All is Sore on the Bell Front
There was a old, leather framed photo of a young man dressed in a military uniform hanging in the formal dinning room of the Bell household. The date was printed at the bottom, along with the name. 'Private Bell, Kings Own 1916' was the caption at the bottom. His name had been James Williams Bell, he was only eighteen when he pocked his life saving of one hundred dollars. Packed his bags, and brought a train tricked to the northern lands. A few months shy of his nineteenth birthday he crossed the Canadian border. He celebrated his nineteenth birthday, on a troop ship bounded from Nova Scotia to Liverpool. From Liverpool, he took a coach to South Hampton and there he bordered another ship that took him to France. His journey ended on the morning of July 1, 1916. His death was just one of many, that would the bloodletting that would be called "The Battle of the Somme" .
The memory of 'Private Bell' had been what drove Susan to select 'Alls Quite on the Western Front' by Erich Maria Remarque. She cover of the book, showed a company of soldiers, resting in what appeared to be a meadow. Their rifles where all neatly stacked together. One man a commissioned office was standing up though. He seemed to be peering toward something, maybe the fabled 'Western Front'. A horse was also present in the cover art.
At first, Susan thought that the book would hold her attention. After all the cover had drawn her in. But a few chapters in, she found herself put off by Remarque's prose. And somewhere around chapter six, she found herself putting down the book, for what was suppose to be a brief rest. With zeal she returned to her light novels and Manga and her dozen or so thick, hard bounded teen fiction books that littered her overflowing bookcase.
Her break from "All's quite on the Western Front" was suppose to a brief one. After all she needed the book for a report. One that would play a major part in her final grade for the quarter. The break was only suppose to last for a day or so. Instead, it lasted for a week, one whole week. So for seven days, the book lay discharged upon her bedside table. The book had good company though, for sitting atop of it was a leather bound 'Book of Common Prayer' a collection of prayers, collects and services that formed the basic foundation for the Anglican church, and its North American stepchild, the Episcopal church. A string of glass beads lay beside the two books.
And there the book sat, till the day before the project was due. At that time, Susan did what most young teenagers at school would do. She panicked and spent the last passing hours, sitting in front of her laptop, peering hopelessly into a blank word document. Desperation breeds its own kind of cunning, madness sometimes heightens the senses, and so in a caffeine fueled rampage. She typed up the one page report, using what little she could remember as a guide peg and the two movies as a roadmap and compass. And in the end, with the aid of providence somehow she secured a low passing grade. And that brings us to are current scene. Susan still dressed in her school uniform, a white sailor styled blouse, tucked into a blue pleated skirt, She seated upon her bed, her white stocking legs crossed and a look of worry cross's her face. Her coco brown hair had been recently dyed a honey blonde.
Her mother, a writer by trade was standing before her daughter. Since she was coming back from a meeting with her editor/publisher. She was dressed to impress. Her long red hair was tied back in a simple, but professorial bun. A cream colored blouse was tucked into the waistline of a pencil black skirt, black pantyhose completed the look along with some low heel dress shoes, also black. She looked quite crossed, and as if to highlight how crossed she was, she held the paper in one hand and a brush in the other.
"Susan." Her mother said taking a deep breath. "You had one month to read 'Alls Quite On The Western Front' one month to read the book and type up one thousand words." She paused before pushing on with her lector. "Even if you did not want to read the book, you could have watched both versions of the movie and still typed up something."
Susan opened her mouth to speak, then she closed her mouth again. Her mother was pretty much right, she could have done better. In fact she wanted to do better, but the book was boring as hell. When she had purchased the book from the local bookstore, she fully expected there to action on every page. Instead it was a lot of ranting about some poor solider called Paul Baumer.
"And don't get try to say one thousand words is a lot." Her mother said taking a deep breath. "Cause I put out two thousand words a day. And you my daughter write your own brand of pulp fiction. And I know for a fact you've been hammering out page after page for your stories." She sighed deeply as she folded the piece of paper up and placed it upon her daughters writing desk. "And lets not forget 'Sea Breeze' that Harvest Moon roleplaying forum that you spend ever waking hour on." Her mother was building up a good head of steam, and once she got rolling, it pretty much took a act of god to stop her.
"Yes mommy." Susan said folding her hands into her lap as she wiggled a little. Her high cheek bones where flushed with color. Right now she was not sure what was worst, her mother scolding her? Or the fact that everything her mother was telling her was the truth.
Isabella took a deep breath and peered toward her down at her wayward daughter. Releasing her breath she took a seat upon her daughters bed, right next to her. Giving a sad little smile she placed her arm around her daughters shoulder and gently started to stroke her shoulder.
"You could have done better, and you will do better. There still a chance for you to pull up your grade with some extra credit." She said squeezing her Sues shoulder in a motherly way. "But I have to ask, why did you choose that one. I mean what could have possibly made you choose , 'All Quite On The Western Front' over any of the Potter books." She asked.
"The picture on the wall.. You know of the solider." Susan said inch worming herself a little closer to her mother. "I wanted to know something about him you know and since that book is about, the first world war." Susan said sheepishly.
Isabella blinked and blinked again. Finally after collecting her thoughts for a minute she spoke, and when she spoke, she did so with a loving motherly tone.
"Nobody knows a lot about him, he left a few letters you grandmother has. His old uniform is hanging in the courthouse. He was just a young man, who felt he was doing the right thing. His grandfather had fought in the civil war." She paused. "He had fought for the south that is, his brother fought for the north." She paused again to collect her thoughts. "I think those old war stories drove him to enlist. His father likewise had taken part in the Spanish-American War."
