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

by Perry Symon Fowler

  "Tanya, I'm sick and tired of your kicking and fighting while I'm holding you across my knee," Bill told her in his most authoritarian voice. "This time you're to lie perfectly still while I polish up your bottom. If you move so much as a toe out of place, I'll spank you twice as hard and twice as long. Understand?"

  Tanya shuddered, already feeling the brush biting into her tender, crimson flesh. It was too much: now she wasn't even allowed to wriggle her sore little tushie over his lap.

  "Y-yes, Daddy," she stammered woefully.

  Bottom cheeks clenching with anxiety, Tanya closed her eyes and waited. Bill hefted the brush high over his right shoulder; it flew down in a flash of silver, taking her square across the right haunch. Tanya gaped wordlessly as her bottom swallowed the impact; her fingers clawing the carpet. The pain was momentarily too huge to express. Groping for breath, she lay mute below the brush for several endless seconds.

  Finally, the brush flailed around Tanya's thighs and bottom, visiting each cheek in rapid succession, working her skin up to a radiant, burning carmine. Eyes clamped shut against the pain, Tanya squealed uncontrollably, tears flooding down her face and dripping from her sweet pixie chin. Bill swung the hairbrush in a glittering blur, scalding the flesh. Tanya's blazing bottom shivered in suppressed agony. Deprived the right to even wriggle her hips, Tanya turned her face to the carpet and shrieked.

  She was so sore: her apple-ripe bottom-cheeks seemed to be burning with liquid fire. The brush swished down in a rain of hissing cracks. Tanya fought to hold herself over her step-father's lap, begging and sobbing. Lying over Bill's knee, she felt vulnerable and helpless; he was blistering her bottom as he had a thousand times in the past, and once again, she was absolutely powerless to prevent it.

  How could this be happening to her?

  She was nearly eighteen years old; she had a summer job down at the mall, and she'd be going to Chamberlain College in the new year. She paid rent, she did her share of the housework; her mother had no cause to ground her like an errant child. Bill had no right to upturn her naked bottom and smack it with a hairbrush. First the walk of shame in nothing but her bra and panties, then the absolute humiliation of a spanking over her step-daddy's lap. Tanya buried her face in her hair, weeping in anguish.

  He had every right, as he was proving right now. Tanya was small and petite and vulnerable, she was subject to his will in every sense of the word. She was his daughter, (step-father or not), and her bottom was his to paddle if he chose. She had to surrender herself to Bill's authority; she had to take down her brief, flimsy panties and offer her flawlessly smooth buns for his parental inspection; she had to go meekly over his knee like a naughty school girl when he felt her behavior merited a spanking. There could be no debate, no argument, no appeal against his judgments. He was a man, the paterfamilias of their household, the final word in her life.

  "Ow! Daddy, no more. Please Daddy – stop it!"

  But Daddy didn't stop it. Daddy continued.

  Dismissing her screams with the contempt they deserved, Bill lashed down with steadily increasing force, hopping from side to side and targeting the simmering tops of her thighs. Tanya began to kick her feet, unable to control her automatic reactions. The brush whipped down, over and over, branding her white-hot butt-cheeks with glowing red prints. Bill held on grimly, shifting the struggling girl back to the central position as she attempted to wriggle off his lap.

  "Hold still," he barked, smacking down on Tanya's thighs. Pounding her tiny fists on the floor, she shimmied her hips in a futile effort to escape. Bill immediately doubled his pace. The brush shot from cheek to cheek, tanning and tormenting the same two spots. Ripe, clenching buttocks joggled back and forth beneath the barrage.

  Tanya howled incoherently, her words submerged in a rush of fierce sting.

  Bill began to wear down after ten minutes. His arm was growing tired, and the girl needed a rest. Doubled over his lap, Tanya was sagging with weariness, despite the shrill cries peeling from her throat. It was time to take a break - marshal his reserves and rally his forces.

