When I was nineteen, I stayed as a foreign exchange student in the home of an English woman named Janet Travers. She had a sixteen-year-old daughter, Suzie, a short, cute, red-headed girl who had the same taste in clothes, music, and films as me. She also played a lot of video games, while I spent more time reading books, but the two of us rapidly became good friends – in fact, we acted like sisters.
A few weeks into my stay, I decided to head out to the pub to have a drink, make new friends – maybe flirt with boys. Suzie accompanied me, and her mother told us we had to be back before eleven.
At the pub, I was having a really good time, and when Suzie nudged me and said that it was now half past ten and we should think about heading home, I told her that she was worrying needlessly. Neither of us had school in the morning, and I was having a really good time. I was also enjoying a very good beer which I'd already forgotten the name of (I'd bought Suzie a Fanta), and didn't want to end the evening.
"But my mother said we had to be back by eleven, and I don't want to be punished," she told me anxiously.
"But you're almost an adult. Don't tell me you think your mother will ground you at this age!"
"Not exactly," she said, but didn't elaborate further.
She was angry with me the whole way home, telling me I would get her in trouble, but I ignored her. We had a great evening – wasn't that worth a scolding from her mother? When we entered the house at ten minutes to midnight, we found Mrs Travers waiting for us with a worried look, which was soon replaced by anger as soon as she was sure we were alright. Smelling the beer on her underage daughter's breath did not improve matters.
She scolded us for having made her wait up for her. She made curfews for a reason, and wanted to make sure her sixteen-year-old daughter was OK – not to mention the foreign exchange student who was new to the country and could get into all sorts of trouble. I blanked my expression and thought about other things (a skill I've developed over many years of ignoring lectures), but noticed that Suzie was a lot more nervous than I'd expected. She was already being scolded – what was she dreading?
"Well, I think it's about time you two headed off to bed," she told us. "Suzie, I'll come in shortly to finish this discussion. Do you understand me?"
Suzie gulped, nodded, and turned worryingly pale, but I was slightly tipsy and didn't want to worry about, so I didn't. I headed to my bedroom and changed into my pyjamas, and could soon hear lecturing on the other side of the wall. This was followed by a sound I had not expected – the sound of smacking. What was going on?
I went out into the hallway and tiptoed over to Suzie's room. The door was closed, but I placed my hand on the handle and carefully inched the door open enough to peek inside. My first glance took my breath away. Suzie was bent over her mother's lap, with her pyjama bottoms around her knees, and Mrs Travers was spanking her bottom.
I couldn't believe it! The sixteen-year-old I had been hanging out with was still being spanked like a little girl? This was why she was so eager to get home in time for curfew! If I had a red backside waiting for me if I was late, I wouldn't dawdle either.
Mrs Traver's firm palm had painted a pink colour all over her daughter's trembling cheeks, but Suzie kept her head down and stayed quiet – it was clear she was used to harsher punishment. Mrs Travers was lecturing her daughter. "I know you had fun being out with Melissa, but I expect you to come home on time. I will not stay up all night worrying about my daughter. And drinking beer?"
"I'm sorry, mummy!" Suzie squealed. The childish way she called her 'mummy' caught me off guard – but I guess, under these circumstances, it was more fitting than 'mum' or 'mother'.
Mrs Travers seemed tireless as her hand moved from cheek to cheek, covering the entire surface area of her errant daughter's rear end. As the sting grew, Suzie had started to clench and unclench her cheeks, making little yelps of pain when her mother's hand landed on a particularly sensitive spot.
Finally, when Suzie's bottom had turned red, Mrs Travers stopped spanking and helped her to her feet. Suzie's hands flew back to comfort her burning bottom, but Mrs Travers glared up at her. "Now, I want you to fetch the hairbrush."
Suzie gasped. "The hairbrush! But mummy, I've learned my lesson, honestly! You don't –"
Mrs Travers grabbed her daughter's wrist and spun her around, planting half a dozen stinging slaps on each of her daughter's cheeks, causing her to stamp her feet from the sting. "Fetch the hairbrush," she repeated, and with her pyjama bottoms around her ankles, Suzie hurriedly waddled off to do as instructed. My stunned brain suddenly realized that she was moving straight toward me.
If I had been given time to think, I would have hurried to my own bedroom, or tried to hide around the hallway, or hid behind the door when it opened. In fact, if I had my wits about me, I would have decided to hide as soon as Suzie was told to fetch the brush. But I was still shocked by what I had witnessed, so I did nothing as Suzie opened the door.
