[carl35]

By Carl Philip Michaels

Carrie looked around the family room, butterflies in her stomach. Dad sat in his easy chair, Bobby was sprawled on the sofa, and Mom stood next to the armless chair in the middle of the room. Looking at everyone else fully dressed, Carrie felt horribly exposed, the center of unwelcome attention in just her vest and panties. Mom beckoned her with her finger.

Groaning, Carrie walked over and stood next to her mother for the lecture, the next part of this carefully crafted discipline ritual. She dropped her hands to her sides.

"Did your mother tell you to move your hands?" She was caught off-guard by the fact that it was her father, not her mother, who spoke to her rather sharply.

"N-No Sir," she answered meekly.

"Then put them back where they belong."

She complied, tears welling up in her eyes. Doing so made her breasts jut out sharply, making her feel even more exposed.

"So, young lady," her mother began. "Apparently you're under the illusion that your curfew is more a suggestion than a requirement. I assure you, you couldn't be more mistaken. When your father and I say "eleven o'clock," we mean eleven, not eleven-thirty, and certainly not after midnight! Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"No, Ma'am," the embarrassed girl replied quietly. "Just that I'm sorry, and it won't happen again."

"No, it won't, of that I'm sure," her dad put in. You won't be going out at all the next two weekends. After that, your curfew is pushed back to nine o'clock. If you can keep to that for two months without exception, we'll consider going back to eleven."

Carrie was devastated. He may as well have said, "You have no social life for the foreseeable future," considering the strictures under which she was being placed. Two whole months! How would she explain to her friends that she had to be home by nine on a Saturday night?! But she knew better than to argue; it would only make things worse.

"Alright, young lady," Mom said as she sat in the spanking chair. "Hand me that brush, and get over my knee."

She blushed deeply, shamed beyond all imagining. Here she was, a sixteen-year-old young woman, dressed in a too-small vest and horrible panties, going over her mommy's lap for a spanking like a little girl in front of her father and brother. It was so unfair! She was grateful, however, for the fact that all the curtains were drawn. While the sounds of her spanking might well carry outside, at least no one outside the family would see her in this humiliating position. She looked up and saw the delighted grin Bobby wore: this was payback time for a month ago when he'd been in her place.

Her mom took a moment to position her daughter properly so as to have maximum access to her bottom. Aware that she would be unable to keep from reaching back to protect herself once things got going strong, she took Carrie's right hand and held it in place behind her back. She put the brush on the coffee table for the moment, then raised her right hand high.

SWAT!!

"OH!"

SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT!

"OW!... AH!!"

Mom wasn't holding back at all! Even though she was using just her hand over panties, it still stung abominably right from the start. She brought her hand down hard all over her daughter's pantied bottom and upper thighs, determined to make a lasting impression.

SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT!

"OWWW...MOM, OWWWWWWWW!!!" Carrie cried, her hopes of maintaining her dignity dashed by her mother's hard hand. She began to kick her feet helplessly in the air and clench her hands into fists. Suddenly, the swats stopped for a moment, and she felt her mother take hold of her panties. This was the worst part of the punishment, the thing she would have done anything to avoid. But there was nothing she could do; in one clean, sweeping motion, her mother brought the green panties all the way down to her knees, and her plump round bottom virtually exploded into view!

No words could quite describe the exquisite humiliation of that moment. She still had some "baby fat," and her bubble butt was something she was glad to keep out of view. Unfortunately, that option was not open to her at the moment; both her brother and her father were getting an eyeful of those rapidly-pinkening twin mounds!

"Oh, Mom, PLEASE!!" she cried, kicking in humiliated frustration.

"Oh, Mom, NOTHING," her mother replied. "I intend to finish what I started." With that, she picked up the brush, and brought it down with devastating accuracy on the center of her sore left bottom cheek.

"AHH -- OWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Her eyes bulged at the new intensity of the pain in her backside. The brush kept falling, and she flailed around in a hopeless attempt to avoid its nasty sting. Mom employed an almost diabolical system when wielding the hairbrush: three swats on the left, three on the right, three on the right sit spot, three on the left sit spot. Over and over and over in this fashion, until her daughter dissolved into incoherent wails of distress.

She was now a uniform hot pink color from the top of her bottom down to the tops of her thighs. She kicked, screamed, and pounded her fists in the air in a childish display of anguish. Before any bruises could surface, her mother began to slow her pace. As dreadfully sore as the girl was, even a light tap from the brush now elicited yelps and cries.

Mom kept at it for awhile, no longer swinging hard but concentrating brisk, sharp snaps of the brush all along Carrie's ultra-sensitive sit-spot. She was determined to ensure her daughter took the rules seriously; she hoped that every time she sat down for the next few days, she'd be painfully reminded of the consequences of ignoring them. Then, with three HARD swats to each of Carrie's four "spanking zones," her mother brought the spanking to a spectacular finish.

While the girl cried over her mother's lap, Bobby looked on, no longer grinning, but in awe. He couldn't believe the hard spanking his sister had just taken, and he was more than a little proud of her. Her dad, for his part, was impressed with his wife's skill as a disciplinarian. After a few minutes, Carrie's crying had subsided; her mom gently pulled her up to sit (painfully) on her lap and hugged her.

"No more curfew violations, right, Honey?" she said, gently petting Carrie's head.

"No, Mom, I SWEAR!"

Her dad chuckled a little at that, wondering how long the pledge would last. Mom said, "Do you need to use the bathroom before your corner time?"

Carrie blushed and nodded, and her mother helped her to her feet. They watched Carrie walk slowly and stiffly in her disheveled vest and G string toward the bathroom. Her dad picked up the panties that had gone flying during the hairbrush portion of the spanking and hung them on the hook where Carrie would find them.

The Scanlons were firm believers in the efficacy of long post-spanking corner times to drive home the lesson. It was ten-thirty when their daughter emerged from the bathroom; they directed her back to the corner where she would remain until lunchtime. Standing there sniffling with her hands on her head and her bright red bottom on display, she was the very picture of penitence.

Bobby surprised everyone that day. Instead of sitting and gawking at his sister while she suffered in the corner, he went to work, doing the laundry, the yard work, and even some vacuuming. Carrie was released from the corner at noon, happy to have even the hated green panties to cover her bottom. She fully expected to have to spend hours after lunch doing housework. When she discovered that there was little left for her to do than clean her own room, she was so happy that she embarrassed Bobby with a tight hug and a kiss on the forehead. Then she joined the family for lunch, sitting gingerly on the biggest pillow she could find.

She spent the rest of the day in her punishment outfit with the family as required, but she had the unusual luxury of lying down on the couch and taking a much-needed nap. On her stomach, of course.

[End]

Copyright 2010 Carl Philip Michaels