Natural Consequences

A Lesson in Consequences

Song Dedications at the Top of the Hour

Eighteen-year-old Maya Jackson had a quick wit and a stubborn streak. Teachers usually enjoyed the first. For the second, they handed out demerits and detentions freely. She lived with her mother, Jessica, in a small apartment on the eastern edge of Windtown, Wyoming, where the rules were Jessica's and the hairbrush hung on the back of Maya's bedroom door.

That Tuesday, the day after a Monday holiday, Maya marched into the school's student-filled main hallway with a chip on her shoulder and her chestnut hair loose down her back. Her mother liked it in a French braid for school. Maya didn't. She'd gotten a "morning-after reminder spanking" just before boarding the school bus, with its hard seats, following the night before's "full" hand spanking for forgetting to put her dirty clothes in the hamper for the second time that week. In their family, a "full" hand spanking, unlike a brisk reminder whacking, devoted serious attention to a girl's -- well, Maya's -- thighs and sit-spots, as well as to the firm, full crests of her bared bottom cheeks.

Two spankings for leaving her jeans and undies on the floor near the mouth of her laundry hamper. She wasn't a basketball player, was she? Unfair.

Nasty Billy, the football team's obnoxious tight end, all neck and letter jacket, patted her rump the way he patted all the girls. Soccer had made it a high, hard target, and Billy never missed. The pat woke the zing in her bottom. "Fuck off, Billy," Maya risked. Good thing he didn't know about her spanking. And depending on which teacher caught her, swearing meant a demerit -- enough of those added up to a school paddling -- or a referral straight to the principal for one.

The year before, the district had adopted Wyoming's Strong Schools, Strong Students program, which let principals and deans paddle disobedient students with their parents' permission. Jessica had signed the school's Paddling Approved contract this fall.

In first period, Mrs. Rinden, the algebra teacher, repeated the no-phones rule the school had adopted two weeks earlier, at the start of the semester. Phones went into the Cell Phone Corral on her desk at the beginning of every class.

"Phones in the basket and assignments on the corner of my desk, ladies and gentlemen."

Maya dropped off her assignment and palmed her phone on the way back to her seat, between her friends Kelsey and Lorraine. "Remember, Lorraine, the radio station only takes song dedications at the top of the hour? I've got this. Watch."

When the eight o'clock bell began to ring, Lorraine and Kelsey could see their friend's shoulders moving in time with something under her desk.

"MISS Jackson. What do you have under that desk? Hand it here. Now."

Maya's "shit" was audible only a few rows either way, but it carried fine to Mrs. Rinden, who was now standing directly behind her. Tall and bony, she could cross a classroom without a single board creaking.

"Nothing, ma'am."

"Not nothing, young lady. Hand it over." Mrs. Rinden held out her palm and waited until the phone was in it. "And your language. The principal will find it as objectionable as I do. You know phones go in the corral before class. I just announced it."

She was already writing. Everyone in the room knew the special blue paper of a Referral for Corporal Punishment, and the carbon copy the teacher kept.

"What should I give as your excuse -- pardon me, your reason -- for having a phone in my class? Who were you calling?"

"My mother. She's sick."

"Then that's what I'll put. 'Says calling sick mother.'" The pen scratched. "Maybe the principal will believe you. Possession of a cell phone. Profanity to a teacher. Recommend CP."

Mrs. Rinden tore off the blue slip and handed it, with the phone, to Elizabeth, the best student in the class. "Escort Miss Jackson to the office so she doesn't get lost on the way. Give these to Mrs. Gardner."

Kelsey kept her eyes on her worksheet. Lorraine mouthed, Sorry.

"Mrs. Gardner?"

"Yes, what is it, Elizabeth? Good to see you here."

"I'm here with Maya Jackson. Mrs. Rinden told me to escort her to you with this Blue Note."

"Ah. What did she do?"

"Ma'am, she had a cellphone in class. And ... I think she swore at Mrs. Rinden."

"Oh, my. Someone's in for a spanking, I think. I'll just let the Principal know. You can run along, Elizabeth. Miss Jackson, you sit right there on the bench."

Calipers and Panties

Maya waited on the bench in Mrs. Gardner's office for the mandatory eternity every student endured. Mrs. Gardner, plump and pleasant, typed. The clock over the door had a loud second hand. Then Principal Groves opened his door. He was a short man with a gray crew cut and the friendly face of a small-town barber, which fooled no student who'd been in his office before.

"Well. Miss Maya Jackson." He held up a blue note. "I've already had one of these this morning, from Coach Bruin. Inappropriate language in the main hallway. Now a second. What's this one for?"

Maya's stomach dropped. Billy.

"Coach Bruin wrote up Billy Hodges too, for where he put his hand. He's on my list after lunch."

Good, Maya thought.

"Bring her in, please, Mrs. Gardner. And ... do you think we'll need the calipers?"

Shit, Maya thought. The Principal's calipers were legendary.

"Yes, Principal. I'm certain those gray sweats are more than an eighth of an inch thick."

Principal Groves lectured her on the evils of swearing and disobedience for ten minutes. Then he turned to a single question.

"Mrs. Rinden tells me you were calling your mother."

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

"She's sick."

He picked her phone up off the blotter. "What's her number? I'll just check when you last called her."

Maya's mouth went dry. The last call on that phone was to the radio station. "I -- I was going to call her, sir. I was just starting to when Mrs. Rinden --"

"Enough, young lady." He set the phone down, screen up, between them. "Let's find out what your mother knows about this. Mrs. Gardner?"

"Jessica Jackson works at Big Bob's, at the mall. I have the number at my desk."

Maya heard only his half.

"Mrs. Jackson? This is Principal Groves, at the high school. ... No, no, she's fine. She's in a bit of trouble, however. She seems to be worried that you're sick."

He looked at Maya over his glasses.

"You're not? I see. That's interesting, because ..."

Maya studied the edge of the desk while he went through it all: the phone, the language in class, Coach Bruin's note, the sick mother. She couldn't make out her mother's words, only the tinny rise of her voice.

"So I have your permission under the Strong Schools policy to paddle her. And you'll come pick her up afterward to begin her suspension. ... Today, Mrs. Jackson. Yes. Thank you."

He hung up and folded his hands.

"As you heard, Miss Jackson, your mother has given me permission to paddle you under the corporal punishment policy she signed at the start of the year. The paddling is for the phone and the language. The week at home is for lying to a teacher about your mother's health."

"You may know that some students have been seeking to avoid their spankings by wearing very thick clothing that mutes the force of the paddle. We call that cheating. No cheating is allowed at Windtown High School. Before I can have Mrs. Gardner lower your sweats, she'll measure them with the calipers. If they are more than one-eighth inch thick, I'm afraid your paddling must be on your panties."

"Almost one-quarter inch, sir," Mrs. Gardner informed the Principal after ostentatiously (and not rigorously) pinching Maya's sweats with her metallic surveyor's calipers.

"Young lady, remove your sweats and sneakers entirely and bend over my desk."

Mrs. Gardner, if not Principal Groves, felt appalled when she saw that Maya's turquoise blue panties clung tightly and revealed her form's labia outlined in front as well as her butt crack as she bent over the end of Principal Groves' black wood desk.

Maya's father had left them long ago, and she had no brothers, so being seen in her panties for a punishment was just plain awful.

Maya had never had a paddle applied to her backside, although her mother had hairbrushed her many a time. The paddle used at Windtown High School was the state-regulated one: 24 inches long, 3.5 inches wide, and half an inch thick. When you think about it, a pretty comprehensive instrument of pain. Especially when made from good Missouri hickory, as the Principal had specified to the high school's woodshop, not the regular maple most schools use.

Wham! The first blow landed solidly, not on her cheeks but right across her sit-spots. Clearly, the Principal knew where to aim.

Wham! A second blow landed some thirty seconds later. It felt like longer, waiting for the second dose of pain to arrive. And it was so painful. Like a double chorus line of vaccination shots. Not the focused pain of the oval hairbrush, but pain across the whole width of her backside.

Wham! By the third, Maya groaned. Her fingertips did imitation clawing on the desk, and one toned soccer calf swung up. Then down.

Wham! The fourth arrived after yet another interminable thirty seconds. A moan escaped, involuntarily. She had vowed to stay silent.

"Done," announced Principal Groves, almost reluctantly, as if the paddling hadn't accomplished its goal. Perhaps to make her cry?

