The Fathers' Club: ... and other spanking tales Read online

  "Ok girls," said Tom, landing a final stinging swat on Mel's scarlet bottom that made her yip, "all move round to the next dad. Time for round two!"

  With much gasping and rubbing, four rosy-bottomed teenagers regained their feet and moved reluctantly on to the next paternal lap.

  "Oww! Bloody hell!" exclaimed Cindy. "Dad, haven't we been punished enough? My bottom's really sore already!"

  "Aye, and so it should be, my girl," retorted Tom pitilessly. "Four spankings each, we said, and four spankings it's going to be. Now get yourself over Wally's knee - unless you want extras!"

  Cindy pouted but obeyed, positioning herself over Wally's lap. Pat drew Libby down into position, stroking the petite blonde's rosy cheeks with a grin of anticipation. Geoff deftly upended Mel, sending Tom an appreciative glance and a muttered, "Nice work, mate," as he admired the scarlet blush on her target area.

  Dragging her feet, Alison approached Tom with tears running down her face. Her first-ever real spanking had clearly made its impression; Pat hadn't gone easy on her. "Oh please, Mr Drummond," she begged tearfully, "not too hard! My bottom really, really hurts!"

  "Well, lass, that's kind of what a spanking's supposed to do," responded Tom. "And I hope it's teaching you a lesson. But take it like a good girl, and maybe I won't go too hard on you." Reaching out, he grasped the cute brunette by the wrist and drew her down into position over his lap. A flaming blush mantled every inch of her well-rounded bottom. Tom stroked the fiery curves; they felt deliciously hot.

  Reaching down, Tom set the timer for another five minutes. "Ok, lads - second round. Let 'em have it!"

  Once again, the sweet sound of smacks and yelps resounded around the room as four hard paternal hands repeatedly connected with four soft, squirming young female bottoms. Opposite him, Tom was pleased to note, Wally seemed to have got into his stride, if the squeals and protests from Cindy were anything to go by. Tom could always tell when his daughter was putting it on; but these reactions, he knew, were genuine. Wally still wasn't the hardest of spankers; but Cindy's rear end, already well tenderised by Geoff's expert palm, was getting a good stinging follow-up dose.

  Pat, as ever, was showing his designated brat no mercy. If Libby had imagined, after her spanking from Wally, that she might be getting off relatively lightly, she was now learning better. The petite blonde's full, curvy mounds made an irresistible target, and Pat was making sure that every inch of the quivering expanse received its full measure of punishment. Time and again his hard working-man's hand cracked down on the soft scarlet flesh-cushions, and Libby wailed her distress and penitence to the indifferent air.

  Geoff, as far as Tom could hear, was giving Mel very much the same quiet scolding he had given Cindy - and no less resounding a spanking. The colour of the pretty redhead's bottom was now emulating that of her hair, and her long legs were kicking wildly as the heat and sting built up in her shapely rearward curves. Mel's bottom, Tom reflected with some satisfaction, was being extremely well prepared for the final round with her dad's hairbrush. As indeed were the sitting areas of her three fellow-culprits.

  Meanwhile, he had young Alison to deal with. To start with, taking pity on her tearful distress, Tom didn't spank her quite as hard as he'd spanked Mel. But then, reflecting that she was just as guilty as the other three and deserved the very same consequences, he thought, Besides, if she's never been properly spanked before, this girl's got some serious catching up to do. And with that in mind, he stepped up his efforts and was rewarded with tearful squeals and wrigglings from the fiery-bottomed teen.

  By now - if their words could be trusted - all four girls were thoroughly reformed characters. Frantic promises of perfect behaviour, now and well into the far future, could be heard, interspersed with increasingly desperate yelps and pleas for mercy. Pat, still swatting Libby's plump young bottom with enthusiasm, glanced across at Tom and grinned. "They say they're sorry!"

  "Aye, so they do," said Tom, likewise continuing to light fires on Alison's bouncing rear end.

  "And they say they'll never do it again!"

  "Aye, that's right."

  "So what d'you reckon? Should we let 'em off?"

  "No way!" said Tom, returning Pat's grin. "A lass who's being spanked'll promise damn near anything."

  "My sentiments exactly!" responded Pat cheerfully. "So let's make sure they've got plenty to be sorry about, right?"

