Caught by their parents and punished for a conspiracy of lies, three daughters are stripped naked for a warmup hand spanking followed by an over the couch belt strapping. Corner time is served.
When you are the parent of triplets, all of life seems multiplied in threes. With our three girls, we ended up with three times as many diapers, three times as many bicycles, three times as much love, three times the heartbreak, three expensive prom dresses, three times the boyfriends, and yes, three times the spankings. Often as not, the spankings also come in threes, because the three girls have always been so close that they tend to get in trouble together. That is certainly so today.
We are a family of five who live in a large, comfortable old frame home. The girls sleep upstairs in three small bedrooms; the lower floor of the home holds the kitchen, dining room, master bedroom, and a large living room. The focus of the living room is a large overstuffed couch that sits right in the middle of the room. Today, a straight-backed chair from the dining room has been temporarily dragged into the living room for a special purpose. All five of us are in that living room, I sitting in the aforementioned straight-backed chair with my wife, Kim, standing supportively behind me, and the three girls, Becky, Dorothy, and Jan, standing uncomfortably in front of us, sniffling and fidgeting, dreading the punishment that they know must soon come.
Spankings in our house are normally given in the privacy of the master bedroom, except in the rare event that the belt is going to be used. In that case, following a vigorous warm-up spanking, the girl, (or girls) bends over the back of the living room couch so that the belt can be properly applied to female bottom. The couch is plenty long enough to simultaneously accommodate up to three girls for such an “educational opportunity”. Did I mention that we were all in the living room? Yes, I thought I did.
There is no reason to go far into the specifics of their offense, except to say that the three girls conspired together to lie to their parents and were found out. The incident involved the other two girls covering for Becky so she could sneak out of the house after hours to meet with her boyfriend. The five of us have had a long “conversation” and their scolding is now almost over. They have all three confessed their misdeeds and apologized to their parents, they are all three in tears, and they all three are sadly aware why this conversation is happening in the living room rather than in the intimacy of the master bedroom. If they had any doubts at all about the ultimate purpose of this meeting, the sight of my old work belt hanging on the back of the couch has surely cleared things up for them.
As soon as it became clear what the girl’s punishment was going to be, there was a big change in Becky’s demeanor, she seemed to become increasingly desperate. At first we thought that Becky was simply feeling bad because the other two girls got into trouble by trying to cover her misbehavior, but it soon became clear that something else was wrong with her, and we were clueless about what it might be. There was nothing we could do but let this little family drama play itself out.
Our “discussion” over, we directed the girls to stand quietly together in a corner, their backs to us, with orders to contemplate both their misdeed and their coming punishment. This wait is a bit of harmless but useful drama that we feel makes their coming lesson vastly more memorable. We allow them to stew for a full 15 minutes, which must seem like 15 hours to the girls. The other two girls are clearly sad and apprehensive, but Becky has begun sobbing out loud. Kim and I share a glance and a nod, her cue to go around the room and close the windows and curtains for privacy. To be sure that the girls feel as exposed as possible during this punishment, she turns the room lights on bright. While spankings in our house are normally given bare bottom but without the indignity of frontal exposure, we help to underline the more serious nature of a strapping offense by requiring the recipient (or recipients) to be totally disrobed.
The girls know that they must be naked for the belt, but there are two ways for that to happen. I could allow them to undress themselves right there in the corner, or I could undress them myself, as if they were naughty little children. Knowing that they would much prefer to undress themselves, I naturally decided to do it myself.
I asked if any of them needed to visit the bathroom before we begin. Becky raised her hand, and I told her to hurry up, “do her business”, and return to the corner with her sisters. Five minutes later, her mother had to go find her and nearly drag her back into the room. She was now sobbing louder than ever. This was not normal behavior for Becky! All three of the girls were usually pretty good about taking punishments that they know that they have earned. Anyhow, it was clearly time to proceed. Following our normal procedure for a strapping, we would prepare the girls one at a time for the belt by undressing them and applying a firm warm-up spanking, before placing the three of them across the back of the couch for a near-simultaneous strapping.
“Do I have a volunteer?” I asked. Quickly, two hands shot in the air, with Becky’s missing. (Again; unusual behavior, usually nobody wanted to be last.) “Okay, Dorothy,” I said (choosing one of the two volunteers at random), “come here.” With a gulp and a sob, Dorothy turned around and walked to my chair, facing her disappointed parents with tears streaming down her cheeks.
