Kylie’s Foolish Fumble
Kylie scrambled for her cell phone with trembling hands to make the call she was dreading more than any other. Ever. The flash of red and blue lights and activity all around didn’t help her frayed nerves one bit.
“Hi … Dad?” she barely whispered as she choked back the raw emotion of the moment.
“Kylie? Are you okay? What’s wrong, honey?”
“I-I was in an accident …”
“Oh my God! Are you okay? Are you hurt? Is anybody with you? Are you –”
“I’m okay. Just some cuts and bruises. But –” Kylie burst into tears before she could give her dad the details.
“Where are you?”
“In front of the Kinko’s on the south side of campus.”
“Ma’am, we need to talk to you and get some information about the accident,” interrupted one of the officers at the scene.
“Dad, I’ll call you back. The police need to talk to me.”
“Okay, but call me back as soon as you’re finished. We’re worried sick over here.”
“Okay. I love you,” Kylie replied hurriedly.
“I love you too, Sport.”
She just wanted to hear those words back one more time before he blew his top.
Kylie gave the officer all the details about the accident. Except the fact that she didn’t see the van in the lane she moved into because she was texting. But when she watched the paramedics pull a young boy out of the van she slammed into on a stretcher, she thought the guilt of her foolishness would crush her.
How would she tell her parents? More specifically, how would she tell her dad? He had given her very strict rules about using her cell phone while driving after a boy from her school was killed in an accident not far from their neighborhood. It rocked the school because the boy’s mother was a MADD activist, having lost her little sister to an accident involving a drunk driver. She had spoken to their school once about the dangers of driving drunk.
But when the investigation revealed a long thread of texts just before the accident, including a partially written text, investigators concluded that he was probably mid-text when he ran the red light, killing himself and severely wounding the other driver. Not only did this news raise awareness of the dangers of kids being distracted with cell phones while driving, it prompted her parents to take a more proactive approach to keeping Kylie safe. Gone were the days when drinking and driving was the primary worry of parents.
So afterwards they discussed new rules and made it really simple: No picking up her cell phone while the car was in motion for any reason and no talking on the phone while driving, unless she was using the blue tooth they had given her. They figured that as long as she obeyed those two rules, they wouldn’t have to worry about enforcing a long string of specifics, like no looking up people’s numbers while driving, no texting, no surfing the Web, etc.
Her father later added, after she forgot her cell phone in the car on several occasions, that she was to keep it in her purse or backpack while driving. He also knew this would reduce the temptation to become preoccupied with her cell phone at every red light. He could never understand kids’ obsessions with cell phones anyway. To him, his phone was a necessary evil to be endured, but to Kylie it was her lifeline to the world around her.
To compound her pain, Kylie realized that because she lied in her statement, she would need to lie to her dad too. She hadn’t considered that until the insurance rep on the phone told her that she would need to get a copy of the accident report. She was sure her dad would want to see a copy of that, to her great dismay.
The interviews with the police, followed by a thorough checkup by the paramedics, seemed to drag on forever. When the paramedics told Kylie they wanted to take her to the hospital, she flatly refused. An argument quickly ensued, but Kylie was unyielding. She just wanted to call her dad and ask him to come pick her up, so she could go home.
“I don’t want to go sit in some ER for eight hours when I know I’m fine. I can –”
Just then she saw a very familiar silhouette running toward her from the parking lot.
Kylie’s father, Ron, ran up to her and held her in his arms, causing her to dissolve into a emotional heap. She hated that he had that effect on her, having been a rough-and-tumble tomboy her whole life. But there was no fighting it. She just let go and let his strong arms support her.
He explained to the paramedics that he would take care of things from here. They tried to persuade him, but Kylie thought to herself, Yeah, good luck with that. There was no persuading her father when his mind was made up on anything. She learned that many times over herself — usually over his knee. Watching her dad shut Frick and Frack down was the only bright spot in the tragedy she found herself embroiled in.
After looking over her quashed Corolla, inquiring about the driver and injured boy, and getting information about what hospital he was being taken to, he wrapped his suit jacket around Kylie and led her to his car. Twilight had tumbled into night over the course of the traumatic events that had transpired and completely interrupted Kylie’s world as she knew it, and it was getting dark and chilly out. Little did her father know, Kylie was shivering more from nerves than the air temp though.
