He knew the pledging routine would include the inevitable paddlings, yet he had never been paddled in
his life.  Oh, sure, there had been a few hand swats and thin leather belt whippings over his clothed
bottom a few times growing up from his mother, but never a true paddling.  As he began to ponder
whether he could withstand fraternity pledge paddlings, he thought back to his last couple of years of
high school and Miss Kunkel.  Petite, blonde, yet with a plump Teutonic build, and in the mid-twenties
age range, Miss Kunkel had taken her old sorority paddle out of retirement and wasn't hesitant to
employ it as a disciplinary assistant.
Indeed, Justin was the only one of her male students who hadn't felt the sharp crack of her paddle
across their buttocks.  She did seem to have been quite pleasant to him.  In fact, he had taken a bit of
peer ribbing ala "teacher's pet" and "paddling virgin" because of it during graduation week.

What was unique regarding Miss Kunkel's paddle was its very feminine style. Shaped like a standard
sorority paddle, approximately 22" x 3-1/2" x 1/2," it was made from light colored ash wood, a border
of red hearts around the edges of the "business end," and a design of daisies and an assortment of
butterflies filling the center.  On the reverse, was her sorority's name, "SIGMA PHI KAPPA."
The entire paddle was coated with several layers of clear shellac --a true piece of art.

Justin had been in Miss Kunkel's History Class as a junior, and as a senior was in her Home Room.

"Maybe, just maybe," Justin thought, "if I asked her, she might give me an idea of what a paddling was
like, and better prepare me for what I might be facing."

With winter break beginning tomorrow, Justin planned to go by the old high school and look her up.  
After arriving home the next day, Justin made his way over to Penn Mount High just after final
dismissal.  Seeing some of the old (abet a year or two younger crowd), he exchanged greetings with a
few of them as he walked down the hall, stopping to talk to a few of his former teachers.  Trying to be
polite, yet anxious to find Miss Kunkel before she departed for the day--- and two week break, Justin
began to sweat as he tactfully ended the hallway discussions, and walked at a quickened pace toward
Miss Kunkel's classroom, where she was just emerging and preparing to close the door.

"Hi Miss Kunkel," greeted Justin.


"Why, Justin Dyer! What a surprise!  How have you been?" she replied in her soprano voice.

"Just fine, Miss Kunkel.  I would like to talk to you about a problem I might have, though," he
responded.

"OK," she said. "Care to talk about it over a coffee at Starbuck's?"

"Sure.  That would be fine," replied Justin.

About twenty minutes later, Justin and his former teacher were seated at the nearby Starbuck's.  Karen
Kunkel sipped from her cafe latte, looked at Justin with her dark blue eyes, and asked, "Are you in
trouble academically, Justin?"

"Oh, no," he replied.  "Nothing like that.  Maybe a bit of a social integration problem.  I'm probably
going to be pledging the Psi-Delts next semester."

"That's great, Justin.  They're a top fraternity. You're getting to be a Big Man on Campus pretty
quickly.  I was a SPK," Karen responded.

"Yeah, I know," Justin replied. "And I seem to remember you using a piece of that legacy."

Giggling, Karen stated, "As I recall though, you were the only guy in that class who hadn't experienced
the wrath of Kunkel's Kapable Assistant, as we deemed it."

"Well," as Justin led in, "That's part of my problem, Miss Kunkel.  You see, I wasn't spanked much as a
kid, let alone having been paddled.  This is a bit embarrassing, but could you maybe help me along in
some sort of way?"

'Why Justin, are you asking me to paddle you?" she asked, looking across the rim of her upraised coffee
cup.

"Actually, I guess so," Justin replied.  "Maybe I could somehow get used to it or know what to expect."

"You were always a straight arrow, Justin," Karen said.  "Is there anything that I could paddle you for?"

Justin replied, "You never knew this, but I was the guy who computer morphed your yearbook face
onto the publicity photo of Madonna in her leather outfit."

"Oh great, Justin!  What a stunt!  That photo really made the rounds!" she exclaimed.  "OK, now you
have earned several well deserved dates with Kunkel's Kapable Assistant."

As she got up to leave, Karen pointed her finger at Justin and said, "OK, smart shit, your smart, but
soon to be sore ass, my house, tomorrow at 6:00 PM, sharp!  And if you know what's good for you,
you'll wear a thick pair of corduroys.  I've got to go back to school and pick up something I didn't think
I'd need during Winter Break, but will be seeing quite a bit of action over the next week or so."

As she turned and walked away, heels clicking on the floor tiles, erect and confident posture, Justin felt
his heart leap into his throat, then sink to his stomach. "Oh, gosh, now what have I done," he thought.

