Message-ID: <7170eli$9801102336@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: cuntmissy Subject: Phil Phantom presents Tiffany's Spare the Rod (1/2) (mf ff teen s/m dom) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <34B77F82.156B@hotmail.com> PART ONE OF TWO WARNING! The following story is an uncensored sexual fantasy involving practices that are illegal, immoral, socially unacceptable, and messy. Only mature adults with a firm grasp on reality should venture further. This story promotes nothing, and nothing in this story should be taken seriously. Readers are cautioned not to attempt any of these acts without professional guidance and a net. If you are underage, hit the 'K' key. Reading stories like this can make you go blind. If you are a servant of the Lord, looking for sinners to convert, study this story and memorize it. This will help you recognize sinners when you see them. Good luck, and avoid mirrors! Phil Phantom Note: This was Tiffany's favorite fantasy as a young teen. She wrote it down as an adult, imagining herself as her mother and writing the story from her mother's point of view. Tiffany was a very kinky child. "Spare the Rod" By: Tiffany I had an uneasy feeling about accepting Frank Zimmerman's frequent offers to look after Tiffany for me while I work. I work as a cocktail waitress in a downtown nightclub. I leave at six and don't get home until after two AM. Any normal mother would have been put off by his appearance alone. As you'll soon discover, I am not a normal mother. Frank was in his forties, short, sloppy, quiet, and mysterious. He was the kind of guy no girl finds attractive. He keeps to himself, has no sense of humor, and always looks nervous. He befriended me by helping me carry boxes when we moved into the building. I have turned to him for assistance a few times since, small things, mostly. Every time we met, he made the offer. Tiffany was thirteen and quite able to look after herself. Our neighborhood was secure, rather nice. He made me suspicious of his motives right away. I noted the way he devoured her with his hungry, beady eyes. She was a pixie with long, straight, dark-brown hair and big, brown eyes. She is a studious, quiet girl that keeps to herself. She stays at home and watches TV or reads. She's never been any trouble and we get along just fine. I know what men like Frank Zimmerman are thinking as they watch a young girl's legs move beneath a skirt as she walks up stairs ahead of him. I also know a cop that works off duty at the club. He ran what they call a rap sheet on Mr. Zimmerman. It turned out that my Frank had a lifetime history of sexually abusing young girls. He had a very long list of arrests, but only one conviction. He served eight years for statutory rape and had been out for four years. My cop friend told me that a history like that suggests he had some measure of control over the parents, probably with pictures he threatens to distribute. Taking pictures of his victims was a common charge. I took comfort from the fact that no girl was ever killed, scared, or permanently hurt. My friend assured me that he wasn't the dangerous type, but bared watching. One might wonder why I finally accepted his offer. Being a single mother, between relationships, I masturbate and fantasize a great deal. Until something better came along, I was quite content. My favorite fantasies involve beautiful young virgins at the mercy of an ugly pervert, forced to endure unimaginable degradation at his hands. I avoided thinking about my daughter in the starring role, but after meeting Frank, I couldn't help it. He became my male pervert model, and Tiffany's young, budding, youthful, virginal body kept popping up in my fantasies. It got to the point where I could think of nothing else. Actually, it was that nothing got me off like imagining my Tiffany at Frank's mercy. Part of the problem is Tiffany herself. The submissive doll invites abuse. She seems to feed off it. No kid ever took to a spanking like Tiffany did. Her father had a thing for spanking, especially little Tiffany. We divorced when she was ten. He spanked her naked ass on a fairly regular basis, sometimes for the lamest excuses. Sometimes, when he was drunk, he didn't need an excuse. I can't tell you how many times I've sat beside him on the sofa with Tiffany's bare ass staring in my face, watching his big hand turn her tight, white buns a bright red. My reward was not just in watching her undeveloped pussy swell, pout, and weep crystal clear juices. Afterwards, I got the best sex ever. Consequently, I never gave him any static about the way he treated Tiffany. In the last year of our marriage, when it seemed we were constantly at odds, if I needed a good screwing, I made things up. I'd shamelessly report an offense she never committed just to excite him to the point where he'd forget our differences, drag me to the bedroom, and pound his frustrations into my sex- starved cunt. I felt terrible