The Spanking of Teenage Daughters - Book Two

by Grace Brackenridge

  He turned off the phone and asked, "Who wants to be spanked first?"

  ---oOo---

  That evening, back in her own bedroom, Allison waited nervously. Frank and her mother were downstairs, discussing her fate.

  Allison reached inside her pajamas and rubbed her twice-spanked bottom. She shouldn't have listened to Beth when she said leaving voice mail for Mom was okay. As it turned out, Mom gave Mr. Sanders permission in the end anyway. If they had waited, Allison would have endured only one spanking from her friend's step-dad.

  And now...

  When Mr. Sanders asked who wanted her second spanking first, Allison volunteered. After all, she had just gotten up from Mr. Sanders' lap and figured her butt ought to be adequately numb from the brushing it already had endured.

  Allison was wrong about that!

  Mr. Sanders made sure that Allison's second spanking would be remembered for a long, LONG time.

  Mr. Sanders then gave Beth a super-spanking that dwarfed the agony that Allison had just endured. Allison wept, rubbed her buns, and watched her best friend wail and squirm and kick.

  Knock, knock.

  The knock at the door shook the sad memories of Allison's double spanking from her head.

  "Come in."

  Her heart sank as Mom and Frank entered her room. Mom carried "Mother's Little Helper," a paddle her mother had used consistently since Mother's Day when Allison was seven.

  Grandma Martha had convinced the 7-year-old Allison that she was a 'big girl' who deserved big-girl spankings with her own special paddle. With Grandma's help, Allison purchased it and gave it to her mother on Mother's Day. Allison got a rude awakening a few days later when her mother switched over from hand spankings to paddle spankings - never to hand-spank again.

  "Your mother and I have made a decision," Frank explained to his stepdaughter. "We've decided that I need to play a more active role in parenting. Including discipline."

  "You've earned yourself a spanking from your own stepfather, Missy!" said her mother angrily.

  Just like Mr. Sanders, Frank explained the spanking in a calm, cool voice. There would be two parts, he explained.

  He would give her a short spanking for her poor progress report. Allison was to remain in the spanking position and cry till she regained her composure.

  Then she would receive a second, longer spanking for the conniving she did to get Mr. Sanders to spank her without her mother's direct permission.

  "Any questions?" he asked.

  "No, sir."

  "Then stand and drop your pajama bottoms to your ankles."

  "I don't have any panties on!" Allison whined.

  "Too bad!" snapped her mother. "Get them down now!"

  Blushing, Allison pulled down her pajamas and lay down quickly over Frank's lap.

  Her stepfather executed the spanking just as he had promised.

  The first one seemed extremely long. But after Allison cried herself dry, Frank gave her a second spanking that, indeed, dwarfed the first.

  Sobbing, Allison stumbled awkwardly as she stood and pulled up her pajamas, her bottom's agony making the teen indifferent to the fact that her stepfather might catch a glimpse of her pubic hair.

  "Not so fast, young lady!" her mother said, still angry. "I want my licks now."

  "No," said Frank. "Her bottom has been spanked enough for one night."

  Allison's mom objected, but Frank's calm, soothing voice convinced Allison's mother to "postpone" her punishment.

  Her mother left in a huff, but Frank stayed behind.

  "Well," said Frank, "yesterday you had no stepfathers spanking you. From now on, you've got two spanking step-dads in your life. How do you feel about that?"

  "I dunno," sniffled Allison. "I guess I'm okay with that. You guys are both hard spankers, but you aren't mean and angry when you do it."

  "It's easier to be dispassionate when you don't have so many years invested as a parent," Frank replied. "When you mess up, your mother takes it personally. It reflects poorly on her as a parent."

  "Does this mean you guys are going to do more spankings from now on?" asked Allison. "Now that we sorta broke the ice?"

  "Yes, I think so. When you're grounded, Allison, two people are grounded. You, of course, but also the parent who has to supervise. And the fact that you wanted Mr. Sanders to spank you is a cry for help."

  Allison wanted to clarify, but she couldn't find the right words. After all, she had left a message on Mom's voice mail, asking if Mr. Sanders could spank her. Indeed, Allison wondered why in the world she ever went along with Beth's suggestion.