Kylie’s father mused to himself how and when he would tell her that seven-year-old Jordan most likely suffered a broken leg from the impact. He knew she was going to feel horrible. Deciding to wait on that, he told her, “Call your mother when we get in the car. She’s got to be going out of her mind right now.”
“Okay,” Kylie said knowingly.
The Truth Comes Out
Kylie reached for her cell phone and pulled it out of her purse. A quizzical look washed over her father’s face when he saw what appeared to be scraped paint on the back side of her cell phone. “Kylie, what happened to your cell phone, honey?”
“What do you mean? Nothing,” she answered in a baffled tone.
“Lemme see it.”
After taking the phone from Kylie, he held it under the light by the car. There indeed was a scrape on the back side of her phone, with a gash in the middle. “Kylie, what have you done to your phone? We just got that for you a couple months ago.”
“I don’t know, Dad! I’ve never seen it before … It must have happened in the accident.”
“Where’d you have it that it went flying? Why wasn’t it in your purse, where it belongs?”
Just then it was as if headlights appeared out of nowhere and stunned Kylie into an unrecoverable silence. Her mind was racing, and her pulse soon caught up. Several possible scenarios ran through her mind that could easily explain why it wasn’t in her purse. But then she thought to herself, What if he doesn’t believe me and looks to see if I was texting?
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t look him in the eye and lie to him. And even if she could, it wouldn’t matter. He knew that if she hesitated in answering his questions, she was either about to lie to him or get as close as possible to it without crossing the line. And half truths had always been punished as severely as lies in her family.
“I was holding it in my hand, sir.” Kylie’s dad knew by the “sir” and the fallen eyes that there was more to the story. And he set his mind to getting to the bottom of it.
“Sounds like we need to talk, young lady.”
“Yes, sir,” Kylie whispered meekly.
Kylie knew at that point all resistance was futile. Part of her was scared out of her mind, but the other 90% was relieved her dad’s thoroughness saved her from adding to her guilt by lying to him like she did the police. His training as a forensic accountant enabled him to discover all implausibilities in any story, and she was caught in more than one lie before coming to the conclusion that he would outsmart her every time. And she was just a terrible liar, thanks to her parents instilling the fear of God about lying from an early age.
“Let’s get a coffee and talk. But first you need to call your mother to let her know you’re okay. For now, that is.”
Kylie didn’t like the sound of that nebulous threat at the end. She knew it was probably going to be a long time before she would get her car back. And, knowing her dad, he was going to make her work off every dollar of whatever it would cost to get it repaired. Doing everything he knew she hated most.
After getting off the phone with her mom, they walked into the Starbucks she always camped out at when studying for exams. Kylie nervously looked around for any sign of friends when they walked inside. She could hardly believe he picked the Starbucks closest to campus to grill her and get to the bottom of her foolish decisions. But it shouldn’t have surprised her too much. He knew how to break her down, and the first thing he’d take aim at was her pride. Once that deck crumbled, she was putty in his hands.
As soon as they settled at their table, the questions started to fly. Kylie confessed to texting her friend and pausing only momentarily to move into the right lane when the car in front of her stopped to make a left turn. In her distraction, she didn’t notice the van in her blind spot and sideswiped it, forcing it into a parked car on the side of the street.
“Kylie, I’m very disappointed in you,” her father said sternly, paralyzing her with his severe gaze.
Those were the words Kylie dreaded to hear most. Involuntary tears started to stream down her cheeks, and the activity in the room faded to black in her mind. All she could focus on was her father’s words and the toxic combination of pain, disappointment, and anger in his eyes. As much as his words stung, she wanted to embrace them. Just holding her secret for a little over an hour gave her an appreciation for a dad who could cut to the chase with mind-boggling efficiency. And she knew her dad loved her, even if he looked at the moment like he could kill her with his bare hands.
“What did the police say when you told them?”
Kylie fell completely silent.
“Young lady, answer me.”
Words escaped her. Her mind instead wandered aimlessly, disabling her from pulling together a single coherent thought.
