Subject: Story - Double Trouble - F/f, M/f, (M/f, overheard), r/l, nc, Pt. 1
From: hbrushed@aol.com (Hbrushed)
Date: 25 Mar 1998 16:36:28 -0800
This story includes the real life memory of parental spankings delivered firmly and routinely but with love; anyone under the age of majority or for whom this topic is unappealing should read no further. I hope you like the story. I'd love to have feedback here or by e-mail if you are so inclined.
The confession of a foolish 9 (or thereabouts!) year old girl - the day my bottom got turned red twice for me....and both spankings completely avoidable!
We are now in the morning of a pleasant Saturday...just right for a good day of playing, but alas, the entire family is expected at Grandma and Grandpa's for lunch. (Grandma liked us to come for lunch....it was a good way to get the entire family together at her house without putting her in the poor-house trying to feed us all a big supper!). It was early yet, but I was bathed and dressed for the outing and getting very antsy. After much pleading and whining on my part, mom finally agreed that I could go out for a while, but with the stern instructions to stay clean and to return before 11:00.
Shortly after 11:00 mom realized that I was not coming back on my own, and sent Tammy to bring me home. "Uh-oh," I realized when Tammy arrived, and her report of mom's building anger helped me to scoot home at a quick pace. When I arrived in the kitchen door I was greeted by an annoyed woman, who became much angrier when she saw that I had managed to get me and my clothes quite dirty. (Personally, I thought that I was still pretty clean, but you know how mothers are... :-)) After a short lecture, during which I began to cry (never much the heroine, me), she guided me upstairs tmore emphatic and she told me to put my clothes into the hamper. I sure didn't like this undressing in front of my angry mom, so as I slowly began to undress I whimpered about how nothing was my fault, why did we have to go to Grandma's anyway, I wasn't very dirty, etc. These were foolish things to be saying, but I was trying to build a good defense, still not knowing if one was needed! Finally my top, undershirt, socks and skirt were all in the hamper. This was it - the moment of truth. I have two great concerns - am I going to have to take my panties off and put them in the hamper too? And just as important, or even more so - am I going to be getting spanked? There I was....standing there with nothing but my little panties on. If I'm going to be spanked it will surely be right now! Mom's words were music to my ears....."Go wash that dirt off, young lady, and come right back here, while I pick out something decent for you to wear." Whew!!! I made it! I escaped!!
No longer afraid of the spanking that I didn't get, I scooted into the bathroom in my undies, and began to wash my face and arms (hmmm...more dirt here than I realized!). Since I was only marginally in trouble, I got a little lax and allowed myself to change from being scared to being angry about having to go to Grandma's. The fear of the spanking that I had just escaped was gone, and I was really feeling put-upon. As I was working up a good pout, mom burst through the bathroom door.
"I have had enough of your stalling, little lady," she said as she grabbed the washcloth and vigorously tended to the washing, scraping off two or three layers of skin along with the dirt. "The whole family is waiting for you, and you are in here dawdling like you have all day!" Down went the washcloth, SMACK came a maternal hand none too gently across a little pair of panties, up came the towel for a vigorous drying. "Owww! Don't hit me!! I said I'm sorry!! Debbie told me it was only 10 o'clock, It's not MY fault, It's Debbie's!!!" I whimpered. Smack! The pantied rear received another shot, "Owww, mommy! Stop that!!!!" Oh, why didn't anybody make quilted underpants?
The tears started to flow, and the excuses flowed even faster as she dragged me back to my room. "I'll show you , little miss, <smack!> that when I say 11 o'clock <smack!> I mean <smack!> 11 o'clock <Smack!!>!"
"Ooowee!!! I'm sorry, Mommyy!!!" These damned little panties are useless!
