The Spanking of Teenage Daughters - Book One Read online

  "You mean a child? No! When it comes to Ashley, we've always been a non-spanking family."

  "Yeah, that's what I mean," I reply with a shrug.

  Mr. Almond seems awfully uptight, all of a sudden.

  "If you don't mind, sir, I'll show how Father used to spank me. It's a very effective spanking ritual."

  "If they work so good," asks Ashley, "how come you got so many?"

  "The only reason I needed so many spankings," I reply, "is because of my precociousness and willfulness. You're really a nice girl, Ashley. You shouldn't need as many."

  "Okay," she says anxiously.

  "The first rule is, make the spanking as easy as possible for your dad. See? I'm lifting up my skirt and lying down over your dad's lap. Like this."

  I assume the spanking position over Mr. Almond's lap. "At this point, your dad is going to pull down my panties. Go ahead, Mr. Almond."

  "Grace, shouldn't we call your mother first?"

  "No, sir. Because this is not a real spanking. I'm just showing Ashley the different positions."

  "Wait a minute!" exclaims Ashley. "When you were talking earlier, you promised me a demo. That isn't a real spanking?"

  "Well, no. There's no reason for me to get spanked. I'm totally used to spankings, dating way back to when I was your age. But you need to jump in the deep end of the pool, before you lose your nerve."

  "Grace, how does your demo help me? The thing I'm most scared of is the pain. Grace, I've never been spanked and I'm terrified. If you want to show me how, you've got to show me how."

  "Excuse me, Mr. Almond," I say with a sigh as I stand.

  I know what I must do. But I'm conflicted. I pull my cell from my backpack and try to dial.

  Damn. The battery is too low. I step out of Ashley's room and go to the top of the stairs. I call down to Mrs. Almond.

  "What is it?" she asks from the bottom of the stairs.

  I explain.

  "Spank you, Grace?" I don't think Mrs. Almond believes her ears.

  "Yes, ma'am. Tell Mom it's my idea and it's something I want him to do to me."

  "Very well," she calls back. "I hope you know what you're doing, Grace."

  "Hey, Mrs. Almond. Is there a hairbrush I can borrow?"

  "On my vanity in the master bedroom. My mother-in-law gave it to me for Ashley. I never have used it that way. With your mother's approval, of course, you'll be the first to give it a proper test."

  "How about a shower cap? My size?"

  "There's a pink one in Ashley's bathroom."

  "Pink? My favorite color."

  ---oOo---

  The hairbrush is self-explanatory, but the shower cap isn't.

  I should probably tell you something about myself.

  The pluses and minuses.

  I'm a bit gangly for 13. I have long legs, which is a plus.

  I'm not particularly well developed, which is a nice way of saying I don't have much to show or share in the boob department. That's a big, big minus for a 13-year-old girl. I compensate with a padded bra. But even then, I'm small.

  Even way back when I was eight, however, my father said I had a very spank-able bottom. At 13, my shapely buns are my two best assets. So two plusses there.

  I have vision issues, so I wear these big, thick, dorky glasses with tortoiseshell frames. So that's why everybody thinks I'm a nerd. That and the fact that I'm the smartest kid in the 8th grade. So that's a whole bunch of minuses right there.

  The reason why I chose tortoiseshell frames was because of my thick, long, wavy red hair. I'm blessed with a rich, full head of bold red hair - the kind of long, wavy hair that some boys find attractive.

  I think I look my best from the back when wearing tight designer jeans. The most admiring looks I get are the one's I never see, when boys check out my butt and stunning hair. Then they see me from the front, with my flat chest and a zit coming in on my chin...

  Anyway, the reason I want a shower cap is something I know about myself. Okay, it's been years, but I suspect these things never change.

  Back when I was spanked, I think I comported myself with dignity and grace (no pun intended). I never begged or resisted. I complied and submitted to every spanking Father executed.

  But what I know is this: I'm a wet spanker. I don't just cry, I sob. Tears just seem to gush out in a torrent.

  And – OMG - spanking snot!

  I just hate that stuff. When I'm spanked, my head turns into a big snot factory. Spank snot is nothing like real snot. Spanking snot is thin and runny. No viscosity. It burns, too. When it dries, it's all crusty and gross.

