This story was written by someone named Mike Davis. It came from USENET in the early, early days of the internet. I've done a bit of editing.
My Girlfriend's Mom
When I was 17, I went on my first 'date' with Jennifer
Schnell, a 16-year-old who lived down the block, a goofy
tomboy from my pre-teen days who had bloomed into a hot teenage
beauty with long chestnut hair parted in the middle,
firm high breasts and a pert bottom that had begun to take
on a womanly roundness. Her parents were very strict, so
I had to make all kinds of promises about having her
home by 11:30 p.m. plus the usual stuff about no
alcohol, etc., etc. To show you how protected we were,
my mom drove us to the 'pool party' across town. Joe
Henderson's folks had lots of money and a huge pool. To
make a long story short, Joey's folks made themselves
scarce inside. Mysteriously, cold beers showed up in the
ice coolers. Jenny wanted to call her folks, scared to
death that they would find out. I asked Dan Jacobs, an
18-year-old neighbor of ours, if he'd give us a ride
home. He had to go to work at the 7-11 early, so he said
he'd leave about 10:30 — well before Jen's curfew. But Dan
had a few beers and we left the party late. About two
blocks from Jen's house, the cops stopped Dan. He wasn't
drunk, but he was under-age. So the cops drove me and
Jen to her house, even though we begged to walk.
You can imagine the atmosphere when the cop escorted us
to Jen's front door at 11:45, 15 minutes past Jen's
curfew. Jen's dad answered the doorbell. Jen and I stood
there with our heads bowed as the cop told Mr. Schnell
the whole story. Jen's dad seemed very calm, but his
tone of voice could have been that of a judge handing
down a death sentence.
"Jennifer, you and I need to discuss the consequences of
your conduct tonight," he said. "Go upstairs and get
into your nightgown. Then come get me. Your mom and I
want a word with Mike."
We sat at the kitchen table in the dark, the only light
coming from a small florescent light over the stove.
Mrs. Schnell was just as somber as her husband as they
took turns asking me about the party, the beer, parental
supervision, and accepting rides from someone who had
been drinking. The funny thing was, they didn't
"lecture" me or threaten punishments. Instead, they just
posed questions, then asked me to reflect on our conduct
When did you learn there was beer at the party? Did you
drink any? Do you think teenagers should drink
alcohol at parties? When you found out about the beer,
what were your choices? Would you make the same choice
if you could start all over again? Is it wise to ride
with somebody who has been drinking? What could you have
done to make sure you got Jennifer home before curfew.
When they finished with their questions, I had told them
Teenagers shouldn't drink alcohol... We
should have called our parents to pick us up, once we
knew about the beer... We should never ride with a teen
who has had anything alcoholic to drink... We both
showed poor judgment several times... As the older one,
I had to take more responsibility for our conduct
tonight... We should both suffer consequences for our
Mind you, none of these conclusions were suggested by
Jen's parents. They just led me to my own conclusions by
the questions they asked. God knows what I would have
come up with if Jen hadn't shown up in her pink night
gown, her shoulder length hair pulled back in a
Jen seemed so sad! She kissed her mom good night and
smiled meekly at me.
"I had a good time, Mike," she said, her voice
quavering. "I'm sorry everything turned out so bad."
"Let's go upstairs, Princess," her father said, putting
his arm around her shoulder. "We need to have a
heart-to-heart talk and maybe even some consequences to
"Yes, daddy," she said, leaning her head against her
tall father as they turned and left the kitchen
In that moment, Jen seemed so paradoxical. The way she
called her father "daddy" and leaned against him made
her seem like a child half her age. But as they walked
together toward the stairs, the bright light from the
living room passed through Jen's nightgown, silhouetting
her body that was half child and half woman.
"Well," Mrs. Schnell remarked as we heard the door to
Jen's bedroom close, "there hasn't been a spanking in
this house in over two years. But I wouldn't be
surprised if we get to hear one tonight."
I looked at Mrs. Schnell in horror!
"You still spank Jen?" I exclaimed. "Isn't she too old?"
Mrs. Schnell laughed.
"First of all, I don't spank Jen. Her father does. As
far as being too old, that's for Jen to decide."
