Annabelle was seething. Her father had passed away four years earlier and her mum had been ‘ensnared’” by the new love of her life, Malcolm. Malcolm was the marketing director of a big firm and spoke in a slick, rather nauseating and condescending manner to Annabelle and her mother. He was well known in the local community, raised lots of money for charity through gala events and had an over-the-top smile which showed off his perfect white teeth. He was, however, in Annabelle’s eyes, a slimy man and certainly not fit to be her mother’s new husband, and Annabelle definitely did not want him as her step-father.
Her mum had just returned from lunch with Malcolm and announced that she was now officially engaged, as she showed off a garish diamond ring. The wedding date was set for the summer, just three months away. If that wasn’t enough, Annabelle was to be her bridesmaid. The thought of being a 17-year-old bridesmaid and having to walk down the aisle with her mother and three of her frumpy, matrons-of-honor friends made her shudder. It felt like her mother was making her seem to be, in some way, sanctioning the whole business. It was of course Malcolm’s idea to involve Annabelle and it made her hate him even more. Every time she had tried to explain her feelings to her mum it always ended up in a shouting match followed by a frosty couple of days with Annabelle looking like the unreasonable party. Her mother was in her early forties and before Malcolm showed up they had been best friends and confidantes. Malcolm had slowly changed all that and now the impending wedding was about to drive a firm wedge between them.
Three weeks later came the final straw. Annabelle, her mother and her mother’s three friends went for the wedding dress fitting. Annabelle played the dutiful daughter, with a rosy smile through gritted teeth, but in truth she thought her mother looked awful in the over-the-top, white, puff-sleeved wedding dress with an extravagant three metre silk, lace-trimmed train flowing along the floor. The bright yellow colour of the bridesmaid’s and matrons-of-honours’ dresses made them all look like chickens. Annabelle had lovely ivory skin, a round pretty face with long legs and arms and with an hourglass figure she was as beautiful and attractive as her mother. Standing at least three inches taller than the others, and despite the awfulness of the dress, she was bound to turn many heads as they paraded up the aisle. Yuk!
Annabelle couldn’t contain her dismay.
“Mother, these dresses look awful,” she moaned in a voice that was slightly too loud, and made the other customers’ heads turn and the wedding boutique assistants glare at them all.
Her mother walked over and whispered to her in an angry voice, “Stop it, young lady. You are showing me up.”
“Please mum, we can’t wear this colour for your wedding,” Annabelle remonstrated.
“OK honey, we will talk about this when we get home and you are very likely to be getting a trip over my knee.”
Her mother made her sit in a chair in the corner of the shop as the rest of the fitting continued in a awkward silence.
When they arrived home, her mother was fuming and it wasn’t long before Annabelle was in her mother's bedroom with her nightdress being lifted up and her pink cotton knickers being pulled down. She hated her mother pulling them down as it made her feel like a little girl. Her mother was sitting on the edge of the bed, she took Annabelle’s arm and put her over her knee. Annabelle’s face was firmly planted into the duvet and her mother’s right leg had clamped her tight so that her well-rounded, peachy bottom was sticking up and perfectly presented to meet its impending doom. It wasn’t often that she got a spanking these days but she had clearly over-stepped the mark.
The hard wood of her mother’s hairbrush, the one she only used for spankings, began to make firm and regular contact with Annabelle’s bare backside. It was a no-nonsense spanking. WHACK … WHACK … WHACK. Despite not doing this as regularly as she used to, her mother knew how to spank and three minutes over her knee with the brush being applied quite rapidly to bare buttocks was highly effective. Her mother knew just where it hurt and, although it felt random, each successive whack seemed to hit the most painful spot each time. The only sounds were the echo of the brush as it proceeded to cover both buttocks with red patches and Annabelle yelping and crying out as she most certainly felt each stroke.
Annabelle squirmed as much as she could to avoid the pain but she was clamped in position and so she just gripped the duvet tightly as the punishment was administered. Her bottom went from pink to red to deep red as the hard spanking continued. When her mother stopped, Annabelle knew to remain in position so her mother could inspect her handiwork, making sure Annabelle’s bottom was suitably and thoroughly chastised. If she wasn’t satisfied more whacks would be applied, but on this occasion both cheeks were bright red all over and her mother was sure she had made her position quite clear. As Annabelle lay there, her bottom throbbing, her mother spoke.
