The Spanking of Teenage Daughters - Book One

by Grace Brackenridge

  Of course, I knew that spank brush rather well - I was quite familiar with the flaming ovals it embosses on bare behinds. Indeed, my bottom was almost as familiar with that implement of destruction as was Crystal's. Neighbors for almost a decade, our mothers long ago decided to extend reciprocal spanking rights. But spankings sort of faded away when we were 7 or 8.

  As a budding teen at the age of 12, I hadn't been spanked in years. Neither had Crystal. Fortunately, our younger brothers still got it on a pretty regular basis, although not often enough in our opinion.

  "I've decided to un-ground you," said Crystal's mother, sitting on the bed, as she had so many Saturdays in days gone by when she deemed our behavior intolerable for some obscure reason or other.

  Crystal was not at all enthused by the "good news" as her mother quickly jerked her skinny 12-year-old over her lap.

  "No, Mom, not that!" protested Crystal as her mom tugged on the waistband of her snug spring shorts.

  "It'll be okay," I tried to reassure Crystal. "All done in a jiffy..."

  "You telling me how to give a proper spanking, young lady?" queried her mother rhetorically, once my friend's bottom was bared. Mrs. Methé didn't wait for a reply...

  Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

  I stepped closer, not wanting to miss a second. No question about it. Watching a bare-bottom spanking is about the most exciting thing kids get to do on a boring Saturday...

  Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

  As I watched, wholly absorbed, my brain recalled all the times when I earned this special privilege of witnessing Crystal's spankings. Indeed, Mrs. Methé spanked much more frequently than my own mother...

  Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

  Naturally, I always felt bad for Crystal as she squirmed and sobbed for mercy, receiving none while angry red splotches blossomed on her pale, upturned cheeks.

  Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

  But since her mother spanked her anyway, I saw no harm enjoying those peculiar sadistic feelings that wash over every child when she sees another child spanked...

  Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

  I'm sure Crystal would do the same if my bottom was the object of her mother's attention...

  Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

  Funny how a bare-bottom spanking melts the years away. With long legs and perky, budding breasts, Crystal looks more mature than I. But...

  Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

  As the spanking progressed, Crystal morphed into an 8-year-old and then a 6-year-old and finally a 4-year-old, squirming and blubbering as the pain became intolerable...

  Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

  When Mrs. Methé finally finished, Crystal showed no more maturity than a 2-year-old. Sobbing. Gasping. Reaching back to rub her glowing buns.

  I felt sorry for her, but a little disgusted with her lack of deportment.

  Indeed, her mother had spanked her something awful, perhaps as compensation for Crystal's advanced age. In part, perhaps, because so many years had passed since a proper, bare-bottom spanking had been administered to Crystal's cute round behind.

  "And as for you, Grace," said Mrs. Methé, speaking loudly so that she could be heard over Crystal's self-indulgent sobs, "I understand you lied to me."

  "Lied?"

  "You said you didn't know that Crystal was grounded," she said evenly. "At the backdoor. You lied to me."

  Billy Methé!

  I would have to beat him to a pulp at the first unsupervised opportunity...

  "Can you think of any good reason why I shouldn't spank you as well?" she asked.

  "Well my mom doesn't really spank..." I replied.

  But she cut me off.

  "Not a problem. I spoke with your mother on the phone. She agrees it's been too long for both of you."

  So Crystal stood and rubbed her buns - her shorts still at her knees - while I took her place. As with Crystal, the spanking brush stripped the years away. When Mrs. Methé finally finished, I was blubbering like a 2-year-old myself.

  When I finally got up off her lap to massage my buns in a standing position, I saw Billy peeking around the corner. When our eyes met, he scurried away. Billy Methé needed a trip to the nearest emergency room. I intended to help him along...

  "You're not grounded anymore, Crystal," said her mother at the door, smiling with unmasked pleasure. "No, honey, don't thank me. My pleasure."

  As she spoke, Mrs. Methé smacked her palm smartly with that cruel brush, as if the stinging in her own palm allowed her to more vividly imagine the fiery hell our bottoms continued to endure.

