Reader’s Note: This is Taylor Swift’s journal, adapted for reading, detailing the events around October 8th (Saturday) 2016 – after Tom has finished reading her journals of chapters 1-5. It begins with her hands flat on the couch, bent over.
“Well, I feel sorry for you two butt-munches,” I said to my brothers while looking directly at Donny. I may have been bent over with my hands flat on our couch, awaiting my father’s punishment while they giggled, but I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of knowing how scared I was of my father’s reaction.
When Donny shot me a dumbfounded look that I was anticipating I said, “Because the first vagina you two dummies are ever going to see belongs to your sister.” I stood up from the couch and looked defiantly at my father. I unsnapped my black denim jeans and began to shimmy out of them.
“Hold on there,” he stopped me. I almost couldn’t contain my smile. I just knew he’d cave if I called him on his bluff. He wasn’t going to spank me completely bare-bottom in front of everyone in the living room.
I hated that he’d outsmarted me at every turn. I wasn’t going to make a choice on punishment, and he decided my silence would mean I wanted 80 swats over my jeans – forcing me to make a choice.
I hated that he’d made me confess to everything I had done that led up to where I was right at this moment. Once I had time to reflect on showing the video of mom to my friends and teasing her, I realized that I had been kind of a dick; and I didn’t like him holding a mirror up to my actions like that.
I hated that he’d called me out on my sarcasm and was actually going to punish me. I’d thought that, just like mom, he’d cave. Dad has the macho guy-thing going for him, so I didn’t doubt he would actually spank me to prove a point, but I was pretty sure that him saying he’d do it on my bare ass was total bullshit.
Mom is a lot more predictable in her behavior. She’s like a clock—you can count on her to say the exact same thing in every situation at the same time. Dad on the other hand is CONSISTENT, but he can definitely be unpredictable. He’s consistent in that once he sets his mind to something, he does it.
I suppose that’s one thing about us that we have in common. I’m positive I got my stubborn streak from his side of the family. My cousins, uncles, and almost everybody including my father on his side of the family are the kind that, once we set our mind to something, it’s hard for us to back down.
That’s why I felt a quiet victory, even though I was to be on the receiving end of punishment. I knew for my father to change course after saying he’d spank my bare bottom was difficult for him, and that gave me a small sense of satisfaction. I would’ve had a LARGE sense of satisfaction if Donny or Scotty were getting punished right now, but unfortunately they hadn’t actually done anything wrong.
I scanned the two of their faces and made a mental note to try to come up with some way to get THEM in trouble later. Donny’s pimpled face and peach-fuzz mustache was enough to piss me off – but watching him laughing it up with the others was enough to make me swear vengeance on him.
Janie was laughing and chuckling too, but she was too easy to get into trouble, so I would put her last on my revenge list.
I couldn’t even look directly at my mother. I hated to admit to myself that what I felt was actual guilt for putting her in that situation, and I was doing my best not to acknowledge her at all.
“So, changed your mind, huh? What happened to always doing what you say you’re going to do?” I put my hands on my hips and puffed out my chest triumphantly. My father had bluffed that he’d discipline me on my bare ass, and I had just gambled that he wouldn’t dare – and won!
“I didn’t change my mind at all.” Dad’s smug face instantly turned my winning grin into a worried grimace. “I just don’t want you to strip naked out in the living room.” Dad told my mom to take me to the bedroom, put me in one of the white aprons, and bring me back out with it hanging open the same width hers was when I played that dirty trick on her.
Curse the luck – I didn’t win after all! I didn’t want to admit to myself I had lost quite yet, though. I remained composed and acted as if it was no big deal, despite panicking internally.
The derisive laughter of my brothers and sister was unbearable – I closed my eyes. I coat my face in makeup in part because I never want to see the pink embarrassed shade of humiliation on my own cheeks. I knew that the makeup wasn’t doing anything to hide it at all.
“But Tom,” Mom started in my defense. Good old predictable mom – she would call for cooler heads and put an end to this spectacle. “My white apron hangs very low. Are you sure you want her in JUST the apron?” she asked calmly.