  Which brings me back to the shower cap and my long, red, wavy hair.

  I simply can't stand getting tears and snot in my long hair.

  The teardrops are bad enough - making my hair damp and yucky - but spank snot mixed with red hair is totally gross. Snotty hair sticks to my face if I let it fly freely while I'm spanked. Even when I brush it back, I know it's got all this scuzzy stuff from out of my nose. Spank snot stuck in it.

  I guess I seem a little anal-retentive. I've always hated spank snot in my hair. Ever since I was a little girl-back when Father was alive. I always wore shower caps to my spankings. I used to wear my lucky little pink shower cap to Father's spankings. Coincidentally, I'm borrowing Ashley's little pink shower cap from her bathroom.

  ---oOo---

  Back in Ashley's room, I demonstrate the spankee's duties and responsibilities several times, from pulling up my skirt up to - but not including - the actual spanking itself.

  We show Ashley how panties go up and down - up and down - during the course of a spanking.

  There's nothing to be ashamed of. Bottoms get bared for spankings all the time. It's perfectly natural.

  Is bare scary?

  Of course not! It's just a better way to spank, because there's direct contact between the skin and the spanking brush.

  I tell her all this.

  A spanking brush is a blessing in disguise, I explain. A good, hard spanking on the bare with a brush lingers a good, long time. Yes, bare-bottom spankings are more intense. But like an Energizer battery, bare-bottom spankings last longer.

  When Mrs. Almond comes upstairs, I'm over her husband's lap again.

  "Grace," says Mrs. Almond from the doorway, "are you going to take a shower or something?"

  "What?"

  "The shower cap?"

  "That's a long story, Mrs. Almond."

  "Well," she speculates, "I suppose a shower cap keeps the spank snot out of your hair."

  "Exactly!"

  "Anyway, your mother says okay, if this is what you really want. Would you like me to stay, honey?"

  "Thanks but no thanks, Mrs. Almond. When my father used to spank me, my mom was never around. I'll feel sorta uncomfortable with too many people watching me get it."

  "Well, okay," she says worriedly. "Be good. Safe journey."

  "Thank you for calling my mom, Mrs. Almond. Don't worry. I'll be just fine."

  "Well, I'll leave you three to your little demonstration."

  Mrs. Almond closes Ashley's door.

  ---oOo---

  SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

  Frankly, I'm shocked.

  Mr. Almond told me he's never spanked anybody before. Even though it's been five years since my last spanking, I still have a pretty good "feel" for such things. Mr. Almond really, really seems to know what he's doing. There's nothing hesitant about the way he brings down the spanking brush with a resounding, electrical smack. Mr. Almond seems to read me like a tachometer.

  As my spanking engine revs up with the growing panic that's driven by the relentless pounding pain, Mr. Almond tightens the screws. Just like Father used to do. Even though I feel like I'm falling down through the rings of Dante's inferno, I can't help but think that Ashley is a very lucky girl!

  SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

  ---oOo---

  I try not to carry on too long after Mr. Almond finishes with the hairbrush.
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br />   After all, I'm trying to talk Ashley into spankings, not scare her off.

  "See?" I say, snorting back spank snot, burning my sinuses with that peculiar, oddly acidic mucus. "My bottom is starting to feel better already."

  That's not completely true, but Ashley doesn't need to know that yet.

  I excuse myself to go wash my face in Ashley's bathroom.

  "Now comes the important part," I tell Ashley when I return. "Now I sit on your daddy's lap, just like you will. Now I get to talk about anything I want. A good, hard spanking is like truth serum."

  "Okay," says Ashley, nervously chewing on her fingernail. "Show me."

  Clearly, Ashley is not sold on spankings. I've still got my work cut out for me. So I sit on Mr. Almond's lap and I start talking. I tell him that I'm afraid a new zit is coming in on my chin. Mr. Almond tells me that zits are just growing pains. Like the pain of spankings, zits too pass with time. I just have to wait it out.

  I tell him I've become a bit more willful since I turned 13. I tell him I don't like some things about myself. He tells me that this is what spankings are for: to punish the things that I - and others - don't like about me.

