Illustrations by George Jackson Churchward

"Aimee, I'm concerned about the way you've been behaving lately," declared Janet Miller as she hung up the telephone.

"What do you mean Mommy?" asked Aimee, looking up from her coloring book on the kitchen table.

"Well, you simply haven't been doing what you are told. I was just on the phone with your teacher and she says you've only been handing in your homework about half the time. But whenever I ask if you have done your homework you always say that you have. What's more, you're room is always a mess. And when I ask you to clean it, or to do something around the house, all you say is 'I will' or 'in a minute,' and then you still never do it."

"Um... I'm sorry Mommy" Aimee replied.

"And that's another thing. Whenever you don't obey me, you say you are sorry, but then you do it again. Is anything the matter, Dear?

"I'm fine Mommy," chirped Aimee, thinking that this might end the conversation and allow her to return to her coloring book.

"Well, everything isn't fine with me!" snapped Mrs. Miller, placing her hands on her hips and regarding her little daughter sternly. "I'm at my wit's end trying to keep my job while raising you all by myself. But when I was your age, If I'd acted the way you've been acting, there is one thing I know Grandmamma would have done - and it's the one thing I still haven't tried yet with you!"

The way Mommy was glaring at her made Aimee uneasy, and the little girl didn't feel comfortable with the direction this conversation was taking, although she wasn't sure why. After several seconds of awkward silence, Aimee asked uneasily, "Um... what are bygone do, Mommy?"

"Quite frankly, Aimee, I think its time I gave you a good, old-fashioned spanking!"

"No Mommy!" cried the suddenly distraught Aimee, hopping out of her chair and looking up at her mother with wide eyes. "Please don't spank me Mommy!" Aimee had never been spanked before, but most of her friends had, and they were all afraid to be spanked. So on one level, Aimee was certain she didn't want a spanking either. At the same time, she knew that Grandmamma had spanked Mommy when she was little, and that Grand mama's mother had spanked her when she was little. So a small part of Aimee was curious about this unfamiliar facet of family life, and wondered what getting a spanking would be like. But the rest of her preferred not to find out first hand.

"I promise I'll be good!" exclaimed Aimee earnestly, reaching her arms around her mother's waist and looking up at her with imploringly. "I'll do all my homework and... and... I'll clean my room right now!" Janet felt an ache in her heart as she looked down into the pretty face of the daughter she loved so dearly. Part of her wanted to believe this promise and give Aimee another chance. But the child had been getting one "another chance" after another all month long - ever since her father had walked out on them. No. Janet was not going to be put off so easily this time, for she had already made up her mind that a good spanking was just what her daughter needed.

"Honey," she told Aimee as she gently unfastened the child's arms from around her waist, "go up to your room now and I'll be up in a minute."

Aimee, not wishing to further upset her mother, obeyed. In her room she waited in anxious anticipation. Aimee knew that she really hadn't been a very good girl lately. But she just couldn't seem to help it. Everything was sad and wrong and different now that Daddy was gone. But she had never imagined that her mother might spank her! First Daddy goes away (with someone named "That Hussy" according to Mommy) and now this. How much was her spanking going to hurt? Would Mommy pull her panties down and spank her bare bottom the way she said Grandmamma used to do? But... maybe Mommy wasn't really serious, thought Aimee. Maybe Mommy just said all that stuff just to see if it would make Aimee behave. Aimee was soon to learn just how serious her mother was.

Janet entered Aimee's room. "A-Are you really going to spank me, Mommy?" blurted Aimee in a frightened little voice.

"Yes Aimee... I am really going to spank you."

"But... will it hurt?"

"Yes honey, it will hurt - very much. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you won't like it one bit." With that Aimee's mother took her daughter by the arm, lead her over to the bed and sat down. "Aimee," said her mother, in a tone of calm authority, "lay across my lap. It is time for your spanking now."

Aimee hesitated, hoping that if she stalled for time her mother might have second thoughts. "Please Mommy! Please give me a second chance!"

"Young Lady, I told you to do something and I meant it!" said Janet. Taking a firm hold of Aimee's left arm, and placing her other hand on Aimee's waist, she tried to gently guide her daughter over her lap.

"NO!" cried Aimee frantically, pushing back on her mother's shoulder with her right hand.

"I've had quite enough of your disobedience, young lady!" snapped Janet sternly, and forcefully swept Aimee face down across her lap.

"I'm sorry Mommy! I'm ss-o-orry-y-y! Please don't spank me!!" Aimee whimpered anxiously. Aimee's anxiety increased as she felt her mother lifting her skirt and slip, and even more anxious as her mother positioned her bottom to make a better target.

"You've had this coming for a long time, young lady!"