I was disappointed she hadn’t suggested he just give me a firm talking-to and a warning like they would have in the past. Mom and Dad were often so busy raising the other kids and living their lives they didn’t have a lot of time or energy to do much more than this – suddenly now, they want to ‘fix’ me?
I said nothing, smugly assuming Mom would take a softer and less direct approach with my father. She would suggest how totally inappropriate it would be to wear an apron with my butt hanging out and then let him put the brakes on this himself – better for it to feel like it was ‘his idea’ all along.
“I don’t believe that I ASKED you your opinion. And after you’ve demonstrated your lack of judgement today, I’m surprised that you’re expressing one right now.” Dad told my mother that he wanted me out here in 5 minutes with nothing on but the apron.
“I don’t mind.” I had to open my yap. “It’s just a few swats and then I can change back.” I tried to act brave. I had no idea how hard my father would hit my butt, but I figured even at 2 seconds a swat – that the whole thing would be over in about a minute. I was genuinely pretty confident that if my Dad dared to follow through, that he couldn’t put me in my place this way, and I’d show him by laughing it off after it was all done.
Then he would know corporal punishment doesn’t work and we could all go back to normal.
So yes, my brothers and sister would have their story about the time their big sister got a bruised ass for a full minute that they could cherish for the rest of their boring little lives, but it would all be over soon enough and I could go back to being me.
“Fifty swats from your father is nothing to sneeze at!” Mom assured me with a voice that sounded like a mixture of concern and experience. Her concern worried me that I’d woefully underestimated this punishment and I probably shouldn’t have made it a laughing matter.
I still couldn’t look directly at my mom, but I shot back a scathing and hurtful, “You would know!”
I don’t know the power of my own sarcasm sometimes, because that actually came out a whole lot meaner than I actually had intended it to sound. I couldn’t put it back in my mouth after I said it – so I stood behind it and didn’t apologize.
“Your rules are that you speak to your betters as ‘Sir’ or ‘Ma’am’, and you look them in the eyes when they’re talking to you!” Dad insisted on adding another 10 swats to my sentence.
“You said that my rules were to call YOU ‘Sir’.” I looked my father in the eyes, but unlike most people who I can intimidate with a scary glance – he didn’t flinch.
“I haven’t told you the rules yet. After you’ve received your spanking we can decide what they’re to be,” Dad said, adding as an afterthought, “You’ll wait an hour in the apron – standing in the corner of the living room.” He said that I needed to learn patience. He told me he would go over the rules in waves to make it easier for me to understand.
“I’m not stupid.” I glared at him for implying I needed to be talked down to or have things over-simplified.
“If you were smart, you’d learn to call me ‘Sir’ and watch your tone.” Dad disagreed, and told me that the rules would come at the pace he sets. “I need to think through them. There are elements I feel would be appropriate to teach you respect, and there are things you’re simply not ready for that I feel would benefit you in the long run.” Dad sounded like he sincerely believed this was all for my benefit.
I, on the other hand, felt it was absolutely about demonstrating he’s the King of the Castle, and knocking me down a peg, and getting even with me for embarrassing Mom and him. I suppose, in retrospect, it was a bit of both.
“So you really don’t know what the rules should be.” I couldn’t help but sound snarky as I tried the tactic of attacking my confidence in my father having a coherent plan. I would have actually been far more worried if my father did come out with a fully thought-out plan he’d been working on. It would mean he’d been dwelling on it. I just wanted to nitpick and plant the seed that his indecision was weakness so that he’d back down.
Unfortunately, it didn’t work.
He just doubled down on his explanation and told me that not all methods of discipline work for everyone, but if I kept at it I would experience all of them, and THEN he would determine which ones worked the best.
He actually managed to make me think twice about responding and I shut my mouth. I could have suggested something about him using whips and chains, like he did on Mom, but I thought better of it. He was already sore that everybody in the family knew about his bondage games with mom. I decided to just shut my mouth—I’m rebellious, not stupid.
