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So this is very different for me. Inspired by a writer who does a lot of stories in which an adult child asks their parent to discipline them again, with an ABDL twist to this one.

 

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Chapter 1

“Can whatever you wanted to talk about wait until tomorrow, Abby? I just want to go shower and crash.” What a long day it had been. I packed up my dorm room, loaded my car, drove six hours, and unloaded everything on my own by the time my mom got home. I just wanted to clean myself up and sleep for three days. So did my mom, apparently, who’d been working her standard 12-hour nursing shift.

“It’ll only take a few minutes, Mom,” I assured her. My mom and I have always been best friends. I think part of that comes with being the oldest, and the fact that dad split when I was ten, and my little brother and sister were just 2 and under 1 at the time, just made our situation more intense. My first year of college had been hard on both of us especially since I wasn’t close enough to come home on weekends, even long weekends.

Still, the freedom had been liberating for me. You might say I had been a willful child, and while I did take on more responsibility than most kids, especially when it came to looking after my brother and sister, my mother had always been pretty strict. Or more specifically, she became a lot more strict after dad left. I think it had to do with her suddenly being a single mom and feeling like between school, work and raising three kids, she needed to be strict to stay sane and make sure everything that needed doing got done. As the oldest, and by a wide margin, I caught the brunt of it.

Understand, though, that Mom is not a screamer or a hitter. I had friends whose parents were screamers, and it always made me sick to my stomach. It reminded me of my asshole dad. Even now I get a little upset when I hear a parent raise their voice or, god forbid, swear at their kid. Mom never yelled at us or swore at us. I never got so much as a pat on the butt, either.

When I didn’t live up to mom’s expectations or broke a rule, it was loss of privileges and grounding. I’m embarrassed to say timeouts in the living room corner didn’t stop until I turned 16. I spent a lot of time grounded, at least a weekend a month and sometimes much more, and I think that was part of the dynamic of a single parent household, too. With all the extra responsibility I had, I resisted some, especially in middle school and my first couple years of high school. All the changes were hard enough, and then to layer in all I was expected to do, well, sometimes I just didn’t do it. A lot of times I only did it after putting up a fight. That was the other part of being close to Mom: I never could stop myself from getting into the pettiest fights with her, things I’d bicker with my friends about.

Mom didn’t ask anything unreasonable, in retrospect, but you know how young teens are. I didn’t want to babysit, I didn’t want to do extra chores, and I didn’t want to work extra hard in school to, in my mom’s words, not end up like her, dependent on a man for her livelihood and then needing to start college as a freshman at the age of 33.

And yet for all that, we were very close, especially my last two years of high school when I was only grounded once every two months (or so). I guess I felt somewhat protective of her, especially as I got over the worst of my preteen and teen years and realized what she’d done for me, how hard she’d worked to get us back into the middle class and make our home stable and normal. I had friends with both parents whose home lives were more volatile than mine.

“Let’s talk in the kitchen,” Mom said.

I followed her, and she sat down at the table, and I did the same. She looked at me funny, then leaned forward and kissed he on the forehead. I blushed. It felt good to be home.

“I’m excited to be home for the whole summer,” I said.

“Me, too,” she replied, “I missed your help.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t ever be sorry for that. I’m proud of you!” I blushed again. “So what did you want to talk about,” she asked.

“Well, you know that talk we had over the phone last week, about all the old rules still applying while I’m home this summer?”

Mom’s face has a way of becoming friendly and stern at the same time. It always reminded me of a school counselor’s, and I was pretty acquainted with several of those growing up. “Abigail,” she said, never a good sign when she uses my full first name, “That’s non-negotiable.”

“I know.”

“I know you’ve been away for most of the past year, and I don’t want to step on your summer, but it’s for everyone’s sake and so the kids know no one ever outgrows the rules.” She’d told me all that over the phone.

Those weren’t major rules. A curfew, texting to let her know where I was if I was gonna be late, completing the chore chart, generally doing what I was told, not being disrespectful. It wasn’t like we had a list or anything.

“I know. I agree completely.”

“Then what did you want to talk about,” Mom asked me.

“It’s about grounding. I’m only home for a few months. I’m responsible for the kids. I don’t want to miss out on things, and I don’t think it’s practical for me to be grounded while I’m home or to lose my privileges. I mean, if I have the kids during the day, then a car and phone aren’t really privileges anymore.”

Mom shrugged apologetically at me. “Well, rules have to be backed up by punishment. Sorry, Abby, but that’s just how they work.”

“It’s not like I get in a lot of trouble these days anyway,” I defended myself. “It’s not like I’m going to be breaking rules left and right.”

“I certainly hope not, but honey, let’s face it, you do have a tendency to get into trouble.”

“Maybe years ago,” I defended myself.

“Remember Christmas break? You coming home drunk as a skunk at 4am.”

“I didn’t ... I didn’t have a curfew.” Though I knew that wasn’t her point. “It’s not like you grounded me then.”

“I know, and I should have. If for no other reason than so you’re brother and sister would understand that’s not acceptable. Ryan told his friends; he thought it was hilarious. I ended up on the phone apologizing to Mrs. Davis because he told Thomas all about it.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that part.”

“So, yes,” Mom said, “if you break the rules, I will ground you, and I’m sorry if that means you miss out on seeing your friends sometimes when you’re home, but that should be more of an incentive.”

So I tried and failed to get out of punishment altogether. I figured that would happen. I very nearly chickened out of what I said next, but summer was short, and I figured being grounded even once would mean missing out on something. Call it fear of missing out, but I just really missed a lot of my friends and thought about my summer and getting to see them as very important.

I cleared my throat, and looking at the table, I slowly said, “I talked to Alison about how things worked when she was home from college.” Alison is my older cousin, her mother, Lisa, my mom’s older sister. “She told me that Aunt Lisa, ahem, still, uh, spanks her.”

“At 25,” my mother asked in mild surprise. My mom’s view of discipline diverged with Lisa’s on the subject of corporal punishment.

“Apparently, yeah,” I said.

“Huh,” was all my mom said back.

“So, I know you’ve never spanked me, but, uh, could you, um, maybe, do that instead of grounding me and taking things away, maybe?” I sounded kinda pathetic. I knew it.

“Yes.”

“What,” I said in not-so-mild surprise. I thought she’d have turned me down. I thought she’d call me crazy, get offended or all freaked out. I thought I’d have to reason with her. I thought the absurdity of my request may have even led her to change her mind and decide no punishment at all was okay (I was kinda hoping that). “But you’ve never spanked any of us!”

“Because it’s wrong to hit kids. You’re an adult and just consented to it.” Mom sat back in her chair. “Believe me, it’s not like I never wanted to. Your last two years of high school especially.” I guess maybe she and I remembered my last years of high school a bit differently. I thought I had been a pretty good kid, but maybe I had been grading myself on the wrong curve. I was kinda-sorta in trouble a lot more than my friends.

“I thought you’d say no.”

“I will say no, if you really didn’t mean it.”

“No … it’s better than grounding.”

“Okay. And don’t think just because you asked you get to dictate the how, when, where, or why of it.”

“Just so long as you don’t go all Robo-Mom on me.”

“Same rules apply, and like always, I decide when you’ve broken one.”

“I understand. Can you not tell Ryan and Emma?” My two younger siblings.

“We can not tell them, but I think they’ll figure it out.”

“And what will you tell them then?”

“You,” she emphasized, “and I will explain that everyone has to follow rules, and that you asked to be held accountable this way. It might even be good for them. Ryan is on the cusp of that obnoxious pre-teen phase. Maybe thinking of how long it’s taken you to accept responsibility for yourself will knock him out of it a little sooner.”

“You’ve never even given a spanking before.”

“And hopefully I won’t ever have to,” Mom said, “But when I do, I’ll figure it out. I’m sure Lisa would be happy to show me. Hardly a conversation about you has ever passed between us but she told me to spank your bottom.” Mom looked up to her left as if recalling a memory and chuckled a little. I hadn’t thought of Aunt Lisa being involved in this.

“Really, Abby, I’m kinda proud of you for asking. That really shows me that you’ve grown up a bit more since you went away.”

“Thanks,” I blushed, thinking about what a silly compliment it was. I’m not sure which of us was more deranged. But seriously, I was an adult. How much trouble could I possibly get in? I was confident I could just behave, but glad that if for some reason things went awry, at least I wouldn’t miss out on the summer.

“I need to go to bed,” I told her.

“Make sure you put your Goodnite on.”

I rolled my eyes like corkscrews. “I know, Mom. Been doing it since I was four, remember?”

“I know ... sorry.”

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Chapter 2

I didn’t have to wait long for my first ever spanking. Curfew always came with a grace period, and I stretched it a little past its limits. Not a lot, just twenty minutes past the grace period, but I guess my mom and I have different accounting systems, because in my mind I was twenty minutes late, and in hers I was almost an hour late. Still, I didn’t think much of it at the time. I learned later that since that conversation the two of us had, Mom had consulted Aunt Lisa, who advised her to be strict, especially starting out. She was waiting up for me.

“Abigail,” she said, startling me as I tried to gently close the door, partly not to wake anyone up, and partly not to get in trouble. “You’re almost an hour late.”

“I know, Mom,” I said, “Sorry. We lost track of time. You didn’t wait up just for me, did you?”

“Of course I did.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” I was standing in the entry hall awkwardly. I was ready to go to bed, and I guess I was waiting for her to do the same. Instead, she just sat there looking back at me, so I did the same.

“Come over here, and let’s talk.” I sat down at the table with her, and she looked at me in a way she hadn’t ever before. Sympathetically, but also sort of clinically; affectionate, but determined. “So this is the first time you’ve broken a rule since our talk a couple days ago,” she said.

“Yeah,” I grimaced, “Sorry again. I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

“I know you’ll try, sweetheart, but you still need to be punished.”

I’d thought I’d be able to go most of the summer with just one or two punishments, but here it was just two days after our talk, and I was already in trouble. Not a good start, but I really hoped not a portent of the future. Naturally, I tried to get out of it.

“Can’t this one be a freebie? I mean, I just got home, and it’s hard having rules all of a sudden.” I think I probably sounded more childish than I meant to. It was also a lame excuse. When Mom looked back at me skeptically – okay, dismissively – I tried to add, “Please?”

