Countdown to 2012, Day Six: The Holiday Party

Today’s post is a special treat,  a guest post by Barrister Larry!  It’s a great story and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.  Since it’s a bit different from my usual fare here, I’ll just mention before you read that this is a fictional account of a young girl being spanked by her father.  If that isn’t your cup of tea, you might want to search the archives for something else to read, but you’d be missing out 😉

Callie hadn’t wanted to come to the party.  It wasn’t actually a party, at least not as she  understood the word.  There wasn’t going to be any dancing.  There wasn’t going to be any pizza.  And, worst of all, there wasn’t going to be anyone her own age there.  She’d told her parents that there wouldn’t be anyone there her age, but they assured her that she was wrong.  She knew she wasn’t, but her father had insisted that she accompany the rest of the family to this God-awful Christmas party at the home of his college roommate, Henry.  And what kind of name was “Henry”, anyway, Callie mumbled to herself as she trudged up the snow-dusted walkway, trying to pretend that her twelve-year old brother, Kevin, wasn’t part of the family.

At fourteen, the last thing Callie wanted was to be seen in public with her family, a group of people to whom she was convinced she wasn’t related at all.   She must have been left on the doorstep in a basket – of this she was sure.

Henry was still a geek and proved it once by saying the same thing to Callie that he did every Christmas, the only time of the year that he ever saw her.  “My, you’ve grown, Callie.  You’re getting to be quite the big girl.”  This was accompanied by a hand on her shoulder giving her a squeeze, something he’d taken to doing the last couple of years.  He gave her the willies the way his eyes stared at her chest while his hand hung on her shoulder.  Callie slid out from under his hand and moved into the living room which already full of chattering, punch-sipping adults.  The absence of any non-adults confirmed her worse fears.  The kids were, once again, being relegated to the family room in the basement for a “kids’ party” as Henry had called it last year.  Callie fervently hoped that, at fourteen, she was finally old enough to remain upstairs with the adults.  To further this goal, she headed towards the buffet table set up in the dining room and away from where her parents were mingling in the living room.

“Callie!  Come on.  We’re supposed to be downstairs.”  Her idiot brother was tugging on her sleeve as he stood there speaking in a loud, squeaky voice.

“Go away, worm!  I’m staying up here.  And keep your voice down.  The whole room’s staring at us.”  She punctuated her hissed words with a hard shove to his shoulder which propelled him towards the stairs to the family room.

“What’s going on here?”

Callie froze as she recognized her father’s voice.

“Dad”, Kevin squeaked, “she won’t go with me to the kids’ party.  She says she’s staying up here.”

“No, she’s not.  Now get going, both of you.”

“But dad, I’m fourteen now.  I’m not a little kid anymore, and besides, those brats downstairs are all gonna be really young.”

“This isn’t a topic for discussion, young lady.  Kids go downstairs and adults stay upstairs.  That’s how it is.  If you know what’s good for you, you’ll bite your tongue and get downstairs.  Have I made myself clear?”

He had.  Callie knew the warning signs – the tone of voice and the signal words, “young lady” and “if you know what’s good for you.”  Painful experience had taught her that she ignored these signs at great peril to the health of her bottom.  She shot her father a brief look and shoved Kevin out of her way as she headed for the stairs.

She was right.  The family room was full of little pukes, not a one older than twelve and most considerably younger.  Callie huffed over to the kids’ buffet table, a pale imitation of the one upstairs, and grabbed a Coke and a plateful of chips and planted herself in a corner to sulk.  Kevin found several other kids around his age who were playing a video game and left his sister to stew.

As the party dragged on, Callie became increasingly restive.  For the most part, the other kids left her alone in her corner.  One younger boy had approached her, pre-teen hustling on his mind, but she sliced him down to size with a few well-chosen words and he slunk off quickly.

Growing more bored by the minute, Callie glanced around to find her brother.  Satisfied that he was engrossed with his game and wouldn’t notice her absence, Callie eased her way to the stairway and went back upstairs.  Spotting her father in the dining room where he was animatedly  discussing something with a large group of people, Callie headed for the stairway to the second floor, hoping to find a vacant room with a television set where she could wile away the rest of the party.

As she got to the top of the stairs and was turning to go down the hallway, the bathroom door opened and her mother came out.


“What are you doing up here?  You’re supposed to be in the family room.”

“I had to go to the bathroom.”

“There’s one down there.  You know that.  What are you really doing up here?”

“Nothing.  I’ll go back.”

“Get a move on.  If I see you out of the basement again, I’ll tell your father.  You know what that’ll mean, don’t you?”

Callie certainly did.  Her dad’s rule was one warning and then punishment.  In Callie’s house, punishment almost always meant a spanking and on the bare.  The last thing she wanted to have hanging over her head the rest of the evening was the prospect of a spanking when she got home.

She sighed loudly and dramatically and said, “Yes, mother”, as she headed back down the stairs.  As she passed through the living room and turned towards the basement stairs, she saw her mother whispering to her father who turned and gave Callie a meaningful look.

