Chapter 5. On the Hot Seat

Everyone filed in to the rec room. Tom crossed to the window to draw the drapes. The window only looked out on "the woods," but he considered spankings to be private and automatically shut out any chance of onlookers. This room was a warm, cozy room, decorated in earth tones, with woven wall hangings. One wall was entirely given over to book shelves, with a television set in the corner across from the couch. Furniture consisted of the couch, a wicker chair, and a couple of bean-bag pillows the girls used to lay on as kids.

There was the chair Amy had brought, right in the center of the rec room. It certainly looked ominous, but Amy reminded herself that it was just a spanking, and would soon be over. Barbara seated herself in the wicker chair by the window, and the girls sat together on the couch.

Tom turned the chair to face the couch, and sat down. "Amy, you're first."

Amy stood up and took five reluctant steps to stand next to her father, and knelt across his lap.

"Nice try, Amy. I'm sure you haven't forgotten. Hard spankings are always on the bare bottom. You'll need to slip off your jeans and panties."

"But Dad, I've *grown*. Can't I just keep my panties on?"

"This will be a spanking you won't want to have repeated. Take them off."

It was difficult from this ignominious position, but Amy managed to unsnap her pants and push everything down to her knees. It was very hard to do while keeping her thighs clenched together, and Tom grinned at her dilemma. That still wasn't quite enough, though. "Take them all the way off."

Amy complied, using her toes to slip each opposite shoe off, then twisting around to reach her knees and tug everything off as one unit. The socks came off, too, so everything was bare from the waist down. Except for her blouse, which Tom tucked up out of the way.

"My goodness, you *have* grown. You were just a girl the last time you were spanked on the bare bottom. Are you ready?"

"Dad!" These comments on her womanhood were embarrassing her. So far as she was concerned, now was not the time to be commenting on how grown up she had become. She knew her father was toying with her. "Yes, just get it over with."

Tom began to spank the bride-to-be just as he had in years past. Even when she was eleven or twelve, 5 or 6 hard swats was enough for tears and uncontrollable crying. Amy clenched her cheeks, as always, and made his hand hurt. With three people to spank, this just wouldn't do.

"Amy, relax."

She did, but her whole body seemed to say, "Just get it over with."

Tom delivered twenty slow, hard swats, by far the hardest spanking he'd ever given. The sharp report of each swat sounded loud in the room, and it was accentuated by Amy's complete silence. The sound had been made from the palm of his hand, Tom realized, and it was starting to seriously hurt. And two more people to spank!

Tom paused to massage his hand. It was nearly as red as Amy's bottom-- in fact, the palm was turning a little bit blue. Amy had remained motionless through the entire ritual.

After a few more moments, Amy asked, "Can I get up now?"

"Yes, you may. This isn't working. You might as well put your panties back on."

Amy slid off Tom's lap, turned and quickly slipped her panties on.

They were both tight and sheer, and--to her obvious surprise--suddenly uncomfortable. "Well, at least that's something," Tom thought to himself.

"My hand won't last very long at this rate. Amy, go see if you can

find that old paddle we made for you and your sister. It's probably still on the top shelf in the basement, over towards the left. You'll probably need to wipe it down with a damp cloth to get the dust off. Check quickly, please!"

Leaving her pants on the floor, Amy went in search of the instrument of her punishment. Even when applied with only moderate force, two swats had always brought tears to her eyes. Kitchen-sink noises soon announced that she had found it, and she soon returned to hand the paddle to her father.

The two sisters had remained motionless the entire time Amy was gone in search of the paddle, not wanting to draw attention to themselves. They were, no doubt, contemplating their fate. Except for having to bare their bottoms--that would be horrible by itself--Amy's spanking had seemed bearable. Bearable, that is, until she had been sent to fetch the paddle. Kim and Dianne could but watch in trepidation to discover their fate. And who would be next? But Amy had returned now, in blouse and panties, carrying the paddle in her left hand.

It looked so small! It was hardly larger than a wooden spoon, true, but had always appeared a large and fearsome instrument when the girls were younger. "So," Tom thought to himself, "even this might not do the job."

"Back over my lap, please, with your panties off."

