And now this. Just when she'd thought it couldn't get any worse. The finale.
This was the phase of the spanking she dreaded the most. She knew from previous experience how painful the can-can position could be. She remembered that from the time Dan had draped her across his armchair, only a few weeks ago. The feather duster had been bad enough on that occasion; but the strop would be nothing short of agonizing.
She clenched her thighs hard, waiting for the leather to kiss her bottom. Sobbing little pleas escaped her trembling lips in a tiny whisper.
"No Daddy don't, please no more, it hurts too much, don't please don't Daddy-"
Her lamentations were falling on deaf ears, of course. Nothing on Earth could prevent the down-swing of that formidable implement once Dan Carrothers set his mind to the task, as Vanessa knew perfectly well.
The strop split the air like a bolt of summer lightning. Vanessa shrieked as the leather creased her flesh, wrapping itself around the top of her thighs. Its searing crimson print leapt up immediately below the bulge of her bottom-cheeks. A gaping spasm of pain leaped crazily down the length of her legs, so huge and swift that Vanessa could only scream wordlessly.
Dan leaned in with the strop again, throwing his whole shoulder into the movement, slashing down in a hail of blows, leather blurring against sleek, reddish girlie-skin. He wove a flashing triangle between thigh and buttock: right-cheek, left-cheek, down-and-up; right-cheek-left-cheek, down-and-up.
The spanking wheeled inexorably on, Dan swinging like a runaway windmill, 'Nessa wailing constantly, her face wet with tears. How would she ever live with this abject humiliation? This morning she'd been (or thought she'd been) a confident, mature, self-possessed young woman; now she'd been rendered down to a naughty little girl with a hot, throbbing bottom, crying piteously with her panties pooled on the floor.
And for what?
Some childish argument she'd had with her daddy in the car an hour ago! That was the long and short of it: she was taking the spanking of her life all because she couldn't control her mouth during one of his lectures. All because she couldn't sit tight and listen while he was demanding her respect. All because she had to have the last word in any dispute, no matter how trivial.
Well, she at least she couldn't complain that he'd broken his promise to her. She was getting precisely what she'd asked for... her just deserts, and a good deal more besides. This was her reward: she was receiving her payment in full. And the pain was quite impossible to describe. She opened her mouth and yelled until she was hoarse.
Ten minutes later, the leather halted in mid-swing. Vanessa tensed so hard her entire body quivered like an autumn leaf, sobbing incoherently in the new silence. Dan steadied her with his left hand. The girl was sagging with exhaustion, praying that her spanking was finally over.
"Now, young lady, can I assume that you've learnt your lesson this time?" Dan asked in a low, steel-edged voice.
"Yes, Daddy," 'Nessa cried in her quavering little-girl voice. "Really I have. Please don't spank me again-"
The leather came down in a stunningly beautiful arc, impacting on her right bottom cheek with a resounding whack. The flesh momentarily displayed a numb white stripe, which scorched itself a deep red less than a second later.
"Aaaoowwww!"
"No more cracking wise, little girl. No more lip, no more mouthing off at every opportunity."
"No Daddy, no, I promise I'll never back-answer you again-"
Another firm swack landed on her left bottom cheek, dead centre.
"Yeeooww! Daddy no, please-"
"And we're going to behave ourselves from now on, Little-Miss-Can't-Be-Wrong?"
Before she could answer, another strike descended across both cheeks, simultaneously. Vanessa gasped for breath, eyes widening with voiceless shock. The pain had been absolutely tremendous this time, a blinding haze of agony that shuddered around her bottom and ran thin streaks of fire down her inner thighs. The final scream was almost torn out of her throat, high and long and sharp.
Epilogue
At the time of writing, Vanessa Carrothers has grown into an extremely beautiful young woman. Now in her third year of her Bachelor of Arts, she attends Greenmeadows University, and by all accounts has a promising career in sociology ahead of her. Popular with her classmates, she is well-known for her sharp intellect, quiet modesty, and sweet nature.
