Spanking the Tutor

One evening, Tabitha Greene was scrolling through a parenting forum she frequented when she came across a topic which intrigued her.

"Have you ever had to spank someone? What happened?"

The answer, of course, was yes -- but while others talked about disciplining their children, that wasn't the story she wanted to tell. For whatever reason, a different one reared its head in her mind. One she'd always wanted to tell but never been able to get off her chest. So, after looking through a few other people's stories, she started typing and before she knew what had happened she'd written two-thousand words and had no idea where the time went.

"It's only the most exceptional of circumstances that I physically chastise my kids -- but they're not the story. Somehow, the story here is their tutor.

I'd spent WEEKS looking for a decent tutor for my two girls and I thought I'd finally found one in this young girl called Erin. She was 18 and a student living locally -- I saw her A-Level results and was very impressed so, I suppose very foolishly, I assumed she could somehow transfer those grades to my daughters. Erin didn't stop me from thinking that, of course -- she was advertising herself on Facebook as a tutor and had a glossy cover image which I suppose is all you need to trick rubes like me!

Once we sat down together in my living room for an interview, I found myself quite charmed -- Erin was a sweet girl, obviously quite nervous, but she knew her stuff and impressed me with all the work she'd put in to learn good tutorship techniques. It was more than I'd expected -- if I'm honest all I'd thought the tutor would amount to was a glorified babysitter who would magically bring my girls' grades up. Erin, though, didn't seem to need magic -- she appeared to have the skills. I even think I found myself a bit intimidated by her, which is very silly -- she was just a very pretty girl and having her over may have reminded me that I wasn't her age anymore. She was petite with some curves and brown freckles around her nose and inner cheeks, and auburn hair cut short in that student-y sort of way, so I even worried for a moment that my husband might find his eyes wondering. I was a little embarrassed to even entertain the idea.

Still, it was good for my girls, I thought -- having a tutor close to their age rather than another pushing-fifty housewife must surely have been preferable. We talked at length about our lives, as well, and I made a silly joke about how I'd expect Erin to spank my girls if they misbehaved. She stared at me with terror in her eyes before I laughed and assured her it was a joke -- it took her quite a bit of time to relax, nonetheless, and I sensed that here was someone who could very easily be the biggest pushover you've ever met. Notably, Erin also let slip about her ongoing money trouble -- renting in London isn't easy for anyone let alone an Egyptology student. I wonder now if a twang of pity motivated me into hiring her.

My girls had practice exams that Spring and it'd be the first (and only) real dress rehearsal for Erin's methods. I tried not to hover when she was "in session," as I briefly referred to their lessons before my husband told me it sounded strange, but whenever I passed the bedroom door it didn't sound like a lot of teaching was going on. At least once I thought I could hear them just watching a film! A little part of me fretted that I was being rinsed -- but even though I was tempted on more than one occasion to burst into the room and find out just what was going on, I held myself back. My husband talked me down, assuring me that if Erin seemed to know what she was doing then that was because Erin knew what she was doing, and so I left it be. Every Wednesday evening, Erin would arrive, swap pleasantries, go upstairs, come back down around two hours later, and leave with £40 in her pocket. I was SO sure that I was getting something for the money.

But once the practice exams came out, I was horrified -- they'd done worse! One of my girls had slipped two whole grades! I couldn't understand it. After sitting with Erin, who dressed as casual as ever in tight black jeans and a white hoodie with some modern band on the front, and talking to her about what'd happened it was quite clear that she couldn't understand it either. She was very apologetic and took full responsibility, which I didn't think entirely fair. Maybe my girls just weren't cut out for academia? I try to avoid being the type of mother who thinks her kids can do no wrong and have every skill under the sun. I wish natural talent could spring fully developed from my loins but that's just not how things panned out for me!

Erin eventually came clean -- my girls, she explained, were simply impossible. She'd tried everything just to get them to open a book but it wouldn't happen. She didn't have any authority over them or ability to motivate. Needless to say, I was pretty livid -- I'd been paying her something close to £400 to just give up and not tell me until it was far too late! Erin offered to pay me back as much of the money as she could -- but when she said this, I remembered what she'd told me about her rent situation. Would I be sending her tumbling out of her flat and onto the street if I took her up on the offer? I didn't want to do that -- she was a sweet girl. So, I told her that I had no idea what I'd do about her, and she just glumly stared at me without any answer to offer -- and then I had an idea.

Dimly remembering the joke I'd made about expecting Erin to spank my daughters, I told her that all would be forgiven (although she obviously wasn't employed anymore regardless) but that she wasn't leaving without a suitable punishment. We'd tried her way of being as light a touch as you can possibly be -- now it was time to try my way. Erin, uncertainty all over her sweet face, asked what I meant, and I explained that she'd have to take a spanking if she wanted to leave with all the money she'd gotten out of me. Erin protested at first -- the usual talk of "but that's not fair" that you tend to get when you tell a naughty girl what her punishment will be -- but the fact that she wasn't just walking out the door told me all I needed to know. Once I made clear that it was either this or legal action (a complete bluff -- I have no idea how to sue someone! Come on!) Erin mumbled some vague thing about never being spanked before and asking how it'd work. I explained that, given she'd obviously pretty badly misbehaved, she'd have to stand against the wall and take a hairbrush to her bare bottom.