“No, Abigail. There are no freebies. That was understood when we talked about the rules before you came home.” She paused, and to this day I can still hear her voice as she said, “I’m going to give you a spanking, just like you asked for.”

I probably looked like a fish out of water just then, my mouth opening, then closing, and then opening again as I tried to think of something to say. When I didn’t, Mom did. “We’ll take care of this before I leave for work in the morning because I don’t want to wake the kids up, but in the future, Abigail, punishment will happen right away unless there’s a very good reason not to.” Also something Aunt Lisa taught her, I learned later, and something I had seen practiced a couple times growing up.

Mom stood up, and I did the same. I must’ve looked like I needed it, and I did, because Mom hugged me and reassured me, “Everything will be okay. Go get some sleep, and I’ll come wake you up in the morning.” She gave me a goodnight kiss.

“What time will you … be in,” I asked.

“About 5:45.” Mom leaves early for work.

“Okay.”

“Goodnight, Abby.”

“Goodnight, Mom. I really am sorry.”

“I know, baby. Sleep well.”

I set my alarm for 5:30 to take care of something I didn’t want Mom to know about, at least not yet. Goodnites just don’t do the job well enough for me at night anymore. They hadn’t in quite a while. Mom had always disliked the idea of me wearing diapers to bed, I think because she thought it would hurt my self-esteem, but when I got to college I decided to make the switch on my own, and I’m glad I did. I suffered a lot fewer leaks as a result. She also didn’t know that I sometimes wore a Goodnite out during the day, like I had that night, because my daytime control, which had never been stellar, was just something I didn’t want to have to stress about sometimes, like when I was spending the evening with friends. I’m sure Mom would have disapproved, but it wasn’t her that had to spend so much mental energy thinking about my bladder, especially if I had a few drinks. I didn’t use my Goodnites during the day on purpose, but just knowing that an accident would be taken care of made me more relaxed. I had been more afraid that Mom would have spanked me right then and found the Goodnite than I was of the spanking itself, and it occurred to me then that could happen one day. As for the morning, I set my alarm early so I could get out of my night diaper and into a Goodnite before Mom came in.

After I’d gotten into my nighttime undies and under the covers, I had a hard time falling asleep knowing that in a few hours I’d get my very first spanking. I knew it would hurt, but I didn’t know how much, and I didn’t know how Mom would do it. I just knew that I had to go along with it because it had been my idea, and as silly as it sounds, the evening confirmed my choice. A sore butt is well worth getting to spend more time with friends.

When my alarm went off, I don’t think I’d been asleep very long, but then, that was why I was in trouble – for coming in at 12:50 instead of midnight. Being so tired also made me feel stupid since I had to watch the kids that day and guilty because Mom had waited up for me, and now she had to go to work on just a few hours of sleep. I sighed, got up, and took off my wet night diaper. I rolled it up and put it in the trashcan that I had to frequently remind Mom to call a trashcan and not my diaper pail. I put on a Goodnite, got back in bed, and started to doze. A gentle knock made me stir, and Mom came in before I was even sitting up again.

“Good morning, Abigail.” Mom using my full name makes me feel nervous. She only uses it when I’m in trouble or about to be.

“Hi.” She was dressed for the day in her scrubs and sensible nursing shoes. Mom’s a fanatic about comfortable shoes. I stared at those shoes as I sat on the edge of the bed. She didn’t say anything for a moment. I think this was equally hard for her.

“Well,” she said, “Let’s get this over with. Stand up, please.” My whole body felt extra sensitive, the way it does when you’re very nervous and attuned to everything around you. I wasn’t scared. It was more a sense of unbelief mixed with anxiety. Just a month shy of my nineteenth birthday, I was about to be spanked for the first time in my life. I stood up and turned so I was facing the bed.

“Not like that, Abby,” Mom said before I could bend over. “We’re going to do this with you over my knee.” I turned back around in what felt like slow motion as my Mom stepped around me and sat down on my bed, moving my covers out of the way. I looked at her and she at me. She seemed to be feeling more confident by the second. She reached out and took my near wrist, guiding me closer to her.

“I’ve decided that for your first spanking,” she explained, “you’re going to be bare bottom. Your spankings won’t always be bare, but I think it will set the right tone.” My hands moved instinctively to my waistband – I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me to protest – but mom stopped me. “No, honey, I’ll take these down.” She slid my pajama bottoms down, and they fell the rest of the way on their own once they passed my hips, leaving me in my top and my Goodnite. Mom hadn’t seen me like this in a while, but then, she was about to see me in a way she hadn’t in even longer.

“Abby! You’re dry! Good for you, sweety.” I blushed and said nothing. Her praise made me feel childish, and anyway, it was undeserved. Not that I was in a hurry to correct her. My bedwetting history deserves to be explained at length, but as much as Mom understood it was a condition that would likely never go away, she often treated dry nights like accomplishments worthy of praise rather than the coincidences they were. By the time I was in middle school that always made me uncomfortable – if a dry night is praiseworthy, is a wet night, by far more common, worthy of admonishment? But Mom never admonished me for bedwetting, at least after it became obvious I wasn’t going to grow out of it, and I never said anything to her about the praise because it seemed to make her happy to give it. Her being happy about it seemed enough reason to let it continue.

This is what I was thinking about when Mom brought me back to the matter at hand by saying, “Let’s take this all the way off so you can wear it again tonight. Step out.” I took my feet from out of my PJ bottoms, and Mom slid the Goodnite with its stretchy sides down my legs and then held it as I stepped out of that, too, leaving me naked below the waist and giving Mom a close up view of my waxed personal area. It was in style, and it was more hygienic for me. I think Mom may have raised an eyebrow, but I couldn’t quite tell.

Whether Mom was as uncomfortable as me right then, I don’t know. Maybe she was. Maybe she wasn’t because she’d seen me like that as a baby and into my early childhood years when I still needed help with my nighttime undies. Or maybe not because she’s a nurse and sees people’s bodies all that time. She turned a little bit away from me so her left thigh was on the bed, leaving her right foot planted on the floor. “Over my knee,” she said, patting her left leg. I slowly laid down, putting my upper body on the bed and leaving my toes just barely touching the floor.

“Calm down, Abby,” Mom cooed at me. I realized I was breathing faster than normal. “It’ll be over in a few minutes.” She stroked the small of my back and then my butt, lightly rubbing it. I jolted at her touch. “Relax.” I tried to untense my body. “Comfortable?”

“Uh huh,” I squeaked.

“Here,” she said as she reached over me and handed me my teddy bear, Lemon. It’s really just a pillow at this point, but I’ve had it since forever, and I never liked the idea of putting her in a box in a closet. “You can squeeze Lemon if you need to.”

Mom’s hand stopped rubbing, and she asked, “Do you know why you’re being spanked?”

“Because I came in after curfew. I really am sorry. I didn’t think you’d wait up for me, and now you have to go to work tired. I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, baby, and this will help you remember. Once your spanking is over, everything will be forgiven. Understand?”

“Yes, Mommy.” Later on, playing the scene over in my head, I wondered how many years it had been prior to that moment when I’d called her “Mommy.”

Mom’s left hand reached around my waist to hold me tightly, and I felt her right hand leave my butt. I tensed in anticipation.

SMACK! That first spank surprised me by how much it hurt. I thought it would sting a little, but it hurt, and it was followed up immediately by another and another and another. Apparently whatever nervousness Mom felt didn’t carry over to the actual administration of this first spanking – mine and hers, from this side of it – as she spanked fast. I learned later that she could spank much harder, but all I knew at the moment was this hurt and was getting more painful by the spank.

My whole body bounced against the bed with each spank, and I felt myself slipping, or maybe squirming to get away, and Mom did, too, because she held me tighter around the waist.

The whole thing lasted less than a minute, but in that minute I think she’d spanked me at least thirty times, and by the end of it I was squeezing Lemon and trying hard to stay quiet, though I did manage to.

It stopped abruptly, and I just lay there, unsure of whether I could get up or not. Mom started rubbing my butt again.

“You were very brave,” Mom said to me. “I’m sorry I had to do that, but you should know now that since you’ve asked for this, I will spank your bottom again when you misbehave, every time.”

“I know,” I groaned. Though technically I didn’t ask to be spanked. I just asked for spankings to replace groundings. That’s different (isn’t it?).

“C’mon. Sit up.” She helped me to my feet, and my hands went to my butt. It felt different, certainly warm but not hot. It wasn’t swollen or bruised.

“Hug,” Mom said as she stood up and hugged me. “I love you very much. Do you know that.”

“Yes, Mommy. I love you, too.”

“Clean slate. Why don’t you get back in bed? The kids won’t be up until 7:30 probably.”

“Okay.”

“Here,” Mom said, picking up the Goodnite and handing it to me. She watched as I put it on, gingerly pulling it over my butt. I think she smiled a little, probably thinking it was cute, hugged me again, and said, “I’ll be home around 6:45. Call me if you need anything.”

“Have a good day at work, Mom.” I got back into bed wondering what my butt looked like. When I checked it an hour later after the kids were up, or at least Emma was up, it was only its normal shade. That made me wonder what I’d gotten myself into.

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This is a very charming and well-written story.

For the record, I approve of Abby preferring spanking over grounding. Her mother is sensible. She must realize that while Abby is grounded she needs to be continuously supervised to ensure she does not break grounding.

What I hope is that soon the mother understands that GoodNites were originally designed to be discreet and not absorbent enough to deal with even moderate wetting by anyone older than six. Since GoodNites were first marketed the decorations have become fancy but the product is not a replacement for a decent tape-on diapers. For bed a pinned-on gauze diaper inside waterproof panties works much better.

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2 hours ago, Angela Bauer said:

She must realize that while Abby is grounded she needs to be continuously supervised to ensure she does not break grounding.

I think some of that, maybe, but also the fact that’s shes watching her siblings. Can’t really ground her without grounding them by extension, and it would be unsafe in an emergency if Abby didn’t have a car or phone, so taking things away wouldn’t work either. What would that leave? Grounding during non-business hours? ?

