The following story depicts non-consensual physical discipline between adult and teenaged participants. Those offended by graphic descriptions of corporal punishment should read no further. This is entirely a work of fantasy; all characters and events depicted herein are completely fictional. Copyright © Perry Fowler, 1999, 2004. All rights reserved.
THE WALK OF SHAME
1.
Tanya sprinted up the stairs in tears. She was frightened, terrified in fact. She was in trouble - serious trouble this time - and she could feel the dread hand of justice looming directly overhead. Her little escapade over on the Westside had been uncovered. Her parents had been utterly furious, particularly her step-father. Bill had sent her straight to her bedroom, and that could mean only one thing. In a very few minutes, she'd be taking down her panties for a good, hard spanking. Her mind contorted in near-hysteria as she scampered through her bedroom door. How could she explain herself, evade her rapidly approaching discipline? If only she hadn't sneaked out to the Blue Heat Disco last weekend! None of this would be happening; her parents wouldn't be so angry with her; and she wouldn't be facing a well-smacked bottom!
Sobbing with girlish fear, Tanya unzipped her blue denim jeans-skirt (LEVIS FOR WOMEN: cut since 1859) and worked it over her hips, allowing it to fall to her feet in a stone-wash pool. Her spankings were always carried out in her underwear; it had become something of a family tradition since Bill had married her mother four years ago. Bill Harrow had instituted quite a number of domestic rituals, much to Tanya's discomfort.
She stepped out of the skirt and loosened up her long-sleeved white blouse, pulling it over her head. Biting her lip, she whimpered slightly as she bent down and slipped her shoes off one foot at a time. She had to be wearing nothing but her bra and panties when Bill called her down to the rumpus room for her spanking. If she turned up with so much as scarf knotted modestly around her waist, her spanking would be a great deal more severe.
I'm going to be SPANKED!! She thought wildly. The phrase asserted itself with an overwhelming urgency, driving virtually everything else from her mind. Choking back a frightened sob, she glanced around the room, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror.
Tanya Harrow was a pretty, petite girl with large blue eyes and wavy brown hair spilling down to her hips. She had long, slender legs and a waist so tiny that a man could almost encircle it with one hand. She was wearing a white lace D-cup bra (extremely low-cut in the cleavage) and a pair of pink satin panties; high-cut briefs with floral lace trimmings. They were tightly stretched across her firm but beautifully curved little tushie. Tanya imagined how they would look, clinging to her thighs as she bared her plump, ripe cheeks.
The image was too much for her.
Turning away from the mirror, she sat down on her bed, blushing with embarrassment. Her tummy was fluttering with apprehension - in a few brief minutes, she'd be summoned downstairs. Swift justice would follow immediately: she'd be wailing and sobbing like a little girl while Bill spanked her bottom a brighter shade of pink than her underwear.
Looking about for something to comfort her anxieties, her gaze fell on the large black teddy bear hibernating at the end of her bed. She'd owned it since she was seven years old, and it had seen her through a great many sore bottoms over the years (especially the last four). She lay down and curled up with the big, squishy toy, allowing herself a few silent tears in its fuzzy embrace.
It was all so unfair!!
She was too old for a spanking!
She'd graduated from senior high school only a few months before, and she was already preparing for college. She shouldn't even be grounded at her age. She was certain that none of her girlfriends went over their father's knees when they broke a curfew or sneaked off at night. They weren't treated like naughty little girls if they stepped out of bounds - and neither should she.
All of which was academic, of course.
Bill had made his decision, and there was nothing Tanya could say or do to change his mind. No matter how hard she tried to sway his verdict, the outcome was always the same. She knew from prior experience that her pleas and promises would all be in vain. Any moment now, she'd hear her name called and she'd have to obey the summons. No hesitation, no delay - a lagging step would result in a much sorer bottom. She'd experienced the consequences of tardiness on more than one occasion, and she had no desire to exacerbate her situation any further.
Just at that second, Tanya heard her mother's voice, calling from the bottom of the stairs.
“Tanya! Your father wants you down here now!!”
There more than a trace of annoyance in her mother's tone. Like Bill, Mommy had a strong belief in the virtues of spanking, and she hadn't been terribly impressed when Tanya's surreptitious ‘excursion’ to the disco had been revealed. She could expect no sympathy there: Mommy had been in complete agreement with Bill as to which form Tanya's penance should take.
Crying softly, Tanya stood up, laid the Teddy aside, and hastened towards the door.
2.