afterwards, but Tiffany never said anything about it, nor would she protest or deny my accusation. One night, when Frank was drunk, he accused her of playing with herself in her sleep of all things. He dragged her out of bed and administered the spanking to her pussy. He placed her on her back and made her hold her legs wide apart. He did more manipulating than spanking, and Tiffany appeared to find the treatment stimulating. I got the best fuck of our marriage that night. He said he didn't remember doing it, but from then on, whenever I had to make up an offense, I told him that I caught her playing with herself again. It didn't bother me in the least. I figured that if she wouldn't deny it, then she must want it. That's the only thing I miss about my marriage, watching my husband punish Tiffany. After the divorce, I continued the practice of spanking her on her naked ass, but it wasn't the same, and I couldn't bring myself to spank her for nothing. I also never spanked her pussy, though I've watched it develop with great interest, noting the progress in my monthly sessions. To add to my frustrations, I hadn't had a session in over three months, just at the time when she was blooming sexually. My last good look at her twat revealed a nice growth of fine pubic hairs, full puffy labia, and her clit poked out from between those sexy lips during the spanking. I should admit, I'm bi-sexual--more bi than not. I'm mostly into one nighters, but I've had two women move in. One lasted three months, the other three weeks. I get a big charge out of shocking Tiffany with my female lovers, and have no qualms about going down on a girl with Tiffany in the room, or vice versa. She'd get embarrassed seeing me loving on a woman, but then, she gets embarrassed if I bring a man home and start sucking his dick. Tiffany embarrasses easily anyway. Being forced to expose herself always produces a nice flush. Before her tits started growing, there was no reason to strip her naked, simply turning up her skirts was enough. After her tits began budding, I made her stand before me and strip naked as a prelude to a spanking. I also made her strip just to show her naked body to a lover, male or female. Nothing gets a man harder than a budding teen standing naked in front of him. Nothing gets me wetter than making her strip and watching that adorable full-body blush develop. I know, I should be put away in the bad mother's home for life. Maybe, but my mother was no June Cleaver. At least I never made Tiffany eat my pussy. And I never held her legs apart for a drunk sailor to mount. I had thought about it, but to that point, I'd resisted. Frank Zimmerman weakened my resistance. I think you've had enough background; lets get back to Frank. So I finally told Frank, I accept his kind offer. I informed Tiffany and ignored the distressed look she gave me. She said, "I can take care of myself, Mom. You know that. Besides, he gives me the creeps." I simply said, "I know what's best for you, and you better mind Mr. Zimmerman or you know what you'll get." That was the end of the discussion. When Frank came up, I gave him the usual routine for sitters: phone numbers and such. I then addressed Tiffany saying, "If Mr. Zimmerman tells me you gave him any trouble what-so-ever, you'll get the belt on your naked ass." When I turned back to Frank, he had a gleam in his eye. I told him, "Don't take any shit off of her. She can be a handful at times. I make it a policy not to interfere with my sitters. You handle her as you see fit. Treat her like you would if she were your own daughter." Frank looked at me like a bum that some rich guy was handing hundred dollar bills to. I knew my next statement would have him creaming his jeans. I said, "Some sitters require a release before they'll discipline someone elses child. I filled one out and signed it. It's there on the table. It basically grants you full authority to administer corporal punishment if you feel its warranted, and grants you full immunity from prosecution." My pussy drooled watching that gleam in his eye. I picked up the paper and waved it under Tiffany's nose, saying, "You better hope he isn't a child molester, young lady, because this piece of paper pretty much grants him the right to do what he pleases with you, so you behave yourself." The look of dread in Tiffany's eyes almost made me cum. I kissed her on the lips and made my exit. I left that apartment, fully expecting that he'd have his way with her. I expected her to lose all three virginities: oral, anal, and vaginal. I knew she'd be bound and beaten, probably with his belt. I knew she'd feel pain and be traumatized. My obsession was that powerful that I took the chance that she'd survive and get over it. I prayed she would not be scared physically or mentally. I kept telling myself, "He's not the dangerous kind." Nervous anxiety spoiled that first night for me. I agonized over my decision, cursed my vagina. Putting in the full shift was pure