I knew I was in deep trouble when mom mentioned she wanted to have a 'private discussion' with me. I knew that was mom talking for me going across her lap while she applied the hairbrush to my bare bottom. I breathed a silent prayer under my breath as I was marched from the kitchen to my bedroom. Mom followed behind me, her arms folded across her chest and a crossed look graced her face as she walked a few steps behind me. A few minutes later we reached my room.
I went in first and mom followed me in, mom closed the door behind me and took a deep breath as she peered at me. I could tell she was not quite pleased to be having this conversation with me. Once mom had closed the door she guided herself over to my vanity, after a few seconds of looking, she found what she was hunting. An old Edwardian hairbrush that had an ebony backside. I had picked it up at a local yard sale at the bargain price of three dollars and fifty cents. And much to my chagrin mom decided it was the perfect tool to tan my bottom with when I'd misbehaved.
She scooped the hairbrush up in her hand and peered at me as she walked over and eased her bottom down upon my bed. She took a deep breath as she peered at me. She then motioned for me to come closer. I followed, though I thought doing so would be foolish, I knew better than to disobey my mother when she was in one of these moods.
A few seconds later I found myself standing in front of my seated mother. Who wasted no time in pulling down my skirt. My protest fell on deaf ears though. For soon I was stepping out of my skirt and being lowered over my mothers lap. I felt my high cheek bones start to heat up as I felt myself being settled over my mothers lap.
A few tense seconds passed, before I felt the brush come crashing down upon my bottom. The ebony backside of the brush made a loud echo as it came crashing down upon my bottom, sending a powerful wave of sting and burn rolling like the ocean tide into my bottom. The force of the stroke made my bottom bounce, and wiggle around like a bowl of jello-pudding. A few seconds later I felt another painful sting of the brush come cracking into my bottom, once more the brush sent a wave of sting and burn rolling into my bottom. I could feel my toes starting to curl under.
“Cerridwen!” Mom scolded as she peered down at me, “I thought I taught you better girl! History is ripe with people like us being shunned by society and even out ride murdered. And you! You girls have a double target painted on your back! Not only are you part of the LGBTQ+ community, but you're a witch! A witch who enrolled in a mostly white, upper middle class, christian academy .”
I nodded my head as the wooden hairbrush came cracking down upon my bottom, sending yet another wave of sting rolling into my bottom. My chest heaved and hoed and my upper teeth sank into the bottom of my lip, all the while my toes curled as the brush kept popping away every few seconds.
“YES MA'AM!” I bellowed as I dug my fingernails into my blankets.
“Cerridwen Circe Whitethorn! Do you have any idea the amount of trouble you could have caused not only yourself, but your fellow classmates if you had carried through this this half baked scheme of yours to make a few quick dollars? She added in a scolding voice as she cracked by bottom two more times with the hairbrush. I could feel the heart starting to glow.
Now to be honest, I had a faint idea of how much trouble I would have caused, now that mom had laid the facts out on the table. But since I'd already dug my own grave. I decided to keep quiet. I've discovered since becoming Cerridwen that mom would often ask questions that she does not want an answer too.
And talking back would get you into more trouble.
“A improperly brewed potion! Can do more harm than good! Potion crafting is like Chemistry. That one reason I was holding off teaching you that branch of the craft till you had take Chemistry I and and Chemistry II your Junior and and Senior Year.” Mom said, sighing. “That way you would have at least a basic understanding of the craft. Potion crafting is all about learning how different substances, that is elements and compounds interact with a living organism. So really it's like Biochemistry. But still, it's one of the hardest branches of the craft to master and requires strict discipline and total focus.”
Then another furry of swats came pounding into my bottom. It felt like a swarm of angry honey bee's decided to attack my bottom. The old, wooden hairbrush quickly fell upon my bottom, smacking it, before being raised up and smacked again.
“Focus and discipline that seem to be lacking!” Mom said she cracked the brush again upon my bottom. “But for now, we shall stick with the basic lessons.”
And with that she tossed the wooden hairbrush to the side of my bed. She then reached down and scooped me up and drew me close to her chest. I heaved a sigh into mom's chest as she scooped me up and dew close to her bosom. She cradled me between her breasts and wrapped her arms tightly around me. I could hear her heart beating in her chest.
“My sweet, dear Cerridwen.” She whispered into my year as she cradled me. “I'm so sorry I had to do that. But you need to learn. And it's my job to teach you.”
And so mom cradled me, and soon I started to cry like I always do when I get spanked. But mom just held me, she held me all through my crying fit and she held me till all the tears were spent. Then she picked me up, carried me bridal style to the bathroom, washed my face and helped me fresh up. Then she and I started on dinner. And that is how this little misadventure comes to an end.
Comments
Spanking
It's still child abuse. :-( If you have to punish a child then cancel the pocket money for a few weeks to a few months.
Otherwise thx for another nice chapter^^
Spanking ...
I'm of two minds about spanking.
On the one hand, until I was about 6, my parents whipped and spanked us regularly for whatever misdeeds we committed, and while it was unpleasant, it was not nearly as traumatic as the fighting and outbreaks of anger and the emotional chaos of the time. But what had the worst long-term effect was the way for my entire childhood, everyone around me kept telling me that what I was doing (and in effect who I was) was wrong, that the only way I could be acceptable was to be someone else, and I should just stop being stubborn and turn myself into that someone. Which, of course, I couldn't, but they all said I could. To this day, I am plagued by the voice that says whatever I do is wrong, is my fault, that I am inherently broken or bad. I still don't know why I never went through with the many suicide plans I made.
Everyone who has suffered both says that emotional abuse is far worse than physical abuse; unfortunately, society doesn't take emotional abuse anywhere near as seriously as physical abuse. Spank your child? Abuse!! Spend the child's entire childhood belittling them and ignoring them? Oh, it's just a different parenting style.
On the other hand, I have two fairly high-maintenance children (now grown), and I never, ever spanked them. It's not that I was morally opposed to it, it's just that there was never any occasion where I thought that spanking or anything like that would have any useful effect. For that matter, most of the child-rearing advice we got from teachers and psychologists turned out to be equally useless. Far more effective was anticipating potential conflicts and arranging things so it never got that far. Plus not getting into power struggles -- most stuff is best just ignored, you need to save your time and energy for the important stuff. And making allowances for the fact that they are just kids and don't have the wisdom or impulse control that adults assume they do. And that's true at least into their 20's.
Some might call it child abuse
But when I was a child, my father used to let me have it when I messed up too. He used his belt on my backside though. I would certainly try not to mess up again, at least for a while. Though it was interesting, that of three kids, I was the only one who was punished that way. I can say with sincerity that I was never my parent's favourite kid, I was always the black sheep. So in spite of my parent's best intentions, I rarely speak with them now. Coming out as a trans woman seemed to really put the damper on our relations.