It was the Saturday before Labor Day - still summer but days were getting shorter and a bit cooler. I was sitting on my back patio in the early morning quiet with a coffee and heard a car door close on the street out front and then footsteps coming up the drive. Sue came into view - obviously a night out had turned into a sleepover. She was a bit startled and waved tentatively, looking a bit uncomfortable that I had seen her walk of shame. She was living in my guest house during an internship in the fall semester of her junior year at college.

The living arrangement was a favor to her mother, Kara, a dear friend from my younger days. I had known Kara when Sue was just a youngster. On weekends that Sue spent the weekend with her dad, Kara and I would socialize. We had never been truly romantically involved but when we discovered our mutual fascination with spanking, those weekends were pretty exciting and left us both with nicely red, sore bottoms.

The spanking had begun when Kara had received a warning for speeding. We had been talking about the incident and she mentioned that even as a women in her late twenties, if her dad had known, he would have left his mark on her bare bottom with his belt. That prompted me to offer to act as his surrogate and I would be glad to redden her bottom on his behalf. She paused and then draped herself over my knee. After a few spanks on her jeans, I declared a spanking was only truly memorable and effective if applied to bare cheeks. She quickly uncovered and I proceeded to warm her bottom with my hand. She asserted she probably deserved something a bit more intense and withdrew a wooden hairbrush from her bag thI used to serious redden her bottom. After that beginning, we would practice our ‘hobby’ at each opportunity. Not only could she absorb a good spanking but she could deliver on equally searing, as well.

Our play together was too short lived. Kara got a job a couple of states away, so our nearly biweekly spanking adventures ended. Occasionally we could still coordinate a bit of time together but more like one or twice a year versus every two weeks or so. We would keep each other appraised of our spanking related activities and that’s how I learned that Sue had turned into a particularly difficult teen and Kara resorted to use of the same trusty brush on Sue’s backside that Kara and I had often applied to each other’s bottoms.

About nine, my phone rang and I saw it was Kara. She was livid that Sue had gotten very drunk, made a casual hook-up and stayed out all night. She asked if I would do her the favor of acting as her surrogate and give Sue the punishment Kara thought her miscreant daughter was due. I hesitate just a beat - I really enjoyed spanking but mine had always been more playful than actual punishment. Of course, the pretext was sometimes misbehavior but it was between consenting adults not the situation Kara was proposing. I questioned the legitimacy of me punishing her twenty-something daughter. Kara argued that just a couple of years earlier, Sue had been subject to corporal punishment at her private high school and asked how I was any less viable as a disciplinarian than those teachers. She also reasoned that I would be objective about the punishment - that if Sue had done this at home, Kara’s anger would likely have led to a excessively severe outcome. Finally, I conceded to Kara’s request. Kara said she would have Sue come over to the house shortly.

Maybe ten minutes later, Sue was at my back door. She offered me a hair brush much like her mother’s, citing that she had been instructed to present herself for a spanking from me using the hairbrush on her bare bottom. Sue also mentioned that her mother had asked for a photo of the results at the conclusion. I turned a chair from my kitchen table and beckoned Sue to my right side. I took the brush and instructed her to bare her bottom and go over my knee. She paused for a bit and the looked at me with a mischievous grin before shrugging her pants and panties down. I glanced at my watch and began to spank with moderately heavy swats at a brisk pace. I paddled her taut cheeks for about five minutes, creating a mottled pattern of color as bruises were just emerging. I had her bend over the chair and snapped a picture of her well-spanked bottom with her phone and then she texted the image to her mom.

Sue pulled up her pants and paused in thought. “Did you and my mom ever…” she began and then made a circle with thumb and forefinger, poking it with her other index finger.

“That’s a rather inappropriate question,” I replied. “I think the answer should be a few licks with my belt.”

“No, please! My ass is on-fire as it is,” she pleaded.

“Perhaps the sore bottom will result in better future behavior? It’s not seemed to have much impact on your salty attitude.” I replied and led her to the back door. Like most any other instance, spanking a woman’s bare behind left me highly aroused. I hoped she had not realized the state of my excitement.

I thought about relieving the tension manually when my phone rang and it was Kara again. She relayed how she had just been talking with Sue and how defiant and intransigent Sue was - even after what looked to be a rather intense spanking. Kara pleaded that I apply a follow-up and not to quit until I saw true contrition. I looked into the backyard and had an idea that I felt would make anyone contrite and penitent. I took my garden shears and went out to the guest house.

I told Sue her mother and I agreed that the spanking had not produced the desired results and I had an approach that I thought would change her attitude. We had an unusually rainy past few weeks and the desert willow had spouted a number of new stalks. I knew from personal experience, the green stalks were very persuasive when applied even with moderate force to a bare backside. I instructed Sue to go cut at least three switches, no short than her arm and no smaller diameter than her pinky finger. A few minutes later she returned with the switches and a look of dread that these would now be applied vigorously to her bottom.

I had her bend over the arm of the large sofa.The arm was high and lifted her up so her toes just touched the ground and presented her bottom perfectly. I worked through her three products, three strokes from each leaving a pattern of dark welts on top of the very colorful results from the hairbrush. I asked her to comment on the notion of drunken casual sex and the worry it caused her mom. I was unconvinced by the answer and so applied each switch twice more. I was concerned about real injury with any additional strokes, so snapped another picture and suggested perhaps next weekend we should repeat today’s treatment.

She turned with tears streaming down her cheeks and gave me a deep hug. “I’m really sorry,” she sobbed but her hand strayed from the hug to press against my erection. “But I think I would like to make this a Saturday tradition,” she added. “Just let’s not tell mom.”