Bright Red on Either Side

Principal Groves wasn't sure four had done the job. Then he had an idea. "Miss Jackson, are you spanked at home?"

"Yes, sir."

"By your mother? Does she make you stand in a naughty corner afterwards?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, then, you just hustle yourself into the corner right there. Hands on head."

"Principal Groves," Mrs. Gardner inquired, "what if students or teachers come to see you?"

"Let the teachers in. The new rule allows witnesses to be present. You'll have to keep the students out, I'm afraid, although it would be educational.

"In fact, Mrs. Gardner, please summon Mrs. Rinden and Coach Bruin. They are both appropriate witnesses to the lesson Miss Jackson is learning. They issued the Blue Notes, and thus qualify as witnesses."

Coach Bruin had a voice built for football fields, and no idea how to turn it down indoors. "Mitch, you did a good job paddling this young lady. She is bright red on either side of those panties."

From the outer office, Mrs. Gardner's voice carried through the open door. "Ronnie, sit. Tardy again?"

Great. And Ronnie the Runt is on the bench out there with a tardy slip.

"I agree," said Mrs. Rinden to her two male colleagues. "That is certainly the way a miscreant in her panties should be paddled. A pity the rest of my class can't see what that language earns."

Had there ever been anything as embarrassing as standing in front of three teachers in her panties? Her panties. After a spanking that showed on her practically naked butt? At least they can't see my camel toe front.

Someone Backed Into My Car

At Big Bob's, the Tuesday after a holiday meant returns. Everyone who'd gotten, say, a plaid lawnmower or Cheerios without their superpower over the long weekend came back that morning. Most of them asked for a supervisor. Her.

Jessica had handled six grumpies (not the corporate name for any type of customers) since the doors opened at eight. Her phone buzzed in her blazer pocket halfway through a refund for a coffee maker with no box.

She let it ring. It screamed its insistence again. Fudge. The school's number.

She stepped behind the service desk and turned her back to the line of customers, tucking a loose strand of her ruddy brown hair back into its clip. "This is Jessica Jackson."

It was the Principal. Maya was fine. Ok.

Her daughter was in trouble. What now? Maya, it seemed, was worried her mother was sick. That lying little... "Sick? I'm not sick. I'm at work."

She listened. The phone in class. Maya cursing at one teacher, and a note from a coach about more foul language. Now, a lie about her mother being sick. I'm fair with Maya. Why would she do this to me?

When the Principal asked for her permission under the paddling contract, she gave it "of course." When he said "today," she said yes before she'd thought about how. Pretty damn hard, Jessica wanted to urge him, 'cause she'll be getting it pretty damn hard at home tonight, too.

She hung up. The line for the service desk now reached the jewelry counter.

The memo was still taped beside the register: No unscheduled breaks during peak hours. No exceptions. -- D. Groves, Store Manager. Jessica read it twice, the way she might read a bank overdraft notice, then went to find Donna Groves.

Donna was in the stockroom with a clipboard, counting pallets of patio furniture nobody would buy until April. Her hair had gone iron-gray before Jessica finished high school. Her lard ass, Jessica thought uncharitably, didn't look any better in jeans. It didn't look any worse, either, she admitted. Her hands were short-nailed and plain except for a gold wedding band, and they could break down a pallet faster than any stock boy.

"Donna, I need to leave now."

Donna didn't look up. "It's ten past nine on the Tuesday after a holiday."

"Someone backed into my car in the lot. Security has the guy. I have to deal with the report." The words came out smoother than Jessica expected. She'd told Maya a hundred times that lying without most of the facts was a lie waiting to be caught.

Now Donna looked up. "Security didn't call me."

"Robert called me. It's my car."

"Can it wait until the lunch lull?"

"No, it can't wait. I can't deal with this crap right now, Donna."

Suddenly, Jessica heard the hum of the freezer case on the other side of the wall. Donna lowered her clipboard.

"Forty-five minutes," she decreed. "And Jessica? That's not God's language, and it's not my store's."

"Yes. Sorry."

Donna had already gone back to her pallets.

"Thank you, Donna."

Jessica took the employee exit, crossed the lot, and unlocked her car. No scratches, natch. The security guard, Robert, a tall drink of water even by Western standards, raised a hand to her from the cart corral. She waved back and kept going.

In My Panties? Never Again.

Jessica hurried across the high school parking lot, wondering if she could make it back to Big Bob's in forty-five minutes. Not likely if she must paddle Maya here at school.

"Mrs. Gardner..."

"You go on in, Jessica. Principal Groves is in his office with your daughter and two witnesses, Mr. Bruin and Mrs. Rinden."

"Why are they here?"

"Oh, it's okay. Your daughter swore in front of them both. They're witnesses to the misbehavior. Don't worry, I was the only witness to the paddling.

"She's in the naughty corner right now. Don't be surprised, but ... she's in her panties. It's regulation when a girl is wearing too much protective clothing for a paddling. You can be sure. I measured her myself."

My poor baby. In her panties in front of Coach Bruin.

"Thanks, I'm sure, Mrs. Gardner. She won't have panties on to protect her tonight when we get home."

"I'm sure not, Jessica."

Over the intercom, Mrs. Gardner announced the arrival of Mrs. Jessica Jackson.

Principal Groves pressed the intercom button. "Thank you, Mrs. Gardner. One moment." He turned to the witnesses. "Mrs. Rinden, Coach, thank you both. I won't keep you from your classes." Then, to the corner: "Miss Jackson, you may stay as you are. Come stand by my desk."

By the time Mrs. Gardner opened the door, the witnesses had gone out the side door and Maya stood by the desk, dressed in her blue panties, red-eyed, and not looking at anyone.

Jessica didn't sit. She stood over her daughter with her car keys still in her hand. Maya had an easy inch and a half on her mother, but nobody in that office would have guessed it.

"Sick?"

Maya studied her lime-green socks. "I didn't think they'd call you."

"That isn't an answer, Maya."

"I was dedicating a song on the radio. For Lorraine's birthday."

Jessica filed that away. She'd check it later, along with everything else.

"Mrs. Jackson. Thank you for coming so quickly," Principal Groves said. "I know it isn't easy to get away in the middle of a workday."

"My manager was very understanding. She told me to take whatever time I need."

Maya's head came up. Her mother complained about a no-breaks memo at dinner at least once a week. Jessica didn't look at her.

Principal Groves glanced at the name badge still pinned to her blazer. "Big Bob's, isn't it? My wife runs that store. Donna. You must know her."

Jessica stopped with one hand on the back of a chair. "Yes. I know Donna."

"Small town." He waved them to the two chairs across from his desk. Jessica sat. Maya stood, until her mother gave her a look. Then she sat too, very slowly. Damn -- no, no -- darn, that hurts.

"Here's where we are," Principal Groves said. "Maya's been paddled for the phone and the language, as you authorized. The suspension is for five school days, for lying to Mrs. Rinden AND me about you. Her teachers will post assignments on the portal, and she's expected to complete every one. She returns next Tuesday, and I'll need you at that meeting as well."

"Next Tuesday." Jessica's jaw tightened. Another morning off. Another conversation with Donna.

"One more thing." He slid a form across the desk. "Under the Strong Schools policy, when a student is suspended, we ask the parent for a written account of how the matter was handled at home. Bring it to the return meeting."

Jessica read the form. Maya read her mother reading it.

"You'll have it," Jessica said. "Don't worry. She'll be paddled bare bottom at home ... every day if needed. You can count on it."

Every day? Maya's brain screamed.

"Good." He stood. "Miss Jackson, I hope this is the last time we see each other this way."

In my panties? Never again. "Yes, sir."

With a wave from the Principal, Maya pulled on her gray sweatpants and sneakers.

In the hall, Jessica checked her watch. Twenty-two minutes left of Donna's forty-five, and the mall was eighteen minutes away.

In the car, Jessica reached into the back seat without a word and tossed her Windtown Wranglers stadium cushion, the one from Maya's Friday night games, onto the passenger seat.

Maya buckled her seatbelt, winced, and shifted onto one hip on the cushion. "Mom? I thought Big Bob's didn't let anybody leave during the morning rush."

Jessica started the engine.

"Did Donna really just let you go?"

"Not one more word, Maya Luisa Jackson."

Maya turned to the window so her mother wouldn't see her face.

