Subject: THE GUEST by Rose wood (1/2)
- M/f
From: Rosewood
Date: 3 Jun 1995 17:08:37 +0200
This is fiction. It is intended for the enjoyment of adults only. If you are likely to be offended by its contents or are under age, please do not read on. The events portrayed are not necessarily events which the author would condone should they occur in a real case.
This is the beginning of a two parter which leads on from "Daddy's Little Girl." There is no hint of sexual interaction between father and daughter, although their are other sexual references.
Although it is basically a M/f story, the women involved are adults. I have to say, writing this one really turned me on! I hope you enjoy reading it as much.
Love Rosewood
* * *
"Listen, daddy. I know I should have asked before... but could Polly stay over a couple of nights? We're going to that concert tomorrow and I thought she could stay on and go back to her parents on Sunday."
Polly's parents lived in Glasgow and she was going up there for the Summer holidays. She and Debbie had been planning the flat for next year which (with Debbie's father's approval) they were going to rent - just five minutes from college.
Debbie had meant to ask about Polly staying over, but had kept on forgetting. Now, standing in the hallway facing her father who was wearing the disgruntled expression which suited him so well, she began to regret her lapse of memory. Still, he could hardly turn her away, could he?
"Hmmm, you'd better both come through," he had said at last, leading the way to the sitting room and switching the lights on. "It's nice to meet you finally," he said pleasantly to Polly as he sat down, although he didn't ask the young women (who, although they were both 19, I shall mainly refer to as the "girls" from now on that's the way Debbie's father viewed them) to sit and they remained on their feet, both a little nervous.
Polly had conjured up a picture of a rather severe man from her friend's descriptions, and to be honest the description didn't really fit this tall sandy-haired man. Still, although Debbie hadn't told her of his recent reconversion to corporal punishment, they had shared enough memories of their respective childhoods for Polly to shiver a little at the sight of Debbie's dad sitting in the very chair she had heard so much about.
"I have heard a lot about you, young lady." He smiled and added, "Most of it good. I'm sorry that Debbie has created this embarrassing situation for us both by not speaking to me about the possibility of you staying beforehand."
He shot a dark look at his daughter and then continued.
"There's no bed made up for you, for instance. You would have to share with Debbie."
Debbie tried to hide her blush (recalling their one night of passion from so long ago) by chirping, rather too obviously, "Oh, it's a nice big bed!"
Debbie's father turned to look at her. "I would also have explained to you, Debbie, that any guests you do bring to the house will have to abide by my rules!"
He emphasised the word "my" and Debbie felt a sudden chill creep up her spine. She turned quickly to her friend.
"I guess if it's too much trouble we could try to find you a hotel...."
"Are you kidding," Polly scolded her. "How much money do you think I have. Anyway, I thought your dad was saying it was OK for me to stay - weren't you?"
Debbie's father nodded with a slight shrug and his daughter felt beads of sweat standing out on her forehead. Polly saw her discomfort.
"Debbie, what's the problem." She recalled her prospective host's words and asked, "What does your dad mean by his rules?"
Debbie just stood on the spot, biting her lip, so her father helped her out.
"I take it you haven't told your friend, then?"
The girl shook her head.
"Told me what?" Polly almost shouted at her friend, a blend of frustration and apprehension beginning to tighten her chest.
"Nothing. I don't know..." Debbie mumbled, meaninglessly, watching her father and waiting with dread for the conclusion of the conversation. It was worse than she had anticipated. Her father didn't, as she had expected, explain patiently to the well-dressed young woman by her side that he often found it necessary to put his nineteen year old daughter over his knee and to spank her bare bottom. He simply held out his hand towards her in a clear invitation.
"D... daddy...." she stuttered.
"Come on," he said firmly. "I think it's time that your future room-mate found out how you managed to improve your grades so much this term. The slipper's in top drawer of the dresser."
"Daddy, no!" she was crying now. "Not in front of Polly!"
Debbie's friend was now rooted to the spot, unable to move as she began to piece together the information the short exchange had offered. The conclusion she reached was so unbelievable, she rejected it at once and tried to find an alternative explanation. She was still looking for a way to swim against the tide when Debbie's father continued.
"Debbie, remember your promise! Don't spoil everything you've achieved over the last six weeks. The slipper please!"
Debbie had promised, the day after that first terrible caning, that she would submit to her father's authority without question - in all circumstances - trusting to his judgement. If she felt a punishment unfair, she was permitted to challenge it afterwards and, if her challenge was accepted, then she would be let off two similar future punishments in recompense. But disobedience when called to account was forbidden.
Remembering that, and admitting to herself that her life was better now in so many ways than before, she turned towards the dresser and opened the draw, taking the instrument of torture within gingerly in her hands, and walked back to her father.
"I... I'm sorry for questioning you," she said, knowing there was no escape now and seeking to make the best of a terrible situation. "I was just... I'm just so embarrassed."
"I understand. So will Polly. Come on now, over my knee."
Polly's eyes widened. Although it had been obvious what was coming, until she saw Debbie actually kneeling by her father's side and laying herself her his lap, her lovely bottom now the most prominent part of her in Polly's view, Polly had tried to block out what she knew inside was approaching.
