Bride spanked by her father on her wedding day
St. Micklehurst church was not a very fashionable church. well used. The vicar liked to think it served the community, and, looking at the church filling up nicely for Charlotte Stemple’s wedding with Roger Turnbull, only one small cloud marred the serenity of his well¬being. Would the wretched girl turn up this time? For goodness sake, the girl was no shrinking violet. At age 28, she’d already been married twice. Once at 19 and the marriage had barely lasted 3 months. Then at 23 when she confessed that “he was the one”. And that lasted a year. Along the way, she’d picked up 4 step-children plus 2 of her own. And they were all waiting patiently in the church for the entrance of Sophie Stemple.
“Well, Sydney, do you reckon that it’s going to be “‘third time lucky?” enquired the vicar of his organist, as the latter reached the end of “Amazing Grace”. On the previous two occasions during the last six months, Charlotte had had a change of mind.
“God knows!” replied Sydney gloomily, as he hopefully slipped the “Wedding March” onto the music stand. “If I was a betting man, I’d lay you five to one against!”
Meanwhile, back at the house.
“I’m not going! I’m not going through with it, and that’s final!”, pouted a stroppy Charlotte.
Wearily William Stemple, raised his eyes to the heavens, and hoped that it would all go away. Surely, it couldn’t happen again. He’d be the laughing stock at Rotary. And as for his pals at the golf club! He had always thought of himself as a rational and caring human being, who was fully aware that weddings, especially for women, were emotional and traumatic affairs. But his only daughter was 28. On her 3rd husband. Well she would be if he could get her to the church. Her future husband was going to need a firm hand The previous two certainly couldn’t control her.
But now she was close to finding out that her father was getting close to the end of his tether. And he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising, and his hand itched to do his infuriating daughter a painful mischief.
Fifteen minutes to the wedding, damn it. Her mother already in the church, as doubtless the groom, Roger was. The wedding car on its way. (Ding Dong). That would be the wedding car. Striding to the door, he opened it. The chauffeur, resplendent in grey uniform and peaked cap, saluted and said, “The lady’s carriage awaits”
Rushing to the door, and almost pushing her father to one side, she said, “I’m not going”
Taking one look at the ravishing Charlotte her wedding gown which had cost her father, goodness knows how much. And it wasn’t the same one she had had when she had called it off the last time, or the time before! In dazzling white chiffon, the lacy sleeves only emphasised her tanned upper arms, and the bodice was cut low and tight in front, forcing her large firm breasts to mound above and barely keep her nipples hidden. The waist was tightly pinched, and the skirt flowed from there out over her womanly hips She looked tempting and radiant — and here she was, throwing a wobbly and bleating, “I’m not going!”.
Her father took a deep breath and counted to ten. “It’s pre-wedding nerves, my dear, everybody gets them. As soon as we walk up the aisle and you see Roger, you’ll be as right as rain!”
“Well that’s where you’re wrong” said Charlotte, “Because I’m not going!”
William was against quick marriages, arranged marriages, in fact, he was beginning to think, any marriages at all! However, Charlotte and Roger had been living together for 18 months, and it was Charlotte who periodically had this erratic and short lived desire for wedding bells. And he’d been through this with the previous two husbands. But he could not fathom why Roger forgave her for standing him up like this, not once, but twice, and he was damned if he was going to let Charlotte do it a third time. The expense was crippling.
Gently he pointed out how her mother had gone to tremendous trouble to make this day a memorable one. Making the bridesmaids’ dresses, trailing round endless shops to find the perfect wedding dress. Organising the reception. Inviting the guests. The guests! If they went home disappointed yet again he’d be the laughing stock of Rotary!
“You do realise that we could still be eating iced wedding cake at Christmas, don’t you?” he said desperately. “Not to mention that huge ham. It won’t keep, you know?”
“Oh, for goodness sake, don’t be so dramatic”, snapped Charlotte, “How can you be so mercenary at a time like this? My whole life hangs in the balance, and all you can do is go on about how much the bloody wedding cake cost!
“What I want you to do!” exploded her father, “is to do the decent thing by that Roger, who has the misfortune to love you and your kids. You’ve lived with him now for 18 months, damn it. You’re no virgin!”