Janet Miller paused for a moment. Across her lap lay her own beloved Aimee, looking back at her with wide, moist eyes; her lavender floral print skirt and white lace-trimmed slip in disarray across her slender back, the seat of her panties stretched snugly across the soft mounds of her tender bottom - awaiting their first spanking. Once again, she fought back the urge to let Aimee off with a warning. She had come this far. There could be no turning back now. Ruefully, Janet remembered the many times that her own mother - Aimee's "Grandmamma" - had marched her up to her room as a child, sat down on the side of her bed, and placed her in this very same position before pulling down her panties and administering a stinging spanking to young Janet's little bare bottom. How she had hated those spankings.. and feared them!

When Aimee was born, Janet had resolved that she would never spank her child. Yet, thought Janet, here she was, with Aimee across her knee, about to give her baby a good, sound spanking. Her mother had always predicted that this day would arrive, and now it had. As Janet placed her right hand across Aimee's back to steady her, she felt as if she finally understood how her own mother must have felt years ago when she'd taken little Janet over her knee.

Much as it grieved Janet to be about to bring tears to the eyes of the child she loved, she knew that this was all the more reason to spank soundly so that Aimee would learn her lesson well and not need to be spanked again anytime soon for similar misbehaviors. With this thought in mind Janet took a firm hold of the waistband of Aimee's white cotton panties and began to tug them down.

"NO-O-O!" cried Aimee in dismay, reaching back to try to stay her mother's hand. But it was too late. Mommy had already pulled her panties down to the middle of her thighs and out of Aimee's reach.

So Mommy was going to spank her on her bare bottom, just like Grandmamma used to do! The air in the room felt suddenly cool against her suddenly bare skin. All at once, Aimee felt dreadfully vulnerable lying there with her panties down, with no protection at all, knowing that Mommy was about to spank her!

After Janet had pulled Aimee's panties down far enough to expose her daughter's pale bottom and the upper part of her thighs, Mrs. Miller paused for a moment to prepare herself for what she was about to do. Across her lap, the twin orbs of Aimee's buttocks were framed by the bunched up knot of her panties on the left and the careless heap of her skirt and slip on the right. So this is was the view Janet's mother had had all those times she'd spanked Janet as a child - so very different from the view Janet herself remembered: the floorboards, her mother's shoes, and the horrid sting as her mother's palm methodically lit a fire on her unprotected backside.

Although Janet was determined to give her naughty child a good spanking, her heart also felt heavy. Oh, how she wished this weren't necessary! But what must be done must be done - and done thoroughly. She raised her open palm high and brought it down with a with a resounding SMACK squarely across the soft mounds of Aimee's bottom. And at that moment she realized her own mother must have once felt much the same way.

The first slap caught Aimee by surprise as she felt a sharp tingly pain in her bottom. SMACK SMACK SMACK. Aimee's mother continued slap her little daughter's bare buttocks swiftly with her open hand. Aimee gasped and was too stunned to make any noise during the first few smacks but that soon changed as the smarting sting quickly began to build.

"OW! MOMEEEE! It HURTS!"

"I know Dear. [SMACK] It's going to [SMACK] hurt [SMACK] even [SMACK] more before I'm [SMACK] finished with [SMACK] you!!"

Mrs. Miller still couldn't quite bring herself to spank Aimee as hard as she imagined her own mother had once spanked her, although she knew her daughter's cries of pain were genuine. Aimee, who had no idea that spankings could be even worse than this one, was beginning to kick and buck on her mother's lap; however, nothing could stop the rise and fall of her mother's relentless hand.

[SMACK] OW! [SMACK] OWEE! [SMACK] OUCH! [SMACK] *sob* [SMACK] *gasp* [SMACK] WAAAAAAH!

As the sting of Aimee's first spanking continued to mount, the little girl burst completely into tears, her sobbing wails sharply punctuated by the steady swats of her mother's palm against her bare skin. Aimee knew that spankings hurt, but she had not imagined that they could hurt this much. How was Mommy able to make Aimee's bottom smart so much with only her hand?!

Tears spilled from Aimee's eyes, and bawling little girl kicked her legs and squirmed on her mother's lap as Janet continued to slap the little hemispheres smartly and emphatically. If only she hadn't been such a bad girl! If only she hadn't made Mommy so mad at her!

As Janet continued to spank, the milky skin of her daughter's buttocks gradually began to turn pink wherever they'd been slapped. Again and again she aimed at the same hand-shaped spot across the cheeks of Aimee's bare behind, causing it to blush a deeper and deeper pink. The more Janet spanked her little girl, the more piteously the child cried and the more frantically she kicked and twisted. Janet took a firmer hold of Aimee and continued to punish her without breaking rhythm.

As she held her sobbing daughter tightly with one hand and spanked her with the other, images flashed through Janet's mind of some of the more memorable times when her own mother had disciplined her this way: that time she'd copied from her neighbor's paper on a test at school, the time she'd gone swimming without permission, the time she'd thrown sand at her brother at the beach, the time she and her best friend made mud pies while wearing their Sunday dresses, the time she'd... Little Janet had been at least as much of a handful as Aimee was, that's for sure!

