A stepmother gets her revenge
“Flossie, come here will you,” called Mr Brackstone from his chair in the lounge.
‘Flossie’, his sixteen year old daughter, came in from the kitchen. “Yes Daddy, what is it.?”
“Come and sit down,” said Mr Brackstone.
“There’s no easy way to say this, but Wendy and I are going to get married.”
Mr Brackstone was divorced, and had met a young woman and they had fallen in love.
“What!!” cried Flossie. “Daddy, you can’t. She’s nearly young enough to be your daughter.”
“I know it must be a shock to you, but age has nothing to do with it. We both love each other,” said Mr Brackstone.
“But Daddy, that means I shall have a step-mother who’s only nineteen. I can’t possibly be expected to treat her as a mother.”
“I’m sure it will be fine once you get used to it,” said Mr Brackstone.
“I shall never accept her,” cried Flossie, running from the room.
Well, the marriage did take place and Wendy moved in. Immediately there was an air of hostility between Flossie and her new step-mother. Her father seemed oblivious to the situation and refused to listen to Flossie’s protests about how she was treated by Wendy. She became rebellious and refused to do anything that Wendy told her.
“That girl needs a good spanking,” Wendy said to her husband. “She treats me like dirt.”
“I’ll have a word with her,” Mr Brackstone replied.
“You need to do more than that. Surely you can see that she wants to cause trouble between us,” said a frustrated Wendy.
“It needs time. She’s not a bad girl. It’s been a big shock to her system. Please be patient,” said Mr Brackstone.
“Surely, as her stepmother I ought to be able to discipline her,” insisted Wendy.
“No, I won’t have that,” said Mr Brackstone.
Wendy pouted and said nothing further.
Over time things didn’t improve. All Wendy could think about was putting Flossie over her knee and giving her a good spanking, but her husband forbade it. Suddenly things changed. Mr Brackstone had been called away on business for three weeks and had to leave Wendy in charge. She made sure that he had authorized her to take charge of Flossie and do what was necessary to keep her in order. She couldn’t wait to get started. Mr Brackstone kissed his daughter goodbye as she left for school and told her to do as she was told by her stepmother.
When Flossie got home, Wendy was out at work and there was a note on the kitchen table telling her to have the dinner ready by six o’clock.
‘If she thinks I’m doing that, she’s got another think coming,’ thought Flossie.
Just before six the door opened. Wendy came into the kitchen through the back door and looked around; no sign of dinner on the go. She took off her coat, hung it in the hall and called out to Wendy.
“Yeah?” Came the reply from the lounge where Flossie was sprawled across the settee, watching television.
“Florence,” called Wendy. She always called Flossie by her proper name, much to Flossie’s annoyance. “Come here.”
“No, you come here,” replied Flossie defiantly.
Wendy took a deep breath and stormed into the lounge. “How dare you speak to me like that,” said Wendy in a voice full of anger.
“I’ll speak to you how I like. You’re not my mother, you’re nothing to do with me,” replied Flossie scornfully.
“Now you listen to me, young lady. You’re father gave me total authority over you and to do whatever’s necessary to discipline you. I left you a note to have dinner ready, and what do I find; nothing. You are lazy and insolent and you need to be put in your place and punished. I’m going to give a spanking you won’t forget in a hurry,” said Wendy.
“I’d like to see you try,” replied Flossie.
“Right, you’ve asked for it,” snarled Wendy. She left the room and went upstairs to her bedroom. She picked up her thick plastic hairbrush and returned to the lounge.
“Get up,” she ordered, standing over Flossie with hands on hips.
“You needn’t think you’re going to use that on me,” laughed Flossie.
“I told you to get up,” ordered Wendy, getting more and more angry.
“Make me,” said Flossie, defiant as ever.
Wendy took a deep breath, put down the hairbrush and grabbed Flossie by the wrist, trying to pull her up. Flossie resisted and lashed out at Wendy with her other arm. There was little between the two in size despite the age gap of three years. Wendy pulled and Flossie resisted. A virtual full scale fight developed. Flossie kicked and struggled but bit by bit Wendy pulled Flossie up, sat down and dragged Flossie across her lap.
“Let go of me, you bitch,” yelled Flossie angrily.
“You’ll pay for that, you little cow,” yelled Wendy with equal anger. Slowly but surely she got Flossie in position and pulled up her school skirt and slip.
“Get off of me,” cried Flossie.
Wendy ignored Flossie’s protested and started to haul down her tights and knickers.
“Leave my knickers alone,” screamed Flossie, putting her hand back to try to stop Wendy. However Wendy now had the upper hand. Having finally managed to get Wendy’s tights and knickers down to her ankles, despite the kicking and wriggling, she picked up the hairbrush. She got Flossie in a tight grip and paused for breath. Flossie was still kicking and hurling abuse at her stepmother. Suddenly a feeling of excitement surged through Wendy. This was the moment she had been waiting for. Ever since she had arrived at the house two years ago, she had wanted to do this and take the little madam down a peg or two. She picked up the hairbrush and brought it down with a resounding thwack on Flossie’s left cheek.
