Everyone in this story is over 18.
*****
Walking up the path to the house, Tippi knew she looked good in her new riding boots. Would Papa understand?
Would he respect her finally as a career woman?
Tippi had her own staff and was quite the corporate maven in New York.
However, Tippi's family had always ridiculed her, the quick temper and childish pomposity, although Tippi was well into her thirties.
Why was she so intimidated by Papa? A bald age spotted head, big ugly glass eye that he often forgot to put in...
Long, thick white beard, covered in tobacco stains...and hideous long underwear!
Tippi paused for a moment.
Here she was, the tight expensive black flared jeans, the French peasant blouse. But...how did it usually go?
Was she provoking her family, walking slowly in front of her father and brothers, pulling her top down and tucking it in over her perky tits?
She had such contempt for these people, who never read "Mirabella" or "The Economist" or "The New Yorker".
They'd never had any interest in theater, or the music of Edith Piaf...or ballet...the Bolshoi, to her family sounded like a noise you made when you sneezed!
And yet, they compelled her, and she didn't feel right if she didn't visit these hicks regularly.
Tippi would talk about what was going on in New York, and her clients, and the big advertising campaigns.
Tippi's sisters would giggle behind their hands, and her farmer brother would snort contemptuously, and then Papa would bait her, and often Tippi would curse.
Then Papa would stride forward, taking the belt off the wall.
"Papa, no, I'm a grown woman, now." Tippi always insisted, but did it ever matter?
"You have a potty-mouth, and you behave as if you're better than ever'body else!
You need to have your pants down and your buttocks blistered, young lady."
Papa had little patience with status symbols and expensive gewgaws.
Often Tippi would bring him expensive gifts, and he would throw them back in her face, and then take her over his knee for trying to be above her station.
It seemed like there was little she could do to impress him.
Before making it in advertising, Tippi had passed the Foreign Service Exam and done a few years in Madagascar.
When she'd returned, all Papa could say was "How could those people stand you?"
It didn't matter that Tippi's clothes were expensive, that her short, curly red coiffed was so fashionable.
Papa would seize her by the arm, and unsnap her jeans in front of the others, and down they'd go to mid thigh as Papa threw her across the table.
Then the belt, which had probably hung placidly on the nail since Tippi's last visit, would do its grim work.
Following this Tippi would be consigned to the corner to stand, weeping into her hands while her pants and undoes stayed at half mast and her emblazoned buttocks stood on display for her snickering siblings.
Papa knew how to wield a switch to make a girl howl.
Time and again, other fathers in the community, frustrated that their psychology books hadn't changed their daughter's minds, would bring their college age girls, 18-22, to visit Papa, and he'd take their measure as well with the genius of corporal punishment.
When Tippi had been attending Buttermilk State, Papa had taken her to the woodshed over negligible grades more than once.
When Tippi returned to studying, she had to stand up to do it, and often to eat her meals off the mantle, as Papa's implements had done the work on her saucy bottom.
When Tippi's dates brought her home too late, sometimes Papa would avenge himself by stripping and whipping his prettiest offspring while her young swain watched, horrified and aroused.
Tippi's siblings were not university material, and so they were left to party up a bunch, but Papa had always been very strict with Tippi.
Every morning, Papa would bounce a quarter on Tippi's bed after she made it.
If there was any falter in the coin's bounce, Papa would take Tippi into the bathroom and thrash her hard with the bath brush before giving her a cleansing enema that made the girl try harder in bedroom hygiene.
After Tippi had graduated from college, she left for New York, and probably should never have returned.
But she kept hoping that she would finally impress Papa with what a mature young woman she was.
But it never seemed to work. If Papa perceived Tippi was being "worldly" he would give her a good back hand.
If she twitched her little buttocks, snug in expensive leather pants, Papa would remove those pants and make Tippi's buttocks sing with the impact of a jumping frying pan.
Or whatever else he could get his hands on.
