Young Penny Reskin had a smaller version of this in her backyard.
Penelope made a fetching bride.
Eleanor inducts Boyd into the family.
Boyd Hampton shut his phone off and looked down at it with a smile. He changed into his pajamas, and then switched the TV on and channel surfed until he found an old movie that he didn’t really have to concentrate on. He put his feet up and let his mind drift.
It was hard for him to believe that this time tomorrow he and his best friend and the love of his life, Penelope Reskin, would be husband and wife.
Boyd and Penny had known each other since they were seven years old, he’d met her on the first day his parents moved into their new neighbourhood and the pretty little blonde girl had introduced herself as his new neighbor.
Less than a week after first meeting her he’d been invited to spend a sleepover at the Reskins. It was just Boyd and Penny, and the two had been fast friends ever since. It had taken a good eight years before the relationship moved beyond that, and they’d become high school sweethearts. They’d gotten engaged after college, and spent the last few years trying to build a financial base before marrying.
Officially Penny still lived in the family home (she used it as her mailing address), although she spent as much time in Boyd’s apartment as she did at her parents house. They’d live in the apartment while they house hunted after they were married.
The movie finished and then a news show began. Boyd frowned and started to look for a replay of a sports event or something. He really should go to bed, he had a long day ahead tomorrow and Penny was spending the night at her parents, doing the whole last night before marriage at the family house tradition. She was probably already asleep.
Boyd had just found a basketball match on TV when there was a knock at his door. Boyd blinked and looked at the clock. It was late. Who would be calling at this hour? It wouldn’t be any of his neighbours and it was too late for a salesperson. It was possible it was a friend, although they were under strict instructions not to do something like that tonight.
That was one of the reasons Boyd and Penny had both elected to have their bachelor and bachelorette parties a week before the wedding. Things could get out of hand at those and both had heard stories about people not enjoying their weddings because they were still hung over from the night before. In a couple of stories Boyd had heard the wedding never even took place because the groom was either arrested, or in one case woke up in an airport in a different country.
With thoughts whirling around in his head, Boyd opened the door slowly and with no small amount of trepidation. He took a step back as he saw Eleanor Reskin standing in the hallway.
The still attractive older blonde woman rolled her eyes and said, “Boyd, I thought we established this at lunch last Sunday, you’re about to marry into the family, dear. Call me Mum, please.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Boyd said obediently.
“It’s a start,” Eleanor sighed. “Are you going to invite me in?”
“Ahh yeah, okay, come on in.”
Eleanor stepped over the threshold and looked around the apartment. “You’re neater than I’d been lead to believe most bachelors were. Kevin was awful at house keeping. I don’t think he even owned a vacuum cleaner when we married. Penny inherited that from him, the amount of times I had to spank that girl for not cleaning her room.”
Boyd’s lips crooked up in a smile at the mention of spanking. Eleanor Reskin was a lovely woman, but it did not do for anyone to get on her bad side. She was strict and traditional and a firm believer in the effectiveness of a soundly smacked bottom. She didn’t care if you were seven or twenty-seven. He wasn’t sure how old Penny had been the last time her mother had spanked her, but he was betting it was older than his eighteen, and come to think of it that spanking had been administered by Mrs Reskin, not his own mother.
“What are you doing here, Mrs…Mum?” Boyd asked, still feeling a little self conscious about calling Eleanor Mum, even though she’d looked after him, babysat him and smacked his bottom many times since he first met her at the age of seven.
“Do you think I could have a cup of coffee, dear? I always find it easier to discuss things over a cup of coffee.”
“Sure,” Boyd said, going to the kitchen.
“You know how I take it, don’t you?” Eleanor called after him.
“Yes, I think so,” Boyd answered as he poured the coffee and added milk and sugar.
By the time Boyd brought Eleanor’s coffee to her, she had turned off the TV and was settled on the couch. “I hope you don’t mind about the TV, but it’s so much more civilized to talk without it competing for our attention.”
Boyd shook his head.
Eleanor picked up the steaming mug and looked at the picture of Tigger on it with some amusement. “Winnie the Pooh, how sweet. Didn’t I take you and Penelope to see one of those films?”
