Camp Roanoke I

ADULT FANTASY STORY. MATERNAL SPANKINGS. ALL CHARACTERS FICTIONAL. IF YOU ARE NOT OVER 18, DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER. READING THIS STORY MEANS YOU ARE OVER 18.

Camp Roanoke Part I by Randy

Back in the late 50s, I spent one of my last high school summers working as a junior counselor at Camp Roanoke in North Carolina. The camp was run by a pleasant couple in their early forties, Joseph and Betsy Zemmer. Helping them were five senior counselors, all college-age or older, and five junior counselors in their final years of high school. The camp was relatively small, with about fifty boys between the ages of ten and fourteen, divided into five cabins of ten. Each cabin had a senior and junior counselor. I was seventeen at the time and helped supervise a cabin of twelve year old boys. Camp Roanoke began in mid-June and offered eight weeks of swimming, sailing, canoing, fishing, tennis, basketball, baseball, archery, and overnight camping trips. There were also bonfires, evening sing alongs, and games of Capture the Flag.

While Mr. Zemmer handled the day to day running of the camp, his wife supervised the cooking staff, managed the paper work, and took care of some of the disciplinary problems which arose. In general, we counselors dealt with minor infractions by confining boys to their cabins when everyone else was water skiing or playing games. Repeat offenders and more serious trouble makers were sent to Mrs. Zemmer's house where they learned a good lesson over her knee. While such methods of discipline are infrequent today, especially outside the home, spanking was quite common back then, not just in homes but also in schools, Sunday schools, and even some summer camps.

Like most of my friends in North Carolina, I grew up with a Mommy who was a firm believer in corporal punishment and who gave babysitters and teachers permission to handle us the same way when necessary. Since Mommy spanked on Sunday night after surveying the week's infractions, I grew up dreading the arrival of "spanking night" (as we called it). There were many Sundays when I found myself waiting anxiously with my pants and underpants at half mast while Mommy spanked one or both of my younger brothers first. Billy and Jonny were four and two years younger than me, respectively. When Mommy had to discipline more than one child, she always began with the youngest first. That way, as she explained, the juvenile nature of the punishment would be driven home more effectively for any older boy waiting his turn. As she often told me,

"If you don't want to be punished like a little boy, David, all you have to do is start acting your age. If you insist on behaving like a child, I will continue to punish you like one. You may feel you're too big to be spanked but believe me, you're not. And who could argue with her, especially when all of their attention was focused on a red-hot bottom."

With two younger brothers, there were still plenty of Sunday spankings at home after I turned sixteen. While I tried not to appear too interested, I usually found some excuse to hang around the living room. I suppose watching my brothers' spankings lap allowed me to relive my own past experiences without having to endure the worst of it. Strangely enough, when Mommy stopped spanking me, my interest in the whole subject only increased. In part, it may have been my school situation where paddlings were a constant threat. Though they were rarely used after tenth grade, one still had to be careful, especially if you had a mom like mine. Whenever any of us got a bad grade on a report card or a big exam, we got two spankings, one at home and one the next day at school. Mommy always made us write a letter to our teacher or the assistant principal, Mrs. Rowlands, explaining why we had done so poorly. With most kids, school paddlings were given over the clothes during the day with the student bent over a desk in a teacher's office. Whenever I had earned a paddling at school, Mommy told Mrs. Rowlands to wait until after school so she would have more time to deal with me. With Mommy's permission, Mrs. Rowlands always spanked me bare bottom since she knew this was acutely embarrassing for someone my age. She would leave me waiting in the corner of her office with my pants down while she took care of some errands. By the time she returned and took me over her lap, I really did feel more like a little child than a teenager. I certainly cried like one when her spanking began.

Given my personal experiences, I perked up at the orientation for camp counselors when Mrs. Zemmer told us to send any really naughty campers to her. Suddenly, it seemed as if I might hear or see more spankings that summer. And the fact that Mrs. Zemmer would be doing the spanking made that prospect even more appealing. To my mind, she was incredibly sexy, plump but in a sensual way, with hour-glass curves accented by low-cut sundresses, softly flowing cotton skirts, and perfume which suggested violets and roses. When she moved, she rustled and swayed in a way which made my heart jump. As soon as she mentioned spanking, I began fantasizing about what it might be like to be a naughty camper sent to her for punishment.

At the start of the second week, I had my first experience with Mrs. Zemmer's methods. I was just finishing up a late afternoon conoeing lesson with my ten boys, divided into four canoes. As we headed back across the small lake and neared the camp dock, Tommy Finley began paddling the canoe in a manner which splashed the boy seated in front of him. Egged on by his neighbor's complaints, Tommy continued splashing him while pretending to be paddling normally. Soon a shoving match erupted and before I could do anything, the tippy canoe flipped over and began sinking in four feet of water just off the dock. Since all the boys were wearing life preservers and knew how to swim, no great harm was done except for an Instamatic camera which got wet and seemed ruined. (It later recovered once it dried out.) Since Tommy had already been reprimanded earlier that day for another incident, I realized he had earned a trip to Mrs. Zemmer. After righting the canoe, securing all the boats, and getting the boys back to their cabin for the quiet hour which preceded dinner, I took Tommy aside and quietly told him to accompany me to Mrs. Zemmer's. Since all the campers knew what that meant, he immediately begged me to ground him for the soccer game scheduled for that evening. But I shook my head firmly and reminded him that he had already been warned once that day.