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Chapter 3

The kids were at day camp, and Mom and I were visiting my Aunt Lisa and Allison. It started out so well. Really, none of what happened was my fault. It was all Aunt Lisa’s fault. I take zero responsibility. The afternoon began with the four of us talking about how nice it was for me to be home for the summer and congratulations on finishing my freshman year, but as soon as there was a lull in the conversation, Aunt Lisa filled it with, “So how’s the new discipline system working, Susan?”

“So far, fine,” Mom replied. “We had our first episode just a few days ago, and I think it went well.” As I turned bright red, I looked at Aunt Lisa trying to discern whether she was making fun of me on purpose or was just talking mom-to-mom about discipline and child-rearing. It seemed to be the latter, which was even more condescending. I looked at Allison, who wasn’t blushing or smiling, seeming to just be listening, and realized this must be normal in their house. These people just talk about spanking like it’s not a big deal, no different than talking about grounding.

“She didn’t resist her first spanking,” Aunt Lisa asked. As if the topic of conversation didn’t make me feel like a child, the fact that no one was addressing the questions to me certainly did.

“No,” Mom told her. “She followed directions. Thank you for giving me some pointers.”

“Of course. You know how I feel about it – you should’ve done this years and years ago. It’s not too late with Emma and Ryan, either.”

“You know my feelings on that, Lisa. It’s not happening.”

“Okay – I won’t bring it up again. But Abby is a such a willful child. At least you’re taking care of it now.” I was starting to get angry. Aunt Lisa had always talked down to me a little, and the one time I’d called her on it, she had very testily said, “When you learn to behave like a grown up, that’s how I’ll treat you.” She certainly didn’t talk to her own daughter that way, but then Allison is older than me and has always been, on the whole, better behaved than me. In all fairness, I’d classify Alison’s behavior as average and mine as worse than average, rather than me as average and her as the goody-goody.

“You were right, though, it did hurt my hand,” Mom said.

“Told you. A hand makes for a good warm up or quick correction, but it’ll hurt you worse than her if you try for a full spanking on a girl her age. Did you at least spank her bare bottom like I suggested?”

“Yes. You were right about that, too. It made it much easier to see what I was doing.”

“How did you feel about it, Abby,” my aunt asked, finally addressing me. I think I’d have been less mad at her if she was embarrassing me on purpose.

“None of your business,” I snapped. Mom looked embarrassed, Aunt Lisa looked irritated but calm, and Alison looked like she was watching someone drive the wrong way down a one-way street.

“There’s no need to be that way, Abby. You’ve needed a spanking for a long time, and you finally got one.” Which was absolutely the wrong thing to say to me. I stood up.

“Stop talking to me like I’m five! You always do that, and this between me and Mom, so just shut the fuck up about it!” I felt better for having said that – lord knows, I’d been bottling that up for a couple years – for about three seconds until I realized I’d crossed a line. Aunt Lisa was wrong, but the way I’d confronted her was also wrong, or at least, wrong from a practical standpoint. Totally righteous from a she’s-a-bitch-and-always-has-been standpoint. But Mom has a thing about swearing; maybe that’s generational, or maybe not, but I’d learned over the years not to do it around her. I guess I’d gotten out of the habit of not swearing while I was away at school where everyone swore. Swearing was a no-no in our house, but swearing at someone was worse.

I turned and looked at Mom, who looked embarrassed and angry, and Mom looked from Aunt Lisa to me and back again.

“I’m sor …” I started to say when I was cut off with a smack to my butt. I gasped. I turned back around and looked at Mom, who seemed equally surprised and still uncertain. I looked at Aunt Lisa, who nodded at Mom. I looked at Alison, who had an I-told-you-so expression on her face. “Mom! I said …” SMACK SMACK!

“Abigail, you are in so much trouble when we get home.”

“You can’t do that in front of other people,” I whined.

“Oh, yes, I can. We talked about this the night you asked. Now unless you want a real spanking right here, please sit down and apologize to your aunt.”

I sat down quickly, and said, “I’m sorry Aunt Lisa. I shouldn’t have lost my temper and sworn at you.”

“See,” my aunt said to my mom, “It’s not that she doesn’t know what she does wrong. It’s that she knows and does it anyway. She has terrible impulse control for a girl her age.”

“I know,” Mom said.

“You know the best thing for that is to address naughtiness as soon as it happens so she’ll learn to associate her misbehavior with the consequences.” When Mom didn’t reject that out of hand, Aunt Lisa continued, “At the very least, a timeout in the corner is called for.” I cringed, not liking where this was going at all, but at least this time I had the sense to stay quiet about it rather than make things worse.

“Ya know what? That’s an excellent idea. Abby remembers corner time well, I’m sure.” Mom took me by the elbow, and I stood up as she stood up.

“Mom,” I whined. “Can’t we do this when we get home? I said I was sorry.”

“And I accept your apology, Abigail,” Aunt Lisa said, “but ‘sorry’ doesn’t get you out of being disciplined.”

“Is this spot okay,” Mom asked as she led me to the nearest corner.

“Yes. That’s the same spot Alie uses when she’s in time out, at least in here.”

“You stay right here and do not turn around until I say,” Mom said. “’In here,’” Mom asked Aunt Lisa.

“Alison has a naughty spot in every room.”

“How long will you keep discipling Alison,” Mom asked.

“Alison,” Aunt Lisa said, bouncing the question to her daughter.

“Until I don’t need it anymore or until I stop consenting to it,” Alison answered. She paused and added, “I think it makes a major difference for me. I’d certainly not bark at someone the way Abby just did, not without expecting to get a spanking on the spot.”

“Do you still spank her in front of others,” Mom asked.

“When I need to,” Aunt Lisa answered. “But only in front of a few friends who also discipline their adult children. It’s more common than you think.”

“Do you really think it will make a difference if I wait until we get home to spank Abby?”

“MOM! You can’t be serious! NO WAY!” I accidentally shouted as I turned and stomped a foot. “No way is this happening in front of them!” That’s not what I intended at all. Mom was being so weird right then, having gone from opposed to spanking at all to being okay with it because I asked for it and then taking that ask as license to do things even parents who do believe in spanking don’t normally do. Spank me at someone else’s house right in front of them? Who does that nowadays, besides Aunt Lisa, who is clearly such a freak.

“I think she just answered that question,” Aunt Lisa said. I turned around back into the corner hoping to go unnoticed

“How then,” Mom asked.

“The same way as always.” Mom was on the cusp, and I guess Aunt Lisa knew she just needed a nudge to push Mom over. “Alie, will you please go get the ruler from your room?”

I audibly groaned. It seemed like there was no reason not to try to weasel out of it now, so I turned back around. “Mom, please, not this.”

“You can go back to being grounded instead,” Mom said. “Is that what you want?”

“No,” I whined. “But,” I sighed, “Can’t we just do this at home? It’s not like I’ll forget what I did wrong before then.”

“Abigail, what did we agree? I decide when and where. So unless you want two spankings in one day, you’ll stop whining right now.” Alie was back with the ruler. It was about eighteen inches long and looked heavier than a standard school ruler.

“Susan, can I make a suggestion,” Aunt Lisa interjected. “I do feel like girls Abigail’s age should have some choice. I think it helps for them to participate in their punishment, and it recognizes that while they may not be mature enough to not need their bottoms warmed, at least they’re mature to exercise some choice. When there’s company, I normally offer Alison a choice between getting her spanking bare in her bedroom or in front of others on her underwear.”

“Well,” Mom asked me.

“Please,” I groaned.

“One,” Mom began to count.

“We can do this at home.”

“Two … thr…”

“In the bedroom,” I said, cutting her off.

“Let’s go. Excuse us, please. The two of us need to go take care of something,” Mom said. I had no idea why she was suddenly cryptic. Mom marched me down the hallway by my elbow, smacking the seat of my shorts as we went.

“Ow! Ow! Can you wait until we get there? OW!” Mom closed the door behind us and let my arm go. We were suddenly facing each other, her with her arms folded over her chest, and me pouting.

“What has gotten into you,” Mom whisper shouted.

“She was embarrassing me, and you were just going along with it!”

“I’m trying to do this well, and she’s gave me advice the other night while I was waiting for you to get home. It’s not a secret.”

“But its private.”

“We’re family. You’re the one who came up with this idea with Alison. And since when do you swear at people? You know better than that.”

“I didn’t mean to.”
            “I know you didn’t mean to. It just came out during your temper tantrum.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, knowing she was right about that. “But the two of you didn’t need to talk about it with me and Alison right there. That was so humiliating.”

“I decide where and when, so if I think it needs to be talked about in front of others, it will be. I bet you’re a lot more embarrassed now, anyway, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s get this over with.” In the corner was a stool I had never noticed. Just a regular, black, wooden bar stool. Mom saw it and pulled it into the center of the room and sat down on it. I went and stood in front her, exercising some self-control in keeping my hands to myself while she unbuttoned by shorts and whisked them down along with my panties. Mom had to help me over her knee, and once I was over it, I understood why Aunt Lisa probably had this stool. Once I was across Mom’s lap, neither my feet nor hands could touch the floor. I may as well have been eight instead of eighteen, dangling there with my butt exposed.

I guess Mom didn’t think more lecturing was needed because she started spanking me with her hand right away, and she did it the same as before, fast and hard from the first spank. I had a hard time staying balanced liked that, so Mom put her arms around me tighter. It felt especially weird, and childlike, to just be dangling there while I got my butt spanked.

After thirty seconds or so – it’s always hard to tell when you’re being spanked – Mom switched from her hand to the ruler, and I yelped as it exploded across by butt. I figured Mom must be a natural, what with the way she seemed to just intuitively understand that flicking her wrist made it more painful. I grunted with each swat from that piece of wood, and that didn’t seem to slow Mom down.

This part of the spanking was going on longer than the entire first spanking I’d gotten, and I found the lump in my throat turn into a sob and the sob turn into tears falling as I got my bottom spanked. Mom kept going for a dozen or so swats after I started crying.

Like the first time, she rubbed my butt for me as I hung over her lap, which made me cry harder, not because of the pain but because I was so embarrassed. The conversation, getting put in time out, my aunt and cousin both knowing I was getting a spanking right down the hall, Mom once again seeing my bare butt and other parts of me, and then crying. I’m not a crier. At least, I didn’t used to be. I was actually crying, only a little, but still.