“Uh yeah, I think so, ma’…I mean Mum.”
“It’s okay dear,” Eleanor reassured him, blowing on her coffee to cool it and then sipping. “It will take a while to get used to. Penny has the same problem with your parents and calling them Mum and Dad.”
Boyd sat down and watched Eleanor as he waited for her to speak. Her hazel eyes regarded him over the rim of her mug and through the steam.
Eleanor put her cup down and laced her hands in front of her. “My side of the family has an old, and probably rather unique pre wedding custom.”
Oh good! Boyd thought. She was getting to why she was here, this late on the night before his wedding.
“Getting married is one of those steps many take throughout life,” Eleanor explained. “In some ways you’re leaving your old life behind and entering a brand new one with a new family. It’s that old saying to the mothers of brides: you’re not losing a daughter, you’re gaining a son.”
“Tradition?” Boyd asked.
“You may think it’s a little silly, Penelope said you would when I told her about it.”
“She never mentioned it to me,” Boyd said to Eleanor. His conversations with his fiancée as the wedding day drew ever closer had mostly consisted of things around the wedding itself, so he found it odd that Mrs Reskin had a long standing family tradition that he was only finding out about on the eve of his marriage.
“Penny herself was unaware of it until this evening,” Eleanor explained.
“What is it?” Boyd asked suspiciously.
Eleanor sipped her coffee and answered carefully. “Now, Boyd. I want you to hear me out and not interrupt, until I’d done, can you promise me that, sweetheart?”
Boyd nodded quickly.
“No, dear, a nod isn’t an answer. Say it.”
“I promise, Mrs Re…Mum,” Boyd said slowly.
“Good boy,” Eleanor said and made Boyd feel like he was eight years old all over again, he almost expected her to offer him a cookie. Eleanor smiled at him and began her story. “On the night before my wedding my mother came to me and sat me down. She told me about an old family tradition, passed down from mother to child. It’s a sort of initiation into a stage of life or adulthood. She spanked me, very soundly, on my bare bottom. Just the way she did when I was a child and had misbehaved.”
Boyd’s mouth dropped open.
“Now Boyd,” Eleanor said, holding up one long, manicured forefinger, “you did promise, sweetheart.”
Boyd’s mouth shut.
“It doesn’t discriminate either. It’s not just brides who get blushing bottoms, it’s the grooms, too, My mother spanked my brother on the night before he was married as well. When I told Penelope about the custom this evening it struck me that really you’re as much my son as she is my daughter, so you should be subject to the same custom.”
Boyd licked suddenly dry lips. “You spanked Penny? Tonight?” he croaked.
Eleanor sipped her coffee calmly and nodded.
“You want to spank me?”
“Yes, darling. It’s not like I haven’t done it before and look at it as a welcome to the family from me.”
Boyd considered this. Eleanor was telling the truth. He had lost count of the amount of times his soon to be mother-in-law had actually laid him over her lap and smacked his bare bottom until it was a hot glowing red ball of pain. It had started when he was seven and ended when he was eighteen. Even his own mother, also a firm believer in the effectiveness of a good old fashioned spanking, had adopted alternative methods of discipline when he turned fifteen. Not Eleanor Reskin. In her opinion no one was ever too old to benefit for a good smacked bottom.
“I guess we can do it,” Boyd stammered, looking at Eleanor and feeling his member rouse in his pajama bottoms.
“I am so glad you’re going to be sensible and obliging about this Boyd,” Eleanor smiled. “Can you believe your naughty little bride told me it was a silly custom, and even tried the ‘Mum, but I’m too old!’ line on me? Imagine the cheek of her!”
Boyd winced. He had done both of those things in the face of an Eleanor Reskin rump roasting and the results had not been at all pleasant. He did love Eleanor like she was his actual mother, and that was partly why he’d agreed to this, although privately he did think it was a bit weird, but he didn’t want to disappoint Mrs Reskin, and he knew a refusal would do that. The woman could hold a grudge like no one would believe. If he didn’t go though with this she would sulk the entire way through the wedding, and he’d probably wind up asking for a spanking just to thaw the ice at some stage. Plus it would upset Penny, especially if she’d gotten one and he hadn’t.
