Amy and Her Mother

What should have been a happy outing nearly ends in disaster. US setting.

By Charlene Kent

“Mom, I’m just so sorry.”

“Don’t even speak to me. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Mom…”

“Just go to your room. I don’t want to look at you. I don’t want to speak to you. Just go!”

With tears of frustration as well as tears of remorse flowing down her cheeks, Amy Westerhuis slammed the living room door shut behind her and fled up the stairs. Bursting into her room she flung herself face down on her bed and wept inconsolably.

At least it had ended okay. Sophie, Amy’s younger sister, was safe and well. In a couple of days she’d be out of hospital and back home. In a kind of a way it had been Sophie’s fault. She’d been warned enough times never to play down by the river. In fact, she’d never have been allowed there at all if their mother hadn’t known Amy was with her, there to look after her.

That was the problem. Amy had been distracted by Jeff Anderson, an admirer from her school. They’d sat and talked on a bench and hadn’t noticed little Sophie wandering off, getting ever nearer to the water. When Amy leaned over to get a better look at a fish glimmering in the shallows, she’d toppled in and the strong current had done the rest.

Amy and Jeff heard the screams. They ran after Sophie immediately and Jeff, thankfully a strong swimmer, had soon plucked the little girl from the water. Already, though, she was unconscious. The Paramedics got there very quickly and took over Jeff’s attempts at resuscitation, praising the young man for his efforts without which poor little Sophie might not have survived.

At the hospital, Jeff came out of it not too bad. Amy was the guilty one, certainly in the eyes of her mother. Perhaps if she’d at least been wet, that might have stood her in a better light, but Amy wasn’t a good swimmer and knew that had she dived in too, she’d have only added to Jeff’s problems. Now, back home, Amy was in big trouble.

Only when Mrs Westerhuis was esconsed in the living room, the television blaring loudly, did Amy find the courage to sneak downstairs into the kitchen and salvage a snack to take back to her room.

The following morning, a school day, Amy went down for breakfast and found her mother had already eaten. There was, though, a place laid out for her and when she sat down her mother silently placed her breakfast in front of her.

“Mom, I’m really sorry…”

“Save it. I don’t want to hear it.”

“But mom…”

“Just eat your breakfast and get to school.” To prevent any further discussion, Mrs Westerhuis left the room.

That evening, and throughout the following day, Mrs Westerhuis maintained her attitude of providing her elder daughter’s basic needs but offering nothing in the way of conversation, let alone forgiveness.

Amy, facing a second evening alone in her room, knew this couldn’t go on, especially with Sophie due home the following day. At seven o’clock she went downstairs where her mother was sitting in the living room watching TV.

“Mom, we need to talk.”

“I think I’ve made my feelings perfectly clear, young lady. I neither want to see you nor talk to you.”

“Mom, I’ve said I’m sorry more times than I can recount.”

“Oh, you’re sorry? Oh, that’s all okay then. For heavens’ sakes, girl, your sister could have died!”

“I know that, mom. I know that. And if I could go back in time and have things happen differently, don’t you think I’d be the first to have that happen? But I can’t. What’s done is done.”

“I don’t care, just go to your room.”

“No, mom. That’s not good enough. I’m your daughter too.”

“More’s the pity.”

“Look mom, I know you’re angry and you’ve got every right to be. Yes, I should have kept a better watch over little Sophie. Yes, I deserve to be punished, but not like this. This silence of yours is like trying to pretend it didn’t happen. Well, it did happen and we have to deal with the consequences. Don’t forget Sophie’s due home tomorrow. Do we really want her to have to live in this atmosphere?”

For once, Mrs Westerhuis stopped herself from shouting back in anger. After mulling over Amy’s words for a few moments, her response was more measured. “That’s as maybe, young lady, but don’t think forgiveness is going to come easily, or quickly.”

“I know that, mom, but don’t punish me with this interminable silence. That’s just like trying to sweep it under the carpet.”