At the age of twenty-one, Vanessa still lives at home with her parents. She would love to move out and share a campus apartment with a couple of girlfriends, but is unable to afford it, being dependent on her parents for both her educational and living expenses. She'd give almost anything to live under her own roof and make her own rules (like the rest of her friends), but economic rationalism dictates against such liberties (one also suspects that Dan Carrothers might have something to say on that particular subject. I'll leave that one up to your imagination).
Vanessa still receives regular spankings from her father.
You might expect that Vanessa would have become accustomed to her frequent tips over Dan's lap by now. However, Vanessa still objects to her father's punitive methodologies just as much these days as she did during her teens. Dan, for his part, has fulfilled his vow to keep a tight reign over his daughter's wayward tendencies, attending to her needs on a weekly basis.
Vanessa's evening curfews are 8.30pm on week nights and 10.30pm on Saturdays. She is extremely careful to observe these deadlines, as even a minute late usually results in a rather painful reminder. Naturally, the later she arrives home, the longer she can expect to spend over her father's knee. Nevertheless, girls will be girls, and student parties are so much more exciting than sitting at home studying for the mid-semesters. There was that time when Vanessa came home at 2:30 in the morning and Dan smelled the distinctive scent of Mr. Johnny Walker on her breath ... but that's a different story.
So far, Vanessa has managed to keep her juvenile domestic status secret from her girlfriends. While her parents allow her considerable latitude in her choice of clothing, she usually favors jeans, sun-dresses and sheer leggings, as mini-skirts and short shorts tend to reveal a little too much after one of her father's bottom-smacking festivals.
And, as it turns out, she is the only girl at university forced to endure good, long spankings over her father's knee.
The Mitchell Protocol
Part One: The Plank
"All right! That's it, young lady!"
Ralph Mitchell was sick of Mary's backchat. He'd had one of the worst days in recorded history and the last thing he needed right now was a mouthful of his daughter's sneering contempt. Arriving home from work, he'd anticipated a little consideration from his family, maybe even some quiet recognition of his paternal status. He was the one who brought home the bacon, put the food on the table and paid off the mortgage, for chrissake!
All he wanted was to be treated with the respect he deserved. Forty hours a week in the office from Hell, and all he could look forward to was Mary's snide remarks. She'd started in with the catty sideswipes the moment he'd stepped through the door, sulking and pouting like the spoilt brat she was. Well, he'd had about as much as he was going to take.
The lady in question stood before him in growing trepidation. Mary had been expecting one of his endless tirades when he'd called her into the living room five minutes before: he told her off at least once a week these days. She usually ignored his periodic rages with cold, adolescent disdain (he was an adult, what would he know anyway?). On this occasion, however, she'd recognized the thunder in his voice and realized she was in serious trouble.
Worse still, she knew she was completely in the wrong. Ralph had issued endless reprimands over the past week or so; she couldn't plead ignorance or ask for a second chance. Truth be told, she'd been deliberately baiting her father for days now, willfully pushing the envelope to see how much she could get away with. Well, it seemed she was about to find out.
"I've had it up to here with your insolence and disr
espect, Mary!" Ralph was storming. "There are going to be some big changes around here, and we may as well start with your little attitude problem."
Mary listened in mounting apprehension, hoping it wouldn't end with the verdict she dreaded so much. Biting her lip against approaching tears, she prayed that he'd let her off with a warning. Unfortunately, they were long past the point of no return. Once Ralph Mitchell made up his mind, nothing short of an act of God could alter his decision.
"Up to your room, young lady," he told her, gesturing towards the staircase. "I'll be along in five minutes. It's time for a nice, long spanking over my knee."
Mary's eyes widened in sudden terror.
"No, Daddy, no! I don't want a spanking. Noooo!"
She began pleading for mercy, her huge brown eyes glistening with approaching tears. She put her hands to her lips, stammering out childish apologies. "I'm sorry Daddy, please don't be angry, I didn't mean it, really I didn't, I'll never do it again. Please don't spank me, please Daddy, don't-"
Ralph was singularly unimpressed by his daughter's twelfth-hour repentance. As far as he was concerned, there was only one way to deal with his daughter's misconduct, one which involved a stern hand and an extremely sore bottom. Mary was going to get precisely what she needed - and a little more for good measure. Placing his palms firmly on his hips, Ralph leaned in close to the girl, eyes smoldering with slow-burning rage.
