This story was written by someone named Mike Davis. It came from
USENET in the early, early days of the internet. I've done a bit of
editing.
My Girlfriend's Mom
( http://bit.do/erotic18 )
When I was 17, I went on my first 'date' with JenniferSchnell, a 16-year-old who lived down the block, a goofytomboy from my pre-teen days who had bloomed into a hot teenagebeauty with long chestnut hair parted in the middle,firm high breasts and a pert bottom that had begun to takeon a womanly roundness. Her parents were very strict, soI had to make all kinds of promises about having herhome by 11:30 p.m. plus the usual stuff about noalcohol, etc., etc. To show you how protected we were,my mom drove us to the 'pool party' across town. JoeHenderson's folks had lots of money and a huge pool. Tomake a long story short, Joey's folks made themselvesscarce inside. Mysteriously, cold beers showed up in theice coolers. Jenny wanted to call her folks, scared todeath that they would find out. I asked Dan Jacobs, an18-year-old neighbor of ours, if he'd give us a ridehome. He had to go to work at the 7-11 early, so he saidhe'd leave about 10:30 — well before Jen's curfew. But Danhad a few beers and we left the party late. About twoblocks from Jen's house, the cops stopped Dan. He wasn'tdrunk, but he was under-age. So the cops drove me andJen to her house, even though we begged to walk.
You can imagine the atmosphere when the cop escorted usto Jen's front door at 11:45, 15 minutes past Jen'scurfew. Jen's dad answered the doorbell. Jen and I stoodthere with our heads bowed as the cop told Mr. Schnellthe whole story. Jen's dad seemed very calm, but histone of voice could have been that of a judge handingdown a death sentence.
"Jennifer, you and I need to discuss the consequences ofyour conduct tonight," he said. "Go upstairs and getinto your nightgown. Then come get me. Your mom and Iwant a word with Mike."
We sat at the kitchen table in the dark, the only lightcoming from a small florescent light over the stove.Mrs. Schnell was just as somber as her husband as theytook turns asking me about the party, the beer, parentalsupervision, and accepting rides from someone who hadbeen drinking. The funny thing was, they didn't"lecture" me or threaten punishments. Instead, they justposed questions, then asked me to reflect on our conductthat evening.
When did you learn there was beer at the party? Did youdrink any? Do you think teenagers should drinkalcohol at parties? When you found out about the beer,what were your choices? Would you make the same choiceif you could start all over again? Is it wise to ridewith somebody who has been drinking? What could you havedone to make sure you got Jennifer home before curfew.
When they finished with their questions, I had told themthat:
Teenagers shouldn't drink alcohol... Weshould have called our parents to pick us up, once weknew about the beer... We should never ride with a teenwho has had anything alcoholic to drink... We bothshowed poor judgment several times... As the older one,I had to take more responsibility for our conducttonight... We should both suffer consequences for ourmisconduct...
Mind you, none of these conclusions were suggested byJen's parents. They just led me to my own conclusions bythe questions they asked. God knows what I would havecome up with if Jen hadn't shown up in her pink nightgown, her shoulder length hair pulled back in aponytail.
Jen seemed so sad! She kissed her mom good night andsmiled meekly at me.
"I had a good time, Mike," she said, her voicequavering. "I'm sorry everything turned out so bad."
"Let's go upstairs, Princess," her father said, puttinghis arm around her shoulder. "We need to have aheart-to-heart talk and maybe even some consequences towork on."
"Yes, daddy," she said, leaning her head against hertall father as they turned and left the kitchen
In that moment, Jen seemed so paradoxical. The way shecalled her father "daddy" and leaned against him madeher seem like a child half her age. But as they walkedtogether toward the stairs, the bright light from theliving room passed through Jen's nightgown, silhouettingher body that was half child and half woman.
"Well," Mrs. Schnell remarked as we heard the door toJen's bedroom close, "there hasn't been a spanking inthis house in over two years. But I wouldn't besurprised if we get to hear one tonight."
I looked at Mrs. Schnell in horror!
"You still spank Jen?" I exclaimed. "Isn't she too old?"
Mrs. Schnell laughed.
"First of all, I don't spank Jen. Her father does. Asfar as being too old, that's for Jen to decide."