Most times, naughty boys were sent to Mrs Zemmer on their own since counselors had to stay with his charges. Fortunately for me, Tommy's misbehavior came just before quiet hour when the boys were safely confined to their cabin. Though that was usually the time when the counselors got together, I had better things in mind as I marched Tommy across the meadow and through the path in the woods to the other side of camp where the Zemmers lived. It was set at a considerable distance from the cabins and sports fields to ensure peace and quiet.

As we reached the house, I spotted Mrs. Zemmer seated in a rocker, knitting on the porch. Reading Tommy's glum and anxious expression, she guessed immediately what had happened and greeted us by saying,

"It looks like we have a naughty little boy on our hands, doesn't it, David."

"Yes, indeed, Mrs. Zemmer. Tommy's been a handful all day. I had to warn him this morning about fighting but it seems like he needs more than a warning. On the way back from our canoe trip, he tipped over a canoe and probably wrecked Jimmy Larkin's camera. Since it happened just as we were heading in for quiet hour, I thought I'd make sure Tommy came up here myself."

"Well, you did the right thing, David. Now then, Thomas Finley, what do you have to say for yourself? Hmmm?"

Tommy's feeble attempts to justify his behavior was quickly cut off.

"No, no, I don't want any excuses, young man. You were caught rough housing for the second time in one day and because of your behavior, Jimmy Larkin may need a new camera. Grounding you for half a day is obviously not going to work in this case. You need to learn a better lesson and I know just how to teach it to you. Come inside, Thomas Finley, and let me show you how I handle naughty boys here."

With that, Mrs. Zemmer put aside her knitting and rose from her chair. Taking Tommy firmly by the left ear with her left hand, she escorted him across the porch and delivered three hard spanks to his bathing suit, still wet from his spill at the lake. As an aside to me, she added,

"You might as well come in too David. There's no harm in your seeing how I treat boys who misbehave. Don't you attend Baptist Christian Academy?"

"Why yes, Mrs. Zemmer, I do."

"Well then you're no stranger to paddlings, yourself, are you? Don't they use spanking at BCA?"

With my face flushed, I managed to stammer "Yes" as I followed Mrs. Zemmer and Tommy into the house. With some effort, Mrs. Zemmer marched the foot-dragging child to a straight-backed chair where she seated herself. Holding him now by the wrist, she continued scolding him.

"Thomas Finley, it's all too clear that you need some good, old-fashioned medicine. I'm going to give you a sound, bare-bottom spanking and I hope you learn a good lesson on how to behave at this camp. From now on, any misbehavior will earn you another trip over my knee. I'll make sure David brings you right back here if there is any more trouble. Do I make myself clear?"

By this time, Tommy was too upset to reply coherently and was beginning to cry. Despite his struggles to tug away, he was no match for Mrs. Zemmer. First she bent to slip off his sneakers and socks. She then pulled her white cotton skirt up, commenting,

"We don't want you to wrinkle this new skirt of mine, do we Tommy."

Without waiting for an answer, she yanked him across her lap and pulled him over further until his head hung down near the floor and his feet kicked helplessly in the air. Swiftly pinning his wrists in the small of his back with her left hand, she peeled his wet bathing suit down and completely off. This set off an immediate chorus of loud protests which mingled with a more genuine crying as if Tommy realized the irrevocable process of his spanking has already begun and there was nothing he could do.

"Before I finish with you, young man, your bottom is going to be bright red and you're going to be crying real tears. I always spank long and I spank hard and your first spanking is going to be no exception, do you hear me? SPANK SPANK SPANK Yes, indeed, SPANK SPANK Thomas Finley SPANK SPANK you are going SPANK SPANK to be a SPANK SPANK very well SPANK SPANK spanked SPANK SPANK little boy SPANK SPANK before I'm through."

She paused, and gestured for me to take a seat on the sofa directly across from her before continuing. From that position, I could see every detail of Tommy's punishment. My heart pounded even faster when I realized I could also see between Mrs Zemmer's legs all the way to a some very lacey pink panties nestled deeply between her plump thighs. As Tommy wriggled back and forth, his little willy danced back and forth against her legs. My own penis got even harder and I continued my discreet attempts to hide it with my hands.

Mrs. Zemmer spanked vigorously with short swings of the hand and a lot of wrist motion. She alternated cheeks and moved around on each cheek as she spanked back and forth. By now Tommy had given up protesting and surrendered to a loud crying interspersed with pleas for no more spanking. But Mrs. Zemmer simply ignored these cries and continued painting a rosy shade of pink onto his bouncing white fanny. Held firmly over her lap with his bare legs kicking furiously, Tommy grew increasingly desperate in his cries as he realized there was nothing he could do. As his bottom grew progressively redder, his crying seemed to take on a more juvenile tone.

Without pausing, Mrs. Zemmer looked up and me and commented,

"David, I hope you're paying attention. In my experience, boys who are Tommy's age usually look and sound more like second or third graders once they're stripped below the waist like little babies and spanked soundly over my knee. Last summer, I even had to spank one of the junior counselors after he stole some money and he was no different. I think he was about your age but he behaved more like a ten year old once I put him across my lap."

As I realized Mrs Zemmer was hinting I was not too old to be spanked, blood surged to my genitals, bottom, and face. It was clear to both of us that her message had hit home. The thought of being turned over her lap and reduced to a half-naked, crying little boy was too much for me to imagine. It was all too clear Mrs Zemmer knew exactly how to regress naughty youngsters so they got the full emotional as well as physical measure of their punishment. For the rest of Tommy's spanking, I was in a half-daze, my attention riveted on Tommy's red bottom and Mrs Zemmer's thighs while my mind raced in fantasies that I was kicking over her lap. Later that night, I masturbated in my cabin bed, tossing and turning as I resolved to do something to earn a spanking on a quiet day when no one was around.