No, Daddy, No!: a collection of father spanks daughter stories

by Perry Symon Fowler

  She stood up, looking anxiously around the room, listening for his approach. Her mind was cycling up to near-hysteria: her spanking was getting closer by the second. She could already see herself drawing her knickers slowly down her thighs, revealing her alabaster cheeks by teasing degrees. There had to be some way out of this nightmare. She wasn't six years old, she was a young woman, an adult. Ralph had no right to punish her in such a humiliating manner.

  Whimpering in quiet anguish, Mary drew her t-shirt over her head and began fumbling with the belt of her jeans. She had to strip all the way down to her panties before Ralph entered the room. She was required to submit to her spanking in nothing but her vest and knickers, it was one of the rules Ralph had set for her years ago. She'd protested against this gratuitous disgrace many times, arguing that he had no right to see her undressed, but Ralph had brushed aside her objections with cold, paternal distain. He was her father: she'd damn-well go over his knee buck naked if that was what he decreed.

  Mary was eternally grateful it had never come to that.

  Laying her jeans over the bedstead, Mary straightened up, looking out through the bedroom door. Her heart was galloping like a runaway stallion. Any moment now, she'd hear Ralph's heavy boot-steps starting up the stairs, and then it would all be over bar the screaming. She hurried over to the writing desk on the other side of the room, taking hold of her straight-backed study chair, the one her father always used whenever he decided to whip her impudent young bottom.

  Mary dragged the chair out to the middle of the floor, simpering with anxiety. Preparing for her discipline was an ordeal in itself. There was a protocol she had to follow; a procedure which had to be obeyed. If it wasn't completed by the time Ralph arrived, she could expect an extra five minutes over his knee. First there was the striptease, then the chair, followed by the curtains (which had to be thrown open to offer the neighbors a prime view of her naked buns being clapped). Finally, she had to wait kneeling in front of the spanking chair in her snowy white undies, ready to present her buttocks for the spanking they so richly deserved.

  She pushed open the drapes, glancing out into the street. The sun had set an hour before. With the light on in her bedroom, the window would become stage on which her 'instruction' would be visible to half the suburb. Ralph believed that Mary's punishment should set an example to young women everywhere; a graphic demonstration of what happens when rebellious daughters backchat their fathers.

  She turned back into the room, catching site of herself in the cheval mirror; a slim young girl in white, full-brief panties - the kind with a lace trim around the waistline. Her ivory skin was suffused with a delicate, pink glow. She was literally burning with embarrassment, knowing that her nubile, adolescent body was on exhibition. Mary couldn't believe this was happening to her again, couldn't believe that she was submitting to another long, hard spanking like a disobedient schoolgirl. She scampered back to the chair in her socks and undies, knowing she'd never have the courage to defy him. He was her daddy and his word was law; at least in the Mitchell household.

  She heard Ralph's footsteps ascending the staircase just as she settled into the humiliating position. Her tummy fluttered with dread, the room seemed to lurch around her. She started blubbering with fear, her eyes streaming warm tears. Her time had finally run out: her father was coming up the hallway to spank her bottom.

  Nooo, Mary cried to herself as those ominous footfalls approached the door frame. It was a hard, purposeful tread, the stride of a man determined to fulfill his familial duties. And fulfill them he would, no matter how much Mary wept and pleaded. She jammed her palm into her mouth, biting down hard. A long, frightened moan welled up from her diaphragm. She was rapidly losing all self-control.

  He's going to spank me, Mary thought wildly as Ralph walked into the bedroom; a tall, wide-shouldered man with a five o'clock shadow and horn-rimmed glasses. He stepped straight up to the spanking chair, methodically rolling his sleeves back to the elbows. Mary broke down completely as Ralph took his seat. She started wailing apologies, begging his forgiveness in a quavering, tearful voice.

