Subject: Repost: A New Attitude (Sp, FM/m)
From: Kfry2k@aol.com
Date: 30 Jul 1996 11:04:45 -0400

DISCLAIMER: This is a fictionalization that involves a teenager being spanked. If you don't handle this well... speak with your parents before reading or don't read it. Any similarity between the characters represented in this story and real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.


A New Attitude

Rebecca Eaton was angry. She put the phone down sharply, not quite sure whether to be mad at her son Randy, or the school principal, or both. At thirty-four, Becky thought her life was in order, at least it had been until recently. An early marriage provided a rocky start to adulthood, and having a child at twenty presented quite a challenge for her and Jim, her husband. Becky was a pretty woman, five-feet nine inches tall with an attractive build, blonde hair and soft blue eyes. Now the blue eyes grew colder and darker, as they did when she was mad, and she picked up the phone again, her slim tapered fingers stabbing at the buttons. Tapping her fingers impatiently on her desk blotter, she waited as the phone buzzed in her ear, ringing.

Jim Eaton. came the mechanical answer, as her husband picked up his phone.

Jim, it s Becky, Becky said sharply, still angry at her previous conversation with the school principal, We need to talk about Randy.

Her husband made a face, realizing from her tone that she was pretty mad about something. What s the matter, hon? he asked solicitously, hoping to cool her down a little.

I just had a long talk with Mrs. Petty, you know, the principal at Randy s school? Becky said. A grunt from her husband served as confirmation that he understood. She says that Randy hasn t been turning in his homework, and she suspects he s been cutting school lately.

Mmmmmm. Jim muttered, I guess I ll have to have a talk with him tonight.

You re going to have to do better than that, and I mean it this time. When he gets home this afternoon, I m going to give him a good, hard spanking, and I expect you to do the same when you get home. Becky stated firmly.

But hon, Jim reasoned, he s fourteen! That s too old for spanking. Can t we think of something else? Jim came from a family where physical discipline was not common, and had very little experience with it. He also didn t understand the benefit of a good bottom warming for adjusting a teenager s attitude toward life. Becky knew it, and pressed the point.

Listen, Jim. We ve been over this before. My father and mother spanked me until the year before we got married. It did me a world of good, and I think it s way past time we showed Randy how serious we are about his welfare. Pausing to let him think about it, she finally went on, resolved to get his commitment. I m going out now, to find myself an old-fashioned wooden hairbrush, and I intend to use it on his bare bottom after school, good and proper. Her husband thought about arguing, but when Becky got this worked up over something, argument was futile.

Okay, Okay, Beck. I ll go along. Jim surrendered. Maybe you re right. We ve tried everything else, so I guess this is the last resort. I ll be home at six-thirty, and I ll do whatever you feel is necessary.

Good. Becky replied, satisfied. And if you d listened to me before, it wouldn t be the last resort. We should have been doing this right along when he didn t behave. Smiling to himself, Jim hung up the phone, thinking, I d better watch my step, or the next thing you know she ll be using that hairbrush on me!

The ancient clock clacked its way toward three-fifteen. RIINNGG! Bustling in the hallway reflected the end of the school day, with most of the students closing their lockers and heading home. Randy Eaton got up slowly, tucking his books under his arm and heading off to the detention room. Failure to do homework required detention, and he was spending a lot of time lately in Room 103, the assigned location for school miscreants of all types. Slumping into a seat near the back, he thought about his earlier meeting with the principal, Miss Petty. She had called his mother while he sat in her office, slumped down in his chair as usual, a wise-guy smirk on his face. Part of him felt bad about his behavior, but another part said Ahhh, who cares, anyway? This is all a waste of time. Besides, my parents don t care what I do. Of course, when he had been put on the phone at his mother s request, she had sounded angry and....., something else: she sounded determined somehow, as if she had made up her mind about something. She had told Randy to come right home after school, and not to plan to go out afterward. Maybe his mother did care after all. The thought continued to eat at him until detention was over at four o clock, and he began the ten block walk home.