Mrs. Schnell explained that Jen had never been spankedagainst her will since she was four. Whenever Jenmisbehaved, her mother explained, her father alwaysdiscussed the consequences with her. Punishment optionswere laid out and the punishment matched to themisconduct. Part of the consequences of misconduct, Mrs.Schnell explained, is deciding for yourself what theappropriate punishment should be.
"For example," Mrs. Schnell explained, "when Jenniferwas 12 years old, she and some other girls began teasinganother girl at the school bus stop. The girl was new toyour school and Jennifer and her friends were doing whatchildren sometimes do to outsiders. Well, Jennifer'steacher happened to see the incident and sent a notehome, asking that we discuss it with her. Well, Jenniferand her dad went upstairs right after dinner. Prettysoon, I could hear a spanking in progress. Later, herdaddy told me that the spanking was Jennifer'ssuggestion. He even asked her if she thought12-year-olds are too old to spank. Of course, Jenniferalso called the girl she had teased on the phone toapologize. They've been friends ever since."
I told Mrs. Schnell that I had been spanked a few timeswhen I was younger, but never of my own volition. Sincethe second grade, my parents had never resorted tospankings. I asked her why Mr. Schnell did all thespankings. I admitted to her that — in my family — I'dpreferred my mom's spankings over my dad's.
"Oh, Jennifer and her dad have a special bond," Mrs.Schnell laughed. "She knows he's been very proud of her,whenever she's chosen to be spanked. Shows she's reallysorry and willing to take her punishment. And, to tellyou the truth, I don't think he spanks her all thatlong. I mean, he spanks her hard. When she was small, Iused to stay with them during the spankings. He spanksher bottom bright red. But it's a hard, short spanking.Maybe a dozen spanks at most. As a girl, I rememberspankings lasting a lot longer than that!"
She laughed again.
"You mean, Jen gets..." I began awkwardly. "Jen ispunished bare?"
"Spanked on her bare bottom? You bet! That's the bestway. Her daddy can be sure she really feels it. Besides,there's something so submissive and repentant aboutpulling down your pants or pulling up your skirt for aspanking. It means you are truly accepting of yourpunishment."
Just then, the unmistakable sound of a spanking inprogress wafted down the stairwell and into the kitchen.
"Yes, indeed," Mrs. Schnell said with a turn of hermouth, "Jen and her daddy are having a very deep,heart-to-heart exchange! I thought tonight might end upwith a spanking.”
We both sat in silence as the muffled smack-smack-smackof the bare-bottom spanking filled the house. Soon,Jen's cries mingled with the sound of her father's palmagainst her derriere.
Smack-smack-smack-smack-smack-smack!
Funny. You can't help listening to the sounds of aspanking. Jen's sobbing grew louder and louder, butstill the spanking continued, the sharp wet sound of a palmstriking bare flesh. I shivered. She was really getting it.
"I guess her father decided that a big 12-year-old needsmore than just a dozen spanks!" Mrs. Schnell declared,looking up toward the ceiling, as if she could seethrough the walls and witness the spanking with eyes aswell as ears. "This is the longest spanking he's evergiven his little princess."
Smack-smack-smack! The sounds of a palmstriking flesh continued. I could see it in my mind’s eye -- Jennifer, pj’s at her knees, her adorable bare bottom wriggling and bouncing across her dad’s knee as his arm rose and fell in a blur, the flesh turning a harsh red under the relentless tattoo of sharp spanks.
We sat in silence.
Smack-smack-smack! It sounded like a seriouspunishment that just went on and on. Sharp cracks alternated withpiteous sobs.I squirmed uncomfortably, imagining how my girlfriend felt. Herbottom must be blazing, was all I could think.
When the spanking stopped, Jen's sobbing continuedunabated.
"Wow!" Mrs. Schnell exclaimed. "I suspect that Jenniferis not going to be sitting down comfortably any timesoon. That was one very serious spanking. I suspectJennifer's regretting her choice of spankings right now.But later, she'll realize that a spanking's exactly whatshe deserved."
"Yeah, I guess..." I couldn't put into words the swirlof emotions I felt. Sorrow... Sympathy... Arousal...