Now, unable to pretend, her late-night chats with her friend came rushing back to her. She knew this so well, though only from tales of Debbie's infancy - never imagining that this form of punishment could still be the house's currency of discipline. She knew that when Debbie was little, he would spank her with the slipper in that very chair. Those details hadn't changed and she also knew that Debbie's spankings had invariably been applied to her bare bottom. Did that mean...
Her thoughts fizzled away as Debbie's father reached down to take the hem of his daughter's skirt and to lift the garment up, exposing the girl's unsubstantial white cotton panties, and causing a rush of warmth to flood Polly's own sex. They had talked about their childhood spankings often and, while they had never admitted to each other that the conversations turned them on - why else would they have done it?
Polly had fantasised many times about spanking her friend, or about Debbie pulling her down across her knee to chastise her, yet their conversations always ended in giggles rather than anything else, neither girl having the confidence to suggest taking things further. Even on the one night that they had made love, spanking had been on Polly's mind; but the two had not even mentioned the subject by that early stage of their friendship and they had limited themselves to a night of very wonderful sex.
On one occasion, Polly had almost got to watch her friend spanking another of their circle, Laura, as a forfeit in a game of strip poker - but Debbie had let her off and Polly had had to satisfy her lust on her own with her hand later on in bed.
Now before her, however, was a scene she hadn't dared even fantasise about as Debbie's own father took hold of her his daughter's panties and tugged them gently down, baring her bottom and then slipping them right down her legs and off to the accompaniment of Debbie's gentle sobbing. Polly reeled as she took in the sight before her. Her friend's bottom was a deep pink hue already, and there were a few thin lines dividing the gentler colouring.
She must have been spanked only this morning, Polly thought. She knew from experience that the marks from a slippering only lasted a short while. And the lines! She recalled that Debbie had never been caned at school, but she herself had twice had to bend over with just her knickers to protect her as Ms Belter (her real name!) gave her three cruel strokes and she knew what such marks signified.
Polly recalled looking down at her sleeping friend back on that wintry October night as she slept, naked, on her front. She remembered the thrill of exploring her then pale, full cheeks with her eyes while she stroked herself gently. Now, here was Debbie's bottom bared for her once more and this time, due to her positioning, even more tight and welcoming. She watched as Debbie's father picked up the slipper and touched it once to her bottom, then lifting it high in the air and thwacking it down hard on her rosy cheeks.
"One!" Her friend's cry startled her as much as the shock of watching her bare bottom receiving the blow. The counting of strokes was one of those ritualistic elements that made spankings both more terrible to receive and more erotic to contemplate - like the long walk through the fourth form study room which girls had had to make at school.
The head girl, Rachel, would stand inside the doorway during prep and call the name of the girl who was to be punished, her table tennis bat in her hand. There was no announcement of what the crime was and everyone except the girl who had been called had to stay silent while the miscreant made her way to the front of the room. No words were said: the girl simply stood by the first large table, facing the other pupils and bent down over it. Rachel would lift the girl's skirt briskly and deliver ten smart smacks to her bottom though her panties. Then she would leave the room and the girl would have to count to one hundred slowly before standing up, rearranging her skirt, and returning to her desk. How could anyone go through that without spanking retaining a significance for them for life?
As she had been reviewing these events, Polly's eyes had been feasting on the now reddening bum of her best friend and now she sought to concentrate all her thoughts on the tableau before her.
WHACK! "Fourteen!"
Polly had never understood why her parents had sent her to a school where corporal punishment was the norm when they themselves never used it. In fact, it had been a source of real arguments between her father and mother; her mother had been a great believer in spanking and father had not. Their compromise had been to send her to St Maria's.
The type of punishment she was watching now, therefore, had a particularly strong effect on her due to its unfamiliarity. Because of the limiting of her experience to school, she had never, for example, been spanked in the bare bottom - though her fantasies still found her panties down on most occasions.
CRACK! "Ouuuuuuchh! Twenty-four!"
Debbie had, for the benefit of her friend, tried to maintain her silence for as long as possible (and of course she had been getting better at holding in her cries of late, what with all the practice she had been getting). Now though, her father finally eased her over the line between dignified acceptance and total submission - and she howled.
SMACK! WHACK! FWACK! "Arggh! Thirty-two! Thirty-three! Noooooo! Thirty-four!"
To Polly's delight (of which Debbie's father was not entirely unaware), her friend's bottom now began to jump about enticingly on her father's lap as she squealed and pleaded for mercy. Polly wondered how, once Debbie had begun this alluring dance, her father could ever bring himself to end the spanking.
As the slipper rained down in its correcting thunderstorm, the half-naked girl began to kick her legs furiously in all directions, flashing delightful views of her pink slit over and over again. This served to heat up Polly's already throbbing clitoris all the more and she could now feel the wetness from her arousal as it seeped into the cotton of her knickers.
WHACK! THWACK! "Yeeoow! Forty-six! Ahhoohhh! Forty-seven!"
