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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of o
o stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the o
o world. Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no o
o particular order other than offering them to you in alpha- o
o betical directories. o
o I don’t believe in categorizing things. "I don’t want to o
o be typed therefore I don’t type things myself." I think it’s o
o a lot more fun to browse around and find 'little' surprises o
o that you might not have even thought of looking for. o
o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult en- o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors. Kristen o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Daddy Knows Best (family, inc, spank)
Anonymous PIXNIX Author 1992
***
I guess you could say I had it coming. I had, after all, been
warned that if I did not get my grades in better shape by the end of the
semester, I'd be in deep trouble. But I didn't take the warning I had
received seriously at all. I mean . . . who'd think that a 19-year-old
would get spanked?
I certainly didn't think he would. If I had, do you really think
I'd have stayed out partying? Heck no! I'd have studied. Honest, I
would have. But I didn't. I had one great time, let me tell you. I went
to lots of parties, and my grades were in the gutter by the middle of that
semester, but I was in denial. I was sure I could get them back in shape
by finals. Unfortunately, between the parties and the late or missed
assignments, I was luck to make even C's, and when I came home for the
summer, my heart had sunk down to my toes. I had been stonewalling my
parents - especially Daddy. But parents seem to have this 'sense' of when
something is not right, and Daddy had a funny little gleam in his eye when
I reassured him that I was doing, "fine, just fine" in my classes.
I thought summer break would be an extension of the last semester,
but I had forgotten how hard it is to sneak out under watchful parental
eyes. Late the next evening, I was tip-toeing through the darkened living
room when I heard a sound from the couch. There sat Daddy, wide awake and
frowning. "It's awfully late, Princess," he remarked. The clock was
chiming one a.m.
"Y-you didn't have to wait up for me, Daddy," I said, trying to
keep a tremble out of my voice.
"Of course I did," he insisted. "We were worried about you. I
sent your mother to bed half an hour ago."
Gulp. I was starting to get that heart-in-the-toes feeling again.
Daddy's smile was amicable, but there was something about the tone in his
voice that made me want to sink through the floor. "Oh, Daddy, I'm sorry
you and Mom were waiting up for me. I-I should have called . . . "
"Yes, you should have," he agreed, "but we'll talk about it in the
morning. Come here and kiss me good night." I kissed his cheek and
hugged him tight. He seemed, at times, a stuffy old fogey, but I knew I
loved him dearly. And I could tell he was genuinely worried about me.
Oh, did I feel guilty as I mounted the stairs to go to bed. I felt about
an inch high - maybe smaller.
The next morning, I overslept and didn't come downstairs until
long after breakfast, but Mom was still flitting about the kitchen and
"just happened" to have a bit of pancake batter left over, as well as
scrambled eggs, bacon and hot coffee. If you think I felt awful last
night, just imagine how I felt as Mom bustled about to serve me breakfast,
all the while talking about how nice it was to have me home and all the
things we could do together now that I was home for the summer. I forced
myself to eat - no sense in picking at the food and having Mom fret that I
was coming down with something.
Daddy came in and sat at the table, newspaper tucked under one
arm. He smiled at Mom, then fixed me with a piercing stare. "Now Carol,"
he began, "I know it's going to be hard for you to put up with a lot of
rules - especially after living in that college dorm and being on your own
- but while you're living under our roof, I'll expect you follow our
wishes. We were very worried about you last night, young lady, and I
don't ever want this to happen again."
I hung my head and replied in a small voice, "I'm sorry, Daddy. I
didn't mean to worry you and Mom."
He slid over and put a comforting arm around my shoulders. "Next
time you're out late, honey, I want you to call us. Even if you have to
call collect."
"Okay, Daddy," I assented. "I'm sorry . . . it-it won't happen
again."
"I hope not. I-We are so proud of you. You're almost grown up
now, Carol, and you need to start behaving like an adult. Facing up to
responsibilities is part of being an adult. You know that if your mother
or I are going to be late, we let someone know what's happening."
Daddy hugged me and that was the end of it. The rest of the
weekend was quiet. I thought about just coming out and telling my parents
about the bad grades I was sure to receive, but I could never bring myself
to do it. It was, I suppose, cowardice on my part, but I didn't want to
upset them. I kept thinking about what Daddy had said about growing up
and facing responsibilities.
I thought about watching the mailbox and intercepting the damning
report card. It would not be hard to do; Daddy would be at work, and Mom
would be busy around the house. If I could just get that report card and
hide it or destroy it, I told myself, I'd go back to school after summer
and work extra hard to make up those grades. Really, I would!
The report card came that Thursday. I was the first to get the
mail, and after sorting through it I left the rest of the mail in the den
and raced upstairs with my prize. I closed my bedroom door and flopped
onto the bed for a look at the bad news. Oh, worse than I had thought!
Two Incompletes, two D's, one C, and two F's! I was definitely in for it.
Unless . . . I studied the printout and wondered if it would be
possible to do a little 'creative editing.' Those F's, D's and
Incompletes could become B's, and I could sitting pretty. My parents
would be so thrilled - especially Daddy! And then next semester . . .
Oh, next semester how I would work!
I hid the report card in my underwear drawer and went down to
Daddy's study for the tools I would need: an eraser, a black pen and a
bit of carbon paper. I got the stuff up to my room then got distracted by
a couple of phone calls. After that, Mom had some chores for me. Daddy
came home and retreated into his study to look over the mail.
