Dealing with a spoilt brat

By Jeremy Farrell

“It’s the last straw Keith. You have to do something about that girl!” exclaimed Brenda. “Either you grow a spine and take that girl in hand or I’m leaving you!”

“But what can I do, love? She’s my little girl and just because she’s made a little error…”

“A LITTLE error!” said Brenda, her voice going up a few decibels. “It was bad enough when the police brought her home those times, but the embarrassment of having to pick her up from the cells last night was a step beyond. You do know that she’s well past the age where she can be charged as an adult, and if they press charges next time the only way you’ll be able to see your little girl then will be on prison visiting days. Stop letting her wind you around her little finger and get some discipline into her, for her own good, or she’ll end up in jail and you’ll be looking for another wife!”

Brenda was right, of course, and Keith knew it. Amanda had always been his little princess and he’d spoiled her rotten. Since his first wife had abandoned them to camp outside Greenham Common, when his beautiful little girl was just two-years-old, he’d done anything he could to make her happy. He’d remarried in 1989, shortly after Amanda had turned seven, but she’d never called Brenda ‘Mummy’; they just didn’t seem to have that bond, although Brenda, unable to have children of her own, treated her as though she was the child she’d always wanted. And his darling Amanda had always been such a good girl, showering him with hugs and kisses whenever he was around; it would be true to say that he worshipped the ground she walked on.

However, for the past few months, since she’d started on a college course in sociology, she’d been ‘finding her feet’, as Brenda liked to put it, and going out with a group of similarly-aged young ladies from the college and, having been caught shoplifting and writing graffiti a few times, things were now past a point that Brenda deemed acceptable. Keith just believed that his angel had fallen in with a bad crowd, and that was borne out when he paid for a family counsellor who told him that Amanda’s actions were just a ‘cry for attention’; so he gave her attention and, much to Brenda’s irritation, paid for an expensive holiday in America as an eighteenth birthday treat, and spoiled her with a new computer for her studies, and other gifts so that she could have the all the attention she could possibly have wanted. Despite this, she continued to get herself into more and more trouble, much to Keith’s continued exasperation. It wasn’t, he mused, as if she was even any good at not getting caught. Keith’s only current consolation was that, much to his relief, she didn’t seem to be getting into trouble with boys as he hadn’t yet figured out how he would handle being introduced to a boyfriend.

Brenda’s considerably more direct, and oft stated, opinion of the ‘cry for attention’ theory was that ‘the only crying the little madam needed to do was when her backside received enough attention to make it happen,’ recounting, yet again, the tale of when she’d been brought back home by the police at Amanda’s age and her Dad had her bending over a table for a good caning which put her back on the straight and narrow.

“It never did me any harm,” she said. “And that’s the way you’re going to deal with this, Keith Puckley!”

Keith, as always, had agreed. He didn’t really like to argue, so Brenda always had the last word. He did point out that they didn’t have a cane, so perhaps Amanda could be grounded or they could find something else, but Brenda was adamant that the salutary effect of a caning was what was required and, to that end, she’d already been embracing the latest in Internet technology and, threading her way through a confusing world made visible by means of Windows 2000, she had used the new computer to order a cane. Admittedly it was from an ‘adult’ website, which she’d been initially quite shocked by, but it was a real cane and had cost more than she’d expected, so Keith had better make some use of it!

The biggest issue was, though, that delivery would take at least a week, so Amanda couldn’t be dealt with immediately although Brenda made it clear that she was, in no way, to think that she wasn’t in trouble.


Amanda sat at the computer, reflecting on the week’s events. The police sergeant had been quite sweet about everything, even though she was caught literally red-handed from where the spray can had leaked. Brenda wasn’t so cool with things, though, but given her views on corporal punishment, that might work to her advantage. Typing in her secure password, her favourite website opened up before her.



“Yes princess,” replied Keith to his beloved daughter who had placed herself on the arm of the chair where he was sitting.

“Brenda says that you’re going to punish me for being a naughty girl.”

“I’m afraid so, precious,” said Keith, beginning to feel uncomfortable. “What you did was very bad.”

“I know, Daddy.” She pouted, wrinkling her freckled nose. “I know I deserve it; I have been terribly bad and I’m sure I deserve it,” said Amanda, not quite looking straight at him. It went quiet for a few moments and Keith tried to read his gardening magazine.