Mrs. Schnell explained that Jen had never been spanked
against her will since she was four. Whenever Jen
misbehaved, her mother explained, her father always
discussed the consequences with her. Punishment options
were laid out and the punishment matched to the
misconduct. Part of the consequences of misconduct, Mrs.
Schnell explained, is deciding for yourself what the
appropriate punishment should be.
"For example," Mrs. Schnell explained, "when Jennifer
was 12 years old, she and some other girls began teasing
another girl at the school bus stop. The girl was new to
your school and Jennifer and her friends were doing what
children sometimes do to outsiders. Well, Jennifer's
teacher happened to see the incident and sent a note
home, asking that we discuss it with her. Well, Jennifer
and her dad went upstairs right after dinner. Pretty
soon, I could hear a spanking in progress. Later, her
daddy told me that the spanking was Jennifer's
suggestion. He even asked her if she thought
12-year-olds are too old to spank. Of course, Jennifer
also called the girl she had teased on the phone to
apologize. They've been friends ever since."
I told Mrs. Schnell that I had been spanked a few times
when I was younger, but never of my own volition. Since
the second grade, my parents had never resorted to
spankings. I asked her why Mr. Schnell did all the
spankings. I admitted to her that — in my family — I'd
preferred my mom's spankings over my dad's.
"Oh, Jennifer and her dad have a special bond," Mrs.
Schnell laughed. "She knows he's been very proud of her,
whenever she's chosen to be spanked. Shows she's really
sorry and willing to take her punishment. And, to tell
you the truth, I don't think he spanks her all that
long. I mean, he spanks her hard. When she was small, I
used to stay with them during the spankings. He spanks
her bottom bright red. But it's a hard, short spanking.
Maybe a dozen spanks at most. As a girl, I remember
spankings lasting a lot longer than that!"
She laughed again.
"You mean, Jen gets..." I began awkwardly. "Jen is
"Spanked on her bare bottom? You bet! That's the best
way. Her daddy can be sure she really feels it. Besides,
there's something so submissive and repentant about
pulling down your pants or pulling up your skirt for a
spanking. It means you are truly accepting of your
Just then, the unmistakable sound of a spanking in
progress wafted down the stairwell and into the kitchen.
"Yes, indeed," Mrs. Schnell said with a turn of her
mouth, "Jen and her daddy are having a very deep,
heart-to-heart exchange! I thought tonight might end up
with a spanking.”
We both sat in silence as the muffled smack-smack-smack
of the bare-bottom spanking filled the house. Soon,
Jen's cries mingled with the sound of her father's palm
against her derriere.
Funny. You can't help listening to the sounds of a
spanking. Jen's sobbing grew louder and louder, but
still the spanking continued, the sharp wet sound of a palm
striking bare flesh. I shivered. She was really getting it.
"I guess her father decided that a big 12-year-old needs
more than just a dozen spanks!" Mrs. Schnell declared,
looking up toward the ceiling, as if she could see
through the walls and witness the spanking with eyes as
well as ears. "This is the longest spanking he's ever
given his little princess."
Smack-smack-smack! The sounds of a palm
striking flesh continued. I could see it in my mind’s eye -- Jennifer, pj’s at her knees, her adorable bare bottom wriggling and bouncing across her dad’s knee as his arm rose and fell in a blur, the flesh turning a harsh red under the relentless tattoo of sharp spanks.
We sat in silence.
Smack-smack-smack! It sounded like a serious
punishment that just went on and on. Sharp cracks alternated with
I squirmed uncomfortably, imagining how my girlfriend felt. Her
bottom must be blazing, was all I could think.
When the spanking stopped, Jen's sobbing continued
"Wow!" Mrs. Schnell exclaimed. "I suspect that Jennifer
is not going to be sitting down comfortably any time
soon. That was one very serious spanking. I suspect
Jennifer's regretting her choice of spankings right now.
But later, she'll realize that a spanking's exactly what
"Yeah, I guess..." I couldn't put into words the swirl
of emotions I felt. Sorrow... Sympathy... Arousal...