  "Well," said Allison at last, "I sorta feel I got to know you a little better. That was a good idea, giving me my spanking in two parts. You taught me two lessons at the same time. They're really clear in my head now."

  "I wish I could say your spankings are over for now," sighed Frank. "But your Mom wants revenge."

  "I guess that's why I would rather get step-dad spankings," said Allison thoughtfully. "You guys focus on what's in the spanking for ME. With Mom, it's all about her."

  "That's a bit strong," chuckled her stepfather. "But there certainly is an emotional part to what your mother does. Goodnight, Allison."

  He kissed her forehead. "Goodnight, Daddy. Thanks."

  "I love you," he said from the doorway. "Sweet dreams."

  Allison did have sweet dreams, despite the fiery travails of her unprotected bottom that day.

  But the dreams were rudely interrupted at the break of dawn. Allison's mother woke her daughter at 6:45 on a Saturday morning to spank her.

  Allison cried herself back to sleep, awaking at 9 o'clock to a bright, sunny day.

  And because of her spankings, Allison wasn't grounded, so she could enjoy the weekend.

  Cure for the Giggles

  You ever notice how teenage girls get the giggles sometimes?

  And once the giggles start, there's practically no way to make them stop.

  Well, that happened last Saturday when Mrs. DiAngelo was getting ready to take Darleen and me to the mall.

  Darleen and I were in the back seat, giggling and giggling. Her mom was looking for something in her purse.

  "Hey, Mrs. DiAngelo!" I giggled loudly. "Remember that time when you drove us down to Legoland? We wouldn't go to sleep the night before. So you made Mr. DiAngelo come upstairs and spank our BUTTS?"

  The word 'butts' seemed especially funny. Darleen started to giggle hysterically.

  "If I recall correctly," said Mrs. DiAngelo testily from the front seat, still pawing through her purse, "I gave you both a reminder spanking in the morning before we hit the road."

  "We were just 7, Mom," giggled Darleen. "Back then, you guys got to spank our BUTTS all the time."

  "Yeah," I added, "but we're 13 now and our BUTTS are too BIG to spank anymore."

  While nobody had declared a moratorium on the spanking of our 13-year-old butts, I hadn't been spanked in over a year. Tragically, I assumed the same was true for Darleen.

  Darleen and I giggled hysterically.

  "Darleen, I can't find my cell," said her mother in exasperation. "Could you run back and get it? Grace, why don't you go with her?"

  "Mom!" whined Darleen. "We don't know where you left it. YOU go find it."

  "It's on the patio table in the backyard," her mother replied irritably. "Ask your father."

  So we got out of the car and ran around the house.

  Mr. DiAngelo was sitting in a lounge chair on the patio, apparently talking on Mrs. DiAngelo's cell phone.

  "Just like the old days," he chuckled. "Sure, I can handle it."

  Darleen made fun of her father's chuckle and we both started giggling again.

  Mr. DiAngelo clicked off the phone, stood up, and stepped over to the ping-pong table.

  "Hey, Dad!" giggled Darleen. "You stole Mom's cell and she wants it back! Kleptomaniac!"

  This made us both giggle again.

  "No," he replied, picking up
a ping-pong paddle from the table, "this is my cell. Your mother just called me on hers."

  "But she just sent us back here to get hers off the patio table!" complained Darleen. "What's going on?"

  "A cure for the giggles," said her father, grabbing her arm.

  "Hey, what are you doing?" she demanded.

  But she knew exactly what he was doing.

  Sitting at the patio table, he pulled Darleen over his lap and began to smack the seat of her summer shorts.

  Well, I thought, feeling sorry for Darleen, at least it's not on her BARE BUTT...

  Of course, just thinking the words 'BARE BUTT' made me giggle. I covered my mouth.

  As if reading my mind, Mr. DiAngelo stood weepy Darleen on her feet, pulled down her shorts, and flipped her over again.

  Pulling her panties down in back...

  WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!

  "Wha-aaa-ahh-hhh-hHH-HHH!"

