The following story depicts non-consensual physical discipline between adult and teenaged participants. Those offended by graphic descriptions of the corporal punishment of young girls SHOULD READ NO FURTHER. This is entirely a work of fantasy, all characters and events represented herein are completely fictional. Copyright Perry Fowler, 2002, 2004. All rights reserved.
BREAKFAST AT SUZIE'S
1
The snow was just starting to flicker in the breeze as I walked up to the Robinsons’ back door. It was seven-thirty Monday morning and I figured I'd have time for one of Mrs R's world-famous cheese & bacon omelets before the school bus arrived. A few shakes of pepper and a dash of tabasco, the aroma could water your mouth from two streets away. Even now, I can still close my eyes and smell the eggs sizzling in the frying pan. It was one of those things you never seemed to forget, no matter how old you get.
Suzie Robinson was another.
I'd been living next door to Suzie and her folks since about my sixth birthday. We grew up together, playing in the same front yards and watching the same cartoons, all of that small town, picket-fence kinda stuff. I used to drop in at her place for breakfast on the way to school 'most every day. My Mum didn't like me "mooching off the neighbors," as she called it, but then again, she'd never tasted one of Mrs R’s omelets. Anyway, I wasn't just going over to raid the Robinson's refrigerator, contrary to popular opinion.
I was going over to see Suzie.
I guess I loved Suzie back in those days. Everyone did. Hell, it was impossible not to. She was a slim, pretty girl with long blond hair and a sweet, shy smile; the kind you used to see on those covers Norman Rockwell used to paint for the Saturday Evening Post. Her soft, blue eyes were warm enough to melt the snowman in our front yard. It's funny; I never seemed to meet girls like that when I started dating a few years later. Must've been the last of a dying breed or something.
Anyway, I brushed the snowflakes off my face and rapped on the doorpane, already tasting those bacon rashers on the back of my tongue. I always waited until someone came to answer the door, although everybody in the house musta known who it was. I waited for a few moments, slipping my backpack off my shoulder, then heard someone approaching. Light, skittish footsteps, a girl flitting barefoot across cold linoleum.
I got a bit of a surprise when Suzie turned the knob and looked out.
She wasn't dressed yet. She stood half-hiding behind the door, wearing nothing but a little pink vest and a pair of white cotton underpants. Her hair was spilling over her bare shoulders in a blond waterfall, as if she'd just stepped out of the shower. She stared out at me, blushing all the way to her hairline, and I figured it was because she wasn't wearing anything.
I tried to be a gentleman and not look too hard, but my eyes kept swiveling back to her long slim legs every few seconds. This was the first time I'd ever seen Suzie undressed. She usually wore jeans or those long, tartan skirts with the big safety pin, so I'd never realized how pretty her legs were until then.
"Steve," she said, opening the door a little wider, then cast a frightened glance over her shoulder. I suddenly realized that her reddish glow wasn't just embarrassment. Her eyes were huge and wet, her cheeks had the luster of fresh tears. She'd been crying. Crying hard by the look of things.
"Hey," I said, trying to keep my eyes off her underwear, "What's wrong?"
Suzie stepped back, looking anxiously out towards the living room again, then gestured me to enter.
"Come inside," she whispered, biting her lower lip as if to hold back a mouthful of sobs. I stepped forward, dropping my pack on the kitchen floor, scattering snowflakes across the lino. Suzie backed up a little, her features working. She looked miserable. Scared and miserable.
"Jeez, Suzie," I said in a low voice, "what's happened?" I was getting a little scared myself by then. Maybe her Dad had keeled over with a heart attack or something. I'd never known her to cry over nothing, so it had to be pretty serious.
"I just had a fight with Mummy", she replied, in a tiny, struggling voice, "a big one. Daddy's really angry with me." She started weeping out aloud then; unable to hold back the flood any longer. I stood gawping around like a stunned trout for a few seconds, not knowing what to do. I'd had arguments with my pares, sure, but nothing like this. I looked about the kitchen, groping for some word of comfort to offer her, but none came to mind. I was a boy, most of my conversation revolved around baseball cards and catcher's mitts.
I caught myself staring at her panties again and noticed how cold the kitchen was. With the door hanging open and hotplates turned down, the room felt like a freezer. Suzie's arms and thighs were buzzing with gooseflesh. Her clothes were folded over one of the kitchen chairs. That seemed sorta odd to me, but at least it gave me something to say.
"Look, why don't you get dressed?" I asked, pointing to her skirt and sweater, "it's colder'n the north pole in here, Suze. Your feet must feel like slabs of ice."
Suzie's blush darkened; two bright crimson spots stood out on her cheeks, as if she'd only just figured out she was practically naked in the doorway.
