A Daughter’s Discipline

Dear Sir,

My wife Anne and I were lucky enough to be blessed with a wonderful daughter who we called Debbie. In due course Debbie grew up into a beautiful young woman, and eventually married. Anne and I got on very well from the start with her husband, Paul, there was never any ‘in-law’ trouble between us. They visited us at least once a week. On one such visit, about six months after they were married, Debbie was arguing with Paul about something and became over-excited and rather aggressive. Finally Paul said, in an ominous tone, ‘Let it drop, Debbie! I’ll talk to you when we get home!’ To my surprise, Debbie blushed and looked somewhat apprehensive, and appeared to have no more to say. Anne mischievously asked, ‘Oh, what happens when you get home then?’ To which Paul calmly replied, ‘Debbie will get a good smacked bottom!’ Naturally we asked further questions, and in spite of Debbie’s embarrassed protests, Paul revealed that our darling daughter went across her husband’s knee for a bare-bottom spanking at least once a week. That was not all either. ‘Tell your mum and dad what you get if you’re really naughty,’ ordered Paul, and Debbie, very red in the face by this time blurted out, ‘I have to touch my toes or go across the bed while Paul straps me or canes me – sometimes both!’

Perhaps Anne and I should have been shocked by the idea of a grown up young lady like Debbie being chastised, but that would have been hypocritical. The practise of husband-and-wife spanking was hardly unknown to us; in fact Anne has spent many a squealing, squirming few minutes across my thighs in the bedroom, having her shapely sit-upon well warmed, though we had never gone as far as the cane or tawse. In fact, we were quite pleased with the idea of Debbie having her bottom tanned, and Anne said demurely, ‘If you think Debbie deserves a spanking, Paul, Why wait until you get home? There were many times that Debbie deserved to be spanked when she was a child, but we were never strong willed enough to carry it out.’ Poor Debbie’s face was a picture of scarlet dismay as Paul said, ‘You told me your parents spanked you. You Lied to me. It’s the cane for you tonight my girl! I’ll teach you to lie to me! But you will also have a good spanking from me here and now!’

Debbie looked as though she was going to burst into tears as she begged, ‘No, not in front of mum and dad, please!’ But Paul took no notice, and a minute later Debbie was face down across his lap. Paul turned up her skirt to reveal that she was wearing self-grip stockings rather than tights as I had assumed, so that she was making a generous display of bare thighs. Upon her plump and very shapely bottom she was wearing lace-trimmed black briefs – but not for long. Paul calmly peeled them down almost to her knees. Then he started to spank her, punishing each tender cheek alternately with hard, resounding slaps and sometimes changing target to smack Debbie’s wincing bare thighs, while she yelped and wriggled. After Paul had laid on about thirty hearty spanks he paused, grinned at me, and said ‘I can spank Debbie at any time, but you haven’t had the chance yet. Would you like to take over?’

I thought Debbie would object, but she must have decided it was best to take her punishment and get it over with. She went over my lap without any fuss, I turned up her skirt, and there I was finally with my daughter’s bare bottom awaiting correction from my paternal hand. Without going into a smack by smack account, I gave her a damned good spanking. Debbie was a grown woman by now, not a schoolgirl, and I gave her womanly bottom a roasting. As well as punishing her bouncing, burning buttocks I smacked her thighs again and again, until the quivering flesh above her stocking tops was a scorching crimson. Finally I sent Anne upstairs to fetch the old-fashioned wooden backed hairbrush – and how pretty little Debbie sobbed and pleaded and squirmed as she waited in miserable suspense for her mother to return and the spanking to continue. The hairbrush paddling which ended the spanking did not last very long, but to judge by Debbie’s tearful howls it was agonisingly effective.

When Debbie arose from my lap, I made her stand facing the wall in disgrace, with her hands on her head, her knickers round her ankles, and her skirt pinned waist high to display her punished bottom and thighs. Paul excused himself to drive home, and returned in about half an hour, upon which Debbie was allowed to turn round. Although she had stopped crying by that time, the tears started flowing again as she saw that he had brought a tawse and a cane back with him.

It was no use for Debbie to wail, ‘Oh no, please! I’ve been p-punished enough! My poor bottom can’t take any more!’ She was very soon face down across the arm of the settee, with her glowing, well-spanked bare buttocks in an excellent position for further chastisement. First Paul gave her three strokes of the tawse. It was the first time I had seen a girl tawsed and the memory is still vivid. The solid thwack! Of tough leather against the sensitive flesh of Debbie’s naked buttocks, The broad weal denoting an area of intense pain in those squirming, wincing curves, the yells of anguish and the frantic, tearful repentance from Debbie. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, please, I’m sorry!’ Which particular misdeeds she was atoning for I’m not quite sure; it hardly seemed to matter.

Paul handed the tawse to me, and I belted my naughty girl’s backside with great enthusiasm, three real crackers which made her suffering bottom a blaze as she howled and blubbered. Then Paul took the cane and laid on three fiery stripes across Debbie’s writhing backside before handing the cane to Anne. Anne obviously wasn’t inclined to let the tearful culprit off lightly, and poor Debbie had to endure the traditional six of the best from her mother, three on her buttocks and three scorching across her fleshy thighs.

That was the end of Debbie’s punishment at that time, but it was only the beginning of a strict disciplinary regime for Debbie which is still in force eighteen months later. Debbie is no cowering victim of tyranny, but she is a young lady who needs plenty of wholesome correction, and her husband and parents make sure that she gets it. Anne and I have long since acquired a cane and a tawse of our own, and they are in frequent use when Debbie visits us. The only snag as far as Anne is concerned is that her own bottom is now familiar with the impact of swishing rattan and stinging leather.

She tried to convince me that a lady of forty three was too old to bare and bend, but by this time she has spent enough stinging sessions squirming across the bed or bending over the chair to realise how mistaken she was. But Debbie is still the chief recipient of chastisement, and by this time she is quite reconciled to the knowledge that mum and dad will spank her soundly if she is a naughty girl or order her to take her knickers down for a red hot ration of tawse or cane. It doesn’t seem to do her any harm. She is still our lovely, lively, girl, cheerful and cheeky, and she bears no hard feelings about her tannings once her tears have dried and her well-thrashed bottom has cooled down.

Her most recent punishment was earlier this evening. I tawsed her, first making her hold her hands out for three stingers on each before touching her toes for six more across her bare seat. After an hour of penance facing the wall, she was ordered across Anne’s lap for a really thorough motherly spanking with the back of the hairbrush. She was still crying when Paul drove her home, and I’ve no doubt he’ll deal with her himself before going to bed. As for me, I have just ordered Anne up to our bedroom. When I follow her, having given her time to think about what is coming to her, I will find her stripped and ready, face-down across the bed with a couple of pillows under her hips to raise her sensitive buttocks as a tempting target for the cane that hangs behind the bedroom door.




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