  "Thanks, Mrs. Methé," I sniffled ambiguously, hopeful that Mrs. Methé would take it as sincere while Crystal would hear my bitter sarcasm.

  "Watch it, Grace," the mother replied, smacking her palm forcefully to leave no uncertainly as to potential consequences.

  For her part, Crystal's expression showed she seemed mystified by my seeming gratitude. So my smart-alecky remark backfired all around, subjecting my sore buns to unnecessary risks without entertaining my best friend one tiny bit.

  ---oOo---

  The good news is, Crystal and I got to spend Saturday afternoon doing something interesting. After washing our faces and putting on fresh zit medicine and make-up, we walked down the block to see Gloria Vander Borden.

  Gloria is overweight (a sinful condition for teenage girls) and not very popular. But at 16, Gloria had a driver's license and indulgent parents that let her borrow the family Volvo. And because Gloria doesn't have many friends, she's willing to hang out with 12-year-olds, especially if they're popular and thin.

  We spent the afternoon at the mall, window shopping and trying to flirt with scruffy teenage boys who seem to live there. They weren't interested in Crystal and me because of our age. And they weren't interested in Gloria because she was fat and drove her parent's Volvo.

  Upon returning home, Crystal and I found Billy Methé playing in the backyard with my younger brothers.

  "Where's Mom?" I asked.

  "Next door," replied my 5-year-old brother.

  Well, that's all I needed to know. I grabbed Billy and wrestled him to the ground, grabbing a clump of grass.

  "You know, Billy, you can get high by eating grass as well as smoking it!" I teased.

  Then I gave him a mouthful, dirt first.

  "Grace Brackenridge!"

  I looked up and there was Mom, fresh from a gossiping session next door with Mrs. Tartar.

  "What do you think you're doing, young lady?" she persisted, hands on her hips.

  "Nothing."

  That's not a good answer when you're caught red-handed, stuffing dirt and grass into some little brat's mouth. But I just couldn't think of anything better.

  "I see that the spanking Mrs. Methé gave you didn't do the trick!" she said gravely. "I think it's time for me to try my hand, Missy."

  Mom escorted me by the arm to the nearest chair on the patio and sat down.

  "I need a spanking switch," she declared. "Can anybody find me a spanking switch?"

  All three boys and my best friend scrambled to the big bush by the back fence. They had all played this game before. My mother often sends other children to find a switch when she's spanking one of my brothers - or Billy Methé. This, however, was my first. I had never I suffered the indignity of a bare-bottom switching in the backyard.

  When the foursome returned, Mom had already upturned my bottom over her lap, with my panties pulled down in back. No doubt, my buns still showed the residual splotches from Mrs. Methé's hairbrush.

  "I think Crystal's little switch looks sturdy enough for a good, sound spanking," declared Mom. "What do you think, Grace?"

  Thwack!

  "Yeow-www!"

  "Yes," said Mom, making no effort whatsoever to hide her pleasure, "I thought you would agree. Say 'thank you' to your best friend, Grace."

  "Thank you."

  "I'm sorry, Grace," Crystal replied, although I knew she enjoyed watching a good spa
nking as much as any other child or teen.

  At least none of the boys got the satisfaction of knowing my pain would be delivered from a whip that he had provided...

  Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

  The spanking was memorable because all three boys and Crystal got to watch...

  Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

  Memorable because Mom wanted to make sure that her 'message' got through to what she presumed was a tougher, older, bigger bottom than the one she used to spank on a more regular basis years ago...

  Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

  Memorable because I had developed a teenager's modesty regarding anyone seeing me Down There...

  Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

  Memorable because the sharp cuts of the switch dissected the oval splotches that still hurt from earlier in the day...

  Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

  ---oOo---

  "Grace, wake up."

  "Oh, hi Daddy," I replied, rubbing my eyes. "What time is it?"

  "Almost midnight."

  "You just got back?" I yawned. "How was Cincinnati?"

