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THE SPANKING OF TEENAGE DAUGHTERS - BOOK THREE

by Grace Brackenridge


Spanking the Number One Daughter

Monica sits next to me on my bed.

"I'm his real daughter," I complain to my stepmother." I don't see why he likes Crystal better."

I guess that must sound paradoxical, because down the hall in Crystal's bedroom...

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

That's the sound of Daddy's palm.

"Wha-aaa-aah-ahh-hhh-hhH-hHH-HHH!"

And that's Crystal, my stepsister.

"Don't say that, Ariel," Monica says reproachfully, putting her arms around my shoulders. "Your father loves you both equally. Just like I love you both equally."

I roll my eyes.

I know that's what parents and stepparents are supposed to say in blended families. But that's just not true. It's never true.

My stepsister and I are both 13, thin, with big eyes and long hair. But Crystal is a blue-eyed blonde, like Monica. I have rich black hair and large brown eyes, like my late mother.

Everybody knows men prefer blondes. Including Daddy.

"Daddy and Crystal just seem closer," I whine. "Even though I'm the good one."

"Honey, this will sound strange," Monica tells me. "Crystal's sassiness gets her spanked. And a spanking is based on a very special connection."

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"Can't argue with that," I concede.

"Spankings actually pull your father and Crystal closer together."

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"Bwa-aaa-aah-ahh-hhh-hhH-hHH-HHH!"

"Monica, I just find that hard to believe. That doesn't sound like closeness to me."


Before Daddy married Monica, he never spanked me.

Apparently, Crystal's bio-dad spanked her quite a bit. After Daddy became Crystal's custodial stepdad, he took over where her bio-dad left off.

Daddy spanked me for the first time shortly after his remarriage. I was 12 at the time.

My spankings didn't go well. I wasn't used to spankings. Baring my bottom was humiliating. And it hurt!

After two or three spankings during the three months of the marriage, Daddy stopped spanking me altogether.

But Crystal kept getting spanked every week or so.

Lately, she gets it more.


"Your father has gotten a lot better at spanking," Monica explains. "The best father-daughter communication comes right after a spanking. Oddly, spankings build a special bond."

"How do you know all this?" I ask suspiciously. "Those times Daddy spanked me, I didn't feel any special kind of bond at all. In fact, spankings made me mad at him."

Don't get me wrong. I love Monica. But I guess I feel a bit aloof and suspicious. I already lost one mom. Losing another parent would just kill me. Besides, part of me feels maybe Monica wants Daddy to like Crystal best, anyway.

So why is Monica pushing spankings on me?

"In the beginning, your father really didn't know how to spank," Monica explains. "Oh, he was fine with the mechanics. He knew how to do the physical part of a good, hard spanking. But that's just instinctual."

I nod. I don't know what people mean by 'good' spankings. But the few I got from Daddy were sure 'hard!'

"But your father didn't know about the therapeutic dimension of spanking. Especially the therapy of spanking girls. And adolescent girls are especially tricky."

"How do you know all this, Monica?"

"Well, I am a child therapist," Monica chuckles. "But more importantly, I had a wonderful spanking relationship with my dad and my stepdad. All the way through high school. So I've been coaching your father."

"Coaching?"

"Yes, in the beginning, your father spanked and left you and Crystal to cry it off by yourselves."

"That part's true!" I say bitterly.

"Not anymore," says my stepmom. "You ever notice how long your father stays in Crystal's room after he spanks her? Like right now?"

"Yes!" I exclaim, my envy obvious.

"Don't you wonder what's going on right now? Behind Crystal's closed door?"

Feigning indifference, I shrug. "Yeah."

"Communication, Ariel. Deep, heartfelt communication. Crystal really opens up after a good, hard spanking."

"Really?"

"Yes, it's easier for a father to understand and empathize with his daughter when the communication is open and free flowing. Ariel, may I ask you a very personal question?"

"Sure."

"When was the last time you had a good heart-to-heart talk with your father?"

For some reason, the question makes tears well up and run down my cheeks. "I can't remember."

"When was the last time you told your father your deepest, darkest fears? Your secrets?"

"Monica!" I say irritably. "I'm 13! I don't even know what my deepest, darkest fears are!"

"Of course you don't!" she laughs gently, giving me a hug. "That's the beautiful hidden secret of spankings for teenage girls. A spanking is like sodium pentothal."

"What's that?"

"Truth serum. The biochemistry is fascinating. When a teenage girl is spanked, endorphins flow."

"What are dorphins?"

"En-dorphins. They are chemicals in the nervous system that pass signals along the electrical pathways in the brain, called neurons. Endorphins are naturally occurring chemicals that feel like opium or heroin."

"So endorphins feel good?"

"Very much so!"

I'm puzzled. "So spankings make endorphins. And endorphins make you feel good. So spankings are supposed to feel good?"

"Well," laughs my stepmother, "it's more complex than that. But during a good, hard spanking, emotional defenses can collapse. You're totally vulnerable to the spanking. Powerless. And that powerless feeling can set you free."

"Really? For everybody? Personally, I hate spankings."

"Of course you do. With Crystal, it's more like a love-hate relationship. While she hates the physical pain of a spanking, part of her knows she needs the emotional release. Post-spanking communication is so rewarding. Crystal feels drawn to the very thing that repels her. Does that make any sense?"

"No!"

