textfiles/sex/EROTICA/D/dmv.txt

	I sat in the waiting room and listlessly leafed through a
magazine, but my mind wasn't really on it.   I was much too nervous
anticipating the procedure I was waiting to have done.
	A receptionist appeared in the doorway.  "Number 42?" she prompted
in a chipper voice.  After a moment a man got up from one of the chairs
and disappeared with her through the doorway.  The "Now Serving" sign on
the wall clicked to "42".
	I was number 44.  I could feel the gripping feeling in my innards
tighten as my apprehension increased.
	The irony of it was, I had voted for the bill myself.  California
state proposition 227, or "The Paddling Bill", as it was known, had been
voted in just three months ago.  It was the natural offshoot of all the
other initiatives that had been instituted recently.  It had all started
with the public paddling of vandals which had been begun last year.  Then
corporal punishment started being extended to other crimes.  Instead of
prison sentences, first-time offenders were given probation along with
weekly paddlings.  Then it started creeping into the civil courts. 
Paddlings were meted out instead of punitive damages, and losers of
frivolous suits were spanked in addition to paying court costs.  People
actually started suing each other, not for money, but for the right to
spank their transgressors.   The show "People's Court" started up again
but this time the losers agreed to be paddled on television -- it was a
wildly popular show, with Judge Wopner at his most stern and fatherly as
he sentenced people to their spankings.  
	And then came the Paddling Bill which proposed using paddlings in
addition to, or sometimes instead of, fines or jail time as a penalty for
misdemeanors.  And I voted for it.  After all, I wasn't a criminal, was I?
	Two and a half months later, in a moment of inattention, I had
sailed through a red light, and now here I was, awaiting my paddling.
	The receptionist appeared in the doorway again.  "Number 43?"  A
woman responded this time.  
	To escape my unhappy thoughts, I tried to turn back to the
magazine, but couldn't seem to pay any attention to it.  Instead, my
thoughts turned back to the letter that had explained to me what was going
to happen to me.  I had read it so many times, I had practically memorized
it.
	"In accordance with Propostion 227," it had said, "we regret to
inform you that the penalty for your recent traffic violation is 40
strokes of a type E paddle, on the bare buttocks, to be given at the DMV
spanking unit within the next month.  Please call for an appointment.
	"The type E paddle is 15 inches long, 2 inches wide, and 1/4 inch
thick.  It is made of stiff leather which has been determined to be better
than wood at causing maximum pain while inflicting minimum actual damage. 
This paddle also has a line of holes down the middle which typically raise
welts on the buttocks.  These welts are painful and unsightly but will
cause no permanent damage."  I squirmed in my chair as I remembered this
paragraph, unconsciously anticipating the pain I would soon feel in the
part of my body that I was currently sitting upon.  
	"In keeping with the provisions of Prop 227," the letter
continued, "you will receive the paddling in two visits with no more than
25 strokes inflicted in a visit.  Visits must be at least one week but no
more than two weeks apart. "  The 25-stroke limit was for traffic
citations and other light misdemeanors.  For heavier crimes the weekly
limit was 50 strokes. 
	"Additional strokes may be added to your punishment for missing or
being late for your appointment or being uncooperative while the
punishment is being carried out.  While you may make all the noise you
want during the paddling itself, swearing or verbally abusing your
punishers will result in extra strokes.  Covering your buttocks with your
hands during the punishment incurs 3 additional strokes.  You may have
your hands bound during the procedure to prevent this occurence. 
	"Please bring ID with you to your paddling; substitutions are not
allowed."  There were people who had actually hired themselves out to take
paddlings for others, but the law had been quickly revised to prevent that
possibility.  "If you have a medical problem which you believe precludes
your being punished by paddling, bring documents from your doctor to that
effect.
	"Also, please be informed that the entire punishment will be video
taped to ensure that it was carried out properly and fairly, and also to
ensure that no bribery or other activity was allowed to interfere with the
full administration of your sentence."  Apparently videotaping paddlings
was common practice as bribery of Paddlers, with both money and sexual
favors, had been rampant until it was instituted.  An unexpected side
effect was that public offices were being broken into and video tapes
stolen.  The black market for paddling videos of famous people was a hot
one; the tabloid TV shows managed to come up with them regularly.
	I was required to sign a separate page acknowedging that I had
read the letter and understood what was expected of me.  There was also a
place to initial if you wanted to waive having your hands tied.  I
initialed it; I couldn't stand to think of being tied up like that.
	"Number 44?" came the perky voice from the doorway.  God, it was
time.  My stomach was churning and my knees rubbery as I stood and
approached the door.  "Right this way," said the receptionist.  She was
impeccably polite, just like the young woman who had made my appointment
over the phone the week before.  
