Copyright 1999 to <email@example.com>.
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 the second part of the
story I delurked with. And who says I never finish anything?
<grin> Comments are always welcome. Just keep in mind
please that this is a work of fiction rather than my take
on good child rearing. ;)
Thanks to Ron McIngle, who never seemed to
forget I hadn't finished this. :)
The Marks She Earned (part 2: 'Hard Choices')
[. . . continued from part
Without speaking, he drew me over his lap,
this time taking time to position me carefully. My shame deepened
as his hands shifted my bottom higher still so my hair brushed
"Teresa, right now I'm going to punish
you for being so lazy last semester. You have no excuse. You
don't work, you have no-one to care for but yourself. Your only
job is going to school, right?"
"Right now you're going to get your payment
for your laziness."
The paddle came down on the dead center (well,
if it wasn't dead before, it sure was now!) of my left bottom
cheek. I heard my own cry, loud in the room as the paddling
rhythm continued, my left hand pinned in the small of my back
as my bare feet rose off the carpet and kicked and struggled.
My brain held onto twenty-five as the magic
number - he'd stop then. He always had.
But twenty-five came and went, became thirty-five.
My crying became deep throated howls as he paddled the back
of my thighs. My panties flew across the room as I kicked harder
"No-no-no please, Daddy!"
The paddle smacks continued until long after
I'd lost count, my hair sticky in my mouth. Finally I heard
the paddle drop to the floor. My weeping continued and I made
no effort to rise.
"Stand up, Teresa," said Daddy as
he lifted me to my feet. My hands flew back under the silk,
trying to rub away the sting.
I wiped my eyes as Daddy absently hugged me,
still obviously upset with me. He took my hands in his.
"Your mother and I are terribly disappointed
in you, Tessa."
I gulped on my tears and swallowed hard.
"Your screwing around at school would
be bad enough. But - for shame - lying about your grandmother
to your teacher! How could you bear to look her in the eye at
I hadn't really thought about it before. I
mean, it wasn't like I'd been wishing her dead or anything.
"I - I - I - dunno. Please, Daddy, I'm
sorry! I just panicked and needed an excuse."
"You mean you didn't want to face the
consequences of your actions so you lied, right? And then yelled
profanity at me when it came time to be punished?"
I shifted my weight from foot to foot, trying
alternately to hide one behind the other. Things seemed so serious
I just wanted to scream and run out of the room. But where could
I go? This was my father. I thought longingly of the
ocean and diving in and swimming until there was nothing left
of me and I sank. (Okay okay, well, melodrama is sort of my
There was no answer to give him, so I covered
my face with my hands and started to sob. Deep, womanly, almost-real
soap opera sobs.
"I'm so so so ashamed, Daddy. I swear
never to do anything like this again."
Peeking through my fingers I breathed a sigh
of relief that Daddy seemed moved. Soon it might even be okay
to pout a bit. I remember him from my childhood as very eager
that I not stay sad or sulky after a spanking.
He reached out, gathered me to him and hugged
"Shhhshhhshhh, mi'ja," rocking to
and fro. I let my sobs continue, the tension of the past hour
draining into them. Finally, as I quieted, he pulled me away
and looked at me sadly.
"You know you need still to be punished
My head jerked up.
"W-w-what?" I could only stammer,
my anger starting to rise along with my fear.
My father shook his head sadly. "You've
only been spanked for your schoolwork. We need to deal with
the lying yet."
"But-but, Daddy, please! I'm really really
sorry. I won't ever ever lie again." (And get caught.)
My voice rose to a pitiful and painful whine.
He seemed to consider for a moment and I did
my best job looking pitiful, small, and, above all, sorry.
"You mother and I discussed what would
Memories began to ping in the back of my mind.
Something about the words 'fair' and 'hard choices'. Nothing
pleasant could come of those thoughts, that's for sure.
"On the one hand, we think you aren't
mature enough to be away from home. We're worried about your
well-being here -"
I felt my throat tighten. To have to move
back home in disgrace, spanked like a little girl again. Tears
pooled in my eyes.
"Please-please-please, Daddy! Let me
He continued as if I wasn't even there.
"- tradition would indicate that you should
be with your family -"
"I'll do anything, Daddy, really! I promise."
"Still, we do want you to have the chance
to grow up, and to study at the best schools you can. Do you
want to stay here?"
Hadn't heard me? Sheesh!
"Yes, yes, yes please, Daddy." I
stared at the knees of his slacks, feeling suddenly unsure,
the quiver in my voice real. "I know I want to stay. This
is where I belong."
"I was going to take you home with me
Dear God. I was standing before my father,
panty-less, barefoot, with a bottom that I was sure was bright
red under my skirt. Home was a place that had no appeal for
me at all.
"I want to stay."
He nodded and I breathed a sigh of relief.
He paced a bit.
"Yes, that makes sense I guess. But your
mother and I, we need to be sure your behavior will change,
that you won't lie and embarrass us again."
"I promise." My voice was firm.
He nodded again. "Yes, that's good."
I nodded too, ready to hug him again.