“How do we do this?” Boyd asked numbly.
Eleanor’s face broke into a broad smile and her eyes sparkled. “How have we always done it, darling?”
“It’s been a while, Mum,” Boyd said, standing up and wiping suddenly sweaty palms down his pajama pants.
“Oh, it’s like riding a bike, Boyd my love, you never forget. Now come to Mummy and we’ll get this done.”
Boyd took the few steps to Eleanor’s knee and stood by it. “Good boy,” Eleanor reassured him. Eleanor’s fingers immediately went to the drawstrings of his flannel pajama bottoms.
“Do we have to?” Boyd asked as she began to bare his bottom.
“Boyd,” Eleanor said, her eyes fixing him sternly. “What did I say I just did to Penelope earlier tonight?”
“You spanked her,” Boyd said slowly.
“How did I spank her?”
“On her bare bottom.”
“So how should I spank you?”
“On my bare bottom,” Boyd sighed.
“Exactly!” Eleanor said as she whisked his pajama bottoms to his ankles and tipped him over her lap with a practiced move.
“Now this is a familiar sight, isn’t it?” Eleanor asked as she shifted him into position and ignored his throbbing erection, although she must have been able to feel it. It had been happening since he was thirteen. It happened sometimes with his mother too, and it may have played a part in her decision to stop spanking him. It happened every time with Eleanor, and although Boyd was told it was linked to nerves, he also knew it had something to do with the fact that Eleanor Reskin was what was commonly referred to in the media as a MILF.
“Do you remember that first time, Boyd?”
Boyd did indeed remember the first time he had found himself over the motherly lap of Eleanor Reskin. He and his family had not been in their new house in their new neighbourhood for a week. He’d met Penny Reskin the day they moved in, and the two seven year olds had immediately bonded. It didn’t hurt that Penny was a bit of a tomboy and liked more ‘boy’ things than ‘girl’ things.
One of the things they had in common was that they both enjoyed western themed movies, TV shows, books and comics. In both cases they always seemed to be on the side of the Indians. It had been Penny’s stated intention for the last couple of years to be an Indian when she grew up.
To that end the Reskins had given the girl a ‘genuine’ Indian wigwam as well as a set of child sized ‘buck skins’ as a present for her recent seventh birthday. Penny invited Boyd to spend the evening at her house. It was nice weather and the two children would sleep out in the wigwam, which was set up in the Reskin’s spacious backyard.
Boyd did not now remember which one of them had suggested that they light a campfire in the backyard, just the same way the Indians did. He suspected it was probably Penny. She was full of ‘cool’ ideas like that when they were children. They had tried to make fire the way the Indians did and given it up as impossible when Penny produced a matchbook. Exactly where she had procured that from Boyd never asked. Picked it up somewhere he assumed, her parents didn’t smoke, but they did have an open fire, so it may have been used for that purpose.
The minute Penny pulled the matches from the pouch in the front of her buck skins Boyd had thought it was a bad idea, but once the match was struck, and the flame put to the collection of twigs and bark that they had collected as firewood, the fascination of watching the little blaze chased all those thoughts from both of their heads.
The two youngsters had been so engrossed by the flickering flames that they were unaware that Eleanor Reskin was standing over them watching, until she thundered, “What exactly do you think you’re doing Penelope Margaret Reskin?”
Boyd and Penny turned frightened faces on the angry suburban housewife. She stood towering over them, fists on hips, mouth compressed into a thin line, her eyes blazing every bit as hot as the little campfire in front of the wigwam.
“Go get me a bucket of water, Penny,” her mother ordered.
While Penny ran to fetch the water, Boyd looked up at Mrs Reskin. “What are you going to do, Mrs Reskin?” he stammered. “Are you going to tell my Mum and Dad?”
“Do you want me to tell them, Boyd?” the woman asked.
“No,” Boyd said.
“What will they do to you?”
