28 years old and about to suffer another spanking. Me, a teacher, every day telling off one student or another, giving them a detention or lines, the one in charge. Here though I am definitely not in charge and am very much subject to a mother daughter discipline regime, and one that involves me being spanked on a very regular basis. I had lost count of the number of times I had been spanked by Beccy but I knew this once again was a well deserved and fully justified spanking. Me the teacher needed to learn how to behave. A difficult process for me though it seemed.
I was learning. When Beccy told me off and pointed to the stairs I put my hand to my mouth to stop myself getting into even more trouble which is just as well as I was sure I was going to tell Mum how unfair she was being and that would have got me far worse than the hairbrush she was going to give me. I turned and went upstairs. I stood for a moment outside Mum’s bedroom thinking about the last few weeks, what they had meant to me, how happy I had been. Taking a deep breath I went to her bedroom as commanded and prepared myself for another hard spanking. I went to the drawer, got out the wooden backed hairbrush that had been used on my bottom so many times, at least not exactly the same one as they only last a few spankings, but there was a ready supply of replacements
Beccy wasn’t my real Mum, not even related actually. Beccy, Mrs Milton, was my first mentor when I started teaching. She took me under her wing and guided me. She was like my Mum then, I was 20 years old and she was 40, but looked much younger than her years. She spoke to me pretty much as my Mum did, almost as an equal most of the time but definitely in charge when she needed to impose her wishes on me. When I was good she was ever so sweet, and when I needed to be told I was doing things badly she was stern but in a motherly way, always having my interest at heart. She was my mentor until she left the school three years later. Now, eight years on I was at another school and what do you know but Mrs Milton turns up as a supply teacher. She came up to me like an old friend and we chatted about how my career had gone, and what she had done, a real nice chin wag as a mum and her daughter might have.
A few days later I was with Beccy, we were on first name terms now, in the staffroom and she told me her daughter, who was my age, had just got married and had gone to live abroad for her new husband’s job and how she missed having her daughter around. I felt sorry for her and as the weeks went by I found myself spending more and more time with Beccy, at the school and then outside. The first time we met up away from school was when she said she was looking for a new party dress and how her daughter used to go with her and that now she would have to make the choice herself. I offered to go with her and she was over the moon. We spent a lovely afternoon together going from shop to shop, stopping for a coffee to get our breaths back and then went to some more shops, and as usual ending up at the first shop and buying one of the first dresses we had seen.
We did some more joint shopping trips, sometimes looking for clothes for Beccy and on other occasions looking for me. We had such fun together, and I looked on her as a friend. One evening we sat in her kitchen having dinner and Beccy looked at me and said seriously, “You are like a daughter to me Laura, thank you.”
The age gap didn’t make any difference at all. It was funny sometimes when we were being served by shop assistants and I might be referred to as “Your daughter,” or Beccy as, “Your Mum,” but we just laughed, not even bothering to explain we were just friends.
“You know what I am Laura don’t you?” Beccy was laughing when I looked quizzical.
“I’m a chummy Mummy.”
It was my turn to laugh. “That’s so cool.” I laughed and said, “Well you are like a Mum to me Beccy,” and laughing I added, “Or should I call you Mum?”
Beccy laughed. “Well I don’t know about that,” then added, “Well it’s up to you Laura, I won’t mind at all.”
“Well, maybe when we are alone then?” I ventured.
“Oh I don’t want to embarrass you in front of your friends Laura,” Beccy said sounding offended.
I did call her Mum after that when we went shopping mainly and I would ask, “What do you think of this top Mum?”
“Too skimpy by far,” Beccy would answer in a motherly tone and would smile as I put it back. The shop assistants assumed we were Mum and daughter anyway.
Most of the time though I still called her Beccy.
Beccy was much taller than me, slim, with flowing blond hair, and she had the most beautiful green eyes that flashed stunningly when she was cross. She looked much younger than her years and always wore smart clothes whether wearing flowing below the knee dresses or jeans or even leggings. A modern mum is how I thought of her, a woman with a forceful personality and with strong views, both about life in general and how I should behave in particular.
We didn’t tell the staff at school, I’m not sure why, but Beccy suggested it would be better not to as they might read other things in to the relationship, and I went along with her, I suppose much as a daughter might bow to her Mum’s greater experience of such matters. Indeed I did enjoy taking on the substitute daughter’s role and I rather think Beccy enjoyed her motherly role.