hell. I must have called twenty times to see if everything was all right. It seemed so, judging by his voice. I talked to Tiffany three times, and her voice sounded normal. Still, as I drove home, I had terrible guilt anxiety. I opened my apartment, expecting a scene out of Dante's Inferno. Everything was just as I'd left it. Frank had passed out watching TV. I swiftly went to Tiffany's room. She was in bed, sleeping soundly. Deeply puzzled and more than a little disappointed, I wanted at least something to show for my gamble. I flipped on her light. She was curled in a fetal ball, sleeping soundly. She sleeps like soundly, so I pulled her covers off. She sleeps in a man's T-shirt, so it was easy to unveil her lower body. I looked for strap marks on her legs and buttocks, but saw nothing. I peered between her thighs from the back. Her pussy did look a little raw. My heart jumped. I eased her onto her back and carefully spread out her legs. She laid there like a lab frog. My heart pounded wildly. She had been fucked, and fucked good. Her pussy was not only raw, it was yawning. That tiny cunt, which had been drum-tight, looked open and loose. Her hole was like a tunnel. I looked lower, to her asshole, and it to was swollen, puffed out, and raw. I was so excited, I fingered myself while staring into her crotch. I noticed tiny bright red marks lining both lips. I examined them closely and saw a pattern. These were marks made by alligator style clips. I pushed her shirt up over her breasts and saw the same marks all over them, especially on and around her nipples. I examined her body closely and discovered a slight red discoloration on her wrists, ankles, and knees. It was the kind bindings might leave. My mind filled in the rest and my pussy was overjoyed. Other than that, Tiffany looked fine, peaceful, and content. She appeared on the verge of a smile; in fact, the kind of look a child gets dreaming of candyland. I restored her clothing, covered her, backed out, and turned out the light. I shook Frank's shoulder. He awoke with a start. He held up his arms as though shielding himself from my attack. I said, "Hey! It's all right. It's just me, remember?" "He looked around nervously, probably looking for police. He said, "Is it two?" "About two fifteen, yes. How was my daughter? Was she good?" "Huh?" "You know, was she a good girl?" "Oh, yeah, yeah, she was good." He stood groggily. I walked him to the door. I said, "I'm sorry I phoned so often. It's a habit I got into. Usually I found myself dialing and then realized that she wasn't alone. I hope I didn't give the impression I was worried." "No, call all you want. I got nothing to hide." "I didn't think you did. I trust you completely; otherwise, I never would have left you alone with my virgin daughter." His eyes squinted trying to read my meaning. I simply smiled, holding the door for him. He was half out, then, in a panic, turned suddenly and dipped under my arm, saying, "I forgot my stuff." His stuff was a brown grocery bag sitting by the couch, a bag he didn't come in with. He was in such a panic, he grabbed one lip, pulled, ripped it off, and spilled the contents at my feet. He dove on the assortment of ropes, dildoes, clothes pins, and cuffs. I stood there rolling my eyes, shaking my head. I wondered how I could pretend not to see. A goddamn plastic vibrator actually hit me on the ankle and rested between my feet. Alligator clips were all over my entryway. I turned my back to him and busied myself picking up clips, giving him the opportunity to recover the tools of his trade. I had squatted right over the vibrator. I watched with amused interest as his hand crept up to retrieve it. As soon as he touched it, the damn thing sprang to life, stuttering on the hard ceramic tile. He jerked his hand away as if shocked by it, then made another frantic grab. The hum stopped and he stuffed it in the bag. I just shook my head and kept picking up clips. I had to drag it out long enough for him to get everything safely hidden away. While I waited, I tested the strength of a clip on my wrist. It hurt. It hurt bad. Thinking about having one on my clit made me wince. Tiffany had the marks of three on hers. When the frantic noise stopped, I stood and turned slowly. He was just picking up the last of the clips. I offered my collection to him. He looked into my face with guilt-ridden, terror-stricken eyes. I had to say something to put his mind at ease. I thought quickly and said, "Are you working on some kind of model. Is that your hobby?" "Huh, yeah, it's a model. It's a hobby that's all." "I saw ropes and heard some kind of motor. Is it a ship of some kind?" "Yeah! You guessed it. It's one of them old sailing ships with lots of rope and stuff you have to clip on." "Like the Mayflower with a motor, right." "Huh? Oh yeah, right. Well it's not that old. It's a new old ship, sorta." Before he dug himself any deeper, I said, "Well, at least you have something to keep you busy