– Part I: “Prelude” –

Summer vacation just started for me the week before. Mom went to work that morning, but Ryan—he’s my stepdad—worked on his computer out of his office at home. Ryan’s got this really cool job. He makes a lot more money than mom and he doesn’t even have to go to work! Ryan sort of keeps an eye on me during summer vacation, but he’s pretty laid back.

“Ryan?” I asked awkwardly. “Can I talk to you about something?”

My stepdad looked up from his computer screen and smiled. “Sure, Gracie, what’s up?”

I hate when he calls me ‘Gracie,’ but I had a favor to ask. So I let it go.

“I was just thinking,” I began, not really sure where the conversation would take me, “now that I’m a teenager and all, maybe we could change some of the rules around here.”

I mean, I just turned 13 three weeks ago, so that makes me a legal teenager, right?

“Have you talked to your mother about this?” he asked, reaching out to pull me down to sit on his lap. Ryan became my stepdad when I was 11, but I felt close to him, even from the start. Maybe that’s because my real dad left when I was 5. Ryan’s the only dad I’ve really known. And besides, my stepdad’s kind of mellow, which makes it weird that he married mom. But I’ve never understood why parents end up with each other.

“No, I can’t talk to mom just yet,” I replied. “I kind of need your help. You know that boy? Mark Hainsworth? From down the street?”

“The one you’ve been pining over ever since he moved in?” Ryan laughed, squeezing my shoulders. “What about him?”

“Well, he finally introduced me to his mom and dad. They’re kind of—well—Christian. I mean, really really Christian. Crosses all over the house. They sort of have this set of rules on the wall. And they’ve even got this big blue paddle hanging right there in the family room where everybody can see it. And you know what? They still spank Mark with that blue paddle, right on the bare behind. I couldn’t believe it when he told me. But his mom says it’s true. You know, Mark’s almost 15.”

“Some Christians are like that,” Ryan agreed. “But what’s that got to do with us?”

“Well, I sort of told them that my mom’s not strict at all,” I said, looking away. “So you handle the discipline.”

In fact, mom still handles all the “discipline.” With mom, punishment always boils down to the Long Lecture. She just sits me in a chair and starts yelling at me. Well, not exactly yelling, unless I say something back to defend myself. But she just keeps going over and over what I’ve done wrong. Then she gets into other things that I’ve have done wrong in the past. Sometimes the really far-distant past. And she just keeps going and going and going, till she makes me break down and cry. It’s really horrible. I mean, mom never spanked me. Not even once. But she had made me cry lots of times. It usually takes days for both of us to get over one of those Long Lectures.

“Sometimes when I’ve been especially bad,” I continued, “I told Mark’s parents that you kind of have to spank me. Like Mark’s spankings.”

Ryan put his hand under my chin and gently turned my head so I had to look at him.

“That was a big, fat lie, Gracie, and you know it.”

I shook my head, “No, Ryan, it’s more like a fib. And even that can be fixed.”

“How so?”

“Well, I was thinking,” lowering my voice to make it sound more conspiratorial and dramatic, “we could write up a bunch of rules and post them on the wall. And maybe we can make a paddle in your workshop. You know, hang it on the wall, too.”

“Let’s just assume that I could talk your mother into this,” Ryan said. “Why would we want to?”

“Don’t you see?” I exclaimed, again amazed at the denseness of parents. “If Mark comes over and sees that you’re as strict as his parents, then maybe he can tell his parents how strict you are, and then maybe they’ll approve of Mark and me seeing each other. You know, kind of like going steady?”

“I see,” laughed Ryan. “And why do you think I would be willing to play the bad guy in all of this?”

“Don’t you remember? Right after you guys got married? You said that you thought a good, sound spanking now and then might do me some good. Remember? You said that!”

I tapped my finger right in the middle of Ryan’s chest. He laughed and gave me a hug. That’s another thing about my stepdad. He comes up and gives me a hug for no reason at all. Mom hardly ever hugs. Which is another reason why I don’t get the attraction between mom and my stepdad. Go figure.

“Yes,” he chuckled. “I did say that. But don’t forget the context. It was right after one of your mother’s awful lectures. I stay out of your discipline and how your mom handles it. But at that time, I was new and I thought a spanking was preferable to that kind of lecturing.”

He gave me a quick hug and added, “And besides, that’s before I found out what a really great kid you are. Maybe I’ve changed my mind. Maybe you’re not bad enough to spank!”

“Don’t say that, Ryan!” I exclaimed in exasperation. “I can be a real brat sometimes. You know that. I don’t see why you should change your mind about spankings, just because I’m good some of the time.”

“OK, so what do you want to do, Gracie?”

“Well,” I said, rubbing my hands together, “I think we should have a big family meeting to discuss new rules. Mom says I’m at the age where I can take more responsibility, so I’ll write down some rules and you can add to it if you like. And if a break a rule, I don’t get the Long Lecture anymore. I get a short lecture—from YOU—and then a spanking. We could even show her a paddle. I bet you could make one. That way, she’ll know we’re serious and have put some effort into this. You guys can ground me, too, and take away my allowance. But I get a choice to trade a spanking for grounding.”

“But if you’re grounded for a week, one spanking doesn’t seem like enough.”

“Well,” I said, shrugging my shoulders, “maybe I get two spankings. One at the beginning of the week and one at the end. Instead of grounding.”

“Hmmm, you’ve really been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

I nodded vigorously.

“Gracie, can I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure.”

“Have you ever been spanked?”

“Well, no, not exactly,” I replied. “I vaguely remember my dad giving me a swat or two when I acted up and mom wasn’t around to see. Back before he left. But I was real little at the time.”

“OK, that being the case, why do you suppose parents pick spankings to punish their children? And why do kids avoid spankings?”

I shrugged. “I guess because it’s so embarrassing. I mean, I can just imagine how undignified it is to go over somebody’s lap like a little kid. And I’m sure it’s embarrassing to have your pants pulled down. But the way I look at it, I take my panties down several times a day, just to go to the bathroom. The way I would accept pulling my panties down is that a spanking is just like going to the bathroom. Nothing embarrassing about going to the bathroom. A spanking’s just another time to pull your panties down.”

“I think your missing the big picture, Gracie.”

“What’s that?”

“How do you think a spanking feels?”

“Well, I suppose it stings,” I shrugged. “I know some kids cry. I probably would too, just from the embarrassment. It probably hurts for a while afterwards.”

“I guess there’s some things you have to learn from experience,” Ryan said. “As for your little scheme, I bet we could ‘sell’ your mother for a trial period. Say two months. Since I’m the one supervising you during summer vacation, maybe she would let me handle things—on a trial basis.”

He paused for a moment and I could tell he was thinking.

“OK,” he said finally, “if we’re going to have a family meeting, let’s get this organized.”

He spun around, with me still on his lap, and started typing on his computer. “Rules & Consequences” said the document on the screen. “Weekly (starts on Monday)” said the next line.

“We’ve got to double the consequences if you do the same bad thing twice in the same week,” Ryan explained. Then he typed in the typical list of things that parents are always harping on: lying, backtalk, disobedience, chores, curfew, stealing, smoking... You know the usual things that get parents bent all out of shape—but things most of them do themselves.

For most misconduct, the consequence was a spanking—two spankings if I did it twice in the same week. For really bad stuff, like stealing, I could get two spankings.

When he finished, it looked like a pretty impressive list.

“Can I have a copy, too?” I asked.

“So you can show it off to Mark and his parents?”

I nodded.

“Sure, after we get the go-ahead from your mom,” he replied. “You know, if we go through with this, it’s for real. You’ve got to stick to it, too.”

“Yeah, sure, I want this to be for real,” I agreed, nodding my head. “Otherwise, Mark might find out and that would ruin everything. And besides, it’s not that big of a change.”

My stepdad looked at me skeptically and sighed.

“Well, if we’re going to impress your mom with our due diligence, I guess we better go make you a little paddle.”

Ryan has a workshop out behind the garage. He’s kind of a Mister Fix-It around the house. Mom says he spends way too much on his power tools, but he says we can amortize the cost over the lifetime of the tool. Whatever that means. Anyways, he’s got all these power tools—which don’t interest me in the least but can be pretty handy if you want to make a nice little paddle in a hurry.

He found a scrap of clear oak, about two feel long and about eight inches wide. I don’t know what it was used for originally, because it wasn’t very thick. Ryan said it was a quarter inch thick, but he was going to sand it down some more anyway.

I sort of just hung out and watched as Ryan took that piece of wood and cut it into a paddle.

“It’s called a gooseneck paddle,” he explained, after he shut off the saw. “See this hook at the end of the handle?”

I nodded.

“That’s so it doesn’t slip out of your hand,” he said, winking at me. “It’s a safety feature.”

Then he took this machine called a router and took all the sharp edges off the paddle. Finally he took a power sander and sanded down both sides with coarse paper, then a medium paper. He also sanded the edges.

“How’s that?” he asked, an hour after we began our little project.

I shrugged. “It’s pretty wide, Ryan.”

Even with all the sawing and the router work, the paddle was a good seven inches wide.

“That’s a safety feature,” he explained. “It spreads the spank all around your buns.”

“And that’s good?” To tell the truth, actually seeing the paddle in Ryan’s hand and thinking about the reality of getting spanked with it... Well, let’s just say I was having some buyer’s remorse.

“Yes, you don’t want me to bruise your buns, do you?”

“Well, no.”

“OK, then,” he smiled, “all we have to do before we paint it is give it a trial run. What color would you like?”

“I want a blue paddle, just like Mark’s. But what do you mean, ‘trial run’?”

“Seems to me before we meet with your mother,” Ryan explained, “you would want to see if this is something you really REALLY want to do. Once we start, we’re both in it for the next two months. Otherwise, I’m out of the deal.”

“Don’t say that, Ryan! This is important to me. Besides, you already put all this work into making me my own little paddle and everything.”

Looking at the paddle, it didn’t look all that little, actually.

“That’s my point,” he replied. “Before we go any further than this, I think you need a little taste of what you’re getting yourself into. You need a spanking, little lady.”

– Part II: “Full Bench Test” –

“That’s my point,” replied my stepdad, admiring the oak paddle he had just built for me. “Before we go any further with this summer project of yours, I think you need a little taste of what you’re getting yourself into. You need a spanking, little lady.”

“But I didn’t do anything wrong!” I almost stomped my foot, but decided that would be pretty childish.

“You lied to Mark’s parents, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but that’s before we wrote the rules,” I replied, knowing I had him on that point. “Can’t write a law and enforce it backwards in time. That’s against the Constitution, Ryan.”

“What if I say you get a spanking anyway?” Ryan seemed to be enjoying this game, because he was smiling. He likes having contests of wit. Ryan is really smart, but I catch him every once in a while. Right now, I didn’t like the game one tiny bit.

“Then I would just have to say no,” I declared, crossing my arms.

“Well, then, aren’t you back-talking right now? And aren’t you being disobedient right now? And didn’t we already write down the consequences of those particular misbehaviors?”

“I’m not back-talking!” I insisted, stomping my foot this time, “And I’m not being disobedient.”

I put my hands on my hips and glared at him.

Ryan just stepped back, crossed his arms, and smiled at me. He was just waiting. Because he knew when I calmed down a little, I would realize he was right. That’s the neat thing about my stepdad. He can read me pretty good.

I sighed at last, then slumped my shoulders.

“OK, maybe you’re right. What do I have to do?”

“Let’s go up to your bedroom,” he suggested, putting his arm around my shoulder. “You may want to rest afterwards.”

I didn’t see why I would want to rest. After all, a spanking isn’t like running a marathon or something. But I didn’t have any other ideas.

As I opened my bedroom door, I said, “This isn’t going to be like a real spanking, is it? I mean, this is just a demonstration?”

“This is what we engineers call a full bench test,” Ryan replied. “We’re trying to see if this paddle will hold up and perform even under the most extreme and punishing of conditions. That way we can have confidence that this paddle will perform adequately with day-to-day, routine spankings.”

“So this is going to be kind of a hard spanking, huh?”