	The receptionist showed me to a cubicle with a desk in it and
motioned for me to sit in the guest chair.  "Doreen will be right with
you," she said.
	I sat and fidgeted, resisting the temptation to flee.  Refusing a
sentenced spanking meant two days in jail with a doubled spanking at the
end.
	In a few moments a woman about my age entered the cubicle. 
"Hello, I'm Doreen.  I'll be acting as the Witness for your paddling
today."  I remembered the news stories that accompanied the initial
paddlings after the bill was passed.  Originally men were paddled by men
and women by women.  Then the mens' rights groups complained that they
were being hit harder since their punishers were stronger.  So both
genders ended up being paddled by men.  Then womens' rights groups
complained that the woman was suffering additional humiliation at having
her bottom bared and paddled by someone of another gender.  At that time
the female Witness was introduced, both to ensure that every paddling was
witnessed by both genders, and also to further ensure that the paddlings
were carried out properly.
	Doreen checked my ID and made sure I'd brought my signed
acknowledgement.    Then she gave me a garment bag and a gown and ushered
me to a small dressing room across the hall.  "Take off all your clothes
and put on the gown.  Put your clothes in the garment bag.  Then take the
bag down the hall and check it in at the counter down there. "  She gave
me a piece of plastic with the number 44 engraved on it.  "This is your
claim check for the clothing and is also used for checking out your paddle
at the same counter."
	I nodded numbly, still not quite believing that this was all
happening.  As we stood there, the woman who had gone in ahead of me came
out of another dressing room with her garment bag and headed down the
hall.  
	"Wait for me by the counter," Doreen continued.  "And remember, we
expect promptness."
	I entered the dressing room and stripped naked, hanging my clothes
on the garment bag's hanger.  I then slipped on the gown.  It was a
hospital style gown only it wasn't open at the back.  It came to about
mid-thigh on me.  So far this felt very much like a trip to the doctor's
office.  I still hadn't faced what was really going to happen to me.
	A short while later it was becoming much more obvious.  I had
checked in my clothes and checked out the paddle.  I stood by the counter
waiting for Doreen with the wicked-looking thing in my hands and felt the
tears prick my eyes.  Here I was, 35 years old, about to get my bare
bottom smacked -- HARD --  by strangers.  It was awful, and there was
nothing I could do about it.
	Doreen showed up in a couple of minutes, still the soul of
politeness, and led me down another corridor.  This was very unnerving;
from various closed doors I could hear smacks and shrieks and loud cries
of "Stop!" and "No!  No!"  My stomach was topsy-turvy by the time we
reached one of the rooms with an open door.  We entered and Doreen
indicated a chair for me to sit in, then she hung the clipboard she was
carrying on a hook on the door, said, "Your Paddler will be in shortly. 
I'll be back when you're ready to be paddled," and left me to contemplate
the horrible paddle in my hands and the even more ominous-looking
contraption in the room which I took to be the frame I would be put into
for the paddling to take place.
	All this waiting was really getting to me so I was almost
pathetically grateful when the door opened a few minutes later and a man
wearing jeans and a corduroy jacket.  He took the clipboard off its hook
and studied it, then looked up at me and smiled.  "Hi.  I'm Thad, I'll be
your Paddler today," he said in a downright friendly tone of voice.  He
stepped forward to shake hands, of all things.  I had to wipe my sweaty
palms on my gown before responding.  His handshake was warm and firm.  He
was a very good-looking guy, which made things all the worse.  He was also
about ten years younger than me -- worse still, to be spanked by a guy in
his twenties.  And worst of all, he looked to be in very good physical
shape -- very strong.
	"Please step over here, Ms. Ross," he said, motioning me to the
contraption.  He had me stand on a couple of painted footprints so I was
facing a paddled bench, with the end of the bench almost touching my knees
and the rest of it extending away from me.  He pushed a button and the
bench raised until it was even with my hips.  "If you would please bend
over, Ms. Ross," he said.	
	My knees were shaking by this time, but I did as I was told.  The
hem of the gown slipped up my thighs but still covered by bottom in that
pose.
	Thad continued to work around me as if he was setting up for a
medical procedure or something, very businesslike.  He buckled a wide
belt, fastened to the bench, around my waist, in effect securing me to the
bench.  He adjusted the height of the bench a bit more, then consulted the
clipboard again.  "Sure you don't want to change your mind on the wrist
ties?" he asked.  "Remember, it's three more for covering your bottom with
your hands."
	His matter-of-fact tone of voice contrasted sharply with my
growing panic.  "No!" I objected quickly.  Just being bound around the
waist was frighteningly constrictive.
