"Go to my room and bring me the hairbrush you'll find on the dressing table."
"Oh! The hairbrush? But-"
"No buts," interrupted Tom. "Get it. Now."
Ruthie scampered off upstairs. She could tell from the tone of his voice that she was in big trouble. Entering his room, she saw the hairbrush on the dressing table. She picked it up. It felt hard and solid in her hand. She gulped. This was going to hurt - and what a mean old Daddy making her fetch the brush herself.
Mean old Daddy also made her take her own panties down. This was ghastly. Ruthie hated having to take her own shorts and panties down. She pushed them down to her knees, feeling horribly vulnerable. Tom pointed to the kitchen table.
"Bend over," came the curt command.
Ruthie grimaced; she wouldn't have the comfort of being over his knee. She shuffled miserably to the table and bent over it, her tummy flat against the oak surface.
"Reach out and grab the opposite edge," said Tom.
So Ruthie stretched out, her fingers grabbing the edge tightly. Her bare bottom was thrust high - the perfect defenceless target. Tom raised the brush and smacked it down hard on the centre of her right cheek.
Ruthie screeched. It felt like a white-hot iron searing her cheek. And as the burn faded from her right cheek, the nasty old hairbrush brush branded her left. Then the right cheek again, directly on the mark that was already burning. Then the process was repeated over and over. Ruthie wiggled and kicked and wailed as the brush did its work. Six agonising strokes on each cheek leaving two angry crimson brands.
There was a pause and Ruthie breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing a little, her breathing steadying. She thought her ordeal was over. But no, Daddy had to teach her a lesson.
Crack!
The next stroke fell lower, on the underside of her right cheek. Ruthie tried so hard to keep still as the brush bit that same tender spot five more times. She howled and wailed and sniffled, not just with the pain, but with the knowledge that her left cheek was about to receive the same punishing treatment. Ruthie could feel the throbbing as the heat rose. By now she was jiggling around on tiptoe, waving her red bottom from side to side, convinced it was on fire. She wriggled and squirmed, trying to shake the terrible burning away.
"S-sorry, D-daddy," she whimpered.
"I should think so too," he said sternly. "You deliberately defied me, and your actions caused damage to someone's property. And don't bother trying to pull up those panties. Go and stand in the corner."
"B-but ... I don't wanna."
"Now, Ruthie, or I'll get the cane."
Ruthie shuffled over to the corner and stood there, her bottom burning. Tom came up behind her and raised the hem of her skirt and secured it with a pin to her shirt, leaving her well-spanked bottom on display.
"Now you stand there and reflect on your behaviour, young lady." Tom went to the fridge ad took out a beer. He sat at the table drinking it, and admiring the view in the corner. "Nose to the wall," he ordered.
Ruthie groaned and got into position. Her bottom throbbed and throbbed, but now that the spanking was over, she felt so turned on. The sting was already fading to a warm and highly pleasurable glow, heightened by the fact that she was exposing her bare bottom to him. The whole experience had given her an erotic charge and she felt increasingly desperate to rub - not her bottom, but her clit. The feeling persisted, and surreptitiously, she began to grind her pelvis against the wall.
Tom grinned, knowing full well what she was up to. "Bad girl," he said as he got up from his chair. Standing behind her he reached down between her eager thighs, his fingertips probing her wetness. Ruthie tossed back her head and groaned.
"Please," she said. "Please."
There were no more words from her as she closed her eyes and felt the delicious sensations from his questing fingers, and when his index finger found her clit, she shrieked and spasmed and let herself be washed away by the surge of arousal. She came loudly and loved every minute of it, and afterwards, Tom snuggled up with her on the sofa and stroked her heated bottom. It was bliss.
---oOo---
The next couple of days were wonderful, filled with glorious sunshine, lollipops and candy floss, stories and games, and a visit to a playground. But on Tuesday, a very different atmosphere prevailed, because Tom found out that Ruthie had lied to him about calling Brad.
Ruthie and Tom were upstairs when Ruthie's mobile phone rang. Tom had left it in the sitting room. He discovered three messages later, and hit the 'play' button. An angry voice sounded: "Pick up, bitch. I want to talk to you."