         *****     
The following evening found Justin knocking on his former teacher's door right on time.  Karen
answered the door. "Well, come right on in, Justin," she said, beckoning sideways with her index finger.
Dressed in a black wool skirt, full white blouse, navy hose with matching color mid-heel pumps, her
blonde hair was up into a French braid.  Taking Justin’s coat from him, and hanging it on the hook
behind the door, she led Justin into the living room. "Sit down, Justin, while you still can, and let's talk a
bit.  Care for a Coke, coffee?" Karen offered.

"No thank you," Justin declined, his stomach already doing flip-flops.  He sat down in an upholstered
arm chair facing the long end of the coffee table.

Karen sat in the matching chair at the opposite end of the coffee table, facing Justin.  She picked up a
stenographic size pad and thick pen from the coffee table.  Crossing her legs at the knee, she opened the
pad, and rested it on her over crossed knee.

Jotting on the pad, Karen began, "Well, let's see now, Justin.  Usually that morphing stunt of yours
would have carried a price of twelve swats.  But, my," as she looked up from her pad and directly at
Justin, "that incident occurred early last June, and this is nearly January.  You've managed to rack up
about seven months of ten percent interest, compounded monthly,” placing the end of the pen at the
corner of her pink glossed lips.  “That's quite a tall bill, Justin," she informed him, now pointing the pen
at him in an authoritative gesture.

Justin could only gulp and wonder how many swats he would be receiving.

"Because you are a neophyte at this, I am going to award you, to use a golf term, a handicap.  I will
paddle you tonight as if you were still back in my class, with the restrictions and protocols we operate
under.  I can assure you, things will become more challenging and arduous for you as the week
progresses," Karen said with a confident, posed tone of authority.

Placing the pen and pad back on the coffee table, Karen reached between the back of the sofa cushions
and from there withdrew Kunkel's Kapable Assistant, ready to launch, good to go!

"OK, my mischievous morpher!  On your feet, NOW!" mentor Kunkle ordered, standing up, holding the
handle of the paddle in her right hand, and she resting the edge of the blade in her left at an upward
angle across her chest.

Justin stood up in a jerking, awkward fashion.

"From the back of your chair, face me," she further directed.

After Justin got behind his chair, she continued, "Justin, I want you to bend forward over the back of
the chair, grasp the arms with your hands, and look straight ahead."

After he did as directed, Karen walked behind him and gave further instructions. "Now Justin, this is
important.  I want you place your feet shoulder width apart, lock your knees, and turn your toes inward,
pigeon toe style."

After he did so, Justin could observe, from his left peripheral vision, Karen Kunkel's left foot just
slightly forward of his feet.  He next felt the solid wood of her paddle rest upon his corduroy covered
bottom, whereupon she rubbed his bottom in a circular fashion two or three times, then gently pat his
bottom three times with the paddle.  Next, he felt the paddle break contact and waited.  The next five
seconds seemed to be five minutes.

Karen had brought the paddle back.  Then, keeping her eye on the target, and taking a two-handed grip,
swung the paddle downward and forward driving it with her 140 pounds as she twisted her athletic hips
as the tandem driving force along with her shoulders.

Suddenly Justin heard then felt WHOOSH--------THUD!

         *****

The paddle struck squarely across the middle of both cheeks, causing more of a shock than pain.  
WHOSSSSH----THUD!  WHOSSSSSH----THUD!  WHOSSSH---THUD!  The second, third and fourth
swats landed in exactly the same place.
Now Justin was beginning to feel some moderate pain and warmth.

Miss Kunkel, the experienced, expert spanker that she was, directed the next six swats lower, right
across Justin’s sit spots.  Justin began to grunt, "OW! AW!" Even though the thick corduroy material
was capturing a lot of the paddle's energy, enough heat was transferring through to Justin’s bottom, so
as to begin to have a definite effect.

Karen hesitated briefly, then gave the final two swats, directing one to the right cheek and the final to
the left cheek.

"OK, Justin, that's all for tonight, but be back here for an repeat performance tomorrow, same time,"
she said.

Justin straightened up and turned to face her.

"You get to wear those cords a final time," she continued, "but the ten percent interest is due, so look
forward to 13."

Justin nodded.  Karen patted his shoulder and walked him to the door.

         ******

The next evening was a repeat of the initial session, and Karen's paddling pattern was identical, except
for the 13th swat, which she laid directly across the middle of both Justin’s buttocks simultaneously.  
That 13th hard swat would still be evident when Justin got home and examined himself in the mirror.  A
rosy red impression of the paddle was clearly visible.

