Chapter 1
Suzanne was so excited, she was looking forward to spending the time in the Big Apple with her mother and father. Suzanne was fifteen, although, unlike many other girls her age, Suzanne was something of a homebody. She still enjoyed being with her parents, and she was happy to be so close with her family.
As pretty as she was, she could have had practically any boyfriend. She was not a stupid girl, by any means, and she had a lot to offer in other departments, too.
More than anything, she was a shy girl.
There were times that she spent her afternoons walking, and daydreaming, rather than walk into the classroom late - after all the other students had been there.
She would rather suffer the entire day, than admit to being late.
There were reasons for that, although they were reasons that only she knew. Or maybe, just she and one other person.
But she would never tell; no, she actually vowed that she would never tell, the other reasons, and who had put them in her head - and how.
When she returned home later in the day, about the usual hour that she would have arrived home had she attended school's regular session, she just pretended that she had been to school that day, and this threw her into a further extension of guilt, since she knew that she had really been playing hooky.
She was afraid that her mother could look through her, and could read her.
She was afraid that her mother could see it in her eyes, that she had not been at school that day, and she feared that her mother might tell her father.
Her father ruled her with an iron hand.
His word in the house was law. He believed in corporal punishment. He believed in spanking.
Discipline was very important to Salvatore Amorelli, Suzanne's father.
He believed that through disciplining one's energies, anything could be accomplished in life. He, after all, had worked himself up in two generations.
His parents had come from Italy, where discipline was also strict, and usually administered by the male head of the household, and now Salvatore had worked himself up into a suburban home in a fair-haired neighborhood. He was making good money as a construction supervisor in the town, and he was pleased with the way he was training his daughter - and his wife.
Suzanne's mother was quite a good woman, according to Salvatore. She was a good cook, and a fine home-maker. She sewed, washed dishes, cleaned house, and even took a part time job filing papers in the afternoons before returning home to prepare supper so that it would be waiting for her husband and daughter.
In private, Salvatore also bragged about how he had trained his wife with spankings. How he believed in using the hand, and just as often, the belt, so that his hand wouldn't hurt and burn from the hard spankings he laid on upturned bottom globes.
The smooth, white ass cheeks of his wife were often spanked until they were red hot, or so Salvatore bragged to the men in the health club where he would go to relax in the steam room to relieve his muscles after working on a construction site.
He bragged that he knew how to use his muscles to keep his wife in line, and that he also possessed the one muscle which she needed most, especially after one of her ass-blazing punishment sessions.
"I hold a session every night. I think it's best never to go to sleep at night without first having had a session giving us both a chance to clean away anything that builds up between us," he would say.
Some of the men were already in disagreement with his decidedly sexist manner of ruling the roost, but almost everybody drew in close to listen to him.
"After I've beaten her, using my hand or my belt, or whatever it takes to teach her not to be late, or not to be snotty, or to be or not to be whatever it is I'm training her to be or not to be at the time, she behaves after a while, and I can tell by the way she cries if she's ready or not. She listens to me, alright," he'd say.
"When you say jump, she jumps, huh, Sal?" a guy named Eddie would ask.
"Yeah, she knows who wears the pants in my family."
The same technique of physical punishment upon a disciplined behind applied to the rounded rear of fifteen-year-old Suzanne, and had been taking place since her sixth birthday.
The only thing was, Daddy spanked her only once a week, so she had more punishments to build up, and more time to recover from the bruising her bared bottom might suffer over Daddy's knee.
Of course, if she specifically misbehaved at any time at all during the week, a notation was marked into her punishment book - both the record she kept, and the one her father kept from his own notes.
And of course, if she were especially naughty during the week, with a deed which required immediate attention, she knew she could expect a severe ass-warming from her father's stern hands any time of the week.
In fact, he had been known to turn her against the wall, have her yank her skirt up, and punish her at once, in the public streets. It was a rare happening, rather than the rule, and thankfully, he had spared the added embarrassment of pulling down her white cotton underpants - when he spanked her in the street where others could see her.