Realizing she was spinning her wheels in the mud, he broke the silence. “You didn’t tell them, did you?”
“No, sir.” Her eyes remained fixed on her latte.
“Did you just withhold that detail, or did you lie to them?” he interrogated.
“You will answer my question immediately, young lady!” The strength of his voice reminded her that they were now the audience of several tables around them. As if they wouldn’t have already been able to tell she was in trouble, judging by the tenor of their conversation and her shamefacedness.
“I l-lied to them, sir.” Kylie’s stomach turned.
“I’m speechless. Disappointment isn’t a strong enough word to describe how I feel right now,” he scolded. “You broke your promise to me, made a foolish driving decision that endangered your life and the lives of others, injured a young boy, and lied to the police. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I-I’m ashamed,” Kylie answered quietly, hoping that would satisfy him. It didn’t. When she mustered the courage to look at him, he raised his eyebrows in expectation of a more thorough response.
“I wish I could take it all back and do it over,” she said, pausing to choke back tears and regain composure. “I can’t believe I was that stupid … I’m sorry, Dad.”
There was no cordoning off her emotions at that point. She was sincerely sorry for disobeying him, and she couldn’t brush the tears away fast enough to keep from fascinating those sitting around them who had now become fixated on this endearing father-daughter interaction. Little did she know, she was the envy of most in that room that day since attentive fathers are far and few between.
“I forgive you, but that won’t be enough this time.”
“I know. I’ll work off the money to fix the car –”
“You’re darn right you will. But that’s not going to be enough either. Had you just caused an accident with a stupid decision, maybe. But not with breaking your promise to me and then lying about it to the police.” His repeated emphasis on the word “lying” made her feel criminal.
Now Kylie was really scared. She couldn’t imagine what he had in mind and was too afraid to say a word. Once her father’s interrogation was over and he had all the details he needed to make his decisions about punishment, there was no room for discussion. He was the one who did the talking, and it was best to listen carefully, answer quickly but honestly, and not argue.
“Although you will not see your car the rest of this semester, that’s not severe enough to teach you the lesson I want to make sure you get from this disaster.”
Kylie could hear her heart pounding at a quickened pace. And she became painfully aware, once again, of how close the other patrons were to their table and wondered how many people would hear what was to come out of his mouth next. She wanted to ask him to please keep his voice down but knew that would be a death wish at this point.
“When we get home,” her father continued, “you will tell your mother what you did. And you will tell her honestly and without hesitation. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.” She was fixated on his eyes at this point, unable to escape.
“After that, you and I will ‘discuss’ this further in your room.”
“Discuss, sir?” Kylie barely got the words out and already regretted them. She knew there was very little talking in these “discussions,” but she was hoping she was just fearing the worst.
“Yes, young lady. Over my knee.”
Kylie wanted desperately to protest her father’s decision. She was a freshman in college and out on her own. She was certainly way too old to go over her father’s knee. But she knew her dad. She knew from years of experience that if she protested, he would only up-ramp the punishment. So, after a few agonizing moments of speed processing, she just whimpered a barely audible “yes, sir.”
It was the first thing his spitfire of a daughter did that night that made him proud. Since she started arguing as soon as she could form sentences, he knew that decision was evidence of her maturity in at least embracing the punishment they both knew she earned. But nothing in his expression clued Kylie into the pride he felt in his daughter at that moment.
With that, they picked up their mostly untouched cups and headed for the door. The last thing she wanted to do was catch eyes with anyone in the coffee shop but couldn’t help noticing one man looking at her out of the corner of her eye. To her shock and dismay, it was her music history professor, Dr. Schneider. He had the most gentle disposition and voice of anyone she had ever met. He just smiled at her compassionately and winked, as if to say, “Hang in there. This too will pass.” And she wondered if he would notice her squirming in her seat when she came to class the next day.
Home Sweet Home?
After the longest 45 minutes of her life, they pulled into the driveway, having not said a word to each other in the car. Ron wanted Kylie to focus on how she got herself into this mess and how she was going to ensure to avoid it in the future.
Kylie’s mother greeted her with a big hug and a brief once over to make sure there were no injuries she needed to attend to. Then her father directed her to wait for them in the family room while they talked. It was brutal to hear their voices, knowing they were talking about her, and just wait. And wait. And wait some more.