Back in the basement, Callie grabbed another Coke and some more chips and slumped back into her corner after first evicting some scrawny ten year-old girls who had taken up residence.  “Beat it!”

Time passed so slowly that Callie thought she was in church.  She was sure that her watch had stopped, but it hadn’t.  Around ten o’clock, the noise level upstairs was so high that it was even managing to compete with the noise from the twenty of so kids in the basement.  Surely she’d be able to sneak back upstairs successfully now with so many people and so much activity on the main floor.  She was sure that most of the adults would have a nice buzz on by now and not be interested in her or where she was going.

Once again, she got out of the basement without her brother noticing her departure.  She was right about the state of the main floor – it was packed and she could barely squeeze through to the stairs to the second floor.  Even the stairway had people on it talking and drinking.  Callie negotiated the maze of people, found a spare bedroom with a television, closed the door and turned on the set, keeping the sound low and the light off.  She settled into MTV, content at last.

She didn’t even hear the door open, but the increase in volume of background noise caused her to turn towards the door.  She couldn’t see who it was at first – it was only a dark silhouette  against the hall light.  Then the room light was flipped on and she saw her father standing there.  Her stomach lurched and she reached out to turn off the television.

“Let’s go.  You’re going back down to the basement.”

Callie stood and headed for the door.  He stopped her as she passed him by taking hold of her arm and turning her to face him.

“You were warned once.  You know what that means, Callie.”

Her green eyes filled with a sudden rush of tears.  She knew.

“But Daddy, I wasn’t hurting anything.  Those kids down there are little punks.  I’m too old…”

He cut her off.  “That’s enough.  You knew what the rules were.  You knew you were expected to look after your brother – beginning and end of story.”  You were warned.”

These last three words were pronounced slowly and distinctly, like a sentence from a hanging judge.  She knew she was doomed when she got home.

“Let’s go.”

Callie reluctantly let herself be tugged along by her hand, down the stairs and through the milling crowd on the main floor towards the basement staircase.  Her mind was spinning with the unfairness of being led by the hand like a little kid back to the children’s party.

She was too old to be treated like a baby.  Then something snapped inside of her.  Halfway down the basement stairs, she grabbed the handrail, dug in her heels and refused to go any further.

“No!  I’m not going back down there!”  Her voice was shrill and loud.

The massed faces of the younger children turned towards the stairs, the noise level dropping to near silence.  All of their nascent instincts told them that “something” was about to happen.  Kids have a knack for knowing such things and they knew in their hearts that something big was about to happen.

“What do you mean, no?”

He pulled hard at her hand.  “Move it, young lady.”

“I won’t go down there with those twerps!”

“You will, or else.  I’m warning you Callie Jane.”

All reason was gone from her.  She knew she was in for it when she got home and she didn’t care anymore.  Part of her was out of control and the rest of her could only look on in horror at what was happening.  She sat down on the stairs and refused to move.

“This is your last warning.”

She hunched forward and ignored him.

Without another word, he bent down, wrapped his strong arms around her waist and lifted her off of the stairs.  Her shouted “No!” was preceded by a collective gasp from the roomful of kids.  This was really getting good and had a lot of potential as far as they were concerned.

Carrying Callie under his arm like a sack of flour, he moved down the rest of the stairs and into the family room, the sea of kids parting before him as if he were Moses.  Callie was crying out and pounding her fists against her father’s legs as she struggled to free herself from his iron grasp.  One of her shoes went flying as she kicked her legs and her short party dress was flipping to and fro revealing lots of nylon-clad flesh to the ogling eyes of the prepubescent throng.

He arrived in the middle of the room with his flailing bundle and stopped at one of the straight-backed chairs on which the kids had been sitting, playing games.  Still keeping Callie under his left arm and against his hip, he sat in the chair and, with one deft move, flipped her on her belly and over his lap.

Callie finally realized what was happening and that it wasn’t going to wait until she got home.

“Please, Daddy, no!  Not here!  Not in front of them!”  Her voice was strained and full of panic.

He ignored her pleas as he pulled her right arm behind her back and clamped his right leg over her still-kicking legs rendering her as immobile as if she had been tied in place.

Aside from Callie, there wasn’t a sound in the room.  The other kids had unconsciously formed a semi-circle around the seated tableau, eyes staring, almost holding their breath.  They couldn’t believe what they were about to see.  They couldn’t believe their luck.

Callie was begging desperately now, a pure panic in her voice which sounded much more like that of an eight-year-old rather than the near adult she had believed herself to be.

“I’ll be good, Daddy!  I’ll be a good girl!  I promise!  Please!”

He reached down with his right hand and pulled the hem of her party dress up over her waist until there was nothing covering her bottom but her panty hose and her little red panties.

Callie struggled even harder, but to absolutely no avail.  She was near to hysteria now, her pleas more like sounds than words.

