Subject: Course Correction(sp,M/f)
Date: 24 Oct 1997 06:45:50 -0700
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction containing adult themes. If you are not of legal age stop reading now. Any similarity between characters depicted in this story and persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Missy stood rubbing her smarting bottom, tears streaming down her face as her father lectured her. Panties around her ankles, she was too concerned with the fire in her behind to care about being embarrassed.
"Missy?" her father demanded, "Are you paying attention to me?"
Looking up through tear-filled eyes, the cute blonde teenager met her father's gaze, noticing that the storm clouds hadn't disappeared from his brow.
She whimpered, rubbing a particularly tender spot. Frowning in annoyance, Missy fumed inwardly, partially at herself for getting into this mess, and partially at her father for warming her bottom so thoroughly. Seeing the daughter's pout deepened her father's scowl, and he sternly admonished her,
"It looks to me like your attitude could use some adjusting, young lady. I'm not sure you've completely gotten the point."
Missy's eyes widened as her father's threatening words assailed her ears, her heart racing at the prospect of further punishment. Involuntarily, she pouted even more, her smarting bottom competing for her attention.
"N-No, daddy, p-please!" I'm listening, really!" she entreated, weeping miserably. Leaving her bottom alone for a moment, Missy twisted her hands in front of her, finally becoming aware and ashamed of her nakedness.
"I'm not convinced, Missy." He stated with finality. "Bring me the hairbrush, and we'll see if a long, hard dose of it on your naughty bare bottom will correct the problem."
Bawling openly, Missy knew better than to argue, and woefully climbed the stairs to her bedroom, trying as she went to massage some of the fire out of her poor little rump. On her dressing table lay the object of her impending discomfort: a weighty and solid old-fashioned wooden hairbrush. It had been a gift from her daddy when she turned fourteen, and its intended purpose was not disguised. Seldom used for brushing hair, it was designed to be used in warming her bare bottom on those special occasions when her father felt it necessary. This was to be one of those times. Through tear-filled eyes, she regarded its deep caramel color, and the sheen of its graceful curves. Picking it up, she cradled it in her hands, feeling the heavy smoothness of it, and imagining how terribly it would sting her already well-spanked bare bottom in just a few minutes. The tear-stained face that regarded her in her vanity mirror was inherently pretty, beautiful, in fact. Capping, as it did, a lovely sixteen year old body in full youthful figure, it looked rather incongruous in its present state of disrepair. With a miserable moan, she turned away and headed for the staircase, each step bringing her closer to a painful ordeal.
"I - I'm not sure this is such a good idea." Missy suggested timidly, looking at Karen standing brazenly nearby. "My dad says it's dangerous." She added.
"Ahh, what's the big deal?" Her girlfriend sneered. "We're just catching a ride." Sticking out her thumb at a passing car, Karen frowned as it went by without slowing. "Your dad's a cop, what do you expect?" Karen slouched, one hand on her hip. "Besides, we missed the bus, and if we don't catch a ride, we'll have to walk the whole way. Did you forget we're supposed to meet Todd and Jim at the diner?" Another car whizzed by, with no sign of stopping. "Rats!" Karen snarled, kicking at the gravel on the shoulder. "Doesn't anybody pick up hitchhikers any more?"
Intent on catching a ride, the two girls never heard the police cruiser that approached from the other direction until its tires scrunched on the shoulder.
As Missy entered the living room, she saw her father rolling up his right sleeve, preparing for the task ahead. He loved her dearly, she knew, and would do anything for her, including punishing her when she deserved it. It made her cry even harder to think of how this must hurt him, too. Cradling the hairbrush, she watched him turn around to face her, his face an impassive mask, steeled for what must be done. He sat down on the chair, tiredly, looking up at the lovely face of his darling little girl, now fully a woman, and almost broke. Holding out his hand for the hairbrush, something like an electric shock passed between them as her soft hand touched his well-seasoned fingers. With difficulty, he ordered flatly, "Over my knee, Missy." With a small sob, she obeyed, draping herself across his large lap, her crimson bare bottom upturned for the additional punishment he had in store for her.
