by Grace Brackenridge
"Well, look at this way," 13-year-old Summer Martin said into the phone, twiddling the spiral cord with her big toe, "you got it all behind you now. Sometimes I think maybe a spanking is better than grounding."
Summer's best friend Brianna Gallagher had called for a little sympathy. And this is what she got?
The spanking had been truly brutal, because Brianna's stepdad was pissed while he did it. Even if it was just candy at the 7-Eleven, Brianna's stepdad runs a security company. Shoplifting made him look bad and feel mad when he whipped that belt out through the loops.
"Easy for you to say," sniffled Brianna, her cheeks still stinging from her whipping just 25 minutes ago. "If spankings are so great, why don't you get them?"
"Custody agreement," Summer replied. "Mom did it to get even with dad and Monica. Dad agreed not to spank me, in exchange for a cut in child support. So when I'm here, no spankings."
"What about with your mom?"
"Threatens," Summer replied. "Never follows through. The last time I got spanked was when I was eight. Before the divorce."
"Well, if you just finished taking off your jeans, like I did, and you look up from the bed where you're sitting, like I did, and see this big fat Irish cop wannabe lifting his belt up high over his head, like I did, well, you'd be lucky if you kept your wits about you too, and rolled over so you got it just on the butt."
"Like you did?"
"Like I did," Brianna confirmed.
"Well, I'm looking at being stuck in this stupid bedroom for the next two days, with my sweet old stepmother downstairs gloating, so right now a spanking sounds like a pretty good deal."
"You'd sing a different tune, Summer, if something happened to you like the something that happened to me."
Sensing no sympathy from her best friend, Brianna said her mother was calling, which she wasn't, and hung up.
"You might think I'm gloating downstairs," said Summer's stepmother, Monica Martin, suddenly materializing in the teen's bedroom door, leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed. "But I'm just outside your door, thinking it's no picnic for me either, making sure you stay in this room for the next 48 hours. I'm just as grounded as you are."
With her dark brown eyes, black wavy hair and a tall, lithe body, Monica would never be mistaken for the biological mother of Summer, with her blue eyes, straight sandy blond hair, and round face.
Indeed, at 13, Summer was maturing rapidly ... her round hips, tapered waist, and budding breasts seemed accentuated by her tiny stature. At 5 foot and 91 pounds, Summer was at about the twentieth percentile for teenage girls her age.
"No can do," Summer said smugly. "Check the visitation rights."
"Applies to your dad but not to me," Monica said confidently. "Since he's out of town on a case, I'm in loco parentis, meaning I can act like any generic parent, without regard to a divorce decree to which I am not a party."
"Meaning what?" asked Summer, impressed as always with her stepmother's keen legal mind.
Monica smiled and elaborated.
The marriage of Edgar and Monica Martin was the denouement of one of those law-partner-becomes-enamored-with-recent-law-school-grad romances, so common in corporate law firms. At the time of the affair, Edgar was still married to Summer's mother and still living in the same house as his daughter.
An aggressive, young lawyer with considerable talent and smart, Monica nevertheless wanted to marry a partner. She liked the things a law partner could buy for her.
She especially liked the BMW Z4 convertible roadster that Edgar gave her, as well as the De Beers diamond engagement ring she found in the glove box.
While Edgar was giving these things to Monica, he missed Summer's birthday party, after promising he would be there.
Unfortunately for Summer, Monica got precisely the kind of husband she wanted, a partner but took away Summer's daddy for ten months out of every year. And even during visitation, Summer wasn't guaranteed a lot of quality time with Daddy.
Because Edgar Martin was a very busy, successful lawyer.
Also successful in her own right, Monica Martin chafed whenever childcare duties were thrust upon her. But she was savvy enough to calculate the points she accrued whenever she stepped in as stepmother and sacrificed a little slice of her professional advancement to care for Summer.
Edgar was always appreciative. Not only was his new, young wife a 'trophy', a stunning beauty even in her corporate business attire, she was a competent lawyer. On top of that, Monica was good in bed.
Edgar knew his new wife well enough to know that Monica disapproved of Summer. Indeed, Summer's mother was excessively permissive, but Edgar didn't want visitations to be remembered by his daughter as the two months out of the year that she was subjected to spankings. Edgar made Monica agree verbally to use time-outs, grounding, loss of allowance, and extra chores as punishments.
But no spankings.
The 'no spank' understanding between Summer's father and Monica was never explained to Summer.
However, Summer was a smart little girl. Monica understood this.
The stepmother just assumed that Summer must suspect that Monica was bound by some such verbal contract.
Many times, Summer must have sensed that Monica wanted to spank the living daylights out of this cherubic little spawn of Satan that some evil force dumped in her lap every Memorial Day.
Monica understood that Summer would squeal to Daddy if Monica spanked the spoiled little brat. And then all the points that Monica accrued taking care of Summer would be erased in an instant.
"You can't spank me," said Summer smugly.
"But I'm not talking about a forced spanking," Monica continued. "I'm looking for a win-win here. You said you'd rather be spanked than grounded. I'd rather spank you than sit around here for the next 48 hours."