Ryan nodded, then smiled and winked. “But you’ll live through it. And you’ll be a changed person for it.”

“OK,” I sighed, “so now what?”

Ryan pulled my sheets and covers up from where I had them in a bunch at the end of the bed, smoothing them out.

“That’s something I’m adding to the list,” he said with a chuckle. “Unmade bed at 9 a.m. One spanking for the first offense. Two spankings for the second offense.”

“You’ve got to be kidding! A spanking? Just for not making my bed? Isn’t that a bit over the top?”

“Not at all!” he laughed as he sat down and leaned back, resting his weight on his hands. “After a spanking or two, you’ll realize it’s just not worth the cost. So you’ll make your bed every day and that will be the end of it.”

He paused, and then continued, “See, that’s how spankings work. It’s like paying a fine. When you are about to do something you shouldn’t, you have to ask if it’s worth the cost. Like an unmade bed. You’ll eventually decide it’s not worth the cost. With backtalk or disobedience, sometimes you may feel it’s worth the price you pay—at least at the time. Heat of the moment and all that. Although you may feel a little different when you’re bare bottom up.”

“Oh...” I replied, deep in thought, eyeing that freshly sanded paddle. “Hey, Ryan, can you give me a little hint about how a spanking really feels? I mean, is it like a sunburn or a sprained ankle or a scraped arm or what? I guess what I’m getting at is this: how much does a spanking really hurt? Isn’t most of the punishment just the embarrassment?”

It’s not like I hadn’t done any research. Before I went to talk about my ideas with my stepdad, I stood in my room and slapped my own butt. I had on tight designer jeans that day. You see, I wasn’t very mature in the breast department, although I wore a padded trainer bra that helped make the best of a bad situation. But I loved those designer jeans, because my behind at that time was my best asset. I had this pair for so long that my butt had grown enough to make the seat stretch tight. The blue color had faded where my buns stuck out.

Anyway, those hand swats didn’t make much of an impression at all. So I tried my hairbrush. After four or five strokes, I had to stop, because those brush-spanks were starting to hurt a little. But then I would try again. But none of those spanks I gave myself really hurt all that much. So what’s the big deal with spankings, anyway?

“You know,” my stepdad replied, “we could stay here all afternoon talking about answers to questions that can’t be answered in words. If this plan of yours is really something you want to do, you need to learn the answers for yourself.”

I sighed. “OK, so what do I have to do?”

“Come over here and put your hands on your head,” he said.

He unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, pulling them down in a bunch to my ankles, making me feel wobbly. He noticed my black satin panties right away. I really hadn’t expected to have my panties on display, because getting spanked that day was the last thing I expected when I put them on that morning. I thought my panties were my own little secret.

“Does your mother know you wear undies like these?”

“They’re called panties and, yes, mom knows,” I lied.

“OK,” he said, giving me the eye like he didn’t believe me, “let’s get you up in position.”

He scooted back further from the edge of the bed and guided me over his lap. He lifted up my legs so the bed supported them.

“Want a pillow?”

I nodded. He reached over and handed me one. I put it under my head and turned sideways, facing away. I didn’t want to look at Ryan and I certainly didn’t want to see that paddle. Across the room, on the floor next to my bookshelf, I saw the old book of nursery rhymes from when I was little. That morning, after I gave myself those practice spanks, I went over to look at the picture of The Old Woman Who Lives in a Shoe. The nursery rhyme is so ridiculous. What kind of a person would spank all those children just because she “didn’t know what to do?”

But the brightly colored picture that went with the rhyme had always fascinated me. There’s the little boy getting the spanking, of course, with the Old Woman’s disproportionately large hand in midair, all pink on the palm. The boy’s bottom is disproportionate also. All round and large and red. There’s a little girl with blond curls and a ruffled dress, rubbing her eyes from the spanking the Old Woman just gave her. Another boy has his pants down, rubbing his red bottom. Two girls and a boy are waiting their turn, their eyes all big, their expressions all worried, and their hands on their bottoms. In the background, other children are sticking their heads out of windows in the shoe house or climbing up on the shoe itself. One little girl had her forehead resting against her arm as she leans against the shoe, sobbing blue tears that fly about her head.

All of the details from the picture seem so clear, even way across the room, now that I was about to receive the same. I looked at the children, as if each was a freeze frame. Before, during, and after—a complete anatomy of a spanking.

“OK, Grace, why don’t you pull down your panties in back? No need to strip. I just need some skin I can target.”

“Ryan,” I said as I reached back and pulled my panties down below my cheeks, “if I think I’ve had enough, would it be OK if I just holler STOP or something? I mean, if it’s starting to hurt too much?”

“No, Grace, I don’t think you’re in a good position to be totally objective about how much is enough,” my stepdad replied. “I’m afraid you’re just going to have to trust my better judgment on this. Ready?”

“NO! I still got more questions.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” he replied, patting my buns with my brand spanking new paddle. “Why don’t you concentrate on the lie you told Mark’s parents? That’s why we’re here, you know. I’ll take care of the rest...”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

“Yeeee-oooo-wwww!” I hollered, trying to reach back and protect my buns. Ryan’s strong hand grasped my wrist and pinned my arm behind my back.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

“NO! NO! NO! STOP! STOP! STOP! STOP! STOP! STOP!” I howled, kicking my legs in a frenzy, most of my movement impaired by the jeans that shackled my ankles.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

“Wahhh-hhh-hhhh!” I cry, regressing in age with every smack of the paddle. “Ahhhhh-hhh-hhh! No-ooo-ooo!”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

I struggled mightily, choking and coughing on my own snot, as tears and mucus flowed.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

The strokes were not quite a second apart, so I’d only had about 30 seconds worth of punishment. But I felt like I’d been under that paddle for a lifetime.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

I stopped all verbal protesting that made any sense, substituting a wheezing, sobbing sound as I gasped for air.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

The spanking continued and I felt as if I’d left my own body. I turned my head and saw the Old Woman spanking her entire brood. I transported myself into the picture. I became the little boy being spanked. I then morphed into the bodies of both girls waiting with wide eyes and worried faces. I went inside the lonely girl sobbing against the side of the shoe house. Then, strangest of all, I became the Old Woman. And with every stroke of my stepdad’s new paddle against my own bottom, I imagined that it was my own hand spanking.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

In that moment, I learned what is meant by the expression, “This is going to hurt me more than it’s going to hurt you.”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

I need to tell Ryan that it’s OK... That thought floated around in my head.

Even though it was just my bottom getting spanked, my whole body felt the chemicals of ‘fight or flight.’ My heart raced; I couldn’t get enough air. My forehead, my armpits, my crotch all secreted bodily fluids in response to the painful assault.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

And when the spanking was over, my whole body trembled. The sobs shook through my frame and every part of me twitched and pulsed and vibrated, like some internal engine run amok. My insides felt like a load of laundry, out of balance during the spin cycle, shaking violently.

My stepdad gently pulled up my panties and rubbed my bottom a few times. All surface sensation was gone, like how your lips feel when the dentist fills a cavity. I knew I must still have two buns, but they felt like nerveless meat. The heat and throbbing deep inside, however, continued to punish me, even now that the paddle was set aside.

“Go ahead and cry, Gracie,” he said. “We’re all done. All is forgiven. You told a lie and got your spanking for it. The slate is clean.”

I was sobbing too hard to respond, but I understood his words. I realized there’s something so clean about a spanking. The misbehavior—the lying—was clear. And the consequence—the spanking—was very clean. Direct. Crime and punishment. Cause and effect. Such simplicity.

When I calmed down, I sat on my stepdad’s lap, leaning into him so my weight was on the side of my hip, not on my spanked bottom. I don’t remember everything we talked about. But it was the best conversation I ever had with Ryan. I told him about my secret fears, the kind I never shared with anyone. Like my breasts. Other girls my age had bigger breasts. That’s all boys seem interested in. Ryan assured me that girls grow up at different rates. He reminded me that mom has large breasts and so does grandma.

“Large breast run in the family,” he assured me. “Just give them time.”

Then we talked about sex. My stepdad said that, as I got closer to Mark, we would be tempted to have sexual intercourse. He said that’s not a good idea for a girl my age. He said I should wait until I was an adult. But then he talked about condoms. He said he would get me condoms, no questions asked, to keep in my purse. I told him Mark is too Christian to have sex outside of marriage. But Ryan said that Christian boys and girls are the most vulnerable, because they often end up doing exactly what they said they wouldn’t do till marriage. Because of their ignorance of contraception, they end up pregnant.

When we hit a long pause in the conversation, my stepdad asked, “Do you ever want another spanking?’

“NO!” I replied, shaking my head vigorously.

Ryan laughed.

“I figured you’d probably change your mind,” he said. “No harm done. Now you know what your friend Mark has to go through. Now you’ve answered to all your questions about spankings. So keep this as a little souvenir of your adventure.”

He handed me the oak paddle.

“Thanks, Ryan,” I said, taking the paddle and lying down on my side. “Thanks, you know, for everything.”

“Are you thanking me for the spanking?” he asked with a slight smile on his face.

“Yeah, I am,” I replied. “Thanks a lot. And I want you to know, it’s OK. I mean I know it was hard for you. So just know it’s OK.”

“You’re a sweet girl, Grace,” he said, bending over to kiss my forehead. “I’m glad we’re not going forward with your plan.”

“Me, too.”

“I’ve got to get back to work,” said my stepdad, standing. “Are you OK?”

“Sure, dad,” I replied. “Just a little sleepy.”

Suddenly Ryan turned away, wiping both eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“It’s just that you’ve never called me ‘dad’ before,” he smiled, embarrassed by his tears.

“Gosh, I never knew it mattered to you,” I said, surprised that such a little word could have such a big impact. “You never said anything.”

“I wanted it to come from you—without me asking.”

“Oh, Ryan, you’re my daddy! My only daddy!”

He sat down on my bed again, scooping me up in his arms. My ankles were still bound up in my jeans, so he must have felt like he was hugging Flipper. And, golly, Ryan was crying!

“Don’t cry daddy,” I said, squeezing him back.

Then I started crying too. When we stopped hugging, we both had puffy eyes. I pointed at him and started laughing.

“See, it did hurt you more than it hurt me!”

He wiped his eyes and nodded. “That’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I love you, Grace.”

“I love you, too. And don’t feel bad about my spanking. It was my idea. And besides, I was a little liar to Mark’s parents. I needed that spanking because I was a bad girl.”

He shook his head and smiled. “You’re never a bad girl.”

He gave me a final kiss on the forehead and stood to leave.

At the doorway, he turned and said, “But you do bad things every once in awhile.”

“Well,” I joked as I pulled off my jeans and crawled under the covers, “then maybe I need a good, sound spanking every once in awhile, too.”

He smiled and closed the door. I fell asleep in less than two minutes.

– Part III: “A Post-Spanking Dream” –

Before he left my bedroom after giving me my very first spanking, my stepfather shook his head and smiled. “You’re never a bad girl. But you do bad things every once in awhile.”

“Well,” I joked as I pulled off my jeans and crawled under the covers, “then maybe I need a good, sound spanking every once in awhile, too.”

Under the covers, I put my hand inside my black panties. I rubbed my bottom, aware that a funny, tingling feeling was returning to the places where the paddle spanked me.

As much as that spanking hurt, this tingling feeling was—well—kind of special. A warm, fuzzy feeling I’d never felt before. Up till now, the only images that filled my head during these special times were of Mark Hainsworth. But now, images of Mark don’t come to mind.

In two minutes, I drift off to sleep and immediately fall into the strangest of dreams...

I find myself sitting in a chair in a dark room. It’s kind of like our living room with all the furniture gone. The ceiling is up high, maybe four or five stories. My mom stands before me, except she seems very tall. She’s wearing one of those suits she wears to work at the bank, with her support panties and high heel shoes. Her full bosom is larger than life.

She is yelling at me.

“You lied to Mr. and Mrs. Hainsworth,” she says, hands on her hips and her big toe tapping on the hardwood floor. But our living room used to have carpeting. No matter. This is a dream, I realize in some corner of my mind, and anything’s possible. All the corners are dark, and the room echoes like a mausoleum.