Amy appeared to have adopted a fatalistic attitude, and complied without further protest. She slipped her panties back down past her knees and stepped out of them, not bothering to try to cover herself. She immediately placed herself back across her father's lap. Legs together, bottom up, feet down, hands and head down. She was determined to go through with it, and be adequately cooperative. By now her bottom had toned down to a soft red blush.

After a couple of taps to get the swing right, the first swat of the paddle changed Amy's whole perspective. "Yeouch!" Her right hand shot back to cover her bottom.

"Amy, keep your hands down," Tom chided. "I shouldn't have to hold them." Once again, she complied and tried to relax. At least now she knew what was coming and could prepare herself for it.

Tom continued with slow, medium-hard swats. "So that's still enough to get her attention," he thought to himself. He could see the tension rising as he worked back and forth with a steady rhythm, smack, smack, stopping after twenty blows.

This was a serious spanking. Amy could obviously feel it now, but she still wasn't crying. But it looked like she was close--the last few swats had each brought a slight gasp.

Tom stopped and looked at the paddle. It was--let's see--seventeen years old. Half a year younger than Dianne. He'd made it himself, out of the sugar maple out front. It had been struck by lightning the previous summer, but he did his woodworking (paddle making, that time!) over the winter months. Yes, it was "soft" maple carved seventeen years ago this month. It showed no signs of deterioration or cracking, so Tom figured he could use it rather more severely without danger of breaking anything.

Tom brought the small paddle up and took careful aim, placing his other hand on the small of her back. This one ought to hurt.

It did! With a screech, Amy shot straight out with her hands covering her bottom. She hung still in the air, with her back arched and her feet straight out, arms behind her.

"Relax and put your hands down. There's a lot more to come." Part of this punishment was psychological. Tom, of course, knew Amy had never had a long spanking before. Even the worst of offenses had been handled with a dozen slaps of the hand or a half-dozen from the paddle. And tears had never been in short supply. This time, though, it seemed useful to give the impression of an endless punishment, each stage more severe, with plenty more to come.

Amy resumed the submissive position, but this time with obvious trepidation. Tom inquired, "Can you lay still for the rest, or will somebody have to hold you down?"

Amy said she'd try to keep still. She clenched her fists.

The next swat was just as hard, and elicited another screech--but Amy managed to stay still. Tom took aim, and delivered another hard one. And another. He didn't want to tire too quickly, so he started to wait, resting, a good half minute between swats. This time seemed like forever to Amy.

The two sisters sat on the couch in stunned silence. Tom glanced at Barbara. It was hard to read her expression, but Tom was sure it was not disapproval. He would carry on.

Five or six minutes, and a round dozen hard swats, finally took Amy to her limit. The loud lamenting finally turned to tearful sobbing. She finally sounded like a spanked little girl, tearfully promising to be good.

Tom had no comment. He brought the paddle down again, hard. Back came the hands. "Barbara, could you hold Amy's hands, please?"

Barbara walked over. "Give me your hands, dear. I'm sure this will be over soon." Amy brought her hands back down and her mother took a firm grip on each wrist.

"Yeoww!" Amy cried louder still, yanked at her hands and began wiggling around Tom's lap. Both Tom and Barbara had anticipated this, however. Barbara held on, and Tom wrapped his left arm around Amy's waist. He waited for Amy to settle down, and then waited a little bit longer while his arm rested. Amy lay there sobbing. She couldn't stop crying.

Amy's bottom was a deep red. It looked like she would probably keep some bruises through her wedding. Well, that was okay; what would she be needing to sit down for? Tom tightened his grip around Amy's waist and took note of what looked like the most sensitive spots.

Wow! Right on target, with a loud bang! Amy expected this one, and shrieked nearly before it landed. Now she was *really* desperate. She yanked and pulled and kicked and wailed. Yes, she was definitely feeling her punishment now.

"Kim, I need you to hold Amy's legs for her. With a bare bottom, all this kicking just won't do." Tom's wry voice said he wasn't concerned about getting kicked, or concerned about Amy getting her legs in the way. Quite the opposite--Tom was adding to the punishment by pointing out how much more she should be embarrassed. Amy suddenly realized what had happened, and she clenched her thighs together, still kicking a bit from her knees, like a novice swimmer. It was a little late, but she tried to keep from exposing her most intimate parts to her father.

