Scout Meeting (II)

This is not a work of fiction, but rather a memoir of a lesson that I learned many years ago. It involves the spanking of a 12 year old girl (me!), and if that bothers you, please click this window closed. Naturally - if you are under 18 you shouldn't be reading this anyhow, so please go look for your fun somewhere else!

Also....if you have not read part I, you ought to go back and get it. It makes the story better (hopefully!) and you'll have a clearer understanding of part II.

Finally the door opened, admitting my grim-looking dad, and he closed the door gently behind him. I sat on the edge of my bed, crying and apologizing, as I endured the "I'm so disappointed in you" lecture which really made me sad and truly sorry. There was no yelling, no warnings of what my punishment would be, or how sorry I would be. There was just quiet fatherly lecturing, warnings of how foolish it was to run around town, and how sorry he was that I had lied. When he asked how many times I had done this in the past, I told the truth - it had been several times. This was probably a stupid time to be truthful, for it seemed to anger him even more. Confession may be good for the soul, but it ain't too good for the rear end, and I was about to learn that moral, too! Finally he reminded me that he had promised the big chief scout that I would be punished and told me that my punishment would be a good spanking.

Now he had said it, out loud, and I fell apart. The tears were pouring down my face as I begged and pleaded, and hiccuped, and promised, and cajoled and bargained. What a contradiction in terms for a 12-year-old girl! There is no such thing as a "good" spanking to a girl caught misbehaving! It looked as though I was going to get a long spanking, probably a hard spanking, maybe even a bare-bottomed spanking -- but none of these was a 'good' spanking, as far as I was concerned!

He helped me to stand, then took my place on the edge of my bed.. The lecturing was over, and he was silent now, but I more than made up for his silence with my yammering. There was silence from him and sobs and promises from me as he undid my pants and pulled them wide open in the front.

Dad usually spanked my bare bottom, but he did leave my panties on just often enough that I could always hope that the spanking I was about to get would not be bare-bottomed. Mom would sprinkle her yelling with the phrase "...your bare bottom, young lady..." or "...with your underpants pulled down, little miss..." quite a bit when she was preparing to spank me, so I knew what was coming. Dad never tipped his hand. Would he? Wouldn't he? I just didn't know. As I stood there with my pants all undone leaving a little bit of panty peeking out at him, bawling and protesting how sorry I was, I was hoping that my true remorse would save my underwear. There is darned little cushioning provided by a pair of panties, but oh, how important they were to me!

I couldn't believe that my big, wet tears and sorrowful puppy-dog eyes didn't move him. I was doing my absolute best to have him scold me and let me off with a warning! How anybody could even think about spanking such a sorrowful, penitent and cute little lady is beyond me. Of course, he is the father of three girls as well as a son, all three girls inclined to naughtiness and theatrics, so I was just the latest actress to play the part of the little girl too sorrowful to be spanked. Being the youngest of the lot, by the time I tried that act on him, he'd seen all the sad daughter looks ever created, and it had no effect on him.

My stomach flipped and I squealed as he grabbed a handful of my pants at each hip and, in spite of a heroic attempt on my part to keep them up, pulled them right down to my ankles in one smooth motion. Oh! No!! He took my pants down!!!! Booo-hooo!!!!

It took my brain another second to realize that he had also hooked his thumbs into the sides of my panties as he pulled down my pants. The loud, earnest and tearful "Daddyyyyyyy nooooooo, pleeeeeeeease, I'm sorrrrrrrryyyyyyy" had had no effect on him whatever. Holy Moses, was I ready to die.....12 years old, standing square in front of my dad, completely bare from my belly-button to my ankles!!! And not only am I standing here bare, he is about to give me a spanking!

It wouldn't have mattered if he had spanked me bare an hour before, I wouldn't have been prepared for him to see *all* of me. Each time that he pulled down my panties for a spanking I was as embarrassed as if it was the first time that he had ever seen me bare. He was, of course, completely unaffected by the sight of his undressed daughter. Remember that I was often mischievous enough to have my undies taken down for a spanking, and also that I was the youngest of his three daughters. What he was seeing when I was standing there all bare below my waist was nothing that he hadn't seen a hundred times before -- and not just mine, but Tammy's and Jennifer's, too. He never stared at my fuzzy little patch, but he never looked away either.....his reaction was about the same as you would expect if he made me take off my socks. I, however, was a complete wreck! BARE! In front of DADDY! A MAN !! Of course I kept my hands over the most femine part of me, but I knew that he was seeing all of me anyhow and was mortified. As I said, the fact that we had been through all this before and that he had pulled my panties down when he spanked me a week, 2 or 3 ago held no comfort for me.

