My father’s daughter

Throughout my childhood and adolescence, I frequently found myself over the knee of his first partner, an American lady who was a big believer in spanking naughty children.

By the standards of those conservative times (in the 1950s), I was a very smart, intelligent but also somewhat troublesome girl – I spent my says immersed in books and responded badly to anyone who didn’t share my opinions or values.

My father, a rich and charming heir to a wealthy northern European family, was a one-of-a-kind man: handsome as the sun, over two meters tall, with long hair and a reputation as a womaniser that preceded him.

At some point he had had a fling with another woman, who bore me but handed me over to the custody of my father – I only met my birth mother much later in life, when I became an adult.

In the meantime, my father’s first partner had now married someone else. When my father died early, and having no other close relatives, it was decided that I should go and live with this couple with whom I had only a passing connection. I had been left heir to my father’s fortune, and I guess the offer of the couple to take me in was not without some expectation of reward on their part.

Discipline in the home was strict. My stepfather used to personally spank his own two sons with a strong leather belt if they didn’t behave but he never punished me, which made me feel like a stranger all the more.

My ‘stepmother’, on the other hand, spanked me often and hard. As I lay across her knee, being punished either with her firm hand or the back of a hairbrush, it sometimes seemed to me that she wanted to make all the pain my father had caused her collide with my bare behind.

When I was around 16, one afternoon during the Christmas school holiday, I told Samantha (my father’s partner) that I was going out with my friends. She gave permission and I walked towards my friend Miriam’s house – but as soon as I arrived I discovered that my friend and her family had gone out shopping. Since I didn’t want to go back home and help Samantha’s younger son with his homework, I went to the villa where I had lived with my father.

It was an immense house, with a wonderful garden and a splendid library. The caretaker was happy to see me every time and he immediately opened the gates for me. If Sam or her husband had known, I would have gotten a memorable belt spanking. That day I went to the garage of the villa, where my father’s wonderful Harley-Davidson was and I asked Ivan, the caretaker, if I could take it for a spin. It was a stupid idea, but from my father I must have inherited the gene for bad ideas!

Ivan smiled at me and gave me the keys “If Mr K (my ‘stepfather’) finds out, you will be in big trouble, little girl – at your own risk!” Needless to say, I nevertheless took the keys and pretended not to hear his warning.

I started up the motorbike and set off along the paths from the villa. I was so happy I didn’t look at my watch and I was two hours late when I got home.

As soon as I returned, Sam came out from behind the door and grabbed me by the ear. “Where the hell have you been all this time? I want an answer, even if nothing will save you from a good spanking!”

I couldn’t say that I had gone on my father’s motorbike – she was already very angry and if she had known things would have been a million times worse. So I answered simply: “Miriam wasn’t there and I took a walk – I forgot to look at the time.” She pointed to the stairs: “Go to your room. We’ll talk about this later!”

After about an hour, Mr K and his children left to go to the park. I heard Sam’s footsteps on the stairs – as she entered, I noticed she had a wooden spoon in her hand. She looked at me sternly as she went to sit on the bed and placed the spoon on it. It was the first time this implement had been used on me, and I was I was afraid she might have discovered the whole truth.

“You know what you have to do, little girl,” she said sternly, “or do I have to drag you across my lap?” As usual, I gave as good as I got – even though such a move frequently got me in bigger trouble. “Do you really want to spank me for being stupidly late?” I asked. “You’re not even my mother!”

For answer, Sam simply patted her lap, adding: “If you’re not looking at the floor in two seconds I’ll find the belt and get K. to punish you when he gets back.” I had never seen her so angry and serious, so against all my instincts I went over to her.

Sam pulled down my jeans and underwear (she always spanked me on the bare bottom) and placed her hand on my left buttock. “Now I’m going to give you a good spanking, and I want you to think about what made you deserve it.”

She began hitting me with her hand, holding my back with the other so I couldn’t squirm around. The smacking went on for about five minutes, then Sam suddenly stopped. “You’ve been to your father’s house, haven’t you?” I didn’t answer, and the smacking began again, even harder. I screamed and she told me: “You have two choices, little girl. Either I spank you until you tell the truth – only then will you get the punishment for what you did. Or you can tell me right now and we can get the spanking out of the way. Which is it to be?”

I decided to cut my losses – I admitted going to the villa, but didn’t mention riding the bike. Sam sighed and retrieved the spoon from the bed. “I won’t let you go down the same path as your father,” she said. “I am going to make you cry, you can depend on it.”

With that, she brought the spoon down hard on my bare bottom. The pain was terrible and I and after only a few strokes I started crying. The spanking went on for about 10 minutes, leaving my young bottom very sore and bruised. Finally, she pulled up my clothes and told me to go to the corner while she looked for something/

After a brief search, she pulled my father’s photo out of a drawer: I hadn’t seen her face since she left me, and there was pain and anger there. “You’re just like him!” she shouted. “Not just physically, but your character too! I won’t let you become like him!”

With that, she gave me another slap on my still hot behind. “You are grounded and you will stay in your room for the rest of the evening.”

It took a week for the bruising to disappear from my buttocks. And from that day on, Sam always left the wooden spoon out in plain sight in the kitchen to remind of her promise. It wasn’t that long before it was used again, either.

Contributor: Anonymous

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