Saddle Sore
Chapter 6: The Spanking of a Lifetime

For some reason, Jayme Schmidt was horse riding, wearing only her underwear and assless chaps. She was wearing a g-string that had a picture of a cartoon character falling off a horse, along with the slogan, “I Do My Own Stunts.”

Everyone was watching her: her family, the girls from Redfield Baptist Church and School…and Conrad Mording. As Jayme twisted to look at all the spectators, she felt her cheeks burning, before she fell backwards off her saddle, and came rolling and skidding to a halt in the fine sand. As her butt took the brunt of the impact, she felt her butt cheeks burning.

Conrad leapt over the fence, and scooped Jayme up in his arms. For some reason, he was about 3 feet tall, and resembled a hobbit from the 1970s cartoons by Rankin-Bass. “Never fear, Jayme! I’ll save you!”

Then he leapt up and over the fence in a single bound, and deposited Jayme on her feet. 

Mamma screamed. “Jayme! What were you thinking? You could have been hurt!”

Pappa strolled forward from the crowd, shaking his head. “And what on earth are you wearing, young lady? That is not appropriate attire for a Christian lady.”

With all eyes in the crowd on her, Jayme suddenly noticed what she was wearing, and covered herself as best she could. Immediately, Pappa snatched her wrists, and placed her hands behind her head. “I’m afraid I’ll have to spank you, Firecracker. It’s the only suitable punishment for a bad girl like you.”

Jayme felt her stomach twisting as Pappa reached for her panties. “But…”

In one clean motion, Pappa tugged down her panties, and the assembled crowd collectively gasped, then erupted into howls of laughter. 

Pappa roughly bent her over, easily pinning her against his waist under one arm, and began to deliver firm spanks. “You should be ashamed of yourself. I’m very disappointed in you. I promise you, young lady, this will be the definitive spanking of your life.”

As the all-too-familiar burn returned to her behind, Jayme squeaked like a mouse and kicked her feet. “I’m sorry! I know I deserve this spanking! I know I’m a bad girl!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Jayme saw Mamma handing Conrad Mording a diaper bag. “Conrad, I’m afraid Jayme is simply too irresponsible to be left on her own. We’ll have to hire you to be her baby sitter again. Here, once we’re finished spanking her naughty little bottom, you can diaper her naughty little bottom.”

“Noooooo!” wailed Jayme, only to be cut off by a particularly ferocious clap. Then, she heard a familiar sound: the click of a belt buckle, followed by the snicks of rawhide leather ripping through the loops of denim jeans.

Pappa set Jayme down, and snapped the belt between his hands. “Yes, Jayme, after I’m finished, you will ask Mr. Mording to give you a spanking, to teach you to be obedient to your new baby sitter. Go hold onto the fence, and stick out your behind.”

Jayme started sniveling, but forced herself to nod, and obey. As she approached the fence, she saw Sir Hamilton, holding an apple in his hoof, and chewing it contemplatively. Then, Sir Hamilton spoke, with a voice exactly like the amazing Mr. Ed. “Hold on, Miss Jayme. I’ve always found you to be the most responsible and generous host a horse of good breeding could ever ask for. You’re not a bad girl at all. Why do you put up with this abuse?”

Jayme shook her head, tears falling freely. “No! I’m a bad, sinful girl! This isn’t abuse! I deserve this spanking! I deserve every lick of punishment I can get!”

Sir Hamilton shrugged, then popped a tobacco pipe in his mouth. “Welp, if that’s what floats your boat, who am I to judge?”

With perfect timing, Pappa whipped his folded belt across Jayme’s bare bottom, then began to properly thrash her. Every lash was delivered with expert aim and ferocious force. Jayme screeched, and clung tight to the fence. 

Suddenly, Mamma appeared in her peripheral vision, flipping through her Bible. “As the good book says, ‘Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it’...but since we’re going to have to start training you up all over again, starting right back and square one with you in diapers, I think we ought to commemorate this important day in Jayme’s life. We need some sort of…symbol. An indelible mark to represent the permanent stain of sin and shame.”

Jayme heard a soft hissing, and twisted to find Conrad Mording holding a white hot branding iron out of a fire. Past the rippling, billowing steam, Jayme recognized the mark of the Schmidt family horse ranch: the letter “S” wrapped around a Latin cross. 