  "Right!" said Tom. And once again, for the next few minutes, the room resounded to the crisp impact of hands on soft bare teenage bottoms, and the resultant wails and yelps.

  For a second time the buzzer sounded. "Ok, girls," said Tom, releasing the tearful Alison and helping her up off his lap, "all move round to the next dad again."

  Once more the four miscreants, now looking decidedly woebegone, were each placed over a new lap. Geoff received Alison; Wally, looking increasingly at ease in his new-found role as 'spanking dad', positioned Mel across his thighs; Cindy, for the first time in three years, found herself upended by her 'Uncle' Pat; and Tom prepared to meet out justice to Libby. As he reached out to take her wrist, the petite blonde shot him an imploring glance; but she'd evidently realised by now, after her sojourn over Pat's lap, that pleas for mercy would get her nowhere.

  Like most blondes, Libby had fair, delicate skin that coloured readily, and after Pat's ministrations her sweetly plump bottom-cheeks were suffused with a vivid scarlet blush that made them even lovelier. Tom gently stroked the tender mounds, making her squirm in anticipation. Am I enjoying all this a bit too much? he wondered? He glanced round at the other dads, clocking their expressions as they awaited the starting signal. Well, if I am, I'm not the only one.

  He reached down and re-set the timer. "Ok, lads," he announced, "Another five minutes spanking time. Go for it!"

  So for the third time Tom's living room re-echoed with the sounds of four misbehaving teenage girls receiving old-fashioned, over-the-knee, bare-bottom punishment. Hard, stinging spanks - now slow and steady, now administered in fast relentless volleys - spanks that elicited tearful yelps, yips, squeals, pleas for mercy, frantic protestations of future impeccable behaviour. Hair tossing, arms waving, legs kicking - and four wayward teenagers squirming desperately as spank after ringing spank stung ever more vividly, intensifying the rich blush on their deserving and by now very tender rears.

  The girls were certainly learning their lesson, Tom reflected, as he relished the sight and feel of Libby's soft full bottom-cheeks jouncing and jiggling beneath his hand. But would that lesson stick - and for how long? For the few days until all four of them could sit comfortably again, almost certainly. Perhaps for a week or two until the memory of their discomfort and embarrassment had faded. But after that?

  Well, time would tell. But in the meantime, he and his fellow-dads had a job to do. A quick glance around the room showed him that all of them - by now, even including Wally - were doing it to the very best of their ability. Four paternal hands were rising and falling; four pairs of sweetly-rounded, roseate female bottom-cheeks were bouncing and wriggling beneath the onslaughts; and four pretty young women were deeply regretting their misdeeds, yelping and wailing plaintively as the heat and sting built up on their defenceless derrieres.

  Tom checked the timer: a minute to go. He decided to concentrate his remaining fire on Libby's 'sit-spot', the temptingly jutting undercurves of her bottom, favouring the sensitive area with wristy sideways spanks that drew especially shrill squeals from the anguished blonde. A fiery scarlet now mantled every inch of her lush, quivering rear end, enhancing its beauty and contrasting deliciously with the whiteness of her thighs. An exceptionally well-spanked bottom, Tom thought with satisfaction, just as the timer buzzed for the end of the third round.

  "Right, girls," he said, helping Libby up off his lap, "it's the big one. Hairbrush time!"

  Tearful pleas and protests greeted the fateful announcement. "Oh please Dad, no!" wailed Mel, echoed by Alison and Libby, while Cindy just gazed implori
ngly at Tom, her face flushed and her brown eyes full of tears.

  "Sorry, lass," he told her, reaching out and stroking her hair, "but you know you deserve it, don't you?"

  She managed a tremulous smile. "Yes, I guess I do. Ok Dad, do your worst."

  "Reckon I shall, girl. Right, now - over my knee with you."

  Taking his daughter gently by the wrist, he drew her down across his lap, her flame-red bottom-cheeks uppermost and irresistibly offered for spanking. He caressed the fiery curves, by now positively radiating heat, then, leaning forward over Cindy's prone torso, picked up the nearest hairbrush off the table and hefted it in his hand. It felt substantial and well-weighted, perfectly designed for the purpose it was about to serve. The other three dads did likewise.

  For the fourth and last time, Tom set the timer. "Ok, lads," he said, "it's the final round. Let's make it a good one!"