Janet paused for a moment and listened to her daughter cry. The spanks were certainly hurting, but Aimee still wasn't crying quite as hard as Janet would have been by now during one of her own mother's spankings at this age. The soundness of her mother's spankings had certainly taught little Miss Janet Miller to behave herself, and she wanted Aimee's first spanking to be equally sound. So, steeling herself against the urge to comfort her crying daughter, she began to slap Aimee's sore little bottom once more, a little harder than before.

Before, Aimee had thought she could not take any more but now the stinging pain was even worse. Never had she imagined that her mother's gentle hand could hurt so! Her bottom was scorching so badly! Aimee wanted to beg for mercy but all she could manage to do was cry as her mother continued to smack her bottom until it was the color of strawberry ice cream.

Finally, ignoring the pins-and-needles sensation in her own palm, Janet gave her daughter several slow, extra-hard smacks to conclude the first spanking of Aimee's life, while Aimee wailed loudly and flailed her panty-entangled legs each time the slaps landed. At last, Janet was satisfied that Aimee had been sufficiently spanked.

Aimee was crying so hard, and her bottom was stinging so urgently, that it took her several moments to notice that her punishment was over. Janet let Aimee cry for awhile over her lap but did not permit her to reach back to rub her throbbing buttocks. Aimee was no longer kicking and squirming, but lay limply, draped like a wet cloth, weeping like the freshly-spanked little girl she was. After couple minutes had passed and Aimee was no longer crying as hard, Janet began to admonish her.

"Are you going to do all your homework from now on, young lady?"

"Y-y-yes... M-Mommy..." sobbed Aimee softly.

"Are you going to clean your room when I ask you to?" The same reply. Janet, went through her whole list of grievances concerning her daughter's behavior. In each case she asked if Aimee was going to behave herself. In each case a "yes Mommy" came in return. "Do you promise to be a good girl from now on?" Again, the same reply.

Aimee would have promised her mother anything at that moment - anything to be back in Mommy's favor again. And, of course, anything not to get another spanking!

Janet helped Aimee to her feet, her panties still down, and allowed her to rub her bottom. She tenderly kissed her little daughter and gave her a long hug while Aimee continued to sniffle and rest her head on her Mommy's shoulder. Janet comforted her gently as her tears abated, telling Aimee that she loved her dearly and hadn't enjoyed giving her a spanking.

"But Aimee," she continued, her voice soft but earnest, "from now on if you continue not clean your room or do your homework or your chores, do you know what is going to happen?" Janet gave Aimee no time to reply, "No matter how much it breaks Mommy's heart to do so, Mommy is going to march you right back up here to your bedroom again, turn you across her lap, pull down your panties, and give you another spanking Is that understood?"

Yes. Aimee understood.

She understood that from now on, being Mommy's daughter would never be the same again.

F/f

Another Great One!

Melissa and Amy were eleven. Very grown-up, especially Melissa. She was auburn-haired, freckled and blue-eyed. Three inches taller, than little five foot blonde Amy. Melissa even wore a bra, more than that, she **needed** to wear a bra! Melissa was bubbly and smart and Amy's very best friend in the whole world. She, also, was forever getting Amy into trouble. Not the type of trouble Melissa got herself into, but trouble none the less. Melissa and Amy were eleven and it was a Friday night sleepover. Winter time...

"Where did you say you wanted to go, lady?"

Amy looked up at the cab driver. She wasn't eleven anymore. No, she was twenty-two and home for a visit. She had hailed a cab at the airport, not calling mom or dad to pick her up. Because it wasn't mom or dad Amy had come to see.

"640 Woodlawn Lane," Amy told the driver and settled back against the cracked upholstery. The cab smelled of cigarette smoke and stale candy.

Snow pelted the windows like little bullets. The back windows fogged and Amy took one gloved fingertip and wrote her initials in misted windowpane. Just like she and Melissa had done. They were eleven. It was winter time...

"C'mon, Miss Goody-goody, baby-butt!" Melissa taunted, standing at the door of her parents bedroom. A room that both Amy and Melissa had been strictly forbidden to enter, by Mrs. Monroe, Melissa's mother.

"No, we better not, Missy, your mom will be back with the pizza soon," Amy replied, looking over her shoulder, imagining Mrs. Monroe coming up the stairs and finding them standing at doorway of her bedroom. As if it were naughty just to be thinking about entering.

"Chicken, chicken, baby-butt!" Melissa said, placing a hand on her round, little hip and looking disgusted with her cowardly friend, "Well, **I** am going in there! It is **my** house too and I can go into any room I want!"

Amy sighed as Melissa flipped a strand of her curly, chestnut hair over one shoulder and strutted into her parent's room. Reluctantly, most everything Amy did with Melissa was reluctant, she followed her friend into forbiddened land.

