This short story is an entry in the 2001 Soc.Sexuality.Spanking Summer Short Story Contest and is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission. Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice. The author would appreciate your comments
Category: Child
A Week for them to turn
By
Valerie Meilong <VMeilong1@excite.com>
I remember the night that Allison lost her virginity. A mother can always tell, you know - there are subtle changes in the eyes and the body. It's the change from a young girl to a young woman.
What should I do? Spank her? Hell no. This was 2001 - that sort of thing ended years ago. Besides, I was the same age when I got deflowered. My God, did my mother take it out on me! Like all mothers, she could tell all right. Protests that I was too old at 17 to be spanked were of no avail. Up went my skirt, down came my panties, and down came that bloody clothes brush. It was thinner than a hairbrush, but longer. It left long thin round-ended blue bruises that took a week to turn into yellowish-black patches. I hated that brush, and the generous way in which she used it when I was naughty. One day, when I was home from College for a weekend I lit the barbecue and had a ceremonial cremation. The smell hung around for days, but she never tumbled. I supposed deep-down I loved her, but I shed only a few tears when she died.
I told Allison that I knew. "Mad at me?" she said nervously. "No," I said. "I just hope you took precautions, that's all." We hugged, and she kissed me affectionately. "We did," she whispered.
The next day was a Saturday, so I went off to the Mall; it was crowded. I finished my week's shopping, and drove home. She was not in the house when I arrived, so I unpacked and put things away, and went into the garden to look for her. To my surprise, I heard strange noises coming from the garden shed. John used to use it for his woodwork before we divorced. Now we kept the mower and garden tools in it.
I sped down the path, and listened. There was a rhythmic whacking of wood against bare flesh, and someone was yelling fit to bust. I opened the door, and gasped. Allison was bending over the saw-bench, bottom bare, jeans and panties around her ankles. There was no one else in the shed.
The sound of spanking ceased immediately. She straightened up, sobbing uncontrollably, and I took her into my arms,. It was a long time before she calmed down. "There was this horrid old woman," she moaned, "in a long black dress, with a cameo broach at her neck, hair in a bun, faint hairs on her upper lip, and a mole on her left cheek. Glasses hanging by a shoestring from her neck." I gasped. It was my mother to a T. "She kept on mumbling about fornication, and called me a whore."
I turned Allison around. Her jeans were still around her ankles. I stared at her bottom. It was covered with long thin round-ended blue bruises. I knew that it would take a week for them to turn into yellowish-black patches.
The End
© Copyright Summer, 2001
***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** This story is for entertainment purposes only, and it does not necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author. All characters are fictional and any resemblance to any real person alive or dead is purely coincidental. The Copyright of this story is held by ESP Publishing Ltd., Beijing, China. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via an electronic medium such as the Internet is permitted as long as the text is not modified, and the name of the author and this copyright notice is clearly included. Any other form of publication is expressly forbidden unless authorized in writing by ESP Publishing Ltd.
Reviews
Kent Stoneking <kentls001(at)worldnet(dot)att(dot)net>
Ambitious treatment of the "one who comes back from the grave to right (what they see as) a wrong." The author was able to cram quite a bit of detail into the 500-word limit. The descriptions of the marks and bruises enlivened the story.
Pablo <Pablo(dot)Stubbs(at)newsguy(dot)com>
The best way to make sure no-one guesses a twist is to make sure they don't even suspect that one's coming, and this one caught me out. The surprise, though, reflects a slightly abrupt change of tone, and is a little unmotivated. A very interesting concept, however, which would support a much longer story, and that's a good quality.