"I can't," she replied in a desperate, pleading tone, "I'm not allowed. Daddy told me to wait here in my undies. He - he said he's going to spank me!" Her voice broke completely at the end there. Her words rushed out in a quavering stream, literally ringing with panic.
"What am I going to do Steve?! He's upstairs getting the hairbrush right now. Daddy spanks really hard, and ... and he ..." her words trailed off, leaving the last thought unspoken. Her complexion had assumed the hue of a ripe summer tomato. I had a good idea what she was unable to say out loud but decided to keep it to myself. I shifted uncomfortably, taking a hesitant step towards the door.
"Look, Suze, maybe I'd better ..."
That was about as far as I got. Suzie grabbed me by the arm with both hands, imploring me to stay put, driving her fingers into my scrawny bicep.
"No, Steve, don’t go, please, he'll be down any minute!! Please Steve, I don't want a spanking"
"But -"
"Maybe he won't spank me if you're here, Steve!! Maybe he'll let me off with a warning, please Steve-"
"Suzie -"
She pulled me closer, looking up at me with enormous, terrified eyes. Her small round face glistened with tears.
"Don't leave me here alone, Steve", she whispered.
And my heart went out to her. Here she was, the sweetest little girl I'd ever known, crying on my shoulder and begging me to be her knight in shining armor. I bit my lip, looking across the living room towards the staircase. Bill Robinson was a big, beefy guy, I didn't want to get him angry. The smartest thing I could’ve done was excuse myself as gently as possible and head down to the bus stop. This was none of my business, and she'd get over it eventually.
But then again, Suzie was a friend, one of my closest. Not exactly my girlfriend, but I'd grown pretty fond of her over the years. I didn't want to see her take a whuppin', no matter what she'd done to earn it. How could I up and walk out on her without a backward glance? Who knows, maybe Mr R had calmed down while he was upstairs getting the brush. Maybe he'd decide a stern rebuke and two weeks grounding was more in order than a smarting bottom. Maybe Aunt Jessie's prize porker was gonna sprout wings and fly first-class to Sunny California.
“Look, Suze,” I said, closing the back door to shut out the breeze, “when he comes down, tell him you're sorry.” I didn't much envy her chances, but I figured I had to do something. I mean, a real man doesn't run out on his friends in their hour of need, look at Garry Cooper in High Noon.
"Apologize to your Mum too, that always helps", I continued, putting on my most serious face, the one I saved specially for heart-to-hearts or down-home spanking advice, "then promise 'em it'll never happen again, scouts' honour. That always works with my folks when I'm in the dutch". Of course, I didn't mention that neither of my parents believed in corporal punishment. Nor the fact that my old man was an entirely different kettle of fish to Big Bill Robinson.
Suzie released my arm, but the dread never left her features. Now that I'd agreed to hang around, a rather unpleasant idea was occurring to her.
"He ... he won't spank me in front of you, will he Steve? I mean, he wouldn't do that, would he?" Her lower lip was trembling again. Suzie could imagine nothing worse than having her naughty little bottom smacked in public, even before an audience of one.
While I fumbled round for an answer which didn't involve the words Yes, I think that's PRECISELY what he'd do given half the chance, Suzie turned towards the living room, her expression tightening with fear. She put a hand to her mouth, stepping back towards the table. The answer was descending the staircase, carrying a black, wooden hairbrush in its right hand. We could hear his boots clocking on the polished cedar steps like the hooves of judgment. Suzie swung back to me, her eyes dancing with near-hysteria.
"He's coming!!" She started whimpering in a little girl's voice, "he's coming, Steve, he's coming down here right now!!" She burst into a new storm of tears, looking towards me for support, as if there was anything I could do to help. As if there was some way I could convince her Dad that this was all some kind of misunderstanding: Suzie was really sorry, she didn't mean anything by it, honest to God she didn't, cross-my-heart-hope-to-die, stick-a-needle-in-my-eye. How's about we just sit down, put it all behind us, forget it ever happened? Life goes on, live and let live, amen and hallelujah to that.
Mr Robinson's heavy footfalls approached the archway. I felt Suzie's shoulder touching mine, and suddenly realized what her Daddy was going to see when he stepped into the kitchen. Here I was, the fridge-raiding delinquent from next door, standing next to his half-naked, adolescent daughter. I hurriedly placed two long strides between us, thinking it might have been a good idea to skip the free meal this morning.
Not that there were any on the menu today, the way things were shaping up.
2
Bill Robinson was one of those heavy-set, broad-shouldered men you always seemed to find hanging around building sites and demolition zones. A big, muscular guy - not tall, but stocky: solid like a brick wall (which was sort of appropriate, considering that he owned a small construction firm in town). Old fashioned, too; a firm believer in truth, justice and the American way. The kind of person you always called ‘sir’ to his face and never got smart with under any circumstances, not unless you wanted his bootprint on your hynie as he showed you to the door.
