Perverts 'R' Us

Susan's Achilles Heel

By Grade School Nurse ( M/F/mm/f, voy, spank, nosex )

We read almost monthly in the sports pages of injuries to athletes in the Achilles tendon, so-called from the hero's heel. Having an Achilles heel in the metaphorical sense is common to the human condition, but in the case of Susan, my granddaughter, it is subject to far greater frequency and considerable severity of damage.

Susan's Achilles heel is located precisely in a clearly-identifiable part of her anatomy, and I suspect that the reader will by now have realized where that part is from the fact that its description appears in this collection. It occupies the territory commonly referred to as between the tailbone and the upper thighs, but strictly confined to the posterior side of her body. Her stepmother has a whole lexicon of words for this area and uses them with the greatest freedom of choice, according to her mood at the moment and the appropriateness of the situation.

She will, for example, in the warning long in advance of the application of her hairbrush to the parts in consideration refer to her "saucy" or "fresh" or "pristine hinder cheeks"; or in closer anticipation on Susan's part of her dire smart her "soon-to-be burning buttocks"; or in the actual progress of the spanking her "now beginning to add some warmth to the room bare-naked arse cheeks"; and finally after having once again relieved herself of her invincible itching for spanking her youngest step-daughter's lovely naked rump, her "now at last brought to a proper degree of radiant heat pink swollen hinder cheeks."

Her brothers have Achilles heels of their own: Lester, the oldest, is allergic to mushrooms. Maynard is prone to hockey injuries in various parts. William (Billy), the youngest, cannot tolerate strawberries. Her sisters have individual complaints of their own such as headache, hives, and fits of melancholia. All these are innate and stem from the physical and mental makeup of the sufferer. With Susan, all is perfect health and beauty. Her strong constitution is matched only by her stunning prettiness. In fact it might have been that she had no Achilles heel at all, but for the fact that one was discovered (quite literally) for her by her stepmother, my daughter-in-law, Mrs. Russell Bennett.

Susan's Achilles heel is the prominent feature on her body, not even second to her angelic face. It is, in fact, a face in stepmother Sybilla's eyes, though invisible to others in the normal course of her life. It is that period or rather those surprisingly-frequent occasions that it is visible to her stepmother, myself, and her father and siblings that are the subject of this story.

Needless to say, the "face" I am referring to is Susan's posterior or nether face, a wonderment of excessive majesty and charm, an impediment to the easy sleep of men and boys, a scandal to all women of virtue and the envy of every teenage girl in the neighborhood.

We shall examine the dangerous effects of Susan's matchless derriere on its admirers in its various manifestations that are imagined, undiscovered or discovered. The first of these occurs usually soon after it is encountered undiscovered, as most recently at the mall where it was hotly pursued by a quartet of low whistling, staring, laughing high school boys. No sooner had it evaded them by some running around and final desperate appeal to the mall security, than it was seen again, undiscovered by the married men awaiting their wives and daughters' shopping 'til they dropped and praised with half-whispered expressions of wonder and undisguised lewdness.

Again undiscovered, it caught the eye of the roaming mall toughs who, less inhibited, pursued it with ear-splitting whistles and guffaws. The inevitable result of these undiscovered sightings were either wet dreams in the high school boys, carefully preserved memories of the visions in the husbands as they revitalize their fantasies during marital lovemaking, and renewed resolutions in the delinquents to "snag us some like that choice ass for sure next time."

So that quite innocent, though happily aware, of these constant attentions by men and boys of all ages to her undiscovered nether charms, Susan became an unwitting victim to her stepmother's moral outrage and envy. For Sybilla's sole purpose in life for some time past has been to find every opportunity to discover, under dire and painful conditions for Susan, what caused such unwarranted surges of hormones in the unfortunate men and boys that were given but a hint of its discovered manifestation when suffering the consequences of her flirtation.

The discovered, revealed, manifested, or simply bared impression of Susan's parts that have become synonymous with her Achilles heel had, due to divine Providence, blind chance, or the simple resolution of family romance, become the private property of our happy family. That is, of our happy family with one exception, the unhappy member being, as always, Susan.