Kim held Amy down by the knees. Kim took care to keep herself well clear of that paddle. She knelt across Amy's ankles, pressing down with her hands just below Amy's knees. This was not too easy with stockings on, but Kim managed. Barbara knelt to hold Amy's head and shoulders down, folding Amy's arms together behind her back and taking a strong grip. Amy was stuck.

Amy was completely helpless, exposed from the waist down and displaying a burning red bottom, with one of her best friends wrapped around her bare legs. Amy could only guess how intimate a view she was giving Kim. The fact that Kim would be soon in the same predicament probably made things nearly as bad for Kim. Not that Kim's sympathy was of any help to Amy!

But Tom figured Amy had pretty well gotten the message by now, and there were still two more to spank. Time to finish up. He planted his left hand on Amy's lower back for leverage, and quickly brought the paddle down-- hard--four times, right, left, right, left. Amy struggled frantically, but it was in reaction to the punishment, rather than from an attempt to escape. In fact, Tom was proud to realize, Amy had never attempted to escape. They had brought her up right--down deep, she remained obedient and respectful.

Tom set down the paddle on the floor. "That's all, Amy. They can let go as soon as you settle down."

Amy immediately stopped struggling, and Kim and Barbara stood up. Both returned to their seats. Amy lay there snuffling for another few moments. Now that she had stopped thrashing, her tears were forming a puddle on the floor.

She stood up. Now there was another problem. Both her jeans and panties would be too tight for her poor swollen bottom. What to do? "Dad, may I go grab a skirt or something to put on?"

"No, I think you should stay here." Tom paused and then continued, "That was a lot harder than I had intended. But you wouldn't cry, and it seemed pointless to have a spanking without you being really sorry. Are you sorry now, or just mad at me?"

The tears had slowed down, but were still coming. Amy tugged at her blouse to cover her hips a bit--in fact, if she stood still, the blouse was able to cover everything important. "I guess I'm sorry. That really hurt a lot, but I guess I did ask for it. And I'll make sure it never has to happen again!"

"I don't suppose you'll want to sit down, so just stand by the couch if you like." Tom turned his head. "Kim, it's your turn."

Chapter 6. Reverie

She did not expect to enjoy it, but Kim had a good idea of what was coming. It had been a lot less than eight years since *she* had been spanked.

The week she turned thirteen, she had protested that she was now too old to be spanked. Both parents had been present. It was her mother who answered.

"The day you turn 21, you will be too old to spank. Until then, if you ever need a spanking, you will get one."

Kim's parents had already discussed the matter between themselves.

They went on to tell Kim that they hoped today would be the last spanking she ever needed. There were plenty of other ways to get the point across if need be-- and, they hoped, she had pretty much outgrown the need for any punishment at all. They assured her that so long as she began to act more and more like an adult, they would treat and respect her more and more like a young woman and not just a child.

But her father repeated their promise, and she knew there would be no argument. "Until you are 21, if you truly earn a spanking, I will give you one."

Then her father had ordered her across his lap. She was wearing jeans-- how she wished that they had been a pair with pockets in the back--but her bottom soon felt like it was burning up. And this was right in the living room, with her mother watching. She was so embarrassed to be spanked in front of her mother at that age. She was determined not to cry. But her father had a heavy hand--even through her denim pants--and the tears soon came. By time she was allowed up, she was sure her pants would show scorch marks.

They had been true to their word. She got one that day, but never again for over a year. In fact, by time she was sixteen she had only received one more. She even went out of her way to get that one: Her parents had been relaxing her limits, and she wanted to see how far she could push. She found out. Once was enough; she never pushed those limits again.

Both parents were present for that one also. She was wearing a canary yellow miniskirt that day, almost too small for her. She was spanked in the living room again. This time her father directed her to bend over the left arm of the couch (left, that is, from the perspective of someone sitting on it) and lay along the seat cushion. Fred pressed down on her back, so that her stomach was laying on the cushion. She was told to bring her knees forward and press them against the side of the couch. That left her bottom so high in the air! The miniskirt was far too tight (which was part of the reason for the spanking), and she felt horribly exposed. Again, she associated a spanking with mortal embarrassment. Her skirt just barely kept her panties hidden.