	"All right, then, you can hold onto these."  He gave me some
handles, connected to the wall by rubber straps.  "You can pull on them if
it gets to be too much," he explained.  Then he took my head between his
hands then, and turned it and settled it so my chin was in a cup that kept
my head facing forward.  "You need to leave your chin in that cup, too,"
he said.  "Eyes forward."  For the first time I noticed that I was facing
a large mirror that allowed me to see everything going on behind me.  
	Thad stepped over to the wall and pressed a buzzer then.  I could
see in the mirror as he removed his jacket.  He had a T-shirt underneath
and without the jacket my fears were confirmed:  his arms were very well
muscled.  He hung the jacket and then reached in one of the pockets and
pulled out a leather fingerless glove, like the ones used for bicycling,
and put it on his right hand.
	I was terrified.
	In a few moments the door opened and Doreen walked in, carrying a
stopwatch.  She took the clipboard from Thad.  "I'll be counting your
strokes, Ms. Ross," she said.  "You will receive one every three seconds,
with pauses after ten and twenty for me to check the condition of your
bottom."  She took a seat in the chair, arranged the clipboard on her lap,
and held up the stopwatch.  "Ready when you are, Thad," she said.
	Thad stepped up behind me then and lifted the hem of my gown.  I
gasped in embarassment and fear as my bottom was bared.  He pulled the hem
up high clipped it to the back of the gown so it would stay out of the
way.  I tried not to imagine how I must look, bent over and strapped down,
bare from waist to feet.
	He took up his position behind me then and I couldn't help but
whimper and dig my toes into the carpet at little.  Then he said, "Say
when, Doreen."
	Doreen clicked the stopwatch and said, "Begin!  One!"
	I didn't want to watch but I found my gaze transfixed to the
mirror as Thad raised the paddle high and brought it whistling down on my
bare bottom.  It landed with a shockingly loud THWACK! and almost
instantly a fiery pain exploded at the site of the impact, across both
cheeks at once.  The anticipation, humiliation, shock, and pain were too
much; I leaped in my bonds and shrieked, loudly.
	"Two!" came Doreen's voice, and even as I cried out, "No!" Thad
flung the paddle up high and brought it blazing down again.  Again I felt
that burst of pain.  "No!  No, stop, please!" I cried out.
	"Three!"   THWACK!  ....  "Four!"   THWACK!     The burning licks
landed again and again, steadily, heedless of my howls and pleas and
struggles.  I twisted against the belt that held me around the waist,
bucked and kicked, pounded my feet on the ground.   I pulled hard on the
handles in my hands, stretching the rubber bands that held them.  The pain
was unbelievable, unbearable, and he was only up to ...  "Five!"   
THWACK! ...  "Six!"   THWACK!   "Oh, stop, PLEASE stop, I can't stand it,
oh PLEASE, I'll do anything -- I'll never run a red light again, I'll
never DRIVE again..."   I babbled helplessly, desperate to stop the
scalding strokes.  "Seven!"  THWACK!  ....  "Eight!"  THWACK!   "Owwwww! 
Oh, please!  That's enough, really it is!  OHHHHHH!  STOP IT!  STOP!" 
"Nine!"  THWACK!   "Ten!"  THWACK!   
	There was a pause, filled only by my hysterical gasping and
panting.  Doreen got up and came to inspect my bottom.  I hoped
desperately that she would find some reason to terminate the punishment,
but she only nodded, returned to her chair, and held up the stopwatch
again.
	"Nooooooo!" I howled.
	"Begin!  Eleven!" she called out.  THWACK!
	The pain had receded slightly but this stroke brought it back in
full force.  I bounced my hips desperately on the bench, kicked out wildly
with both feet, and broke into sobs.  I was crying loudly, uncontrollably,
like I had as a child, with big tears running down my face.  The sobs were
punctuated by the rhythmic loud slaps of the leather paddle on my bare,
hot, raw flesh.  "Twelve!"  THWACK!...  "Thirteen!"   THWACK!...
"Fourteen!"  THWACK!  ...  "Fifteen!"  THWACK!...  I was in a world of my
own by that time, all my awareness focused on my blistered bottom and on
the terrible mirrored image of Thad raising the paddle up over his head
and cracking it down, again and again.   "Sixteen!"  THWACK! ... 
"Seventeen!"  THWACK! ...  "Eighteen!"  THWACK! ...  "Nineteen!"  THWACK! 
...  "Twenty!"   THWACK!
	Another pause, another inspection, more pleadings by me, another
go-ahead by Doreen.  "Begin!  Twenty-one!" she called out, Thad raised the
paddle, and -- I couldn't help it, I had to protect myself.  My hands flew
back to cover my bottom.
