The Spanking of Teenage Daughters - Book Two

by Grace Brackenridge

  "There! Doesn't that look nice?" Mom asked rhetorically.

  The holey, fire-engine red paddle hung from its equally red plaque, with white letters declaring, "Gracie's Best Buddy."

  I couldn't answer easily, as I was sobbing bare-bottom-up on my bed.

  "I've got an idea," said Mom, snapping her fingers.

  She was gone, allowing me to review the differences between spankings from Kyle and spankings from Mom.

  Mom doesn't spank as hard. But she's persistent. In the end, a long, drawn-out spanking from Mom hurts the same as a fast, hard spanking from Kyle.

  "Here's some white fingernail polish," said Mom upon her return. "Whenever you get spanked, Gracie, we can put a hash mark here..."

  She took the applicator brush and marked a small vertical white mark under the "G" in "Gracie's Best Buddy."

  "I might as well put down a mark for the spanking your father gave you yesterday," she said, putting the applicator brush back in the bottle and making a second vertical line.

  "Daddy spanked me again today," I sniffled from the bed.

  "I thought your bottom looked awfully red when I pulled your panties down," commented Mom as she made a third vertical line.

  "Actually, I got two today from Daddy. Once before we drilled the holes and again after the holes."

  "Why?" she asked, turning a puzzled look in my direction.

  I shrugged, "Product testing."

  "The left side of the plaque is for you," said Mom. "But on the right side, we'll mark down when other people get the paddle."

  "Like who?"

  "Like your friend, Julia," she replied. "Now that we're both spanking households, I'm going to chat with her mother. Exchange spanking privileges, in case something comes up when you are over at Julia's or if she misbehaves over here."

  "Oh," I said sleepily, reaching back to massage my thrice-spanked-on-Sunday buns.

  In the morning, when I awoke, I noted that Mom had put an extra white mark under the "y" in "Gracie's Best Buddy."

  I smiled. Somebody besides me had been spanked with Best Buddy. Mom had made a note of it as I dozed off Sunday night.

  I asked like I didn't notice.

  ---oOo---

  The following Sunday, I waited in my room, not knowing who to expect.

  When the door opened, I knew I was in for a long, drawn-out spanking.

  Mom reached over and took Best Buddy from his place of rest. She sat on my bed; soon I was in the 'place of honor'.

  I swear, Mom must have swatted me a hundred times!

  That wouldn't be so bad, all by itself. But at 9:20 that morning before church, Mom found a reason to spank me. At church, I was fidgety and restless, not the least of which was due to a very sore bottom sitting on a very hard pew.

  "Grace," whispered Kyle close to my ear after the last of several squirms and sighs, "you've earned yourself another encounter with your Best Buddy. Now sit still."

  I did sit still, but that didn't help any. I got spanked the minute we got home, with my fancy Sunday dress on but my panties off.

  Over lunch, Mom and Kyle decided that I should go to bed early on days when I'm spanked.

  "But I won't be able to sleep!" I whined.

  "A good, sound bedtime spanking will put you right to sleep," smiled Mom.

  Kyle nodded. The only mystery was who my bedtime spanker would be.

  ---oOo---

  Mom held me while I sobbed. Then she put me under the covers and kissed me goodnight.

  Taking the white fingernail polish from the top of my dresser, she recorded my spankings of the day - three in all - with vertical white lines on the plaque.

  "Goodness, if this keeps up," exclaimed Mom, "we'll need a bigger plaque. Let's see... Five. Ten. And now 11, 12, and 13. Thirteen spankings in eight days."

  Mom chuckled. "Looks like we've got a big backlog of spankings that you've been missing, Gracie. Hope we get you caught up soon."

  "Thanks to you guys," I sniffled, "I get double the spankings from now on. Once when I'm bad and again at bedtime."

  "Not exactly double," replied Mom, putting more polish on her brush. "Like days like today, when you get several spankings, you only get one at bedtime. But maybe you're right."

  "Right about what?"

  "Maybe you need a double spanking at bedtime on days when you get several in the same day."

  I groaned.

  "Come on, Gracie," said Mom. "This spanking business was all your idea. At least you had a choice."

