NEVER TOO OLD, PART 3

by Gene Hyatt

Seventeen year old Melody Cromwell settled herself over her grandfather's thighs and contemplated the faded pink rose woven into the bedroom rug approximately twelve inches from her cute, turned-up nose.

"I wonder if that's the same one Mom used to look at?" she mused as she felt the hem of her short, blue skirt slide up her bare thighs in response to her grandpa's tugs.

As he tucked the hem of her skirt into her belt, her mind flashed back almost eleven years to the night she had been awakened by sobs and yells and had crept out of bed to peek in at the scene of her mother being soundly bare-bottomed spanked in this very room. She had seen her receive many red behinds since, but that first time would always stand out in her memory.

Melody grimaced and shook her blonde head as she felt fingers in the waist band of her pale blue, bikini panties. As they began to slide over her bottom cheeks she felt her face go warm with embarrassment. There had been many family visits between California and Illinois during her life time, and her father was never one to insist on privacy when he gave a spanking, either to her or her mother, so it was not the first time her grandpa had seen her bottom. But it was the first time he had bared it himself and it seemed different somehow.

She felt her panties pull out of her bottom crack and, as she had been taught, raised her hips slightly so they could be slipped down her thighs. As they descended her shapely, well tanned legs she had a momentary pang of regret at having talked her parents into letting her visit her grandfather by herself. But then she thought of seeing Davey every day for two weeks and it quickly went away. Besides she had known what she was in for when her father told her she would be subject to her grandpa's rules and regulations. She had eagerly accepted the deal in spite of the stories she had heard from her mother about her grandfather's spanking prowess. And she realized that she had only herself to blame for being in the all too familiar position at the end of her very first day.

Once again she was glad that she had had the foresight to take a couple of Wet Ones and a fresh pair of panties with her. She had learned that trick from an older girl friend when she had first started dating. She never knew when she might be delayed getting home from a date and end up over her father's lap. She had no desire to find out what he would do if he noticed a damp panty crotch or wet curls, so she always managed to wash and put on fresh panties before she went in the house after a petting session. And this time, after almost two hours of heavy petting--she'd let Davey go to second base--her panties had been positively dripping, and she had no doubt that her grandfather's reaction would be the same, if not worse, than her father's.

Her panties continued their passage past her knees and down her calves. She suddenly remembered her mother telling her how terrible it was to have to look at your discarded panties while your bottom was set afire and then hers landed on the pink rose. She tossed her head in embarrassment and clamped her thighs tightly together as the vision of her nude-from-waist-to-toe condition appeared in her mind. Then, resigned to her fate and knowing that her ordeal was about to start, she bowed her head and relaxed as much as possible. Suddenly she realized that she was truly sorry she had worried him. "I'm sorry I made you worry, Gramps. Please don't do it too hard," she said softly. She didn't really expect an answer, and got none.

Mr. Jackson contemplated his granddaughter's behind cheeks which he had just finished baring. They were almost the twins of his daughter's, even to the two dimples at the top of each. He rested his large, calloused, carpenter's hand on her thighs, just below the two dark blonde curls that peeped out. The two hemispheres were bisected vertically by the tan line of the bikini swim suits that Melody favored and he shook his head at the permissiveness of modern parents, even one as strict as his son-in-law. He remembered giving his daughter a birthday suit spanking when she was fifteen after he had caught her wearing a simple two piece swim suit in defiance of his ruling. "But that was twenty years ago," he mused, "and times do change I guess."

"But some things don't," he continued to himself, "and one of those is the trouble that young girls can get into when they stay out too long with boys." He was secretly happy that Melody had taken a liking to his partner's son. He considered him a fine boy, almost the son he had never had, and, unknown to Melody, it was he who had really convinced her father to let her visit. He had willingly given her permission to go to a movie with Davey if she were home an hour after. When the hour stretched to two with no word, he had decided that she was testing him and he had resolved to show her that he meant business. He had met her at the door, an hour and a half late, and led her directly upstairs to his bedroom.

His heart swelled with pride when he saw how willingly she accepted her just punishment, and he was equally proud of his son-in-law for the excellent training he had given her. When told she was about to be bare butt spanked, she had wrinkled her nose and tossed her blonde head in displeasure, but at the order to turn over she had kicked off her sneakers and settled herself in the correct position without argument, her hips bent at exactly the right angle. She had even, just before bending down, pulled up the front of her skirt to make it easier to raise.