  Of course, the spanking was far from over. In one sense, Tanya's discipline had only just begun. She'd been unforgivably disobedient on this occasion, and Bill was determined that his naughty little ward should regret her actions for years to come. The paddling was nothing more than an appetizer, priming her saucy little bottom for the main course.

  Rounding off with a five tremendous claps to his daughter's impudent buns, Bill grimly surveyed the implements spread out on the coffee table. Knowing the gravity of the offence, he'd come prepared, ready to extend Tanya's sentence with a selection of belts, strops and wooden spoons. Each had its relative merits and - all things being equal - each was more than capable of executing its required task. The only question was, which one?

  Delivering the final whack to Tanya's simmering posterior, Bill made his decision.

  ---oOo---

  When Bill finally put the hairbrush down, Tanya caught her breath and then tearfully begged forgiveness, knowing that her punishment was going to continue. Bill had left her with no illusions in that regard: a grand finale would be performed on her poor little fanny and the black leather strap would most likely be the instrument of choice.

  "Please Daddy, I'm really sorry I got you angry, please don't spank me with the strap - my bottom's terribly sore now, I've had enough, send me back to my room, I'll be on my best behavior from now on-"

  Bill cut her off in mid-sentence, using the breather to continue scolding his wayward young step-daughter. She was going to get everything she needed; both he and her Mother were in total agreement on that particular matter. They wouldn't tolerate any more of her deceit, petulance and covert rebellion. If she thought she'd be getting away with only fifteen minutes over his knee, she was in for one hell of a rude awakening.

  Ordering her to stand up, he lifted the gasping, weeping adolescent off his lap and set her down beside the chair. Her knickers slipped all the way to her heels, where they clung precariously to her small right foot. Bill took her by the elbow as she tottered forward. Whimpering with embarrassment, she covered her fine brown thatch with her free hand.

  "Bend over," Bill directed, his voice gruff with impatience. He'd had about as much as he was going to take. The explicit threat in his words sent a cold finger down the length of Tanya's spine. After everything she'd endured so far, her tender little bottom was going to kiss the strap. She exploded into a fresh shower of hysterical tears. Her voice rose through several octaves of pure terror. The strap was unspeakably painful, and Bill knew precisely how to use it.

  "No Daddy," she cried, huge tears spilling down her cheeks, "I can't stand it, the strap hurts too much, I don't want it. I don't want the strap, don't make me bend over Daddy, please, I'm sorry-"

  "I said bend over," Bill growled, applying a loud, staccato whack to her pulsating right cheek. Tanya wailed in shock and fear feeling her naked heinie clutching back and forth. Bill stood over her, his face darkened with paternal fury. He spoke down from Olympian heights, scolding with all the force of a wrathful parent addressing a naughty six-year-old.

  "I've had it up to here with your insolence and disobedience, Tanya. You're going to wish you'd never crossed the line with me, young lady. Now bend over that coffee table and stick your tushie up in the air - right now."

  Sobbing with misery, Tanya bent double from the hips, placing her hands on the coffee table for balance. Her lush, red bottom shook with barely-suppressed suffering, and she wept in complete and total resignation. Relinquishing her last morsel of feminine dignity, she surrendered completely to Bill's indisputable masculine control. Leaning slightly forward, she raised her cheeks so they were practically staring Bill squarely in the face.

  "All right," he concluded, picking up the double-loop of hardened barber's leather, "It's time for the strap, young lady." Spreading his weight evenly over both feet, Bill raised his right hand, contracting the sinews along his muscular forearms.
His frame hung in momentary stasis at the zenith of his upswing, then the strap whistled down over Tanya's wavering, unprotected bottom.

  The leather slashed across her buttocks, scorching a vivid trail from left cheek to right shank. Tanya's entire body jerked spasmodically as she fought to subsume the pain.

  The strap pistoned down again, wrapping itself around her lower buttocks. Tanya teetered forward, her mouth flying open in a frenzied shriek. She kicked up one of her heels in an automatic reaction. A long-forgotten pair of pink satin panties fluttered to the floor like a wounded sparrow.

