Williams House Report Card Formula

[andy7788]

This is my first story, so please go easy. Also the theme is fairly cliche, but is one of my favourite ones.
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Well it was that day again. It used to be a day I looked forward to, but in recent years it had become one I hated. The final bell went and all the teachers pets and braniacs rushed to the front of the class. On the teachers table was a pile of report cards which people were feverishly trying to find the envelope with their name on it. For me there was no rush, largely because I was unlikely to like what was inside. After a few minutes, there was only a few envelopes left, so my friend Kat and I went to get ours. Most of the kids had already torn their envelopes open and were bragging to each other about their grades. I just picked mine up and headed towards the bus.

"You not gonna open it then Bex?"

"Whats the point, I know its going to be crap. I know my mum is going to go ape!" I replied.

"Tell me about it, think I'm going to be grounded for a month!"

"At least you don't have a snivelling, swat of a little brother rubbing your face in it, as mum goes on about how well he has done and how I should take a leaf out of his book. I hate him."

I wasn't in much of a talking mood for the rest of the bus journey, after I had opened the envelope. I knew I wouldn't have done very well, but this was a new level of poor for the Williams household. When we got home, any hope I had that mum might have forgotten what day it was dashed by my brother rushing to find her to show how well he had done.

"Rebecca, are you here? Can you come into the kitchen please?"

I knew what that meant. You see in our house report cards get translated into rewards and in particular money. Over the years the report card formula had been developed. It started off quite simple, with a certain amount of money for an A, a bit less for a B, etc. The report card formula is now quite a bit more complicated and that is largely down to me. My grades started to slide a few years ago and got gradually worse. A couple of years ago, my parents decided that the report card formula needed some consequence as well as rewards. From that point on how well we did at school could not only be felt in the pocket, but also in the behind.

The result was the Williams house report card formula. It was quite simple in reality. Good grades scored positive points and bad grades scored negative points. When all the grades are added up, a positive score gets converted into pounds and a negative score gets converted into smacks. As my behaviour worsened, other measures were introduced. For example, if we misbehave at school we get an amber report sent home. More serious offences end up in red reports, followed by suspension and exlusion. If we get any of these then they get factored into the report card formula. They can not only eradicate any reward, but can also increase the severity of the punishment.

"James can you get the report card formula sheet and a pad and pen, please" mum asked. Of course he did this more than enthusiastcally, whilst I took my place at the table looking more like a condemned prisoner. Mum completed James' sheet first. Not only had he done pretty well in terms of grades, he also only had one amber report, resulting a grand total of 65 points, which converts to £65.

"Well done James, I am so proud of you. Now would you please go and play in your bedroom while i do Rebecca's card" mum stated, obviously already knowing that a negative score was inevitable. James took the hint knowing not to push his luck after such a positive result.

Poor grades, plus 4 amber reports and 1 red report and a 1 day suspension meant I was in serious trouble. Mum was clearly very disappointed, but kept calm. She carefully worked through the formula and the re-checked her sums, before announcing the result.

"Well I am sure you don't need me tell you how disappointed I am in you Rebecca. The score comes out as minus 75 and thats before we factor in the disciplinary issues. The ambers add minus 40 (minus 10 for each amber), the red adds minus 50 with an additional clothing factor, the 1 day suspension adds a further minus 50 plus an impliment factor."

I already had tears in my eyes as it started to sink in. This was by far my worst report day punishment.

"In case you are struggling to know what that all means, then let me tell you young lady. You are going to get 115 with my hand on your knickers. Then I am going to take your knickers down and you will get another 50 with my hand followed by a further 50 with the hairbrush. Anything you want to say?"

"Mum, please! I am sorry......... I am 14, can you not ground me, or cut my allowance or something.......... I am too old to be smacked" My mum stood up, ignoring my please. She pulled her chair out and into the middle of the floor. "Mum, please....I will try harder......I won't get in any more trouble....Mum?"

I got my answer as she sat down and grabbed me by the wrist, pulling me closer to her right side. I didn't resist too much becoming more resigned to my fate. My eyes were already tearing up as I went over her knee. My hands made contact with the floor, my legs dangled helplessly in the air as my mother adjusted the position until she was happy. Next I felt my school skirt being lifted and my mothers hand on my back. I flinched as I felt her other hand rest on my bottom. I hated this bit; the lecture. She always waited until we were in position before starting the lecture. I am sure she did it deliberatly as part of the punishment and it worked. Part of it is the waiting and anticipation. But part of it is to do with my mum thinking I often get far too big for my britches and she was probably right. I was a teenager, I can do what I want, I thought. But its certainly pretty hard to feel all grown up, when draped across your mothers lap, skirt up and knicker clad bottom pointing skywards vulnerably.

The lecture went on for what felt like an eternity. I was far too nervous to take it all in. I knew I had gone too far recently and I probably deserved to be punished, but was genuinely scared about what was to come. I needed to think no more as the talking stopped and I felt mothers hand lift. The smack sounded like rifle shot as it echoed round the kitchen, followed a split second by a sting on my right cheek. My mum smacked methodically, alternating sides, the pace not too fast.

This wasn't so bad I thought. I can take this. I counted past 15 and on to 20. My confidence started to wain as the smacks kept landing on top of one another. The cumulative effect meant that the pain was increasing. I started struggling to keep count. At about 50 or 60, I thought there was a bit of respite as my mum started to spread the placement of smacks. The repeated smacks on the same spots had started to take its toll and I was glad that her hand was now covering more ground. The respite was short lived though, as whilst the sore spots got a bit of a break, the smacks were now starting to hit lower down. My composure started to go, and my legs started to dance as I began to squirm. I also let out an "oweee" everytime her hand smacked my lower bottom. Whilst my knickers didn't provide that much protection, there was a step change in the intensity of the sting when her hand made contact with exposed flesh.