Holding her steady with his hand pressed into her lower back, her father spanked her bottom extremely thoroughly that day. Kim kicked and sobbed and wailed, but she was pinned to the arm of that sofa. There was no escape from those burning, punishing blows. That spanking seemed endless, but it actually "only" amounted to a dozen solid swats. Kim writhed on the couch, grabbing the edges of the seat cushion in her distress, the fabric soaking up her tears. Once released, Kim hid in her bed room the rest of the evening, she was so embarrassed. She had cried to herself for over an hour.

That should have been her last spanking, but it wasn't. The whole year she was sixteen, she was a model citizen. Use of a car was a privilege to be earned in her family, and she wanted to prove her parents' trust was well placed. As indeed it was.

It was when she was seventeen--a high school senior--that she found out that even the freedom of one's own car was not without limits. This was an act of wilful disobedience, pure and simple. She knew it, and her parents knew it. Even as she gave them, Kim knew her excuses to be rationalizations, merely attempts to ignore that what she had been doing was wrong. The reasons seemed good at the time; she'd believed her own excuses until confronted. Funny how that happens.

In Kim's family, there was only one answer for wilful disobedience. She knew that, and her eyes started to water. Knowing she was seventeen years old and truly deserving of a spanking brought the tears down her cheeks. Kim by now stood taller than her mother.

It had been years, but... "I guess I'm getting a spanking, aren't I?"

Yes, but that was not all. First she was sent to fetch her driving license, to turn it over to her father with a promise to not drive anything-- even a go-cart--in the next 90 days without her father's explicit permission. Depending on circumstances and behavior, she *would* be allowed to use her car on occasion.

Then came the spanking. She still blushed to think of it. Bare hand on bare bottom. She had earned it, and she was paid in full.

Kim preceded her father to her room. At least she would be spanked in private this time. Kim's room was not particularly large. Her bed, desk and chair, single book case, lamp stand and dresser took up most of the floor space. The walls were decorated with posters, most of them featuring an outdoors or animal theme. Her father pointed, and directed her to kneel down by the edge of her bed. He had pointed to the right side of the bed close to the foot. There was no footboard.

This was different. When she was little, her father always sat on the bed, or in her chair, and placed her across his lap. But this time she was directed to lean over the bed, her knees on the floor, laying along the foot of her bed.

Her father paused a moment, then directed her to sit back up long enough to bare her bottom. She was to pull down her pants and panties. Then she could lay back down.

How she had protested! She was offered a six-month driving suspension just for the privilege of arguing. Did they have a deal?

No they did not. No deal. She slipped her pants, and panties, down to her knees and lay back down.

Her father stood by her head facing the other direction, and placed his left hand lightly on her back. With his right hand, she discovered, he planned to freely swing down at her bottom. So that was it. She would be getting a spanking like she had the last time, when she had been forced to lay over the edge of the couch.

And so she did. The first blow was a shock. It had been many years since she had been struck on the bare bottom. My, did it sting! But her father spanked her and spanked her. Kim began kicking to ease the pain, but her pants were in her way. Her father held her in place on the bed with his left hand. He had to lean his leg up against the bed to keep her from falling off the bed. But even with all that kicking, her bottom had still seemed to be perfectly exposed. Her pants, tangled around her knees, kept her from getting her feet in the way (as if that would have helped anyway). Her father just kept on spanking her. She was seventeen years old, getting the hardest bare-bottom spanking of her life. Her bottom was still sore the next day.

The last time came just four months short of her parents' promised deadline. Kim was nearly twenty-one now, and well past the era of being punished with a spanking. She was home for the summer between her sophomore and junior years of college. Between the merit scholarships and her parents' support, all of her school and living costs were paid--she didn't need to work during the school year, as so many of her friends did. In return, she studied as hard as she could, and had made the Dean's List all six quarters. She was justifiably proud of her accomplishment.

But standards of conduct at school were not the same as at home. Without quite realizing it, she had become resentful of little things like folding other people's laundry, being home by 10:00 or explaining where she was, and keeping her room presentable.

By the end of that July--two and a half years ago now--her parents had run out of ways to tactfully handle the situation. But it was the mouse that brought on the crisis.