“I know. You said. But I am just so angry I really don’t know what to say to you.”

“I know, mom. I know.” Amy risked putting a hand on her mother’s shoulder, but the attempt at reconciliation was coldly ignored.

While the atmosphere remained extremely tense, Amy did at least feel her mother’s renewed silence had a moderately less icy edge to it. She decided it was worth another go.

“Mom, you’re going quiet on me again.”

“I didn’t mean to. I was just thinking over what might have happened with little Sophie.”

Feeling she was slowly bringing her mother round, Amy risked sitting down next to her mother on the settee.

“I know you’re still angry with me, mom, and that’s just fine. You’ve every right to be angry with me.”

Mrs Westerhuis nodded thoughtfully.

“Mom, Sophie is going to be fine. She’ll be home tomorrow and we can both spoil her rotten and try and make things better.”

Now, Mrs Westerhuis did look round angrily.

“Yes, I know mom. I’ve got a lot of making up to do as far as my little sister is concerned, and don’t think I’m not going to try my hardest. But I’m your daughter too, I’ve got needs too.”

“And what needs exactly do you feel you have right now, young lady?” Mrs Westerhuis snapped.

“I need to deal with my guilt.” Amy, close to tears, looked pleadingly towards her mother. “I feel just so awful about what happened, and what might have happened, and everything.”

“You need to deal with your guilt? You are guilty! How am I supposed to help you with that?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps you need to punish me. Perhaps that would do us both a power of good.”

“Oh, so what do you want me to do? Ground you for a couple of weeks? Would that make you feel better? Okay, you’re grounded for two weeks.”

“That’s not enough, mom.” Amy shook her head, knowing the punishment was neither well thought out nor seriously imposed.

“Oh, so now my punishment isn’t good enough for you? Well, what do you suggest young lady?”

Amy sat back in her seat, ringing her hands together with something clearly on her mind. “I don’t know, perhaps you ought to paddle my butt.”

“Amy, you’re eighteen, for goodness sakes.”

“So? We’re still eligible to be paddled at school even though we’re eighteen.”

“We haven’t got a paddle, unless you’ve suddenly developed an ability at woodworking.”

“Mr Bradstock down the road does.”

“How do you know?”

“Jennifer told me.”

“Jennifer Bradstock still gets the paddle? Gracious!”

“Let me go and get it, mom. Let’s get this behind us.”

Mrs Westerhuis chuckled briefly at the irony of Amy’s phraseology, but stopped as soon as she saw the seriousness in the girl’s face.

“Please, mom.” Amy pleaded.

“Okay.”

No sooner had her mother spoken, than Amy was out of her seat and through the door. Mrs Westerhuis felt the need for coffee, and decided she’d make Amy some too.

Amy, meanwhile, sprinted down the road and knocked on the Bradstocks’ front door.

“Hi, Amy.” Jennifer Bradstock’s face appeared. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi Jen. Is your dad home?”

“Sure. What do you want him for?”

“It’s… It’s kind of private, Jen.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll fetch him. Do you want to come in?”

“I’ll wait here, if it’s all the same.”

“Okay.”

The door closed, opened a couple of minutes later by the six foot three, two-twenty pound figure of Joe Bradstock.

“Hi, Amy. Is there a problem?”

“No, not really. Well, kind of.” Amy took a breath. “The thing is, Mr Bradstock, can we borrow your paddle?”

“My paddle?” Joe Bradstock’s full round face twisted into a half smile as he looked searchingly at Amy, who in turn was finding her complexion reddening as she struggled to maintain eye contact. “Oh, I see.” Big Joe reckoned he’d got the drift as he studied the girl’s behaviour. “Just a moment.”

Just as Mrs Westerhuis had finished pouring the two mugs of coffee, she heard their front door open and close.

“In the kitchen, honey.” She called.

Looking up, she noticed Amy wasn’t alone.