Mom helped me back to my feet, and she hugged me and shushed me, sitting back and wiping a tear from my cheek. “Will you lose your temper and swear again?”

“No, Mommy,” I managed to say.

“Good. You know I love you, and that’s why I discipline you.”

“I know.” Mom kissed my forehead.

“Why don’t you go wash your face and then come back to the living room.”

“Do I have to come back out?”

“Yes. It would be rude not to. You’ve been punished, it’s over, and we’re going to finish our visit, okay, pumpkin?”

I nodded, sniffed, and slid my shorts back up. I looked pitiful when I saw myself in the mirror, red, puffy eyes and messy hair. I shimmied my shorts back down, and this time my butt wasn’t pink. It was red. Not a dark red, but a red, and the outline of the ruler was visible in rectangular lines across my butt cheeks and in a couple places where the corner of the ruler had delivered most of the blow, leaving a rounded off ninety degree angle. I wondered what was being said in the living room.

I expected more talk about spanking – specifically, spanking me – but to my surprise that wasn’t the topic of conversation, and it didn’t come up again the rest of the afternoon. That was a relief, but it was still weird. A legal adult had just been spanked, and the conversation moved on as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Aunt Lisa was actually nice to me. Alison didn’t look at me sympathetically. Mom went right back to being my friend.

On the one hand, I’d asked to be spanked specifically because once it’s over, it’s over. But on the other, this was still to me a big deal, at least at the time, and I realized that over-fast part of spanking was required of me, too, for it to work: I earned a punishment, it happened, and now I had no license to pout about it. It turned into a fun visit. But it was still pretty weird. And all Aunt Lisa’s fault.

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Alex, Chapter 3 was marvelous. How fascinating that Aunt Lisa had Alison bring a heavy ruler instead of a hairbrush.

It is refreshing to not read the usual spanking trope.

I can hardly wait to read about Mom Susan and naughty Abby, I have no doubt that Abby will be a better person as a result of her spankings.

I would be wonderful if Abby were to pledge a strict sorority when she returns to university as a sophomore. Even if the sorority no longer hazes pledges, there could be a stern housemother ready to spank to correct misbehavior.

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12 minutes ago, Angela Bauer said:

Alex, Chapter 3 was marvelous. How fascinating that Aunt Lisa had Alison bring a heavy ruler instead of a hairbrush.

It is refreshing to not read the usual spanking trope.

I can hardly wait to read about Mom Susan and naughty Abby, I have no doubt that Abby will be a better person as a result of her spankings.

I would be wonderful if Abby were to pledge a strict sorority when she returns to university as a sophomore. Even if the sorority no longer hazes pledges, there could be a stern housemother ready to spank to correct misbehavior.

You may also like my series “You’re never too old to be spanked” and “Because you asked for it.”. The links are in my signature.

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24 minutes ago, Angela Bauer said:

Alex, yes I enjoy both of those stories.

However, FEAR OF MISSING OUT speaks to me especially well.

The author I referred to who writes stories with this premise - adult children asking for or accepting spankings from their parents - goes by Peter242 on LushStories.com and Peter Martin on Amazon. He’s quite prolific.

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Chapter 4

           

Seeing Allison’s name on my phone wasn’t exactly what I wanted to see that evening. I wanted to stay in my room, but Mom told me to come be part of the family, and the familial participation of the day being what it had been had me wanting to stay in my room in the first place. Still, at least Allison’s call gave me a reason to go back to my room.

“Hey, Allie. What’s up?”

“I was just calling to see how you’re doing.”

“How do you think? You mom can be a world class bitch.”

“You could’ve just sat their embarrassed instead of using language like you just used,” Allie chastised me.

“Do I get any sympathy at all?”

“Sorry.”

“I never would’ve agreed to this if I knew it was going to be family-freakin'-pastime.”

“Yeah…”

“’Yeah’ what?”

“I kinda figured your mom and my mom would talk about it, and my mom would give your mom some pointers. ‘Making up for lost time,’ my mom called it.”

“Why didn’t you say something before?”

“Honestly? Because I actually think it will help you like it helped me. I don’t say that about everybody, but it’s like you never learned to control your temper or think before you say or do something.” Maybe she had a point there.

“You really think I was more out of line than your mom?”

“I think you shared in that equally.”

“But I’m an adult! I have the right to defend myself. She was embarrassing me on purpose.”

“No, she wasn’t. Mom just talks about spanking like it’s no big deal. Always has.”

“She’s always talked down to me.”

“Well, you can be kinda childish at times.”

“Well … yeah, fine, but she … whatever.”

“Are you mad at me,” Alie asked.

“Why? Just because you talked me into this knowing my mom might go off the deep end because of what your mom told her? Or that you left out the detail about your mom spanking you in front of other people? No, why should I be mad about that?”

“Sorry.”

“Really?”

“Partly,” Allie confessed. “I guess I didn’t think it through that far ahead. I mean, Mom doesn’t spank me all that often anymore.”

“You said she still does, and she said so today.”

“Yeah, but not in, like, a year?”

“What!?!”

“I don’t need it as often as you do!”

“But you made it sound like it’s a regular thing!”

“Comparatively, it is.”

“Compared to what?”

“To most 25-year-olds.”

“I can’t believe you!”

“Alright, Abby, really, I called to give you some pointers if you can stop being angry at me long enough to listen.”

“Go ahead,” I sighed. I was pissed at her. I had never even thought about this until a month ago when Allison had brought it up. She kept bringing it up, and now that I thought back on it, I wondered if she hadn’t been grooming me, putting the idea in my head and convincing me this was to my advantage. Maybe Aunt Lisa had talked her into it. While spinning this conspiracy theory in my head, I missed most of what Alie had to say.

            “…so don’t fight it. That only makes it worse, like today. When she decides, just go with it and it’s over faster and easier,” Allison was saying.

            “Yeah,” I said, feeling the need to say something to make it seem like I was listening.

            “I just mean, look on it as an opportunity. You’re smart. Learning to exercise a little impulse control will be good for you, and if you don’t want to be spanked again, then just behave. You can do that if you really are the adult you say you are,” Allison said to me. I could see she had picked up more of her mother’s gentle condescension than I realized.

            “Thanks, I guess. Look, I gotta go tuck the kids in bed.” I didn't, actually.

            “Goodnight then. Talk to you later this week, maybe we can go do something?”

            “Sure. Goodnight.” I hung up and didn’t know quite what to think. Was this some conspiracy? Did Aunt Lisa get Allison to talk me into this, and was Mom in on it, too? Is that why she so readily agreed to what was on its face an absurd idea, and why she took to it so enthusiastically?

            I decided to just go to bed, so I went to say goodnight to Emma and Ryan, and I stopped in the kitchen for a glass of water. I was thoroughly confused, and somewhat angry, though at whom I wasn’t sure. It felt like Allison had tricked me, but then, maybe I had tricked myself. And why did I come around to Allison’s idea in the first place? It was just silly, ridiculous even. I agreed to be spanked for the first time in my life at 18 years of age after finishing my freshman year of college? And why? Maybe I really did need the discipline in my life, and maybe I knew it. Or maybe I just didn’t want to be grounded when I only had the summer to be home with old friends. In either case, as I got myself into my pajamas, I resolved to try to be on my best behavior.

            As I was making this vow, Mom knocked on my door. I jumped under the covers, not wanting her to see I had upgraded from Goodnites to diapers, before saying, “Come in.” Mom closed the door behind her.

            “I just wanted to talk before you went to bed,” Mom said.

            “About what?” She sat down next to me, and I drew my legs up to make room for her.

            “About the episode at Aunt Lisa’s house today.” So she realized how out of line she’d been. That was a relief at least.

            “Okay,” I said.

            “I’m very sorry I had to do that, but I wanted to make sure you understand how your behavior made that necessary.” So she didn’t think she was out of line at all. I wanted to roll my eyes and put a pillow over my head.

            “I shouldn’t have raised my voice or used a swear word, especially at someone,” I said. See, I wanted to add, I remembered just fine. Could have waited until we got home!!!

            “I’m glad you understand that part. I also wanted to make sure you understand that this type of discipline is new for both of us, and I’ve decided to be strict with it. Like we agreed: all the old rules still apply, and I’m not going to enforce them any less just because the consequences are different now.”

            I knew there was no reason to protest that since there was no way I’d win, nor had that been what I intended when I proposed the idea (okay, maybe a little). Of course, now that she mentioned it, it did raise the prospect of a spanking for every little thing that I did wrong, but that didn’t occur to me just then. “But did you have to do it at their house,” I whined.

            “If a little embarrassment helps you to learn not to repeat mistakes and think twice before you act, I think it’s worth it.”

            “It was more than a ‘little’.” How did she not get that?

            “It’s all just part of being spanked, Abby. Your Aunt Lisa …”

            “Why is she so involved in this? What does it have to do with her?” I was working to keep from raising my voice.

            “She’s my sister, and I went to her for advice, just like you went to Allison.”

            “But you always said she was too … the whole time I was growing up, you said her entire approach to discipline was wrong. Not just wrong; immoral.”

            “For a child.”

            “So now that I’m not a child that makes it better?”

            “This was your idea, so yes. You consented to it, you heard my terms, and you consented to those, too. Now it’s out of your hands.”

            “So I can’t take it back?”

            “You can, but I think that would be a very bad idea for this summer.” I sat there and absorbed what she said. I felt stuck.

            “It was a really long day, and I just want to go to bed, Mom.”

            “I know. I just wanted you to know that I think this is gonna be good for all of us, and if you can be the smart girl I know you are, we can avoid another day like today altogether. Will you try?”

            “Yes,” I said, and I meant it because I’d just given myself the same talk. Mom opened her arms, and we hugged each other.

            You know that metallic taste that comes up in your mouth when your fight-or-flight system kicks on, and how your skin is suddenly super sensitive and all your sense are alert? That’s what happened when I tried to let Mom go, and she held the hug a second longer and said, “What are you wearing?”

            “Nothing. Just my normal pajamas,” I lied.