The Smile She Saved for Substitute Teachers

Jessica parked at the far end of the employee lot, eight minutes past Donna's forty-five-minute allowance.

"Break room," she said. "Sit there. Do your algebra. Don't talk to anybody. If you move, I'll spank you right there in front of everyone."

"I can't sit."

"Then stand and do your algebra. You certainly won't be sitting tomorrow."

She steered Maya through the employee door and to the break room. The one past the time clock. Across from the bulletin board with the Employee of the Month award nobody had updated since July.

Donna found Jessica at the end of the cleaning-supplies aisle.

"Fifty-three minutes."

"I know and I'm sorry. The guy's insurance took forever. It's all handled."

"I see." Donna looked past her, toward the back. "And who is that in my break room?"

"My daughter. Maya." Damn. Every time I open my big mouth today a lie pops out. "She's sick. The school called. I couldn't leave her there."

"Sick."

"Stomach thing."

Donna walked to the break room. Jessica followed. There was nothing else to do.

Maya was standing at the table with her algebra book open, one hip against the counter. She looked up and gave Donna the smile she usually saved for substitute teachers.

"Your mother tells me you're sick today."

"You must be Mrs. Groves. Thank you so much for letting Mom come get me from Principal Groves' office. She told him you said to take whatever time she needed."

The break room was dead quiet. Jessica had an instant want to crap her pants.

"Did she?" Donna said.

"And Principal Groves says I'm suspended till next Tuesday, so I guess I'll see you around." Maya glanced at her mother. "I'm feeling much better now."

Donna turned to Jessica. She didn't raise her voice.

"Mm. Your car, Jessica?"

Jessica said nothing.

Donna looked at Maya, then at Jessica, then at her watch.

"The returns line is out to the jewelry counter, and I'm not doing this in front of your daughter. You, get on that returns line where you're supposed to be the supervisor, Jessica. My office. Seven-thirty tomorrow, before the doors open. Take our corporate notice: 'Suspensions -- Your Rights.'" She pulled three pages printed on blue paper off her clipboard. "Bring whatever you'd like to say for yourself."

"Donna, I can explain --"

"Seven-thirty, Jessica. Tonight you've got a daughter to deal with. I'd say you both do." She turned to Maya. "Miss Jackson. Feel better."

She walked out.

Maya opened her mouth.

"Not," Jessica said, "one. More. Word."

Ten for Your Language, Five for My Bra

Jessica didn't take off her Big Bob's blazer. Her hair, tidy at eight that morning, had worked loose from its clip. She dropped her purse and the blue papers on the kitchen counter and pointed down the hall.

"Living room. Fetch your special hairbrush and our leather strap. Fill the bathroom sink with hot water. Go stand in the corner."

Maya didn't move. "Before you start, Mom--"

"There is no 'before,' Maya Luisa. Time for accountability."

Maya didn't budge. "You lied to Principal Groves. You told him that Donna said, 'Take whatever time you need.' And you told Donna I was sick.

"Lying is what I got paddled for and why I'm suspended. You did it twice in one morning."

Jessica gripped the edge of the tiny kitchen's counter.

"We are discussing your lies tonight, young lady," she said. "Mine are being discussed at seven-thirty tomorrow with the store manager, Mrs. Groves. She is not going to be as nice to me as I'm about to be to you. Living room."

Maya went, but she looked back from the doorway. Jessica knew that the question of her lies hadn't gone away.

Maya filled the bathroom sink with hot water and stoppered it. Then she went for the brush.

Her special hairbrush hung on a nail on the back of her bedroom door, where her mother insisted it hang, so that Maya saw it every time she shut the door for a little privacy. It was oval and old-fashioned, with a heavy back of dark wood. It had been Grandma's first. My mother used this on my bottom, young lady, and I turned out fine, Mom liked to say, usually right before she proved it. At least, to her own satisfaction.

It had never once been used on hair. Well, once. A year ago, Maya had tried brushing her curly pubic hair, mostly out of spite. The hated thing was too stiff even for that.

The strap lived in her mother's closet: a plain brown leather belt, three-quarters of an inch wide. Alone on the last hook and never worn with anything. Maya laid it on the coffee table beside the hairbrush, lined up neatly, the way Mom liked them. Then she went and stood in the corner.

Jessica left her there for ten long minutes. Then she called her into the bathroom.

The sink was full, the water now lukewarm. Beside it lay a bar of Lava and an old green toothbrush Maya hadn't seen since middle school.

Jessica rolled up her sleeves. "You swore at Billy in front of Coach Bruin. Then you swore in Mrs. Rinden's class. So we'll start with your mouth."

She picked up the brush, and Maya looked down at her chest. Shit. OMG, I didn't say that out loud, did I?

"Wait. Not this shirt. Please." It was her Wranglers championship shirt, signed by the whole team. Before her mother could answer, Maya peeled it off and folded it carefully onto the towel rack.

Crap. The bra. Mom's right. My brain has a potty mouth.

Jessica's eyebrows shot up. "Is that mine?"

It was her mother's good navy bra with the lace edging. The one Jessica wore for parent-teacher conferences. On Maya it was a shade too snug, and the little mole on her left breast showed above the lace. When did she outgrow me?

"Everything else was in the wash."

"So you took it without asking."

"I was going to put it back."

"Before or after I noticed?" Jessica worked the toothbrush across the bar of Lava until it foamed. "That's another lie, Maya. And lies get extra. Open."

The pumice hit first, sand scraping across her teeth, then the taste. It was like licking a gas station restroom. Jessica brushed every tooth with a dental hygienist's thoroughness, then laved Maya's gums and tongue. When she finished, she rinsed the brush, lathered it again, and started over.

"That's for the bra."

Maya gagged and gripped the edge of the sink.

Jessica set the brush in the sink and picked up the wet, reddish-brown bar. "Open wide."

"Mom. No."

"Wide."

Maya opened, and her mother slid the bar in lengthwise, end first.

"Wider," Jessica ordered.

It went over her tongue and lodged back between her molars.

"Bite down. Living room corner, hands on your head. Fifteen minutes. Ten for your language, five for my bra."

Maya walked to the corner and laced her fingers on her head. Pumice crunched against her back teeth. Soapy drool spilled over her lip and slithered onto the navy lace.

Great. More extra.

Her aching jaw begged for room. She gagged as a fresh dribble of suds ran down her chin.

Behind her, Jessica sat on the sofa with the hairbrush across her knees, ready to pounce, and did not smile at the bra. Much.

"You'll hand-wash that tomorrow. Then you'll ask me, properly, if you may borrow it again. FYI, the answer will be no. Same as it would have been yesterday, if you'd asked."

Fifteen minutes later, Maya spat the bar into the sink, pulled the stopper, then rinsed and gargled at least four times. She could still taste Lava when her mother said, "Time to start. Sweats off, and panties down to your knees."

Jessica sat in the middle of the sofa and set her knees apart. Not together, as for a quick hand spanking. Apart.

Oh, crap. The long kind. And my thighs.

"Over my knee," Jessica said.

Maya lowered herself across her mother's left thigh, her head and breasts on the sofa cushion. Her hips rose over Mom's knee, and her legs slid down between her mother's toward the carpet, but the panties at her knees held them together.

Jessica hooked a finger in the blue cotton and whisked the panties down and off her daughter's feet. She dropped them on the coffee table, next to the hairbrush.

Maya's feet spread on the carpet to keep her balance. It put her bottom high and her thighs wide open to a right-handed spanker.

"I'm not going to warm you up with my hand. What you got from Principal Groves will have to do, Maya Luisa Jackson."

Oh, "thanks," Mom.

And then it began.

"I'm -- not -- going -- to count -- these -- Maya," Jessica said, one word to a blow, all six centered on the crest of Maya's cheeks. "I'll -- know -- when -- you've -- had -- enough."

The hairbrush kept on, sometimes with words, mostly without. Jessica was methodical. Every blow landed equally hard, but where it landed seemed random: five on the thighs, then three scattered across the sides of her cheeks. Maya knew, bitterly, that it was blow after blow on the same patch of skin that raised the worst bruises. The nicest, in her mother's view.

"Now -- spread -- your -- thighs -- wider -- Maya -- Luisa." Jessica rested the brush on the small of her back. "Your inner thighs are where you'll feel it tomorrow ... and still when you return to school next week. Every step, every time you sit, bruise rubbing on bruise."