(When he spanked her at home, it almost always ended up a bare-bottom spanking.)
This had not happened since she was fourteen years old, however, and so she hoped that she was being good enough to avoid such rituals now in her fifteenth year.
She certainly was trying hard enough.
At times, she thought that she'd do just anything to please her Daddy.
She liked the way Daddy kissed her goodnight.
Usually, he would kiss her on the forehead, and she would feel the warmth of his lips, soft as they were on her smooth brow, and she would get all warm in the pussy.
Her little nipples would tingle and grow firm.
She was always quite careful in the way she hugged her Daddy and bounced up and down on his knees - when Mommy was around. Her mother had grown to be a challenge, in a way. She loved her mother very much, but sometimes she had terrible dreams.
They were more like nightmares, really, and she always awoke from them in a sweat, and she'd be startled to realize that she had been dreaming.
Sometimes, she'd still be breathing hard and fast, and sometimes she'd be shaking and trembling all over.
Sometimes she could hardly believe what she had dreamed, and other times she cried over what she had dreamed, and she'd thank whatever spirit awakened her before she wrang her mother's neck in her nightmare of competition and jealousy.
How could she feel that? She hated herself for those dreams. One time she told Daddy, in her weekly confession, about those dreams.
It was a warm Sunday afternoon. Mother had taken the car. She was going to the shopping center over in the next town where the taxes were less and where bargains could be found by the eager shopper out for a bargain.
Mother needed new sheets for the double bed in which she and Salvatore slept.
Ordinarily, Suzanne took her weekly discipline session late on Sunday afternoons. She always knew, as the afternoon drew on, that her spanking session was approaching.
It would give her that funny feeling in the pit of her stomach, and sometimes her quim would quiver from deep inside.
She could almost feel the way the heat of a spanking blistered her vulnerable and unprotected bottom during one of the more heavy punishment sessions.
She knew about the deeds she had written down in her weekly notes on punishment. She had a number of deeds which required some spanking - leaving her clothes out on the chair next to her bed for the whole night would earn her about five spanks, she estimated. Losing her library card would not only mean that she'd have to pay the fine to the library, but that she would have to pay her fine to her father, too, over his knee.
But she was troubled about the dreams she'd been having, and she wanted to put her feelings out in the open. She didn't want to walk around carrying them with her. She wanted to let go of these feelings by putting them outside of her.
Just by speaking these dreams would put them outside of her body.
She was so close with her family. She did so many things with them, and she stayed home and watched television with her parents on nights when other girls were out on dates.
She felt that it was only right to confide in her father about these dreams. He would know what to do. She believed that he always did know what to do.
Her bottom hadn't begun to quiver yet. She hadn't started to feel her stomach knot up with butterflies, and she hadn't felt her nipples tauten against the front of her blouse, and she didn't feel that stickiness on between her pussy lips yet.
No, she didn't feel these signs which always showed themselves in her body before her time approached. She hadn't started to think about the day's inevitable tallying up of punishment points.
She knew that she had earned a decent spanking.
She couldn't be sure whether or not she had actually earned a whopper of an ass-blazing, as she did when there were an especially large number of infringements, or when Daddy was feeling strict or in a bad mood, and punished more severely for minor infractions.
Mother had only been gone about 15 minutes when Daddy came knocking on Suzanne's door. She was lying on her belly, on her bed, wearing a t-shirt and a pair of shorts.
She had been studying for a history exam.
"Suzanne, as it's almost time for your weekly punishment session, and since your mother is out shopping, we shall begin early this Sunday. I will be waiting for you downstairs in the basement playroom. You are to come down in fifteen minutes, after you've thought it all over and added anything which needs to be added to your punishment book."
"Yes, Daddy," Suzanne replied respectfully.
"And you are to go into my punishment closet and take out the belt which you think you deserve to be strapped with. Remember, I'll decide how hard you deserve to take it across your flanks, but you'll pick the belt."