            “No, you’re not. You know you need to wear a Goodnite to bed,” Mom said. I’m not sure exactly what she saw, but I guess she was expecting to see the purple waistband of my Goodnites, but instead she glimpsed the white waistband of my diaper and immediately thought they must be panties or something. I guess she didn’t get that good a look, because I knew there was no mistaking what I was wearing for regular underwear.

            “But …”

            “No buts. That’s the rule.”

            I was dumbstruck, babbling, not wanting to add this humiliation to the day’s tally and unsure what to say. “You … but I’m … it’s … it’s not a …”

            “I’m going to leave and come back in two minutes, and when I do I want to see you wearing your nighttime undies.”

Mom had her hand on the doorknob as I jumped out of bed and said, “Wait! I can explain …”

“What’s there to explain,” Mom asked. She turned to look at me, and she must’ve seen the outline of the diaper through the shorts I was wearing to bed because she stopped.

“Please,” I sniffled, “It’s not what it …” Tears were on my face, and I’m not sure why. I suppose for the same reason I cried while she was spanking me with that ruler, because I was embarrassed (mostly). Bedwetting wasn’t exactly a sore topic between us, and neither was my nighttime underwear. There had been that period when I turned 13 and wanted nothing to do with them, but I figured out they were preferable to a wet bed. I still put up a fight about them, partly because I hated to admit I was wrong, but after a year or so I’d ceased arguing about it. “I had to …”

“Oh, baby,” Mom said as she re-crossed my small room in less than two full steps and hugged me again. To confirm what she’d seen, she slid her hand down my back and patted my butt. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. I responded with a sob I sucked in one half-breath at a time. I guess the entire day caught up with me.

“Sit down,” Mom said, and she sat with me and let me rest my cheek against her breast.

“The Goodnites don’t work anymore,” I told her through tears.

“Since when?”

“I don’t know. I just finally switched. Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad. You do what you need to do, and I’ll support you. I know it’s not easy.” I sat up and wiped my nose on my sleeve.

“You’re not?” I sat up.

“Of course not. I just wish you’d said something. Do they work?”

“Most of the time.”

“That’s all that matters. I don’t care what exactly you wear.”

“I just … I kept waking up wet and …” I

“Shush. It’s all okay,” she said as she rubbed my back. “So you’ve been spending a lot on those probably, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll take care of that now.”

“Thank you.”

“Why don’t you go wash your face again before bed. I’ll make sure Ryan and Emma don’t see.”

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Hi Alex, I tried to message you privately but the DD system did not allow that.

Here is the issue: In Chapter 1 Aunt Lisa'a daughter is introduced as 'Cousin Alison'.

Then in Chapter 3 at first it is Cousin Allison (with 2 ll) and at other places in that chapter she is back to only a single l.

Now in the wonderful new Chapter 4 she is back to 2 ll.

Just want you to know. I wanted to tell you privately.

Angela

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Chapter 5

 

My next run in with Mom happened just four days later, and it came as a surprise to me. It was the rare occasion when I actually didn’t know I had done anything wrong. Of course, I’d claimed ignorance enough times in my life to have blown what credibility I had, but in this instance, I told the truth and learned the truth will not save your butt if you’ve been negligent. It was a Saturday, and I’d spent the morning with friends at the mall. I went home just for the afternoon and was planning on going out again for the evening. Mom was waiting for me.

“Abigail, come see me in the living room right now,” Mom said as soon as the door clicked into the frame. I had no idea what I’d done, but Mom had that tone of voice she used when I was in major trouble and she was working to suppress her temper. She usually succeeded at that, whereas I didn’t.

“Coming,” I said as I walked through the kitchen wondering what I’d done to make her so angry.

“What is this,” Mom said as soon as I entered the room. She was holding a letter.

“I can’t tell what that is with you holding it,” I said probably with more sass than was smart of me in the moment. I couldn’t help it. Mom getting all indignant has always had the effect of making me bratty (oppositional, my first grade school counselor termed it).

“It’s a ticket addressed to me that you got,” Mom told me. “From a red light camera from Monday.”

“Oh,” I said.

“You ran a stop sign? What on earth possessed you!”

“I didn’t do it on purpose. I don’t even remember doing it.” I really didn’t. I’m a pretty conscientious driver, or least mean to be. I’d never run a stop sign on purpose. I don’t even roll through them.

“You had the kids with you on Monday!”

“I’m sorry, it was an accident. Really, I would never do that on purpose.”

“Sit.” She seemed calmer and less angry as I sat down on the couch next to her. “This is completely unacceptable. I’m half tempted to hire a babysitter and you can just get a regular job for the summer.”

“No, please, I want to watch the kids,” I pleaded. I really, really did. I had looked forward to getting to spend more time with them since the new year. I felt us growing apart and knew that in a few years I’d be out of the house permanently. I wanted this time with them.

“One more screw up like this, and that’s it,” Mom said plainly. I leaned over and hugged her and meant it.

“I really am sorry. You know I’d never do anything to put them in danger.”

“I know, baby. But I still have to punish you.”

“What?” I sat back. “But it was an accident.”

“It was negligence,” Mom said sternly. “Maybe you were distracted, maybe you were looking at your phone. I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. This is serious and has to have consequences.”

“But I’ll never do it again. I’ll be extra careful!”

“I know you will be, and you’re also going to learn that being careless, even unintentionally, is a big deal. You’re an adult now, and not meaning to isn’t an excuse the rest of the world accepts. I didn’t mean for you to run that stop sign either, but the car is in my name, and I’m the one who got the ticket.”

“Can’t we talk about this?”

“My mind is made up.”

“But Mom...”

“Ah ah. This was your idea, remember?”

She had me there. “Yes, but...”

“‘But’ what?”

“I didn’t think I’d get in trouble so much,” I pouted.

Mom made a face at me I recognized from the not so distant past as her when-will-you-learn face. “I hoped you wouldn’t. But here you are. I talked to you Aunt Lisa, and she told she hasn’t had to spank Allison this often ever.”

Wow. Bringing up Aunt Lisa was definitely not the thing to do to make me more cooperative. “Can we get this over with?”

“Abby, I know you’re upset, but this is a very bad time to cop an attitude.”

“Sorry.”

“It would go a long way to showing me you are learning from your mistakes if you don’t get upset with me when you’re the one who’s in the wrong.”

“Sorry.”

“And no, we can’t get this over just yet. We have a shopping trip to go on first.”

“Where,” I asked in total surprise.

“Dunham’s.”

“The beauty store? Why?”

“I talked with your Aunt Lisa some more, and she suggested from now on I spank you with a hairbrush.”

“Mom! No, I ...” I stopped myself and took a deep breath. “That’s not necessary.”

“My hand hurt after the first time, so yes, it is.”

“What about, I don’t know, a spoon or something?” This was an unreal conversation, but then, so was the conversation that started us on this path. I couldn’t believe that in such a short time I had gone from someone who was afraid of being grounded to being a spanked 18-year-old arguing with her mom about what she would be spanked with.

“A hairbrush works better. My mind is made up.”

“What about the hairbrushes we already have,” I asked, now trying to avoid the embarrassment of this particular errand. “And why do you keep saying that?”

“I want one just for this purpose, and the parenting books say I should set boundaries and enforce them, so to remind myself of that, that’s the phrase the book says I should use.”

“You’re reading parenting books about me?” The last time she’d done that, I was twelve and she had no idea how to handle my newfound teenage personality. In fairness to her, neither did I.

“Yes, now let’s go.”

Mom made me drive to the store, lecturing on the finer points of driving as we went. I tried to just listen, but really I was stewing, getting more and more irritated as she lectured. I knew she meant well, but it was condescending, and I was getting fed up by the time we got to the store.

“Can I help you,” a girl a year or two younger than me asked when we got inside.

“Yes,” Mom said, “We’re looking for a hairbrush.”

“They’re right down that aisle. I’m here if you need help picking one out.” She was positively bubbly.

“Thank you,” Mom said as she walked down that aisle with me following.

“Well,” I said as we stood in front of the display racks. “They all look the same to me, so can we just grab one and go?”

“Shush. They’re not the same.” She picked up one made of blonde wood and seemed to weigh it in her hand, turning it over in her palm and flicking her wrist.

“Let’s get that one,” I said, hoping to move her along. She ignored me and picked up another, then another and another and another.

“Here,” she said, “feel the difference.”

She handed me two brushes, and I could feel the difference plainly. One was very light, and the other felt solid and heavy. I imagined the different effect they would have on my butt, and hoping to skew the outcome, I whispered about the lighter one, “Oh, not this one, please,” as I handed them back.

Mom responded to my attempt at reverse psychology with her not-impressed face. “Then why did you even ask,” I snapped at her. I was caught flat footed when she bounced the heavier one off the back of my shorts. “Ouch!”

“Will you never learn to control your attitude,” Mom shot back. I suddenly realized how loud we were in the otherwise empty store, except for the clerk. “Just be glad I’m not testing it out on your butt right here in the store.” My mouth opened and shut again like a fish out of water.

“Why are you getting two,” I asked when I found my voice again as she reached for a second one.

“First, you’re getting them to partially pay me back for that ticket. Second, one of these is going in my bedroom, and the other is going in my purse in case I ever do have to use it while we’re away from home.”

I was stunned. I didn’t know if that was an empty threat or not, or what role Aunt Lisa played in that idea. For once, I kept my mouth closed, at least in the moment, not knowing if she was serious but knowing she had just swatted me with that thing in public. Could she do that in pubic without getting arrested? People don’t even do that to kids in public, and rightfully so. Still, visions of me getting swatted not just once but repeatedly in some public venue flashed before my eyes, and I vowed to remain quiet until we were home.

I followed Mom to the counter, where the clerk looked embarrassed. My stomach fell when I realized she had heard it all.

“Didn’t we go to high school together,” she said while my card was in the reader. I think maybe she was trying to fill the awkwardness, but boy did she miss the mark thinking that question would help.

“Um...” I intelligently responded.

“We did. You were two years ahead of me.”

“Oh. So you’re a rising senior now,” I asked, trying to distract with small talk, since that was apparently what we were doing, or trying and failing to do.

“Yeah. Do you need a bag?”

“No,” Mom said. “We’re fine without.”

“I remember you. Didn’t you get in trouble a lot?”

“Um...”