“Annabelle, I am marrying Malcolm. He is a good man and whilst you live in this house you will respect both me and him.”
“Yes, mother,” Annabelle sobbed into the bed.
“Once we are married you will need to behave because if you don’t it could well be Malcolm taking the strap your father used on you and applying it to your bottom over the end of this bed. Are we clear?”
Annabelle could not believe what she was hearing.
“No, mother, please. I don’t want Malcolm to spank me,” she pleaded.
“Well, there will be no need if you behave, will there?” her mother retorted.
With that, her mother patted Annabelle’s sore bottom firmly with her hand a couple of times, causing another couple of yelps.
“Now stand up, pull your knickers up and go to your room. I will see you in the morning.”
Annabelle did as she was told. She squealed and squirmed as she gingerly pulled her cotton knickers back into place and she certainly felt the elastic dig into the recently spanked flesh.
The wedding plans continued in the weeks that followed and Annabelle’s mother was meticulous in every detail. Local dignitaries were invited, table plans mapped out and the music, choir and minister were booked and primed with every detail. It was set to be a perfect day.
The big day arrived and Annabelle, her mother and friends rode to church in white limousines. The church looked lovely from the outside and inside. As the organ started up her mother stepped forward with Annabelle’s grandad escorting her and they set off down the aisle. Annabelle was still unhappy but she glided down the aisle just behind her mother. As they got three quarters of the way to the alter, Annabelle had a rush of blood to her head. She stood on her mother’s wedding dress train with both feet and looked on as the back panel of the dress and the long train tore and became detached. She’d only really meant for her mother to wobble a bit but she could only now stare in horror at the ripped dress on the floor which left her mother stood in a packed church in just the top half of her dress with her white knickers on show. Her knickers had been embroidered in blue cotton with ‘JUST’ on the left cheek and ‘MARRIED’ on the right cheek. Clearly not intended for being viewed by the masses, there were some giggles and guffaws. The whole scene was horrendous and, worse still, it had been captured for eternity on video recorders, cameras and mobile devices.
There was a collective gasp from the guests and major confusion as Annabelle’s mother’s three friends whisked her mother away and left Annabelle stood there. Annabelle went bright red and could only apologise. Her grandad came to her rescue and was the calming influence, assuring everyone that it was all going to be fine and that the ceremony would continue shortly.
It took a while, but eventually the dress was patched up and the union of Malcolm and Annabelle’s mother was completed. Annabelle was very quiet for the rest of the day and throughout the reception. The incident had certainly taken the shine off the day but her mother and Malcolm had tried their best to put the incident down to Annabelle losing her footing. By the end of the day, it had mostly been forgiven, but the embroidery on the knickers was still a talking point.
Three weeks later, Annabelle came home from school to find her mother and Malcolm waiting for her. They were nicely tanned as it had only been a week since they had returned from their honeymoon. They both looked furious and snapped at Annabelle to sit down on the sofa in the living room. The TV was on and there was an image of the wedding paused at a frame where her mother was just over half-way up the aisle.
Malcolm spoke. “Watch this young lady.”
The video started and there in full view as her mother walked serenely up the aisle was Annabelle with a smirk on her face as her right foot clearly stepped on her mother’s wedding dress, closely followed by her left foot. It didn’t look anything like an accident to anyone in the room.
Annabelle was speechless as she looked again at the dress tearing apart and, worst of all, the video zooming in on ‘JUST MARRIED’.
“Your uncle John sent us this,” her mother continued. “You little bitch. You planned the whole thing to ruin our day, didn’t you?”
Annabelle went bright red and looked at the floor, trying to think of something to say.
Her mother took her by the arm and all three of them went up to her mother’s bedroom.
“Take your jeans off!” her mother commanded as they entered the bedroom.
“Please mother, no. Please, no,” Annabelle protested as she undid the buttons and slid her jeans off, revealing a pair of black and white polka dot cotton knickers with black lace trim.
“Bend over the end of the bed,” her mother continued as she opened the wardrobe door and took out the razor strap from the bottom drawer inside the closet, where Annabelle’s father had kept it.