She lectured and smacked and escorted me right back to my room. There sat a skirt and top on the edge of my bed, "Oh please let me get them into them right now," I silently prayed. When she pulled me right up to the bed and sat down, I knew what was going to happen, and the tears really started to run down my face. "And when I tell you to stay clean," she sternly lectured while her hands crept into the sides of my underpants, "I don't expect you to come home filthy!" "Mooooommmmyyy, noooo, Don't spank me!!! Pleeeeassse!!", but a firm tug of the little cotton panties left me standing there bare from my head to my ankles. Whah!!! Noo!!
I squealed as I flopped face down over the maternal lap, bare bottom on display and positioned for her disciplining hand. I'd seen this carpet from this angle too darned many times - its a wonder the carpet ever dried from the number of tears I dribbled onto it here.
Spank, spank, spank! Her hand, as big or bigger than my bottom, was setting a fire burning on my small bottom. Spank, spank, spank! I begged and I pleaded, but mostly I howled. Spank, spank, spank! The whole family gathered one floor below and hearing me being spanked like a little girl. (okay, so I was a little girl, but that didn't make it any easier!) Spank, spank, spank! Arms and legs flying willy-nilly in the air, but she had administered too many spankings to let my squealing and squirming slow her down or interfere with the lesson she was teaching. Spank, spank, spank! Hmmm...little panties would be a blessing to have back on about now. Spank, spank, spank! It was finally over. My poor behind was burning up as I sagged across her knees, sobbing and promising to be a good girl forever.
It was, in the whole scheme of things and in relation to all of my spankings, a rather quick and stingy spanking. Oh, yes...it stung and taught a lesson, but it wasn't a particularly emphatic spanking - just the normal kind that a naughty Pamela Joan could expect for general misbehavior.
Finally, and with a little help I was back on my feet. Mom patiently waited through my perfomance of the acclaimed "Dance of the Well Spanked 9 Year Old" (complete with appropriate costuming and sound effects) to end, then brusquely told me to pull up my panties and get dressed. Holy Moses! They are still down, and I'm standing right in front of her!!! At this reminder, the modesty which had earlier abandoned me returns, and quickly, but with many tears and continued apologies I pull up my underwear. Under her stern direction I put on the waiting clothes as she sits glaring on my bed. Fortunately for me, she had set out a longish skirt....fortunately because mom never thought that a spanking should be confined to two little bottom cheeks when she had the tops of bare legs that could be spanked as well. Wouldn't I have been the foolish looking girl with two pink legs sticking out from below a short skirt! When I was finally all dressed, and the bawling had quieted down to just sniffles, she told me to go into the bathroom, blow my nose and wash my face. She told me not to dawdle, and that as soon as I was ready we would go to Grandma's.
The smoke from the fire still burning on my bottom was enough to attract the attention of every forest ranger east of the Mississippi as I stood in the bathroom bawling at the indignity of having my undies yanked down, and from the stinging of my bottom from my spanking. I bawled and washed my face, hurrying as I remembered what had happened a few minutes ago when I had 'dawdled', then started downstairs.
My face was just as red as my bottom was when I walked into the living room full of the family who had just listened to me suffering a bare bottomed spanking. Since I was the baby of the family, listening to me get spanked (or even peeking in to see it!) was a fairly common pastime for them, but it made it all the worse for me. I was sure that each and every one of them could see right through my skirt and undies and was looking at my little red bottom. Dad looked mad, my brother and sisters were wearing that miserable smirk of the unspanked siblings, and mom looked as if nothing had happened! Here was this woman who had just taken down my underpants, turned me over her knee and spanked me, but she was behaving as if it had been a calm and quiet morning! It may have been a routine morning to her, but it was certainly an exceptional morning to me!!! Into the car we piled, my poor little spanked rear catching fire all over again at being made to sit for the long ride.
Well....off to Grandma's for the afternoon, returning home just in time for a light dinner. After 6 hours of recovery, the warmth of my bottom had gone away, and the memory of my punishment was fading as well. Oh how I wish now that it would have stayed just warm enough to keep me on my best behavior for a few more hours!