“Hi, Mary.” Joe Bradstock smiled. “I wasn’t sure which of my paddles was going to be best suited to your needs, so I thought I’d bring them both along.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Joe.” Mrs Westerhuis looked at the two paddles the big man held out for her inspection. Both were about two feet long with the four inch bands of wood narrowed down to form handles at one end. Both were made from a pale, almost white wood, maple was her guess, and both were less than half an inch thick. Only one of the paddles, though, had a number of holes drilled through the blade.

“We got the solid one for the lesser matters and we got the one with the holes for more serious dealings, Mary. Say, that coffee smells good.”

“There’s more in the pot, Joe. Help yourself.”

While big Joe Bradstock fetched his own coffee, he handed the two paddles to Amy’s mother for her to inspect.

“I don’t know, Amy.” Mrs Westerhuis showed both of them to her daughter. “Which do you reckon? You seem to know more about this than me.”

Amy shrugged, aware Joe Bradstock had poured his coffee and was watching her while he stirred in some sugar. “It’s up to you, I guess mom.”

When Mrs Westerhuis took each paddle in turn and tried a couple of small practice swings with each, Joe commented: “Note how the one with the holes swings through the air a little better, Mary? That gives it a better impact when it lands.”

“A better impact?” Mrs Westerhuis looked at Amy for her response.

“It does hurt a bit more, I guess.” Amy conceded. “I’ve had both. At school, I mean.” She added, for Mr Bradstock’s benefit.

“Really? You never said.”

“No, well, not something to be proud of, I suppose.” Amy looked down at the floor, and wouldn’t have been too unhappy if it had swollen her up at that moment.

“You choose.” Mrs Westerhuis held both paddles out for her daughter.

“That one with the holes sure does smart, ladies.” Joe Bradstock advised. “But then if it’s something serious we’re dealing with here…”

Amy nodded. “Guess we’d better make it the one with the holes, eh mom?”

“Thank you, Joe.” Mrs Westerhuis held the paddle with the solid blade out for the big man to take back. “I’ll send Amy along with this one when we’re through.”

“Sure you don’t need me to lend a hand, Mary?” Big Joe grinned, and Amy became extremely concerned.

“No, that’s okay Joe. We’ll manage.”

Amy caught her breath back and Joe Bradstock took the unwanted paddle and left.

“Where are we going to do this?” Mrs Westerhuis asked as they drained their coffee.

“My room? Away from prying eyes?”

“Okay. Do you want to lead the way?” Amy’s mother couldn’t help but look at her daughter’s neatly rounded rear as the eighteen year old led the way up the stairs towards her room. Yes, her daughter certainly did fill a tight pair of blue jeans nicely.

When Mrs Westerhuis followed her daughter into the bedroom, she held back from her usual comment on the general level of untidiness. Amy stood over by the bed.

“Where do you want me, mom?”

“Well, let’s see now.” Taking a good look around, a small chair piled high with magazines seemed a good size. “Do you want to take those magazines off that chair?”

“Okay.” The chair, tight in one corner of the room, was soon cleared by depositing the magazines onto Amy’s bed. “Where shall I put it?” Amy lifted the chair out from the corner and held it in both hands.

“Just here will do nicely.” Mrs Westerhuis shoved a small table to one side, creating a clear open space in the centre of the room.

“Okay.” Amy repeated as she positioned the chair. “You want me to bend over the back now?” Amy paused, already beginning to half lean over the back rail of the chair.

“No.” Mrs Westerhuis said abruptly, stopping the girl in her tracks. Amy looked back, wondering what else could be wanted. “First, I want you take those jeans off.”

For a moment Amy looked dumbstruck, but after a little thought she nodded. “I guess that’s fair enough.” Amy made short work of unzipping the jeans and pushing them down her shapely legs. She stopped when they were at the level of her knees. “That okay?”

“No, I want them right off.”

Another expression of surprise crossed the girl’s pretty face, then with a shrug she quickly pushed the jeans right down and stood on one leg and then the other as she pulled the jeans over her feet. Folding them twice, Amy threw the jeans onto her bed. “Okay now?”

