---oOo---
From an early age, I wondered why Daddy didn't just pretend to be hard on me. After all, how would Mommy Dearest ever know? So I asked Daddy why. I must have been 5 at the time, in the process of taking off my panties.
"Nobody will ever know, Daddy!"
And Daddy said, "You will know, Gracie. And so would I. What did we promise your mother?"
"A hard one?" I asked, knowing the answer.
"It's called integrity," Daddy explained. "If I didn't do what I said I was going to do, I would lack integrity. And if you went along with my clever little ruse, you would lose all your personal integrity, too."
"So this is for my integrity?" I said at 5, lying down.
"Yes, Grace, in the oddest of ways, hard IS for your own good."
---oOo---
At 15 years - a decade later - I still flutter kicked. For what I hoped would be my last hard one ever, I stayed put. It was a matter of personal integrity.
(As it turned out, it wasn't my last after all. In fact - due to a particular set of circumstances - it was Connie and me who ended up doing it the next time. To my complete surprise, Connie was shockingly hard on me, but really nice afterwards.)
When daddy finally stopped, I sobbed and sobbed. But I knew I'd be fine. Soon I would put my panties back on and wash my face. Then Connie, Daddy, and I would go to the matinee play, just like we planned. The three of us were going to have a great Christmas! I just knew it.
I tried to say something, but I blubbered.
"Sorry, Grace. What was that?"
"L-L-Louisiana-aaa-aah!"
Daddy laughed at my little inside joke and patted my bottom kindly. No way was Mommy Dearest going to ruin our Christmas Day.
Not Right for Teens
"You won't be able to hand spank that one for much longer," said Ruth Rafferty to Carol Nesbitt.
Eight-year-old Caitlin Nesbitt stood weeping in the corner under the awning behind the ping-pong table, the bottom of her two-piece swimsuit down in back, her bright pink cheeks on public display.
"Why not?" asked Mrs. Nesbitt.
Mrs. Nesbitt had taken care of me after school since I was seven or eight. Now that I was a teenager, Mom still insisted that I be 'supervised' after school. At least she didn't call it babysitting!
"Because as they get older," replied Mrs. Rafferty, "they need a little more stimulation. A ping-pong paddle, for example. Hand spankings are not right for teens."
Swimming in the pool with Joey Rafferty, I didn't feel Caitlin deserved a spanking. But Mrs. Nesbitt is a 'first response' spanker and a bit arbitrary.
"Not so!" insisted Mrs. Nesbitt. "A hand spanking on the bare bottom works just as well on a teen as a toddler."
In the beginning, Mrs. Nesbitt used to spank me as often as Caitlin. Now that I'm 13, Mrs. Nesbitt doesn't spank me anymore.
"Well, if all you want to do is shame the child," insisted Mrs. Rafferty, "a hand spanking will do. But the bottom line with any good spanking is pain. Raw, intense physical pain. You can't convince me that a hand spanking can do that on older children."
I say Mrs. Rafferty is arbitrary. Here's an example. When I was nine or ten, she took Caitlin, Joey Rafferty, and me to the zoo. Before we left, she spanked us all - from youngest to oldest - as 'inoculation'. We'd get more on the spot if we misbehaved at the zoo, she said.
"Seeing is believing," said Mrs. Nesbitt. "Grace, will you come here?"
A minute later, I stood before the two housewives, wrapped in a towel and shivering.
"How long has it been since you've been spanked, Gracie?" asked Mrs. Nesbitt.
"Almost two years," I replied. "Mom and dad turned spankings into an option for me when I turned 12."
"So you never pick the spanking option when you're punished?" asked Mrs. Rafferty.
"No."
"Well, Gracie, I know you've been listening," said Mrs. Nesbitt. "Mrs. Rafferty and I are having a little argument. You can help us resolve it."
I got a sick feeling in my stomach. I knew where this was going.
"But Mrs. Nesbitt, I didn't do anything bad!"
"Now Gracie, you haven't been spanked in two years," she replied reproachfully. "Surely, you can't think of something since your last spanking that deserves correction."