“I am in charge of discipline in his house, young lady! Don’t you ever forget it. Not only that, last week you talked back to me in front of my friends. How do think that makes me feel, after all I’ve had to sacrifice for you? You know, it wasn’t easy rearing a strong-willed child as a single mom. Especially somebody with my nervous condition. I’m not saying that it’s your fault that your father left us. But the Lord knows you certainly were a constant source of conflict. I always tried to protect you, but maybe I should have let him punish you. Maybe you wouldn’t have turned into such a selfish, mean-spirited teenager if I let him...”

“Are you just about done, Louise?” Ryan steps from the shadows.

My stepdad holds a blue paddle, except it more than blue. It’s a luminescent blue and, when my Daddy swings it, a phosphorescent trail follows behind like a jet trail.

“Well,” mother continues, “there are the chores. I nag and nag and nag for just a little help around the house. After all, we are a dual-income family. Seems to me this little princess could lift a finger to help around here.”

“OK,” says my Daddy, swinging the blue paddle, “anything else?”

Mom continues with the litany of all the awful, bad things I’ve ever done in my whole life. I realize that this is the Longest Long Lecture, the full compendium of every felony and misdemeanor of my miserable 13 years on this planet.

Every new accusation makes me sob all the harder. I keep looking to Daddy to make her stop, but he smiles gently at me and shakes his head.

“...and when she was two, she intentionally poured dish washing detergent into the aquarium,” mother declares with an angry shake of her curly red hair. “I loved those little fishies.”

She shakes her fist me. “You little spoiled brat!”

“Is that all of it, Louise?” Daddy asks, his fiery blue paddle swishing back and forth with all the whoosh of a Star Wars sword.

“I think so,” mother declares, giving me a spiteful glare.

“Stand up, Grace,” says Daddy as he steps toward me. “Put your hands on top of your head.”

“She’s my daughter, Ryan. If anybody is going to punish her, it’s going to be me. I won’t have you abusing her with that... that thing!

“Silence!” Daddy turns and points the blue paddle at Mom.

A bolt of blue zaps her and she’s frozen. Everything but her eyes, which blink and roll around in their sockets.

Daddy sits down on my chair and starts to pull down my jeans.

“NO, Daddy!”

“Grace,” he says, looking deep into my eyes, “trust me.”

“OK.”

I float over his lap and my bottom is bare. This spanking isn’t anything like the real one before I fell asleep. Right after the spank—which hurts just like the real thing—my bottom gets an instant fuzzy, tingling feeling. I don’t have to wait till the spanking’s over for that pleasant feeling to come. I get to feel it between each stroke. The stroke of the luminescent blue paddle really burns when it hits my skin, but by the time the paddle comes down again, my buns actually feel cold.

And when the spanking is over and I’m standing there sobbing and rubbing my tingly buns, Daddy declares, “Grace has been spanked for every bad thing she has ever done in her entire life. The slate is wiped clean. She is forgiven. Never are these things to be mentioned again, because she has been spanked for all of them.”

He points the paddle at mother and zaps her again. She almost tumbles as her body moves again.

“And as for you,” says Daddy as he stands up, grabs Mom’s arm, and hauls her over to the punishment chair. “You have delivered your last Long Lecture. I am in charge of discipline from now on. And now it’s time for you to pay the piper.”

Daddy pulls up Mom’s suit from the bottom hem, displaying her pantyhose. Even though I’m still sniffling, seeing Mom like this makes me giggle.

“Now Ryan, you can’t be serious!” she exclaims as she finds herself over the same lap where he just spanked me. “Please, can’t we talk?”

“You’ve done too much talking already.”

“This is going to be a hard spanking, huh?” she asks.

“Yes, but you’ll live through it and you’ll be a changed person for it.”

“But if I say STOP,” Mom pleads, “You’ll stop, won’t you?”

“Louise, you are in no position to be objective about how much is enough.”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Go, Daddy, go! I think to myself as I rub my buns.

Mom’s round butt seems to swell up with each stroke of the paddle. Mom does have a nice bottom. Every time I wonder why Ryan puts up with Louise, I’m reminded that she is pretty sexy for an old woman. After all, she’s in her mid-30s.

Soon, her pantyhose splits open, then her panties, like a rotten watermelon. Her butt is so very, very red.

Serves her right... Go, Daddy, go!

Daddy spanks Mom for about an hour or so. OK, that’s over the top, but it’s my dream.

When Daddy’s done with her and Mom finally gets over sobbing like a big baby, Daddy makes her say, “Grace, I have said some terribly cruel things to you in those awful Long Lectures over the years. I am sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”

I stand there, rubbing my sore bottom. Mom does the same, except she doesn’t have any pantyhose or panties, because they exploded. So she’s rubbing her bare butt. At least I pulled my panties up.

“Grace,” says Daddy, “the slate is wiped clean for your mother too.”

“You’re right. I love you, Mommy.”

She starts to cry again. “You never call me Mommy anymore.”

We all hug, the three of us. One big, happy family. The family that spanks together, stays together. Suddenly, I’m sleepy...

I find myself back in my own bed. My bottom has that funny, fuzzy, pleasant, tingling feeling. I’m half awake.

Is my bottom tingly from Daddy’s spanking in my bedroom with the plain wooden paddle? Or from that luminescent blue paddle in the living room? What’s real? I have both hands in my panties. I fall into a deep sleep and another dream...

Mark Hainsworth and I are in a green field with wildflowers of many colors all around. I’m dressed in a frilly dress with a white, ruffled apron. I’m barefoot and so is Mark, who’s wearing a white shirt with ruffled collar, bright blue trousers with a bib and cloth suspenders. We are walking toward something in the middle of the field, holding hands. We squeeze hands tightly, because we know we’re walking toward something scary—but I don’t know what.

As we get closer, I see a huge shoe with a steeple where the foot would go in, with a white cross on top.

“That’s the biggest shoe I’ve ever seen!” I exclaim.

“That’s no shoe,” laughs Mark nervously. “That’s our church. Today’s reckoning day. It’s my mom’s turn to be in charge.”

As we get closer, we see a bunch of kids. Some of them go to the same junior high as Mark and me, but lots of them are little kids.

The little ones are crying and rubbing their behinds. Some of the boys have pulled their trousers down, showing off unnaturally red buns that they rub vigorously.

“Should they be pulling their trousers down in front of the church?” I ask.

“It’s OK on reckoning day,” Mark replies. “Of course, kids our age would never do that.”

“Of course not.”

We squeeze hands.

Closer still, we stand in line with kids from our school. I can’t see around them, but I hear the smacking sound of a paddle on bare skin and the sobs of somebody getting spanked. The two girls in front of us turn away from the sound, their faces twisted with worry. They wear frilly dresses with ruffled aprons, just like mine. One of the girls has beautiful blond hair, curled in ringlets. I want to tell her how pretty her hair looks, but I can see she’s too upset. They both rub their bottoms and try not to cry.

As we get toward the front of the line, I get to see the spanker. She has the face of Mark’s mom—Mrs. Hainsworth—except she’s got the body and clothes of the Old Woman from the nursery rhyme. The paddle she wields is identical to the blue one that hangs on the wall at Mark’s house.

“You don’t have to, Grace,” says Mark.

“I want to be with you, Mark,” I reply. “I want to be included in your family. Your life.”

I feel scared, but serene at the same time. I’ve been spanked before. Once for sure. Maybe twice.

When we get to the front of the line, I say, “I’d like to go first, if you don’t mind.”

Mark actually seems relieved. “OK.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hainsworth, for letting me participate in your church’s reckoning,” I say as I pull up my dress and lie down over her ample lap. “I’m not a member of your congregation, but I want to be close to Mark.”

“I’m glad you came, Grace,” she says as she pulls down my frilly undies. “Sometimes the most direct route to saving a girl’s soul is through her bottom. Remember, it’s OK to pray to Jesus to give you strength during this time of tribulation.”

Mrs. Hainsworth’s paddling feels exactly like the one I got from Daddy. Thank God I’ve had prior experience. I know I’m getting a hard spanking, but I know I’ll live through it and I’ll be a changed person for it.

I stand up sobbing with my hands in the back of my ruffled undies, trying to dissipate the heat by vigorous rubbing. Mark unbuttons his suspenders and drops his trousers. His mother pulls down his briefs and I see Mark’s “privates” for the first time!

Thank God my hands are already in my panties. I keep rubbing while Mark gets a good, sound spanking that leaves his bottom glowing like Rudolph’s nose.

His mother makes him stand up and show his “privates” for everyone to see, before she pulls up his briefs.

I wake up with a moan and a gasp. My bottom still pulses with that wonderful tingling feeling, still aglow from the spanking before my nap, like a warm setting sun. While I didn’t like the spanking, I don’t want this feeling to go away, either.

Maybe a spanking is like childbirth. No woman would go through it twice if she remembered how 10 centimeters of dilation feels when a baby’s head squeezes through it. But some women keep wanting to make babies, one after the other.

Well, now that I had a chance to sleep on it, I had reconsidered my position on spankings.

I wanted to be like Mark. I didn’t want any more Long Lectures.

In short, I wanted to switch over to spankings. The trick would be to convince Ryan, my daddy.

– Part IV: “Talking Daddy Into Spankings Again” –

Maybe spankings are like childbirth. No woman would go through it twice if she remembered how it feels when a baby’s head squeezes through. Now that I had a chance to sleep on it, though, I wanted to be like boyfriend, Mark, who still gets spanked. I didn’t want any more of Mom’s Long Lectures.

In short, I wanted to switch over to spankings. The trick was convincing Ryan, my stepdad.

I got out of bed and realized how much my butt still throbbed and how stiff my whole body felt. Since all I had on was my top and panties, I decided to inspect the damage in the mirror on my closet door.

Oh my God!

My butt looked awful—red all over with a slight purple-brown bruising right at the sit-spot. I rubbed it and that tingly feeling came back. My bottom was sore, but it was a good sore.

No way could I put on those designer jeans again with my ass in such disrepair. I took off my top and slipped into a short yellow cotton dress. But, for some reason, I decided to keep on those black satin panties.

I grabbed the paddle. If I could talk Ryan into going back to our original plan, maybe we could go out back to his workshop and paint it blue. Not a dark, flat blue like Mark’s paddle. I wanted mine painted a luminescent blue. Maybe we could paint it so it would glow blue in the dark!

“Hey, Ryan,” I said, sitting down gingerly in the other chair in his office.

“Just a sec,” he replied, his eyes glued to the computer screen. “Let me save this file...”

I discovered if I put my bare feet up on the seat of the chair and leaned back, I didn’t have to sit on my sit-spot. I sat with my arms around my knees, the paddle in the V of my torso and thighs, waiting for Ryan.

“So,” Ryan said smiling as he turned his chair to face me, “how you doin’? How was your nap?”

“Great, Dad,” I smiled back. “In fact, I wanted to tell you about my nap. About a dream I had.”

I watched his eyes go all misty when I said “Dad.” I hate to admit this about myself, but there’s a part of my brain that stores away little nuggets like that—just in case I need it for something.

Imagine how he’ll react if I call him daddy...

I’m not a bad girl, but I can’t help it sometimes. Ryan said he doesn’t want to spank me so I’ve got to change his mind. I need some ammunition.

“So,” he shrugged, “tell me about your dream.”

So I told Ryan about the Longest Long Lecture and his blue Star Wars paddle, about my spanking and mom’s. Ryan laughed when I told him about Mom’s exploding pantyhose.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this,” he said with a chuckle, “but I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought of taking that mother of yours over my lap and spanking her into the middle of next week.”

“Yeah,” I smiled, “I can see why you might feel that way.”

“So, Gracie, tell me the rest of your dream.”

I told him about the church shaped like a shoe and the spanking I got from Mark’s mom. I said Mark got spanked too. I left out the part where Mark got his pants pulled down and I got to see his privates.

A teenage girl has got to keep some of her dreams to herself, especially when she’s talking to her stepdad.

“So, what do you make of all that?” Ryan asked.

