by Perry Symon Fowler
"Hold it right there, young lady!"
Allison Conway froze in shock, eyes swiveling towards the kitchen door. A cold finger ran the length of her spine. She knew that tone, recognized the naked anger in her father's voice. It was a tone she had come to fear over the years, one she'd learnt to treat with the utmost respect. Her pulse leapt into overdrive as the adrenalin hit her bloodstream. She'd been caught sneaking in through the back door, and now she was in trouble.
Literally breathless with surprise, Allison turned to face the tall, brooding figure looming in the doorway. Jason Conway stood with his hands planted firmly on his hips, face simmering with rage and relief. Relief because his wayward daughter had finally arrived home; rage because it was two-thirty in the morning. He loomed in the doorway, staring down at her in slow-burning contempt.
"Where have you been?" Jason demanded, his words slicing the air like a razor. Allison flinched like a frightened child, her mind whirling with panic. Jason wasn't just angry. He was utterly furious. His eyes glittered with emerald fire, and his mouth was a taut red line.
Allison could almost feel the heat radiating off him in blistering waves. She wavered before that scalding gaze, frantically searching for an excuse, an escape route, some pretext by which she could evade imminent justice. Nothing much came to mind.
She'd been caught red-handed, after all. All her lies and schemes and covert little deceptions had come to nothing: Jason had snared her with an almost dismissive ease, laying the trap with the confidence of long experience. What had she been thinking, creeping through the kitchen like some rank amateur? Jason Conway was a predator, patrolling his territory like a hungry barracuda. Allie had seriously under-estimated her Father's considerable intellect, and now the mistake was going to cost her. Dearly.
"I assume you realize what time it is," Jason said, striding into the kitchen with a menacing, determined step. "I've had the police out looking for you since midnight, Allie!"
"The police?!" Allison cried, her voice high and thin, "Daddy, you didn't -"
"Yes I did. They weren't terribly impressed - and neither was I. I've warned you before about your curfew. Ten-thirty by the latest - no exceptions." He halted two paces from the girl, his lean, pantherish figure framed in a rectangle of fluorescent light. His glare could have felled a Minnesota Bull.
Allison wilted in open dread, knowing what was coming next. "B-but it w-wasn't my fault, Daddy", she stammered, falling back from that livid, unforgiving gaze, "I just d-didn't -"
"I don't care what your story is, young lady!" Jason cut her off, voice rising by at least two decibels. "If you're late, you call home! That's the rule, Allie - and you know it." Which was true. He had drummed this precept into the girl's head every week for the last nine years, long before she'd even finished elementary school. There was no room for misunderstanding under Jason Conway's roof.
Lower lip wobbling in dismay, Allison found herself reduced to the status of a pleading child. "Please, Daddy," she began, desperate to avoid the punishment she could feel hanging over her head, I'm ruh-really s-sorry -"
"Not as sorry as you're going to be," Jason interrupted, dismissing the girl's apologies with an impatient wave of her hand. "I think it's time you were reminded who sets the rules in this house. Now - go to your room and change out of those clothes. I'll be along to deal with you in ten minutes."
Allie's mouth flopped open. The verdict had been reached, her worst fears confirmed. "No, no, please Daddy," she wailed, "I don't want a spanking!"
"Well, a spanking is exactly what you deserve," Jason replied, his expression literally blazing with threat. "Now get down to your room."
"Daddy -"
"This instant!"
Bursting into a squall of frightened tears, Allison fled the kitchen, wailing in misery as she bolted down the hallway. Jason watched her from the kitchen door, his face lined with paternal displeasure. He'd had it up to here with the girl's willful disobedience, her dishonesty, her malicious, lying deceit. Here she was, skulking around the house at two-thirty in the morning, crying innocent and reeking of Jim Beam. Did she think he was an idiot? Came down in the last shower?
By God, he was going to teach that girl a lesson she would never forget. Allie's bottom was long overdue for a spanking, and Jason was determined that the debt would be paid in full. As for the method of payment ... well, this required far more than a few glancing slaps to the rear. It was time for a good, healthy dose of Old Faithful. It was, after all, a long established family tradition, one which never failed to achieve the desired results. Allison's cheeks would be smarting for weeks to come; he'd see to that personally. He'd already paid a visit to the girl's bedroom in preparation for the main event. He could well imagine the look on Allie's face when she realized precisely what she was in for.
Yes, Jason thought to himself, hitching up his jeans an inch or two, Old Faithful will do nicely on this occasion.
Allison sprinted down the corridor, choking back her tears like a little girl. Her head was spinning with apprehension; she simply couldn't believe this was happening again. She was going to be spanked. She knew from prior excursions over Jason's knee that the pain would be excruciating. Jason Conway was a world-class spanker, having had a lifetime to perfect his technique on Allie's defenseless hynie. The knowledge of her impending punishment had her weeping with terror. Could there be anything worse than a hot, throbbing bottom?