Susan blinked and blinked again.
"I married your father, because he was handsome and treated me right. I did not marry him because of his last name dear heart." She said pausing, she took the brief thirty second pause to squeeze her daughters shoulders a little more. "My maiden name of Isabelle Mari Upton was good enough for the refine ladies of Jackson. My grandfather, your great grandfather was the one who first settled the Belhaven District. " She said proudly.
Susan blushed a little as she moved in a little closer to her mother. Sothern women, prided themselves on a few things. Chief among those where family connections and social standing. Susan was starting to find the later out the hard way. While boys could muscle there way up the social ladder. Girls had to kick, bite and claw there way up. Her sudden windfall of becoming a cheerleader, was no less due to the fact that she had attended this years carnival ball and had endured herself to several key members of the squad. While not officially on the squad, she had been allowed to sit at the popular girls table a few times since then. A major promotion in social standing in the shallow world of middle school.
"But having a good last name means nothing." Isabelle said finally. "Unless one has the character to support it. There more to being a proper southern belle than just looking good and knowing how to flirt with boys." She said in a firm tone of voice.
Susan raised her eyebrows and peered toward her mother.
"One must be have respect for themselves and there elders. One must be willing to work hard and go the extra mile. One must be willing to put themselves out so there children might have a brighter tomorrow. Much like he did. And one must be willing to correct there charges when they go astray. Tell me something Sue. If you had put one tenth of your effort into writing that report. Just one tenth of all the effort you put into those forum post, into those stories, into the commissions you hired out. Tell me, could you have not done any better than a 'D' mark?" She said smiling softy.
Susan opened her mouth to speak, but Isabella, being the mother she was, raised her finger and placed one gently upon her daughters lips. A period of three heart beats of silence followed before Isabella spoke.
"No, no I don't want you to tell me anything. I want you to think. Think hard and write me a five hundred word essay on how you could have done better. And you will have time to do that, because right now young lady as of midnight tonight. Your ground for the next three days."
"Grounded!" Susan shouted as she peered toward her mother. "How then do you expect me to write my essay without my laptop and St. Google!" She cried out in a tone of that that was sheer disbelief.
Isabella blinked and blinked again and slowly she turned her head toward her daughter. Then smiling a evil little grin she said. "Honey you have the book, there a fine collection of vintage Encyclopedia Britannica's in your fathers office. And in my office, you will find a Merriam-Webster dictionary and thesaurus. I'm afraid you'll have to use those. And as far as writing goes, there enough paper, pens and pencils around here to supply a quartermaster's office." Her mother stated in a flat tone of voice.
"Yes mommy." Susan said, feeling totally defeated.
"Another thing," Isabelle gently removing her arm from her daughters shoulder. Gently she pulled her over her lap, quickly she pinned her down, once she was pinned, Isabella flipped the helm of her daughters skirt and stuck a crooked finger into the waistline of her panties. "D's at this house are meet with one thing and one thing only a good sound spanking." She said in a firm tone of voice.
"Mommy!" Susan said blushing deeply
"Susan Elizabeth Mari Bell." Isabelle said taking a deep breath. "Consider this your last warning young lady." She said picking up the wooden hairbrush. Quickly she started to strike Susan bottom, sending a wave of sting into her bottom. The impact of the brush striking her bottom caused round bottom cheeks to wiggle as the pale cream colored bottom started to turn pink under the sheer force of the attack.
"Bad habits are not made overnight." She said striking her bottom again and again with the hairbrush. Each stroke that was laid upon was like a tiny piece of hot coal being tossed into the steel belly of a steam powered locomotive. Isabelle was building up a good head of steam on her daughters bottom and she wanted her to know it too. She wanted to see her daughter wiggle and whimper. She wanted to drive the lesson through that thick head of hers.
"Yes ma'am!" She bellowed as she felt her heat in her bottom rising with each stroke of her hairbrush. Waves of sting and burn washed over her bottom, those waves crashed against the tided break of her mental defenses and slowly worm them down, piece by tiny piece, each crashing wave carried away a little bit of her mental shield.
"If this had been a Highschool or Collage Class. Then I promise you'll be stuck with that grade. My old English teacher. Mrs. Rogers did not believe in giving people second chances. She would have failed you for just breathing wrong.. True me on that Susie." Her mother said moving down to her legs. Quickly she brought the bottom down upon the exposed thighs.
Isabelle took a deep breath as she brought down the brush upon the thighs. The flat side of the paddle hairbrush stroked her bottom. Brining another level of sting and burn to the whole ordeal. Every other heartbeat it seemed the hairbrush would come sailing into her bottom. The flat side of the brush cracked upon her skin, sending a rolling wave of sting into her thighs.
Susan could not help but yep as the wooden brush cracked into her thigh again, and again and again, sending blinding waves of sting and burn rolling into her bottom. And then it happen, her mental defenses came crumbling down and hot, salty tears started to roll down her cheeks.
Isabelle, gently eased off of striking her daughters bottom, tears had formed, lessoned learned, objective completed. Signing a little she placed the wooden brush to the side as she wrapped her arms around her daughter and lifted her off her lap and leaned her close to her shoulder.
"Mommy…" Susan said calming down a little as she settled into her mothers warm embrace.
"Yes honey?" Isabelle said starting to gently rock her daughter as if she was still a toddler.
"I love you.." She whispered softy as she gently closed her eyes. The spanking at really taken a lot out of her.
"I love you too, with all my heart, all my soul and all my mind." And with that being said, she watched her daughter drift off for a post spanking nap.