Polly began to feel quite weak, the effect of watching her friend taking a bare bottom slippering in front of her almost overwhelming her and she wished she had been sitting down where the impact of the session might have been less noticeable.
SMACK! "Ohhh! Forty-nine!" WHACK! "Agghh! Fifty!"
Fifty strokes with the slipper had by now become the minimum punishment in the Newton family and, having delivered the last smack with maximum force, Debbie's father slowly placed the slipper down on the floor. He left Debbie in place over his lap, crying heavily and looked straight ahead for a moment while Polly looked over the spanking's result, almost feeling the heat of her friend's glowing rump radiating across the room towards her. Then Debbie's father turned his head towards her.
"I wonder," he said. "Do you still wish to stay?"
The craving between her legs made it difficult for Polly to keep her voice steady and it trembled audibly as she answered.
"Is... is that what you mean by 'your' rules?"
"Yes. Basically. If you stay here and follow the basic set of rules I ask my daughter to follow, all will be well. If you infringe them, I will expect you to take your punishment with grace. You must remember. I am not forcing you to stay."
Polly ignored the last statement and asked, her eyes cast down to the floor:
"Would you spank me on... on my bare bottom?"
"Of course. That is how punishments are given and taken in this house. Just as you saw me spank Debbie, I would put you over my knee, lift up your skirt, pull down your panties and spank you very soundly."
"How many," Polly was almost whispering now.
"That would depend on your offence. Let us say... twenty five hard smacks with my hand, minimum. You understand, of course, that it is difficult to put a maximum on spankings as one never knows what offence might me committed."
Polly nodded slowly.
"So... are you staying, or should I call you a taxi?"
"I... I'd like to stay if I may."
"Good," Debbie's father smiled, dropping his daughter's skirt back down over her reddened bottom. "You seem such a polite, well-mannered girl. Perhaps I will not find it necessary to spank you during your stay."
As he spoke, he emphasised the word perhaps and Polly, Debbie's sobbing still underlying their conversation, felt the blood rushing to her face under his steady gaze.
* * *
"Why didn't you tell me?"
As soon as the two girls got inside Debbie's large bedroom and shut the door, Polly turned on her. Although she had been incredibly turned on watching her friend spanked in front of her, all kinds of feelings of guilt and disgust were battling with her lust for dominance in her troubled mind.
"I'm sorry," Debbie cried, her tears still partly due to the throbbing in her bottom, but redoubled in flow under Polly's bitter attack. "I couldn't... it's just too embarrassing!"
"Embarrassing for you!" Polly couldn't get the sight of Debbie's upturned cheeks bouncing uncontrollably under her father's slipper out of her mind. "What about me?"
"I know, I know," Debbie cried. "I'm sorry. I've said I'm sorry. What else do you want me to do?"
The question drilled into her friend's confused emotions and she spoke almost without thinking.
"Turn round and put your hands flat on the bed!"
"What? Polly, I...."
"DO IT!"
Her recent spanking had elevated the submissive part of Debbie's subconscious and, seeing the anger in her best friend's face, she turned and bent down to adopt the position demanded of her.
As soon as she had done so, Polly lifted her skirt right up and dropped it onto her back. For so long she had fantasised about this moment - yet she had never imagined that she might spank her friend out of anger; it had always been an erotic event where role-play would supply the reason for Debbie accepting her punishment. She gritted her teeth and pulled her friend's panties down - all the way to her ankles - and lifted her hand.
Debbie's bottom was still red from her slippering and Polly could make out the cane welts she had seen earlier - though they were harder to see now against this crimson background. She paused for a moment to take in the shape of her friend's exposed buttocks: full, but unburdened by superfluous fat. She put a hand behind her to touch her own bottom, now as always rather plumper than she would like - just like the rest of her. Several of her friends at college were ardent feminists and were always going on about the way women were made to feel bad about their bodies by men who set up unhealthy thinness as the ideal. She agreed with them too, in her head. But that didn't stop her wanting to lose a few pounds.
She gazed at the pink vision offered to her. There was nothing unnaturally or unhealthily thin about Debbie - she was lusciously slim with plenty of curves and fabulous muscle tone - and Polly had always thought her the most beautiful woman she knew. Now she was about to spank her - the thing she'd wanted to do for nine whole months. She lifted her hand a little higher.
Suddenly, unbidden, tears began to prick at her eyes and Polly dropped her hand to her side and sat miserably on the bed. She knew that it was her feelings about herself, and her sexual response to Debbie's spanking by her dad, that were making her angry - she couldn't take that out on Debbie. And the realisation of that made her feel worse - she was so pathetic that she couldn't even take what she wanted when it was offered to her. She put her head in her hands and wept.
"Polly? Do you want me to stay like this?"
Debbie was still bent over with her bottom bared. She had learned from her father that you didn't get up from your punishment until whoever was in charge of your spanking told you to. She waited, but her friend didn't reply.
"Polly? Aren't... aren't you going to spank me?"
Polly looked up. "No," she said. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me."
Debbie still didn't move. She was feeling a familiar warmth between her legs.
"I mean, I don't mind if you do - I do deserve it."