"Melissa!" she squealed as she saw me, a hurt look on her face as she realized that I had been spying on her punishment.
Mrs Travers cast a strict glance in my direction. "Melissa, I suggest you head off to bed now. I still need to finish my discussion with my daughter. Suzie, please fetch the brush."
Suzie glared daggers at me as she headed toward her mother's bedroom, and I decided to do as instructed and go back to bed. Shortly afterward, I could hear through the wall the heavy sound of hard wood pounding down on soft flesh, followed by howls and earnest pleas from the punished girl. Suzie was soon promising to never disobey her mother again, if only she would stop spanking her with that awful hairbrush, but to no avail.
It seemed like hours before the sounds of spanking stopped, and it probably felt even longer to the poor girl, but it was probably only a few minutes. Even then, the sound of crying continued for a while, as Mrs Travers comforted her sobbing child. Eventually, the sounds died down, and I guessed that Suzie had fallen asleep.
There was a knock on my door, and Mrs Travers entered the room. In her right hand was a large, heavy wooden hairbrush. A few hours earlier, I would have described it as an uninteresting old heirloom. But now that I knew what she used it for, it was suddenly a very intimidating object. "I want to talk to you, Melissa."
My heart caught in my throat as I stared at the hairbrush in her hand. She couldn't mean… But I had tricked her daughter into breaking curfew, served her beer, then spied on her punishment. I was living under her roof, so could I really complain if she decided to discipline me?
Mrs Travers started to lecture me about setting a good example for her daughter by not encouraging her to break rules, about not giving alcohol to minors, and about giving some privacy during her punishments, but I wasn't really listening. There is something about being only a few minutes away from receiving your very first spanking that drives all other concerns out of your mind. My head felt light, and my backside tingled. I shifted uneasily as I sat on the bed, wondering how long it would be before I sat comfortably again.
Would I get it over her lap, on the bare bottom, like Suzie had? Would she pull down my pyjama bottoms, or did she expect me to pull them down myself? Would she spank me with her hand first, or move straight to the brush? Would I sob and plead like Suzie had? I'd like to think I'd be braver, since I was older, but maybe my inexperience would mean I would be MORE childish when being spanked? Would my cries wake Suzie? Or maybe Mrs Travers would invite her in, since I'd spied on Suzie's punishment…
I noticed that Mrs Traver's lecture was drawing to a close, and she asked me if I would set a better example for her daughter in the future. The lump in my throat prevented me from speaking, but I nodded eagerly. No use in making things worse at this point.
She smiled. "Good. I'm glad we had this discussion."
And she turned around and left the room.
For a few seconds, I sat there stunned. Gradually, the ability to move and speak returned to me. "Wait! That's it?" I said, not really believing it would end here.
Mrs Travers returned. "Hm? What do you mean?" She seemed genuinely confused.
"Well," I said, "When you entered the room holding that brush, I was expecting…"
Mrs Travers looked down at the hairbrush, and realized what I meant. "Oh! You thought I would spank you?" I nodded, suddenly afraid I was giving her ideas, but she laughed it off. "Yeah, I can see why you'd think that. But you're an adult – besides, you're not my daughter, and I would never discipline you like that without your parents' permission. Were you spanked growing up?" I shook my head, and she chuckled. "That explains a few things. But nineteen is no age to start being spanked." She suddenly grew serious. "But I don't want to hear you teasing Suzie about this tomorrow – or any other day, for that matter. She thinks she's too old to go over her mother's knee."
I promised that I wouldn't tease her, and Mrs Travers went to bed. I laid down as well, but it took a very long time before I fell asleep. There had been too many strange twists and turns today, and I didn't like it.
The next day, an invisible wall seemed to have developed between Suzie and me. The fact that she had been punished for our evening and I hadn't, and that I had spied on her spanking, was something she found difficult to forgive, especially since it was all my fault. She was cold and distant, and refused to spend time with me (though she was never outright rude – she was far too scared of her mother's wrath to do that). I hoped this would fade quickly, but two weeks later, she still wouldn't talk to me. And since I had no other friends in the country, I felt very lonely.
There was also a tension between her mother and me. Mrs Travers welcomed me into her home, but she wasn't entirely sure how to discipline me when I did something she disapproved of. Do you ground a nineteen-year-old? Not letting me borrow her car keys was a step in the right direction, but she didn't feel it went far enough.
