Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!Copyright 1985-2016 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.
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About the REAL LIFE SPANKING SeriesThe RLS Series is a collection of _real-life_ stories retold by the Flogmaster. Names and places have been _changed_ to protect the naughty. All are based on the personal memories of individuals and are written in the first person. Literary license may have been taken for a more dramatic presentation.
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Real Life Spanking Series #31 -- The Treehouse
(*****, F/f, Serious, Mild child spanking, love)
A father must discipline his lonely daughter. (Approximately 2,402 words. Originally published 1999-09.)
I finished an excellent supper with a deep sigh and gave Marie a kiss. "I'm going to the den to do some paperwork and pay some bills," I said as the rest of the family scattered.
I had barely loaded Quicken and begun when I heard the dreadful sound of glass shattering. I dashed into the living room and my heart sank.
Scattered across the countertop of the oak display case was the remains of one of Marie's priceless porcelain dolls. I turned as she entered, catching her.
"Oh my God!" she screamed, seeing the mess. "That's Bridgette!" She began to weep.
I'll be up front in admitting I don't claim to understand the attraction she has for her dolls. They are not toys, only decorations, and they're frightfully expensive. But she's collected them since she was a child, and Bridgette was one of her favorites. For Marie, it was akin to losing a beloved pet.
I turned to see Marge and Stevie hovering by the door. "Alright," I roared, "which one of you did this?"
I could instantly see from their terrified, blank expressions, that they were innocent. That left Jenna as the only possible culprit. Which made sense, since she was nearly as obsessed with the dolls as her mom. I sighed. "Okay, where's your sister?"
The two children looked at each other, then glanced at the garage door. That meant she'd gone out the back door. "Call me when she gets back," I murmured, and then turned my attention to my wife, who was picking up the scraps of poor Bridgette.
Two hours later, Jenna still hadn't returned. I think she had a fair idea what was coming to her. I couldn't really blame her for being afraid, but at the same time, I was growing annoyed. She knew she wasn't allow to touch Mother's dolls, yet she'd done so anyway. Now it was time for payment.
"Marge! Stevie! Let's go find your sister!"
We scoured the neighborhood for an hour. No one had seen Jenna, and we couldn't find her anywhere. It was approaching nine and growing dark. Stevie and Marge would barely look at me, as they saw how mad I was becoming.
"Maybe she's back at the house," whispered Marge.
"She'd better be," I muttered.
She wasn't. Marie hadn't seen her, and Jenna wasn't in her room.
"Maybe she's ran away," offered Stevie helpfully. My glare sent him scurrying to bed. Marge quickly followed.
I sat down on the couch, depressed and growing worried. "She wouldn't really run away, would she?" asked Marie.
I shook my head. "Of course not. She knows we love her. She's just frightened and ashamed."
Suddenly it hit me. Where did I always go as a kid when I wanted to be alone? The treehouse, of course.
My father and I built it. It's in this huge oak near the end of our property, about fifty yards from the house. It started out as a mere platform, but years of enhancement had turned it into a multi-level cabin, of sorts. It was basically two boxes stacked on top of each other, with a ladder connecting the two. The very top was accessed via a trapdoor, and made a perfect deck in the summertime. There were doors and glass windows, and we'd insulated the walls so it could be used in the winter. I'd built cabinets and furniture, and many times as a kid I used to stay overnight up there. It was the ideal refuge, about thirty-four feet off the ground, safe, warm, and far from parents.
"She's in the treehouse," I said, rising. "I'll fetch her."
My wife kissed me gently, then whispered. "Be gentle, dear."
I smiled at her. "I thought you'd be the one wanting me to blister her bottom for a week."
Tears glittered in Marie's eyes. "You know I love my dolls, but I love living dolls even more."
I squeezed Marie's hand and nodded, too impressed to speak. If sometimes I thought she was obsessed with her toys, she at least knew where her priorities were. No wonder I'd married her!