when you're looking after my daughter. I wouldn't want you to get bored." He smiled and departed. I anxiously awaited the morning. I woke Tiffany thirty minutes early, calling her to breakfast. She was very stiff and achy. I helped her to the table and waited for her to speak out. She sat quietly, watching me work. I set her breakfast before her and sat down with coffee. I said, "Did you sleep well, dear?" "Not really. I didn't get to bed until after one-thirty." "On a school night. You know better than that." "It wasn't my fault. He kept me up." "Why?" She sat quietly for a few seconds, then unconvincingly said, "No reason. Company I guess." "Was he a good sitter?" "No, he's a terrible sitter." "I think you're exaggerating. A terrible sitter is one that beats you. He didn't beat you, did he?" She hung her head, toying with the food on her plate. She said, "No." "Well you better get used to him, because I'm not leaving you alone at night." She looked up and said, "Please, I can take care of myself." "That may be, but with an adult willing to keep you company for free, I'd be a fool to leave you alone." She said no more. This went on for a full week. Frank was very careless. He left evidence everywhere. Once, there were Tiffany's panties on the floor by the couch in plain sight. Twice, he left dildoes lying around. My trash had empty film boxes lying on top. I found three different types of cigarette butts, though neither I nor Frank smokes. Far from alarming me, I got off on the idea of Tiffany getting gang banged. I pulled into the parking area one night and watched from my car as four men exited my apartment. That's cutting it close. After that, I waited an extra five minutes before going up each night. I examined Tiffany's body every night and discovered new insults. They'd shaved her pubic hair off and she sported welts like from a belt or thin cane all over her tits, ass, inner thighs and belly. Some of their damage showed below her hem line, and she can't wear pants to school. In addition, her sheets had to be changed daily. She slept in a puddle of cum that leaked from her ass and cunt all night. I figured Tiffany had to know that I was aware of all this, but she never confronted me or complained. I pretended not to notice a thing. Overall, I liked the arrangement and decided it was time to drop a few hints to Frank to make him aware that he wasn't dealing with your ordinary mom. The first hint was a big one. I arranged to go to work an hour later than usual, but left on time. I purposefully left my purse behind. I waited thirty minutes after leaving, then quietly went upstairs and let myself in. I was not prepared for the sight that greeted me. There was Tiffany, kneeling on two widely separated chairs. She was naked, facing away from me. Each ankle was tied to an outside chair leg. Her head was almost touching the floor while her hands were twisted back behind her, straight, and tied at the wrists to the top inside of each chair. Frank was tieing her hair to a broom stick tied across the backs of both chairs at the floor. I could never have imagined a more vulnerable pose to place a girl in. I could see that her pussy was at just the right height for Frank's loins. Frank rose and appeared ready to bolt past me and probably never stop running. I knew I had to think of something quick. I said, "Oh, I'm so sorry. I should have knocked first." That froze him in place and put an extremely puzzled look on his face. I stepped in and closed the door. I said as earnestly as I could, "I'm so embarrassed. I know you must think I'm checking on you, but honestly, I left my purse. I got half way there and realized it." He obviously could not believe his ears. His weak mind strained to grasp what was happening. I realized just how dim- witted he was. Any normal person would have figured out by then that I was being facetious. I could tell that he thought I was serious, or incredibly naive. I was curious as to how far I could take it. I said, "You aren't angry are you; I really did leave my purse." He shook his head in mute wonder. I breathed a sigh of relief and walked past him, going to my bedroom. I got the purse and returned. He was still standing at her head, watching me move through. I went to the refrigerator, opened a soda, turned and said, "I just have time for this." I took a few sips while studying my daughter, showing my puzzled look. I said, "I promised I wouldn't interfere, and believe me I'm not. I mean, I'm sure she must have done something bad to deserve this. And it's none of my business what she did. I told you that you decide when, why, and how to discipline. I'm not even going to ask what she did. That's your business. I'm just curious. I've never heard of this position for spanking." I've had hound dogs give me more intelligent looks. He thought for a few seconds, then said, "I read about it in a book about raising kids. It was written by doctors. A bunch of them together wrote it." "Wow, I