"Yes, Daddy," she repeated.
As her father had told her many times, these spankings were for her own benefit.
It he could help her to remember to be aware of her library card at all times, maybe she wouldn't lose it again. With a good spanking, her ass would sting and ache for nearly a week, so that for seven days, at least, she would be hard pressed to forget about the library card every time she tried to sit or run or walk.
She'd feel it on her bottom.
"I'll be waiting for you downstairs in the basement. Remember, fifteen minutes. Any later, and you'll pay for it with punishment strokes - one stroke per minute of lateness."
"Yes, Daddy," Suzanne replied.
She watched her father turn and walk out the door.
She saw the way his muscles flexed as he opened it. She watched the way his slacks hugged the wide muscles of his upper legs, the curve of his buttocks.
The last part she saw of him as he left the room was his hand, big and strong as it was, and she felt that tingle inside her pussy, knowing the way he spanked her with it.
She knew of the power he wielded on her bottom.
Yes, it would stay with her for several days after such a punishment.
She looked at herself in the mirror. At fifteen, her hair was the color of straw.
It was straight, and hung down neatly behind, and in bangs at the front of her face.
She tried to keep her hair neat enough to please her mother who liked it that way, but not too neat, because Daddy liked her to look natural. He even told her that she looked real "sexy" with her long, blonde hair, and her smooth skin, and the few tan freckles over her turned-up little nose.
She felt all flustered to hear it. When the boys at school called her sexy, she turned them away or ignored them. She just never imagined that she would hear those words from her own father.
Her breasts were budding nicely now. She tweaked the tawny nipples whenever she remembered to, because one of the girls at school had advised her that the nipples would grow larger that way. But it was important, this girl had added, that she cup the bottoms of her breast globes and push up on them with a gentle pressure each time she pulled at the nipples. This, it was said, would keep the little globes firm and upturned, and they wouldn't sag despite the fact that no bra was worn.
She wondered if she should actually write down her nightmares in her punishment book. She finally decided that it would be better just to tell her father of the dreams, when the time was right during this assigned hour of discipline.
It was almost ten, minutes after her father had entered the room, and she knew that to be on time, she had better get herself together and pick out a strap for her punishment.
She went into her father's bedroom with the slow but steady pulse which always was part of her at this time so close to her punishment's commencement.
She opened his closet, seeing herself at first in the mirror which was fastened, full length, along the front of the closet door.
Her image reflected in the mirror then moved clearly out of sight along with the high pitched groan of the door as she opened it. The hinges needed greasing.
Her eyes widened when she took in all of the punishment straps which were hanging side by side in her father's special closet.
She knew that each belt did its own work on a girl's unprotected bottom.
She saw the familiar wide belt, the black leather one, which her father wore around his waist when he wore his button-down jeans. She had never been beaten with it, and so she took it from the rack and tested the weight of it against her opened palm.
She couldn't really tell how it would ultimately feel across her bare butt if it were used there by her father. His swing would always be harder than her swing, just because of positioning, leverage, and the strength of his grown man body.
She turned her butt up and smacked herself across the short shorts which clung to her buttocks. She used the thick leather belt.
She could feel the weight of it when she doubled it over and cracked herself with it. Yet, it didn't bite into her or sting her terribly, the way some of the thinner leather belts did.
She placed it on the bed as a possibility.
Her trembling fingers caressed the many other strips of rawhide hanging in the closet. They all seemed so lifeless now. She knew that they would spring to life against a perfectly rounded bottom of bare girl flesh.
She knew from her own experience that these lifeless belts and straps would warm to the heat of her body; would warm to the ass into which they spanked their red hot heat.
She found the leather strap with the- big brass buckle on the end of it. He had never used a buckle on the business end of his spankings of Suzanne, but Suzanne was sure that her father did use the buckle on his wife, Suzanne's mother.