I felt sorry for getting Jen in trouble, I felt sympathy
for her stinging, throbbing bottom. I felt aroused at
the thought of her naked bottom. The sound of the
spanking and the images in my head had caused my penis
to swell uncomfortably in my short pants. I considered
adjusting myself under the table, but with Mrs. Schnell
sitting just across the table, I thought better of it.
"What should the consequences be for you, Mike?"
Mrs. Schnell's question snapped me back to the
here-and-now. I realized that what I felt most strongly
Jen had wanted to call her parents when we found out
about the beer. I had talked her out of it. Now she was
upstairs, crying her heart out after the longest
spanking of her life — all because of me!
"I don't know," I said. "My folks would never consider
"Well, you could be put on restriction and not see
Jennifer for a few months," Mrs. Schnell suggested.
A few months? Was she crazy?
I realized then that my attraction for Jen was much
stronger than I had understood before. I knew I would
die if I couldn't see Jen for months and months!
"But that would punish Jennifer twice," her mother
added. "She's already suffered her consequences. If she
couldn't see you, she would be heart broken. I don't
think you understand how powerful a girl's first 'crush'
can be, Mike."
I figured Jen liked me OK, but this was the first time I
heard anybody describe her affection for me as strong as
my own feelings for her.
"If we both got spanked, then things would be even — and
done with," I said softly, staring at the ceiling, more
a thought to myself than something I intended to share
with Jen's mom.
"Why don't you ask your mom or dad?" Mrs. Schnell asked.
"Naw!" I replied. "They'd think I was weird or
something. They wouldn't understand..."
"Then ask somebody else."
I stared at her, my eyes wide. Then I looked through the
kitchen door and up the stairs. Without thinking, my
head began to shake back and forth.
Mrs. Schnell laughed.
"I think Mr. Schnell deserves a break, don't you?" she
asked, not trying to hide the amusement in her voice. "I
suspect his hand is pretty sore right now. Not as sore
as Jennifer's behind, but pretty sore nonetheless!"
She laughed again.
"Who then?" I shrugged.
"Well, I'm not Jennifer's designated spanker," she
replied. "But as a teenage babysitter, I was a favorite
among all the stricter parents, because I gave out the
best spankings of all the babysitters. I'm a little
rusty, but I still bet I can make it uncomfortable for
you to sit down tomorrow!"
Oddly, she pulled her chair back from the kitchen table
and patted her lap, as if I'd already consented to her
suggestion. More oddly still, I pushed back my own chair
and walked around the table. Mrs. Schnell's suggestion
seemed the only viable way for me to atone that
night for my part in it. And a spanking seemed like the only punishment for me
that would be fair to Jen as well.
I stood awkwardly in front of her, not knowing what to
"You can start by pulling your shorts down, Mike," she
said, sensing my confusion.
I fumbled with the snap and zipper. I got the shorts
down to my knees OK. But I couldn't force myself to pull
down my underpants, especially since my penis again had
begun to swell inexplicably.
"Don't be shy!" she chuckled, reaching and hooking both
thumbs in my elastic waist band. "I'm a married woman,
Mike. I've seen what's inside a boy's underpants before.
And I've spanked many a little boy's bare bottom — even
though it's been a few years."
I almost dived over her lap as she pulled them down,
hoping my swelling went undetected.
She wore a dress hemmed just below her knees. The
material was some kind of synthetic — not cotton — with
a satin feel to it. Draped over her lap, I noticed for
the first time ever what nice legs Mrs. Schnell had.
If Jen grows up to look like her mom, what a knock-out
That thought passed through my mind of its own accord,
aggravating the swelling in my groin.
"You're the oldest boy I've ever spanked," Mrs. Schnell
confessed. "But I was only 18 at the time. My spanking
arm's probably a lot stronger now. I'll try to make your
spanking comparable to Jen's..."
I don't know if she expected me to thank her. I guess
not, since she started right in, without even pausing
for my response.
Smack! Smack! Smack! Those first brisk spanks disabused me of any
A notion that Mrs Schnell was not strong enough to dish out a sound spanking. It hurt! I was thinking “yow! Ow! “ to myself in silence as her hand splatted against my bare fanny.