I now had no idea what the count was, my mind was racing, I felt like I couldn't take any more. The pace of the smacks slowed, but force increased as my mum delivered the final volley of ten. And then it stopped. I lay there panting, already out of breath from tensing and squirming. My mum re-started the lecture, reminding me what I had just got was for my grades and what I am now going to get was for my repeated poor behaviour.

"Mum, I'm sorry......I've had enough.....I'll be good, I promise.......Please?"

I again didn't have to wait long before getting the answer to my pleas. I felt her fingers in the waistband of my knickers. I didn't move as she struggled, a little, to pull them down. But inevitably my underwear was now bunched around my knees and my mums hand was resting again on my cheeks. At this point I would have been grateful for some additional lecturing time, but the rifle shot rang out again, even louder than before as my mums stinging palm made contact. In very little time I was kicking and squirming again, doing my best to dodge the incoming smacks. But my mothers firm hand on my back meant I didn't go far and her hand found its target relentlessly. My yelps and "oweee's" were now pretty constant as tears started rolling down my cheeks. My bottom was burning and stinging more and more with each smack. As before, no part of my bum was left untouched and the smacks that landed on my lower bottom/upper thighs were unbearable. Just as the intensity reached a creshendo, the spanking stopped.

After a brief pause, which provided a rest break, no doubt not just for me but for my mums arm also, the silence was broken:

"Rebecca, go and get me the hairbrush"

"Mum, no, please. Not the hairbrush. I've had enough. I am sorry."

"You should have thought about that sooner. You know the consequences for getting suspended from school"

"But it was just for that day!" I protested.

"The hairbrush, Rebecca. If I have to get it myself, you will get double"

I knew I had lost, so I gingerly got go my feet and stood up. My legs were shaky, my face was red and tear streaked, my behind even redder. I noticed my underwear wrapped around one ankle and I kicked them off across the floor, in an act of pointless petulism. An act that no doubt convinced my mum that giving me the brush was still deserved. I walked slowly out of the room and as soon as I was out of view my hands shot under my skirt to try and rub away any remaining sting. Before long I was in my parents room and looking at the brush sitting on the dressing table. Such an innocent utensil now looked evil and felt heavier than ever as I picked it up. I couldn't help but stare at the hard wooden, square surface, transfixed. Until I was broken out of my daze:

"You have 10 seconds to get back here young lady"

Startled, I rushed back to the kitchen. My mother held out her hand, into which I placed the brush. She then pointed silently at floor next to her right side. I dutifully shuffled round. Next in this game of charades my mum patted her lap. I can't remember ever putting myself over her knee, I was always upended quite unwillingly.

"5, 4, 3.."

She didn't get past two as I flung myself clumsily over her lap and nearly over the other side. Pulling me back, to the point where my bottom was skywards and slightly hanging over the edge of her right thigh, I felt her hand press firmly into my back once again. The next thing I felt was cool, flat back of the hairbrush tap my cheeks.
"I'm sure it goes without saying that I expect much better in the future"

"Yes mu....oweeee"

My god, the sting was incredible. After less than 10 smacks, I seem to have lost all control over my legs as they kicked and bucked. The intense sting spread all over and after 2 low blows, my hand shot back to try and cover up. This new found protection lasted about a second, before I felt my wrist being grabbed and pinned to the small of my back. Not only had my desperate attempt failed, but with my arm round my back my abilty to squirm around was dimished. The brush landed over and over with new found accuracy.

Thinking it couldn't get any worse, my mum must have swung the brush with even more venom as the pain became unbearable. Not knowing whether there was two smacks or twenty left, I lost all fight and slumped over her lap crying. I don't know whether my mum stopped because the 50 was up, or she felt I had been punished enough, but she pulled me up off her lap and held me to her chest. Despite the pain that this woman had just inflicted upon me, I felt hugely comforted in her arms.

"Shhh baby, its over.....I love you with all my heart. I hope this is a lesson we will never have to repeat."

"I'm so sorry mummy"

THE END.

[Often123]

Good story. It doesn't matter how old you are once you're over mum's knee, listening to her scolding, and yes those hand smacks do add up pretty quickly. This from someone who respects the female hand. The comforting at the end was a nice touch and sounded very natural. This was a fine effort and hopefully you'll continue writing.

[petermcwade]

Keep going. Rebecca is lucky it's mom not dad.

[andy7788]

Thanks for the comments

[johncook]

The spankings clearly aren't working. They should stop waiting for report card day and give her weekly or dally spankings until she improves. And send a spreadsheet with the formula out to all of her friends so they'll know that she's not just getting grounded,

[goodgulf]

It sounds as if they need a spreadsheet.

Goodgulf

[Often123]

@John: We don't want this to be abusive, the story was supposed to be in a family, not a dungeon.

[johncook]

Using a formula and making her wait was more abusive than what I recommended. If you want real caring you'd have them constantly monitoring her progress and helping her with the subjects she\s struggling with. Or linking the spankings to tests and quizs so she can get immediate feedback.

[andy7788]

Maybe we will have to get Rebecca to do the calculation. That way she gets a bit of maths practice at the same time!! Educational as well as motivational

[roland45]

It doesnt matter what your opinion on how or when she was punished. the fact is the story was well told, written and presented. bravo