textfiles/sex/EROTICA/S/shelli.txt

                         Shelli's Blistering

     On a warm summer night, Shelli Thompson's heart raced nervously as 
she approached the front door of the house where she lived.  A glance 
down at her watch told her it was 10:30, a good 30 minutes past the 
curfew set by her father.  She took off her watch.  Might as well not 
have that in full view as she tried to plead her case.
     It had been a special night for Shelli.  Although she is not allowed 
to date for another two months when she turns 16, she had been seeing an 
older boy she had met at school.  They had spent the night exploring each 
other's bodies in a nearby parking lot.  They had lost track of the time 
as their passion turned into Shelli's lost virginity.  She felt as though 
she had just become a woman.
     As magical as the evening had been, the matter at hand now was 
getting into the house unnoticed.  Maybe her parents had gone to bed she 
thought.
     Unfortunately for Shelli they had not, for they were waiting and 
quite enraged when she opened the front door.
     "We were worried sick about you,"  her mother scolded.  Shelli had 
not seen this degree of anger in her mother's eyes in a very long time.
     "Do you know what time it is, young lady?"  asked her red-faced 
father.
     "I know daddy.  Lisa and I just lost track of the time.  I'm sorry. 
 I didn't have my watch with me,"  lied Shelli, feeling like this was a 
decent excuse that just might work.
     Her hopes were shattered when her father, his face turning redder, 
informed "We called Lisa's mother and you weren't with her.  You were out 
with that Jenny girl we told you to avoid, weren't you?"
     Shelli didn't know how to answer, now facing a no-win situation.  So 
she didn't.
     "I've heard enough, young lady!  Down to the basement, NOW!"  
ordered Mr. Thompson, becoming very irritated with his daughter's 
insolence.  He managed to lower his voice a little, but still commanding 
to her, "I'll be down shortly.  Prepare the bed for your punishment."
     Shelli burst into tears and scampered toward the stairs to the 
basement.  The basement was actually the family's guest room.  However, 
over the years it had housed more punishments than guests.  Her excuse 
had failed and she knew it would only dig a deeper hole and raise her 
father's anger to talk any more.  Besides she couldn't even think of 
telling him the truth.
     While waiting for her father's arrival, Shelli took two pillows and 
placed them near the foot of the bed as she had been instructed.  She sat 
beside the pillows thinking as she listened to her parents discussing the 
situation and trying to judge her father's anger to know what to expect 
when he came down those stairs.  Most of the time Shelli's mother was on 
her side, but from the tone of her voice this time she clearly was not 
and made no protest about the upcoming punishment.  Additionally, from 
the bits and pieces that she could hear, her father did not like the way 
that Shelli had caused her mother unnecessary worry.
     Now after 45 long minutes, Mr. Thompson's large form emerges from 
the doorway and slowly descends the stairs.  The redness and the scowl on 
his face display his annoyance with the situation.  Shelli trembles 
slightly at the sight of his face because she knows she is in for it.  
More than anything, Mr. Thompson feels a deep disappointment in Shelli 
for lying and disobeying house rules.  He is determined to prevent this 
behavior from becoming commonplace.
     "You understand why you're going to be punished, don't you?"  he 
says bluntly as he unbuckles his belt.
     "Yes sir," answers an anxious Shelli.
     Shelli's father folds over his belt and declares, "These are going 
to be bare bottom.  Pull down your pants and get over those pillows, 
NOW!"
     Shelli reluctantly begins to pull down her cutoff shorts and her 
light blue panties, but not fast enough to please her father.
     "You're pushing it, young lady!"  he barks while slapping the belt 
on his hand to express the urgency of the situation.
     The young girl quickly pulls her panties down to her knees and 
positions herself over the pillows, her behind upraised and waiting.  Her 
curvaceous ass now up on display, the contrast between her long tanned 
legs and her white rear end was distinct.  Mr. Thompson is determined to 
turn her white lilies into roses.
     Already crying, Shelli nervously awaits for the belt to make its 
first contact.  "Keep your hands out of the way," warns Shelli's father. 
Then without further hesitation, Mr. Thompson swings his arm in a wide 
arc and brings the belt down hard on his daughter's defenseless bottom.  
Her tender cheeks clench involuntarily from the piercing impact.  An 
audible *Smack* fills the room, followed by a howl of pain muffled by the 