“Daddy,” I said, playing my “daddy” card right out of the chute, “I wanna do what we said we were gonna do. I don’t want to hear another one of those Long Lectures as long as I live.”

“But spankings?” Ryan asked. “You can’t tell me that’s what you really want.”

“Ryan,” I said, shifting tactics, “you’ve seen what Mom does to me with her Long Lectures. What do you think about that?”

“Well,” he said, looking away, “I’m your stepfather and I love you, Grace. But I came into this family kind of late. You and your mother already had a long-term relationship. I try to stay out of what the two of you already have going.”

“Ryan, you didn’t answer my question.”

He turned and looked at me for a long time.

“What your mother does is abusive.”

So now it was my turn to look at Ryan for a long, long time.

“But it takes two to tango, kiddo,” Ryan added. “And when the two of you get into it, I might as well be watching a sorority cat fight.”

“What do you mean?”

“The last time the two of you got into it,” Ryan said, crossing his arms, “do you remember what you called your mother?”

“Nope,” I shrugged. “What?”

“Grace, I want you to think about it. What did you call your mother?”

“I don’t really remember,” I said, tossing my hair. “When I get mad, I say lots of things. I can’t be expected to remember them all.”

“Grace, you called your mother a fucking bitch.”

“Oh...” I tossed my hair again and shrugged. “Did I? Really?”

“Really.”

Of course, I remember exactly what I called Mom. In fact, that’s usually what I call her when I lose it. But you ought to hear the cruel things she says to me. Self defense.

“So, Ryan, if you love me so much, how long are you going to sit on the sidelines and watch Mom abuse me like that? And how long are you going to let me talk to your wife like that?”

Ryan looked away again. He tapped his fingers on this desk. He was thinking. As much as I wanted to push it, I had to let it percolate. Ryan is real smart, but on this emotional stuff, he’s kind of a retard. That’s why it took so long to get him to the place were we could have this conversation.

“But it isn’t as easy as all that, Gracie.”

“Sure it is, Dad. Look, Mom’s just acting out her own childhood. You know, Mom had a stepdad. He divorced grandma eventually, but good riddance. Before that, he treated grandma like crap and he used to spank Mom for no reason. Grandma told me. He was an asshole. But you aren’t an asshole, Ryan. Don’t let Mom keep treating you like one.”

Ryan looked at me for a long, long time. I got to watch his expression change from one of puzzlement to a big smile.

“I guess it’s time for this dysfunctional family to sit down after dinner and have a long heart-to-heart discussion,” Ryan said firmly.

“I love you, Daddy!” I hopped up, put the paddle down on the desk, and sat on Ryan’s lap.

He hugged me. “You know, Grace, your mom isn’t the only one who has to change her behavior. That kind of language against your mother has got to stop. And no more nagging to get you to do your chores. I guess it’s the engineer in me, but I’m going to put your chores on a printed schedule. With hard deadlines. And hard consequences.”

He reached over and picked up the paddle.

“Some doors in life swing one way, Gracie. Are you sure you really want to go through this one? Seems to me there was a little teeny-bopper that told me just a few hours ago that she never wanted another spanking again.”

“And I remember a certain step-daddy who said he never wanted to spank that teeny-bopper ever again,” I replied. “Maybe we both need to adjust.”

“Easier for me than you!” Ryan joked.

“Really? Well, you know what? It’s way past 9 a.m. and my bed still isn’t made. I thought I was supposed to get spanked for that. What are you gonna do about it?”

“I haven’t put that rule into the computer yet,” Ryan replied. “Seems to me you were the one who objected to ex post facto rules.”

“I’ll let it slide this time,” I laughed, standing up. “Come on, Daddy, you need to stop being a wimp. Assert yourself. Let’s have a father-daughter bonding experience.”

I put myself over Ryan’s lap and flipped up my dress in back.

“That’s a pretty tempting bottom, young lady.”

“So spank it!”

Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.

I squeezed my eyes and clenched my teeth for as long as I could hold out.

“Eiiihhhhhheeeee! Owww-www-www! Owww-www-www!”

Ryan put the paddle down and helped me up.

“Gosh, you’re crying! I didn’t mean to make it quite that hard.”

“C-come on, Daddy,” I sniffled, trying to act like it was no big deal. “It’s called a spanking. It’s supposed to make me cry.”

Ryan gave me a big hug. But after I left Ryan’s office, I rubbed my bottom vigorously all the way to my room.

And then I made my bed.

– Part V: “A New Family Order” –

“OK, I’m tired and I’ve had a long day,” said Mom. “What’s this family meeting all about?”

“I realize you’re tired, Louise,” said my stepdad, “but Grace and I have had several long talks today. It’s important that we have a long heart-to-heart talk as a family.”

“Sounds like the two of you have already had that long heart-to-heart talk already,” said Mom, crossing her arms.

Ryan and I had cleared the dishes and we now sat around the dining room table.

“Look, Mom, it’s not like anyone is leaving you out of anything,” I tried to explain. “It’s just that there are some things that I would like to see changed around here.”

“So you and Ryan think there ought to be some changes around here?” Mom retorted, her voice rising. “While I’m out trying to support our family? The two of you think it’s OK to have secret meetings behind my back? You don’t think I can see what’s going on around here. But it’s always two against one. And I’m getting pretty sick of it.”

“Come on, Louise,” I said, feeling my own blood pressure rising. “You support our family, but so does Ryan. In fact, he makes more money than you...”

Mom wagged her finger at me. “Just see how much Ryan’s income matters if he decides to leave, young lady. You’re father made more money than me, too, but where is he now?”

I crossed my arm and glared at her.

“Grace has some ideas about discipline,” Ryan interjected. “I think they have a lot of merit. Gracie, why don’t you tell your mom?”

“Mom,” I began, working overtime to remain calm, “I know you hate giving me those Long Lectures. I hate them too. I think there’s a better way to discipline me. I learned it from Mark Hainsworth.”

I paused, trying to find the right words.

“Well, what is it?” she asked.

“Mark’s parents use corporal punishment on him,” I said at last. “And he’s almost 15.”

“Yes, Grace, and they are a bunch of Bible-thumping Fundamentalists,” Mom snapped. “I’m certainly not disciplining my child like some religious fanatics who speak in tongues and play with snakes.”

“Mom, Mark’s parents aren’t like that. And besides, you said I could have more say in how I’m disciplined.”

“Yes, but I didn’t say anything about physical abuse,” she retorted. “And what’s with you, Grace? Who in hell would ask for corporal punishment?”

“Lots of teens would rather go that way,” I retorted. “It’s all over the Internet, Mom.”

“Pornography!” she scoffed. “I know exactly where this harebrained idea is coming from. It’s your infatuation with that Mark Hainsworth. And I suppose if Mark jumped off a cliff, you’d want to do that too?”

“That’s not it at all,” I said, feeling my anger rising. “I mean, I really like Mark and his parents are really nice. But it’s about you, Mom. It’s your Long Lectures. I’m sick of them. They hurt me, Mama. That’s not discipline. That’s just ragging on me, like grandma used to do to you. I love you and it hurts me when you just dump all that shit on me.”

I realized at as I opened up, I was starting to cry.

“You tear me down like I’m worthless,” I said, my voice shaking. “You make me feel like garbage. I’d rather be spanked than punished like that.”

“You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about!” Mom said angrily. “A spanking borders on child abuse. Believe me, I know. Your problem is that you’re still just a spoiled brat. You don’t do any chores. You say the most horrible things to me. You have always been a manipulator, Grace. I think it’s in your genes, on your father’s side. Your little manipulations make this household a living hell. You’re turning Ryan against me. Don’t think I don’t see that. It’s the same conniving that ruined my first marriage and drove your father away...”

I put my hands over my ears, sobbing. “Shut up you fucking bitch!”

A stunned silence fell over the table. I uncovered my ears and started crying all the harder.

“Mommy, I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. It came out.”

“You filthy little gutter snipe!” said Mom to my apology. “How dare you talk to me like that? You miserable, spoiled, rotten, lazy, worthless...”

BOOM!

“LOUISE, SHUT YOUR MOUTH!”

Ryan’s fist slamming down on the table did more to shut my mother’s mouth than my stepfather’s command.

She looked at him in shock. For once, Mom was speechless.

“I realize you were spanked unjustly, Louise,” he said, his voice very soft, each word chosen and spoken carefully. “That will never happen to Grace. There will be rules and consequences. Grace will never be spanked unless she breaks a rule. Grace will have a say in what the rules are. Grace is your daughter, so any spanking has to be approved by you. But, Louise, I will NOT permit you to talk to the child like that again. What you just said to Grace at this table was verbal abuse. Do NOT...”

BOOM! His fist made the table shake again.

“...EVER do that again.” My stepfather stared at Mom.

“Yes, Ryan.” She seemed totally discombobulated by Ryan’s forcefulness.

“I suggest,” Ryan continued, “that we try using a set of written rules and consequences for two months. After that, we’ll sit down and evaluate how effective the plan was.”

“Ryan,” Mom almost whispered, “no matter how angry I am, I just can’t spank her.”

“Who said anything about you?” I asked.

“You mean Ryan?”

“I trust him, Mom. Don’t you.”

She nodded, batting back tears. “Yes, Grace, I trust him. But why, Grace?”

“Because I rather have Ryan give me a good, sound spanking than have you tear me down, mama!”

Now I was blubbering like a baby and Mom started crying too. She got up and came around the table. I stood and we embraced. I don’t know how long we hugged and cried on each other’s shoulders.

“I love you, Mommy,” I kept whispering.

“I love you, too, baby girl. And you’re right. I rejected how my stepfather punished me, but my mother was just as bad.”

When we finally stepped back from each other, Ryan said, “Why don’t you get ready for bed, Grace. But first, apologize to your mother for using the F-word and the B-word. After you’re in your nightgown, I will be up to spank you. You are never to talk to your Mom that way. We already discussed this.”

“Oh, Ryan,” my mother sighed, “a lot of things were said in the heat of discussion. Why can’t we make an exception?”

“In our new family order,” my stepfather replied, “we respect the rules. All of us. And when we don’t respect the rules, we must accept the consequences. Right Grace?”

“Yes Daddy.”

I hoped my shaking didn’t make my voice quaver. My stomach knotted up the instant Ryan said he’d be up to spank me. I wanted to be brave, to accept my consequences. To take my punishment with dignity. But I didn’t know about that. My bottom still felt sore from my two previous spankings that day.

“Mom, I’m sorry for what I said to you. And I agree with Ryan. I have to be punished for it.”

But tears were streaming down my face.

Mom looked with me for the first time that night with true empathy.

“I know exactly how you feel, baby,” she said embracing me again. “Just remember, you’ll come out the other side. Think about that.”

“I know, mama. I will.”

In my bedroom, I put on my pink butterfly nightgown, the one that doesn’t quite reach my knees anymore. I didn’t bother with panties. I just have to take them off when Ryan came up with the paddle. And afterwards, forget it!

I paced the room, unable to think about anything else. Why is he taking so long? How long has it been?

Mercifully, Ryan arrived with the paddle before I worked myself up into too big a frenzy. He sat on my bed and I lay down over his lap. He put my legs up on the bed so I was fully supported. We worked this spanking like a well-oiled machine.

“Daddy, how hard this time? More like the first? Or more like the second?”

“Grace, for that kind of language against your mom, it’s going to be just like the first. A full bench test.”

I started to cry.

“I can’t Daddy!” I sobbed.

“Yes you can,” he said, pulling up my nightgown and giving my cheeks a quick, friendly rub. “And you’ll come out the other side just fine. Ready?”

I was already crying too hard to talk, so I just nodded.

This being my second, full-on spanking, I went through the three phases—from initial shock to violent resistance to exhausted submission—just like the first.

Ryan was right. I did come out the other side. But, God, did my bottom hurt!

I sobbed and sobbed in Ryan’s arms. I wanted to go to sleep.

“Can I come in?” Mom asked from the door.

“What say, Grace?” Ryan asked. “Should we let her in?”

“Mommy?” I sobbed. “Can I have a hug?”