“Daddy?” Crooned Amanda.

“Yes princess?” said Keith, abandoning the article on outdoor tomatoes.

“How are you going to punish me? Are you going to ground me?” She looked at him all doe-eyed, her mouth slightly downturned.

“No, my darling; something else.” Keith felt his colour rising. He really had hoped that Brenda would have discussed this with her step-daughter and the line of questioning was making him feel decidedly uncomfortable. “Brenda will tell you,” he said, hoping to deflect further questions.

“But Brenda said that I should ask you, Daddy.” She tilted her head slightly. “Are you going to tell me?”
Keith flustered and said: “It’s a different punishment this time, princess. Brenda, umm, we, think that what you did was too serious for just grounding.”

“Oh,” said Amanda, putting her thumb up to her lower lip. “Are you going to make me sorry that I was such a bad girl, Daddy? Are you going to stop my pocket money?”

“No princess, you’re going to be punished more, erm, physically,” Keith mumbled, looking down again at his magazine.

“Oh Daddy, are you going to make me sit on a naughty chair in the corner?” She got up and put a chair in the corner. “Like this?” Her loosely curled dark hair bounced as she sat.

“No sweetheart, please come out of the corner,” said Keith, feeling rather cornered himself.

Amanda came over and stood in front of him. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said and put her hands on her head. “I’m ready for you to give me whatever punishment you’ve decided on.”

Keith looked at her in her pink top and jeans and croaked: “We can’t do it yet; it’s too soon!”

“Why is it too soon, Daddy? Can’t you tell me what my punishment is? You’re not going to send me away are you?” A tremble of the lower lip sealed Keith’s fate, and he stood and hugged his daughter. Amanda buried her head in his shoulder and smiled.

“I could never send you away, princess, but what you did was very, very bad so we have to have an unpleasant punishment,” he said, sitting down and pulling Amanda down so she was perched on his knee.
“What is it then, Daddy? She whispered.

“I’m going to smack your bottom, Amanda,” he replied. There, he’d said it now; perhaps she’d leave him alone.

“But you’re not going to do it now, Daddy?”

“No sweetheart, you have to wait a few days,” he said.

“Alright then, Daddy,” she said, putting her arms around him. “I don’t want my bottom smacked but I have been very naughty and I’m sure that you know what’s best for me.”

“I’m afraid that’s the way it is, my darling, now can you let Daddy have some peace for a while?” he asked.

“Yes, Daddy, as you say. I’ll go up to my room and think about how naughty I’ve been and how I deserve to have my bottom smacked.”

She slinked off out of the room with a little smile.

A relieved Keith settled back into his chair, suddenly realising how dry his throat was and how badly he needed a cup of tea.


The following morning was fairly quiet. Keith had been up early to go shopping and had come home to tea and toast made by Brenda. While he ate, she put the groceries away.

“Did you have a talk with Amanda yesterday?” she asked.

“Yes dear, we had a talk,” he replied; not strictly a lie, he thought.


An hour or so later, in a rain-soaked garden, Keith was staying out of the way in his shed calmly thinning out some seedlings. He loved his spacious potting shed and often spent a happy few hours being quietly boring and alone. His contemplative reverie was broken when Amanda walked in.

“Hello, Princess,” he said.

“Hi Daddy, I’ve brought you a nice cup of tea,” she purred, her shoulder-length brown hair aglow with the rainwater that had left dark drops all over her frilled denim skirt and light blue top. Keith smiled.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m making sure these plants grow up big and strong, my darling.” He explained, taking his favourite green mug from her and sitting down on the old dining chair he kept in there for avoiding going back into the house. “You have to get rid of the weak ones.”

“Oh, that’s cruel!” she exclaimed. “Those poor plants!”

“You have to be cruel to be kind sometimes, Princess.” Said Keith. “And if I do this the other plants will grow properly.”

“I know that you’re kind, Daddy, and that you’d only do something cruel if it was the right thing to do.” Said Amanda. “Like smacking a naughty girl’s bottom if she really deserved it. You’d only do it if it was the right thing to do to make her grow properly and that’s why you’re going to smack my bottom, isn’t it?”
Keith groaned inwardly and began to blush again.