  Three, four; the black leather strapped her rippling. Tanya raked her nails along the coffee table's varnished surface, leaving minute furrows in the expensive teak. Her bottom clutched and shook. She was sure Daddy had never spanked her quite so hard before. Her cheeks felt hot, inflated to double their normal size. They were bursting with scorching white heat, bouncing and jostling with pent-up fury. Tanya wedged her face between her outstretched biceps, weeping inconsolably.

  Bill drew the strap back, setting his aim for the delicate curves of skin directly below the buttocks. Tanya's pitiful sobs gradually settled down as if she sensed his intentions: by a superhuman effort of will, she managed to pacify her jittering orbs. The room was filled with the sound of her bloodless, expectant panting.

  The strap bit into her thighs without warning, searing both sides and rocking Tanya forward on the coffee table. An ear-splitting screech ballooned up from her belly, echoing through the house. Before she even had time to draw another breath, the seventh blow struck her bottom... followed by the eighth.

  A wild, ululating shriek tore from Tanya's lips as the leather cut into her palpitating buttocks. Her peaches went into spasm, jittering excitedly around the cleft as she struggled to contain the tremors. She wept miserably, pleading under her breath.

  Bill stood back, testing the strap against his palm until Tanya's bottom had ceased frisking. Five seconds wheeled past in slow motion, then Bill hefted the leather once more. Tanya clenched her bottom tighter than a boxer's fist. The strap streaked down faster than the human eye could follow. Number nine landed in the centre of her right bottom-cheek.

  Infinity trickled by on a glacial passage through that last, endless moment. Bill hovered over her, right arm ascendant, a rigid, monolithic figure overshadowing her helpless, compliant femininity. Centuries seemed to pass as Tanya waited in silence, her heart thumping heavily against her ribcage. She turned her head to look up at Bill, at his hand, at the evil, black strap glinting beneath the fluorescent lights...

  The strap lashed down, crossing both her bottom-cheeks with a seething band of fire. Her lean, coltish legs quivered as the leather connected. The last stroke was always the worst: molten metal seemed to coat her fanny. One eternal second of pain ... and it was over.

  ---oOo---

  Lying face-down on the bed in her bra and panties, Tanya wept into her pillow. Hugging her teddy bear for sympathy, she looked like a well spanked naughty little girl with the world's sorest bottom. A bright crimson blush was plainly visible through her flimsy satin underpants.

  Shifting uncomfortably on the pink satin covers, she drew her long legs up into the fetal position. Thoroughly chastened, she cried like a lonely child. It was so unfair: Bill had spanked her way too hard, whipping her heinie for what seemed like forever. She could still feel the leather slashing into her tender young bottom, driving its mark into her flesh. Her sleek, round buttocks were stinging horribly.

  However, the kiss of the strap had not been the worst part of her ordeal. No, the worst part had undoubtedly been the helpless, trembling shame she'd felt when Bill ordered her to lower her underwear and present her bottom. The memory of that overwhelming disgrace prompted a fresh cloudburst. Curling herself around the bear, Tanya cried in gasping, sobbing misery.

  The scene literally filled her consciousness. Closing her eyes, she replayed that unspeakable moment when she'd revealed her naked bottom-cheeks to her step-daddy. Her bottom had clenched and shivered as she'd slipped her panties down her thighs. Cool air had whispered across her pale, creamy melons, and she'd felt utterly defenseless before his stern, measuring stare.

  He'd made her bare her bottom like a little girl! The thought played through her mind in mocking, graphic images - Bill had made her bend over and drop her panties, exposing her soft, milky peaches. She'd stood weeping in anguish for nearly five minutes while Bill inspected her twitching derriere.

  Worse still, she had surrendered herself to him with hardly a murmur of protest. Stripping down to her underwear for the Walk of Shame had been bad enough, but taking her panties down for a spanking had been the ultimate act of self-betrayal. She had actually submitted to her own punishment! She had felt Bill's eyes sweeping over her sleek, ivory bottom with his unwavering gaze, and it had been the most degrading moment of her life.

