Story from Janus 36 by Simon Banks
Well, what do you do with a 17-year-old daughter who has got to the stage of telling you, her father, that she’s old enough to do what she wants? And what she wants includes staying out at night to all hours with God-knows-who. And not just one such girl but two. Two close friends both still at school: Elaine Baxter and Tracy Watson.
What do you do if you are their fathers?
At least you can put your heads together, which is what Steven Baxter and Michael Watson, both in their early forties, were doing in the Pig’s Head over a pint. Something had to be done, but what? It had been building up for a while but last night was the end; when both men had waited up till after 1am before their daughters finally came in. And where had the girls been? ‘Just out, Dad,’ had been Elaine Baxter’s answer. While Tracy had advised her father, ‘Don’t worry, Dad. I can look after myself.’
‘We’ve got to do something,’ said Steve Baxter. He wiped the beer froth from his moustache.
‘Yes, but what?’
‘Actually, what they both need is a good caning.’
That was probably right, Tracy’s father agreed, but where were they going to get it? Certainly not at school, not the way schools were nowadays. ‘And, well,’ admitted Mr Watson, ‘I don’t exactly fancy caning my own daughter.’
Steven Baxter took a swallow of beer. He felt the same: he also couldn’t really see himself caning his own now shapely and decidedly nubile Elaine. It wouldn’t seem right somehow, though he’d be quite happy for someone else to do it and inject some sense into her.
He looked up as the thought suddenly came to him. ‘There is an answer of course. We could swap. You cane Elaine and I could cane young Tracy.’
Michael Watson’s eyes gradually widened as the sheer beauty of the idea sunk in. It was the obvious answer.
‘Steven Baxter! I think you’ve hit on it! That’s it!’
Steve Baxter grinned. ‘Parental approval will not be a problem!’
‘You’re bloody right it won’t!’
There was nothing like striking while the iron was hot, when the offence was still fresh in the offenders’ minds. It was decided therefore that the next day, a Saturday, would be ideal. For one thing on Saturdays both wives would be out shopping, for the presence of wives could well weaken the hard resolve that this called for. And obtaining the necessary instruments of chastisement did not present a problem for after leaving the pub they went round to have a chat with old Jack Crabtree, a retired village schoolmaster.
That gentleman duly produced a pair of nice whippy rattans. It was about time, he said, that these two mementos of his teaching days saw some action again. The three men laughed. To the two girls it was all going to come as a very nasty shock.
Elaine Baxter first became aware that something was up when after breakfast her father told her he was taking her over to the Watsons’. Elaine, a very pretty blonde young lady with a well filled-out figure which this morning was on show in a tight pink T-shirt and equally tight blue jeans, opened her blue eyes wide.
‘I’m not seeing Tracy this morning.’
Her father simply said it was not Tracy she was to see but Mr Watson.
‘Whatever for?’ asked Elaine.
‘You’ll see,’ said Mr Baxter. ‘But whatever he does or tells you to do you can be sure he’s got my authority.’
That made it even more mystifying but she could get no more out of her father. When they reached the Watsons’ house in Holden Avenue there was an equally mystified-looking Tracy waiting.
‘What’s this all about?’ she wanted to know.
She got the same ‘You’ll see’ which she had also earlier got from her father. Very shortly Steven Baxter was driving back the way he had come; his passenger now not his daughter but the equally attractive Tracy Watson.
‘What is this all about, Mr Baxter?’ she asked yet again when the two of them were inside the Baxters’ sitting room. ‘Is it some kind of joke?’
Steven Baxter gave her a thoughtful look. She was an attractive young piece all right; a gaminely pretty face framed by chestnut hair cut short, while down below, her figure, fuller than his own daughter’s, curved in all the right places in her pale blue sleeveless top and full black skirt.
‘No, it’s not a joke, Tracy. It’s about Thursday night. Your and Elaine’s gallivanting about.’
‘Yes, that. And for that, young Miss, you are going to have the cane. On your bare bottom.’
She looked… and a pink flush gradually suffused her cheeks. ‘You — you’ve got to be bloody joking!’
‘Not joking, Tracy. And please don’t use that language. It’s going to be six strokes of the cane. Six with your knickers down on your bare bottom. That’s the basic. I shall then want you to tell me what you were doing on Thursday night and who you were with. If you refuse then there’ll be some more of the cane on that no doubt pretty bottom.’