Virginia Petty could remember a time when Randy was a bright and happy kid, but now he was headed in the wrong direction. In times regrettably past, she would have aided his parents by providing some highly effective discipline in the form of a sound paddling. Boys like Randy could very easily be reached with sound and regular application of a varnished wooden paddle or hairbrush to their bare bottoms. If she could have, she would have bared his bottom right then and turned it cherry-red with her well-worn paddle, still kept in her bottom desk drawer as a souvenir of better and more reasonable times. Virginia had been raised on corporal punishment, and believed firmly in its proper and habitual use. Most of her motivation in becoming a school teacher and then a principal was to guide, instruct, and correct young people, helping them to develop the skills and discipline they would need in life. Lately, her job had become almost impossible, due to terribly restrictive rules and guidelines. Effective discipline became practically impossible, and the children knew it, taking advantage of every regulation to avoid responsibility. The notable exceptions were where the parents had a firm handle on discipline at home. Some did, most didn t, and it showed in their children s behavior. At the age of fifty-five, Virginia was getting ready to retire, having thirty years in the school system. A large woman, she was fairly attractive, and had been married for ten years during one period of her life. The marriage had ended in divorce, her career being the wedge that caused the final split. She dialed Rebecca Eaton s phone number, half dreading the coming conversation. Most mothers today were unreceptive to criticism of their kids, or their parenting methods. Looking now at the pouting teenager across from her, she sighed and thought, I d like to help set this boy s feet on the right path. Maybe his mother.., Hello? Mrs. Eaton? she broke out of her thought as the boy s mother answered the phone. Quickly outlining the situation with Randy, Virginia hinted to Becky that perhaps the boy needed to be dealt with in a sterner manner, more old-fashioned. Becky apparently got the hint, and assured Miss Petty that things would change for the better, and very quickly.

After an hour s search, Becky was on the verge of giving up. She couldn t find a proper hairbrush at any of the drug or department stores. The ones she found were insubstantial plastic, totally unsuitable for smacking an errant teenager s backside. Finally, she told the saleslady at one department store what she wanted it for, and the woman laughed and said Try the beauty salon on Fourth street. She has some imported models that are expensive, but just what you need to do the job right. Following the woman s directions, Becky soon had exactly what she wanted: an old-fashioned wooden hairbrush, of English manufacture. Made of honey-colored hardwood, it was solidly made, with a wide, flat oval back and long, hefty handle. Smacking it experimentally into her palm, she was a bit surprised at the sting it produced, but then remembered her own experiences as a teenager over her daddy s lap and smiled grimly. The hairdresser raised her eyebrows as she watched Becky s actions, then grinned and remarked, I don t know who s in for it tonight, but I m sure glad it isn t me. This drew a laugh from Becky, who replied, I have a teen-aged son who s about to find out there s a price to be paid for goofing off in school. Dropping the brush into her purse, she paid and left, noting that she would be home in plenty of time to meet Randy on his arrival.

Mom! I m home! Randy called as he closed the front door behind him. Tossing his books on the hall table, he went into the living room, thinking to watch some MTV before supper. Clicking on the television, he plopped down on the couch, not even bothering to take off his shoes. About two minutes later, his mother came into the room, crossed to the TV and switched it off. Hey! Randy protested angrily, I was watching that! His mother s stance and expression quickly subdued his anger. Something like fear took its place, as Rebecca stood in front of the television, her arms folded across her chest and a forbidding expression on her face. She had on a white short-sleeved blouse, a navy knee-length pleated skirt, and navy blue high heels. With lightning in her blue eyes, she presented an intimidating appearance. Randy had never seen her like this, and it made him a little timid. I have something to say to you, young man. Rebecca announced. After a short pause, Randy said tentatively, W-what? His mom was angry, and more so than he could ever remember. I m fed up with your attitude, Randy. You re neglecting your schoolwork, cutting classes, and acting like a spoiled brat around home. Your father and I have had all we re going to take, and you re going to be punished. Oh, great. Randy spat out, snidely, What now? Am I grounded for life? Rebecca s right foot tapped the carpet angrily, and she said matter-of-factly, No. You re not going to be grounded. You re going to be spanked. Randy laughed, saying, I m too old to be spanked, and besides, Dad won t do it anyway. His mother s foot tapped faster, and she stated firmly Since you insist on acting like a child, we re going to treat you like one. And, for the record, I ve already talked to your father and he agrees completely. Randy looked at her skeptically for a moment, and then realized she was dead serious. Seeing the light dawn, Becky lowered the boom. Your father has agreed to spank you tonight when he gets home, she stated, watching his face as it comprehended, but I m not going to lay this job off on him alone. Randy s expression of concern deepened as she finished, You march right into your room and wait for me. I m going to get the hairbrush I just bought today and warm your naughty bare bottom good and proper. He sat there for a moment, then as the thunderclouds built in his mother s eyes, he wandered off to his room as she had told him.