As usual, all three of the sisters were dressed about the same today. They were wearing skin-tight low-cut jeans, and a short blouse that left just enough bare midriff to display their tiny bellybuttons smack in the middle of their perfectly flat stomachs. They displayed their individualism by wearing very different belts. Belts! Now there is a word that all three of them were just now wishing that they had never heard!
Leaning over, I reached down and untied each of Dorothy’s shoes. As she obediently lifted each foot, I eased off its shoe and peeled off her sock. As she stood barefoot, I grasped the hem of her blouse and lifted it up. Dorothy helpfully raised her arms as I lifted the blouse up and over her head. In passing, her blouse temporarily wiped her cheeks dry of tears. I handed the blouse to Kim, who carefully folded it up and placed it on the couch. Moving down to her amazingly tiny waist, I undid her wide, bright metal belt, unbuttoned her waist, unzipped her pants and peeled them past her swelling hips and down her willowy thighs. With some difficulty, she stepped out of them one leg at a time so I could hand them to her mother. Motioning her to turn around, I turned my attention to unhooking her tiny bra. Dorothy caught it as it fell off of her breasts. Now wearing only panties, Dorothy turned around, handed the bra to her mother, and steeled herself for the indignity of her final unveiling. Tucking my thumbs into the elastic band, I worked down her panties, past her hips and then past her thighs. The panties turned practically inside-out until she spread her knees slightly to release the panty’s crotch. With a bit a snap, they plummeted the rest of the way down to her ankles, where I reached down and held them so she could step out. Her spanking obviously imminent, Dorothy’s sobbing was clearly audible to everyone in the room.
Although I am her father, I take a bit of vain pleasure in noting my daughter’s near perfect form, a form that is reproduced in triplicate in the person of her two sisters, it is a form that drives the local boys wild. Dorothy unwillingly displayed firm, perky, A-sized breasts, a flat tummy, swelling thighs, and a perfect triangle of flaxen down-like hair at her groin.
I signaled her across my lap for her warm-up spanking.
Sobbing much louder, she moved to my right side and placed her bare bottom across the fatherly lap. I adjusted her further to the left so that she was forced to support herself flat-handed on the carpet. On my right side, her toes could barely touch the floor. Her tan lines clearly showed the outline of her bikini bathing suit, a thin white line across her shoulder blades and a much wider white oval that perfectly accented her tush cheeks.
I waited. One minute. Two minutes. She squirmed, she clenched, and she sobbed. Tears hit the floor. The third minute passed. Finally, without the slightest warning, my hand collided strongly with her left buttock. The spanking continued without further delay, my hand falling hard and fast onto her rapidly-reddening posterior. Her sobs instantly turned to howls. Her nether cheeks bounced and jiggled from the blows and her hips twisted from side to side as her bottom automatically tried to wrest itself out from under the fiery spanks.
It was if the other two girls could feel the fire in their sister’s bottom. The two siblings in the corner squirmed and clenched as their sister endured her warm-up spanking. Jan reached back and rubbed her fully-clothed bottom as if it were already spanked and stinging.
In spite of her best efforts to be “good” for her spanking, Dorothy quickly began to lose control. Both hands came off the floor in an attempt to protect her burning buttocks, but that caused her to become unbalanced. Her left hand went back down to the floor to support her weight, and her right continued up towards the growing fire in her bottom. Naturally, I was expecting just this move, and deftly caught the errant hand and tucked it into the small of Dorothy’s tiny waist without missing a beat of the hot tattoo on her bottom. Seeing that her legs were starting to curl up in yet another attempt to interrupt her punishment, my spanks moved down, past her sit spot, to spank the errant legs back down into place.
The spanking finally paused momentarily so I could command my daughter to open her legs for the part of the spanking that she hated the most, the spanking of her inner thighs. She screamed and her sisters flinched as I paid very special attention to this tender area where I would not later trust myself to apply the belt.
Kim touched me on the shoulder, her signal that she was satisfied with the results of my efforts and that I should consider bringing the spanking to its conclusion. I inspected my work, touched up the lighter areas with a dozen firm spanks, and helped a very sorry girl to her feet.
