His Spanking Duty Is A Pleasure

this space cop will soon be doing his spanking duty

In the June 1958 issue of Science Fiction Stories there’s a story called Constabulary Duty by Calvin M. Knox, the entire point of which is to set up a spanking scene as the plot resolution. The hero is a old space cop, and the spankee is the daughter of a rich industrialist who makes sporty spacecraft. Of course the daughter is a joy-riding hellion, and he has to arrest her and take away her space-pilot’s license. She complains, naturally, to Daddy, who owns everything:

O’Reilly went through the sumptuous door into a sumptuous office. D. F. Collins of Collins Spacecraft sat behind a broad mahogany desk. He was a tall, sturdy-looking man in his fifties. He seemed to be scowling.

He said, “Are you Sergeant O’Reilly?”

“T-that’s right.”

“Sit down, Sergeant. I understand you and my daughter had some difficulty earlier today.”

O’Reilly nodded.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Collins said. His voice was an authoritative and commanding one. “She’s always been a headstrong girl, you know. She took private lessons in space-piloting — cost me a fortune — and then demanded her own ship. It had to be a high-acceleration sports model, too. Nothing else would satisfy her.”

“I saw the ship,” O’Reilly said. “It’s really a beauty.” “You took her ticket away, I understand?”

O’Reilly nodded. “You’ll get the full explanation tomorrow, I think. I filed a charge downstairs. Seven major violations and four minor ones, including resisting arrest. But…”

“But what, Sergeant?”

O’Reilly felt driblets of sweat pouring down his beefy face. “Look here, Mr. Collins. I used to be a space pilot, and it isn’t my fault I’m a traffic cop now. I’m too old for space, according to the medics. But I know what my job is and my job was to bring your daughter down from space fast before she did some serious damage. So I did it. Okay, I know you can pull strings to get her ticket cleared, and I know you can get me booted out of here for arresting her. Why don’t you just say it, then, instead of letting me squirm? Why…”

He stopped. Collins was smiling.

“There seems to be some mistake, Sergeant. I’m not going to pull any strings. You don’t know how happy I am that Melva’s going to be suspended; I only hope it’s a life suspension and not merely a few years. I called you over to congratulate you, that’s all. And to thank you. It’s the first time in twenty- three years that anybody has been able to discipline that girl. And…”

The door flew open.

O’Reilly turned and saw Melva Collins stalk in. She was still dripping wet, and her clothes and hair were soggy. Her long eyelashes were plastered together by water. She looked angry.


Collins looked at her. “You’re supposed to knock before entering, my dear.”

“To the deuce with that. I’ve lost my license! They say they won’t let me space again! And it’s all because of this — this…

“I was just doing my job, Miss,” O’Reilly said.

“You should have heard the things he said to me! And then he refused to let me land my ship, and — oh, I wish I could scratch his eyes out! You’ll have him fired for me, won’t you?”

“No,” Collins said. “I won’t.”

O ’REILLY began to grin.

Somehow, seeing the magnate bearded by his daughter was worth all the boredom of nine months as a traffic cop. He watched the frustrated rage animate the girl’s face as she worked herself up into a tantrum which Collins seemed powerless to control.

The yelling went on for about sixty seconds, at the end of which time O’Reilly turned to Collins and said, “Mr. Collins? May I make an impertinent suggestion?”

“What is it, Sergeant?”

“I think I know what your daughter needs. And it isn’t a pilot’s license.”

“It’s a good sound spanking,” Collins said. “I’ve known that for years.”

“Father! How could you! I…”

“Quiet, Melva.” Collins smiled. “Sergeant, I know it isn’t quite in the vein of a traffic officer’s duties — but perhaps you’d be willing to oblige me? I think she needs it.”

O’Reilly grinned and gave a spaceman’s salute. “Call it corrective discipline, sir. It’s part of a traffic officer’s duties, and I’m willing to oblige.”

“Keep your hands off me, O’Reilly. Don’t come near me! Don’t…”

O’Reilly advanced relentlessly, cornered the kicking girl without much trouble, and bent her over his knee. He paused and looked doubtfully at Collins. The old man was beaming in unmistakable approval.

It’s been a long, tough day, O’Reilly thought. But here’s where I even the score. His arm rose and fell rhythmically.

For once, duty was pleasure for O’Reilly.

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