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

by Perry Symon Fowler

  Mr. R's expression didn't alter. Spankings were rare in the Robinson household, but Bill never wavered in his duties when Suzie's conduct warranted a firm hand. He leaned in closer, bringing the brush flat against his palm with a loud thwack!

  "You've been a very naughty girl, Suzie," he told her grimy, "and you know exactly what you've done to deserve this! Now get into the living room and wait for me by the corner-chair. You're going over my knee."

  Suzie wailed in despair, stamping her feet like a five-year-old.

  "Nooooo. No Daddy, no, I don't want a spanking, nooooo."

  Bill's eyes flashed with rage.

  "You want me to get the strap?"

  "Noooo."

  "Then get in that living room right now," he roared.

  That was enough for Suzie. She sprinted through the archway with her face lowered, moaning in abject misery. Cutting across the living room in her little white panties, she halted next to the corner-chair, her shoulders hitching with huge, gasping sobs. Her round, pixie face was shining with hot tears as she looked back at her father, trembling as much with apprehension as with cold. She knew what was coming next.

  So did I.

  "Well, I'd better be going now ..." I mumbled under my breath, creeping towards the door as quietly as possible. I know how difficult that is to believe; a teenaged boy who didn't want to see a cute young girl in her underwear, but it was true. Suzie was one of the sweetest, kindest people I knew; and me - well, like said before - I loved her. I loved her with that pure, innocent longing only felt by Elizabethan poets and computer geeks. This was the girl I went skating with most Friday nights. I had no desire to see my best friend getting her buns whacked by an irate father.

  However, the matter was decided out of hand a couple of seconds later, as Mr. Robinson noticed me edging across the linoleum. I froze on the spot as he locked me in his sights.

  "Sit down over there," he grunted, gesturing towards the table. "This won't take long." To this day, I have no idea why he allowed me to witness the morning's fanny-smacking festivities. Maybe he wanted someone around to take Suzie down to the bus stop when the show was finished. Maybe he wanted her to suffer a little extra discomfort, knowing that the omelet-moocher was watching from the back row. Or maybe I was just so insignificant it didn't matter what I saw.

  Anyway, none of that's important now. The point is, Mr. R wanted me to stay put, and I didn't ask any questions, no-siree. Seated at the kitchen table with my heart climbing half-way up my throat, I had a clear view of proceedings as Big Bill Robinson stalked out to the living room to give his daughter the spanking of a lifetime.

  ---oOo---

  Waiting by the corner-chair, Suzie started whimpering as her father sat down, setting aside the brush while he unbuttoned his shirt cuffs. The corner-chair was tall, wooden straight-backed, old and scuffed like something out of an antique shop. I've never understood why they called it the 'corner' chair, seeing as it'd always been located near the centre of the room. Suzie later told me that her spankings usually took place right in front of the wide, picture windows that looked out onto the street. Her worst nightmare was that one of her friends might drop by while she was having her bottom tanned, which was why she was normally so well behaved.

  Well, I guess her dream came true that morning.

  Having finished his sleeve-rolling operations, Bill decided to get down to business. No preamble, no scolding, no pre-spanking lecture; the girl was well aware of what she'd done, and now she had to face the consequences. Tacitly ignoring Suzie's mournful protests, he ordered her to move on to the next phase of her discipline.

  "You know the drill, Suzan: bend over and take those panties down."

  Suzie gasped in shock - as I'd suspected earlier, this was the part she dreaded the most; the thing she'd been unable to even mention when I first arrived. Baring her bottom always left Suzie dizzy with shame - all the more today because there would be a witness to her ordeal. She started dancing from foot to foot, trapped between natural, adolescent modesty and the overwhelming fear of her father's anger.

  "No, Daddy, noooo," she shrilled in utter panic, her face blazing with embarrassment. "I don't want Steve to see, please Daddy, let me keep them up, spank me over my panties, don't make me take them down, please Daddy..."

  "You get those panties down, young lady," Bill growled in a low, menacing rumble. "I won't tell you again!"

  And he meant it, too. Way out in the kitchen, I could hear the thunder in his voice. Another second's delay and he'd be going for the strap.