The few times Maya had tried to hold back her tears, to show Mom she could take it, she'd failed. Mom simply spanked too hard for that to last past the first few swats. This time was no exception. Her attempts to dam the snot failed too. Mom knew how these went, and before Maya went over her knee, she'd spread a towel on the cushion to keep the tears and snot off their old sofa. These days Jessica used a full bath towel, to soak up that little bit of discharge neither of them wanted to mention from Maya's "down there." Tonight it had extra work to do: the last soapy dribble from Maya's mouth, and the wet navy bra soaking through against it.

My good bra, Jessica thought. Protecting my sofa from my good bra.

The thing about a spanking with no count and no timer is that the girl getting it wants to know when it will end, and she can't. Eventually "how long" gives way to the body's collapse, and to surrender.

"And -- that -- is -- for -- Mrs. -- Rinden."

The last word came with the hardest swat of the night, square across her sit-spots and the cleft between her very bare, very sanguine red bottom cheeks.

That was the place Jessica had been aiming for all along, and she stopped there. There was still the matter of the strap.

Jessica let Maya rest across her knees for a few minutes, through the sobbing, then the hiccups, then the quiet crying, until she could stand. Jessica needed the time herself, to look at the deep red she'd raised between Maya's soccer tan lines. She sent her back to the corner.

"Enough rest, Maya. Time for the strap."

Maya, still facing the wall, heard the belt slide off the coffee table. The strap had only come out a few times. The last was this past summer, when Mom caught her drinking at the reservoir.

"You're getting what my mother gave me, just once. I hope you learn the self-discipline never to do this again." Jessica folded the belt in half, buckle and tip together in her fist, and let the loop hang. "Ten on your bottom. Ten on your inner thighs. Three on your back, around your bra and across your nipples. The welts under your bra straps will chafe, reminding you of the lesson you're learning tonight, daughter."

Jessica set her feet behind her daughter, the way she'd set them on a volleyball court, and swung.

The first stroke came forehand across Maya's left cheek. The leather bent with the curve of her bottom, and the end of the loop snapped into the crease between her cheeks, where it hurt most. Maya shrieked into the corner. The second came backhand across the right, and the leather found the same crease from the other side.

Forehand, backhand. Five on each cheek, every stroke laid just below the last, until the welts stood up in neat rows from the crest of her bottom to her sit-spots. Those welts would hurt ever so much were she silly or forgetful enough to clench her butt cheeks.

"Wider," Mom said.

No. Not the thighs. She moved her feet apart, of course.

The strap caught her high on the inside of her left thigh, where nothing had ever hurt like that. She screamed. Her hands came off the wall and dropped toward her bottom. Mom waited, saying nothing. Maya's hands obediently jerked back to the wall. She knew the price of disobedience under correction would be awful.

Forehand. Backhand. Ten in all, high on the thighs where the skin was thinnest, until Maya couldn't stand without the wall.

"Elbows up, Maya. Hands stay on your head."

Maya raised her elbows. She had never been strapped anywhere above her waist in her life.

"You lied to a teacher, you lied to the principal, and you lied about me. One across your shoulders for each of us." Jessica set her feet. "I'm sorry, baby. This is the part you'll remember."

The first stroke landed across her shoulder blade and down to her nipple, just under the navy bra strap. It was a different pain entirely, thin and bright, with something soft to land on. Maya gasped against the wall.

The second came lower, across the bra band, and drove the hooks into her spine and a pink nipple into its brown areola.

"Shit, oh, shit. Sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry. Please, I can't take any more. It hurts."

Jessica believed her. She didn't want to hurt her anymore, and she didn't want to have heard shit, either, even if pretending not to hear it made her a moral hypocrite. The third stroke was hers to give. It was for the lie about her. She lowered the strap and let it drop.

The strap hit the carpet, raising a few dust motes. For a moment neither of them moved. Vacuuming every inch of this apartment, daily, would make a good chore for Maya this week, Jessica thought.

"Turn around, Maya."

Maya turned. Her mother looked older than she had that morning.

"I told you I'd know when you'd had enough. You've had enough." Jessica bent and picked up the leather strap. "Your mouth hasn't. Bathroom."

Maya walked there stiff-legged. The Lava lay in the bottom of the empty sink where she'd spat it, dried to a gritty crust. Jessica ran it under the tap until it was slick again.

"You know what this is for."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Open."

The Lava went in the same way as before, lengthwise, back between her molars.

"Bite down. Go to the living room corner, hands on your head. You'll stay there ten minutes. Then rinse, three times and no more, and go to bed."

Back in the corner, with pumice crunching against her tongue and her thighs--every part of her from waist to knees--throbbing, Maya thought it over. Mom stopped? She heard me swear, and she stopped anyway. Thank you, Mom.

When the ten minutes were up, Jessica sent her to bed. Maya went quietly, still crying a little. Jessica waited until the bedroom door closed before she let herself cry too.

Later, Jessica knocked once and went in. Maya was face-down on her bed, her chestnut hair spread over the pillow. Her bare bottom glowed red where the darkish red of nice new bruises was forming. Jessica sat on the edge of the mattress and put their tube of Foran Equine Arnica & Aloe Vera Gel on the nightstand.

"For tomorrow," she said, tapping the gel. "Tonight is for letting the pain and the bruises work their self-discipline magic."

"I know." Maya didn't lift her head.

"When you go back Tuesday, you'll apologize to Mrs. Rinden and to Principal Groves. Out loud, to their faces."

"Yes, ma'am." Maya turned her face on the pillow. "Mom? I'm sorry I said you were sick. I used you."

"I know, baby."

Maya was quiet a moment. "Mom? Are you going to tell Donna the truth tomorrow?"

Jessica smoothed the comforter.

"You always say lying without most of the facts is a lie waiting to be caught. You got caught twice."

All those years I said it. And she was listening every time.

"Go to sleep, Maya."

Jessica turned out the light without saying no.

I Believed Every Word

Donna had made meatloaf because Tuesdays after a holiday called for meatloaf. Mitch was on his second helping before he remembered.

"Met one of your people today. Jessica Jackson."

Donna's fork stopped. "Did you."

"Her daughter's a senior. She had a phone in Rinden's class. Swearing and the whole usual parade. She told Rinden her mother was sick." He reached for the ketchup. "Mother came in herself. Very quick about it, too. Said you'd told her to take whatever time she needed. I thought that was decent of you, honey, on a returns day."

"I gave her forty-five minutes," Donna said. "She took fifty-three."

She took a long sip of iced tea.

"She told me somebody backed into her car in the lot."

Mitch set the ketchup down.

"And then she told me the girl was sick. Stomach thing." Donna cut a very exact square of meatloaf. "The girl was standing in my break room, Mitch. Thanked me for letting her mother come get her from your office."

"Well, I'll be." He pushed a green bean around his plate. "Here's the part that gets me. That woman sat in my office and told me her daughter would be paddled bare bottom at home, every day if necessary. For lying to a teacher. I believed every word. I still do, frankly."

"So she's strict with the girl."

"Strict as they come. And I'd just suspended the girl for that very thing. Paddled her for the phone and the mouth. The usual four, except her sweats flunked Mrs. Gardner's calipers."

Donna looked at him over her iced tea. "And I suppose you measured them yourself."

"Mrs. Gardner did," he said, a little too quickly.

Donna nodded. Rules were rules, at Big Bob's or at Windtown High.

"The girl was standing in my office in her panties when her mother walked in." He shook his head. "And it never seemed to cross Jessica's mind what the girl was being punished for."

"For lying," Donna said.

"For lying."

Neither of them said anything for a moment. Donna carefully folded her napkin into a neat square and set it beside her plate.

"So what are you going to do with her?" Mitch asked.

"I don't know yet. Seven-thirty. I suppose I'll know when she walks in."

You Haven't Been to My House

Jessica hadn't slept much. Around three, she'd given up and lain there tracing the cracks in the ceiling. It wasn't getting caught that kept her awake. People got caught. It was hearing her own voice in the principal's office, smooth as a Big Bob's store announcement: My manager was very understanding. She had lied in front of her daughter, about her daughter. On the same morning her daughter was suspended for lying.

You did it twice in one morning. Maya hadn't even said it angrily. She'd said it like a fact, the way you'd read a price tag.

Down the hall, behind Maya's door, the hairbrush hung on its nail. Jessica lay there thinking about it until the window went gray. By the time she got up, she knew what she was going to ask Donna, and she was more afraid Donna would say no than yes.