“Yes, my darling. That’s why I have to do it.” And because he daren’t argue with Brenda, but he kept that part to himself.

“I’ve been thinking, Daddy,” she continued. “About when I do have my bottom smacked. I was wondering how you’re going to do it?”

“Well, I-I haven’t really thought about it that much,” he stammered, placing his tea steadily on a shelf.

“But Daddy, you must do it properly or I won’t learn my lesson, will I?” she said. “And I do want to make sure I’m a good girl in future, Daddy.” She pouted. “Some Daddies make their naughty daughters go over their knees; are you going to put me over your knees, Daddy?”

“Well, I’m not sure,” he started.

“It works like this, Daddy,” she said as she draped herself across his lap. She wiggled about a little and pushed her bottom up. “Is this a good way for me to have my bottom smacked, Daddy?” she murmured, looking back over her shoulder innocently.

“I-I,” said Keith, caught totally off guard by Amanda’s actions. “Perhaps. I don’t know.”

“You could think about it though, Daddy,” she said, still looking round at him. “You could try it out now as a kind of practice.” Putting her head down, she added: “I’m ready for you to spank me now, Daddy.”

In a panic Keith pushed her away. “No, no, no,” he squeaked. “Not like that!”

“Then how are you going to do it, Daddy?” Amanda asked, getting to her feet. “Are you going to make me bend over? Like this?” She bent forward and put her hands on her knees, sticking her bottom out, her skirt riding up to reveal her white panties.

“I don’t know,” he almost wailed. “I’ll let you know when it arrives.”

“When what arrives, Daddy?” Amanda asked, straightening up.

“Nothing, Poppet.” He recovered. “Forget I said that. Now, will you let Daddy have a bit of time to finish his gardening jobs?”

“Sorry, Daddy, I’ll go back indoors and think about what you said,” she said in a small voice before smoothing her skirt down and heading back out into the rain. Once indoors she padded past Brenda, who was sitting at the kitchen table peeling carrots. “I’m going to do some studying,” she said.

“I’m glad to see you spending so much time on that computer,” said Brenda. “It’s nice to see that it’s such a help to your studies.”

“It’s a massive help, particularly the Internet,” replied Amanda. “It’s certainly sparked my imagination.” She smirked as she headed out of the room.


It had been a tiring start to the week for Keith so now, post dinner, he was indulging in a little ‘feet-up’ time in front of the TV. Brenda had gone to her evening class, and he was looking forward to quietly dozing off in the armchair. As the sounds of the local weather forecast began to turn into a drone in the background and his eyes closed, he became uncomfortably aware of a presence in the room. He opened his eyes to find Amanda standing in front of him.

“Oh Daddy, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I guess I just can’t help being a naughty girl,” she said with a downturned face.

“You’re not being naughty, princess; I just didn’t expect you to be standing there,” he said, gathering himself.

“But I am naughty, Daddy,” she retorted. “Isn’t that why you’re going to smack my bottom really hard?”

“Well, umm,” he started. This again!

“And I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said to me in the shed, Daddy, and I think you’re not going to smack me with your hand, are you Daddy?” she pouted and did the head-tilt again.

Still drowsy and caught off-guard, he croaked quietly: “No, princess, it’s a serious punishment so we’re going to use something else.” He began to cough.

“Oh dear, Daddy.” A look of plausible concern was on her face. At least, that’s what Keith assumed it was. “Are you going to use one of these?” she reached behind the arm of the sofa next to her for something that was out of Keith’s sight, and produced the thick black leather belt that he’d bought on holiday a couple of years ago and hardly ever worn as it was too wide for the loops on his trousers. His eyes fully opened as Amanda held it up.

“This would really sting, Daddy. I’m sure I’ll be sorry that I was naughty if you punished me with this,” she simpered. “And I’ll probably cry too.”

Keith was almost speechless at that moment, but managed a strangled: “No, not a belt, precious, it’s nothing like a belt.”

“Oh, OK daddy,” said Amanda turning. Keith sighed thinking the questioning was over. “It must be this then,” Amanda produced a large slipper, one of a pair that he’d been given last Christmas and were two sizes too big for him. He’d been under the impression they’d been passed on to someone else or had gone into the bin. He was momentarily frozen as Amanda continued. “This would sting an awful lot, Daddy. I mean, look.” She bent slightly forward and placed the slipper on her pert, leggings-clad rear “It’s nearly as big as my bottom, so it wouldn’t take many smacks with this to teach me a lesson, would it Daddy?”

