Copyright 1999 to <mijita@thetreehouse.net>. Please respect this copyright. Don't distribute or archive this story in any way except for personal use without explicit permission. No, it's not in the public domain. Ask first, okay? Thanks.

This is the second part of the story I delurked with. And who says I never finish anything? <grin> Comments are always welcome. Just keep in mind please that this is a work of fiction rather than my take on good child rearing. ;)

Thanks to Ron McIngle, who never seemed to forget I hadn't finished this. :)

The Marks She Earned (part 2: 'Hard Choices')
by Mija

[. . . continued from part 1]

Without speaking, he drew me over his lap, this time taking time to position me carefully. My shame deepened as his hands shifted my bottom higher still so my hair brushed the floor.

"Teresa, right now I'm going to punish you for being so lazy last semester. You have no excuse. You don't work, you have no-one to care for but yourself. Your only job is going to school, right?"

I nodded.

"Right, Teresa?"

"Yes, sir."

"Right now you're going to get your payment for your laziness."

SMACK!

The paddle came down on the dead center (well, if it wasn't dead before, it sure was now!) of my left bottom cheek. I heard my own cry, loud in the room as the paddling rhythm continued, my left hand pinned in the small of my back as my bare feet rose off the carpet and kicked and struggled.

My brain held onto twenty-five as the magic number - he'd stop then. He always had.

But twenty-five came and went, became thirty-five. My crying became deep throated howls as he paddled the back of my thighs. My panties flew across the room as I kicked harder still.

"No-no-no please, Daddy!"

The paddle smacks continued until long after I'd lost count, my hair sticky in my mouth. Finally I heard the paddle drop to the floor. My weeping continued and I made no effort to rise.

"Stand up, Teresa," said Daddy as he lifted me to my feet. My hands flew back under the silk, trying to rub away the sting.

I wiped my eyes as Daddy absently hugged me, still obviously upset with me. He took my hands in his.

"Your mother and I are terribly disappointed in you, Tessa."

I gulped on my tears and swallowed hard.

"Your screwing around at school would be bad enough. But - for shame - lying about your grandmother to your teacher! How could you bear to look her in the eye at Christmas?"

I hadn't really thought about it before. I mean, it wasn't like I'd been wishing her dead or anything.

"I - I - I - dunno. Please, Daddy, I'm sorry! I just panicked and needed an excuse."

"You mean you didn't want to face the consequences of your actions so you lied, right? And then yelled profanity at me when it came time to be punished?"

I shifted my weight from foot to foot, trying alternately to hide one behind the other. Things seemed so serious I just wanted to scream and run out of the room. But where could I go? This was my father. I thought longingly of the ocean and diving in and swimming until there was nothing left of me and I sank. (Okay okay, well, melodrama is sort of my thing.)

There was no answer to give him, so I covered my face with my hands and started to sob. Deep, womanly, almost-real soap opera sobs.

"I'm so so so ashamed, Daddy. I swear never to do anything like this again."

Peeking through my fingers I breathed a sigh of relief that Daddy seemed moved. Soon it might even be okay to pout a bit. I remember him from my childhood as very eager that I not stay sad or sulky after a spanking.

He reached out, gathered me to him and hugged me tight.

"Shhhshhhshhh, mi'ja," rocking to and fro. I let my sobs continue, the tension of the past hour draining into them. Finally, as I quieted, he pulled me away and looked at me sadly.

"You know you need still to be punished for lying."

My head jerked up.

"W-w-what?" I could only stammer, my anger starting to rise along with my fear.

My father shook his head sadly. "You've only been spanked for your schoolwork. We need to deal with the lying yet."

"But-but, Daddy, please! I'm really really sorry. I won't ever ever lie again." (And get caught.)

My voice rose to a pitiful and painful whine.

He seemed to consider for a moment and I did my best job looking pitiful, small, and, above all, sorry.

"You mother and I discussed what would be fair."

Memories began to ping in the back of my mind. Something about the words 'fair' and 'hard choices'. Nothing pleasant could come of those thoughts, that's for sure.

"On the one hand, we think you aren't mature enough to be away from home. We're worried about your well-being here -"

I felt my throat tighten. To have to move back home in disgrace, spanked like a little girl again. Tears pooled in my eyes.

"Please-please-please, Daddy! Let me stay!"

He continued as if I wasn't even there.

"- tradition would indicate that you should be with your family -"

"I'll do anything, Daddy, really! I promise."

"Still, we do want you to have the chance to grow up, and to study at the best schools you can. Do you want to stay here?"

Hadn't heard me? Sheesh!

"Yes, yes, yes please, Daddy." I stared at the knees of his slacks, feeling suddenly unsure, the quiver in my voice real. "I know I want to stay. This is where I belong."

"I was going to take you home with me tomorrow."

Dear God. I was standing before my father, panty-less, barefoot, with a bottom that I was sure was bright red under my skirt. Home was a place that had no appeal for me at all.

"I want to stay."

He nodded and I breathed a sigh of relief. He paced a bit.