But what could she expect? In no civilized country should the shrill pleas and hoarse bawling of a single girl who presented such outrages to morality by merely walking in public carry an iota of weight in the balance to the protests of the many who daily bear witness to such displays, however innocent on her part. In a word, and as her stepmother sees it, poor Susan couldn't be blamed for her obtrusively luscious posterior development, but neither could the men and boys who suffered daily from it.

Nevertheless it was obvious that she encouraged and derived pleasure from such adoration. It was therefore expedient, as well and just and proper, that the cause of such mental unrest suffer for it in the most appropriate manner. The most appropriate manner in my daughter-in-law's mind has a marked element of theater - Susan's splendid derriere being displayed in a flamboyantly theatrical manner to men and boys alike. It was then in its covered state. The appropriate unveiling must be likewise a spectacle, though one designed for a smaller audience and a more intimate setting.

Far from wishing to deny the world at large access to her performance with her old 1935 model well-worn Brava hairbrush on the naked arse cheeks of poor Susan, her stepmother was sadly aware that this would be an impossibility, which was probably why she had successfully assembled an audience, intimate in its dimensions, but making up for this by being full of the warmest enthusiasm. For Sybilla was a great believer in the element of shame in the bare-bottom spanking of girls and a champion of the idea that this shame could best be produced by an audience intimately involved in family romance.

Civilized people did not fornicate with their siblings. The intense sexual urges and frustrations of the boys and men, however, could be immeasurably relieved by what a West Virginian mountain friend of mine once referred to as "a right good ass-whuppin on that gal's big, bare, fat-cheeked sit-down place by her step-ma in front of pa and all us boys."

Sybilla must have noted with pleasure that more often than not, my son or grandsons had their hands in their pockets, as I had mine discreetly hidden under my newspaper and imagined that what ejaculation was not spent in the midst of a hellfire hot spanking was probably discharged later in bed. She had a genius for studying faces and telltale body parts and came up with just the perfect timing in the running commentary on the whaling or synchronizing the hottest swat to one or other of our climaxes.

Her stage requirements were few, but indispensable: a plush, crimson-velvet, heart-shaped pillow that Susan sat on wherever she may be in the house; a conveniently-located room, usually Susan's bedroom, but often the sofa in the parlor; seats for me and my son and Lester, standing and sitting room for Maynard and Billy; several wooden clothes pins that held Susan's dress well away from the "theater of operations", also called the "target area" or the "firing line" or the "hot zone."; a large jar of cold cream and box of tissues; and last, but far from least, in fact the very essentials: three of my daughter-in-law's preferred "artillery", an 18"x3"x1/2" oak ruler, a 15"x2"x1/2" walnut paddle with a picture of a bear chasing a little girl on the shore of a lake on one side, and on the other side the words:

FOR MOMMY'S LITTLE SWEETHEART WITH THE BIG BEAR (BARE) BEHIND;

and a beautiful 1935 model, 12" hardwood Brava hairbrush, oval in shape, the mirror-smooth polished surface of its "business end" ideally proportioned to be slightly rounder than oval, the better to cover with heat the largest possible area of the roaring girl's cool bare buttocks.

So as to promote healing of her swollen hinder cheeks, Susan must use the heart-shaped Valentine pillow between spankings. Her stepmother examined her naked buttocks regularly to judge the progress of the recovery and showed great patience and restraint in delaying her next ordeal to when her "target" was refreshed and pristine. That day must come and Sybilla was amassing a "hot sheet" of grievances, scribbled appropriately on pink paper.

Some typical entries: one of Susan's brothers heard from an unnamed source, who heard from another, who heard from a third that there was more than just the natural act of locomotion being exercised in Susan's stroll in the mall, and as reported so often before, boys' and men's heads were turning. Public decency was being flaunted. As often, though, a sour old maid was "at the bottom" of the assault on Susan's bottom.

As when old Mrs. Price next door, who spent most of her time lurking behind the curtain of her parlor, caught a glimpse of Susan on her way to school, followed at an indiscreet proximity by two or three high school boys, their eyes practically popping out of their heads, their cheeks aglow.