Polly looked at her friend's face, the unstated meaning of this statement fuzzy to her.
"You don't mind if I spank you?"
"I should have asked daddy before about you staying. I put you through all that downstairs. I'd be cross if I were in your shoes."
"But if you had spoken to him, you wouldn't have invited me, would you?"
"I guess not."
"So it's for the best isn't it?"
"I suppose so."
There was silence for a minute. Debbie broke it.
"So... do I have to stay like this?"
Polly hadn't realised, in her confusion, that her friend was holding her bare bottomed posture until she released her from it and giggled.
"No, Debs. Sorry."
Debbie stood up, slipping her panties off.
"These just rub if I put them back on." She cocked her head on one side and looked at her friend. "Polly?"
"Hmm?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure?"
"Would you rub some cream onto my bottom for me. It helps the pain a bit."
If Polly had to think twice, she didn't let it show. She took the offered tube from Debbie and watched as her friend crawled past her onto the bed and lay down on her front, her skirt still covering her.
Polly moved Debbie's legs apart so that she could kneel between them, bared her friend's bottom once more, and then squeezed a little cream onto her right hand, rubbing both palms together to spread the slippery stuff over her hands. Between Debbie's thighs, in that position, her vulva pouted pinkly a little and Polly felt her desire being rekindled by the sight. She suddenly felt a little surge of courage.
"Kneel up, Debs. It's easier that way."
Debbie, still in an obedient frame of mind, got up to her knees - now displaying her pussy in its full glory to her friend who gazed hungrily at the succulent folds. Polly placed one hand on each red cheek, raising a slight wince from the other girl, and then began to smooth the comforting cream over her well-spanked bottom.
She remembered something from her midnight talks with Debbie suddenly and asked:
"Does your dad still rub cream onto your bottom now, like he used to when you were little?"
She was working gently over the whole sore area and Debbie had closed her eyes to give herself up to the soothing sensuality of Polly's touch.
"Mostly," she answered.
Polly tried to imagine Debbie's father in her place, siding his large hands over his daughter's tender flesh and slipped one hand beneath her own skirt to stroke her clitoris through her panties to relieve a little of the heat that had suddenly appeared there.
She could see the moisture gathering inside Debbie's inner lips and experimented by tracing a path with her fingers which ran down over her friend's thighs and then brushed close to her pussy on the return journey. Debbie pushed her bottom up towards Polly's hands as she repeated the move and Polly allowed herself to move in closer and closer as she traced the same path over and over: now brushing seductively through Debbie's mat of hair, now running along the place where her mound begins to rise, now trailing along the edge of Debbie's pink gash and now, finally, slipping two fingers into the wet, silky pleats of her sex.
"Ohh! Polly, that's so good!" Debbie moaned, pushing her hips up to meet her friend's touch.
* * *
"I bet daddy doesn't do this!" Polly giggled, her fingers pressing gently on Debbie's sensitive clit.
There was no answer from Debbie - at least, not in words - but as she recalled her father's exploration of her on the night of her caning, she groaned and pushed hard against Polly's fingers, feeling the wave of her climax rush through her. Polly, rather than disgust this time, felt a powerful erotic exhilaration as she interpreted her lover's response.
"Debbie? Does he?"
"Don't stop!" Debbie gasped. "Ohh! Just... just once!"
Polly now reached between her own legs again, one hand staying to keep up her commitment to Debbie's pussy, this time quickly tugging her knickers out of the way and entering her own wetness. She closed her eyes and saw a vivid pictures of Debbie's father between her legs, his fingers deftly working his own daughter to orgasm.
"Did... did you let him?" she asked, her own breath coming in short stabs now.
"I... Oh! God! I asked him to!"
That was nearly too much for Polly, she pushed two fingers right up inside her lover and rubbed hard and fast against her own clit, bringing herself to a speedy climax. Once she had passed her peak, she returned her attention to her friend, leaving her fingers inside her and beginning to move them gently in and out while her other hand supplied more fingers to seek out and massage Debbie's engorged clitoris.
Polly slowly increased the speed and depth of her finger-ucking, always maintaining the slower, firm circular movements over her lover's fleshy bud, until once more she felt Debbie about to come. She felt the body under her hands go stiff for a few seconds, Debbie crying out into her pillow before relaxing again, still impaled on Polly's fingers.
"He didn't do that, though," she said.
"What?"
"Put his fingers inside me."
* * *
Polly slipped her fingers from her friend's pussy and rolled her onto her back, Debbie groaning slightly as her sore bottom touched the bed.
"I think, after all, I shall spank you," Polly announced. "Although not today. Do you agree to submit to that?"
"Yes," Debbie said quietly, Polly's tone firm and decisive now.
"Good." Polly smiled. "For now, I have something else in mind."
With that she yanked her panties right off, straddled Debbie, and made her way up over the other girl's body until her greedy cunt was just above Debbie's mouth.
"Are you hungry?" she asked.
"Mmmm!" came the reply. Polly closed her eyes - and sat down.