Jayme shook her head with force. She tried to stand up, but it felt like her hands and feet were superglued into place. She was trapped! “No! Not that! Anything but that! I’ll be good!”

But Conrad Mording only shook his head. “Sorry, Jayme…but your ass is mine now.”

As Jayme screamed, she felt the sizzling brand press against her buttocks with a hiss, and then, for the first time in her life, she really screamed. But no matter how she twisted and writhed, she couldn’t escape.

…

Still screaming, Jayme shot her head up from her pillow, and found herself in her own bed. She was sweating profusely, and felt her chest heaving. Reflexively, she clutched her own bottom, positive she could still feel the burning scars left by the branding iron. But her bottom was cool to the touch. 

Taking shaky breaths, Jayme buried her face in her palms. “What is wrong with me? God…why did you make me this way?” 

Jayme peered through her fingers at her digital alarm clock. It was 2 o’ clock in the morning. Not even Pappa would be up yet. Automatically, Jayme imagined her parents bursting into her room, wanting to know what all the noise was about, before ordering her to the woodshed for the spanking of her life for waking up the whole house.

Jayme groaned. “Why do I think like that? They’d never do that to me! They wouldn’t take me to the woodshed over something so–”

Jayme paused as she thought of the woodshed. And then, she finally remembered. “My hairbrush…my pink belt…I forgot to get them!”

Instantly, Jayme’s felt a cold sweat. All the work she had done to hide her secret, and she’d forgotten the most important detail. How could she have been so stupid?

Digging her fingers in her hair, Jayme considered her options. In just a few hours, she would have to get up for morning chores. Could she duck into the woodshed then. Then Jayme considered the clock. Not even Pappa would be up this early, and he was usually up and working by 5:00 am.

This was her best chance. But it also meant, on the slim chance she was caught, there would be no reasonable explanation for why she was up after bedtime. She might just get that trip to the woodshed for real, after all.

As Jayme felt her sweat break, she made her decision. This was just like when she made her decision to set off the fireworks, or the time she’d cracked the lock on Pappa’s gun safe. To hell with it! If she was going to get caught, she might as well get caught in the most spectacular way possible.

Jayme flung off her blankets, and crept toward her door. Maybe everyone had heard her scream. Maybe she’d get caught in under a second, get spanked until she was forced to confess everything, and the nightmare would finally be over!

But as Jayme carefully pulled open her door, she saw nothing. There was a soft groan from one of her sister’s bedrooms. Jayme wondered if it was Jessica, having trouble sleeping with her freshly-spanked backside.

After waiting a few seconds, Jayme determined that Jessica must have fallen back asleep, and tiptoed down the hall. She found her moccasins by the front door, and pulled them on.

But as Jayme stepped out the door, a strange thought occurred to her. She was going back to the woodshed. She had nearly two whole hours before Pappa would be awake. Quivering in her pajamas, Jayme clenched, and unclenched her gluteus maximus. 

After all…didn’t she deserve a spanking?

Instantly, her rational mind dismissed it as a stupid idea. Just last night, she had come way too close to getting shot, or worse, getting caught.

Then, Jayme felt a strange sense of calm, and her insides stopped writhing. “But I didn’t get caught…”

For sixteen years, she had kept this secret hidden. She had been so obvious, so many times, in so many ways, for so long, and yet…here she was. And then, a strange thought occurred to Jayme. What if God was helping her keep this secret? What if her parents had never found out because they were never meant to find out?

Jayme tried to remember everything she’d learned in Bible class, anything that could be relevant to her present predicament. She recalled something from her Theology 201 courses. God’s nature was that He was omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent: all powerful, all knowing, and always there. Surely, if Jayme was meant to be caught, she would simply just get caught, right?

So if there was nothing that could change God’s will, one way or the other, why not just risk it?

But something about her own logic seemed off. Jayme whispered, “Be sure your sin will find you out…”

Jayme glanced at her bottom. “But spanking isn’t a sin. Spanking is good. It’s fair. It just makes sense. Naughty girls get spanked. I’m not sinning, not really…”

In her conscience, Jayme remembered when she was two years old, her earliest memories of spanking herself. She remembered parents telling her that it was their job to spank her, not hers. That settled it. This was disobedience. This was a sin.

But then Jayme thought about the importance of self-discipline. She remembered her memorization verses from the book of Hebrews. “Now no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous: nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby.”

