Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

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(*****, M/f, Intense, nc spanking, hairbrushing)

A girl damages her father's car and pays the price. (Approximately 498 words. Originally published 2009-08.)

Daddy's favorite car is his Ferrari. I hate that thing. It's worth... I don't even know. More than me. It's his real baby. I'm just his daughter.

When I got my driver's license I begged him to let me try it, but he wouldn't. I just wanted to drive it around the driveway, but no. He wouldn't even let me sit in it!

Then my best friend Vicky and I met Chad. Chad's a car buff, but he's pretty buff himself, ha ha. Vicky and I are both cute, but I guess he likes blondes because she was winning.

So I cheated: "My dad has a Ferrari."

Ha! Checkmate! Chad was mine!

I'll shorten the story. Remember the scene in _Ferris Bueller_ when the car goes through the window? Well, it felt exactly like that. Chad sideswiped a semi. Took the paint off one whole side of the car.

Daddy was peeved.

Ha ha, I can't believe you fell for that. To say Daddy was furious would be the understatement of the century. To say he was so livid smoke was coming out his ears would be closer to literal.

He dragged me to his study by my earlobe -- an awkward, painful, and humiliating way to go -- yanked down my panties, and began slapping my bare ass as hard as he could. He spanked at a furious pace, probably a hundred spanks a minute. He spanked on and on, with no sign of stopping. My ass was hot and sore and stingy and itchy but still that unstoppable hand kept coming down. He must have spanked me for fifteen minutes with only a few breathers.

When it was over, he produced a huge wooden hairbrush. It was agony. I had no idea anything, especially something as ordinary and innocent as a hairbrush, could hurt so much. He paddled me with that thing until my ass was the color of a fire engine. Well, that isn't quite right, since he didn't want a fire engine Ferrari.

You see, once he'd spanked me properly, meaning that he'd achieved the prefect magenta bottom color he was shooting for, he dragged me off to the auto-body place.

"Is that true?" he asked, pointing to the "We match any color" sign. The mechanic nodded.

"Then I want my Ferrari painted the color of my daughter's blistered butt!"

Hmmm. Yeah. That raised a few eyebrows.

But money can make anything seem reasonable. Within minutes I was bare ass naked having my butt scanned by this machine and soon we had gallons of "Red Butt Supreme" paint.

I hate Daddy's Ferrari. It's this deep plum-red-cherry color. Unique, is what my father calls it. He loves it when people comment on the unusualness of the color and ask what it is.

"There's a story behind that," he says, giggling at his pun on the word "behind." I cringe and turn pink with shame.

Have I mentioned how much I hate that car?

The End