"Nice man," said Tom, and waited for the next message. It was similar to the previous one: "You're really pissing me off, moron. Answer your fucking phone and call me back." The third message was even more insulting: "Where the fuck are you, Ruth? I've been trying to get in touch for the last three days. I've left a message on the land line and I've sent you texts that you haven't replied to, you stupid bitch. Call me when you get this, or you can fuck off out of my house and sleep in the fucking gutter where you belong." The message ended with a few more expletives.
Tom put the phone back on the mantle-piece and sat down. He was angry at Brad and concerned that Ruthie was living with someone who sounded like a complete jerk. Not for the first time, he wondered if Ruthie was afraid of him, but too scared to admit it. He was also angry and disappointed with Ruthie for persistently feeding him lies. And he had believed her. He sat quietly for a few minutes and then went to the foot of the stairs.
"Ruthie. Come down here please."
"Coming," came the response. She bounded towards him, cute as ever in a pair of little pink shorts and a white crop top. Her feet were bare, and her arms and legs were lightly tanned by the sunshine. Tom narrowed his eyes. He was about to focus on tanning some other part of her anatomy.
Ruthie could tell by his expression that something wasn't quite right, thinking that it was because she hadn't dried the dishes earlier when he'd asked her to.
"I'm going to do them right now!" she said, and darted off in the direction of the kitchen, squealing when she was pulled up short by a grip of iron on her arm.
"Not so fast, little girl. Come with me." He steered her into the sitting room and made her sit on the sofa while he played back the messages from Brad.
Ruthie gulped and turned pale beneath her tan. "Oh ..." was all she could find to say. The messages from Brad were not very nice, but what was so much worse was Tom's expression.
"You lied to me, Ruthie," he said quietly. "You assured me you'd called him and explained the situation. You told me he wasn't at all pleased. You told me he was very cross you didn't ask his permission first. You then went on to tell me even more lies relating to a fictitious conversation with Brad, including the fact you'd given him my name and telephone numbers so he could call in an emergency." He fixed Ruthie with a hard stare. "Well, Ruthie, what do you have to say for yourself?
"I-I ... I don't know. I'm s-sorry, really I am. I just ... couldn't face telling him. I was so happy about everything you see, and I didn't want him spoiling things by yelling at me. I ... I'd intended to send him a text saying I was going away for three weeks, and then switch my phone off. But with everything else going on, I just forgot.""
"I can fully understand your concerns, but I was in the car and would have come and spoken to him if things got difficult. I can't tolerate lies and deception, Ruthie. You're going to be punished. But first, you're going to pick up the phone and call Brad. You will tell him you are not at home, and you will tell him you are here with me. And when you've done that, I want you to hand the phone over to me and then go and wait for me upstairs in your room."
Ruthie gave him a look of mute appeal but Tom was resolute. He stood there, waiting for her to obey.
She made the call.
She said exactly what Tom had asked her to say, and then winced at the response she was getting. "Don't speak to me like that, Brad," she said, "not ever." And then she handed
the phone to Tom and fled up the stairs. The wait seemed interminable and she wondered what Tom was saying to Brad, but there was no way she was going to sneak down and eavesdrop on the conversation. She shuddered, dejected that she'd messed up.
Eventually she heard the rattle of the kitchen drawer, followed by Tom's footsteps ascending the stairs. He didn't come into her room immediately, instead he went into the bathroom, and she heard the bathroom cupboard being opened. When Tom came into her room he was carrying a bath towel and some other stuff on a chrome tray. Ruthie didn't take much notice, she just stared at him crestfallen and murmured, "I'm very sorry."
"You will be," came the response. Tom set down some items on her dressing table and then draped the towel on the bed. "Remove your skirt and panties and get on here, Ruthie." He patted the towel.
She swallowed and complied, acutely embarrassed. Being half naked was worse than being fully naked somehow. She sat on the towel, her feet dangling over the edge of the bed.
"Lean right back and draw your knees up and apart."