I had just finished loading the dishwasher when Mom came to the
kitchen door and said, "Carol, we need to talk to you. Right now." She
looked kind of stunned and white-faced, and I wondered what was wrong.
"O-okay, Mom. Sure." I hung up the dishtowel and followed Mom
into my father's study. He was frowning and poring over a small, greyish,
rectangular piece of . . . ohmigod . . .
"Carol," he began, "have a seat. Can you explain this?" He held
up my report card. "Your mother found it when she was putting away your
laundry. It was hidden. Weren't you going to let us see it?"
"I-I . . . that is . . . umm . . . I . . . I was-I was going to
. . . "
Daddy looked very angry and hurt. He held up, in his other hand,
the things I was going to use to alter the card. "And these?"
"Oh, honey," whispered Mom, tears starting down her face, "you
could have told us . . . "
"What have you been up to all semester, Carol? Going to parties?
Staying out all hours of the night? No wonder you're not passing your
courses!" Daddy leaned very close, taking my hands in his. "And what
hurts me most is the fact that you planning to deceive us - lie to us -
about these grades."
"Oh, Daddy, I was afraid to tell you! I was so afraid you'd be
angry . . . "
"Yes, Carol, I would have been angry with you, but I would have
had more respect for you. We didn't raise you to be a liar or a cheat,
and we are hurt and disappointed that you could even think of doing such a
thing." Daddy's voice was harder than I had ever heard it and there was a
cold light in his eyes.
I was trembling, partly from fear and partly from relief. At
least they knew - however angry they were. I remembered Daddy's vague
threat at midterm that I would be "a sorry young lady" if I didn't shape
up and fly right and found myself halfway hoping that he would punish me
in some fashion rather than continuing to be angry at me. Not knowing
what to say, I hung my head and waited.
"You'll have to go to summer school, honey," Mom said softly.
"That means we can't take any nice, long trips like we'd planned"
"And since you've shown such a lack of maturity, Carol, I think
we'll need go back to the house rules we used while you were high school."
"Oh, Daddy - please! No!" No TV on school nights, ten o'clock
curfews on weekends, no unchaperoned parties . . . it was like being a
little kid again!
He held up a warning finger. "Remember, Carol, under our roof,
under our rules. And remember, we are paying good money for your
education. We worked hard to save up enough money for you to go to a good
school. So did you. Remember all those summer jobs?"
"I remember, Daddy . . . but--"
Daddy took me firmly by the shoulders and lifted my chin with one
hand, forcing me to look him straight in the eyes. "We've had this
conversation before, Princess. Remember that I warned you not to let your
grades slip? You promised me that you'd study hard, and you didn't follow
through. Honey, we love you, and we want you to make something of
yourself and the only way you'll do that is with a good education. Do you
understand?"
I nodded, trying not to cry and feeling terribly ashamed. "I-I'm
so sorry . . . " I no longer felt clever about my brilliant idea to alter
my report card - I felt small and stupid and very young. "Wh-what are
y-you going t-to do?"
"What do you think I should do, Carol? Put yourself in my shoes
for a minute and think about it. Do you think some punishment is in
order?"
"Oh, Fred," my mother half-whispered, "are you going to . . . "
"Now just a minute, Peggy - let her think about it." After a few
moments, he prompted, "Well, Carol?"
My words seemed to stick in my throat, but I managed to croak, "I
think so, Daddy."
"You think what, Princess?"
"Th-th-that I ne-need t-to be . . . p-p-punished . . . "
"I quite agree, young lady - you need to be punished, and I have
just the punishment in mind." He turned and reached into a desk drawer,
withdrawing a wooden paddle about a foot long and four inches wide. That
paddle and my backside were old and bitter acquaintances, for both Mom and
Daddy were firm believers in corporal punishment.
"Oh, Daddy, please . . . " Daddy's hands were firm on my
shoulders as he half guided, half-lifted me out my chair and across his
lap, pausing only to lower my jeans and panties. No, I thought, not the
panties, too! I felt bare and exposed and utterly mortified. I felt
Mom's hand on my legs and realized I was in for one hell of a thrashing.
The first swat blazed across my left cheek, quickly followed by a second,
third and fourth. I was already in tears by the fifth smack, and by the
seventh, I was pleading for Daddy to stop. I lost count after twelve. I
was lying across Daddy's lap, my bare bottom blazing, sobbing quietly, too
stunned to even squirm.
Daddy finished with a series of blistering spanks and helped me
stand up, then Mom sat where Daddy had been and motioned for me to lay
across her lap. She took the paddle in her left hand and pronounced,
"Carol, I love you. It really hurts me to punish you like this, but it's
for your own good." Then Mom started paddling me. She didn't hit as hard
as Daddy, but it seemed to last a lot longer. I didn't need to look at my
butt to know it was blazing red, and I knew I'd be sleeping on my stomach.
When they were done spanking me, Mom and Daddy hugged me until I
stopped crying. We just stood there, holding each other, for a long time.
Though I didn't sit comfotably for two days, I was perversely
pleased that they cared enough beat some sense into my head (by way of my
bottom). I went to summer school, studied hard and made good grades. I
promised myself I would always pay attention to what my parents said.