It was dark outside. The walk to the treehouse was a familiar one, but it had been a while, and the brush had overgrown the trail a bit. My children didn't use the treehouse much. Stevie was still a bit young to be playing it in by himself, and my daughters didn't seem that interested. They used it occasionally on weekends, for meetings with their friends or something. Without telephone, TV, a Mac, or Nintendo, it was primitive to them.
Approaching the tree, I saw a faint light glowing through the branches above. I released my breath suddenly, surprised at the relief I felt. She was there!
In sixty seconds I was on the landing, opening the door. The first floor was empty, though there was a Coleman lantern glowing faintly from its hook in the corner. I turned it up a couple notches, then mounted the ladder for the second floor.
As my head came up through the floor, all I saw were several sleeping bags and a large beanbag cushion. Then, in corner, was Jenna, curled under a blanket. Her large eyes glowed luminously in the darkness. Even from where I was I could see the glint of tears.
"Hey, Baby," I whispered. "I'm glad you're safe."
She didn't say anything, but stared at me as though as I was the butcher and she the cow.
I climbed the rest of the way up and crawled over the floor and sat beside my daughter. I didn't speak, just sat and waited. In the dim light I could barely see my watch, but I soon saw that ten minutes had passed. I wondered how long it would take.
Time dragged. Finally Jenna leaned her head against my shoulder. I could feel her tiny body trembling. I carefully put my arm around her, hugging her. We sat like that for about ten more minutes, until Jenna was calm. In fact, she was so calm I was wondering if she'd fallen asleep.
"Daddy?" she whispered.
The way she spoke the word made me tremble. She said it as a question, as though she wondered if it was still true. "Sure, Baby," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
"You're going to spank me, aren't you."
I didn't even bother answering that one, just gave her a gentle squeeze. I felt her tense for few seconds, then she relaxed.
"I'm sorry, Daddy," she said, and she began to cry.
I curled her into my lap and gave her a big bear hug to absorb her tears. She sobbed and sobbed. I caught snatches of sentences, things like "it was an accident," "I was just looking," and "never do it again."
Surely another ten minutes passed, until the crying spell was over. I hugged Jenna tightly and lifted her chin with my finger until I could look into her eyes. She stared me with faint blue orbs of terror.
"I love you so much, Jenna," I whispered. I couldn't keep the water out of my eyes but I didn't care. I blinked away the tears and continued. "I know you're a good girl, that you love Mamma's dolls and didn't mean to hurt them."
"I didn't Daddy! It was an accident!"
"I know, I know. But that doesn't change the fact that you disobeyed. You know you're not supposed to touch Mamma's dolls without her with you."
"I just wanted to hold her," whispered Jenna, her voice aching with emotion. "She was so lonely, up there on the shelf. None of the other dolls ever play with her."
The words sent a knife between my third and fourth ribs. This was exactly the kind of thing my wife and I had been fearing.
Jenna had always been the loner of the family. She was the quiet one. Too smart for her own good, she had more in common with adults than her peers. She and I had always been able to talk in ways I couldn't talk with Marge or Stevie. If anything, talking with Jenna was more like talking with Marie!
Marie and I had been worried about Jenna's social development. She was so different from the other kids. Smart and sensitive, she didn't see things the way most people did. I remember one day she came home from school sobbing. When I found her, curled on her bed in a puddle of tears, I thought something horrible had happened to her. It took a lot to coax the story from her, but it turned out she'd overheard her teacher telling another that she was "moving to a better place" next week. When Jenna's pet gerbil had passed away a year earlier, that's the unfortunate phrase we had used to describe death -- so Jenna naturally had assumed that her teacher was going to die! What was most amazing was how brave little Jenna hadn't told any of the other children, even when they made fun of her for crying. She said she didn't want to upset them, for everyone loved Miss Tyler.
Yes, Jenna was a special little girl, and it broke my heart to hear how lonely she was. We'd thought she was handling things okay, but I guess we'd missed something. I spent as much time with her as I could, but what she really needed were some friends her own age. Or maybe...
"Hey, Jenna," I whispered. "How would you like a doll of your very own?"