Ruthie stared at Tom, horror-struck. "B-but ... I-"
"Now, Ruthie." Tom waited. This was a test of her submission and obedience. He watched as she reluctantly did as he asked, revealing her intimate secrets to his scrutiny.
Ruthie screwed her face up tight. She had never done this before with anyone. Her face flamed scarlet.
"Open your eyes and look at me."
Somehow she forced them open, but had great difficulty meeting his gaze.
"I said look at me, Ruthie." She complied. "Now that I have your attention, I'm going to tell you how you will be punished. You already know why you're being punished. I'm going to shave you. Then I'm going to plug you. Then I'm going to paddle your bottom. And then we are going to take a little walk to the beach and you won't be allowed to wear any panties."
Ruthie's jaw dropped as the words sunk in. "What?!" she whispered.
"That will be the first part of your punishment. You'll take the second part tomorrow."
"Wh-what will it be tomorrow?"
"You can wait until tomorrow to find out. For now, spread your knees wider and keep absolutely still. I don't want to nick your skin with the scissors." He leaned forward and began to trim her dark curls.
Ruthie went rigid, partly from sheer embarrassment. She couldn't believe it was happening. The scissors were discarded and a soft cloth was pressed over her mons, then it too was discarded. In its place was a razor. Ruthie whimpered as Tom squirted some sort of cream on, and then began the process of shaving her clean as a baby. She cringed, horribly humiliated, and yet another, darker, secret part of her found the whole experience intensely erotic.
"Almost done," Tom said, carefully applying a few final scrapes with the razor.
Ruthie didn't dare look at him. Her gaze wandered down to his crotch, where the unmistakable bulge of his cock threatened to burst through his clothing. In spite of her predicament, she was hard pressed not to smile in triumph, but managed to keep her expression neutral.
The next stage of the proceedings was hugely enjoyable, as Tom's capable fingers rubbed baby oil in all the right places, seemingly paying particular attention to the outer lips of her pussy. Fleetingly, she wondered if he could tell how turned on she was, and dared risk a surreptitious glance at his face. It burned with lust.
Right now would be a good time for some of that intimate touching we talked about, she thought to herself, but given the circumstances, decided it wouldn't be a smart move to suggest it. After all, this was supposed to be part of her punishment - but it sure didn't feel like it!
Tom returned the razor to the tray. "Right. All done. I want you to keep it like that from now on. Is that understood?"
"Yes sir." She wasn't quite sure why she added the 'sir' but it seemed appropriate.
"Now I want you to flip over on your hands and knees. Stick that naughty bottom out."
Oh gosh, but his words sent shivers of delight up and down her spine. She complied, jutting out her buttocks. They gleamed like pale ostrich eggs. Tom smiled wolfishly and reached for the lube. When he spread her cheeks apart, she gasped and bit her lip. They'd spoken about his on the journey but now that the moment had come, it exceeded her expectations. She felt wanton and deliciously humiliated as he smeared the lube between her cheeks, and when he inserted a finger...
"Ohhhh," gasped Ruthie.
"This is what happens to bad girls," said Tom. He explored her tight hole, pushing his finger in deeper, stretching her opening.
Ruthie began to squirm, and when he replaced his finger with the butt plug and slowly pushed it in, she squirmed even more. She felt invaded ... full. It wasn't exactly unpleasant. At that moment she knew she loved being submissive to this man.
"The paddle next, my bad girl. Hold that position till I return." He went to his bedroom and took a leather paddle from his toy bag. It had a long handle and the business end of the implement was around twelve inches long. Perfect.
Tom briefly rested the paddle across Ruthie's cheeks. She felt the cool leather and braced herself for what was to come. She heard the sound of the first stroke before she felt it. The loud crack of leather on flesh echoed around the room. Ruthie felt as though a red-hot brand had seared her cheeks. Her eyes flew wide open in shock and she yelped in dismay.
She was still wailing when the second one fell - on exactly the same spot. Tom calculated on a slow count of six between each stroke. The third stroke was delivered in the same place as the others. Then came the fourth. Ruthie squealed and jiggled her rump. Not knowing how many she was going to get meant she'd hope every stroke was the last, then the next would fall, followed by another.