She sat on the bed next to Ryan. I lay down over both laps and Mom rubbed my bottom through my nightgown. Her soft hand felt good.

“Gosh, Ryan, her bottom feels on fire.”

“Gracie, did I spank you too hard?”

“No Daddy, you spanked me just the right amount.”

I was almost asleep when Ryan helped me under the covers.

“I made my bed, Daddy.”

“I noticed,” he said. “Now go to sleep.”

Even though I was slipping into a deep slumber, I could swear that Ryan said something to Mom—just before they left and shut the door.

“Louise, could you please bring the paddle?”

– Part VI: “Consequences for Mom” –

POW!

What sounded like a backfire woke me from my deep slumber and I immediately sat up in bed. As you might imagine, I immediately regretted that maneuver, since my bottom had been the recipient of three bare-bottom paddlings that day—not the least of which included a very firm paddling just before I fell asleep moments ago.

Now that I had been transported out of the protective fog of unconsciousness, my buns cried out for some consolation. I stood up and rubbed them furiously. Then I decided I should go pee and maybe check out the color of my bottom in the bathroom mirror. But as I stepped through my bedroom door, I thought I heard the murmur of Ryan and Mom from down the hall.

I want you to understand that I’m basically a good girl. I don’t usually spy at my parent’s bedroom door. But this wasn’t a usual evening.

POP!

“God, is that how hard you spanked her?” I heard Mom ask as I pressed my ear to their door.

“Yes.” POP!

“Ouch! Ryan, stop. That’s too hard!”

“You said you were curious.”

“Of course I’m curious,” Mom replied. “But in a different way. I told you about what I wanted when we first started dating. And you had no interest. So what’s gotten into you?”

“Growing up,” Ryan replied, “my spankings were always disciplinary. And usually for a good reason. I can’t imagine getting any pleasure from spankings. You were the first person I ever dated who had a—ah—recreational interest.”

“I wouldn’t call it recreational,” Mom retorted. “It’s just at the bank, I supervise almost a dozen employees. I’m always the one exercising power over others. Can’t you see what a relief it would be to surrender power to somebody you trust and love?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“So tonight, why have you decided to finally give me what I want?”

“What makes you think you’re going to get what you want?” Ryan replied.

“Well, you’re going to give me a spanking, right?”

“Yes, if you agree you deserve one.”

“Yes, yes,” Mom giggled, talking baby talk. “I’ve been a very bad girl. So daddy’s gonna spank his little girl-girl.”

“No, you’ve been a very bad mother,” said Ryan, his voice stern. “You’re getting a spanking because of the cruel things you said to Gracie.”

“So this is a disciplinary spanking, huh? And Louise doesn’t get to go for a pony ride on top of daddy tonight? I don’t get to bounce up and down on daddy’s Pogo Stick?”

“Absolutely not.”

“So daddy gonna give his little girl-girl the paddle but not the stick?”

“Some other night, Louise. Tonight is about punishment.”

“But some other night, after we’re damn sure Gracie is asleep, you’ll spank naughty Louise and then let her take a pony ride?”

I thought I could hear Ryan sigh.

“OK, Louise, if that’s what you want,” he said at last. “But this whole thing makes me feel a little weird. First, our daughter comes up and tells me she wants to be spanked because her boyfriend’s parents still spank him. And I can sure understand why Grace would rather have her butt smacked than listen to your verbal abuse...”

“That’s not abuse,” interrupted Mom. “At least, that’s not how intend it. That’s just how my mom chastised me. And I turned out OK.”

POP! POP!

“Ow, Ryan! That really hurt! Why did you do that?”

“For lying to yourself. Like I was saying,” my stepdad continued, “Gracie comes and asks me to spank her. I figure it’s just her infatuation with this Mark Hainsworth. I’m thinking one good, sound fanny whacking will make her see the light. But now we’re committed to spankings for the next two months. What if she wants spankings for the same reasons that you do?”

“No way,” Mom replied. “I got turned on to spankings because of what my stepdad did. I’ve read up on it. Lots of kids sexualize spankings as a way of dealing with their trauma. That’s what happened to me. But now, it’s just a nice form of release from all the pressures at work.”

Mom paused, then added with a giggle, “And it’s also a wonderful form of foreplay.”

“But that’s just it,” Ryan complained. “What if Gracie inherited it from you?”

Mom didn’t have an instant answer. And, in truth, I wondered about what made me tick—spanking wise. True, the idea of spankings excited me in some strange way. And after Ryan’s first spanking, I loved the time we spent bonding with each other. But in the actual moment of going over his lap—especially that really hard spanking at bedtime when I knew exactly what was coming—I hated spankings! I would give anything to magically transport my buns anywhere else. And I knew that I would be much better behaved from now on, just to avoid another spanking.

All of this is so confusing, especially when you’re only 13...

“I wasn’t born this way, Ryan,” Mom said at last. “I lived in fear of my stepfather’s spankings as a little girl. And as I matured and he kept spanking me, I started having different kinds of feelings about spankings. Fantasies. But until tonight, nobody has ever spanked Grace. She wants these spankings to help her become a better person. I think it’s best we don’t over-analyze Gracie.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he replied. “I guess if we just stick to enforcing consequences when she breaks the rules, then no harm done.”

Neither Mom nor Ryan said anything.

“Hey,” Mom said at last, “I thought you were going to spank me.”

“Ready?”

“Wait, we need some rules. We need a code word for when I’ve had enough. How about MERCY! If I say that, then you stop. OK?”

“Louise, this isn’t foreplay. This is a punishment paddling. It’s over when I say it’s over. Ready?”

“Not too hard, OK?”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

The sound of Mom crying startled me at first. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help thinking, Serves her right!

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

But as the spanking continued, I began to feel sorry for Mom. Ryan really laid it on—much harder than the spankings he gave me. Mom sounded downright pitiful.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

I decided to go pee and not get caught listening at their bedroom door. I tiptoed toward the bathroom, with the whacking of my new paddle and Mom’s wailing following me down the hall.

In the mirror, my bottom looked just as awful as it felt. Back in my bedroom, I pulled out the nursery rhyme book and, with just the dim light of the moon through my window, looked at the Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe.

I just love that picture. Always have. I wondered what it would feel like to get spanked with a whole bunch of other kids, waiting in a line like that, getting closer and closer to your turn. I wondered what it would be like getting a spanking from Mom. From Mark’s mom. From Mark’s dad. I wondered about my interest in that stupid nursery rhyme, an interest that went back as far as I could remember.

Did I inherit my interest in spankings from Mom?

I still couldn’t understand what I had just learned about my own mother. She wants Ryan to spank her? She thinks it’s sexy? What’s with that?

Since my bottom still felt sore, I started rubbing it. That felt so good! I fell asleep thinking about Mark Hainsworth giving me a spanking

– Part VII: “Breakfast the Morning After Our Spankings” –

Before breakfast the next morning, I called Mark Hainsworth.

“Hey,” I said, “what’s up with you.”

“I’m going to help my dad over at the church,” said Mark. “We’re sanding and varnishing some of the pews. How ‘bout you? You didn’t even call yesterday.”

“Oh, I wanted to, Mark, I really did,” I said, trying to act nonchalant. “But I wasn’t a very good girl yesterday. My dad had to punish me.”

I paused and added, “Had to punish me a couple of times.”

“Gosh, what’d ya do?”

“Well, I think it started out with a misunderstanding,” I said, sort of improvising as I went along. “I told him about the blue paddle over at your house. I guess that wasn’t such a good idea, because Ryan—he’s my Dad—got it in his head that I needed a paddle, too. Before yesterday, I’d never been paddled.”

“So what happened?”

“Ryan thought I should help him make a paddle, so we went out back in the shop,” I continued. “He found an old oak board and we made a really nice paddle out of it. Then Ryan reminded me of some naughty stuff I did a while ago. I can’t blame him for wanting to try out my new paddle. But, of course, I wasn’t nearly as eager! So I guess I shouldn’t have argued with him. He took me upstairs to my bedroom and paddled me on the bare bottom. Boy! Now I know how you feel when you get a spanking!”

“It’s sure no fun,” Mark said ruefully. “But it’s for my own good.”

“Oh, mine too!” I said quickly. “I was scared of that paddling, so I argued. I shouldn’t have. Fortunately, my Daddy loves me enough to correct me when I need it. We had a long talk afterwards. I really like that part.”

“That’s the way with my mom,” Mark said. “She spends time talking to me. You know, after she paddles. But my dad doesn’t like to talk. He thinks it’s better for me to be by myself.”

“Why?”

“He doesn’t think men should cry,” Mark replied. “He respects my privacy.”

“Gosh, Mark,” I said. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t stand it if my Daddy didn’t stay with me after a spanking. That’s the very best part. The comforting afterwards.”

“Well my mom does that.”

“That’s good.”

“So,” said Mark, switching the topic, “you said you got punished more than once. Spankings?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” I replied. “I took a nap. Had a dream that your mom spanked you and me both.”

“Well,” laughed Mark, “my mom’s pretty strict. If you hang out over at my house this summer, chances are that dream is gonna come true.”

Mark’s prediction made my poor, sore bottom tingle.

“Anyhow, when I woke up, I went to ask Dad if we could paint my new paddle. After I gave him the paddle, I remembered I left my bed all messed up. My Dad is very strict about making my bed. So, guess what? I told him and he spanked me again. You ever do that, Mark? Ever tell on yourself? Ever get yourself spanked?”

“Well, I... I mean... See, the thing is, I’m Christian,” Mark began. “So when I have sinned, when I’ve been bad, I pray to Jesus to guide me. Jesus fills my heart with the courage to tell my mom, because I know my parents love me. Sometimes I’m chastised for my sin. Sometimes I’m not. It’s all based on our love for Jesus and what He would want for me. Jesus is my shepherd and sometimes He must raise his rod to chastise me. Through mom and dad. See, I’ve never really been spanked by my earthly parents. They always are His agents and so they are his servants, too. They must obey what their prayers reveal to them. The only one who ever spanks me is Jesus.”

“Oh,” I said, not really sure what to say. “That’s really great! You’re family must be pretty important. You’ve got the Son of God stepping in and helping out every time you get a spanking.”

After I said that, I realized it could be taken two ways. And one of those ways was kind of an insult to the Hainsworth family and—maybe—Christianity. Yikes!

“So you only tell your mom when you’ve sinned,” I said quickly, before Mark got too much time to think. “Why don’t you tell your dad?”

“He says that my confession fills him with the fire of the Holy Ghost,” Mark replied. “The fire of the Holy Ghost is purifying. But dad says he needs to feel the love of Jesus in his heart before he acts to chastise. That takes dad awhile. So mom says for dad to stay away from me when she tells him I’ve done bad. She insists they pray to Jesus and not do anything until His love informs them. Sometimes, the love of Jesus says to release the fire of the Holy Ghost. That’s what dad says I should feel like.”

Mark stopped for a moment to cough. Then he laughed, like he was trying to make it funny, except it hurt too much.

“Dad says it should feel like the fire of the Holy Ghost,” Mark continued, but his voice was flat, deadpan, and distant. “Well, dad’s right about one thing. The fire of the Holy Ghost surely cleanses me of all my sins.”

Then he laughed again. Not a sarcastic laugh. I could tell he believed he was cleansed by his father’s paddlings. But there was something else. Like a black hole in Mark’s soul where something precious had been swallowed up.

But what did I know? I was just a teenybopper with a really cute Christian boyfriend who just got her first spanking yesterday. What gave me the smarts to psychoanalyze by boyfriend, who’s almost 15? I got my work cut out just psycho-babbling my way through my own little kinks.

“I felt cleansed too,” I said very softly after a long pause. “Last night after dinner, I argued with my mom. I said some very disrespectful things. So Dad spanked me real good. And after that, the slate was clean. Mom ever hugged and kissed me goodnight.”

“Doesn’t your mom always hug and kiss you goodnight?”

“Nope,” I replied, taking my turn to show him a little of my pain. “She hardly ever kisses me goodnight. She says she comes from a low-hug family.”

“Oh, I thought what with you being 13 and all,” Mark said with a deep voice of concern, “your mommy would kiss and tuck you in every night. You and your teddy bear.”