"Get upstairs right now," he growled in deep, guttural tones.
Mary's blood nearly froze in her veins. There would be no escaping the final judgment on this occasion. In a few minutes she'd be standing before her daddy in her vest and panties, begging him not to spank her naughty young bottom.
Moaning in panic, Mary ran upstairs with her hair streaming out behind her. She knew how much it was going to hurt. Parental discipline was a regular event in the Mitchell household; hardly a month went by without a swift, sharp sojourn over her step-father's knee. Her last spanking had taken place only six weeks before, after Ralph discovered she'd been cutting classes at school. It was a night she'd remember for as long as she lived...
Mary had been going AWOL since the beginning of the term, and her grades had suffered a major downturn. Ralph had been nothing short of furious when he found out, and warned her he wouldn't tolerate any further lapses. Mary had naturally chosen to ignore him. He wasn't her real father, he couldn't speak to her like that. What right did he have to threaten her like this? It was her life, she could cut as many lessons as she chose. No one could tell Mary Mitchell what to do, she didn't have to answer to anybody.
How wrong she'd been about that!
She'd been called to the living room for a good, hard paddling less than a week later. The festivities had begun with a bald-faced scolding on the carpet. Waving his finger in front of her face, Ralph had systematically reduced Mary to a frightened child, lower lip quivering in despair. She could tell by the steely glint in his eye that she was in for a good ten minutes at the very least. Outright disobedience required a great deal more than two week's grounding and a few extra chores. Burning justice was top of her father's agenda. Mary's heart had literally skipped a beat when Ralph announced his decision, instructing her to remove her shorts and take down her underpants.
"Daddy, No!" she'd cried, her hands flying protectively to her rear. "Not a spanking Daddy, Please, it's not fair!" Removing her shorts was merely the prelude to the main event. She wavered from foot to foot, haunted by the vision of her naked buttocks raised in trembling expectation. She was too old for a spanking, there had to be some other way.
"Please Daddy, you can't spank me, I'm too old for that. You can't, you just can't!"
"You heard me right the first time, young lady," Ralph growled in low, dangerous tones, his expression hardening with anger, "Now get those pants down and bend over the armchair."
Mary gasped in shock. Her pulse slammed into overdrive. Bare bottomed over the armchair: it could only mean one thing.
"No, Daddy, no, nooooo!"
"That's right, little girl," Ralph replied, folding his arms across his wide chest, "I think you're ready for a dose of the Plank!" He inclined his head towards the long wooden implement hanging over the mantelpiece: four feet of smooth, dark cedar, its surface gleaming beneath the den's harsh fluorescents. Mary's lips quivered in fear
"Daddy, no! Please not the paddle-"
"Yes, I think ten minutes under the Plank will do you a world of good," Ralph told her in wholly unambiguous terms, "Now get those shorts off before I really lose my temper."
Sobbing in open shame now, Mary started to unclip the fly of her blue denim shorts (they were those trendy, cut-away Levis everyone was wearing that summer; cost her nearly fifty dollars at Jay-Jays). She slid them down to her knees, pausing momentarily before dropping them to the floor. A single thought dominated her mind, glaring its message in huge neon letters.
He's going to spank me!
Mary stood up in her lacy nylon panties, her cheeks blushing with embarrassment. She wasn't a child anymore; she was long past that stage where she could parade obliviously around the house in her underwear. She was a senior in high school! What eighteen-year-old girl wants to strip down to her lingerie in front of her father? She crossed her hands over the soft pink triangle of her panties, gaspingly aware of how sheer the fabric was.
Ralph's voice cut through her tense reveries, making her jump.
"Good," he commented dryly, taking the Plank off the wall, "now get your fanny over that armchair, little girl."
Mary looked back at her father one last time, eyes brimming. "Please Daddy, don't s-spank me, I p-promise I'll b-be good, truly I will, please don't p-paddle my bottom Daddy, p-please-"
"Right now," Ralph snapped, his meager supply of patience exhausted.