  Suzie wailed in absolute humiliation. Bending over from the hips, she peeled her underwear gingerly down her thighs, placing her pert, shapely bottom on open exhibition. Her bottom-cheeks seemed to peek out from over the lacy trim of her waistband, soft and ripe and invitingly lush. I stared in eye-bulging astonishment, entranced by the spectacle of those smooth, alabaster globes. I couldn't help myself, I just had to look: her quivering, white cheeks seemed to fill my entire field of vision.

  Suzie slipped her panties down to her knees then straightened up, crossing her hands in front of herself. She'd always had a rather boyish figure, but she'd been filling out nicely in recent months. Her hips had taken on the gentle curves of womanhood while her waistline seemed to have shrunk away to practically nothing. I'd noticed Suzie's blossoming shape when she opened the door earlier on, but seeing her like this almost knocked me out of my chair. This was turning out to be a day of revelations, I kid you not.

  Meantime, poised at the very brink of a spanking, Suzie still clung to the hope that she could overturn the verdict.

  "Please Daddy, don't spank me," she begged, "I can't stand it Daddy. It'll hurt real bad, I just know it will, please don't Daddy, I'll be really good from now on, honest I will ... don't Daddy, please don't, please don't spank my bottom, noooo-"

  Mr. R cut her off in mid-sentence, taking her by the forearm and pulling her forward in small, tottering steps. Suzie wailed all the louder, knowing that her time was up. She stumbled heel-over-toe to her daddy's side, shaking her derriere with each faltering step.

  Suzie dug her feet into the floorboards, simpering in terror as Bill led her across his lap, as she wailed, "No, Daddy, nooooo, noooooooooo!" All in vain, of course; she could kick and struggle all she liked, nothing was going to save her now. Mr. Robinson had reached the end of his patience. He spread Suzie's weight evenly over his squared knees, shifting her centre of gravity so that her tense, clenching bottom was glaring at the ceiling in mute accusation.

  Clamping his left hand over the small of Suzie's back, Bill planted his considerable weight into the corner-chair, getting ready for the long haul. He wanted to make himself as comfortable as possible before the fun started. Suzie was looking at a good ten minutes over his knee, but there was no reason why he should suffer the slightest discomfort. Nodding to himself in wry approval, Mr. R layed his palm over Suzie's twitching right peach, steeling himself for the task ahead.

  Watching from the kitchen table, I couldn't see Suzie's face, but I could well imagine the anguished, hopeless expression she must've been wearing. I mean, she may have been Daddy's little girl, but she wasn't a child, she was a young woman. Even I thought she was too old for a spanking, here she was bent over her father's knee with her pants down and her naked cheeks raised to the heavens. I could hear her whispering little pleas as Bill made ready to scorch her tail. "No," "Don't," "Please," "I'm sorry," "Daddy," and so on. She sounded roughly six years old to my ears, and I guess that must have been how she felt right at that second.

  "OK, stop that wriggling this instant, young lady," Mr. Robinson ordered, his face creased with impatience. "You've earned yourself a good ten minutes this time, and I'm not putting up with any of your hi-jinks today. Now lie still and hold your bottom up: you move so much as an inch off my lap and I'll make things a damn sight worse for you."

  Bill raised a palm roughly the size of a Texas ham hock over his right shoulder, gathering strength for the
first stunning blow.

  ---oOo---

  Some years later, after Suzie had gotten married and I'd gone on to college, I picked up a couple of units of Intro Psych during my first semester. Only we didn't call it Psychology back then: it had the lofty academic title of 'Behavioral Science' - although it was about as scientific as using a ouija board to calculate your tax return. It was your basic Freud in a nutshell course; endless driveling lectures, thousands of meaningless technical terms, and text books heavy as the Rosetta Stone (and twice as difficult to interpret).

  Anyway, amongst the reams of pseudo-scientific gobbledygook was something called 'subjective transference', which is like seeing the world from someone else's perspective. It was about the only thing I actually understood, mainly because I had first-hand experience of the phenomenon. I swear to God, I felt Suzie's spanking from clear across the room: every burning slap, every scathing palm-strike. It was like it was happening to me.

