Subject: Story: Fate Takes a Hand (Sp, F/m )
Date: 19 Aug 1996 18:09:19 -0400
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction depicting a teenager being spanked. If you are not of legal age and unsure about your reactions, discuss it with your parents before reading. Any similarity between characters depicted in this story and persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Oww! Mom! Please, I m sorry! I yelped stridently as my mother s firm palm smacked my upturned bare bottom, just barely thirteen, again and again. With my right wrist held firmly in her left hand, I was powerless to do anything but squirm and yelp while she spanked away, dutifully warming every square inch of my tender behind. Kicking frantically, I tried hard to free my legs, which were hobbled by my jeans and briefs. Mom had stripped them down to my ankles before turning me across her knees to be spanked, and they were now a serious impediment to me, to my discomfort. Mom! Please, stop! I promise, I won t talk back any more! Owww! Oww! I wailed as the spanking continued, her hand swatting me harder as her enthusiasm for the task at hand increased. Tears began flowing freely from my eyes as the sting of her palm got worse with every spank, and I knew the worst was yet to come. Lying on my bed next to my mother s left thigh was a long-handled plastic bath brush, and its turn would be coming soon. How did I get myself into this? I wondered silently and briefly, as my mother paused for a moment to push up her right sleeve, then resumed spanking my well-reddened bare bottom even harder. She was fully in the spirit of things, now, and I was in for it, but good.
This room is a pig sty! my mom s voice proclaimed, her hands on her hips, right foot tapping the floor. I want it cleaned up, and now! she demanded. Shifting from foot to foot, I put on a wise-guy smirk and cracked Yeah, yeah. Okay, I ll do it, don t bust a gasket. Don t give me that! mom said, shaking her finger at me. I ve had just about enough of your lip, young man. Looking around the room at all my junk, she announced I ve got a good notion to just throw all this crap out! Without warning, my spoiled-brat temper came to the surface and I blurted You do and you ll be the sorriest woman on earth! Right away, I realized I had crossed over the line, and was instantly sorry. Never the less, I held my ground, a stubborn look on my face. Mom was shocked for a brief moment, then pointed at my bed and said sternly, Lie down. Now. I hesitated, but she repeated even more sternly, I said lie down! As a fairly obedient son, I did as she told me, not knowing quite what to expect. My parents hadn t spanked me since I was eight or nine years old, and that only a token handspanking. My father had been seriously abused as a child, and couldn t bring himself to punish me beyond a swat or two, and mom just didn t have the energy for it. A late life child, I was challenging their ability to deal with my youthful rebellion, and they were both running out of ideas. Once I had lain face down on the bed, fully clothed, mom swatted the seat of my jeans a half-dozen times, hard. It was absolutely useless, which she realized, and she left my room in tears. The tiny bit of warmth that flooded my rear was added to the flush in my cheeks as I sat up on the bed, watching my mother leave the room crying. I wanted to run after her, to apologize, but I couldn t make myself do it. Oh, man. I thought, Now you did it, you jerk. My eyes misted some as I flopped back down on the bed, hands behind my head. I hadn t wanted to hurt her, really. Just my big mouth, causing trouble again. Lying there, in the autumn afternoon, I still felt the warmth caused by mom s hand. She had swatted me as hard as she could, with no discernible result, and I think that had frustrated her as much as my misbehavior. Part of me wished that she had made me take my pants down before spanking me, and part of me was glad I had gotten away with my stunt. I thought about a friend of mine, who got spanked regularly by his parents, with a hairbrush, and how he described the terrible sting of it. He never would have gotten away with an act like I had just pulled! Suddenly, I felt cheated, as well as guilty as hell for putting my mother through something she didn t deserve. The scales were out of balance, and I had to find a way to put it right. For about an hour, I lay there on my bed in the darkening afternoon, making a plan and rehearsing what I would say. Then, at about four-thirty in the afternoon, I took a deep breath and took the plunge. Exiting my room, I could smell the beginnings of supper. Pot roast, I thought. Probably with mashed potatoes and gravy. Mom was a good cook, and I didn t appreciate it much. The thought steeled my determination, and I continued on my journey, stopping by the bathroom on the way. Hanging from a rack in the tub was a long-handled plastic bath brush. Since my mother s hairbrush was the spiral kind, this was the closest thing I could think of for her to use. My hand closed around the handle and I felt the weight. Heart beating wildly, I tried to imagine how it would sting, then slapped it experimentally into my palm. Shocked by the sharp snapping sound, as well as the smart of it, I winced and looked around, very tempted to abandon my mission right then and there. The stubbornness which had created the problem in the first place took over, though, and hefting the bath brush, I made my way out to the living room. Mom was sitting on the sofa, reading a magazine. I walked up to her and said tentatively, Mom?