The sleep-fog having fully dissipated now, Keith drew himself up to his full stature, or as much as he could while sitting in a chair with his feet on a stuffed pouffe, and said, in what he hoped was a stern voice: “It’s not that or anything like that, Amanda. Now, please put it away and stand up straight, for God’s sake.”

Amanda almost shot up and the thumb went straight to the lower lip. “But you have to tell me, Daddy. It’s very mean not to. And, if it’s not your hand or one of these things, I’ll have to keep guessing, won’t I?” She pouted. “When I think of something I’ll come back and ask again, Daddy.”

“It’s a cane!” Keith blurted. “We’ve ordered a cane for you because you’ve been so naughty, and that’s what I’m going to punish you with.”

“Oh no, Daddy! You’re not going to give me the cane?” she said, her lips trembling.

“Yes, Princess,” he replied, feeling like he was in control at last. “I’m afraid that you’ve left me with no choice but to cane your bottom. It’s what they did in schools in the old days.”

“Oh Daddy, I’m so sorry that I’ve been so naughty that you have to do this,” she said contritely. “I’m going to put myself to bed early as an extra punishment, and I’ll take these back upstairs.” She picked up the belt and slipper and headed out of the room.

Keith sat back contentedly. “Now that’s how to be a strict father!” he thought to himself. Brenda would have been very happy with the way he’d handled the situation.

And, as Amanda headed up the stairs, she thought about how useful the Internet was and how the evening classes in computer studies still hadn’t taught Brenda the importance of clearing her browsing history.

As Keith dozed off again, he thought he could hear a slapping noise and some moans.

“Must be the TV,” he reasoned, and began to snore gently.


Amanda, warm and glowing, eventually drifted off to sleep with a contended smile. It was all going to plan.


Friday, thought Keith as he absent-mindedly wiped the dishes dry and put them away. It had been quite bit later than usual when he’d pulled into the drive in his beige Austin Maestro. He would have been home a lot earlier but one of the sales girls had been having some trouble with a complicated order so he’d stayed to help her and ended up re-creating the whole thing from scratch. She, though, had finished at 3.00 and left him to it. Still, the house was quiet; Amanda was, presumably, studying on the computer again.

Keith enjoyed Fridays; Brenda usually worked Friday evenings, so he went to the quiz at ‘The Old Dog’ pub. True, only half a dozen people usually attended, but it was friendly and quiet and that was the way he liked it. He put a now dry saucepan in the bottom cupboard and dropped the tea-towel on the floor.

“Bugger!” he exclaimed as it slipped under the table and he got down on the floor to retrieve it, only to drop it again when he stood up.

Amanda was standing just inside the doorway. Although she’d left school quite some time ago, she was wearing her old school uniform; a grey pleated skirt, white blouse, tie and dark blue blazer. If nothing else, it certainly highlighted how much she’d grown.

“Hello princess,” said Keith. “Why on earth have you dug that out? I thought it had gone to the charity shop.”

“Well, Daddy,” Amanda replied, putting her hands together in front of her. “I was thinking that if you’re going to give me the cane like they used to in school, then perhaps this is what I should wear for my punishment? Is this how you’d like me to dress?”

Keith, staring at his daughter in her now ill-fitting uniform, could only manage a stifled: “Not really thought about it. I didn’t think it was important.”

“But it is important, Daddy,” she said. “I’ve been such a naughty girl and I should be punished properly, shouldn’t I?”

“I-I suppose so,” said Keith.

“Then you’ll be giving me the cane with my knickers down, won’t you Daddy?” asked Amanda, innocently.

“Eh?” said Keith, totally out of his depth now.

“On my bare bottom, Daddy, like this.” She pulled her blue knickers down and bent over the kitchen table with her skirt raised. “This would be the right way for such a naughty girl to have the cane, wouldn’t it Daddy?”

“Yes, I mean, No!” he replied, his panic heightening.

“And this table is so much like a desk at school, Daddy, that I thought it would be the right way. What would be the right way, Daddy?” she asked, looking up at him.