  Bill started out by working her cheeks from left to right, scalding the flesh with a meticulous, practiced stroke. Suzie screamed with each staccato retort, her shrieks almost punctured my eardrums. Shockwaves seemed to whip halfway down her legs. Her buttocks danced with an hysterical, hectic rhythm, keeping pace with Bill's darting hand.

  How can she stand that? I asked myself, watching slack-mouthed from the kitchen. It must have been agony! Less than a minute in, Suzie's buns were glowing and radiant. She sobbed and squirmed as his palm lashed down, almost faster than the eye could follow. Her cheeks blazed like a furnace; she jiggled her tail from side to side, kicking her dainty feet in mid-air.

  Bill picked up the tempo, steadily increasing his velocity. A delicate flush spilled down the back of Suzie's legs. He started to cover the whole of her bottom, from the smooth orbs of her cheeks to the tapering sweeps of her thighs. Her buns were glowing with a fierce, carmine heat, and she still had a good nine minutes ahead of her.

  As for me, I sat there at the table in a cold sweat, hardly believing what was taking place. Like I said before, I couldn't look away; the sight was nothing short of mesmerizing - but that didn't mean I liked what I saw. I knew Suzie, knew her better than any of the guys I played catch with down the park most afternoons. She didn't have a mean bone in her whole body. I didn't care what the argument had been about; she simply didn't deserve this. No way on earth.

  I looked up at Mr. R, wincing as his palm flashed down over Suzie's defenseless heinie. His face was set in the grim lines of concentration. His jaw was jutting forward like a thug from some b-grade gangster film, a vein stuck out on his neck, ticking away with clockwork regularity.

  How could he do this to her? How could he just sit there ignoring her cries and pleas like that? She was his daughter for chrissake! She was so small, so ... vulnerable, and there he was, big as life and twice as ugly, whaling the tar out of her poor little bottom. I stared at him in silent, impotent hate. Yeah, he was her father, and yeah, she'd earned herself this punishment, but right at that second I loathed him.

  Shifting her position with his left hand, Bill realigned her cheeks to allow for optimum swing. He redoubled his efforts, leaping from thigh to buttock in a crescendo of pain. Suzie bawled at the top of her lungs. Her flesh quivered and darkened; first pink, now red, now crimson. Bill leaned in with his entire shoulder, coating her thighs with a hail of fire.

  Her bottom cheeks jostled about in sheer, reddened torment. They rippled and shook as each searing bolt descended. Suzie howled in protest, kicking her long legs and beating the floor with her fists. She lay over his knee begging him to stop, knowing full-well that her punishment had only just begun.

  It was at that point that Mr. Robinson decided to change tactics. Leaning forward towards the coffee table, the big man balanced Suzie on his lap while he picked up the hairbrush. I shook my head in disbelief. Her bottom was already a mass of livid swollen red. I'm tellin' you, part of me wanted to march over and sock him square in the jaw like John Wayne in that movie The Spoilers (although the Duke was no slouch in the spanking department either, come to think of it); I mean, what right did he have to humiliate her this way, to pull her pants down and blister her bare tush? It just wasn't fair.

  Suzie turned to look over her shoulder as Bill got ready with the hairbrush. Her eyes flickered momentarily in my direction and I felt my heart melting for her once again. Her pretty face glistened with tears, her shoulders slumped with shame and misery. He was treating her like a child. It was degrading beyond all description. How many girls her age were made to bare their bottoms and bend over the knee of their daddy? Not many, I imagined.

  Meantime, Mr. R made ready to continue.

  "Alright, little girl," he grunted, hefting the brush over his head, "you know how much you deserve this, so stop that whining and unclench those cheeks." And without further ado, the brush whistled down, rending the air in its wake.

  Suzie shuddered as each blow detonated against her naked hindquarters. Tears of shame and hurt streamed down her face. Her peachy bottom looked huge and bloated; the hurt must've been absolutely unbearable. Her discipline had become a symphony of fire. Her plaintive, keening shouts echoed through to the kitchen, shaking the plates on the shelves.

  I can't start to tell you how awful it was, sitting helplessly by, watching those sweet round buttocks turning red beneath that incessant barrage. Suzie arched her back, almost lifting completely off his lap; flailing her head about in a cloud of blonde tresses, she squealed her agony to the heavens. On it went, minute after minute, until I started thinking it would go on forever.