My burning bottom continued to increase in both temperature and color as mom s hand spanked and spanked and spanked, leaving no area untouched. Crying freely now, and very contrite, I marveled at the change that had taken place. Mom had done a Jekyll and Hyde on me. Many times in the past she had threatened to buy a hairbrush and blister my bottom, but her threats had never materialized. Now, I was getting it harder than I ever had, and I was definitely doubting the wisdom of my actions. As years of frustration bubbled to the surface, the mild mannered forty-five year old woman I knew became a strict and very capable disciplinarian. The spanking had started out in a tentative fashion, but was now rapidly becoming a real butt-burner as her palm continued slapping. Bawling and pleading for her to stop, I squirmed ineffectively, my behind on fire. Suddenly, the spanking ceased, and she stood me up. Standing up herself, she took me by the wrist and dragged me off toward the bathroom. Hobbled by my pants and briefs, I managed to half jump-step out of them as I stumbled along in my mother s firm grip. Hauling me into the bathroom, she gave me a sharp slap on the bottom as she declared sternly, You want a lesson in behavior, young man, I ll teach you to talk back to me. I was rubbing my blazing bottom with both hands, tears running down my face and my nose running equally as freely. Through blurry eyes I saw her reach for a bar of soap, and then lather it quickly. Taking me by the upper arm, she ordered Open that snotty mouth of yours. Maybe a good dose of soap will clean it out. At first I resisted, but she was not to be denied, and soon was washing my mouth out thoroughly and none too gently. When she had a good lather worked up, she had me hold the bar of soap in my mouth while she lectured me at length. Once again the years of frustration and disappointment came to the surface as she expressed her, and my father s displeasure over my conduct. It s obvious that if even you see the need for discipline, she stated, that I ve been much too lenient with you. Pausing for effect, she went on, From now on, I won t make that mistake. When we get back to your room you re going to get a spanking you won t forget, and it will definitely not be the last. You can plan on spending time over my knee at least once a week for the next six months, and then we ll see how you behave. Taking the soap from my mouth, mom marched me back to my bedroom, where she took her seat on the edge of my bed and dragged me across her knees. This time, instead of putting her palm to work, she picked up the plastic bath brush. Getting a firm grip on me, she smacked my well-spanked bare bottom smartly. I bucked wildly from the awful sting of it, and then felt the next smarting whack on the other cheek. Soon I was howling and kicking wildly as the bath brush did its work, deepening the bright crimson of my young buns with every whack. My frantically questing right hand, attempting to protect my inflamed rear, was intercepted by mom s left hand and held resolutely away from the target while she continued to spank, good and hard. Bawling like a child and begging her to stop, my bucking finally carried me off her lap and onto my knees on the floor. She swatted me to my feet, and then guided me between her knees, turning me face down across her left knee and draping her right leg over my lower legs. Grabbing my right wrist, she pulled it up behind my back and announced, I m not through with you by a long shot, young man. Now you re going to get it, but good!