Mrs. Schnell may not have spanked anyone since her
teens, but she obviously had forgotten nothing of her
arcane craft. She delivered her spanks in sets of five,
one cheek at a time, punctuating each set with an extra
firm spank right in the middle of both cheeks but down
towards the bottom, where the buttocks meets the upper
I practiced no heroics. The extent of my bravery was in
submitting to this painful humiliation. Once the
spanking began, I reverted back to a cowardly
4-year-old, trying everything in my power to avoid the
punishment I had just volunteered to accept.
Mrs. Schnell wrapped herself around me, clasping my
outside arm at the wrist and pinning it to my side. I
could feel her bosom pressing against my back. I
squirmed to no avail. I kicked my legs, but the shorts
and underpants restricted my range of motion. I must
have looked like a beached seal, flopping in the sand.
"Oh, please-eee-eee! Ow-www-www-www-www!
Hurrrrrrtssssss! Wahhh-hhhh-hhhh!" I couldn’t help it. It
Stung like a hive of bees.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
None of my humiliating pleas elicited any sympathy from
Mrs. Schnell. Like all good spankers, she was
sufficiently detached and in control to know that
anything the spankee says can be discounted. She had a
clear idea, I'm sure, of what constituted an adequate
spanking under the circumstances.
And that's precisely what I was going to get!
Smack! Smack! Smack!
I had never endured a spanking of this magnitude, either
in firmness of the spanks or in their number. Perhaps
because my parental spankings had been delivered to the
seat of my jeans or — worse case scenario — the bottoms
of my PJs, I was not prepared for the hot, stinging pain
of Mrs. Schnell's bare-bottom spanks. Nothing in my
previous spankings prepared me for the odyssey of a
prolonged spanking. I had never experienced that fabled
metamorphosis from angry rebellion over the knee to
complete surrender and submission.
But there in the Schnell's kitchen, over the lap of my
girlfriend’s mother, I would make that long journey to
the second level of a spanking...
Smack! Smack! Smack! It burned, it scalded my bottom.
It stung like crazy.
I collapsed, letting my bottom go limp, my legs just
twitching with each punishing smack of her palm, all my
kicking gone. I stared at the yellow tiles of the
kitchen floor, the discoloration of the grout between,
the splashing of my own tears below my face. My cries
were a continuous stream, without modulation,
independent of the landing of the spanks.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
I don't think I noticed when they stopped. I just laid
there crying. The minutes passed with me lost in my own
private world of hot, stinging pain and uncontrolled
sobbing. But, in time, as always happens after even the
hardest and longest of spankings, my sobbing broke up
into sniffles and hiccups.
"Turn around, Jennifer," I heard Mrs. Schnell say
I turned my head to see Jennifer and her father in the
kitchen doorway, his arm around her shoulders, tears
streaming down her face. Somehow, I knew she cried for
my pain, not her own. Her father turned her around by
the shoulders, facing her toward the living room, while
Mrs. Schnell helped me to my feet. My penis had
shriveled up to nothing under her onslaught, so she had
no problem slipping my underpants back to their upright
position. She then tugged my shorts up, zipping and
snapping them for me.
"OK," Mrs. Schnell, signaling Mr. Schnell to turn his
daughter back around. "Time for an after-spanking
The four of us sat at the kitchen table, Jennifer on her
father's lap and me on her mother's. Both parents
complimented us on the things we had done right that
evening. We did not drink beer and we did leave early in
order to respect Jen's curfew. We had both shown poor
judgment in other regards, but we had both accepted the
consequences of those poor judgments.
"That's the hardest spanking I've even given Jennifer,"
Mr. Schnell explained with a hug. "You're both older now
and your bottoms are losing their sensitivity. But more
important, I wanted this spanking to be one you both
would remember for a long, long time."
"Don't worry!" I exclaimed. "That's the hardest spanking
I ever got. I'll never forget it!"
We all laughed. Then Mr. Schnell took Jen back upstairs
and to bed. Mrs. Schnell insisted on driving me home,
even though my house was just down the block.
"If you ever feel like you need another spanking, Mike,"
she said as she stopped in front of my house, "I'll be
happy to give it to you."
"Thanks, Mrs. Schnell," I replied. "I'll remember that."
I never asked for another spanking, of course. But I
thought about it a lot!