As I got more comfortable being with Beccy and found the age gap less and less intimidating so I would revert to my ‘quick to judge mode,’ being argumentative and judgemental, none of which Beccy seemed to mind and I just thought it was me and Beccy accepted me with all my faults. At least it didn’t seem so at the time and as she never pulled me back I treated her more like someone my own age who I might argue with maybe snapping at them when they didn’t agree with me and minutes later think nothing of it.
We met up most evenings and weekends and every now and again I would sleepover at Beccy’s. She would make dinner and I would wash up the dinner things and put them away, with the usual daughter, “Must I?” pseudo complaint and her wagging finger pointing me to the sink.
It was after one dinner that I objected more strongly than normal and when Beccy told me to get going and wash up I stamped my foot. Beccy snapped, “Your choice young lady, do the washing up or I’ll give you a spanking.”
I froze and so did Beccy, just for a moment but in that moment she blushed and I blushed, and we knew it was a Freudian moment.
“Sorry,” Beccy said still blushing and looking at the floor.
“No don’t be, I probably earned it.”
“A spanking?” adding after a moment, “At your age?”
It was then I told her about the teacher’s camp and how I had been spanked so often at camp and afterwards and that actually it had done me so much good. Beccy explained that she spanked her daughter on a regular basis and almost up to her wedding night.
Beccy asked, “Then spanking you isn’t such a big deal, I mean I am sure you don’t relish being put across my lap with your knickers pulled down but if it is something you will accept then I will most certainly oblige whenever I think you need one.”
“Well I do like you, a lot, and respect you, and telling you I am spanked was so hard, but now I have told you I reckon actually being spanked is, well, so right I suppose.”
We were silent for a few moments before Beccy said, “Well, accepting me spanking you is a big step and not something I ever expected to do to you, but if I am going to discipline you I want you to know I have always considered spanking an ideal deterrent. It’s quick and direct and I know made my daughter a much better person, a much more responsible adult.”
I knew she was right and as being spanked was now so familiar to me I really didn’t see any issue. I added, “I do want you to discipline me Beccy because I know you will only do it if I really earn it..”
“You will do as I say, no arguing, no back chat, no sulking?” Beccy asked.
“Well I suppose so,” I answered hesitantly adding more definitely, “Yes, of course Beccy.”
“I never ask twice Laura.” Beccy’s tone was stern, probing.
Well I was so in to her, not sexually, but respectful, admiring, looking up to her, wanting to be like her. I asked quietly, “How strict were you with your daughter?”
Beccy knew I wanted to agree but she still answered truthfully, leaving me in no doubt what I would be agreeing to. “I am a very strict Mum, and put her across my lap at least once a week, sometimes more.”
I wasn’t expecting such a clear response, but respected her all the more for it. Of course as I thought I had so regularly pictured myself across Beccy’s lap when in bed, and had often masturbated thinking of her spanking me, and here she was threatening me with exactly that.
I suddenly remembered the reason for starting the conversation and said firmly, “What about me stamping my foot, you can’t spank me for that as I didn’t know then.”
Laura glared at me and said sternly, “What part of no arguing and no back chat didn’t you understand young lady?”
I suppose I understood. What I saw as being self opinionated was really just rude back chat and I knew my fiery mouth was getting me in to deeper and deeper trouble. I stammered, “I mean, well, I didn’t know and you need to let me off that don’t you? Please.” I knew if it was me the teacher listening I would give the student short shrift but when it was me on the receiving end I supposed it was worth the try. It didn’t work though.
Beccy looked cross. “You know actually there have been quite a few times when I would have spanked you if you were my actual daughter.”
“Really, I didn’t realise?” That was true, but I suppose she meant more than likely when I argued with her or was horrible to her when she asked me to do something I didn’t want to do.
Beccy looked sternly at me, crossed her arms, and said, “So Laura I don’t think you should be let off, not if I take in to account all the other times. It will clean the slate of your bad behaviour to date, and from my perspective it will certainly make me feel a lot better if I spank you now and anyway if I am to discipline you then you need to learn not to argue with me.”
Beccy looked so stern and those gorgeous green eyes of hers flashed so, and I knew she was right and had my best interests at heart. “OK,” I agreed sounding reluctant but knowing I probably deserved it, well did deserve it. I suppose my teacher training had taught me the benefit of good behaviour and paying for errors, and being spanked covered all the bases.