  I couldn't argue with that.

  After Mom left, I had to go pee. On the way back, I happened to glance at the plaque.

  True to Mom's word, I found 13 hash marks on my side of the plaque.

  But in addition, Mom had surreptitiously placed six hash marks on the other side of the plaque for others who had adventures - misadventures? - with Best Buddy.

  I knew it wasn't Julia, because I told her my folks were on a spanking rampage.

  Since Mom and Julia's mother had exchanged spanking privileges Monday morning while we were at school, Julia was avoiding our house - and Best Buddy - like the plague.

  "Six spankings for somebody besides me," I whispered with a smile. "Bet I know who that somebody is!"

  The Morning After

  I wake up on Saturday morning in the Sorensen's guest room.

  I'm staying with the Sorensens while Mom and Dad are in Europe. They're professors; both are on sabbatical.

  My bottom is still sore. And no wonder!

  Friday afternoon was quite an ordeal.

  Mom had warned me that Vera and Johann Sorensen are pretty strict.

  I had absolutely no idea what she meant.

  ---oOo---

  Friday afternoon, I came home from junior high in the back seat of a car driven by a friend of a friend. He's 17 and in high school. One of the guys was smoking cigarettes, which I hate.

  When I came inside the house, Vera Sorensen smelled the tobacco on my clothes and asked if I had been smoking. I said no, explaining how I'd got home from school. I figured that would explain away the tobacco smoke.

  "Johann," she called, "come here and chastise Grace!"

  Johann Sorensen works out of his home office on Fridays.

  When I explained again what happened, he shook his head. "Vera, bring me the paddle."

  When his wife returned with a ping-pong paddle, Johann had already positioned me over his lap, my skirt hiked up, and my panties pulled down in back.

  At 13, I hadn't been spanked in five years - and never bare bottom with an implement.

  "We bought this especially for you, Grace," Vera declared, handing the paddle to her husband, half expecting a "thank you," I suppose.

  I tried to be brave, but I was bawling my head off after half a dozen strokes. And that was just the beginning.

  "Enough?" I vaguely remember Johann asking his wife after what seemed like a thousand strokes.

  "No, she can handle more," replied Vera.

  How the hell could she know how much I could handle? I was about to pee all over Johann's trousers!

  Finally, the spanking was over.

  Vera placed me in the kitchen corner and used a safety pin to hold up my skirt to display my spanked bottom. Then she phoned several neighborhood moms, inviting them over with their kids.

  "Help me put out some refreshments for our guests," Vera asked Johann.

  Over the next 45 minutes, no less than eight children trooped through the kitchen. They were given cupcakes and fruit juice, as well as an explanation of my dastardly misconduct and a detailed description of the spanking I'd endured.

  After the last child finished his cupcake and left, Vera led me back to the chair where Johann had spanked me.

  Over her lap I went for a hand spanking. While this second spanking was brief, Vera has a powerful hand and I wailed.

  Then she sat me on her lap and comforted me.

  I was not allowed to speak for the rest of the day. At dinner, I had t
o point to things rather than ask for them. Afterwards, I had to clean the kitchen alone.

  Vera led me upstairs to the bathroom and told me to strip as the tub filled. Before I was allowed into the tub, Vera gave me a hand spanking. I was totally nude.

  Sobbing, I bathed.

  Vera sat on the toilet, hairbrush in hand, and waited for me.

  "Grace, out of the tub now," she ordered firmly.

  Wet from the tub, I went over her lap for a lengthy session with the brush.

  Then I was permitted to dry off. In my nightgown and in bed, Vera told me to "rest and get ready."

  I dozed off; Vera and Johann woke me up.

  Johann went first, spanking me briefly after pulling up my nightgown. I wept on Vera's lap.

  Then the situation was reversed: Vera spanked me and Johann comforted me.

  Vera and Johann then said I could go to sleep.

  In the dark, I counted my spankings in my head. Six spankings! I was dreaming in just five minutes.

  ---oOo---

  I stretched and yawned as the Saturday morning sun angled through my bedroom window.

  Thank God!

  My Friday spankings were all behind me now.

