As the body changed, Brandi discovered the power of makeup, and mascara, and lipstick, and sparkly body lotion, and perfume. She discovered ribbons for her wavy blonde hair and necklaces, and colorful bracelets. She discovered leggings and tight jeans, and she discovered extra small tops that hugged her breasts and exposed her taut belly and her belly button ring.
For many teenage girls, these discoveries of makeup and clothes and accessories happen well in advance of bodily changes, but for Brandi, the transformation from frumpy girl to nubile young woman happened in tandem and took about six months, or so it seemed. As the body changed, so did the outerwear.
As the man who married her mother two and a half years, I suppose I'm her stepfather, but I had no part in raising her until I moved in when Brandi was 15. But in these last two years or so, I have seen this remarkable change in Brandi from young girl to young woman. And I could see that she changed not only the outerwear, but the underwear as well—from boxers to panties, from sports bras to push ups.
Now, I say that Brandi transformed into a nubile young woman—that's true for her body—it has become a sexually attractive object of desire, no doubt. But Brandi's maturity level was still that of a teenage girl still wrestling with the transition from girlhood to adulthood.
"Brandi. If you want to prolong this, I'll keep the phone for a week, rather than the three days I was planning on."
"Three days? NO. Where's Mom? I want to talk to her."
"Your Mom left today for a three-day conference. Like it or not, I'm in charge."
"I am not giving you my phone for three days. Not even one day."
I was silent, returning her angry stare.
"Okay, Brandi. What do you propose as an appropriate consequence to coming home at 3AM without calling or texting when your curfew was 12?"
"I'm 18, you know! I'm an ADULT! I can do what I want!"
"You are 18, that's true. But as long as you live here, you are under our supervision. That means you follow our rules. You are under our care. We have to know you are okay. And staying out until 3AM without telling us anything is NOT OKAY. So, I'll ask you again, what is an appropriate consequence?"
Brandi didn't say anything. She looked down. Arms still crossed. After a very long pause, finally, she whispered toward the floor. "I don't know. What about what you said?" She bit her lower lip and looked at me.
"What I said? Huh? Taking the phone?"
"No. The other thing."
"What other thing?" I said incredulous.
She looked up at me and stared. "The spanking."
I looked at her. "Seriously, Brandi?"
She stared at me.
I thought for a minute, not believing the predicament I found myself in. I couldn't spank this girl. And I kind of think she knew that. And since the blossoming transformation, she might even be aware of the recent times that she's walked by me at night on the way to the bathroom or bouncing down the stairs in the morning, wearing little more than a t-shirt and a pair of Victoria Secret's PINK panties. Maybe she knows the times that I stared longingly at that lovely round ass wrapped in those tight white or yellow or baby blue panties. Or the time I saw her leave the bathroom just a few days ago with nothing but a long night shirt on, her heart-shaped ass switching back and forth as her ass cheeks peaked out from underneath. I often thought that since her transformation she just might be a deliberate little cock tease, but somehow I thought of her as too innocent to realize what she was doing. Even though her body had changed, her mind hadn't caught up with that fact yet. She was caught in the middle and trying to decide how to act, how to behave, how to be, really, now that she has the body that the genes of her mother gave her. Her mom, to put it mildly, is a looker, and part of the reason why I married her two-and-a-half years ago. In fact, when I first met Brandi's mother three and a half years ago, I thought I had met an angel—she was, and still is, stunning! I couldn't believe she wanted me.
"Well?" She asked and walked toward me. I was sitting on the sofa with my arms leaning on my knees.
She stood over top of me looking down.