“This isn’t about instant gratification. That’s one of the problems with your generation – you get instant baked potatoes and 500 channels on TV and internet everywhere you go. You have to unlearn all of that – and once you’ve calmed down and collected yourself, I’ll go over the rules going forward on MY time, not yours. I’ll give you 10 swats at a time, go over a few of the ground rules, and then 10 more. Your total is 50, by the way – you forgot to call me ‘Sir’ back there when you said you weren’t stupid. Once the hour is up you can get dressed, but you’ll have to follow the rules to the letter or I’ll repeat this process!”
“Shit, an hour? Why not all day, Sir?” I chuckled at him, but in my mind I was already starting to worry that an entire hour with nothing to do but think about all the shitty rules and chores he may come up with was going to be hell!
“You know you have the right to remain silent,” he said with a tinge of humor in his deep voice, “even if you seem incapable of actually doing it.”
I probably shouldn’t have shot off my mouth, but at the moment it was all I had to defend myself with.
“You’re going to make me parade around here for an hour in front of them and their friends with my ass hanging out, Sir, and you don’t see the problem?” I exaggerated. Dad had only said I had to stand in the corner with an apron on after I got a spanking – but I felt painting the picture helped make my case that he was being unreasonable.
It only made my brothers laugh harder at my situation as they pictured it.
“I hadn’t planned on you marching around and parading,” Dad said calmly, and he assured me he wouldn’t let their friends come over and watch.
“Awww, but Dad…” Scotty, my little brother, pleaded humorously that I had shown the videos of Mom to my friends.
“My friend didn’t know about her running a shame-game on Mom, but she invited her friends over here knowing full well they may see her butt!” Donny’s case against me sounded less like a joke and more like he thought fair was fair on that topic.
I quietly moved Donny to the tippy-top of my personal imaginary vendetta list.
“That’s true, fair is fair, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.” Dad said something corny like that. I can’t quite remember exactly how he phrased it, but that was the spirit of his response to my brother. He almost made me think he’d allow them to come over before adding that he was better than me and held himself to a higher standard of behavior. “It’s getting late, and I doubt very seriously any of your friends will be back in an hour anyway,” he mused apologetically.
Dad was clearly joking about being open to their friends coming over and ogling me in the apron, but my little sister didn’t pick up on sarcasm very well—we were polar opposites in that sense. “Janie said why not wear the apron for a full day, though? If they come back tomorrow will it be okay?”
“I was kidding when I said that, fart face!” I quickly clarified for her sake. She could be a real stickler about following rules to the letter and had a hard time catching on to some of my sarcasm.
My skin crawled as I quietly moved Janie up the vendetta priority list – I’d only been talking shit to get my dad’s goat about that. I had regretted immediately suggesting wearing the apron for a day to make it seem like it didn’t bother me. It DID bother me, and I was doing my best to hide my nervousness.
“Let’s see how I feel about it after she changes, eh Princess? Your sister could benefit from learning when it’s a good time to joke around and when she should be serious.” Dad’s pet name for my sister irked me as well. She was clearly his favorite and she absolutely adored being treated like the perfect Princess Pollyanna that does no wrong. Dad pointed upstairs and I began trudging to their bedroom.
“Walk straight – shoulders back and chin up.” Dad told my mom to make sure I did, and tell him if I didn’t, because he could always add to the punishments in creative ways.
“You don’t trust MOM to mete out the punishments in creative ways?” I honestly had no idea where I was going with that. I just wanted to get the last word in as I went up the stairs and threw out a half-assed insult to imply my dad was a bit of a control freak.
No surprise there – Dad was a project manager or something in his job, and he was always the one who planned family vacations and made the big decisions. He wouldn’t see being a micromanager as much of an insult.
He did, though, because he had Mom stop me on the stairs and turn around to face him.
“You will call your mother ‘Ma’am’.” He made me look at him and repeated it. “I really need you to listen to me, Taylor. I’m worried about you and your attitude. This has gone really too far, and tonight’s been a wake-up call for me. I need it to be a wake-up call for YOU. If that means you wearing an apron and getting your butt spanked each and every time you disrespect us, then that’s how it’s going to have to be. You will obey her exactly as you would me.” He let that sink in.
I didn’t think he could see me grinning as I thought to myself that meant I would ignore her instructions, the same way I did his anytime I could.
