CHAPTER 1

 

As Tammy entered the house she could hear her mother sobbing in the kitchen.

"The old devil's at her again," she muttered to herself.

Well, she had now turned 18 and she wasn't going to stand for any more of the old devil's nonsense. She flung open the kitchen door and saw Berger, his face red from the exertion of the thrashing he was giving her mother, his leather belt dangling from his rock-hard hand as he paused between the strokes to catch his breath.

She was well acquainted with the hardness of Berger's hand. It was an experience she was unlikely to forget. Friday nights were especially favoured for Discipline, although when he thought the occasion warranted, other nights were also given over to the practice. The slightest reason, whether justified or not, for being put across his lap, having her knickers pulled down by him, her plump globes exposed and feeling his hardness press up between her thighs prior to receiving a hand-spanking, was an opportunity he did not neglect.

His wobbly beer-belly overhung the waistband of his tight trousers which he always pulled up high. As was usually the case when her mother was getting the belt, Tammy could see his erection straining and the slowly spreading stain on the darkening cloth of his crotch.

He was standing at the far side of the table, his mouth working in a wild frenzy, his little eyes gleaming. Her mother, Hester, wearing the usual dirty loose-fitting smock, her "learning-smock" he called it, holding it pulled up high at the back, allowing her pendulous, flabby breasts with their fat nipples to swing loosely like a cow's udders, was bending face down over the edge of the table as she quivered in front of him.

Hester's moans were muffled by the hanks of her long streaky blonde hair that he insisted she must not have cut. Tammy knew he liked to wipe his dripping tool on the hair after he had finished with her mother at night. Hester had confided as much in her one day and almost immediately had regretted making the confession. That, Tammy knew, was partly the reason for the timidity of her mother's demeanour. Some people, Tammy reflected to herself, were born losers, but she was determined she would never be one of those.

The belting must be worse than usual, Tammy thought. As she came through the door, she sought her mother's eyes for some sign indicating the severity of the punishment she was receiving, but all she could see in them was the customary nervous plea not to pass any comment that would make matters worse.

"Tell your daughter what you did," ordered Berger, her stepfather.

Hester turned her tear-streaked face towards Tammy.

"I b-b-burnt the kippers for your father's tea," Hester blubbed. "I was distracted by a ring at the door by th-th-the man who calls every Monday for the insurance," she went on, "and the k-k-kippers got burned."

Berger sneered as he wound the leather belt tighter around his wrist.

"Expect me to believe that? He gives it to you every week, doesn't he? That's why you get tarted up on Mondays, isn't it? Tell her how many strokes you've had so far," he ordered.

"T-twelve, Vic." Hester sobbed. "Please, Vic, it won't happen again. Honest."

"Honest! The only thing that's honest about you, you bloody cow, is feelin' y'r bum stinging now. An' it's not over yet. You know that, don't ya?"

"Y... yes, Vic. I know that."

"Right. Get back across that table and we'll carry on with it!"

With a little whimper, Hester spread herself over the edge of the table, clenching her cheeks as tightly as she could. She knew Berger liked to see them tight. Made a better target, he said. "Tight bum is fright bum," he always sniggered.

Tammy could see her mother's striped bottom quivering, waiting for the next stinging slash of the belt. She wondered if it was true her mother let the insurance man have it. Certainly she had often wondered why the woman went pink when insurance was mentioned. And there was never anyone else in the house on Monday afternoons.

And if it really was true, what was wrong with it, Tammy thought. After all, people were either male or female with corresponding urges. Nobody ought to suffer for it.

Before she could stop herself, Tammy blazed up.

"Leave her alone! You should be reported for this," she shouted.

Berger looked at her, astonished. He ran his white-coated tongue over his lips.

"Did YOU say something?" he asked. "YOU?"

It was too late to retreat now.

Tammy nodded. When she spoke it came out like a little squeak.

"I said leave her alone."

A grin came over Berger's face.

"So you're volunteerin' to join her, are ye? Well, I ain't gonna argue. Take them knickers off and get across the table beside her. Just because y've turned eighteen don't mean ye c'n talk to me, y're step-Daddy, any way you like. Me, what married y'r mother to put a crust in both yer mouths. You think you can talk to me any way you like? Oh, no. Not to me you can't. And don't you forget it. Now off with them knickers."

"I'm sure she didn't mean it like that, Vic."