Then he laughed.

“Mark! That’s not funny!”

I couldn’t believe this was happening. Mark and I were sharing these deeply personal secrets and he goes and spoils it all by being a typical male jerk.

Mark just kept laughing. You know, that forced kind of laugh that boys do when they’re just being real a-holes. I’m sorry, I know Mark is a Christian and all. But he was also male and about to turn 15. I know why he did it. He was ashamed of being open with me. Threatened his masculinity. So he felt obligated to stomp all over our delicate moment and leave it in tatters. No matter. That moment still happened, my little baby boy. I saw inside him and I will honor that. But first, Mark has got to stop acting like an a-hole.

“Mark, can I ask you a question? Because you know a lot more about Christianity than me. I mean, like I’m a Christian and everything, in kind of a modified Catholic sort of a way. So can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Grace!” he snickered between gawfaws.

“What do you think Jesus would say about what you’re doing right now? I mean, tell me Mark. Is the love of Jesus in your heart right now?”

“Gee, Gracie...”

“Want to know the answer, Mark? Well, guess what? I feel Jesus in my heart right now. I’m forgiving you. Right as we speak, Jesus is helping me forgive you. Because you just hurt me, Mark. You hurt me really, really bad.”

Click. See, I didn’t slam down the phone. That’s childish. Something a 12 year old would do. A 13-year-old girl dating an almost-15-year-old boy must always pay attention to maturity issues. So I just gently pushed down on the disconnect button, so my voice just sort of disappeared, leaving Mark to stand there listening to a dial tone.

And thinking. Thinking like maybe he broke my heart. Thinking like maybe he had been an a-hole on the phone to me. Thinking that maybe his insecurity about his masculinity was the root of a lot of stupid, nasty things he does...

OK, OK. I know, that’s unrealistic to expect from a boy Mark’s age. At least I made him feel guilty. I mean, we don’t go to Mass every Sunday. OK, maybe only Easter Sunday. But I’m still Catholic and I can make any fundamentalist quake in his boots with waves and waves of guilt. At the very least, I left him very, very confused.

I decided to let him stew in his own juices.

I rubbed my buns and smiled. I forgot my panties. Gosh, my butt still hurts! I can honestly see how parents could keep their kids so well spanked, their bottoms would feel like mine all the time. I bet kids like that handle everything different with their parents—with that spanking sensation still reminding them how bad things can feel if they don’t watch out.

I was hungry!

Mom and Dad were making breakfast together, which is part of their Saturday routine.

“Hi Mom! Hi Ryan!” I chirped. “Did you two get a good night’s sleep? You know, I had the strangest dream. I dreamed that this old blue car was driving up ande down our street with a bad muffler. It kept backfiring. Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Then I wondered if maybe it really happened. Did you guys hear anything like that?”

Mom shook her head vigorously, her eyes glued to the skillet. Ryan gave me a suspicious look. Mom turned to the refrigerator for the eggs, walking that stiff, sore walk of somebody who just got her butt spanked real good right before she went to bed. In other words, Mom walked just like me.

“Hey, Mom, you OK? You’re walking a little stiff this morning. I mean, I can relate. Except you didn’t get a spanking like me. What’s the matter? Sleep on your leg funny or something?”

This time, it was Mom that gave me a suspicious, evil eye. “Yes, Grace, I slept on my leg funny. Not that it’s any concern of yours, young lady.”

“Gosh, don’t chop my head off,” I said, picking up a piece of toast and chomping on it. “I was just trying to show some sympathy. I’m just a little hurt that nobody asks how I’m feeling.”

“How are you feeling, Gracie?” Mom asked, still looking at me suspiciously.

“My bottom is still sore,” I said, leaning against the kitchen counter and sticking out my hip. “I bet it stays sore all day. Daddy, how am I expected to sit on this thing?”

Ryan turned with glistening eyes and blew me a kiss. Golly, that daddy word really gets to Ryan. But I already knew that.

“Yes, Grace, that bottom of yours is going to feel sore all day,” he teased. “Every time you sit down, you’re going to remember to be good.”

I stuck my tongue out and he laughed.

Ryan and I sat down while Mom brought the eggs and bacon over. Ryan poured OJ. I asked if I could have coffee with breakfast, if I made it half milk. Both parents said no for a long list of reasons. Believe me, I didn’t listen. I figure if I keep asking, some day they’re gonna break down and say yes. From then on, I’ll get to drink coffee anytime I want. Just wait. You’ll see.

“Hey, Ryan, where’s my paddle?”

“Over on the counter,” he replied, once he finished chewing.

“Why is it there? How come you didn’t leave it in my room last night?”

OK, I know I behaved recklessly, but I just couldn’t help myself. They think they are so sneaky. Like when they slip off in the afternoon sometimes to make love. They always say something like they’re going to their room, listen to music, and take a nap. Of course I know all about the music. But I still hear Mom, even with the music up loud. Like I’m 13 and just too stupid to figure anything out? The thing I don’t like is their attitude.

“I thought we’d go to the hardware store and pick out the shade of blue you’ll like,” Ryan replied. “Paint it this afternoon. I recommend quick drying enamel and the first coat will be dry by bedtime. You know, in case we need it.”

My buns clenched involuntarily at the suggestion and that made them ache. I realized how truly uncomfortable it is to sit on a spanked bottom the next day.

“OK,” I said. “That sounds like fun.”

Mom finally stopped futzing around and sat down.

“Ouch!” she said, her face twisting in pain. I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing.

“Gosh, Mom, are you OK?” I said in mock surprise and sympathy. “What’s wrong with you? You act like somebody spanked you or something.”

Now both Mom and Ryan turned their evil eyes on me; I realized I’d just stepped over a line...

“Nobody spanked me, Grace.”

“But, Grace,” Ryan quickly added, “did you remember to make your bed this morning?”

Shoot! Rats! Darn! Darn! Darn!

“I thought it would be OK if I made my bed after breakfast,” I wheedled, rocking to one side on my chair because—suddenly—I had this irresistible urge to rub my sorest bun.

Ryan explained to Mom the “little rule” we had agreed to yesterday afternoon.

“Of course you can make your bed after breakfast,” Mom replied, after Ryan had finished explaining about my 9 o’clock deadline.

“But I hope you don’t mind getting spanked during breakfast,” she finished, pointing to the clock over the stove that said “9:10.”

“Would you mind bringing me your paddle, hon?” Mom aid sweetly.

Glumly, I picked up my new paddle from the counter, giving Ryan a pleading look. But he just smiled and winked.

“Come over here, Princess,” said Ryan as he stood up and scooted his chair next to Mom’s. “The family that spanks together, stays together.”

I lay down over Mom’s lap, with my head and shoulders resting on Ryan’s lap.

“Tell me how, Ryan,” said Mom. “Remember, I’ve never spanked anybody.”

“Pull up her nightgown so you can see what you’re doing,” said Ryan as he stroked the hair away from my face.

“Please, Mommy, not too hard!”

“Now Gracie, what did we decide about hard spankings?” asked Ryan gently.

“That I’ll come out the other side OK?”

“That’s right, Princess,” he said, his big hand massaging the muscles in my neck where it meets my shoulders. “And you’ll be a better girl for it.”

“I suppose.”

“Regretting your choice?” asked Mom. “Wishing you weren’t getting a spanking right now?’

“Yeah, I wish I wasn’t getting spanked,” I sighed. “But no, I don’t regret switching over to spankings. I rather get spanked than Long Lectured any day. Even if it’s for something really stupid, like forgetting to make my bed. I mean, the rule isn’t stupid. I am. How much trouble is it to make your bed as soon as you get up?”

“Well, ours isn’t made,” Mom laughed nervously. “I hope nobody gets the big idea to spank me because my bed isn’t made.”

“We’ll discuss this later, Louise,” said Ryan firmly. “This afternoon. We’ll put on some music and then after we discuss your poor housekeeping, maybe we’ll take a nap.”

“Sounds good to me,” Mom replied huskily.

“Mom? Ryan? What are you talking about? I thought I was getting a spanking here.”

I mean, they act like I can’t put two and two together, like I’m brain damaged or something. And there are things about your parents that you just do NOT want to know because, when old people do it, it’s GROSS!

“I hate to do this, Gracie,” said Mom, rubbing my buns with the smooth wood of the paddle. “You’re bottom looks a fright! Ryan, do you think it’s safe to spank her?”

A glimmer of hope, a slight chance for salvation.

“Sure, she’s got a fine, healthy teenager’s behind,” he replied, dashing all hope. “She can take this and a lot more besides. They’re very resilient at this age.”

“What’s resilient? Teenagers or their bottoms?”

“Both!” he replied.

Smack.

“Ouch!” Ryan’s playful slap to my sit-spot would not have hurt all that much under normal conditions. But after three spankings the day before, my cheeks were sensitive to any rapid change in pressure. Like from Ryan’s palm!

“OK, Gracie, get ready!” said Mom, her tone altogether too cheerful. “This spanking is for not...”

Pop.

“...making...”

Pop.

“...your...”

Pop.

“...bed!”

Pop!

I squirmed on the two laps that supported me, my bottom twitching in nervous anticipation. That last stroke really stung! I could easily see how another 40 or 50 of those would leave me blubbering and nursing a very sore bottom to the hardware store to get my paddle paint. Gosh, even 25 strokes would be a real painful burden.

Ryan’s big hand continued to massage my neck, right in the middle of my spanking!

Come on, Mom! Stop waiting. This is MEAN! Come on, spank me! Get it over with! Spank me, darn it!

But I just kept squirming and waiting and Ryan kept massaging my neck and Mom just sat there, rubbing my buns with that awful paddle of mine. And doing nothing at all about spanking me.

Finally, I couldn’t stand the tension anymore. My stomach was churning too much.

I turned my head and asked, “So where’s my spanking?”

For some crazy reason, Mom seemed on the verge of tears.

“That’s it,” Mom declared. “You’re spanking’s over. That’s enough punishment for not making your bed.”

Then, like a big fool and for no apparent reason, I started to cry. Sob actually. I guess the waiting made something snap emotionally. I had expected so much more... Ryan rubbed my neck and Mom massaged my buns.

When I recovered, I sat down and we continued breakfast. I guess my mini-spanking had cleared the air, because no further mention was made of my accusation of Mom’s spanking.

“I discovered that I can’t spank,” Mom said, looking at me and then at Ryan. “After what my stepfather did... Well, I can’t spank Grace. I identify so much with Grace, I can’t identify with myself—or what I have to do. So, Ryan, I guess you’ll have to handle it. I just don’t see how you can do it.”

“Well,” said Ryan, “I can’t relate to either of my parents in my head when I’m spanking Grace. They were so mechanical. You know all those rules we wrote yesterday, Gracie?”

I nodded.

“Well, that’s the way I grew up,” Ryan explained. “We didn’t have a PC or a printer. All my rules were written in felt tip pen. But there were lots of rules and spankings were the general consequence. But my Aunt Rosie—my mom’s sister—she spanked me too. Funny thing is, she was a pretty hard spanker. No, a really long spanker. Her spankings left me drained. But she also knew about how to spend the time afterwards. Aunt Rosie died young, when I was 12. I felt like my mother had died.”

Ryan looked at Mom and me, his eyes watery. He was unafraid to show us this.

“So, when I spank Gracie, I think of how Aunt Rosie must have felt when she spanked me. She’s the one who taught me that you always come out on the other side of a spanking. That thought always helped me relax when she had to spank me.”

“If she was so nice, why did she spank you so much?” I asked.

“Because she was living with us for about five years,” Ryan replied. “Mom went back to work when I went to kindergarten. That same year, Aunt Rosie got pregnant her senior year in high school. She lived with us until the baby was born, then Catholic Community Services found good adoptive parents. So Rosie stayed on with us, picking me up after school, helping me with homework, and cooking dinner for all of us. And, for the most part, Rosie had to enforce all my rules and punishments on the fridge door.”

“So she didn’t have to work?” I asked.