Keith was in full panic mode. Brenda had stipulated that Amanda should be punished in the same way as her own father had done to her years before, that is on her bare bottom, and now the reality was very much sinking in for Keith that he was actually going to have to do this.

“I don’t think it’s appropriate,” he squeaked. “For, you know.”

“The table, Daddy? asked Amanda, all convincing innocence. “Or the uniform?” She deliberately seemed to have omitted whether the bare bottom was appropriate or not, but Keith was too unnerved to notice.

“Either!” he said. “At all,” he added ineffectually.

“Whatever you say, Daddy” said Amanda, standing up, but Keith couldn’t help but notice not pulling up her knickers. “You’re in charge of my punishment.”

“Yes,” said Keith, trying to sound authoritative. “Yes, I am,” he added, mostly to encourage himself. “And this won’t do, will it?”

“No, Daddy,” said Amanda, looking at the floor. “So, you’re going to give me the cane over the sofa in the lounge instead then?”

“Yes,” said Keith. “Yes, I am.” There was almost a question mark after that statement. “And in something that fits better,” he added, feeling that he had to say something else.

“Maybe I should wear my pyjamas, Daddy?” She asked, her head still down. Her knickers were still down too.

“Why, princess?” asked Keith, not knowing where to look and making a note to clean the cobweb he now noticed on the light fitting.

“Because once I’ve had the cane, you’ll want me to stand in the corner and then send me to bed afterwards; isn’t that right, Daddy?” she said.

“Yes, well, I suppose so,” Keith flustered, feeling his slender grasp on the situation slipping away again.

“Then, I’ll wear pyjamas, Daddy.” She said. “And when I’ve had the cane with my knickers down and I’ve stood in the corner for however long you think is right for a naughty girl, I’ll be ready to be sent to bed.”

“Yes, well,” started Keith, with no idea where he would finish.

“I’m glad you’ve decided, Daddy,” she said. “Now I know what to expect.”

“Yes, yes you do.” Said Keith, grasping for words.

“Can I pull my knickers up and go now, Daddy?” she asked.

Keith, who was trying to come to terms with the decisions he’d just made, said detachedly: “I suppose so.”

“Is that a ‘yes’ Daddy?” Amanda simpered.

“Yes, Amanda, pull your knickers up and leave the room, please,” she forced out of him.

As if it were nothing out of the ordinary, Amanda did as she was told and left for her bedroom. Keith sat down at the kitchen table; he thought he might forego his usual half a pint tonight and try a large whisky instead. He wasn’t sure why, he just fancied it.


One large whisky had become two, and then three, so Keith was feeling slightly the worse for wear on Saturday morning. Brenda was, for once, up before him and, as he picked up his cup of tea in the kitchen, his bleary eyes fixed on a wrapped tubular parcel lying on the table.

“It’s arrived,” said Brenda, popping a couple of slices of bread in the toaster. “Don’t you want to open it?”

“Let’s have a cup of tea and wake up a bit first?” Suggested Keith. “Plenty of time yet.”

“Nonsense,” said Brenda, retrieving a pair of scissors from the drawer and placing them on the table. “You open it and I’ll finish making your toast.”

Keith did as he was told, although the packaging put up enough of a fight that his toast was ready by the time he’d got the outer wrapper off.

“Best eat it before it goes cold,” he said.

Brenda tutted, picked up the long cardboard tube and ripped off the lid. Like a magician producing a rabbit, she extracted some padded packing together with a very menacing looking crook-handled stick from the tube; it was dark yellow and about three feet long.

“Just like a school cane,” she pointed out. “And it should teach young Amanda a very well-deserved lesson. Are you paying attention, Keith?”

Keith had found a small book that had fallen out when Brenda removed the cane.

“Look,” he said. “How to care for your cane and how to use it. Seems like a quality item, to come with this sort of literature.”

“It bloody well cost enough, Keith,” said Brenda. “So it should be good quality and it should do its job.

This,” she swished the cane experimentally. “Is, apparently, a senior headmaster’s cane intended for use on older and very badly behaved pupils.” She’d memorised that from when she’d ordered it.

Keith, though, was absorbed in the book, his hangover dissipating rapidly. “It says here,” he started. “That there should be,” he shook the tube and a small plastic bottle popped out, together with more packaging. “Some oil with it, and there it is.”