Chapter 7. Of Mice and Moms

It was irresponsibility that cost her this time. Kim had gotten into the habit of leaving food around the house--dirty dishes and half-eaten snacks. The rest of the family was tired of picking up after her, and complained about it to each other during family dinners.

Kim rarely joined the family for dinner. She ate when she felt like it, never at the table, and left the dishes where they lay. Her younger sister-- now in high school, but likewise out of school for the summer--thought this especially unfair, since *she* could not get away with such behavior. But they all figured Kim was having a hard time adjusting to home life, and were trying to give her as much space as they could.

Everything changed when Kim's mother found the mouse in the living room, nibbling on Kim's leftovers. Oh, the noise! Any visitor in the next few minutes would have run for the police, thinking somebody was getting killed. Finally mother and younger daughter cornered and (oh, gross!) killed the mouse. Nobody else was home, and they did *not* want the mouse to keep running around.

Kim's father got an earful when he called his wife over lunch break. This time it was Kim's mother that insisted on a spanking. Whether Kim chose to move out of the house or not, it would be after a jolly good spanking.

Kim knew something was up when she returned home to see a dead mouse on her dinner plate, next to last night's leavings. How gross! She knew that look on her mother's face. Her stomach started to churn. She knew Dianne was home, but was tactfully absent. Probably hiding in her room. Another bad sign.

"Oh, Mom! I'm sorry. I know you said we'd have a mice problem. I kept forgetting. Will you forgive me? I'll go check for more dishes right now."

"All the food is cleared up. I even checked your room." Rooms were private. A closed door traditionally denied entrance. "You have a few minutes before your father gets home. Freshen up, if you wish, and think about what things need to change if you want to continue living here."

That last statement stopped her. Yes, Mom was serious! She was probably just reacting to the mouse. Who would want to spend a day with a dead mouse in the living room? Hopefully Father would calm her down when he got home.

Such was not to be. She got it in private that evening, as she nearly always had in the distant past. But she was older now, and knew a little about the ways of men (but not nearly as much as she thought she did). She figured, correctly, that total cooperation was the key. She decided to ham it up just a little, acting humble and penitent, in hopes that he would go easy on her.

Kim preceded her father to her bed room, the same as that last time she remembered painfully and well. Kim was fully grown by now, midway in height between her mother and father. She had taken her mother's hint to bathe and change. She had debated about what to wear. If she wore denim jeans, she was sure they would be taken down. That would be too much protection, and hurt her father's hand. Kim chose a white linen dress, conservatively cut. The elastic waist was topped with a narrow dark-red belt; the skirt was narrow and reached nearly to her ankles. A slit in the back reached just above her knees. With just the right amount of makeup, Kim looked quite grown up.

Ever so politely, one adult to another, Kim closed the door behind her father. "Could you excuse me while I remove my shoes and stockings? I am afraid of snagging them. Do I need to slip off my panties, too?"

"Yes, the panties come off. Let me know when you're ready." Fred turned to face away from his daughter, clasping his hands behind his back. The rustling of fabric indicated his daughter's progress in undressing. Kim's perfume filled the room. When had she started wearing perfume at home?

"I'm ready, I guess." Fred turned around. Kim was standing near the foot of her bed, panties and stockings folded on top of her dresser. She had placed the shoes just in front of her closet. "Do you want the chair?"

Fred directed his daughter to lean across the foot of her bed, the same as last time, and to lift her skirt up out of the way.

Kim knelt by the bed and scooted the dress up above her hips. The belt held the white linen in place around her waist, with the remainder bunched around her stomach. Kim lay across the bed, arranging the bunched-up dress so that it would not be wrinkled too badly by her weight.

Kim was taller now, and Fred noticed his daughter presented a far more womanly back side than the last time she had bared her bottom years ago. Fred decided he could spank her more effectively if he placed a pillow under her stomach, elevating her bottom.

"Wait a minute. Kim, please take a pillow from your bed--no, take both-- and place them on the edge of the bed under your hips. Then you can bend over again."

"Please, Dad! I'm already getting it on the bare bottom! That would expose *everything*!"