There had been a few words at the dinner table, one time. The words were from Mrs. Amorelli's mouth, and Salvatore told her that he would teach her lesson to keep her from opening her mouth up all the time.
He told her, "You're really gonna get it tonight. I'm gonna give you the buckle tonight."
The words of threat, or promise, sent chills up and down Suzanne's back as she sat at the dinner table and heard her father tell her mother.
She listened carefully for the sound of the heavy brass upon her mother's bared ass, but the walls of the house were thick, and once the door to the bedroom (where he frequently administered discipline to his wife) or to the downstairs playroom, were closed, no sound could be heard except if you put your ear right up to the door.
So she never really knew if her mother had received the buckle, but her mother seemed especially mannered and well-behaved after that incident at the table, the following morning.
Suzanne found the belt which her father had worn in the army. His old army belt.
Then she found a leather belt with her father's first initial in it, designed from little silver studs. She could imagine what the studs would do against a naked ass globe. The belt, in her father's hand, could hit hard enough to emblazon that initial into her flesh.
It was growing late. She could hear the alarm clock in her father's room ticking the minutes away; each minute bringing her closer to her spanking; each spank bringing her closer to her repentance.
She reached instinctively into the closet, almost without looking, and drew out a long, brown leather belt. It was made of a heavy leather. It was slender; about one and a half inches wide, and long enough to fit around her father's thirty inch waist.
She removed it from its rack and took it in her hands.
They were trembling as much as her cunny was, as she walked solemnly through the bedroom and down the stairs to the living room. Then through the living room, into the dining room, into the kitchen and then down the stairs into the basement playroom.
Downstairs, in the playroom, there was the color television, and the ping pong table, and the boxes filled with linens in storage, and old newspaper, and a few garage supplies and wood.
Plus, the room had been converted into the punishment room.
That was what Suzanne knew it was when she saw her father's face.
He had that stern look on his face. His features, all perfect, were still.
A serious expression was on his face. His full lips were closed. His dark eyes were piercing.
"Bring me your punishment book," he told her.
She extended her hands, holding the book, like an obedient little girl.
Her father took the book from her hands. He sat down on one of the pieces of Danish modern furniture. Suzanne remained standing with her head bowed slightly.
Looking downward, she saw the soft extensions of her twin mounds of breast flesh. She saw the subtle curves of her stomach, and the cleft and curve of her pussy.
She saw her feet, and further on, she saw her father's feet.
He was wearing his sweat socks and his bedroom sandals, and his foot was tapping as he read the things which Suzanne had written into her punishment book as being infractions of rules which deserved some punishment and some discipline.
He made notes and compared her listings with the listings he had made based on his observations of her behavior.
"You've been pretty good this week," her father said.
That made Suzanne feel good. It made her feel good to know that she was improving. It also made her feel all glowing inside to know that she pleased her father.
Of course, she knew that there would be a Sunday disciplining session every week, even if there were no punishments earned at all.
There was no such thing as a clean slate, her father would tell her, until after a spanking or similar disciplining session has been administered.
Therefore, even if there is nothing marked in the punishment book, a disciplining would be in order, simply on general principles.
Indeed, Suzanne did admit that she felt a whole lot better after a disciplining session over Daddy's knee. He did indeed spank a lot of badness out of her, and he felt better for being true to what he felt were his responsibilities, too.
He wanted his daughter to be a good girl.
"What have you brought for me to use on you today?" her father asked.
"I have brought this belt, father," she replied, handing it to him.
He held it in his hands and yanked it in both directions, making it snap.
"Fine. This is a fine one," he added.
He told Suzanne, "Assume the position."
She knew by now that this meant that she would have bend over at her waist so that her breasts would hang downward and that her back was kept straight.
The main idea was to raise the buttocks up and out in the back so that the rounded target would be well seen and well reached. She grabbed her ankles and stuck her ass way, way out.
She closed her eyes and awaited her punishment.
But it didn't come that quickly.
