Daddy’s Belt! a poem by Indica

Daddy’s belt!

I gulp hard, and grab my butt
Rosiness burns upon my cheeks
The belt slides gracefully out of the loops
I sense my knees go weak.

Clicking and clanking of his sliver metal buckle
will make my insides shiver.
My hands are shaking, as I stand head bowed,
I know the pain he will deliver.

The belt comes down upon my skin
Each one getting tougher.
I cringe with every punishment stroke,
my Daddy is getting rougher.



This story contains spanking of children, if you don’t like then go and read something else..


The sudden shrillness of the whistle startled me as I was taking off my forest green Camp Gabrielle t-shirt at the waterfront, leaving me clad in an aquamarine bikini.

“Buddy check!” shouted my first cousin, Paul Royalton, then he clambered up to stand atop the wooden picnic table and survey Wellington Pond. In its lukewarm waters or on the floating raft in the deep area, bathing-suited children between nine and eleven years of age, along with four of their late-teenaged counselors, were coming together in pairs to hold one of each other’s hands aloft.

One slim, pretty ten-year-old girl was standing on the raft looking rather puzzled, while another one, a rather pleasingly plump dark brunette with a sweet-looking face, was standing alone in the shallow part of the swimming area. The first unpartnered girl, a sandy blonde with shoulder-length hair and blue-gray eyes, dived into the water and swam ashore while everyone else waited in silence.

“Oops,” I chuckled while kicking off my rubber flip-flops, “Someone’s misplaced her buddy.”

Reaching the shallow water, the ten-year-old ducked under the plastic marking-off line and walked over to grip her rediscovered partner’s hand and lift it up. “Okay, we’re together now,” she chirped.

Paul blew the whistle again, ending the `buddy check,’ before letting it fall to his chest, suspended by a lanyard of red-and-white boondoggle which had been given to him by a preteen feminine admirer a month earlier. “Erika and Belle, get your little rear ends up here,” he briskly instructed the two female youngsters as he re-seated himself on the table top, his bare feet resting atop the attached wooden bench.

“Don’t be too hard on them, Paul,” I chortled, “They’re only fifth graders, after all.” What was he going to do anyway, other than lecture them a bit?

The girls looked a touch intimidated as they approached, but it was also obvious—at least to a `woman of the world’ like myself—that in spite of their innocent ages they appreciated my cousin’s athletic 6’1″ physique, bronzed skin (back then a nice tan wasn’t considered to be unhealthy), sun-bleached blond hair and analytical pale blue eyes, his nicely-toned body attired in teal blue swimming trunks and a spring green Camp Gabrielle tank top.

He motioned toward the bench. “Sit down on opposite ends and be quiet, ladies, spend the next five minutes thinking about staying with your buddy during swimming time.” He glanced at his waterproof wristwatch, noting the time.

“Such an old grouch,” Erika mumbled as she and Belle obeyed, but there was a sunny sparkle in her eyes.

Spreading my beach towel on the grass behind the picnic table, I lay prone on it to `catch a few rays’ and deepen my own suntan.

Several minutes later, I vaguely heard my cousin moving behind me, then I heard him addressing the two preteens. “Okay, ladies, you can go back in the water—but only after you each go over my knee for a spanking.” Hearing a solid-sounding THWAAP!!, I rolled over and sat up in time to observe him standing on the other side of the bench, holding my right-foot flip-flop in his hand—he’d obviously just smacked it against his left palm. Keeping a very serious expression on his face, he gazed down at Belle. “Would you like to go first, sweetheart? A couple dozen whacks, that’s all I’ll give you, but they are going to smart quite a bit.”

The ten-year-old gulped. “No, please don’t, I’m sorry.”

To Paul’s right, Erika guffawed. “Oh right, like you’re really going to spank us with that rubber sandal! Here, let me go first then.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I’m bluffing–we don’t actually practice corporal punishment at Camp Gabrielle, I was just playing with you girls.” His hand motioned upward. “Get up, you can go back in the pond, just be careful about staying together from now on.”