To which Charlotte, equally exploded, “Right that’s it the wedding is off. I’m taking a flat with MY kids. And you can stick the cost of the wedding where the sun never shines”
And she tore off her white veil and went towards the stairs, looked back and spat out, “I’m out of here
So you can just get lost”
Seeing red, and for the first time in his hen-pecked life, William did something which even startled him.
Anything do to stop his daughter’s selfishness would, he felt, be good for the family’s honour.
“We all make mistakes, he said softly, “And this is something I should have done ages ago and it’s not yet too late. Call it an early wedding present if you like.”
“But I keep telling y going to be a. . .“ Charlotte started to say. Before her father caught up with her, closed his hand firmly around Charlotte’s slender wrist. And then sitting down on the settee, he tumbled the disbelieving 28 year bride over his knees. As he slowly and deliberately lifted the skirt of her wedding dress and the long, satin underskirt, he continued, “And you are not going to or charm your way out of this because if there was ever a headstrong, selfish, little bitch it coming, it’s you, Charlotte Evonne Stemple”
He inserted his thumbs into the waistband of the gorgeous white silk Janet Regar French knickers, and peeled them over and down his daughter’s womanly hips and curvy bottom. The chauffeur still standing at the door had an appreciation of the ivory suspender suspender belt and white sheer stockings. The white lacy tops contrasting with her tanned upper thighs. And all set-off to perfection by the white high heeled shoes.
“No ...o!” Shrieked Charlotte, “What are you doing! Have you taken leave your senses? I’m twenty eight years old, and this is my wedding day”
‘Oh, that’s news to me”, thought William, cynically taking his time over the pleasant task of gently smacking the full, round, bottom, so beautifully positioned over his knee, as he answered. “What am I doing? I’ve just come to my senses, that’s what I’m doing. As you rightly point out, you are twenty eight years old, not thirteen. But if you act like a teenager in a tantrum then I’m going to treat you as one, and smack your bottom. My only regret is that I didn’t do it ten years ago, and every month thereafter!”
The last words were said with such authoratitive conviction that Charlotte fell silent, open mouthed, for a moment, but it was merely a prelude to his launching forth into a fusilade of hard, punishing smacks that landed with stinging force on the soft, prominent target of her bottom. The sound of the slaps echoed around the room, and their impact turned the milk white of the full-moon cheeks to a satisfying pink, through to a fiery red. The fierce smart to Charlotte’s buttocks made her cry out, not only with pain, but also with rage and humiliation. Being spanked at 28? She wasn’t a child. And yet she was and in front of the chauffeur who was loving every minute She screamed and squealed, she begged and swore. She wriggled and squirmed across the black trousers of her father’s morning suit. trying to ease the stinging pain, and to somehow escape from it. Her father pressed his free hand more firmly into the small of her back, above the scooped up petticoats. The punishment continued. Tears flowed down Charlotte’s face. This was a new experience for Charlotte. Used to getting her own way with her father and previous two husbands..
Stop!.. . Please stop!” she sobbed.
But her father’s hand continued to fall remorselessly. Charlotte’s tears flowed in an ever increasing stream, as she became convinced that her ill-treated rear end was one glowing, red hot agony that would ignite into flame at any moment. William, for his part, was having a field day! All the repressions, all the frustrations of twenty eight years, plus, he was taking out on the deserving buttocks spread across his thighs.
When the rain of stinging slaps ceased to fall, Charlotte hardly noticed, so great was the smarting to her scarlet buttocks. She hung limply over her father’s knee, an extremely well-spanked young lady indeed.
“Well,” said her father. “Is the wedding off, or on? Or, to put it another way, has your bottom had enough, or not?”
“I want to get married!” sobbed Charlotte dismally. “Anything is better than this!”
“Good, now go and freshen your face up,” said William, and glancing over at the chauffeur, “We’ll be another few minutes and we’ll be on our way”
Charlotte scrambled to her feet, retrieving her knickers from around her ankles, and wincing as she pulled the silky material up over her aching bottom. Obedient to her father’s command of ‘Smartening yourself up’ she set about the task of repairing her make-up, and combing her hair.
And then despite the ordeal that Charlotte had suffered, she still looked surprisingly lovely. And when she stood at the alter no-one was wiser. Apart from her father and one lucky chauffeur!