From: an674112@anon.penet.fi (Rosewood)
Date: Sun, 14 Jul 1996 20:00:28 UTC
Subject: EMMA AT SCHOOL Episode 1 - A Change is Called For....

Emma At School 1

A Change Is Called For

As Emma approached her front door she decided that things really couldn't get any worse. Not only had she just split up with Steven, her boyfriend of two whole months, the two of them had been seen in a compromising position by a teacher at school and reported. Emma had been sent home in disgrace and now had to face her parents; compared to the ordeal of the last 24 hours, this part would be a doddle.

As expected, Emma's mum and dad were waiting for her, looking suitably solemn. They began their lecture with a diatribe against Steven and Emma tried not to let her deep sense of irony at the reprimand show. The truth was that Emma had discovered, belatedly, that everything her parents had told her about Steven had been true. He had only been after her virginity, he hadn't ever really loved her. He'd admitted as much to her after last night's disastrous date.

Last night! Her mind shut out her parents' droning and she drooped miserably as she recalled the terrible events. Her parents would never allow her out on school evenings - especially since Steven came along - so, naturally, she regularly slipped out in the evening and got a friend to cover. Last night was no exception. While her parents thought she was studying life in Europe during the Great War with Melanie, she was in fact engaged in heavy petting with Steven in a car parked by the pond in Hampstead.

Emma shivered as she recalled the events. As on so many occasions, Steven had been trying to get Emma to go "all the way" and, as on every such occasion, Emma had rebutted him. It was not easy either - what with two of his fingers buried deliciously inside her and his mouth nibbling at her ear lobes - but she had firmly said no. That was the point at which Steven had suddenly turned nasty, calling her a tease and a slut. He'd suddenly tried to roll himself on top of her and Emma had found herself pinned down by the combination of his weight and her awkward position. It was Mr Jenkins, the passing PE teacher who had recognised the car and peeped in to see what he thought was consensual (if under-age) sex, who had unwittingly saved Emma from rape.

Not that she could tell the head or her parents any of this, of course. Apart from the fact that she should not have been out, confessing that her "wonderful" boyfriend had tried to force her to have sex with him would have confirmed all the very worst nightmares of her mother and she would probably never have let her out again.

All this went racing through her mind as her father spoke sternly to her. When he asked about the incident by the pond, she gave her father the same response she had her headteacher: they were "fooling around", but had not made love.

Emma felt so stupid. How could she have fallen for Steven's transparent charm? She allowed her father's harsh words to soak into her, trying to stem the shame she was feeling by accepting her lecture with good grace. Suddenly, when her father fired another question at her, Emma realised she had no idea what he was talking about.

"Er... sorry, I didn't hear you."

"I said," her father repeated, slowly, "I had never thought of sending you away to boarding school, but now it seems quite a good idea. The one I have in mind, the Katherine Parr school, is well practised in dealing with poor behaviour and motivation. In fact I may as well tell you now, they use corporal punishment in the school."

Such a statement would, a day or two ago, have evoked absolute outrage in Emma - yet now it simply meant being able to get away from Steven and all her friends who would be laughing at her when they found out about what had happened. No, boarding school seemed quite attractive at that moment. And as for corporal punishment! Everyone knew that almost all English schools had stopped using any form of physical punishment for fear of the law - if this Katherine Whatsist's was an exception, then the punishments administered could hardly be very unpleasant.

Emma was feeling sorry for herself again now and asked her mum, "Is that it? Can I go now?"

"Go now!!??" It was her father who spoke - or rather, shouted at her. "No you may not! Your behaviour has been abysmal recently - at home and at school - and your work not much better. Too much time spent on boys!" he asserted.

Then Emma's father lifted her downturned face to his.

"Your punishment for curfew breaking and... and so on... last night."

Emma waited for the sentence. Emma's father looked uneasy and then spoke quickly.

"I've never laid a hand on you in anger in all your years, have I?"

"No, daddy."

"No. Well I think that if I am prepared to send you to a school where corporal punishment is the norm... well, I don't believe that one can sanction a form of punishment one is not prepared to carry out oneself. I..." he paused for a moment. "I'm going to spank you."

"Spank me?" The words broke her from her mental ramblings.

"Yes, Emma, spank you! Do you want it here and now, or at bed time?"

This was not anything Emma had considered - ever! However, again her lethargic depression took over and she found herself staring at the floor and saying, "Now!"

"Very well, take off your jeans, please," her father told her.

"What?" Emma exploded. "Why?"

"Because I told you to," her father said sharply. "It's obvious that your mother and I made a big mistake in not spanking you when you were younger and I'm going to make up for it now. You may be fifteen years old, but that isn't going to stop me giving you the bare-bottom spanking I should have given you years ago. Now - do as you're told!!!" Flushing with embarrassment, Emma began to strip in front of her parents, tears starting to form in her eyes now.

"Please, Daddy. You can't spank my bare bottom - I'm too old!!" she whined.