  Raising the brush, he brought it down hard and fast on his daughter's thoroughly well spanked bottom. As his fellow-dads did likewise, four shrill squeals echoed around the room as four hard wooden brushes made crisp contact with four already ultra-sensitive teenage rear ends. Tom paused to let the first stroke sink in, before proceeding to bring the brush down again and again on Cindy's upturned and desperately squirming rearward curves. Her dark hair tossed, her legs kicked wildly as the ruthless wood roasted her anguished mounds, her frantic pleas for mercy becoming increasingly inarticulate as the hairbrushing remorselessly proceeded.

  Easing off for a moment Tom glanced round the room - exchanging a smile of grim determination with Pat, noting how Wally was giving Alison the full benefit of his newly gained experience, and that Geoff, as ever, was quietly scolding as he spanked - before turning his attention back to Cindy. The hairbrush was deepening the blush on her cheeks to a rich opulent crimson that mantled every inch of the sweetly rounded target area. No question of it, this wayward daughter of his wouldn't be sitting comfortably for the rest of the weekend and probably for some time after that - and nor, probably, would her three fellow-culprits. As to whether the memory of their punishment would last long after the heat and soreness had finally faded from their bottoms - well, that remained to be seen.

  Meanwhile, there was a spanking to finish: the first he'd given to his beloved daughter in over three years. Strangely, Tom felt himself suddenly overwhelmed by a rush of deep affection for her, despite the severity of the punishment he was subjecting her to - or perhaps even because of it. It was as though all his love and concern for his daughter was being manifested in the sheer act of spanking, in reaffirming his fatherly duty towards her. True, there was a simmering anger in it at the way she'd deceived and disappointed him as well as - he couldn't deny - a certain satisfaction in a job well done. But above all, he felt convinced in himself that this was a spanking given - and, he hoped, received - with love.

  Were his fellow-dads, he wondered, experiencing such a confusion of feelings? Well, time enough to inquire into that later, if at all. Tom glanced at the timer: a minute to go. By now Cindy was no longer squirming or kicking, no longer pleading for mercy. All resistance spent, she lay over his lap as limp as a rag-doll, weeping helplessly as the hard wooden brush descended time and again on her blazing bottom-cheeks.

  Sooner than Tom expected, the timer buzzed. The marathon four-way spanking was over. Putting the brush aside, Tom gently stroked Cindy's incandescent bottom, then lifted her up and hugged her. "It's all over, lass," he murmured in her ear. "You've had your punishment, and you took it bravely. It's all forgiven, and I love you very much."

  "Oh Daddy, I - I love you too," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry, I really am."

  He held her, stroking her hair as she cried into his shoulder, soaking his shirt, and glanced round at the other three dads. All of them, like him, were hugging their daughters and whispering words of comfort into their ears. For several minutes there were no other sounds in the room.

  Finally, Tom spoke. "Ok, girls - punishment's over. Get yourselves upstairs to Cindy's room to check out the damage, and tell each other what brutes your dads are. Oh, and you'll find some lotion in the bathroom. I expect you'll appreciate some on those sore rear-ends."

  The four young women detached themselves from their respective fathers' laps and peered ruefully over their shoulders, rubbing gingerly. "Ow, bloody hell," exclaimed Mel, "you lot don't half spank hard! Shit, my poor bottom! It's on fire!" There were groans of rueful agreement from her fellow-culprits. None of them seemed inclined to put their tight jeans on again. Trailing the garments and still rubbing, they headed out the door and up the stairs, their wails and complaints fading as they went.

  Tom watched four glowing red young bottoms vanish up the stairs, then turned to his fellow-dads. "Well, lads," he said, "I think we can congratulate ourselves on a job well done. Calls for a drink, I'd say - right?" The suggestion was greeted with sounds of approval all round. Tom opened the drinks cupboard. "I've got a bottle of Laphroaig here I've been saving for a special occasion," he announced. "And if giving our four lasses the spanking of their lives isn't a special occasion, then I don't know what is!"

  Four generous slugs were poured. "Well, cheers lads!" said Tom, raising his glass.

  Pat grinned wickedly. "Shouldn't that be - bottoms up?"