As the two youngsters scampered back into the water, I heard Brittany’s voice from behind me. “Oh really, so `we don’t actually practice corporal punishment’ here, of course not,” she trilled. Paul had resumed his seat atop the table, and he turned leftward as her sweet, slim derriere plopped down adjacent to his left hip. Although she was a-year-and-a-half my junior, I couldn’t help feeling a touch envious of the sixteen-year-old’s lithe, athletic yet fully feminine body, nicely displayed by the tight-fitting emerald green bikini she was wearing, not to mention her stunningly pretty facial features, cascading light brown, moderately curly hair and shining tan eyes. “So nobody ever gets his bare bottom spanked here at Camp Gabrielle, huh?” she demanded, sarcasm evident in her rhetorical question.

He blushed, his eyes facing frontward to scan the pond—which he could justify as doing his job, rather than evading Brittany’s gaze. “Uhhhh, I was referring to the campers, Brittie,” he explained.

“Well, I think that somebody needs a seriously stinging reminder of exactly who is subject to having his naked fanny tanned whenever he deserves it,” she said pointedly. “You had that one little girl close to tears, she was truly frightened that you’d smack her seat with Miriam’s flip-flop.”

I’d been fed a perfect cue. “Which I’ll take back now, please,” I announced while climbing to my feet. Walking around the picnic table, I seated myself atop it to my cousin’s right, effectively leaving him surrounded by the two teenaged females who had full spanking privileges over him at the time.

“Sure, Miriam, I was only teasing those two little ladies,” Paul stated lightly as he handed me the rubber-soled sandal.

However, I refused to allow him to drop the subject of someone needing to have his boyish behind blistered. “Now that you’ve brought up the subject, my dear cousin, it occurs to me that you haven’t been chastised at all this week, except for that pants-down spatula walloping over Brittie’s knee on Sunday night—so you’re definitely overdue for discipline today, I’d say.”

Brittany nodded. “You’re absolutely correct, Miriam, three days is too long a time between butt-whippings for this naughty boy, we’ve `slacked off’ on reddening his precious rear for him…We’d better remedy that oversight this evening, IN SPADES, don’t you think?”

My favorite cousin shivered. “Come on, you two, someone might overhear you,” he protested, although no one else on the shore was close enough to overhear our conversation.

“Oh, so we shouldn’t mention the concept of corporal punishment if it’s going to be applied to your babyfat bottom, huh?” I inquired pointedly. “We can only discuss fifth-grade girls getting their seats slapped, is that it?”

His voice was low. “Why don’t we just not talk about it at all, Miriam?” He glanced to his left. “That should include you too, Brittie.”

She chortled softly. “Okay, Paul, perhaps you’re right—after all, actions speak louder than words…So let’s say seven-fifteen tonight, at our cabin, be properly dressed for a bare-assed strapping with my belt, followed by a trip across my lap for a session with my spanking brush.” Sliding to her feet, she turned to face him, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “I’m going in for a dip now, before it’s time to help with preparing supper, so I won’t have to listen to you arguing with me about this.”

“But, Brittie—” Paul sputtered, only to be cut off by her right pointer finger gently touching his lips.

“No protests,” she interjected calmly, “Simply accept that I’ll be giving you a very thorough tanning on your naked fanny tonight.” Her resolute gaze locked onto my eyes. “If you want to join us and get in some solid licks of your own, Miriam, I’d be happy to have you participate—as would your cousin too, I’m certain.”

I couldn’t help chuckling at Paul’s expression—it was quite priceless, a mixture of dismay, frustration and anticipation. “Oh, you can count on me, and I’ll expect him to be bringing along his birthday paddle for my use in disciplining him—Ouchie!!” After dropping forward to my feet, I turned and patted his left cheek. “Don’t forget, either, since your paddywhacks will be doubled if I have to send you back to your cabin for it.” I sharply slapped the flip-flip’s sole against my left palm—CRACK!—which made him flinch a bit.