  Poor Darleen! Still spanked on the BARE BUTT like a little kid!

  I couldn't stop giggling.

  I giggled all the more when Darleen stood up, hopping about and rubbing her butt while she cried.

  Mr. DiAngelo snapped his fingers. "Okay, Grace, your turn!"

  "But you're not my dad, Mr. DiAngelo!"

  "Grace Brackenridge! How many times have I spanked that little butt of yours?"

  I started to count on my fingers, but ran out. "Lots of times, I suppose."

  "And you think that now that you have a teenage butt, it's forbidden fruit?"

  For some reason, the words 'teenage butt' and 'forbidden fruit' made me giggle, even though I didn't want to.

  I guess that really pissed off Mr. DiAngelo.

  He jerked me over his lap and really whacked down super-HARD on the seat of my summer shorts.

  And when he stood me up for the bare-bottom part, he pulled my panties down BEFORE I was down over his lap.

  WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!

  "Bwa-aaa-ahh-hhh-hHH-HHH!"

  Darleen and I were still crying as Mr. DiAngelo escorted us out to the front of the house where Mrs. DiAngelo waited in the car.

  On the way to the mall, Mrs. DiAngelo lectured us on the rudeness of giggling and reminded us - as if our sore, throbbing buns needed any reminding - that 13-year-old girls are absolutely NOT too old to spank.

  I clenched my teeth and looked out the car window.

  I knew if Darleen and I looked at each other, we would start giggling all over again.

  Uncle Spankings

  "You really ought to ask your uncle," suggested Kimberly. "Now that you're a teen, it's a different thing altogether. Especially when it's your uncle."

  Like me, Kimberly doesn't have a dad. Also like me, Kimberly's mom spanks her still, even though we're both 14.

  "It's so long ago," I sighed into my cell. "But my Daddy spankings - at least the one I remember clearly - were way different than having Mom whack me on my butt all the time."

  ---oOo---

  I vividly recall the tricycle incident on the busy street corner when I was five. I pedaled ahead and giggled when Daddy shouted, "Stop!"

  Daddy spanked me quickly on the spot, took me home immediately, and gave me the full bare-bottom treatment with the little souvenir Applied Child Psychology paddle that Mom still uses to this day.

  But afterwards, Daddy held me close. He told me he loved me and said he spanked me for my own good. He hoped I would remember that spanking and NEVER try to ride my trike into the street again.

  Ironically, a few weeks later, Daddy was killed while jaywalking.

  I guess nobody ever taught him pedestrian safety with a good, hard double spanking - or maybe Daddy just forgot.

  Not me!

  I'm always extra careful when crossing the street or riding my bike.

  ---oOo---

  "Uncle Ro," I asked, using the name I gave him when I was learning how to talk, "do you think I'm too old for spankings?"

  Mom had gone to the store, so I could speak openly to Mom's younger brother. Roland had just graduated in physical education from State. In the fall, he would start the teacher credential program, also at State.

  "No, why do you ask?"

  "Well, remember that summer when I was ten and I came to visit?" I asked.

  "Yes!" he chuckled. "You were quite the handful."

  "Yeah, but I settled down after you started spanking me."

  "I suppose," he shrugged. "Those spankings didn't seem to last that long. I remember that one day at the lake, I spanked you on the drive there, again at the lake, and then again on the drive back!"

  I laughed. "But they worked for a little while, Uncle Ro. All I ever get around here are 'mommy' spankings. I guess I need a man-style spanking like Daddy used to give."

  "Maybe," sighed Uncle Roland. "All I know is that you sure needed lots and lots of them back when you were little. Your mother was like that, too. Your Grandpa Henry and Grandma Marge spanked Hillary every time she turned around. All her spankings didn't seem to do her any good, but they sure put the fear of God in me."

  "Did Grandpa Henry ever spank you, Uncle Ro?"

  "No."

  "Grandma Marge?"

  "Once or twice, when I was very little."

  "Lucky you!" I exclaimed. "I think Mom takes all those spankings she got growing up out on me."

  Uncle Roland shrugged.

  "You want to know something?" I said mischievously. "Daddy used to spank Mommy."

  "Hillary told you that?"