Of course not. Her father never started it when she expected it.
He let her wait a while, still stewing, still thinking about why she was being punished.
She heard her father's strict, deep, authoritarian voice cut through the silence of the downstairs playroom.
"You are going to receive twenty strokes of the belt for today's session covering the deeds of infringement of the past week. Five for leaving dishes in the sink after taking a snack; five for leaving clothing on your bed all night instead of depositing it in the proper drawers" (she knew she'd get five for that) "five for ... " And so the last went on.
There seemed to be so many minutes between the time she bent over and the time her father told her to pull down those shorts.
"Pull 'em down!"
She stood up and reached into the waistband of them. She tugged at them until they moved down the round part of her ass, down to her hips, down her thighs.
She was naked, with her shorts rolled up around her ankles.
She grabbed on to her ankles, and raised her twin globes back up again.
They were glowing in the dim light of the downstairs playroom at this hour of the afternoon. Outside, children were playing on the streets at street level, but the sounds of their laughter as they threw footballs back and forth and called each other as the rode their bicycles up and down the block, was blocked out from Suzanne's ears.
She was holding her ankles very tightly. She knew that if she let go of them during the spanking, she would be rewarded with additional punishment. She knew that if she placed her hands back on her blazing buttocks to protect them, she would be strapped right across her hands just as hard as she would have taken it across her butt.
Her bottom globes were very smooth. There was no hair at all on them. The only hairs on her butt were concentrated at the crack of her ass, and they were so fine, golden and downy, that they could only be seen when the light touched. Of course, only her own slender fingers caressed that intimate spot between her rounded legs. She felt the power of her father's gaze sort of breeze through her legs as she stood there with her head bent low. She could feel his eyes on her most private places. She knew that he was able to see the curves of her vagina as she bent over and it peeked out between her legs.
She hoped he didn't see the trickle of cunt cream which oozed from her tender young pussy and ran in a rivulet down the expanse of her creamy inner thigh.
That always happened as she waited for a spanking. She believed that it was caused by the anticipation of it all. She was in the position with her ass raised high, and bared, of course, and the waiting for the inevitable just made her wet. When a girl of fifteen gets all wet inside of her pussy, some of it is bound to drip.
All of a sudden, the belt whistled through the air.
Crack!
It landed squarely against both of her ass cheeks at once.
The impact of it landing so forcefully against her startled her, and nearly knocked her forward at first. But she remained in position, holding her ankles so tightly that she would forget the desire to stand up straight and avoid the next wallop.
But she knew better than to do that, of course.
Crack, crack, crack! The next three strokes were carefully placed.
Daddy knew how he was spanking her. He knew what he was doing. He gave her a spanking on both cheeks at once, making sure to cover every inch of her ass before starting over and striking areas which had already received his anger.
Of course, some spots were more sensitive than others, and by the time the third and forth blows with the belt landed upon these areas, the cheeks were well reddened because of it, and the soreness had already started the bruises to swell and to ache.
"Take your disciplining, you bad girl," Daddy said, as he spanked some sense into her. Over and over again, he gave her the beating.
It was left up to both of them to keep count, but it was Suzanne's responsibility to make sure of the tally if she didn't want to receive any extras.
She had been instructed to keep track of the whipping and to let her father know that she had done so by telling him when he reached the stroke of twenty.
Sometimes, the pain of the spanking was so much, she lost her count.
When she suddenly realized that she had been receiving punishment without keeping track, it always disconcerted her. But she took it as best she could.
She tried to figure out how many she'd taken, but was always certain to make the count go over, rather than under reality, if that was the choice.
She would never attempt to stop it before it had run its natural course.
No, she knew that she would be severely punished for that.
Her father spanked her according to the book. Five strokes were given for the specific infraction of coming home late from school without calling to tell her mother that she would not be home at her regular time. These five strokes were delivered with the doubled-over belt, in quick succession.