Then the rhythm changed, ad the paddle landed squarely across both cheeks, right over the butt plug.
"Yeowww!!" shrieked Ruthie. "Ohhhh ..." The paddle seemed to wedge the plug further in with each blow, and that plug produced some very erotic sensations. On the one hand she was shrieking in pain, and on the other, she was so aroused she felt as though she would burst if he didn't give her some relief to release the mounting sexual tension.
Crack! Crack!
Ruthie squealed. "It hurts! It hurts real bad!"
Crack!
"Owwww!! I sorry I lied. Sorry. Sorry. Sorr-eeeee!" she yelled.
Tom noted the bright red patches decorating her chubby little bottom. The light paddle had a fierce sting, but he wasn't using it at full strength. She'd feel it all right, she'd be tender, but not bruised. And every time he spanked her, he noted her tolerance levels. She liked it hard. Needed it. He delivered the final stroke - very hard.
CRACK!!
Ruthie shot up and rubbed her flaming cheeks. She couldn't help it. "Owww! Oh! Owiee!" she babbled almost incoherently. I won't ever lie to you again! I p-promise."
"I shall hold you to that," said Tom. His stern voice was replaced by a gentler tone. He reached out to rub her stinging cheeks then applied some cold cream that made her sigh in relief. "All done. Up you get."
She climbed gingerly off the bed and hopped about comically from one foot to the other. "That really, really hurts!" she protested, ad began to hop about again.
"It was meant to. Now, put your skirt back on. We're going down to the beach - minus your panties."
Ruthie was mortified. She was terrified the butt plug would fall out. Tom told her to make sure it didn't, so she waddled along at his side, desperately trying to keep her cheeks clenched, holding it in as tightly as she could. Then she became agitated in case an unexpected gust of wind would blow her short skirt up, revealing not only a bare spanked bottom, but a plugged one too! And yet, the weird and kinky thing about it all was that she felt excited and turned on by the humiliation, and a part of her surfaced that actively wanted those things to happen - the thought of others seeing and knowing sent a delicious thrill tingling down her spine. She stored that intriguing thought in her head for later and when there was an opportunity to do so, resolved to talk to Tom about exhibit
ionism.
Tom enjoyed himself hugely, and when they got to the beach, asked her if she would like another donkey ride. Ruthie glared at him, and even though the somewhat perverse thought, Donkey riding whist wearing a butt plug AND on a freshly spanked bottom - very ouchie and maybe worth a try...? raced through her mind, she ignored it.
Instead, they walked a short way on the sand by the sea's edge. Normally she would have loved it and gone paddling and jumping in the shallows - but not this time. She had the feeling that people would notice she was walking all funny and laugh at her! The feeling persisted so much she didn't enjoy eating her ice cream cornet with chocolate flakes and raspberry sauce. She was more than relieved when the beach outing ended and they went back to the cottage, but pouted prettily when informed she would continue to wear the plug for another hour. She spent the remainder of the day wondering what part two of the punishment would be.
---oOo---
The next day Ruthie woke up still tired, as she hadn't slept at all well with thoughts of her impending punishment rushing though her head. It was the uncertainty, the not knowing, that got to her and made her tense and edgy. It was then she had one of her good ideas. It was an idea that didn't turn out to be quite as good as she had hoped.
"Daddy, I don't feel well." She pouted and looked forlorn.
"What's the matter, poppet?"
"I have tummy ache. A real bad one. I think I should go back to bed and stay there till it gets better."
"Poor baby," cooed Tom. "Off you go then. I'll be up shortly to take your temperature."
"Yes Daddy." She hid a smile as she groaned and climbed slowly up the stairs.
"Transparent little imp," muttered Tom, and then went to get the rectal thermometer.
Ruthie lay in bed and opened her mouth as Tom approached, then closed it again as he deftly flipped her over and parted her cheeks. "Nooooo - it doesn't go THERE!" she said, outraged.
"Oh yes it does." In it went. "Keep still Ruthie, we'll soon be able to tell how sick you really are."
Little Women Box Set Page 13