  "Cincinnati is Cincinnati. Same as it ever was. I understand you had some troubles."

  "Troubles?"

  "Spanked by Mrs. Methé. Spanked by your mother."

  "Oh, yeah. That. Those. Yes, I had some troubles."

  "Your mother wants you and me to have a heart-to-heart talk."

  "No, Daddy. Please, no! Not that again. I'm too old..."

  As a child, whenever Mom spanked me for something especially egregious, Daddy came up at bedtime to 'reinforce the message' with a booster spanking. But that was years ago when I was just a kid...

  As Daddy pulled back the covers, he agreed, "I think you're too old too..."

  Yet as he sat on my bed and pulled me over his lap, he added, "But your mother doesn't agree - and she's the boss."

  "Daddy, can I keep my panties..."

  But Daddy cut my question short with the decisive snap of my elastic band. My buns felt a cool chill from the open window. Daddy hadn't spanked me in almost five years...

  Splat!

  But the minute that big palm came down, I immediately remembered how hard Daddy spanked...

  Splat! Splat! Splat!

  Like Mom, I think he tried to compensate for my maturity by delivering an especially thorough spanking...

  Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat!

  Daddy didn't take into account that two different mothers had already spanked earlier that same day with a brush and a switch...

  Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat!

  No, Daddy didn't need to spank me so hard to reinforce the message...

  Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat!

  I got it, I got it, I got it...

  Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat!

  Daddy rubbed my back while I sobbed on my tummy, not even caring about my bare bottom on display.

  "One thing's for sure," said Daddy as he pulled up my covers and kissed my cheek. "You didn't have another boring Saturday to complain about."

  Daddy was right about that! Boring it wasn't...

  "Let's hope this is the last time I have to do this, Angel," he said before he closed the door.

  Of course, since this is a spanking story, the future never turns out that way. Twenty hours later, Daddy spanked me again to reinforce the spanking I got from Mrs. Tartar, our next-door neighbor.

  Turns out Sunday was more 'interesting' than Saturday - with its triple spankings. But how I ended up with my bare bottom exposed over Mrs. Tartar's lap is - as we say in the trade - another story altogether.

  A Special Needs Teen

  "I'm at wit's end!" exclaimed Cheryl, her mother. "She's incorrigible."

  "Look what you're doing to your mother!" said Joseph, her new stepfather. "You're asking for a spanking, as near as I can tell."

  Standing in the middle of the living room with her hands on her hips, the 13-year-old rolled her eyes. "And I suppose you're going to spank me right on my bare bottom, like Dad used to do."

  "You better watch it, young lady!" he threatened.

  "Well, spanking me good and hard on the bare bottom never worked for my real dad," sneered the teen. "What makes you think spankings will work for you?"

  "That's not true!" interjected her mother. "Spankings did you a world of good. They didn't last more than a couple of days. But a few days of pleasant deportment was a welcome relief from your incessant brattiness."

  Cheryl crossed her arms and gave her daughter a cold stare. "I think a good, hard spanking would do you a world of good, young lady. If not for you, then for me. Joseph?"

  The daughter tried to resist as Joseph dragged her to the sofa. "Hey! I'm 13! You can't do this to me."

  But Joseph used to be in the Marine Corps. Soon the girl's tight jeans were all the way down and her panties halfway down. The teen was quickly bare-bottom-up over Joseph's lap. Arms crossed under her ample bosom that Joseph found so attractive, Cheryl smiled coldly and tapped her toe in rhythm with her new husband's furious down-strokes.

  SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

  At the halfway mark, Cheryl thought her daughter had been spanked enough.

  SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

  However, she knew better than to interfere with a father/daughter spanking. There's something organic when a father takes his daughter down a peg or two.

  SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

  Yes, this spanking was a bit over the top, but her teenage daughter would certainly survive. Perhaps a super-spanking would have a longer lasting effect.

  SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

  Cheryl tapped her toe and smiled all the way to the final stroke. Her daughter stayed bottom up as she sobbed for the longest time.

  "Okay," ordered Joseph, "that's enough."