I felt sorry for getting Jen in trouble, I felt sympathyfor her stinging, throbbing bottom. I felt aroused atthe thought of her naked bottom. The sound of thespanking and the images in my head had caused my penisto swell uncomfortably in my short pants. I consideredadjusting myself under the table, but with Mrs. Schnellsitting just across the table, I thought better of it.
"What should the consequences be for you, Mike?"
Mrs. Schnell's question snapped me back to thehere-and-now. I realized that what I felt most stronglywas guilt.
Jen had wanted to call her parents when we found outabout the beer. I had talked her out of it. Now she wasupstairs, crying her heart out after the longestspanking of her life — all because of me!
"I don't know," I said. "My folks would never considerspanking..."
"Well, you could be put on restriction and not seeJennifer for a few months," Mrs. Schnell suggested.
A few months? Was she crazy?
I realized then that my attraction for Jen was muchstronger than I had understood before. I knew I woulddie if I couldn't see Jen for months and months!
"But that would punish Jennifer twice," her motheradded. "She's already suffered her consequences. If shecouldn't see you, she would be heart broken. I don'tthink you understand how powerful a girl's first 'crush'can be, Mike."
I figured Jen liked me OK, but this was the first time Iheard anybody describe her affection for me as strong asmy own feelings for her.
"If we both got spanked, then things would be even — anddone with," I said softly, staring at the ceiling, morea thought to myself than something I intended to sharewith Jen's mom.
"Why don't you ask your mom or dad?" Mrs. Schnell asked.
"Naw!" I replied. "They'd think I was weird orsomething. They wouldn't understand..."
"Then ask somebody else."
I stared at her, my eyes wide. Then I looked through thekitchen door and up the stairs. Without thinking, myhead began to shake back and forth.
Mrs. Schnell laughed.
"I think Mr. Schnell deserves a break, don't you?" sheasked, not trying to hide the amusement in her voice. "Isuspect his hand is pretty sore right now. Not as soreas Jennifer's behind, but pretty sore nonetheless!"
She laughed again.
"Who then?" I shrugged.
"Well, I'm not Jennifer's designated spanker," shereplied. "But as a teenage babysitter, I was a favoriteamong all the stricter parents, because I gave out thebest spankings of all the babysitters. I'm a littlerusty, but I still bet I can make it uncomfortable foryou to sit down tomorrow!"
Oddly, she pulled her chair back from the kitchen tableand patted her lap, as if I'd already consented to hersuggestion. More oddly still, I pushed back my own chairand walked around the table. Mrs. Schnell's suggestionseemed the only viable way for me to atone thatnight for my part in it. And a spanking seemed like the only punishment for methat would be fair to Jen as well.
I stood awkwardly in front of her, not knowing what todo next.
"You can start by pulling your shorts down, Mike," shesaid, sensing my confusion.
I fumbled with the snap and zipper. I got the shortsdown to my knees OK. But I couldn't force myself to pulldown my underpants, especially since my penis again hadbegun to swell inexplicably.
"Don't be shy!" she chuckled, reaching and hooking boththumbs in my elastic waist band. "I'm a married woman,Mike. I've seen what's inside a boy's underpants before.And I've spanked many a little boy's bare bottom — eventhough it's been a few years."
I almost dived over her lap as she pulled them down,hoping my swelling went undetected.
She wore a dress hemmed just below her knees. Thematerial was some kind of synthetic — not cotton — witha satin feel to it. Draped over her lap, I noticed forthe first time ever what nice legs Mrs. Schnell had.
If Jen grows up to look like her mom, what a knock-outshe'll be!
That thought passed through my mind of its own accord,aggravating the swelling in my groin.
"You're the oldest boy I've ever spanked," Mrs. Schnellconfessed. "But I was only 18 at the time. My spankingarm's probably a lot stronger now. I'll try to make yourspanking comparable to Jen's..."
I don't know if she expected me to thank her. I guessnot, since she started right in, without even pausingfor my response.
Smack! Smack! Smack! Those first brisk spanks disabused me of anyA notion that Mrs Schnell was not strong enough to dish out a sound spanking. It hurt! I was thinking “yow! Ow! “ to myself in silence as her hand splatted against my bare fanny.
