Spanking Stepmothers: an F/M story collection

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Danny, we need to talk." she said in her quiet voice. "Not now, at the commercial, and for the last time, CALL ME DAN!!!" was my polite response to her. When the commercial came on, she resumed. "Dan, we need to talk." My Dad began dating a woman named Kate, and by the time of my summer visit in 1984 she and her kids were living with him. Kate was an attractive woman in her early 30s and had two daughters from a previous marriage – Denise, who was eight at the time, and six-year-old Kristie.

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my father was a rich man with average looks ( my mother, his first wife is very good looking) so Susan ( my stepmom) was probably only there for the money. I’ve already told you how I got paddled for passing notes in class – this is the story about what happened when I got home that day, with an already sore bottom. I know you were watching." She said in this god-like sexy tone. "I know you can do better, too." And she rubbed the tent that pitched up in my pants.

When I got within arm’s reach of Kate, she pulled me across her lap and began spanking me with her hand, even harder and faster than she had spanked the girls. I am sure that I got the most spanks of any of us that day. I want you to pay attention. I expect you to be able to do this yourself by the end of the first week." She said. In practice, however, while my mother administered spankings in a detached and businesslike manner, my father’s spankings were a different story. When my father spanked, it was in anger. It was no 10-swats-and-you’re-done chore. It was an ordeal of indeterminate length, often with my two brothers and me shut up in a room, my father spanking the three of us in turn, ranting and raving between rounds of furious swats. It continued for however long he felt like it. These spankings were not “discipline.” They were not short, sharp reminders of what we had done wrong. They were a blur of terror and pain. They were my father indulging his anger and frustration to their fullest and at his children’s expense. More Radical Reads: From My Abusive Mother to White Supremacy’s Violence: There is Danger in Premature Forgiveness I obeyed. It was difficult, but I put it on. She then put the tie on me, knowing that I couldn't do it myself yet.I was unsure of what to do. Something didn't feel at all right. I obeyed. I stripped down to my underpants. Soon my t-shirt and elastic wasteland shorts were on the floor next to me. I sat down again. Oh, did that ever scare me silly! Sure, I'd been spanked a few times before by my mom, but only with her hand. Never before had I received, or even audibly witnessed someone receive the belt...Now I was truly paranoid! My guilty conscience was already starting to nag at me. "You're gonna get found out..." It taunted me. "She's gonna find out you were also naughty, then YOU'LL get the belt before she takes you home to Mommy for round 2." At this point, I was frozen stiff with fear.

With that, she lowered my underpants to my ankles. I didn't like this concept one bit. I started to protest. She opened a dresser drawer and removed a wooden hairbrush I had never seen before. I should’ve known at that point what was in my future, but I swear it didn’t register. Then the brush began to come down, right on my utterly too-thin-to-help panties, and I began to scream. For the first time in my life, I got a true bottom tanning. The brush continued to talk well past the point that I myself could even verbalise. My mom was spanking me well past the point of crying; she was going for hysterical. She was trying to make sure I never sat comfortably again, or so it seemed at the time. Sit your little fanny down and do your homework right this second, young lady – then we are going to talk.” When she she finished spanking me and left the room, I peeked under my door and made sure she was down the hall before starting my little victory dance. I was quite pleased with myself and my acting skills. I knew that not only did I escape a real belting, but I escaped a real spanking altogether! I also thought that, moving forward…she may go to the belt instead of her sandal and that would be pretty OK with me! I could just act my way through it. I had a get out of jail free card!When my ex-spouse and I were dating, we had the the usual getting-to-know-each-other talks — with a deeper dimension, since we had known each other as kids and had reconnected as adults. As we delved deeply into our personal histories, each providing individual perspectives on our shared childhoods, she said something that would forever change the context of my life: Despite being a stern disciplinarian, Kate was also a very loving mom. She showered her daughters with hugs and kisses, liked to play and joke around with her them when they were being good, and comforted them after they had been punished.