  "No Daddy no, I'm sorry, please don't. Please don't spank me, I'll be good from now on, really I will, I promise ... please don't Daddy, please don't-"

  Ralph ignored her. His face was rough, sculptured granite, his brow furrowed with annoyance. He'd had a gutful of his daughter's insolence. Nothing would satisfy him more than a damned good spanking and fortunately, the girl had given him plenty of incentive lately. Placing his palms flat on his knees, Ralph looked down at Mary with an angry, black stare. He was in no mood for her delaying tactics. He wanted to get straight down to the business 'at hand', so to speak.

  "Not quite as smart as we thought, are we?" he observed beneath lowered eyebrows. "I've put up with your wise-ass cracks long enough, young lady. It's high time you were taught a little respect for your elders. You're going over my knee for the spanking of your life, Mary - and if you thought the Plank was bad enough, then you're in for one hell of a rude awakening."

  Mary lapsed into a fresh squall of tears, begging him to let her off with something less juvenile - two weeks grounding, extra chores, hand written essays: anything that didn't involve a hot, throbbing tushie. Her voice quavered at the brink of despair; she knew that her words were falling on deaf ears. Judgment had been passed, and the court was closed to all appeals.

  "You had your chance, little miss," Ralph told her sternly, "Now stand up, bend over and pull down those pants!"

  "Daddyyy," Mary groaned. Rising to her feet, she looped her thumbs through the waistband of her underpants. Refusal was out of the question. She was unwilling to enrage him any further; a single moment's hesitation would earn the most severe retribution. The blood rushed to her face as she turned around, bending low from the hips so that her long, golden hair swept the floor.

  Every nerve in Mary's body seemed to be tingling with electric fire. Her breath came in quick, shallow spurts. She blinked her eyes several times, spraying droplets from the lashes. Baring her bottom always left her breathless with guilt. This was all her own fault: she couldn't deny her culpability any longer. If only she'd kept her mouth shut, if only she'd buttoned her lip and treated him with the respect he was due. Why did she always provoke him like that, smarting off day after day until he finally lost his temper?!

  Gasping with shame, Mary began to slide her panties slowly down her thighs.

  Part 3: End of the Road

  Leaning forward in the chair, Ralph was afforded a heart-stopping view of Mary's lush, ripe cheeks. The girl had a truly magnificent bottom, no doubt about that. Firm and smooth and milky white, it was easily the most spankworthy derriere he'd ever laid eyes on. He grunted with satisfaction, reaching out to pat the supple folds of flesh just below the bulbs. Mary voiced a tiny scream, frisking her melons back and forth in expectation.

  Ralph applied a light slap to his daughter's buttocks, enjoying the way they jostled about in silent protest. The skin was completely unmarked, bearing no sign of the paddling she'd endured six weeks ago. Those insolent young orbs were practically begging for a spanking. Well, we'll soon see to that, Ralph thought, shifting himself into a more comfortable position.

  Humiliation surged over Mary in hot, fluid waves. Standing here with her panties banded round her knees, she felt unspeakably small and defenseless. Her buttocks were practically thrust into Ralph's face, clenching and unclenching in the cool evening air. She couldn't stop crying, couldn't take hold of herself, knowing that her punishment was only inches away. She hid her face behind her wavy blonde locks, weeping like a five-year-old.

  "Alright, stop that sniveling!" Ralph growled impatiently. "Come over here, young lady - you're going over my knee."

  A sultry flush swept through Mary's torso as she straightened up, covering herself with a modest hand. Her mind was a whirling vortex of conflicting emotions. How had it come to this? How could she be standing here with her bare tushie on open exhibition? She g
lanced desperately around the room, her thoughts wheeling in an endless, frantic loop. She'd reached the end of the road; there was nowhere left to run. She shuffled forward with her eyes downcast, panties constricting her movements to baby steps.

  Ralph reached out to draw her closer, gripping her forearm just above the wrist. Mary was a slim, delicate girl, looking much younger than her eighteen years. She seemed to weigh no more than a kitten as Ralph guided her across his lap, shifting her by the hips until she lay in the most vulnerable position. He wanted a clear shot at his daughter's buxom rear.

  Once he'd settled the girl into place, Ralph pulled her panties all the way down to her ankles.