As Justin was preparing to leave, Karen advised, "Justin, tomorrow I want you in a set of sweats.  Wear
an athletic supporter or a thong underneath.  The heat will be going up," she said.  "And by the way,"
she added, "Another ten percent increase is going to carry you to 16 swats.  See you then."

         ******

The following evening, Justin arrived in a gray (fleeced) sweat suit as Karen had instructed.  As he
"assumed the position" over the back of the chair, Karen remarked, "Justin, you're coming along just
fine, but you've still got a way to go. Actually, I miscalculated.  Tonight you're going to get fifteen, not
sixteen.  Ready?" she asked.

Justin nodded affirmatively, and instinctively clenched his cheeks.

"Knees locked and toes in!" Karen ordered.

Justin did so and his cheeks unclenched themselves.

WHAP! The first swat came upward and landed low, across Justin’s gluteal crease, as did the next four.
The fleeced sweat pants were providing some protection, but not as much as the corduroy pants had.

Just as Justin thought he had had his limit, he felt number six about three inches higher, WHAP! This
paddling definitely was ramped up in pain WHAP! "AAAHHH!" Justin cried.

"Don't be a baby, Justin," Karen remarked. "A gal couldn't hurt you that bad, could she?" Karen teased.

WHAP! WHAP!! WHAP!!! These three overlapped the last two, only about two inches higher.
"OHHH! YIKES!" yelled Justin.

Karen then returned to the sit spot for the final five, pausing about four seconds between each swat
WHAP!    WHAP!    WHAP!     WHAP!    WHAP!

Justin began seeing stars with the final two.  As he straightened up, and began rubbing his butt cheeks,
he huffed between breaths, "Wow!  That hurt!"

"Same drill tomorrow, Justin," Karen informed him.  "Be prepared for an increase
to 17.  And remember, nothing underneath the sweats except a thong or supporter."

Justin nodded affirmatively as he departed, the heat under his sweatpants ironically providing some
comfort as he walked the several blocks home in the winter air.

When he checked later, his entire bottom was a very rosy red color, from about an inch below the
gluteal crease to about two inches below the head of the gluteal valley.

         ******

By late the next morning, the red color was gone and Justin’s butt was beginning to develop some
resilience.

He appeared at Karen's house as he had on the prior three evenings.  The paddling was a repeat of the
prior evening.

At the conclusion of this session, Karen told Justin that it was time to ramp up again.  "Tomorrow night,
Justin, it’s snug jeans.  You can wear underwear underneath if you like, but it really won't make much
of a difference.  And oh, by the way, the price is 19 swats tomorrow," she said.  "Think your
mischievous ass can handle it?" she asked.

"I think so," answered Justin.

         ******


Karen threw Justin a change up as he walked through the door.  She led him to the kitchen.  

"We're going to need to abandon the chair and go to something anchored," she announced.

Pointing to a butcher block table in the center of the kitchen, she instructed, "Justin, you will assume
the position over the butcher block, and reach forward and grasp the front corners."

As Justin did as instructed, Karen could see, for the first time, Justin’s bi-global region defined sharply
by the stretched denim.

Justin heard the distinctive sound of the wooden paddle knock against a wooden cabinet door as Karen
stepped around the butcher block and take up her position to Justin’s 8:30 direction.  He felt a more
noticeable presence of the paddle as she performed the preliminary circular rub and preparation taps
against his bottom.  He gripped the corner edges of the butcher block and held his breath after verifying
that he was ready.

SMACK!  Karen swung the first swat, "OH, FUCK! THAT STUNG LIKE HELL!" cried Justin as he
expelled the held breath.

"Watch your language!  A lady is present!" she retorted as she delivered the next swat right on top of
the previous one, SMACK!!

"OWWW!"

SMACK!!! SMACK!!!!  two to the sit spots, using the bottom edges of the pants pockets as a guide.

"AHHH!! OWWW!!

"Just hold on to the table edge and keep those toes in, Justin, we're nearly half way there," Karen
coached as she delivered five, six, seven and eight from the sit spots, advancing north, up the gluteal
valley.

Justin just gripped the table tightly and rolled his head from side to side as the sting on Kunkel's Kapable
Assistant easily penetrated the thinly stretched denim that covered Justin’s rapidly scorching bottom.
Nine, ten, and eleven came back down the gluteal valley into the sit spots.

By now the sting was transitioning to a deeper penetrating heat.