The station wagon swerved abruptly, accompanied by the tortured sound of a tire self-destructing. Jim cursed under his breath, regaining control of the car and easing it onto the shoulder. Luckily he had been in the right lane when the tire blew, getting ready to take the next exit ramp. He sat in the car for a moment, cursing his luck. First, his wife had busted him about their son Randy s behavior, insisting that they adopt spanking as discipline until he straightened out. Then his boss wanted him to work an hour late, and now this! Sighing, he got out of the car on the passenger side, praying that the spare had some air in it. If it didn t, he was dead in the water until a trooper happened by. The spare was fine, a bit worn, but okay. He rolled up his sleeves and went to work changing the flat, which now wouldn t be good for anything. Great! he thought darkly, Now I ve got to buy a new tire, too. By the time he finished, wiped his hands, and started off again, it was almost seven-thirty in the evening, and he was steaming. He wasn t sure when he left work if he d be able to spank his son, but now there was no doubt in his mind. The boy would have a very warm bottom before he was through with him, he promised himself.

Randy paced in his room, talking to himself. A spanking! Geez! Doesn t she know I m fourteen? There s no way. I m too old for that crap, and I m going to tell her. What does she care, anyway? It s my life, not hers. He flopped on the bed disgustedly, still not removing his shoes. Suddenly he remembered what his mother had said about his father agreeing with her about spanking him. Sitting bolt upright, he swung his feet off the bed and sat staring out the window, a trickle of fear running through him. Maybe he was in more trouble than he thought, it occurred to him. The door to his room opened, and his mother entered brusquely, carrying something he had never seen before: a large and heavy looking old-fashioned wooden hairbrush. She ignored him as she went to the window and drew the blinds, then turned around to confront him. He couldn t remember his mother looking this purposeful about anything before. A small knot formed in his throat, and his mouth went abruptly dry. She stood looking at him for a few moments, staring him in the face, carefully preparing what she had to say. Randy shifted uneasily, having lost the wise-guy smirk, but still defiant. He was five-foot four, not exceptionally big, with a medium build. He had his mother s blue eyes, and his father s sandy hair. Baby faced, he could have passed for younger than he was. Right now, he was feeling much older than he was acting. Finally, Becky said I don t know what s gotten into you, young man, but your father and I have had enough. Since we can t seem to get through to you any other way, we re going to try spanking you. Randy hadn t been spanked since he was eight years old, and it had been brief, a few swats of his father s hand on the seat of his shorts. His expression showed a refusal to accept his mother s edict. Becky tapped her foot impatiently, saying Take off your clothes. Right now. He looked aghast. Are you kidding? Take off my clothes? In front of you? His mother shook the hairbrush at him, snapping I m not kidding, mister, and if you don t do as you re told, I ll undress you myself and make you wish you had obeyed me! Randy sat there, paralyzed, determined to avoid the whole thing through denial. Her patience at the limit, Becky strode over to him and told him to get up. He obeyed, and his mother sat down on the bed and roughly began to unfasten his pants. Frightened now, the boy struggled against her efforts to undress him, but the determined Becky was more than a match for his teenaged rebellion. Despite his efforts to the contrary, she soon had him face down across her knees with his clothing arranged so he would be spanked in the appropriate manner: right on his bare bottom. Becky put the hairbrush to work briskly, smacking his unprotected backside with the enthusiasm born of frustration. As the brush set fire to his bottom, Randy yelped and squirmed, then began to cry, not quite believing how much it hurt. His right hand flew back, frantically attempting to intercede, but Becky just grabbed it and pulled it up behind his back. His legs weren t much use with his jeans and underwear wrapped tightly around his ankles, but Becky had disabled them anyway by wrapping her right leg across them, pinning him in place effectively. Free from interruption, the boy s mother smacked his defenseless rump good and hard, turning it a flaming red in the process. Soon he was bawling like a child, begging her to stop as the brush stung him again and again. She ignored his pleas and wailing, continuing to spank every square inch of his bare bottom and upper thighs until long after the crimson target showed evidence of ample punishment. This will be a lesson he won t soon forget! she thought grimly as she blistered his bottom with the new hairbrush, And his father will see to it that he never resists me again.