“Right, Miriam,” he muttered, then Brittany ran into the pond’s lukewarm water while I resumed my sunbathing, leaving our beloved lifeguard mulling over his near future as he regarded the swimmers rather disconsolately. However, I was aware that his concern over his upcoming red-bottomed correction was undoubtedly a conmingling of negative and positive feelings, probably dominated by a `butterflies in the tummy’ sensation while he was considering his punitive fate…

Paul was required to cooperate in being chastised by us two young ladies, until we were finished with the summer season at Camp Gabrielle, due to his having lost a wager with us at the very beginning of the camp’s schedule. He’d ironically lost that bet via allowing our mid-thirtyish head cook, Marcella (Marcie) Valentine, to administer corporal correction—a sound strapping with a thick leather belt followed by an extremely extended, severe walloping with her Jokari paddle while he was upended across her thighs–to him atop his exposed asscheeks, so his being disciplined once by Marcie had led to repeated spankings for my cousin from us other cooking staff workers, namely Brittany (kitchen aide) and myself (assistant cook).

Although nothing was overtly mentioned regarding the evening’s looming disciplinary activities at the staff dining table during supper, it was obvious to me that our head cook was smugly aware of them while Pia Emmanuel, the attractive early-twentyish camp nurse, a tall, slim silver blonde, was somewhat suspicious that Paul was facing an imminent bare-bottom blistering. The only other male staffer, maintenance worker Jeremy Justinjohn–my one-time high school classmate–was predictably clueless about the entire situation, although even he noticed his former wrestling teammate’s air of anxiety.

“You seem nervous, Paul,” he noted offhandedly, “Are you upset about something?”

Marcie chortled. “Oh, it’s just `ants in his pants,’ isn’t it, dear boy?”

While we females at the table smirked knowingly, Jeremy looked at us with blank uncertainty.

My cousin’s facial cheeks flushed pinkly, an effect which only his ex-teammate failed to notice. “Oh, I’m okay, just daydreaming a little…”

Once the meal was over, with the cooking staff cleaning up in the kitchen while Paul worked in the adjoining and smaller dishwashing area, Marcie’s palm playfully patted the seat of his bluejean shorts as he was loading a dish rack with dirty plates.

“My, oh my, somebody’s going to get it good tonight, that’s pretty obvious,” she tittered teasingly. “I’m sure glad it won’t be my bare bottom catching a whipping, because I’ve heard rumors that it really stings on a naked hiney.”

I grinned at his discomfiture. “If by `catching a whipping’ you mean a very naughty boy being strapped, paddled and spanked with a hairbrush, his pants pulled down and only a jockstrap for underwear, then you should stop by our cabin at seven-fifteen—then perhaps you’ll be able to figure out if that will leave a certain someone `hurtin’ for certain’ on his red-hot rear end.”

Our former babysitter smiled smugly. “Oh, I’ll gladly accept that generous invitation…May I bring Pia along to consult with?”

Brittany chuckled. “The more the merrier, after all you two have had Paul’s nicely smackable seat exposed to your view plenty of times over the years.”

“Not to mention having the pleasure of making it glow like a Hawaiian sunset,” Marcie clucked. “Okay then, we’ll be there…”

Naturally, my obedient cousin arrived several minutes early, at seven-twelve that evening, and he was carrying the Spencer paddle which Brittany and I had given him (and eagerly applied to his exposed posterior) less than two weeks earlier, on his nineteenth birthday.

Pia chortled as she opened the door to the comfortable cabin I shared with Brittany, ushering him inside. “At least Paul knows enough not to be late and earn himself even more punishment, doesn’t he?”

“Thank you, dear boy,” I told him as I took the sturdily-constructed, eighteen-holed oakwood fanny-whacker from his hand, “I promise to put this bottom-blistering beauty to very good use for your benefit—however, I believe that your first spanking session is going to be carried out with Brittie’s belt.”

He gulped as his facial cheeks flushed. “Uhhhh-Okay, Miriam.”

My left hand snaked around his hip and crisply smacked the right buttcheek through his loose cotton sweatpants. “That’s `ma’am’ to you at the moment, young man—you’ve just cost your precious rear a dozen more paddleswats from me for disrespect.” I grinned at his dismayed expression, knowing that he had no idea how long of an ass-thrashing I’d originally been planning to administer to him, so he wouldn’t actually be able to tell if I’d extended it or not.