Mrs. Schnell may not have spanked anyone since herteens, but she obviously had forgotten nothing of herarcane craft. She delivered her spanks in sets of five,one cheek at a time, punctuating each set with an extrafirm spank right in the middle of both cheeks but downtowards the bottom, where the buttocks meets the upperlegs.
I practiced no heroics. The extent of my bravery was insubmitting to this painful humiliation. Once thespanking began, I reverted back to a cowardly4-year-old, trying everything in my power to avoid thepunishment I had just volunteered to accept.
Mrs. Schnell wrapped herself around me, clasping myoutside arm at the wrist and pinning it to my side. Icould feel her bosom pressing against my back. Isquirmed to no avail. I kicked my legs, but the shortsand underpants restricted my range of motion. I musthave looked like a beached seal, flopping in the sand.
"Oh, please-eee-eee! Ow-www-www-www-www!Hurrrrrrtssssss! Wahhh-hhhh-hhhh!" I couldn’t help it. ItStung like a hive of bees.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
None of my humiliating pleas elicited any sympathy fromMrs. Schnell. Like all good spankers, she wassufficiently detached and in control to know thatanything the spankee says can be discounted. She had aclear idea, I'm sure, of what constituted an adequatespanking under the circumstances.
And that's precisely what I was going to get!
Smack! Smack! Smack!
I had never endured a spanking of this magnitude, eitherin firmness of the spanks or in their number. Perhapsbecause my parental spankings had been delivered to theseat of my jeans or — worse case scenario — the bottomsof my PJs, I was not prepared for the hot, stinging painof Mrs. Schnell's bare-bottom spanks. Nothing in myprevious spankings prepared me for the odyssey of aprolonged spanking. I had never experienced that fabledmetamorphosis from angry rebellion over the knee tocomplete surrender and submission.
But there in the Schnell's kitchen, over the lap of mygirlfriend’s mother, I would make that long journey tothe second level of a spanking...
Smack! Smack! Smack! It burned, it scalded my bottom.It stung like crazy.
I collapsed, letting my bottom go limp, my legs justtwitching with each punishing smack of her palm, all mykicking gone. I stared at the yellow tiles of thekitchen floor, the discoloration of the grout between,the splashing of my own tears below my face. My crieswere a continuous stream, without modulation,independent of the landing of the spanks.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
I don't think I noticed when they stopped. I just laidthere crying. The minutes passed with me lost in my ownprivate world of hot, stinging pain and uncontrolledsobbing. But, in time, as always happens after even thehardest and longest of spankings, my sobbing broke upinto sniffles and hiccups.
"Turn around, Jennifer," I heard Mrs. Schnell sayfinally.
I turned my head to see Jennifer and her father in thekitchen doorway, his arm around her shoulders, tearsstreaming down her face. Somehow, I knew she cried formy pain, not her own. Her father turned her around bythe shoulders, facing her toward the living room, whileMrs. Schnell helped me to my feet. My penis hadshriveled up to nothing under her onslaught, so she hadno problem slipping my underpants back to their uprightposition. She then tugged my shorts up, zipping andsnapping them for me.
"OK," Mrs. Schnell, signaling Mr. Schnell to turn hisdaughter back around. "Time for an after-spankingheart-to-heart."
The four of us sat at the kitchen table, Jennifer on herfather's lap and me on her mother's. Both parentscomplimented us on the things we had done right thatevening. We did not drink beer and we did leave early inorder to respect Jen's curfew. We had both shown poorjudgment in other regards, but we had both accepted theconsequences of those poor judgments.
"That's the hardest spanking I've even given Jennifer,"Mr. Schnell explained with a hug. "You're both older nowand your bottoms are losing their sensitivity. But moreimportant, I wanted this spanking to be one you bothwould remember for a long, long time."
"Don't worry!" I exclaimed. "That's the hardest spankingI ever got. I'll never forget it!"
We all laughed. Then Mr. Schnell took Jen back upstairsand to bed. Mrs. Schnell insisted on driving me home,even though my house was just down the block.
"If you ever feel like you need another spanking, Mike,"she said as she stopped in front of my house, "I'll behappy to give it to you."
"Thanks, Mrs. Schnell," I replied. "I'll remember that."
