A girl comes of age, but her strict regime doesn’t.

By Frances Stephenson

Susan was really rather anxious. She had just passed her eighteenth birthday and her parents had promised a more severe punishment regime to start after this watershed birthday. There had been talk of a cane being introduced and she shuddered at the thought.

Both parents secretly enjoyed spanking Susan’s pretty bottom and were somewhat reluctant to subject their daughter to the punishing welts delivered by a cane; a well spanked bottom, red and sore, seemed ample retribution for the various misdemeanours which warranted punishment.

Both parents resolved that they should continue spanking their daughter but refer to the presence of the cane and the possibility, or maybe probability, that it would be used on their daughter. She might even plead to be spanked rather than endure a swishing.

A month or so later, Susan was late home, in fact well after the curfew time imposed by her parents. Added to which, she had been drinking and her clothing was somewhat awry. Her flushed face and sparkling eyes indicated that she had been aroused, probably as a result of a heavy petting session.

“Go to bed immediately,” rasped her mother. “We will talk more about this in the morning.”

Susan slept deeply and arose at 8.00 am, had a shower and made her way downstairs where she found her mother busily preparing breakfast.

“Eggs, bacon, sausages, toast and marmalade and coffee. How does that suit? She enquired, pleasantly enough.

“Oh Mumma, that would be wonderful,” responded Susan. “I’m ravenous and nobody dishes up a breakfast like you.”

In next to no time she was tucking in.

Jean moved around the kitchen and then, seeing that Susan had finished, sat down and fixed her daughter with a steely glare.

“Susan, your behaviour last night was unacceptable; not only were you in after curfew but you had been drinking, your clothing was disarranged and gave the appearance of a heavy petting session. Now what have you to say for yourself, truthfully now?”

Susan had turned quite pale and looked at her mother with huge and apprehensive eyes.

“Yes, Mumma, I am afraid I am guilty of those three offences. I am so very sorry.”

“I am going to deal with you now and your father may well complete the process on Friday night when he returns,” rasped Jean. “You are, of course, aware that we purchased a rattan cane to use on you should a situation like this one present itself?”

Susan looked terrified at the reference to the cane. She had received four hard strokes at school and well remembered the sharp and lasting pain and, indeed, the bruising which seemed take forever to disappear.

“Please do not cane me, Mumma, please.”

Susan was obviously distressed at the thought of a sharp caning which, in all probability, would be more severe than the four strokes she had already endured.

“Please, Mumma, anything but the cane.”

Jean’s eyes gleamed. Her daughter was manoeuvring herself into a position where Jean would almost certainly spank her daughter’s peachy bottom.

“Well,” said Jean, pretending to hesitate.

Susan, sensing that the prospect of a caning was diminishing, pressed home her perceived advantage.

“Oh Mumma why don’t you give me a good spanking instead.”

‘At last!’ thought Jean. “There is probably punishment to come from your father in two days,” she said. “You will have to plead with him and may well receive another excellent spanking. Do you think you can do that?”

Although the prospect of two hard spankings gave Susan something to think about, she had no real hesitation in accepting her mother’s timetable.

“Right, young lady, come with me and lets get the first part of your punishment programme out of the way.” Jean led the way to the Master bedroom and placed a comfortable armless chair in the centre of the room.

“Jeans off,” she ordered. “Your knickers as well.”

“Oh please, Mumma, no.”

“But yes, Susan, you are in for a sharp spanking, but make no mistake, I can easily make it harder, now take off your knickers and bend over my knee.”

Susan hastened to obey, anxious to avoid extra punishment. Jean rested her hand on her daughter’s lovely bottom, pleased to have her in this position again. She slightly cupped her hand and then brought it down with some force on Susan’s soft bottom. There was a sharp squeal but more of an acknowledgement that the spanking had started than to register pain.

Jean was pleased to see a red mark left by her first spank. She then proceeded to work her way up the right side before transferring to the left side, Susan was making small gasping noises and her hips were moving slightly as she coped with the sting.

Jean continued with the cycle and completed another series, the count had gone up to 12 and Susan’s bottom was starting to look a bit the worse for wear. Blotches of deeper red interspersed with a wider area of red were a testament to her mother’s dedication. Susan is by now gasping loudly and squealing to show her distress.

“Please, Mumma, please Mumma, not so hard,” she uttered.

Jean took no notice whatsoever and delivered another 12 energetic spanks. By this time Susan’s world was revolving around the appalling sting in her bottom. She was squealing loudly now and beseeched her mother to end the dreadful ordeal. She nearly slipped off Jean’s lap with her urgent movements, but this earned her two final extra hard spanks.

“You can get up now,” said Jean. “Leave your knickers and jeans where they are and face the wall.”

She watched with satisfaction and, indeed, pride as her daughter faced the wall in a subdued and penitent manner, her beautiful bottom glowing like a beacon.

‘Yes,’ she thought. ‘Much better than seeing it striped and sore.’

She looked again at Susan’s bottom; it really looked red and sore and positively glowed. She would tell her husband about it and perhaps he would consider that Susan had been punished enough. That being the case, Jean recognised, with some regret, that the next spanking would have to be undertaken by her husband. But perhaps she could watch.

The End

©  Frances Stephenson 2014