It is a fact of life that grandparents are more lenient with their grandchildren than with their own children and Mr. Jackson was no exception. He hated the task ahead of him--was, in fact, delaying it. Melody was his only grandchild and the apple of his eye. The times during a family visit when he had caught her being naughty he had not punished her himself but, instead, had told her father what she had done. And as he watched the spanking that inevitably followed he winced with every swat that landed on her soft cheeks knowing that he was responsible for the ordeal she was going through.

The wait finally got to Melody. She was used to feeling the first sting on her hindquarters within a few seconds of feeling the cool air on them. "Please hurry and do it to me, Gramps," she said, the tension showing in her voice, "It's just awful having to wait for it."

Her grandfather nodded his head, slowly raised his right arm, placed his left across the small of her back, and commenced the first of several spankings he would administer to her over the next two weeks.

Her mother had given her many graphic descriptions of the spanking power of her grandfather's good right hand, maintaining that it hurt just as much as any of the instruments her father used, except maybe the razor strop. She had never quite believed her, but when the first of what would seem like thousands of smacks landed flush across her young behind her belief in her mother's veracity quickly did an about-face.

Mr. Jackson's hand was large and covered a good third of the curved surface before him. As it made its first stinging contact, his granddaughter's head jerked up and she kicked backward with both legs.

"Ouuuuuw! Gramps! Please!" she wailed.

As he slowly withdrew his hand for the second smack, nearly half of the bare expanse was already a light pink. He brought his hand down again, in the same spot.

"Oh! Ough! Not in the same place! Pleeeease!" she pleaded as her whole body stiffened and jerked.

In spite of the sting in her behind, Melody was shocked at her reaction to only two hand swats. She prided herself on taking her spankings with a minimum of fuss. Her father always started her off with at least a minute's worth of hand slaps before getting down to the serious part with whatever instrument he deemed her misdeed required, and she seldom made a sound as her pert bottom went from cool to warm. Even during the serious part of the spanking the hairbrush or strap did not elicit many cries or pleas until the very end. As a matter of act, her mother made much more noise and fuss than she.

She struggled to get control of herself and because of the slow cadence her grandpa was using she managed to do so. By the time the sixth landed, right over the peeping curls, she took it with only a mild grunt and a little kick of the left foot.

Having gotten her attention with six real sizzlers, Mr. Jackson reduced the force somewhat and settled down to a steady SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!, landing one about every second. He spread them out over the twitching, clenching hemispheres. His hand bounced from just below her tail bone to the overhand where thighs met cheeks, and from hip bone to hip bone across the crevice and back again, until the quietly sobbing young culprit lost count of the number of trips the punishing palm had made.

Each time the heavy hand landed it flattened the tender flesh, the valley between the mounds almost disappearing as they were compressed by the force of the slap. The whole bare expanse became warm, then hot, as its color went through pink to red and then to scarlet.

By the end of three minutes, Melody's face was wet with tears and her whole body jerked with each burning slap, her legs bending back at the knees and then jerking straight again. Only her pride kept her from pleading for an end to the torment.

Suddenly, the slaps stopped and she drew a ragged breath that ended in a loud groan as she felt her grandfather's hand spread her tender, burning cheeks to expose the still cool inner edges of her bottom crack. She had only a couple of seconds to feel embarrassment at this new exposure before his fingers began to sting the soft, flesh. They worked down one side to the beginning of the pouting lips and then back up the other, past the rose bud, to the top. Six times she felt them make the circuit and she was yelling with each biting snap before the fourth was finished.

There was another momentary pause of the punishing hand and the sobbing teen-ager fought to get her breath. Then suddenly her legs were spread apart and she felt a leg being placed over her outside one making easy access to the inside of her left thigh. The burning sensation in her rear end pushed any embarrassment her new position caused her to the back of her mind.

She felt the pressure on her waist increase and the next second a coal from the bonfire on her bottom jumped to a couple of inches above the hollow behind her knee and slowly spread back up. Her free leg jumped and kicked each time the broad palm landed on the back of her thigh, the fingers curving around to the inside to reach the most tender skin of all.

