Spanking In Front Of The Mirror: Stepfather Punishes Naughty Stepdaughter
Summary:
Mr. Vantender takes a look at his credit card statements. They also show 684.19 euros for clothes. Shortly afterwards, his stepdaughter Amber is already wriggling over his knee.
Spanking In Front Of The Mirror: Strict Daddy Confronts Naughty Girl
I knew that he would find out sooner or later. I had hoped for later. Much later. Maybe never. But there he was. In the doorway. The credit card statement in one hand, the other in the pocket of his gray suit.
His demeanor was calm, but ice-cold. As always when he was really angry.
“Sit down,” was all he said. His voice was calm, controlled – and even more intimidating than shouting.
I sat down on the edge of the sofa, instinctively pulling my knees together as if that could hide my guilt. I was only wearing tiny shorts, a tight crop top and my white Nike socks. None of that helped now.
He held out the bill to me. “Six hundred and forty-eight euros and nineteen cents. For… what exactly?”
I pressed my lips together. “Clothes.”
“With my card.” I said nothing.
He looked at me like a judge. He walked slowly to the mirror on the wall, a tall standing mirror in the hallway. He turned it slightly so that I could see myself in it – sitting, small, convicted.
Then he pointed to the stool in front of it. “Stand up. Stand there.”
I hesitated, but then I stood up. My stomach tightened. I walked barefoot on the wooden floor, my white tennis socks silent. I stood in front of the mirror. My reflection looked like a defiant, cheeky child. Shorts just above my butt. The posture stubborn.
He sat down on the stool. His voice was deep.
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“You’re going to lie down now. Over my knee. And you’re going to watch.”
My heart was racing. “What?!”
“You know exactly what you’ve done. And I’m going to teach you never to do anything like that again. Come here.”
Angry Man Puts His Girl Over The Knee
I stood there rooted to the spot.
He grabbed my arm, not brutally, but firmly. In two quick movements, I was lying over his knee. The cold rigor of his tailored suit under my stomach, his strong hand on my back.
My face turned directly towards the mirror. I could see everything – my round bottom as it bulged above his thigh. How small I looked. How vulnerable.
I struggled briefly. “Daddy… please don’t be like that…”
“You’ll watch,” he said. “From start to finish.”
His hands gripped the waistband of my shorts.
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“No!” I shouted. “Don’t-”
But he pulled them down. Slowly, firmly. First over my bottom, then over my thighs until they dangled above my ankles. My briefs – pale pink, tiny – stretched over my bottom, which was now bulging upwards without protection.
I bit my lip. The mirror showed everything. How my face turned red. How my bottom trembled.
Then I felt it. His fingers on the waistband of my panties. He pulled them down. All the way down. Without a word.
My breath hitched.
I saw my naked bottom in the mirror. Bright, soft, exposed. It was now completely unprotected. My gaze wandered to his face. No expression of lust. Only severity. Judgment. Decision.
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Stern Disciplinarian Bares Trembling Bottom
“Look closely,” he said. And then came the first blow. Loud. Hard. His hand landed squarely on the center of my left buttock. I flinched, a short, high-pitched sound escaped me.
Second blow, right. Even harder. I sucked in a sharp breath. It burned immediately. Then a third, right across both cheeks. I shrieked out.
“What did you do?” His voice was calm, firm.
“I… I took the card…” I stammered. Smack! “Without asking!” Smack-smack!
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My buttocks began to dance. I saw them jump up with every smack, jiggle, turn red. It was cruelly obvious. Embarrassing. I could see every detail – how my legs wriggled, how I squirmed and still couldn’t escape.
He continued to thrash. Harder and harder. Evenly. Left, right, center. Again and again. The heat spread, then the stinging. I bit my wrist to keep from screaming.
“You wanted to be an adult, right?” Smack! “Then you’ll be responsible too!” Smack-smack-smack! “You think I’m enjoying this?” Smack!
I was crying now. Tears were running down my cheeks. In the mirror, I saw my tear-stained face. And underneath – my bright red bottom, twitching, trembling, wriggling with every smack.
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Firm Hand Makes Bare Cheeks Bounce
“Tell me, why are you getting this punishment?”
“Because… I… took… the card…” I wailed.
“And?”
“Without asking…” He briefly put his hand on my glowing cheeks. I flinched.
“Then we’re not done yet.” He reached beside him. The black hairbrush was already there. Heavy. Hard. Smooth.
I turned my head. “Please… not the brush…” But he didn’t speak again. Only the next smack broke through the air.
The brush hit my right bottom. Then the left. Fast, precise, merciless.
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Smack! Smack! Smack! I screamed. Not an act. It burned like fire. The blows were not rhythmic – he varied. High, low, on the sides, in the middle. Always new hits. Always new agony.
My legs twitched, my toes curled up in my white socks. I was kicking. But he held me tight.
I couldn’t believe it, but I saw in the mirror how my bottom was getting darker – from pink to deep red. And the brush danced on it like an instrument of education.
Then it stopped.
I gasped for air, my face all wet.
His hand rested on my glowing bottom. He rubbed my hot cheeks for a moment, slowly, testing. Then he squeezed. I moaned – not out of pleasure, but pain.
Merciless Daddy Sends Cheeky Thief In The Corner
“Maybe you’ll remember that better now,” he said quietly.
His hand wandered over my thigh, then to the inside. I tensed up. But he just held his hand there. Calmly. Finally.
Then he let me stand up. I wobbled, my legs trembled. The shorts and briefs slipped to the floor of their own accord. I didn’t reach for them.
“Against the wall,” he said. “Nose in the corner. Hands on your head.”
I hobbled to the wall. My butt felt like it was on fire. I stood with my nose in the corner, hands clasped over my head, heart still pounding.
“You stay like that now. Ten minutes.”
I dared not argue. I could feel his gaze on my bare, red bottom. I knew that this was exactly how I was supposed to stand. That it was part of the punishment – to be seen, to feel ashamed, naked and small.
And it worked.
The tears kept flowing.
I knew I deserved it. But I also knew – I would never touch his credit card again.
Not without asking. Not without knowing what to expect.
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