The day after I moved into my place fifteen years ago, I met my new neighbor, Grace, and her then-ten-year-old daughter, Hope. For the first few years, Grace and I were just neighborly acquaintances. We would chat across the wall between our yards and such and occasionally share an adult beverage on one of our patios.

Early-on, Grace informed me was recently divorced, her ex-husband and Hope’s dad having left them for a “newer model”. She also made clear was not seeking another relationship. I could easily see that she was a very loving mom yet suspected she was also a firm disciplinarian. That latter suspicion was confirmed multiple times during mild weather, when I overheard the unmistakable sound of a spanking and then sobbing emanating from an open window. There was also a summer evening when Grace and I were having some wine on her patio. I said something cheeky and Grace replied, “Careful, mister, or I’ll put you over my knee and spank your tush.”

I replied, “Yes, please!” She blushed deeply and I got a little stiff.

Our connection changed dramatically during my fourth summer in the neighborhood. Grace and I were both invited to a cookout hosted by another neighbor. After dinner, In the waning daylight,, we were sitting around a patio chatting with a few other neighbors. The others left to freshen their drinks and in what I guessed was a moment of tequila-induced boldness, Grace looked at me and suggested, “How about we get out of here?” On the quick walk down the sidewalk to her place, Grace noted that Hope was spending the weekend with her dad and step-mom, so she was unencumbered by parental duties or potential awkward interruptions. A few minutes later we were in Grace’s bedroom, naked and horizontal. That post-barbeque escapade began a friends-with-benefits connection that has now lasted more than a decade.

Before long, Hope completed high school and was enrolled in a college about an hour away - close enough for Grace but far enough for Hope. During the first semester of Hope’s sophomore year, I discovered that Grace was indeed a serious disciplinarian and even at nineteen Hope was not too old for a spanking.

It was a crisp autumn evening. Grace and I were enjoying some mulled wine around her firepit. Hope had just finished mid-terms and was home for the weekend. Grace had been furious that Hope had slacked-off this semester and tanked the mid-term exams. Before I arrived, they had been arguing and Grace was still agitated.

Grace was finally calming down when Hope stomped-out onto the patio. “Why can’t I go over the Isabell’s?”

“One, because you’re grounded and, two, your dad is coming by to pick you up in about ten minutes,” Grace replied coolly.

“Well, at least you will have the house to yourself so you two can fuck,” Hope growled. I looked up, trying to keep a neutral if somewhat perturbed expression, not wanting to let-on that her conjecture was true.

Grace was not so calm, “How dare you talk like that. You should be embarrassed and soon you’ll be very sorry.” Grace set down her mug and moved towards Hope, “Get inside, young lady.”

Hope looked authentically frightened. “No, mom, please,” she begged, realizing she had stepped across a serious line. “I’m sorry,” she pleaded and looked at me, “I’m sorry”, then back at her mom who strode past her into the house. Hope followed knowing full well what lay in the immediate future, “Please, no, mom!”

I heard muffled voices from deeper in the house and then a clear order, “Get ‘em down!” I imagined Hope reluctantly lowering her jeans and panties before going over Grace’s knee. On cue, the sound of the hairbrush against a bare bottom was audible. It was the only sound from the house for a good fifteen or so seconds before groans began that morphed into wails.

Soon after Grace and I became intimate, we began to incorporate some domestic discipline scenes into our rendezvous. I knew from personal experience that even when applied somewhat playfully, how much Grace’s brush hurt. In this instance, I could tell Grace was applying the brush with significant severity and at a brisk cadence. The sounds of spanking curtailed after about ninety seconds but the sobs continued for a bit longer. Now, I imagined Grace quietly voicing her love for her daughter as she pulled up Hope’s panties to cover the girl’s blistered cheeks.

A few minutes later, I heard the doorbell, then some hushed voices and soon after Grace returned to the patio. “Sorry ‘bout that,” she offered. “They’re gone now.”

I desperately wanted to ask for a play-by-play account of the spanking but figured Grace would volunteer if she felt so inclined. Instead I asked, “Do you think she knows or was she just being provocative?”

Grace paused, thinking about the question. “I can’t figure how she’d actually know. I think we’ve been very discrete but she might presume. Anyhow, who cares. We’re grown adults and can have some fun together.”

I shrugged agreeably and asked, “Speaking of fun, do you want more mulled wine or perhaps something else kinda spicy?”

After college, Hope landed a job at a software development job with a local high-tech startup. The first four years were very rewarding but recently, the company failed to meet key milestones and its investors pulled-out, shuttering the firm and putting Hope out of a job.

Hope moved back home, soon creating two sorts of friction. First, Hope balked at the rules that were standard when living at home before and, secondly, having Hope around had definitely impeded the ease and frequency for Grace and me to canoodle.

It was a Thursday evening. I was rewatching a favorite movie while enjoying some bourbon when the bell rang. I paused the movie, seeing the inset at the corner of the television that appeared whenever the bell rang, showing that Grace and Hope were at the door. I opened the door now realizing the serious expressions on both women's faces. I then noticed the brace on Grace’s wrist. “What happened? Are you ok?”

“I tripped in the parking lot at work and jammed my wrist, they don’t think I broke anything but it hurts like a mother…” Grace explained, quashing the expletive. “On the other hand,” she continued, “Last night my lovely daughter was out until two, then drove home. In my car! All while clearly having had too much to drink.” Grace continued, “With my wrist bunged-up, I was hoping you could do me a solid.” I looked back and forth between the two. Grace looked grim and determined while Hope looked mortified. “Perhaps with your belt,” Grace added, “I think a dozen good strokes might jog her thinking.” Grace pointed at the couch. “Bend over the arm of the couch, young lady. You’re due a whoopin’ you’ll not soon forget.”

Hope bent over the arm of the couch and I began to unbuckle my belt. “Hold on a sec,” Grace said to me, then to Hope, “Get those shorts and panties down, you’re getting this on the bare just like any other spanking you’ve ever earned.”

Hope stood and paused, like she was going to plead her case. She looked truly humiliated as she clumsily unbuttoned her cut-offs, unzipped them and then pushed the shorts and her panties down. The clothing fell to her ankles as she bent back over presenting me with a most lovely target. I slowly applied the belt to Hope’s shapely bottom, taking cues from Grace about location and intensity. Twelve hard strokes of the heavy leather strap left a dark swath across Hope’s bottom with a few serious welts emerging. She was sobbing softly when she reached down and gingerly pulled her underwear and shorts over her colorful backside.

“Head back home. I’ll be along in a minute,” Grace ordered. She followed Hope to the door, looked out the peep hole as Hope presumably walked away and then quietly turned the deadbolt. She came back to where I was standing, still holding the belt. “Maybe tomorrow, you can warm my tushie with it? Hope has a job interview at nine.” I nodded at the suggestion. She continued, “Right now I want to make good use of the brief time we have and demonstrate my appreciation.”

She began to open my pants as she sank to her knees. It did not take long for her talented lips and tongue to bring me to fruition. I offered a hand as she rose, licking her lips. I kissed an errant streak of semen from her chin. “I’m happy to help anytime.”

“I bet,” she replied and sashayed out the door`