You see, I'd actually enjoyed it.
That's the sorriest admission I'll ever make. In spite of everything, I had enjoyed it, reveled in it; from the first burning smack to the final, echoing shriek. The sight of Suzie's tense, red bottom had excited me like nothing I've ever experienced before or since. Every second had excited me: the tears, the fright, the wild, frenzied pleas for mercy. Standing beside her on the bus, I was replaying every scene from memory, especially that heart-stopping moment when she slid down her panties. She was my best friend - and I would have done just about anything to see it all over again.
The world's a funny place isn't it?
Prior to that snowy winter morning, I'd never given much thought to The Great Mystery (as my mother used to call it). Sex was something confined to those excruciatingly uncomfortable talks I'd had with Dad last summer. This was the eighties, remember: that far away, mythical era before the Internet, Seinfeld or MTV. Boys my age were still more interested in the World Series than girls back in those days. And although I loved Suzie with all my heart and soul (kinda), I'd never really seen her as an object of desire.
Until that day. The day everything changed.
She'd stopped crying by the time the bus pulled up out front of Green Meadows High. I asked her if she'd like me to carry her bag for her again, but she simply shook her head in reply and said, "No, don't worry Stevie, I'm OK." I was sort of disappointed, as I hoped she might let me go on playing Galahad for the rest of the morning (although looking back, I musta been the sorriest excuse for a knight errant who'd ever trod the earth). Instead, I followed close behind as we spilled out of the bus, making sure no one accidentally bumped into her hot, stinging tushie. That was the least I could do, under the circumstances. She had a bit of trouble walking at first. So did I, although for considerably different reasons.
As we made our way along the corridors, Suzie did something I'll never forget as long as I live.
Approaching the lockers, our hands brushed momentarily and she slipped her fingertips gently around mine. It was completely innocent. Her touch was a warm caress against my skin. I glanced down to see her watching me shyly through half-closed eyelids, and the love I saw in them just about brought me to my knees.
"Thanks, Stevie," she whispered.
For an instant I was too surprised to answer. Then I managed to locate my voice and ask her, "What for?"
"For being my friend," she replied.
Rising up on tip-toe, she placed a hand on my shoulder and pressed her lips to mine. It was the briefest of contacts, finished in the blink of an eye, but I've never kissed a more beautiful girl in all my life. If I'd felt hot under the collar in the Robinson's kitchen, then I was spontaneously combusting now, I kid you not. Came close to keelin' over in a dead faint, and I could taste her on the tip of my tongue for the next three days.
Suzie favored me with a smile that could have stunned a grown man at fifty paces, then turned and walked off towards her locker. I stared after her with my jaw hangin' around my chest, feeling the blood rushin' to my face. Talk about your fevers - second week of December, and there I was, steamin' like a Florida sunset. Then again, girls have always had that effect on me.
At least since that first breathtaking kiss from the girl next door.
The Triple Play
Part One: Charise
The rules were quite simple.
Her mother had explained the situation to all three of them less than a week ago, calmly laying out the details so there could be no room for misunderstanding. Conrad was now their father, and he would be taking full responsibility for their welfare and discipline. From this point on, they would be courteous, respectful and well-behaved at all times. There was no room for negotiation on this issue; if they did anything even the slightest bit naughty, they would have go over Conrad's knee.
And just to add a little incentive to the Greenheart Behavioral Modification Plan, it was decided that if one girl needed a spanking, all three would be required to bare their bottoms. No special treatment, no favoritism; all for one and one for all. Couldn't be any fairer that that now, can we?
Charise hadn't believed it at the time, of course; none of them had. Conrad wasn't her real father; he had no practical authority in her life. Yes, he was married to her mother, but that didn't mean he was automatically King of the Castle. Charise Greenheart didn't have to answer to anybody, except maybe her mother, and even that was debatable as far as she was concerned.
Yet here she was, standing in her parent's bedroom, feeling the first tears blurring her eyes while Conrad prepared to take her across his lap for the good, hard spanking her mother had promised her earlier that morning. She still couldn't believe this was happening to her. She was going to be spanked like a naughty little girl, her ripe young bottom-cheeks paddled until they were glowing like an Autumn sunrise.
