Bonnie's Mom

It was only 4:30 on a darkening autumn afternoon when Bonnie and
Ted sat down on her living room couch to watch reruns of "Married
with Children" on the local Fox affiliate.

But even the Noel Coward dialogue and intricate plot couldn't
keep the attention of the two 16-year-olds who had been circling
each other since the beginning of the semester. Now, they had
agreed to see each other -- Ted a skinny brown-haired cross-
country and track runner; Bonnie, a 5-foot-2 blue-eyed
cheerleader and Student Government vice president.

Bonnie's widowed mother was not due home from the realty office
until at least 6, so the two kids had the house to themselves.
They were good kids, mind you, and both inexperienced at
intimacy. So it took them about 15 minutes of dewy-eyed giggling
next to each other on the couch before embracing into each of
their first real kisses. They pawed each other and kissed
repeatedly until Al Bundy's last riposte had faded into the ether
of a fourth re-run of Roseanne's Halloween.

Ted finally summoned the courage to lift Bonnie's sweater just
high enough to slide his hand under and begin fondling the soft
fabric of her bra. At that moment, Bonnie lifted her hips and
swung her legs over Ted's lap as if he were a playground swing.
He kissed and fondled some more, then, as if genetically
programmed, he reached down and unsnapped the button of her jeans
and slowly worked down the zipper. As her jeans loosened, Ted let
his left hand slide down from beneath the sweater and pluck open
Bonnie's nylon panties. He quickly found the most private of all
zippers and tenderly tickled the bristly patch of light brown
hair he had so often imagined while contemplating the properties
of triangles in geometry class.

Bonnie responded with vocal imitations of her cat, mewing and
purring, as a tropical storm whirled across both coasts of her
girlhood and through the jungle that protected it. They were both
panting and wriggling so hard, they did not hear the front door
open.

The sale of the Dalton\Wright mansion had fallen through, and
Bonnie's mother was in a rotten mood, which became fouler when
she saw Ted's hands in places that no man had ever explored on
her virginal daughter, whose jeans and panties had become bunched
around her dimpled knees. Ted's western style shirt was
unbuttoned and he was rubbing the front of his chinos alongside
of Bonnie's bare thigh.

The mother's car-alarm shriek brought the two young would-be
lovers back from their own Century 21 world, and they gave new
meaning to the expression Chinese Fire Drill as they disentangled
and began dressing.

Bonnie's mom advanced toward them like a one-woman Wehrmacht
plundering Poland, thus taking her exactly three seconds to reach
her target. And her target was a quaking Bonnie, who had pulled
up her jeans so fast her panties remained wrapped around her
knees, making it difficult to scamper away, even if she had the
presence of mind to do so.

"What would your poor dead father say?" Mom screamed at Bonnie,
grabbing her daughter around the waist from behind and reaching 
into her shoulder bag to produce a large plastic-backed hairbrush
she kept handy for last-minute fix-ups before meeting a client.

Bonnie's mouth opened as if to say something in defense, but only
muted gurgles came forth. Mom spun Bonnie around and, for the
moment ignoring the wide-eyed young man tiptoeing toward the
front door, bent her daughter over and gave her the first
spanking she had received since coming home tipsy the night of
junior high graduation.

Although mother and daughter had a pretty good relationship as
such relationships go -- calling each other "bitch" only about
once every three days -- Mom lit into Bonnie's backside with a
vengeance. SMACK SMACK SMACK! "So this is what happens when I
trust you!" she snarled. WHACK CRACK SMACK across Bonnie's
tightly clenched bottom. "You filthy little strumpet," Mom
yelled, as Bonnie made a mental note through her screams of
torment to look the word up in her vocabulary book. Bonnie stood
her ground -- actually she stood her shag carpet -- because Mom
had her in a grip worthy of the best of WTBS' Saturday morning
wrestling extravaganzas. The hairbrush smacked loudly, but not
louder than Bonnie's wailing.

"AHHHHH OOOOOOOhhhOOOO WAAAAAAHHH Lemme explain, Mommy. Stop it!
OWWWWWWWWW SCRRREEEEAAAAHOWW. Noooooo moooooooorre!"

With one final declarative WHHHOPPPP!!!, Mom let Bonnie slump to
the carpet crying like a five year old who comes home to find her
favorite doll's head torn off by the dog.

"Not so fast, young man!" Mom called sternly to Ted, who by now
had the door open and was preparing to sprint home, or possibly
even the end of the Earth despite the untied laces of his
Reeboks. "Get back here, now!"