Tracy’s face was now crimson. ‘No way! That… this is just ridiculous. Look, if you try anything I-I’ll tell my Mum.’
Mr Baxter laughed. ‘Your mother’s got nothing to do with it, Tracy. This is being taken care of by me and your father. And for your information he is right now going to be dishing out the same medicine to Elaine. So, if you’ll remove that skirt. And then slip your knickers down.’
‘No!’ she blurted. ‘I simply refuse!’
‘Take your skirt off!’ he growled. ‘Or I’ll do it myself. Or would you on the other hand like to be sent to an Approved School for six months? Parents unable to cope with juvenile delinquent, etc. You could quite easily, you know. And at those places they can cane you twice a day.’
This was a bit of Steven Baxter’s own imagination but it sounded good. Or correspondingly horribly bad if you were the naive and gullible Tracy Watson.
‘Look…’ she pleaded, ‘isn’t there… something else?’
‘No. The cane. Your dad and I are both quite adamant. You’ve got to be taught a lesson.’
Tracy looked at him… then up at the ceiling. Then down at the floor. And then at last, cowed by his truly adult supremacy, her hands went to the waist of the black calf-length cotton skirt. Pops were unpopped. The skirt came down and she stepped out of it. Underneath, her ripely rounded hips and bottom were in a skimpy pair of brief blue knickers under transparent tights.
‘Now take the tights and knickers down.’
‘Look… this is just awful!’ Her voice was cracking.
‘Take them down!’
Tracy hesitated again, then turned her back but was sharply told to stay facing Mr Baxter. Reluctantly the tights came down, to mid-thigh, and then even more reluctantly the brief knickers were slid down off the rounded hips. There was a well-developed bush of black hair which she covered with her hand.
‘This is simply awful!’ Tracy wailed again.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘It’s meant to be. Now let’s see: let’s have you over the arm of the armchair, shall we?’
Tracy hobbled over to the chair and Mr Baxter pushed her down so that her hips were up on the chair arm and the upper part of her body was down in the seat. The twin globes of Tracy’s succulent rear were thrust sharply up to present a bewitching target.
Steven Baxter pushed one creamy flank. ‘Open your legs.’
‘No!’ protested the half-muffled voice.
‘Yes! This is a punishment, remember. And the more unpleasant it is the more you’ll think twice about your behaviour in the future.’
He placed her feet as far apart as the lowered knickers and tights would allow. It was a revealing position of course and Tracy knew it. She gave a groaning wail of embarrassment.
Steven Baxter now had Mr Crabtree’s cane in his hand. He gave it an experimental swish through the air, then tap-tapped it across the crests of the pouting bottom globes. There was an apprehensive hiss from Tracy. The cane was raised…
It struck with juddering impact, momentarily sinking into the soft resilient flesh before springing out again. ‘Aaaeeeooohh!!’ Tracy’s anguished yelp resembled the cry of a cat in heat, her hands coming automatically back to clutch at her burning bum which now displayed a bright red double-edged stripe.
Mr Baxter whipped the cane lightly across the backs of the clutching hands. ‘Hands away, or you’ll get extra ones. Come on!’
The hands were reluctantly removed; the jerking bottom became somewhat less agitated. Again the cane was raised and whipped down.
THWATT!… Once more it bit sharply in, an inch lower than the first contact line. Another banshee yell from Tracy and a renewed frenzied dance of her ripe round bum. From the depths of the chair seat there came desperate cries.
‘Stop, Mr Baxter! No more! You’re killing me…’
Steve Baxter drank in the splendid sight of the now doubly-striped bottom, relishing his power over the nubile half-naked teenager. ‘You’re getting six, like I said.’
He had laid the third into the exact curve where bum cheeks became fat upper thighs, a splendidly tender region which produced a correspondingly desperate reaction from young Tracy. How that must have hurt her! He waited until her violent motion had subsided somewhat, and then went back up to the full crest of the bottom for the fourth.
She seemed to be sobbing how.
The final two Mr Baxter put on in a nice cross, top left to lower right and vice versa. A cross on top of three transverse shots, although he wasn’t quite as accurate as he had wanted to be with the last of the six strokes. Then he let the cane fall to the floor. The girl’s bottom, twitching and writhing, was an impressive sight and it was clear he’d done an excellent job. Gasping and sobbing, Tracy made no attempt to get up.
He reached out to pat the red-striped bum. ‘Come on, it’s over now. At least it is if you’re sensible.’