Trotting down the stairs in her bra and panties, Tanya modestly placed a hand over her cleavage, choking back her tears. She couldn't believe she was doing this again; hurrying to the rumpus room as she had a hundred times previously. While she was desperate to avoid her just deserts, Tanya felt helpless to defy her step-father's authority. Not once in the last four years had she even considered refusing a spanking. Not even the very first time Bill made her lower her panties and go over his knee.
Bare bottomed spankings had been an entirely new experience for Tanya at the time; her real father had always spanked her over her panties (and rarely more than twenty good swats at once). Her father had been an amateur compared to Bill Harrow. Her first spanking over Bill's knee had been exceptionally long, lasting nearly twelve minutes. Her bottom had been red-raw for nearly a week afterwards. It had set the standard for all her future spankings, and even now, she rarely got off with less than fifteen minutes of bare bottomed agony.
The walk to the rumpus room took her through the main section of the house, out to the split-level lobby adjoining the extension. She'd have to pass through both the kitchen and the living room to get there. The ‘Walk of Shame’ to the rumpus room was an inevitably harrowing experience; a complete and total humiliation which always reduced her to tears of utter misery. Passing through the living room in her underwear tended to broadcast the fact that she was due for another spanking.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her left hand, trying to control her tearful whimpers. She had to stay calm, reason with her father, offer him disciplinary alternatives to spanking, promises of future good conduct. Most of all, she had to behave like an adult. This was rather difficult when all she could think of was how much her bottom was going to hurt when it was finished. There seemed to be only one thought in her head, persistent and overwhelming, blinking on and off in huge neon letters: I'M GOING TO BE SPANKED!!
(No! Stay calm! You're not a little girl!)
Yes. That's right, Tanya thought miserably to herself, you're wearing nothing but your bra and panties, and you're about to bare your bottom for a spanking over your Daddy's knee, but you are definitely not a little girl. Fighting down a flood of rising panic, she went through into the living room. She was weeping loudly now, realizing how close her spanking was. Shoulders trembling and eyes misty, she tried to focus all her thoughts on escaping her step-father's stinging palm. There had to be some way out of this, some means of avoiding a sore, red bottom.
Nothing much came to mind.
Her heart was thundering in her ears; her sense of trepidation seemed to increase with every step closer to the rumpus room. She felt vulnerable and defenseless; virtually before Bill's stern authority. Part of it was the simple fact of having to appear before him almost completely undressed. Had he been her natural father, she wouldn't have minded walking around the house in her underwear: but the thought of Bill seeing her disrobed always made her dizzy with embarrassment.
Worse still, she knew he was genuinely angry with her this time; she had been willfully disobedient, flagrantly violating her curfew and deliberately ignoring her grounding. Bill wouldn't settle for anything as lenient as fifteen minutes over his lap; Tanya shuddered to think how long and thorough this particular spanking would be. Even her Mummy had agreed that ‘the harder the better’ was the golden rule in this case.
A hopeless feeling of dread fell on her as she entered the extension which housed the rumpus room. Perhaps that was the worst part of taking the Walk of Shame - that sense of the inevitable. Once she arrived, a long, painful spanking was absolutely unavoidable. She would be made to take down her panties and go meekly over Bill's knee; she would cry and beg and wail like a little girl, but in the end, she would submit her tender young bottom to an extremely well-earned paddling.
Finality descended on her like some vast, irresistible wave as she paused at the door of the rumpus room. Sobbing quietly (but disconsolately), Tanya knocked on the doorframe and entered, knowing there was no evading the punishment she so richly deserved.
3.
Bill Harrow was a tall, good-looking man in his late thirties with sharp eyes and a professional bearing. He was leaning with one foot up on the spanking chair, a square-jawed portrait of stern parental authority. Next to the chair was a coffee table on which he had spread out a formidable array of spanking implements. There were a considerable number to choose from - paddles, straps, large wooden spoons, and a long, ornamental hairbrush that he’d favored on many occasions.
Bill wasted no time getting down to business. He called Tanya straight over to the spanking chair for her ‘dressing down,’ so to speak: You've been extremely naughty since we grounded you last month; your mother and I are sick and tired of your sulking and pouting and flouting the household rules; you've had this coming for a long time; you have no one to blame but yourself.
And so on.
Tanya stood with her head bowed and her hands crossed over her cleavage, blushing to the roots of her hair. She was breathlessly conscious of how skimpy her panties were, how much of her smooth ivory flesh was on exhibition to her step-father's gaze. She felt terribly small and naughty listening to Bill's angry tirade, like a little girl who knows she deserves a spanking (and is most eager to avoid it at any price). Humiliation inundated her from all sides; her mind swirled with conflicting emotions; sorrow, shame, remorse, fear, disgrace.
