Moonlit Hour

Daddy kept working the bar in and out, twisting it, coating every inch of her tongue and inner cheeks.

"Bite down gently," he ordered. She did, holding the soap between her teeth while more foam bubbled out. Her face burned with humiliation. She was a grown young woman kneeling naked in the bathroom with a bar of soap sticking out of her mouth like a naughty little school girl.

The worst part--the most confusing part--was how wet she was getting.

Her pussy throbbed. She could feel her slick arousal coating her inner thighs. Every time she shifted, her swollen clit brushed against nothing but air, sending little sparks through her body. The bitter taste, the drooling, the total loss of control... it was mortifying. And it was making her ache with shameful need. She wouldn't dare touch her wet cunt or throbbibg clit in fron of her dad. The punishment for that would make this seem like childs play.

After what felt like an eternity but was probably only ten minutes, Daddy removed the soap.

"Rinse."

She frantically cupped water into her mouth, spitting out suds again and again, but the taste lingered stubbornly. Her tongue felt raw and coated.

"Bend over the sink."

Valerie gripped the edge of the counter, arching her back and pushing her bare bottom out. In the mirror she could see her tear-streaked face, swollen lips, and the bright red blush across her cheeks. Her ass looked small and vulnerable.

Daddy picked up the heavy oval wooden hairbrush from the counter. The first crack of solid wood against her bare flesh made her cry out around the remaining soap suds still in her mouth. He spanked hard and steadily, covering every inch of her bottom and upper thighs. The brush left deep, burning oval imprints that quickly turned her skin from pink to blazing crimson.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

She danced on her toes, sobbing openly now, suds still dripping from her chin onto the countertop. Each brutal smack sent jolts of fire across her ass and fresh pulses of heat straight to her dripping cunt. By the time he finished, her bottom was a throbbing, cherry-red masterpiece of punishment.

"Corner. Hands behind your back. No rubbing."

She moved to the corner of the bathroom, nose pressed to the wall, bright red ass on full display. The taste of soap still coated her mouth. Her pussy was soaked, clit throbbing so hard she could barely stand still. She desperately wanted to reach between her legs and rub herself to orgasm, but she didn't dare.

She stood there for twenty long minutes, burning, dripping, humiliated... and more aroused than she had ever been in her life.

When Daddy finally allowed her out of the corner, he pulled her into a firm hug, stroking her hair while she sniffled against his chest.

"Next time you lie, it'll be worse. Understood?"

"Yes, Daddy," she whispered, voice hoarse.

"Who was that boy you were with?"

His question startled her out of her mind space; she clumsily anwered "That was Jake."

"Get him on the phone. I want to to speak to him. Now."

Valerie got her phone and when it began to ring, handed it to her dad.

The conversation was short and one sided.

"You'll meet me at my home tomorrow at noon, or I'll have a conversation with both of your parents."

Jake readily agreed, and promised to be on time.

That night, alone in her bed, Valerie lay on her stomach with her burning bottom in the air. She replayed every second: the moment the soap first touched her tongue, the way it had made her drool helplessly, the merciless crack of the hairbrush, the uncontrollable wetness between her legs.

Her hand slipped beneath her body. Two fingers found her soaked, swollen pussy and began circling her clit. Within minutes she came hard, biting the pillow to muffle her moans, her freshly spanked ass still glowing with heat.

It was the beginning of a deep, secret craving. From that night on, the sight of an Ivory soap wrapper or the smell of that clean, clinical scent would always make her pussy clench with shameful, eager anticipation.

Jake arrived at Val's home at 11:45 AM. She let him in, and pointed up the stairs to the spanking room. She looked at him then darted her eyes away from his. "Good luck" she whispered as he began climbing the stairs.

Jake made his way to the door to the spanking room, and tapped quietly on the rough exterior.

"Enter"

He let himself in and shut the door behind him.

Richard pointed to the floor in front of the straight back chair he sat. "Stand there, boy."

Jake's body quivered at the 'boy'. He had been put in his place. Little did he know.

"So you've been having your way with my daughter I understand."

He gulped and turned white.

"You don't have to answer, I know the truth about everything that you've done.

Everything."