As they made love, Debbie told Polly about the new regime in the house: the rules, the punishments, the mahogany cane in the cabinet downstairs. By the time they finally lay still with their arms around each other, sated, Polly knew just about everything.
"No more secrets?" she whispered in her lover's ear, nibbling her ear lobe.
"No more secrets," agreed Debbie.
They lay together for a while longer. Finally Polly sat up.
"I've got to have a fag! Can I smoke in here?"
"You're joking!" Debbie retorted. "I've told you - that's a major rule."
Polly grunted in reply.
"What if I sit by the window?"
"I can't guarantee anything - I guess you might be OK, but it's your funeral."
"Do you think he really would spank me?"
"Honestly?"
"Honestly."
"I reckon if he can't find a genuine reason to put you over his knee, he'll invent one," Debbie replied, watching her friend hungrily as she got out of bed.
"Don't look at me like that!" Polly scolded her.
"Why not? I like looking at you!"
"But... but I'm so fat," Polly replied, looking down at her large breasts.
"Fat!" Debbie widened her eyes. "Polly - you're beautiful. Anyway, I though fat was a construction of patriarchal oppression," she teased her friend.
"Well, it is - I guess," Polly said doubtfully. "Do you really think I'm beautiful?"
Debbie swung her slim legs out of bed and walked over to her lover, slipping a hand between her thighs and kissing her hard on the mouth.
"Very beautiful," she confirmed. "I mean - look at your tits!"
"They're too big!" Polly moaned (although the moan was mainly caused by the fingers intruding into her tight vagina).
"They're... sumptuous!" Debbie declared, bending to kiss each one adoringly, sucking long and hard on each teat in turn. Then she looked seriously into Polly's eyes.
"Really. I do adore your body. The look of you, the feel of you - everything."
Polly smiled. That exchange had meant more to her than she could ever express. She extracted herself from Debbie's embrace and began to rummage in her coat for her cigarettes while Debbie sat down, still naked, on the bed.
Armed with fag and lighter, Polly slipped the coat over her bare skin and made her way over to the window. She opened it and sat up on the ledge to light up, turning her head after every drag to blow the incriminating smoke out of the window and letting her right arm dangle outside in the warm, summer night air.
"Can you smell it?" she asked her friend.
"No, it's not..."
She was interrupted by the sudden opening of the door and froze as her Mr Newton strode into the room.
"I thought the rules said in bed by eleven!" he said sternly, looking at his nude daughter.
"Yes, daddy," she responded meekly, suddenly aware of the tenderness in her bottom, and crawled back under the sheet. Her father turned his attention to the girl on the window ledge.
"And what might you be doing, young lady?"
"I... I wanted some fresh air," she lied.
"Fresh?" he said, almost laughing, and walked up to her. "Breathe!" he demanded.
Timidly, Polly breathed a little smoky air towards him, seeing his nose wrinkle with displeasure.
"Well?" he pursued her.
Polly was getting desperate. Rather than the earlier erotic feelings, the idea of being put across the big man's knee for a bare bottomed spanking now simply terrified her.
"Debbie... Debbie said it would be OK if I smoked out of the window!"
Debbie, stunned by her friend's lie, nonetheless said nothing as her father marched over to her and pulled the covers from her naked body. He grabbed her wrist in an iron grip and pulled her to her feet, dragging her bodily across the room and pushing her down over her desk.
Polly waited for Debbie's denial, but she simply gripped the edges of the desk and waited. Slowly and deliberately, Debbie's father now unbuckled his belt and slipped it through the loops of his trousers. He folded it carefully in half and then lay the improvised instrument on his daughter's already well-beaten bottom. Then he lifted it high above his head.
"No!" Polly screamed. The tableau froze for a moment and then Mr Newton turned to her, still holding the belt ready to strike.
"No, what?" he asked.
"I... I didn't tell the truth," she stammered. "Debbie told me not to smoke and... and I just thought you might not notice if I sat here."
Debbie father slowly brought his arm down to his side. "I'm glad you have decided to tell the truth," he said. "I'm sure Debbie is also glad."
He lifted his wet-eyed daughter and turned her towards him.
"You still would expect to be punished for not stopping your friend from smoking and for still being up at...," he looked at his watch," at twelve forty, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, daddy."
"Yes. Well, you can bring me a cup of tea at seven. I'll deal with you then." He looked up at Polly. "As for you, when I've finished with Debbie I will send for you. And I don't suppose you'll feel like smoking again in my house afterwards."
"Yes, sir," Polly mumbled.
"Right. Get yourselves into bed now. Both of you. Lights out and no more talking or so help me I'll turn you both over and give you a strapping there and then! Got that?"
The girls mumbled their assent and Mr Newton turned and left the room. He had, of course, noticed the girls' nudity, and their untidy hair and the rumpled bedclothes. He had also noticed, a soon as he entered the room, the strong scent of feminine sexuality. However, like any sensible father, he would much father find his daughter, at that age anyway, in bed with another girl than with a boy. He suspected, correctly as it happened, that his daughter was bisexual rather than lesbian, and was thankful for it. He would never have said so though, especially not in front of his brother Steve who would have hit the roof. Steve had come out as gay when Debbie's father was only fourteen and he had therefore grown up comfortable with the idea of same sex relationships. But he did worry about the bigotry that his daughter would have to face if she were a lesbian - and, more selfishly, hoped for grandchildren one day.