patterned bedspread upon which Shelli's face lies.  The harsh belt rises 
and falls at an unmercifully steady pace.  Shelli is crying hard now and 
her pleas for "no more" are going unheard.  Mr. Thompson continues to 
lash his daughter's flushed buttocks, aiming at a slightly different spot 
each time.  His shapely target squirms and wriggles on the pillows trying 
to escape the blows.  By the 50th and final lowering of the belt, 
Shelli's burning, young bottom glows a radiant red.  The backs of her 
thighs are left striped from the occasional impact of the cruel leather 
belt.
     Finally, the room is silent except for Shelli's continued sobbing.  
Her bottom is just burning.  In response, she reaches back and begins to 
give her hot, stinging rear end a much-needed rub.  Realizing she is 
still exposed in front of her father, she decides to pull up her light 
blue panties.
     Shelli is startled to hear her father growl, "Not so fast, young 
lady.  You've still got a session with the wooden paddle coming."
     "No, please, daddy, please!  I've learned my lesson, honest.  Not 
the wooden paddle, PLEASE!"  her voice shaking from the very thought.
     "House rules say your curfew is 10:00, not 10:30.  Go over to the 
couch and bend over!"  her father commanded.
     "Y-Yes sir,"  she stammers, knowing not to disobey her angered 
father at this point.
     Shelli hurriedly lifts herself up from the bed.  Her face already 
wet and her makeup smeared, as fresh tears begins to flow down her pretty 
face.  She shuffles over to the guest room couch, with her panties and 
shorts dropping to her ankles.  While Mr. Thompson retrieves the wooden 
paddle from its nearby drawer, Shelli kneels at the middle of the couch 
and buries her face in her folded arms.
     As she waits, Shelli thinks about her aching bottom, its current 
condition and way it had been softly caressed just hours earlier.  She 
had felt like a woman on that ride home not so long ago, but now like 
such a little girl being bared and punished by her father.  She shudders 
as her thoughts are broken by her father's footsteps approaching the 
couch.
     The wooden paddle is a painful instrument about a foot long and 
close to an inch in thickness.  Its construction is solid except for two 
slits on the striking face.  Its sting is wickedly sharp because unlike 
the belt it does not give with the impact.
     Shelli makes one last desperate plea to be spared from the wooden 
paddle.  Mr. Thompson doesn't bother to answer, instead swinging the 
paddle and landing the first stroke on his daughter's red behind.  Shelli 
goes crazy with pain.  After only a few strokes she is reduced to begging 
her father for mercy, "Oh God, please no more, daddy!"  But the 
unsympathetic paddle answers back with a series of harsh smacks across 
the fullness of her sore, chastised buttocks.
     After about two dozen strokes, a particularly severe blow lands on 
the back of her right thigh.  Yelping with pain and without thinking, 
Shelli's hand reaches back to defensively block the spanks.  Growing 
tired and irritated, her father states, "You just earned yourself an 
extra 10, young lady.  Move the hand."
     "Please daddy, I can't take anymore, please,"  Shelli frantically 
pleads.  
     But take them she did, the five more that Mr. Thompson had intended 
to administer and the 10 extra she had just garnered.
     The last strokes seemed to intensify in severity as her cute bottom 
continues to wiggle on the couch and tries not to be such an inviting 
target.  She grips the cushions of the couch tightly to keep her hands 
occupied and spare herself from any additional punishment.  In her mind 
she thought of the many pleas she had been making to her father, and her 
promise to be good and not to disobey was now one she intended to keep.
     Finally the paddle rises no more.  Only her sobs fill the room again 
and this time she waits for instructions from her father.
     "Alright, young lady.  House rules will be obeyed from now on or the 
punishment will be more severe next time.  Do you understand?"
     Still kneeling, Shelli's breathing is heavy and uneven as she tries 
to compose herself and manages to answer a weary "Yes sir."
     "O.K.  Get to bed,"  replies Mr. Thompson and he returns the wooden 
paddle to its drawer and walks up the stairs.
     Shelli stands up and looks over shoulder at her blistered backside 
trying to assess the damage.  Eventhough her bottom had felt inflamed, 
she is a little shocked by the deep red hue of her battered rear end.
     Still weeping, Shelli pulls her underwear and shorts back up.  
Finally she goes to the upstairs bathroom to get a look at herself in the 
full length mirror and goes to bed, sleeping on her stomach.  This was 
one day she would not soon forget.

     Shelli never missed her curfew again.