"So, you have a few choices.

You can accept my discipline here and now, or we can go visit your parents right now."

He sat, waiting for his answer. Jake stood before him for what seemed like hours. Val had told him about the spankings she'd received, and told himself they couldn't be that bad. His grandmother had whipped him with willow branches one time, but his mom made sure that never happened again. He remembered the willows hurt, for weeks.

"What will it be boy?"

"I don't have all day to waste on you."

Jake straightened. "Yes Sir. I'll accept your discipline now."

"Good," Richard said. "You might make a man after all........Now strip."

Those words echoed through his head. He was not expecting this, maybe a belt across his jeans.

Richard stood, and towered over the boy Jake. "Now. strip"

Jake began fumbling with his shirt and kicking his tennis shoes off, then dropped his jeans, exposing his satin and lycra bikini style briefs.

"Drop them, now" came the gruffer command. There was no escape now.

He peeled his skin tight underwear down to his ankles and stepped out of them, and stood, fully nude, fully erect, his 4" cut cock bouncing in the cool air.

Richard made his way to an antique buffet, 30" deep with a lid that lifted up to show a velvet lined storage space 6" deep.

The lid was secured open, and he said

"come here boy".

Jake made his way, attempting to hide his cock. Richard slapped his hands away and hit the head of his cock. "Hands behind your back, boy."

He stood before the opened chest, and his heart raced and pounded in his chest.

The buffet was filled with all types of impact tools.

A paddle like the gym teacher at school had.

A second paddle painted black with 1/2" holes drilled in straight lines on it.

A narrow black leather belt.

A 2-1/2" wide black leather belt.

A Scottish tawse, a severe looking three stranded belt made of stiff leather, each finger 2" wide, connected to a wooden handle, covered with intricate braded leather.

A jockeys leather covered crop, and a severe looking British rattan cane with a hooped handle rounded out the collection. Richard pulled a knob to a drawer, and picked up a dark wooden handle, about 4" wide, which clamped on a stiched double layer of hard leather, 4" wide by 16" long. He slapped his hand with the implement and said "This will do nicely."

"Move to the chair boy"

Jake slowly obeyed, standing behind the back of the straight back wicker chair.

"Grab it with both hands and lean into it"

He immediately obeyed. The man stood behind him, and kicked the inside of his ankles, making him spread his legs wider. Then wider still. His balls hung between his legs, exposed, and in harms way.

Richard went to the buffet and extracted a container. He opened it and with two fingers pulled out a large glop of some type of oil product. He moved behind Jake, who noticeably flinched when he moved behind him. He started in the center of his lower back, then moved in circular motions on each buttock, then lower where the thigh joined the butt. Then between his cheeks, four fingers prodded and pulled upwards until finding his anus; Two, then three, then four fingers entered. Jake grunted and pushed away only to cause the fingers to go deeper. A free hand grabbed his neck and squeezed, lips near his ear......"Don't move boy".

The hand inside him pushed deeper still, him, still as can be, his breathing ragged and short.

The hand on his neck pushed him farther down, until the top of his head was in the seat of the chair.

"Don't move from this position"

"Do you understand?"

A meek "yes" bleated out.

Richard retrieved the harsh wooden leather

device, and slapped his hand with it, the sound echoing through the room.

Richard tested the weight of the wooden leather paddle in his palm, the thick slab of polished oak wrapped at the business end with a stiff, unforgiving strip of cured, stiff leather. The slap against his own hand had been sharp, promising. Jake's breathing hitched audibly, his body still locked in position--ass raised high, greased, legs splayed wide, balls hanging freely, head pressed down into the woven seat of the wicker chair, fingers white-knuckled around the backrest.

"Ten strokes to start," Richard said calmly, circling behind the trembling young man. "You will count each one. Miss a count and we begin again. Understood?"

"Yes... Sir," Jake whispered, voice already strained.

The first crack landed without warning--hard leather meeting oiled flesh with a loud, wet thwack. Jake jolted forward, a guttural cry escaping him as fire bloomed across his right cheek.

"One!"

The second came just as fast on the left side, lower, catching the tender undercurve where thigh met ass. Jake's hips bucked involuntarily.

"Two!"