Beccy responded quickly, “Right, so you and I will go to my bedroom young lady and whilst I get my hairbrush you will take off your skirt and knickers. Understood?”
I found her so intense, so authoritative, I accepted her demands. I wasn’t looking forward to being spanked, but if she was fair with me then I knew being punished was going to be an ever important part of our chummy mummy friendship. Beccy pointed to the door and I turned to lead the way wondering if she was looking at my bottom as I climbed the stairs in front of her. As we reached the top of the stairs I stopped momentarily, realising that my quick temper has led to me being spanked once again.
Beccy pushed my shoulder and I pressed forward walking in to her bedroom. I stood against the bed and watched her turn her chair in to the room and reckoned that same chair had been the setting of many a spanking before now. Beccy turned to me and said firmly, “Skirt and knickers off young lady then stand by the chair.”
I winced at the instruction but did exactly as I was told whilst watching her go to her chest of drawers and take out a wooden backed hairbrush which she took with her to the chair and sat down as I stepped out of my knickers. She looked intently at me and I wasn’t sure if she saw my pussy, but probably not. She lifted the hairbrush up and let it fall with a slap in to her open palm as I put my skirt and knickers neatly on the bed before stepping over to her and standing to her side looking at her stern face and then down to her skirt covered lap.
“Over my lap young lady,” she snapped, and I bit my lip as I bent down across her lap my hands on the floor and as I looked under the chair I saw my feet on the other side. Beccy was being so firm with me, in a motherly way, and as she rubbed my bottom she scolded me. “You do know how much you have earned this spanking don’t you Laura.”
I took a deep breath as I replied, “Yes and I’m so sorry I upset you.”
“I am sure you are sorry Laura, but believe me you will be much sorrier by the time I am finished.”
Well that told me. I knew what a hard spanking was of course and particularly when a hairbrush is used, but this spanking was going to be different. I didn’t have any of the erotic feelings I had before when spanked by Danielle or Letitia. This was discipline, a mother putting her daughter right, in her place, a punishment to be given to a daughter who deserved to be punished. I wasn’t looking forward to it, not one bit, but I respected Beccy and knew she was doing what was best for me. Sure she said it would make her feel better but that will be a release of her frustration at me for being rude all those times, just as me smacking a student was a release for me. Much more important, to me, was that I needed to learn, wanted to learn, so I would get back in to her good books. I so wanted Beccy to remain my chummy mummy and if being spanked when she decided was what I had to do then I will readily accept my punishment.
Beccy rubbed my bottom until she said, “I have rules Laura, spanking rules. You will not try to cover your bottom, however you can squirm around on my lap and kick your legs, to a degree, in fact the more I can see the spanking is hurting the harder I will spank and the quicker you will be learning your lesson. For the future I will set boundaries for you so you will know when you have earned a spanking. Not strict boundaries but guidelines because I won’t have you ever tell me you haven’t broken a specific rule. The decision to spank you is mine and mine alone.” It was a statement, said firmly, and no answer was expected.
Beccy gave me my first spank and without any gap proceeded to give me spank after spank and as my bottom started to sting so I did start to squirm, ever so slightly to begin with but more and more as the spanking progressed. Beccy was able to keep spanking and her hand didn’t seem to waiver.
It was so different to my other spankings, so hard, and so not sexy. There was no rubbing, no fingers straying down the inside of my thighs or teasing my pussy, but on the other hand as I knew I had earned the spanking it was a ‘proper’ spanking and one that was making me regret my rudeness. After what seemed an already endless spanking I felt her lift up the hairbrush, pat my bottom a couple of times with it, then spank me ever so hard with the wooden paddle. I squirmed and kicked harder and told Beccy how I was going to be good in future and the more I blubbered the harder she spanked and the more I promised to be good and the more it felt like telling off my students, making them want to behave and me teaching them right from wrong.
The spanking ended but I continued crying for quite a while. Still Beccy didn’t rub my bottom but almost immediately she told me, “Now get up and when you are ready you will wash your face and come downstairs.”