Two weeks after our trip to the pub, Suzie decided to spend Friday evening watching a film at her friend's house. I wasn't invited, but even if I had been, I would have chosen to stay at home. I wanted to discuss something with her mother, and I wanted to do it when Suzie was out of the house.
Mrs Travers was reading in the living room when I entered. She looked up, then put the book down on the table when she saw the expression on my face. "What's wrong?"
I told her about everything I had been feeling over the past week – how distant I felt from them both. How I actually felt more like a stranger than I had when I arrived. How alone I was.
"I'm sure we can think of some solution," she said.
"I already have," I said. I took a deep breath, trying to prepare myself for the words that were about to come out of my mouth. "You should spank me."
She shook her head. "That wouldn't solve anything, there isn't –"
"It would," I told her. "You're unsure about what to do when I break the rules – now you know! Suzie's upset because she's being spanked and I'm not – problem solved!"
"Your parents would never agree to it," she said.
"I'm nineteen. Legally an adult – in my country and yours," I said. "What my parents want is of no concern."
She smiled at my strange logic, but still shook her head. "You have no idea what you're in for. Have you EVER been spanked before?"
I shook my head. "But Suzie was fine the day after her spanking – she needed a pillow on her chair at breakfast, but otherwise fine – so it can't have been that bad."
She raised her eyebrow at that. "We'll see," she said ominously. "But I want you to understand that if we do this, I won't stop just because you want to. Once you're over my lap, you'll remain there until you're sobbing, your bottom is bright red, and you're truly sorry for what you've done. Is that clear?"
My backside tingled at her words. The lump in my throat prevented me from speaking, so I nodded.
"Well, there's no time like the present, is there? Let's go to your room," she said.
I followed her down the hallway. She closed the curtains in my window, then sat down on the bed, beckoning me forward with a crooked finger. On shaking legs, I inched closer to her. Her hands moved to the front of my jeans, undoing the button, unzipping the fly, and pulling them down in a fluid motion that suggested years of experience with undressing naughty girls. When my jeans were around my knees, she patted her lap, and I leaned forward and bent over her knee.
The absurdity of the situation suddenly overwhelmed me. Here I was, a legal adult, with the skirt-clad lap of the woman I was living with under my stomach, a cold breeze on the seat of my panties, about to be spanked like a little girl. And I had asked for this. I decided to have my head examined as soon as possible.
Her palm rubbed the seat of my panties, smoothing the fabric. Goosebumps formed on my skin, and I shifted uneasily when I thought about the pain I was about to experience.
"You've been a very naughty girl, leading my daughter into mischief, then violating her privacy when she is being punished," she scolded. "Now, you will learn what happens to naughty girls around here."
Her palm smacked down my left cheek. The sting caught me off guard, and I kicked my leg as I winced. "Stay still, girl," she admonished as she slapped my other cheek. "If you're reacting like this to these gentle taps, heaven knows how you'll act when I REALLY start spanking you. Badly, I expect."
Blushing at her scolding, I buried my face in the pillow and decided to take this as bravely as possible. She continued to spank my backside, but now that I knew what to expect, it wasn't so bad. Her hand stung, but the pain quickly faded. After a few minutes, she moved her fingers to the waistband of my panties. "It's time for these to come down."
I raised my head. "I don't think that's –"
She smacked my thigh, causing me to wince at the unexpected blow. "I don't care what you think and don't think. I'm in charge, and if I say these panties come down, then down they come." And she placed her fingers in the waistband, lowering them to join my jeans around my knees.
While the thin fabric had not provided any protection, the humiliation of being bare-bottomed across her lap somehow made the whole thing much worse, and I squeezed my legs together as hard as I could. She chuckled. "You have nothing I want to see, girl, so there's no need for modesty." Her palm continued its attack on my poor posterior, and I buried my face in the pillow again, not wanting her to know how much it hurt.
Her hand moved from cheek to cheek, often finding a previously-unspanked part of my backside and giving it a good slap. For long periods of time, she would focus on the lower parts of my bottom (my sit spots, as I would later learn they were called), thus making sure I would not be sitting comfortably any time soon.
Finally, after what seemed like hours of smacks and slaps raining down on my unprotected bottom, she stopped spanking and helped me up. I danced from foot to foot and my hands flew back to rub some of the sting away, but I was feeling proud of the fact that I had survived my first spanking without breaking into tears.
