Copyright 1999 to <firstname.lastname@example.org>.
Please respect this copyright. Don't distribute or archive this
story in any way except for personal use without explicit permission.
No, it's not in the public domain. Ask first, okay? Thanks.
This is based on a long-time
fantasy. Goodness knows from whence it came.
Twelve-year-old Lanie felt very grown-up yesterday.
She has no mother and her father works in a city some twenty
miles away. Because of this, and because they live in the country,
she's allowed to ride her bike from school to a friend's house.
But she always has to be home by 5:00 p.m. The father and daughter
live in a farmhouse with a big porch, on the edge, if not the
middle, of nowhere, surrounded by fruit trees and woods.
Lately her father has had to work very late,
not arriving home until well after 7:00. Lanie had been cutting
getting home by 5:00 a bit fine for a few days now. Still, she
was rarely later than ten or twenty minutes.
But on yesterday afternoon she and a friend
went exploring in the woods a mile from their houses and she
ended up pedalling up her front drive at 6:30. Her heart skipped
a beat and slowly sank into her stomach as she saw his truck
in front of her on the gravel, noticed his shadow on the porch.
He put down the cordless phone as he saw her ride up.
"Where have you been, miss?" His
voice reflected the relief and tension of a parent who's been
on the phone for hours trying to locate his missing child.
She didn't answer him, just stopped her bike
in the middle of the gravel drive and stood astride it, very
still, her breathing suddenly shallow. Her brain searching frantically
for an excuse.
"We're going to have a talk here, me
and you. Right here, right now. You put that bike in the shed
and get your bottom up here and onto this porch."
She reeled a bit at his use of 'bottom'. Very
slowly, her heart pounding, Lanie walked her bike to the shed,
leaned it carefully against the wall.
"I know I'm in trouble," she thought,
"but Daddy hasn't spanked me in a very long time. I'm sure
I can get out of this." Still her heart thudded faster
and harder in her chest.
"I said get your bottom up on this
porch, young lady!"
She started walking back toward the house,
eyes low, sturdy Oxford shoes shuffling slightly in the dusty
As Lanie's feet hit the top step she felt
her father's large hands lift her as easily as he had when she
was still a very little girl and take her over his raised knee.
She felt much smaller. Before she could even protest, she found
her pleated skirt pulled high up on her back and her panties
yanked down her thighs. Her skin tightened in the cool air before
. . .
WHACK WHACK SMACK! Her father's right palm
began to spank her upturned bottom hard and fast.
"Noooo! Daddieee! Stop!!! Please!!!"
She kicked her feet and tried to squirm away to protect herself.
"Not likely. When I tell you to do something,
I expect you to do it right now, not when you feel
like it. You are already in very very serious trouble,
Another minute of spanking and Lanie was feeling
very sorry for herself and crying softly in a whimpering way.
He slid her off his knee and set her back on her feet.
She bent over to pull up her panties, which
her frantic kicks had slid down to her ankles.
"Just take them off. You won't be needing
them again tonight."
"You don't think you're getting off so
easily . . . hmmm? I promise you, Elaine Anne, when I get done
with you tonight, you won't be sitting comfortably for a week.
And you will do as you are told."
She stood still, frozen by this news and her
father's use of her full name. Under his gaze she blushingly
stepped out of her panties and held them numbly in her right
hand. He took them from her, and stuffed them in a jacket pocket.
"Now let's have our little talk. Where
have you been?"
There was no answer as Lanie pouted just a
bit at the abrupt spanking, her hands rubbing gingerly through
Lanie's father didn't ask again, but reached
down, unbuckled his belt and slid it out of his slacks' loops.
The metallic click and fabric whoosh sounded
loud in the silence on the porch.
"You haven't learned anything yet, have
you?" he asked, not loudly, but in a firm tone as he doubled
the belt strap.
As she watched him with wide eyes, Lanie began
to stammer out an answer. "Wait!! I was with -"
But the girl didn't get a chance to answer
as she was quickly led to and bent over a porch bench. His left
hand pushed her over it and held her down. Lanie felt the rough
peeling white paint beneath her fingers as her skirt was again
pulled up above her waist and the doubled strap swung down twelve
times, hard and fast, landing with cracks that echoed like gunshots.
It raised bright red stripes across her already pink bottom
and thighs and she kicked up hard. The sound of her high-pitched
yelps rang across the yard.
"Ready to answer me yet, miss?"
asked her father as he again stood her before him, taking both
her hands in his one left, his right still holding the strap.
Her skirt fell back over her sore reddened bottom. Instinctively,
her hands reached back to rub, but he caught and held them firmly
in his own. Lanie started talking so fast her words tumbled
out and tripped over each other. Who she was with, where in
the woods they'd gone. She told him everything.
"Why weren't you home at 5:00?"
Head hanging in shame, Lanie reluctantly admitted
she expected him to be home late again and didn't think he'd
notice. His face darkened in a frown, annoyed not only with
her, but with himself for not realizing how often he'd been
late recently. Had he, like she, forgotten she was a child who
needed looking after? He made a mental promise to himself to
watch her more closely, remind her she was still a child, young
enough to be punished like a little girl.
