As Tammy entered the house she
could hear her mother sobbing in the kitchen.
"The old devil's at her
again," she muttered to herself.
Well, she had now turned 18 and
she wasn't going to stand for any more of the old devil's nonsense. She flung
open the kitchen door and saw Berger, his face red from the exertion of the
thrashing he was giving her mother, his leather belt dangling from his
rock-hard hand as he paused between the strokes to catch his breath.
She was well acquainted with the
hardness of Berger's hand. It was an experience she was unlikely to forget.
Friday nights were especially favoured for Discipline, although when he thought
the occasion warranted, other nights were also given over to the practice. The
slightest reason, whether justified or not, for being put across his lap,
having her knickers pulled down by him, her plump globes exposed and feeling
his hardness press up between her thighs prior to receiving a hand-spanking,
was an opportunity he did not neglect.
His wobbly beer-belly overhung
the waistband of his tight trousers which he always pulled up high. As was
usually the case when her mother was getting the belt, Tammy could see his
erection straining and the slowly spreading stain on the darkening cloth of his
He was standing at the far side
of the table, his mouth working in a wild frenzy, his little eyes gleaming. Her
mother, Hester, wearing the usual dirty loose-fitting smock, her
"learning-smock" he called it, holding it pulled up high at the back,
allowing her pendulous, flabby breasts with their fat nipples to swing loosely
like a cow's udders, was bending face down over the edge of the table as she
quivered in front of him.
Hester's moans were muffled by
the hanks of her long streaky blonde hair that he insisted she must not have
cut. Tammy knew he liked to wipe his dripping tool on the hair after he had
finished with her mother at night. Hester had confided as much in her one day
and almost immediately had regretted making the confession. That, Tammy knew,
was partly the reason for the timidity of her mother's demeanour. Some people,
Tammy reflected to herself, were born losers, but she was determined she would
never be one of those.
The belting must be worse than
usual, Tammy thought. As she came through the door, she sought her mother's
eyes for some sign indicating the severity of the punishment she was receiving,
but all she could see in them was the customary nervous plea not to pass any
comment that would make matters worse.
"Tell your daughter what you
did," ordered Berger, her stepfather.
Hester turned her tear-streaked
face towards Tammy.
"I b-b-burnt the kippers for
your father's tea," Hester blubbed. "I was distracted by a ring at
the door by th-th-the man who calls every Monday for the insurance," she
went on, "and the k-k-kippers got burned."
Berger sneered as he wound the
leather belt tighter around his wrist.
"Expect me to believe that?
He gives it to you every week, doesn't he? That's why you get tarted up on
Mondays, isn't it? Tell her how many strokes you've had so far," he
"T-twelve, Vic." Hester
sobbed. "Please, Vic, it won't happen again. Honest."
"Honest! The only thing
that's honest about you, you bloody cow, is feelin' y'r bum stinging now. An'
it's not over yet. You know that, don't ya?"
"Y... yes, Vic. I know
"Right. Get back across that
table and we'll carry on with it!"
With a little whimper, Hester
spread herself over the edge of the table, clenching her cheeks as tightly as
she could. She knew Berger liked to see them tight. Made a better target, he
said. "Tight bum is fright bum," he always sniggered.
Tammy could see her mother's
striped bottom quivering, waiting for the next stinging slash of the belt. She
wondered if it was true her mother let the insurance man have it. Certainly she
had often wondered why the woman went pink when insurance was mentioned. And
there was never anyone else in the house on Monday afternoons.
And if it really was true, what
was wrong with it, Tammy thought. After all, people were either male or female
with corresponding urges. Nobody ought to suffer for it.
Before she could stop herself,
Tammy blazed up.
"Leave her alone! You should
be reported for this," she shouted.
Berger looked at her, astonished.
He ran his white-coated tongue over his lips.
"Did YOU say
something?" he asked. "YOU?"
It was too late to retreat now.