Wasn’t that what spanking was? It was never joyous while it was happening, even when she was spanking herself, but afterwards…she always felt so peaceable. So maybe that was the problem! She just needed more spanking, and she’d feel better!

“Then why not ask Mamma and Pappa for help? Go to them. Ask them for help. Tell them what’s wrong. Ask them to give me more discipline…”

With an effort, Jayme forced herself to open the front door, and stepped onto the front porch. She stared at the woodshed, in awe of how it looked under the blue moonlight. It was so beautiful.

Jayme tried to imagine how the conversation would go. “Mom, Dad? I’ve been sneaking out after bed time to spank myself in the woodshed. You see, I’m obsessed with spanking. There, I said it. Want me to go to the woodshed and wait for you to come spank me?”

Jayme shook her head. There was no way she could make herself say that. She’d probably die of embarrassment first. There was just something wrong with her. Maybe she was just bad inside, needed lots more spanking than any other kid in the world, and the spankings her parents were giving her just weren’t cutting it. 

Or maybe she should go to her parents, and confess all, some day. Or maybe she could ask them about spanking in an indirect way, like whether she would still need spankings after she graduated college. That might be the best of both worlds! She could find out the answer to her question, without admitting why she was asking in the first place.

But whatever the answer, Jayme knew, she needed a spanking tonight, and she didn’t have the guts to wake up her parents at this hour to ask for one. Jayme took a deep brath. “This is it, either way. One last self-spanking, and you talk to them.”

With that, she made up her mind. But Jayme didn’t head straight to the woodshed. She turned toward the horse barn, and crept inside.

No, if this was going to be her last time spanking herself, she had to make it count. She was going to give herself a proper horse whipping, just like in the old Westerns.

Jayme stiffened as she heard a horse snort, and tried to hold her breath. In the main arena, where the horses ran exercises, Jayme found her father’s collection of antique horse whips and bull whips. One in particular caught her eye: it had a short handle, with dozens of thin leather tongs. She’d always wondered what it must feel like. Once, she’d even dared to whip it across the seat of her wrangler jeans, a little harder than she’d meant to.

Holding the whip in her hand, Jayme cracked it experimentally. From the neighboring stalls, a horse snorted, then it let loose a whiny neigh. Jayme jumped, and nearly dropped the horse whip. She started to put it away, before remembering there was no point. “Stupid, stupid, stupid me!”

Jayme hissed with frustration as she marched out of the horse barn, wondering if she’d find her parents waiting for her at the entrance. She thrust it open, mentally preparing to make her full confession, before asking politely to be taken to the woodshed immediately. But there was no one there. All was quiet on the western ranch.

As Jayme spotted the woodshed, she felt her feet moving of their own accord. There was no more hesitation. She had come this far, and she was determined to see it through to the end. Jayme clutched the horsewhip tight against her chest, and muttered out loud in a scolding tone. “Jayme Hilario Schmidt, it’s time for your spanking! Now, get your butt to the woodshed.”

She felt her whole body trembling, and although she knew full well it was from fear, she found it delightful, intoxicating.

Jayme thrust open the door of the woodshed, and didn’t bother to close it behind her. After all, there was a naughty girl who desperately needed a good spanking, and there wasn’t a moment to waste. Jayme continued to play-pretend lecturing herself as she turned on the incandescent light, and shoved the saddle rack against the wall to open up the center of the floor. She would need to stand up to properly swing the horse whip. “No whining, young lady. You know full well you have this coming. This is going to be the spanking of your life, and I promise you, you will never forget it! And, yes…it will be on the bare.”

With that, Jayme bared herself below the waist, held her pajama shirt tight against her chest with her left hand, and arched her back to stick out her bottom as far as she could while standing. Experimentally, Jayme gently swung the horse whip, and found to her pleasure that it landed exactly where she wanted it to. It would cover most of her right buttock, and the tips of the whip-like tongs would land against the center of her left buttock. Jayme took a calming breath, remembering vividly her previous trip to the woodshed. “The Bible teaches that a criminal should receive forty lashes, minus one, as the due penalty for their offence. For your disobedience, you’ve earned the full thirty-nine licks. You will count each one, and thank me for spanking you.”

