(F/ff nc hard, sensuality)


Jenni sat on the bed and wept in her hands. In the adjacent room, only a thin wall away, Margaret cried and begged as her bottom was soundly smacked by her mother. Judging from the loud bangs and the heartfelt crying, Mrs. Harris meant business.

There's no escaping this, Jenni thought as she tried to remember how they ended up in this mess in the first place. Only thirty minutes before they were playing in the pool in the back yard, happy as two fifteen-year-olds could be. They had been talking of this and that, sunbathing in the hot mid-summer afternoon, speaking of how they wished that summer would never end. When it eventually would, Jenni would ride a boat and go back to the mainland. Her school in Amsterdam and Margaret's school in Birmingham had arranged for a two-months long exchange plan between their students, and more than twenty on each side had welcomed the initiative warmly. Jenni was one of them, and being at Margaret's was one of the best things that had happened to her in recent times.

Still, there was one problem. Margaret's mother, Sara Harris, believed in strict corporal punishment for her three kids, – also Lacey, a spirited brat of eleven, and Thomas, a peaceful little boy of six – something that was very uncommon in her country, and even more so in her household and circle of friends. She herself had only been spanked once, at seven, by her mother, who had always regretted it afterwards. But here she was, one month at the Harris' and already a witness of several punishments since her arrival. Jenni had heard little Lacey being smacked in more than one occasion, and suspected that also Margaret had suffered her mother's heavy hand once, although she could never make sure of that.

But now there was no way of being mistaken, not with Margaret's loud screeches echoing in her ears. And what mortified Jenni the most was that the punishment was very, very well deserved. They were there at the pool, and in the blink of an eye they had been dragged to their feet by a very angry, almost frantic Mrs. Harris, who had slapped their buttocks once with the open hand right there and then, producing a yelp and a "mom, why?!" from a bewildered Margaret. Sara Harris had then explained just "why", and after she was through Margaret and Jenni were two very sorry young girls, completely aware of their upcoming fate and very, very sorry to have sneaked out the previous night to go to the beach party when specifically told to stay home. How Mrs. Harris had found hardly mattered to them, and when the woman had ordered them to their rooms Margaret was almost in tears already.

To tell the truth, Jenni was not fully aware of her fate. She knew the Harris enough to know what Margaret's punishment would be, but was not at all sure about herself. Many times Sara Harris had told her things along the lines of: "You be careful not to step out of line, young lady", and although those threats had mostly been playful Jenni was not convinced. She did not even know if such a thing was possible – or legal, without her parents' consent – but sure enough Mrs. Harris sounded believable, standing in her 185cm and towering above them, making them feel shorter and more miserable than they already were. There was no arguing with the woman.

Jenni's flow of thoughts was interrupted by an even more ear-splitting sound... silence. Margaret's wails still filled her room, but Mrs. Harris's hand, or whatever it was she was using, had certainly stopped hitting. And true enough Jenni could hear the woman's booming voice resume her stern scolding, telling Margaret what a "naughty little girl" (exact words) she had been and how she had deserved her punishment. A few more cries later, Mrs. Harris's tone softened and Jenni could no longer hear her. She figured that she was hugging Margaret, and possibly telling her that all was forgiven, like she had done with Lacey.

Holding her own weeping, Jenni listened as hard as she could, but Margaret's now subdued sniffling was all she could get. Then footsteps! They were walking. Footsteps grew farther, as if they headed for the opposite wall. It was one set of steps only, so Jenni figured that Margaret was bare feet or at least without her sandals. Then more steps, this time getting closer... and closer... and a door opening...

And before she knew it, her own room's door opened, and Mrs. Sara Harris appeared on the threshold, towering and stern-faced. With an oval, wooden, mean-looking hairbrush clutched in her hand.

Jenni renewed her crying on sight, and felt a huge lump form in her throat. She was doomed.

* * *

Sara Harris felt her heart break a second time when she saw Jenni.

The pretty fifteen-year-old, petite in size and with her cute blonde hair falling on her back and face, looked much more like a small child than the teenager sensation she acted like. Her shiny blue eyes were watery and filled with fear, and she sat totally abandoned on that big bed, looking frail and defeated. A portrait of embarrassment and regret.

For a moment Sara felt like wimping out. She wanted to throw down the hairbrush, hug the little girl in front of her and cuddle her over and over, striking her hair, kissing her cheeks, rubbing her back, reassuring her, telling her she was loved and everything was okay. But then the image of Margaret, now standing in the corner with a blistered bottom, flashed through her mind. She had felt sorry for her as well, but since spanking her was no new thing she had found it easier to be resolute and carry on with the punishment. It was much, much harder to do so with Jenni. Sara could not quite explain what she felt for the girl, but she knew she did not want to hurt her in any way. A voice in the back of head, which spoke with the strength of maternal instinct, told her what was the worst choice. What will hurt her more? A spanking or the missed chance to learn a crucial lesson in behaviour and respect of rules?

Sara knew the answer, and still it took all the courage she had to act rationally. She regained her composure, worn the sternest face she could muster and closed the door behind her.

"Jennifer," she said.

"Oh please ma'am!" begged the girl, crying in earnest. She was not making this any easier, but on the other hand, Sara would not expect her to.

Mrs. Harris walked up to the girl's bed, saying nothing. She sat a couple of feet from Jenni, and placed the hairbrush between them. The teenager backed out shaking her head, as though the implement was dangerous even when just laying there.

"Yes, Jennifer," said Sara in reaction to her denial. "You will agree that you and Margaret were partners in crime, don't you?"

Jenni cried and did not speak, but Sara could catch her nodding for a brief second.