Suzanne's bottom was feeling very red and sore after that, and she was given a brief rest before the next series, given for another infraction of her father's rules.
As she stood there with her ass up and her hands clinging to her ankles, and her eyes shut tightly and her teeth gritting and her lips clenched, all in order to withstand the punishment, she wondered if other girls her age were still receiving similar forms of discipline at the whims of their fathers.
If they weren't, she thought that they were sadly lacking in the discipline they deserved to have. It was an honor for her to receive her father's love in this manner.
She was glad he cared enough to keep her in line.
After twenty strokes of the belt had crossed her now blazing bottom, Suzanne told her father, "Thank you, Daddy. Thank you for spanking me."
Daddy caressed the sensitive flesh of the swollen bottom globes.
"You know why I had to spank you," he would tell her.
"Yes, Daddy, because I was bad and because you want to train me to behave."
"Do you feel better now?" he'd ask, running his hands under the globes and in between her legs where the nasty strap had snaked, and bitten, several times.
"Yes, Daddy," Suzanne said, although her voice was quivering because her father was now touching her inner thighs where the cunt cream had dripped.
He knew that she was wet, and she was afraid that he might beat her again for allowing the ooze to flow from her in that manner. But it was just too much cooze fluid to contain inside so delicate a little pussy.
As her father massaged the body he had bruised, Suzanne decided that it was the right time to confide in him about the dreams she had been having.
Mother was out shopping, and so she started, "Daddy, there's something else that I have to tell you."
He continued stroking her battered flesh with his strong, now gentle hands.
He was listening, and told her to begin.
"I've been having these dreams, and I don't know why. They are always different in so far as different situations come up in each of them, but they always end the same. In one, I open the door of the closet and out comes my mother. She's chasing me. She's seen something that I've done, although in my dream, and even now, I can't remember what it was that she's seen."
"Anyway, she starts chasing me, and I duck down, and she goes flying out the window."
Suzanne was aware that her father had stopped his caresses. Her story about her dreams had caused him to stop the movement of his hands on her bottom.
He was listening intently as she continued.
"In another dream, Mother was teasing me. She was telling me that I couldn't do a hula dance as well as she could. We were both nude. I remember seeing her big breasts sticking out, and all that hair above her cunt."
"As for me, my pussy was hairless in this dream, and we were both doing the strange hula dance. At first, she swayed more dramatically than I did. Her hips really moved back and forth, and she had a way of making her belly roll up and down. It was amazing."
"But I did what I could to keep up with her. I wanted to show her that I could wiggle and wriggle my body just as well as she could wiggle and wriggle her body."
"In fact, maybe I could do it even better than she could."
"Well, she liked the way I was doing it at first, I know. I could even see her having a reaction to it, a physical reaction, when she let her hands move from her stomach down into the hills and valleys of her pussy!"
"Her fingers found the slit and she kept sticking them inside of it and bringing out these love oils which she used to slick her pussy lips."
"Her nipples were really extended now. They were firm and standing out many inches from the rest of her breast, or so it seemed. Her aureoles were as large as silver dollars; silver dollars of dropped chocolate, that's what they looked like on the curves of her huge breasts which moved back and forth across her chest with her dance."
"But suddenly, she became angry with me. She had an enraged look on her face, and it became a scarlet red in color. All the veins welled up on her neck. She looked as if she was under a lot of pressure."
"Suddenly, she jumped at me, grabbing at my neck. She forced me down on the floor and I could feel the weight of her on top of me. I felt her breasts pushing heavily against me, and her pussy was rubbing up and down against my thigh."
"The hairs of her snatch were scratching me, and the slit itself was emitting a cream which soaked my leg as I tried to squirm away from her."
"Even in the dream, I saw that it was just impossible to get her away from me. I couldn't even talk to her because she was squeezing my neck. Her fingers were around it and she was exerting pressure. I couldn't get any sound out except some silly little squeak which was almost silent, and more frustrating than silence for communication."