Twelve-- SMACK!! --a solo strike to the right cheek.  Thirteen—SMACK!! --a solo strike to the left
cheek.
Finally the last six landed just above the sit spots (fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen)
and the last across mid butt (nineteen).

"Justin, just take a couple of deep breaths, and relax," Karen told him.

He did as instructed, and then she gently helped Justin up.

"Notice the difference, huh?" Karen remarked.

Justin just nodded.

"You did fine tonight, Justin. See you tomorrow, same as tonight.  Put the moisturizing cream I told you
about on it."

When Justin returned home, he had to roll the back of his tight jeans down from his noticeably swollen
cherry red butt.

         ******

The following evening was a repeat of the previous, with one exception. Karen made Justin receive
another increase to 21 swats.

When finished she told him, "You're almost there, Justin, ready to graduate.   We're going to give your
butt a day off, so we'll get together again day after tomorrow.  What you wear is optional.  Just have a
thong on underneath.  Ok?”

"Yes, Miss Kunkel, and thank you," Justin replied.

"Good thing I have a day to recover," he thought as he later observed the scarlet color of his nether
cheeks in the mirror. "Better get some of this cream on my ass. Fuck, can that woman paddle!"

When Justin arrived for his "final exam" on "graduation night" he was again wearing his corduroys.  
Karen smiled at that.  "See you're well prepared for your final paddling, Justin," she remarked.

"Yeah, I figured I needed all the help I could get," replied Justin.

Karen was dressed in her old gray sorority skirt and blazer, emblazoned with the letters Sigma Pi
Kappa.  To belie the working, rather than social nature of the evening, she was wearing practical Abdias
and knee high sports sox, not nylons and dress pumps.  Her blonde hair was up and out of the way.

She directed Justin downstairs into the finished basement.  As they arrived at that level, Karen directed
him to a room at the back corner.  Approximately 25' x 20', the room was Karen's work out room.  It
featured floor to ceiling mirrors on one side, a circuit trainer, a floor pad, a bench, several dumbbells,
and a Roman Chair.

The recessed electric lighting, mounted in the suspended ceiling was subdued, augmented by several
scented candle hurricane lamps on two decorative tables. James Rick's "Super Freak" was musically
adding to the appropriate ambiance of the evening.

"Justin," Karen continued, "you won't need your trousers for the final exam."

"Huh?" reacted Justin.

"That's right, Justin," answered Karen. "You know, of course, that fraternity and sorority paddlings are
always given on bare bottoms.  Believe me, I received my share, and gave my share."

Actually, although Karen had paddled scores of female bare bottoms, all associated with her sorority
days, all the male bottoms she had paddled had been clothed.
All the males had been students within the context of high school discipline.
The code of conduct stipulated that in those instances of corporal punishment within the school system,
students would not be required to remove clothing.
Karen had engaged in hand spanking a couple of men she had dated, but Justin would be the first male
whose bare bottom would receive the full force of her paddle!

"OK, Justin, quit stalling, drop ‘em!" she ordered.

Justin unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned the waist, unzipped the fly, and lowered his trousers to his ankles.
Stepping out of his loafers, he pulled his feet, one at a time, up through the pant legs.  Karen directed
Justin to the Roman Chair.

"Same idea as the butcher block Justin," instructed Karen. "Bend over the larger pad and grab the far
bar, feet shoulder length apart, knees locked and toes in."

As Justin got into position, Karen took a good look, for the first time, of Justin’s well- shaped, thong
bared bottom.  After breathing again, she realized that her appreciation of his bi-global anatomy had
caused her to moisten.

Karen removed her restrictive blazer to reveal a red tank top.

Justin was excited and anxious at the same time, causing his head already to begin spinning.

Picking up her paddle from the nearby bench, Karen made a final check of Justin’s positioning.

Satisfied, she took up her 8:30 position as the sounds of "The girl is a freak.  She's a super freak!" blared
from the home theater sound system.

Karen finished the circular rub and prep pats and-------------

CRACKKKKK!!  Karen Kunkel delivered the first paddle swat to ever land on her former student's
bare bottom.  His spanking virginity was history.

"AHHH, OWWW!" cried Justin.

"Just 24 more to go, Justin," she announced.

CRACKKK!!

"YIKE, OWWW!! THAT STINGS!” yelled Justin.

"Not supposed to tickle," Karen informed him.

CARACKKK!!!

"AHH!! YOWEL!!"

Karen placed the first three swats one on top of the other to Justin’s sit spots.    Already a very
definitive red mark of the paddle's outline was visible, even in the subdued lighting.

CRACKK!! CRACKK!! --left cheek.

CRACKK!! CRACKK!! --right cheek.