Tammy nodded. When she spoke it
came out like a little squeak.
"I said leave her
A grin came over Berger's face.
"So you're volunteerin' to
join her, are ye? Well, I ain't gonna argue. Take them knickers off and get
across the table beside her. Just because y've turned eighteen don't mean ye
c'n talk to me, y're step-Daddy, any way you like. Me, what married y'r mother
to put a crust in both yer mouths. You think you can talk to me any way you
like? Oh, no. Not to me you can't. And don't you forget it. Now off with them
"I'm sure she didn't mean it
like that, Vic."
Hester's frightened little voice
shook as she spoke.
"Shut up, bitch! Unless, o'
course, it's another twelve on top ye're waitin' for? Wha' d'ya say to that,
eh? I was gonna give ya just the other half, but if you want twelve extra ...
Or maybe your arithmetic ain't so good, eh?"
"Sorry, Vic. Sorry. Just the
other half. Sorry, Vic."
Hester couldn't stop the fear in
her voice showing.
The belt rose and came down with
a 'Crack' on Hester's loose, wobbling cheeks.
"Ow! Vic! VIC!"
The belt cut into her again.
"Count, bitch! You know the
"Vic! Ow, Vic! Two,"
Berger sneered. "I knew you
couldn't count. You starts at one regardless. Understand?"
"Yes, Vic. Y ... yes. Sorry,
Vic. Please, Vic. One."
Tammy, lying over the table next
to the woman, felt her mother's body jerk as the belt cut into the older
woman's bum again. Soon, she knew, Berger - the man she had to call
"Daddy" - would start thrashing her. And she knew it would be a very
painful experience. It always was. Mum told her so.
Like the time he had walked into
her room one night and caught her playing with herself.
"Wankin', eh? I'll teach you
He had pulled her out of her warm
bed when she was about to come. Trembling, she was. Not so much from fear of
the belt, but from the feelings of pleasure she had brought on herself. Tearing
her nightdress, her favourite "shortie", from her sensitized flesh he
had laughed brutally as he saw her terror.
"So you wank at nights, do
you? Answer me."
"Lying to your Daddy isn't
going to help. You're a wanker, aren't you? Say it. Say it - unless you want
the thrashin' of y'r life."
He had spoken so viciously she
had to admit it.
"Yes, Daddy. Sorry, Daddy.
I'm a wanker."
He had then pulled her into his
lap, face down, tugging off his leather belt as he did so.
"You're gonna get it hard
and strong, little cow," he had whispered in her ear bending down over
her. "Not for wankin' - oh no. For LYIN'. Understand?"
"Y ... yes, Daddy."
And then the thrashing had
started. Stinging, vicious cuts that made her shriek.
Her flayed bottom had stung for
days afterwards. Each time she tried to sit had reminded her of the treatment.
Even the heat of his cock as she kissed it as her penance still burned the palm
of her hand.
Shuddering, she could see her
stripes afterwards on her bottom by standing on a chair and looking in the
mirror on the wall. Seventeen black, sullen stripes she had counted. Seventeen.
When she showed her friend,
Amanda, the marks two days later at school, Amanda had been envious.
"I wish my Daddy would do
the same to me," she said. "All he gives me is a telling off."
Now, as each cut bit into her
mother's bottom, Tammy, lying on the table beside her, felt the woman's tense
body jerk up and down. The scream that followed each stroke was deafening.
Tammy's mouth went dry. Could it be worse than last time? she wondered. Maybe
he would be so tired after belting her mother that he would call it off for the
day? Perhaps he would even let her off altogether?
Then she remembered the time she
had given him the wrong change by accident a few weeks ago. She had lost two
one-penny pieces on the way back from the supermarket. Fell through a hole in
the pocket in her knickers, she thought. She was too young to use a purse, he'd
said. She'd been meaning to sew that hole up for some time, but somehow hadn't
got round to it.