“She did,” Mom answered for me.

“If you don’t mind me sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong, Ma’am,” the girl said to Mom, “you really shouldn’t spank. If spankings worked, don’t you think it would have fixed her behavior by her age?” I wanted to just die right there. If nothing else, a piano falling on my head would have changed the subject.

“I completely agree,” Mom said, and “we don’t spank children in our house...”

“But...” the girl tried to interrupt.

Mom talked right over her, “but in this case we just started last week, and it was her idea.” The blood rushed to my face so fast I felt like I was getting a hot flash.

Last week: before I had done something so stupid as asking to be spanked instead of grounded. Back when I thought it would hurt and then be over. Back before I considered how embarrassing it was or that I would so quickly lose control of the when or the how of it, and maybe the where. And since that fateful conversation less than two weeks ago: when I’d been spanked twice already and was about to get a third. When my mother had gone from someone who rejected spanking to someone who felt no apparent shame in whacking me on the butt in the beauty store and talking openly about the subject in front of my aunt, cousin, and now this random girl.

An hour later, after I’d learned that a hairbrush can bring me to tears, it struck me that the girl, whose name I couldn’t even remember, knew some of the same people I did. Mom had a point. I really did need to learn to control my attitude, and my mouth. Running that stop sign got me spanked, but me not being able to bite my tongue made it public knowledge, or at least the knowledge of that girl. I hoped she’d keep it to herself. Maybe she didn’t know my name either. But luck hadn’t exactly been with me lately.

 

 

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Wow, Alex, another outstanding chapter.

The hairbrush shopping trip happened to me shortly before I turned 14. Like Susan, my parents started out anti-spanking. My mother's youngest sister, Aunt Betsy, was very pro-spanking even as a teenager while being spanked. My older sister, over 19 at the time, admitted to me that Betsy had spanked her.  admitted that Betsy had spanked her. I was feeling guilty, so I waited until Aunt Betsy's 3 kids were away. I went to her and said I deserved a spanking. She used a hairbrush on my bare bottom.

Then she marched me to her car and drove me to a beauty store. The clerk had been her best friend during high school. Betsy told her the hairbrush would be used to spank me. The clerk responded, "You just bought one for Angela's big sister a couple of days ago." Betsy told her that was correct. It turned out that before I was toilet trained that clerk had been our babysitter a few times. As far as I know the clerk did not blab, or at least not to anyone I knew.

A million thanks for writing this story and especially this episode!

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2 hours ago, Angela Bauer said:

Happy Friday, Alex,

You sure have a knack for writing dialog, especially between Abby and her mother Susan!

Thank you. There’ll be a new chapter tonight.

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6 minutes ago, Author_Alex said:

Thank you. There’ll be a new chapter tonight.

Hi Alex, this is finest-kind news. Of course you are entitled to the occasional day without another chapter about Abby, Susan, Alie and Aunt Lisa.

You have provided us with a treasure trove of entertainment. As I've shared the combination of Abby's bladder control problems and her quite rational theoretical preference for spanking over grounding could well be the story of my life so FEAR OF MISSING OUT really reaches me. A million thanks for writing this.

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Chapter 6

 

 

Knock knock.

Ugh, not great timing. “Hi, Taylor. Come on in,” I heard my mom say to my friend at the front door.

“Hi, Mrs. Starling.”

“Abby’s going to be a minute. Come sit with me. Tell me about school.”

I could hear all this because my door was open, and opposite the door was me, in the corner. Apparently timeout was back on the possibilities list, justified by Mom because it’s short-lived and therefore doesn’t really prevent me from seeing friends and doing things. It just delays it a little. To her, it’s in line with the spirit of our agreement, and, well, the alternative is me fighting that, and well, you can see where that would go.

I guess the good news is me protesting curfew didn’t warrant a spanking in Mom’s eyes. I wanted to extend my curfew to one so I could leave stuff around midnight and still get home on time. Mom was adamant my curfew remain midnight.

I reminded her that college students are often out past midnight, that some things don’t even really start until midnight. She reminded me that my curfew was midnight.

To this, I then countered that I wanted it to be one. Mom countered that my curfew was midnight.

To which I replied, “C’mon!” Stunning logic, I know.

“Abigail...”

“This is stupid!” Mom dropped the spoon she was stirring the pot with and turned such a withering glare on me, I stood there while she grabbed me by my left arm, turned me sideways, and spanked my butt through my shorts five times.

“Hey,” I protested. Really, I should be on a debate team or something. (SWAT!)

“My mind is made up. (SWAT SMACK SPANK!)”

I could murder my aunt for teaching my mom about thigh spanking. Or maybe she figured it out on her own.

“Ouch! Fine. I understand.”

“Let’s go,” Mom said and started steering me toward my room.

“But I said I understand!” Why should I get a spanking now?!? I just agreed! And over what, a four-sentence argument? I writhed, just a little, to try to get away; I have a little pride left, and I wasn’t about to submit to a spanking that I hadn’t at all earned.

“And I want to drive the point home.” (SWAT SMACK SMACK!)

“But I don’t deserve a spanking,” I said as I tried to dodge another swat.

“And if you stop wiggling you won’t get one.”

“But ...”

“I’m putting you in a timeout.” God, what childish way to phrase it. In a timeout.

I lapsed into silence knowing there was nothing I could say, me being me, that wouldn’t probably end with me over her knee. She steered me into my bedroom and put me in the corner next to my dresser. Mom had joked a couple days before she was going to get a stencil and paint “Abigail’s Naughty Spot” on the wall right there. At least, I think it was a joke.

“Hold still,” Mom said. She reached around me and popped the button on my shorts, pulling them and my panties to my knees. I couldn’t help but notice that in less than two weeks she had gotten really good at popping that button. One handed and everything.

“I thought I wasn’t getting a spanking,” I whined. Seriously, a spanking for that little bickering! I DIDN’T WANNA SPANKING!

“I’m not going to spank you, sweetie. Calm down,” Mom tried to soothe me. “This is just a little reminder.”

“But ...”

“Shush. Thirty minutes.”

“But Taylor is on her way over.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep her entertained. Now turn around, and no leaving the corner until I come get you.” I obeyed and felt Mom’s eyes on me as I did.

Satisfied I was going to stare at the wall, Mom left, and she didn’t close my door. The first time I got corner time like this, i.e., bare with the door open, was after a spanking and I pitched a fit about it and had gotten another twenty spanks while I stood there, worried that Ryan or Emma would walk by. Mom’s response was that timeout was my punishment, not hers, and leaving the door open meant she could check I was still in the corner easily. Did she really not trust me to stay in the corner if the door was closed? Although, fair point. I mean, what if I was, like, leaning against the wall? Would that not count? I think that should count.

But what I think counts doesn’t so much matter anymore, so I stood there waiting for my friend to come over and my timeout to be over, knowing those two events were going to happen in that order. I killed 30 seconds rubbing my butt and twenty-five minutes bored out of my mind. Does Mom even know how long a thirty-minute timeout really is?

Well, not exactly bored out of my mind. As I stood there wishing the air conditioning vent wasn’t in that corner, I considered something. Mom and I bicker like sisters sometimes, like we just had. That certainly didn’t register as a fight, hardly even an argument. I’d never gotten grounded for bickering with her. Told off, sure. But no more than that. Never had my phone taken away for it. Been warned to stop or else, but that was it. The only time I got in trouble for it was really for ignoring the “or else.”

Grounding is kind of binary. You are or you aren’t. You can be grounded to your room for an evening, but that seemed kind of harsh for bickering. So that never happened. And a spanking just no would have been way too much for trying to get out of a curfew (At least we agreed on that. So, #winning?). So that didn’t happen.

But getting swatted a half-dozen times through my shorts? Apparently that was on the table for bickering, as were bare bottomed timeouts (and, by extension, clothed ones, back in fashion after two years without one).

So I realized, far from the drastic nature of a fully-fledged spanking meaning Mom would be more reluctant to punish me, mini-spankings –  a swat or two here or there – gave her a tool for all the minor things that didn’t rise to the level of a full spanking or what would have once been a grounding or taking things away or even a timeout.

So whereas before she’d have done nothing because anything more than a scolding would be disproportional, I was suddenly subject to getting my butt smacked for what would have warranted no more than being told to stop a few weeks ago. How the fuck did that happen? How safe was my butt from her hand if calling a midnight curfew stupid (which it so is!) could get my butt smacked?

But now, with Taylor in the living room, I wasn’t bored or thinking about the change in my circumstances. I was embarrassed and terrified. What if Taylor saw me like this?

“I’m so glad you like school,” Mom was saying to her. “And I’m glad I get to see you. I miss you guys.” Mom always liked my friends, and she always liked having them around the house. “How is it being home?”

“Oh,” Taylor said, “It’s great. I missed everyone, of course. Kinda feels a little weird, though, being back in Mom and Dad’s house.”

“Being back under their rules?”

“The opposite, actually. They just want to know where I am, but no real rules or anything. They say I’m an adult now, and I’ve been out on my own for almost a year, so...” Taylor goes to school in town at the same university Allison is at, but she lives in the dorms, not at home.

“Really,” Mom said. “Well, good for you. You’ve always had a good head on your shoulders, and it shows.”

“Thanks. I’m sure you must be relieved, too. I mean, Abby was already grounded what, like twice, by this time last summer,” Taylor, my friend, giggled. “Least you don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

“No,” Mom said. “I don’t.” I think I heard her smirk.

“What’s keeping her anyway?”

“She’s getting ready is all. We had a little argument and she’s cooling off for a moment.”

Okay. What. The. Fuck.

 

“Oh,” Taylor said. “I guess that makes sense. I mean, daughters and moms, right,” Taylor nervously laughed. “I still argue with mine sometimes. What was it about?”

“Curfew.”

“Abby has a curfew?”

“Yep. And I’d appreciate it if you’d help her keep to it.”

“Of course.”

“Well,” Mom said, “I’ll go see if she’s ready.”

Boy, if Mom wanted an argument, I would’ve given her one right then that would’ve sent her head spinning, but Taylor was there.

“Time’s up,” Mom said when she came in.

Shoot me. Just shoot me dead. Of course that’s how she would phrase it.

