"Ma, why can't we git us a new privy?" asked Becky plaintively.

     "Now you hush your mouth, lil' gurl," scolded her mother.  "That thar privy were good enough fer yer Pa when we were yore age, and it were good enough for yer grandpa when he were yore age, too.  And you ain't too good fer it neither!"

      "But-"

      "And don't you be a-givin' yore Mama no sass!  The day we gits us a new privy will be the day the one we gots now falls over!  Now you best be a-runnin' along, Becky, or y'll be late fer school!"

      Dejectedly, Becky donned her backpack and peddled her bike out to the road towards school.  But the farther she rode, the more she thought about what her mother had said.  Maybe there was a way after all!

      Becky turned her bike off the path and walked it through the trees until she was behind her house.  Checking to make sure the coast was clear, she released the emergency brake on the family tractor and let it roll down the hill until it hit the hated outhouse.  With a crash, the ancient privy broke loose from its foundations and fell on its side.

      Racing back into the trees, Becky grabbed her bike and hurried off to school before anyone could see her.

      But instead of enjoying her triumph, Becky felt worse and worse as the day wore on.  She couldn't concentrate on her schoolwork with her young heart so fraught with guilt.  "I wish I could just 'fess up and tell Ma what I done," she thought for the hundredth time.  And then, also for the hundredth time, "But I daren't tell!  Ma would have the hickory on me for sure!"  Around and around went these thoughts in poor Becky's troubled mind until the school bell rang and she slowly pedalled herself home again.

      "What's the matter wi' you, young'un?" asked Becky's mother at the dinner table, "You look so pale.  And you ain't hardly touched yore grits, neither!"

      "I don't feel so good, Ma," whimpered Becky, avoiding her mother's gaze.

      "Well you better just be about puttin' yer little self into bed then, Darlin'," chided her mother gently, "and when Ah gits done a-washin' them dishes, Mama's gonna come in and read y' a nice bedtime story!"

      Becky thanked her mother and hurried off to put on her pajamas and slip under the covers.  When her mother came in, she read Becky a story about how when George Washington was about the same age as Becky, he did a very very bad thing.  He chopped down his Pa's favorite cherry tree!  But young George was so brave and honest, he told his Pa, "I cannot tell a lie.  'Twas I!"

      Becky's eyes widened with excitement and hope as her mother went on to explain that because he had been so brave and honest about what he'd done, little George's Pa didn't even give him a licking!

      "Ma," sighed Becky with relief ,  "I cannot tell a lie.  "'Twas I done knocked down the privy this morning with the tractor!"

      Immediately, Becky's mother grabbed her by the ear and marched her straight to the woodshed, pulled up Becky's nightgown, and 'wore her out' with a hickory switch, leaving the howling girl welted from her buttocks to the middles of her thighs.  Then she gathered her daughter in her arms and held Becky on her lap as she cried.

      "But Ma!" sniffled Becky after she could finally manage to speak, "George Washington's Pa didn't give him a lickin' when he tol' the truth about choppin' down that ol' tree!"

      "That's right," said her mother, reflectively, "But George Washington's Pa weren't IN that tree when George DONE it!!!"

        "Your mother and I had a talk last night after you went to bed, young lady," replied her stepfather as he opened the door to the little girl's room with his free hand.  "She agreed with me that something needed to be done about your backchatting and disrespect towards me, and that a good, old-fashioned spanking was just the thing."

         "My Mommy would NEVER say that!  She NEVER spanks me!  I never got a spankin' in my whole life!"

         "Your mother doesn't have the heart to take her little Darling over her knee like she should have done a long time ago!" he declared, sitting down on the side of Meribeth's bed and holding both of the squirming child's wrists in one hand.  "But she gave ME permission to do so from now on whenever I see fit.  And," he added, as he unfastened the snap of Meribeth's jeans, "I'm seeing fit right now!"