The bedroom was immaculate. Done in colors of dusty rose and cream. It was beautiful and perfect, just like Mrs. Monroe. Melissa immediately went over to her mother's dressing table and picked up a bottle of perfume. She squirted it all over herself.

"Missy! Don't, your mom will smell it on you!"

"No, she won't! She wears so much of this junk, she will never smell it on me!", Melissa replied, opening her mother's makeup case.

The contents spilling out, lipsticks rolling on the floor, eyeshadows scattering everywhere and a container of powder spilling out onto the highly polished dresser surface.

"You are making a mess!"

"Yeah, yeah, we'll clean it up. C'mere, Am, let me give you a makeover," Melissa ordered. And Amy, the ever chicken baby-butt, complied.

It was later that night. Much later. After pizza and popcorn. Playing Monopoly with Melissa and Mrs. Monroe (Melissa won, she **always** won). Toothbrushing and baby doll pajamas. Mrs. Monroe had not gone up to her room, even once. Maybe she had not had time.

Melissa and Amy were in bed, giggling and talking about boys and weird Mrs. Crandall, their sixth grade gym teacher. They barely noticed when Mrs. Monroe came into the room. When they looked up, they did notice the grim expression on her face.

"Melissa Ann, were you in my room?" Mrs. Monroe asked, quietly.

Melissa glanced nervously at Amy, then replied, "No, Mommy."

"Don't you lie to me, young lady."

"I'm not lying, Mommy, I am not!" Melissa pouted.

Amy pulled the covers up under her chin and tried not to look at Mrs. Monroe at all. She liked Melissa's mother and didn't want to lie to her. She hoped that she wouldn't ask her any questions.

"Melissa, my makeup case is a mess. There are two broken lipsticks and you spilled my new bottle of Chanel all over the carpet!"

"But Mommy, I didn't... "

"Oh yes, you did, young lady! What you did was bad enough, but lying makes it ten times worse! Didn't we have a little talk about lying just last week, Melissa?"

Melissa's lower lip stuck out further and she managed a cranky, little nod.

"And what happened after you lied to Mommy last week?"

Melissa looked up and her eyes suddenly widen. Amy, who was creeping further and further under the covers, noticed the blush that spread slowly over her best friend's face.

"Answer me, Melissa!"

"I got a spanking," Melissa finally managed to mumble.

"That's right, you got a spanking. You know when you act like a child, Mommy treats you like a child," Mrs. Monroe said, sitting down on the little bench at the front of Melissa's bed, "Come over to Mommy, Melissa."

"Mommy, no, you can't--"

"Right now or shall I just tell Daddy when he gets home later tonight?" Mrs. Monroe said, her pretty face looking quite determined.

"No! Don't tell Daddy!" Melissa whined.

Amy had drawn the covers over her nose, her big, hazel eyes, peering over the quilt at both Melissa and her mother. She knew that Melissa still got spanked. Her friend had complained about being treated like a baby by her parents. Her daddy used a special paddle, that he kept in the closet. Melissa said he made her get it for him before he spanked her. According to Melissa, her daddy didn't spank her often, but when he did, he spanked her hard. Mommy was usually the one who disciplined her naughty daughter. With her hand or if she was really bad, the hairbrush. Amy's heartbeat quickened as she wondered if spilling perfume warranted the hairbrush.

Slowly, a pouting Melissa walked over to her mother, whining the entire time, "Please, Mommy, don't spank me in front of Amy, please Mommy! It was Amy's fault!"

Amy crept farther under the covers when she heard her best friend's lie. Would Mrs. Monroe believe Melissa?

Would she spank Amy too? Amy began to feel trembly all over.

Mrs. Monroe said nothing, just took her daughter by the wrist and flipped her easily over her lap. Melissa gave a little squeak of protest, as her mother lifted her bottom up higher, in a perfect spanking position. She pushed her daughter's nightie up above her hips, revealing white cotton panties decorated with tiny pink hearts.

"Mommy, please, don't spank me here! Please!"

"No, Amy should see what happens to naughty little girls that lie to their mothers," Mrs. Monroe told her firmly, then hooked her fingers into the waistband of Melissa's panties.

Melissa immediately reached back, trying desperately to protect her dignity.

"No, oh please, don't pull down my panties, oh please!"

"Now, now, you move those hands away immediately, young lady, or I will tell Daddy when he gets home!" Mrs. Monroe warned. Whimpering, Melissa moved her hands away, clasping them in front of her, as if praying. "You know a good spanking must be given on your bare bottom. You have always been spanked that way and I see no reason to stop now."

With that statement, Mrs. Monroe slowly peeled down her daughter's panties, revealing her pale, lightly freckled bottom cheeks. Melissa was well-developed, her bare fanny round and girlish. Amy could see the goosebumps break out all over Melissa's exposed flesh. Little shivers went through Amy's body and she clutched the covers around her tightly.