Mary hurried over to the lounge towards the long, brown-leather Oxford situated near the middle of the study. She was almost collapsing with anxiety: her spanking was imminent. In a matter of seconds, she'd feel the first stunning kiss of the wood grain. Biting back on a mouthful of whimpers, Mary leaned as far as possible over the upholstered back rest, thrusting her lush, ripe posterior into the air. Her round, pantied-cheeks literally bulged out towards her father.
"All right," Ralph grunted in nodding approval, "get those panties down, young lady."
"Nooo," Mary groaned in misery. This was the part she hated the most, the moment at which her fragile ego was stripped of all feminine dignity. She could imagine nothing worse than offering up her naked buttocks for punishment. He couldn't do this to her, couldn't humiliate her this way. It just wasn't right.
Of course, the thought of refusal never so much as crossed Mary's mind. She'd been unpardonably naughty, testing her father's patience once too often. She was in dire need of a well smacked bottom, and she knew it.
Reaching back with both hands, Mary peeled her tight, clinging briefs down to her knees. She couldn't help herself; she had to obey. Immediately. The consequences of even a moment's hesitation were unthinkable. Tears slipped from her cheeks, she started blubbering under her breath. Her tummy was a mass of knots; she felt utterly degraded. Here she was, doubled over the lounge with her undies fluttering at half-mast, sobbing like some spoilt little girl ready for her first spanking.
"You can quit that whining too, young lady," Ralph warned her grimly. "You've had this coming for a long time. Now hold still and keep your legs straight. It's time to whack those buns."
Mary clenched her cheeks against the expected blow, fusing her eyes shut in childish denial of the inevitable.
Gripping the handle with both fists, Ralph hefted the two-foot cedar paddle high over his right shoulder, tacitly ignoring Mary's whispered entreaties (No Daddy, no please don't, I'm sorry). He'd started out with twenty furious smacks to her lush, ripe derriere, systematically working her plumps up to a merry, glowing pink. Mary had screamed as each blazing stroke descended, frantically begging Ralph to stop:
"No! Oww! Daddy, stop! Aaoww
! Please!"
Her pleas had been premature to say the least. She knew from bitter experience that a reduced sentence was most unlikely given the severity of the crime. The Plank whipped across her tender young shanks, scalding the flesh beet-red. The pain had been unspeakable. By the end of first volley she'd reached the outer limits of her endurance. Ralph paused at the five minute mark, resting his arms and allowing the gasping, panting girl to catch her breath.
And then her spanking had really begun.
Ralph had laid in with his whole shoulder, branding his mark into Mary's slim upper-thighs. The girl had kicked and hopped in blue-fire agony, shaking her bottom and shrieking at the top of her lungs. She'd never imagined a paddling could hurt so much. The flat, varnished wood had been white-hot steel against her supple flesh. The ordeal had lasted a good ten minutes. Her nude, trembling buttocks had shone like a beacon, and the scorching print of the Plank had been visible the entire length of her thighs.
That had been six weeks ago. Painful though the paddle had been, it would be a walk in the park compared to what she was facing now.
Part Two: The Waiting Game
Mary collapsed onto her bed, sobbing in open misery. She couldn't hold the tears back any longer, they fell freely from her small, doll-like face, darkening the ruffled pillow clutched in her arms. Her pulse was racing in her throat, butterflies were cartwheeling though her belly. She was going to be spanked! Eighteen years old, president of the Prom Committee at high school, and she'd been sent to her room like a naughty little girl. Ralph was going to blister her bottom - and there was nothing she could do to stop him.
Sitting up on her elbows, Mary wiped her glistening cheeks with the heel of her hand. She hated being spanked! It seemed so utterly degrading: offering up her bottom for parental inspection, knowing full well it was going to be smacked the color of a ripe strawberry. Her father was a most enthusiastic spanker - a virtual maestro of the disciplinary arts, having had literally years to perfect his technique. He knew how to stretch out a spanking so that it seemed to last forever. His hands were huge and flat and calloused, hard as granite against her tender little bottom.
No, Daddy, No!: a collection of father spanks daughter stories Page 2