Not that he was a monster or anything. He was tough, but he wasn't stupid or mean (unlike many of our neighbors back in those days). I'd always gotten on well with him, and he seemed to like me in a brusque, dismissive way, calling me ‘Steven’ when he was in a good mood and ignoring me completely at all other times. He'd coached my baseball team a few years back and often took us out for hotdogs after the game, although he harbored a secret vice for pizza, beernuts and pretzels. In short, he was a typical family man of the early seventies, more Archie Bunker than Mike Brady, more Bud than Heineken.
He didn't seem to notice my presence as he stood in the kitchen's archway, staring down at Suzie through narrowed eyelids. All thought of plea-bargaining left my mind as I looked up into that granite visage. Nothing I said or did would have made any difference. Hell, I shouldn't have even been there in the first place. Much as I hated to admit it, Suzie was on her own this time.
Mr R looked mildly annoyed rather than angry, but I knew from long acquaintance that appearances could be deceptive. He was furious, utterly furious, and he intended to teach his daughter a much-needed lesson. Suzie would be catching the bus with a hot, throbbing bottom this morning, and she'd feel herself damned lucky to be getting off so lightly. Bill Robinson wasn't a man to be trifled with, as she was about to find out.
"Alright," he said, absently tapping the hairbrush against his left hand, "we have some business to attend to, young lady".
Suzie immediately lapsed into a flood of sobbing pleas, begging his forgiveness with wild promises of good behavior. Her skin was suffused with a delicate rose flush, her face was radiant with brilliant, pink heat.
"No, Daddy, please don't," she cried in a high, quailing tone, "I'm sorry about everything, really Daddy, PLEASE don't, I'll never do it again, please don't Daddy, PLEASE don't SPANK me, PLEASE DON'T SPANK MY BOTTOM-"
Mr R's expression didn't alter. Spankings were rare in the Robinson household, but Bill never wavered in his duties when Suzie's conduct warranted a firm hand. He leaned in closer, bringing the brush flat against his palm with a loud thwack.
"You've been a very naughty girl, Suzie," he told her grimy, "and you know exactly what you've done to deserve this! Now get into the living room and wait for me by the corner-chair. You're going over my knee".
Suzie wailed in despair, stamping her feet like a five year old.
"Noooooooooo. No Daddy, no, I don't want a SPANKING, nooooooooo".
Bill's eyes flashed with rage.
"You want me to get the strap?"
"NOOOOOOOOOOOO."
"Then get in that living room RIGHT NOW!!" He roared.
That was enough for Suzie. She sprinted through the archway with her face lowered, moaning in abject misery. Cutting across the living room in her little white panties, she halted next to the corner-chair, her shoulders hitching with huge, gasping sobs. Her round, pixie face was shining with hot tears as she looked back at her father, trembling as much with apprehension as with cold. She knew what was coming next.
So did I.
"Well, I'd better be going now ..." I mumbled under my breath, creeping towards the door as quietly as possible. I know how difficult that is to believe; a teenaged boy who didn't want to see a cute young girl being spanked in her underwear, but it was true. Suzie was one of the sweetest, kindest people I knew; and me - well, like said before - I loved her. I loved her with that pure, innocent longing only felt by Elizabethan poets and computer geeks. This was the girl I went skating with most Friday nights. I had no desire to see my best friend getting her buns whacked by an irate Father.
However, the matter was decided out of hand a couple of seconds later, as Mr Robinson noticed me edging across the linoleum. I froze on the spot as he locked me in his sights.
“Sit down over there," he grunted, gesturing towards the table, "this won't take long." To this day, I have no idea why he allowed me to witness the morning's fanny-smacking festivities. Maybe he wanted someone around to take Suzie down to the bus-stop when the show was finished. Maybe he wanted her to suffer a little extra discomfort, knowing that the omelet-moocher was watching from the back row. Or maybe I was just so insignificant it didn't matter what I saw.
Anyway, none of that's important now. The point is, Mr R wanted me to stay put, and I didn't ask any questions, no-siree. Seated at the kitchen table with my heart climbing half-way up my throat, I had a clear view of proceedings as Big Bill Robinson stalked out to the living room to give his daughter the spanking of a life-time.
3
Waiting by the corner-chair, Suzie started whimpering as her father sat down, setting aside the brush while he unbuttoned his shirt cuffs. The corner-chair was a tall, wooden straight-back, old and scuffed like something out of an antique shop. I've never understood why they called it the ‘corner’ chair, seeing as it'd always been located near the centre of the room. Suzie later told me that her spankings usually took place right in front of the wide, picture windows that looked out onto the street. Her worst nightmare was that one of her friends might drop by while she was having her bottie tanned, which was why she was normally so well behaved.