“Spank me,” the boy confessed. “I’m not allowed to play with matches.”
“And nor should you be,” Eleanor agreed. “I’m going to spank Penny, what about if I spank you too?”
“Will you tell my Mum?”
“I kind of have to sweetheart, but I think if I tell her that I spanked you she won’t give you another one.”
Once Eleanor had satisfied herself that the fire was well and truly out, she had dumped the content of the small pail of water Penny had returned with on it, then used a trowel to cover it with soil and stamped on it, she took both children to the back porch.
She sat down on a cushion covered cane lounge and stood the children in front of her. “Well, my two little Indians,” she said, “you’re going to find out what happens to naughty children who play with fire. They get burned.”
Penny bit her lip, looked at her friend and sighed.
“As Boyd is the guest he can watch you Penny,” Eleanor said, smoothing her apron over her lap. “You want to be a redskin so much I’ll help you with that endeavor, young lady.”
Boyd, his eyes growing to saucer size, watched as Eleanor lowered Penny’s snug buckskins to her ankles and then tipped the girl over her lap. She shifted a gently wriggling little blonde girl into the centre of her lap, and then Boyd saw the first indication that Mrs Reskins’s spankings were different to his mothers.
“Hips up, Penny,” Mrs Reskin said.
Penny rolled her eyes at Boyd, but did as she was told.
Boyd gasped as Mrs Reskin pulled Penny’s panties down, right to her knee hollows. He’d seen her bare bottom many times since that day, and she’d seen his. Sometimes they were both being spanked one after the other, like this balmy summer evening, other times it was just one of them. Sometimes it had been Mrs Reskin, other times Mrs Hampton, and there had been a couple of memorable occasions when the two ladies gave a double act.
Boyd stood and watched transfixed as Mrs Reskin’s arm rose and fell, and the palm of her hand slapped down across her daughter’s plump hemispheres, and quickly turned them from white to pink to a hot blushing red. Penny wailed and cried and bucked up and down, tears streamed down her face, and her legs kicked as much as the buckskins and panties tangled around her ankles allowed her to. After was what only a few short minutes, but that probably seemed like an eternity to Penelope Reskin, the girl’s mother stopped spanking and let her up.
Penny leapt off her mother’s ample lap, kicked off the tangled buckskins and panties and danced around in circles, tears rolling down her cheeks, her hands clamped to her blazing backside, rubbing it vigorously.
Eleanor sat back and watched the spectacle, a smile playing across her lips. “That’s quite an impressive war dance, Penelope,” she told her daughter after a moment or two of histrionics. “You know what to do now, darling.”
“Yyes Mummy,” Penelope sniffled, she took her hands away from her bottom, which was really red to Boyd’s eyes, and walked to a corner of the porch, she pressed into it and put her hands on her head.
“Boyd,” Mrs Reskin said, crooking her finger at the boy.
He swallowed hard, and then went to the lady on the cane couch.
“Good boy,” she said softly, hooking her fingers into the waistband of the pajamas he’d changed into after dinner. The two children had been going to play for a short while, then Mrs Reskin would come out and put them in their little sleeping bags in the wigwam for the night.
Boyd did not protest as his friend’s mother lowered his pajama bottoms to his ankles. He felt his bottom tingle as he was lifted and laid out over the woman’s lap. That always happened when he was going to be spanked, but this was different. He could not remember his mother taking his underpants down and if what Mrs Reskin did to Penny was any indication she spanked bare bottom.
“Lift up,” he heard the motherly voice order, and it sounded like it came from a long way away. He raised his hips and felt his underpants skinned down over his hips and upper thighs and settled around the backs of his knees. Mrs Reskin’s hand pushed gently down on the small of his back and he lowered over her lap again.
“Good boy,” the woman repeated in the same gentle tones as before. “Now let’s see what sort of hot little campfire Aunty Eleanor can light on these pretty cheeks.”
The first few spanks stung, although not as much as he would have thought, considering that his mother spanked over the seat of his underpants, not on the bare bottom, maybe his underpants didn’t offer much protection from a determined maternal hand.