Once or twice, Papa had encouraged Spinner, his psychotic second daughter to take her pony riding, and insist that Tippi be pulled along by her pierced nipples.
As Spin danced along on her pony, Sparky, Spin's twin drove alongside on her Vespa, blowing BB's through a peashooter at the pony's legs to keep it interesting.
The sight of lovely Tippi, running in a sweat to keep her boobs from being pulled off as Spinner made her pony canter and then trot was quite an image.
If Tippi was flagging too much, Papa would ride behind Spinner on his own horse, and urge Tippi on by using his riding crop on her beautiful bare buttocks.
Tippi really got a lot of cardio exercise in!
More than once when Tippi had stayed over, Spin and Sparky had sent her down to get the morning paper on her hands and knees.
Quite stark naked of course, and insisted she bring it up in her teeth.
If even a bit of it was ripped, her younger sisters gave her forty swats with a Ping-Pong paddle.
Sparky loved to watch "The Price Is Right" sitting in the easy chair in front of the TV with her crossed legs propped on Tippi's naked back as her older sister crouched.
Nermie often had Tippi suck his dick slowly while he lay down doing bench-presses.
She was amazed at her brother's dedication to weight lifting, and the fact that her mouth didn't distract him one bit.
Sometimes she tried to discuss Nermie going back to school (if the middle school took returning 35 year olds) but Nermie just grabbed her by the back of the head and forced it down.
More than once, Papa and Nermie took Tippi out in the woods when they went on a hunting or fishing trip, although she was a vegan in principle.
She didn't have to handle a gun or rod, just build fires and clean duck blinds.
Of course because Tippi's head was often in the clouds, the men had to strip her, even in the most bitter cold, and thrash her with cut branches.
Once, when they were ice fishing, for entertainment, Papa had had Tippi skate around the lake in the nude on her figure skates.
Sparky and Spin, along for the ride, had chased Tippi around, as all three were accomplished racing and figure skaters shooting at her pretty behind with a BB pistol.
Tippi's sisters had been warmly clad, and the contrast had been quite something.
Afterwards, all the siblings had thrown snowballs at Tippi's dancing naked form...
Again, Tippi had been so excited by the whole thing, masturbating in her tent and wondering what more her family might put her through.
You wouldn't believe how fast Tippi could skate under that kind of pressure.
These punishments seemed so demeaning!
It never mattered if Tippi complained or protested
"Papa, I'm a woman now, I'm a feminist. What you're doing is-"
Perhaps Tippi shouldn't wear such tight pants when visiting Papa? Or sometimes, short skirts that just scandalized.
The last time Tippi visited, Grandmother had been over to shell peas, and Tippi's long legs in the fishnet stockings had seemed so whorish that Grandmother had taken Tippi to the back yard and ordered her to strip naked.
Tippi had argued for a moment until Grandmother had taken Tippi by her fire-engine red bob and shaken her head until her teeth rattled.
Then, weeping, Tippi had stripped to her panties, hugging her small breasts and watching fat, sweating Grandmother cut a switch from the willow tree.
Then Gran would trim off the little branches with a small penknife that had been awarded her as a star knitter by the Ladies Guild of Buttermilk Falls.
Tippi's brother and his friends had stood on the back porch, playing pocket pool and ogling Tippi's little rosebud tits and her long legs, almost naked in the little beige underpants.
Grandmother had come over with the switch, smiling malevolently. "So you think you're all that, do you Tippi?
You want to be a whoring little slut in New York, where the devil's paste-boards and that sinful rock music abound?"
"N-no please, Grandmother, I-I didn't mean to offend you with my dress." was what Tippi had said, looking distractedly at the porch.
The guys were all screaming, laughing and throwing pop bottles and beer cans at Tippi. "Beat the shit out of her, Grandma! Give her what for!"
Tippi's brother, Norman was the worst of what you'd call a Gamma male; no woman would touch him or his loser friends with a ten foot pole.