“Better take the top off while you’re about it, honey.”

“My top?” Amy took hold of her yellow sports shirt and pulled it away from her body.

“It’s long enough to compare with some of your skirts, Amy.”

Amy looked down and saw the shirt was indeed reaching down to mid-thigh level. “Okay.” It took seconds to pull her arms out of the shirt, then push the garment over her head and off. When that, too, got a quick fold before being thrown onto the bed, Amy was left standing in brief pink cotton panties and matching bra. She faced her mother with arms outstretched, questioning silently whether she was now deemed to be ready.

“I guess that about does it, honey. Do you want to stand facing the back of the chair now?”

Although Amy instantly turned to face the chair, she also asked: “How many am I getting, mom?”

“As many as it takes to get you punished and me feeling I want you as my daughter again, honey.”

Amy nodded. Suddenly, the idea of getting her mother to paddle her felt a little less simple. “I guess you’re really going to tan my butt, aren’t you mom?”

“If you’re looking for reassurance this isn’t going to be too bad an experience, honey, I’m afraid I may have to disappoint you.”

“I deserve it, mom.” Amy stroked the top rail of the chair anxiously. “Are you ready for me now?”

“I guess so.”

Amy moved her feet apart, perhaps eight or nine inches apart, and moved her weight from side to side to check the stability of the stance before finally leaning forward and bend right down over the back of the chair. “Is that okay, mom?”

Mrs Westerhuis moved forward and held the paddle against the seat of Amy’s brief pink panties, just where the paddle would land nicely to punish that pretty rear. “Can you stick your butt out a little more?”

The paddle was removed while Amy wriggled from side to side and adjusted her position until she felt her backside jutted out more prominently. “How about that, mom?”

“That looks good, honey.”

While Amy expected the paddle to be placed across the seat of her underwear once more while her mother checked her aim, the eighteen year old found she was in for another surprise.

“Hold nice and still, honey.” Aware her daughter was keying herself up for the impact of the first stroke, Mrs Westerhuis enjoyed toying with the girl’s emotions as she took hold of the elastic top of the brief panties and pulled it away from Amy’s bottom.

“What are you doing, mom?” Amy asked irritated by the delay.

“I’m just about to pull your panties down, honey.”

“What?” Amy exclaimed. “Is that really necessary?”

“Probably not, but then I’ll be able to see the whole of your butt getting redder and redder, won’t I now?”

“I guess so.” Amy huffed, resigned to losing her pants. “Okay, pull them down.”

“You said it.” Slowly, teasingly, Mrs Westerhuis eased the underwear off her daughter’s bottom and kept tugging until they lay in a tiny heap around Amy’s feet.

“Are we ready now, mom?”

“First we have a few ground rules.” Mrs Westerhuis slowly rubbed the paddle in a circle over the pale creamy coloured surface of Amy’s bottom. “You stay down throughout the paddling. Get up after any stroke and that stroke won’t count. You don’t rub your bottom until it’s all over. You stay down until you’re told you can get up. You got all that?”

“I guess so, mom.”

“Okay, here we go.”

Mrs Westerhuis stopped the circular rubbing motion and held the paddle still, right in the centre of Amy’s bottom. With a deep breath, she drew the paddle back and rapidly swung it down in a big arc until it cracked loudly across the waiting target.

“Ouch!”

A quick glance at her daughter’s face told Mrs Westerhuis her daughter had indeed experienced punishment with the impact of the paddle. She drew the wooden implement back and delivered another swat.

“Unh!”

Although Amy didn’t notice, her mother was struggling to hold the paddle comfortably in one hand. To give herself a better grip, she used both hands to deliver the third swat.

“Ooooww!!”

“I guess that’s better.” Mrs Westerhuis looked down at Amy’s face as she spoke. “Mr Bradstock’s got bigger hands than me.”

“Are you using two hands, mom?”

“You guessed it.”

“That’s not fair, mom.” Amy half eased herself up to strengthen her protest.

