She wasn’t our real mother, or stepmother, but as a foster mother, she made us call her that. Any deviation, for example calling her mom, mommy, miss, or ma’am, was met with a swift reprisal. She was a strict disciplinarian, but never crossed the line and for a majority of the time, she treated us with love and respect. We were clothed, fed, taken to school, and enjoyed occasional vacations.

I never could recall what happened to my parents or how I became a foster daughter to Mother. While I couldn’t remember the start, there are a few things I remember quite vividly from my experience with Mother, particularly from my rebellious phase when I was seventeen.

“Did you hear me girl?” clearly booms in my auditory memory. I always wish I had registered her voice the first time.

“No, ma’am,” I sheepishly replied, trying to cower from this newfound sadist in my life.

“It’s 'Mother', and you’ll wish you had,” she emphasized grabbing me tightly by the arm and leading me into the kitchen. She then walked me over to one of the wooden stools at the counter.

“Stay there, Abigail,” she commanded. She looked around in the doorways searching for something, and when I figured out what it was my stomach churned.

“Emily, go get your brothers and sisters and have them come into the kitchen,” Mother asked with my foster sister complying to her wish.

It took only a few minutes for the others to sidle down the stairs and collect around the perimeter. There were seven of us altogether, with two boys and five of us girls.

“I want all of you to witness what happens when you are naughty in my house,” she spoke causing my sweat to cool in place. The others, watched in frozen fear as mother stood imposingly over me. 

I was just a gawky and lanky high school nerd who with some good heels could maintain an average height. I would say that I never really got attention from guys, but that would be a lie. Most of the time it was weirdos and creepers who gave me attention, and older men who routinely made me feel uncomfortable. My bright copper hair also led men to believe I was somehow crazy or exotic, which never really sat well with me either.

Although in truth, Mother may have only been a few inches taller, I could have sworn she was a towering figure. Despite her fearsome attitude and unwavering demeanor, she was quite beautiful. I was totally jealous the first time I saw her long flowing brown hair, full even breasts, and firm backside. She wasn’t one to flaunt it though, she wore blouses and skirts that were either muted in color or contained basic patterns.

I didn’t admire her for long, however. A soon as she put fear into the others, I dreaded my fate. I honestly think the waiting was almost as terrible as what was to come. She spent the time I was filled with grisly anticipation, looking for something else.

OH MY GOD! She’s going to find the biggest thing in here to hit me with! I screamed in my head as she continued to rummage through drawers. Finally, she settled on a wooden spoon that was larger and thicker than your average ruler. Although she placed it down kind of haphazardly on the counter beside me, I figured it wasn’t going to stay there for long.

Then with a swift move, she hoisted me off the stool.

“Stand there!” she barked.

I obeyed mostly because I was too afraid to move or deviate from her orders. She sat down on the flat wooden stool, squirming a bit until she found the most comfortable position. I was not afforded the same luxury. She simply pointed at the skirt draped over her knees and said in a calm stern voice, “Bend over”.

At first, I assumed because of her nasty nature, I would be naked or something across her lap. Luckily, that wasn’t the case. Being of a weird and awkward body type I could never quite find jeans that fit well. These ones were almost good enough, but because of my lack of a proper ass, they sagged a little when I was bent over.

Mother seemed to always love a good lecture and with one for every occasion, I was surprised that she didn’t take the time to establish her authority or take the chance to humiliate me further.

The first smack landed precisely on my right cheek. Oww… with all this protection it still stings. After the initial smack, she began to pick up the pace. Alternating between my ass cheeks, she sent a flurry of echoing waves throughout my body. My guess is that she was using the pockets on the back as targets to better pinpoint each strike.

It hurt tremendously, and I can still recall the tears rushing down my face. There was, however, a different sensation that I also discovered. It’s not that I had never been spanked by Mother before, or that I had never pleasured myself before, but this time it was different. I don’t know if it derived from physical contact or just the friction of my pussy against my jeans, but I was aroused. Not just your average arousal, but my panties were soaked and desperately trying to keep it a secret.

The spanking went on forever, it seemed like. I was still trying to fight off my anxiety, as I was switching frequently to the extremes of pleasure and pain. When she noticed me squirming, she grabbed my red ponytail and held my head up by it for a moment.

“Stop it, or you’ll get it worse,” she threatened, sending a burst of uneasiness up my spine. My mind was trying to abide by her order, but my body had other plans. It was almost as if it was intentionally defying her and I continued to flail around like a tuna hauled up out of the ocean.

“That does it,” she shouted.

The cavalcade of slaps ended, but not for long. She only paused to make things worse. A quick snap, and zip and she was yanking my jeans around my knees. Now I was even more afraid and embarrassed and practically bare-assed. My underwear was just a thin layer of white cotton that shielded my now scarlet buns from her punishing hand.

I was surprised when she only ended the onslaught after a few smacks. But it was far from an end. I was still dreading the wooden spoon casually staring at me from the counter. Just as I suspected she picked up the spoon and teased me with it, rubbing it over my engulfed backside. Its sensation was not too bad, but it couldn’t last.

She brought down that spoon like it was lightning crashing to the ground, with the relatively same effect. I was completely shocked after the first few whacks, but after a while, all I could hear was the distant drone of it pounding my flesh. The intense pain had an almost numbing effect that I was sure would subside.

When she finally finished, she pushed me off her lap, exposing my crimson blistered buns to all of the others. They didn’t speak, to protect themselves from being next over Mother’s lap. I turned to examine the damage and it was a redder shade than my hair.

“Did you learn your lesson, Abigail?” she asked not taking her eyes from me.

“Absolutely, Mother,” I lied.