Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Dear Alana- 14- Written by Louis Vancisic

Dear Alana,

So this is the continuation of the story of one of my most memorable punishments; an incident that occurred when I was twelve and Cathy was nine.

Two letters ago, I told you about how I aided my sister Cathy to visit her friend in violation of Mom's rules about not leaving the house except when she's at home. Then, not knowing she already knew better, I lied to Mom and assured her that we'd been good girls. This made Mom even angrier and she slapped my face very hard four times. Then in my last letter I described the hand spanking got form Mom.

Summoned out of the corner where she had put me to rest and reflect, I made my way back to where Mom was seated. Extending her hand, as if inviting me to dance, she guided me back onto her lap.. I wriggled into place and at Mom's suggestion, released my skirt and crossed my wrists in the small of my back. I felt her adjusting my skirt and slip into a neat packet; then she raised my wrists, thrust the packet a bit higher onto my bare back and lowered wrists to keep my clothes in place.

I alternated apologies along with various other promises of future immaculate behavior but Mom was unmoved. She picked up the hairbrush and placing it across my sensitized behind rubbed little circles. I felt the hairbrush lift and then swiftly return, solidly smacking my naked right buttock. I choked back a scream but not a pained "ooohh ...noooo Mommy...please"

As much as Mom's hand stung, the brush was so much worse. No only did it have a nasty bite; it burned long after impact, too! And with Mom in control, it continued to rise and fall, at a measured pace, designed to allow the therapeutic pain from each blow to fully blossom.. At the half dozen point, my entire nether cheeks felt as if doused with lighter fluid and set aflame. And time and time again, I swallowed the wild screams aching to escape from my throat. Instead my pain came out as mournful howls and the intervals filled with deep, bitter sobs.

Gripped by a frenzy of pain, I abandoned any pretense of maturity and pleaded like a little girl.

"Mommy.....ooouuhhhh...please...I'll be good!.... puh-leeease...I'll be a good girl I promise... ooooohhhoooooo! "

"You will?" Mom said. "Will you obey my rules about safety?" The hardest smack yet fell on the back of my right thigh.

"Ooooouuuuuwwwwww!!" My back arched, legs pumped up and down and hips gyrated, seemingly as one. "Yessss Mommy......ooohhhhhhooooooo..." I sobbingly promised. Mom's grip tightened over my waist.

"And are you going to set a better example for your little sister?" And she delivered another, hard smack to the other thigh.
"Ye......aaaaaaiiiiieeeee........oooohhhhhoooo....I mean ..yeeessss Mommy....I will, I'll be better ooooohhhhhh I promise..I'll be good" I cried desperately. I felt the back of both thighs pulsating and throbbing as the blood rushed in just beneath the beaten skin.

"Good. You better be. You're twelve years Janet," she lectured, cracking the right thigh again; then waited for my cries to diminish. "That's old enough to understand how serious it is to disobey your mother."

With that, she laid the brush to the back of my right thigh, and, in slow succession laid three more. More howls and cries; more fervent promises to be "soooo good"and "always obey and be a really good girl" and otherwise always exhibit exemplary behavior.

For serious offenses like lying and deliberate disobedience, Mom's general rule is to apply two blows of the hairbrush (or other implement) following the preliminary hand spanking. So assuming cooperation on my part, I could expect twenty four stinging smacks over the course of this spanking. I had therefore reached the halfway point though in my frenzied state it hardly mattered. I didn't know how I could endure another twelve. That, of course, didn't mater, I could and would endure another dozen drawn.

There was an unexpected pause and then a harsh
"You keep your eyes over here, little girl. You're to watch and see exactly what happens to your sister who you helped get into trouble. I'm sure Janet wouldn't be happy if I have to repeat anything because you weren't paying attention, would she?"

"No don't Mommy I'm sorry, I'll watch!" she answered.

She was crying too. Poor girl; it's so hard to see someone you love suffer; how much worse when it's because of you. Watching the harsh wood of the hairbrush strike my tender flesh, seeing the flesh momentarily blanch and then furiously redden to the tune of my agonized howls and wrenching sobs and desperate pleas was just too upsetting for my little sister and she had squeezed her eyes shut. But having to watch, and see the details of my suffering was her prescribed consequence, and Mom wasn't about to let her get away with cheating on her punishment. Just like I had to cooperate in taking the spanking, Cathy had to cooperate and keep her eyes open and focused on my naked bottom.

But, stern as she is, Mom saw the despair of the little girl and came up with an alternative.

"Hmmm. I have a better idea," she said thoughtfully, "Cathy, come over here and kneel by your sister. You can hold her hands, like she does for you, to help keep them out of trouble."

It was a command but one intended to offer us emotional comfort and remind us that even when she's punishing us, Mom has only our welfare at heart. And because sisterly solidarity had led to our misbehavior, Mom would now use it to help us both learn the lesson and feel closer to the process and each other. Mom released my wrists and I moved them forward to grasp the small hands of my kneeling and copiously crying nine year old sister.

