Editor's Note: this story contains BDSM themes.
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It had been one of those days. You know, the kind that begins with a frenzied hunt for your car keys (until you finally find them in your briefcase) and ends with a snappish comment to your assistant that you berate yourself for all the way home. So imagine how I felt when walked in to a house that looked like a tornado had spun through it moments before. The family room was a graveyard of empty cans of soda (and, I was furious to find, beer), and chip bags; the kitchen sink was piled high with dishes; and the dog was barking frantically at the back door, dying to go out. I seethed as I looked around at the empty, messy rooms. Lauren. This particular tornado's name was Lauren.
My stepdaughter and I had been living here alone since her mom—my soon-to-be ex-wife—took off with her boss six months before, leaving me with her obnoxious 18 year-old daughter, Lauren. When I say obnoxious, it's not said in love. Believe me. I'd put up with the kid for my wife's sake, and I did feel a little sorry for her at first—she'd lost her dad in a car accident at age five, for goodness sake—but her spoiled-brat personality quickly put an end to my sympathy. Beth, my wife, simply did not know the word 'No' when it came to her darling daughter. The two of them were thick as thieves, a united front against my efforts to maintain some order and routine in the house, and in our budget.
After a few years, it started to affect our marriage. Every fight, it seemed, was about something to do with Lauren. The money Beth spent on the latest clothes for Lauren; the mediocre grades that came home on every report card; the total lack of respect for our home; and, lately, the, skimpy and skimpier outfits Lauren was parading around in. And Lauren, like most spoiled, pretty teenage girls, sailed above it all...hardly seeming to notice my escalating disapproval of her behavior.
Of course, when her mom was around, I'd had to take a fairly hands-off approach, to keep what was left of the peace around here. But once Beth did her vanishing act (which didn't seem to phase Lauren one bit, I might add), the gloves had come off. I'd instituted rules, chores, and curfews...all to fierce resistance. But Lauren had adjusted, gradually coming home when I'd told her to, picking up her things, improving her grades. All in all, I thought we'd made some progress. We still avoided each other, and every conversation was tense and loaded with sarcastic compliance, but I felt we could stick it out until she'd graduated from high-school and was out of my hair.
Well, this was the end of all the so-called progress. I'm sure my rotten day had something to do with it but by the time I heard a car-door slam an hour or so later I was, if anything, angrier with Lauren than when I'd first walked in the door. The sight of her bounding up the front steps in a miniscule blue-jean skirt and a tight belly-button baring tank top, as if she hadn't a care in the world, just made me snap. I had to take a deep breath before I opened the door, but she could still see how furious I was. She actually paused on the threshold, afraid, I think, to come in.
"What's up?" She smiled, but gingerly. I grabbed her upper arm and pulled her inside, locking the door behind her. The smile faded and her green eyes were wide with alarm. I have to admit I enjoyed the sensation; I felt like I had the upper hand with her, for once.
"What's up? What's up?" I growled. "What do you think is up?" I gestured roughly toward the family room, and down the hall to the kitchen. "What do you think this is, a frat house?"
"Oh...yeah...sorry about that...I, uh, had a few friends over after school..." Lauren was clearly nervous; in fact, she'd turned pale under the tan she and her girlfriend had spent Memorial Day perfecting in our backyard.
"I don't recall giving you permission for a party."
"It wasn't a party." How quickly the sarcasm returned. With that one word, I'd made up my mind. This was going to end. I didn't say anything for some time, just stood there, looking down at her. I took in her long, golden brown hair, falling over her shoulders, the smattering of freckles across her nose that gave her an alluringly girlish look, the green eyes with their flecks of brown and blue, her trim, curvy body, poured into the revealing outfit. Lauren stared back at me, trying to remain defiant.
"Go up to your room," I said. "I'll be there in a minute."
"You're sending me to my room?" She couldn't believe it. Her mouth actually hung open for a moment. "I'm not six."
"You act like a child, so I'm going to punish you like a child. Go." I said this last word with enough menace that Lauren jumped, and started moving toward the stairs.
"Fine," she muttered under her breath. "I could use a nap."
I almost laughed...but I was still too angry. If she thought she was heading for a nap, she had another think coming.
Before I headed upstairs to Lauren's room, I went into my office to cool down. I needed to be calm and collected to do what I was planning; I didn't want to proceed in anger. I wanted Lauren to see that I was dead serious about her behavior, and I needed to be in complete control. I actually played a couple of hands of solitaire on the computer before going upstairs. It was probably about fifteen minutes, all told. Enough time to settle myself, and for Lauren to stew in her juices waiting for me.