I eased myself off her lap and rubbed my bottom like crazy. I saw Beccy through tear filled eyes get up, put the hairbrush back in the drawer, looked only briefly towards me, then left the room. I stood looking at the closed door still rubbing my bottom and feeling very very sorry for myself. 28 years old and just given such a hard spanking and still crying and sobbing and my bottom stung so much. Slowly I recovered my composure and went to the mirror and turned to look at my bottom and even through tear filled eyes I could see how red my bottom was and as I relaxed I felt my bottom rather than rubbing it and was somehow amazed how so warm my bottom felt, and when I pressed the marks I knew they were bruises that would be sore for ages.
I thought over the discussion before the spanking. Had I really been so rude to Beccy? I hoped I hadn’t been but I suppose I was normally very short with people so guessed I probably was rude and Beccy was unhappy with me. The last thing I wanted though was to upset Beccy, my friend, my chummy mummy as she called me. It was bad to upset a friend and I had so often regretted my short temper when I argued with friends my own age, it was far worse upsetting Beccy as she was older than me and I respected her and really I should thank her for taking me to task as she did. Yes, she was right. I know my friends got frustrated with my attitude but Beccy was more experienced and had a daughter who she took to task by spanking her and so knew the benefit of a good spanking, and here I was regretting my attitude and knowing that Beccy only had my best interests at heart.
I went to the bathroom and washed my face, looked again at my very red bottom before stepping in to my knickers and easing the elastic over my bottom, gasping as I let the elastic go, and allowed a few moments to let the stinging settle down before putting my skirt back on.
I smiled at myself in the mirror before leaving the bathroom making my way downstairs and finding Beccy in the living room sitting in an armchair reading the paper. She looked up at me and when I smiled she smiled back but waited for me to speak. I went over to her looked at her and said, “I am so sorry Beccy and know I deserved my spanking.”
Beccy smiled as she stood up towering above me it seemed and said, “Give me a hug then,” and I threw myself at her my arms around her neck as she pulled me close to her rubbing my back, making me feel secure. We clung on to each other and gently swayed and in those moments felt closer to her than ever before.
After quite a while Beccy pulled her head back and looked at me sternly, “Now we know you understand you needed to be spanked and you will accept my discipline in future Laura.”
I smiled, well half smiled, felt pensive, nodded, and answered, “Yes, I know.” After a short gap I added, “I don’t suppose I’ll get it right straight away though.”
Beccy gave me a broad grin and replied, “Don’t worry about that Laura, I expect you will need to go across my lap again, many many times in fact.”
That was an understatement. I tried to be less sharp but lost my cool so often I found myself being put across Beccy’s lap at least once a week and every time promised Beccy and promised myself to be more respectful as I looked once again in the mirror and saw my reddened bottom and knew I had fully deserved each and every spanking.
We stayed on very good terms, just like a Mum and her daughter, and when I was good Beccy laughed and smiled and gave me hugs and kisses. Then I snapped at her and froze as Beccy’s face turned stern, she would say, “Go to my bedroom and wait for me young lady,” and without even attempting to argue I ran upstairs, groaning, feeling sorry for myself, even got the hairbrush out and turned the chair in to the room, and waited for the unmistakeable sound of Beccy walking up the stairs.
Half an hour later and very chastened I would be in the bathroom looking at my red bottom, still crying, before getting dressed going back downstairs, telling Beccy I was sorry, and gratefully accepting her hugs and kisses and thankful she still wanted to be my friend. Over the weeks and months I know my attitude improved and being spanked most certainly made me a better person. Every now and again we would discuss our relationship and Beccy said how thankful she was I knew how she was helping me and whilst I still found being spanked humiliating but she kept my discipline a private matter which I really appreciated.
Beccy worked at the school for months and no one knew of our friendship outside school and certainly no one knew Beccy disciplined me, but when I snapped at someone when Beccy heard me she waited until we were alone, would take me by the upper arm, lean in towards my ear and hiss, “When we get home we will be going to my bedroom before dinner.”
I would nod, accept her decision, spend the rest of the day trying so hard to be on my best behaviour, sit in the car chatting as happily as I could, whilst Beccy spoke as though it was just so normal, until we got home, closed the front door, and Beccy pointed to the stairs and the discipline had started.
Week after week was the same, I was pleasant and friendly most of the time, would snap for no good reason, Beccy got cross, I got spanked, cried, rubbed my bottom, apologised, exchanged hugs, and we moved on. I never held it against Beccy, why should I? She was doing me a favour because as time went on I realised I snapped less, was less self-opinionated, and was actually liked more by my friends.