Behind the door, both girls had now crept silently back into bed, Polly clinging on to her lover tightly with tears stinging her eyes.
"Debs. I'm frightened," she whispered.
Debbie turned to face her and kissed her mouth tenderly. "I'm afraid this time," she whispered back, "your fears are quite well-founded. Now, shh!"
Debbie had set the alarm for half-six and Polly watched her with increasing anxiety as she got up, slipped out for a quick shower and changed into a short pink nightie before going downstairs to make her father's tea.
"Make sure you're ready!" she warned her friend. "I'll see you in a bit."
Once Debbie had left the room, Polly got up and grabbed a towel before making her way to the bathroom. She showered quickly, washing herself carefully, and then brushed her teeth. Opening the bathroom door, she heard the sound at once. The smacking sound, followed by Debbie's girlish cries, were quite unmistakable. Unable to drag herself away, Polly crept closer to the door of Mr Newton's bedroom. It was slightly ajar and she was able to see inside. There, on the side of the bed, was the master of the house with his daughter balanced neatly over his knee and with her nightie pulled up to expose her bottom which, with a firm vigour, he was hand- spanking. As she had the night before, Polly found herself becoming swiftly aroused by the sight and this time it was mixed in with a frightened apprehensiveness. She knew that she would be next over that lap.
Suddenly Debbie's spanking stopped and Polly, still dressed only in a towel, rushed back to Debbie's room and pulled on the pair of powder blue silk pyjamas she had brought with her, towelling her hair dry quickly. After a minute or two, Debbie entered the room, her face moist from her tears. She smiled encouragingly.
"Only fifty smacks with his hand!" she said, trying to hide any trace of pain in her voice.
Polly began to cry and Debbie put her arms around her and kissed her cheek.
"Come on, it won't be too bad. Remember all those canings and things at school?"
Polly looked up at her friend and sniffed.
"That's it," Debbie said gently. "Go on. If you're late he'll give you extra!"
Trying to steel herself, Polly opened the door and walked out into the hallway, acutely aware of her sense of touch: the carpet beneath her feet stroking her soles pleasantly, but reminding her, by contrast, of what was to come.
She knocked on his door.
"Come in! Ah, Polly. Good morning. Did you sleep well?"
He was sitting on the side of the bed in a maroon bathrobe as she'd seen him just minutes earlier. In the circumstances, she found answering his amiable chatter none too easy.
"Er, no. Not really," she answered truthfully.
"No," he echoed. "I don't suppose you did." He seemed lost in reflection for a moment and then said.
"So. I assume you are prepared to take your punishment?"
"Yes, sir," she answered, adopting the formal deferential tone once more.
"Good. Stand a little closer."
She took a step towards her and then saw his hands reach out for her pyjama bottoms.
"Oh, no - you can't..." she said suddenly.
He stopped and looked at her. "I beg your pardon?"
"I... I'm sorry. It's just that I... I'm not wearing anything underneath."
"I see. Did Debbie go through the house rules with you?"
"Yes, sir."
"And do your recall the section on nightwear?"
"Yes, sir. It said you had to wear panties with pyjamas, but I..."
She wanted to tell him that she'd been rushing and had forgotten that rule, but then sensed that it would only make things worse so she stumbled to a halt.
"Well, I'm going to proceed as if you were properly dressed," Mr Newton said, not himself upset by this opportunity to view his daughter's friend more intimately. "In the circumstances, I shan't give you any additional punishment for the infringement of that rule however.
Again his hands reached for the elastic waist of her pyjama bottoms and this time she did nothing to stop him as he tugged them carefully down. As her light brown triangle of hair sprung out over the top the silk, Polly closed her eyes. Unlike Debbie, she'd been to an all-girls school and she'd therefore had even less opportunity to mix with boys than her friend. Even now, after a year of university, no boy had seen her naked. She's been out with a few boys, and had kissed them and let them feel her breasts - but she'd always called a halt when they attempted to remove her panties.
One boy, Bill, she had gone out with for a couple of months and had liked and trusted enough to let him lift her skirt and stroke her mound through her knickers. He'd known that she didn't want go further and she found herself able to trust him and just enjoy the wonderful feeling of wet heat that his touch inspired in her, even once climaxing from his tender caresses. She'd ended it partly because she no longer trusted herself, but knew that she wasn't ready for a "serious" relationship yet. Recently she'd been thinking of accepting his pleas to see him again - but now she wondered whether something important might be developing between her and Debbie.
All of this flashed through her mind as her pyjama bottoms were lowered further, right to the ground, Mr Newton able now to take in Polly's luxuriant curves, and the secret part of her they framed.
"Open your eyes," he said softly.
Polly opened them as instructed and looked at the kindly-faced man who was sitting before her bare pussy.