	"That's three more added to your punishment," Thad said, in an
almost conversational tone of voice, as if he hadn't just paddled my bare
bottom to a blazing heat.  "You'll receive those next week, with your
other fifteen strokes.  Now move your hands."
	"No!" I shouted defiantly, reduced to being a five-year-old again.
 He put down the paddle and, without another word, took one of my wrists
and firmly pulled it into position to be buckled down.  "Nooo!"  I howled,
fighting furiously but fruitlessly as he took the other wrist.  "Don't tie
me!"  He finished his task without another word, then picked up his
paddle.  "No, please don't spank me any more, my bottom hurts so much,
PLEASE don't!" I begged through my tears.
	He took his position;  Doreen said, "Twenty-one!"  THWACK!  I
shrieked.  "Twenty-two!"  THWACK!   I continued to shriek a mindless
string of "Owwww!"s as he continued, unperturbed.  "Twenty-three!" 
THWACK!   "OWWWWW!"  "Twenty-four!"  THWACK!   "Ohhhhh, pleeeeeease!!" 
And finally, blessedly...  "Twenty-five!"   THWACK!
	"Punishment complete!" Doreen announced.
	I lay there sobbing, writhing, still straining to pull my hands
free so I could rub my tortured bottom, feet pounding the floor.  Thad put
the paddle down, took off his glove, and put on his jacket.  "It was a
pleasure being your Paddler, Ms. Ross," he said.  "I'll see you again next
week."  Then he left.
	The reminder that I was to receive another of these horrible
thrashings in a week sent me into fresh tears.  Doreen came up to me and
said, "I'm going to unbuckle your wrists, Ms. Ross, but you aren't to
touch your bottom until your cooldown time is up."  She unbuckled my hands
and it was all I could do to keep from rubbing my bottom.  She put a box
of Kleenex (TM) within my reach and said, "I'll be back in fifteen
minutes."
	As soon as I was sure she was out the door my hands flew back,
almost uncontrollably, to massage my burning bottom.  I could feel the
heat in my skin and the welts under my fingers, small round ones from the
holes in the paddle and long, thin ones from the edges of the paddle.  I
scrubbed my face and blew my nose then, and rubbed my bottom some more,
still squirming and pressing my feet into the floor from the pain.
	The door flew open suddenly and I jumped within my restraints and
took my hands quickly away from my bottom.  Looking in the mirror I could
see, to my horror, that two men were standing in the doorway looking at
me.
	"Here's one, Senator," one of the men said to the other.  "A good
example of a wrongdoer paying for her crimes!"
	I was mortified beyond belief, held helpless in my bent position,
my freshly spanked and no doubt scarlet bottom the focus of the Senator's
avid gaze.  I had an urge to shout, "But I only got a traffic ticket!",
but I bit my lip, not wanting to prolong this visit.  The Senator smiled
and said, "Splendid, splendid!  I'm glad to know this is working out so
well!"  After a few more moments they finally left.
	I cried some more then, my humiliation complete and my bottom
still incredibly painful.  After a while the door opened again, only this
time it was Doreen.  "Your cooldown time is up," she said.   "By the way,
the monitors caught you rubbing your bottom against express orders. 
That's five more strokes added to next week's punishment."
	"Oh, please, no!  I didn't know!" I exclaimed.
	"You knew that you'd been told not to do it.  Anyway, I don't make
the rules."  She came up behind me then, holding a jar of something, and I
quickly found that it was a cream that she spread on my tender bottom. 
The pain subsided considerably, only a moderate sting remaining.  "That
contains a topical anesthetic so you can drive home," she explained.  "It
wears off in an hour or so, though, so I wouldn't make any plans for
tonight if I were you."  Then she unbuckled me and let me stand.
	I checked in my paddle then and got my clothes back, waiting at
the counter red-eyed and sniffling.  A nervous-looking teenage girl came
up in her punishment gown while I was standing there, to check in her
clothes and get her paddle.  She stared at me in alarm, obviously
surmising from my tear-stained face and stiff walk that she was in for a
painful experience, but she didn't say anything to me. 
	In the dressing room I checked my bottom in the full-length
mirror.  Sure enough, it was a vivid, deep crimson, spotted and striped
with welts.  It almost made me cry again just to look at it.  It would be
days before I could sit comfortably.
	In my car on the way home, I tried very hard not to think about
the fact that I had to go through all this again within two weeks. 
Instead I thought about how much worse the paddling had been than I'd
thought it would be.  No wonder the rates of vandalism and traffic
offenses and other petty crimes was falling rapidly.  Still, I was pretty
sure I wouldn't have voted for the bill if I'd known I might qualify as a
"criminal" some day.
	One thing was for certain sure.  I was very, VERY careful to stop
at all red lights on the way home that day.