She was outside the manager's office at seven-twenty, blazer buttoned, name badge straight, hair pinned back tighter than it needed to be. The blue papers were folded in her purse. She'd read them twice at the kitchen table, after Maya was asleep. She'd left Maya at home with a daunting list of chores and her algebra, and a promise that the hairbrush knew where she lived. There would be a white-glove inspection and a quiz. Oh, and she had to sit while working her algebra.

Donna opened the door at seven-twenty-nine. "Come in."

Jessica came in and stood until Donna pointed at the chair.

For a while, Donna said nothing at all. She drank her coffee. She looked at Jessica's hair, at the blazer. At the name badge, the one that said CUSTOMER SERVICE SUPERVISOR, as if she were reading it for the first time.

Jessica couldn't stand it.

"Nobody hit my car," she said. "The school called. Maya was in the principal's office, and I didn't want to tell you why I had to go. Then I told your husband you'd said take whatever time I needed. And I told you she was sick." She kept her hands flat on her knees. "That's all of it. I'm not going to make it sound better than it was. And I didn't come in here to beg."

Donna set down her mug.

"I hired you at sixteen to bag groceries," she said. "You lied to me then, too. A boy and a broken cooler. You were a terrible liar then, Jessica, and you haven't improved."

Jessica took that.

"My husband," Donna said, "thinks you're a good mother."

Jessica blinked.

"He sat at my table last night and told me you'd promised him that girl would answer for her lying every single day if she had to. And he believed you. So did I, when he told me." Donna leaned back. "And then I thought about my break room."

"I know."

"Your daughter got suspended for one lie. You told three before ten o'clock."

Jessica dug in. "I know exactly how many I told, Donna. Maya counted them for me."

Almost a smile crossed Donna's face and vanished.

"Good. Then we can skip the part where you explain." She paused. "And good for her. That took some guts." Her eyes went back to the name badge and stayed there. "Here are my options, Jessica. As I see them."

"One," she said, counting on her fingers, "I move you back -- heck, let's be blunt -- demote you to Customer Service Representative. Two, Big Bob's does without you, and that means you're fired, Mrs. Jackson." A third finger. "Three, a written warning in your file, and you come off the promotion list for a year. Four," and she stopped counting on her fingers, "you keep that badge, on probation, for as long as it takes me to trust you again. You have a lot of responsibility in my store."

Jessica waited.

"A written warning's too little for three lies, and firing you is too much for a woman who walked in here and told me the truth before I asked." Donna tapped the clipboard. "I'm going with four. Ninety days' probation. The warning goes in your file with it, and you're off the promotion list for a year. That's decided. Nothing you say in the next five minutes changes it, one way or the other. Understood?"

"Understood. Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Earn it."

Jessica didn't get up.

"Ma'am -- Mrs. Groves. I thought all night about this. Lying to you. Lying to your husband. Lying about my daughter, in front of her. That's not the mother I ever want to be again." She swallowed. "Would you consider punishing me? The way your husband did with Maya, and the way I did with her last night. A sound spanking. Not a few pops over my skirt, and not over my panties, either. Bare, the way I gave it to her." Her face went hot, but she kept going. "I know how this sounds. But my daughter needs to know I hold myself to the same standards I hold her to. I want to be able to tell her I was spanked, just like she was. Harder, if it comes to that. I told three lies. She was suspended for one."

Donna picked up her mug, then set it down again. Carefully, as if it were filled to the brim.

"Jessica, I'm your boss. That isn't appropriate, and I won't do it in this office."

"I'm not asking my boss. The probation's settled. You said so." Jessica's chin came up. "I'm asking as a friend. I want to face my daughter with a clean conscience."

Donna looked at her for a long time. Then she turned the clipboard face-down on the desk, which Jessica had never once seen her do.

"Not here," she said. "Not on Big Bob's time, and not as your manager. You understand me? If you walk out of this office and change your mind, nobody in this store will ever know you asked."

"I won't change my mind."

"Tonight. Seven o'clock. My house, on Sage Street. Mitch will know about it, because I don't keep secrets from my husband." Donna paused. "And you'll bring your daughter."

Jessica's stomach dropped. "Maya?"

"You said you wanted her to know. Telling her isn't the same as her knowing. She stood in Mitch's corner yesterday with half the faculty looking on. She can stand in my front room and see her mother keep her word."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And Jessica." Donna turned the clipboard back over, and her voice softened a notch. "When it's over, it's over. Tomorrow morning you're my customer service supervisor on probation, and that's all you are in this store. Nobody here hears a word."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," Donna said. "You haven't been to my house."

Mom Didn't Warm Me Up

Donna stopped by the service desk during the lunch lull and didn't slow down. "Bring a hairbrush. Your punishment one, if you keep one." Jessica did keep one. That evening it was in her purse, wrapped in a dish towel. She'd gone home after her shift just long enough to change into a clean pair of sweats and collect Maya.

"I have to tell you where we're going. We're going to my boss's house. Donna Groves. Mrs. Groves is the wife of your principal. She caught me lying, just as you were caught lying. You've been punished for it. I need to be punished too."

"Mom--"

"Maya, let me finish. It isn't about setting you a good example. I hope it does that. But it's about my self-discipline. My not lying, which I seem to do all too often. Mrs. Groves is going to spank me. She asked that you be there, and I agreed. I think it's a good idea that you see me taking my medicine."

"Mom, I kind of guessed." Maya looked out at the dark storefronts. "I can't say I'm sorry. But I am, Mom. I hope your spanking helps me not to be a liar. And--"

Jessica pulled up in front of the house on Sage Street and turned off the engine.

"Here we are, Maya. Remember, this is a very important... I don't even know what to call it. It's more than a spanking. I need you to follow any directions Mrs. Groves gives you. Okay?"

"Yes, ma'am. I will."

Donna answered the door herself. She'd changed out of her Big Bob's polo into pressed slacks and a gray cardigan, and she looked, Jessica thought, more frightening in it than she ever had in the stockroom. The house smelled of Pledge and the pot roast that Mitch was still picking at in the den.

Mitch was in the den with the ball game turned up. Maya sat--squirmed--on the piano bench with her hands between her knees, the way she sat in church. Except the piano bench wasn't padded and her bruises were... doing their "teaching a lesson" thing.

Jessica unwrapped the hairbrush and handed it over.

Donna turned it over once and set it on the coffee table. She sat down on the sofa.

"Time to start. Sweats off, and panties down to your knees."

Jessica's face went hot. Last night she'd said those same words in her own living room. Maya studied the carpet's texture.

Jessica pushed her sweats down, stepped out of them, and folded them over the arm of the sofa. Then her own dark blue panties.

Same Big Bob's 3-pack as my turquoise ones all the teachers stared at, Maya mused. Way too revealing on Mom, too. And there's the reservoir tan, like a picture frame. And the mole. Mrs. Groves is going to find the mole. I'm sorry ... sorta.

"And your blouse."

"My blouse?"

"Your blouse. Right down to your bra, young lady."

I never told Maya to take off her shirt.

"Yes, ma'am." Jessica undid the buttons with Maya three feet away and handed the blouse to Donna. When she turned toward the corner, she felt Donna's eyes find the safety pin where the clasp of her old black bra had given up, and wished, absurdly, that she'd worn a better one. For a spanking? The pin was the bra's only weak spot. Everything it held was still standing up fine.

"Corner. Hands on your head." Donna paused. "And Jessica? You'll count them out loud. For your daughter."

Donna let her stand there and turned to the piano bench.

"Maya. Your mother asked for this, and I mean to do it fairly. What your mother gave you, she gets. So I'm going to ask you some questions, and you're going to answer them truthfully. You've had enough trouble this week from not doing that."

"Yes, ma'am."

"What did she use on you?"

Maya looked at her mother's back, at the old black bra strap and the safety pin. "The hairbrush."

"Bare?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How many?"

"She didn't count. She said she'd know when I'd had enough."

"How long did that take?"

Maya thought about lying. She thought about the towel. "A long time."

"Then she'll count for both of you." Donna waited. "Anything else?"

Maya's hands tightened between her knees. She'd never know. Mom would never know I left it out. But Mom would know. Mom always knew.

"The strap," Maya said.

In the corner, Jessica's head dipped, the smallest nod.

"Anything else?"

Maya swallowed. She could still taste it. "And Lava. Twice."