I never asked for another spanking, of course. But Ithought about it a lot!
http://bit.do/erotic18
My Girlfriend's Mom
( http://bit.do/erotic18 )
When I was 17, I went on my first 'date' with JenniferSchnell, a 16-year-old who lived down the block, a goofytomboy from my pre-teen days who had bloomed into a hot teenagebeauty with long chestnut hair parted in the middle,firm high breasts and a pert bottom that had begun to takeon a womanly roundness. Her parents were very strict, soI had to make all kinds of promises about having herhome by 11:30 p.m. plus the usual stuff about noalcohol, etc., etc. To show you how protected we were,my mom drove us to the 'pool party' across town. JoeHenderson's folks had lots of money and a huge pool. Tomake a long story short, Joey's folks made themselvesscarce inside. Mysteriously, cold beers showed up in theice coolers. Jenny wanted to call her folks, scared todeath that they would find out. I asked Dan Jacobs, an18-year-old neighbor of ours, if he'd give us a ridehome. He had to go to work at the 7-11 early, so he saidhe'd leave about 10:30 — well before Jen's curfew. But Danhad a few beers and we left the party late. About twoblocks from Jen's house, the cops stopped Dan. He wasn'tdrunk, but he was under-age. So the cops drove me andJen to her house, even though we begged to walk.
You can imagine the atmosphere when the cop escorted usto Jen's front door at 11:45, 15 minutes past Jen'scurfew. Jen's dad answered the doorbell. Jen and I stoodthere with our heads bowed as the cop told Mr. Schnellthe whole story. Jen's dad seemed very calm, but histone of voice could have been that of a judge handingdown a death sentence.
"Jennifer, you and I need to discuss the consequences ofyour conduct tonight," he said. "Go upstairs and getinto your nightgown. Then come get me. Your mom and Iwant a word with Mike."
We sat at the kitchen table in the dark, the only lightcoming from a small florescent light over the stove.Mrs. Schnell was just as somber as her husband as theytook turns asking me about the party, the beer, parentalsupervision, and accepting rides from someone who hadbeen drinking. The funny thing was, they didn't"lecture" me or threaten punishments. Instead, they justposed questions, then asked me to reflect on our conductthat evening.
When did you learn there was beer at the party? Did youdrink any? Do you think teenagers should drinkalcohol at parties? When you found out about the beer,what were your choices? Would you make the same choiceif you could start all over again? Is it wise to ridewith somebody who has been drinking? What could you havedone to make sure you got Jennifer home before curfew.
When they finished with their questions, I had told themthat:
Teenagers shouldn't drink alcohol... Weshould have called our parents to pick us up, once weknew about the beer... We should never ride with a teenwho has had anything alcoholic to drink... We bothshowed poor judgment several times... As the older one,I had to take more responsibility for our conducttonight... We should both suffer consequences for ourmisconduct...
Mind you, none of these conclusions were suggested byJen's parents. They just led me to my own conclusions bythe questions they asked. God knows what I would havecome up with if Jen hadn't shown up in her pink nightgown, her shoulder length hair pulled back in aponytail.
Jen seemed so sad! She kissed her mom good night andsmiled meekly at me.
"I had a good time, Mike," she said, her voicequavering. "I'm sorry everything turned out so bad."
"Let's go upstairs, Princess," her father said, puttinghis arm around her shoulder. "We need to have aheart-to-heart talk and maybe even some consequences towork on."
"Yes, daddy," she said, leaning her head against hertall father as they turned and left the kitchen
In that moment, Jen seemed so paradoxical. The way shecalled her father "daddy" and leaned against him madeher seem like a child half her age. But as they walkedtogether toward the stairs, the bright light from theliving room passed through Jen's nightgown, silhouettingher body that was half child and half woman.
"Well," Mrs. Schnell remarked as we heard the door toJen's bedroom close, "there hasn't been a spanking inthis house in over two years. But I wouldn't besurprised if we get to hear one tonight."
I looked at Mrs. Schnell in horror!
"You still spank Jen?" I exclaimed. "Isn't she too old?"
Mrs. Schnell laughed.
"First of all, I don't spank Jen. Her father does. Asfar as being too old, that's for Jen to decide."