“Mom,” I whisper-shouted as I turned around, forgetting my state of undress, “you can hear everything between here and the living room!”

“You can,” Mom said, lowering her voice one sentence too late.

“Yes,” I hissed. Mom shut the door.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think,” she said. In my pissed off mood, I thought about how little ‘sorry’ meant when I was in trouble. “Really sorry.” Yeah, doesn’t work when I tack ‘really’ on to it either. For that matter, ‘I didn’t think’ also did zero to get me out of trouble for being inconsiderate. It’d pretty much the definition of being inconsiderate.

I closed my eyes and exhaled. “Whatever. Can you just go tell her I’ll be out in a second.”

“Yeah,” Mom smiled at me sympathetically. She slipped back out the door and at least had the courtesy to close it. I ran through all the things I wanted to say to her, leading off with why she was making my curfew a community fucking project.

I rubbed my eyes with my fingers for a moment and exhaled again, and then I just felt tired. I hoped the mall would cheer me up some. Perhaps one of the places in the food court was running a self-pity special on comfort food. I got a Goodnite from my dresser and slipped it on, because at least I wouldn’t have to focus on fear of peeing myself, and pulled my panties and shorts back on over them. I mumbled a goodbye to Mom on my way out the door.

“So what is your curfew anyway,” Taylor asked me in the car.

“Midnight,” I sighed.

“Kinda early, ya know, especially on a weekend.”

“Yes. Thank you. I know.”

“And you got sent to your room for arguing about it?”

“Any particular reason you’re so interested in it?”

“No … I just … didn’t know you still got, like, timeouts and stuff.” And what the fuck is ‘and stuff’ supposed to mean?

“Well, I guess I do. It’s just … my mom isn’t like your parents. It’s just easier to humor her.”

“Oh, well, I guess that makes sense,” said my friend who was humoring me. “I do that, too, sometimes, I guess, just go along with stuff at home to make it easier.” We rode in silence for another minute.

“So do you get grounded, too?”

“No. That’s the deal. No grounding.”

“There’s a deal?”

“Could we talk about, like, literally anything else?”

“Like what?” We pulled into a spot.

“How about that forensics course you took for a science credit? Really, tell me again about measuring the rate of decay in a dead pig because I would rather talk about that than what just happened.” I my head on the glass.

“Hey,” Taylor said softly. She reached over and rubbed my shoulder. “Please don’t be embarrassed. I don’t care. I was just curious.”

“It’s okay,” I sighed. I was starting to feel like I was bottling up my emotions. “Can we just go shop?” And we did. We always start at the top, meaning in places where we can’t afford anything, which never stops us from trying stuff on, and work our way to the affordable stores.

Now, you have to understand that Taylor can be as stupid as the rest of us at times, and she has a particular fondness for cheap gin, but most of the time she’s playing the mom of our group, making sure we’re all okay. Everyone have a ride? Check. Everyone have their stuff? Check. Not walking to our cars alone? Check.

And she’s been my friend since forever. We went to pre-kindergarten together, so I don’t think there’s anything we don’t know about each other (well, almost). Who we lost our virginity to? We both knew that. My feelings about raw tomatoes (I’m against)? She knows that. Her feelings about eggs (only people who don’t love their mothers think they belong on hamburgers)? I know that about her.

She knows about my malfunctioning bladder, including that Goodnites are a a sometimes things for me during the day now. She’s seen me in them so many times over the years growing up, I couldn’t care less, and so sharing a dressing room is no big deal.

“Having a leaky day,” she asked as I was trying on a skirt.

“What? Why,” I asked as I bent over to peer at my Goodnite through my panties and felt my butt to see if I’d had an accident. I hadn’t, and thank god, because that would have been a first, me going and having no idea I’d done it. That would have sent me scurrying to the urologist, and I hate going to the urologist.

“Just asking,” she said apologetically when she saw she’d cause me a moment of panic. “How’s that going?” I straightened up.

“Well, it’s not getting better.” I twisted in front of the mirror. “Does this look good?”
         “Yeah. You gonna get it?”

“At the very next 90% off sale,” I sighed as I took it off.

“You could always transfer to UMA and live at home. At least you’d have a little more to spend without paying for room and board.”

“I know.” Many conversations had occurred in the past twenty-four months about the wisdom of taking on as much student debt as I was taking on to go to the flagship campus. I’d take on less if I went to the campus in town, but I didn’t want to be a commuter student.

“Is it getting worse,” Taylor asked me as I put my own shorts back on.

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“I just notice you wearing those out more.”

“What do you mean you notice? You can’t see it. Can you?”

“No, not usually. But sometimes. But only because I know what your butt looks like. People who don’t see you all the time wouldn’t be able to tell.”

“It’s just easier. I don’t have to choose between running to the bathroom every half hour or else be totally fixated on whether I need to pee. If I leak, not a big deal.”

“You’ve gotten a lot more mature about it.”

“Because I don’t have Mom actively parenting me about it anymore. She was the one who would get so upset on my behalf if I had an accident. That’s the only reason I got upset about it, at least the last couple years.” And it was only, like, once every six months that that happened. I just spent the rest of the time – or rather, Mom and me spent the rest of the time – hyper-vigilant about it. It was exhausting.

“Your mom’s never been mean about it, though.”

“No. I don’t mean that. I just mean, well, you know what she’s like. She’s so afraid it would hurt my self-esteem or ruin my social life or just make me sad she treated it like preventing an accident was the First Amendment to the Ten Commandments or something. An actual accident like an emotional fire alarm. Her thinking I must be devastated and getting so protective is what would get me all upset. I mean, it’s not like every night I don’t, you know.”

“Well, maybe it’s time you go see a doctor again.”

“So they can try to put me back on meds?”

“I’m just saying …”

“I know. I don’t mind. I’m just not interested.”

I ended up buying the cheap version of that skirt, or sort of a version of it, at a different store, and we stopped for dinner on the way home, where I made the mistake of having iced tea. It goes right through me.

“Abby,” my Mom asked as I came in the door at top walking speed.

“Be right back,” I answered as I scurried to the bathroom. I got there just in time, though a drop hit the Goodnite between my legs as I was sitting down. Oh, well. Not a big deal, like I said to Taylor.

“Hi, Mom,” I said when I got to the kitchen. She eyed me suspiciously.

“How was the mall?”

“Fun.”

“What did you buy?”

“A skirt. And we stopped for dinner.”

“Did you have tea?” I blushed. Mom nodded. “Thought I recognized that speed walk. You know the caffeine …”

“Is a diuretic,” I finished her sentence for her. “Honestly, Mom, what difference does it make?” I mean, c’mon. We were well into the accept-the-things-you-cannot-change stage.

“Well, what if you hadn’t come straight home and couldn’t find somewhere to stop?”

“I …” I didn’t want to tell her I had that eventuality covered, not right then. “I’m just not that worried about it. What did you do after I left.”

“We had dinner together and watched a movie. You sure did tire them out today.”

“Sun and water. The magic formula. Gonna have to find something else to do besides the pool soon before they get bored.” Mom looked pensive.

“I wanted to talk about before you left. I’m sorry Taylor overheard.”

“Are you sorry you told her you sent me to my room?”

“That’s not …”

“That the gist of what you said. Taylor figured it out.”

“She didn’t tease you, did she?” So that was a concern after all, my dignity.

“Of course not. It’s just, I thought this was between me and you.”

“Well, I guess I thought having a friend to help you stick to curfew would help.”

“And … that’s really not the part that bugs me.” I mean, did she understand that?

“Taylor has seen you in timeout before.”

I know this was new to her, but did she realize she was veering from one position – worrying about me being teased – to the exact opposite – not a big deal, she’s seen you in timeout before – in the space of two sentences?

“Two years ago, and it was embarrassing then, too. Could you, just, geez, could you just be a little more considerate of my feelings?” To my credit, I wasn’t raising my voice, which I absolutely wanted to, not even for the Taylor incident specifically but for the entire two weeks in which Mom turned into Aunt Lisa Junior and the circle of people who knew I get spanked now extended from me and Mom to me and Mom and Aunt Lisa and Allison and that girl whose name I still couldn’t remember.

“I’ll try,” Mom said as she reached across the table and petted my arm. “I got you something,” she said, suddenly chipper.

“What?”

“C’mon in your room. I’ll show you.” I followed her into my room, and I’d rather whatever she had gotten me she hadn’t gone in there. It’s still my space, even if she had turned into a junk room for a bit while I was gone. “Sit.”

I sat on my bed and she went into my closet. Even worse. And she went right for the trunk where I keep my bedtime things, as I like to think of them: a bed pad for in case I leak during the night so I don’t have to sleep in a wet spot, spare sheets, Goodnites, and diapers. The trunk wasn’t a secret. I just didn’t like her going in there, at least not anymore.

“Ta-da,” Mom said as she presented a new brand of diaper to me.

I guess my face said it all, but I tried to say it anyway. “Uh, ... hmm. That’s … it has … it’s pink.”

“And it has hearts! Isn’t it cute?”

“Where did you, um, get this?”

“Online. I found this specialty store. Ya know, I think there are adults who like wearing diapers for, um, ya know, sex reasons.” Oh, great, blushing as a mother/daughter activity. I’d have at least liked to have gotten to see Mom’s face when she found that particular community. I knew about it. Hard to look for pretty much anything adult diaper related online without finding it.

“Yeah. I, uh, knew that. But, um, why …”

“Because these are so much more fun! You don’t really want those medical looking ones, do you?” Well, what I want and the hand I’ve been dealt diverged in a wood, and my bladder took the path of fuck-my-life, so…

“Besides,” Mom continued, “these are so much better than the store-brand things, or even the ones at the hospital. All those people online said so.” She handed it to me.

“They’re awfully, um, thick.”

“Exactly. You did say those other ones only worked most of the time.”

“Yeah, I did say that.” Of course, I meant it as a good thing.

“So, do you like them?”

It’ hard to say no to someone who is trying to be so sweet. And it was kind of cute. “Yeah,” I said, “It is cute. Thank you.”

“Of course. I just want you to get good night’s sleep. I got a bunch more in the garage for when you run out.”

“Thanks.” I half meant that.