After dinner, Tammy and I were assigned to do the dishes. With me being a bright and snappy 9 year old this day, Tammy would be a wise and worldly 11. Naturally, feeding four kids and two adults makes a helluva mess in the kitchen, even when it isn't much of a meal, so Tammy and I are drudging through the dishes, and aren't happy about it. Soon we begin to pick at each other...Tammy is definitely not doing her share (she may disagree, but then, she isn't here to argue!). Dear old dad passes through the kitchen telling us to quiet down, and do our work. This lasts only until he returns to the living room! The picking gets louder, and some shoving starts (all her fault...I'm sure you see that!). Finally, a weary and growling father's voice booms into the kitchen a second time, "You two had better settle down in there, or I'll come in there and settle you down." Now I knew what he meant by 'settling us down' - I'd been 'settled' by him before. My question always was, why does he call it 'settling down' when in reality this procedure causes great hysteria??? One of the noisiest things in the world is a girl being settled down by her daddy!
I, being the angelic daughter, settled down as instructed, but Tammy was still pretty wound up. Silently we continue the battle...pinches with fingernails digging into skin, silent shoves against the counter, not-so-gentle hair pulls....but ever so quietly! As the battle pitches into a higher level, we locked into some kind of a sumo wrestlers hold, each trying to quietly push the other to the floor.
We succeeded beyond our wildest dreams, with the exception of the quiet part. With a loud crash we hit the floor, managing to drag with us some pans, silverware and glassware. Infuriated at each other, and right in the middle of the mess, we began to wrestle with firm resolve to send each other to meet our Maker. Silence was over now, we were screaming at each other and attempting to do real damage when Dad appeared upon the scene. After separating us, he pointed out the awful mess and the broken items. He listened only for a moment as we protested our own innocence and the evil of the other sister and seemed to have only a cursory interest in the tears, fingernail marks, stretched hair and scratches that we were trying to introduce into evidence. Finally he instructed us to clean up the kitchen silently, and then to then call him. We were very firmly told that we were not to call him until the kitchen was spotless. His tone was such that we were almost silent as we cleaned the kitchen, but a few whimpers were audible, accompanied by a few of tears of frustration, anger and anxiety. Whispered threats and blame flew around the kitchen as we each swore that the other was the cause of our predicament. When we finally agreed that we were done, we called dad back to the kitchen.
He made a short inspection of the kitchen, which seemed to be acceptable, then pulled out the garbage can and pointed to the broken items, making reference to tearing down his house around him, and about how our fighting was out of control. He further reminded us that we had been told to settle, not just once but twice, had darned near killed each other, and that he had had enough of it. With an 11- year-old in one hand, and a 9-year-old in the other, he told us that a good spanking would give us each a reason to behave in the future and started to march us upstairs.
The sounds of our crying must have been deafening! Spankings??? Us sweet and mature little ladies??? Spankings!!! Betrayed is how I felt....having to clean up the kitchen was enough punishment for me! (I see you smirking...you see that cleaning up the kitchen isn't much of a punishment since the original task was kitchen cleaning, but hey! you aren't 9, are you?). Tammy was horrified...believing (against all previous evidence) that she was 'way too old at 11 to be getting spankings, and I was horrified...I'd already been spanked!!! Doesn't that grant immunity for at least a day or two??? My poor little bottom is too tender for another.
When we reached Mom and Dad's room, Dad turned me into their room, and sent Tammy down the hall to the room we shared, telling her to wait in there for him. Although Tammy and I shared a room, we were not present when the other (or both) of us got spanked (although peeking was a frequent, but dangerous pastime!). If only one of us needed a spanking, and the other was in the room, the angry parent usually said something (with exaggerated courtesy) along the lines of, "Tammy, would you excuse us for a few minutes?" If we were both getting spanked, it was usually one in our bedroom and the other in our parents bedroom. Having Daddy separate us like this was not a good sign.
I was bawling, and earnestly telling Dad that it was all Tammy's fault when he led me into their room and up to the big bed. I sobbed and pleaded that Mom had already spanked me, and that my bottom still hurt (a little white lie!), and that I couldn't take another spanking (not a white lie!). His answer was something along the lines of "She must not have spanked you very well if you need another spanking this soon."