"No, no, you can't spank me," she sobbed, raising her hands as if to ward off an attack. She cast wet, frightened glances around the room, desperately wishing her mother was here to protect her. No hope of reprieve from that quarter, of course: Mummy had been in total agreement that Charise was in dire need of a hot, smarting bottom.
"You get that dress off, young lady," Conrad growled in his sternest tone. "You're going over my knee and that's the end of it." He was a big, classically featured man in his early thirties, with a granite jawline and striking black eyes. Leaning forward on his chair with one hand on his knee, he looked more than capable of carrying out his threat.
"Nooo," Charise moaned in girlish distress. She'd been exceedingly naughty this morning, there was no use denying the fact, but she didn't deserve a spanking. She felt small and weak and helpless; reduced to a wailing six-year-old before his sharp, angry gaze. An image of herself doubled over his lap with her flimsy white panties around her ankles floated before her mind's eye. He couldn't do this to her: she was too old for a spanking!
Conrad's expression darkened.
"Don't you 'no' me, Charise," he told her, his voice menacingly low. "If I have to come over there and undress you myself, I'll make things a whole lot worse for you."
Charise gaped in rising panic. Her heart seemed to have paused in mid-beat. The thought of Conrad stripping her down to her underpants was unspeakable. Charise could imagine nothing more embarrassing than to have her clothes removed by her step-father, particularly under the present circumstances. Groaning in complete humiliation, she reached around to unzip her short, black cotton frock.
Two huge tears moistened her cheeks as she dropped the dress to the floor and stood revealed in her bra and panties. Like both her sisters, Charise was as supple as a willow. Crossing her hands over her white nylon panties, she found herself as shy as a five-year-old girl. She felt delirious with embarrassment, knowing that she was almost naked before Conrad's businesslike gaze. This was a disgrace beyond anything she'd ever known. How would she ever live this down?
Conrad gestured impatiently in the girl's direction, his face a mask of grim deliberation as he started rolling back his sleeves.
"All right, little girl - over here please."
"Noooo," Charise cried plaintively, but tottered forward on unwilling feet. There was no sense in resisting Conrad's brusque instruction; she knew precisely what came next. Mummy had told her that she would be required to take down her panties whenever Conrad deemed a spanking necessary. She paused before her step-father, sobbing in fear of the inevitable.
Having concluded his sleeve-rolling preparations, Conrad opted for a good, stiff scolding to drive the point home. Leaning forward on his chair, he lectured Charise on her behavior, warning her what to expect in future. So long as he was the head of this particular household, she would obey the rules he set. She wasn't even a woman, as far as he was concerned. She was a girl, his daughter, by God. And she would never be too old to go across his lap for a damned good spanking.
Charise listened with her eyes downcast, choking back her tears like a lost child. She stood weepin
g in the lazy morning sunlight, a slim, blonde girl clothed in nothing but sheer, cotton underpants. Barefoot and bare-thighed, she shivered in growing terror as Conrad's rumbling diatribe reached its conclusion.
"... there are going to be a few changes from here on in," Conrad was saying. "You and your sisters are going to turn over a new leaf whether you like it or not. No more backchat, no more late nights, no more arguments. Your mother and I have made our decision, and you're going to have to live with it. Now - time to get started. Come here, bend over, and get those panties down to your ankles."
"Daddy, nooooo," she cried, unleashing a torrent of fresh tears. "Don't make me bare my bottom, please don't make me pull them down! Spank me on my pants; I'm almost naked now, please don't-"
Despite her near hysteria, Charise was already stepping forward and looping her thumbs through the waistband of her underwear. She couldn't help herself, she was utterly incapable of refusing that brusque, lowering command. Weeping in abject misery, she half-turned away and peeled her briefs down her thighs. Pausing at the dimpled bumps of her knees, she shifted her centre of balance, then dropped her pants to the floor.
