As the mother escorted Austin inside the RV for his second spanking, Mr. Tex stood outside the door, berating the teenager.
Mr. Tex had been the coach of Heather's church soccer team for several seasons, so they knew each other well. Heather had always been a fierce competitor, making up with gumption what she lacked in physical strength and skill. For her part, Heather developed a crush on Coach Tex right after she turned 12. Her infatuation never went away.
"I'm very disappointed in you, Heather," he kept repeating while Austin's wails seemed to make the RV vibrate on its oversized tires. "That's simply poor sportsmanship."
When Austin and his mother finally emerged from the Winnebago, Coach Tex grabbed Heather by the arm and pushed her forward toward the open door.
"Heather, when you were 12, your mother told me if you ever gave me trouble, I was to spank you like my own," Coach Tex declared. "I don't know if that still holds, now that you're 14. But I'm willing to take the chance your mom would still agree."
"No, Mr. Tex, please!" Heather wailed, trying to pull away. "I'm too old!"
But inside the Winnebago, draped over Coach Tex's lap, Heather discovered she wasn't too old at all.
Smack! "Oww-ww!" Smack! "Please-ee-ee!" SMACK! "Ohhh-hhh-hhh!"
In fact - as it turned out halfway through the spanking - Heather wasn't too old for a bare-bottom spanking, her skimpy lime bikini pulled down in back.
Her father had abandoned Heather and her mother when Heather was only five. The teen could barely recall the sensations of a 'pants-downer' from a man. Now Heather felt shame. She felt a stinging sensation that morphed into a hot, throbbing ache deep inside her buns. She tossed her head, her long auburn fair flying in all directions, some of her strands sticking to the snot and tears all over her face.
What a spanking!
Coach Tex's over-the-knee punishment was everything Heather had planned, everything she had hoped and dreamed it would be.
Spanking Amy Beth Jo and Meg March
May Alcott rings the doorbell at the front door of the March's old Victorian style home at the shady end of Drury Lane.
Mrs. March answers the door. "Why hello, May. Don't you look pretty! Do come in."
"Thank you, Mrs. March," replies the 15-year-old with a smile. "I used to be such a tomboy. But nowadays, I like feeling feminine."
"Well," says Mrs. March, "that green dress sure goes with your beautiful red hair."
The freckle-faced teen blushes. "Thank you, Mrs. March. Is Meg at home?"
"Yes, honey, she is," the mother smiles. "Unfortunately, Megan is tied up at the moment. Please sit."
They sit on the sofa.
"May, you're stuck," teases Miriam March. "You'll just have to chat with me."
"I love chatting with you, Mrs. March. What's Meg up to, anyway?"
"Lieutenant March is home on leave. His unit ships out again at the end of the month. So the girls are getting reacquainted with their father."
Upstairs...
Smack! Smack! Smack!
"Wha-aaa-aah-ahh-hhh-hhH-HH-HHH!"
"Is that Meg?"
"No," says her mother. "That would be Amy. Marshall always starts with the youngest. Works his way up."
"So who's getting spanked?" asks May. "Besides Amy?"
"Amy, Beth, Jo, and Meg," Miriam March replies. "While their father was away, some odds and ends came up. Lots of little things. But they need correcting. I firmly believe in corporal punishment. But growing up, my father did all the spankings. So Marshall is the girls' spanker."
"What happens when he's sent back with his unit?"
"Uncle Mike comes over and lends a hand. It's not a perfect solution, of course. The girls do love their daddy's spankings best. But at least they get the discipline they need."
"I'm a big believer in corporal punishment too, Mrs. March. Unfortunately, Mom made Andrew stop when I turned 12."
"My goodness! Why? Twelve and up are when a girl needs her spankings the most."
"Boy! Isn't that the truth? But Mom read something in a magazine. Put the kibosh on my spankings."
Upstairs, the smacking sounds stop. But 8-year-old Amy continues to cry.
"The funny thing is," May continues, "I had a great spanking relationship with my stepdad. He started me up on spankings when he and Mom were just dating, back when I was ten."
"I know with my girls," says Miriam, "their dispositions are so much sweeter after a good, hard spanking."