"Not off the top of my head," I protested.
"Very well," said Mrs. Nesbitt, looking at her watch. "I'll give you two minutes. Think of something I can use."
"What if I can't?" I asked.
"Then I'll spank you for disobedience."
The next 120 seconds were agony. I trembled from nerves as much as the chill breeze. I couldn't think of anything. I think maybe I resented having to come up with an excuse for Mrs. Nesbitt to use on my butt.
"Well?" she asked, looking at her watch.
I shook my head.
"Looks like somebody is disobedient!" smiled Mrs. Nesbitt to Mrs. Rafferty. "What would you do to a girl with a bad attitude like that, Ruth?"
"Spank her!" laughed Mrs. Rafferty. "But I wouldn't use my hand."
She pointed to the ping-pong table.
"I'd use one of those paddles," she concluded.
"No need for weaponry," said Mrs. Nesbitt, pulling down the bottom of my bikini. "A good, sound spanking with the hand will do the trick."
Over her lap, I heard Mrs. Nesbitt say, "Gracie has a nice round bottom with plenty of baby fat for protection. So you don't think I can make an impression with just my hand."
"Not much of one," Mrs. Rafferty replied.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
A bare-bottom spanking is like riding a bicycle. Once Mrs. Nesbitt began to spank, I was transported back in time. I wasn't 13 anymore. I was five or six, bawling, kicking, and squirming like my efforts would somehow mitigate the pain.
But they didn't.
Because she was trying to make a point, I guess, the spanking seemed endless. Toward the end - when all my bones turned to rubber and I hung like a wet beach towel over her lap - I honestly didn't feel the spanks anymore.
My buns were numb.
Caitlin was allowed to pull up her swimsuit and join Joey in the pool. I took her place. I stood 'bottomless' in the corner, a towel wrapped around my shoulder, having kicked off the bottom portion of my swimsuit in the excitement of my punishment.
"So do you still feel that hand spankings are not right for teens?" I heard Mrs. Nesbitt ask.
"Well, I suppose a hand spanking can be effective. But surely there must be an upper limit where a hand spanking won't bring tears anymore."
"I don't know," laughed Mrs. Nesbitt. "I can still make Mr. Nesbitt cry."
"Foreplay?"
"Not always," replied Mrs. Nesbitt. "Sometimes my hubby is just a big, bad boy. And since his mommy passed away, I'm the only one to see that he gets it. Believe me, a hand spanking works fine at any age."
The women laughed.
I didn't get it.
Perfect Gift for a Teenage Girl
This sounds worse than it actually was - given the way things have turned out. If you're squeamish, though, don't read the rest.
"The afternoon to ourselves," said my stepfather, as Mom drove away, waving from the front seat while the St. Bernard slobbered in the back. I was grateful for the marriage, because I liked Joel. Mom seemed happy with him.
I thought Mom was way too attractive for Joel, but he would be a good provider - Mom said - and love me as his own daughter. Indeed, Joel was really nice to me, yet respectful of the fact that I was thirteen and worthy of some age-appropriate respect. But Joel didn't feel like a real dad or anything. Not till that weekend.
"Yeah," I repeated, "the whole afternoon."
I tried not to sound too depressed at the prospect. Joel put his arm around my shoulder.
"Grace, I think I fell in love with you," he said with a squeeze as we turned from the window, "before I fell in love with your mother."
"Joel, you're making me feel kind of weird!" I complained,
my eyes darting from side to side, suddenly uncomfortable to have his arm around me.
He laughed easily and I relaxed a little.
"No, not that kind of love. You see, I've always wanted a close relationship with a daughter. Become the most important man in her life. Somebody she looked up to. Somebody whose authority she respected."
"Gosh, you make it sound like something special."
For some reason, tears filled my eyes. Maybe his words conjured up images of my father's waxen face in the coffin. All my five-year-old eyes could attend to were the folds of white satin in the bottom of the lid. I didn't want to look down at what was left of Daddy. At thirteen, I guess I wanted a father as much as Joel wanted a daughter.