guess it must work good. I sure have noticed a change in Tiffany." "Yeah, they say with girls you have to do it this way in case they might be pregnant." "Yes, that makes sense." "You're not mad because she's naked? The book said..." I waved it off, saying, "Even I know you have to spank girls naked, Frank. You must think I'm really dumb." He smiled and came around to look over his creation with me. He wasn't satisfied with leaving well enough alone, and I wasn't sure I could keep acting this dumb. He said, "Yeah, I have friends in this business. They've taught me a lot over the years. Another thing you don't do with girls is use your hand. A lot of people don't know that. You have to use one of these special rods." He picked up a three foot fiberglass fishing pole rod tip and handed it to me. It still had string wrapping where the eyelets were. I studied it and said, "Wow, a real rod." "Yeah, that's what they look like, expensive too. That's three hundred dollars you're holding in your hand. That's what makes those marks you see on her. She sees and feels those for days after and it reminds her to be good." "Well, it must be working." I stepped up and knelt my right knee outside Tiffany's right knee. I leaned over her haunches and peered into the valley of her sex. My fingers traced the many marks found there. His favorite target was the insides of her thighs and her entire pussy. My action excited Frank, making him bold. He came up on her left side and said, "That's the best place to punish a girl, right on her cunt...I mean vergina." "Please, cunt is just fine with me. Don't go using all those doctor terms. I won't know what you're talking about." He grinned and said, "That's where this special rod comes in. You see this." He reached out and plucked Tiffany's clit from between her cunt lips, pinched it between thumb and fore finger and shook it. "This here is called the clit. They've proved scientifically that this is connected to the part of the brain that makes girls do bad sex things." I couldn't argue that. I was beginning to enjoy his lecture. I said, "I knew that much." "Yeah, well I bet you didn't know that to stop a girl from becoming a whore, you have to hit her on the clit." "That explains it then. Nobody ever hit me on the clit when I was a girl. I call it my fuck button. If a guy touches it, my legs spring open." "Now you know why." "Has Tiffany been bad enough to get it on her clit?" "Yes, I'm afraid so." "Oh my. I wouldn't want to be in her shoes." "I have to put her in a special position for a clit whipping. I make her bend backwards sideways across a chair with two pillows on it. I tie her ankles to the legs and her hands to her ankles." "Oh Jesus!" "Then I stand over her chest and come down right in her slit." "Ouch!" "Yeah. I have to gag her for that." "You'll have to show me how that's done sometime, but I have to get going." Impulsively, I leaned forward and kissed the clit he'd just released. I gave it a hard sucking kiss. I pulled off, making a popping sound and said, "I won't be around to kiss it and make it better afterwards, so that'll have to do. I'll come see you tonight and make it feel better. You're up against professionals now, Tiffany. You better learn to behave." I stood and addressed Frank. He had an amused smirk on his face. I said, "I'm so thankful you took an interest in my Tiffany. Are you sure I can't pay you for your services?" The look on his face was priceless. I could read his thoughts. He was thinking, "You dumb cunt-sucking whore." He said, "No, I just want to help." I said, "This is so generous. There must be some way I can repay you." He smiled a devilish smile, thought a second, and said, "It ain't easy for a red-blooded American man to be around a naked girl like Tiffany and have to mess with her cunt and all." I looked down at the obvious erection in his pants, an erection he was thrusting towards me obscenely. I knew he was hinting that I should take care of this need. And I was tempted. Although I personally find him repulsive, he did have a respectable bulge. I said, "Hummm, yes. I can see your problem." I glanced from his bulge to Tiffany's crotch and back several times then said in a quiet, conspiratorial voice, "I understand completely. Look, I wrote you a letter authorizing you to do anything. Why don't you take that literally and hold me to it. I certainly can't go to the police even if I wanted to, which I never would. Would that make things easier for you?" He grinned, a little disappointed, but pleased with the Carte Blanc I handed him. He said, "I'm going to hold you to that," I gathered my things and made for the door, pausing on my way out to say with a sexy, mischievous smile, "I fully expected you to when I wrote it." I sauntered out the door, throwing an exaggerated swing to my hips, and departed. I went down those steps on wobbly knees and masturbated all the way to work. CONTINUED -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |