Subject: Story: Will & Sara Chapter 7
From: Corporal <email@example.com>
Date: 13 Oct 1998 08:52:41 -0700
Will & Sara © 1998 Corporal. All rights reserved. Permission is granted to copy for personal use only. Any other use is prohibited. Permission for any other use must be obtained by contacting Corporal at firstname.lastname@example.org.
This story is fiction and contains themes which some may consider to be of an adult or offensive nature. If you are not an adult under the laws of your state or country do not proceed further. This story is for entertainment purposes only and may not represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source. All characters are entirely fictional and any resemblance of any kind, to real people living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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Will & Sara Part VII: Meghan's Tale (Tail)
Over the years, I came to realize just how fortunate I was to have been raised by someone as inherently fair and loving as my dad. I've had people remark to me about how wonderful a father he is, and I think to myself, "They'll never really know just how wonderful." Also having Sara come into my life in my pre-teen years was one of the luckiest things that ever happened to me. And now, 20 years later, I can admit that having Jessie as a sister was pretty darn wonderful, too. But there were times in those twenty years, that I would have gladly traded her for a goldfish. At least the goldfish would not have influenced me in ways that ended up with me staring at my bedroom floor from the vantage point of over my dad's lap.
I have been asked, by those who know my dad's belief in the effectiveness of a good, old-fashioned, over the knee spanking, if I didn't think I was an abused child. I rarely dignify the question with an answer, because I just figure that those who don't know the difference between a spanking and child abuse don't deserve an answer. One person who asked that question was a former boyfriend who happened to find out I still got spanked once in a while-I was fifteen at the time. I can only assume that Jessie may have had something to do with that particular leak of confidential information. He did not remain a boyfriend for long. But I did confide everything about that part of life to my future husband-although I didn't know at the time that he was going to be my husband someday. He started out as a pre-pubescent crush, mainly because I was ten and he was eighteen and in college. Bobby was the lifeguard at the local pool, and there was one summer when Jessie, Hope Matthews-who is still my best friend in all the world, and I had unbelievable, huge crushes on him. I guess we were pretty silly around him, cause he took to calling us the giggle sisters. We even had our picture taken together and then signed it for him before he left for college. He must have thought we were three very silly little girls. Come to think of it, there was the time that summer when the three of us had almost gotten Bobby fired. This one day, he was leaving for the day and Jessie asked him if he would drop us off at the mall. Now we weren't allowed to go to the mall by ourselves, let alone ride in a car with a teenager. When Hope's dad and our dad found out, all three of us got our backsides soundly spanked and Hope's dad went and had a long talk with Bobby and his boss. Although Bobby's boss was going to fire him, Hope's dad convinced him not to do that.
But that's not the reason for this memory. Recently, I was talking with my dad and Sara, and we got to laughing at some of the things we girls did when we were kids-things that at the time usually resulted in one or more of us doing the old over-the-knee two step with Daddy. I remember that at some point in the reminiscing, my dad said, "Oh, and the water-condom. That was one of the few times I actually didn't know whether to strangle you guys or to laugh hysterically. The expression on Aunt Jane's face that day was about the funniest thing I've ever seen. When you and Jessie heaved that thing out the window, I saw it all in slow motion, but couldn't do anything to stop it."
Well, let me tell you. My memory of that day is anything but pleasant. And I'll confess something that I've never told anyone else before in all the years since that day. Daddy always assumed that Jessie was the one who instigated that pre-adolescent terrorist attack on Aunt Jane. Fortunately for me things ain't necessarily what they appear to be. If anything, Jessie was a somewhat less-than-willing accomplice. It was all my idea. Do I feel guilty knowing he believed, and still does, that it was Jessie's idea? Yup. Do I feel guilty about the fact that Jessie got spanked a lot longer and a lot harder than I did that day? Yup. Will I ever admit this to my dad? Not a chance! Because I firmly believe that if my dad ever found out, I would find my twenty-nine-year-old-self draped over his lap for the rest of the spanking I should have gotten that day. So that is something I will never tell him, because I have no desire find my pants and panties at half-mast in front of my dad at the ripe old age of twenty-nine. And let me tell you something else. There's this little girl inside of me who has absolutely no doubt in her mind that he wouldn't hesitate for a second to do it-not one second. The outer adult smiles at that thought, but that inner little girl has a quivering lower lip just thinking about it. Actually, I'm probably going to let Bobby read this little adventure before I submit it, and since he's usually just looking for any old reason to "spank his little girl," more than likely I will get what I deserve anyway. But a spanking from Bobby is just a little different from what I used to get from Daddy, if you get what I mean. But that's another story.
Anyway, let me tell you what happened that day from the point of view of one who knows a few things her old dad never knew-or ever will know. Jessie and I knew that Aunt Jane was coming to visit. Supposedly, to meet with Sara. . . Mom, that is. But Jessie still wasn't quite convinced that Aunt Jane wasn't going to take her away, so she was doing an awful lot of whining and moping. Soooooo, I suggested that perhaps we could convince Aunt Jane that she really didn't want to take someone as bratty as Jessie. Jessie's first reaction was to try to clock me one-always her first reaction when she perceived insult. And in Jessie's case, insult was a frequent occurrence in our house. We loved her-still do-but she took an awful lot of teasing and abuse from Mary Beth, Jen, and me over the years. Of course, she, in turn, dished it out to Danni. So, it evened out a bit. And in due time, Danni dished it out to Sean and Michele. . . . whom, you don't really know about yet, because I'm getting ahead of my dad's story. Don't tell him I told you, but Sean and Michele are the twins my dad and Sara had. They're fifteen now, but I'm sure my dad will tell you all about them eventually. Confidentially, they're spoiled brats, not at all like Daddy's first generation offspring-especially Michele, but I'll let him tell about them.
Where was I anyway? Oh, yeah the day of the "Great Water Condom Caper," as Daddy likes to call it. With all the whining that Jessie was doing, I suggested that maybe we could have some fun with this "mysterious and horrible" Aunt Jane. What I initially suggested was that we lob water balloons in from the wooded area behind the house using a water balloon sling-shot Daddy had shown us how to build. For those of you who have never built one of these wonderful devices, it's really simple. All you need two lengths of surgical tubing attached to sturdy supports-like two trees. Attached between the two lengths of tubing is the cup from a bra-Mary Beth's did just fine, thank you very much. However, in the process of liberating one of MB's bras, Jessie and I discovered a box of really great balloons in these little foil packets. Well, of course we didn't know they weren't balloons at first. We just wondered what was in the foil packets. Thought they were a box of those wet ones you get in some restaurants. Well, we opened one of the packets and out pops this balloon. Wow, we figured this was great, because this balloon was really bigger than the ones we had and it seemed pretty stretchy and tough. So we took it into the bathroom, stretched it over the faucet in the tub, and started to fill it. Ever tried filling one of those handy little "balloons" with water? Those suckers hold one hell of a lot. Before we knew it, we had a water balloon the likes of which we had never seen before. I have no idea how much water one of those babies will actually hold, because we stopped filling it when we realized we weren't going to be able to lift it if we added more water. Then we realized that there was no way we were going to be able to get it out of the house let alone launch it with a measly sling shot. So as I started wondering about how to deliver our first strike, my dad solved our problem by sitting Aunt Jane directly under the bathroom window in chaise. It was most considerate of him. Well, at that point it was simply a matter of opening the window, the two of us lifting the "balloon" up to the window sill, and then allowing gravity to do its work. Splooosh! Actually, the sound described by "splooosh" doesn't nearly begin to describe the effect of that thing hitting Aunt Jane. I'm not sure there is a word-real or made up-that one can use to describe that moment. Unfortunately for us, however, we could not resist hanging out the window giggling to observe the downward motion and impact. So, we were caught red-handed so to speak. In reality, it was Daddy's hand that was soon to be red. What was red on Jessie and me was quite a different part of our respective anatomies. I don't think I've ever seen my dad move quite that fast. We barely had our heads back in and had pulled down the screen when he had us both by the scruff of the neck. Dragged downstairs, we were scolded all the way and made to apologize to dear, sweet, lovely, dripping, Aunt Jane. We were then directed to our rooms to await the fate we both knew was forthcoming. Was it worth it? At the time we thought it was. . . . . oh, hell-yes it was well worth it. You have to understand something. I was not what you would call a risk taker. I'm still not. So on those rare occasions when I cut lose and did something really daring-even bad-I reveled in it. I paid for it that day-oh, all right, I let Jessie pay for it even more, but I still paid for it. Well, Daddy kept us waiting for like forever. And then he went to Jessie's room first. Oh, my God was that awful. Not only was I sitting in my room knowing that I was going to get one hell of a spanking, but I had to sit there listening to Jessie get her spanking. Now, don't ever let anyone ever tell you that the worst part of a spanking is the actual spanking. Uh, uh. No way! The worst part is the anticipation-by a mile. I heard Daddy come up the stairs. My stomach quivered. I heard him walking down the hall. My heart was in my throat. I heard him hesitate in the hall, and I almost wet my pants. But when he opened the door to Jessie's room, and I heard that door close behind him, I didn't know whether to sigh with relief or cry from the agony of having to wait. I never knew what he and Jessie talked about that day, but it was a long time before the actual spanking began. I heard muffled words. I tried to figure out what was being said, but to no avail. I could hear Daddy scolding and Jessie crying, but it must have been ten minutes before I heard that plaintive, "No, Dadddeeeeeeee, please, I'm sorreeeeeee!!!!" followed immediately by the sound of bare hand spanking bare bottom-a sound that was repeated many, many, many times over the next several minutes. As the minutes went by, and I listened with increasing anxiety, the spanking seemed to get harder and faster, and Jessie's wails got louder and more pleading. I knew the way Daddy spanked so I could very easily envision what was going on in Jessie's room at that time. And I knew quite well it was a scene that was soon to be repeated in my room, on a much more personal level. I also knew that Daddy very seldom gave more than one hundred spanks, so when I had counted a hundred spanks and the spanking continued for some time more, I got really nervous. But then the spanking ended, and again I almost wet my pants. I remember slowly getting off my bed and going over to the "spanking chair" in my room. I knew what was coming, so I also knew what Daddy expected prior to his coming into the room. I remember that I was quietly crying as I unsnapped my shorts and pushed them down my legs. Carefully, I took them off and placed them on the bed-neatly. Then I did the one thing I really hated to do-I slowly pushed down the back of my panties until my bottom was completely bare and ready to be spanked. I stood by the chair and waited-but not for long. I'll bet it was only a matter of a minute before Daddy opened the door and came in. And you know what, I can still remember our conversation from that day.
"Meghan, I am unbelievably disappointed in you and Jessie."
"I'm sorry Daddy. I really am."
"I realize that this was Jessie's idea, but you were just as involved as she was."
No response from me.
"So you are going to have to be punished just as she was, and I can see that you expect to be."
"I just have one question, Meghan."
"Where did you get the condom?"
"Where did you get the condom?"
"What's a condom?"
I'm not sure Daddy really believed that I didn't know what it was that we had launched at Aunt Jane. He just kind of looked at me for a second. I guess I looked innocent enough at that point. Fact is, it was another eight years before I saw another condom, and even then it wasn't being used for its intended purpose-but again that's another story.
"Alright, Meghan. Where did you get the funny balloon?"
"Oh, that. Out of Mary Beth's underwear drawer."
I thought my dad was going to drop his teeth. He got the funniest look on his face. If I had not been moments away from a major spanking, I probably would have laughed. But laughing is not something you want to be doing whilst standing next to an angry father who is about to commence smacking your bare nether regions, so I restrained myself. Steeling myself, I bent forward and lay over Daddy's lap. As he always did, he took his sweet time in beginning the spanking. I waited as he adjusted my position. I waited as he sighed meaningfully. I waited as he raised his right knee and thus my bared bottom. I waited as he. . . . . SUUUUUMACKKKKKKKK!
I can remember to this day the effect of that first spank on the right cheek of my bottom. It was like someone had lit my backside on fire. I yelped and rocked forward. That smack was followed very quickly by at least two dozen more in rapid succession. As was his style, Daddy alternated sides of my bottom with each smack. After the first quick two dozen or so, I was blinded by tears, sobbing, wiggling, squirming, kicking my feet, crossing and uncrossing my ankles, trying desperately to shift my bottom out of the line of fire, and pleading for him to stop. Not a chance of that. The first dozen spanks were followed many, many dozen more. I can honestly say, Daddy never before or since has spanked me quite so thoroughly or soundly. My bottom was on fire. My dad has large hands. If he had wanted to, he could probably have covered my nine-year-old bottom completely with one hand. But he didn't. Instead he chose to alternate cheeks of my bottom, so that I could more fully appreciate just how much a spanking could possibly sting. On and on that spanking went. I can clearly remember looking back through the rungs of the chair, just as my panties went sailing off my kicking right foot. Oh, how I cried and pleaded. But to no avail. He just continued spanking my bottom redder and redder. In my whole life, I have received only one other spanking as serious as that one-I was sixteen and it wasn't my dad's lap I was over. Maybe I'll tell you about that one some other time. But for the moment let me finish this tail. . . . er, tale. Finally, Daddy stopped spanking me, but he firmly held me down over his lap.
"Meghan! Do you understand why you are being spanked?"
Uhhhhhh, geeeeee, no! Because I got all A's on my report card? Of course I knew why. However, communication was a little difficult what with the sobbing and hiccuping.
"I unh unh unh soaked unh unh Jessie's Aunt Jane unh unh with a water unh unh balloon."
"That's right. What you and Jessie did was very very wrong, Meghan. And you are going to be very sorry you did it."
Watchoo mean gonna be? My butt was on fire. I was pretty sorry already. Yowwwwwww! Daddy started spanking me all over again. If I had thought my spanking was over-and I did, I was sadly mistaken. I must have gotten another twenty or thirty spanks that day before he decided that my bottom was red enough.
When it finally ended, I had to stand in the corner for and hour and think about what I had done. Then I had to go to bed. Jessie never told Daddy it was my idea. And I sure as hell didn't.
P.S.-Bobby read this before I submitted it. Just thought you'd like to know that I am sitting here at the computer squirming from side to side. I was right, he spanked me. But it's funny, Daddy's spankings never made me tingle between my legs the way Bobby's do. Maybe Jessie was right about that.
End Part VII