When my doorbell rang one Saturday evening as I was sitting in front of the TV, I was not expecting to find my ex-girlfriend's mother standing on my doorstep.
"Hello, Roland," she said, giving me a friendly smile. "May I come in? I hope I'm not disturbing you – I should probably have phoned ahead."
"Hello, Mrs. Cohen," I replied, taking a step to the side to let her pass. "Please, come in. I was just watching an old movie and trying to remember if I'd seen it before."
"I've told you a million times to call me Sylvia," she scolded playfully as she hung up her coat.
I first met Sylvia Cohen about two years ago, which was three months into my relationship with her daughter Violet. Violet and I had gone to the same high school, and had started dating shortly after we ended up in the same college class. I only learned later that she'd deliberately chosen the same college as me so that she could get closer to me, which was flattering. She herself had no interest in drama – or at least not in studying it; on the other hand, I soon found out that she was an absolute master at creating it.
I admit I was feeling a little nervous when I met my girlfriend's mother for the first time, but Sylvia had greeted me warmly and seemed pleasantly surprised with the young man dating her only daughter. In fact, she seemed to grow fonder of me with every month that passed.
I had always enjoyed those occasional chats with Sylvia, but it was a bit of a surprise to find her in my home two weeks after my relationship with her daughter had ended. What could we have to talk about now? "So, what brings you here?" I said as I brought her a cup of coffee. Milk, two sugars – just the way she liked it.
"I just had to talk to you and see how you were getting on." She shook her head. "That girl has no sense whatsoever! She just made the biggest mistake of her life by letting you slip through her fingers, and she doesn't even realize it. But don't worry – she will."
I raised an eyebrow at that, choosing not to comment. It was flattering, of course, but I wondered how I'd feel if MY mother had gone to my ex to tell them how much of a moron I was. In my experience, mothers tended to be more supportive, even when they disagreed.
"Not only were you good to her, but you were good FOR her," she said, huffing. "After she started dating you, she was far easier to have in the house, and she got better at picking up after herself. You should have seen her grades, too!"
I smiled. Having someone show up in my living room to praise me to the skies wasn't how I'd expected my Saturday evening to go, but I had no complaints. I was feeling quite good about myself. "Nice of you to say so, Mrs. Cohen. I think it's a matter of setting a good example, and being there for her when she needs it."
She snorted. "You're free to think that, of course, but I think it's all those spankings you gave her."
The cup in my hand stopped halfway to my lips as I stared at her. I was glad I hadn't been drinking when she said it, as I would probably have spat the coffee all across my table – and possibly my guest. I wasn't aware that Violet had shared that part of our relationship with her mother. I certainly hadn't mentioned it to mine.
"Oh, Violet never said anything," Sylvia said, seeming to guess my thoughts. "She didn't have to. I could tell by the way she squirmed around on her chair after one or your little private discussions, and how she'd wear a nice skirt instead of those faded, holey, TIGHT jeans. They're a lot less painful for a sore bottom!" She chuckled. "A couple of times, when she was on the phone with you, I could see her absently rub her rear end when she knew you were upset with her. Thinking about past punishments – or possibly dreading upcoming ones."
"You approve, then?" I said as I sipped my coffee. I saw no reason to try to deny her observations.
"Wholeheartedly. In fact, I think that Violet losing your discipline might be the worst part of this breakup. Some women benefit from struggling to sit on a sore seat from time to time."
"Have you ever spanked her?"
She shook her head. " I've never been comfortable with the idea of taking my daughter across my knee. It just doesn't feel right. That was always her father's job. When he was alive, he handled all the spankings in the house." She sighed wistfully. "Violet's – and mine."
I stared at her. Was she saying what I thought she was saying?
"Yes," she said, once again responding to my unspoken thoughts. "My dear departed husband would bend me over his lap and spank my backside whenever he thought I deserved it – which was often." She smiled at the memory. "I must admit, when I realized that you were spanking Violet, I felt more than a little envious. A proper young gentleman, able and willing to deliver the discipline the young lady so sorely needed." She sighed. "You remind me of him, in some ways."
"I'm sure Violet would have gifted you every single one of her spankings if she could. I never got the feeling that she enjoyed them much – in fact, she pleaded quite insistently for them to stop, every single time."
She laughed. "Good to hear. That must be why they were so effective." Her smile vanished, and she gazed at me. "Now, believe me, despite my …. needs, I would NEVER ask my daughter's boyfriend to put me across his knee. That would be completely inappropriate, obviously." She grinned. "But you two are not dating any more, are you?"
I stared at her. I couldn't possibly be misunderstanding her, could I? This wasn't an error in communication, or some sort of joke on her part? My ex-girlfriend's mother has just asked me to spank her. A mature woman had just asked for a spanking from a young student who had until very recently dated her daughter. I tried to process this unexpected development.
As the seconds ticked away, Sylvia began to blush. She fidgeted in her chair. When I didn't still respond, she must have concluded that her request had offended me. "I shouldn't have said anything. This was a bad idea." She started rambling as she rose to her feet. "My mistake! This was inappropriate. I apologize. Please, forget I ever –"
She tried to run from the room, but when she passed by my chair, I grabbed her wrist and held her in place. She tried to struggle free, but it was futile. "Sit back down," I told her calmly.
"Let go of me, Roland. I don't think –"
"I wasn't asking you, I was telling you. Now, sit down while you still can."
Sylvia stared at me, before giving me a nervous grin. "Yes, sir."
I let go of her, and she returned to sit in the comfy chair.