I guess I never understood growing up how Allison could not hate Aunt Lisa. I damn near hated Aunt Lisa, and she never hit me. It always struck me as odd – I could never fully wrap my head around it – that Aunt Lisa could spank Allison to blubbering tears, and Allison would sit up and wrap her arms around her mom and that would be that. She wanted to be comforted by the same person who caused her the discomfort, and a heckuva lot more more than discomfort, right away. I still don’t understand it. But I at least empathized with it now because I was in that position myself. I didn’t understand that, either. But as much as Mom had treated me, frankly, unfairly that day in basically blabbing to Taylor and, yeah, maybe a timeout did help me to cool it but it did not have to be bare, I wasn’t mad at her.

So I stood up and hugged her and she hugged me back.

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Hi Alex,

A million thanks for still another entertaining chapter.

'Taylor' is a fine additional character. Who knows, perhaps Susan, Lisa and Taylor's mother might have lunch during which they discuss the benefits of spanking adult children?

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2 hours ago, Angela Bauer said:

Hi Alex,

A million thanks for still another entertaining chapter.

'Taylor' is a fine additional character. Who knows, perhaps Susan, Lisa and Taylor's mother might have lunch during which they discuss the benefits of spanking adult children?

An interesting thought ?

43 minutes ago, Nicole Kolibri said:

Hello Alex
This chapter is very good again.
Because you are now more focused on the emotional world of your characters.
If I still had the feeling, in chapters 4 and 5, you start rushing through the story, can i see again now, you take time again.

I really like your 6th chapter.
Only the pink diapers, I think rather something ugly.
This destroys for me, the special band, what connects Lisa's Susan Allison and Abby.
Unless you want to turn Abby into an infantile young woman who will end up playing baby again.

I'm looking forward to your next chapter to see where your path will lead.

Thank you for your effort to write this.
have a nice weekend
greetings Nicole

 

Some chapters are going to be more action oriented, and some will be more plot driven. Too many plot driven means the story ends sooner.

 

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Chapter 7

 

 

“Abigail?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you come to the kitchen and bring your purse, please,” my Mom asked. I don’t know why she wanted my purse, but okay. I passed Emma and Ryan in the family room watching TV. I’m not the best at remembering my pre-teen childhood, but I have a vague recollection of getting home from the pool, where we’d spent the day, all hot and tired and lounging on the sofa in the frigid air conditioning and vegging out until dinner time. I’d been doing the same, except I at least showered first and got the suntan oil off. My usual summer skin regime involves getting burnt in late May and then staying slathered in SPF45 all summer, but this year I resolved to get at least a little tan, if only to avoid burning so easily. A curse of red hair (but no freckles – I’m a day walker)

“What’s up, Mom,” I asked casually when I got to the kitchen.

“Purse,” she replied.

“Um, okay.” I handed my purse over. My fished around in it and took out (fuck!) her credit card. She sighed, closed her eyes for a moment, and then put my purse and the card down on the counter.

“Do you have any idea,” she said, “how embarrassing it is to get up to the checkout line, have all your things scanned, and not be able to pay?”

Well, shit.

“Oh my god, Mom, I am so sorry. I could’ve sworn I put it back.”

“What a coincidence, because last night before I went to bed, you told me you’d be sure to put it back.”

“I guess I forgot. I’m so so so sorry you were embarrassed!” My own cheeks were red just imagining myself in the same position.

“And now we don’t have anything for dinner tonight.”

“I’ll go to the store right now. Just tell me what you want.”

“Oh, you will go,” Mom said, “And Ryan and Emma and I are going to go out to dinner while you’re there, but first, you’re getting spanked.”

“Mom ...” I stopped myself and remembered what Allison said about just accepting it and it going easier. “Okay. I’m really, really sorry.” I turned to go to my room.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Um, to my room?”

“Here’s fine,” Mom said as she turned one of our kitchen chairs around.

Well, I was prepared to just accept it until she did that. Instead, well, I didn’t stay quite so composed. “Mom! No! No no no no no! You can’t! Ryan and Emma will hear!”

“And that embarrasses you? Like having to put a week’s worth of groceries back on the shelf embarrassed me?”

I didn’t have a good retort to that. “I won’t let you,” I declared and stomped my foot for good measure.

“Oh, that’s very mature. You’re definitely not too old for this.” Mom opened the utensil drawer and took out our wooden spoon.

“Mom, pleeeease. I’ll, I’ll hold real still, I promise. I’ll cooperate! Just spank me in my room!”

“Enough! The way you are carrying on is ridiculous. Just come here and take your punishment.”

“Mom ...”

“1...”

I folded my arms across my chest uncertainly.

“2...”

I glanced toward the door, thinking about running. “Mom ...” I said as my voice broke.

That’s when we were interrupted. “What’s going on,” Ryan asked as he and Emma stuck their heads around the corner. That’s when I started crying. Not a lot, just tears of embarrassment, and I put my arms around myself tighter and stayed turned away from the doorway.

Mom leaned out from in front of me so she could see them. In the tone of voice she uses when she means something the same way God meant the Ten Commandments, she said, “Your sister needs a spanking. Now, go back to the family room and stay there until I tell you otherwise, understood?”

“Yes,” they both said and disappeared instantly. I can’t imagine what they were thinking. Unless they knew more than I thought they did, they thought this was the first spanking to ever take place in our house. What must they have thought?

“Mom...” I said, this time just a whisper.

“3,” she replied and took me by the upper arm and pulled me toward the chair. It never occurred to me to physically resist beyond dragging my feet, and even if it had, I couldn’t have, not with my Mom. I would never could never raise my hand to the woman who raised me. And, now that I think about it, was still actively raising me right then, I guess.

“You are being so naughty,” she said as she undid the bow holding my skirt on. I was suddenly naked below the waist and hardly noticed her pulling me down across her lap.

“This is about responsibility,” she began lecturing as she hand-spanked me, “and respecting. Other. People’s. Things!” She saved her hardest spanks for the words she punctuated. “You. Borrowed it! You. Put! It! Back!” I did feel bad, which is why I started crying pretty quick. That and getting my bottom bared in the kitchen and now my little siblings knowing I got spanked and was being spanked right then. I wondered how it would work from now on, my being in charge of them when they’d heard me spanked like a kid even younger than them. What authority would I hold over them now?

“Owie owie I’m sorry ow ahh please ...” I begged Mom, but she was determined. She’d stopped lecturing and was just focusing on my butt and turning it red.

It was different than my previous spankings. She was just wailing away without any order to it. Maybe because she was mad, or maybe she was just trying out a different technique. The effect was to make me unable to anticipate where the next spank would land.

She paused, and through the sound of my soft crying I heard wood being dragged across wood as she picked up that spoon.

SPLAT! “OW!” SMACK! “MOMMY!” She slowed down. This spoon had no thud to it but plenty of sting. “I’ll be good! I’ll be responsible! OWIE! Mommy! Please! Ahh!”

Then it was over, just like that. “Up you go,” Mom said and put me back on my feet. Tears were still flowing, and I hiccupped every few breaths, but I wasn’t sobbing or anything, just a little weepy. “Do you understand why I had to spank you?” I nodded, forgetting I was naked in front and holding my butt instead. “You can’t just forget to do things as an adult. It doesn’t work that way. I hope this helps you remember that.”

Of course adults do forget, but Mom rarely did. Forgetting, she would say, is a privilege for those who aren’t single moms.

She stood up and hugged me, and I hugged her back. Strange, I thought later, that she could inflict so much pain, and when it was over I wanted her like I was a little kid with a skinned knee. She doled out the punishment and the comfort, and there didn’t seem any contradiction in that.

“Alright,” she said as she stepped back. “Go clean yourself up, and there will be a list waiting for you on the counter. The rest of us are going to dinner, and you should be back before us.”

I pulled up my panties and put my skirt back on. I was at the hallway when I turned back and asked, “What about ...”

“I’ll talk to them about it at dinner.”

I didn’t have plans for the evening, nor did I feel like being with them, so after I got back from the store, I decided to hang out in my room. “Come in,” I said when someone knocked. Emma and Ryan. I sat up in bed, wincing when I did. I think we all blushed.

“Hi,” I said. Emma’s my snuggle buddy. Ryan used to be, but now only sometimes because he thinks he’s getting too old for it. Emma got onto the bed and hugged me. Ryan stood next to the bed looking bashful.

“Mom told us,” he said. “I’m sorry you got, um, spanked.”

“Oh, well, uh ... I guess I earned it,” I said.

“We won’t make fun of you,” he said.

“We promise,” Emma added.

“Thank you,” I replied. “That’s very grown up of you.”

“And, uh, Mom told us about your other, uh, problem. Or, um, not problem. Just change.”

“Oh.” That to me was somehow worse than them knowing I got spankings now. I wasn’t sure how I felt about Mom telling them that, though I did see how it would make things easier, not having to worry about them seeing so I wouldn’t have to hide it. Still, she hadn’t needed to tell them.

“We’ll leave you alone now,” Ryan said. Emma started to let me go.

“Wait,” I said. “You guys can stay and watch a movie if you want to.”

“Okay,” Ryan said. “I’ll just go change into my pajamas.” Ooh. Forgot about that part, but I guess it made sense for all of us.

“Me, too,” Emma said. When she got to the door, she turned around at looked at me sympathetically, and said, “I hope you outgrow spankings one day. ... And that I don’t need them like you do when I go to college.” And then she left, leaving me feeling about a foot shorter than her. I knew, though, that she wouldn’t. My situation was unique.

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Thank you, Alex, for still another fascinating chapter.

Eventually Ryan and Emma were going to find out about both Abby's spankings and bladder control issues. I seriously doubt it is possible to keep it a secret from your siblings that you are getting spankings.The same is also true about bladder control issues. Abby was lucky to have kept her bedwetting a secret from the kids for so long. Apparently Abby suffers from Primary Nocturnal Enuresis which is a fancy way of saying that she never stopped bedwetting. Probably Abby had day control for quite awhile, but even if the kids never saw Abby's diapers and GoodNites, there would come a time they saw pee stained garments. At least those facts are no longer secret.

Now I can hardly wait to read more about Abby, Susan, the Kids, Aunt Lisa, Alison and the unnamed sales clerk!

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