“No, please, I am sooo sorry. I didn’t mean it to rip...” Annabelle’s voice trailed off as she bent over the wooden board at the end of the bed. It was a position she was familiar with and she instinctively pulled her knickers down as she bent over, knowing that the strap was only applied to her bare bottom and it would be humiliating having her mother pull them down for her, again.
With her daughter in position, bottom well presented to be given a thrashing, and her knickers down by her ankles, Annabelle’s mother handed the strap over to her new husband.
“Ten strokes please, Malcolm.”
“My pleasure. You deserve every lick, young lady, for ruining your mother’s wedding day.”
Annabelle had forgotten Malcolm was there and the whole shame of her bottom being bared in such a way in front of her new stepfather added to the humiliation. But worst of all, it was he who was going to be applying the punishment, and she knew full well that he wouldn’t be going lightly on her.
“Please no, please not him,” she protested.
CRACK. The three inch wide strap whistled through the air and landed across her backside. She remembered immediately the pain it caused and her stepfather seemed equally as adept as her father had been. It seared across her buttocks and she knew they would pretty much instantly have a dark pink patch across them where the strap had struck. She yelped, wriggled and her feet rose off the ground causing her knickers to become detached.
Just as she stopped wriggling and her feet were both back on the ground she heard the whistle and the second lash came, CRACK. It landed just a fraction lower than the first, but just as hard, and with the overlap of the two strokes the pain was already unbearable. She yelped again, regained her footing and buried her head into the duvet as the third stroke hit home right in the crease between buttocks and thighs. She yelped even louder and her feet drummed on the floor as she bit into the duvet and started to sob. Her bottom was now alight.
After the first five strokes, Annabelle was crying, moaning and wriggling and every part of her bottom had felt at least one of the strokes of the strap, if not more. Malcolm paused and looked at Annabelle’s mother who nodded and he continued. Her mother was determined she would take all ten strokes.
The next five strokes turned Annabelle’s bottom from red into a mixture of dark red and purple and her bottom was now quite swollen. She stayed in position as she knew that if she had stood up or tried to rub, her punishment would have stopped and she would have been taken down to the office and held across the desk to receive the rest, with an additional five strokes applied every morning after breakfast for the rest of the week. That had only happened once as she learned quickly to stay bent over.
“Annabelle, you would normally have been given 10 strokes from your father, but both Malcolm and I are equally disappointed in you,” her mother said. “Those first 10 strokes were for ruining Malcolm’s day and the next 10 I will be giving you for ruining my day.”
Annabelle sobbed into the duvet. She then raised her head, turned and looked at her mother with tears in her eyes from both the pain in her backside and also the pain in her heart as she realised that both she and her mother needed to move on in their lives, and that her behaviour had been totally unacceptable.
“I’m sorry, mother. I deserve this punishment,” Annabelle responded. She put her head into the duvet again and her sore bottom was once again lifted high and was well-presented for the next 10 strokes.
Each slice of the strap across her bottom was torment and she yelped, grunted and squirmed as her mother applied the rest of the punishment with equal measure and force as Malcolm had. When her mother had applied all 10 strokes, Annabelle remained in position. She was well aware that she had wriggled around with her feet and long legs flaying about and that towards the end the sight was most ungainly and unladylike indeed, adding to her humiliation.
“You may get up now, Annabelle. Pull up your knickers and your jeans and go to your room,” her mother said firmly.
Annabelle rose and pulled up her knickers which, despite her attempt not to show she was sore, caused her to grunt, moan and wriggle with discomfort. Pulling her jeans up was even worse as they were tight to begin with and pulling them over her swollen bottom was painful. Her face went bright red with embarrassment as she realised she had been spanked like a naughty little girl by her mother and also by her new stepfather. Once she was dressed, Annabelle thanked her mother and Malcolm, apologised again and kissed them both on the cheek.
She went to her room, stripped off and lay on the bed. She could feel her bottom throbbing and had seen it in her full-length mirror as she was taking her knickers off; it was certainly purple all over and very swollen. She had been given a good thrashing and had thoroughly deserved it. It was time to look forward to her own life and embrace her mother’s new-found happiness.
The End
© Colin Brooks 2024
Colin is happy to be contacted and take feedback from his stories: colinbrookscp@gmail.com.