Conrad was already reaching forward; as Charise straightened up, he took her arm just above the elbow. Exerting only a little pressure, he drew the blubbering girl forward and guided her carefully across his lap, shifting her carefully into position. Her magnificently contoured bottom seemed to stare up at Conrad in blunt shock, shivering in the cool morning air. Sweet and soft and mirror smooth, it began to twitch erratically as he patted her pale right cheek experimentally.
Hanging submissively over her step-father's squared knees, Charise closed her eyes and sobbed quietly to herself. Warm, liquid shame filled her belly; a faint, raspberry blush crept through her features. How could this be happening? Conrad was about to spank her pert, naked bottom-cheeks - and she would have to endure everything she received, no matter how much it hurt. Feeling Conrad raise his arm, she moaned in utter humiliation, clenching her cheeks against the first, stunning blow.
"No, Daddy, don't, please, I'm sorry, don't Daddy, please..."
---oOo---
Standing in the hallway directly outside the bedroom, Tessa and Zenya listened in mounting apprehension as Conrad prepared to paddle their sister's bottom. They'd heard the frightened child-like pleas as Charise frantically tried to avert her punishment. She'd sounded roughly six years old as she'd tearfully removed her clothing and lowered her panties. An ominous silence had fallen over the house. The twins exchanged flickering glances, Tessa biting on her lower lip. Their sister was now over Conrad's lap.
It's actually going to happen, Tess thought in rising dismay: any second now, they'd hear the sharp, insistent crack of palm on bottom. Conrad was going to spank her, just as Mummy had said he would, following the argument at the breakfast table just over an hour ago. He was going to punish all of them, calling them into the bedroom one after the other to strip down to their undies and bare their impertinent bottoms.
Tessa stole a quick look at the bedroom door, her eyes wild and startled. She was a petite, leggy girl with strawberry blonde hair rippling down to her waist. In common with both her sisters, she had a fondness for mini-dresses and bright red pumps. With her huge, cobalt eyes and tiny rosebud mouth, she looked like some small, delicate china doll.
Tess had thought it was all nothing more an empty threat; a last ditch effort by her Mother to extend her waning influence over her nestlings. Certainly, Tess had never imagined that she would be subject to a good, hard spanking at her age. All of them were too big to have their bottoms smacked; they weren't children, despite what Mummy had said at the family meeting last Friday. They were young women, with the same rights and privileges as other girls their age.
Unfortunately, Tess was unable to pursue her proto-feminist discourse any further. Just at that second, a loud, resounding thwack issued from the bedroom; closely followed by Charise's piercing scream. Tessa's mouth dropped in open alarm: the spanking had begun; they could hear the steady slap-slap-slap of Conrad's hand dancing over Charise's bottom. Their sister was shrieking at the top of her lungs, leaving no doubt as to how painful the experience was.
"It's not fair," she said to Zenya, her voice a terse, frightened whisper, "it was all Charise's fault; she's the one who was smarting off at the table - we shouldn't be spanked for what she said!"
"We all joined in the argument," Zenya replied in a tiny, fretful stammer, "we've only getting what we deserve." Physically identical to her sister, Zenya shared a number of impulsive character traits with her twin. At the moment, however, she looked meek, fearful and suitably chastened. A fine, high color had risen to her cheeks; she was blushing to her eyebrows. She fell silent, listening to the sunny-bottomed duet being performed next door, her moody blue eyes large and glistening.
Whack! Whack! Whack!
"Ooow! Daddy! No! Aoowww!"
Zenya's blush deepened as the spanking continued. The knowledge of her own impending discipline filled her belly. She could already see herself undressing in front of her new daddy, slipping out of her mini skirt and lowering her panties for a spanking. How long before she was summoned into the bedroom for a dose of swift justice? She began casting long, apprehensive glances at the darkened doorway. Her heart was literally pounding like a hailstorm in her chest: those loud, reverberating smacks sounded amazingly hard. She was virtually collapsing with trepidation - and excitement.
And that was the strangest part: she was almost looking forward to going over Conrad's knee. In spite of the terrible anxiety she felt, Zenya was actually shivering with anticipation. She'd been due for a good long spanking for quite a while now, and she would finally be getting exactly what she needed.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
"Ow! Oww! Owww!"