  "Good morning, Sleepyhead!" exclaimed Vera Sorensen, opening my bedroom door. "What a glorious day, don't you think?"

  I nodded. "Today has got to be better than yesterday!"

  "That reminds me, Grace. Johann and I discussed the idea of getting today started on the right foot. The best way is to vividly recall what you learned yesterday."

  I nodded.

  "And the best way to do that is to stimulate the same nerve endings that taught you so much yesterday."

  With that, she pulled back my covers and pulled me up and over her lap.

  "The best way to ensure that today is better than yesterday," she explained, "is with a morning-after spanking."

  And that's precisely what she gave me.

  The S-Gene

  "I think it's stupid and I think it sucks!" declared Mikayla MacCormick, her lower lip protruding in the manner of all pouty 12-year-olds. "I bet there isn't any such thing as the S-gene."

  A winter's eve, we all stayed inside the MacCormick's cozy little house, eating another tasty supper from Mrs. MacCormick's kitchen. My mom wouldn't be home from work until late. New to the neighborhood, Mrs. MacCormick insisted I eat with them whenever mom worked late.

  "Now Mikayla," said her mother soothingly, "nobody said it would be pleasant or easy. But just think of me, going through that because of Grandpa's intuition. I thought there was something wrong with me. Now we know that there's a reason for it."

  "So your father like did the same to you when you were a teen?" I asked, looking up from the peas and mashed potatoes on my plate.

  "My stepdad, actually," replied Mrs. MacCormick. "He wasn't actually doing research on it. He sort of discovered it by accident."

  "You were the same age as me," chimed in 14-year-old Addison. "Tell Gracie how it happened."

  "Well," smiled Mrs. MacCormick, delicately wiping her lips with a napkin, "I had a difficult time once I entered puberty. You could call it PMS, but the symptoms were much more severe. Truly, I felt like a teenage werewolf or something. I remember one time, I actually threatened my mother with a butcher knife. Then I would have my period and there would be peace in the house - for about two weeks. Then it would start all over again."

  "That's how it started with me," said Addison. "I actually considered setting Judy Hirshman's house on fire. Just because we both wanted to be editor of the junior high newspaper. And I don't even like journalism all that much!"

  Addison, Mikayla, Mrs. MacCormick, and I all laughed.

  "See?" said Mrs. MacCormick when the laughter died. "It's genetic. Thank god we now have some understanding of what it is and how to treat it."

  "Tell me what happened to you," I asked Mrs. MacCormick.

  "Well, my mother married Barton about the time I was going through the worst of it," she replied, looking toward the ceiling to recall old memories. "Now he had been a pediatrician in the Navy. An older man, recently retired. Anyhow, he initially treated it like old-fashioned teenage rebellion, which he dealt with in the old-fashioned way."

  She laughed easily.

  "Were you used to that?" I asked.

  "Goodness no!" Mrs. MacCormick laughed again. "My real father left when I was a toddler. Mom was real permissive. So the first time Barton took me upstairs, pulled down my panties, and draped me over his lap, I was caught totally off guard. And the spanking! My god! I thought I was going to die. But, of course, I didn't."

  "Then what happened?" asked Mikayla, even though she had heard her mother's story before.

  "Well, it was sort of checkerboard," her mother replied. "I might go a day - maybe two - but soon enough I'd be upstairs over his lap with my panties down again."

  "Wow!" I exclaimed.

  "Eventually, I told Barton that I thought something was wrong with me," Mrs. MacCormick continued. "I said I got these strange, irresistible emotions a couple of weeks after my period that turned me into a monster. If it wasn't for the spankings, I confessed, I didn't know what I'd do. And the spankings really did help - but only for a day or so."

  "What did he think was the problem?" I asked.

  "Well, to his credit, he apologized for calling me a spoiled teen," replied Mrs. MacCormick. "He said he realized that it must be more biochemical than psychological. That's when he suggested a treatment plan."

  "Treatment plan?" I asked, finding Mrs. MacCormick's description more intriguing with each sentence.