Sure enough, when I walked into her room without knocking, she was lying on the bed, listening to her iPod. She'd kicked her flip-flops to the floor—not that there was much floor to be seen, the room was such a disaster zone of discarded clothing, school books, knickknacks, CDs, you name it. She looked up at me through her eyelashes, raising her eyebrows slightly. The look said "what now?" and was absolutely dripping with boredom. I motioned to her to take off her headphones and sat on the end of her bed.
"Come here," I said, quietly. Lauren didn't move. When I turned to look at her over the shoulder of my blue button-down, I saw that she'd taken off the headphones, but wasn't budging. "Come here," I said again, a little louder, as if she hadn't heard me the first time.
"Where?" She asked, an edge to her voice.
Sighing, I answered. "Lauren, get off the bed and come stand in front of me. Now." From the tone of the word 'now' there could be no doubt that I meant business.
Slowly, she started to move, sliding her long legs over the side of the bed, standing, and coming around to stand in front of me.
"Dad, I'm really sorry..." I cut her off with a hand gesture, a slicing motion through the air. Using the name 'Dad' was a ploy on her part; usually she treated me to a snide 'Jim', though her mom had wanted her to call me Dad since they moved in eight years ago.
"Lie down across my lap, Lauren," I said, looking up at her as I spoke. Again, her mouth dropped open.
"Wh-What?" She almost whispered the word.
"Lauren, you've ignored my rules. You've shown zero regard for my house. You've treated my rudely and inconsiderately, and yet I've always tried to treat you fairly. I've given you the chance to show you're responsible, nearly an adult. And yet over and over you've proven yourself incapable of handling that kind of responsibility. So, I find I have no other choice but to treat you like a spoiled child. Now, I'm going to punish you like a child. LIE DOWN ACROSS MY LAP." I reached up and grabbed her wrist, pulling her into me. Lauren was fairly tall, probably about 5'7" and leggy, but slim, and no match for my strength. It didn't take much to force her down over my knees.
She did fight; I'll give her that. She thrashed her arms and legs like crazy, and her mouth ran a mile a minute.
"You're going to spank me?! You're crazy. I'll call mom. She'll call the police on you. They'll drag you to jail, you asshole. How dare you. I'm not a child. I'm 18 years old. I can sue you for assault..." And on and on. Through the litany I held her down with my left forearm, silently listening to her rant. Finally, she stopped moving, and shouting.
"Lauren, I should have done this a long time ago." I reached over my arm and pulled her short skirt up around her waist, a motion that set her off again. This time, I yanked a handful of her hair into my fist and pulled hard. "Be quiet, Lauren." She yelped, but quieted down. I let go of her hair and pulled her panties, a pair of skimpy white string-bikinis I'd seen in the wash many times, down around her lower thighs.
Now that her ass was exposed, I realized I'd never actually given a spanking, although I'd received quite a few as a child. Usually my mother had done the honors, a few quick swats over her knee, though on one or two occasions she'd grabbed her hairbrush. When my father was the one on the other end of the punishment, the smacks were much harder, and I could till remember the sound of his hand Whack! against my skin. For especially egregious offenses, he'd used his belt. I'd spare Lauren that pain today, but gazing at her firm young bottom, nicely bronzed except for a triangle of lighter skin where her bikini had been, I wondered whether Beth had taken her wooden hairbrush with her when she'd left; I'd have to look later.
Of course I was tempted to touch the taut skin, but instead I raised my hand and brought it down in hard, quick succession on first one cheek then the other. Lauren cried out with every stroke, but I didn't slow until I'd rained about twenty smacks on each side. Her bottom was flushed red, and she was squirming and crying as I held her down against my khaki covered thighs.
"Please, please, Jim, no more...please stop." She begged, as I paused. She sounded so pathetic I nearly gave in. Then I remembered the way she'd looked at me when I walked into her room, and decided the job wasn't nearly done.
"Lauren, this is the only way I know to impress upon you that your behavior is unacceptable. And from now on, this is the way we're going to handle that kind of behavior." I ran my hand over her ass, feeling the hot, smooth skin under my fingers. "I don't like to hurt you, but you've left me no choice." Smack! Smack! Smack! I began spanking her again, back and forth between her rosy cheeks, until my hand started to sting. After about 20 more blows I paused again. Lauren had stopped thrashing and trying to get away, and was now merely squirming, but in a different way. Her legs had parted, and I could see the lightly furred lips of her pussy: swollen, open, and...undeniably wet.
Now, I've seen Lauren parading around this house for eight years, frequently in almost total undress. She was the kind of girl who slept in panties and a tank top, and wore a tiny bikini in the summer, with no regard to who might be looking. Shorts were short, skirts were shorter. And I can honestly say I never thought twice about her, other than to wish her mother would ask her to dress more appropriately. Generally speaking, I prefer older women...it's the suburban moms in their short tennis skirts I lust after, not teenage girls.