“I can see from your face that words and lectures aren’t doing a lot of good right now.” He must have noticed my facial expression, so I made it disappear quickly. “You need some discipline and consequences before you’re going to be open to meaningful change.” He turned his back on me.
Janie followed, skipping behind on Mom’s heels. Once we were in my parents’ bedroom I told her, “Would you fuck off, fart face? I don’t need you tra-la-la-ling around here right now,” I said coldly to my little sister.
She had a hurt look on her face and looked at Mom for permission to remain. “You can stay,” Mom assured her. She turned to me and told me to undress while she started looking through her walk-in closet for an apron.
“Yes, Ma’am,” I said crisply, while mock-signaling a Heil Hitler goose-step.
I didn’t think she could see me from in the closet, but she insisted, “I saw that!”
I stepped out of my sneakers and began to take my shirt off.
“I wish your father hadn’t insisted you call me ‘Ma’am’,” Mom admitted as she emerged from the closet holding a frilly, lace apron freshly plucked from a wire hanger.
“I know – it sounds retarded,” I agreed with her.
Mom huffed and told me that I was to never use the word retarded again, before explaining she didn’t want to be called ‘Ma’am’ because it made her feel old.
“You are old, though,” I joked as I pulled my shirt off over my head and threw it on the floor at my feet by their king-size bed. “How am I supposed to refer to a retard then if I can’t say he’s retarded?” I asked plainly.
“First off, you’re to call me ‘Ma’am’, and if you fail to remember that I’ll add 10 more strokes to your punishment for each infraction,” Mom reminded me.
I sighed and crossed my arms in front of my bare bosoms while pointing out she’d just said she didn’t like the word ’Ma’am‘, and because she didn’t like the word ’retard‘, I assumed that I shouldn’t call her ‘Ma’am’ either.
“The first mistake you’re making is assuming you understand what I wanted without my explicit instruction.” Mom said for me to get my hands to my side and never cross them again like that when bare-chested. “You were told by your father to call me ‘Ma’am’, and if you’re learning any sort of submission then the first and most important rule is to ask if you don’t understand the expectations,” she lectured.
I removed my hands slowly from my chest and looked her in the eye for the first time since my punishment began. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Ma’am?” I said accusingly as I narrowed my eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that again, Taylor.” Mom was clearly uncomfortable being bossy this way towards me, and that was at least satisfying, watching her struggle trying to assert herself more directly. “You look at me with eyes wide and passive.” She explained that she was definitely NOT enjoying this – not one bit.
“My husband is angry with me and has every right to be,” she explained. “My kids all saw my naked ass and my butt-plug. You put a video of my private life with my husband on the cloud and showed it to your friends; and my daughter is a willful, stubborn mess—none of this pleases me, Taylor.” Mom sounded serious. and I regretted poking her to get a rise out of her just now.
“Sorr-ree! Ma’am” I declared in a goofy voice with no real trace of apology. “This is no picnic for me, either,” I admitted, my arms instinctively riding up from my hips to cross in front of my chest.
“Your father gave you five minutes to get downstairs. I assure you that he’s very specific about time, and he’ll have given you only enough time to do your task with no dilly-dally.” She told me we could stand around here talking all night, but my father would be downstairs adding more punishments for when I finally did come down. “You don’t want to give him even a reason to be angry – just do as you’re told and you’ll be fine. This won’t kill you – it may even teach you a thing or two.” Mom asked where my bra was, anyway, as she watched me unzip and step out of my jeans.
“I went free-boobing it today, commando style,” I laughed. In my defense, had I known I may have been stripped naked, I probably would have worn some underclothing.
I should say that there are girls at my school who wear no panties or bra and dress like total sluts all the time. Some of the prettiest cheerleaders at my school routinely “forget” to wear spanks under their skirts after a girl last year made it popular during one of the football games. I’m not an extroverted attention-whore like them who likes to get validation from boys by showing off my goodies.
I just like sometimes to be subversive, and the freedom of not wearing undergarments. Restrictive bras with underwire, and panties made for fashion instead of comfort, are not my favorite things. If I had known I’d be in this situation, I most certainly would have worn as many layers of clothing as I could have reasonably put on.
