What to Fear
Copyright 1997-2002 by OldTom, all rights reserved.

Something had been troubling him for months. He explained the problem in a story. The story served its purpose, and thus never became real.

Tom sat on the couch with that steady look on his face which meant he had something to say. Leslie paced about the room, so glad to be with him once again, but knowing that look meant something painful was about to happen. And her first spanking still stung.

"Leslie, do you remember when I sent you the story about your losing your temper? Do you remember your reaction?" Tom pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolding it to show a printed page.

"Here is what you wrote:

I liked it by the way. (But, I like about everything you write.) Here is the observation. It just hit me, if you ever punish me again, it will be nothing held back, will it. That scares me a little, and there is not any thought of punishment near. My how I have changed. Before a few weeks ago, just a few butterflies, not pure fear of that situation.

"And thus the story served its purpose. I had been concerned for some time that you might consider me a wimp when it comes to punishments. I wanted you to understand what I am capable of, even though I have never had a chance to prove it.

"However, we both know talk is cheap. You might think you understand, but we'll never really know until your back side has its proof. And now you stand within reach, so it is time to put me to the test. Are you ready?"

"But I haven't done anything wrong, sir!"

"That's true. You've done nothing wrong... except doubt my ability. And that little bit of doubt has been troubling me for months. It's time we resolved this. Do you understand me?"

When Tom had a definite plan of action, it was best to go along.

"Yes, sir. I understand."

"I'm going to have you bend over the chair, just like in the stories, and use my belt on you just as hard as I possibly can. It shouldn't take too long to convince you that I can handle giving you a serious spanking. Are you with me so far?"

"Yes sir."

"The question is, how many strokes shall I give you? Tell me, how many strokes will it take for you to know you have paid in full, and for you to know you never need to worry about my wimpiness again?

"I want you to give me an actual number, and be warned that if the number is unreasonably small, I will double it. But stay within reason, because every stroke I give you will be as hard as I can possibly make it, right where it will do you the most good.

"Now take your time, consider carefully, and give me a number."

The agony of thought flashed across her face, and she quickly spoke. "Twelve... no... Fifteen, sir."

"Do you feel this punishment to be fair and something you deserve?"

"Yes sir."

"Is it something on the harsh side?"

"Yes sir, very much so."

"But you see why harshness is appropriate in this particular case?"

"Yes sir, I understand."

"Good. If you are willing, then, ask for your punishment."

"Sir, Please give me fifteen of the very hardest strokes of your belt. I am very sorry for ever doubting your ability."

Tom pointed over to the chair, indicating for her to take up her position. She began to tremble as she complied, turning to plead with her eyes that she might keep her bottom covered.

Tom looked at her steadily, wordlessly daring her to bend over without first removing her overalls. She declined the dare, holding his gaze as she unfastened and stepped out of her clothing. The look of submission she flashed as she turned to bend over the chair tore at his heart, as they both knew it would.

"Leslie, I'm not kidding. I'm going to step into the swing, hit you with this belt as hard as I can, and follow through. This is going to hurt. Do you understand."

Her whole body shaking, she was unable to speak steadily. "Y-yes sir, I understand."

Tom stepped back, and the belt flashed with a wicked snap, bouncing back to sting his own arm in the follow through. Leslie gasped, shocked, hair flying back as she fought to hold position through the fearful burn.

Tom did not pause. He took a second stroke, whipping his belt across the tops of her legs.

Leslie held, already panicked, fighting to please him. The tears had already begun, if he but knew it.

Tom stopped without explanation, returned to sit on the couch.

"Leslie, come stand in front of me, and listen to what I have to say."

Tom held her gaze as she obeyed, standing still before him. She knew it could not possibly be over, and she was scared, and punished. The tears began a steady stream.

She began to reach up to wipe her tears, instinctively wanting to relieve some of the streaking, but Tom shook his head. She kept her hands at her sides.

"Leslie, you would do well to fear being punished by me. But not in the way you think. You see, I will always hold back. That is what you need to fear. I will punish you exactly as I decide you need, no more and no less. You could never possibly do something so terrible that I would not hold back.

"I can give you fifty strokes as easily as I can give you two, and two as easily as fifty. And I will remain in precise control, no matter what you have to say on the subject.

"Leslie, my point is this. When I let you off, it is because I choose to, and not out of any particular weakness on my part. No, it is not ferocity you need to fear. It is my patience and deep understanding that you should fear."

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