Ryan laughed. “Well, she did have to rear somebody else’s little boy from age 5 to age 10. She was a nanny, cook, house cleaner, and chauffeur. I think my folks got their money’s worth out of the little guest room that she stayed in. She never went out, except to Mass. She didn’t have a car and she never borrowed the folk’s car. So, yes, she did have to work. She just didn’t get paid for it.”

“Your Aunt Rosie was quite a bit younger than your mom, wasn’t she?” asked Mom.

“Yeah,” Ryan replied. “Mom was 10 years older than Rosie. Mom was more an authority figure than sister to Rosie. Mom used to baby-sit Rosie when Mom was a teen. Mom even had spanking rights. I still feel so awful about the day Rosie asked Mom if she could move in, because she was pregnant. Mom went ballistic, accusing Rosie of dragging the family name through the gutter. My mom actually spanked her. Poor Rosie was already 18, an adult. And my mother spanked her. I was trapped in the other room when it happened. When Rosie went crying to the guest room, she passed me and knew that I knew everything. But I never mentioned it and neither did she. But we knew.”

“That’s dreadful!” Mom exclaimed. “I certainly hope that was the end of that.”

“No,” Ryan sighed. “I’m afraid my mom kept spanking Aunt Rosie until the day she moved out. Rosie must have been 23 years old.”

Mom shook her head.

“I think that’s why Aunt Rosie was so kind to me,” he continued. “She knew how cold and mechanical my parents were. She had no choice but to spank me. Otherwise my parents would do it. So, like I said, my Aunt Rosie gave me long, long spankings, but afterwards... Well, afterwards are the fondest memories of my childhood.”

“Did your father ever spank her?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

“How did she die?” I asked

Ryan shook his head. “I don’t know. She finally met a man—an older man—at Mass. A widower. They had a whirlwind romance and were married in six months. And less than two years, she was dead. I think she died of a broken heart.”

“But...” I began, but Mom shook her head.

I let it drop.

“Let’s go, kiddo!” said Ryan as we finished the last of our breakfast. “Go get dressed so we can get down to the hardware store and get some paint for this paddle of yours.”

A half hour later, Ryan and I were in the front seat of his little pick-up, tooling toward the hardware store, my new paddle on my lap.

“How did you feel about your mother’s first spanking?”

“What?” I asked, shocked that he would ask, assuming he was talking about the spanking he gave Mom last night.

“When she spanked you, how did it make you feel?”

“Oh,” I replied, finally tracking. “I dunno. I guess I wasn’t ready for a spanking right then. I was relieved that she didn’t spank me all that much. But now, there’s something that doesn’t feel quite right about it.”

“You feel like you haven’t been spanked, right?”

“Yeah,” I said thoughtfully. “I guess that’s it.”

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Ryan chuckled. “We won’t let your mother’s issues get in the way of the spanking you still own me. We’ll take care of it this afternoon.”

– Part VIII: “Painting My Paddle Blue” –

I got four paddle swats on my bare behind at breakfast over Mom’s lap for not making my bed, which wasn’t much of a spanking. Turns out Mom had some issues with delivering a proper spanking, because of how she was punished as a child and teen. At the time I got those swats, I felt relieved because I really wasn’t up for the kind of hard spankings Ryan gives. My three spankings the day before left me a little sore and paddle shy.

But in the truck with Ryan, as he drove me to the hardware store with my paddle to pick the right paint for it, I told my stepdad I didn’t feel right about it. He suggested maybe I didn’t feel properly spanked and I had to agree.

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Ryan chuckled. “We won’t let your mother’s issues get in the way of the spanking you still own me. We’ll take care of it this afternoon.”

Yikes! Another spanking for not making my bed? OK, Mom’s spanking really doesn’t count as a full spanking. Still that’s one-and-a-half spankings just because I forgot to make my bed before breakfast.

Oh, well. This whole spanking business was my idea. I figured I would eventually feel better adjusted to spankings, after I had more of them under my belt. Right now, every spanking felt like a big deal. Especially waiting for a spanking. Thinking about it. Wondering how much it’s going to hurt. Worrying about turning “chicken” at the last minute and begging for no spanking. Acting childish during the spanking. Now I would have the whole shopping trip to worry about the spanking I still had coming.

Because I started this spanking thing, I also had to consider how my spankings made Ryan feel. Would he be thinking about my spanking, too, while we shopped? And, if spankers think about spankings in advance, what do they think about? How hard? How long? What about the lecture? Short and sweet? Or a long lecture? Before, during or after the spanking? Where should the spanking take place? Gosh, when you think about it, spankers have to make a whole lot of decisions!

“Hey, Ryan,” I said as we pulled into the parking lot, “I just want to say thanks. You know, for helping me with this spanking project. So, anyway, thanks.”

He smiled and said, “Let’s go get some blue paddle paint.”

Inside, Ryan said hi to Mr. and Mrs. Arbuckle, the elderly owners. There weren’t too many customers, so Ryan showed them the paddle and explained about my wish for bright blue colors. Mr. Arbuckle took us to the paint section and showed us different shades of metallic blue. I picked out the one that looked the most festive. Mr. Arbuckle said we would need a primer coat, then probably three or four coats to get all the brilliance.

“Guess you’ve decided the best way to connect with your teenage daughter is through her bottom,” said Mr. Arbuckle. “Our Melissa—she’s almost 30 now with three kids of her own—went back to spankings when she was about Gracie’s age. We hadn’t spanked her since she was six or seven. Not like we ruled out spankings or anything. It’s just that Melissa didn’t have the need. Then she turned 13 and, all of a sudden, Melissa got too big for her britches.”

“So George decided to take her down a notch,” laughed Mrs. Arbuckle, “by pulling her britches down. Nothing like a good licking to get an uppity teenager to mind her P’s and Q’s. So, Gracie, you giving your mom and dad a hard time?”

“No, Gracie’s been a good girl,” Ryan answered for me, pulling his arm around my shoulder. “In fact, the spankings are her idea. She had to talk me into it.”

“Gracious!” said Mrs. Arbuckle. “I hope you’re not wasting your money, Ryan. The minute you give the girl her first good licking with that thing...”

She pointed to the paddle on the counter.

“...she’ll never want another spanking as long as she lives!” finished Mr. Arbuckle for his wife.

A pimply-faced clerk rang up the last customer and came over to see what the Arbuckles were talking about.

When he saw the paddle, he sort of sneered at me. I immediately disliked him.

“Well, we pilot tested the paddle yesterday afternoon,” Ryan replied. “And Gracie’s first reaction was to forget the whole thing. But after she slept on it, we decided to try it for two months. If we decide it’s working, we’ll keep up the spankings.”

“Well,” Mrs. Arbuckle snorted, “if you spanked her bare behind, Ryan, this girl would be singing a completely different tune. She’s growing up. Her bottom isn’t as sensitive as a grade schooler. She needs to feel the paddle against her skin.”

“I did spank her bare,” Ryan replied.

The clerk with the pimples all over his face made a sucking sound, like maybe his mouth made too much saliva and he had to slobber it down. I hoped he would choke on it. I turned and gave him that hard, piercing stare that girls my age try to perfect. Then I rolled my eyes, tossed my hair, and turned away, which is just about the most powerful way to put somebody down when you’re a girl.

“So why did you ask to switch to spankings?” Mr. Arbuckle asked me.

“I have a friend who’s almost 15 and he still gets spanked,” I replied. “I figured if it’s good enough for my friend, maybe I ought to give it a try.”

“She’s had four spankings so far,” Ryan boasted. “Well, three and a half, because Louise paddling this morning was pretty pathetic.”

Mr. and Mrs. Arbuckle chuckled when Ryan described my four-swatter at the breakfast table.

“Well, you’re a good girl, Gracie,” said Mrs. Arbuckle. “A girl who accepts discipline will turn out OK in the end.”

Then she turned to Ryan and handed him four or five paint sticks. “You may need something to spank her with while the paddle paint dries.”

Mr. Pimple Face made that saliva sucking sound again. I didn’t even look at him because the smirk on his face would just disgust me.

After Ryan paid, we drove home in silence. At home, a note on the fridge said Mom had gone shopping.

“You better get out of that sundress, Grace,” Ryan said, turning from the fridge, “and get into to that grungy pair of overalls of yours. Paint has a funny way of getting on your good clothes.”

“Okie-dokie,” I replied, as Ryan looked into the bag from Arbuckle’s Hardware.

“Just a sec, Gracie,” he said from behind me. “Let’s settle up first.”

I turned around just as Ryan took me by the upper arm and led me in three steps to the kitchen table.

“Put your hands down flat,” he said, bending me forward, ensuring I did precisely that.

Ryan flipped up my dress in back, tugged down the elastic of my undies below my cheeks.

Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap!

It all happened so fast! From when Ryan said “just a sec” until the spanking started, maybe eight seconds slipped by.

Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap!

I tried to stand up at first, just because I was so shocked! I didn’t even see that Ryan had one of those paint sticks. I guess I expected a paddling, so the sharp, stinging stripes from that nasty little paint stick caught me off guard. Fortunately, Ryan had pressed his big hand down on the small of my back to keep my dress up and out of the way. I hope he didn’t think I was trying to get out of anything.

Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap!

That little stick peppered me all over my bottom. Ryan seemed to flick his wrist with incredible speed, licking me maybe two strokes a second. Naturally, I started wailing and stomping my feet.

Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap!

And then it was over. More than a 100 licks from that nasty little pint stirrer in under a minute. Ryan held me down over the table for another minute, then tugged my undies up over my well-striped buns.

Ryan sat on the nearest kitchen chair and sat me on his lap. My bottom felt very different than after a paddling. The paint stick left a hot, stinging sensation without any of that aching feeling left behind by the paddle. Still, the sting really stung!

“I g-guess that’s for not m-m-making my b-bed?”

“Sure,” said Ryan. “Of course. Why did you think I was spanking you?”

“I wasn’t really sure.”

“Gosh, I’m sorry, Princess. I thought when I said ‘settle up,’ you knew I wanted that spanking you owed me.”

“Yeah, well it just happened so fast!”

“Well,” Ryan chuckled, “I guess I could spank you again. Giving you a good tongue lashing first...”

“NO! I don’t wanna another spankin’, Daddy!”

He gave me a long tight hug and then stood me up, kissing my forehead.

By the time I got into my overalls and met Ryan in the workshop, the stinging sensation in my buns had faded considerably. We sanded the paddle one more time and put on the primer. Ryan said we ought to wait until tomorrow to put on the first coat of the metallic blue.

“I guess I can be as much of a brat as I want,” I teased. “Because you can’t paddle me till the primer dries.”

“I’ve got a surprise for you, little girl,” Ryan smiled, picking up the receiver from the wall phone.

He dialed.

“Who you calling?”

He just smiled and winked at me.

“Hello? Mrs. Hainsworth? Are you ready to entertain a special guest? ...Great! We’ll be down in about 15. ..Yes, thank you.”

“Mark’s mom?” I asked when he replaced the receiver on the wall. “Are we going to see Mrs. Hainsworth?”

Ryan nodded.

“Why?”

“While you were changing into your overalls, I called Mrs. Hainsworth and explained that you had exaggerated to her about your spankings. I told her that you had confessed and that I spanked you yesterday. But I told her it might make more of an impression if you were spanked by the very person you fibbed to.”

“You’re going to have Mark’s mom spank me?”

“You, you are. I told her that it was your idea.”

Suddenly the sting of those paint stick licks made my bottom feel hot all over again. I felt dizzy. And scared. I really trusted Ryan to spank me in a loving way. But Mrs. Hainsworth? I had no idea what to expect—so I feared the worst.

“Hey, Grace, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“A good, sound spanking?”

“And do you think you’ll live through it?”

“Sure, I’ll come out the other end and be a better girl for it.”

“That’s my girl!” Ryan exclaimed, giving me a quick hug. “Now go put on that cute little dress you wore this morning. And be sure to change your undies.”

– Part IX: “Mrs. Hainsworth’s Spanking” –

“This is really a matter for the two of you to settle,” said Ryan to Mrs. Hainsworth. “I just wanted you to know I give you full spanking rights. If Gracie is going to be spending more time with your family, I think it’s good for you to have unrestricted spanking privileges from now on.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bracken,” she said, standing in the doorway, her arms folded. “Even with the older ones, the closer the punishment to the sin, the better.”

