by Ritch Flynn
“The next time I see you, I’m gonna put you right over my knee and give you a good spanking!”
Tracy Ann’s heart leaped into her throat at those words. Her mouth went dry and she became totally paralyzed. All she could move were her deep blue eyes, and they immediately looked into the kitchen, where, just a few feet away, her father and her two younger sisters were laughing merrily as they exchanged jokes.
“You wouldn’t dare!” she said back into the telephone.
“Oh, wouldn’t I?” Tony asked.
She knew he would. He always had. That’s why she goaded him. This time, she had blown off his birthday, stood him up for two different lunch dates and “forgotten” to return his calls for four weeks. She knew she was in for it this time. He was speaking playfully, but she knew that she could get just what she wanted from him.
She still stared at her father and her two sisters. Her youngest sister was standing, and for good reason, as the joking exchange went on. Heather and Megan were 15 and 16 respectively, and still being disciplined by the strong, quiet man who had raised the three of them alone after their mother had left. Heather had been caught smoking the previous night, which was why she now stood in the kitchen.
Tracy Ann remembered those paddlings her father doled out, although now, at age 22, she was exempt from them. She remembered all of it in vast detail. The way her mouth used to go dry when her father would softly say, “Go up to my room and wait for me, sweetheart.” And that dreadful wait. Sometimes it was 30 minutes or more before he got there.
He was always calm and relaxed when he walked into the bedroom, but Tracy Ann was always weak in the knees, her hands quaking. He would just tell her to relax and to get ready, and then he would walk into the closet to pick out the paddle he would use as she would strip from the waist down.
When he would emerge from the closet, he would often be whistling, as she stood there, her hands modestly covering her pubic hair.
He would lay the wooden paddle on the bed. She always burst into tears at the sight of it. He would walk towards the bathroom and tell her to bring her mother’s vanity stool out to the foot of the bed. She always complied. Although she knew he would never back down, she always tried to tell herself that this kind, gentle, loving man who was her father wasn’t *really* going to paddle her.
Soon, he would emerge from the bathroom with the spray bottle filled. She hated that little bottle. The water was always so cold when it was sprayed onto her flesh, which was usually scorched from having been paddled. The water also made the paddling sting even more, another reason for her to hate that spray bottle.
As he came towards her, her father would always pick up the paddle in his left hand. He would sit, place the spray bottle down on his right, and then gesture to her to lie across his lap. Already in tears, Tracy Ann could never fight him. She never knew why.
As she lay across his lap, she would always brush back her long brown hair, more to keep the moisture from the tears out of it then for any other reason. Her father would always ask if she had anything to say, but she never did. How could she? Her heart was racing, her mouth was dry and somewhere deep inside of her, a little voice kept saying “He won’t do it. He won’t.”
The voice was always silenced when the first harsh whack of the paddle slammed into her silky bottom flesh. She would wail and kick at that first whack, but she *never* tried to get off of his lap.
Her father was a very slow spanker. He would spread the blows out over time. The intervals between swats could last as long as a minute and a half, and the whole paddling usually took an hour or more at that rate. Yet throughout it, he never raised his voice. He never yelled. He never cursed. He never berated her. He never had to. She always knew why she was there.
He would tell her to relax. Often, he would ask if she was all right several times during the course of a paddling. He never hesitated to give her a few moments to catch her breath when she needed it.
During the pauses between blows, he always checked her bottom with his hand to make certain the water had not completely dried. If it had, he would wet the skin again. The water felt like icicles dancing through her flesh when he sprayed it on. Her buttocks always twitched from the sensation, and her hips would heave involuntarily when the new water was applied.
He would also ask her during the pauses how school was going, how things were with her friends, etc. In many ways, Tracy Ann had always felt she was bonding with her father during these paddlings.
Although his personality was gentle when he paddled, the blows never were. Each one would elicit at least squeal from Tracy Ann, usually a screech. As the paddling progressed, she would fall short of breath. Before it was over, she would be in constant tears. And when he was done, her bottom would always be deep crimson and swollen. Her normally silky soft skin would have the feel of rough leather. The sting would last at least 3 days.
After letting her up, he always gave her a kiss on the head, told her that all was forgiven and to go put on a nightshirt and meet him in the living room. She always obeyed these instructions to the very letter.
When she would arrive in the living room, Tracy Ann would always find her Daddy on the couch watching television. Without hesitation, she always collapsed against him on the couch. Her face would still be wet with tears, and they would just lay there, quietly, snuggling. Although they rarely spoke during this time, she knew in those moments that her Daddy loved her, and had forgiven her for whatever offense had caused the paddling. As she remembered these events, she knew that she had never felt safer or more secure or more loved than in those precious, quiet times after a paddling.
And now, she looked up at her younger sisters. They still had the ritual as part of their lives. Even the previous night, when Daddy had ordered Heather to go wait for him in the room, Tracy Ann’s knees had grown weak, her mouth dry and her heart raced as her hands began to tremble. Even her bottom began to burn, and she wasn’t even the one who was about to get the paddle.
Yet, just 24 hours after being paddled, Heather stood in the kitchen, swapping jokes with her punisher. All of the girls were so close to their father, that few believed he really did paddle them. Or could it be that this was the reason they were all so close to Daddy? Tracy Ann had always wrestled with that question.
The following night she decided to drive out to Tony’s and shoot some pool in his loft. It would just be the two of them there. Before leaving, she called her fiancee and broke off the engagement. Then she packed an overnight bag. Nothing too complicated. Just a spray bottle, a nightshirt, and a paddle that she had “borrowed” from Daddy’s closet. Then she went to the car, her mouth dry, her knees weak, her heart racing and her hands quaking. She drove to Tony’s.