Shannon trudged up the stairs, dragging reluctant
feet that suddenly seemed to be made of lead. Her
destination was the upstairs bathroom, where she was to
fetch the big, old-fashioned wooden hairbrush and bring it
back down to where her family was waiting -- not just her
immediate family, her mom and sister Megan and
stepfather Henry, but also Henry's brother Ron, Ron's wife
Kate, and their children, 13-year-old Kevin, and Liz, who at
18 was the same age as Shannon.
From the first time Shannon had heard that Uncle
Ron and his family were coming for Thanksgiving dinner,
she had been upset. Her stepcousin Liz went to the same
high school she did, and although their paths rarely
crossed at school, Shannon had seen enough of her there,
and at family gatherings, to develop a strong dislike for
her. Liz was an "Eddie Haskell" type of teenager,
nauseatingly polite to adults but a hell-raiser when she
was away from them. Liz bragged of her exploits to
Shannon -- smoking, drinking, drugs, sex, she'd tried them
all. She was supercilious, condescending, and insulted
Shannon at every turn. And then they'd get around adults
again and Liz would become the perfect, well-mannered
little angel, brownnosing like crazy and being held up to
Shannon as a good example at every turn.
It was infuriating.
Up until dinnertime, Thanksgiving day had gone
pretty much as Shannon had expected. She had worn her
new holiday dress, a darling Victorian-inspired Laura
Ashley design in a small floral print with big puffed sleeves
and a full, calf-length skirt belled out by three layers of
petticoats. She had even gotten underwear to match the
nineteenth century look: a lace-trimmed camisole and
pantalets, both of a fine linen, along with white stockings
and old-fashioned button-up shoes. She had curled her
long, chestnut-colored hair and tied it up with a bow to
match the dress. She had adored the outfit -- until Liz
showed up, sophisticated in a raw silk pantsuit, and told
her that it made her look like an overgrown child.
The morning continued in that way, with Liz at her
most patronizing, ridiculing Shannon at every turn, making
her feel gauche and unsophisticated. By the time they sat
down to the dining room table for dinner, Shannon was
fuming -- and Liz's silken compliments to Shannon's
mother about the decorations and the food set her teeth on
edge. Especially when, under cover of the adult's noisy
conversation, Liz continued to slip snide comments to
Shannon. She grew angrier and angrier, until finally when
Liz murmured, "Really, Shannon, a girl your age should
know how to tell the difference between a salad fork and a
dinner fork," she blew. "Will you just shut the fuck up?"
There was a sudden, shocked silence at the table
that made Shannon realize what she'd just said, and both
hands flew to cover her mouth. Desperately she wished
she could take back the words, but they couldn't be
recalled. She glanced over at Liz and saw the look of
smug satisfaction on her face. Finally, Shannon forced
herself to look over at her stepfather Henry.
He looked even grimmer than she had thought he
would, and she felt her insides twist with apprehension.
When he spoke, there were no words of reprimand, no
demands for apologies. He didn't even raise his voice.
He just fixed her with his most no-nonsense glare and
softly but firmly spoke the five words she most dreaded to
hear: "Shannon, go get the hairbrush."
Knowing protests to be useless, and wanting
nothing more at that moment than to escape the staring
eyes of their guests, Shannon flew from the room. But
when she reached the staircase, her steps slowed. She
had to force herself to keep moving, knowing that delays
would only make Henry angrier. But when she reached the
bathroom, opened the drawer, and picked up the hairbrush,
she paused again. She felt its substantial weight in her
hand, rubbed her finger over the smooth wooden surface
that had so often made sharp and painful contact with her
bottom, and the image of the brush blurred as tears filled
her eyes. It just wasn't fair. Liz had used foul language all
day. In fact, she had used the word "fuck" so often that it
had begun to sound almost normal to Shannon, which
accounted at least in part for why she had blurted it out so
unthinkingly. But she knew it wouldn't help matters to
mention that fact. Probably nobody would believe her in
the first place, and even if they did, Henry would just say
that it didn't excuse Shannon's behavior. She knew there
was no escape from what was to come.