"That's certainly true for me," says May. "Andrew understood that, as I grew older and I got more comfortable with spankings, he needed to spank me harder."
Upstairs...
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
"Bwa-aaa-aah-ahh-hhh-hhH-HH-HHH!"
"That must be Beth," May speculates.
The mother nods. "As you can tell, Marshall adjusts the intensity upward, depending on the maturity of the bottom he's spanking."
"That is so important, Mrs. March. Hand spankings worked fine when I was ten. But by the time I turned 12, I needed something with more wallop. So I went online and got Andrew a little paddle for Father's Day."
"I thought your mother stopped your spankings at 12."
"Not right on my birthday. Andrew gave me a couple of well-deserved bun-busters before Mom made him stop."
Upstairs, Beth's spanking comes to an end - but not her sobbing.
"That's a crying shame!" exclaims Miriam. "Especially when you were getting so much out of your spankings."
"Lots of people don't realize how handy spankings can be," says May. "Like Andrew and I agreed that I always had to do my homework before any TV. All I needed was a couple of good, hard spankings to teach me better study habits."
Upstairs...
Whap! Whap! Whap!
"Yeow-www-wwW-WWW! Wha-aaa-aah-ahh-hhh-hhH-hHH-HHH!"
"That doesn't sound like a hand spanking, Mrs. March."
"It isn't. That's Jo. She's 13. So she gets paddled."
"When do you guys switch over from hand spankings to paddlings?"
"At 13," replies Miriam. "But I can certainly see the wisdom of switching to the paddle at 12 years."
"Well, the paddle switch-over certainly worked for me," sighs May. "Too bad Mom made Andrew stop."
"A crying shame," Miriam agrees.
"I wonder what it's like?" says May wistfully. "Getting spanked in the company of your sisters?"
"I had two sisters," says Mrs. March. "Father often spanked us all together. It's certainly a close bonding experience."
After a very thorough paddling, Jo's punishment draws to a close.
"Sure makes me wish I wasn't an only child!" says May with a sigh. "I know this must sound odd. But I wish I was upstairs right now, waiting on my own spanking."
"I totally understand," says Miriam. "The teenage years are difficult years for girls. Raging hormones. The attention of boys. A desire to get out from under parental control."
"I don't think Meg, Jo, Beth and Amy really appreciate what a relief it is to get a good, hard spanking - just to relieve the tension, if nothing else."
"May, I know we don't have your mother's permission. But you make me feel so sorry for your neglect. I don't see why you can't go upstairs. Take your turn over Mrs. March's lap."
"Really? Do you think he'd do it?"
"Let me tell you a little secret," says Miriam. "You hear that paddle?"
Upstairs...
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!
"Wha-aaa-aah-ahh-hhh-hhH-hHH-HHH!"
As the eldest, 15-year-old Megan goes last - and gets spanked the hardest.
"When I first started dating Marshall, I had just turned 18," Miriam tells her daughter's friend. "One evening, my folks were out on the town. I was stuck supervising my younger sisters, so Marshall came over..."
Upstairs, Meg's paddling continues unabated...
"He was about 25 at the time," the mother continues to explain. "Anyway, my youngest sister wanted to show Marshall the family paddle. There was a lot of teasing and daring
, going back and forth. To make a long story short, Marshall spanked my 12-year-old sister and my 15-year-old sister."
"Without your parent's permission?"
"No, of course not! They would be horrified."
"Well, what about you? Did your husband spank you?"
"Not right away," chuckles Miriam. "My youngest sister went off to college about the same time I got pregnant with Megan..."
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!
"Bwa-aaa-aah-ahh-hhh-hhH-hHH-HHH!"
"So my father gave Marshall the family paddle. He didn't need it anymore. And with a baby girl on the way, Dad figured Marshall would need a good spanking paddle."
"So did your husband spank you?"
"Right through the third trimester!" laughs Miriam. "A pregnant woman is a lot like a teenage girl. Raging hormones. A changing body. Marshall's paddlings were a godsend."
Upstairs, Megan's seemingly endless spanking draws to a close.