"Of course, there's no way to know if
you're telling the truth, or if you'll remember your promise.
Because you lied to us, Tessa. Not just to your professor. You
lied to all of us, every time we asked you how classes were
The tears were back. My eyes are like faucets
"And, if you expect to stay here, you're
going to take the consequences of those lies."
I backed away a little bit. But he came no
"And you're going to ask me to punish
you. So I know you're really sorry."
What? I froze and swallowed hard.
He said no more, just nodded at me.
The heartbeat in my ears deafened and my mouth
was completely dry. My hands itched to reach under my skirt
and rub the sting from my bottom and thighs. Hard.
"If you can't ask me, I'll assume you
need to come home with me. And we'll go pick your things up
at your room in the morning."
My mind thought desperately about reprieve.
"Can I wait until tomorrow?" I cajoled.
My father is rather traditional in many ways and thus somewhat
susceptible to female wheedling.
He shook his head sadly. "No, mi'ja.
I shook my head a little, unable to think
clearly. He finally seemed to realize this and led me to the
corner of the room where he positioned the chair facing the
corner. Ignoring my already-toasted bottom, he ordered me to
sit. I winced.
"Sit there then, Tessa, until you can
tell me your decision. It's past time you learned to make hard
choices. I'll be in the bedroom when you're ready to talk to
me. But if I hear you get up and you don't come in, well, I'll
know the answer and we'll head for home."
I crossed my arms and swung my legs a little,
not caring that I was hardly presenting an 'adult' image. (I
mean, like when you're sitting in the corner after having been
spanked, looking like an adult is hardly at the top of your
agenda, ya know?) Darn him anyway! He had to know I
didn't want to move back home. But to ask, ask for
a spanking? I shook my head, sat and swung my legs.
Now, I don't know how many of you have had
to sit in a corner after having been spanked. (Don't even look
at me like that. I know at least some of you have!)
But it gets really boring. I stared at my toes, noting that
the polish still looked pretty good. But how long can you do
that sort of thing for? Plus, sitting there sort of hurt. The
chair was covered with some flaxy-looking woolly stuff that
seemed soft at first, but as I sat caused my bare bottom
and the back of the thighs to sweat. And then the evil stuff
prickled. Squirming did not help. I decided hell was
a lot like this.
Then I realized I needed the bathroom. And
you know when you think something like that, you really
need it. I whispered "fuck" under my breath. (I mean
really under it. I could hardly hear myself say it. And even
that seemed too loud. I was one spooked li'l puppy.) But there
was really no choice. I had to get up to use the bathroom. And
I had to talk to him to get there.
As I knocked on the connecting door, I felt
my chest squeezing and my breath coming in short gasps. He didn't
answer, so I started to knock again as he pulled the door open.
My father stood there, right in front of me.
"Did you want to tell me something, Tessa?"
Yeah, like get out of the way so I can get
to the potty please!
I shifted nervously from leg to leg, fighting
to keep from holding myself like a little kid. Speak up,
dummy, I shouted inside my head.
"Teresa Marie? Are you playing games?"
My father crossed his arms, eyeing me with disdain. I longed
for the freedom and bravery to swear aloud.
Without warning my chest seemed to speak.
Look, I was amazed it was talking. I didn't ask it to try and
"I'm sorry, Tessa, I couldn't quite understand
you. What do you want?"
Dear God! Was he teasing me? This is sooooo
"I'm really really sorry, Daddy. Please,
please punish me."
There was silence as the words hung in the
room. And the pause, at least to my too-full bladder, seemed
endless. I clamped my legs together against a small trickle.
"Are you sure, Tessa?"
I took a breath that sounded like a ragged
sob, feeling moisture between my legs, my eyes pricking as I
realized I'd need to tell him.
"Yes, yes please please, Daddy!"
I broke down and clutched with both hands through my skirt,
feeling the silk soak up my involuntary release. "But please
please can I go to the bathroom first?" This childish loss
of pride made me start crying again and my eyes squeeze shut.
I didn't hear him answer, but felt his hands on my shoulders
as he lead me blindly through the bedroom to the bathroom. I
stumbled in and shut the door, humiliated as I thought of what
he'd seen, yet too relieved at finally being in a bathroom to
think too much.
Finished, I tried to dry my dress with a towel
(not really effective if you really must know), wiped the floor
with tissues, washed my face, and finally came out. I knew I
looked ghastly, tearstained and damp (and, okay, like none too
sweet smelling either). He sat on one of the beds, a duffle
bag in front of him, looking up when I came into the room.
"I want you to take a shower and get
ready for bed." I started to stammer about not having clothing
as he pulled some cotton stuff out of the duffle bag and tossed
it in front of me. "Your mother packed for you." A
comb, brush and toothbrush joined the pile. "There's already
shampoo in the bathroom."
I gathered the pile without thinking and returned
to the bathroom, first putting my wretched dress to soak in
the basin. (Of course I also took a look at my bottom, admiring
with a weird awe the blotchy pinkness. Then I stepped under
the shower. You know, as scared as I was, I don't think I ever
enjoyed a shower more. Every part of me felt clean as the hot
water thudded down and down. My dread of the coming punishment
didn't hurry me along either as you might guess.