Finally he took his half-bare 12-year-old girl by the hands, and I was unceremoniously guided/lifted/turned/dumped over his knee and shifted a bit until I was perfectly positioned. Horrors again!! Now he is seeing my bottom all bare too!!!! How unfair!! I squeezed my bottom, legs, thighs and every other muscle that I could squeeze just as tightly as I could.

When Mom spanked, she liked to use these last few seconds for another lecture while I lay squirming across her lap waiting to get my spanking. Not Daddy -- he was done talking and was all business. He pulled my hand into the small of my back, I screeched at the top of my lungs, and my spanking started. Hard and fast he spanked as I squirmed and squealed and pleaded for mercy, but he had spanked me often enough over the years to tune all that out!

He was not going to be swayed into stopping this spanking by high-pitched feminine squeals and promises. His hand worked all over my bottom and the tops of my legs, though he gave most of his attention right to the middle of my bottom cheeks. Daddy never spanked me with a hairbrush the way Mom sometimes did, and he didn't need to! His hand was the size of Wyoming, and my bottom was the size of Rhode Island. He spanked and spanked and spanked and spanked until I was no longer pleading, apologizing or saying anything, I was just crying. I was no longer crying just because of the indignity of being spanked at 12 years old or because he had pulled down my underpants. I was crying because I had been a bad girl and bad girls get spankings, and because my spanking was setting my bare bottom on fire.

Finally my spanking ended, but my crying was still in full swing, and I simply laid on his lap bawling like a little girl. The birth certificate still said 12 years old, and there were enough of the effects of puberty to confirm that age, but everything else indicated that the little lady on Dad's lap was a well-spanked little girl of 5 or 6. Finally, I wriggled off his lap, and my only concern was the fire raging on my hips. Geez, had he spanked me, and my poor little bottom was simply burning up. Before being tilted across his knees, modesty kept both hands over the bare proof of my being a girl...after rising from his knees my modesty gave way to my spanked rear, and both hands tried to soothe the spanked parts, allowing him the prolonged opportunity to confirm that I was still a girl -- and at that particular moment I could not have cared any less. The whole neighborhood could have been standing in my room watching me, and I'd have still had to rub my bottom and leave the rest of me bare. Dad must have had quite a chuckle at the beginnings of each of my spankings as I did my best to cover myself when he knew full well that by the time he was done with me I'd be showing him everything with careless disregard!

As patiently as he waited for me to get off his knees, he waited for my little 'War Dance' to end, and for me to settle down a little. He warned me that if I ever pulled another stunt like this, he would spank me again, and that if I would just behave myself he wouldn't have to spank me at all. Since it was late in the evening, he told me to put my pajamas on and either go to bed or come downstairs.

I chose bed (and soft pajamas!), but didn't have that chance until after mom arrived to cluck and prattle about my behavior and how I had deserved the spanking that daddy had given me, and ask for assurances that I would never do such a thing again. She solemnly told me how lucky I was that my dad had spanked me, since she would have given me a spanking for this if he hadn't.

" ... with your underpants pulled straight down, little miss, and with my hairbrush, too!! You needed a good spanking, and I'm glad that you got one. Yes indeedy, little lady, you are lucky it was your father who spanked your bare bottom, Pamela, instead of me, and if you do this again, you won't be so lucky!!"

Not to contradict Mom at all, but I found it awfully hard to feel lucky right at that time. I had just had my daddy tug down my pants and panties, and spank my bare bottom. And I still had a bottom warm enough to fry eggs on! For this I am lucky? It sure didn't seem to be something to feel very lucky about! Although she acted mad, I really think she just came in to make sure that her daughter was okay, and reinforce that even though Daddy had done the deed, she agreed 100 percent with his decision to spank me.

Although Dad never said anything again about my tours of town, or the spanking he gave me for it, I did notice that for the next weeks he didn't drive off until I entered the school for my scout meetings, and I made sure that he saw me going straight in! Neither of us cared to have a repeat of the offense or the spanking, and we were proving our earnestness!

Other than saying that we got in trouble, neither Angela nor Linda nor I ever confided in each other just what kind of trouble we had each been in. At the time, I was convinced that I was the only one that got a spanking, but now I'm not so sure. Knowing them and their families now, so many years later, I'd bet that Mom's hope came true. I'm pretty certain that there were three Girl Scouts turned over various knees receiving spankings that night, and three red bottoms tucked into bed -- and I'll even bet I wasn't the only one who got turned over a knee with her panties pulled down!

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