"Please, Mommy, not in front of Amy, oh pleeeese!"

Mrs. Monroe replied by picking up a large, paddle-shaped wooden hairbrush and lightly tapping it against Melissa's behind.

"Not the hairbrush, please, not the hairbrush!"

"If you had not lied to me, Melissa, I would have only used my hand. But you lied and now I am going to blister your naughty little tushie for you good!"

The first smack of the hairbrush made both Amy and Melissa jump. Melissa was the only one who cried out OUCH! Mrs. Monroe's spanks were slow and deliberate, first one cheek, then the other. Each smack from the wooden brush making Melissa cry out and squirm on her mother's lap. Soon, her pale backside was a deep shade of pink.

Amy peeked over the edge of the quilt. Thinking she shouldn't be watching. She could only imagine how embarrassed poor Melissa felt, her bare bottom being thoroughly spanked in front of her friend. Silently, Amy counted the number of smacks from the brush. At the tenth, Melissa burst into tears. Her smug, very grown-up, know-it-all, best friend, crying like a baby over her mommy's lap. Amy began to feel funny all over.

Mrs. Monroe began to spank a little harder and a little faster. Melissa cried and tried in vain to wiggle her reddening tushie out of the way. When she began to kick her legs, Mrs. Monroe threw one leg over both of her daughter's small ones, effectively pinning her in place.

"Are you sorry you lied to mommy, Melissa?" she inquired, in between spanks.

"Yes! OH PLEASE! OWW! MOMMY! OWWW! I'm sorry, sorry, sorry!" Melissa sobbed.

"I am very disappointed in you, young lady! Maybe I should just tell Daddy and let him give you a good paddling when he gets home!"

"NOOO! OH, I'LL BE GOOD! OWWW!"

Mrs. Monroe peppered Melissa's scarlet bottom with a dozen or so more smacks from the smooth hairbrush.

Melissa wailed after each spank now, sobbing and hiccupping.

Amy had never seen a redder bottom. Actually, Amy had never seen any red bottoms. She had only been spanked a couple of times. When she was very little. But never like this. Never on the bare bottom. It looked like it hurt so much and when Amy thought of Mrs. Monroe giving her the same treatment, it made Amy feel sooo funny all over.

Finally, it was quiet. All quiet except for Melissa's sobbing. Mrs. Monroe kept her over her lap for another couple of minutes or so. Her bare, crimson bottom on display while she continued to lecture. When Melissa's sobs had subsided into whimpers, Mrs. Monroe let her up. She hugged her close and kissed the top of her head, then tucked her back into bed. She didn't tell Melissa's daddy when he got home later that night. She didn't scold Amy. And she certainly never spanked her either. It was winter time and they were eleven...

Amy paid the driver and climbed out of the cab. The snow had picked up and lightly dusted the sidewalk leading to the front door. Maybe she should have called. Would anyone be home? Anyone that Amy wanted to see?

Her tummy fluttered, as she rang the bell. A minute passed, then another. Finally, Mrs. Monroe opened the door. She looked the same, young and beautiful, maybe a few little character lines around her eyes and mouth. She appeared surprised, then pleased to see Amy. Of course, Melissa was not there. She had married earlier that year and no longer lived at home. But it was not Melissa that Amy had come to visit. Not today.

They sat in the living room, making small talk. Mrs. Monroe had always been easy to talk to. Easier than Amy's own mother.

"Remember when I used to sleep over?" Amy finally asked.

"Of course, dear, you and Melissa were the best of friends, you slept over often."

"Remember when we were eleven and we went into your room?" Amy asked, feeling the heat flush her face.

Mrs. Monroe looked puzzled for a moment, then a small smile stretched her lips. "Ah, you mean when you were both naughty and got into my makeup?. Yes, I remember. I am sure Melissa remembers that too."

Amy tried to look at Mrs. Monroe, but couldn't. "You know, I was at fault that night too. I spilled the perfume. I should have told you that."

"Yes, you should have, but it was a long time ago, dear. I believe I can forgive you," she said, smiling again.

Amy swallowed hard and forced herself to look up. "But... I should have gotten a spanking too. I still... feel guilty about that."

Mrs. Monroe studied the blushing young woman for a moment, then finally said quietly, " I see. And what do you think would help with this guilt, Amy?"

Seconds passed, a minute. All Amy heard was the ticking of the grandfather clock and her own harsh breathing.

"A spanking," she finally managed to whisper.

Another moment of quiet, then Mrs. Monroe said, "A spanking? I see. Well, I believe you are never too old for a good spanking. But you know, dear, the way spankings are administered in this house?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And how is that, Amy?"

Amy swallowed hard, then replied, "On the bare bottom."

"That's right and to help you with this guilt, I do believe I will have to use the hairbrush."

"Yes, ma'mn."