  What a perfect answer! My throbbing bottom is actually helping to elevate my self-esteem. I tell him about this 16-year-old boy at school. I have a big 'crush' on him but he doesn't know I'm alive. Mr. Almond suggests that it's unrealistic for a 13-year-old girl to pursue a 16-year-old boy.

  But he graciously adds, "Even if that 13-year-old has beautiful red hair and a nice, spank-able bottom."

  "Thank you, Mr. Almond," I say, feeling very mature all of a sudden.

  I pull off my shower cap and shake my hair about my head, like I'm in a shampoo commercial or something.

  "Grace! You just slapped my dad's face with your hair!" exclaims Ashley with a nervous giggle.

  "Mr. Almond! I am so sorry! Here..."

  I start to stuff my hair back up into my purloined pink shower cap.

  "Why don't you just spank me for that, Mr. Almond? That was terribly rude and thoughtless of me."

  "No, Grace," he says, snapping the shower cap off my head and tossing it aside. "You've been spanked enough."

  Mr. Almond has such a sophisticated sense of such things. An expert. A connoisseur. I have, indeed, been spanked enough.

  ---oOo---

  Several times, Ashley practices pulling up her skirt and assuming the position. Now Ashley is up against her rendezvous with destiny and she's scared. Ashley has her panties down. Mr. Almond is poised to deliver the goods. But we still need Ashley's blessing.

  "Ashley, it's like tearing off a bandage," I tell her gently. "It's like jumping into the deep end of the pool. See how quickly my spanking went? Over in a jiffy!"

  In spank-time, my brush strokes lasted about two decades. But in earth time, the whole spanking probably lasted 2-3 minutes max.

  I don't show it, but I feel conflicted. I can't be sure how spankings will work for Ashley. But when Father was alive, spankings sure worked for me. And besides, this is just a trial period.

  "Will it hurt, Grace?" Ashley is almost on the verge of tears.

  I kneel down beside the spanking chair, so we can talk face-to-face. "Yes, Ashley, spankings hurt. But not for very long. It's a good hurt."

  "What's good about hurt?" she demands, feeling agitated. "I don't like to get hurt."

  "Nobody is asking you to like it, Ashley. Believe you me, I did not like my spanking one bit. At least, not the spanking part. But I'd go back to spankings any day, if it meant I could have lap-time and spank-chats with Father afterwards."

  Of course, I'm just trying to get Ashley to jump in. Rip off that Band-Aid.

  "I'm so scared, Grace. Will you hold my hand?"

  "I'll hold both of them!" I say cheerfully, sitting cross-legged on the carpet and clasping both of her tiny hands tightly.

  I give Mr. Almond a slight nod and...

  SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

  It's a good thing I'm holding her hands. Ashley tries to reach back to protect her bottom. That's a big no-no. She'll learn. Before my very eyes, my sweet little protégé is losing her spanking virginity. And with the loss of Ashley's spanking virginity, Mr. Almond is unlocking some powerful forces in his relationship with her daughter.

  SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

  "Bwa-aaa-aah-ahh-hhh-hhH-hHH-HHH!"

  ---oOo---

  Sitting on the sofa next to my mother, I stir the sugar in my chamomile tea.

  "Well, what does Howard think?"

  "Frankly I have no idea. Grace, honey, I think Mr. Almond's spanking may have made you a bit hypersensitive."

  "Hypersensitive to what?"

  "Hypersensitive to spankings. You may think spankings are magical, all of a sudden. That's just from the chemicals your brain releases when you're spanked. Ashley is eight. You're 13. What's good for Ashley may not be good for you, at this advanced age."

  "Remember how Father and I would have lap-time after my spankings? For spank-chat?"

  "Yes, you two were like peas in a pod after a spanking."

  "Tonight, I sat on Mr. Acorn's lap after my spanking, to show Ashley what lap-time and spank-chat are like. I'm sitting there, telling Mr. Acorn everything that's going on with me."

  "Really? Because of the spanking?"

  I nod.

  "On the walk home, I realize Mr. Almond knows more about what's going on in my life right now than Howard does."

  "Oh dear!"

  "Mom, why haven't you ever spanked me? I know you're a spanker at heart. Most of Father's spankings came at your request."

