No sooner than I posted an off-hand remark about the number of rounds we girls managed to down in a lovely Welsh pub, Abel’s pervy side of the brain went into overdrive. When I next opened my email, I found this:
Young lady,
If you’re going to write to your friends about your drinking exploits at the weekend, you should be careful not to include me on the distribution list.
Seven alcoholic drinks is most certainly not acceptable. Excessive drinking is not something to be proud of, or about which to gloat.
I’d like to see you in my study as soon as you’ve read this, so that we can deal with this. Thoroughly.
Daddy xx
I gave a silent whoop, punched the air, and raced upstairs straight away.
I regretted this at once, because Daddy was not amused with his girl’s drinking exploits. Even my most earnest explanation that when people are buying you a drink, it’s impolite to refuse, was rejected at once.
He sat on the bed, easily tipped me over his knee and pulled down my jogging bottoms together with my knickers. I dug my fingertips into the carpet, preparing to feel a crack of his palm, but instead there was an unmistakeable touch of cool wood against my skin.
“Not the hairbrush!” I wailed. “Please, I’m sorry, not the hairbrush!”
The pleading didn’t help very much. The pain of the brush is astonishing, even when it isn’t used very hard. I howled and begged as it cracked down, and apologised most sincerely. I felt Abel throw the brush aside, and rejoiced for a second, before I felt him reach into a bedside drawer for some other implement. Although I couldn’t see it, I soon realised it wasn’t much of an improvement, as its wooden side printed into my skin. (Further inspection revealed this to be a spaghetti measurer, which is effectively a small paddle with variously sized holes.)
After all the spanking and yelling and pleading and wriggling was done, I was sternly ordered onto my feet and into the corner.
“You may stay there and think about your behaviour, and when you feel suitably chastened, you may come and find me,” said Abel in Daddy’s voice before leaving the room. I shuffled into the corner, carefully feeling the hot surface of my bottom with my icy fingertips. My fingers warmed up before my bottom grew any cooler.
“Well?” asked Daddy from the corridor.
“I’m really sorry,” I whimpered, and peek cautiously into the crack in the door. There stood Abel, himself again, and grinning at me like a recently fed cat. I wrapped my arms around his neck, angling my face up for a kiss.
Only then did it occur to me that pulling up my pants first might have been slightly more dignified. Ah, well.
I’m not sure why it is that sometimes the simplest scenes are just so hot. And sweet.
Aw, what a sweet, loving spanking.
Argh, too hot! — horny now! Oh, that sort of thing is my very favorite … ummm, is “interaction” the right word? … in the whole world!
I wish my Daddy was home to dispense some discipline to me! I’m sure I need it! 😉
Agree with the other commenters– sweet and very hot! For a variation, the next time you return from such a gathering, your behaviour suitably moderated by this experience,
Abel can take you to task for poor manners in refusing the hospitality of your friends and abstaining after the 5th round.
Sooooo hot! I love Daddy stories,you’re such a lucky girl Haron!
Oh yes, wonderfully sweet and wonderfully hot, my very favourite type of scene… wish my Daddy was a bit nearer just now so we could play!
Awww bless. Though am shocked 7 measures classes as ‘excessive drinking’!
Chloe – me too. I was just getting going. Still, the punch back at base helped (mmm, fizzy pop).
Er… Abel has seen to you for the punch too, hasn’t he, Haron?
Nice to see you got a *proper* telling off for being tipsy though. 😀
That brightened my morning no end. Thanks Haron.
Now I had better hope that a certain person doesn’t find out how many beers (I lost count around five…) I had at the conference last night.
VERY hot!!! I’m so jealous.
Delightful, although the vodka-lime-lemon thing is still preying on my mind as being a pretty cruel punishment in itself. But I happily acknowledge that I have long lost touch with youth culture.
And I am pleased to learn that someone else has one of those spaghetti measurers. Mine lives on the kitchen windowsill with the wooden spoons. It’s always good to have something to brighten your day and lighten the task as one toils by the sink.
Years ago I had the patience to search for good spanking fiction. Now I don’t have it anymore. So I’m happy I have some of you guys to cheer me up. 😀
HOT! I might be ready to work on my own fantasies from here.
Thanks, Haron! I’m ready for another one any time soon – hopefully your butt feels the same way. 😉
And 7?! Abel was right, by all means! 😉 Personally, I lose count after 3-4 of anything… (I think…) and I end up drinking from everyone’s bottle or glass… so this is why I lose count. The worst one I had in the past 6-8 months was when I came almost crawling home, threw a tantrum when Jack wasn’t around, cried on the phone to get him home, and then crashed on the floor and fell asleep. And that was the worst one and I was dizzy for two full days, at work… Honestly. So due the aftermath I stopped drinking. hehe
I can’t handle it, obviously.
HUGZ!