She wept helplessly before him, begging him not to spank her bottom: Please Daddy, I don't want a spanking, I'm sorry I sneaked out like that, I'll NEVER do it again, I promise I won't. Bill didn't bother listening, not even for a second: he'd heard it all before. He dismissed all of her vows with an impatient wave of his hand.
The time had come.
“Panties down, young lady,” Bill directed.
Tanya quailed at the thought of presenting her bottom for inspection. This was the part she hated the most, and she would have done just about anything to escape this phase of her punishment. It was so unjust, so terribly humbling. Bill wasn't her real father, wasn't even a blood relative, yet she still had to bare her bottom to him. Tears dripped in a double stream from her face as she protested this abject humiliation.
“No Daddy, NO, I don't want to BARE my BOTTOM, it's TERRIBLE, let me keep my panties up, please Daddy-“
Glowering beneath thick dark eyebrows, Bill leaned towards her:
“Now, Tanya!!”
Sobbing helplessly, Tanya turned around, bent completely over and slipped her panties down to her knees. Bill was instantly afforded a breathtaking view of his step-daughter's utterly magnificent rear end. Firm and lush and temptingly full, it was perfection cast in sweet, luscious girl-flesh. Tanya groaned in absolute despair. She had to stay in this position for several minutes until her step-father was ready to take her over his knee.
Bill seated himself on the spanking chair, grimly reaching down to the coffee table to check his instruments. He intended to start off with his bare hand and move onto the hairbrush once he'd pinkened the girl's bottom sufficiently. From there on, he could switch to one of his leather handstraps. He'd aim at a good twenty minutes with breaks; twenty-five if she tried on any more delaying tactics.
“Now - come over here,” he growled, having finally made his choice, “it's time for you to go over my knee, young lady.”
“No Daddy, nooo, it's not fair - you're treating me like a little girl and I'm NOT a little girl, I'm too BIG for a spanking!!” Despite her frantic protestations, Tanya stood up and turned around. Moaning with shame, she coyly hid her femininity with her right hand. Obedient to his will and unwilling to risk angering him further, she wasted no time stepping over beside the spanking chair. Bill immediately reached out to take her by the wrist.
“I don't care how old you are,” he told her sternly, “as long as I'm in charge around here, you'll never be too big for a spanking!”
Tanya wailed in childish distress while Bill led her carefully over his knee. It wasn't right, it wasn't fair: she'd wept and apologized and begged forgiveness, but Bill was going to smack her bottom regardless. Her eyes fell on the two instruments her step-father had picked out, and she whimpered loudly, understanding precisely how much they were going to hurt.
“No, Daddy, PLEASE don't spank me, punish me some other way; give me extra chores, ground me, anything but PLEASE DON'T SPANK ME -”
“A spanking is exactly what you need young lady,” Bill interrupted, balancing her deftly over his knee so that her legs were waving in the air and her pretty little nose almost touching the floor, “you worked very hard for this one. You've earned every painful smack, and your reward comes home today!!”
“But Daddy, the WINDOW'S open,” Tanya cried in an extremity of shame and embarrassment, “PLEASE let me go and close the curtains; I don't want the neighbors to see.” She cried bitterly, knowing that her naked tushie was on exhibition to half the street. The rumpus room window was a kind of stage on which the heart-pounding spectacle of a bare bottomed spanking was frequently offered to the three houses over the road.
She had a momentary vision of how she must appear to the folk parallel: young Tanya Harrow, the spoilt little girl across the street, draped over her Daddy's knee with her naughty little bottom poised for another spanking. It was common knowledge around town that Tanya received regular paddlings from her step-father; her girlfriends down at the mall often teased her about it.
“Please Daddy, let me go and draw the curtains, you don't know what this is like for me, please -”
Tanya's pleas had no effect whatsoever; Bill ignored his step-daughter's delaying tactics completely. Humiliation was vital to any spanking. The Theatre of Disgrace was an important part of Tanya's punishment, the fitting conclusion to the Walk of Shame. So far as Bill Harrow was concerned, if she objected to such a high profile, public spanking, she should have considered the consequences before she sneaked off to the Blue Heat three nights ago.
“All right, that's enough, little girl,” Bill growled, raising his hand, “let’s get your spanking underway.”
4.