Henry had been married to Shannon's mother for
three years now. When he had first come to live with them,
Shannon was fourteen, and she ran wild, her passive
mother seemingly helpless to control her headstrong,
spirited daughter. Henry tolerated her behavior for a few
months, but finally he decided to crack down. He tried
various punishments -- grounding, withholding allowances,
assigning extra chores, even making her write lines -- but
they had had little impression on Shannon. Finally he had
tried spanking, but the first paddlings were across
Shannon's jeans, and although they had been somewhat
humiliating and they had hurt, the sting wore off quickly
enough. Then Shannon had been caught cutting school,
and, knowing that the spanking she would get would
probably be unusually severe, she decided to pad her
jeans with a washcloth.
Henry was extremely angry when, alerted by the
soft thuds of the hairbrush, he had found the washcloth.
"I'll teach you to try to hide things from me, young lady!"
he fumed. "Just to ensure no further deception, I'm going
to give you this paddling on your bare bottom! Pull down
your jeans and panties, and do it now!"
"I will not!" Shannon objected in an outrage. "You
can't make me undress! You're not even my real father,
and besides, I'm too old to be spanked!" Shannon argued.
"I will give you one more chance to bare your
bottom," Henry warned.
"Stuff it!" Shannon responded.
She wasn't prepared for the level of Henry's
resolve. Henry quickly and methodically tied her hands
together with a scarf, then secured them on the bedpost;
then, despite her wild struggles and very loud protests, he
unzipped her jeans and lowered them to her ankles,
followed closely by her panties. She felt a wave of almost
frantic embarassment but her hands were well secured and
all she could do was pin her legs together and huddle up in
an attempt to hide her nakedness. Henry, still unflappable,
put an arm around her waist and pulled her into a standing,
bent-over position; then he proceeded to apply twenty
extremely vigorous slaps to her unprotected bottom with
She couldn't believe how much more it hurt than it
had through her jeans. The brush strokes felt like bee
stings, and being applied rapidly on alternate cheeks just
at the fullest part, the part she sat on, the burning sting
built up quickly to a point that felt unbearable. She
wriggled and twisted and shrieked as the brush scalded
her pale round cheeks, and ended up with tears running
down her face.
Henry let go of her and she collapsed to the floor,
still crying, on her knees to keep from touching her bottom
to the carpet. He regarded her for a few moments and said,
"I think we're finally getting somewhere. A good bare-
bottomed spanking appears to make a real impression on
you. So I think I'll use that very technique to help you
learn some obedience."
"I'll be good from now on, honest I will!" Shannon
sniffled. It seemed prudent to be humble while her hands
were still tied, her burning bottom still bare, and Henry still
holding the brush.
"I'm glad to hear that, but I'll believe it when I see
it. You see, this spanking wasn't for cutting school. This
was for disobedience, refusing to strip when I told you to.
Your spanking for cutting school is yet to come."
"You can't do that!" Shannon protested, before she
remembered that she was trying to be humble.
"It's exactly that kind of attitude we have to
eliminate. I can and will do exactly what I need to do to
ensure your good behavior. Here's how it will work. Every
night I'm going to try again to give you your spanking for
cutting school. I expect absolutely prompt obedience to all
my commands to prepare yourself for that paddling. If at
any point you balk, refuse, or even hesitate, the spanking
will immediately become a spanking for disobedience. I'll
tie you up and strip you myself, just like tonight, and give
you a good, hard paddling with the brush. Only if I have to
do that tomorrow night, I'll add ten strokes. And we'll do
the same every night, attempting a fully obedient spanking
for your original transgression, but moving to a spanking
for disobedience if I don't get complete compliance. And
every night I'll add ten more strokes. So it would be in
your best interest to give me that compliance as soon as
Shannon was too shocked by what she was hearing
to be able to respond, so she was silent except for some
remaining sniffles as Henry came and untied her hands.
The pain in her bottom had dulled to the point where
modesty became her uppermost concern again, and she
quickly reached down to pull up her panties and jeans.
"Not yet," Henry snapped. "After every bare-
bottomed spanking you will go stand outside in the hall,
facing the wall next to your bedroom door, and exhibit your
punished backside until I tell you that you can get dressed.