"Well, then, I believe you know where it is. Go get it for me."

Amy stood up. She felt like she was dreaming. Her knees were shaking as she walked into Melissa's old room. On the dresser was the hairbrush she remembered. She picked it up. It was smooth and heavy. Her bottom began to tingle. She glanced over at the bed, the covers neatly in place. No little girl peeking from beneath. It was winter time. She was no longer eleven...

The End

F/f

The Spanking of Jessica(unfin)

1.

"All right, that's IT, young lady!!"

Marion Hoskins was at the end of her tether. She'd had the worst day in recorded history and the last thing she needed was another screaming match with her daughter. The girl had been testing the limits for more than a week now, and Marion had finally decided it was time for some direct action. All she wanted was a little old-fashioned respect, after all; recognition for her senior status within the household. Sixty hours a week in the office from hell and all she could look forward to was a mouthful of Jessie's sneering contempt. God knows, she shouldn't have to put up with this kind of abuse: she was the one who paid the bills and financed her daughter's education. At the end of the day, she deserved better than this!

"Get up to your room this instant," Marion growled, scowling down at the girl from withering, arctic heights, "You have ten minutes to get ready."

Jessie¡¯s eye widened with dawning horror. A tall, slim girl with soft features and wavy blond hair pulled back in a pony tail, she visibly wilted before her mother's anger, realizing she'd tested the limit once too often. Ten minutes head start could only mean one thing.

"No Momma, no, please!" Jess cried, knowing what was in store for her, "anything but a SPANKING!!"

Her posturing, adolescent pride evaporated in a matter of seconds; Jess had good reason to fear her mother's anger. If only she'd managed to keep her mouth shut on the way home. She knew from painful experience that her Momma wouldn't tolerate any of her snide backtalk. There were certain boundaries that should never be crossed; the consquences were too dire to contemplate. Unfortunately, the time for negotiations had long passed. Marion had already made up her mind, and nothing would alter her verdict.

"Get up to your room NOW!!" she snapped, leaning in close to the girl and pointing towards the staircase. A single vertical line appeared on her forehead, directly between her eyebrows. Jess's heart sank; she knew that sign. Her mother wasn¡¯t simply angry - she was down right furious. A chill finger played her spine like a xylophone. Whimpering in protest, she turned and fled for the staircase, her long, blond ponytail flaring out in her wake.

Marion watched Jessie hit the stairs at a full run. A tall, handsomely constructed woman in her early thirties, Marion stood with one hand on her hip, forcing her pulse to drop back to its normal pace. The girl was long overdue for discipline, but she wanted to be completely calm when she entered her bedroom. The task ahead would require her full concentration, and she intended to savour every squirming, twitching moment to its fullest extent.

Where was that brush? The one with the teakwood finish, as smooth and dark as a baby grand. She usually kept it on the mantle piece over the fireplace, where it would always be within easy reach. Marion normally applied her open hand to Jessie's bottom, but today, she felt the circumstances required a little something extra. A grim smile touched her full, red lips.

God, I'm going to enjoy this, Marion thought, walking through to the dining room.

2.

Jess bolted up the stairs in tears, her expensive Nike sneakers pounding the steps two at a time. She was literally overwhelmed with shame and fright; it had been more than four months since the last spanking, and she knew this would be far worse than a couple of glancing smacks on the tail. Her Mother was mad this time, REALLY mad. She should never have started that stupid argument on the way home.

She's going to SPANK me!! Jess thought frantically, wiping the moisture from her cheeks. She sprinted along the upstairs passage way and headed for her bedroom door. She couldn't afford to drag her heels; she had to prepare for her punishment. If she wasn¡¯t finished by the time she arrived, things would probably go a lot worse for her.

At eighteen years of age, there were very few things Jess hated more than a spanking. She would gladly have cooked dinner every night for a month if she could have avoided going over her Mother's knee. Of course, no such options were available on this occasion. Nothing could temper Mummy's judgement once she'd made up her mind. Hot tears began to fill Jessie's eyes. She could already feel a wide, scarlet handprint burning into her naked buttocks.

Running through the doorway, Jess paused a few feet from her bed and stood looking around the room, her face a mask of trepidation. How much was it going to hurt this time? Was she going to use the brush, that long black heirloom she kept on the mantle piece over the fire? Jess had only felt its blistering touch a handful of times, but she dreaded it more than any other implement her mother employed. The last time she'd applied it to her tender young bottie-cheeks, she'd had to eat standing up for nearly three days.

Sobbing in misery, Jess went over to her study desk and started dragging the old, straight-backed chair into the middle of the floor. She'd come to think of it as THE SPANKING CHAIR, the site of a thousand bare-bottomed humiliations. It was a constant reminder of her submissive position within the family hierarchy, the fact that Marion was her mother and would always treat her like an errant child.