"As you have heard, I punished my daughter the way she deserved for what she did. Now I find it fair that you are given the same treatment... am I wrong, dear?"

Again Jenni could not utter a word, but just kept on crying.

"I take it you have never been spanked before, Jennifer. Is that right?"

Now Sara got a definite nodding out of the girl and she sighed heavily.

"I understand. Then I am sorry to have scared you. You will not get the exact same treatment as Margaret, for you could not stand it." If Jenni felt any relief she did not show. "Still, I am going to take you over my knee for a sound spanking, young lady, and you are not going to try and escape it. Is that understood, Jennifer?"

"Jenni..." She spoke in a meek voice, almost a whisper.

"What, dear?"

"My name is Jenni. It's not a nickname. That's just how I'm called."

Sara's heart broke in even smaller pieces. The girl was just too cute. The way she had said that, as if it was the most important thing in the world in such a situation, the small, frail voce breaking through her tears, her baby face and eyes begging her not to hurt her. She almost could not stand it. She almost wanted to cry herself. I almost want to hug her. I almost want to kiss her.


Sara smiled and caressed Jenni's silken blond hair, and gulped as the girl pressed her head against her head, inviting her touch. Do it, Sara. Now, for God's sake. Do it or face the consequences of your weakness.

With one quick move Sara grabbed Jenni's left wrist and pulled, not harshly, but hard enough to pull the girl to her and drape her upper body over her lap. Jenni let out a small shriek but did not resist her, maybe because she was too scared and exhausted to do so. Sara closed her mind and her ears, and with experienced hand she reached for the girl's shorts' zipper and pulled it down. And down came Jenni's shorts, which fell to her ankles and eventually rested on the floor. Sara picked the sobbing girl under her armpits and positioned her small frame over her large lap. Jenni's one-piece swimsuit, coloured in different shades of blue, stretched on her body, making her look even more vulnerable. Margaret's swimsuit had been taken off, leaving her nude as the day she was born, but Sara did not feel like doing it to Jenni as well.

She pondered for a few seconds, then decided it was now or never.

"I am sorry, Jenni."



Many more followed, and Sara did not think, she estranged herself, focusing only on the girl's pert bottom, her nice pale buttocks sticking up nicely under the soft tissue. The spanks came down sharp, and each impact of Sara's hand brought more colour to Jenni's bum – and more pain under her skin, and louder cries to her throat and mouth.

Jenni squirmed on Sara's lap, and the woman did her best to restrain her without further hurting her. An arm circling her waist proved inefficient, and besides, Jenni's hands kept shooting to her backside to protect herself. So Sara stopped for a brief pause, only to catch the girl's flailing wrists and secure them in her grip, finally pinning them both to the small of her back.

Thirty seconds later Sara stopped spanking, and tried not to listen to the girl's bitter crying. Instead she took hold of the swimsuit tissue and pushed it up a little, so to reveal more of Jenni's little buttocks and behold her own handiwork. The skin was a rosy pink and warm to the touch. Sara let her hand wander on the nicely shaped nates, leaving it there maybe one second more than necessary. Jenni's bottom was nowhere as near as punished as Margaret's had been, but then again Jenni was not used to spanking.

Sara delivered ten more stinging smacks to the girl's now half bared buttocks, getting a new series of yelps from Jenni. One more look at her punished behind and she could tell the girl had got what she could take, and stood her to her feet.

Jenni cried and cried, and wiped her eyes with both hands, hiding her pretty face. Sara felt a huge knot in her stomach looking at that poor little thing she had just caused so much pain too. For a brief moment she saw herself, a child of eleven standing before her father after receiving a thorough belting. She had always hated his father: he was not a good man, so to speak, and often over-spanked her just to hear more crying, which he seemed to like. But Sara was a loving mother, and yes, she spanked hard, but always with love and never, ever in anger.

But I have spanked this little girl, and I don't feel cool with it. I just don't.

And so she was totally taken aback when she saw what happened next.

"Like her," little Jenni murmured.

Sara stared at her blankly. She did not understand. She did not want to understand.

"No Jenni... you can't take it like Margaret. You just can't."

There was no answer, but there was nothing else either. Jenni did not move, still gazing deep into Sara's eyes, as though looking for that courage the woman was not showing. She means it.

It was quick.

I love you, Jenni. You are my third daughter. You are my…

Sara grabbed the straps of Jenni's swimsuit and pulled them down, off her tiny shoulders, down her beautiful breast, past her belly and hips, – don't you look, Sara, don't you dare – below the knees and finally off her bare ankles. She stood as well, and in one quick motion she picked the hairbrush from the bed and bent Jenni's body over in two.


The brush found its pace, producing a whitish blotch on the girl's skin each time it smacked. The sobs became cries again, and the cries began shrieks, and the shrieks became louder and louder. Ten smacks, and Jenni's butt looked very pink. Twenty, and the first shade of red appeared. Thirty and it was more red than anything. Welts would be appearing very soon, along with the first bruises where the sharp edges of the hairbrush had sank into the skin...

... and Sara did not want that. Her resoluteness broke like glass at the sight of the first small ridge on Jenni's flesh, and she felt exhausted, horrible, as if on the verge of passing out.

She let Jenni stand – the wailing child clutched her burning backside and hopped up and down – and turned away. Out of the room, into the bathroom, door locked.

Sara collapsed on the floor, her back to the door. She wept freely as that powerful, incomprehensible feeling erupted deep into her, making her twist and buck, arch her back, roll her eyes, sending shivers through her body at the speed of light.

Now, now. Look what you have done.




The author is completely against the practice of non-consensual spanking applied to children and teenagers as a form of discipline: it is dangerous, violating and potentially abusive. All my stories are archived at http://www.geocities.com/haley_brimley/