"Better hurry, kiddo!" laughs Mrs. March as she stands.
Extending her hand, she pulls the 15-year-old up from the sofa.
At the foot of the stairs, she gives the girl a good, hard swat.
"Go tell my husband you've been a very naughty girl. Tell him you haven't had a good, hard spanking in three years. He'll take care of the rest."
Smack!
May scurries up the stairs.
Knocking on the door to the master bedroom, she pleads, "Please, Lieutenant March, let me in! I wanna spanking, too!"
Ruining Christmas Day
"Nevertheless, that's the deal," said Mommy Dearest firmly. "It's not your turn to get visitation today. Read the agreement. I'm letting you have Grace out of the goodness of my heart."
I don't know what Daddy said on the other end of the line.
But I suspect he feels like me: Mommy Dearest has no goodness in her heart, if she has any heart at all.
There I sat, facing the corner on my old Time Out stool, a 15-year-old girl punished like a 5-year-old. Nevertheless, I wasn't going to let Mommy Dearest ruin Christmas for Daddy, Connie, and me.
---oOo---
"So, what did your mother give you for Christmas?" said Connie 45 minutes later, turning around in the front seat to smile back at me.
"Oh, just practical stuff," I replied with a shrug and a smile of my own. "School clothes mostly. I sort of expected an iPod Shuffle. That's the cheap kind, so I said I didn't think I was asking too much. That's what started the argument."
Ever since Daddy and Connie picked me up, we had avoided that topic through the careful use of small talk. But I figured we might as well get the scolding out of the way on the freeway.
"Grace, you know you simply can't use that kind of language on your mother," said Daddy wearily. "It gives her an excuse to ruin Christmas Day for all of us."
"You're right, Daddy," I replied in my sweetest voice. "I should have called her a vagina, but that synonym escaped me in the heat of the moment."
Connie started to laugh, "You're not the only one to call her that!"
Daddy glared at Connie, so she forced herself to stop laughing and frown at me. I winked back.
"And as far as ruining Christmas Day," I added, "I don't see that happening."
Daddy took the exit and took advantage of two green lights.
"I'm a big girl now," I declared. "I take things in stride."
We pulled into the underground garage at the condo.
As we walked over to the elevator and Daddy pushed the button, Connie looked at her watch and remarked, "We only have 45 minutes before we must leave for the play. Perhaps we should wait..."
"No!" I said, shaking my head. "I wouldn't be able to enjoy."
As we stepped into the elevator, Connie said obliquely, "Grace, your father and I were talking. I wasn't aware about your family ways, until he explained..."
She paused, struggling to find just the right words.
"Look, Grace, you're a maturing young lady," she continued, looking at me sympathetically. "So if this is going to be awkward... You know, with your father... With a man... Well, I just wanted to offer my help... If you're shamed or embarrassed..."
As Connie spoke, I could see red splotches of embarrassment form on her neck and down her chest, visible in her low cut sweater and made prominent by her push up bra. Even if Mommy Dearest wasn't such a - ah - vagina, she never had a chance against Connie. I think my step-mom's HOT, and I don't even have testosterone or a penis. On top of that, Connie is a really nice person. More like an older sister than a mom.
I smiled. "Connie, forgive me for saying this, but you're not that much older than me. Can I ask you a personal question?"
"Sure."
"Have you ever done this?"
She shrugged and shook her head. "No, not to anybody else."
"Don't you think we should leave this to somebody with experience?"
She smiled and nodded, obviously relieved that I had refused her gracious offer.
"But thanks for caring enough to offer." I said, giving my stepmother a big hug in the elevator.
---oOo---
"Gosh," I said, "I've never done this in you guy's bedroom before."
"You're 15, Grace," said Daddy irritably. "We shouldn't be doing this at all."
"You mad at me?"
"No," he sighed. "Just sick and tired of your mother trying to drive a wedge between us. She could have handled this herself."
"You know how Mommy Dearest is," I said, sitting on their king-size bed and reaching under my skirt. "She always said..."
I changed my tone, mocking Mommy Dearest, "Disciplining girls is a man's job!"