Summer shrugged.
"So I spank you," Monica declared. "You aren't grounded any more. The shoplifting incident and the spanking will be our little secrets."
Summer put her finger to her lip, contemplating... Her first spanking since she was eight... First spanking from her stepmother... As any good lawyer would tell you, Monica's spanking would establish a bad precedent for Summer's future discipline... Except Monica could only spank her if Summer agreed first...
"You've got exactly one minute, Summer," said her stepmother, looking at her watch. "Sixty seconds. I'm going to get something I need. When I come back, I want a yes or a no to the spanking alternative. Otherwise, the deal is off the table."
After her stepmother left, Summer cocked her head to one side and then the other, weighing the pros and cons...
Monica didn't like Summer one bit... Monica would probably deliver a very sound spanking... At least Monica wouldn't use a paddle, like that time when Summer was eight... At least Monica wouldn't spank her on her bare bottom, like that time when Summer was eight and she played with matches behind the garage and started that little fire...
Still, a spanking is a spanking... While a spanking may seem like a quick fix and a good deal in the abstract, the actual act of going over Monica's lap scared her...
"Time's up," said Monica from the doorway, her large black-handled hairbrush in hand. "That's exactly... 60 seconds. So what's it going to be, kiddo? A spanking or the next two days stuck in this bedroom? Your dad informed of the 7-Eleven incident? Or kept in the dark?"
"Monica, please! More time. I just can't decide."
"Nope," said Monica, turning away, "You had 60 seconds and now it's gone. My offer is off the table."
"No, please!" said Summer, panic in her voice. "Okay, yes. I say yes. I say spank me."
"Too late," said Monica, pausing to reply over her shoulder as she stepped away. "Like I said, the offer is off the table."
She turned to leave again but then... almost as an afterthought... Monica turned and said, "Here's my counter-offer. Because you delayed, this offer will be less attractive to you. This is my new deal. You take your spanking right now. You pull your jeans down for me. You go over my lap with no resisting. And I use this on your bare behind."
Monica held up her brush.
Summer gasped.
The punishment sketched by Monica was nearly identical to the spanking her father gave Summer with his little paddle for starting that little fire out behind the garage. That spanking was the only one Edgar Martin ever applied to Summer's bare derriere.
That spanking was the most horrible spanking of Summer's entire childhood.
With that dreadful hairbrush, Monica would be able to recreate that trauma, stroke for stroke.
"And," Monica said coldly, "you have 10 seconds to decide... 9... 8... 7... 6... 5... 4... 3..."
"Okay, okay!" Summer gasped, still totally conflicted. "The spanking! I'll take it your way. Whatever you say."
In less than 15 seconds, Monica had sat on Summer's bed, pulling her stepdaughter to her feet.
In less than 30 seconds, Summer had wiggled her tight jeans down to her knees.
In less than 5 seconds, Monica had Summer over her lap.
In less than 3 seconds, Monica had Summer's panties down below her buns.
In less than 2 seconds, the hairbrush came down...
SMACK!
"Yeowww-www!" squealed Summer, realizing that this spanking would be just as awful as Daddy's spanking five years ago.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
Monica made her hairbrush fly, spanking nearly twice a second with great vigor, delivering two dozen strokes in under 30 seconds, impressing oval splotches all over Summer's shapely but miniature buns.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
In less than 20 seconds, Monica lifted a sobbing Summer off her stepmother's lap and onto her sheets, bottom up.
Monica turned to leave, pleased with the bargain she had brokered, and the soundness of the spanking she had administered.
But something about that sobbing brat resonated with memories and images deep in her own psyche...
As a child, Monica had received severe spankings for any misconduct.
But most cruel was the rule that each grade lower than an 'A' on her report card earned a separate spanking.
Monica remembered the loneliness of sobbing in her bed after a spanking, all alone.
Nobody had ever comforted Monica after her spankings.
Listening to Summer's sobs, she remembered her own longing for comfort and forgiveness.
The stepmother sensed the loneliness in Summer's shuddering shoulders of her soundly spanked stepdaughter; Monica sat at the bed's edge and simply rubbed the girl's shoulders.
Monica recalled the words she wished somebody had said to her in her loneliness.
"It's okay to cry, Summer. Let it all out. I forgive you and I still love you..."
As the 'L' word passed through Monica's lips, she realized she hardly ever said she loved Summer.
Monica also appreciated that life must be hard for Summer. The teen adored her father, but Edgar Martin had always put his own career and his own happiness ahead of Summer's. Indeed, Monica wouldn't be married to Edgar if she hadn't been able to seduce him while he was still married to Summer's mom.
"I love you, Summer. And that shoplifting incident is behind us. A girl's secret. It's okay, Summer."
Monica soothed the teen with her words as her long fingers massaged the girl's shoulder.
When Summer's sobs gave way to sniffles and hiccups, the two talked for over an hour. About everything.
After dinner, Monica got out her collection of old videotapes. Monica sat at one end of the sofa while Summer lay with her head on her stepmother's lap. They watched an old Humphrey Bogart movie.
Not to be reposted, reproduced or distributed, in part or whole.