I shook my head.

"No, Cindy, you've got it all wrong. My gosh, I haven't spanked you in two years -- does that sound like I like to do it- Heaven knows I could have. There are lots of times you deserved to have your sassy, little fanny blistered, but I didn't do it, did I- I really hoped to never have to spank you again, but your conduct today has forced me to. Do you really think I could let you get away with what you did at school today-"

"No, but you could ground me or something -- you don't have to spank me."

"Yes I do! Grounding hasn't worked. Withholding your allowance hasn't worked. Nothing has worked...except spanking. Stopping that was a big mistake, and it is one I am about to rectify. But there is one more thing I insist that you understand. I really do not want to spank you. But you have left me no choice. So, a spanking you shall get -- and a real good, hard one at that. Now, that being the case, it is after all, simply a spanking. It will sting and you will cry. But then it will be over. Whether you ever get another one will be solely up to you, but I want you to know that as far as I am concerned, what you are about to get is just a preview of what you can expect from now on, young lady, as long as you live under this roof. Spanking has returned to the Reynolds' house!"

With that I began. Enthusiastically, I distributed a flurry of quick, not too hard spanks all about Cindy's pretty bottom. She remained tightly clenched, fists, teeth and bottom. It was a mistake she always seemed to make, and one I understood. She was a chip off the old block in the, "You can spank me 'til your arm falls off, but I won't let on it hurts," game. I wonder why it is that for some girls, we must graduate from spankee to spanker before we see the sheer folly of such a ploy. It only encourages the spanker to try harder, which should be the last thing the spankee wants. I don't know how many times I wound up on my bed, lying on my tummy as I nursed a very hot and sore bottom, saying to myself, "What a dummy! Why did you have to pretend you couldn't feel it- Never again!" But, I always reneged on that vow. It's called teen spirit, I guess.

I applied another flurry, a bit harder, saying as I did so, "So, I see we're playing the old, 'You can't hurt my bottom game,' are we- Well, honey, the sad truth is I can...And I will!"

Properly forewarned, my daughter nonetheless reacted with surprise as I brought the brush crisply down, four times in a row, all to exactly the same tender spot on her lower left bottom globe, just above the crease where her thigh begins.

"Waaaaaa! Owwwwww!" she shrilled. "Owwww! Not so har....Ouuuuuch! Nooooooo!"

Cindy interrupted herself as I distributed an equal dose to her lower right cheek.

"Owwwwww! That stiiiiiings!" she yelped, convincing me it did. Good!

"Wait! Wait! Ohmygod...I can't stand it!" she whimpered.

"Hunh! Only eight real spanks and already you can't stand it- Well. That's too bad, young lady, because this dance has barely begun!"

I began spanking in earnest. Though it had been a while, the old corporal cadence came back to me and I spent the next minute or so spanking merrily away, delivering brisk, firm spanks, snapping my wrist at just the right moment so as to impart a worthwhile sting, and covering the entirety of Cindy's wriggling and bucking behind. Her cries fell on deaf ears. I know how it feels. Those first few spanks sting so badly you wonder how you will ever stand it. But you do. Too many spankers, dismayed at the immediate hyperactivity and the sheer volume of the early response, quit altogether too soon, buying into the girl's show of remorse. That is a mistake. One must spank right on, past those early moments, until reaching a point of complete understanding on the part of the girl as to the hopelessness of her predicament, and the degree to which she owes you her undivided attention. It took just about that first minute -- well over fifty smacks -- for me to achieve such an opportunity for communication with my daughter. I knew when the moment arrived by the change in her cacophonous tune.

She was still kicking and shrieking and flailing her arms all about, but suddenly she was asking, not ordering me to stop. "Stop it right now!" had become, "Please stop, pleeeeease!" Of course, I did not stop...not immediately. One should never let a little girl think that she in any way has a say as to whether, when, how or how long she will be spanked. But, noting the change in Cindy's attitude, I slowed the pace a bit, then a bit more, and finally paused, using the hairbrush bristles to pat her blazing red behind and keep her attention properly focused.

Cindy's full weight now lay upon my thighs. She sobbed and rubbed her eyes. She crossed and re-crossed her ankles, where I noted her jeans and panties now dangled from only her left foot. I examined her bottom and found it to my liking. It was bright red, evenly so, typical of what a well-wielded hairbrush can accomplish in a minute or so. She wriggled from side to side, unable to hold still, especially as the hairbrush continued its more subtle, but ever so aggravating activity.

"Now we're getting somewhere," I opined. "Your bottom is getting nice and red. How do you like it- Does this remind you of why you didn't used to like to get spanked-"

Cindy sniffled. She was quiet. Dare she talk back- I waited, prepared to deal with whatever.

Thwop! Thwop!

"Owwwwwwwiieeeeee!" she screeched. Bristling, she hissed, "No! I don't like it! And I think you're....Ouuuuuuuuuuuuuch! Owwwwwwww! Aiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeee!"

