Alexis Kane, President of the United States of America, had recently celebrated her fourteenth birthday. She entered the Congress Hall and walked to her stand. She cleared her throat before speaking:

“Congresswomen and Congressmen, good morning.”

“President Kane,” said Vice-President Konstantin. “The Congress has ruled against you.”

Alexis gulped and looked at her feet, her stomach tying in knots.

“An impeachment procedure is underway,” Senator Palmer explained. “Unless, of course, you choose the alternative.”

Everyone in the room looked at the girl, who swallowed hard, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“I...” she started in a squeaky voice and looked at her mother. Mrs. Kane shrugged. “I... I choose the Presidential Imp-Preachment, then.”

The Congress Hall roared with applause. Alexis was lifted off her feet and bent over the back of a chair, her bottom sticking right out. Experienced hands lifted her dress and lowered her underwear. Her wrists and ankles were restrained to the chair rungs, leaving her motionless and defenceless.

The chair was brought to the very end of the Hall as the Senators formed a queue. A grinning bailiff handed Vice-President Konstantin a large leather strap, twenty inches long, two wide and 1/4 thick. The man took off his jacket, loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves.

Suddenly the room was silent. Alexis’s sniffling and the cameras rolling were the only audible sounds. “President Alexis Elizabeth Kane. I hereby start the first Imp-Preachment procedure in the history of this mighty nation. You will receive 521 lashes of the strap. You are to say ‘God Bless America! Please, one more!’ after each. Are the rules clear to you, Miss President?”

“Ooh... y-yes... go ahead, Mr. Konstantin.”

“Thank you, Miss President.”

CRACK!!

“Owwwwwwww! God Bless America! Please, one more!”

The strap was passed to Senator Palmer, who applied a fierce swat to Alexis’s reddening backside. Democrat Torrance was next (“Aieee!”), then Republicans Cox and Allenby followed (“Owieieieie!”). One by one, the Senators filed behind the teenager, who was sobbing by the twentieth lash. Unfortunately for her, many more were to follow, and by the time Senator Santini applied his blow, President Kane’s backside was a swollen mess of purplish welts and bruises.

The stripes were there. The stars, well, she was seeing those.

Finally, Vice-President Konstantin took the strap and prepared to apply the final twenty. He did so, and, making sure his voice was clear for the cameras, he scolded: “Will <SMACK> you <SMACK> ever <CRACK> declare war <SPANK> on Iraq <WHACK> again, Miss President?”

“Nooooooo! Bwaaaah!” cried Alexis Kane.

“Will <CRACK> you ever <SMACK> let the economy <CRACK> drop <CRACK> again, <SPLAT> Miss President?”

“Noooooooooooooo!!!”

“Very well then!”

The strap was dropped and the room roared with applause. A sweaty Mr. Konstantin approached Mrs. Kane, who was sitting on a chair a few feet away.

“Congratulations, Mr. Konstantin. Your patriotism exceeds even your strapping abilities.”

“Why, thank you ma’am. Sure you don’t want to?... The Imp-Preachment can be prolonged, and you’re the mother after all...”

“Oh, no, thanks Mr. Konstantin,” Mrs. Kane smiled. “I like to watch.”

– The End –

– This story was entered into the 2004 Summer Short Story Contest –

Don’t tell me it’s stupid... I know it stupid... LOL. But this was soooooo fun to write!

This story does not necessarily represent the author’s point of view about anything. It is simply a work of fiction. The characters herein portrayed are invented and do not resemble reality to the best of the author’s knowledge. This account is entirely fictitious. Any similarities to other persons, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.

This story is written for the sane amusement of adult readers. It does not intend harm and does not promote violence of any kind, including spanking. No offence is meant to any group, ethnicity or individuals.

The author does in no way endorse the non-consensual disciplinary spanking of actual children and/or teenagers.

Copyright © 2004 Haley Brimley. Contact for information and/or feedback.