“Well, you used my credit card to buy some very nice lingerie.” She admitted she knew all along that I’d bought some fancy underthings. “The least you could do is wear it. Now you’ll be free-boobing it downstairs, and this apron doesn’t exactly provide that much coverage in the front,” she admitted.
That was something of an understatement.
I’d never seen Mom wear this particular apron before. It was made of sheer white material with lace, and tied loosely in the back. If she’d worn it, even with a blouse, it would have been fairly obvious she was naked. The kind she wore around the house fastened in the back and was more like a skirt once it was tied off.
This was more like a traditional kitchen apron you wear for cooking; and because my mom has much bigger tits than mine, it hung down enough that all of my cleavage could be seen. I was fortunate my nipples weren’t exposed, but if I were to jump or move quickly they may just pop out.
“I didn’t expect you to be sporting Wynona Ryder’s Brown Beaver look.” Mom made a cutting remark about something I’d said the night prior when I saw she had a shaved pussy.
“I don’t feel the need to shave myself bald downstairs, Ma’am,” I explained, careful to remember to call her ‘Ma’am’. “I’ll leave that to you and Janie.” I hadn’t seen my younger sister’s pubic area, but I enjoyed teasing her that she hadn’t got any pubes yet.
“Hey! That’s mean!” my sister pouted, and folded her arms as she flung herself on my parents’ bed.
“Careful, Sis.” I warned her that my parents’ sex-trapeze might come flying loose if she jumped around too hard on the bed.
“What’s a sex trapeze?” Janie asked curiously.
Mom warned me not to tease my sister and, once she was satisfied that I was as covered as I could be, she told me to walk slow and keep my hands at my side.
“Why? To give the pre-verts down below something to stare at? Ma’am,” I said as we left their bedroom.
Mom said that wasn’t the reason at all. “You said it yourself, your brothers have seen butts before, so I don’t see the big deal here.” She absolutely DID feel uncomfortable with me going downstairs the way I was dressed because she’d done her level best to afford me the most protection the apron could provide. “You need to learn to walk with your shoulders back, chin up, and your boobs up and out.” Mom demonstrated for me a very submissive and sexualized walk that accentuated her hips and the fullness of her ass.
“Why, Ma’am?” I asked with some alarm in my voice – that looked beyond naughty.
“For the pleasure of your betters,” Mom began before changing her story and saying that if I’m going to learn grace, humility, obedience, and patience, then I needed to adopt the body language of someone who’s not stalking the earth in search of something to ridicule. “You walk like a cobra about ready to strike – your father’s going to go much easier on you if you adopt a proper posture. You have less than thirty seconds – walk slowly. One step at a time, and if you stop or fold your arms I’m going to spank you myself!” she warned.
“Dad didn’t say you could punish me.” I reminded her that he only said I had to respect her orders and authority. “He just said I had to call you ‘Ma’am’ and do what you said,” I reminded her.
“You’re right,” Mom smiled at me a toothy-white smile. My mother had an amazingly beautiful set of choppers when she smiled. “I’ll clarify when we get downstairs.” She faced me towards the stairs and had me walk in front of her and my sister.
My brothers were surprisingly quiet as I descended to the living room. I could tell from their snickering and holding their hands over their mouths that my father had talked to them about controlling themselves.
“This is not for your amusement, boys,” Dad told them sternly. “I wouldn’t even allow you to see me do this if I didn’t want you to take it as a warning that it can and will happen to you. We’ve reached a point with your sister that she can’t just be reasoned with, and she’s given me no option,” I heard him say, as I summoned up the courage to walk with my head held high.
I felt like a condemned prisoner walking to the gallows.
“Go ahead and get it out of your system.” I told them to laugh it up – but I was just putting on a brave face.
“Taylor.” My dad addressed me, and told me to assume the position.
“Wha-what position, Sir?” I hated that my nervousness was so obvious, and my brothers became a little emboldened with their laughter.
“The position to get your booty swatted,” Scotty chimed in with a grin.