Stealing a glance at the clock (she estimated she had less than six minutes to go), Jess began to undress, pulling off her t-shirt and unbuckling the belt of her jeans. She bit her lower lip, whimpering in consternation. Why did she have to do this? It seemed so unfair, so terribly unjust. Even a child should be allowed some measure of dignity, no matter what she¡¯d done to incur the maternal wrath. And Jess was definitely no child.

Tossing her jeans over the laundry hamper, Jess reached back to remove the band from her ponytail, allowing her thick blond hair to spill over her shoulders. She no longer felt like a mature young woman. Standing before the mirror in her vest and underpants, she felt maybe ten, eleven, twelve at the outside. It was so embarrassing. Marion always insisted she strip down to her panties whenever she was due for a spanking. She had instituted this rule not long after Jessie's fifth birthday, and had enforced it ever since. Of course, disrobing to her underwear was only the beginning of the evening¡¯s festivities. It wasn¡¯t as if she¡¯d actually be allowed to keep them on, after all.

3.

(Not the brush. PLEASE not the brush)

Jessie's heart hammered against her ribs as she stood listening for her mother's approaching footsteps. She was scared: there were very few things she feared as much as her mother's anger, especially when a good, long spanking was on the cards. Not that she didn't deserve it, of course. She'd been unforgivably naughty on the way home from the mall, and Mummy had every right to paddle her pert little bottom.

Worst of all, she was probably going to use the brush.

(not the brush, not the brush, PLEASE not the BRUSH!!)

Jessie hated the brush. It was the most painful weapon in her Mummy's arsenal, she would have done just about anything to avoid another burning encounter. Its slick, flawless surface was utterly merciless, biting into her tender young bottom-flesh with a touch of fire. The mere sight of its menacing, black shape was enough to reduce her to tears of frightened remorse, even at the age of eighteen.

(PLEASE not the brush!)

Sitting down on the bed in her singlet, socks and panties, Jessie shivered with the late autumn chill (and the fear of an imminent spanking, let¡¯s not forget that). Her mind was groping for a way out of this nightmare. Even now, with her punishment only minutes away, she still clung to the hope of a suspended sentence. A slender hope at best (virtually non-existent, in fact), but better than none at all.

(not the brush, please not the brush)

Maybe an outright admission of guilt would sway her Mummy¡¯s irreversible judgement. Maybe a heart-felt, tearful confession would lead to some less severe alternative. And Maybe Granny Clampett's prize porker would sprout wings and fly to Wisconsin for the summer.

(not the brush, please not the brush!!)

Suddenly, all thought of clemency was swept from Jessie's mind. It was too late for plea bargaining, too late for anything save a passive acceptance of the inevitable. Sitting bolt-upright on her pink satin coverlet, Jessie cocked an ear towards the doorway and listened in rising panic. Footsteps were ascending the staircase. Ominous, determined footsteps.

Mummy was on her way up!!

Moaning with desperation, Jessie ran over to the spanking chair, virtually blubbering with terror. In a matter of seconds, her Mother would walk in through the door and her spanking would begin. She would be turned over Mummy's knee with her tender young bottom-tops on rude display and her panties down to her knees. The image froze her pulse in mid-beat. It was going to hurt. So much!

Those heavy, clocking footfalls were in the hallway now.

Nooooooooo, Jessie whispered under her breath. Standing before the chair with her face downcast and her hands clasped behind her back, she tried to shrink inside herself, look as small and harmless as possible. It wouldn¡¯t do any good, wouldn't lessen her sentence by even one stroke; she was aware of that, but hopes of a twelth-hour acquittal tormented her nevertheless. She didn't want a spanking!!

(NOT THE BRUSH, NOT THE BRUSH, PLEASE MUMMY, NOT THE BRUSH!!!)

Mummy's footsteps were right outside the door now. Jessie turned to face her, choking down her tears and all but praying for divine intervention. Please not the brush, she thought over and over, the words filling her mind in gigantic neon letters, please not the brush, please not the brush.

Mummy appeared in the door.

And she was carrying the brush.

4.

Jessie lapsed into a litany of desperate pleas as Marion entered the room. She strode towards the spanking chair, her face calm but etched with grim purpose. The antique ebony brush glinted threateningly in the sunlight. It was the realization of Jessie's worst nightmares, a sign that this would be an extremely long and painful spanking indeed.

"No, Mummy, NO," Jessie wailed in a high, quavering voice, "not the BRUSH, please not the brush, it HURTS too much, PLEASE MUMMY don¡¯t SPANK me with the HAIRBRUSH -"

Marion ignored Jessie's fervent pleas, seating herself comfortably on the chair and steeling herself for the task ahead. She had to be firm, both with Jessie and herself. In spite of the satisfaction she would undoubtedly feel, corporal punishment was no easy matter for any woman. Jess would shriek and struggle over her lap, kicking her feet and screaming for mercy. No Mother enjoys seeing her child in pain, and Marion was no exception. She would need all her strength to see this through.