  Mom fusses with her chamomile tea, tinking the inside of the cup with her stirring spoon. "It may seem that way, Grace."

  She refuses to make eye contact.

  "But I tried to keep spankings to a minimum. Your father had strict rules. When he was not at home, I was his eyes and ears. I know there was some kind of magic in those spankings of yours. I always felt that was a private matter, a father/daughter bonding ritual. But I'm going to confess, spankings nauseate me."

  "What?"

  "Yes, that's right. I don't even have to be in the same room watching. Just the sound of a spanking makes me want to throw up. When your father used to spank, I went on long walks. Or I took a bath with the boom box in the bathroom, playing opera."

  "So that explains why my spankings stopped when Father died. You didn't spank me because spankings make you feel bad."

  I laugh.

  "What's so funny?"

  "Nothing. I just wish you'd told me. I felt very disoriented after Father's death. I drifted for a long time. Then one day when I was almost 11, I decided I was going to reform myself. I started working hard at school again. Reaching out to friends. I made a conscious effort to be a good girl again."

  "See? You don't need spankings, what with that powerful internal gyroscope of yours."

  "But I'm not the best girl I could be."

  I laugh again. "I really shouldn't be meddling with this. I'm playing around with dynamite. But would it be okay if I at least go talk to Howard about spankings?"

  "Spankings in general? Or spanking you?"

  "Both."

  Mom sighs. "Howard is upstairs in his office. Honey, I don't want you to be disappointed. If Howard thought you needed corporal punishment, I'm sure he would have said something by now. He's been your stepdad for over a year."

  ---oOo---

  As I climb the stairs, I try to think through what I want to say to my stepdad. He's been my stepdad for over a year, yet we've never discussed spankings, not directly, anyway. What if he's a spanking abolitionist? He'll think we're talking about something that borders on the criminal.

  My thought processes are all tangled up. Should we have a general discussion of corporal punishment across the board? Or should I focus in on corporal punishment for teenage stepdaughters in particular? Does Howard know anything about the reboot of teen spankings? Or should I tell Howard about my lap-time and spank-chat wi
th Father, back in the good old days? Should I tell Howard about what happened at the Almond's house tonight?

  When I knock on his office door, I still have no idea what I'm going to say. As it turns out, it doesn't matter. I do feel sorry for Mom, but I didn't mean for this all to happen so fast.

  Downstairs, mother sits on the couch and sipping her chamomile tea. Upstairs, Howard and I make remarkable progress. We need only need six minutes to find common ground...

  SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

  Poor Mom! She has no warning. In her bathrobe, she's not dressed for a walk outdoors. There's no time to draw a bath and turn up the opera. Mom is just going to have to put up with an upset stomach.

  SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

  "Wha-aaa-aah-ahh-hhh-hhH-hHH-HHH!"

  I Talked Daddy into Spanking Us Instead!

  "Hurry!" exclaimed Alexis Brandywine breathlessly, slamming her bedroom door after charging up the stairs. "Strip down to your bra and panties, Grace."

  "Why?" I asked incredulously.

  "Cuz I talked Daddy into spanking us instead!" she said, pulling off her tank top and wriggling out of her tight white shorts. "But you gotta be ready when he gets up here. Or it's no deal."

  "Gosh, a spanking?" I said cautiously. "Is your dad a hard spanker?"

  "Grace, come on! Daddy won't kill you. Just get undressed if you want to go to the concert. I hear Daddy now!"

  Indeed, I too could hear heavy footsteps on the stairs. I was still pulling off my tight designer jeans when the door opened.

  ---oOo---

  "You girls aren't going anywhere!" Jill Brandywine had told Alexis and me earlier that Friday afternoon.

  Alexis' mom was hopping mad, all because Alexis and I arrived from school smelling of tobacco smoke. We tried to explain that it wasn't us; it was the guys in the front seat, smoking Camels. That made Mrs. Brandywine even angrier.

  "I don't want you girls riding around with boys like that. You're grounded for the weekend."

  Since Mom and Dad were out of town, I was stuck at the Brandywine's house till Sunday afternoon. So Mrs. Brandywine was the boss of me.