“Not on the bare, Daddy!  Not on the bare!”  Her words were choked off by a terrible sob as she felt his hand begin to ruck her panty hose and panties down over the swelling slope of her buttocks until they rested just above her knees.

“It’s always on the bare” was all he said.  With no further comment, he lifted his arm and began to give her bare bottom a spanking with his iron-hard hand.

The cracking sound of his hand against the flesh of her bottom sounded like rifle shots on the first day of hunting season – loud, crisp and distinct.  It was the only sound in the room except for the growing sound of Callie’s sobbing.  It had been a long time since he’d given Callie a handspanking   Once she’d turned ten, he’d changed to using a wooden hairbrush and his belt.  She was shocked at how much his hand hurt.  As his hard hand continued to smack her cheeks, she groaned with pain and humiliation, her bottom rapidly turning from pale cream to pink to deepening crimson.  Some of the spanks hit her upper thighs leaving hand prints on their silky smoothness and causing her to shriek each time.

Some of the younger kids were almost crying themselves, so obviously painful was the spanking.  They were, no doubt, reliving similar incidents in their young lives.  The older boys, especially those around the age of twelve, had inched closer to the spanking chair, eyes glued to Callie’s  bottom and other nearby areas that were revealed from time-to-time as she struggled.  An explosion wouldn’t have budged them from their vantage points.

The spanking went on until Callie was past all struggling and her sobs and pleas had blended into one continuous keening.  When he realized that she was broken and compliant, he gave her several more hard spanks to solidify the lesson, then pulled her off of his lap and stood her in front of him, her panty hose and panties still around her knees.  She frantically rubbed her blazing bottom under her short skirt, which had fallen back down, until he slapped her hard on her thigh.

“You know the rules.  No rubbing.  Now into the corner over there, just like always.  You know the rules.  You’re to stand in the corner holding your dress above your waist for a half hour.  Don’t you dare rub your bottom or let that skirt fall.  I’ll be back down for you when your time is up.  I’ll expect Kevin will report any breaking of the rules while I’m gone.”

Callie thought about disobeying him, but the spark of rebellion that had flared so brightly a little while ago had gone out and she shuffled towards the corner, holding up her skirt, her coltish legs hampered by her panties and pantyhose.  When she got to the corner, she put her nose against the join of the walls, as she always had to do, causing her glowing bottom to jut out like a beacon towards the middle of the room.

As he climbed the stairs, her father stopped, turned his head and said, “When we get home, you’ll get the usual strapping.”  Callie shuddered in her corner as the other children moved closer for a better look.  One boy’s voice said loudly, “so, who’s the little kid now?”


This story is copyrighted by Barrister ( and is not to be reproduced or archived in print or electronic format, except for one copy for personal use only, without the express written consent of the author.  Without restricting the generality of the foregoing, the following is expressly forbidden without the author’s express permission:

  • archiving on any pay or free access WWW  or FTP site;
  • posting to any USENET group;
  • retransmission to any listserv or other mailing list;
  • retransmission to more than one other individual via e-mail;
  • giving or making available in any manner whatsoever in print to more than one other individual.

If you have any doubts about any use you wish to make of this story, please contact the author by e-mail.  I apologize for having to be so legalistic about this, but past events have shown the need to be crystal clear about what can and can’t be done with an author’s work.

Thank you and enjoy the story.
Barrister (


About Em

A 30-something spanking aficionado and all around good girl :)
This entry was posted in Countdown to 2012, fiction, guest post. Bookmark the permalink.

11 Responses to Countdown to 2012, Day Six: The Holiday Party

  1. Barrister says:

    Thanks, Em, for giving me the opportunity to corrupt a whole new group of readers.


  2. lunargirl says:


    Best thing that’s happened all day. 🙂


  3. Mindy says:

    Enjoyed this story. Very well written, Barrister Larry.

    Thanks for posting this, Em.

  4. Mija says:

    Wonderful Larry! 🙂 I wish I’d thought of getting you to write some blog entries for me. In fact, if you’re not busy….

  5. Barrister says:

    Thanks, Mija. I don’t have the energy for my own blog – too much pressure to produce – sorta like work – so I’m loaning my self to other’s blogs for guest appearances. If you have a story of mine that you recall, I’d be happy to share with your blog readers, too.

  6. Poppy says:

    Larry, you are a talented, clever, wonderful man!
    I loved your story

    • Barrister says:

      Thank you, your Poppyness. Coming from a writer such as you, who writes exquisite prose herself, it is a wonderful compliment. xxx

  7. Em says:

    Larry – You are quite welcome, but really I should be the one thanking you (again) for allowing me to share your story! Any time you want a place to post something you are welcome here.

    Lunargirl – Did throwing the tantrum work? There is something wonderful about starting or ending your day with a good story, though, isn’t there?

    Mindy! So glad you liked it 🙂

    Mija – Trying to steal my guest posters… someone should spank you for that. 😉 Perhaps with that hairbrush you were mentioning, until you cry?

    Poppy, he is rather wonderful, isn’t he?

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