BEYOND TIED FOR PUNISHMENT

BY YOCOPYCAT

[ part 1 ]

After reading Tied for Punishment, you may think that I only made up reasons for my husband Paul spank our daughter Jessica so that I could enjoy the way it inspired him to have great sex with me. But that is not the whole picture and gives a limited view of our home life. For instance, after the time when she was nearly eight and gave Paul a really hard time taking her jeans off, I banned her from wearing jeans - she looked so much cuter around the house in flimsy short dresses. And I let her really grow out of them before wasting money on new ones.

It also meant that another of the habits I developed began to be more effective. If she made a mistake early in the day, which meant that she would be spanked that night, I made her take off her panties and hang them on a special little hook I screwed into the wall by the fireplace. Then they were ready to hand when I used them to gag her, as had become necessary now that Paul was letting himself go more: Paul is a pretty strong guy and has become an enthusiastic spanker.

You should also understand that Jessica is not Paul's natural child. We nearly split up when he found out I was pregnant immediately after we were married, and I think we have both held it against her. I certainly do, innocent as she is, there are times when I actually hate her for the unfortunate accident she was. It absolutely wrecked my honeymoon! Is that an excuse for the callous way we have come to treat her as a mere instrument to improve our sex life? Probably not, but I thought you should know. Maybe it is lucky that beating her inspires Paul with thoughts of me, fucking me, otherwise she might be in danger of rape. Will that happen later? Would I be really turned on watching that and encourage it as an amusing diversion, or would I protest? Not hard I think - to protest too hard would not become a submissive. We shall see, no doubt, sooner or later.

Let me give you a typical day from that period. This is a few weeks after we had started to tie her up and gag her for punishment.

I go to her room and unlock the door - I keep her locked in at night as it is nice to think of her as a prisoner. Even that makes me damp at times, although of course it is quite unnecessary. She jumps out of bed and stands at attention, revolving slowly, so I can see if she needs a shower. She has a really delightful little body and a very spankable bottom and her deportment has become excellent. This small routine gives me quite a lot of pleasure. I have her school clothes with me and throw them on the bed, then leave without a word.

When she returns from school she changes into her about-the-house dress and turns on the TV. I try to make her life enjoyable, of course. She has her pets and her TV and lots of games and whatever food she asks for. In fact, apart from her punishments, which she seems to accept as normal, she led a pretty ordinary life at that time. We did not want thoughts of running away arising in that pretty little head, did we? One thing she was really attached to was her kitten, which came to watch TV with her.

She sits cross-legged on the floor in front of the telly, bolt upright as I have taught her. All goes well for a couple of hours, then some advertisements come on the screen and what I have been waiting for happens. Her posture slackens a little for an instant. "Jennifer!" I shout and she straightens guiltily. She knows she is for it now. She jumps up and stands at attention before me. She is trying not to cry. I need not say any more, she knows the routine. She looks at me, then takes off her panties and hangs them on the hook, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Jennifer," I say, quite gently now, "you know your father does not like a crybaby. Go and dry your eyes and get ready for bed, then you may come down and watch some more TV."

When she comes down she is of course wearing only her see-through shortie nightgown, no panties in bed - it was short for her a couple of years ago and now is about waist length. I keep her bedroom warm so that she does need (or have!) any covering - I like to look in when she is sleeping and gloat a little. I keep this room nice and warm, too. It is the room we use most, we even eat in it. I do a very light make-up on her face, a little eye-shadow, a touch of lipstick and so forth. I know Paul will enjoy beating her all the more if she looks alluring. I brush her hair also, put it into pigtails, which he sometimes likes to hold on to, and add a couple of ribbons. She looks quite grown-up now, in a provocative way.

She squats again watching TV, her back to the door of the room, which I leave slightly open. Paul enjoys surprising her. Here he is. His eyes light up when he sees the panties on the hook and he gazes at 'his' daughter in lustful admiration.

"Hullo dear," he says to me with a big kiss of appreciation. He carries a small parcel which he puts on the table. Jessica springs up in agitation and stands at attention before us. "What has the stupid little brat done now?"

"Poor deportment," I say.

"That serious, eh?" He turns to Jessica and smacks her across the face. She does not move. He smacks the other way. Still she does not move. "Well, brat?" he thunders.