“Scott…” My father warned him that he didn’t need any help from him on this matter. “I can send you up to your room,” he warned him. I really wished he would – I thought about goading my little brother into saying a few more asinine things to get him kicked out of watching my punishment, but the risk Dad would punish me for being a smartass and inciting him was too great for me to tempt it.
“Yes sir, captain Sir!” Scotty’s enthusiastic answer earned him a strange look from his father, but Dad was focused on me. He stood up and pointed to the couch.
“Bend over, feet shoulder’s width apart, and grab your ankles if you can.” Dad instructed me on what he considered a punishment position. “This puts you in a submissive posture, ready to listen and receive instruction. You are attentive and won’t be easily distracted from the position. It also makes it easy to apply discipline to your body.” My dad’s serious and unsympathetic tone scared me. He spoke about me like I was a prop in a biology class for dissecting frogs.
I purposely bent over so that my ass wasn’t presented to my brothers, but the apron was falling all over the place. When I bent over it hung open, revealing my bare tits to them.
“Can we take cell-phone video? It’s only fair; after all, she took one of Mom getting hers.” Donny had his cell phone out.
“Phones put away.” Dad warned him that what happens in the house, stays in the house. “I don’t want you to talk about this with anyone. You pull that phone out or record it and I assure you that you won’t sit for a week,” he warned my brother. I secretly grinned as I held my ankles in the position I’d been given.
“You’re surprisingly limber.” Dad sounded impressed at how I was able to bend over.
“Mom not able to hold this position, Sir?” I wished immediately I hadn’t said that. I heard my father sigh from behind me, and he made me wait before he responded.
“You’ve spoken about our private affairs enough. There are things that go on between a married couple that are no one else’s business but their own. The fact that your brothers and sister now know doesn’t please your mother and I. It’s not amusing for you to joke about it. You’re looking at, at least a week of punishment, and I assure you that your little jokes will extend it. I’m not laughing at your jokes, Taylor. I’m going to make sure that by the end of this you aren’t laughing at them either.”
“You gonna get your stinky booty so slapped!” my little sister said in a cute baby voice. That erupted into laughter from my brothers.
“I understand humor is sometimes used to deflect a difficult situation, and make it a little easier to accept,” Dad said dryly. “I want you to all know, though, that for the next hour, this is a no laughing matter. You’re ONLY here because I want to address Taylor’s behavior and let you learn from it. I honestly wish there was a better way to address it, but Taylor has really provided me with few choices. If I were to punish her in private, then your imaginations may run wild and you might picture things happening that you’ve seen on the Internet or in the cell-phone video on Taylor’s phone. I think it’s unorthodox, but better to be completely transparent so you understand that I’m doing this for her own good.”
“Yeah, transparent like her nightgown!” Scotty chuckled out a wisecrack.
“Stop looking at my boobs through it, you perv.” I corrected him and told him it was an apron, not a nightgown.
“Same difference!” Scotty stuck his tongue out at me and I stuck mine out back.
“This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen.” Dad took control back from us, and we stopped goofing on each other immediately. “You’re about to be punished, and yet you’re being rude to your brother!”
“Yeah, she’s supposed to respect her betters!” Donny fist-bumped his younger brother and said that I should have to call them ‘Sir’ as well.
“You’re not her betters.” Dad reminded him that, as my brother, he was just a regular family member with no particular power over anyone, including himself. “You answer to me and your mother, just like Taylor does.”
I wanted to stick my tongue out at him, now that Dad put him in his place, but I just imagined it while glaring at him.
“Yeah, but aren’t we better because we didn’t do anything rotten like her?” Janie pouted and asked to be addressed as ‘Princess’.
“I want to be a king! Your Royal Majesty Scotty the third, esquire!” Scotty actually stood up and bowed formally. I wasn’t sure if it was to get a good look at my butt before he sat down, or if it was just for comedic effect – maybe both.
“You aren’t a king, though, and you aren’t even the third. Your name is Scott Swift, and I’ll go so far as to require her to be polite to you and not insult you – as long as you don’t insult her first,” Dad had just made his first rule.
“Aren’t I your princess though, Daddy?” My little sister fluttered her eyelashes, and with a cute little pout that showed her dimples, she had just amended my father’s first rule.