Kylie could see her mother’s disappointment all over her face when she entered the room. But she was surprised that she didn’t yell at her when Kylie told her the details of her indiscretions, just as her father had instructed her to do. In fact, she was remarkably calm and almost empathetic, even as she scolded her and reinforced what her dad had told her. However, she focused on Kylie’s responsibility in hurting the young boy whose life was altered because she couldn’t wait a few more minutes to return her friend’s text. Kylie wanted to crawl under a rock.
After Kylie sincerely apologized to her mother for worrying her and turning everyone’s lives upside down, Ron said, “Okay, young lady, go get the hairbrush out of our bathroom, get ready for bed, and wait for me.” When her eyes caught her mom’s momentarily, she realized her mother’s empathy was due to the severe punishment she knew lay ahead for Kylie. She motioned with her head to prompt Kylie to obey her father and head upstairs to avoid any additional discipline.
“Yes, sir,” Kylie replied, turning her attention back to him. Then she immediately peeled herself up from the safety of the sofa to meet her doom.
Hairbrush in hand, she sat on her bed in her pajamas, straining to hear her father’s footsteps coming up the stairs. She always called it the “walk of death.” She thought the days of hearing those steps were long behind her.
As expected, the footsteps advanced toward her. Slow, methodical, heavy footsteps.
Kylie nervously fidgeted with the hairbrush and struggled to breathe. Just then the door opened, and her father filled the doorway. To her shock, she felt a sudden rush of … relief. As breathless as she was about the spanking she faced, she was relieved to know that her guilt would soon be assuaged.
There were times she actually wanted to ask her father to spank her but was afraid he’d think she was a freak. But she missed the days she could get spanked for her misdeeds, cry her eyes out, receive the forgiveness and comfort that always followed, and then move on.
She even wanted to ask him to spank her for problems she was having as she tried to manage her newfound freedom, like after she tried pot for the first time and almost got caught by campus police. Or when she drove home after having a few too many drinks at her boyfriend’s apartment. So she relished and dreaded this moment simultaneously.
He pulled the chair out from under her desk, sat down, and ordered her to bring him the hairbrush.
It’ll be over soon. It’ll be over soon. Kylie busied herself with these thoughts as her father gave her final words about how much this was going to hurt, then pulled her pajama pants down to her knees. He grabbed her arm and guided her over his knees. Then grabbed her panties at each hip and yanked them down in one swoop.
A shock coursed through Kylie’s whole body. “Nooo, Dad! Pleeease nooo!” The words escaped before she considered the danger of challenging any of her father’s decisions when it came to punishment.
“Excuse me, young lady? Are you telling me how to spank? Perhaps the bath brush would be preferable? Is that what you want?” he asked, shifting his weight as if he was about to get up to get the truly dreaded bath brush.
“No, sir! I’m sorry! … I’m sorry!” she cried, desperate to avoid heightened measures. She clung to the chair to keep him from getting up. And prayed.
Convinced that his daughter was in a better frame of mind to receive her punishment, he readjusted her on his lap, raised his arm well above his head, and brought his hand down on Kylie’s upturned bottom. Hard.
SMACK! Then another. And another. SMACK! SMACK! WHACK! Kylie was pleasantly surprised that he was starting with his hand, even though his large, calloused hand wasn’t much better than the hairbrush. Still, it felt more comforting than any of the other implements she remembered from his arsenal.
WHACK! SMACK! SMACK! The spanks came one right after the other, and her bottom started to blush under the volley of smacks that befell it. He could feel the exchange of heat between his hand and her perk bottom. Even so, Kylie was hanging as tough as she could. It was always her goal to take her spankings as quietly as possible for as long as she could take it. She would tell herself afterwards that if she just started squealing and crying right away, they probably wouldn’t last as long. Even her mother would ask her why she felt the need to try to maintain her dignity in a spanking, when she knew that it wouldn’t be over until it was sufficiently wounded.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! The spanks fell harder, and Kylie began to groan and whimper involuntarily. Knowing she was starting to crumble, her father decided to stoke her conscience by scolding her and asking her questions as he spanked her. Over time his questions became more probing, which caused her concentration to break completely. Soon, the more visceral responses started to flow.