Ted stopped in his tracks, uncertain whether he should remain and
give whatever solace he could to the miserable well-paddled
Bonnie or to run through hill and dale like a Democrat on
Election Day to save his own self from the unleashed terror of a
mother whose daughter had been wronged.

As he did his best impression of Hamlet, Mom had him by the
elbow, steering him back inside the threshold and slamming the
door behind him.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Ted spoke up. "What are you doing? Hey,
lemme go home!"

"Hold your tongue, young man," Mom scolded. "You saw what Bonnie
just got, and believe me, she didn't get it for doing something
by herself. DID SHE??"

"Uhhh, uummm, aaahh," Ted stammered. "You weren't supposed to be
home," was the only lame reply he could manage. "Why THAT is
certainly a poor excuse," she answered, continuing to pull the
six-foot beanpole toward the bottom of the stair. "How do you
propose to pay for your actions?" she asked, not expecting an
answer. But he tried, anyway. "Couldn't we just forget about it?"

Bonnie had managed to crawl back onto the couch, and lie on her
stomach, her head perched on the arm rest closest to the drama
unfolding before her.

"Forget about it! Forget about it! You have brought shame into my
house, Mister! And I don't think the coach would have a rapist on
his team!" Now, the full consequences of his lust for Bonnie were
becoming clear. Her mother was active in the PTA, and publicizing
this matter could easily cause his suspension for the entire
cross country and track season, jeopardizing his chance for a
scholarship.

"You wouldn't do that?!?" he cried. "I mean, we're just kids, and
... errr... uhhh... And hey, I'm not a rapist!"

"Well, what are you?" Bonnie's mother snapped. "Well!" There was
no answer on the tip of Ted's cotton-mouthed tongue. "Are you a
bad boy! I know how to take care of bad boys," she said, lowering
her voice into a sarcastic, sweet menace that made Ted swallow
hard and cause his knees to knock. "Why don't you take YOUR
medicine, just like Bonnie took hers?" Bonnie's toasted bottom
was still hurting, and now beginning to itch, and she was still
sobbing. But this sudden turn of the conversation brought an
imperceptible smirk to the corner of her lips.

"I don't what you mean, ma'am," Ted mumbled, his head dropping to
stare at the loops of the carpeting on the third stair as he
clung to the bannister.

"I mean I will not jeopardize your sports future for this one ...
this one ... THING!" Mom replied. "Now, get upstairs right now!
And Bonnie, you take off your pants and stand in the kitchen
corner till I get back, or you'll feel my hairbrush again!"

Bonnie arose tentatively, rubbing the back of her jeans, and,
still sobbing, marched to the corner where she had spent many
hours as a child waiting for Dad to come home and praying that he
would use only his hand on her small bottom, and not the razor
strop he always threatened. One time beneath the punishing
leather strokes had been enough.

Mom was pushing Ted up the stairs from behind, turning him to the
right at the landing and straight toward her bedroom. Bonnie
heard the door slam and could only wonder at what was happening.

"SIT!" Mom commanded Ted as if he were a puppy, and pointed to
the edge of her satin-quilted bed. She disappeared momentarily
into the alcove of her dressing room, leaving Ted awash in fear
and loathing. "What are you going to do?" he squeaked. "You'll
find out, you bad boy," came the muffled reply from inside the
alcove.

After two minutes of terror had passed, Ted heard himself
summoned. "Come here," she beckoned in a voice that had
considerably softened. When Ted entered the alcove, his jaw
dropped. Bonnie's Mom had changed out of her business suit and
into a black lace negligee.

"Close your mouth, Ted," she smiled. "You could not control
yourself with my daughter, so I am going to give you something
even more to start learning how to control." For the first time,
Ted understood why Bonnie was so attractive to him. Her mother
was no mother at all, but a voluptuous, 37-year-old temptress,
whose steel-blue eyes seemed to order him forward and whose raven
black hair flowed down her back like a river of silk. Her breasts
were visible through the negligee, and when she stood in front of
him, feet apart, he could see through to the angry black patch of
long unfulfilled desire.

"Do you think I am pretty," she asked her quivering prey. "Yes,
ma'am," came an all too eager reply. "Well, son, you think about
what you are seeing while you lie across my lap."

"What?" he shouted. "Why do I hafta ..."

"Because you are about to get the spanking of your life," Mom
smiled wickedly, pulling the bench from beneath her vanity,
slinking her ample ass onto the plush cushion and guiding the boy
to her side. "Now, Ted, pull down your pants."