She flinches but does not move. She knows that would anger him, she is well trained by now. "I am very sorry, father," she says. That sounds strange from one so young, but it is what she has been taught. "Please do not spank me tonight, father. Please, please, please." She clutches him round the hips and slides down to kneel at his feet, her lips pressed to the undoubted bulge in his trousers. I say nothing. I just ignore such indecent behaviour, as it turns me on pretty good and I know I shall be the one to benefit from it.

"Well, it is rather a serious offense." He is touselling her hair as he appears to ponder, but does not try to move her away. "Would you rather be spanked tomorrow?"

"Yes," she says, looking up tearfully. "Oh yes." I often wonder why she always says that - surely the anticipation will make it worse? Then again, she will quite possibly be beaten tomorrow anyway. Maybe she takes that into account

"Up!" he says. Nothing else. This is a device he often uses. Let her worry about whether she is to be beaten tonight or tomorrow. Even we do not know at this stage. We are already pretty well worked up and an actual beating may or may not be desirable. Paul has already beaten her twice this week, after all, and seldom does so three times. I fetch him a glass of wine and soon we start dinner, whilst Jennifer stands beside the table between,us quivering with fright, legs wide apart with her hands clasped on top of her head, mouth ever so slightly parted, bolt upright of course.

"Has the brat been good today, apart from her deportment?" Paul asks.

"Oh yes, not bad at all, for a spoiled little brat. But deportment is so important, don't you think?"

"Oh yes indeed, very important - and she has been warned?"

"Of course, many times - in fact you have punished her for it before." Frequently, in fact. It was the easiest excuse for punishment I had.

"Oh yes, of course." He turned to Jennifer, and reached out to fondle her. "That makes it worse then!" He smiled cruelly as she flinched away from his intrusive fingers. He was getting bolder every week, I thought. "I bought some slippers for you, Jennifer dear," he said, starting to unwrap the parcel he had brought with him. I saw her eyes turn to the parcel and light up. He had called her Jennifer and bought her a present! Her father liked her! She watched eagerly as he opened it.

He drew out a pair of heavy brown slippers with stiff leather soles. Men's slippers! He took one and brought it down hard in his other hand, making a most satisfying slapping noise and making Jennifer jump and put her fingers to her rosebud of a mouth.

"I thought they would come in handy for punishing this sniveling brat," he said to me, giving her a pinch in her most sensitive place. "Slippers are easier to hold than PingPong bats, so I should be able to hit harder." He fondled her again, continuing to do so as she pulled back but did not dare to move her feet. "And aim better!" Another pinch before he turned back to the soup.

Jennifer stood there stiff as a ramrod as we ate, each of us fondling her now and then. She was trying hard not to cry, but the occasional drop overflowed and rolled down her cheek as our meal neared its end and Paul played more and more with the slipper.

Now Paul sipped his coffee, first taking Jennifer over his lap, bottom up. She was clasping each elbow with the opposite hand, as she had been taught for that position - it was not really necessary to tie her these days, though we usually did. Paul was stroking her smooth tanned bottom thoughtfully with the slipper. I mean tanned in the sense of being a nice brown color, not frequently beaten. It was both, because I made her sunbathe in the nude in the back garden during school holidays, being sure she became evenly brown all over.

Jennifer went rigid with anticipation when she heard Paul put down his coffe cup and sensing him raise the slipper. She had never learnt that it was better to relax. Her small body was rigid but squirming, if you understand me.

"It will be fun finding out how much this slipper will hurt," Paul said, one hand raised, the other beneath her now. There was a look of lust on his face. Fingers at her sex? I have wondered if the delightful way she squirms is not entirely down to the spanking, and it could not be at this moment: it was a thought that turned me on even more.

"How will we find out if I gag her?" I asked.

"Well, if it hurts as much more than the bat as I expect it will, she will certainly need gagging," he said. "At the very least it should be adequate for punishment." He paused and she squirmed even more delightfully. "Now or tomorrow," he added casually, like someone who is not in any great hurry. "That is the question."

"Well it is not now or tomorrow," I said. "It is now or later tonight or tomorrow. The little slut cannot lock her bedroom, remember. In fact, as it is at the back of the house we need not bother with the gagging. It might be nice to hear the little bitch for a change?"

We looked at each other. We had never considered that, and in any case our immediate needs had become overwhelming. "OK!" Paul said, setting Jennifer on her feet with a friendly slap on the rump. "Off to bed with you, young lady - hey, give your Mother and I a nice kiss first."

Paul and I were grappling frantically and rolling about on the conveniently thick rug by the fireplace even before Jennifer was out of the door.