“Owww! I’m sorrry, Daaad! … Ouch! Owww oww owwww! …. I’ll never do that again! …. Oww! Pleeease no mooore! … I learned my lesson, sir!”
That’s more like it, he thought to himself.
“You haven’t even come close to learning your lesson yet, young lady. But you will.” His voice was calm but penetrating.
As much as he hated to have to be spanking his daughter who he hadn’t seen in almost two months, there were few things as precious to him as seeing her will corralled and her pride arrested. He knew this was the best thing for her and that she would treasure the lesson she learned from her mistakes. She always took her punishments to heart and was the picture of broken gratefulness afterwards.
He also understood his daughter enough to know that guilt would overcome her when he told her that the boy’s leg was most likely broken. He learned fairly early on with Kylie that if the punishment was severe enough to fit the crime, she was better equipped to learn the lessons she needed to from her mistakes without sinking into a mire of guilt and regret afterwards.
The Spanking Escalates
With that, he reached over to the bed and grabbed the hairbrush. Setting it on Kylie’s red-hot bottom for a moment, he paused to reinforce why she was being punished. And to give them both a break before the next wave of discipline.
The combination of her father’s scolding and the feel of that cold, hard hairbrush on her bottom was the last straw. Kylie started to sob quietly over her father’s knee.
Ron took note of the total lack of protest that was the norm for his daughter any time a spanking was about to escalate. She just cried and responded “yes, sir” to everything he said. Knowing how much she hated the hairbrush, he was very surprised to see this level of resignation in his daughter, who seemed to inherit his knack for rhetoric and negotiation.
Without further adieu, he placed his left hand on the small of her back, reminded her that any of her signature attempts to block the blows or escape would only earn her more punishment, and started to swing the wooden hairbrush full force against her bright red cheeks. It was fast and unrelenting. And there was little talk. No need. Kylie immediately squealed and howled as it rained down on her already blistered bottom. WHACK! SMAAACK! SLAAAP! WHACK!
“Owwwww! Owww! I’m … s-s-sorrrry … Daaaaad!” she barely eked out between sobs of agony and regret. “Ohhhh! Please … No more! …. Pleeeeease!” But her cries fell on deaf ears. And her attempts to block and rub prematurely were punished with spanks on the thighs, igniting loud screams and hot tears.
“I don’t want to see those hands, young lady! Keep them in front of you – do you understand me???” he reprimanded as he spanked.
“Y-yes … s-s-sirrrr!” Kylie cried, immediately pulling her hands back in front of her. “Owwwww! … Noooooo! … Please no more! … I w-w-won’t disssobeeeey you ever again, sir!”
After another two solid minutes of uninterrupted spanking, Kylie’s father pulled her panties back up and ordered her to stand in the corner. Kylie stood up and bent over to pull her pajama pants up, when his voice stopped her in her tracks. “Who said you could pull those up?”
Kylie stopped herself before even reaching her pajamas and froze for a moment, afraid to move and upset the delicate equilibrium. “No one, sir,” she admitted, begging him with her eyes not to do anything she would regret. “I’m s-sorry, Dad,” she said in an effort to distract him from any thoughts of making corner time worse.
“Get in the corner, NOW!”
“Yes, sir!” Kylie vowed in a panic. And then shuffled toward the corner as fast as she could with pajama pants wrapped around her ankles.
Ron admired his handiwork as he looked at the bright red cheeks peeking out of Kylie’s white, high-cut boyshorts. He continued to scold her about breaking her promise to him, threatening her with much more severe consequences if she ever tried a stunt like this again.
He also raised the bar and told her because she had been so irresponsible, she was not allowed to even talk on the cell phone while driving when she was allowed to drive again at all. Not even with her blue tooth. If she needed to talk to someone, she would now have to pull off the road.
Kylie knew these new restrictions were going to be tough — and embarrassing to explain to friends — but she also knew she was in no position to negotiate. And her father would never consider a plea bargain after the fact. He might as well have been chiseling these new rules in stone.