"I am still prepared to excuse you from this if you wish. Debbie will probably have told you how much good some solid discipline has done for her. I hope that you will weigh that, together with your agreement to abide by my rules, and submit to what you deserve. However, I'm giving you a last chance to back out."
Polly looked at him and found that, with this offer to free her from her bond, Debbie's father had actually succeeded in washing away the last traces of horror from her mind. This was, she told herself, a case of someone seeking to chastise her, following an infringement of clearly stated rules, in the genuine belief that such punishment would benefit her. She looked straight at him.
"Thank you for offering," she said, "but I feel honoured to be treated by you the way you treat your daughter and I accept that my behaviour has been unacceptable and that the consequence of that is that I have..." She couldn't think the words without getting wet, still less say them. She felt the heat well up in her again and completed her statement, "... is that I have my bare bottom spanked."
"Thank you for your positive attitude. I hope that this will help to ensure that your treat my rules a little less lightly for the rest of your stay with us."
"I'm sure it will, sir," she told him truthfully.
"Yes, I believe it might. Now, there are a number of rules which have been broken. Perhaps you would like to work through them and I'll tell you the tariff for each one."
Polly was still aware of her nakedness and kept her legs pressed tightly together in an attempt to prevent Debbie's father becoming aware of her wetness.
"Yes," she answered. "Firstly, there was being out of bed after hours."
"Hmm, Debbie got fifty smacks with the hand for that. I will give you rather less as you're new to the regime so... thirty smacks!"
Thirty smacks already, Polly thought with alarm. And that was the most minor rule broken.
"Then, there's smoking."
"Correct. That is something I abhor, I'm afraid, and always punish severely. Forty-two strokes with the slipper."
She knew that, terrible though this sounded, it was still less than Debbie got for most things and she considered herself to have got off lightly.
"There is something else, I believe," he said.
"Yes. I lied to you."
"Yes, indeed. Now that I take extremely seriously. I cannot sanction untruthfulness. I must tell you that if it were Debbie who had lied to me she would expect a very harsh caning!"
"A caning!" Debbie could hardly believe her ears.
"Yes. A caning on the bare bottom!" Mr Newton emphasised. "However, you are not Debbie and I will give some thought to the matter. Before you go to your concert, let us say at four o-clock, we will meet in the sitting room, all three of us, and you will receive your punishment, in front of Debbie, for lying then. Do you agree to my setting the tariff for that offence as I see fit?"
Tears were rushing down Polly's cheeks now, but she knew that they would have no effect on Debbie's father. She began to nod and then, instead, tried to check her tears and answer properly.
"Yes, sir. I do."
"Very well. Let us despatch the rest of your punishment now. Bend over my knee please."
As if inhabiting one of her own fantasies, Polly could almost see herself as if from outside as she walked round to the side indicated and lowered herself into this undignified position with as much composure as she could manage. Mr Newton noticed this and, despite feeling pleased that she should make such an effort for him, smiled to himself as he looked forward to spanking her self-consciousness from her.
Her deliciously well rounded rump was perfectly placed now and Debbie's father laid his hand ever so gently upon the girl's bare bottom, always mindful of the power of contrast. He lifted his hand high then and watched as Polly first tensed and then, slowly, relaxed when the expected smack failed to materialise. Once he was sure he could take her by surprise (well, by as much surprise as you can take someone who's bent over your knee with the bottom bared) then, only then, did he begin - just as soundly as if it were his own precious daughter - to spank her.
Although physical punishments at Polly's school had been severe, they had stopped when the girls entered the sixth form at sixteen. In their final two years, only the headteacher's cane was permitted to mark their flowering bottoms and, in the majority of cases, where such harshness would have been inappropriate, the girls had to take on housekeeping tasks.
For that reason, it was for Polly over three years since her last spanking and this, combined with her ignorance of the superior corrective potency of bare bottom beating, ensured that she was extremely ill-prepared for the chastisement Mr Newton was now beginning to apply with his tough hand.
Down the hallway, in her bedroom, Debbie heard the screaming and smiled to herself a little guiltily. She wasn't someone to delight in the misfortune of another, but Polly had watched her being spanked the day before and this seemed only fair recompense. She didn't realise, at that time, that she was going to have the opportunity later in the day of witnessing the punishment of her friend more fully.
Her father, meanwhile, had his hands full. He realised that Polly was not being intentionally wilful, of course, and treated her kicking and screeching rather differently to that of his own daughter who would have undoubtedly earned extra smacks. Right from the first hard thwack of his full hand across the girl's pale bottom, Polly had begun to cry out loudly in pain and to struggle to get free. Mr Newton however, assured of her consent from her last statement, had put his left hand on the small of her back to keep her bent down and swung his right leg out and over the backs of her knees to keep her mulish legs still. Even then, holding her in place took a major effort - Debbie's father gritted his teeth and just kept the smacks coming down hard and fast on Polly's restless bottom, knowing that if he could just keep the spanking going he would finally break her.