Expertly, Jayme lashed the horse whip across her bottom, with full force. She gasped as she felt the impact, and for an instant, she snapped herself out of her pretend world. “Ah…ow…”

Gritting her teeth, Jayme quickly delivered a second stroke of the horse whip, which landed just below where the first had landed. “No! Count! Repeat after me. One, sir! Thank you, sir!”

But before Jayme could pretend to count, she felt dozens of long, thin welts flaring up across her buttocks like a rising fire. It didn’t just feel real. It was real. So real, she was actually struggling to stay calm, and continue playing the role of spankee. 

But Jayme the spanker was having none of Jayme the spankee’s defiance. Jayme snapped the third stroke of the whip with a precise flick of her wrist, achieving a resounding snap. Jayme gagged, then managed to groan. “One, sir! Thank you sir!”

Jayme lowered her voice, speaking with cold authority. “Better. But those first two didn’t count. You’ve done wrong, Jayme. Don’t think about feeling sorry for yourself. I want you to think about what you’ve done, and count. Then ask God to help you repent, and to help you hold still. Count two.”

As Jayme landed the fourth lash, she felt the first three sets of welts screaming protest at her, and yelped. “Ow! Two, sir! Thank you, sir!” 

At the thought that she might wake her family up at any moment, Jayme tried to stifle her scream, but as Jayme landed the next stroke, all thoughts of the world outside the woodshed slowly melted away. The woodshed was her entire world now. “Agh! Three, sir! Thank you, sir!”

Steadily delivered the next set of strokes. The pain was just unbearable enough that she felt the sharp sting, and wanted it to stop, but just bearable enough that she could carry on the spanking anyway. She had found her groove. But after twelve strokes, Jayme started to struggle, and lost her rhythm. As Jayme felt her lip trembling, she switched to playing the stern spanker. “Your count, Jayme.”

Covering her bottom with her left hand, Jayme shook her head, genuinely wanting the pain of the spanking to be over. “No! No more! Please, no more!”

Jayme pulled up her left hand, as if snatching it away from her own bottom, and switched her grip on the horse whip, freeing her right hand. “No more warnings. We’re starting over from the beginning.”

Pulling the hem of her shirt into her knotted right fist, Jayme aimed the whip under her right arm and across her bottom, covering her left buttock with the next stroke, so that the thin welts mirrored the previous set. No longer able to hold back, Jayme shouted, then steadied her breath. “Start your count again, at one.”

Feeling stupid, Jayme screwed up her face. It wasn’t fair! She was too old to be spanked! “One, sir! Thank you, sir!”

She felt the fresh welts all the more keenly now that she was covering previously unmarked territory. With an effort, she delivered the second stroke, with the same furious energy, and choked. “Two, sir…th-thank you, sir!”

But as she tried to aim the third stroke, it landed lower than she expected, snapping across her upper thigh, barely making contact with her bottom at all. Jayme flinched, then started to count, but the illusion was breaking. “Th-three…No! This is stupid!”

Half-heartedly, Jayme aimed a fourth stroke, but it barely hurt. Wincing slightly, Jayme opened her eyes, and saw the room clearly around her. She hadn’t shed a single tear. Usually, Jayme prided herself on being able to take a spanking without being a crybaby...for as long as she could hold out, at least.

As Jayme felt the cool air tickling her exposed backside, she thought about how incredibly foolish she must have looked at this moment. Jayme took a shaky breath. Pride. That was her problem. No matter how much she agreed she deserved a spanking, Jayme always found a way to open her big, fat mouth and make it worse. “What’s the matter, is that all you got?”

Raising her arm high, Jayme swung the horsewhip, more carefully this time, and with far better results (though far worse for her bottom).

Standing silently at attention, Jayme savored both the sting and the pretend thrill of defying her father. 

Finally, she spoke in her imitation of Pappa’s voice. “Jayme, I do not want to spank you. I hate having to spank you. But I will spank you for as long as necessary. This spanking will not end until you learn to obey. Start your count again at one.”

Jayme pouted, and rolled her eyes, just like she always wanted to. “No. You can’t make me.”

With a snap, Jayme set down the horsewhip, surprising even herself. Then Jayme grabbed the saddle rack and pulled it roughly towards her, bending forward gracefully, as if she was being forcibly bent across it by an invisible hand. “Let’s see if a warm up spanking will fix your attitude. If we don’t start your count tonight, we will continue tomorrow morning.”