A woman twice my age had asked me to spank her. And I was going to do as she asked. I looked at her. "Have you done anything worthy of punishment, Sylvia?" I decided I would no longer use her last name when addressing her.
"Yes, sir," she said. I smiled; I liked hearing the word from her lips. "I'm afraid my housework isn't up to scratch these days, and I've been distracted at work. I've also been spending too much money on silly, unnecessary things."
I nodded. "And what do you think I'm going to do about that?"
She blushed. "I think you are going to put me across your knee and spank me."
"That's right. A good, long, hard spanking on your bare bottom, until you are truly sorry for what you've done. Do you agree that this is what you deserve?"
She blushed even more, fidgeting in her seat. "Yes, sir." I greatly enjoyed seeing this mature woman reduced to a naughty young lady with just a few words.
"Go to the kitchen and fetch one of the chairs for me," I told her. She obeyed, returning with a straight-backed, armless wooden chair, which she placed in the middle of the room.
I sat down, and was about to order her over my knee, when she suddenly exclaimed "Oh, I almost forgot!" and ran over to her purse. A few moments later, she handed me a large, heavy wooden hairbrush. Its worn back suggested it had been used for other things than brushing hair. "I think you'll find this useful, sir."
I tapped it heavily against my palm, feeling the wood. I saw her flinch at the sound, so I tapped it a more times, enjoying the sight of her squirming. "I've never needed anything but my hand before," I commented.
"With all due respect, sir, I think my bottom is a bit… well, bigger and more mature than the ones you've spanked in the past." She smiled. "Your hand isn't going to do much, I'm afraid."
"Well, I'll start with my hand and use the brush later," I said.
She frowned. "I don't think – "
"I didn't ask for your opinion. I told you what was going to happen," I scolded. "Now, unless you'd like to spend the next half-hour with your nose in the corner thinking about who's in charge here, I suggest you close your mouth. And come over here so I can place you over my lap."
Blushing at the chastisement, she moved closer to me. I raised the hem of her skirt, revealing a pair of lace underwear. I then placed my fingers in the waistband of her panties, slowly lowering them as she licked her lips. "How considerate of you to wear this skirt," I told her. "It's a lot easier to bare your bottom than if you'd been wearing jeans."
She smiled. "Yes, sir. And like I said, they're a lot less painful for a sore bottom."
I pressed on the small of her back, guiding her over my lap. I pushed her forward so that her head was facing the carpet, but her feet were lifted off the floor, to kick uselessly once the pain was too much for her. I rubbed her pale cheeks. Like she'd said, her bottom was a lot larger than her daughter's.
Under some circumstances, I might have started off gently, with a soft warm-up. However, her comment about my hand being insufficient had rankled me, so I decided to start as I meant to go on – hard and fast. As my palm began to crack down firmly on her rear, she gasped.
"Oh God," she moaned. "You have no idea how long it's been."
My hand moved from cheek to cheek, the hard and loud smacks leaving pink handprints that quickly faded. It was true that she was significantly tougher than her daughter – the smacks that would have had Violet squealing and pleading for mercy barely made her stir – but I knew the sting would be growing.
I spanked hard and fast, watching her cheeks jiggling under my hand. I made sure to move my hand up and down her bottom, all the way to the top of her thighs, to cover every inch of her ample posterior.
"Ouch," she exclaimed with a wince when I delivered a particularly hard set of smacks to the lower parts of her bottom. "That stings."
"Regretting your misbehavior, young lady?" I scolded.
"Oh yes," she said, wriggling her rear end. "I certainly hope you don't drag me over your knee and spank me like this every time I misbehave from now on. That would just be… awful."
I'm sure she thought I was spanking as hard and fast as I could, but if she did, I proved her wrong. The slaps rang out like pistol shots as I doubled my efforts, raining spanks down on her bottom as if I was trying to flatten it. She was now shifting around on my lap, yelping with every smack.
Her bottom was turning red by the time I paused. "How does that feel, Sylvia?"
"Sore," she said, with a voice that suggested she was on the verge of tears. "You have a very hard hand, sir."
"That's good to hear," I said. "I think it's time we tested out the hairbrush you so thoughtfully provided."
She whimpered a little when the cold, hard wood rubbed against her warm bottom. "Yes, sir," she said as I lifted the hairbrush over my head.
As the back of the hairbrush came crashing down, I couldn't help but grin at the result. Sylvia squealed and squirmed, kicking her legs to the tune of the brush. This was certainly an effective implement, and I decided to buy one at the earliest opportunity.
The brush continued to crack down on her wriggling posterior, and I had to place my arm around her waist to hold her in place. She tried to squirm free, but I easily held her in place, peppering her backside with firm spanks.
In a matter of minutes, her bottom turned from light red to scarlet. The tears she'd held back now flowed freely, and she was promising to be a good girl forever and ever.
She squirmed and sobbed, kicked and cried out. Her earnest pleas and promises to be good were replaced with incoherent blubbering, and she howled as the brush beat down on her bare behind.
I think I had used the hairbrush for about ten minutes by the time I stopped. Once she'd calmed down, I helped her to her feet. She tried to rub her burning seat, but I smacked her hands away.
"Nose to the wall, hands on your head, until I tell you otherwise," I said, pointing to the nearest corner. "I want your bare bottom on display for a while." She turned her pleading eyes upon me, but the look on my face must have convinced her that it was futile, for she hurried to obey.
I grinned as I watched my ex-girlfriend's mother sniffling in the corner, her red, bruised backside lighting up the room. This was an interesting turn of events, and I wondered what the future would bring. I had a feeling that this would be far from the last time I gave her what she needed most.
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