This was the part of a spanking that Mr. Jackson really hated giving. He had always been embarrassed at exposing his daughter's most intimate places--and for that matter, even his wife's whom he had spanked as needed until her untimely death--and was doubly so now that it was his granddaughter who was lying across his lap. However, he had never let his embarrassment prevent him from giving the same kind of thorough spankings his own father had given to his mother and two sisters and he went grimly on with his work.

He finished the sixth round trip and switched to the right thigh. Because of his own leg, he couldn't reach as much of it and contented himself with only a dozen or so smarting slaps on the upper portion.

The pain being administered to her tender thighs finally broke Melody's stoicism. Half way through the thigh spanks she began to plead for an end to her torment.

"Ouuuuuuuuuuw! Pleeeeeeeeease! Gramps! Gramps! Nooooooo Mooooooore!"

She tried in vain to reach back to cover herself. She tried to twist away, but his left arm in the small of her back prevented her from moving more than an inch or two.

"I won't do it againnnnnnnnn! Ouuuuuuuuuuuuuww! Pleeeeeeeeeeease! Not therrrrrrrrrrrrrrrre!"

Finally the stinging slaps stopped once again, and she struggled to catch her breath as the tears streamed from her eyes and dropped onto her panties directly under her twisting head.

Mr. Jackson realized that his granddaughter was close to her limit, but he was resolved to give her a good lesson in the hopes that he would not have to repeat it during the next two weeks. He removed his leg from over hers and pulled her up so that her bright red hind end was on top of his right knee. Her legs continued to kick in response to the commands of the tortured nerve endings in her bottom and thighs.

He knew that he would have to hold her more securely for the last stage of her spanking so he placed his left arm around her waist, his fingers spread across her belly, and tucked her in as tightly as possible. Realizing that her ordeal was still not over, Melody began to plead once again.

"Ohhhhhhhh! Pleeeeeeeeeeaseeeeee! Graaaaaaaaamps! It huuuuuuuurts! Nooooooooo! Mooooooooooooore! Pleeeeeeeeeeeeaseeeee!"

It did her no good. His face set in determination, her grandfather began a final assault on the twisting, jerking, scarlet cheeks before him.

Melody's bottom had had a chance to cool off somewhat while her thighs were being spanked, but it took only a few swats of his large, heavy hand to return them to their former temperature and then to raise them to an even higher one. Struggling, pleading, crying, promising, kicking, the sorry seventeen year old took the last minute of her first grandfatherly spanking with much less aplomb than she had the first. He continued to spank the angry red surfaces in random fashion finishing up just beyond the point at which she felt she positively could not take any more.

For perhaps ten or fifteen second she did not comprehend that her ordeal was over, then, realizing that she was not being held anymore, she tried to struggle to her feet. She ended up, first kneeling, then collapsing on the floor, her hands desperately trying to alleviate the heat in her hindquarters.

He sadly watched her reaction to the painful spanking he had just given her, then, after several minutes, spoke for the first time since he had ordered her into position.

"Stand up, Melody!"

She struggled to her feet, her hands still grasping the back side of her anatomy, heedless of the fact that the front side was on full display. Tears were still streaming down her face and liquid from her nose. She was, in fact, the perfect picture of a well spanked teen-ager.

"Did that teach you anything, Melody?"

"Y...y..yes, G..g..gramps! Oooooh, y..y..you gave m...me a g..g..good one."

Then take your panties and get to bed!"

Stooping, she grabbed them and hurried out the door and across the hall. She did not see the moisture in her grandfather's eyes as he watched her flaming tail disappear into the dimness. In her room she quickly undressed, crawled between the cool sheets and gave herself over to loud sobbing as she continued to stroke and massage her tender bottom. Right now she was mad at everyone, including herself, but in the morning her conscience would no longer bother her about worrying her grandfather or about what she had let Davey do, and she would sincerely apologize and truthfully thank him for spanking her. She also knew that the next time Davey asked her to stay out past curfew she would do it even though it meant another embarrassing and painful bare bottom session over her grandpa's lap.

Suddenly she smiled as she remembered the feel of Davey's fingers and lips on her breasts and the wonderful feeling it gave her "down there."

"I wonder what third base is like," she mused, as she drifted off to sleep.

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