Now get out there -- and if you give me any lip, you get
more of the hairbrush."
Stretching the tail of her T-shirt to cover her pubic
area, Shannon awkwardly and with great embarassment
shuffled out into the hallway, hobbled by jeans and panties
around her ankles. On Henry's instructions she lifted her
shirt in back to reveal her bright pink rear. Although the
only other people in the house were her mother and
younger sister, she felt horribly exposed, and it was with
great relief that she got dressed by Henry's consent about
a half hour later.
It took four nights -- by which time her paddling for
disobedience was up to 60 swats -- before she finally
managed to attain the level of obedience that Henry
demanded. By that time, she was actually desperate to
comply with his wishes, but she found it very difficult to
muster up the self-control to do so. It was extremely
difficult in the first place for her, at nearly fifteen years old,
to bare her most private parts to the scrutiny of a man. But
even more difficult was that act of removing what little
protection her clothing afforded in order to offer her
already-tender bottom to what she knew would be a
horrendously painful punishment. To deliberately place
herself in harm's way, when her self-protection instincts
were screaming for her to flee, was an exercise in
willpower like she'd never had before. And every night it
got worse -- with her bottom still blistered and sore from
the previous night, her reluctance increased daily, and she
tried everything she could think of -- crying, pleading,
promising to be good, even threatening to run away -- to
forestall what she finally realized was inevitable. So on
the fifth night, under the threat of 80 strokes, she forced
herself to obey Henry exactly and promptly.
He took full advantage of the situation, pushing to
test how truly obedient she had become. He made her
strip completely instead of just baring her bottom, and then
made her stand there naked while he lectured her; then she
had to go fetch the brush herself, bring it back to him, and,
under his coaching, humbly ask him to give her a hard
spanking. Then she had to drape herself over his lap -- it
was incredibly embarassing to bring her own naked body
into such direct contact with his thighs, and she was
grateful he was at least wearing long pants -- and count out
the fiery strokes of the brush while resisting the urges of
her body to protect herself with her hands. Afterwards,
again under his coaching, she thanked him for his just and
loving discipline, then stood with her scarlet bottom on
display out in the hallway, still completely naked, without a
murmur of protest.
Henry was ecstatic at the change in her and,
whenever she misbehaved, gave her regular boosters of
sound and thorough paddlings to retain the effect.
oftentimes with her mother and Megan as an audience.
Shannon had hoped for some protection from her mother,
but it turned out that her mom had fully consented to
Henry's plans to shape Shannon up and, no matter how
hard Henry spanked, only said things like, "I hope you
understand that Henry is only doing this for your own
good" or "You only got what you deserved, young lady".
Megan was a little angel and only occasionally merited a
few swats on the seat of her pants, and although she was
sympathetic to Shannon after a thrashing, she seemed to
share the opinion that Shannon brought it all on herself.
Shannon had no choice but to learn the lessons of
obedience that Henry taught, and it had been a long time
since she had been in any way tempted to evade or
question his punishments.
Until now. Now there were four additional people
downstairs, including two males and her smug,
supercilious arch-rival Liz. And it appeared that Henry
might be planning to paddle her right in front of them. She
could only hope that he would be somewhat merciful and
let her remain partially clothed. She knew he wouldn't find
it acceptable to spank through her layers of skirt and
petticoats, but maybe he would let her keep her drawers
on. It seemed a small enough thing to hope for, but she
greatly feared that he wouldn't even show her that much
mercy. She also knew that refusing to cooperate would
only make things worse very quickly. If he intended to
bare her bottom in front of them, he would do it one way or
another, and disobedience could only make things worse.
And yet, she couldn't seem to bring herself to turn
and head back down the stairs. She was practically
nauseous with fear and embarassment and her feet
seemed glued to the floor. The warnings of one part of her
brain, to get downstairs QUICK! before things got any
worse, warred with the part that urged her to put as much
distance between herself and her angry stepfather as she
could. She found herself immobilized by the inner conflict
and was nearly thrown into a panic at the thought that she
might delay until Henry found it necessary to come up and
get her. Finally she chose the lesser of two very scary
evils, and made herself head back.