CRACKKK! CRACKK!!! --both cheeks simultaneously at mid-gluteal valley.

"OHH!! OWWW!!!" Justin was gripping the Roman Chair bar and bobbing his head.  This was the very
first bare bottom paddling of his life, and it was quickly turning in to being the spanking of his life.

CRACKKK!!! CRACKKK!!! CRACKK!! CRACKK!! CRACK!!!

Karen delivered a flurry of five swats just above the sit spots.  She was beginning to realize that she was
enjoying paddling the first male bare bottom ever.  It didn't jiggle quite as much as a female bare
bottom, just kind of sprung back to its firm shape as if to ask for more.

"Care to do any more cute morphing stunts, Justin?" asked Karen as she delivered a very hard upward
swing to the sit spots, swaying her hips into the swing, CRACKKK!!!

"OH, MY!  OH, PLEASE STOP! " pleaded Justin.

"No way, Mr. Morpher.  Accept your punishment like a man.  Ten more to go," replied Karen as she
landed number 16 across both cheeks mid-valley, CRACKK!!!

"AH! AH!! AHHHHH!" yelled Justin.

CRACKKK!!  Another hard upswing into the sit spots.  "AUGHH!! PLEASE, NOT SO HARD!"

CRACKKK!!  The next landed higher, but overlapping the previous. "OHHH!! OHHH!!!"

CRACKKK!! The third higher still, but overlapping the immediate previous, "I'M SORRY, MISS
KUNKEL! CAN WE PLEASE STOP, NOW?!" implored Justin.

Stopping momentarily, Karen said, "Justin, I paddled some of my younger sorority sisters just as hard as
I'm paddling you, and you’re making more of a fuss than quite a few of them did.  So why don't you just
bite the bullet and take it like a man?"

She continued, "OK, you have six more coming.  You're going to have a chance to feel each one.  My,
your bottom is getting the shade of McDonald's Red.  You like McDonald's, Justin?”  she teasingly
asked.

But before Justin could answer, CRACKKK!  Two inches below the head of the gluteal valley.

Justin only breathed out heavily, while beginning to tear up.

CRACKKK!!  On the right sit spot.  CRACKK!!  On the left sit spot.  CRACKK!!
Across both sit spots.

The music had changed to the conclusion of the "1812 Overture"

"HUHH, HUGHH, HUGHH!" cried Justin as tears began streaming down his "other" cheeks.  His
bottom felt like a furnace.  The paddle was not stinging any more, but the pain he was enduring was a
burning, deeper pain that was penetrating his well-developed gluteal muscles.

Karen was deliberately trying to make Justin’s paddling as severe as she could administer for two
reasons.  First, she wanted him two sit gingerly with a black and blue bottom for about a week so that
any fraternity paddling would be "old hat," enabling him to endure those paddlings without crying and
carrying on so. Second, she really wanted to punish him for embarrassing her over that morphing
incident.  She took a lot of ribbing in the Faculty Lounge over that one.
Finally, the last two, CRACKK!!! CRACKK!!!  Over the mid-buttocks region.

Justin was sobbing softly.  He was spent and just remained lying in position.

Karen placed one hand on the small of his back and the other on his right shoulder.

"Come on, Justin," she said helping him to an erect position. "There's some aloe lotion with Vitamin E
on the table over there.  Rub some on those sore cheeks, get dressed, and come on upstairs to the
kitchen."

She hugged him and returned upstairs.  Justin pumped some of the lotion onto his hands and began
rubbing his buttocks.  He found that his skin was quite raw, yet tender.

When he entered the kitchen, Karen handed him a glass of orange juice. "Here, Justin, Vitamin C will
start the bruise healing.  I do admit, I gave you quite a severe shellacking, but you did just fine.  
Congratulations."

Justin nodded and drank the juice.

"When you feel up to it, you may want to return for maintenance paddlings every week or so, until your
fraternity pledging actually begins.  That way, you won't lose your leather butt, and have to build up
your tolerance all over again," advised Karen.

"Yes, Miss Kunkel, and thank you," replied Justin, as he prepared to leave.

         ******

Justin did sit gingerly for nearly a week.  His entire bottom was raw, swollen and bruised from Karen
Kunkel's severe application of her Kapable Assistant.  In the month to follow, he did return for three
maintenance paddlings of twelve swats each.  He did maintain his leather butt and pain tolerance.  
Pledging, including Hell Week, was a 'piece of cake,' but that was a secret he would share with only one
other person.

The first bare bottom paddling of his life that night in his former teacher's basement remained, for
Justin, the spanking of his life.

          (THE l END)