Daddy laughed awkwardly. "Yes, I remember. And you sound just like your mother. You've got her tone of voice down cold."
"Daddy, you know Mommy Dearest has always tried to use this against us," I said. "But in my mind, she's the one that's doing it, not you. I never think of it as you, even though it is. Don't let her ruin your Christmas Day."
I took off my panties, folded them, and placed them on the bed beside me.
"I don't like the ease with which you execute that little maneuver with your panties, young lady, while sitting on a man's bed!" Daddy joked.
I guess that's how we work through our awkward moments in the father-daughter relationship. With humor.
"Well, Daddy," I said, hopping up, "all this discipline over the years is great preparation for an active sex life when I grow up!"
I spun on my toes, tugged up my skirt at the back so that the lower half of my bottom was exposed for the briefest moment, and smiled back at Daddy over my shoulder.
"Of course, Daddy," I said as I dropped my skirt and turned to face him again, "I will only practice protected sex and only in a monogamous relationship and only with a man - or boy - I truly love."
I smiled, put my finger in my mouth, and sucked on it while executing a little curtsey.
Daddy shook his head and laughed. "Fifteen, going on 29."
I laughed. Probably harder than the humor justified, but I was nervous. Okay, I was a little bit scared. Doing x16 reverse in my brain, I recalled the last time. I was 11. No, there was one other time after that when I was 12. Right after Father's Day. I'm 15 now. So why do I feel scared like I'm 6 or 7?
"Grace, could you reach into that second drawer," said Daddy, pointing to the dresser behind me. "No, Grace, the other side. Connie's side."
I reached in the drawer where my stepmother keeps her panties and groped about.
I touched it, my fingers recognizing that shape instantly, sending a sensation like a sharp electrical shock up my thighs.
"Mr. Pops."
Mommy Dearest bought it at a garage sale and made me give it to Daddy for Father's Day, back when I was 12.
"So, Daddy, what's this doing in Connie's drawer?" I said, smiling coyly as I sashayed back to where Daddy sat on the bed, the same bed where he sleeps with my hot, new step-mommy.
I shifted my voice and, once again, Mommy Dearest intoned, as if I co
uld channel her: "Disciplining girls a man's job!"
I smacked my palm with 'Mr. Pops' and then turned sideways, stuck out my bottom, and smacked it good, too.
"Grace," my father said sternly, crossing his arms, "I believe that question falls into the category of too much information."
Then he winked!
"Daddy! I can't believe this! I thought you were saving 'Mr. Pops' for only me. Something special and intimate, just between my daddy and me. And now I find that you're using my 'Mr. Pops' on a..."
I looked to the ceiling and then squeezed my eyes shut, forcing a tiny tear from both corners. "On another woman!"
"Like every 15-year-old in Los Angeles County," he chuckled, "a drama queen looking for her big break, overacting to the only audience she can find: her daddy."
"Tell me! You do her - like - really, really hard? You know, like you do me? Does she cry? Does she still show the next day?"
"Grace! TMI!"
I cocked my head to one side and waited. I know my daddy.
"No, not very hard. We have a safe word."
"A what?"
Daddy explained.
"So what's the safe word?"
"TMI!"
I waited.
"Okay, okay. Our safe word is 'Louisiana.' Satisfied?"
I laughed. "Can I have a safe word, too?"
"I don't think that's appropriate," said Daddy, shaking his head and patting his lap. "As you might imagine, what you and I are doing is something altogether different, even if it involves the same paddle."
"Same paddle," I quipped. "Different bottoms."
"And different purposes," Daddy reminded me.
"Okay," I sighed. "So you gonna be - like - extra hard on me?"
I lay down and pulled up my skirt in back.
"Hard enough."
It's so sad when you're hurting and somebody you love won't stop making you hurt. But this was our family's tradition. I mean, I understand the reason for hardness. It's supposed to be punishment. It's only starting to work when you feel like you cannot take any more.
I'm very cooperative. Daddy will be the first to tell you. But I do have a bad habit. I'm a kicker. It's kind of a flutter kick. I think it's a coping mechanism, because of the hardness...
The Spanking of Teenage Daughters - Book One Page 6
