The first time I met the teenaged daughter of the woman who had just moved in next door, she was stubbing out a cigarette on the hood of my car.
Josie was a lanky, blonde nineteen-year-old who wore ripped shirts and booty shorts, and was the sort of delinquent who loved annoying everyone older than her. When I yelled at her and demanded to know why she'd vandalized my car, she smirked and giggled at my expression, surprisingly unconcerned about a man twice her weight shouting at her. Nothing I said made her show the least bit of remorse, so I eventually gave up and decided to talk to her mother.
Later that evening, I rang the doorbell of the little home, where I was greeted by a plump woman in her late thirties whose hair was as long and blonde as her daughter's. Frances showed me into the living room and offered me a cup of tea, and I told her what had happened earlier in the day. The woman seemed justifiably upset, but to my disappointment, she was reluctant to deal with her daughter.
"I just don't know what to do," she sighed.
"She's your daughter, and living in your house," I pointed out. "Surely you've had to punish her before? Ground her, spank her, take away privileges?"
She shook her head. "It was my dear husband who handled those things. After he passed away…" She shook her head sadly. "I'm just not up to the task."
"And how long ago was it?" I asked, trying to keep my voice kind.
"A little over six years."
Six years. The girl had not been punished since she was thirteen. Suddenly, the fact that she'd grown up into a brat seemed less surprising. "But she vandalized my car! Deliberately! This cannot go unpunished!"
The woman nodded. "That's true. Would you be willing to deal with her? I think a good spanking could teach her a lesson."
Josie was a lanky, blonde nineteen-year-old who wore ripped shirts and booty shorts, and was the sort of delinquent who loved annoying everyone older than her. When I yelled at her and demanded to know why she'd vandalized my car, she smirked and giggled at my expression, surprisingly unconcerned about a man twice her weight shouting at her. Nothing I said made her show the least bit of remorse, so I eventually gave up and decided to talk to her mother.
Later that evening, I rang the doorbell of the little home, where I was greeted by a plump woman in her late thirties whose hair was as long and blonde as her daughter's. Frances showed me into the living room and offered me a cup of tea, and I told her what had happened earlier in the day. The woman seemed justifiably upset, but to my disappointment, she was reluctant to deal with her daughter.
"I just don't know what to do," she sighed.
"She's your daughter, and living in your house," I pointed out. "Surely you've had to punish her before? Ground her, spank her, take away privileges?"
She shook her head. "It was my dear husband who handled those things. After he passed away…" She shook her head sadly. "I'm just not up to the task."
"And how long ago was it?" I asked, trying to keep my voice kind.
"A little over six years."
Six years. The girl had not been punished since she was thirteen. Suddenly, the fact that she'd grown up into a brat seemed less surprising. "But she vandalized my car! Deliberately! This cannot go unpunished!"
The woman nodded. "That's true. Would you be willing to deal with her? I think a good spanking could teach her a lesson."