"I see. Let's make this very clear. You
are not a free agent here, young lady. You are my daughter.
I trust you to do as you are told when you're told to do it.
That means being where I tell you, when I
tell you. Is this all very clear?"
"Yes, sir," she mumbled, sniffling
"Good girl." He handed her his pocket
"Now go cut me a peach switch. I want
you to remember this promise and what happens when you think
you don't need to follow rules anymore."
"W-what?" Lanie felt her heart stop.
She had only been switched once before, two years ago, for swimming
unsupervised and without permission. Though her father wasn't
cruel and nowhere near as strict as some of her friends' parents,
she'd worn the marks of that switch for a few days - stinging
reminders of the penalties for disobeying. As she remembered
the sting on her legs and bottom her hands started to shake
and tears began to fall.
"Do you need another lesson in listening?"
He warningly held up his still-doubled belt.
Lanie shook her head and took the knife, heart
thudding as she went to cut the longish switch she knew he expected.
As she walked, awareness of being bare beneath her wool skirt
and the sting of the strap on her bottom, made her feel strange
and ashamed. Tears fell from her cheeks onto the ground. The
one switch she finally returned with was almost two feet long,
thin and stingy. It was more than flexible enough to make a
Lanie's father took the switch from her with
a gentle look, letting his hand rest on hers as he took his
knife back. But, when he spoke as he folded the knife and put
it away, his voice was again stern.
"Bend right over that porch railing."
He pointed, indicating the spot.
Lanie felt a cold fear in the base of her
spine and shook her head, no. His hands guided her to the rail
and pushed her body forward over it.
"Right over and grip the bottom rail
Even as Lanie shook her head, she obeyed,
feeling the hard smooth wood under her stomach as she rose onto
her toes. The night air cooled her sore bottom as her skirt
was again lifted high onto her back.
Tap, tap, tap.
Went the switch against her bottom and legs.
Then she heard the high whistle as it swished through the air
and landed like a hundred bees in a single strip across the
base of her bottom. Lanie cried out with a gasp and kicked up
with her feet as the switch moved low and fast. His hand steadied
her as she pitched further forward over the rail, the switch
striping the tops of her legs.
His firm, low voice cut through Lanie's pain
and sting and told her with each stroke how he expected her
to behave and how dangerous it was for her to be biking on those
roads at dusk. Lanie heard him through her own cries promising
to be a good girl. Her sobs and cries echoed back to them across
the empty fields.
Finally he stopped and tossed the switch over
the edge of the porch to the ground. But Lanie remained over
the rail, still, sobbing. Her legs dangled as her hands still
gripped the rail tightly. After stroking her back for a moment,
her father lifted her up gently into his arms and carried her
into the house. Lanie sobbed into his chest with the abandon
of childhood as he sat down with her on his lap, gently rubbing
her welted and stinging bottom with his hand. As she calmed,
he whispered the news of another spanking at bedtime.
The next two hours passed with Lanie studying
silently at the table while her father fixed dinner. As she
worked, Lanie was acutely aware of the rough plaid of her skirt
rubbing against the soreness of her tender bottom. Dinner was
quiet, almost tender, with conversation about her day at school
and his gentle questions.
After dinner, he sent her up for a bath:
"Go on now, Elaine Anne, and don't dally.
I'll be up in twenty minutes and you know where I expect to
Her eyes filled with that news but she obeyed,
any desire for resistance left outside on the porch. Lanie washed,
towelling off gently because of the lacing of welts the mirror
revealed, and changed into fresh PJs.
Yesterday ended with a little girl standing
still and straight in the corner of her room, holding her hairbrush.
Her head hung a bit low as she trembled and thought about of
what a naughty girl she'd been that day.
Her father walked in and paused a moment,
sitting on the edge of the bed before he called her to him.
He smiled a bit at her, his heart filling with a rush of affection
as he took the brush Lanie offered and silently and firmly ran
it through her hair.
Lanie's heart thudded with each stroke as she
remembered the feeling of the hard hairbrush on her tender bottom.
She cringed a bit, but didn't plead, instead letting the hairbrushing
relax her. Finally he stopped brushing and, without speaking,
swiftly lifted the girl across his lap and whisked her PJs and
panties down below her knees.
The spanking was only with his hand, but hard,
and she cried almost from the beginning, kicking and pleading
with childish abandon. Her father spanked on and on until Lanie's
cries turned to deep chest-shaking sobs, and her kicking ceased.
Then finally he stopped . . . and held her
still across his lap, gently rubbing baby lotion into the swollen
and sore skin. Then, after replacing her panties and PJs, he
turned her over and held her gently on his lap, rocking her
and comforting her as a child.
"Who's my good girl?" he asked her.
She cried a bit more, feeling ashamed.
"Who's my good girl?" he asked again.
"I'm your girl," she whispered,
the ritual coming back.
"And you're good."
She nodded, not able to speak for crying.
Finally, her father pulled back the sheets
and tucked Lanie into bed, and sat close to her as she curled
up on her side hugging her bear. The little girl's bottom was
far from the mattress.
Back to Mija's
Back to the treehouse