  "Yes, a simple regimen," she replied. "Starting two weeks after my period, he would spank me right before bedtime. Then every night until I had my period. He said it wasn't about punishment or anything like that. He said I should think of it as taking my medicine. Physical therapy."

  "Tell Gracie for how long, Mom!" said Addison, who turned to me and added, "You won't believe this!"

  "Barton spanked me like that all the way through high school and junior college," her mother replied. "I think I was 20 when he finally stopped. I went to State, which was nearly three hours away. It simply wasn't practical anymore."

  "And did the symptoms go away?" I asked.

  "Yes," Mrs. MacCormick said with a sigh, "they became much less pronounced, but I still take regular medication for PMS."

  "How about you?" I asked, turning to Addison.

  "Well, Uncle Paul - that's Mom's brother - became interested in PMS, because of what happened to Mom when she was a teen. He used to hear when Barton gave it to Mom. He's an OB/GYN over at Mercy Hospital. So when I got to be around the ripe age, he sat down with Mom and me. We discussed it. Now, I wasn't like Mom, cuz she's been spanking us all along..."

  "And always for good reason," interjected Mrs. MacCormick with a chuckle.

  "Whatever," replied Addison. "Anyhow, we set it up so he would drop by after work, starting two weeks after my period. And he would give me the treatment."

  "Why don't you take care of it, Mrs. MacCormick?" I asked.

  "As a single mom," she explained, "I'm the one who dishes out all the disciplinary spankings around the house. Paul felt that if he did the therapy spankings, we could separate them from discipline. That was a problem with Barton and me. He handled both the therapy spankings and the punishments. It was a bit confusing, I must say."

  "So Addison, how long has it been?" I asked.

  "Almost two years," she replied. "About 15 days every month. It's funny. You sorta get used to it. Like last week, Uncle Paul was out of town for two days. So I didn't get my treatment. I sorta missed it."

  "I'll say!" exclaimed Mikayla. "You nearly bit my head off!"

  "Yeah, well, it's not my fault. It's biochemical. It's because of the S-gene."

  "How about you?" I asked Mikayla.

  "Well, this is my first cycle," she replied, putting both elbows on the dining room table and resting her chin on her palms. "So far, I've
only gotten six of them. But I don't like it. I think I should be given a chance to see if I really have it or not."

  "Have what?" I asked.

  "The S-gene."

  Just then, somebody knocked at the door. The girls ran to the door.

  "Uncle Paul!" they exclaimed, giving the 30-something M.D. a big hug around the neck.

  "Help me, Eleanor!" he called to his sister. "I'm being attacked!"

  "They're turning into monsters!" laughed Mrs. MacCormick. "Pull their panties down and spank them, Paul!"

  "Mom!" whined Mikayla, combining annoyance and hurt into her tone. "I don't like it when you joke about it."

  "Honey! Don't be so serious and grim about things. It's something we all put up with. I had to as a teen. And now it's your turn."

  "But it's not fair!" exclaimed her younger daughter, still clinging to her uncle.

  "No, it's not fair," replied her mother. "It's genetics."

  "But Mikayla's right," interjected Uncle Paul. "The treatment can be embarrassing to a young girl. Let's keep it clinical, Eleanor."

  "Okay," exclaimed his older sister. "Nobody has a sense of humor around this house."

  She smiled at me and winked.

  "Who's this?" asked Uncle Paul, once his nieces released him, as he extended his hand to me.

  "Gracie Brackenridge," replied his sister. "She lives three blocks over. I invited her to dinner."

  "I hope there's some left!" quipped her brother.

  Soon we were all sitting around the dining room table again, picking at the remains of our own dinner while Uncle Paul hungrily devoured his own.

  "Funny how you girls are so simpatico on your cycles," remarked Mrs. MacCormick.

  "Convenient for me!" said Uncle Paul, wiping his mouth with his napkin. "Who's first?"

  "Me!" insisted Addison, waving her hand like she knew the answer to the teacher's question. "Can Gracie watch?"

  "Whatever for?" asked Mrs. MacCormick.

  "Cuz I want her to see what it's like," replied her daughter.

  "I don't see the harm, Eleanor," said her brother, standing up and stretching. "Let's go, kiddo."