  Bill began the final run at about the eighth minute, rounding up with a series of swift, burning strokes; a series of deafening thunderclaps. Her cheeks quivered in unison as the brush drove deep into her flesh. Those last two minutes were the worst. Bill threw himself into the fray with renewed vigor, his arm blurring in its descent. Suzie howled incoherently as he bore down, paddling her simmering rear with all his strength. He whipped the brush over her sensitive thigh-tops, impressed his will on her bare fanny. Suzie bucked and writhed, shaking her hips like a burlesque queen.

  Then it was finished. Just like that. At the very climax of the festivities, Bill paused in mid-swing, nodded to himself in curt approval, and laid the brush back down on the coffee table. And that was it.

  Suzie lay passively over his lap, weeping into her pooled hair and bemoaning her fate. The spanking was over, but her bottom would be throbbing for hours to come. Bill allowed the weary, gasping girl five minutes to catch her breath, then ordered her off his lap. He applied two thunderous slaps to the rear, adding enthusiasm to her movements.

  Suzie's exhaustion suddenly disappeared; she scrambled to her feet with her panties still banded around her knees. She hastily adjusted her clothing, wincing as the sheer cotton touched her twitching, outraged skin. Bill rose from the chair, unfurling his sleeves with the air of a man well satisfied. Suzie stood before him, sobbing quietly and rubbing her pantied-derriere.

  "OK," Bill told her, hooking his thumbs through his belt, "put your clothes on and get ready for school. You don't want to miss that bus if you know what's good for you."

  Suzie knew what was good for her and didn't plan on missing no bus. Still choking back her tears, she ran out to the kitchen and picked up her skirt from over the back of the chair. I watched my poor little friend for a few seconds, then turned away, allowing her at least the dignity of getting dressed in privacy.

  Sorry Suze, I thought, staring out through the back window and wishing I was deaf. I could hear her sobbing quietly as she clipped on her skirt, and that was somehow more heart-breaking than all her screams put together. I guess at the end of the day, there's nothin' worse than the sound of someone crying all alone, especially a little sixteen-year-old girl, which was all Suzie was back then. God, he didn't have to lay into her so hard, did he?

  It took her exactly forty seconds to get dressed. Neither one of us spoke as we stepped out through the back door.

&
nbsp; ---oOo---

  Suzie was still sniffling a little when we walked down to the bus stop. I carried her bag over my shoulder, maybe hopin' to maybe cheer her up some (yeah, sure - luggin' her backpack all the way to school's just certain to make everything right). We walked in silence, Suzie occasionally dabbing her cheeks as we headed along the sidewalk. I didn't know what to say, I'd never been much in the smarts department when it came to comfortin' my friends. Hell, what could you say after seeing something like that?

  There were a bunch of kids hangin' out on the corner of Mount and Patrick, slouchin' around in their duffle coats trying to look cool. Friends of ours waiting for the bus; Suzie and I used to call them the welcoming committee because they always seemed to get there before us. I told 'em Suzie had slipped on some ice coming down the driveway, that was why she looked like she'd been crying. Everyone nodded in sympathy and made the usual conciliatory sounds, although that wise-ass Danny Waldron sneered something like 'Ooh, fell over on our poor little bottie, did we?' and I told him he better watch his mouth or he'd be wakin' up in Fat Lip, New Mexico. Never liked Danny Waldron, he was a short, ugly bastard with a face like a weasel and a laugh like a hyena. I was practically itching to kick his ass after what I'd just witnessed.

  I stuck close to Suzie all the way to school. We stood together at the back of the bus, holding onto the handrail because she was too sore to sit down. I wondered how she was going to get through the day. Looking into her sad little face, I wanted to go hide under a rock for the rest of my life. I was feeling pretty guilty by this time. I mean, I hadn't lifted so much as a finger to help her during the whole sorry fiasco. I'd sat there watching while she kicked and screamed and begged her old man to stop. A greater act of cowardice I simply couldn't imagine on that cold winter morning. But that wasn't the only reason I felt so ashamed.