Retrieving the afternoon paper from its hiding place in the Azalea bush, Jim sighed with the fatigue born of a thoroughly rotten day. As he entered the living room, his wife Becky greeted him, noting the haggard look on his face. Had a tough one, huh? she inquired sympathetically. Yeah. Had to work late. Flat tire on the Interstate. Have to beat my son tonight. Yeah, I guess you could say it s been a tough day, and it ain t over. He flopped down in an easy chair, his sleeves still rolled up from changing the flat tire. Want some supper? Becky asked. Looking up at her, he said Maybe I ought to get it over with. Where is he, in his room? She nodded, then said, Have some supper first, hon. I have some things to tell you, and he ll keep for an hour, believe me. Laying the paper aside, he followed her to the kitchen. As they ate, she told him of how she had spanked Randy that afternoon, and how the boy had resisted her. His face darkened when she told him, and if there had been any doubt in his mind about their decided course of action, it vanished. He d be damned if any son of his would disobey his mother, or resist her attempt to discipline him. They evidently had let things get too far out of hand, and that would be corrected, and soon. I walloped him pretty good. Becky told him. I don t think he ll give me any more trouble when I tell him to do something. I ll just make sure of that. Jim said menacingly. Rising from the table, he walked out into the living room, taking a kitchen chair with him. Turning to Becky, he said Get him out here. Becky was surprised and pleased with her husband s new attitude, and went off to Randy s room.

The raging fire in his rear had decayed to glowing embers, a smarting ache that would stay long after his tears had dried. After his mother spanked him, Randy had stood gently rubbing his bottom, humiliated beyond words. Sobs broke from his throat, tears flowed copiously, and his nose was running unchecked. He didn t believe that a spanking could hurt that much, and if he felt older than his years before, he now felt like he was eight again. This first time, especially since he had resisted her, Becky was very firm with him, warning him that she intended to have his father spank him later on, and there would be more to come if he didn t straighten out. She had sent him to bed in his pajamas, without supper, to await his father, and now he was feeling sore and very sorry for himself. It s not fair. he thought, the warmth down below a constant reminder of his mother s ministrations, I m too big to be getting spanked. The fact was, however, that he had been spanked, but good, and he would be soon be getting spanked again and there was nothing he could do about it. As he lay there in the semi-darkness, his thoughts turned aside a little, and he thought about what had brought him to this point. If his parents really didn t care, as he had begun to believe, then why would they do this? No easy answer came. His bottom glowed with a warmth that was disturbing and comforting at the same time. Trying to reconcile his feelings, he remembered with shame how his mother had wrestled him across her knees, stripping down his pants and briefs against his struggles, then spanked and spanked and spanked his bare bottom until.... Tears came to his eyes as he recalled the humiliation and shame of crying, pleading, begging his mother to stop as the hairbrush stung him over and over again. He wailed his regret, his remorse, his promise to do anything, anything if she would stop. His free hand was disabled, unable to help, and his legs couldn t even kick, trapped under his mom s firm thigh. Finally, when the stinging rain of varnished wood on bare skin became unbearable, he sobbed broken-heartedly, the pitch of his crying rising now and then as the brush found a specially tender spot. As the vision faded, a small sob escaped his throat as he realized with dismay and terror that it would all be happening again soon, when his father got home. He awoke abruptly as the door to his room sung inward. Silhouetted in the doorway was his mother. Randy? she inquired, more sternly than was her normal custom. Y-yes, mom? he asked timidly, on the verge of crying. Becky stepped in through the doorway, and Randy could see the big wooden hairbrush in her hand. Fear gripped his heart, and it hammered in his chest, the adrenaline surging through his veins as he realized the time had come. Your father is waiting for you in the living room. Come along. He crumbled. Oh, please, mom! Please don t make him spank me! he pleaded earnestly, I ll be very, very good from now on, honest! My bottom s so sore, please! Becky was adamant, throwing back the covers and ordering Out of bed, young man, and don t make me tell you again. Your father is waiting, and you re going to get what s coming to you. Feeling like a condemned man, Randy led the way to the living room, his mother following close behind. He lagged a bit, afraid of confronting his dad, but a sharp swat on the seat of his pajamas with the hairbrush propelled him into the room where his father sat on a transplanted kitchen chair, his sleeves rolled up and a very stern look on his face. Hands on his shoulders, Becky led him over to his father, where he stood looking at the floor, avoiding his dad s stare. Sniffling, there were already tears running down the boy s face as he heard his father say Your mother tells me she spanked you good this afternoon. Randy said nothing, still looking at the floor. She also told me that you resisted her. Is that true? his father said ominously. Randy looked up at him, pleadingly, Y-yes, dad, I m sorry! I m really sorry! I didn t mean to, really! he blurted out, throwing himself on his father s mercy. There was to be no mercy tonight, however. The boy needed a lesson, and Jim Eaton would see that he got it, good and proper. Without further ado, Jim grabbed his son and put him bodily across his knees, yanking down his pajama bottoms. NO!, DAD!, PLEASE! I PROMISE! I LL NEVER DO IT AGAIN, PLEASE! The boy shrieked. Appeal denied. Getting a firm grip on the boy, his father began the lesson.