"Yes, that makes sense I guess. But your mother and I, we need to be sure your behavior will change, that you won't lie and embarrass us again."

"I promise." My voice was firm. Clearly honest.

He nodded again. "Yes, that's good."

I nodded too, ready to hug him again.

"Of course, there's no way to know if you're telling the truth, or if you'll remember your promise. Because you lied to us, Tessa. Not just to your professor. You lied to all of us, every time we asked you how classes were going."

The tears were back. My eyes are like faucets that way.

"And, if you expect to stay here, you're going to take the consequences of those lies."

I backed away a little bit. But he came no closer.

"And you're going to ask me to punish you. So I know you're really sorry."

What? I froze and swallowed hard.

"A-ask you?"

He said no more, just nodded at me.

The heartbeat in my ears deafened and my mouth was completely dry. My hands itched to reach under my skirt and rub the sting from my bottom and thighs. Hard.

"If you can't ask me, I'll assume you need to come home with me. And we'll go pick your things up at your room in the morning."

My mind thought desperately about reprieve.

"Can I wait until tomorrow?" I cajoled. My father is rather traditional in many ways and thus somewhat susceptible to female wheedling.

He shook his head sadly. "No, mi'ja. Decide now."

I shook my head a little, unable to think clearly. He finally seemed to realize this and led me to the corner of the room where he positioned the chair facing the corner. Ignoring my already-toasted bottom, he ordered me to sit. I winced.

"Sit there then, Tessa, until you can tell me your decision. It's past time you learned to make hard choices. I'll be in the bedroom when you're ready to talk to me. But if I hear you get up and you don't come in, well, I'll know the answer and we'll head for home."

I crossed my arms and swung my legs a little, not caring that I was hardly presenting an 'adult' image. (I mean, like when you're sitting in the corner after having been spanked, looking like an adult is hardly at the top of your agenda, ya know?) Darn him anyway! He had to know I didn't want to move back home. But to ask, ask for a spanking? I shook my head, sat and swung my legs.

Now, I don't know how many of you have had to sit in a corner after having been spanked. (Don't even look at me like that. I know at least some of you have!) But it gets really boring. I stared at my toes, noting that the polish still looked pretty good. But how long can you do that sort of thing for? Plus, sitting there sort of hurt. The chair was covered with some flaxy-looking woolly stuff that seemed soft at first, but as I sat caused my bare bottom and the back of the thighs to sweat. And then the evil stuff prickled. Squirming did not help. I decided hell was a lot like this.

Then I realized I needed the bathroom. And you know when you think something like that, you really need it. I whispered "fuck" under my breath. (I mean really under it. I could hardly hear myself say it. And even that seemed too loud. I was one spooked li'l puppy.) But there was really no choice. I had to get up to use the bathroom. And I had to talk to him to get there.

As I knocked on the connecting door, I felt my chest squeezing and my breath coming in short gasps. He didn't answer, so I started to knock again as he pulled the door open. My father stood there, right in front of me.

"Did you want to tell me something, Tessa?"

Yeah, like get out of the way so I can get to the potty please!

I shifted nervously from leg to leg, fighting to keep from holding myself like a little kid. Speak up, dummy, I shouted inside my head.

"Teresa Marie? Are you playing games?" My father crossed his arms, eyeing me with disdain. I longed for the freedom and bravery to swear aloud.

Without warning my chest seemed to speak.

"LookokayI'mreallyreallysorry. PleasepunishmeDaddy." Look, I was amazed it was talking. I didn't ask it to try and speak clearly.

"I'm sorry, Tessa, I couldn't quite understand you. What do you want?"

Dear God! Was he teasing me? This is sooooo insane.

"I'm really really sorry, Daddy. Please, please punish me."

There was silence as the words hung in the room. And the pause, at least to my too-full bladder, seemed endless. I clamped my legs together against a small trickle.

"Are you sure, Tessa?"

I took a breath that sounded like a ragged sob, feeling moisture between my legs, my eyes pricking as I realized I'd need to tell him.

"Yes, yes please please, Daddy!" I broke down and clutched with both hands through my skirt, feeling the silk soak up my involuntary release. "But please please can I go to the bathroom first?" This childish loss of pride made me start crying again and my eyes squeeze shut. I didn't hear him answer, but felt his hands on my shoulders as he lead me blindly through the bedroom to the bathroom. I stumbled in and shut the door, humiliated as I thought of what he'd seen, yet too relieved at finally being in a bathroom to think too much.

Finished, I tried to dry my dress with a towel (not really effective if you really must know), wiped the floor with tissues, washed my face, and finally came out. I knew I looked ghastly, tearstained and damp (and, okay, like none too sweet smelling either). He sat on one of the beds, a duffle bag in front of him, looking up when I came into the room.

"I want you to take a shower and get ready for bed." I started to stammer about not having clothing as he pulled some cotton stuff out of the duffle bag and tossed it in front of me. "Your mother packed for you." A comb, brush and toothbrush joined the pile. "There's already shampoo in the bathroom."