"This is going to hurt so much," Tessa whispered, teetering on the verge of tears. Zenya nodded in breathless assent, listening to her sister's despairing cries.
It sure was.
---oOo---
Meantime:
Charise was learning a new definition of the word 'punishment'. Conrad's hand pistoned down with the speed of a striking cobra, scalding her cheeks and upper thighs. Kicking and screaming, she shimmied her hips over his lap, desperate for even a moment's respite from that blazing, irresistible palm. The pain was overwhelming. She beat her hands on the floor, shrieking in red-bottomed agony. Charise had never experienced a spanking so severe; her real father had rarely been quite this thorough. She'd never suffered more than twenty firm smacks on her pantied-bottom during her childhood. This was, in fact, her first genuine spanking - ever.
Slap! Slap! Slap!
"Owww! No! Daddy don't! Aooww!"
Her entire nervous system seemed to be hard-wired to her pumping, shuddering posterior; she was conscious of nothing save the scathing heat of her naked hindquarters. Conrad was bearing down with the force of an aircraft propeller, whipping her tushie up to a flaming crimson hue. He worked her bottom with a meticulous, intractable stroke, alternating between her left and right cheeks.
Whack-Crack! Whack-Crack! Whack-Crack!
"Ow-Aooww! Ow-Aooww! Ow-Aooww!"
Charise wailed in shame. Her fragile, adolescent ego had collapsed under the barrage of Conrad's unbending will: stripped to her panties and stretched disgracefully over his lap, the sixteen-year-old had been reduced to a weeping six-year-old. All trace of maturity had vanished, along with her frail, adolescent dignity.
Mummy had been right all along. She was a spoilt little girl in need of a nice, long spanking to remind her of her juvenile status. Tensing and jingling her bottom in eye-bulging discomfort, she wanted nothing more than to lie on her bed and cry like an unhappy child. The spanking ground on like a wheel of torture, its crushing cycle punctuated by Charise's piteous shrieks.
Conrad was well into the tenth minute when he decided his ward had endured enough. While she was indisputably the naughtiest of the three, she was also the youngest, and
there would be no point in drawing out her spanking much longer. Shaking his numb right palm, he grimly surveyed the effects of his handiwork, nodding his tacit approval.
Here's one pampered little miss who wouldn't be arguing with her mother for a while, he thought to himself with undisguised satisfaction. Charise lay over his knee, sobbing in defeat, her poor little bottom simmering with the blinding heat of well-earned spanking.
"OK, Young Lady," he said, smarting her flesh with a final smack to the fanny, "go and get ready for school. You'll be going straight back over my knee if you're so much as one minute late for class."
Whimpering with anxiety, Charise climbed painstakingly off her step-father's thighs, sniffling in abject misery while she gingerly pulled up her cotton panties. The bus would be along in fifteen minutes, and she had no desire to risk another trip to The Land of the Two Cheeks.
Conrad turned his gaze towards the bedroom door.
He'd left the twins standing out in the corridor, warning them not to budge one inch while he tended their sister's needs. By now they'd be shifting from foot to foot in breathless anticipation, wondering which one would be next on the hit parade. Both would be imagining how hot and red their bottoms would soon be.
Well, mustn't keep them waiting, Conrad thought, placing his large, white-knuckled hands on his slim hips.
"Tessa! Zenya! In here, please."
Part 2: Twins
"No, Daddy, please no, I don't want a spanking!"
Tessa's eyes were already overflowing with huge, glistening tears as she reached around to unzip her tight pink mini-dress. She was literally dancing with panic now that her punishment was imminent. Stamping her dainty little feet in near panic, she looked like the world's tallest five-year-old on the way to the woodshed.
"You can’t do this to me!" she cried in hopeless misery. "I'm not a little girl, I'm too big for a spanking." Running the zipper down the length of her left side, she split the dress open, displaying a flash of lacy bra-strap. Her mind was cascading with shamefully frightening images, previews of her approaching humiliation. Conrad had ordered both girls to undress down to their flimsy little panties, informing Tess that she would be the first to bare her bottom.
No, Daddy, No!: a collection of father spanks daughter stories Page 9
