Summer's End

It was actually Fate that I felt frustrated toward as I walked to my cousin's cabin carrying Brittany's wide leather belt, but Fate couldn't be corporally chastised so I required an alternate target.

Paul seemed unsurprised when he opened the door in response my knocking.

"Hi, Miriam," he said diffidently as I entered, "How's Brittany?"

"Brokenhearted and blubbering," I replied bluntly, slapping the doubled-over leather against my palm, "But she won't be the only one crying her eyes out tonight."

He shrugged. "I figured that."

My resolve stiffened. "You won't be so nonchalant once I'm burning up your bare behind, count on that. Set the chair backs together and bring me your birthday paddle, dear cousin."

His gaze was downcast. "Yes, ma'am."

Two minutes later he was on all fours and bent over the adjacent backs of the two armless chairs in the cozy cabin while a sturdy Spencer paddle lay on his nightstand.

"I'll pull them down," I announced, swiftly lowering his sweatpants to knee level, effectively baring his firmly-rounded buttocks since he was wearing only a jockstrap underneath. "Were you expecting this, Paul?" I demanded.

He gulped. "Pretty much, I knew you'd be angry."

"Not to mentioned deeply disappointed in you." Standing to his left, I lashed the supple belt fiercely against each backthrust buttcheek–THWACK!! CRACK!! "How could you break up with Brittany like that?"

Amazingly, there were already teardrops trickling down his face. "We weren't ever going together, so we didn't break up."

Technically he was correct, I realized–although Paul was clearly attracted to Brittany, he had held their interaction back enough to preclude a full romantic relationship.

"You've hurt her feelings badly," I accused.

He sobbed. "I know…Better now than later."

"There's no need for later!" I delivered six blistering-hard strokes of the leather, leaving stripes across his quivering undercheeks.

His tears flowed freely. "Thee-These luh-long distance r-romances never wir-work out, I've seh-seen them f-fall apart."

Twelve more sizzling licks had him wailing pitifully. "There are exceptions, you don't know unless you try! You were meant to be together…"

Paul's head shook. "Nah-Not now…Just please punish me…"

So I did, administering a lengthy leathering followed by an extended emphatic application of the paddle's stinging hardwood atop the strapmarks crisscrossing his exposed posterior, leaving him bawling like a baby.

Despite the intensity of the spanking, I knew that the physical hurting I'd induced had merely triggered his abject weeping.

Afterward, my teary-eyed, scarlet-bottomed cousin embraced me tightly while expressing hope that he and Brittany could remain friends and might someday become lovers.

I was unconvinced. "She'll never be your girlfriend or close friend after this," I opined sadly, "You'll never meet someone who'll love you as much as Brittany could."

(It was omnisciently melodramatic, an 18-year-old passing judgement on her 19-year-old cousin's lifelong romantic prospects, but that's the arrogance of youth.)

Then, because I cared for him dearly, I started crying too…