Well, I guess her dream came true that morning.
Having finished his sleeve-rolling operations, Bill decided to get down to business. No preamble, no scolding, no pre-spanking lecture; the girl was well aware of what she'd done, and now it she had to face the consequences. Tacitly ignoring Suzie's mournful protests, he ordered her to move on to the next phase of her discipline.
"You know the drill, Suzan: bend over and take those panties down."
Suzie gasped in shock - as I'd suspected earlier, this was the part she dreaded the most; the thing she'd been unable to even mention when I first arrived. Baring her bottom always left Suzie dizzy with shame - all the more today because there would be a witness to her ordeal. She started dancing from foot to foot, trapped between natural, adolescent modesty and the overwhelming fear of her Father's anger.
"No, Daddy, noooooooo", she shrilled in utter panic, her face blazing with embarrassment, "I don't want Steve to see, please Daddy, let me keep them up, spank me over my panties, don't make me take them down, please Daddy..."
"You get those panties down, young lady", Bill growled in a low, menacing rumble, "I won't tell you again!" And he meant it, too. Way out in the kitchen, I could hear the thunder in his voice. Another second's delay and he'd be going for the strap.
Suzie wailed in absolute humiliation. Bending over from the hips, she peeled her underwear gingerly down her thighs, placing her pert, young bottomtops on open exhibition. They seemed to peek out from over the lacy trim of her waistband, soft and ripe and invitingly lush. I stared in eye-bulging astonishment, entranced by the spectacle of those smooth, alabaster globes. I couldn't help myself, I just had to look: her quivering, white cheeks seemed to fill my entire field of vision.
Suzie slipped her panties down to her knees then straightened up, crossing her hands in front of herself. She'd always had a rather boyish figure, but she’d been filling out nicely in recent months. Her hips had taken on the gentle curves of womanhood while her waistline seemed to have shrunk away to practically nothing. I'd noticed Suzie's blossoming shape when she opened the door earlier on, but seeing her like this almost knocked me out of my chair. This was turning out to be a day of revelations, I kid you not.
Meantime, poised at the very brink of a spanking, Suzie still clung to the hope that she could overturn the verdict: "Please Daddy, don't spank me", she begged, I can't stand it Daddy; it'll hurt real bad, I just know it will, please don't Daddy, I'll be really good from now on, honest I will, don't Daddy, please don't, PLEASE don't SPANK my BOTTOM, noooooooo-"
Mr R cut her off in mid-sentence, taking her by the forearm and pulling her forward in small, tottering steps. Suzie wailed all the louder, knowing that her time was up. She stumbled heel-over-toe to her Daddy's side, shaking her derriere with each faltering step.
Suzie dug her feet into the floorboards, simpering in terror as Bill led her across his lap: No, Daddy, nooooo, noooooooooo!!! All in vain, of course; she could kick and struggle all she liked, nothing was going to save her now. Mr Robinson had reached the end of his patience. He spread Suzie's weight evenly over his squared knees, shifting her centre of gravity so that her tense, clenching bottie was glaring at the ceiling in mute accusation.
Clamping his left hand over the small of Suzie's back, Bill planted his considerable weight into the corner-chair, getting ready for the long haul. He wanted to make himself as comfortable as possible before the fun started. Suze was looking at a good ten minutes over his knee, but there was no reason why he should suffer the slightest discomfort. Nodding to himself in wry approval, Mr R layed his palm over Suzie's twitching right peach, steeling himself for the task ahead.
Watching from the kitchen table, I couldn't see Suzie's face, but I could well imagine the anguished, hopeless expression she must've been wearing. I mean, she may have been Daddy's Little Girl, but she wasn't a child, not by much anyway. Even I thought she was too old for a spanking. Here she was bent over her Father's knee with her pants down and her naked cheeks raised to the heavens. I could hear her whispering little pleas as Bill made ready to scorch her tail: "No," "Don't," "Please," "I'm sorry," "Daddy," and so on. She sounded roughly six years old to my ears, and I guess that must have been how she felt right at that second.
"OK, stop that wriggling this instant, young lady!" Mr Robinson ordered, his face creased with impatience "you've earned yourself a good ten minutes this time, and I'm not putting up with any of your hi-jinks today. Now lie still and hold your bottom up: you move so much as an inch off my lap and I'll make things a damnsite worse for you".
Bill raised a palm roughly the size of a texas hamhock over his right shoulder, gathering strength for the first stunning blow.
TO BE CONTINUED