Hanging my dress to dry, I toweled off, brushed
my teeth and combed out my hair. The panties and pajamas my
mother had sent were ones I'd gotten for Christmas, but deemed
too childish to take back to the dorm. Pink flannel with yellow
ducks. How old did my aunt think I was anyway? The panties were
the sort your grandmother would pick out (and mine had). White
and serviceable with serious coverage in the back and strong
elastic at the waist. Oh well, if I get to keep them up, that
could turn out to be a good thing. I was grateful for the soft
cotton at any rate.
I came back out to the bedroom, decidedly
cleaner. My father had turned down the bed and put two pillows
in the middle. He stood when I came out. Being barefoot and
seeing him standing there, I felt shy, shamed and much younger
than nineteen. We stood there and stared at each other for a
long time. He looked at me and nodded, seeming to like the new
PJs and my cleaner face and hair. If he noticed the love bite,
he politely ignored it.
"I'm really sorry, Daddy. Really I am."
He nodded. "Tomorrow you'll call your
mother and apologize. Then, as far as we're concerned, assuming
you get the required work done to get an adequate grade, the
matter is closed and we won't speak of it ever again."
I heaved a deep sigh of relief.
"After I punish you for lying. As you
requested, of course."
My heart started thudding again. Harder and
"Kneel in front of those pillows, take
your pajama bottoms and panties down to your knees, and bend
So much for keeping the panties up. I scrambled
to obey as he walked to the closet. Still, despite my promise
to myself to make this go as easily as possible, it was still
hard to take them down. My hands trembled and back arched as
I pulled them down over my bottom. It took an extra tug to get
them to my knees. I'd already dropped myself over the pillows
to save some small modesty, the air cooling my bottom in a way
that was weird, but not unpleasant. Still, I nearly stood up
when I saw him walk back carrying a leather strap.
"Daddy? Please, I thought you'd just paddle
me. . . ." My voice trailed off as I realized it didn't
matter. I wasn't going to move back home. He could punish me
with the paddle or strap or anything else. I'd made my 'hard
He stood holding it, doubling and wrapping
it around his right hand. My father paused at my words and asked
if I'd changed my mind. I shook my head and, pressing my face
and elbows to the bed, raised my bottom. I heard my breath sob
in my throat. Suddenly I was overwhelmed with remorse, thinking
of how embarrassed my parents must be. My knees spread just
a bit as I braced for the strap.
My father's words startled me. He was asking
me? The weird thing was, I already knew the answer. Between
my father and me it would always be twenty-five. That was what
my heart somehow expected.
I heard my voice lisp, "Twenty-five,
Daddy." I couldn't see him nod, but knew he did, knew the
number was somehow magic for him too.
"They'll be hard, but you be a good girl
and they'll soon be over." As he spoke, the leather strap
seemed to caress my bottom, its cool flexiness tap-tap-tapping
against my skin. I felt my muscles clench against the pain to
That moment seemed to last forever (yes, I
know I'm taking a long time telling it too) and then WHAP! The
strap struck full across the middle of my backside. I sucked
in air, surprised at the difference between it and the paddle.
There was a sting, but the pain was deeper. Any musings about
it ended as the second landed, just below the first. I tried
to rise but felt my father's hand on my back.
"Stay still, Teresa Marie."
I sobbed a little, my bottom rising still
higher as he pushed my shoulders further into the bed. By the
time the fifteenth stroke cracked across the top of my thighs
I was howling into the pillow, sure I'd never sit again. Ten
more, my brain told me. I tried to kick my legs, but the
pillows and my PJs stopped me from moving much. As the strap
landed again my howls sort of melted into childish sobbing.
I couldn't even resist the pain. Instead it washed over me and
I gave myself into crying and wiggling like a little girl.
My father finished fast. He was no easier
with the last of the strokes, but no harder either. At twenty-five
he stopped and I heard him return the strap to the closet. I
didn't move, just laid there with my face buried in the pillows,
finally reaching back to pull up my panties and pajama bottoms
over my sore backside. The skin felt thickened and hot and I
cried and cried into the pillows. My father sat down next to
me and drew me to him. My sobs increased in depth and volume
as remorse washed over me.
"I'm sorry, Daddy . . . tell Mommy I'm
sorry," I whimpered, my sobs all but drowning out my words.
"Shhhhh shhhh, mi'jita. Such a brave
girl. I'll tell her. But you will too. Tomorrow morning before
I snuggled close to him as he drew back the
sheets and comforter and slid me beneath. He stroked my hair.
I felt so tired, like I'd been awake for years and this was
the first night of sleep I'd had. I fell asleep rocked gently,
to his words planning out the next day.
"Then we'll go have breakfast and I'll
drive you over to talk with your professor. It'll all work out,
mi'jita Tessita, you'll see."
Sure, I thought drowsily. I just need to talk
to my professor. . . .
The End . . . for now.
Back to Mija's
Back to the treehouse