          "Stop that!  No!  NOOOO!" shouted Meribeth in dismay as her stepfather tugged both her jeans and panties halfway down her thighs and then pulled the frantic girl across his knee.  Before she knew what had happened, her wrists and legs were secured and her sensitive bare backside received over a dozen firm, fast slaps from his big palm.

           Leaving the crying child on her bed, her stepfather went out to the living room.   Just as he settled down to read the sports page, Meribeth stomped in, her flushed tear streaked face set in an angry pout.  "Well I hope you are happy, you old meanie!" shouted Meribeth.  And to her stepfather's consternation, the child turned around and pulled down her jeans and panties again, sticking her freshly-spanked pink behind at her stepfather. 

"NOW look what you did!" cried Meribeth accusingly, "you CRACKED it!!!"

          "You should discipline that cheeky brat of yours," shrilled one of the mothers finally. "A sound spanking might do her some good!"

          "Spank my daughter??  Indeed!" huffed the other. "Why don't you paddle your OWN gnu???"
 

            And then she had to have a piece of cake.

            And then she had to have a piggyback ride to her room from Daddy.

            And then she had to have a goodnight story.

            And then she had to get a goodnight kiss from Daddy.

            A minute later she had to get up again and go to the bathroom.

            And then she had to get another goodnight kiss from Daddy.

            A minute after that she had to get Daddy to check under her bed for wolves.

            And then she asked for a second bedtime story.  ("No!")

            And a minute later, she called Daddy back in to check the closet for velociraptors also.

            Yet another minute later: "Can I have a drink of water?"

            "No Francine," replied her father, "Now be quiet and go to sleep.  You had your chance.  Now it is way past your bedtime and I don't want to hear another word out of you."

            Five minutes later, "Daddeeeee!  Can I ple-e-e-ease have a drink of water?  I'm really thirsty-y-y!"

            "Francine!  The answer is no!  And if I hear one more word out of you, so help me, I am going to come in there and give you a good spanking!  I mean it!   Now go to sleep!"

       For the next ten minutes, silence reigned.  Then came a sad little voice from Francine's room, "Daddy?  When you come in to give me my spankin' now,  could you bring a glass of water too???"

...the study was written in crayon.

          "Please Daddy!  At least leave my panties on!" she cried, briefly.

            "I'm sorry, Pumpkin, but they are going to be pulled down," he replied, barely.  "And because you've been so naughty, your spanking is going to be extra hard," he added, highhandedly.

[Thanks C!]
 

              When Mrs. Briggs walked in through the open doorway, there was Gretchen, bent across a high stool with her navy blue school uniform skirt up and knickers lowered, looked over her shoulder with tear moistened eyes to see what her father would do next.
 
 

                Her father set the cane on its hooks on the wall, and sent Gretchen off to her room, sobbing and rubbing the seat of her skirt as she went.

                "Why did you thrash her, Dear?"  Mrs. Briggs asked  her husband.

                "Because,"  he replied, "Gretchen's report card is due tomorrow and I won't be here to punish her for it!"
 
 

            Question:  Why does Mr. Briggs believe that regular canings improve Gretchen's school performance?
 

            Answer:  Because they make Gretchen smart!
 

            "Why did the teacher spank you, Linda?"

            "The teacher asked, 'how much is seven times nine?' and I said 'sixty three.'"

            "But... that's the right answer," replied her puzzled father.

            Linda continued, "Then she asked me, 'how much is nine times seven.'"

            "What the hell's the difference?"  exclaimed her father aloud to himself, "That teacher of yours must be stupid or something to ask you a question like that!"

    "Yes Daddy!  That's the exact same thing I said!"
 

              "That's out!" exclaimed one boy as his friend's ball struck the ground right on the line.

              "Aw Hell, Dude!  That was sooooo inside!" jeered the other boy, good naturedly.

              "You bet your big fat ass it wasn't inside!" hooted his friend.

              So intent were the boys on their game that they didn't notice adorable identical twins, Jeana and Deana, watching raptly from the sidelines.  Having been raised in a strict religious family, the girls had never heard anyone talk this way before, and both were quite intrigued.  Just then, they heard their mother calling them in for lunch and ran off to their cottage, both still thinking about what they had just heard.

