How many more? And then what's he going to use on my poor bottom ?

Long day's end

He'd had a long, hard day at the office and when he got home the one thing he didn't need was to have his wife go on and on about how awful Mary had been all day. She was her mother, so why couldn't she just deal with the brat herself? She could have administered the spanking the wretched girl needed just as well as he could.

Why was it always him, tired and exhausted from a day at work, who had to listen to all the complaints about his daughter and then punish her for those 'crimes'?

And why couldn't the blasted teenager just grow up and behave properly?

Oh well. She'd been told to wait upstairs in her bedroom, so he supposed he'd better get it over with.  Then, at last, he could pour himself a whisky, find the newspaper, and settle down in his favourite chair.

She was lying on her bed with that defiant 'I'm-a-teenage-rebel' look on her face. That did it. He wished he'd brought the household paddle up with him, but now he couldn't be bothered to go back downstairs to fetch it. He couldn't even be bothered to relate the reasons why she'd failed to please her mother.

"OK, you know what this about," he'd simply said to the petulant young lady, plonking himself down on her bed. "Come on, over my knee."

Her response - "To hell with you both!" - hadn't really been the smartest thing she'd ever come out with. Before she knew it, she was over his lap, her pants were down and her dress pulled up. Then, even as she instinctively tried to shield her bottom with her right hand, she felt it seized and pulled up towards her shoulders. She buried her face in the sheet, crossed her feet, and tried to prepare herself for the hiding she knew she was about to get.

And which, if she was entirely honest with herself, she knew she deserved.