  ---oOo---

  A few weeks later Tom Drummond once again made his way to the Corner Café. It was a Saturday morning, fine and sunny, and he was in an excellent mood. The previous evening he'd had his second date with Kirsty McCann. On their first date they'd gone to a restaurant; and Tom, being something of an old-fashioned guy - and also a little out of practice on the etiquette of dating - had expected no more than a goodnight kiss when he saw her home. But she'd invited him up 'for a coffee', and the subsequent activity covered by that classic euphemism had proved every bit as enjoyable as he could have wished. Especially since he hadn't made love to a woman since his wife died. He hadn't realised how much he'd missed the feeling of a warm, willing body responding to his touch.

  This second time, she'd invited him to her place for dinner. And around midday she'd sent him a text saying ‘Look forward to seeing you about 7, sweet man. Bring a good appetite! (Oh, and maybe bring that hairbrush too...)’

  Then after dinner - and a very good dinner, too; Kirsty was an excellent cook - as they sat together on the couch, she kissed him and whispered in his ear, "Well, Tom - d'you reckon I've been a naughty girl?"

  Tom felt his penis stiffening in anticipation. "Aye, reckon you have, lass."

  "Then how's about you show me what you do to naughty girls, Mr Drummond? Spank me just like you spanked those four girls the other week."

  "Hey, what makes you think I spanked four of them?"

  Kirsty grinned cheekily. "Oh, word gets around."

  "Hey, you really are a naughty girl, aren't you? Ok, young lady - you asked for it!"

  So the pretty redhead, upturned bare-bottomed over Tom's lap, got just what Cindy and her three pals got: a good long hand-spanking by way of warm-up, followed by a stinging application of one of those same hairbrushes she'd sold him. She yelped and squirmed in lively fashion but made no serious attempt to evade her punishment. On the contrary, as the spanking progressed her gasps became increasingly passionate - and when it was over, the ardour of her response was overwhelming.

  ---oOo---

  Hardly surprising, then, that Tom was in such an upbeat mood as he entered the café. His three friends, though, looked less cheerful. "Hey lads, what's up then?" he asked after he'd ordered a coffee. "You look as if you'd all backed the loser at Blaydon Races."

  "Oh yeah, it's all right for some," retorted Pat, nudging him in the ribs. "Them as has got theirselves a sexy new girlfriend and all!"

  Tom just grinned, resigned to the fact that nothing in their little town would remain secret for long. "Ok, so what's the trouble?" he asked.

  "It's our girls, you know," explained Wally. "It's like I feared. Spanking 'em may work fine for a week or two, maybe a month -
but then pretty soon they're kicking over the traces again."

  Thinking back, Tom had to admit there was truth in this. He'd been so preoccupied with the delights of his affair with Kirsty that maybe he'd been paying Cindy less attention than usual. But Wally was right, all the signs were there. If she and her Fearsome Four friends weren't already up to mischief, they very soon would be.

  "Same with your lass, Pat?" he asked. "And with yours, Geoff?"

  "'Fraid so," said Pat. Geoff nodded resignedly. "Trouble on the way, I'd say."

  Tom took a long gulp of coffee. "Well," he said, glancing round the table, "seems to me there are two possible courses of action here. We can sit back and wait until their next little escapade - only this time it could end up with something a whole lot worse than sneaking out at night for some drunken horseplay. Or - " He paused. The other three were watching him expectantly.

  A gleam of realisation appeared in Pat's eye. "You mean..."

  "That's right, Pat. We get our retaliation in first. Preventative action, you might say. Not as long or as severe as last time - but enough to remind the little darlings what the consequences can be if they step too far off the strait and narrow."

  "Another four-way spanking session, y'mean?" asked Geoff.

  "Exactly. Think of it as maintenance. To be repeated as and when needed, just as long as they're living under our roofs. And starting - well, what's wrong with tomorrow? You all with me?" He glanced round the table again. No question of it - they were. Even Wally.

  Such were the origins of the Fathers' Club.

  To Fit the Crime

  Leon Richards liked routine. Cherished it, even. As an ambitious young barrister, he knew that court cases could spring unwelcome surprises, twists of events that required all his wit and resourcefulness to deal with and turn to advantage. He nearly always contrived to do so, in a way that aroused the admiration and envy of his fellow-lawyers - and ensured a constant healthy increase in the fees he could command.