“Looks like it needs to be oiled and left to sit for a couple of hours.” He said and, quickly gobbling up the last piece of toast, he headed off to his shed with both cane and oil.

When he returned a few minutes later, Brenda was reading the book. “You do know that you’re going to have to practice, don’t you?” she pointed out.

“Practice?” said Keith. “But it’s a stick; how hard can it be? Your father seemed to have managed.”

“My father, as you well know, was a headmaster and, in those days, he had plenty of practice,” Brenda pointed out.

“Fine,” he said. “But what do I practice on?” he added, looking at Brenda’s rear.

“Don’t even think about it!” she said. “You must have something in that shed of yours?”

“I suppose so,” said Keith, not keen even on hitting a garden rake. “But we should wait for the oil to soak in.”

“Why?” said Brenda. “There’s no time like the present. Come on.”

It wasn’t often that Keith was reluctant to go to his shed, in fact he never was, but Brenda had to cajole him all the way down the garden and, as it turned out, there was an unopened sack of potting compost on the chair.

“Looks like you were ready.” She pointed out. Keith just shook his head; he’d planned to do some potting later.

Brenda rummaged about on Keith’s tool shelf and produced a marker pen before drawing two parallel (ish) lines on the bag.

“Try and hit between those,” she said.

Keith tried, and failed.

“Let’s see what you’re doing wrong,” added Brenda, referring to the book. “Ah, I see. Now, if you stand there.”

An hour or so later and Keith was making a reasonable enough fist of it that Brenda was content he could do a satisfactory job with Amanda. Keith was quite glad to stop as he thought that his arm was going to drop off.

“Right,” she said. “Let’s get that little madam out of bed. It’s time!”

“No, Brenda, let’s do it later,” said Keith in an uncharacteristic display of disagreement.

“Why wait?” asked Brenda.

“Because I think that she should be sent to bed afterwards.” Said Keith, before adding: “And besides, I need to rest my arm.”


Amanda, like most teenagers, slept late, having been up ‘studying’ on the computer until well after midnight. When she finally got to the kitchen at 11.00, she found Brenda waiting for her.

“Your father would like a word with you, young lady.” She said. “He’s in the shed.”

Amanda had noticed the packaging standing behind the bin in the corner. The day had come, she thought, and headed out to the shed.

She actually found that her legs were shaking as she knocked on the shed door; the fantasy becoming reality perhaps?

“Come in,” said Keith. “It’s not locked.”

Amanda stepped inside and immediately noticed the cane hanging on the wall; her bottom clenched involuntarily under her jeans.

“You wanted to see me, Daddy,” she said, feeling very much like a little girl rather than the confident teenager of nineteen that she actually was.

“Yes, princess,” said Keith. “It arrived this morning,” he added, indicating towards the cane.

“Will it be today, Daddy?” she asked in a whisper.

“Yes, Amanda, this evening after dinner.” He replied. “Like we discussed.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she said, head down. “I’ll change into my pyjamas after dinner.”

“Good girl,” said Keith, feeling a lot more confident than he had for the entire week.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Amanda replied. “I’ll try to be brave when you cane me, but you will do it hard enough to make sure I’m sorry, won’t you Daddy?” And the confidence left him like a rat deserting a sinking ship.

“I, um, I-I’m sure I will.” He mumbled.

“Are you going to cane my bare bottom hard enough to make me cry, Daddy? She asked, head still down and toe circling the dust on the floor. “It’s OK if you have to; I have been terribly badly behaved.”

“I, er, well,” Keith managed. “We’ll see, later.” Was all he could manage. “Can you go back in the house now, Princess? Daddy’s terribly busy,” he added.

“Whatever you say, Daddy,” said Amanda. “I know you’ll make sure that my bottom is sore enough.” And, with that parting comment, she turned and left, a slight grin danced across her lips but, this time, it was tinged with nerves as she shook with a combination of fear and excitement.

Keith, bright red in the face, swapped places with the compost sack and reached for his cold cup of tea.


Keith had expected, and rather hoped, that dinner was going to be a fairly quiet affair, but he was both wrong and disappointed. Amanda seemed to have developed a type of verbal overload which Brenda had put down to her being nervous about her upcoming punishment. He, however, was finding the vivid description of how one of Amanda’s friends, and cell-mate on the fateful night, had been strapped on the bare bottom by her mother quite embarrassing, particularly at the dinner table.