Mrs. Schnell explained that Jen had never been spankedagainst her will since she was four. Whenever Jenmisbehaved, her mother explained, her father alwaysdiscussed the consequences with her. Punishment optionswere laid out and the punishment matched to themisconduct. Part of the consequences of misconduct, Mrs.Schnell explained, is deciding for yourself what theappropriate punishment should be.
"For example," Mrs. Schnell explained, "when Jenniferwas 12 years old, she and some other girls began teasinganother girl at the school bus stop. The girl was new toyour school and Jennifer and her friends were doing whatchildren sometimes do to outsiders. Well, Jennifer'steacher happened to see the incident and sent a notehome, asking that we discuss it with her. Well, Jenniferand her dad went upstairs right after dinner. Prettysoon, I could hear a spanking in progress. Later, herdaddy told me that the spanking was Jennifer'ssuggestion. He even asked her if she thought12-year-olds are too old to spank. Of course, Jenniferalso called the girl she had teased on the phone toapologize. They've been friends ever since."
I told Mrs. Schnell that I had been spanked a few timeswhen I was younger, but never of my own volition. Sincethe second grade, my parents had never resorted tospankings. I asked her why Mr. Schnell did all thespankings. I admitted to her that — in my family — I'dpreferred my mom's spankings over my dad's.
"Oh, Jennifer and her dad have a special bond," Mrs.Schnell laughed. "She knows he's been very proud of her,whenever she's chosen to be spanked. Shows she's reallysorry and willing to take her punishment. And, to tellyou the truth, I don't think he spanks her all thatlong. I mean, he spanks her hard. When she was small, Iused to stay with them during the spankings. He spanksher bottom bright red. But it's a hard, short spanking.Maybe a dozen spanks at most. As a girl, I rememberspankings lasting a lot longer than that!"
She laughed again.
"You mean, Jen gets..." I began awkwardly. "Jen ispunished bare?"
"Spanked on her bare bottom? You bet! That's the bestway. Her daddy can be sure she really feels it. Besides,there's something so submissive and repentant aboutpulling down your pants or pulling up your skirt for aspanking. It means you are truly accepting of yourpunishment."
Just then, the unmistakable sound of a spanking inprogress wafted down the stairwell and into the kitchen.
"Yes, indeed," Mrs. Schnell said with a turn of hermouth, "Jen and her daddy are having a very deep,heart-to-heart exchange! I thought tonight might end upwith a spanking.”
We both sat in silence as the muffled smack-smack-smackof the bare-bottom spanking filled the house. Soon,Jen's cries mingled with the sound of her father's palmagainst her derriere.
Smack-smack-smack-smack-smack-smack!Funny. You can't help listening to the sounds of aspanking. Jen's sobbing grew louder and louder, butstill the spanking continued, the sharp wet sound of a palmstriking bare flesh. I shivered. She was really getting it.
"I guess her father decided that a big 12-year-old needsmore than just a dozen spanks!" Mrs. Schnell declared,looking up toward the ceiling, as if she could seethrough the walls and witness the spanking with eyes aswell as ears. "This is the longest spanking he's evergiven his little princess."
Smack-smack-smack! The sounds of a palmstriking flesh continued. I could see it in my mind’s eye -- Jennifer, pj’s at her knees, her adorable bare bottom wriggling and bouncing across her dad’s knee as his arm rose and fell in a blur, the flesh turning a harsh red under the relentless tattoo of sharp spanks.
We sat in silence.
Smack-smack-smack! It sounded like a seriouspunishment that just went on and on. Sharp cracks alternated withpiteous sobs.I squirmed uncomfortably, imagining how my girlfriend felt. Herbottom must be blazing, was all I could think.
When the spanking stopped, Jen's sobbing continuedunabated.
"Wow!" Mrs. Schnell exclaimed. "I suspect that Jenniferis not going to be sitting down comfortably any timesoon. That was one very serious spanking. I suspectJennifer's regretting her choice of spankings right now.But later, she'll realize that a spanking's exactly whatshe deserved."
"Yeah, I guess..." I couldn't put into words the swirlof emotions I felt. Sorrow... Sympathy... Arousal...
