by Frank Martinet
Samara was a quiet geeky girl who didn't get spanked more than once a month. Even then it was usually for forgetting to do her chores or something else she'd promised to do. She would just get so involved in a science experiment or a book that she'd lose track of time.
It was carelessness, her mother would say, and attack her daughter's bottom with her trusty bath brush. She was always ruthless and thorough, leaving Samara with a bottom that glowed for half the night and was still tender the next day.
Such events were embarrassing and depressing, not to mention painful, but since they were relatively rare Samara didn't think much about them. Except there were times when the spanking rate increased. It happened so subtly that it didn't really register and it wasn't until she was age 16 that she saw the pattern.
As May approached she sighed and braced herself for the 'Spanking Season'. As school ended for the summer and for the first few weeks of its resumption in the fall, Samara would get spanked more often. A lot more often. Like every week!
She wasn't sure why this happened, since she thought of herself as a good girl and didn't think her behavior changed that much from the school year. But then she had homework and classes to keep her distracted and out of trouble. In the summer, it was as though all rules went out the window.
For instance, in the summer she could date whenever she wanted since there were no school nights, and her curfew was midnight instead of 10 p.m. This was a good thing, except Samara had a terrible habit of coming home late. She'd get wrapped up in the emotions of the date and forget, or she'd just be having too much fun to want it to end. Sometimes she managed to get away with it, but all too often her mother was waiting with a grim expression and tapping that nasty bath brush against her palm.
Similarly, Samara found it even harder in the summer to do her assigned chores. There was much more fun stuff to do and it seemed like emptying the garbage, doing laundry, or unloading the dishwasher could wait a few minutes. Her experiments in the summer were more complicated and time consuming, so it was easy for her to forget planned events and schedules, especially when not that much was going on.
She also tended to have more conflict with her mother, who worked from home as a financial consultant. With more time together the two naturally irritated each other, so that periodically Samara would lose it and say something rude, slam her door, or storm out of the house in a fit of teenage rage. All these things earned her a sore bottom later, after she'd calmed down.
It was though without the boundaries of school and the structure that provided, Samara became a normal teenage girl. During school she rarely hung out with boys, concentrating on her studies, but in the summer she spent hours at the beach in her bikini enjoying the looks her developing body attracted.
She was a pretty girl, tiny but voluptuous, with wonderful curves. During school her round face was hidden behind thick black hair and glasses, and her clothes were shapeless and conservative.
She never even realized there was a change, but in the summer she liked to wear her hair in a pony tail, she wore a swimsuit or shorts, and suddenly boys were noticing her. Since she wasn't accustomed to their interest, she was flattered and tended to get a bit drunk on all the attention, causing her to flaunt her mother's strict regulations.
The result was that when May came and school dwindled to a close, Samara's time across her mom's lap increased dramatically. Soon she was visiting those legs once a week, her shorts and panties around her ankles and her big bottom getting smashed repeatedly by the flat round head of the long-handled bath brush her mom used for all punishments.
Samara also hadn't paid enough attention to notice that her summer spankings tended to be longer and harder than her winter ones. Those were certainly no picnic, but during spanking season her corrections were applied with more vigor and lasted an extra minute or two.
It really shouldn't be a surprise that Samara failed to note this, because by that juncture of a spanking the pain was excruciating and she had more important things on her mind than watching a clock or counting the smacks her poor bottom received. Usually by then she was a sobbing mess too exhausted to even kick or struggle, a limp doll across her mother's legs.
It was in the corner time afterward as Samara slowly became aware of her surroundings again, that she'd think, "Wow, Mom really gave it to me this time!" Of course, she'd assume that was because it was her third time being punished for leaving the bathroom a mess in the past two years. It never occurred to her that summer spankings were, in general, more severe.
While some girls might have resented this increase in discipline that happened every year, that was not Samara's nature. She wasn't a fan of her mother's bath brush, that was for certain, and she definitely hated the humiliation of trekking to the master bedroom to bare her bottom for a spanking, but she understood that spankings were a direct consequence of her behavior and that negative reinforcement was a proven behavioral incentive. In short, spankings were good for her, and she only got them when she deserve them. If that happened more often in the summer, then that was just the way it was.
So Samara carried on; she tried to be obedient, failed, and was punished. The next week she went through the same experience again. It was just what happened during Spanking Season.