Portia Price's thoughts can best be paraphrased as, "Just look at that hussy Susan Bennett, forcing those nice boys to stare at her big, saucy buttocks. Lord have mercy, those naughty hinder cheeks of hers ought to be spanked to a cinder!" Happily for Mrs. Price, Susan's stepmother is always of a mind with her on Susan's account.

It was just such a complaint of Mrs. Price's that merited Susan an entry in the "hot sheet" on that Friday morning in May, when the sap was raging through the green twigs of the apple trees and by analogy the tough veins of high school boys. Susan, dressed in her calf-length red and black plaid skirt and white bobby socks and holding her textbooks up to her breast had just descended the front stairs of the Bennett home. She noticed Gerry Smith, the center on the football team, and his pals Steve Harper and Allen Price, walking at a snail's pace half a block to the south. She pretended not to see them and hurried on her way.

They started walking faster and Allen's aunt, old Mrs. Price, could see that they were shamefully aroused in an unmentionable part of their anatomies, flushed in the face and shyly grinning. Susan sped up, only to see them do so as well. She looked behind her and saw Mrs. Price at her parlor window, furtively holding the lace curtain aside at eye level. The damage to Susan's honor had been done once again. The damage to her buttocks was imminent. Mrs. Price was knocking on her stepmother's door.

My daughter-in-law was more than gratified that she had executed an examination of her step-daughter Susan's exquisite buttocks the night before and had found them alabaster-smooth and ivory-white and fresh with a delectable coolness. Mrs. Price was heard with intense interest and rising warmth of emotion as she outlined her grievance to Sybilla Bennett the next day in a voice choked with rage, "That g-girl s-step-daughter of yours is up to her old tricks. You should see how she tortures those poor pure-hearted boys. S-She's a veritable Jezebel, she is. Or, or Potiphar's wife. ... Why she's affecting Allen's grades. She's the cause of him flunking algebra! I know! There, you have it. Now what do you intend about it?"

Sybilla's excitement rose with Mrs. Price's rage. She studied her face intently with a sensual smile. She radiated sympathy and outrage. She took the old woman's hands in hers caressingly and said, "Not to worry, Portia. You know well enough what I intend to do about. You've watch it often enough."

"O-Ohh, Sybilla, w-would you? ... Would you? I would be s-s-so grateful to you."

"You know better than to ask, dear. Be at your window when the light comes on in Susan's room tonight."

The light in Susan's bedroom went on in advance at precisely eight o'clock that night. The hairbrush was set bristles upward on its smooth, flat, oval face on the bedside table between Susan's bed and the wing-back chair reserved exclusively to her stepmother's use. Mrs. Price had been behind her curtain for some time in nervous anticipation of the imminent execution of the wages of her complaint against Susan. She started up suddenly from her musings in the dimly-lit room the instant Sybilla threw the switch. Sybilla went to the window and threw the old lady a "we're ready" gesture with the circle formed by her thumb and forefinger. She left the room and descended the stairs.

Minutes later, she reappeared with Susan in tow, holding her by the ear. They were followed by Augusta and Alicia. Alicia lifted Susan's dress up behind and fixed it above her waist with three clothes pins. Susan was sent bawling to the corner as my daughter-in-law seated herself in the chair beside her bed.

Lester, Maynard, and Billy crowded into the room and the two older boys sat on the bench against the wall with Billy cross-legged on the floor beside them. My son and I sat on the straight-back chairs previously set at the other end of the room, facing stepmother's chair. My son Russell's chair had its seat toward the bed, as he liked to straddle it with his arms over the cross-piece of the back.

A solemn silence reigned in the room, except for Susan's whimpers and bleating. All ears were primed for her stepmother's lecture:

"Susan, dear, I see from your crying that you now know your secret is out. It has come to my ears from the usual source" she turned toward the window of the house next door.

"…that your means of locomotion on the sidewalk in front of this house has been, shall we say, provocative to the boys in the neighborhood, not to mention their fathers and uncles."