I felt sorry for getting Jen in trouble, I felt sympathyfor her stinging, throbbing bottom. I felt aroused atthe thought of her naked bottom. The sound of thespanking and the images in my head had caused my penisto swell uncomfortably in my short pants. I consideredadjusting myself under the table, but with Mrs. Schnellsitting just across the table, I thought better of it.
"What should the consequences be for you, Mike?"
Mrs. Schnell's question snapped me back to thehere-and-now. I realized that what I felt most stronglywas guilt.
Jen had wanted to call her parents when we found outabout the beer. I had talked her out of it. Now she wasupstairs, crying her heart out after the longestspanking of her life — all because of me!
"I don't know," I said. "My folks would never considerspanking..."
"Well, you could be put on restriction and not seeJennifer for a few months," Mrs. Schnell suggested.
A few months? Was she crazy?
I realized then that my attraction for Jen was muchstronger than I had understood before. I knew I woulddie if I couldn't see Jen for months and months!
"But that would punish Jennifer twice," her motheradded. "She's already suffered her consequences. If shecouldn't see you, she would be heart broken. I don'tthink you understand how powerful a girl's first 'crush'can be, Mike."
I figured Jen liked me OK, but this was the first time Iheard anybody describe her affection for me as strong asmy own feelings for her.
"If we both got spanked, then things would be even — anddone with," I said softly, staring at the ceiling, morea thought to myself than something I intended to sharewith Jen's mom.
"Why don't you ask your mom or dad?" Mrs. Schnell asked.
"Naw!" I replied. "They'd think I was weird orsomething. They wouldn't understand..."
"Then ask somebody else."
I stared at her, my eyes wide. Then I looked through thekitchen door and up the stairs. Without thinking, myhead began to shake back and forth.
Mrs. Schnell laughed.
"I think Mr. Schnell deserves a break, don't you?" sheasked, not trying to hide the amusement in her voice. "Isuspect his hand is pretty sore right now. Not as soreas Jennifer's behind, but pretty sore nonetheless!"
She laughed again.
"Who then?" I shrugged.
"Well, I'm not Jennifer's designated spanker," shereplied. "But as a teenage babysitter, I was a favoriteamong all the stricter parents, because I gave out thebest spankings of all the babysitters. I'm a littlerusty, but I still bet I can make it uncomfortable foryou to sit down tomorrow!"
Oddly, she pulled her chair back from the kitchen tableand patted her lap, as if I'd already consented to hersuggestion. More oddly still, I pushed back my own chairand walked around the table. Mrs. Schnell's suggestionseemed the only viable way for me to atone thatnight for my part in it. And a spanking seemed like the only punishment for methat would be fair to Jen as well.
I stood awkwardly in front of her, not knowing what todo next.
"You can start by pulling your shorts down, Mike," shesaid, sensing my confusion.
I fumbled with the snap and zipper. I got the shortsdown to my knees OK. But I couldn't force myself to pulldown my underpants, especially since my penis again hadbegun to swell inexplicably.
"Don't be shy!" she chuckled, reaching and hooking boththumbs in my elastic waist band. "I'm a married woman,Mike. I've seen what's inside a boy's underpants before.And I've spanked many a little boy's bare bottom — eventhough it's been a few years."
I almost dived over her lap as she pulled them down,hoping my swelling went undetected.
She wore a dress hemmed just below her knees. Thematerial was some kind of synthetic — not cotton — witha satin feel to it. Draped over her lap, I noticed forthe first time ever what nice legs Mrs. Schnell had.
If Jen grows up to look like her mom, what a knock-outshe'll be!
That thought passed through my mind of its own accord,aggravating the swelling in my groin.
"You're the oldest boy I've ever spanked," Mrs. Schnellconfessed. "But I was only 18 at the time. My spankingarm's probably a lot stronger now. I'll try to make yourspanking comparable to Jen's..."
I don't know if she expected me to thank her. I guessnot, since she started right in, without even pausingfor my response.
Smack! Smack! Smack! Those first brisk spanks disabused me of anyA notion that Mrs Schnell was not strong enough to dish out a sound spanking. It hurt! I was thinking “yow! Ow! “ to myself in silence as her hand splatted against my bare fanny.
