My Girlfriend’s Mom, an F/M spanking fable

Not every date ends like this one, but for this boy it is an eye opening experience. This is another orphan file that came from USENET, and I’m sorry to say I have no author information. [late breaking news: a reader has informed me that this was likely written by an ikedavis12345, year unknown. So ike, if you are out there still, this was your story.]

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, an18-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 that evening.

“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 that: 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 misconduct…

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 ponytail.

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 work on.”

“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 curvy body that was all 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 fifth 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 punished bare?”

“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 punishment.”

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 repeatedly striking her derriere.

Funny. You can’t help shutting everything else out and listening to the sounds of a spanking in progress. 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 girl 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 piteous sobs. I squirmed uncomfortably, imagining how my girlfriend felt. Her bottom must be blazing, was all I could think.

These are in the way Trudy

When the spanking stopped, Jen’s sobbing continued unabated.

“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 she deserved.”

“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 clenching and flexing as her father spanked it. 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 was guilt.

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 spanking…”

“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 do next.

“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 she’ll be! 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 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 legs. 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.

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 finally.

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 heart-to-heart.”

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!


3 responses to “My Girlfriend’s Mom, an F/M spanking fable

  1. Love the stories you write and post. Do you know the story “Jason An Obedient Son” Can’t find any information as far a writer or where it originated. Wish I could find more parts as the dominant Milford landlady is one of my favorite themes.


  2. Milf landlady. Autocorrect sorry.


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