Using both hands, Jayme landed two quick, solid claps across each of her butt cheeks. She savored the feel of the warm welts against her palms, and realized that even a simple hand spanking would be agony in this state. 

Jayme pretended to harrumph, and grunted as she carried out a self-administered hand spanking. After delivering ten swats slowly, with full strength, she steadily quickened the pace to a brisk tempo. In horse riding terms, she went from a walk, to a trot, and finally to a canter, just short of a full gallop.

The fantasy was finally starting to feel real again. But something was still missing…escalation. 

Jayme paused, and contemplated the uniform, prickling buzz that now covered her entire bottom. As she forced her eyes open, Jayme spotted her pink belt and wooden hairbrush. Right where she left them.

Feeling giddy, Jayme scooped them up, stifling a giggle. “Yes…that’s exactly what you need, you naughty girl. First, a good dose of Mamma’s hairbrush…and then Pappa’s belt….and then…”

Jayme set down the belt, and twisted her arm to rest the back of the wooden hairbrush against her upturned buttocks, gently rubbing it across the stinging welts, feeling them press against the cool, smooth surface. “...We start your horse whipping, all over from the beginning.”

Jayme held the hair brush high, and closed her eyes. In her mind’s eye, she was a tall, stern, stoic cow girl, ready to deliver chastisement. At the same time, she was a timid, frail little girl, lying helpless across the knee. The reality of the coming spanking blocked everything else from her mind.

“Jayme? What the hell!” squealed a shrill, female voice.

With a shriek, Jayme jumped up, and lost her footing as she twisted to find the source of the voice. She nearly caught herself on the saddle rack, before it tipped and flopped down along with her. With a final squeal, Jayme flailed her feet in a desperate final bid to break her fall and to hide her nudity. 

Then she landed flat on her rear end, and as her butt pressed flat against the rough wooden floor, Jayme felt the tender welts scream for her attention, more loudly than she could have screamed herself.

Jayme shielded her eyes as a flashlight was pointed at her face. “I was…I was just…”

Then, Joanne stepped into the woodshed, and flicked off the light. As Jayme blinked, she saw Joanne was holding up a pink, plastic, digital camera in one hand. A little red light on the front was glinting, like an evil eye.

As Joanne smiled from ear to ear, her eyes were sparkling. “...I knew it!”

…

Ignoring the agony of sitting her full weight down on a collection of several dozen welts, Jayme stared at Joanne for several seconds. Or it might have been several minutes.

However long it was, Jayme finally registered that, no, this wasn’t a dream, and yes, this was indeed happening. Automatically, Jayme slowly raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. “All right, Jo. You caught me, you little rat. Now what do you want?”

Joanne paused for a beat, as if she also was not quite sure this was a dream. “Huh? I don’t want anything. I just wanted to know what you were doing in the woodshed…and I guessed right!”

Finally, Jayme felt tears springing to her eyes. She felt a strange mix of dread, despair, and deep gratitude. Her sin was exposed. No more carrying this secret. It was finally over! “C’mon, Jo. I was…spanking myself in the woodshed. You saw it with your own eyes. Just go tell Mamma and Pappa. Or do you wanna wait for breakfast, so everyone else will be there to hear it?”

Jayme felt a strange sense of peace. For the past few years, she had been replaying “the weird conversation” over and over in her head. The final announcement, that she had done wrong, and needed a trip to the woodshed as punishment, was a foregone conclusion. Then she’d be finally forgiven, and restored to grace. Maybe after today, life in her family would never be quite the same ever again. But at least she wouldn’t be the only one who knew anymore.

Then, Joanne held out a hand. Glancing down at her pajama pants, Jayme awkwardly pulled them up with one hand as she accepted Joanne’s outstretched hand, and let herself be pulled up. Feeling her twisted panties giving her a wedgie, Jayme sheepishly reached down her pants to fix her undergarments, then stared down at Joanne’s diminutive form. It occurred to Jayme how easily she could overpower Joanne, and make a break for it. It wouldn’t change anything in the end, but it’d delay the inevitable for a few more, precious minutes. 

Finally, Jayme narrowed her eyes, frowning. “Well? Let’s go. I want to be there when you tell on me.”

But Joanne only shook her head slowly. “Oh no, Jayme…I won’t tell a soul. After all…”

With a wink, Joanne held up the digital camera. “...No one likes a tattle tale!”

[End of Chapter 6]

To be continued in Book 2.