Being disinterested in what she might think of me at just that moment, I decided to move directly to phase two. Spanking very fast, at least three spanks per second, and reasonably hard, I worked the hairbrush from her upper right thigh to the top of that cheek, and then down the left side, finishing with an extra hard spank to her upper left thigh. Well, you never heard such a noise. Yelling and screaming that I was killing her, Cindy, bucked and kicked, sending both her jeans and panties flying. Begging me to stop, she flung her right hand back and plastered it to her fiery right bottom cheek.

"Please, Mommy, no more....I'm sorryyyyyyy! Stop! Please! Ohhhhhhh, it stings so baaaaaaaad! Please, Mommy, no more!"

"Mommy-" That was a very good sign. When you are spanking a fifteen year old and she starts calling you "Mommy" you know you are doing something right. However, there was still a problem -- a major one."

"Hands!" I declared.

Cindy gasped and jerked her hand from harm's way.

"Oh nooooo! I forgot! Please, Mommy...I'm sorry!"

"I'm sure you are, young lady! Too bad. So, which will it be-" I asked, resuming the pesky, circular motion of the sharp bristles upon her hot, twitching rear end.

In this family, we have a hard and fast rule; when you are getting spanked, under no circumstances do you ever put a hand back or try to get away or in any other way interfere with corporal progress. Never. Period. The penalty for doing so is significant. So much so that Cindy had not made that mistake since she was nine years old and had her first encounter with the hairbrush. She had been warned since she was little and was generally very good about taking her spankings without resistance. Unfortunately for her, the hairbrush had so inflamed her tender little, nine year old bottom, obviously well beyond anything my poor, old, right palm had ever accomplished, that she had forgotten and tried to stop the hairbrush from falling by blocking its path. At which point she had to make the same decision which confronted her now.

"Oh, Mommy...pleease...no...I forgot...geez...it's been so long..." she whined.

"Another reason for more spankings, I'd say," I said caustically. "I'm sure you did forget, but that just means we want to make sure you never forget again. Now which will it be- I need an answer right now!"

Whack!

"Owwwwch! Stop it! Okay...I'll take the other spanking. Later. Okay-"

"That will be just fine, young lady. Tonight at bedtime then," I promised, not at all surprised she chose the second spanking.

The alternative, which has never been chosen by me or anyone else as far as I know, is to suspend the current spanking, go to the corner for ten minutes, and then start all over, having gotten dressed and everything. Trust me, when your poor bottom is on fire, and you know there is already more to come, possibly significantly more, no way do you want to start over. Another spanking, later, seems fundamentally the superior choice. Of course, when one ponders the situation under less stressful and stinging circumstances, the idea of starting over seems more logical, assuming the spanker doesn't really intend it literally. But when under the gun, or hairbrush, ending one's current spanking becomes paramount.

"Now, then, Miss Reynolds," I said, "back to the present and this very red and very, very hot little bottom of yours. You've made a lot of noise, and I know your bottom is pretty sore, but I also know I have not heard what I need to hear. So, are you ready-"

I raised the hairbrush and, to my delight and surprise, heard, "Ye...Yes, Mother...I'm sorry. Go ahead." Whereupon my brave little girl clasped her hands in a death grip and lowered her head. What would have gone on to become a severe and prolonged spanking was instantly mitigated; I simply wished to make sure Cindy appreciated the seriousness of her misbehavior and would be quite unlikely to repeat it. Not that she was to get off easy, mind you.

Whack! Crack! Smack!

Very hard and alternating cheeks, I began spanking in a methodical and slow rhythm, allowing about two seconds between each spank, long enough to feel one quite adequately, but not long enough to steel oneself for the next. In no time, Cindy was caterwauling and howling to the heavens about how sorry she was and how she would never do it again. Her bottom flamed as each smack of the hairbrush left a brief, white imprint.

I paused and asked if she'd learned her lesson.

Sobbing and gasping, Cindy assured me in no uncertain terms she had.

"Good!" I said, "Because, young (Smack!) lady, (Crack!) If you ever (Whack!), ever (Smack!), even look (Crack!) at a piece of lemon (Smack!) meringue (Whack!) pie (Smack!) again, (Whack!), you will not (Crack!) sit (Whack!) down (Smack!) for (Smack!) a (Crack!) week! (CRACK! SMACK! CRACK! WHACK! CRACK!) Do (SMACK!) you (WHACK!) read (CRACK!) me-" (WHACKCRACKWHACKSMACKSMACKWHACK!!!!!)

The grand finale quickly reduced my well spanked little girl to unabashed tears and momentous promises to be good. This, of course, is the goal of any serious spanking. There was one more thing to discuss and one more piece to the ritual.

After allowing Cindy to lie across my lap for several minutes, until she'd regained most of her composure, I casually said, "Well, I think that might have helped. What do you think-"

Still sniffly, Cindy cautiously opined, "Uhm, yes, Mother...it probably did."

"Well, that's good, because, as I stated before your spanking, I am willing to discuss this spanking issue with you, and I think right about now would be the perfect time. Okay-"