“If it spanks your bottom any the better, then it’s fair.” Mrs Westerhuis countered. “Now get back over that chair.”

“Oh, mom.” Feeling she’d made her point, and knowing her punishment was richly deserved, Amy got back down over the back of the chair and surrendered her naked bottom to the continued application of the paddle.

“Yoouch!!” Amy squealed as her mother proceeded with the spanking. Each time the paddle landed, it sent a loud crack reverberating around the bedroom, closely followed by an appropriate yell from the eighteen year old.

Amy dutifully accepted around nine or ten more swats before she again questioned how her mother saw the paddling going. Timing her move to fit in between spanks, Amy half raised herself up from the chair.

“Mom! How many more am I getting?”

“Like I said before, Amy, I’m going to keep spanking you until I feel you’ve been suitably punished and until I’m in a frame of mind to treat you as my daughter again. We’re not there yet.”

“So, when will we be there, mom?”

“Well, let’s see now. Your behind is looking nicely red, but I reckon it can take a fair bit more yet. Let’s say we’re around half way there. Now bend over.”

“Okay, mom.” Amy sighed, grateful she had at least gained some sort of end line to her punishment. She bent down over the back of the chair and surrendered her bottom once again. “Yeeeouch!!”

“You know, honey?” Her mother spoke as she continued to swing the paddle down at the rate of about one every thirty seconds. “I’m quite getting to like this paddle. Do you think we ought to ask Mr Bradstock to make us up one?”

“Huh.” Amy ducked the question with a non-committal grunt.

“Well do you?” Mrs Westerhuis paused and surveyed the state of her daughter’s bottom. “Stay down, we’re not finished yet.” She added, just in case Amy got the wrong idea.

“I don’t believe my behaviour is usually that bad, actually mom.”

“No, perhaps you’re right.” Mrs Westerhuis conceded. “Anyway, we can always send you back down to Mr Bradstock if we need one.”

Any further comment Amy may have had was drowned out by the sound of the paddle slamming against her naked bottom again.

When another five swats had been firmly delivered, Amy was genuinely feeling pretty sore and was struggling to hold still. “Two more.” Mrs Westerhuis told her, anticipating another protest might be on the way.

Amy took a deep breath, loudly enough for her mother to hear, and braced herself.

“Yeeeeoouucch!” Mrs Westerhuis delivered a swat as hard as any she’d sent down before.

“Oooooooooowww, mom!!!”

“Just wanted to remove any lingering doubts you might have had, Amy.”

“About what?” Amy straightened up and began rubbing her bottom furiously.

“I don’t know. Maybe about whether I was thinking you were truly sorry for letting your little sister down like that.”

“I was anyway. Even before you spanked me.”

Mrs Westerhuis put an arm round Amy’s shoulders and kissed her daughter on the cheek. “Take a few minutes to sort yourself out, then get dressed and come down. I’ll have some more coffee waiting.”

Grateful to be alone, Amy used a mirror to examine the state of her bottom. It was covered in red blotchiness that in places was darkening to a reddish brown colour. She found a tube of cold cream in a drawer and very carefully applied a little, even though the initial application was even more painful than the ache from the spanking. It took a couple more applications and ten good minutes before Amy was able to dress herself and head for the kitchen.

“Thanks, mom.” Amy took the offered coffee. “I really am sorry for what befell little Sophie.”

“I know you are, honey.” Her mother’s customary warmth appeared to have returned. “Anyway, it’s dealt with. Okay?”

Amy nodded, and concentrated on her coffee.

“Friends again?” Mrs Westerhuis smiled sympathetically as she took her daughter’s empty coffee mug.

“I guess so, mom.” Amy answered, grateful good relations had finally been restored.

“You want to take that paddle back to Mr Bradstock now?”

“Ah, yes.” Amy looked at the paddle, now lying on the table. “Unless you’d like to?” She looked hopefully at her mother.

“Let’s make it the final part of your punishment.”

The End