  "No," I replied, "when I was five, I heard a noise late one night. I tiptoed down the hall and peeked in. It was a REAL spanking, Uncle Ro, not like a birthday spanking or something of that nature."

  "Did they catch you spying?"

  "Naw," I shrugged. "Mom was crying and Daddy was really into it. I watched for a bit and then went back to bed."

  "Did that upset you, seeing your mother spanked like that?"

  "No, I thought Mommy deserved it. I still think she needs a good, hard spanking from time to time."

  Uncle Roland shrugged.

  "You know, Uncle Ro, nobody ever spanked me for that spying I did. Maybe somebody should. Maybe YOU should."

  Uncle Roland shook his head. "That's Hillary's job. This is her house and you're her daughter. Besides, that spying incident happened ten years ago."

  "Gosh, it's just that Mom spanks me all the time - and it doesn't do me any good. I think I'm at that age where I need man-style spankings to help me toe the mark."

  I briefly told him about my friend Kimberly and the spankings she gets from her uncle.

  "Yes," I nodded when Uncle Roland asked, "he comes over every Friday night. Kim's mom has a list and Kimberly gets spanked for what's on the list. Her uncle breaks it up in pieces, so she feels a little mini-spanking for everything on the list. Then he gives her a long, hard one at the end, just to make sure it sticks."

  "And that's been good for your friend, Kim?"

  "Sure," I replied. "That list her mother keeps really makes Kim toe the line."

  ---oOo---

  Mom began shaking her head before I even finished explaining my idea.

  "No, no, no, Grace," she said, cutting me off. "I won't have it. You've idealized that stupid tricycle spanking into something intimate and glorious. And besides, your nasty little spying stunt happened ten years ago."

  "But Mom, I still remember it," I retorted. "I still feel bad about it."

  Okay, the second sentence was B.S., but the first sentence was true.

  "I'm not having a boy in his early 20s spanking my 14-year-old daughter on the bare bottom. It's not age appropriate."

  "But he's not just some boy off the street, Mom. He's my uncle. A male role model and authority figure to me, because of our spanking history together."

  "Well," said my mother, her jaw set sternly, "you may have a point about needing a spanking. But spanking you is my job, Grace. You're my daughter. If Roland wants to spank the pert bottom of a shapely teenage girl, he needs to invest 14 years in a d
aughter of his own."

  Now she looked sternly at her younger brother. "And before you can have a daughter, Roland, you have to be able to sustain a meaningful, long-term relationship with a woman. You do understand, don't you Roland?"

  Roland looked away, like a scolded 10-year-old.

  "You're a fine one to talk, Mother," I declared with a toss of my long, auburn hair over my shoulders and a roll of my eyes. "After Daddy died, all you've had is a bunch of one-night stands with a collection of losers..."

  Smack!

  The slap caught me by surprise. Mom's a lot of things, but she's not a slapper.

  Stunned by the slap, I offered no resistance when Mom pulled down my tight designer jeans, flipped me over her lap, snapped the elastic down in back, and...

  Gasped!

  Mom expected to see the creamy skin of my teenage buttocks, all pert and round and spank-able.

  Well, my butt was pert, round, and spank-able, but my cheeks glowed a rosy red.

  "What is the meaning of this?" demanded my mother. "I thought the two of you were asking for permission. What you ought to do is beg for forgiveness. Roland, fetch me my paddle. I'll start with my hand..."

  Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

  Roland seemed to take forever to come back with that damn souvenir paddle. Snot and tears flew every which way, because Mom was good and angry and her determination to spank me well past sorry was clear from the first stroke.

  Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap!

  "Give me that!" Mom shouted at Roland when he returned with the Applied Child Psychology paddle.

  Of course by then, I had been transported into an altered state of consciousness.

  Uncle Ro had paddled me hard with that same cruel implement, but he wasn't mad at me.

  When Mom set to work with her special brand of 'Applied Child Psychology', I felt that she might never stop.

  But in the end, Mom did stop spanking me.

  I continued to howl, still in the spanking position and still continuing to squirm as if the paddle continued its mean-spirited mission against my unprotected posterior.