A girl is persuaded to take a spanking
By Marcella Cabana
One day, Francesca and Celia were walking home from school. They were great friends in those days, and often hung out in the evenings. Francesca, five foot six with bobbed blonde hair, especially loved walking back in the fresh air of the warm Barcelona evening. She was looking forward to the upcoming summer holidays, turning 18, and starting College.
Celia, tall with long black hair, preferred cycling. But today she’d decided to walk, and was walking slowly and thoughtfully. It was clear Celia had something on her mind.
“Fancy coming over for a movie later?” Francesca asked.
Celia winced. “Can’t.”
“Oh? Date?” Francesca asked eagerly.
“I wish. I’ve got an appointment when I get home. With my dad.”
“Really? You make appointments to see your father?”
Celia paused, choosing her words. “I have to see him to be punished.”
“What, like he’s going to give you chores to do?”
“No.” She stopped, hesitating. Clearly unsure whether to say more. “I’m actually getting a spanking when I get home.”
Francesca was shocked. “A spanking? Seriously?”
She’d never heard of a girl that age still being smacked. Her own parents had hardly ever spanked her at all, and the last time was years ago.
“Yeah. It’s a deal I have with dad. If I’m in trouble, it’s two weeks to a month grounded, or a spanking. I choose. Most times, I take grounded, but this one I want out the way. So I’m in for a sore backside tonight.”
Francesca was too surprised to speak immediately. She was simultaneously surprised and curious.
“Aren’t you too old?” She asked eventually.
“No. It’s not like you think. It’s not like he grabs me and throws me over his knee as if I’m six. We agree that for doing something wrong I should be punished. Spanking is quick, easy and costs nothing. I let him do it because I know I deserve it and it’s better than the alternative. And I can say no. I can choose another punishment if I don’t want to be smacked. I consent to it.”
“So, what’s it like?” Francesca finally ventured.
“There are three stages to my mind. First, just utter embarrassment because I have to present my bottom to him. It’s like sooo humiliating. He always reminds me I chose it, and that I could still be grounded.
“Then he starts to smack me and at first it is like, whatever. It smarts, but doesn’t seem to hurt that much. That’s stage 2. Stage 3 is when it really hurts. That takes about five minutes to reach.”
“Wow! I mean, I’ve never been spanked. At least not since I was little.”
“Now that should change. It’s an experience everyone should have. Put it on the bucket list!”
They both laughed, and then Celia said goodbye, for they had reached her apartment. Francesca wished her good luck and went on her way, thinking about what Celia had said.
She got into her homework and forgot about the conversation. But about an hour later, her mobile pinged. It was Celia, and her message came with a large file.
“You seemed interested, so I took the liberty of filming the proceedings in secret. Share this and you’re dead. Delete after viewing! Celia.”
Francesca couldn’t believe her eyes. She started the video and, yes, it was Celia’s house.
Her father was standing next to a wooden chair that had two sturdy arms.
“No changing your mind?”
To Francesca, it sounded like he hoped she would change her mind.
“No,” she heard Celia say.
“Ok. Get undressed and bend over the chair, please. You have sixty seconds.”
At this point, her dad turned away. Celia reached for her jeans and slid them down. On screen, Celia bent over the chair, holding the arm rests. Her backside was now facing the screen, high and firm.
“Ok dad, I’m ready,” she said.
Her father took a step back, briefly looked at his target and swung his arm hard, striking Celia’s bum with the flat of his hand. Francesca winced. She was feeling guilty, like she was spying on something she shouldn’t see, but it was hypnotically interesting.
More smacks followed. The man was striking hard. Celia wasn’t reacting much, not that Francesca could see her facial expression. She wasn’t yelling. The father stopped, switched arms and resumed whacking his daughter’s bum. It was hard to tell, but it appeared to be changing colour a bit now, reddening.
Yet more smacks followed. Francesca wheeled the video forward. It went on for nearly nine minutes!
She stopped to watch again near the end. Now, Celia could be heard alright. She was crying and screeching with every smack. And no wonder. Her backside was bright red. It must hurt like hell being smacked when so tender, Francesca thought.
At last, the final smack was delivered to the upturned bottom.
Celia’s father said, “Get dressed,” and left the room.
Celia pulled up her jeans. Her face was red and tearful. She walked over and stopped the video.
That night, Francesca couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t help it. She pulled out her phone and rewatched the film. She even smacked her own bottom twice to see how it felt. No, it was not the same. She came to a strange realisation; she wanted to be spanked.
She tried it herself with a wooden spoon, bent over the desk in her room, her pyjamas around her ankles. It stung, but it still wasn’t the same. She needed the real thing.
Francesca thought of asking Celia to do it, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was just too weird. She needed her dad to do it. So she faked a letter home from school. It wasn’t hard. She just copied and pasted the school logo and faked the teacher’s signature. She invented some nonsense story about deliberately damaging school property, tearing up books and scoring desks, enveloped it, mailed it home and waited.
“This is so unlike you. What got into you, Francesca?”
“I don’t know, dad. I screwed up.”
“Well, I have to punish you. Three weeks grounded. No friends. No phone. No TV.”
“Dad, I was wondering if you’d spank me instead? There’s a party in two weeks, I really want to go. I want it out the way.”
“Spank you? I couldn’t!”
It took ages to persuade her father to use corporal punishment. He was at first horrified by the idea. But at last, he relented. It was true, as his daughter said, that he’d been spanked as a boy and that it hadn’t been fatal, although he absolutely refused to use his hand on his daughter’s bottom. He would slipper her instead.
So, Francesca found herself bending over the kitchen table, the thick slipper warming her prone buttocks as it whacked her again and again.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!”
“Enough?” her dad asked.
“No, dad, it’s supposed to hurt. You’re just tickling me.”
Her father carried on and it began to burn, and then there was pain and the swats kept coming, Francesca’s backside felt like it had been toasted on a fire, and at last she began to cry.
Celia giggled as she closed the mobile phone. The movie file had taken up a lot of data but it had been worth it. Francesca’s message had read: “Thanks for the inspiration! That’s one off the bucket list.”
It was a great movie. Her friend had filmed her spanking from the front, not the back, focussed on the face so Celia had seen every grimace, every wince and tear, and of course the spanker punishing Francesca.
Celia made a mental note to try that camera angle next time. Too excited to sleep, she opened her word processor and began drafting a letter home from school.
© Marcella Cabana 2022