“Aaaagh,” screamed Flossie, and kicked her legs as much as she was able with her knickers and tights around her ankles.
“Oooooowww,” screamed Flossie.
Wendy was determined to make every whack count and Flossie was in for a long stay over Wendy’s lap.
Slowly and relentlessly the brush rose and fell. Wendy was determined that Flossie would pay for her insolence and misbehaviour. Flossie’s bottom turned pink and then to a deep red. Tears began to flow and slowly all resistance ceased. Flossie just lay howling at each whack. Finally and out of breath, Wendy called a halt. “Get up you nasty little girl.”
Slowly Flossie eased herself up and stood crying pitilessly, rubbing her burning bottom. Wendy looked up at her. “You were supposed to have dinner ready. As you haven’t done so, you will go to bed now and take a slice of bread and a glass of water and that’s all you’re going to have until morning. Now get to bed.”
Flossie slunk out of the lounge holding her bottom and Wendy went off to cook her meal.
In the early hours of the morning, Wendy woke up. She lay in bed and thought she heard someone moving about downstairs. She got up and, heart pounding, thinking it might be an intruder, she slipped on her dressing gown and went out onto the landing. She noticed that Flossie’s bedroom door was ajar. She peeped round the door and saw that the bed was empty.
‘The little minx,’ she thought to herself. ‘She’s downstairs raiding the food cupboard.’
She crept downstairs and looked into the kitchen. There was Flossie standing by the cupboard eating a pizza. Wendy pushed the door open. “How dare you,” she cried.
Wendy whirled round and dropped the pizza in surprise.
“Pick that up,” ordered Wendy sharply.
Flossie bent down to pick it up and quick as a flash Wendy was behind her and delivered an almighty slap to Flossie’s bottom.
“Ooooww,” she cried, feeling the blow on her still very sore bottom.
“Get upstairs this minute,” ordered Wendy.
Flossie went past Wendy who gave her another smack and followed her giving her more smacks which encouraged Flossie to run up the stairs.
“I shall deal with you at the weekend for this,” shouted Wendy, as she followed up the stairs.
Until the weekend each day was spent in virtual silence between the two. Then it was Saturday, and Wendy went up to Flossie’s bedroom.
“Why are you still in bed? You have chores to do. Get up.”
Flossie reluctantly rolled out of bed and Wendy went downstairs. Sometime later Flossie appeared.
“Here’s a list of your chores, I want then finished by lunchtime.”
Flossie picked up the list, looked at it and put it in the pocket of her skin-tight trousers. Somehow she managed to finish by lunchtime. After lunch Wendy gave Flossie an order.
“I want you to go down to the hardware shop and collect a package for me. It’s already paid for.”
Flossie got up, put on her coat and went out. She returned twenty minutes later with a long thin brown paper parcel and handed it sullenly to Wendy. She watched as Wendy took off the paper to reveal a cardboard packet. She took off the lid and to Flossie’s horror took out two flexible canes. Flossie gulped.
“Yes, these are for you.” Said Wendy, taking one out and giving it a swish. “I said I would deal with you the other night. This is it, go into the lounge.”
Flossie hesitated, looking at the canes, and then went, head bowed, into the lounge. Wendy took the other cane from the box and swished it. Then she looked at both and decided which one to use. She then went into the lounge where Flossie was standing in the middle of the room.
“Pull that chair out and bend over the back of it,” said Wendy, pointing to the selected armchair.
Without questioning her instruction Flossie pulled out the chair, went round and bent over the back, hands on the end of the arms.
Wendy went up to her and put her hand on Flossie’s neck and pushed her down, forcing her to bend her elbows.
“I want that bottom as tight as I can get it,” said Wendy. She was very tempted to pull Flossie’s trousers and knickers down but for some reason decided against it. “I’m going to give you six of the best and I want an apology after each stroke for the way you’ve treated me since I got here. Is that clear?”
There was no answer from Flossie.
“Did you hear me?” Demanded Wendy sharply, giving Flossie a half stroke to her bottom.
“Yes,” mumbled Flossie.
Wendy got into position and delivered the first hard stroke.
“Oooooowch,” cried Flossie.
Wendy waited a few seconds.
Flossie refused to apologise.
“Right, that’s one extra,” said Wendy.
Again Wendy waited.
“That’s two extra.”
Wendy was about to add another stroke when Flossie spoke. “I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?”
“The way I’ve treated you.”
“Say it properly,” said Wendy, tapping Flossie’s bottom.
“I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you,” mumbled Flossie.
“There’s another little word,” said Wendy.
“I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you, mother.”
“That’s better. Now I want to hear that after each stroke.
Flossie was seething with resentment as she waited for the next stroke.
The cane cracked across Flossie’s tight trousers and curled round the side of her bottom. She remained defiantly silent.
“That’s three extra. I can go on all day if you want,” said Wendy.
“I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you, mother.”
Wendy continued until all nine strokes had been delivered. Flossie got up and ran straight to her bedroom and spent the rest of the afternoon there, much of it crying or whimpering. Never again would she disobey her stepmother. Or would she?
© Lisamum 2016