He pulled Tracy to her feet, then put his arm round her. She was a nice kid, or had been until this recent bout of wildness. The sorrowful chestnut head reached his shoulders and her tear-stained face was pressed into his shirt-front, quickly wetting it. A bit further down a pair of firm full tits were pressed in as well. Very pleasant. Steve Baxter patted her back, then one hand slid down to likewise pat her bare bum. At which she flinched and gasped.
‘Going to tell me about it now?’ he asked.
She made a sound like ‘Nnngghh…’
Mr Baxter backed towards the armchair, taking Tracy with him. He sat down in the now vacant seat, as he did so twisting her so that she finished up face down — and bottom up — over his lap. His left hand held her while his right slid softly and caressingly over the now heated bare bottom.
‘You’re going to have to tell, Tracy; otherwise I’ll just have to continue your medicine.’
There was a silence and then, intermixed with sobs, it came jerkily out. They had gone to the disco where these two fellows had picked them up and taken them out in their car. Two young reps it seemed. According to Tracy’s halting account nothing much had happened. So were they planning to see them again, Mr Baxter wanted to know?
‘No! Definitely not! You understand?’
She was silent. He gave the bare bottom which he had been stroking a sharp smack. ‘Understand?’
‘Y…yes,’ she said, wincing.
The hand resumed its caressing. With a sniff Tracy said, ‘You… you’re awfully mean, Mr Baxter…’
A little later Michael Watson arrived with Elaine. The two men had a brief private word. It seemed that things had gone just as well at Holden Avenue as they had at the Baxters’ house. Mr Watson went off with Tracy leaving Steven Baxter alone with his daughter.
‘OK?’ he asked. ‘Had a nice little lesson then?’
Flushing red, Elaine made a face.
‘Let’s see,’ he told her. ‘Slip down your things.’
Elaine tried to refuse but her father insisted. Reluctantly she slipped down jeans and knickers, as she had earlier reluctantly slipped them down for Mr Watson. Her bottom bore six transverse red stripes, not the same pattern as Tracy’s, but the effect would have been very similar.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘That looks good! Pull them up.’
The two girls got together that afternoon, at Tracy’s house. It was nice and private for her parents had gone out. Up in Tracy’s room the girls commiserated with each other over their dreadful experiences of the morning. They told each other how really terrible their fathers were as they contemplated the prospect of no more late-night discos and the fact that they wouldn’t be seeing those two men again.
When they had said all this though, the fact remained that it had been a bit exciting, as well as painful. Awful but exciting at the same time. Because men were men and Mr Watson and Mr Baxter were both rather attractive in an older-man way. And having to submit to them in that very physical manner… well, the thought of it could undoubtedly make a 17-year-old female heart beat a bit faster. Not that they admitted this to each other.
‘Do you think,’ asked Elaine with a shiver, ‘that they’re going to want to do it again?’
‘Cripes!’ said Tracy.
In fact the two men decided, a couple of evening later in the Pig’s Head, that a little reminder for the girls would be no bad thing. The short sharp shock had obviously been excellent and a second dose could only improve matters. Indeed they were both agreed that more doses could with advantage be handed out at regular intervals for although they didn’t actually say so, each had found it a highly agreeable duty. For the second session, though, it was decided that the cane itself could be dispensed with. A sharp spanking would do.
It was not specified, the details were left open, but each of them privately decided such a spanking for the other’s daughter would be more effective if it was delivered on her bare bottom with skirt raised and knickers suitably lowered
Tracy and Elaine were both this time given prior warning by their fathers of what was to take place on Saturday morning. There were looks and expressions of shock and indignation — while at the same time each felt a shiver of excitement. It was frightful but it was also an undeniably heady prospect, in a way as exciting as being asked out by those two men at the disco.
And indeed when the weekend arrived both girls prepared for the ordeal as if they were going on a date: washing their hair the night before and on the appointed morning having a bath and putting on some scent and blusher and eye-shadow and, in Tracy’s case, some pink lipstick as well. And dressing in what they both considered to be their most glam outfits.Furthermore both Tracy and Elaine decided that if they were going to be forced to reveal what was underneath their skirts, then boring old tights would not be good enough. So they arrayed themselves in eye-catching nylons and suspender belts, just like in those glamorous Sixties. Well, if you were going to be suffering the exciting indignity of having a man spank your bare bottom you had to be looking your best.