I bawled and tried to knock his hands away as Dad lifted the front of my skirt high enough to see (and catch a hold of!) the waistband of my little panties. I tried as hard as I could to make him understand that Tammy was the root of all evil while I tried to push my skirt back down, horrified to have Daddy see the tiny front of my underpants and knowing full well why he wanted to see them. In spite of my interference, he caught hold of my panties and expertly slipped them right down to my knees.
"Daaaaaddyyyyy, NO! Pleeease...." No prisoner being blindfolded for execution had ever begged for mercy with more earnestness, of course that prisoner was merely facing a firiing squad, not a daddy intending to spank a girl's bare bottom!
He let go of my skirt when he tugged my panties down, but it didn't really do me any good - at least psychologically. I was fully covered up. My skirt hung gently around my knees, and my top was on. But oh how bare I felt! There is something about feeling your skirt laying right on your bare bottom, and knowing that your underpants are on display, hanging half inside-out around your knees that keeps a girl from feeling all covered up. Daddy could see nothing - had probably seen nothing even when he pulled down my undies - but I felt as bare as a newborn.
In a defensive mood, I again started in on Tammy's role in the misdeeds. Satan incarnate was just down the hall, and I was the angel sent to fight her. My only chance for getting out of this spanking was to prove that everything was Tammy's fault. I wasn't really happy when he told me that he was going to give Tammy a spanking too, and that I should be more worried about me than I was about her.
My tummy went into a terrible flutter as he guided me first over to his side, and then over his lap. As I lean over his lap, he slides the back of my skirt up to mini-skirt length, and then when I am finally settled I felt him push it the rest of the way over my waist.
Whah! Boo-Hoo! Daddy...NO!!
What a day this is turning out to be! First I take off almost everything so that Mom can scrub me and then pull down my undies and spank me. Then she watches and supervises as I pull them back up and put on my skirt and top. Now Daddy has lifted my skirt and has pulled down the very same panties once again so that he can give my poor bare bottom yet another spanking!!! Oh, gawd....all bare in front of Mom at 11:30, and now lying bare bottomed on Daddy's lap at 6:30!!!!
"No! Daddy, I'll do anything, Daddy....Please don't spank me, I'll be good, Daddy, PLEEEASSE, Daddy I am sooooo sorry!!!!" I continued to squeal, but my tearful and penitent cries were wasted. He had been "No! Daddy-ed" by half-nude and sobbing girls (and a boy) before, and was not swayed by even my most earnest and pitiful promises. I wonder if I am the only girl who was still pleading "Please don't spank me, please I'll be good!!" while laying bare bottomed on the lap waiting for the first spank. As if he's really going to call it quits after all the effort of getting my skirt up, my panties down, and dragging me across his knees. "Okay, sweetheart, I see that you are really sorry. You can stand up now and get dressed, I guess that you don't really need a spanking." yeah...right!
I would give worlds to know whether my bottom was still pink from Mom's earlier ministrations when he first looked at his squirmy girl's bare rear. If it was pink, it didn't seem to gain any sympathy or an easier spanking, that's for sure! Whether pink or white, the first spank started it on its way to bright red again. I howled and squiggled as best I could, but my Daddy knew just what he was doing. My bottom was on fire, and I was the sorriest girl in the world as he spanked me. The "No! Daddy! Stop!! Please!" cries soon gave way to simple crying long before my spanking was over. Every hornet in Pennsylvania came in the window and stung my poor little tush. Dad, like Mom, couldn't bear to waste all that area on the tops of the legs and spanked both cheeks and both thighs. "Wah!"
Finally the spanking came to an end, and the most penitent little girl in the world was laying on her daddy's lap, crying her heart out. When I struggled to my feet, he stood and told me to lay down on the bed, and to stay there until he told me to come out. My skirt had fallen back into place, so with my panties still somewhere in the neighborhood of knees and ankles, I made a dozen promises to be good as I stood in front of him trying to rub the awful hornet stings out of my bottom.