As Eleanor Reskin settled into steady rhythm and sprinkled hard loud slaps all over Boyd Hampton’s plump little behind, making sure to give the sit spots and upper thighs coverage equal to that received by the crowns, she had to tighten her grip around the boy’s waist as his buttocks began to colour up brightly and the temperature of them rose, because Boyd’s struggles became rather frantic.
Mrs Reskin spanked hard! Boyd thought, tears streamed down his face, his nose started to run, and his bottom felt like she had put the match to it. “I’m sorry, Mrs Reskin!” the boy wailed. “I didn’t mean to light the fire!”
“But you did,” Eleanor informed the child, that hard palm not missing a beat, “and for that sweetheart, you have to get a good hard spanking.”
When the spanking mercifully came to a close Boyd did a similar dance to that of his partner in crime. Eleanor Reskin sat back and watched, smiling. It was the first time the boy had been over her lap, but unless she was very much mistaken, it would be far from the last.
After allowing Boyd a good long hot bottom boogie, the mother sent him to a corner to cool off and think about what got him the spanking in the first place. She fetched herself a glass of iced tea and sipped it while the children sobbed in the corners of the porch. Once they’d done their bare bottom corner time Eleanor gathered them both into her lap, she hugged them and kissed them, told them that she cared very much for them and that’s why she had spanked them, because she cared, and playing with matches was a sure way to have a very bad accident.
She replaced Penny’s buckskins and Boyd’s pajama bottoms, and then she carried them to the wigwam and tucked them into their sleeping bags with a gentle kiss on their foreheads and an admonition to sleep tight and be good.
Later in the night Eleanor checked on her two little ‘redskins’ and grinned as she saw that they had both rolled onto their tummies in their sleep, lowered their coverings and their sleeping bags so that the heat in their freshly spanked bottoms could escape and they both pointed at the tip of the wigwam. Eleanor could remember doing the same thing after her own childhood chastisements.
Karen Hampton had come to pick Boyd up the next morning while he and Penny were tucking into a breakfast at the Reskin’s kitchen table. She had accepted Eleanor’s offer of a cup of coffee, and over the hot beverage she had heard the story about the misbehavior of the previous night. Karen had been embarrassed and promised Boyd a hot bottom for the incident.
At the boy’s dismayed look Eleanor had intervened and explained that she had spanked both children for the unauthorized fire lighting. Karen looked a little doubtful and Eleanor calmly said, “Boyd let Mum have a look at your bottom.”
Boyd was stunned at the command and his face went bright red.
“Mum does butt inspections with me after a spanking,” Penny said around a mouthful of sausage.
The boy was stung that Penny was inferring he was too shy to show his spanked bum off to his mother, so he stood up, turned around, lowered his pants and underwear and effectively mooned his mother.
Karen examined the out thrust cheeks and ran a hand over them lighty.”He’s still nice and rosy,” she murmured, “and warm.”
“I do pride myself on giving sound spankings,” Eleanor said, sipping her coffee. “I have ever since my teenage babysitting days.”
“I don’t seem to be able to get him to stay this red and warm that long after a journey over my lap,” Karen said.
“You don’t spank bare, do you?” Eleanor asked.
“No,” Karen admitted.
“I thought Boyd’s reaction indicated that it was his first full pants downer. I only used my hand last night, but Penny normally gets a wooden spoon or a ruler as well.”
“I see,” Karen said thoughtfully, continuing to stroke her son’s still rosy simmering globes. “I may have to do that next time Boyd earns a tail tanning.”
“Oh please do.” Eleanor urged her. “And if Penny ever needs one at your house, feel free.”
Karen had taken her neighbour’s advice, and from that day on Boyd’s spankings had been on his bare bottom, as had Penny’s when she got a spanking from her best friend’s mother. A wooden spoon and a wooden ruler had also been added to the maternal spanking arsenal. They were replaced by a wooden backed hairbrush and a small wooden paddle when the children got older, and the maternal palm needed to be supplemented with something more stringent.