Mrs. Schnell may not have spanked anyone since herteens, but she obviously had forgotten nothing of herarcane craft. She delivered her spanks in sets of five,one cheek at a time, punctuating each set with an extrafirm spank right in the middle of both cheeks but downtowards the bottom, where the buttocks meets the upperlegs.
I practiced no heroics. The extent of my bravery was insubmitting to this painful humiliation. Once thespanking began, I reverted back to a cowardly4-year-old, trying everything in my power to avoid thepunishment I had just volunteered to accept.
Mrs. Schnell wrapped herself around me, clasping myoutside arm at the wrist and pinning it to my side. Icould feel her bosom pressing against my back. Isquirmed to no avail. I kicked my legs, but the shortsand underpants restricted my range of motion. I musthave looked like a beached seal, flopping in the sand.
"Oh, please-eee-eee! Ow-www-www-www-www!Hurrrrrrtssssss! Wahhh-hhhh-hhhh!" I couldn’t help it. ItStung like a hive of bees.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
None of my humiliating pleas elicited any sympathy fromMrs. Schnell. Like all good spankers, she wassufficiently detached and in control to know thatanything the spankee says can be discounted. She had aclear idea, I'm sure, of what constituted an adequatespanking under the circumstances.
And that's precisely what I was going to get!
Smack! Smack! Smack!
I had never endured a spanking of this magnitude, eitherin firmness of the spanks or in their number. Perhapsbecause my parental spankings had been delivered to theseat of my jeans or — worse case scenario — the bottomsof my PJs, I was not prepared for the hot, stinging painof Mrs. Schnell's bare-bottom spanks. Nothing in myprevious spankings prepared me for the odyssey of aprolonged spanking. I had never experienced that fabledmetamorphosis from angry rebellion over the knee tocomplete surrender and submission.
But there in the Schnell's kitchen, over the lap of mygirlfriend’s mother, I would make that long journey tothe second level of a spanking...
Smack! Smack! Smack! It burned, it scalded my bottom.It stung like crazy.
I collapsed, letting my bottom go limp, my legs justtwitching with each punishing smack of her palm, all mykicking gone. I stared at the yellow tiles of thekitchen floor, the discoloration of the grout between,the splashing of my own tears below my face. My crieswere a continuous stream, without modulation,independent of the landing of the spanks.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
I don't think I noticed when they stopped. I just laidthere crying. The minutes passed with me lost in my ownprivate world of hot, stinging pain and uncontrolledsobbing. But, in time, as always happens after even thehardest and longest of spankings, my sobbing broke upinto sniffles and hiccups.
"Turn around, Jennifer," I heard Mrs. Schnell sayfinally.
I turned my head to see Jennifer and her father in thekitchen doorway, his arm around her shoulders, tearsstreaming down her face. Somehow, I knew she cried formy pain, not her own. Her father turned her around bythe shoulders, facing her toward the living room, whileMrs. Schnell helped me to my feet. My penis hadshriveled up to nothing under her onslaught, so she hadno problem slipping my underpants back to their uprightposition. She then tugged my shorts up, zipping andsnapping them for me.
"OK," Mrs. Schnell, signaling Mr. Schnell to turn hisdaughter back around. "Time for an after-spankingheart-to-heart."
The four of us sat at the kitchen table, Jennifer on herfather's lap and me on her mother's. Both parentscomplimented us on the things we had done right thatevening. We did not drink beer and we did leave early inorder to respect Jen's curfew. We had both shown poorjudgment in other regards, but we had both accepted theconsequences of those poor judgments.
"That's the hardest spanking I've even given Jennifer,"Mr. Schnell explained with a hug. "You're both older nowand your bottoms are losing their sensitivity. But moreimportant, I wanted this spanking to be one you bothwould remember for a long, long time."
"Don't worry!" I exclaimed. "That's the hardest spankingI ever got. I'll never forget it!"
We all laughed. Then Mr. Schnell took Jen back upstairsand to bed. Mrs. Schnell insisted on driving me home,even though my house was just down the block.
"If you ever feel like you need another spanking, Mike,"she said as she stopped in front of my house, "I'll behappy to give it to you."
"Thanks, Mrs. Schnell," I replied. "I'll remember that."
I never asked for another spanking, of course. But Ithought about it a lot!
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