What to do about these underpants, I worry. If I pull them up, it only acknowledges that they have been pulled down, and I'm already trying to deny that Daddy saw me bare. If I pull them up, I may not be as delicate as I want to be, and Daddy may see more of me bare than he's seen so far! Giving up worrying about my ankle decorations I crawled onto the bed and grabbed the pillow. Underpants up or still down didn't matter, I needed to have a good post-spanking cry and nobody could deny it to me! As I settled down, I watched Daddy go out of the room.
I soon heard Tammy's loud promises from the other room, and knew that she too was going to have bright red daddy prints on her bare bottom. There was some, but not much consolation in hearing Tammy's bawling...at least my accomplice in crime was facing the same sentence that had been carried out on me, but there was also some sympathy in knowing that her bottom was about to be warmed just like mine. I also felt a certain amount of bashfulness on her behalf, knowing that she was a big girl (almost a woman!) and so much more mature than I was, and imagining how much more embarrassing it must be for her to have Daddy take down her panties to spank her. She was, after all, a big girl of 11, while I was only 9!
I listened as Tammy repeated the plaintive wails of "no daddy" substituting the words panties, bare, and spanking in the proper places, and I knew that she would have no more success than I did with any of the pleas. The crying and 'no-daddy's' seemed to go on for a long time, and I was beginning to wonder if Tammy was really going to get a spanking. Perhaps it takes a daddy longer to get an 11-year-old undressed? Perhaps an 11-year-old gets a little more lecturing? Perhaps (most probably!) my sense of time was distorted!
With a shocking volume and clarity the sounds of hard spanks and girlish squeals soon filled the air, and I continued to cry for both me and Tammy. Her spanking seemed to go on forever, and my bottom got even warmer and more sore as I heard what was happening to hers. I cried and squealed as I got my spankings, Tammy seemed to shriek and it was scary to hear her being spanked (even though both of these spankings were her fault!). Scary, yes, but also kind of funny as I pictured my big sister bawling and imagining her little bare bottom being turned all red like mine. Finally the smacking noises came to an end, though the crying noises continued for some time. I was filled with relief....it was all over for the night.
What a silly girl I was! Who had to make one more visit yet this evening? Who was too concerned about her spanked bottom and too interested in Tammy's spanking to pull her panties back up again? Who was laying on the bed in a skirt, but with her undies still tangled at her ankles when her daddy strode right back into the bedroom?
"I have just given Tamara Lynn her spanking," he says, "for her part in the kitchen mess".
"No kidding, you mean old ogre - the whole world heard it!!" This I say to myself. Outwardly, I simply nod my understanding. He continues, "I hope that you will both remember these spankings and behave in the future, or I will take your underpants down and give you much longer and harder spankings the next time. Do you understand me young lady?" Now I'm supposed to carry on a short conversation while laying there with a candy-apple red spanked rear and with my undies on display! Here is this terribly naked feeling again, though I'm all covered up!
"Yes, Daddy...I'm so sorry, Daddy, I'll be good, Daddy" I whimper, doing my best to keep both hands over the back of my skirt, half afraid that he might be able to see through my skirt, or that he might decide that I'm not rehabilitated enough and start spanking me again. "I hope so, Pamela Joan. You can pull up your underpants and go back to your room whenever you are ready."
As soon as I was alone, I hopped off the bed, replaced my panties to their proper location and scampered to my room. Tammy was laying on her bed, her face buried into her pillow and still crying. Tammy, who had been wearing slacks during the kitchen battles, was still wearing her pants, but they were unsnapped and unzipped, and only sorta on again. I flopped across my bed and we both had a good cry. We weren't mortal enemies anymore...we were the losing team in a battle of 'us' vs. 'them'!
Tammy had her good cry over the embarrassment of having had her slacks and panties taken down and being turned over Daddy's knee at 11, and also over the warmth of her well spanked bottom. I took my cry for mostly the same reasons, and because I had received two doses of undressing and spanking on the same day.