  How could she live with this abject humiliation? Bill had been spanking her for close to four years now, but she'd never quite gotten used to lowering her knickers in front of her step-father (much less the long, hard paddlings which invariably followed). The overriding sense of shame seemed to increase on every occasion, and this evening's bottom-smacking festivities had been no exception.

  Well, it's over now, Tanya thought to herself, turning on to her side (and taking care not to bump her hot, throbbing bottom). She'd survived her step-daddy's blazing palm once more, had endured the pain and guilt of a bare bottomed spanking, and at the end of her ordeal, she was little the worse for wear. Now she could relax, snuggle up in Teddy's soft arms and sleep her tears away. She'd never need to worry about the Walk of Shame ever again -

  At least until the next time.

  The Persuader

  Tracey Lane was in trouble. Big Trouble. Vast trouble. Enormous trouble. Monstrous trouble. More trouble than she could shake a stick at. Trouble beyond the ken of mortal man.

  Her mid-year report card had arrived with the morning post. Revealing a grand total of three terminating grades, it was one of the lowest scores she'd ever brought home. Understandably, her Father had been considerably less than amused. 'Furious' was the adjective which leapt immediately to mind.

  John had promised her a good, hard spanking over his knee. He had warned her earlier that day, just after lunch. He'd been tempted to take her straight over his lap and peel her panties all the way down to her heels right there in the kitchen, tanning her wayward little bottom while she screamed in pain and outrage.

  But that would have been far too quick and painless. Three failing grades required considerably more than a passing smack on the fanny. It needed a real, honest-to-god spanking; long and sharp and exquisitely thorough. The kind of spanking that could be anticipated for hours in advance and savored for hours afterwards.

  John had resisted the call to swift justice with admirable restraint. Gathering up his papers and returning to work, he left Tracey in the knowledge that her pert, young bottom would be spanked the color of a ripe cherry the moment he came home that evening.

  That moment was now.

  ---oOo---

  He was back.

  It was 5.53 and she'd just heard the car door slam shut in the driveway. The second she'd dreaded all day had finally arrived; in a matter of minutes, she'd be summoned down to the study, where she would be made to bare her bottom like a naughty little girl. The image spiraled through her mind with heart-stopping urgency. Going over John's knee always left her weak and gasping; literally breathless with humiliation.

  There were very few things she dreaded as much as having her pretty young buttocks revealed. It was embarrassing, it was shameful, it was an utter denigration of her adolescent sexuality. Her emotions swirled like two gigantic waves colliding in a boiling sea. She hated being punished like an errant six-year-old, made to apologize for her misdemeanor and ask for a well-smacked bottom.

  Sitting on the sofa with her legs folded beneath her, Tracey listened to the front door open. John walked into the
foyer, his footsteps pausing outside his study. She started squirming impatiently, wishing her punishment underway and complete. How much longer would he make her wait? Fear and embarrassment seemed to stream though her belly in alternating currents. She could already see herself draped over his thighs with her creamy, white bottom staring at the ceiling. Worse still, there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. John was tall and exceptionally strong: once he decided her behavior warranted a spanking, her fate was sealed. He was far too powerful to defy; Tracey had learned long ago that resistance was completely useless.

  ---oOo---

  John Lane wasn't Tracey's real father. He wasn't even her step-father, not in any official capacity. In the modern vernacular, he was her Mother's de facto husband, which made him a kind of common-law father. Not that it made much difference; she'd come to think of him as her daddy in virtually every sense of the word. The course of time and literally hundreds of spankings tended to cement even the most unlikely familial relationships.

  The spankings had started almost the same week Tracey had moved into John's large, rambling Brownstone. John had warned her from day one that he'd tolerate absolutely no misbehavior. He was her father now, he'd accepted responsibility for her care and upbringing. This meant there were going to be some serious changes in her life.

  She'd have to treat him with the respect he deserved, observe the rules he set for her, and obey his directives without complaint. The penalty for even the slightest sign of rebellion would be swift, immediate, and direct. She'd be taken straight across his knee for a red, hot bottom!