"Alright, that's enough!" she exclaimed, slicing through Jessie's breathless entreaties with a stern, unforgiving glance, "you worked very hard to earn this reward, young lady, and you have no one to blame but yourself." Emphasis on the words young lady; as far as Marion was concerned, if Jessie insisted on behaving like a naughty little girl, she'd be treated like one as well. Considering the situation, it wasn't difficult to view her wayward daughter as a wilful six year-old. At the end of the day, she was a natural for the role.

"Now," Marion continued, testing the brush against the flat of her palm, "I've put up with enough of your sullen moods and disrespect, Jessica. It's high time you were taught a lesson in common courtesy. I've tried to reason with you, talk you through these power struggles and temper tantrums. That was a complete waste of time, and quite frankly, I¡¯m sick to death of your attitude.

¡°Well, I'm done talking, Jessica. If logic and reason aren't having the desired effect, there's always the alternative isn¡¯t there? Let's see if a good, long SPANKING won't solve your little communication problem."

On the pronouncement of this verdict, Jessie's nerve broke completely.

"No, Mummy, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, really I didn't, I take it all back, PLEASE don't be cross, PLEASE don't SPANK me, I'll be good from now on, honestly I will -"

Marion listened to her daughter's quailing petitions, vaguely amused by the radical change in her character. Her strutting, teenaged animosity had vanished the moment she'd been ordered upstairs. Twenty minutes before, she'd been screaming abuse at the top of her lungs, now she was begging forgiveness with tears in her eyes. she was even calling her 'Mummy', something she hadn't done since her tenth birthday. It was amazing what the threat of a hot, throbbing bottom could accomplish.

Which brought her back to the issue at hand. Discipline should never be tempered by remorse, no matter how sincere. Jessie had been inexcusably rude on the drive home, and Marion was determined to see that justice was done in this case. Leaning forward on the chair, she transfixed her simpering daughter with an impaling glance.

"Stop that crying RIGHT NOW!!" Marion instructed, brandishing the brush in her right hand, "You're going over my knee whether you like it or not. You DESERVE a spanking, and that is PRECISELY what you¡¯re going to get. Now -" she paused, slapping the brush into her hand to reinforce her point, "I want you to come over here, bend over and take your pants down. It's time to smack those buns."

Jessica gasped, stamping her feet in childish refusal. This was the part she hated the most, the moment of absolute humiliation, the ultimate reminder of her juvenile status. She wasn't an adult, wasn't even a woman. She was a child: a naughty little girl who had to bare her own bottom down for a well-deserved spanking.

"No, Mummy, no, noooooooo!!" she begged in keening, frantic tones, "don't make me take them down, spank me over my panties, please Mummy, you don't know how awful it is for me, please don't -"

"You GET those PANTIES down NOW!!"

Groaning in shame, Jessica turned around and doubled over from the hips like a can-can dancer. Her virginal white underpants were immediately thrust into view; lush, yielding bottom-tops literally bulging through the gossamer material. Reaching back, she hooked her thumbs through the elastic trim, pausing momentarily before peeling the sleek nylon briefs down her thighs.

Marion nodded to herself in evident satisfaction as her daughter's soft, creamy buttocks were revealed. Jessie had a delicious little bottom, no question of that (which was probably why spanking it was such an indisputable pleasure). Leaning slightly forward, Marion laid a loud, stinging slap on each of the girl's buxom cheeks. Lush, round, and deeply dimpled, they quivered with each resounding smack. Jessie cried out in surprise, her buns twitching from side to side.

"No Mummy, no, please don't, I'm sorry, noooo ..."

Marion smiled ruefully, as if expecting nothing better. Well, time to get started. Couldn't spend the whole night admiring the view, so to speak. She had a job to do - one she found much to her liking, truth be told. No point waiting any longer. Business before pleasure, as her dear departed father had been fond of saying.

"All right, my girl," Marion said, taking Jessie by the right hand, "let's get you over my knee".

"Mummy, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" Jessica wailed as she was led over her Mother's lap. Marion guided the helpless, sobbing girl into place, settling her bottom into the central position. Her pale, unprotected cheeks clenched and primped with anticipation. Heart literally hammering against her ribcage, Jessie whispered her final, tearful pleas, knowing her spanking was only moments away now.

"I'm sorry Mummy I didn't mean it really I didn't please don't ..."

Marion raised the brush, tensing the muscles along her right arm.

"Ok - hold still and stop that wriggling," she warned, "you've had this coming for weeks now, and this is one lesson you won't forget in a hurry!!"

The brush streaked down, faster than the eye could follow.

Jessica screamed.

***

MF/f

BARE BOTTOM SPANKING

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Exactly as he had promised, Mr. Erickson and Mom were married two weeks after

my paddling from him at the school.