But he wouldn't listen to any
excuses. He had dragged her across his lap and spanked her on her bare bottom
with his hard work-stained hand. Like a child, she thought, resentfully. Just
as though she was a young child that needed a lesson.
And then he'd given her mother
the belt, "just to make sure she didn't get any ideas," he'd said.
After that he had left both of them, Tammy and her mother, sobbing, rubbing
their sore bums, while he went out to the pub. She had been more careful about
money after that.
Now she was going to get the belt
A strange thrill ran through her.
The belt! There was something about the belt ... something ... The thought of
the belt started her juices flowing. She felt a hot dampness spread between her
thighs, weakening her, bringing a tingle - 'down there', she called it. Every
nerve twitched. She wondered whether her mother secretly welcomed the
The belt! Was it really so bad as
her mother always said, or did she ... well, did she really enjoy it? She,
Tammy, was a grown woman now and was going to be treated like one. She was
going to have the belt.
"Stand up, bitch!"
Berger's harsh voice cut through her thoughts.
For a moment she thought he was
speaking to her, but immediately realized he was talking to her mother.
"Pull down that dress of
your'n. Sick of the sight of that fat striped bottom of yours a'twitchin' and
a'quiverin'. Now watch your daughter get hers!"
Hester, her shoulders shaking,
tears streaming down her cheeks, hastily stood up and pulled her smock down
with trembling hands to cover her raw-red bleeding backside.
"No, Vic. Yes, Vic, I mean
thank you, Vic. I shan't forget. Next time whoever it is 'll have to wait. Your
food comes first."
Vic Berger gave a grim laugh.
"An' if he wants a bit of
the other, tell him to go and get his own. You're mine, see?" Hester
gulped. "Now for the kid," Berger went on. "First of all, what
are you doin' here? Want some like y'r mother, eh?"
A tremor went through Tammy. In
spite of her determination not to be intimidated, the thought of the thrashing
"No, Daddy. I've just come
from school. My last day and you told me I mustn't be late so I came straight
home." She could barely speak.
"Last day, eh? Reckon that
calls for somethin' special. Somethin' to mark the occasion, eh? Y're a big
girl now. You needn't think y're gonna spend half the day in bed doin' whatever
it is you do in bed. Wankin', isn't it?" He leered at her.
"No, Daddy. I don't wank anymore."
Best to agree with the old sod,
Tammy thought. He was still excited from using the belt on her mother.
"Reckon you better get a job
quick," he said. "Bring some money in. Give me some f'r a change.
Anyway, what's happening about that young feller o' your'n? What was his name?
Carl? Somethin' pansy like that."
"Yes, Daddy. Carl. He's ...
well, his mother wants him to ... "
She stopped. She knew Vic
wouldn't hesitate to use the belt on Carl if he thought he could get away with
it. Carl's own father was dead so there would be nothing to stop him putting
Carl across the kitchen table, too.
She found the thought excited
her. All three of them together.
She was shocked to find she
wouldn't mind that. Carl really was rather a wet but he was all she could get
at the moment. She doubted if he had ever had a full erection, too. She hadn't
been able to make it go stiff, really stiff.
Something to do with his never
having been spanked as a kid, perhaps? He still called his mother
"Mummy", and "Mummy" was always afraid if he didn't eat
sufficient he'd catch cold! Always fussing about wearing his scarf and making
sure he didn't overstrain himself. Things like that.
"Mummy" didn't know Carl
used to let Tammy hold his "thing", though. He used to ask her to
kiss it. Stupid little "thing". White, wet and droopy. Not like Bert
Austin's. At least, that's what Tracey Baxter, the school's No. 1 player,
always said. Bert's was wicked, Tracey said.
One of these days, Tammy promised
herself, she'd put Carl's little "thing" right inside her mouth and
give it a suck. Good and hard! Draw him out. That'd show Tracey Baxter. Bet
she'd never done THAT!
"His mother wants him to do
what?" Berger's voice made her jump.