After a few moments, I interrupted Dorothy’s post-spanking butt-rub/dance to direct her back to the corner to await the belt. I told Becky to come; I had decided that she would be next. Becky’s only response was a rapid escalation in her sobbing. Her mother stepped over to the corner, grabbed Becky’s elbow and led her to my chair. With my hand tingling from Dorothy’s spanking, I stood up and relinquished my chair to Kim. (She can spank every bit as good as I can) Becky was standing with her hands over her face sobbing something about her panties. Ignoring Becky’s obvious distress, Kim went through the ritual of undressing her daughter until only her panties remained. It was clear that Becky was becoming more and more distraught. When Kim reached for the elastic of Becky’s panties, she found Becky’s hands already there, holding them up. “No,” Becky said, “please don’t; I am too big for that”. “Can’t you just pull them down in back?” Kim told her that her panties were coming off and, “that was that.” Becky still refused to relinquish her panties and began to blubber incoherently. With a restraining arm on Kim’s shoulder, I stopped the clash temporarily to allow Becky a moment to regain her composure.
When she finally quieted down, I said, “Becky, something besides this punishment is definitely bothering you and you are going to have to tell us what is going on and trust your parents to do the right things for you”. “You will hate me,” she said. Kim stood up and gathered her daughter in a huge hug. “We are physically incapable of hating you” Kim said, “We are your parents and we love you, but you are really worrying us right now”. Becky stepped back from her mother and looked at the floor for a long moment, her hands still on the waistband of her panties. Finally, with a sob, she pulled them down to her thighs, uncovering a groin area that had obviously been recently shaved clean. Now we understood the reason for her distress! Had we been looking closer, we could have detected the difference even with her panties still on. “I can explain…,” she started. I stopped her before she had a chance to blurt out another lie that would surely earn her another strapping with my work belt. “We will not need an explanation,” I said, “Instead we will need the total, unvarnished, truth, but not right now; perhaps we will have that talk tomorrow. Right now you are about to receive a lesson in truthfulness and we don’t need anything to interfere with it, we will address this other matter later.” (Kim and I were both dreadfully afraid that our daughter’s shaved sex parts had something to do with pleasing her boyfriend, but that will have to be a matter for another day; and perhaps, another story.)
With an air of relief at having this matter behind her (at least temporarily), Becky allowed her panties to fall to the floor, stepped out of them, and looked at her mother expectantly. Kim did not disappoint, moments later, a naked Becky was over her mother’s lap and in full cry, her bottom reddening nicely. When Becky’s bottom had achieved a nearly perfect color of red from her waistline to almost all way down to the backs of her knees, Kim stopped and ordered Becky to “spread” so she could be spanked between her thighs. My face turned red at this intimate rear view of my shaved daughter! (Any boy lucky enough to be peeking in our window at that moment would have taken in a sight sufficient to fuel his orgasmic fantasies for many years to come.)
Moments later, Becky’s spanking was over. We gave her a moment to dance and rub, and then I led a crying-hiccupping Becky back to the corner. Knowing that it must be her turn, Jan faced me with fresh tears in her eyes. I crooked a finger at her, and escorted her to the “chair of correction” which Kim had just vacated to make room for us.
I sat on the chair, and positioned Jan directly in front of me. “Are you ready for your father to prepare you for your belt spanking?” I asked. She sobbed loudly and nodded, dislodging a tear from her cheek. “Tell us why you are being punished.” “For lying” she managed to choke out. Satisfied with her answer, I began the process of baring my daughter for her well-deserved punishment. Moments later, her pile of clothing joined the other two piles already on the couch, each topped by a tiny pair of nylon panties. I was mildly relieved to see that Jan’s pubic hair was still in its proper place.
A few noisy minutes later, Jan was red-assed, well spanked, and properly prepared for the belt. Jan is the most stoic of the three girls and it would be easy to mistake her initial silence while being spanked for insolence and therefore, spank her all the harder. We have learned that, at least in Jan’s case, this is simply not true. Jan feels, and benefits from, her spankings just as much as the other two girls, she just reacts to them a bit differently.
As with the other girls, I let Jan up and allowed her a moment or two to dance, rub, and regain her composure. Then, rather than escort her back to the corner, I led the very reluctant girl to the back of the couch and ordered her to bend over the exact center. The couch was the perfect height and shape, taking most of her weight at her hips, allowing just the tips of her toes to touch the floor, and presenting her bare, red, unwilling bottom at just the right angle for the belt.
I looked over toward the corner, and caught Dorothy looking wide-eyed over her shoulder. I crooked a finger at her; she would get the position on the right end of the couch, and the first fall of the strap. With Dorothy properly positioned, I called Becky from the corner and positioned her at the remaining end of the couch. I picked up the belt and stepped back to inspect the tableau. Six perfectly formed cheeks shined back at Jan and I, each a uniform shade of red, and each pair perfectly positioned to receive punishment from my old work belt.