  SMACK!

  Oddly, the power smack that Joseph used to punctuate his commands had the corrective effect of making the girl stop crying.

  "Now go to your room!" her mother ordered, pointing to the stairs.

  The girl sniffled and hobbled up the stairs, her jeans around her kneecaps and her bottom still bare.

  "What a pathetic sight!" chuckled her mother at her daughter's red-bottom retreat.

  "I thought that's what you wanted," Joseph replied, somewhat defensively.

  He, too, knew the teen's spanking was over the top.

  "Yes, it's exactly what I wanted," she smiled, sitting down on her husband's lap. "How come you never do that to me?"

  "You're a grown woman," Joseph replied.

  "But I can be bad," she replied "Just like a teen."

  ---oOo---

  Upstairs, the 13-year-old couldn't hear what her stepdad was doing to Mom. She had the bedroom door closed and the music turned up. On her cell phone, she called her best friend Polly.

  "Joseph did me!" she exclaimed when Polly answered. "Bare bottom, too. I thought I was going to die!!"

  "Gosh!" exclaimed Polly. "What are you gonna do now?"

  "Be good for a couple of days," the well-spanked 13-year-old replied. "That way, they'll both think that the spanking worked."

  "I still don't get it," replied Polly. "I'm grateful that my folks don't spank me anymore, now that I'm a teenager."

  "I'm a special needs teen," laughed the spankee, seemingly pleased with how everything turned out. "So put me on the little yellow bus."

  "You're not special needs," Polly insisted. "You're just one strange girl, Grace Brackenridge."

  Broken Contract

  "Heather, can I have a sip of beer?" asked seven-year-old Austin Tex, eyeing the keg up on the picnic table. "Just a tiny sip?"

  Okay," replied the 14-year-old sitter, crossing her arms over her lime green bikini top, squeezing her pert breasts, "but it'll cost ya."

  "How much?"

  "A spanking," replied Heather, an odd smile on her face, almost obscured by the shadows of twilight. "I got permission, you know."

  Heather nodded in the direction of the adults, congregated in
a big circle around the bonfire at the lake's edge, about 50 yards away.

  Austin paused, weighing his options.

  "Not too hard, okay?"

  "Not too hard," replied Heather. "I promise."

  The boy took a paper cup and - after a furtive look in the direction of his mother and father on the opposite side of the fire down the beach - reached for the spigot.

  "Not so fast, Austin! There's more to the contract. Spanking first. Beer second. That's the deal."

  "But that's not fair!" Austin protested. "How come I gotta get spanked first?"

  "Think of it this way," Heather explained. "You won't be able to enjoy the beer, knowing there's a spanking waiting on the other side. But if you take your spanking first, you can enjoy it more. It's already paid for."

  Heather's argument made perfect sense to Austin. Heather led the boy by the hand back to his parent's RV. Inside, she pulled down Austin's Speedos, draped him over her lap, and gave him a spanking to rival the one Austin's father gave him for playing with firecrackers on the Fourth of July.

  Once thoroughly spanked, Austin hopped about in the narrow confines of the Winnebago, his Speedos thrown clear, howling and clutching his buns. Heather covered her mouth to suppress her laughter.

  Finally, recovering a modicum of composure, he accused, "That was a super-hard spanking, Heather! You broke your promise!"

  "Not only that," Heather smiled, "I'm not going to give you a sip of beer, either."

  "No fair!" shouted Austin, blowing a snot bubble out of his left nostril.

  He cried as he pulled up his Speedos over his throbbing cheeks and opened the Winnebago's door. To his surprise, he discovered his mother and father on the other side.

  "What are you two doing?" asked Mrs. Tex. "We've been looking all over for you!"

  "Mommy, Heather said I could have a sip of beer if I took a spanking first. And now she says I can't have any beer. That's no fair!"

  "You have no business making a deal like that, Austin," declared Mrs. Tex, grabbing the boy by the arm while glaring at Heather. "You're only seven. The tragedy of your sore bottom has just begun, mister!"