"You know, your Aunt Crystal is my twin," he explained as he led me upstairs, his arm comfortably around my shoulders. "So I know the special relationship she had with our father."
"She seemed sadder than you at the funeral," I said, meaning no offense.
"Crystal was very, very close to Father," Joel admitted. "There was a gulf - chasm really - between Father and me. I don't want there to be a gulf between you and me, Grace."
"Sure, whatever!" I said cheerfully, seeing no reason not to be.
In their bedroom, he took me to my mother's drawer where she keeps her bras.
"Your mother left a present at the bottom of the drawer."
I found the present, the box wrapped in gold foil paper. Taped to the outside next to the curly bow was a card that said on the outside, 'Fathers & Daughters Connect in a Special Way...'
The cartoon sketch showed a little girl sitting on a bald man's lap. Both were smiling. The man looked a bit like Joel but the little girl - still a child with pigtails - didn't look anything like me.
Inside the card declared, 'And Afterwards, Little Girls Can Still Sit on Their Connection!'
The cartoon now showed the same little girl draped over her father's lap, his hand connecting with her behind, with a halo of red stars just above her bottom. The dad's face frowned. Two big blue tears hung from corners of the little girl's eyes. But the little girl still smiled.
Mother had written a personal note:
Dear Grace,
After long discussions, Joel & I agreed. I know this is shocking, coming from a non-spanker, but Joel convinced me this is best. Of course, I intend to discipline you the same as ever, but you and Joel are entitled to your own relationship. So please co-operate with Joel and give this new adventure a chance to work.
Love, Mommy
I opened the box to find a ping-pong paddle, thong panties, and a tank top.
"But aren't I a bit old?" I protested. "After all, Mom never..."
"I know, I know," he said sympathetically. "A shock to the system, especially for a rapidly maturing girl like yourself, Grace. But in the end, you'll find the experience very rewarding."
"Well, what are the rules? Don't I get any say?"
"No, that's the whole idea behind spankings," replied Joel. "Especially teen spankings. In other areas of your life, you'll negotiate greater and greater say. Greater freedom. Spankings are different."
"How so?"
"Because that's the one area of your teenage years where you have no control. No say-so. Spankings are the arbitrary assertion of parental power and control. It's a safety mechanism."
"Safety?"
"Sure," replied Joel. "When all else fails, the spanking clarifies the fact that you are a minor until you leave home or turn eighteen, whichever comes last. As a minor, your mother and I are in control. Spankings are non-negotiable."
"So you can spank me for anything you want?"
He nodded.
"That doesn't seem fair."
"Spankings aren't about fairness," said Joel. "Spankings are about clarifying relationships."
"Well, what if I don't want a spanking? What then?"
"I'll have to spank you for the original thing," said Joel. "And later when you're feeling better, I'll spank you for attitude."
"What attitude?"
"Not wanting a spanking," he replied.
"So I have to act like I want a spanking?" I asked, incredulous.
"Something like that!" Joel laughed. "You don't have to pretend to enjoy it. But I insist on an accepting attitude - one acknowledging my authority to spank you as needed."
"But I haven't needed a spanking up to now."
"That's a matter of opinion," my stepfather replied. "And besides, I'm not spanking you because you are an especially naughty girl. I'm spanking you so we can have a clear father-daughter relationship."
"Well, I don't want spankings!" I insisted, tempted to stomp my foot.
"Nevertheless, I'll turn my back while you strip and put on your spanking attire," said Joel.
And he turned.
"But Joel..." I said to his back.
"Let's talk after you've changed," he insisted.
"Okay, I'm ready," I said after stripping and putting on my shockingly immodest outfit.
What I meant was I was 'ready' in the sense of having changed my clothes. I guess Joel thought I meant I was 'ready' for my first spanking! He had me over his lap before I knew what hit me...
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
I have a few friends who get spanked from time to time...
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
I've always asked them to describe the sensation...
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
But I guess there are some sensations that you just have to experience directly...
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
The spanking went on for what seemed like an endless track of time...
