and her shy grin. Dad pointed to my handiwork and she nodded with delight.

I raised my hand again. ... SPLAT! "E-E-E-Eeeeeeek! ... W-W-Whhhaaahhh! ... W-W-Whhhaaahhh! ... W-W-Whhhaaahhh!"

In the next half hour she got another six or eight good, hot stinging swats per cheek which elicit predictable responses, "W-W-Whhhaaahhh! ... W-W-Whhhaaahhh! ... W-W-Whhhaaahhh!"

Both cheeks of her ass were now a bright crimson and hot to my hand. Dad and Josh and Terry were craning their necks and laughing and whistling. Dad said, "Hurts, does it Susan, darling? Hurts your lovely big bare ass, right? ... That's good. That's r-r-real gooood! ... I wouldn't even think of putting my tongue out to Mrs. Manning or any other lady if I was you, darling. Learn your lesson? Huh Huh?"

Susan. convinced of her innocence, just roared with rage and shame, I-I-I d-d-didn't d-d-do it! ... N-N-N-Nooooooo! ... I-I-I d-d-didn't d-d-do it! ... W-W-Whhhaaahhh! ... W-W-Whhhaaahhh! ... W-W-Whhhaaahhh!"

Dad told me to give her one final swat, but I had better make it a good one, SPLAAAAAAT! W-W-Whhhaaahhh! ... W-W-Whhhaaahhh! ... W-W-Whhhaaahhh!"

Dad smirked and shrugged his shoulders, and winking at Mrs. Manning, said, "Maybe she didn't. Now she knows what's going to happen to her nice big bare ass if she ever does."