Susan, as always, blubbered her innocence. Pointedly ignoring her pleas, her stepmother went on, "One would imagine, Susan dear, that you would have learned from the many previous contacts of your, er, your Achilles heel with the hairbrush sitting there that your admittedly lovely fanny stands in real jeopardy when you alter your formerly chaste walk on the way to school."

"The high school boys who use this path to school have every bit as much right to use the public sidewalks as yourself, don't you agree? Yet you seem to have a ... a distracting effect on them and I cannot but believe that the reason is your ... your alluring gait. Your manner of locomotion, especially in the nether parts behind, has become a ... a problem. But it is a problem that I intend to address and in all diligence to cure and as if you needed any proof of that, darling, I ask you to consider the purpose of the hairbrush you see on the table here."

Susan roars with shame and rage, "A-A-Arrrrrrgggggghhhhhh! ... I-I w-w-walk -n-n-natural! ... I-I w-w-walk -n-n-natural! ... W-W-Waaaaaahhhhhh!"

Stepmother begged to disagree, "You do not "walk natural", dear. You do not. And it may well be that it's more difficult for you than for other girls due to ... er, due to the sheer lusciousness of your buttocks to attempt a chaster walk, but you will do your best. And I know you will try, dear, because when we are through here, your lovely hinder cheeks are going to be considerably less comfortable than they are now."

"And let me remind you once again of Achilles' heel, darling. It was his one vulnerable spot and he died from the dart that pierced it. Your Achilles heel, darling, is in another place. You don't die from the injury there as you know. It can be stung again and again and it heals in time and returns to its health and vigor. And dare I ask you where that one vulnerable spot is, darling Susan? Dare I? ... Dare I, Susan?"

Susan knew her stepmother expected an answer. She bawled out a stuttered reply, "M-M-My f-f-fanny. ... W-W-Waaaaaahhhhhh!"

"Say it again, Susan. I'm sure your grandfather and father and brothers would love to hear you say it again. And louder this time, darling"

"M-M-M-My ... M-M-M-My f-f-f-f-fanny. ... W-W-Waaaaaahhhhhh!"

"Excellent, Susan, now come over here. Now that we've told the men just where this, er, vulnerable part is, why don't we show it to them? Come over here."

Susan hollered with rage and shame but shuffled slowly over to her stepmother's chair, "A-A-Arrrrrrgggggghhhhhh! ... W-W-Waaaaaahhhhhh! ... A-A-Arrrrrrgggggghhhhhh! ... W-W-Waaaaaahhhhhh!"

She took her usual place over my daughter-in-law's lap and, rubbing away the tears that flowed in torrents from her eyes onto the carpet beneath, rendered a final heart-rending plea, "P-P-Pleeeease! ... N-N-Noooooooo! ... P-P-Pleeeease! ... N-N-Noooooooo! ... P-P-Pleeeease! ... N-N-Noooooooo! … A-A-Arrrrrrgggghhhhh! ... W-W-Waaaaaahhhhhh! ... A-A-Arrrrrrgggggghhhhhh! ... W-W-Waaaaaahhhhhh!"

Her stepmother's lips curled into a broad grin. The girl's plump nether rotundities were projected upward, inches from her face, snugly encased in their white-satin, crimson-lace-trimmed panties. She cupped a chubby rump-cheek in each palm and caressed it softly for a long while. The girl looked behind her and saw the men and boys craning their necks forward, the boys blushing, the men grinning and laughing in a shy, low, almost reverential way.

She quite suddenly grabbed hold of the waistband of the bawling girl's panties and slowly hauled them down to "half-mast" as I like to call it; that is to the middle of her thick, round, smooth white thighs. She beamed a big, toothy smile to me, Russell, and the boys, turned toward the window where old Mrs. Price was daintily applauding the spectacle, and fell to caressing her superbly lush, smooth, white, bare-naked buttocks.

She ended with a sharp pinch to the crest of each cheek and announced, "Now then, darling Susan, we've identified your "vulnerable spot" for the benefit of the men and boys here, we've even shown it to them in all its naked loveliness. Yet there's still but one thing left undone, darling Susan, and I think you know what that is. ... You should by now. ... I've shown them that part many times before, don't you remember?" She laughed gently. "Oh, I'm sure you do remember. It surely made an unforgettable impression on you, Susan dear."