What is it? she said flatly, lowering her magazine to look directly into my eyes. Shifting nervously from foot to foot, I braced myself and said, I m really sorry for what I said, mom. I didn t mean to talk back like that, honest. Mom s gaze went from my face to the bath brush in my hands, then back to my face. You know I m not happy with your behavior lately. She said, still in a flat tone of voice. Pausing a moment, she then asked What s that for? My heart went into overdrive, beating wildly as I said uneasily, I think you ought to give me a spanking. She waited, impassively, while I fidgeted, I mean, I think I deserve it... and Joey s parents spank him for much less. I don t know, I just think maybe you should. She looked at me for a long moment, trying to make up her mind, and then stood up. I think maybe you re right. Taking the bath brush from me, she looked me straight in the eyes and said, You will undoubtedly regret your decision, and very soon. However, what s done is done, and there s no turning back. You re going to get a sound bottom-warming, young man, she went on, slapping her palm with the back of the brush, and it won t be fun. But, I think you should know that I m very proud of you for doing this. Taking me by the arm, she led me off to my room. Shaking like a leaf, I had already begun to regret my decision, and wished I was somewhere else. Once in my room, mom drew the blinds and then sat on the edge of my bed, laying the brush on the bed and motioning me to her. I blushed considerably as she took my jeans down, which made her smile thinly and then say I ve seen everything before, little man. Her thumbs hooked into the waistband of my briefs, and she stripped them all the way down to my ankles, making me blush even more deeply. Over my knee. She ordered calmly, and then added, I m going to try to make your naughty bottom match the color of your face. The cool air on my bottom felt unusual, and added to the feeling of unease generated by my precarious position. Mom usually wore an understated but feminine fragrance, and a hint of it now reached my nostrils, contributing to the surrealism of my situation. A split second later, her right palm smacked my upturned bottom, stinging more than I had imagined it would. Imagine my surprise when the succeeding spanks grew in frequency and intensity. This was going to be more than I had bargained for.
Firmly pinioned in place, I waited only a fleeting moment before the plastic bath brush resumed its journey from bottom to mid-thigh, stinging areas it had already visited so thoroughly. Unable to thrash or even twist in my mother s unyielding grasp, I bawled and sobbed my penitence and promises of good behavior as she spanked and spanked and spanked. Several long minutes later, having completely blistered the target area, mom stopped at last. Standing me up, she marched me over to the corner, where she ordered me Clasp your hands behind your back, young man, and think about your behavior. If I come in and catch you rubbing your bottom, you ll go right back over my knee, you understand? I tearfully nodded my understanding, and spent the next thirty minutes feeling very, very sorry for myself.
Heels clicking on the hardwood floor of the hall outside my room brought a twinge of fear. A muting of the sound as it got closer announced my mother s entry into my room and her passage across the carpet. I didn t dare to look around. My heart beat wildly as I waited. Turn around. She commanded. Turning, a surge of adrenaline shot through my bloodstream as I saw the bath brush in her hand. Oh, God. I thought, paralyzed with fear, She s going to spank me again. Oh, no, please! Mom noted the abject fear in my eyes, and a satisfied smile crossed her face. Are you ready to start behaving yourself now, or do I need to warm your bottom some more? she inquired sternly. Babbling, I confessed my desire to do nothing but my absolute best from then on, not even concerned with my undressed state, just anxious to have nothing more to do with that nasty bath brush. Noticing my fearful stare, she brandished the brush for effect and said slyly, You haven t felt the last of this, mister, so you d better get in line. Now get your pajamas on and get into bed. You can do without your supper tonight. Maybe an empty stomach and a sore bottom will help you do some serious thinking. As I turned away, she gave me a light swat on my battered rear that propelled me across the room toward my dresser.
A cricket serenade lulled me to sleep, the fire in my behind receding to a dull, smarting ache that was not altogether unpleasant. In spite of the punishing nature of the encounter, I felt more loved and cared for than I could remember in a long time. There would be other encounters with the bath brush, but none so meaningful nor severe. Mom would grow to be one of my best friends, and one that would last a lifetime.