Eleanor Reskin didn’t know it, but because of her reference to making them into real ‘redskins’ and the resemblance of the surname to the slang for Native American, Boyd had taken to calling his friend’s mother Mrs Redskin when he was confident she could not hear them. He didn’t know if she had heard the nickname or not, but for the rest of that summer she did often refer to Penny and Boyd as ‘the redskin twins’, and they did regularly sport bright red behinds.
“Oh yes, you remember,” Eleanor said with a smile as she continued to pat the grown up Boyd’s upturned buttocks and waited for them to relax so she could commence the spanking.
Boyd hissed, he’d forgotten just how much the woman’s palm stung. He supposed that was understandable, it had been some time since she’d last had him over her lap and under her palm.
“Been a while, hasn’t it, Boyd?” Eleanor asked as she continued to stoke the fires in the rapidly reddening cheeks over her lap.
“Yes, Mr…Mum,” Boyd gasped, fighting tears, as he knew from past experience that there was a long way to go. Mrs Reskin rarely just used her hand. He hadn’t checked obviously, but he was willing to bet that she had her maple wood hairbrush packed in the bag on the other side of her legs.
“How old were you, sweetheart?” Eleanor probed, and when she didn’t get an answer immediately unleashed a sizzling volley on his upper thighs that made his squirm and kick.
“Eighteen!” Boyd squealed.
“Ahhh yes,” Eleanor sighed, steadily spanking away.
It had been summer again and Boyd was helping out at the Reskin house by cleaning out their garage. Eleanor had been gardening, kneeling by a flowerbed and pulling weeds.
Boyd exited the garage, carrying a heavy old piece of furniture. Penny had the other end. The girl’s hold was tenuous at best and it slipped free. Boyd was suddenly forced to bear all of the unwieldy weight and dropped it, it landed heavily on his foot.
Boyd had not meant to say it, but the impact really hurt and before he knew what he was doing he had roared, “Oh fuck Penny! That nearly broke my toe!”
Penny was about to apologise when she looked across and saw her mother. Eleanor Reskin’s eyes flashed, and her lips pursed. She put her gardening trowel down and rose to her feet, headed purposefully for Boyd, who was getting ready to sit down and check the damage to his toes.
“Boyd, honey,” Penny said gently. “I think something else is going to be hurting soon.”
“What?” Boyd asked, looking into his girlfriend’s eyes and following their direction to the face of a distinctly unimpressed Eleanor Reskin.
The boy was immediately transported to a summer evening eleven years ago. Despite the fact that he was now taller than his girlfriend’s mother, seeing her stern face and those fists on maternal hips made him feel exactly like that seven year old just discovered playing with matches.
“Mrs Reskin,” he said in a whimper, guessing at what was coming.
“Come with me,” Eleanor ordered, reaching up and taking a firm grip on Boyd’s ear, squeezing the lobe painfully between her thumb and index finger. Controlling the now worried boy like this, she hauled him inside.
They turned at the bathroom and Mrs Reskin turned on the faucet. Boyd swallowed hard.
“What was that about outside, young man?” Eleanor asked as she released her hold on Boyd’s ear and began to lather up a bar of soap and a washcloth.
Boyd massaged his smarting ear and mumbled, “I didn’t mean it. I dropped a couch on my toes and….”
“There is NO excuse for that sort of behaviour. Your parents and I raised you better than that Boyd Mark Hampton!”
“I’m eighteen,” Boyd said in his own defence.
“Oh so just because you’re eighteen years old it’s okay to use language like a sailor in polite company, is it?” Eleanor demanded.
“I guess not, ma’am,” Boyd sighed.
“No, it is not!” Eleanor agreed firmly. “And naughty little boys who use dirty language need to have their mouths washed out thoroughly,” she held the soapy washcloth up. “Open up!”
Boyd took a deep breath and obediently opened his mouth. Eleanor dragged him close to the basin, she gripped the back of his neck and pushed his head down a little, then she shoved the vile tasting washcloth into his mouth and began to rub the lathered material all around his mouth, she made sure that the teeth, tongue, gums and the inside of his cheeks all got plenty of soap on them, and bubbles were spilling out of the teenager’s mouth and mixing with his tears and drool.