In the corner, Jessica's shoulders sagged, and a small, unhappy sound escaped her.

"Thank you, Maya. That wasn't easy." Donna patted her lap. "Jessica. Over my knee."

Jessica came, shuffling with her panties at her knees, and lowered herself across Donna's lap. Donna tucked her in close with one arm around her waist, rested one broad hand on her bottom, and raised it.

"Mom didn't warm me up," Maya said helpfully.

Donna's hand stopped in the air. "Didn't she." She lowered it and picked up the hairbrush instead. "Then neither will I."

Oh, no. Maya clapped a hand over her mouth. Sorry, Mom. Sorry, sorry, sorry.

We Do Not Lie About Our Children's Health

"Three lies, Jessica. One round each, twenty to a round. You count every one, out loud, so your daughter can hear. Miss one and we start that round over. This first is for your car."

The brush cracked down across the crest of Jessica's bottom.

"One."

Donna didn't hurry, and she didn't wander. She worked from the crests down to the sit-spots and back up again, one cheek and then the other, the way she'd work down a pallet. Jessica's voice stayed level through ten, a supervisor's voice reading off a returns slip. By fifteen, she was counting through her teeth.

"Twenty."

"And these," Donna said, "don't count. Nobody -- hit -- your -- car -- Jessica -- Jackson."

Six more, hard, all in one place. For the first time, on her thighs.

Jessica's breath went in with a gulp, and out with a low moan she hadn't meant to let anyone hear.

Donna held out a box of tissues. "Take one."

"No, thank you."

"Suit yourself. This round is for my husband. You sat in his office and put words in my mouth." The brush found a small dark mole low on Jessica's right cheek and took it as a target. "Count."

"One."

Donna went back to the backs of Jessica's toned thighs, just below the crease. Where a hairbrush does its meanest work. Jessica's feet came up off the carpet at six.

"Seven."

Above them, a stair creaked.

Donna's hand paused at the top of its arc. She didn't look up. "Lorraine."

Silence from the stairwell. Then, very small: "Yes, Mom?"

"In here. Now."

Lorraine came around the corner in pajama pants and a Wranglers sweatshirt, her strawberry-blonde hair in a messy knot, freckles standing out on a face gone white. Eighteen as of Monday, a senior at Windtown High, and looking, at that moment, about nine. She took one look at the sofa and fixed her eyes on the carpet.

Jessica turned her burning face into the cushion. She had known Lorraine since the girl was in a car seat in the Big Bob's break room.

From the piano bench, Maya made a sound that might have been a cough.

Happy birthday, Lorraine.

"How long were you on the stairs?" Donna asked.

"Not long."

"How long?"

Lorraine's ears went red. "Since 'right down to your bra.'"

"I see." Donna's voice stayed perfectly level. "Mrs. Jackson is here to answer for lying. You may consider that a lesson. You and I will talk about eavesdropping after she leaves."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Upstairs. Bedroom door closed."

Lorraine fled. Donna watched her daughter's bare feet disappear up the stairs, then picked the hairbrush back up.

"Daughters," she said. "Now, where were we?"

"Seven," said Maya, before she could stop herself.

Jessica groaned into the cushion.

"Thank you, Maya," Donna said. "Count, Jessica."

"Eight."

At nine her voice cracked, but she got the number out. By sixteen, she was gripping the sofa cushion with both hands.

"Twenty."

"My -- husband -- believed -- every -- single -- word."

Six more, square on the mole.

Whack-a-mole, Maya thought, and hated herself for it.

This time Jessica took the tissues.

"And this one," Donna said, "is for telling me your daughter was sick, with your daughter standing right there in my break room."

"One. Two. Three." Jessica's breath was coming in gulps now. "Four. Five. Six. Seven." The brush landed again. "Eleven."

"Eight," Maya blurted. "Mom, you skipped -- eight, nine, ten."

"So she did," Donna said. "Thank you, Maya. Restart from one, Jessica."

That was what broke her. Not the brush, but her daughter's voice, correcting her the way she had corrected Maya a thousand times. Jessica cried through the whole round, counting through sobs, the numbers coming out wet and broken but every one of them there. Donna didn't slow down for the crying, and she didn't speed up.

"Twenty."

"We -- do -- not -- lie -- about -- our -- children's -- health."

Eight more, every one of them across her sit-spots.

When it was over, Donna handed her a whole wad of tissues. Then she glanced at Jessica's purse and frowned. "You didn't bring the strap."

"You said a hairbrush," Jessica managed.

"So I did." From the den came the creak of a recliner and the shuffle of stocking feet. Donna didn't miss a beat. "Up. Panties up, Jessica. Mitch is getting a beer."

Jessica stood and pulled them up over her blazing bottom. The sodden rope of twisted, figure-eight panties, damp with sweat, almost defeated her. Only forty years of experience with recalcitrant panties let her get them mostly up, leaving a diagonal line of dark blue across her bottom and the top of her cleft exposed.

She stood there in her dark blue panties and her old black bra, safety pin and all, with her face as red as everywhere else.

Mitch came through in his cardigan, headed for the kitchen. An experienced parent of daughters being punished, he fixed his eyes on a spot on the wallpaper just above the piano.

"Mitch, dear. I need your belt."

He didn't ask. He unbuckled it and drew it out of the loops. He handed it over buckle first, the way you'd hand someone a pair of scissors.

"The good hickory's at school, I'm afraid," he said to the wallpaper. "Evening, Mrs. Jackson. Miss Jackson."

"Um. Evening, Principal Groves," Jessica said to the carpet.

"Evening, sir," said Maya, from the piano bench.

The refrigerator opened and closed. A bottle cap hissed, and he put the church key back in the drawer. He came back the same way, holding up his trousers with one hand and his beer with the other. They heard the ball game come back on.

"Panties down," Donna said. "Bend over the arm of the sofa."

Jessica bent.

"Ten. Same as your daughter."

Jessica lifted her head from the sofa arm. "Twenty, Donna."

Donna waited.

"Ten on her bottom. Ten on her thighs." Jessica's voice was raw, but it didn't waver. "She told you the truth. She just didn't tell you all of it, because you didn't ask. I'm not leaving it out."

"And three across her back," Jessica said. "Around her bra." She swallowed. "I only gave her two. She begged, and I stopped. You don't have to."

Donna looked at Maya. Maya looked at the carpet.

She's taking the one she let me off, Maya thought, and for the first time all night, she didn't want to watch.

Maya stared at the back of her mother's head. Her ruddy brown hair had come loose from its clip and hung in damp strands, a couple of them stuck to her wet cheek.

"Twenty-three, then." Donna doubled the belt, buckle in her fist, and measured it once against Jessica's bottom. "You don't have to count these."

She laid ten on, one after another, without a pause between. The doubled leather cracked across the bruises the brush had left, and each stroke left its own mark: a pale stripe that flushed dark red within a breath and, by the third or fourth, rose into a hard welt. Donna laid them low to high, neat as shelf tags, so no two landed quite on top of each other. By the seventh, Jessica had both fists knotted in the sofa cushion and was making a sound Maya had never heard from her mother.

Then ten more across the backs of her thighs. The skin there was thinner, and the welts rose faster, crossing the marks the hairbrush had already left there. At the fourth, Jessica's knees buckled against the sofa. Donna waited, one hand flat on her back, until she straightened, then went on. Jessica didn't count. She couldn't have.

"Stand up. Hands on your head. Elbows up."

Jessica straightened, slowly. Donna stepped behind her and studied the old black bra, the safety pin where the clasp had given up, as if she were pricing it.

She laid the first across Jessica's shoulder blades, above the pin. The second went below it, across the band. The third she laid squarely beside the first, so the two welts would rise side by side under the strap.

Jessica made no sound at all for the first two. At the third, her elbows came down, and she put them back up herself.

"That's the one you spared her," Donna said.

"Corner. Hands on your head."

Lava Is for Language

Donna let the corner time run its full length before she spoke.

"Don't pull them up. We're not finished." She rose from the sofa. "Yesterday, in my stockroom, you told me you couldn't deal with this crap right now. I told you then it wasn't God's language, and it wasn't my store's. It isn't my house's, either. Bathroom. Maya, you come too."

The guest bathroom was small and very white. On the counter sat a bar of Lava soap and a toothbrush still in its Big Bob's packaging.

"Lava," Maya breathed. Oh, Mom.