Erin, at this, looked like she was going to burst into tears. A wave of apologies for messing up followed -- but nobody can stay steely-faced like me. I simply told her that we didn't have the house to ourselves for much longer -- the girls would be home from school within the hour and if Erin had gone un-punished by then, she'd have an audience.

Finally, clearly seeing what little choice she had, Erin tearfully accepted and so I got up to retrieve a hairbrush from my bedroom. When I came back downstairs with it in hand, I found her still sat on the edge of my sofa, staring at me and the hairbrush. I just said "what're you still doing sat there? I said against the wall." She just stared at the wall when I gestured to it -- so I grabbed her wrist, pulled her to her feet with a mewl of protest, and led her to the wall which I told her to stand with her nose against and her hands behind her head with fingers linked. She sniffed an "okay" and did as she was told.

At this point, I think you can forgive me for feeling something stirring between my legs. The amount of times I'd done this flavour of punishment with my own girls can be counted on one hand -- and they were both too old for it nowadays, anyway. You'd think that meant Erin was too old for it, too -- but that's what made it so delicious. She stood there, knee trembling, occasionally sniffing while I told her "crying won't do you any good." I put the hairbrush on the sofa's armrest and, while Erin whimpered but didn't fight, reached around to unbutton her jeans and yank them down. "Let's get these off you, first of all," I told her as I pulled them down her pale thighs to her knees. They were tight enough that they took her plain pink knickers down with them -- Erin instinctively reached to try and pull them back up, until I slapped her bared rear with my hands and ordered her to put her hands back behind her head. She obeyed and I pulled her underwear the rest of the way down by the waistband, turning them inside-out and fully exposing her plump, slightly flat bottom, admiring the brown mole on her nearer cheek.

After realising that I should probably get to the business of punishing Erin, I retrieved the hairbrush while she stood there quivering with her knees pressed as tightly together as possible.

"Right, Erin," I told her, "I'm going to spank you thirty times -- and afterwards you're going to thank me for your punishment and then go home, understand?"

A tearful "yeah" was all Erin managed in reply. I stroked her hair for a moment -- my way of telling her it'd be okay, I suppose -- before I got to work with the back end of the hairbrush. Erin whined and whimpered at every hit, the spanks alternating cheeks with each smack, and her bottom was turning as pink as her panties within the first few.

Erin's whines rapidly turned to sobs by the time I got to fifteen. She even tearfully asked "how many more?" and I just laughed and told her we'd only just gotten started. It was only a few more smacks in before her legs were bending and, with gritted teeth, she was pressing her forehead against the wall and crying freely. I half-wished I had waited for my girls to come home so they could sit on the sofa behind me and watch their tutor get the thrashing of her life, but I suppose that'd be quite cruel!

Eventually, with more than a little regret for making the number so low, I reached thirty spanks and Erin just stood there still, knees bent, her bottom bright red in places and crying desperately against the wall. I told her "okay, we're all done" as brightly as I could and, still tearful, with one hand she rubbed at her naked bottom while the other navigated her underwear back up her legs. She winced horribly when the fabric touched raw skin and, after getting her knickers back on, asked if it'd be alright to sit without her jeans on for a minute. I said yes -- and then gave her a hug which she melted into as she nestled into my breasts and just kept apologising over and over. It was a very sweet moment -- and I held her and felt the endorphins flooding through me in a way I hadn't anticipated.

Afterwards, I suggested -- thinking it'd be ridiculous -- that if she wanted I could find her some cream to put on her bottom. I knew she had a long bus journey home and it might make the business of sitting a little bit easier. She mumbled a grateful thanks, sat on my sofa with black jeans still around her knees and hands between her thighs trying to keep at least some of her modesty intact, and I went to the bathroom where I found a tube of aloe vera. I came back and, to Erin's surprise, instructed her to lie on her belly and I'd apply it myself. With a slight reluctance, she turned over and, with a squeak of surprise, I peeled her underwear back down her bottom to expose her poor punished rear once more. She kept her thighs tightly pressed together as I squirted some white gel onto my hand and rubbed her bottom, trying to be as gentle as I could, and she squirmed a little but otherwise endured it.

"I really hope your girls don't come in right now," Erin mumbled, right as my hand went between her cheeks, and I chortled.

After a few moments I had the cream fully applied and, after asking if she felt better, Erin said yes and while I went to wash my hands she stood to pull her knickers back up. With her bottom as sticky as it was thanks to the aloe vera, she found this a bit trickier, and when I came back from washing my hands I found her still trying to figure out a way to be comfortable. We shared a laugh over it and the tension broke a little -- then, she had her jeans back on and was washing her face and minus a rather flushed look seemed back to normal.

My girls came home shortly after, just as Erin was getting her bag and about to step out of the door, and they didn't acknowledge her beyond a cursory teenage grunt. As they went upstairs, Erin stood in the doorway and said goodbye to me, and I said goodbye back, and it felt like there was something else that wanted to be said but it didn't come to me and it still hasn't come to me, so she left and I closed the door and that was the end of it."

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