“Fine, I don’t see the harm in her addressing you all respectfully while she’s under restriction. You will call your sister Princess Janie or Princess, but I’m sorry, Scotty – you aren’t the King of the Castle.” Dad clearly reserved that position for himself.
“What about a Duke? A really cool Duke? Duke Scotty Pippington Merriweather the Third, First of his name, Lord of the Vandal and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm!” he said enthusiastically while I rolled my eyes quietly.
“It’s King of the ANDALS and the First Men,” his brother corrected him in whatever form of nerd-speak that Scotty had just gotten wrong.
“Whatever, it’s the same thing!” The two of them started to argue before my dad interrupted and said that title was a bit too long for general use anyway. “I’m glad you’re having fun with it and, now that I think about it, I’m guessing your sister would benefit from some speech protocol in her discipline. I will say that all males she is to refer to as ‘Sir’, or ‘Sir’ and their first name, and all females as ‘Ma’am’, ‘Madam’ and their first name, besides Princess Janie – would you all agree to that?” Dad just corrected and amended his first rule.
They were all too eager to agree to it, and had several questions about what happens WHEN I forget to address them that way.
“Gee, thanks for your confidence, SIR.” I made it a point to address my brother with the proper form of address, but it honestly felt like a fart being dragged through my teeth as I said the words to him with revulsion.
“You need to work on your tone.” Dad told them that I hadn’t been spanked yet, and that it would be impossible for me to gauge the consequences of my action or failure to adhere to the rules without a frame of reference. “Let me give her the first 10, and I’ll address your questions,” Dad said patiently, and they gleefully cheered.
I was about to suggest they make some popcorn, since they were so entertained watching me get punished, when the first slap spread across my ass.
There is nothing to really prepare you for the first time someone slaps your ass hard. It was an experience that I still remember quite vividly. The force of my dad’s hand coming down hard on my ass-cheeks and wrapping around it. The fire-like spread of pain that seemed to radiate as he withdrew his hand and the sudden shock of the sound it made as it cracked against my butt.
I wouldn’t begin to feel the warm radiant feeling until about thirty seconds later, but the initial shock startled me. I almost peed myself as I grunted and steadied myself. I remember thinking that wasn’t so bad, and looking over my shoulder at him defiantly.
“This is where you count the number, thank me, and ask to be punished further,” Dad said instructively.
“Why would I need to do that, Sir? You know it’s been one, and that I don’t actually want to be punished. Why would I lie to you?” I asked.
Dad considered my question, and while he did I felt my nipples harden and my pussy getting wet. I absolutely hated that feeling. I’d been playing with myself ever since I could remember, but I’ve never been the type to be curious or want sex with anyone else. The last thing I wanted to do was get turned on while my father was behind me slapping my ass.
“You’ll count so that you establish that you know how many you’ve received. That’s for your benefit – you need to be aware and not tune out the correction you’re receiving,” he said.
I had no idea how anyone could ‘tune’ this out.
“You’ll thank me because it’s manipulative on your part to whine, beg, or complain and make me feel bad, when the discipline you receive is to address your own mischievous behavior and educate you on how to act properly,” Dad said. Adding, “Finally, you’re not being asked to be deceptive. It’s quite the contrary. You’ll learn to ask for the full measure of your correction, because if you don’t complete the full correction, you’ll misbehave further and receive even more punishment. The sooner you learn to be a good girl, the sooner this can stop. If you want to render the lesson meaningless, so that you endure more pain, you’d stop and not voluntarily submit to punishment. Do you understand?”
“So this is voluntary and I can say ‘stop’, Sir?” I asked, sensing a loophole in my father’s logic. I should have googled the terms he used the day before, but I suddenly remembered him mentioning safe, sane, and CONSENSUAL.”
Dad adjusted his shirt and got down close to my face. “You volunteered for this when you chose to take off your jeans to avoid my belt,” he said.
“Yeah, but I didn’t volunteer for the belt either, Sir!” I genuinely felt that was a good point that he would have to acknowledge.