Donna tore open the package, wet the brush and the bar under the hot tap, and worked it across the soap until it foamed. "Open."

The pumice was the first shock, sand in soap, scraping across her teeth. Then the acrid taste. Donna brushed with the brisk efficiency of a woman who'd scoured a thousand produce bins: front teeth, back teeth, gums, tongue. Even Jessica's lips. She gagged a couple of times. Donna waited, then went on brushing.

When she finished, she set down the brush and picked up the bar itself. "Open wide."

"Donna, this is too much. I'm forty-three years old. I took the spanking. I took the Lava. I'm a grown woman, not one of your stock boys."

"A grown woman," Donna replied, "would take her consequences without arguing about them." She set the Lava down and opened the cabinet under the sink. "In this house, misbehaving during a punishment earns more consequences. You know that. You taught it to Maya."

In the doorway, Maya bit the inside of her cheek, hard.

Arguing earns extra. How many times have I heard that one? She kept her face perfectly blank. It was the hardest thing she'd done all week.

Donna unwrapped a paper-covered bar, waxy-yellow, and held it up. "Fels-Naptha. Lava is for language. This is for a grown woman who argues." She ran a fresh sink of hot water, rinsed the toothbrush, worked it across the waxy-yellow bar until it foamed, and said, "Open."

Jessica opened.

The taste was nothing like the Lava. It was sharp and chemical, with a laundry-room bitterness that went straight up the back of Jessica's nose. Donna brushed every tooth -- every single nameable part of Jessica's mouth -- unhurried, as if she had all evening. Then she fitted the bar between Jessica's teeth, lengthwise.

"Bite down. Front room corner. Hands on your head. Maya, twelve minutes, please."

"Yes, ma'am."

Jessica waddled back to the front room with her panties at her knees and the yellow bar jutting from her mouth. She found the corner and laced her fingers on top of her head as an obedient girl should at her mommies' command.

The Fels-Naptha was worse than the Lava in every way: harsher, sharper, a chemical bitterness that made her eyes stream and her snot run. Her mouth flooded at once. Yellowish foam ran over her lip and down her chin. Within five minutes the front of her old black bra was soaked through, clinging cold and wet, defining her breasts, her nipples standing up hard against the soaked cups. The safety pin at her back was the only part still dry.

Her jaw ached. When she shifted her bite, the bar slid a fraction deeper. Jessica spluttered around the soap, eyes streaming, and a fresh rope of bubbly foam spilled down her chin.

Behind her, Donna sat down on the Groveses' worn-thin maroon sofa with a small, satisfied sigh.

Despite the hardness of the piano bench, Maya watched the second hand sweep around the clock and didn't wish to hurry it along one bit.

Twelve minutes, she thought. Welcome to my world, Mom.

"Ffuh--"

Oh, Mom. You did NOT, Maya thought.

"What was that, Jessica Jackson?" Donna challenged.

"Umum." Jessica nodded her head vigorously.

Donna snatched the hairbrush off the coffee table. "The F-word, was it, Jessica Jackson? Never -- in -- my -- home. Never -- by a girl -- under -- correction."

She laid all eight swats on the backs of Jessica's thighs, each one harder than she'd ever slapped a markdown sticker, and sent her lurching into the wall.

Donna caught her, plopped Jessica's hands back on her head, and said, "You just stand right there, young lady, and don't say another word."

Have You Seen My Belt?

When the twelve minutes were up, Donna sent her to the guest bathroom to spit out the Fels-Naptha and rinse. Jessica rinsed until the yellow was gone from the sink, but not from her mouth.

When she came back, Donna was standing by the piano.

"Panties up. Not the sweats yet." She raised her voice a notch. "Mitch? Would you come in here a moment, please?"

Jessica tugged her sodden panties up over the welts and stood there in them and her soaked black bra, safety pin and all.

Mitch appeared in the doorway, still holding up his trousers with one hand, and found his spot on the wallpaper.

"Mrs. Jackson has something to say to each of us," Donna said. "Jessica."

Jessica turned to him first. Her voice came out raw and soapy. "Principal Groves. I sat in your office and told you Donna said to take whatever time I needed. She never said it. I lied to you, in front of my daughter, on the day you were punishing her for lying. I'm sorry."

Mitch nodded to the wallpaper. "Apology accepted, Mrs. Jackson." He paused. "I hope this is the last time we see each other this way."

On the piano bench, Maya pressed her lips together hard. Never again, Mom. Trust me.

"Donna."

"I'm listening."

"I told you someone hit my car. Then I told you my daughter was sick, with her standing right there." Jessica swallowed. "You gave me forty-five minutes, and I paid you back with lies. I'm sorry."

"I know you are," Donna said. "Go on."

Jessica turned to the piano bench. That was the hardest one, and all three of them knew it.

"Maya. You were paddled for lying, and I lied about you in front of you the same morning. Then I punished you for it that night." Her chin wobbled. "I'm sorry, baby. You deserved better from me."

Maya didn't trust her voice. She nodded, and then, because a nod wasn't enough, she said, "I know, Mom. Me too."

"Thank you, Mitch," Donna said. He went back to the den. A moment later the ball game came on again.

Jessica dressed in silence: sweats, then her blouse, buttoned to the top over the damp bra. Donna held out the hairbrush, wrapped again in its dish towel. Jessica reached for it, but Donna handed it to Maya instead.

"Your mother's had her hands full tonight," she said. "You carry it."

At the door, Donna rested a hand on Jessica's shoulder, the first time all evening she'd touched her as a friend.

"It's over, Jessica. Seven-thirty tomorrow, you're my customer service supervisor on probation, and that's all you are." She paused. "Though I expect you'll be standing, not sitting, behind that service desk for the next few days. The customers will think you're very attentive."

Jessica made a sound that was half a laugh and half a smothered groan.

"You kept your word," Donna said. "Not many would have."

"Thank you, Donna."

"Don't thank me." Almost a smile again. "Go home. Use the gel."

From the den, Mitch called, "Night, Mrs. Jackson. Donna, have you seen my belt?"

You'd Have Known, and So Would I

Maya held out her hand for the keys. Jessica looked at her for a second, then gave them up.

Before Jessica could get in, Maya reached into the back seat, pulled out the Windtown Wranglers stadium cushion, and set it on the passenger seat. Jessica lowered herself onto it, one hip at a time, the way Maya had on Tuesday.

Neither of them said anything until they were out of Sage Street. Jessica was crying quietly, with her face turned to the window, the way Maya had turned to it the day before.

"Mom?"

"Not one word, Maya," Jessica said, but there was nothing behind it.

Jessica tried to lean back against the seat and sat forward again at once, as if it had burned her.

Maya glanced over. "The bra strap?"

"The bra strap."

"It's worse tomorrow," Maya said. "When you put a clean one on."

Maya drove another block. "You told her twenty-three."

Jessica wiped her face with the heel of her hand.

"I'd only said the strap. She'd never have known."

"You'd have known," Jessica said. "And so would I."

Maya kept her eyes on the road. At the light on Main Street, she said, "We've got the gel. I could get it for you when we get home."

"Tomorrow."

"I know." Maya almost smiled. "Tonight is for letting the pain and the bruises work their self-discipline magic. But tomorrow morning, I'm doing yours, too."

Jessica laughed, a wet, surprised laugh, and then cried a little harder, and then laughed again.

The light turned green. Maya drove them home.

That Took Courage, Sweetheart

Donna sat at the kitchen table with Big Bob's schedule when Lorraine came in and stood by the refrigerator, not taking anything out.

"Mom? Can I tell you something?"

Donna set down her pen. Her daughter had been quiet since Wednesday night, when their talk about the stairs had cost her her phone for a week. Too quiet. Mitch had told Donna whose birthday that radio song was for, and Donna had decided to wait and see how long her daughter could carry it.

"The radio dedication. For my birthday." Lorraine swallowed. "That was my idea. I told Maya to call it in during class. I said nobody would know." Her voice wobbled. "And then Maya got paddled, and suspended, and Mrs. Jackson... and I hid on the stairs and listened. Maya comes back tomorrow, and I have to sit next to her. I can't stand it anymore."

Donna looked at her.

"Thank you for telling me," she said. "I wondered how long it would take you." Then: "Go up to your room. I'll be there in a minute."

Lorraine went. Downstairs, the television murmured where her father sat. Then Donna's footsteps came up the stairs.