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
But eventually Joel stopped. He held me on his lap till I couldn't cry another drop. And when I recovered, he spanked me again for 'attitude'. Having been spanked once, I didn't put up any fight or resistance at all. I noticed I felt better afterwards, even though my bottom felt royally battered at this point. This time, I felt more comfortable in Joel's embrace, even though sitting on his lap was much more painful.
When Mom returned home from the dog-grooming center, I intended to have a rather intense 'chat' with her about how she sprung Joel's spankings on me.
A ping-pong paddle, thong panties, and a tank top... Some gift!
"Remember, spankings are arbitrary, Grace," said Joel, his arm around my shoulders as Mom pulled up in the SUV. "And remember, you're still our daughter. I suspect you want to have some harsh words with your mother. I don't think that's such a good idea."
Mom entered the house with an armload of groceries. Malcolm the St. Bernard wanted hugs and attention from Joel and me. Finally, Mom turned to me and said, "Well? How did it go?"
I opened my mouth... Joel had taken Malcolm out back to play with a ball. This was the perfect chance to give Mother a piece of my mind - outside the earshot of my stepfather.
"Thanks for the gift, Mom," I heard myself saying. "Perfect. I never realized till just now, but that's something I've always wanted."
"I just knew you'd like it!" Mom exclaimed, embracing me. "Like mother, like daughter."
Mom pushed me back so she could read my facial expression.
"Isn't Joel just the best spanker anyone would ever want?"
I shrugged. "I guess. I haven't been spanked since Dad died."
But looking back on those five years between the ages of thirteen and eighteen, Joel spanked me a lot. And hard, too. Each and every one was a good, sound spanking. After the first month or so, Mom would join us in the bedroom for the spankings - hugging me afterwards. A family bonding experience...
To this day, my stepfather remains the best spanker I've ever had.
And I've tried plenty of others...
Why Did I Ever Listen to Sheila?
OMG! Why did I ever listen to Sheila? I pace the room in my panties and bra...
When I was little, I paced this very same bedroom in just my panties...
Waiting and waiting and wa
iting...
The only difference this time is the brassiere... I'm 14... I'm way too old. Why did I ever listen to Sheila?
Mom made Roger stop when I turned 12... Okay, since then, I get grounded a lot... But grounding isn't so bad... Why did I ever listen to Sheila?
Okay, so now Roger opens the door... I tell him I've changed my mind... He reminds me of the family meeting vote in favor of giving me 'choices'... I tell him I choose grounding... He tells me I'm too late... I made my choice downstairs... Why did I ever listen to Sheila?
Okay, so now Roger's sitting on my bed and I have to go over... No choice... Not now... Too late...
He tugs down my panties and I object... Too old for that... Roger says I say the same thing about everything... Too old for this... Too old for that...
So now he's putting down the 'burn' with that old ping-pong paddle... Laying down the strokes, good and hard... Like the old days... What agony! God! Why did I ever listen to Sheila?
Okay, this is too hard! He's got to stop now... I'm not kidding... Roger just keeps whapping and whapping and whapping... He's always been a cruel stepdad and a brutal spanker... How could I have forgotten? Why did I ever listen to Sheila?
Roger strips the years away... That paddle is like a time machine... I'm 9 now, howling in protest... I'm 6 now, begging for mercy... Now I'm only 4, just bawling and blowing clear runny snot all over my bedspread...
Roger's gone now and I'm sobbing under the covers... How degrading... How humiliating, on the bare like that... I'll never sit again... Why did I ever listen to Sheila?
Rubbing my buns, I think of the tongue-lashing I'll give Sheila... She can keep her damn 'choices'... I'm telling her that the spanking 'choice' is for sickos... We're too old for bare-bottom spankings like I just got...
I never want another one of those, not as long as I live... I wanna another family meeting... From now on, it's just grounding for me... This cruelty must stop...
My poor, poor buns... They burn and throb and sting, all at once...
But rubbing my buns feels so... Good... Stimulating... My fingers wander... OMG! I am so, so, so wet! This feels so excruciatingly naughty... The burning sensation... The wetness... My mind races through the ordeal... My fingers work me into a frenzy...
The Spanking of Teenage Daughters - Book One Page 7