Ted's Hamlet had morphed into Casper Milquetoast, then into
Walter Mitty, and he quickly lowered his tan chinos and followed
the woman's eyes into position across her lap, his hands flat on
the blue plush carpet in her private dressing room and his long
legs spread far across toward the door.

She exhaled deeply, leaving Ted wondering whether it was a sigh
of sadness, trepidation or lust. Before he could answer, he felt
the horrible sting of the silver-plated hairbrush she had taken
from the vanity crash across his cotton underpants. The heat
rippled through his muscular cheeks, and, lo and behold, it felt
almost soothing. At least this embarrassing chapter was coming to
an end, he thought. Ted had not been spanked since he was eight
or nine, and it had been nothing like this. Not so bad, he
thought, until the second lick caught him unprepared just below
the leg of his underpants on his bare right thigh.

"Owwwwwkkkggrrrl," he instinctively reacted. This one hurt more,
and he clenched his cheeks and felt blood rushing to his head.
SMACK fell the third lick across the dark shadow of the middle of
his underpants. "Owwwww," he gasped. Bonnie's Mom opened her legs
a little wider to steady herself for the increasingly rapid pace
she wanted to set.

And set it she did! SMACK WHACK CRACK WHAP WHAP WHOP she pounded
Ted's bottom as if she were making pasta. The early warmth of the
first spanks had turned into a conflagration, and Ted began
wiggling to evade this shameful licking. Still awkward and a bit
uncoordinated, Ted actually raised his bottom in one evasive buck
only to meet the hairbrush on its way down. He straightened out
at the result and actually screamed in pain. The punishment was
starting to have its effect, Bonnie's mother thought, fully
involved in the three-alarm fire she was setting beneath the
boy's briefs. She did not notice that her blonde minx had
disobeyed orders and was now peeking from around the corner of
the bedroom door, fully prepared to pay the consequences if
caught, and rubbing herself furiously inside her panties.

"Does this hurt enough, young man?" Mom tortured the boy. "Yes,
please stop. I've had enough," he sobbed as the smack-whap-
popping continued relentlessly.

"No, I'm afraid you haven't," this mind-twisting Jezebel told
him, seizing the waistband of his Jockey shorts and starting to
pull them thighward. "Nooooooo!" Ted protested, as he tried to
arise in anger. But as he lifted up, it just made it easier for
the woman. She now had clearance to lower his underpants all the
way, but to her amusement and Ted's mortification, they had
become hung up on his rising meat puppet.

"I see, perhaps, you have NOT had enough," she said with enough
saccharine to supply all of Seattle. Ted groaned in shame, trying
futilely to cover up the source of his embarrassment. His action
gave Bonnie's mom enough time to reposition herself, lifting the
negligee up over her milky thighs, and setting the boy back down
a little higher over her lap.

Ted could not have been more discombobulated if he had been on
drugs. His backside was on fire, his face streaked with tears,
and his most precious organ was lying flat across the bare thighs
and just edging against the pubic bush of his new girlfriend's
mother.

"So you like to play with a girl down here, huh?" she teased.
"See how this feels," she said, pulling him tighter toward her
middle, opening the top of the vanity and pulling out a 15-inch-
long pussy willow switch. She tickled his crimson bottom with the
stick and then, without warning, laid a dozen quick snaps of the
switch across his ass, top to bottom.

"Mommy! What are you doing!" Bonnie could no longer repress her
feelings -- an admixture of shock, horror, shame and jealousy.
"Not as much as I am going to do you later," Mom replied in
desultory dismissal. Ted, meanwhile, was bucking his bottom in a
dance with the switch, crying and moaning, clenching his cheeks
and rocking across the woman's lap in a paroxysm of anguish and
concupiscence.

"Young man, I am not going to allow you to stain my daughter's
honor, but if you want to stain something, you go right ahead,
right now!" wwwwwhippp ssssssspppplllaaatttt ssssswwwwaaaaccckkk

Ted pressed down hard to absorb the cutting switch and to
suppress the volcanic swelling that was threatening to explode.
At that moment, Mom let the thin licking-stick fall onto his
bottom. It rolled down the curve of his rump onto the floor, and
she began giving him a little-boy spanking -- slapping the palm
of her hand across the deep red oval imprints of the brush and
switch. The spanks were not hard, but the pain and punishment
mattered little to Ted, whose choked groans erupted into a Tarzan
holler of orgasm as he spurted his masculinity across and into
the underbrush of Bonnie's mother.