  She murmured hopelessly through moist lips. "No, Daddy, no, don't, please, Daddy, no, don't." There was no struggling, no kicking, no defiance whatsoever. Mary was submitting completely to his authority, knowing that nothing could save her now. She'd worked extremely hard for this spanking, testing her father's patience with her sharp tongue and contemptuous manner. She was only getting what she'd earned for herself, no point in complaining about that.

  She lay over Ralph's knee with her bottom staring up at the ceiling, cheeks strumming like guitar strings. The seconds seemed to spin out to eternity as she waited for the first scalding blow to descend. Mary had no illusions regarding how much it was going to hurt. She'd had her fanny whaled far too often to delude herself in that respect.

  "I don't want a spanking," she sobbed.

  "You should have thought of that before you started in with the backchat," Ralph replied, raising his right hand high over his head. "Now hold your tail up and lift your feet off the floor. It's time you got what's coming to you!!"

  And with that, Mary's spanking began.

  Part 4: The Mitchell Technique

  Four words could be used to describe Ralph's spankings: long, hard, and extremely painful. Ralph Mitchell was a world-class master in the science of punishment. He'd had over a decade to practice on his daughter's pretty little fesse - and speaking in all fairness, Mary had given him every possible excuse over the years. He lowered her underwear at least once every six weeks these days (and as often as three times a month when her conduct was particularly unacceptable). Consequently, he had an intimate knowledge of his daughter's most sensitive regions, knowing every square inch of her tender young posterior.

  The Mitchell Technique tended to be exceptionally thorough. A typical session lasted at least ten minutes and could be extended by another five depending on Mary's behavior. Ralph employed a rolling overhand stroke that had her bottom glowing within the first sixty seconds - the proverbial warm up leading to the main event. And in the words of the immortal poet Vanessa Williams, Ralph Mitchell always saved the best 'til last.

  Lashing down faster than the eye could follow, Ralph's wide, burning palm covered the girl's entire bottom, branding his mark from the top of her cleft all the way down to the middle of her thighs. He generally spanked both sides in quick succession, concentrating mainly on the pudgy bulge in the lower half of each cheek. From there he could work his way down her lean shanks, scorching the soft flesh while Mary shrieked at the top of her voice. By the end of five minutes, her heinie was a glaring scarlet - and you didn't need to look very closely to see how red it was.

  It virtually goes without saying that the Mitchell Technique was unusually hard. Ralph possessed the large, muscular frame of a man who enjoyed working outdoors when he wasn't busting his hump down in the office. His palms were rough and calloused, the hands of a lumberjack or a steel worker who'd made good in middle age. Mary had good reason to fear them. They'd been applied to her peaches too many times to number.

  Although Ralph was expert in the use of the paddle, the strap and the hairbrush, Mary actually dreaded her father's palm more than anything else. The hand was an amazingly versatile instrument: it could be molded into a variety of different shapes and reach places that the Plank couldn't touch. His long, steely digits left blisters that no belt could match, streaking her thighs with bright, crimson welts. As for the brush, Mary would have chosen it over her daddy's hand without even a moment's hesitation (and had on several occasions, when the option had been granted).

  Finally, the Mitchell Technique was indescribably painful. Ralph believed that a true spanking required far more than a few half-hearted slaps to the rear, and always set out to validate his theories whenever he draped Mary across his lap. His palm fell like lightning from an angry sky, exploding against her bottom-cheeks like the wrath of Zeus. Each staccato thunderclap wrenched a scream of pure agony from her lips. Shockwaves seemed to roll through her haunches as that intractable palm found its mark with uncanny accuracy.

  The worst part for Mary was that she simply couldn't get away, no matter how much it hurt. Writhing and kicking over her daddy's lap, she would howl for mercy from the first volcanic strike. Her shrill tones could be heard echoing halfway round the block according to some reports. Nor could there be much doubt what was going on when the high, rich sound of palm on bottom was accompanied by this.

  "Oww, no Daddy, don't! Oww - stop it!"

  Which was precisely what the neighbors heard as Mary's discipline commenced.

