The Witch, Part Four
Copyright 1997-2002 by OldTom, all rights reserved.

"Yes, sir. In fact, I made a list this afternoon."

"Good. Then let's discuss those changes right now, and then I'll show you exactly what will happen if you don't follow through."

Leslie did not like this approach, but her burning bottom was still poised across Tom's lap. She told him the list of changes.

Tom was astounded. "You have a lot to answer for, don't you? This isn't going to be easy to change, is it?"

"Yes, sir. And no, sir. But I have all the motivation I need, thanks to you, sir."

"And do you see the pattern? Do you see how everything in your list is related?"

"Well, it's all proof that I've been making bad choices lately. Though I think I've been pretty well cured. Is that what you mean?"

"No, I mean there is a common thread here. Every single time, you were trying to control a situation that you had no business controlling. And it looks like at least half of the problem was because you were so intolerant of other peoples' imperfections.

"Is this beginning to sound familiar?"

Now it was Leslie's turn to be astounded. "Yes! You're absolutely right! I truly had no idea. It's all the same problem. That's exactly what you just spanked me for; I can see that now." She began repeating herself as she assimilated the revelation, "Wow. It really is the same problem."

"You realize you actually do deserve another spanking, don't you, Leslie?"

"Yes, sir. But I just had one."

"And you're going to have another. You have a lot to answer for.  And you need to know exactly what will happen if you slip up on your promises to change, so I'm going to sting your bottom with that plastic spoon. Are you ready?"

"But I can't take any more, sir!"

"Of course you can. And you will keep your hands and feet out of the way of your spanking, or I will give you an extra ten minutes with the spoon. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir. But please, I can't take much more!"

The spoon handle was flexible and springy, and Leslie's hot bottom was already unbearably sensitive. A few minutes of rapid slap-slap-slapping had Leslie kicking and shrieking, begging for the chance to promise anything, anything at all. She was well spanked and she knew it, tears again streaming down her face. She would never look at a nylon cooking spoon the same way again.

Tom paused, and Leslie gasped her relief. She stopped her noise and her kicking, hiccuping as she did her best to be cooperative. "As you can see, Leslie, the stinging really doesn't last very long.  Do you think you can remember your promises, or would a few welts from my belt help you out?"

"Please, sir, I'll remember!"

"And what happens if you forget, or don't follow through with your promises?"

"I'll be right back over your lap, with that spoon."

"And do you now believe such a procedure can be effective with a woman such as yourself?"

"Oh, yes, sir, very effective."

"Then we only have one last thing to discuss."

"Please, sir, whatever it is, I've already paid! Please!"

Tom gave her a solid swat with his hand, causing Leslie to gasp and whisper a forlorn "Oh, please..."

"Do you remember the part of our conversation where I thought you had gone way too far with your witch hunt?"

"Yes, sir, I remember."

"And you explained that it was a matter of fairness, not of harshness. Do you remember that?"

"Yes, sir, I remember. I'm very sorry I was so badly mistaken, sir."

"I am thinking of making sure you are sorry by spanking you with this spoon, with slow hard swats. Do you understand what I mean?"

"Yes, sir." Leslie turned her head to look past her badly scorched bottom. She had started crying again, the tears sticking strands of her hair to her flushed cheeks. "But if you please, sir, I've really had enough."

"I understand. But we're almost through here, and this is an important point. The point is, I am considering two choices. Choice one is to spank you with one dozen swats of the spoon, and choice two is to spank you with one hundred swats of the spoon. I want you to tell me what you think of those two choices, in terms of fairness and harshness."

"Sir, I'm not sure what you want me to say. I've already paid, so I don't think either one is fair. Choice two is obviously very harsh."

"Is there any doubt whatever in your mind that choice two would get the point across?"

"None whatever - assuming I lived through it, sir."

"So choice two is the logical choice, because it means we can be absolutely certain, even though somebody might get hurt in the process. Do you now see the fallacy in your reasoning?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you feel it would be fair to give you those hundred swats anyway, just to make sure?"

"No, sir, because even one more would be more than adequate."

"But what if I think it's fair, because I think it's more important to be absolutely sure?"

"I can only hope you'll have mercy on my poor bottom, sir, so that I can make it into work long enough tomorrow to change the policy to something that actually is fair. You were right all along, sir, and I am very sorry it was so difficult to convince me."

"Leslie, I'm going to give you those hundred swats. I think you are beginning to understand the consequence of callous harshness, but in a few minutes you will know the consequence.

"As Mark Twain once said, 'A person who has picked up a cat by the tail understands cats a lot better than someone who has merely read about the event.' And, I might add, the person who picked up the cat will remember the event a lot longer. There's just no substitute for being the one there with tail in hand."

Leslie wailed in desperation, "Please, sir, I couldn't take even half that. Couldn't you make it fifty? Please?"

"Yes, we could make it fifty if you count them for me. Mistakes cost you a free swat, and then we start back with the last correct count. Now aren't you glad I'm willing to be flexible?"

Without waiting for an answer, Tom gave her bottom a solid swat.

"One, sir."

Tom continued with stroke after measured stroke. The renewed agony was more than Leslie could take, and she soon got five freebies because she could not calm down enough to gasp out the count. Then she found out that wicked spoon could reach places not yet touched with punishment. Every single blow to the soft inner curve of her bottom forced her frantic kicks every which way, which made her even more vulnerable to the spoon.

Leslie was in a complete panic, thrashing and bouncing, screaming and pleading. She was so panic-stricken that she forgot to count eight swats in a row, and then she had no idea where she left off.

Tom paused. "Leslie, this won't be over until you get to fifty. But I'll tell you what. Call out the number before I spank you, and take as much time as you need. Do you understand?"

Leslie was still kicking her feet, frantically reacting to the fierce sting building in her bottom. "Yes, sir. But please, please, pleaaaaaase, I've had enough."

"I believe we're at twenty."

"Oh, pleaaase... twenty one."

Something changed inside Leslie. It was like a dam broke, the rushing water flooding away her remaining defenses. Her pain didn't matter any more, only the need to please Tom. He was giving her the spanking she needed, no matter how she begged to be let off. She had never known a man could control her so completely and, she hoped, lovingly. She felt her body continue to flail about, but her mind was calm, and she counted her way to fifty.

The stinging blows stopped, and her hands were released. The terrible burn continued to assault her awareness. She was hardly aware that her spanking was over. Leslie gasped and cried, leaving a puddle of tears, struggling to catch her breath. This was just too much for her befuddled brain to take in at once. She finally lay still.

"All, right. You can get up now."

With Tom's help, still crying, she stood up, wincing as her dress fell back into place to cover her glowing bottom. She leaned over to give Tom a hug, wetting his shoulder with her tears. She cried out loud for several minutes, reaching back with one hand to rub her bottom. Tom held her closely, letting her cry it out.

Leslie finally extricated herself to smile shyly at Tom. "Yes, I guess you caught yourself a witch. It's a good thing I don't melt!"

Leslie was proposing a settlement, and Tom met her half way, finally acknowledging how he felt about her. "You were right all along - your witch hunt is the best thing that ever happened to me. But are you a good witch, or a bad witch?"

Leslie kissed him with the assurance, "I am a very good witch."

She deliberately held his gaze with her own as she reached up to slowly unbutton her dress. Her swollen eyes regained their twinkle as she declared in mock seriousness, "...and when I'm BAD, I'm even BETTER."

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