She used to be annoyed by all of her parents’ rules and her dad’s strict enforcement of them until a friend who never had a father told her how lucky she was to have one. She loved coming over and spending the night and used to tell Kylie it was like walking onto the set of Leave It To Beaver. She was very respectful to her parents and ate up any attention she received from her dad.
“Okay, come over here,” he said, snapping her out of her thoughts.
Finally, she thought to herself. She could hardly wait to climb on top of his lap and feel his strong embrace. But when she looked at the spot on the bed he was leading her to, she noticed two pillows arranged near the edge of the bed.
“Bend over,” he instructed Kylie, pointing to the pillows.
Despair washed over Kylie at the thought of more discipline, when she thought it was over. But she was too stunned to utter a single word. She just obediently positioned herself over the pillow on the edge and grabbed the pillow in front with both arms, clinging to it for comfort.
When she heard the clanking of metal, she looked up to see her father slide his belt out of his belt loops. “This, young lady, is specifically for breaking your promise to me. If there’s one thing I want you to take away from this it’s your integrity is the truest measure of who you are. I haven’t asked you to promise many things. So when I do, I expect you to keep them. Have_I_made_myself_perfectly_clear?”
She turned her head away and tucked it in her arm, trying in vain to suppress the tears that spontaneously started to flow. Without hesitation, he pulled her panties down with another firm tug. Then his thick belt thundered down on her bottom, which was now held in an easily accessible position by the pillow beneath her.
Ron knew his belt was cutting into her bruised flesh, causing welts to appear almost as soon as he retracted the belt. But he wanted to make sure his point about keeping her promises stood out from the other points he was “driving home.”
He took note of the time and told her she would experience five straight minutes of his belt. But three minutes into it, he had to dial back the intensity of the strapping because she was crying so pathetically. Her cries were heartfelt, and he was touched that she never asked him to stop or told him she had learned her lesson. She just kept telling him how sorry she was that the broke her promise and disappointed him. And promised to never do it again.
Her sincerity and brokenness affected him so powerfully, he couldn’t continue. Shortly before the 3.5-minute mark, he put his belt back into its holster and told Kylie to pull herself back together.
Kylie continued to sob uncontrollably as she gingerly bent over to pull her panties and pajama pants back up. When she stood up, her long, brunette curls were in a heap, and rivulets of mascara-stained tears streaked her face. She looked humble, broken, and very well punished.
Put to Bed
“There, there. It’s all over now,” he said, gently pulling his daughter onto his lap. As much as it hurt to sit on anything, there was no place as comforting as his lap after a spanking. She sank into his strong arms and wept tears of pain and overwhelming relief.
After her crying subsided, he told her that he was sending her to bed to encourage her to think about what she had learned so that she would be sure not to ever repeat this mistake.
Returning the pillows to their original spots, Ron pulled back her comforter and sheet and Kylie carefully climbed into bed and positioned herself on her tummy. She clung to the pillow that had been her only comfort just moments before. The wet spot on her pillow served as a reminder of the hot tears she had just cried. She forgot just how much she missed that feeling of broken penitence she had always treasured from her childhood spankings.
“I’m proud of you, honey, for the courage and maturity you showed in how you took that spanking,” he said as he rubbed her back, just as he always did after a spanking when she was little. “But I hope we never have to do this again.”
“Me too,” Kylie weakly replied. But her unconvincing response was not lost on her astute father, who tucked it away to muse over later.
“You get some rest now, Sport. We’ll have to leave early to get you back to school.”
“Yes, sir,” she answered.
After her father walked out, Kylie wanted desperately to get out of bed to check out her punished bottom. She could feel the welts from the belt and hardened flesh from where the hairbrush had blistered it. She imagined that it was probably six shades of red against the white backdrop of her panties.
But, as tempting as it was to check out her father’s handiwork, she wasn’t curious enough to risk stepping on one of the loose floorboards and inviting her father back into her room for round three. So she decided wisely to just savor the warmth of her radioactive backside and the memory of being taught a well-deserved lesson she was sure she’d remember to her dying day.
After a good hour of reviewing the events of the day and committing the new rules her father set for her to memory, Kylie drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Read the sequel, Kylie’s Nightmare Continues.