"Well, let me coach you. Let's just suppose - for the sake of argument - suppose your father comes down the hall. Imagine he's going to spank you, just as soon as he gets done with Crystal."

"We're just pretending, right?"

"Yes, this is all hypothetical."

"Okay."

"Let's make me the mean, old stepmother in this scenario. I tell your father that you've been moody lately. Withdrawn. Depressed. I tell your Daddy that what you need is a good, hard spanking. Okay?"

"Okay, as long as we're just pretending."

"Your father comes in," Monica continues. "He asks what's going on with you. How would you answer that?"

"I dunno."

"Exactly. You do not know why you're moody and depressed. So he tells you that you need to snap out of it. What would you say back?"

I shrug. "I would have to say, 'snap out of what, Dad?'"

"Perfect answer!" says Monica, giving me an encouraging squeeze. "Your father says that he doesn't like your attitude one bit. And you say, 'What attitude?' And he says that what you need is a good, hard spanking."

"Okay," I say. "Then what?"

"This is where I need to coach you. At this point, you need to surrender. Don't fight your dad. Just let him do what he needs to do."

"And what is that exactly?" I ask, confused.

"He's going to give you a good, hard spanking."

"But..."

"Just hear me out, Ariel. What your father does with his palm and your behind is not the important part. It's how you process the spanking. That's the key. That's the secret of spankings that your stepsister understands on an intuitive level. She doesn't fight the spanking. She flows with the spanking."

"What's flow?"

"That means you just set your emotions free. Your brain has all kinds of secrets tucked away. If you let the biochemistry of the spanking work its magic, then those secrets are set free. You can't force it. You've got to just let all your feelings flow out of the spanking experience."

I shake my head. "That all sounds so confusing."

"Yes, a teenage girl needs to acquire the skill set needed to take a good, hard spanking. It may not work the first time. Or the second time. But if you surrender - if you submit, if you don't hold back - something magical can come out of the other end."

"Sounds complicated," I confess.

"Don't overthink it, Ariel. Your brain and your body know what to do. It's your sense of control that gets in the way. Naturally, no teen wants to let somebody else subject her to intense physical pain. But that's what you need to do."

I shrug. "Okay."

Of course, that's not okay with me. But we're just pretending, so why not?

"Okay," says Monica, "your spanking is over. Your bottom is throbbing. Burning. Stinging. You're sobbing. Your daddy sits you on his lap. He holds you close."

"Daddy never did that - those other times."

"No, your father didn't know how to spank back then. But now he does."

"Okay," I say. "Then what happens?"

"That depends on you. I can coach you for this part. Daddy has already spanked you. Good and hard. Your father and I agreed to this. As a teenage girl, the spanking clears your account. The spanking clears you for the thing your father spanked you for. The spanking also clears you for anything else you mention."

She laughs. "You're lucky. As an adult, I'm not off the hook with just a spanking."

I laugh, because the idea of Daddy spanking Monica is just ridiculous.

"What do you mean by everything?" I'm confused but fascinated, too.

"Okay, let's go back to the scenario. Daddy just spanked you because your mean, old stepmom made him do it. In addition, you smoked marijuana."

"No I haven't!" I exclaim.

Then I blush.

I think maybe I protest too much. Monica winks at me.

"Ariel, we're just pretending!" she laughs. "But my point is this. Now is the time to tell Daddy about the pot. Daddy already spanked you. This is your 'free zone.' You confess. The spanking automatically clears you."

I shrug.

"But most importantly, Ariel, you can talk about it. Maybe you worry about one of your pot-smoking friends narcing on you. Now is the time to enlist your father's help."

"Okay, I think I get it."

"Here's the most important thing, Ariel. And this is what's going on down the hall as we speak. When Crystal enlists your father as her helper - as her protector - Crystal and your father form this tight, tight bond."

With her left arm around me, Monica reaches out with her right hand. She folds them together just inches from my nose. She squeezes them tightly.

"That's what's happening right now, Ariel. That's what goes on behind Crystal's bedroom door when your father spanks."

For some inexplicable reason, I start to sob.

Mommy's dead. And now Crystal is stealing my daddy away. I am abandoned and alone. I feel so, so lost.

Monica gently helps me lie down on my bed.

She snuggles up close to me, holding me close to her bosom.

"Go ahead and cry, honey. It's always darkest before the dawn. Don't worry, baby. Everything will get better. You'll see."

"Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" I sob.

In my despair, I'm reaching out to my late mother.

But as I cling tightly to Monica, I realize I'm not reaching out to her ashes in an urn at the family crypt. I'm not reaching out to her fading memory.

I'm reaching out to the soft, gentle living person who's now holding me in her arms.

Even though it's only 9 o'clock on a Friday evening, I feel sleepy.

I'm vaguely aware when Monica gently pulls her arm out from under my head.

It feels nice when she drapes a blanket over me, even though I'm still dressed in my green plaid skirt and white blouse from school. She pulls the blanket down so my bare feet won't get cold.

I hear the light switch click.

My room is black.


In my dream, Mommy takes the lighter away from me.

I'm six in the dream, because that's how old I was when it happened.

"Ariel, I'm so very, very disappointed in you."

At the same time, Mrs. O'Connell takes my playmate Mary over her lap.



© Grace Brackenridge
Not to be reposted, reproduced or distributed, in part or whole.