“Fancy behaving like a little potty mouth!” Eleanor scolded furiously. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had to do this to you or Penny, but I had hoped I wouldn’t have to do it again. I won’t have it, do you hear me, young man! I will not!”
Boyd’s response was to gag on the wet soapy mess that filled his mouth. Eleanor dropped the cloth into the basin, released her hold on Boyd and said, “Rinse.”
Boyd filled his mouth over and over again, swirling the clean water from the tap around his mouth and spitting it out, desperately trying to rid himself of the horrible soapy taste.
While Boyd was rinsing, Eleanor had moved a sturdy backless stool into the middle of the room and seated herself firmly in it.
“Come here,” Eleanor said as Boyd turned.
He shuffled over and stood by as his girlfriend’s mother undid the buttons and zip on his jeans and with a smooth practiced movement pulled them and his underpants to his knees then flipped him easily over her firm muscular thighs. She settled him in the middle of her lap and began to spank his upturned buttocks with crisp, hard measured smacks.
It didn’t matter if Boyd was eighteen or seven years old, Eleanor Reskin’s spankings hurt every bit as much. Boyd just cried while the woman spanked sternly away. She scolded as she slapped, but he couldn’t think of anything other than the raging fires Eleanor’s palm was lighting on his defenceless derriere.
Boyd’s squeals and yelps turned into genuine anguished howls as Eleanor’s hand was replaced with the back of a long handled hath brush. The brush was heavy and had a hard flat back. The paddle was light and very stingy and gave a burn not unlike a sunburn, the hairbrush was heavy and hard as well, but the bath brushes long handle allowed for a greater swing and delivered a real long lasting hot sting in Eleanor Reskin’s more than capable hand.
When Eleanor let the boy up he hopped around the room, tears running down his face, hands rubbing furiously at his bright red, sizzling hot bottom. Eleanor let him rub for a moment or two, then rose from her seat, took him in her arms, cuddled him, rubbed his hot cheeks, spoke to him soothingly, then escorted him into a corner of the room for some cool down time. After a brief period there, he accepted a glass of water from Eleanor, replaced his underpants and jeans, then limped outside to continue clearing out the garage with Penny.
“Oh yes,” Eleanor remembered, not pausing for a second in her spanking. “That was for the potty mouth when you were cleaning the garage, wasn’t it?’
“Yes!” Boyd cried. God! This woman could spank up a storm!
“Do you still swear?’ Eleanor asked and landed a sizzling volley on his upper thighs, before warning, “Don’t you dare lie to me.”
“Sometimes,” Boyd admitted.
“I thought so,” Eleanor said. “You just have more sense than to do it around me. You know what the response is.”
“Yes, Mum,” Boyd sobbed.
“Penny still goes over my knee if I hear her using that sort of language,” Eleanor said. “She gets the brush too, so I’d be remiss if I didn’t do the same to you, darling.”
The fact that Boyd had been correct in assuming his future mother-in-law had packed her maple hairbrush in her bag gave the young man over Eleanor Reskin’s knees absolutely no solace whatsoever as he watched her remove the feared and hated hair care implement from her handbag through eyes that were blurred with unshed tears.
Eleanor rubbed the brush’s hard cool flat back over Boyd’s roasting orbs gently, just letting him get his breath back and mentally prepare himself for the onslaught of the item she had often referred to as Mrs Hairbrush to both Penny and Boyd when they were laid out over her lap for a long and searching conversation with Eleanor’s very good ‘friend’.
“You remember Mrs Hairbrush, don’t you, Boyd?” Eleanor asked as she sprinkled hard stinging swats over the twitching, fiery hot buttocks with the brush, she held it firmly by it’s sculpted handle and she had a wristy action that seemed to make it hurt even more than if she used it any other way.
“Yes!” Boyd howled, wriggling madly in an effort to try and escape the brush. “Yes, Mummy!”