Marcie smirked smugly. “Paul honey, I think you’d better let me lower your warm-up bottoms for you so Brittie can get your punishment started right away—I know that you really desire the butt-whippings you’re about to get, that’s why you mentioned the subject of spankings where these girls were sure to overhear it, yet you still might wish to limit the damage to your derriere due to being disrespectful.”

My cousin nodded. “Yes, ma’am, Miss Marcie.”

She flashed him a sly smile. “Turn around and politely ask me to lower your sweats, so you’ll be nicely bare-bottomed for your needed discipline.”

He quickly complied, his facial blush brightening as he did so. “Uhhhh, well, please…pull down my sweatpants, Miss Marcie, so that I’ll…ummmm…be bare-bottomed for my…ahhhh…needed discipline, ma’am.”

“That will be my pleasure, sweetcheeks.” She squatted down behind him and slipped her eight fingers inside the back elastic waistband of his light blue warm-up bottoms. “Elevator going down,” she announced playfully while tugging them downward to his kneehollows, leaving only a heather gray athletic supporter to provide our naughty boy with any masculine modesty; his fully-rounded yet muscular buttock rounds, framed by the supporter’s side straps, were only six inches from the thirtyish woman’s face and she was obviously appreciating the view. “Hmmmm, you’ve pretty much completely recovered your hiney’s pale complexion from Sunday night’s seat-smacking, haven’t you? Well, I’m betting that Brittie and Miriam will soon put plenty of color back into these cheeks for you.” Her right palm briskly slapped each white globe after she’d stood back up. “Nice and cool right now—but not for long.”

(Paul’s posterior was given a nightly aloe cream and baby oil massage by Brittany, purportedly for the purpose of aiding its return to pristinely snow-white spankability before his next chastisement, but I was fully aware that both participants in the rump-rubbing activity greatly enjoyed themselves. Yes, even though the young man was my first cousin, I did envy my girlfriend quite a bit in that healing-yet-sensual role.)

Within a minute’s time, Paul had assumed the punitive position he’d been assigned by Brittany, bent over the couch’s round arm–the left one from a seated person’s perspective–with his chest and arms resting on the seat cushion and his exposed posterior pointed upward at the ceiling, which gave her excellent access to his tender undercheek areas, the fatty `sit spots’ just above his thighcreases. Standing two feet to her victim’s left and facing his hip, the pretty light brunette winked at me as she unbuckled her tan, wide leather belt, then she slowly pulled it through the waist loops of her khaki jean shorts.

Pia, sitting on the right side of the couch, and Marcie, standing behind her, both chortled at the expression on my cousin’s face as he heard the supple length of leather being freed for its owner’s usage—he knew that ominous sound very well, not to mention the impactful feeling on his vulnerable hindquarters that immediately followed it. Since I was facing Brittany while standing beside his right hip, I couldn’t view Paul’s facial reaction, however I was aware of how tremulously his naked buttcheeks were quivering as his soon-to-be chastiser doubled up her well-worn belt, gripped its ends together and raised it high in her right hand.

“This will teach you not to tease little girls and make them cry,” she announced curtly. “They may be teased about getting their fannies tanned, but you’re the one that it truly happens to, dear boy–so you’ll be the naughty child bawling like a baby tonight…Now ask me sweetly to give you a long, hard strapping on your bare babyfat bottom, Paul darling.”

He gulped before following the instructions. “Please, ma’am, uhhhh, give me…a good, hard…strapping…on my…ummmm…babyfat…bare…bottom,” he said haltingly, obviously feeling quite humbled. It was apparent to me that my girlfriend was taking this situation more seriously than I was—to me, it was merely a playacting pretext to administer an overdue bit of corporal chastisement atop Paul’s defenseless derriere.

“Close enough,” she noted curtly. “Very well, young man, I’ll be happy to fulfill your request very, very thoroughly.” Stepping forward with her left foot, she forcefully swung the doubled-up length of leather downward, cracking it across Paul’s openly-exposed asscheeks right along his `sit spots’ at the base of both buttocks.

“Uhhhh,” he gasped, gritting his teeth as a band of pinkish coloration appeared where the belt had impacted his naked hindquarters.

His disciplinarian smiled grimly. “This is going to be a really ferocious licking you’ll be taking, sweetie pie, I can guarantee you that.”