"I can and I will," he replied matter-of-factly, sitting down on a stool, taking her hand and pulling her to him as she finally extracted her feet from the heavy denim. "We have a lot of lost ground to make up!"

Emma stood before her father now with her pussy covered only by a skimpy pair of red panties. Her father's hands reached out to grasp the waistband of her final protection firmly and then, with a tug, Emma's knickers were around her ankles, her young sex bared to her father and mother, and her face an even deeper shade of red than before.

Her mother seeing her naked was, of course, not that unusual. But her father had not seen her flowering body since she was eight or nine. She was acutely aware of what he was seeing - her delicate triangle of wispy hair which crowned her juvenile, but not unexperienced, pussy. She felt the blood pumping round her face as a vision came unbidden to her mind; she saw herself lying on her bed with her thighs spread wide and her fingers rubbing and stroking her enlarged clitoris as her father stood at the foot of the bed, watching silently. As the image sharpened in focus, Emma felt a warmth and a dampness between her legs and her feelings of shame trebled instantly. She was almost pleased to hear the next command.

"Right. Come on young lady... over my knee!"

Although she'd never heard the phrase uttered by her parents it seemed, somehow, a very familiar entreaty to her and Emma at once moved round to her father's right and leant down over his thighs. Her unfamiliar position felt firm and comforting in contrast to what she knew was to come as she laid her own naked skin over his cotton covered legs.

"I'm going to give you twenty smacks with my hand," he said, resting his palm on his daughters's untamed bottom for a moment before raising it. I do hope it teaches you a lesson!"

With that, he lifted his hand high in the air and then, after what seemed like an eternity, he finally brought it down smartly across Emma's pale, tensed cheeks. The heat Emma had been guiltily experiencing between her legs was banished at once by the sharp sting of her father's big hand on her pale cheeks. She opened her mouth to scream, but for a few moments nothing came out. The only substantial sound was of four rapid slaps landing on her bared bottom - two on each side. Only once they had been delivered, and Emma's father had paused, did the wail trapped in her throat find its release.

At the yowl of agony, Mr Denning found his tentative conversion to this alien form of parental discipline solidifying somewhat and he continued the chastisement with redoubled force.

SMACKK! "Yeooooow! Daddy, it hurts... ouchh! Please, daddy, noooooooo!"

Ignoring, as far as he was able, his daughter's pleas for clemency, Emma's father went right on spanking her bare bottom hard with his hand until he reached sixteen. Then, Emma's sobs failing (to his own surprise and slight uneasiness) to move him one jot, he paused.

"Emma?" He spoke quietly, yet firmly.

"Yes, daddy," his red-bottomed girl replied tearfully.

"Why have I spanked you?"

There was no pause before the clear reply.

"Because I've not been doing my best at school and I've not been honest," she admitted.

Mr Denning looked across at his wife who was smiling broadly. Perhaps she really had been right all this time, he mused, and his daughter had really only wanted for a firm hand. Well, if this was the response a good spanking brought, he would stick with it.

"You are quite right," he answered her. "And what's more, young lady, as long as you reside under my roof, be that until you are sixteen or sixty, each and every exhibition of slackness or mendacity will result in your panties coming off and your bare bottom paying the penalty. Do you understand me?"

Emma, during this last speech, had begun to cry. She had always thought of those of her friends whose parents spanked them as better off than those who, like herself, were grounded or punished in other non-physical ways. She was now becoming, very quickly, much less certain. And then to think that this was not to be a one-off! That her daddy was threatening now to put her over his knee again and again... as long as she lived there....!

"Do you understand?" The question was barked this time and accompanied by two huge swipes of Mr Denning's hand which straddled her cheeks and produced clear prints on her rosy bottom.

"Ohhhhh! Ohh! Yes, d..d..daddy," Emma managed to splutter as the last traces of puppy fat on her bottom and thighs set her bruised behind wobbling .

"Good!" Emma's father, although pleased to have discovered at last a successful mode of filial discipline, found himself feeling angry at his fifteen years of opposition to corporal punishment. He toyed for a moment with the idea of demanding that Emma submit to several further spankings before the following Monday when he would drive her to Katherine Parr's, to help to offset the trouble that she had caused his wife and himself over those years. One thing at a time, though. And he knew that in any case, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the time would nonetheless come again when he would have cause to administer a bare-bottom spanking to young Emma. It would have to wait.

"Just two more," he said, breaking the silence which his thoughts had spun around the trio. Then he lifted his hand again and...

WHACK! "Ouuuucch!" CRACK! "Yeoooow!"

Mr Denning left his sobbing daughter in place for a minute or two before requiring her to stand.

"Leave those where they are," he told her gently as she moved to retrieve her discarded panties. He took her by the hand and led her, still naked from the waist down, to the corner of the room and left her there - facing the corner.

"That," he said, gesturing towards his daughter's scarlet behind, "will serve to remind both of us of the new penalty for misbehaviour in this house!"

And with that, Mr Denning and his wife, left the room, their well-spanked offspring consoling herself with further tears in the corner as her still naked bottom radiated warmth.