  Part Five: Swift Justice

  Ralph's hand swept up and down with stunning force, burning its splayed print into the girl's quivering cheeks. A volley of ear-splitting shrieks filled the room. The time for whispered pleas had passed; Mary's lungs could barely contain her screams as she twisted and squirmed on her father's lap. Her eyes bulged from their sockets, her legs thrashed in agony.

  Ralph held his daughter firmly in place as he seared her heinie up to a fine, subtle pink, pressing down on her back to prevent her rolling off his knees. Her peaches pumped and danced in response to those loud, reverberating slaps; huge, glistening tears streamed down her face. She howled incoherently, conscious of nothing save the white-hot pain flashing across her posterior.

  Mary beat her palms on the floor, wailing like a soul in purgatory. It was her worst nightmare: she was having her bottom smacked! Ralph was tanning her naked fanny-tops, bruising her dignity as if she were nothing more than a naughty little girl. She was breathless with shame, hurt and wounded pride. Ralph's hand blazed from side to side, relentlessly scorching its way around her derriere. Her cheeks felt huge and swollen, the flesh drawn tight as a drum.

  "Daddy, no! It hurts!"

  Indeed it did: Mary's bottom was literally smoldering with crimson heat. Ralph dismissed her yelps with an impatient grunt, laying in with a vengeance. She'd been unpardonably rude to him, treating him like the village idiot as he stepped in through the front door. He was determined to show her who wore the pants in this family once and for all. He'd make sure this was one lesson she'd never forget - no ifs, ands or buts about it.

  Mary bawled in misery. Her denuded bottom was as red as a traffic light, as sultry as a tropical sunrise. It rippled and shook with each smarting crack, flickered and shone with a simmering, carmine light. Ralph's palm lashed into her cheeks, her bulbs, her thighs. Mary shouted out her pleas in a high, keening voice, begging her father for an end to her ordeal.

  "Daddy please stop. It hurts really bad! Ow! Don't Daddy!"

  Some minutes later, when Ralph was satisfied his sorry little miss had been sufficiently chastened, he lowered his hand to one side, shaking out the pins and needles with a rueful smile. He felt a kind of grim, tired pleasure: it had been a long, hard day and now he could relax in the knowledge of a job well done. His daughter's errant bottom had been spanked the color of a passion-fire rose. The verdict had been pronounced, the sentence carried out, and justice served for one and all. Now it was time to rest on his laurels.

  Mary lay doubled over her Father's lap, quietly sobbing over this latest humiliation. How could this have happened to her again? How could she have bared her tushie with hardly a flicker of resistance? She'd given in so easily, and offering up her naked buttocks as if she'd actually deserved to be punished. Could there be anything m
ore embarrassing?

  Worse still, her freshly-smacked bottom felt as though it had been sitting in a blast furnace for the last hour; she'd probably have to sleep on her belly for the next month! Her cheeks seemed to pulse and throb with each thudding heart beat. Closing her eyes, Mary imagined her melons inflated to three times their normal size, heat rising visibly from her sizzling, purple flesh (probably nowhere near that bad, of course, but that was how it felt).

  "It hurts, it hurts..." Mary cried softly, her buttocks trembling like two bowls of raspberry jelly.

  "I should say it would," Ralph agreed serenely, unrolling his sleeves with the air of a man well-pleased with recent developments. Things had worked out for the best, despite his earlier misgivings. The law had been upheld, the culprit punished, and now he could look forward to a quiet evening in front of the box with his feet up on the coffee table. What more could a man ask for?

  Guess there's nothing like a good, hard spanking to turn a bad day completely around.

  The Walk of Shame

  Tanya Harrow has just graduated high school and believes she should be granted greater freedom by her step-father, Bill. She also objects to her 8.30 curfew as most of her girlfriends are allowed far more privileges by their parents.

  Recently grounded by her mother, Tanya sneaks out to meet some friends at a nightclub while her parents are away for the weekend. Unfortunately, her rendezvous is soon discovered, and Bill decides it's time for some affirmative action, a decision whole-heartedly supported by Tanya's mother. Following a lengthy scolding in the living room, Tanya is sent upstairs to prepare for a good, long spanking over her step-father's knee.