My stepdad nodded.

“And as for you,” she said, turning to me, “you’ve been a naughty little girl. But your conscience told you what you needed to do to make amends. And I know why.”

“You do?” I said, surprised.

In fact, I was kind of curious myself. This whole spanking was Ryan’s idea, even though I had told him about my dream where Mrs. Hainsworth spanked both Mark and me. Ryan said my dream was an expression of a subconscious desire. And since the reason why I switched to spankings was to get closer to Mark and his family, what better way to get acquainted than a bare-bottom paddling?

“Yes, Grace, I do,” replied Mark’s mother. “Because you let Jesus into your heart and Jesus is helping you choose what you need.”

“Oh,” I said, surprised by her answer. Of all the reasons why I might be getting this spanking, I hadn’t considered Jesus’ role at all. “Yeah, I guess that’s so.”

“Give me a hug,” said Ryan. “And be sure to give Mrs. Hainsworth your full cooperation.”

“Yes, Daddy.” I held him extra tight, because I was scared. I guess a spanking from a new spanker always has an element of extra fear.

“I’m sure Grace will cooperate in any way she can,” Ryan assured Mark’s mother as we broke our embrace. “She’s an easy spank.”

“Good!” declared Mrs. Hainsworth. “That means she’s accepted guidance from Jesus. And with Jesus in her heart, the spanking comes as a blessing rather than a scourge.”

“Amen,” said my stepfather and I looked at him sideways. I wouldn’t call Ryan an ex-Catholic, but he is pretty far down the road to becoming a recovering Catholic. So I’m not used to my stepdad sounding so—well—Christian.

“And do you spank her with her undies up or down?” asked Mrs. Hainsworth. “I want the child to feel comfortable as possible.”

“We always spank on the bare,” Ryan replied. “We’re pretty strict about that.”

“That’s interesting,” replied Mrs. Hainsworth. “We usually spank Mark on his underpants. I save pants-downers for when he’s been especially bad.”

I tried not to act surprised. Mark had given me the impression he always got spanked on his bare buns. Apparently I wasn’t the only one telling exaggerated stories about spankings.

Rats! I thought. Now I’m stuck with bare-bottom spankings that Mark doesn’t even get. That little poop!

“Well, Gracie is strictly a bare-bottom spankee,” my stepdad assured Mark’s mother.

“Then that’s just how I’ll spank her!” exclaimed Mrs. Hainsworth. “Grace, why don’t you come inside?”

I gave Ryan another long hug, then stepped inside. The front door closed behind with an ominous thud.

I always thought the Hainsworth house seemed a little dark. They kept the thick drapes closed on all the windows.

“Take you shoes off, Grace.”

Oh, yeah. I’d forgotten. People take their shoes off just inside the front door. Mrs. Hainsworth took me by the hand to the family room. The big sofa in front of the TV and stereo was covered with clear plastic that crackled when you sat on it. Everything in the house seemed spotless. Mrs. Hainsworth worked very hard to keep her house immaculate.

“Before we do the Lord’s will, Gracie,” she said, taking Mark’s blue paddle from its hook on the wall and laying it on the sofa, “we have to pray to find out what He wants us to do.”

We knelt on the hardwood flooring and rested our elbows with much crackling on the plastic soda cover, our hands folded.

“We pray to you in the name of JE-sus,” said Mrs. Hainsworth fervently, her eyes squeezed shut. “We seek your guidance with this special little lamb, Gracie Bracken. She has wandered from the flock and disobeyed your commandments. Tell me, how can I bring her back into the fold?”

She paused and the silence was deafening. I couldn’t remember any commandment that said you couldn’t exaggerate a little about your parent’s spankings. Maybe it had something to do with honoring my father and mother. But that was a stretch.

“I have placed the rod of chastisement before us. Grace has come to me, seeking chastisement for her sins. But I need a sign from you, Jesus. Please answer my prayer.”

Her eyes were still closed and her hands clasped fervently. The sun cleared the west eaves of the Hainsworth house and beat down on the back of the drapes at the far end of the room. I family room started to feel uncomfortably warm.

Mrs. Hainsworth opened her eyes and looked around. She smiled that strange smile of the Fundamentalist; as if she saw something I was missing.

“See, Grace?” she said, looking about the room and smiling. “If you pray directly to Jesus, He will answer you directly. When I closed my eyes, this room was dark with my own doubts and vexations. But I opened my heart to Jesus and prayed. And when I opened my eyes, this room was filled with light. Do you know why that is, Grace?”

I wanted to say that the earth rotates on its axis and that about this time every day, the sun hits the back of her drapes and fills the family room with indirect light. But I figured Mrs. Hainsworth must have a different answer and that mine might come across as a little bit—well—condescending.

“No, Mrs. Hainsworth. What does the light mean?”

“It means that we have been visited by the Holy Ghost. That’s what this light is. The Holy Ghost.”

See? Mrs. Hainsworth would not have appreciated my answer.

“I think it’s clear what Jesus wants us to do, Gracie.”

“It is?” I figured I must have missed something.

“Yes, Jesus wants you spanked and forgiven. He sent the Holy Ghost to fill this room with light and our hearts with love.”

She picked up the paddle and sat with great crackling on the sofa’s plastic cover.

Of course, I knew things would end this way. I entered the trial a condemned girl, for they had already dangled the hangman’s noose from the scaffold. All the while that witnesses were called and judgment rendered, workman pounded on the scaffold and they kept testing the trapdoor.

After all, the paddle had been placed in front of me to look at while we prayed. If the light hadn’t changed, a car would have honked, a dog would have barked, or a child would have shouted to another in the distance. Any of these could be taken as a sign from Jesus that I needed a spanking.

I got up and put myself over Mrs. Hainsworth’s lap. I placed the side of my face on the plastic cover, again with a crackle. It felt sticky and uncomfortable.

“If you like, I can pull my own panties down, Mrs. Hainsworth. That’s how dad and I do it. But if you rather, you can do it.”

“I think it’s good for the child to give up control,” she replied, flipping up my dress and tugging my snug panties down. “This is an act of submission, Grace. Every good Christian has to submit to the will of Jesus, day in and day out. When you submit for a spanking to the will of your parents, you are being a good Christian.”

“Yes, Mrs. Hainsworth,” I said, trying to feel properly religious about the punishment I was about to receive.

“You have told falsehoods, Grace, and you have confessed. But do you know why you sinned? Why you told falsehoods to me?”

“I know I did wrong, Mrs. Hainsworth. But I just wanted you to like me and maybe think it was OK for Mark and me to be friends. I was just trying to fit in.”

“Yes, that’s why you think you did it,” she replied, rubbing my red-striped buns with her palm, “but do you know who’s behind that?”

“Behind what?”

“I’ll tell you, Grace. It’s really quite simple. Satan made you do it. Too many people think that Satan is just some ancient evil force in the Bible. But he’s not just in the Bible. He walks in the world today. He’s all around us, waiting for us to be weak, to seek immoral pleasures, and to stray from the Word of God and Jesus. You are in mortal danger, Grace. Everyday. Every waking moment.”

Gosh! All I thought I was doing was trying to get in good with my boyfriend’s parents. Mrs. Hainsworth made it sound like a scene right out of one of those Prophesy movies. I half expected Christopher Walken to pop out of the fireplace with his trumpet.

“Gosh, Mrs. Hainsworth, I didn’t know...”

“Not your fault, child. I understand you’re Catholic.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The Catholic Church has grown old and weak,” she said. “The priests stand between God and the faithful. So Catholics are not prepared to go directly to war with Satan.”

The thing about being a recovering Catholic is that I can say all kinds of mean things about Catholicism—to other Catholics. But when Protestants start acting all high and mighty, I sort of start defending the Church.

But Mrs. Hainsworth had full access to my bare bottom, already pre-striped from Ryan’s licking with the paint stick. And in her hand she held an ungodly large blue paddle that Mark assured me would leave a lasting impression no matter what.

This just wasn’t a good time to argue about the Reformation.

“Yes, Mrs. Hainsworth.”

“The good news is, Jesus found his way around the Vatican and the priests and right into your pure little heart, child, with just a little tiny black spot on it. And now Jesus wants to cleanse that black spot away, too. Are ready to accept Christ’s cleansing?”

I drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Might as well get this over with...

“Yes, ma’am, I’m ready for my cleansing.”

“Let’s pray silently, Grace.”

She rested the paddle on my bottom. I turned and propped myself up on my elbows, crackling the plastic again. I could see that Mrs. Hainsworth had clasped her hands in fervent prayer, her eyes squeezed tightly, her lips spread with a smile.

I let out a big sigh. Golly, I just came over for a darn spanking. I end up getting the whole New Testament thrown at me.

Jesus, I prayed to myself, please get this spanking rolling...

“Keep your heart open,” said Mrs. Hainsworth. “There’s Holy Ghost all around us, child.”

I remember thinking, The sun moves across the sky and shines in windows and makes rooms bright...

Not that I would ever say anything like that. And, besides, I didn’t have much of a chance to ruminate on it...

Smack! “Oww-www!” Smack! “Ohhh-hhH!” SMACK! “Aii-eee-ohhh-hhH!”

And so on and so on.

I suppose some of you want the details, so here are some fragments. Five seconds apart. Really HARD! Right on the sit-spot. Crying started after seven of those. Mrs. Hainsworth stopped after 25 or 30. I cried for a while. Quite a while.

Then Mrs. Hainsworth did something a bit strange. She made me kneel in front of the sofa, resting my elbows on it—yeah, with the typical crackling sound. Then she knelt behind and wrapped her arms around me. She helped me press my palms together with her own. I was still crying, of course. My knees felt uncomfortable on the wood flooring.

But it felt really good to be held by Mark’s mom like that. I decided to say a little, tiny prayer of thankfulness.

We both stood and she held me by my shoulders, asking, “Do you feel clean, Gracie? Do you feel the black spot’s gone?”

I nodded vigorously and—for no good reason—started crying again.

She hugged me for the longest time.

At the door, I turned and hugged her again

“Mrs. Hainsworth, maybe I’m saying the wrong thing. But I feel it so strongly, I’m just going to say it. I feel like I just got a second mom in you.”

This time it was Mrs. Hainsworth with misty eyes and a trembling lip.

We hugged again.

Despite my very sore buns, I actually skipped home.

“How’d your spanking go?” asked Ryan, when I dashed into his office, threw my arms around his neck, and gave him a great, big kiss.

“Dad, that was such a great idea!” I mean, she’s really religious. So that part got kind of weird. But the spanking! Boy, oh, boy!”

I stood up and rubbed my butt, sort of hopping about like I’d just been spanked—giggling all the while.

“I’m not going to sit down for a week! A month! I bet I get a bruise.”

I saw the concern in Ryan’s eyes.

“Oh, not a purple bruise or anything,” I assured him, sitting on his lap, kissing him again. “Just a splotch that takes its good time going away. Lots of teenage girls have spanked bottoms like that.”

“Lots? You did a survey?”

“Well, no, but I’ve heard lots of talk.”

“Lots of bragging, more likely,” Ryan scoffed. “Teenage girls like to pretend they’re severely disciplined, just to get people to pay attention. And some teenage girls love the idea of being the victim—even if it’s all in their heads.”

“OK, OK,” I said, suddenly feeling sleepy. “I think I’ll take a nap. I just wanted to say thanks for setting things up with Mrs. Hainsworth. I feel like she’s a mom to me.”

“You have a mother,” Ryan said sternly. “Don’t ever say anything so mean again!”

I’m sorry. I just couldn’t resist it. I had to say it.

“What’re you gonna do, Ryan? Spank me?”

– The End –
(for now)

Copyright © 2004 Grace Brackenridge. All rights reserved. No repost permitted without the author’s consent.

This story was written by Grace, who kindly allowed me to host it on my web site. Please note that my usual disclaimers do not necessarily apply to this story, as it was not written by myself.