Polly realised, even as Mr Newton's hand fell for the first time, that her fantasies had been inaccurate in one very important respect. Undoubtedly being put gently across Mr Newton's knee had been a very erotic experience. And feeling his hand stroking her bottom gently in advance of her spanking had made her juices flow as if his actions had opened a tap. And, as he spanked her, she was dimly aware that there was a brooding passion growing between her legs. However, as her bare buttocks received the full weight of his hand - first her right, and then her left - Polly realised that her in none of her fantasies did being spanked really hurt very much!
At school, spankings and canings, for Polly, had been a form of punishment, pure and simple. She didn't begin to eroticise spanking until she left (unlike Debbie who had been aroused by her spankings from a younger age). For that reason, she now associated being spanked with pleasure - not pleasure mixed with pain - but on its own.
Now, she discovered, that association was proving to be sorely mistaken.
"No! Oww! Stop, please! Arggghh! Ohmygod! Ouchh! It hurts! Please, please Mr Newton! Nooo!"
As the smacks battered her poor cheeks, turning them first pink, and then red, she writhed around on the firm lap she was bent over, she kicked her legs (until they were carefully trapped), she tried to protect her bottom with her hands (but they were just slapped harshly away), and she shouted - pleaded - for him to stop.
Still he spanked her. She felt a fire roaring behind her as his hand worked its cruel progress over every inch of her buttocks, not missing a spot. She felt tears running down her cheeks as he landed six nasty slaps on the back of her thighs. She felt her embarrassment and humiliation at being punished in this way rising up and choking her.
And then, very suddenly, and without any alteration in the speed or weight of her paddling, she felt a soothing calmness wash over her. Her legs ceased to kick. Her arms stopped flailing about but hung loosely to the floor. She stopped screaming for Debbie's father to stop - although, to be sure, her tears and crying carried on as before.
Suddenly, instead of resisting her punishment, Polly began to submit to it. The tranquillity spoke to her. She had been naughty, it said, and now she was being punished for it. Polly agreed. She had a wilful, unpleasant side to her character, it said, and a good spanking of her bare bottom would do her the world of good. Polly agreed. She had taken this hand-spanking very badly, it said, and she was lucky that she had an opportunity in the slippering to follow to prove herself. Polly reeled as she'd forgotten about that - but then, again, she agreed.
This conversation inside her was taking place at the very same time as Mr Newton was winding up this preliminary spanking - at the same time as Polly was weeping with suffering and shame. Shame, no longer, at being in this degrading position, but shame at not taking her spanking with the grace she'd promised.
SMACK! "Ouchh!"
WHACK! "Arrhhh!"
SLAP! "Oooh!"
It took Polly ten seconds or more to realise that her spanking had finished. When she did, she began to weep all the more bitterly at the way she had failed to honour herself.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she repeated, while Mr Newton stroked her hair, waiting for the girl to cry herself out.
"That's OK," he said, understanding her meaning. "This was your first time and it hurt didn't it?"
"Yes. So much," Polly wailed, though a little less noisily now.
"But by the end, you were ready to accept your punishment weren't you?"
It began to dawn on her that this was true. She had begun badly but by the end she had learned to submit and she experienced a sudden joy at the discovery.
"Yes," she affirmed. "I did need to be spanked. I'm sorry I asked you to stop and I'm glad you didn't. I will try to take my next punishment with better grace."
"I certainly hope so," Mr Newton retorted. "I wouldn't want to have to go through that game again. Once is acceptable; now I expect you to submit."
He looked at her sternly.
"I expect you to count out your strokes and I expect you to keep reasonably still. I expect you to do nothing to try to prevent your punishment continuing and I expect you to take at least the first few strokes without a sound." He looked at her more kindly now. "Can you do that?"
"I... I think so."
"Good. You may prefer to remove the rest of your clothing before I slipper you."
Although this would have sounded outrageous ten minutes previously, now she understood completely and, once she had managed to stand, unbuttoned and removed her pyjama top, finally standing naked before her friend's father.
"I'm ready," she told him.
He nodded and Polly took up her position over his knee once more. Mr Newton, seeing her voluptuous figure for the first time in its full glory, found himself hardening, but managed to guide the girl away from his penis. He placed her "just so" and then reached for the slipper.
Debbie, now listening outside the door, heard the second part of her lover's beating begin now and heard with some pride:
WHACK! "One!"
THWACK! "Two!"
As the blows respanked her nakedness, the weight of the slipper making up in strength for what it lacked in intimacy, Polly closed her eyes and pushed hard against the pain for as long as she could, winning a smile from both Debbie and Debbie's father. She reached twelve before her wails of torment began again, and even then she managed to keep counting.
Debbie, feeling a little guilty at eavesdropping (and guessing that her father would probably reward her with a caning if he caught her) made her way downstairs to wait for the others for breakfast. As she reached the bottom of the staircase she heard:
WHACK! "Arrggh! Thirty-six!" and smiled
"Well done, Polly," she said out loud. "Welcome to our home!"
THE END
Hope that got you going. Now, I really must go off and do some "proper" work, so I will probably not be posting again in the near future.
Having said that... knowing my previous record, if there was an outcry from ASSville residents desperate to find out what fate awaits Polly later on in the afternoon... well, I guess I'd feel honour bound to put finger to key once more.
Love to you all
Rosewood.