That wasn’t the first time Boyd had called Eleanor, Mummy. It seemed somehow natural to him once she set the heat on his bottom to certain temperature and reduced him to a blubbering, snotty nosed, red bottomed mess over her lap. Boyd had always regarded spanking as a maternal function, so once Eleanor really got into her stride he couldn’t help but use the rather juvenile term of Mummy to address her.
Eleanor smiled and concentrated her next searing volley on the sit spots. She raised her voice to he heard over the boy’s bellows of pain. “ You know that Mrs Hairbrush is your very good friend, don’t you, Boyd?”
“Mum?” Boyd said in a questioning voice through his sobs. That just sounded wrong to him.
“Oh yes,” Eleanor answered, setting in on the upper thighs. “Every boy and girl’s best friend growing up is their mother’s friend Mrs Hairbrush. She cares about those boys and girls and makes sure that they know right from wrong as best she can. The old adage that boys and girls learn when bottoms burn is very true and Mrs Hairbrush ensures that it happens when and where it can do them the most good.”
“Yes, Mummy!” Boyd blubbered.
Eleanor knew that he was at the point where all he was thinking about was how hot and sore his bottom was, so she wouldn’t be able to get much sense out of him until he’d cooled off and calmed down a little. He also couldn’t take much in, so she completed the rest of his scalding with the hairbrush in silence. The only sounds in the comfortable, tidy apartment was the hairbrush splatting across Boyd’s blazing buns and the answering sobs from their owner.
“You’re cooked,” Eleanor announced, putting the brush down on the coffee table. “I bet you really want to do a good spanky dance.”
Boyd heard the woman through the rushing of blood in his ears, and she was right he really did want to go hopping about the room, tears streaming down his face and hands vigorously massaging his well scorched cheeks.
“Off you go,” Eleanor said warmly, giving the glowing globes over her lap a hearty slap with her hand.
Boyd leapt to his feet, hands clamped over his backside and he danced about desperately trying to quench the blazing forest fires Eleanor had lit on his bottom.
Eleanor sat back and watched the show for a few moments, a smile playing across her face. The children were always so animated afterwards and it never failed to entertain her.
“Okay, sweetheart,” she said firmly, but not unkindly. “I think that’s enough for now. Into the corner, darling, hands on head. Mummy will let you know when you can leave.”
When Eleanor told Boyd that he could take his hands off his head and turn around she was still seated in the same place, but had a fresh cup of coffee on the table in front of her and also a tube of aloe cream beside it. She smiled up at him and patted her lap.
Wordlessly Boyd draped himself over Eleanor’s welcoming lap. She patted his bottom gently and murmured, “Lovely and hot, they should simmer nicely for hours.”
Boyd gasped as he felt the blessedly cool aloe lotion being squeezed onto his almost incandescent cheeks then sighed in relief and pleasure as Eleanor’s long, sure, strong fingers began to expertly massage it in and soothe his roaring hot rear end. Eleanor finished her application of the cream, used some tissues to clean her fingers and remove excess grease from the bottom in her lap.
She helped Boyd to his feet, wrapped him in a tight embrace, spoke soothingly and gently into his ears, ruffled his hair, rubbed his still bright red bottom, assured him that he was her ‘very good boy’. She lead him to his bedroom, tucked him in, kissed him on the forehead and promised him that she would see him at the church tomorrow. She turned out the light, shut the door behind her, and finished her coffee before leaving the apartment, making sure to lock the door.
Boyd turned, trying not to wince, even though small movements like that did still cause some small amount of discomfort to his very well spanked backside, courtesy of Eleanor Reskin, who sat smiling at him from the first row of the church.
Penny, dressed in her pristine white wedding gown, made her way gracefully down the aisle on the arm of her father, the blonde girl blushed faintly behind her thin veil at all the attention. Kevin Reskin wore a broad grin from ear to ear and he was clearly a very proud parent.
Penny took her place next to her husband to be and smiled at him as she took his hand in her own. “Did Mum visit you last night?” she whispered.
“Sore?” Penny mouthed.
“Very,” Boyd answered softly.
Behind her veil Penny grinned and confessed, “I am boiling under this dress.”
Boyd smiled and whispered, “We’re about to have a Redskin Wedding.”