His father s big bare hand slapped his already well-spanked bare bottom hard and fast, and the boy was soon crying harder than he had for his mother and begging him to stop. Unswayed by his son s entreaties, the determined father turned his backside fire-engine red with just his hand, not pausing until several minutes of hard spanking had produced the result he wanted. Randy was blubbering his repentance and promises of better behavior, completely subdued. Jim kept his son across his lap, holding the boy s right wrist firmly in his left hand, pinioned to his side. He held out his hand to his wife, taking the hairbrush from her. Showing it to the boy, he announced, Now that I have your full attention, young man, I m going to teach you a lesson you won t soon forget. I don t ever want to hear about you resisting your mother again, is that clear? Randy sobbed, too broken up to reply, but it was a rhetorical question anyway, and Jim continued sternly, From now on, you re going to feel this hairbrush on your naughty bare bottom regularly, until your mother and I think you have outgrown it. If you don t behave, you ll get spanked, just like this. Raising the hairbrush, he smacked Randy s upturned bare bottom, now flaming red, producing a howl of pain and dismay. Spank after hard, stinging spank visited the boy s smarting caboose as he writhed and squirmed across his dad s lap, his imprisoned palm frantically trying to reach his burning bottom. As the spanking progressed, his mother stood off to one side, watching with a satisfied smile as her husband spanked and spanked and spanked their son s blistering rear. At one point, unsatisfied by the size of the target area, she stopped her husband and yanked the boy s pajamas further down, exposing more of his thighs to be spanked. Accommodating her wishes, Jim used the brush diligently on the newly uncovered territory, extracting yelps from the boy that were higher in pitch and volume. The spanking continued until his father was certain Randy would remember it for a long, long time. After a stern lecture, the boy was allowed to return to his room, nursing a blistered and burning bottom.

For the next few days, Randy squirmed uncomfortably while sitting in the hard wooden school desks. Every time his bottom contacted a seat, he shuddered a bit as he recalled laying across his parents knees while his bare backside was set on fire. His outlook on life had already improved, and at the very least he realized now that his folks really cared about him, enough to make him behave properly. It would be about a month before his mom would send him off to his room to await her coming with the hairbrush. This time, he would take off his clothes and turn over her knee without giving her more than token resistance. His bottom would be set ablaze, as before, but he would feel better about it because he knew she loved him and cared for him. She would occasionally have his father spank him, but never as soundly as that first time. Randy accepted his fate, knowing somehow that it was the right thing. He had turned the corner, and a better life awaited him down the road.