Bill started out with an old-fashioned hand-spanking, delivering round after round of hard, solid smacks to his girl's shivering little fanny. Warming up her bottom for its initial pinkening, he laid in with a swift marching rhythm, shocking her pale bikini lines a bright, flickering red within minutes. Tanya's shrieks of pain kept time with Bill's racing tempo, her legs kicked from the knee, flashing her frilly white girl-sox through the air. Her spanking threshold being unfortunately low, Tanya was quickly reduced to keening screams for mercy:
“OWW!! AAOOOWWW!!! DADDY, NO, AAAOOOWWW!!!”
Bill thrashed down ever harder, working her rapidly reddening bottom up to a feverish scarlet, allowing his hand free range over cheek and thigh. His pretty, wayward step-daughter struggled and writhed over his knee, her tushie bouncing with each resounding slap. Bill tended to spank extremely hard, priding himself on his expertise in adding a blush to Tanya's round, rosy cheeks.
Stacking dishes in the kitchen, Tanya's mother listened with undisguised relish while a riveting duet was played on her daughter's willful buns. A satisfying harmony of shrieks and spanks drifted down the corridor:
SSSWACK!! OOOWW!!! SSSSWACK!! OOOWWW!!! SSSWACK!!! AAOOOWWW!!! SSSWACK!!! AAAOOOWW!! DAAAADDYYY!!!!!
Lisa Harrow smiled to herself (as did several others throughout the neighborhood), nodding approval at the severe justice presently being metered out to her naughty young lady. She knew her husband was exceptionally thorough when it came to spanking, she could trust him to instruct her in the virtues of obedience.
“MOMMY!! MOMMMYYYY!!! IT HURTS!! IT HUUURRRTS !!!! MAKE HIM STOP!!! OOWW!!! AAAOOOOWWW!!! MOMMMYYYY!!!”
Lisa turned on the dishwasher and headed into the living room. Alley McBeal was on tonight, a must see episode, and Lisa had no intention of allowing anything to interfere with her viewing pleasure.
Bill concentrated his attention on the curving overlap between Tanya's thigh-tops and bottom cheeks, watching the flesh wobble and quake with each scathing impact. Her derriere was suffused with a deliciously warm crimson hue; almost ready for the hairbrush. Bill finished up with ten swipes to Tanya's thighs, tightening his hold on her waist as she bucked about on his knee, howling in pain.
With the hand-spanking finally concluded, Tanya collapsed in a trembling heap, praying for a remission from her sentence. Hanging limply over Bill's lap, she sobbed miserably with her long, thick hair pooled around her face. Her bottom was sore and red, glowing with wheel-spoke hand prints from one cheek to the other. Bill was allowing her a few moments’ breathing space to prepare for the next ‘level’ of her spanking, in which the brush would be applied to her naked buttocks for a good ten minutes.
“Please Daddy,” Tanya was crying, “I've learnt my lesson, I'll never be naughty again, please don't spank me with the hairbrush, you don't know how much it hurts, Daddy ...”
Bill had no intention of taking Tanya's word on the matter: easy enough to promise the moon on a silver platter when you're facing another spanking. Scolding her roundly, Bill reminded Tanya that her nightclub escapade last weekend had already proven her completely untrustworthy. As for how much the hairbrush hurt, well, she was going to discover a new definition of agony when he'd finished with her.
Having pronounced judgment, Bill picked up the long silver hairbrush. It was an heirloom from Lisa's side of the family, a large, heavy, hand-crafted piece of sterling silver which had once belonged to Tanya's great grandmother. High Victorian in design, the base was covered with tiny reliefs; mostly leaves, flowers and peacock feathers. This was one of Bill's favorites; it always raised a healthy glow in his step-daughter's soft young behind and had her begging forgiveness within the first few strikes.
“Tanya, I'm sick and tired of your kicking and fighting while I'm holding you across my knee,” Bill told her in his most authoritarian voice, “this time you're to lie perfectly still while I polish up your bottom. If you move so much as a toe out of place, I'll spank you twice as hard and twice as long. Understand?”
Tanya shuddered, already feeling the brush biting into her tender, crimson flesh. It was too much: now she wasn't even allowed to wriggle her sore little tushie over his lap.
“Y-yes, Daddy,” she stammered woefully.
Bottom cheeks clenching with anxiety, Tanya closed her eyes and waited. Bill hefted the brush high over his right shoulder; it flew down in a flash of silver, taking her square across the right haunch. Tanya gaped wordlessly as her bottom swallowed the impact; her fingers clawing the carpet. The pain was momentarily too huge to express. Groping for breath, she lay mute below the brush for several endless seconds. Finally:
“AAAAOOOOOWWWW!!!”
