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.