“Good point!“ Dad acknowledged it, and I smiled. “You volunteered for that when you CHOSE to blackmail your mother and engineer a situation where everyone saw her ass. Now everyone here is seeing your ass. Any other questions, or are you ready to count and thank me?” If Dad and I were playing chess, he would have just declared a checkmate.
I was surprised that my brothers and sister weren’t laughing or commenting – it was strangely quiet as everyone awaited my response.
“Fuck you, and fuck all of this,” I could have said, and then ran out of the room, put my clothes on and moved to Brazil or Paris and lived a life of high adventure.
I didn’t, though.
“One, Sir, thank you – please continue with my correction,” I said, my voice sounding squeakier than I’d hoped.
That’s when my brothers and sister laughed.
Dad ignored them and followed up with a second, third, and fourth swat.
“Does it hurt?” Janie asked me on the fifth one. I should say that I was halfway done with the first set of ten of the fifty I had to endure. That’s about 10%, for you math geeks reading this. I really had no idea based on that, but at the time I thought I did.
“Not as bad as it sounds, Princess.” I saw a pleased smile on her face as I addressed her by the title of nobility she’d chosen for herself. She straightened her shoulders and sat up, pleased with my response. This was hurting my pride much more than it was my ass, and I knew it was going to be over soon so I was being a good sport about it.
Dad didn’t say a word when I said that. He spoke with his hand. The sixth swat on my ass was twice as hard and loud as the first five combined. He had clearly been taking it easy on me, and this time I felt part of his hand smack my bare asshole as it came down hard to squash my ass cheeks.
“Oh Fuck.” I fell forward and removed my hands from ankles to catch my fall. Instead of worrying about me, my brothers both laughed as my head became buried in the sofa cushion between the two of them.
“He just gave you a Hurtz Donut!” Scotty chimed in. I knew that old joke where you ask what a Hurtz Donut was and then someone punches you in the arm and asks “Hurts, don’t it?” and I wasn’t falling for it.
“I thought little Miss Taylor could take any amount of pain, and this wasn’t as bad as it sounds?” Dad asked me.
I don’t know if he knows exactly how to push my buttons, or if he just gets lucky, but he did. Instead of agreeing with him, my instinct was to do exactly what I did. I got back up and bent over more deeply with my hands on my ankles to say, “That was six, Sir. Thank you for that correction. Please continue my correction,” I was breathless, but doggedly refused to let him see me cry.
“Good girl.” Dad offered praise which at the time I found odd. He’d said he was pleased with how deeply I grabbed my ankles, and it had actually pleased me when I received a compliment from him. I normally hated when boys said something nice about me, because I knew they were just angling for something – but because Dad was so stingy with his compliments, they felt real and like I’d just earned something.
I found myself loathing the idea of another swat as hard as the last one, but craving him telling me what a good girl I’d been. I would have been dragged behind two horses naked through the street before I would have admitted that to anybody, though.
I submitted to the next four hard slaps against my posterior without so much as a complaint or a slip-up. I thanked him each time, counted and asked for another. I suppose I had expected them to be as hard as the sixth swat, or get increasingly harder, but I actually felt strangely disappointed that, while they were firm, the final four were about as hard as the first five had been. My dad had clearly wanted to demonstrate the raw power of his strength, and he had succeeded in that.
I didn’t cry and I didn’t beg – I was a little shaken, and my ass grew warmer after he was done. I would later find out the pain released endorphins that told the body to release adrenalin as a defense mechanism. It should have made me run – but like a horror movie or an excitement junkie, some people get off on that adrenalin.
I loved horror movies. I don’t mean the kind with Jason and Freddy that are just torture of a bunch of teenagers except the virgin goody-two-shoes that survives. I meant the macabre horror movies that really scare the living crap out of you like ‘The Shining’. I also loved thrill rides like roller coasters.
I would always pretend I loathed hanging out with my family and didn’t want to go – but some of the best times I’ve had were when we rode a bunch of roller coasters down in Florida at Busch Gardens.
I’d always known my dad was athletic – which was surprising because that trait had skipped my brother Donny completely. I had a whole new appreciation for hands that were strong enough to twist off a tough jar lid – let me tell you!
I remained in position trembling – waiting for what was next.