The brush flailed around Tanya's thighs and bottom, visiting each cheek in rapid succession, working her skin up to a radiant, burning carmine. Eyes clamped shut against the pain, Tanya screamed uncontrollably, tears flooding down her face and dripping from her sweet pixie chin. Bill swung the hairbrush in a glittering blur, scalding the flesh. Tanya's blazing bottomtops shivered in suppressed agony. Deprived the right to even wriggle her hips, Tanya turned her face to the carpet and shrieked:
“AAOOOWW!!! NOOO!! DADDY, STOP!!! AAOOWW!!! IT HUUUURTS!!!”
She was SO sore: her apple-ripe bottie-cheeks seemed to be burning with liquid fire. The brush swished down in a rain of hissing cracks. Tanya fought to hold herself over her step-father's lap, begging and sobbing: “PLEASE DADDY PLEASE STOP IT HURTS PLEASE STOP SPANKING ME IT HURTS TOO MUCH!!!” Lying over Bill's knee, she felt vulnerable and helpless; he was blistering her bottom as he had a thousand times in the past, and once again, she was absolutely powerless to prevent it.
How could this be happening to her?
She was eighteen years old; she had a summer job down at the mall, and she'd be going to Chamberlain College in the new year. She paid rent, she did her share of the housework; her mother had no cause to ground her like an errant child! Bill had no right to upturn her naked bottom and smack it with a hairbrush!! First the walk of shame in nothing but her bra and panties, then the absolute humiliation of a spanking over her step-daddy's lap!!!
Tanya buried her face in her hair, weeping in anguish.
He had every right, as he was proving right now. Tanya was small and petite and vulnerable, she was subject to his will in every sense of the word. She was his daughter, (step-father or not), and her bottom was his to paddle if he chose. She had to surrender herself to Bill's authority; she had to take down her brief, flimsy panties and offer her flawlessly smooth buns for his parental inspection; she had to go meekly over his knee like a naughty school girl when he felt her behaviour merited a spanking. There could be no debate, no argument, no appeal against his judgments. He was a man, the paterfamilias of their household, the final word in her life.
“OWWWW!! AAAAOOOWW!! DADDY, NO MORE, STOP IT - YEEOOW!! PLEASE DADDY, STOP, STOP IT!!!”
But Daddy didn't stop it.
Daddy continued.
Dismissing her screams with the contempt they deserved, Bill lashed down with steadily increasing force, hopping from side to side and targeting the simmering tops of her thighs. Tanya began to kick her feet, unable to control her automatic reactions. The brush whipped down, over and over, branding her white-hot fesses with glowing purple prints. Bill held on grimly, shifting the struggling girl back to the central position as she attempted to wriggle off his lap.
“Hold STILL!” he barked, beating down on Tanya's bruised thighs. Pounding her tiny fists on the floor, she shimmied her hips in a futile effort to escape. Bill immediately doubled his pace. The brush shot from cheek to cheek, tanning the same two spots until the flesh was literally strumming with torment. Ripe, clenching buttocks joggled back and forth beneath the barrage; Tanya howled incoherently, her words submerged in a rush of agony.
“OWW!! OWW!! OWW!! OOWWW!! AAOOOOWWWW!!!”
Bill began to wear down after ten minutes.
His arm was growing tired, and the girl needed a rest. Doubled over his lap, Tanya was sagging with weariness, despite the shrill cries peeling from her throat. Much as he was enjoying himself, Bill had to maintain a professional attitude. It was time to take a break - marshal his reserves and rally his forces, so to speak.
Of course, the spanking was far from over. In one sense, Tanya's discipline had only just begun. She'd been unforgivably disobedient on this occasion, and Bill was determined that his naughty little ward should regret her actions for years to come. Severe though it was, the paddling was nothing more than an appetizer, priming her saucy little bottom-tops for the main course.
Rounding off with a five tremendous claps to his daughter's impudent buns, Bill grimly surveyed the implements spread out on the coffee table. Knowing the gravity of the offence, he'd come prepared, ready to extend Tanya's sentence with a selection of belts, strops and wooden spoons. Each had its relative merits and - all things being equal - each was more than capable of executing its required task.
Only question was, which one?
Delivering the final whack to Tanya's simmering posterior, Bill made his decision.
TO BE CONTINUED