Jason was a most formidable disciplinarian: strict, uncompromising, and self-assured. Undisputed master of his domain, his decisions were both ruthless and intractable, particularly where matters of discipline were concerned. He had established a strict regimen of conduct governing his daughter's behavior, under which the slightest transgression would be met with the most humiliating of penalties.
No, there was nothing worse than a well-smacked fanny. It was something Allie detested from the very core of her being. Her Daddy's spankings were absolutely degrading; an embarrassing, juvenile form of correction that she sought to avoid at all costs. Of course, evading justice was no longer an issue; judgment had been passed, the sentence handed down. Allie was way past the point of no return and she knew it.
Sobbing with apprehension, Allison burst into her room and made straight for the bed. What was she going to do? How was she going to escape? Her heart was literally pounding in her chest. Warm tears spilled down her cheeks. Biting hard on her lower lip, she willed herself to stay calm. She had to pull herself together, think straight, form a plan. Outright acquittal was obviously out of the question, but plea-bargaining might be a possibility, even at this late stage.
Maybe she could talk her father down to five minutes rather than the usual ten. They were both adults, both rational human beings. Surely there would be room for negotiation. She'd only been a little late (well, four hours actually), it wasn't as if she'd come home reeling drunk (not this time, anyway). There had to be some loophole, some technicality, some mutually satisfying agreement they could reach with a little judicious discourse.
Unfortunately, Allison was out of ideas. She'd never had much success arguing the case for the defense, and the present situation seemed little short of hopeless. There were no mitigating circumstances, no alibis, no grounds for appeal. She couldn't claim ignorance of the law, couldn't plead the Fourth. The sentence had been passed and justice would be served to the fullest extent of the law.
She was trembling on the verge of hysteria; the fear of an imminent spanking was overwhelming. She was literally seconds away from discipline, and nothing short of divine intervention would divert Jason's palm from her bottom. Her prayers were most unlikely to be answered, considering the recent omens. If she'd thought things couldn't get any worse, then she was very sadly mistaken. Hesitantly crossing the room, Allison began to understand the full extent of her predicament.
Pausing in front of her bed, she stared down at the special gift Jason had left for her. Her jaw dropped in mute shock, her knees buckled with sudden panic. Lying on the coverlet was a polished cedar hand-paddle. Old Faithful.
Nooooooo, Allie moaned under her breath. Not the paddle, not the paddle, Please God, not the paddle again. A moist flush engulfed her belly. She should have known what to expect, should have seen this coming. She knew her father well enough to have second-guessed him, at least in this regard. She backed slowly away from the bed, head reeling with adolescent misery. Old Faithful was a personal message from her doting pater, an unmistakable sign that her penalty would be painful beyond conception.
Jason Conway believed that a red hot derriere was the best deterrent to future misconduct. It wasn't enough to turn Allie over his knee like a naughty five-year old, not by a long shot. Subsequently, his spankings were an epic of punishment, an ordeal few girls her age could even imagine. Vigorous though her daddy's hand could be, it was nothing compared to the paddle. That glistening brown surface could raise blisters the size of dinner plates on her tender young buttocks, and the after burn often lasted for days!
It was so unfair, so unjust, so wrong. She hated being treated like a little girl, hated dropping her knickers and presenting her nude, white buttocks for inspection. She loathed the wailing, tremulous tone of her voice when punishment was imminent. Going over Jason's knee was the ultimate act of submission, a complete surrender of her most basic, human rights. If only she had the courage to stand up to her daddy's domineering presence; summon up the nerve to defy his commands. She often fantasized about casting off her shackles, facing her nemesis down and emerging triumphant from this incessant battle of wills.
Needless to say, Allison knew that was never going to happen. Refusal was out of the question; she'd spent too many years under Jason's thumb to resist his influence. The mere threat of a hot, throbbing bottom was enough to reduce her to tears. Jason was so much stronger than she was, so confident and self-assured. Allie could barely look him in the eye at the best of times. The spankings were inevitable, unavoidable, a consequence of her own natural timidity. She would simply have to live with them.
Today more than ever.
Whimpering in despair, she took off her denim jacket and started unbuttoning her blouse. She had maybe eight minutes to get ready, and she couldn't afford to delay a moment longer. There was a rigid protocol she had to follow, a ritual she had observed for the last ten years. Jason insisted that she submit to her spankings wearing nothing but her bra and panties (as a little girl, she'd often been smacked in her underwear; immediately before bed so that she'd spend the night with a hot, stinging bottom) If she wasn't ready by the time Jason arrived, she'd be certain to suffer an extra minute or two under the paddle.
Hastily shrugging off the blouse, Allison reached back to loosen her scanty red mini, groping for the zipper with trembling fingers. The enormity of her punishment filled her mind; she could already see herself spread over Jason's lap with her cheeks raised and her underpants banded around her knees. The image literally dominated her consciousness. Allison could think of nothing else: she was going to be spanked - extremely hard - on her naked behind. And there was absolutely nothing she could about it.
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