dismantled
by her father, as the shoe made repeated red–hot contact with her softest
spot. And there was absolutely nothing at all she could do to stop it.
“Ow!
Yow! No! Aow! Aow!” Along the lower deck, Tamara heard her stepdaughter’s
shrieks of irate agony and focused hard on imagining the scene.
Harry
knew that the sound leathering on wet skin was far worse than any spanking
Eleanor had had before. But her ghastly behaviour and dangerous prank had more
than warranted it. Grimly he pinned her ever tighter to him, and delivered
seven, eight, nine, ten spanks in loud succession right across her totally
bare, rounded rear. And then more.
“Aaaoow!
No! Noooo! Yow!” Eleanor yelled in sheer agony as the leather sole did its very
worst on her stripped seat. With every blow, a vicious heat spread through her
buttocks and she thrashed her arms in fury. Harry was unmoved. This most
important spanking would last, until he was satisfied that his unruly teenage
daughter had finally learned her lesson. Up and down went his sturdy arm, fit
from years of sailing and skiing. The shoe was just ideal. Its ribbed leather
sole made hard scathing contact with Eleanor’s soft bare cheeks, leaving them
aching and scarlet.
“Ow!
Ooow! Stop it! Stop it Daddy! Oooowww!” Eleanor was demented with pain and
mortification, and would have done anything in the whole world to make it all
stop. Paralysed from the waist down with her father’s heavy shin across her
lower legs, she was a howling mess. Every inch of her bottom from the crest of
her buttocks to her thighs was coming under attack from the merciless leather
sole. She screamed louder, not caring who might hear. “I hate you I hate you I hate you!”
Tamara
sat silent. There was no way she could concentrate on reading. The faint dull
sounds of the punishing blows and Eleanor’s far more discernible cries, drifted
steadily along the entire length of the lower vessel. What was Harry using to
spank his daughter? Despite herself, Tamara was now filled with curiosity.
Holding a silk cushion tight to her chest, she was enthralled. Harry was so
sturdy and fit. What on earth must it feel like to be spanked by him? In a rush
of crazed, mixed emotions, Tamara then felt a hint of what was definitely
jealousy ... that she had never known this kind of paternal punishment. She had
simply no idea what a stark, no–nonsense bit of physical correction felt
like at all.
Hearing
it all so clearly, and recalling Harry’s determined threats and promises, for
the briefest moment Tamara wanted to find out for herself.
At
that very same moment, Eleanor was convinced that would never sit again. Harry
gripped her as though in a vice, doggedly focused on giving his darling
daughter the hottest bottom of her days. As she howled in complete humiliation
and scorching pain, he whacked the shoe several more times across her cheeks
with steady force.
“Aaaaaagh!
Stop it! I hate you! Ow! Ow! I’m going to run away! You’ll never see me again!
I will never, ever forgive you for this!”
Eleanor’s
words were garbled and tear–laden as she flailed her arms against the
chair leg. The spanked skin burned like fire and had been effectively dried by
the wrath of the shoe. The outrageous embarrassment of having her knickers
taken down was now the least of Eleanor’s concerns. Her bottom was ablaze. She
howled, praying that Daddy would have mercy. Time and again though, Harry beat
down with the shoe, watching his little girl’s rear end turn a dark, mottled
scarlet. It was a steady, rhythmic, spanking. Eleanor screwed up her eyes and
yelled almost hoarse, unable now to discern one blow from the next. The soaked
knickers, grubby and ruined with the salt water, slid towards her knees. She
shook in abject agony and utter shame, over her father’s iron–like
thighs.
“Daddy
pleeeeasssseee....” Harry could barely make out what his daughter was saying.
He concentrated hard as the shoe bounced off her
by her father, as the shoe made repeated red–hot contact with her softest
spot. And there was absolutely nothing at all she could do to stop it.
“Ow!
Yow! No! Aow! Aow!” Along the lower deck, Tamara heard her stepdaughter’s
shrieks of irate agony and focused hard on imagining the scene.
Harry
knew that the sound leathering on wet skin was far worse than any spanking
Eleanor had had before. But her ghastly behaviour and dangerous prank had more
than warranted it. Grimly he pinned her ever tighter to him, and delivered
seven, eight, nine, ten spanks in loud succession right across her totally
bare, rounded rear. And then more.
“Aaaoow!
No! Noooo! Yow!” Eleanor yelled in sheer agony as the leather sole did its very
worst on her stripped seat. With every blow, a vicious heat spread through her
buttocks and she thrashed her arms in fury. Harry was unmoved. This most
important spanking would last, until he was satisfied that his unruly teenage
daughter had finally learned her lesson. Up and down went his sturdy arm, fit
from years of sailing and skiing. The shoe was just ideal. Its ribbed leather
sole made hard scathing contact with Eleanor’s soft bare cheeks, leaving them
aching and scarlet.
“Ow!
Ooow! Stop it! Stop it Daddy! Oooowww!” Eleanor was demented with pain and
mortification, and would have done anything in the whole world to make it all
stop. Paralysed from the waist down with her father’s heavy shin across her
lower legs, she was a howling mess. Every inch of her bottom from the crest of
her buttocks to her thighs was coming under attack from the merciless leather
sole. She screamed louder, not caring who might hear. “I hate you I hate you I hate you!”
Tamara
sat silent. There was no way she could concentrate on reading. The faint dull
sounds of the punishing blows and Eleanor’s far more discernible cries, drifted
steadily along the entire length of the lower vessel. What was Harry using to
spank his daughter? Despite herself, Tamara was now filled with curiosity.
Holding a silk cushion tight to her chest, she was enthralled. Harry was so
sturdy and fit. What on earth must it feel like to be spanked by him? In a rush
of crazed, mixed emotions, Tamara then felt a hint of what was definitely
jealousy ... that she had never known this kind of paternal punishment. She had
simply no idea what a stark, no–nonsense bit of physical correction felt
like at all.
Hearing
it all so clearly, and recalling Harry’s determined threats and promises, for
the briefest moment Tamara wanted to find out for herself.
At
that very same moment, Eleanor was convinced that would never sit again. Harry
gripped her as though in a vice, doggedly focused on giving his darling
daughter the hottest bottom of her days. As she howled in complete humiliation
and scorching pain, he whacked the shoe several more times across her cheeks
with steady force.
“Aaaaaagh!
Stop it! I hate you! Ow! Ow! I’m going to run away! You’ll never see me again!
I will never, ever forgive you for this!”
Eleanor’s
words were garbled and tear–laden as she flailed her arms against the
chair leg. The spanked skin burned like fire and had been effectively dried by
the wrath of the shoe. The outrageous embarrassment of having her knickers
taken down was now the least of Eleanor’s concerns. Her bottom was ablaze. She
howled, praying that Daddy would have mercy. Time and again though, Harry beat
down with the shoe, watching his little girl’s rear end turn a dark, mottled
scarlet. It was a steady, rhythmic, spanking. Eleanor screwed up her eyes and
yelled almost hoarse, unable now to discern one blow from the next. The soaked
knickers, grubby and ruined with the salt water, slid towards her knees. She
shook in abject agony and utter shame, over her father’s iron–like
thighs.
“Daddy
pleeeeasssseee....” Harry could barely make out what his daughter was saying.
He concentrated hard as the shoe bounced off her
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