“Becky” I said, “I want you to speak for the group and tell us exactly why your bare bottom is about to be spanked by this belt”. “It is to punish us for lying to you” Becky managed to sob. “Yes, that is part of it” I said, “but there is something much more important; what is it?” Becky had been here before and the prompting led her to the proper answer; “to remind us to never lie again?” she offered. This was exactly the answer I was looking for. “Exactly right, I said, “for the rest of your lives, every time you are tempted to lie, I want you to remember today’s lesson”. “That is why it is my job to make this a very, very memorable lesson.
Kim and I both reassured the girls of our love, I instructed the three girls to do their very best to stay in position for their punishment and to keep their legs tightly closed to protect their more tender bits from the evil tip of the belt. Now it was finally time for me to do my parental duty. Kim took position behind me, ready to instantly, but silently, stop the strapping at any sign of danger or undue injury to the girls. Starting with Dorothy and moving behind each girl in turn, I applied a single, very hard, scorching stroke to each bottom in turn. Dorothy and Jan shrieked an instant after the fall of the belt onto the meatiest part of their buttocks yet Jan merely groaned.
I moved back behind Dorothy, she sensed my return. “No”, NOOOOOO,” she wailed. I gave her four strokes, again on the fullness of her bottom; two right handed and two left handed. Dorothy wailed and bucked, nearly falling off of her perch at the end of the couch. With two hands at her tiny waist, I re positioned her and quietly cautioned her to remain in position.
Then I moved over behind Jan’s upturned bottom and repeated the four strokes. These completely broke through Jan’s defenses, leaving her shrieking, twisting, and begging for the fire to stop. I moved behind Becky and performed the same operation with similar results. After stopping to give her a few a few calming words, I again moved to the right side of the couch, directly behind Dorothy.
Knowing why I was there, Dorothy started begging piteously. Steeling myself, I gave her two right-handed strokes. Before I could switch the belt to my left hand for her next two strokes, she was on her feet, dancing, twisting, and blubbering. None too gently, her mother stepped up, took her by the shoulders, and urged her back into position. Kim then went around to the front of the couch and held Dorothy’s wrists firmly. “Repeat the last two strokes honey” she said. I delivered four firm strokes, two to the right and two to the left. Dorothy’s anguished response nearly broke through my reserve. We waited a moment for Dorothy to regain a bit of control, and then Kim released Dorothy’s wrists and moved over and secured Jan’s wrists to prevent a re-occurrence of Dorothy’s incident.
Like her sister, Jan started begging to be let off. The belt fell four times as she bucked and howled. As with Dorothy before her, this second set of four swats was less predictable than the first, landing both high and low on her bottom and sit spots. They were firm, serious strokes across both cheeks that made the near-supersonic tip seem to bury itself into the bottom flesh. Each stroke would leave a bit of a bruise. Leaving Jan a sobbing wreck, we moved on to Becky and repeated the loud, painful, heartbreaking process.
We then redirected our attentions to Dorothy for her final four strokes. These four strokes were mostly delivered to the area below the buttocks. She would not be able to wear short clothing for at least two weeks without showing off these belt marks. In this less-padded region, these strokes must have hurt terribly, but the fight was just about spanked out of Dorothy. She responded much less to this last set of swats.
We repeated this process with both Jan and Becky with similar results. That done, with all of the girls having received 13 swats (except Dorothy who had received those two extra) and after a dramatic pause to make them wonder if more was coming, I dropped the belt. Their punishment was over.
When all three girls finally calmed down a bit, we allowed them back on their feet. This time there was no vigorous rubbing, their bottoms were far too tender. The girls sobbed and tenderly explored their well-spanked nether regions with their fingertips. None of the girls even seemed to think of getting dressed. For several minutes we exchanged hugs, kisses and tender words, finally ending up in a long, tearful five-way hug. (I can tell you honestly that there were even tears in daddy’s eyes.)
We gave the girls a little speech, telling not to feel too bad, because their mom and dad had both received a similar lesson from their own parents many years ago, and it would probably be up the girls to pass that same lesson on to their own children. With a final reminder that we expected them to remember this lesson for the rest of their lives, we released the girls with orders to spend the rest of the evening in their individual rooms. We held Becky back for a moment and gently told her that she was on restriction “until we get a few issues worked through”. Having just been strapped, she was certainly in no mood to argue. She agreed and followed her two still-nude sisters up the stairs.
My girls are normal, and continued to find many new and interesting ways to get into trouble until they finally left our home to begin their adult lives, but that was the last time we had to punish any of them for lying. The belt had truly delivered a lifetime lesson.
Copyright (c) Guy Spencer 2004