Then Mrs Travers' voice crushed my hopes. "The warmup is complete. Now, I want you to fetch my hairbrush."
My jaw fell open. Did she really mean that we weren't done? I was about to protest, to tell her that I had been punished enough, that I had learned my lesson and really didn't need to be punished any more, but I suddenly remembered what had happened to Suzie when she tried the same thing, so I wisely closed my mouth. With my jeans and underwear around my ankles, I shuffled out of the room.
A few seconds later, I shuffled back in. "Uh, ma'am?"
"What is it?" she said, casting an annoyed glance in my direction.
"I… don't actually know where you keep your hairbrush. I know it's somewhere in your bedroom, but…"
She had to stifle a chuckle at that. I'm sure that if I wasn't soothing a sore bottom, knowing I was on my way to fetch a vicious weapon that would make it hurt even more, I would also be able to see the funny side. "That's my fault, I'm sorry. It's in the top drawer of my nightstand."
I opened the drawer, revealing the evil-looking implement. Despite my prayers, it was just as large and heavy as I remembered it being. Shuffling back into the room, I presented it to Mrs Travers, hoping against hope that this had just been a test of my new obedience and that she wouldn't actually use it on me.
With the brush in her right hand, she patted her lap with the left, and I bent back over. She pushed me forward to raise my backside as much as possible, then lifted her foot to lock my legs in place. "This thing always makes Suzie kick," she explained. "It's going to make you kick your legs as well." And with that, she lifted the brush in the air.
Nothing I had ever experienced could have prepared me for the sting of that awful thing crashing down on my soft, unprotected flesh. I tried to scream, but all the air had been driven from my lungs. A second stroke landed on my other cheek, and I tried my best to wriggle out of the way.
"Stay down," she scolded. "You have a lot more coming your way, so I suggest you try to be brave. You asked for this, remember?"
I tried telling her that I had changed my mind, that I didn't need to be spanked after all, and that this had been a huge mistake, but she ignored me, and the bottom-burning brush soon made incapable of making reasonable arguments. Tears were rolling down my cheeks, and any attempt to seem brave had gone completely out the window. I tried to escape from the heavy wood, but years of experience made it easy for her to hold me in place, and every smack of that wicked hairbrush landed exactly where she wanted it to.
I sobbed, I howled, I pleaded, I bargained, but nothing could stop the brush from continuing to land on my bottom. I could not escape, I could not talk my way out of it, and when I tried to protect my bottom with my hands, she just grabbed both of my wrists with her left hand and held them at the small of my back.
Soon, all thoughts of resistance had been burned out of my body. I lay limply over her lap, sobbing as she continued to spank me. At one point, she put the brush down and started gently caressing my backside, but I have no idea how long she comforted me before I noticed.
She helped me to my feet, then let me cry into her shoulder for a while as she hugged me and told me how brave I had been. She then told me that I should go to bed now – it was late, and I probably didn't feel like surfing the web or watching a movie at the moment. I nodded my agreement, and she started to undress me.
Under any other circumstances, it would have been humiliating to have this woman take my clothes off and help me into my pyjamas, but right now, I felt comforted and cared for. I winced when the soft fabric of my pyjama bottoms touched my rear end, and she chuckled at that, but otherwise, it was nice.
As she tucked me into bed, Mrs Travers told me that this had demonstrated that spankings were just as effective for nineteen-year-olds as for sixteen-year-olds, so I could expect a red bottom the next time I broke her rules as well. I wanted to protest at that, but she still held the brush in her hand, so I held my tongue.
Half an hour later, Suzie knocked on the door to my room. When she entered, she studied my tear-stained face. "Mum told me what happened," she explained. With my permission, she sat down on the side of my bed, looking at me with more affection than she had displayed during the last two weeks – in fact, more affection than at any point during my stay. "Can I see?"
I nodded, and she moved the duvet from my stinging backside (I was obviously sleeping on my stomach). She then carefully lowered my pyjama bottoms, whistling as she saw the red flesh. "It's really bad, Melissa. That was a very sound spanking you received." I later learned she was just protecting my pride – by her standards, it was at worst a medium spanking. "I have a cooling cream that should take some of the sting away. Do you want me to fetch it and rub some into your buns?"
I nodded gratefully, and she returned with a small tube. As she spread the cream over my sore cheeks, I was glad to feel like part of the family.
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