“Delicious meal, Brenda,” he interjected, praising the pasta plus jar of sauce he was attempting to enjoy.

Brenda though seemed more interested with what Amanda was saying than with anything he had to add to the conversation; in fact she seemed to be positively encouraging the gory details out of an ‘all too happy to share’ Amanda He was, frankly, glad when dinner was over; both from a culinary and conversational viewpoint.

As Brenda cleared the dishes, Amanda rose from her chair and said: “I’m going to get changed now, Daddy. I’ll be as quick as I can,” and headed for the stairs.

As she disappeared, Brenda turned to him and said: “Well done, Keith. I honestly didn’t think you had it in you, but you’ve really made Amanda realise who’s in charge this week.”

Keith could merely nod in agreement.

“Now, hadn’t you better get ready? I assume you have some idea of how you’re going to go about this?”

Keith looked directly at Brenda. “Yes,” he said, confidently. “We’ll do this in the lounge. When Amanda comes down she’ll bend over, probably the back of the sofa, with her knickers down. I’m going to cane her hard enough to make her cry, and then she’ll stand in the corner until I’m ready for her to go to bed.”
Brenda looked utterly shocked, but quickly recovered. “I’m impressed,” she said. “But hadn’t you better have a cane to carry out your plan?”

Keith leapt up and hot-footed it out to the shed, stubbing his toe on the table leg as he did so.

When he got back to the lounge, Amanda was already there in her pink pyjamas with little grey teddy bear logos all over them. She was standing in the corner with her hands on her head. Brenda was perched on the edge of his armchair.

“She said that this was your idea too,” said Brenda. “I’m seeing a side to you that I didn’t know existed, Keith Puckley.” She patted his hand. “Now, the rest of this is between you and Amanda. Just remember the practice,” she whispered. “Stand in the right place, aim properly and hold the cane right and you’ll be fine. I’ll listen from next door.” She planted a light kiss on his cheek and headed for the kitchen, leaving the door open.

Keith stood there, cane in hand, wondering what to do next, so he cleared his throat.

“Right, young lady,” said in a much more strangled tone than he’d intended. “Come over here.” Amanda obeyed meekly and stood in front of him, head bowed and hands clasped in front of her. Keith looked at her and said quietly: “I, um, suppose that we’d better, erm…”

Amanda reached a trembling hand to his and he instinctively held it. He began wondering if he should lead her to the sofa, but she quickly withdrew her hand and he became aware that he was now holding a piece of paper. On the top, it said in capitals: ‘SAY THIS’.

He quickly scanned the note and, acutely aware that Brenda was listening through the open door, began to have an uncomfortable impression of what a rabbit felt like when it was illuminated by headlights. Unable to think of anything else to say, he began reading aloud.

“I’m very disappointed in you, Amanda. You’ve been extremely badly behaved; you’ve let us down and you’ve let yourself down, and now it’s time for you to be punished. I’m going to give you the cane on your bare bottom,” he recited.

“Oh no, Daddy, not the cane!” interjected Amanda, rather theatrically.

“I don’t want any arguments,” he continued. “Come on, over to the sofa.”

Amanda was already there, ahead of the script.”

Inwardly groaning, he continued reading.

“Pull your knickers down, you naughty girl.”

“Please, Daddy,” Amanda ad-libbed.

“I said, no arguments. Pull your knickers down!”

Amanda did so, along with her pyjama bottoms, all the way to her ankles, then stood up and put her hands on her head.

Keith, happy to look elsewhere, went back to the script.

“Now, bend over!”

“Yes, Daddy,” added Amanda, bending over the sofa with her bare bottom high.

Keith looked back at his prompt sheet. There were no more words and he realised that he didn’t have to say anything more.

He stood to the right of Amanda, made sure his stance was correct and that his grip was the way he’d practiced it. He aimed the tip of the cane with a few taps in the centre of Amanda’s bare bottom.
Bending over the sofa with her head down, Amanda felt the cane tapping her bottom and braced herself, her whole body tingling. Ever since she’d discovered the adult spanking sites on the Internet, she’d fantasised about getting the cane and, while it had taken a lot of work, her cry for the right sort of attention had finally been heard.

The End

© Jeremy Farrell 2020