"She ... she ... wants him
It was too late now. She'd have
to tell him.
"She wants him to become...
" Tammy stopped again, licking her lips that had suddenly gone dry. Then
she whispered. "...become a hairdresser."
Berger gave a roar of raucous
Tammy hurried on.
"She says there's a lot of
money in it, you see. And as he hasn't got a father, she thought, what with
tips and all that, he'd be fetching in good money while he was learning."
Berger raised the belt.
"That's enough about your
Carl. Count," he snarled.
The first cut bit into her like
"One!" she shrieked.
She heard the knocker on the
front door bang hard, three times. Her heart sank. That meant the next-door
neighbour, Miss Primross, an elderly, nosy spinster, had heard the noise coming
from the kitchen and had come to complain.
"I'll go, Vic. ... If you
Hester was unsure whether to
answer the door or not.
Berger nodded. "Tell 'em I'm
engaged. Call back later."
As Hester left the kitchen, the
second stroke flashed into Tammy's bottom.
"Two!" she screamed.
Over her agony she heard voices
at the door.
"Oh, Miss Primross! Well,
Tammy's getting her first proper belting, you see."
Did she have to tell the nosy old
woman everything? Tammy thought.
Footsteps sounded in the passage.
No, Tammy shivered, don't fetch
the nosy old moo in while I'm like this!
"Vic, it's Miss Primross.
She said she wanted to see you."
"If I'm interrupting
The elderly spinster was clearly
hoping she was. Hoping to see exactly what she was seeing. Tammy across the
table being thrashed, her knickers down round her ankles and Mr Berger using
"Come in, Miss Primross.
Just settlin' a family matter. Take a seat. Shan't be long."
Miss Primross fluttered. Her
bright little eyes sparkled behind her glasses.
"Oh, Mr Berger, don't stop
because of me. I'm sure you have a great deal to do."
The belt came down on Tammy's
exposed bottom again.
"Dear Mr Berger. So like my
father." Miss Primross had a high-pitched voice that went with her appearance.
Tall, thin, steel-rimmed highly-polished spectacles that glinted, a flat
concave bosom with no curves that rose and fell as she breathed, especially
when she was excited. Her thin nose twitched when she found something to
"My Daddy used to spank me,
too." Miss Primross was practically drooling. "So did Mummy. Many's
the spanking I got when I was naughty. Like the time when I was caught stealing
from Mummy's purse. I wanted to buy a gob-stopper, you see, but as I hadn't any
money, I thought I'd get some from Mummy's purse. Oh, my! Mummy used a
hairbrush that time. My little bottom - Daddy used to call it my
"bum-bum" - but then, of course, he was a man and men are allowed to
say such things, aren't they, Mrs Berger?"
Hester gulped and nodded.
"Yes. They are."
"Oh, Mrs. Berger. I wonder
if it's better to have a hairbrush or the belt?" Her flat chest was going
up and down quickly. "Which hurts more? Do you know? You've got that nice
dress on. Is it new?"
New? You old cow, Tammy thought.
Of course it's not new. And you know it. It's what Mummy has to wear when she's
being thrashed. And you know that, too.
Hester was spared from replying
as Miss Primross chattered on.
"Please don't let me disturb
you, Mr. Berger. I'm sure you have a great deal to ... "she giggled in a
highly-pitched tone girlishly, "... see to."
The belt rose and fell across
Tammy's flaming rear again.
Miss Primross giggled again.
"She has to count, has she?
How sensible of you, Mr Berger. Which do you recommend, Mr Berger, the
hairbrush or the belt? I do like to know these things, you see."
The sharp sting was bad enough,
but the shame of Miss Primross seeing it made it worse.
"Five! O-o-o-oh! A-aah!
Tammy couldn't hold back her
tears any longer. Tears brought on by the belting. Tears of shame, and of
"Girls need discipline, my
Daddy used to say," Miss Primross kept on talking. "Mummy said it was
good for ladies, all ladies, to have discipline. What do you think, Mr Berger?