She was actually far more bothered by the prospect of someone noticing her red bottom through her bikini bottoms or shorts. Her activities sometimes had to change last minute when her ass was too blistered for her to dare wear a tiny swimsuit. Often she'd beg her mom to save the spanking until the weekend.
"You can spank me extra," she'd beg. "Please, just postpone my punishment for a few days."
Often her mother granted the request, especially if it was already late in the week. Samara's butt paid a heavy price for such delays, of course. Her mother took her at her word when she promised extras and took full advantage of every additional swipe. Her mother wasn't mean or cruel, just no-nonsense, practical, and determined to raise a well-bred daughter.
Initially Samara's spankings were always with that awful bath brush. At one time, when she was in her early teens, she'd gotten punished with a regular wooden hairbrush, but in later years she'd graduated to the more severe implement. With its foot-long length it had leverage that allowed her mother to spank ferociously with little effort, and when she really wanted to impart some sting, she could just swing harder and Samara would think she was being murdered.
A typical spanking involved about two minutes of steady smacking per buttock; this was enough for the three-inch round brush head to impact every inch of each cheek several times, leaving both buns generously pink or steaming red, depending on how hard her mother swung. By age 16, Samara's spankings were quite sound, leaving a deep crimson that was hard to pass off as a mere sunburn if someone happened to notice some red peeking out below her bikini hemline.
For years Samara assumed that brush was her mother's only spanking implement; it had never even occurred to her that there were other possibilities. But that summer when she was 16, she discovered otherwise.
As mentioned, during Spanking Season she averaged a spanking a week - but that was only the median, which meant that sometimes she got more and sometimes less. Getting punished twice in one week was horrible, especially if the spankings happened in close proximity, for she'd still be sore from the first while receiving the second. She thought that was terrible - until she learned there was a worse possibility.
It so happened that one day she earned two spankings on the same day. The first happened in mid-afternoon, when she complained too much about her mother's "dry" tuna salad sandwich. They'd had tuna every day that week (tuna had been on sale) and Samara was sick of it. Her mother was sick of hearing her daughter complain. Samara was warned, but didn't heed, and soon found herself begging to eat tuna if only her mother would stop paddling her bare bottom!
The teen's afternoon was ruined, for she couldn't go swimming with her friends with a butt the color of the inside of a watermelon. She lay on her belly on her bed with a fan pointed at her bare bottom and sulked instead. She was bitter and in a foul mood, which led her to making the serious mistake of sneaking out without telling her mother where she was going. When she didn't return for supper, her mom was beside herself with worry, and soon spitting mad.
Late that evening Samara returned, somewhat worried, but thinking that since she'd already been spanked that day she was immune from a second. Instead she found her mother waiting in the living room. Not with the dreaded bath brush, but with something new: a stiff strip of hardened leather used in the old days to sharpen razors. Her mother called it a 'strop' and said she was going to use it on Samara's bare bottom.
Naturally, Samara protested, but to no avail. Soon she found herself sans jeans and panties, bent over the back of the sofa, her legs so short the toes barely grazed the carpet.
"If you move or put your hands back, the lick won't count and I'll repeat it," announced her mother sternly. Samara only dimly registered this, full of apprehension and nerves. She had no idea if the strop was worse than the brush or not. It seemed impossible, since the bath brush hurt so much, but without experiencing the strop, she didn't know.
Then her ass was lit up with a bright sting that was as blinding as the sun. Samara screamed and promptly put her hands back to grab and massage her fiery bottom. She was instantly reminded that the lash hadn't counted.
Thus began Samara's new adventures with the strop. Tasting the leather for the first time was not a fun experience. Her bottom was still warm and tender from her brushing that afternoon, so she wasn't sure if the strop was that much worse or if it just hurt so much because she was already sore. Either way, she got it good.
Her mother gave her 30 licks. At least that was the plan. But Samara couldn't stay in position and couldn't stop putting her hands back, so she earned herself 15 repeats. That meant 45 lashes to her sizzling buttocks and every one felt like it was ripping the skin off her ass. She'd never wept so much even during the worst brush paddling.
"The strop does less bruising," said her mother, afterward, as she studied the reddened streaks across her daughter's buns. "If you ever earn a second spanking on the same day, I'll use the strop."
Samara vowed that would never happen again. She was confident in her words and no doubt tried her best to behave, but she was an impulsive 16 and it was summer. Three more times during that Spanking Season she earned a session with the strop. By October she could actually endure 30 lashes with only a few repeats, so the practice had helped.
Not to be reposted, reproduced or distributed, in part or whole.