"I want your bottom where it can be best spanked. That means I want it high in the air. In a few minutes, your bottom is going to be extremely sore, young lady. This spanking is a month overdue, and it's going to be a good one! Let's try it with one pillow, and see how you do."

Kim stood up, pulled the pillow out from underneath the bed spread, and placed it along the edge of the bed, where her hips were to lay. Fred spoke again. "Go ahead and slip out of that dress so you don't wrinkle it so badly. I've seen everything before, you know."

With a groan, Kim did as she was told. Twenty years old, and practically naked for a spanking. Just as if she were ten years old and need not worry about modesty. The fact that she had earned it, with her childish, irresponsible behavior, just made things worse.

Kim briefly considered refusing. An adult now, she could simply refuse to allow her father to treat her like a child. But her mother had their response clear: In that case, she would be finding another place to live for the summer. Best to put up with the spanking.

She had to smooth the lower part back over her hips to remove the belt. Kim crossed her arms and slipped the whole affair off over her head, laying the dress out on her bed. Modesty was now pointless.

Bending over to place her hands on the bed in front of the pillow, Kim lowered herself into position. Fred had her scoot forward so that the pillow was below her stomach, under her hips, leaving her back arched and her bottom high in the air.

Then came the spanking. Yes, her father could still spank hard! Kim had more flesh back there, now, and it jiggled with every impact.

Her bedroom walls had been mostly bare since she went off to college, and each spank echoed loudly in the room. She was sure her mother and kid sister were listening. She knew she would be mortified later, but she made a big point of how much it hurt and how sorry she was. Her crying was as much in embarrassment as in pain, and by the end of the spanking it was almost completely sincere.

This spanking was rather longer than anything she had previously received. She kicked her legs all over, wailing about how much her bottom hurt. She sacrificed all thoughts of modesty to the hope that the spanking would soon be over. She tried to bring her knees forward, but the edge of the bed caught her thighs. Rather than bringing her bottom down, this convulsive movement had the opposite effect. Levered against the edge of the bed, she threw her bottom up higher just as her father was delivering another blow.

Smack! That *did* hurt. She slammed her hips down into the pillow with a despairing wail. But that last swat seemed to satisfy her father. The spanking was over. Kim lay there squirming on her pillow, repeating over and over again how sorry she was. She may be a grown woman, but she appeared a repentant, well-spanked one. Asking her to be out in a few minutes for dinner, Fred left the room, closing the door behind him.

The tears stopped as if by a faucet. Kim continued to squirm on the pillow, for her bottom really *did* hurt. The burning heat seemed to be seeping in deeper and deeper. Kim decided to roll over onto her back, with her bottom now laying on the pillow.

Ouch! Kim stopped moving for a moment, allowing her back side to return to an all-around burning sensation. Then her hips began to move again, with her knees well-spread, for the heat seemed to have moved around between her legs. Now would not be a good time for one of her parents to open the door! But she had little fear on that point; her privacy had always been respected. Her fingers helped to relieve the pain, but her bottom felt warm until long after dinner. Kim planned to remain virgin until marriage, but she knew how to take certain matters into her own hands (so to speak).

And that spanking had the desired effect, the same as they always had. That is, the spanking brought her to her senses. She decided she would rather shape up than move out. After a day of slinking around the house in utter embarrassment, she spent the rest of the summer as her cheerful old self, and her parents were quite proud of her.

That spanking proved to be an icebreaker of sorts. She and her mother had many talks, one woman to another, and they became closer than ever.

Kim's mother came to realize--and pointed it out to Kim--that much of the problem in July was from depression. As she had become more wrapped up in how sorry she felt for herself, she was pushing other people away. As people began to lose patience with her, and avoid her, she just felt worse. Self pity became even worse behavior--a very destructive cycle. It could have gone either way, mother and daughter realized, but that spanking turned out to be the best medicine possible.

Until that summer, Kim had associated being spanked with unbearable pain and embarrassment. She continued to take spanking as a message to change her behavior, and in that sense realized that her spankings had always been in her best interest. But this time she had shed modesty (in the interest of lessening her punishment) and she had managed to transfer the heat of her bottom into a sexual heat. But she was very sure she did not need a spanking to generate sexual heat, and avoided repeat occurrences until safely past her twenty-first birthday.