She sat on the edge of the bed and patted her lap.

"Mom. I'm eighteen."

"I know how old you are," Donna said. "Come over."

Lorraine went. It had been years since she'd been put over her mother's knee. These days it was the hairbrush, bent over the arm of the sofa like a grown-up. But her body memory worked: across her mother's knees, hands flat on the quilt, face toward the wall. Donna eased the pajama pants and panties down together, the way she had when Lorraine was small, and rested her hand on her daughter's back.

The first smack landed intimately, flat and stinging, skin on skin. Lorraine gasped. It hurt more than she remembered.

Donna settled into a rhythm, unhurried, one side and then the other. At first the smacks only stung, and Lorraine managed nothing worse than a sharp little "ow" now and then. Then the sting stopped fading between them and began to pile up. A warm, spreading ache she could feel with every new landing. The "ows" got louder and closer together. She pressed her face into the quilt to muffle them. Muffling them didn't fool her mother for a second.

"Your father paddled Maya with the school's hickory paddle." Lorraine flinched. "Maya was spanked with a strap by her mother." A gasp into the quilt after a particularly hard smack. "Her mother was spanked by me, in our front room, in front of her own daughter." Two quick ones, and Lorraine's hands bunched the quilt. "And you sat on those stairs and listened to every bit of it, knowing you started it."

Lorraine yelped, then yelped again, then gave up trying to be quiet at all.

Donna tipped her a little farther forward and turned her attention lower, to the tender curve where bottom met thigh, the place Lorraine would be sitting on in Mrs. Rinden's class in the morning.

"Mom! Ow, Mom--"

Donna never counted with her own girls. That was the worst of it. There was no number to hold on to, no last stroke to hold out for.

Lorraine's feet began to kick. Donna hooked one ankle under her own and went on, patiently, until her daughter's bottom glowed a deep, even pink from top to bottom, and the crying had changed from protest to the real, tired kind.

"I'm sorry," Lorraine wept. "Mom, I'm sorry, so sorry."

"I know you are." Donna gave her six more, slow and sharp. Then her hand came to rest, still, on hot bottom cheeks. "And you came and told me yourself. That's why this is all you're getting."

She helped Lorraine up, and then she did what she had never once done for Jessica or Maya. She pulled her daughter into her arms and hugged her while she cried.

"You'll apologize to Maya tomorrow," Donna said into her hair.

"Yes, ma'am."

"And to Mrs. Jackson, when you see her at the store."

"Yes, ma'am."

Donna kissed the top of her head, stood, and paused at the door.

"That took courage, sweetheart. I'm proud of you."

Don't You Dare Go Easy

Jessica gave Maya her reminder in the kitchen at six-forty: jeans and panties down, bent over the table, twenty with the hairbrush, square across the sit-spots, where they'd be sat on all day. Maya cried, but quietly. She'd known it was coming.

When it was over, she pulled her jeans up, wiped her face, and didn't move.

Jessica set the hairbrush down on the table between them. Then she unbuttoned her own slacks.

"Mom?"

"You heard me tell Mr. Groves you'd get one this morning." Jessica bent over the table where her daughter had just been. "You didn't hear me tell myself. Twenty. Same place. And don't you dare go easy."

Maya picked up the brush. Her hands were shaking. The first one was too soft, and her mother said, "Again." The second one wasn't.

By ten, Jessica was gripping the far edge of the table. By twenty, Maya was crying again, harder than she had for her own.

Yes, Ma'am

Mrs. Rinden's room was still filling up when Lorraine came in. She stopped beside her desk, next to Maya's, and stood there a moment as if deciding something. Then she lowered herself onto the seat the way Maya had lowered herself onto everything since last Tuesday: slowly, from one hip to the other, with a small breath at the bottom.

Maya watched her settle.

Lorraine kept her eyes on the whiteboard. "Maya, I'm sorry. About the radio. It was my idea, and you got everything for it."

"Not everything," Maya said. Then she leaned over. "Did you?"

"A few."

"Hairbrush?"

"Hand." Lorraine's ears went pink. "Over her knee. On my bed, like I was six."

"Bare?"

A tiny nod.

Maya considered this. Four strokes of hickory, the hairbrush, the strap, and a front-row seat for her mother's spanking at the Groveses'. She'd thought she was the expert. "Worse or better?"

Lorraine took longer to answer than Maya expected. "Worse," she whispered. "She talked the whole time. And then she hugged me."

"Ugh."

"I know."

"How'd she find out? About the radio?"

"I told her." Lorraine finally looked at her. "Last night. She said that's why it was only a few."

Maya looked at the careful way her friend was sitting and did not believe the word "few" for a second.

Mrs. Rinden came in with her coffee and stopped at the front of the room. "Phones in the corral, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome back, Miss Jackson."

Maya stood. "Mrs. Rinden, I'm sorry for my language last week. And my mother wasn't sick. I lied to you."

Mrs. Rinden regarded her for a moment. "Thank you, Miss Jackson. Sit down." Her eyes moved from Maya to Lorraine and stayed there. "You two look like you've been up to something."

"No, ma'am," Maya said.

"Yes, ma'am," said Lorraine.

Maya turned and stared at her.

Lorraine stood up, carefully. Her face had gone as pink as her ears. "Mrs. Rinden, the day Maya had her phone in class, it was my birthday. Calling the radio station was my idea. I told her to do it. I'm sorry I didn't say so then."

The room had gone very quiet. Mrs. Rinden set down her coffee.

She looked at Lorraine for a long moment, then at the deliberate way Lorraine was standing, not quite touching the desk behind her.

"Thank you, Miss Groves," she said at last. "That took some courage. I suspect the matter has already been dealt with."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then sit down." The faintest pause. "If you can."

Lorraine sat, slowly. Maya stared straight ahead and bit the inside of her cheek very hard.

A Well-Run Household

Jessica asked Donna for the next Tuesday morning off. She asked properly, in writing, the very next day. Donna initialed the request without a word, then looked up and said, "Tell Mitch I said hello."

Mrs. Gardner had sent for Maya from second period. Now she waved them through. "Go right in, both of you. He's expecting you."

Maya had her French braid in. Jessica hadn't asked her to.

Principal Groves stood when they came in and waved them to the two chairs. Maya sat first, carefully, the morning's reminder spanking still warm under her jeans. Jessica sat too, a shade more slowly than she meant to. Neither of them looked at the other.

Principal Groves watched them both settle. His eyes rested on Jessica a moment longer than on Maya.

"Mrs. Gardner keeps a cushion for the bench out there," he said mildly. "I could ask her to bring in two."

"We're fine," Jessica said.

"Of course you are."

"Mrs. Jackson. Miss Jackson." He held out his hand. "I believe you have something for me."

"Sir, before that." Maya sat up straighter than her bottom liked. "I lied to you last week. I said I was just starting to call my mother. I'd called the radio station. I'm sorry."

Principal Groves looked at her over his glasses. "Thank you, Miss Jackson." Then, to Jessica: "Now, Mrs. Jackson."

Jessica took the folded page from her purse and handed it across the desk. He unfolded it, smoothed it flat on the blotter, and began to read.

To: Principal Groves

From: Jessica Jackson

Re: Maya Jackson's Suspension

I made sure that my daughter knows that having a phone in class, swearing, and lying will not be tolerated in our home. I gave her a severe bare-bottom spanking with a hairbrush and a leather strap the night I brought her home. In addition, her mouth was washed out thoroughly with Lava soap. This morning she received a reminder of the lesson, a spanking to carry her back to school. Lying and swearing are not permissible in the Jackson home.

She completed all homework assignments on the school portal.

If my daughter commits any further misbehavior at school, I humbly ask that you punish her with the maximum number of swats permitted under the Strong Schools, Strong Students program.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Jessica Jackson

Principal Groves read the account twice, the way he read anything with a signature on it. Then he set it on the blotter and squared it with one finger.

"Thorough," he said. "Hairbrush, strap, Lava soap. That's a well-run household, Mrs. Jackson."

"Thank you."

"My wife's a Lava woman too, for language." He took off his glasses and polished them on his tie. "But she tells me Fels-Naptha is for arguing back. I've never had cause to find out the difference myself." He put the glasses back on. "I understand it's considerable."

Jessica's face went redder than anyone who had ever bent over that desk.

Maya studied the edge of the desk very hard. Don't laugh. Do not laugh. Arguing earns extra.

THE END