              "What would you like for lunch, Jeana?" said their mother over her shoulder as she stood at the stove.

              "Aw Hell, Mommy!  I sooooooo want french toast!" chirped little Jeana with a smile as she sat down at the kitchen table.   Without a word, her mother wheeled around, snatched Jeana off her chair, pulled down the little girl's shorts and panties, and gave her a blistering spanking over the knee with a plastic cooking spatula.  Letting the bawling little girl slump to the floor clutching her crimson bottom, the woman quickly went to the sink and ran the hot water over a cloth and rubbed some soap on it.  Then she yanked her sobbing child to her feet again and as poor Jeana gasped for air, her mother forcefully scrubbed out the entire inside of Jeana's little mouth with soap.  Finally, with one last resounding smack across Jeana's already sore backside, her mother marched her face first into a corner, shorts and panties still bunched up around her ankles.

      Deana, pale as a ghost, sat in stunned astonishment as these events unfolded.  Then her mother, speaking clearly to be heard over Jeana's wails, asked, "And what would you like for lunch, Deana?"

      "I... I don't know what I... w-want for lunch," replied Deana, anxiously glancing at the corner where her loudly crying sister stood rubbing her sore bottom, then back to her mother.

"But," she added with a decisive shake of her head from side to side, "You can bet your big fat ass it won't be french toast!!!"
 

Answer: Julie.
 

     ...your child has less reason to think she might get beaten up by a gang at school... but more reason to think she might get spanked at school!
 

           "Now why would I spank your shorts?  They weren't the ones who misbehaved, were they!"

                After the service, as Rev. Pruett mingled with the congregation on the steps outside the chapel, he noticed the young family again.  Many other children chased each other around and raised a ruckus or loudly whined for attention.  But this little girl stood demurely holding her father's hand, not interrupting the adults' conversations or otherwise drawing attention to
herself.

                "I just wanted to commend you on what a well-behaved daughter you have," remarked Rev. Pruett with a smile as he stepped over to the family to make their acquaintance.  At once, the little girl lowered her eyes and curtseyed prettily to him as her parents thanked him for the compliment.  More impressed than ever, Rev. Pruett asked, "What is your parenting secret?"

                "Let's just say," chuckled the father, "that nothing improves Pamela's behavior so much as pats on her back... provided they are administered fast enough, hard enough, and low enough!"

                Pamela  blushed visibly as her mother chimed in, "Our daughter behaves herself because she's been reared at the knee of a devoted mother... and across the knee of a determined father!"

                Stooping slightly to bring his eyes closer to her level, Rev. Pruett asked the embarrassed Pamela why she thought she was such a well behaved girl.  Glancing from side to side at each of her parents, she ruefully replied, "Because my Mom is on speaking terms with God... and my Dad is on spanking terms with me!"
 

            "Certainly Darling, what is it?"

            "Well, it's about Shannon..." Without another word, Mr. Jamison led his wife into their 13 year old daughter's bedroom and over to their child's PC, which was on and running even though she was off at school. "I've been looking over her computer to see what she is doing online and make sure it is all appropriate for a child of her age. I looked on her Location Bar, in her Recent Documents file, her History folder and her browser Cache. And this is what I discovered our baby is doing all those hours she spends online with the door closed."

            Mrs. Jamison gasped with horror. 

"The Handprints Spanking Art & Stories Page...?! What on Earth...???"

            "I'm afraid so, Honey," Mr. Jamison replied. "It would seem our Shannon has been downloading hundreds of these... these... these pictures of...of..." His choking voice trailed off.

            "Oh Darling!" sobbed Mrs. Jamison, burying her tearful face in her husband's chest, "Whatever are we going to DO???"

            Mr. Jamison took a deep breath as he comforted his sobbing wife as best he could. "Well Honey..." he sighed at last, "One thing is for certain - spanking Shannon is out of the question!!!"

Thanks to Fire Angel X