"Now, Susan, I want you to look at the boys here, and when you do I'm sure you will realize what an impression your... that is, it ... is making on them. Don't you see how Maynard and Billy are blushing? I wonder why, Susan? Could it be that the sight of your lovely big, bare-naked buttocks is disturbing them? I think so, darling. ... They're good boys, Susan. ... They are the pure in heart. ... They don't want to think those thoughts that your big saucy girlish arse keeps intruding into their serene boyish minds. ... They can't sleep at night, Susan, because of one thing. ... Do you know what that is, Susan? ... Oh, I think you do. ... It's that big chubby-cheeked naked arse that is laying here right now, well within their view. ... They are the innocents. ... They are the victims. ... It's your enchantingly-lovely, big, bare buttocks that are driving them mad all night long, the way they drive the high school boys mad. But there's help for it, Susan dear. They shall have relief. Your arse is your Achilles heel, darling."

Her stepmother grinned wickedly. She reached for the hairbrush. She ran her palm softly over the mirror-smooth surface of its oval face. She whispered in a tone quite loud enough for all to hear to Susan, "See those shy, blushing faces, Susan dear? See the nervous grins? The boys are embarrassed for you, Susan. But it's a pleasant embarrassment. You know why? Because they know that you are going to pay for it ... to pay for it ... in your Achilles heel. ... And your big, naughty bare arse will be pinker by far than their cheeks in short order indeed, Missy. Let me assure of that!"

She rolled her sleeve higher up on her thick, round, upper arm. She raised her arm high over her head. The hairbrush trembled, suspended, its "business end" directly in position to form a perfect arc straight down to the roaring girl's naked backside. She let the hairbrush descend with sizzling heat and lightning speed, squarely dead-center on the crests of both naked chubby arse cheeks where they parted just outside the girl's pink, immaculate anus. SPLAAAAAAT!!!

Two livid hot neon pink discs, the size of large silver-dollar pancakes were instantly etched on the chubbiest parts of the roaring girl's "vulnerable spot," her Achilles heel.

She roared, "A-A-Arrrrrrgggggghhhhhh! ... W-W-Waaaaaahhhhhh! ... A-A-Arrrrrrgggggghhhhhh! ... W-W-Waaaaaahhhhhh!" Her stepmother warned her not to touch the singed area, though Susan itched to rub it.

She grinned and said, "No rubbing, Susan, dear. Let the men see the effect of Mr. Brava's fine brush on your saucy bare buttocks. ... There'll be plenty of time for rubbing between kisses of the brush in time. ... Hands away now . Hands away. ... Let them have a look."

Maynard and Billy were blushing to the roots of their hair now and grabbing their privates through their pockets. Lester was throwing his head back in a paroxysm of bliss as a dark spot appeared on his trousers over his crotch. Russell and I were mopping our brows and burning a path with our eyes to the hot pink welt on the bawling girl's big, naked arse cheeks.

She raised the brush a second time. SWAAAAAAT!!!

"A-A-Arrrrrrgggggghhhhhh! ... W-W-Waaaaaahhhhhh! ... A-A-Arrrrrrgggggghhhhhh! ... W-W-Waaaaaahhhhhh!"

A red welt appeared on the girl's left cheek, half-covering the last, the superimposed swat a shade darker than the new half. My daughter-in-law aimed again. SWIIIIIIIISH!!!

"A-A-Arrrrrrgggggghhhhhh! ... W-W-Waaaaaahhhhhh! ... A-A-Arrrrrrgggggghhhhhh! ... W-W-Waaaaaahhhhhh!"

The imprint made symmetry with the last swat on her right cheek.

One by one I, my son, and three grandsons creamed our pants with floods of hot sperm from the lewd spectacle my daughter-in-law was treating us to at poor granddaughter Susan's expense. I am sure she had a much less comfortable sense of Achilles' heel than when she read about it in school.