And with my hands now protected, Mom smacked the lowest, fleshiest portions of my bottom four times; twice to each mound; allowing forty second intervals ..And with each one a scolding rhetorical remark such as "you know better, Janet, don't you?"or "do you think this will teach you to obey?" or "will you be a good girl now?"

"Yes...yes Mommy" I sobbed and nodded in earnest. "I'll obey" or "I'll be a good girl Mommy ..I promise I'll be good." And, at moment, I can assure you that I had every intention of being the goodest girl ever.

And with each smack, I felt a scream rise within me and then though watery eyes, I'd see the despairing face of my little sister, and, trying to be brave for her, force it back down again. I couldn't bear to make her even more scared than she already was. Though Mom had relieved her of the burden of seeing what was happening to my behind, she was still compelled to keep her eyes open and observe the anguish etched onto my face. And girlish hands, squeezing together ever tighter lost their color.

There were still eight to go. And though my nether regions were a hopeless mass of agony I still found sources of solace. There was the presence of my little sister and the grip of her tiny hands. There was also the security of Mom's soft warm lap and restraining arm about my waist. It conveyed a feeling of safety and security; the knowledge that my hurting would be temporary; that nothing really bad would happen. Mom's punishing hand was a different story but her lap felt safe and loving. Finally, there was the emotional release of crying; a complex song of suffering, sorrow and repentance. And lastly, promises to improve; promises to Mom and promises to myself. For these provided hope; hope for the present and the future. As Mom says, spankings, however difficult, are temporary; family and love is eternal. And after each spanking the emotional bond of mother and child is yet stronger.

I felt a gentle rubbing on my back and turned to look over my shoulder. Mom gave me a little smile and told me how I was, as usual, taking my spanking like a really big girl.

"It's mostly over, sweetie. Just try and relax and cry all you want. Mommy and Cathy are here for you and love you deeply."

"I love you too Mommy," I blubbered. "But please Mommy, please not so hard."

"Okay sweetie", Mom smiled again, "I'll take that as a suggestion." I nodded a thanks. "Okay, then," she went on more seriously, "are you ready for the rest of your spanking?"

"Yes Mommy," and I turned away. I felt the smooth wood touch one of my buttocks; it made little circles. Mom spoke in soothing tones. Then circles stopped and then silence. The wood lifted.


"Oooooouuuuu!...Ooooooo....ooooohhhoooohhhooooo.. Oh..ooh..Mommy Pleeeeease....Oh Mommy.... I'm so sorry."

Another pause, more circles and THWACK!

"Oh...oohhh...oooooo ....Oh, Mommy.... oooh ....please Ill obey I promise....please...please I'll be good....ooouuuuhhhhh......"

During the minute long respites between blows, my body heaved rhythmically as it absorbed the wicked sting imparted by the instrument of correction.

But as the brush smacked a third time, I capitulated and let the floodgates of her emotions rupture with a terrifying scream. I wanted to push it back but it was too late. But Cathy's face told me that it was OK. As the freshest sting subsided my slender body shook with the force of bitter sobbing.

More blows struck my behind and buttocks, each now tearing yet another hysterical shriek from the depths of my soul. Days later, when all was forgiven, Mom would describe the thrilling choreography of my bottom and thighs. After each flattening blow, my suffering young cheeks would engage in a frantic series of movements. First they would expand like a football, then contract รข€‘ only to expand again in a vain search for relief. They danced and hopped and twitched in a most engaging manner, enhanced by the rolling of my hips from side to side. Mom confessed that often she timed her blows so that they coincided with the involuntary expansions of my bottom.

Mom applied the final four across the expanse of my swollen buttocks and thighs. At each blow, my bottom convulsed and twisted frantically, my ankles drumming the air my slim fingers gripping Cathy's for dear life. After each, I could not keep myself from rotating my tear ravaged face toward Mom, praying frantically for an end to the spanking.

Then, a squeeze on my left shoulder and a gentle "It's all over sweetie."

After several minutes, Mom eased me off her lap. She let me pull up my own panties.

"Would you care to have some dinner?" she asked.

I shook my head. "No Mommy please, just bed..."

"Sure sweetie", she cast s sympathetic smile, "I understand."


Anonymous said...

The notion that a kid who is being spanked with a hairbrush can feel "safety and security" from the mother's restraining arm is utter nonsense! As a kid, I've been there before. A kid being spanked with a hairbrush can feel only one thing, and it ain't "safety and security"!

Anonymous said...

Here are some good spanking stories you might want to read

Story 1: Spanking Friend and Neighbor http://www.otd-memories.com/spanking_memories/my-friend-and-neighbor

Story 2: Spanking Engagment http://www.saxon-web.co.uk/fiction/htm/novels/engagement/index.shtml#.V1dILC_D-bN

Story 3: Spanking Contest http://www.spanko.net/spanking_forums/viewtopic.php?f=3&t=3262