Then she promptly made good on that promise, delivering a fierce, quite extended belt-whipping atop Paul’s upthrust, helplessly squirming and rapidly reddening southern hemispheres, focusing her punitive attentions on the sensitive base of his firmly-rounded rear end. I was rather surprised by how vigorously my girlfriend strapped her hapless victim’s vulnerable hindquarters, making him weep and wail childishly, for what must have been close to ten minutes.

Even Marcie seemed to be taken aback. “Wow, that was an awesome ass-thrashing,” she murmured as the pretty brunette, her face flushed with the effects of her energetic exertions, stepped back to catch her breath while her male victim, his lower buttcheeks crisscrossed with bright crimson bands, continued to whimper raggedly, splashing teardrops onto the couch seat beneath his face.

“Did he deserve that serious of a strapping?” Pia wondered aloud, while Brittany’s fearsomely effective belt was returned to its usual location, encircling the waistline of her jean shorts.

“Apparently, in Brittie’s view,” I noted calmly, while my left hand was fondly ruffling my cousin’s sweat-soaked blond hair, undoubtedly slight consolation for the way his ravaged rump had to be throbbing at the time. “Stay right there and get your composure back, Paul honey,” I instructed him gently, “You’ll need a bit of recovery time before taking your paddling from me.”

Six minutes later, with my favorite cousin bent far forward over the couch’s high back by its near (to me) end, a position which left his highly reddened derriere jutting upward and backward, I was still pondering the situation as, standing and facing his left hip, I patted his trembling buns with the sturdy oakwood Spencer paddle. I’d anticipated that both Brittany and I would be administering fairly moderate chastisements, since after all Paul’s `offense’ had been quite mild—only one of the two female campers had been upset, and her only momentarily, due to his playful teasing—but my girlfriend had clearly `upped the ante,’ so to speak. Should I go along with delivering a more intensive paddywhacking than I’d originally planned on, I asked myself?

“All right, you naughty toddler,” I addressed my punitive victim, my tone of voice lightlly lilting, “Now I’m go to continue your friendly little lesson about misrepresenting a situation to naïve young ladies who don’t know better.” (Of course, I reminded myself, Erika hadn’t been fooled for even a moment by my dear cousin’s playacting—she had known he was bluffing.)

Having made the emotional atmosphere of the butt-smacking discipline considerably lighter, I then `stepped to the plate’ and administered a very solid paddling atop my dear cousin’s defenseless derriere, cracking the sturdy smoothness of the hardwood across his desperately quivering, exposed asscheeks with enthusiastic vigor. My resounding paddleswats were concentrated upon his fatty undercheeks, the each location where Brittany had just focused her strapping attentions, balanced out by a goodly number that impacted dead-center against each `southern hemisphere’ in turn and a few that caught him convincingly right along his thighcreases. Paul ended up being corporally corrected by me, wielding his own birthday fanny-whacker, for a solid eight minutes, which left him blubbering helplessly.

“My, he does carry on quite childishly, doesn’t he?” Marcie noted in amusement while regarding the deep magenta hue centered on the raggedly sobbing nineteen-year-old’s `sit spots,’ at the base of his firmly-rounded rear end. “That’s an awesome, shining-red color he’s displaying for us, isn’t it?”

Like the rest of us females present, she was well aware that our darling naughty boy had a hind end that was capable of taking plenty of serious paddywhacking punishment, not to mention that he subconsciously appreciated being bare-bottom chastised by his womenfolk—which were two key reasons why I’d walloped him so energetically, the third one being simply that I enjoyed dishing out long, very hard fanny-whackings.

“Okay, young man, get your nubbin of a nose into the corner and keep those shining twin stop-lights on display for us ladies,” Brittany instructed my cousin, giving each naked buttcheek of his a full-force slap with her right palm to speed him on his mini-journey. “Hands on your head,” she added, once he was beginning his cornertime reflection, “Cry all you want, but think about why you’re in this position, with your naked hiney feeling like it’s on fire and a long-distance trip across my lap still on our agenda.”

“Yuuh-Yes, mah-ma’am,” he stammered, still sniffling as teardrops trickled down his rosy facial cheeks.