"You mean a china doll like Mamma's?" Jenna's face beamed like a lighthouse at midnight. I don't think I'd ever seen her so excited.
"Yes, a very special doll, like Mamma's. Not like your regular playing dolls, but the kind you have to treat like a precious child, lest it break."
"Oh, Daddy!" screamed the girl. "I'd love her so very much! I'd take very good care of her, and I'd _never_ drop. NEVER!"
I kissed her on the forehead and she threw her tiny arms around me and hugged herself against my chest, actually squeezing me with such vigorous strength I had trouble breathing.
"There, there, my girl," I said, trying not to laugh, as that made breathing even more difficult. "Everything's going to be just fine."
Jenna was a little girl again, playful and laughing, her smile brighter than the Coleman lantern in the corner.
I hated to burst her bubble, but there was no alternative. I gently put a hand on Jenna shoulder, tensing until she slowed her infectuous giggling. Her eyes grew wide and serious again, as she saw my grim expression.
"There's still one thing we have to take care of, my dear."
Jenna sobered up instantly, her face suddenly several years older. She nodded solemnly. "My spanking."
"I'm afraid so."
"It's okay, Daddy," she said suddenly, taking my hand and giving it a squeeze. "Don't feel bad. I was naughty and now I've got to be spanked. It's going to hurt, and I'm afraid, but I know you love me."
I stared at the girl in disbelief. Where did this miniature adult come from? She was still in the tiny Jenna body, but she wasn't acting like a frightened little girl.
"I love you SOOO much!" I roared, embracing her in my arms. She sighed and hugged me back, and we clung to each other for a good five minutes.
When I let her go, Jenna promptly climbed out of her blanket, went to the corner and retrieved what I recognized as her Mamma's hairbrush, and stretched out across my lap.
"I'm ready, Daddy," she whispered. Even she wasn't a good enough actor to completely hide the fear in her voice, but that made me love her all the more.
With a resolve I didn't feel, I pulled up her skirt and lifted the hairbrush. Jenna's tiny bottom was waiting, the chubby cheeks straining at the miniature white panties. For a second I couldn't do it. I almost put down the brush. Then I remember this was for Jenna's own good. If I didn't spank her, I would be sentencing her to far worse pain than what she would suffer under the hairbrush.
I brought the hairbrush down with a heavy smack. Jenna let out a howl. The brush was wide enough to nearly cover both cheeks with each blow, so I barely had to move it for the second and third swats. Each time Jenna screamed, sobbing in agony, and inside I wept for the girl. I gave her three more, then broke. I couldn't do it any more. I pushed her off my lap.
Jenna immediately stopped howling. She rose on her knees. Her hands went to her bottom and rubbed vigorously. Tears stained her cheeks as she stared at me in disbelief. "Why are you stopping, Daddy?"
"Your spanking is over, dear."
The poor girl was astonished. "But Daddy, that was just six! You never stop after just six!"
"I think you've learned your lesson, haven't you?"
Slowly a smile of understanding came over Jenna's face. Then she became serious. "Yes, Daddy, I have. I'll never touch Mamma's dolls again without permission."
"That's my girl," I said, giving her another hug. "Now why don't we head back home for some hot chocolate. It's awfully chilly up here."
"Oh, Daddy, wait. Can't we... can't we just sit up here together, for a little while longer?"
I was surprised, but pleased. "Sure, dear. Whatever you want."
The doll was expensive, well into three digits, but I didn't mind. Her name was Sue Ann, and she was beautiful. When Marie presented Sue Ann to Jenna you should have seen the little girl's face: the look of love and adoration fully convinced me that we'd done exactly the right thing.
I watched my daughter hug her new best friend, then rush to her room, knock her existing dolls to the floor with a sweep of her arm, and put Sue Ann in the place of honor at the top of the dresser.
Something profound struck me. As I looked at the regular toy dolls scattered on the floor I realized why Jenna was so in love with the porcelain ones: they were unusual and precious, just like her.