I mean I have no-one to ask so I don't know."
"That'll do for now,
girl," Berger stood back and put the belt round his waist again,
tightening it and patting it gently.
"Do you think all ladies
need discipline, Mr Berger?" The spinster persisted anxiously.
"Most of 'em do," Berger
agreed. "Maybe we could talk about it some other time, Miss Primross. Some
"Oh, Mr Berger!"
The old cow wants it, Tammy
Then he said, "I could go
and see Carl's mother." He seemed to be talking himself into doing it.
"The boy needs a man's firm hand. A taste of the belt every now and then?
"Yes, I think I'll do that.
He could live here in the little room next to ours upstairs. There's room for a
bed in there. A small one, of course. He could give his mother something every
week out of his wages and pay for his keep here as well. Besides, he could make
himself useful about the house.
"An' if Tammy went out to
work also, between you and him, both of you would give us somethin' towards
your keep. No tricks, mind you. No poppin' into each other's room at night. I
won't have that.
"Yes, I think I can get her
to see sense. She'll be glad to have a man's advice."
Berger cackled as the idea took
hold of his imagination.
"He works long hours,
father," Tammy blurted out, hoping to prevent the prospect that seemed to
Berger ignored the remark.
"Put your coat on, mother,
and go and buy me another pair of kippers for me tea. You and Tammy c'n share
the ones you burnt. I'll tell you all about it, Miss Primross, when I get back.
I'm goin' to see that pansy boy's mother now. You're going to have a new
neighbour, Miss Primross. Reckon we'll work something out between us."
He turned back to Hester.
"And don't burn them, if
neither of you two wants another thrashing when I get back. What's his address,
As soon as Tammy told him, Berger
left the house, winking at Miss Primross who was trembling with excitement as
the little drama was played out in front of her.
Hester turned to Tammy.
"We'd better hurry before
the shops close," she said in a shaky little voice. "He'll be ever so
upset if he doesn't get his kippers. And then... " She looked at her
daughter miserably. She had forgotten Miss Primross was there.
"Why did you marry him,
Hester's mouth quivered.
"I was so lonely after your
father died," she whined. "Lonely. Vic was different then. Comforted
me. Made me feel wanted. Said he'd had a bad marriage and that his wife had run
off with another feller."
"Yes, but what made him
Her mother took the old raincoat
from the hook hanging behind the kitchen door.
"Don't know, really. He said
he 'wanted it'. 'Needed it', he said. So I gave in to him. But he wanted more
and more and I couldn't keep up. First it was just at nights. Then he took to
not going to work and wanted it during the day as well. I couldn't satisfy him.
So he started using the belt. Said he'd make me do it." She gave a little
sob. "Now he does it all the time whether I want to give it or not."
"Does he make you do
"Let's go and get those
"What does he make you do,
"Please, Tammy. Don't ask me
"What is it Ma?"
"Oh, Tammy, please."
"I can hear you through the
bedroom wall. What is it?"
Miss Primross was breathing
Hester looked frightened.
"Tammy! ... Well, after he
... comes ... Inside me, I mean ... I have to ... "
She stopped and looked anxiously
at the girl.
Tammy went towards the older
woman and put her arms round her.
"Don't cry, Ma."
The two women kissed tenderly.
Miss Primross, her eyes gleaming behind her spectacles, hardly moved.
"What do you have to do, Mrs
Berger?" she whispered eagerly. "Perhaps I could help you."
Hester looked at her with
tear-filled eyes. "I'm so ashamed. So ashamed."
Tammy drew away.
"If Carl stays here, you
won't mind, will you, Ma?"
Hester looked at the girl.
"It won't stop there, you
know. He'll be after Carl, too. You do understand that, don't you?"
"If Carl comes here, I'm
leaving, Ma. I want a man, not a poodle."
Yes, Miss Primross breathed
noisily. A man! That's what she herself wanted, too.