Sobbing softly, Missy nestled in the back corner of the squad car, chagrined and dismayed at the turn of events. Her friend, the raven- haired and rough textured Karen sat impassively, almost insolently on the other side of the car. Having checked IDs, the patrolman recognized Missy's name and now said scoldingly,
"Boy, is your old man going to be ticked off! Don't you girls know how dangerous hitchhiking is? I tell you what, little lady, if you were my daughter you'd be getting a good dose of the strap when I got you home!"
The rebuke made Missy cry even harder. Looking bored and surly, Karen fished in her purse for a cigarette. Flicking her lighter, she took a long drag, just as the officer said,
"Put that out! You're in plenty of trouble as it is, so don't push me."
Making a face, Karen stubbed out the butt in one of the ashtrays, mumbling an epithet under her breath. The officer partially turned around and warned,
"If you don't behave yourself, I can always handcuff you. Would you like your parents to see you that way when they come for you?"
Karen sneered back and quipped, "I'll bet you'd like that, wouldn't you, mister policeman." Holding out her wrists, she continued, "Slap `em on, Duke. Then I'll be at your mercy."
With a furious blush, the officer turned away, muttering under his breath about what a good willow switch would accomplish with bratty teenagers.
A pair of well-worn brown Brogans came into Missy's view, heralding the approach of her father. Seated in one of the offices at the police station, she didn't even notice the frosted glass door open. The place smelled like a subway station; stale tobacco, old coffee, the unwashed odor of the dregs of humanity. As the afternoon sun lengthened the shadows, she watched the silhouette of a Venetian blind cord crawl across the floor. Now, the Brogans demanded her attention. Looking up, she saw the fatigued face of her father staring down at her, wanting to believe that it was someone else, anyone else except his little girl. The hurt in his eyes was unmistakable, and she felt a giant lump in her throat, keeping her from saying anything. Their conversation was brief and to the point. Details were left for later, when they could deal with matters properly.
Like a red-hot branding iron, the hard wooden hairbrush stung Missy's bare bottom, making her howl with anguish. An angry red mark, oval shaped, deepened the color of her crimson rear, followed closely by another and another as the brush struck her again and again. Wailing, bawling unashamedly, she kicked and squirmed frantically as her daddy spanked on, smacking every square inch of her bare bottom and upper thighs relentlessly. Her right wrist was in the iron grip of his left hand, pulled firmly up behind her back, and her lower legs immobilized by his right leg, laid across them for that purpose. Generally, he would pause every now and then while he spanked her, to scold and elicit promises of better conduct. When the hairbrush came out, however, it was strictly punishment time, and his entire intention was to sting her bare bottom until he was absolutely certain he had gotten his point across. Under the sound, brisk smacking of the heavy wooden brush, Missy's poor bottom grew deeper and deeper red, tinged with purple and becoming puffy as the bruising spanking continued. Her father wanted this particular lesson to come to mind every time she sat down for the next few days, and so he was extremely thorough, spanking her until she sobbed broken- heartedly across his knee, totally subdued.
The incredible fire in her backside having subsided, it left behind a substantial smarting ache. Missy lay on her side in bed, her golden hair spilling over the pillow, head propped up on one arm. Next to the bed, her father sat on a chair, talking quietly about the day's events. She loved him dearly, she thought to herself, even when.... no, because he punished her when she deserved it. Karen's parent's had let her get completely out of control, and she was headed for trouble. Better get some new friends, she mused, smiling at her father as he got up to leave. The middle-aged detective, worn out from doing his duty for the community and his little girl, kissed his daughter softly on the head. Turning off the light, he left her in darkness, not knowing that she was surrounded by a warmer and brighter glow than any lamp could create.