"Finally, I got all of my strength and I fought back against this strange and seemingly unprovoked attack which had begun so innocently with a hula dance."
"I had no choice but to grab at her neck and to force some pressure onto her. I saw her face become twisted with strain, and there was nothing that she could do. I felt my own power."
"I must have been screaming, even in my sleep, because suddenly, Mother herself was in my bedroom. She was shaking me, and I heard her soft, sweet, familiar voice. She was telling me that I'd had a bad dream, and that I was calling out so loudly, she'd heard me as she went to the bathroom in the middle of the night to fetch a glass of water."
"I thanked God that it was all a dream, and that even in the dream, I had not been allowed to go all the way and strangle my mother. It was such a horrible thought and I felt so badly for having dreamed it. I lay there in my bed with a cold sweat broken out on my forehead, as well as all over my body."
"I wondered if dreams were a way of acting out a suppressed desire, or exactly what they were trying to tell me. But I couldn't face my mother with them. I was afraid that she would grow to fear me."
"So I'm telling you all of this now, Daddy. What do you think of it all?"
"I think you deserve a sound, old-fashioned spanking to correct such thoughts, young lady," her father had told her assuredly. "But I mean a hard one to really spank that shit out of you and free your mind of such wicked, wicked thoughts."
He wasn't even going to have her assume the position this time. He wasn't even going to take her and turn her over his knee the way he often did when she had a hard one coming. At such times she would feel the bulge at the front of his pants as it rubbed up and down against her belly as she squirmed in anticipation of the beating.
He would use his left arm to hold her down, for she would kick when the spanking became really hot, and she would arch her sweet ass cheeks this way and that in order to try and avoid the unavoidable spanking.
But this time he had a special spanking in store for her, and he took one of the Danish modern lounge chairs which was part of the basement playroom's decor, and he turned it over so that the legs of it, and the bottom of it, were up in the air.
"Bend over that chair. Rest your belly down, your butt way up," he said as he moved behind a screen where he had some auto equipment. He found a rope, although it was a rough rope which would burn the flesh for the use he was putting it to.
When his little girl had assumed the new punishment position over the bottom of the turned-over lounge chair, he spread her arms and legs and wrapped the ropes around her wrists and ankles many times.
When the wrists and ankles were covered with rope, he extended her hands and feet toward the wooden legs of the couch and fastened the rope around them.
He tied her to the chair. He tied her tightly enough so that she was unable to move. She struggled at first, just to feel the restraints. She soon discovered that she could not move very far. She was placed in bondage, and was helpless.
In a way, it almost seemed to cruel to her. She was such a delicate little girl, and her father was a fully grown, lumbering hulk of a man.
Yet, he took off the belt which he had been wearing around his waist, and combined it with the thin leather strap which he had just used to beat her twenty times.
He swung them both at once, the way a ballplayer will warm up swinging two heavy baseball bats instead of just one. But this was no warm up. It was the real thing.
It heated up her bared ass, pretty well though.
And she struggled vainly, unable to move except to feel the scraping of her wrists and her ankles where they were bound with the ropes and fastened to the bottom of the chair.
Welt after scarlet welt flared up on her naked bottom as time after time she was beaten by her Daddy's disciplining double-straps.
She cried out at the top of her lungs. She could not hold back her tears.
The entire lounge chair was moving with the movements of her body, but she was unable to avoid what was coming to her.
The tears were streaming down her face as he gave her more than fifty hard and fast strokes on the naked bottom which had previously been burned with twenty lashes.
At the end of the spanking, he kissed away her tears and she thanked him for spanking away the guilt and evil thoughts associated with the dreams which had been plaguing her about her relationship with her mother.
Daddy placed the belts which had spanked her close to her face. She could smell the scent of hot leather. She could feel the heat radiating off the leather, and she knew that the heat had been generated by her rounded ass globes.
She could feel the pain which burned inside the newly formed aches as she kissed the belt which had beaten her and thanked her Daddy again.