I gathered the pile without thinking and returned to the bathroom, first putting my wretched dress to soak in the basin. (Of course I also took a look at my bottom, admiring with a weird awe the blotchy pinkness. Then I stepped under the shower. You know, as scared as I was, I don't think I ever enjoyed a shower more. Every part of me felt clean as the hot water thudded down and down. My dread of the coming punishment didn't hurry me along either as you might guess.

Hanging my dress to dry, I toweled off, brushed my teeth and combed out my hair. The panties and pajamas my mother had sent were ones I'd gotten for Christmas, but deemed too childish to take back to the dorm. Pink flannel with yellow ducks. How old did my aunt think I was anyway? The panties were the sort your grandmother would pick out (and mine had). White and serviceable with serious coverage in the back and strong elastic at the waist. Oh well, if I get to keep them up, that could turn out to be a good thing. I was grateful for the soft cotton at any rate.

I came back out to the bedroom, decidedly cleaner. My father had turned down the bed and put two pillows in the middle. He stood when I came out. Being barefoot and seeing him standing there, I felt shy, shamed and much younger than nineteen. We stood there and stared at each other for a long time. He looked at me and nodded, seeming to like the new PJs and my cleaner face and hair. If he noticed the love bite, he politely ignored it.

"I'm really sorry, Daddy. Really I am."

He nodded. "Tomorrow you'll call your mother and apologize. Then, as far as we're concerned, assuming you get the required work done to get an adequate grade, the matter is closed and we won't speak of it ever again."

I heaved a deep sigh of relief.

"After I punish you for lying. As you requested, of course."

My heart started thudding again. Harder and faster.

"Kneel in front of those pillows, take your pajama bottoms and panties down to your knees, and bend over."

So much for keeping the panties up. I scrambled to obey as he walked to the closet. Still, despite my promise to myself to make this go as easily as possible, it was still hard to take them down. My hands trembled and back arched as I pulled them down over my bottom. It took an extra tug to get them to my knees. I'd already dropped myself over the pillows to save some small modesty, the air cooling my bottom in a way that was weird, but not unpleasant. Still, I nearly stood up when I saw him walk back carrying a leather strap.

"Daddy? Please, I thought you'd just paddle me. . . ." My voice trailed off as I realized it didn't matter. I wasn't going to move back home. He could punish me with the paddle or strap or anything else. I'd made my 'hard choice' already.

He stood holding it, doubling and wrapping it around his right hand. My father paused at my words and asked if I'd changed my mind. I shook my head and, pressing my face and elbows to the bed, raised my bottom. I heard my breath sob in my throat. Suddenly I was overwhelmed with remorse, thinking of how embarrassed my parents must be. My knees spread just a bit as I braced for the strap.

"How many?"

My father's words startled me. He was asking me? The weird thing was, I already knew the answer. Between my father and me it would always be twenty-five. That was what my heart somehow expected.

I heard my voice lisp, "Twenty-five, Daddy." I couldn't see him nod, but knew he did, knew the number was somehow magic for him too.

"They'll be hard, but you be a good girl and they'll soon be over." As he spoke, the leather strap seemed to caress my bottom, its cool flexiness tap-tap-tapping against my skin. I felt my muscles clench against the pain to come.

That moment seemed to last forever (yes, I know I'm taking a long time telling it too) and then WHAP! The strap struck full across the middle of my backside. I sucked in air, surprised at the difference between it and the paddle. There was a sting, but the pain was deeper. Any musings about it ended as the second landed, just below the first. I tried to rise but felt my father's hand on my back.

"Stay still, Teresa Marie."

I sobbed a little, my bottom rising still higher as he pushed my shoulders further into the bed. By the time the fifteenth stroke cracked across the top of my thighs I was howling into the pillow, sure I'd never sit again. Ten more, my brain told me. I tried to kick my legs, but the pillows and my PJs stopped me from moving much. As the strap landed again my howls sort of melted into childish sobbing. I couldn't even resist the pain. Instead it washed over me and I gave myself into crying and wiggling like a little girl.

My father finished fast. He was no easier with the last of the strokes, but no harder either. At twenty-five he stopped and I heard him return the strap to the closet. I didn't move, just laid there with my face buried in the pillows, finally reaching back to pull up my panties and pajama bottoms over my sore backside. The skin felt thickened and hot and I cried and cried into the pillows. My father sat down next to me and drew me to him. My sobs increased in depth and volume as remorse washed over me.

"I'm sorry, Daddy . . . tell Mommy I'm sorry," I whimpered, my sobs all but drowning out my words.

"Shhhhh shhhh, mi'jita. Such a brave girl. I'll tell her. But you will too. Tomorrow morning before breakfast."

I snuggled close to him as he drew back the sheets and comforter and slid me beneath. He stroked my hair. I felt so tired, like I'd been awake for years and this was the first night of sleep I'd had. I fell asleep rocked gently, to his words planning out the next day.

"Then we'll go have breakfast and I'll drive you over to talk with your professor. It'll all work out, mi'jita Tessita, you'll see."

Sure, I thought drowsily. I just need to talk to my professor. . . .

The End . . . for now.

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