Pia mock-somberly shook her head. “Tsk, tsk, Paul—making those little girls cry by threatening to blister their cute little buns, that’s being a bully.”

“Nothing that serious happened,” I pointed out. “Erika never thought that he was going to spank her, and even Belle only believed him for a minute—she wasn’t crying either.” My tongue licked my lips. “Our immature mischief-maker showed poor judgment, but that’s all it was—he’s really quite fond of those two campers.”

Which was why, I abruptly realized, my cousin had been strapped so extensively by Brittany and was facing a near-immediate shellacking via her spanking brush while bent bare-bottom-up over her knee—his easygoing, playfully affectionate attitude toward the two preteen females had made my girlfriend a touch jealous, since all summer he had been trying to restrain the attraction to her which he obviously felt.

Three minutes later, Paul was standing in front of the attractive light brunette, who was seated on the middle of the couch while impatiently patting the wooden brush’s flat back against her left palm. “Do you have a humble request for me, my naughty reprobate with the glowing glutes?” she demanded.

His face flushed even more deeply. “Ummmm, please ma’am, put me…across your lap…then give me, uhhhh…a long, hard spanking…on my bare…babyfat…bottom…with your hairbrush.”

Brittany’s face dimpled in delight. “My, what a polite request, I’ll certainly have to grant it fully for you—IN SPADES, dear boy.”

Which, of course, was precisely what took place over the following twelve minutes, with Paul held in a restraint position—right wrist turned upward and pinned to the back of his waist by his pretty chastiser’s left hand, while her right leg was locked into place across his lower thighs—as his openly-exposed posterior was steadily plastered by the punishment brush’s wide, flat back, as wielded by a well-conditioned star tennis player. She predictably concentrated her blistering-hard swats atop his `sit spots,’ which I could tell were going to be quite raw and blazing once his corporal correction was finally concluded, and he almost immediately found himself wriggling his hips, kicking his calves and bawling rather babyishly. Her victim had ceased struggling and had been reduced to merely moaning softly by the ten-minute mark of his extremely emphatic over-the-knee walloping, but Brittany still continued whacking his quivering, maroon-hued nether moons for another two minutes before she finally ended his corporal comeuppance.

“Wow,” Marcie murmured almost reverently, “Look at that purplish-red glow, right on the bottom of his flaming-hot bottom.”

Pia nodded pensively. “You might as well keep holding him right there, Brittie, while I get an ice pack from the infirmary. Once we’ve stopped any serious swelling, then he’ll need some aloe cream rubbed deeply into the roughened skin of his poor hiney.” She flashed a tight smile. “Fortunately, his rump is amazingly resilient, so there shouldn’t be any true damage, but he’ll have a prickling-warm feeling back there for at least the next few days.”

My cousin’s lower back was being gently massaged by his strict punisher, while he struggled through his sniffling tears to regain a touch of composure after he’d been released from being restrained. “That’s the whole idea,” she noted calmly, her brown eyes twinkling merrily, “That our girl-teasing, bad little boy will remember this lesson, and how I made his precious rear sting and throb to teach it to him, for a very, very long time.”

Paul’s behind was undoubtedly still `hurtin’ for certain’ the following afternoon, in spite of the night-before healing ministrations of his feminine co-workers, when I managed to sneak up behind him and plant two smarting slaps upon the seat of his Carolina blue swimming suit. He was standing up while watching the pond during swimming time, which I hardly found surprising given the obvious soreness of his posterior, and he yelped sharply as my palm connected solidly to each muscularly-rounded buttcheek in turn. “Owwwwie-ouuuuch!”

Erika and Belle, who were standing directly to his right, giggled gleefully at my handsome cousin’s pained reaction. “Paul, you just got your sweet fanny smacked,” the blonde tittered teasingly, “Miriam was spanking you!”

My smile was smug. “No, those were just playful love-pats,” I explained breezily. “This young man doesn’t truly get his buns toasted.”

“Really,” Belle inquired doubtfully, “So he doesn’t ever get that tender tushie paddled good and hard?”

My head shook in seeming sincerity. “Nope, not at all—he’s never been spanked, and he never will be…”

{The End}