Hester's frightened little voice shook as she spoke.

"Shut up, bitch! Unless, o' course, it's another twelve on top ye're waitin' for? Wha' d'ya say to that, eh? I was gonna give ya just the other half, but if you want twelve extra ... Or maybe your arithmetic ain't so good, eh?"

"Sorry, Vic. Sorry. Just the other half. Sorry, Vic."

Hester couldn't stop the fear in her voice showing.

The belt rose and came down with a 'Crack' on Hester's loose, wobbling cheeks.

"Ow! Vic! VIC!"

The belt cut into her again.

"Count, bitch! You know the drill!"

"Vic! Ow, Vic! Two," she sobbed.

Berger sneered. "I knew you couldn't count. You starts at one regardless. Understand?"

"Yes, Vic. Y ... yes. Sorry, Vic. Please, Vic. One."

Tammy, lying over the table next to the woman, felt her mother's body jerk as the belt cut into the older woman's bum again. Soon, she knew, Berger - the man she had to call "Daddy" - would start thrashing her. And she knew it would be a very painful experience. It always was. Mum told her so.

Like the time he had walked into her room one night and caught her playing with herself.

"Wankin', eh? I'll teach you to wank."

He had pulled her out of her warm bed when she was about to come. Trembling, she was. Not so much from fear of the belt, but from the feelings of pleasure she had brought on herself. Tearing her nightdress, her favourite "shortie", from her sensitized flesh he had laughed brutally as he saw her terror.

"So you wank at nights, do you? Answer me."

"No, Daddy."

"Lying to your Daddy isn't going to help. You're a wanker, aren't you? Say it. Say it - unless you want the thrashin' of y'r life."

He had spoken so viciously she had to admit it.

"Yes, Daddy. Sorry, Daddy. I'm a wanker."

He had then pulled her into his lap, face down, tugging off his leather belt as he did so.

"You're gonna get it hard and strong, little cow," he had whispered in her ear bending down over her. "Not for wankin' - oh no. For LYIN'. Understand?"

"Y ... yes, Daddy."

And then the thrashing had started. Stinging, vicious cuts that made her shriek.

Her flayed bottom had stung for days afterwards. Each time she tried to sit had reminded her of the treatment. Even the heat of his cock as she kissed it as her penance still burned the palm of her hand.

Shuddering, she could see her stripes afterwards on her bottom by standing on a chair and looking in the mirror on the wall. Seventeen black, sullen stripes she had counted. Seventeen.

When she showed her friend, Amanda, the marks two days later at school, Amanda had been envious.

"I wish my Daddy would do the same to me," she said. "All he gives me is a telling off."

Now, as each cut bit into her mother's bottom, Tammy, lying on the table beside her, felt the woman's tense body jerk up and down. The scream that followed each stroke was deafening. Tammy's mouth went dry. Could it be worse than last time? she wondered. Maybe he would be so tired after belting her mother that he would call it off for the day? Perhaps he would even let her off altogether?

Then she remembered the time she had given him the wrong change by accident a few weeks ago. She had lost two one-penny pieces on the way back from the supermarket. Fell through a hole in the pocket in her knickers, she thought. She was too young to use a purse, he'd said. She'd been meaning to sew that hole up for some time, but somehow hadn't got round to it.

But he wouldn't listen to any excuses. He had dragged her across his lap and spanked her on her bare bottom with his hard work-stained hand. Like a child, she thought, resentfully. Just as though she was a young child that needed a lesson.

And then he'd given her mother the belt, "just to make sure she didn't get any ideas," he'd said. After that he had left both of them, Tammy and her mother, sobbing, rubbing their sore bums, while he went out to the pub. She had been more careful about money after that.

Now she was going to get the belt again.

A strange thrill ran through her. The belt! There was something about the belt ... something ... The thought of the belt started her juices flowing. She felt a hot dampness spread between her thighs, weakening her, bringing a tingle - 'down there', she called it. Every nerve twitched. She wondered whether her mother secretly welcomed the punishment.

The belt! Was it really so bad as her mother always said, or did she ... well, did she really enjoy it? She, Tammy, was a grown woman now and was going to be treated like one. She was going to have the belt.

"Stand up, bitch!" Berger's harsh voice cut through her thoughts.

For a moment she thought he was speaking to her, but immediately realized he was talking to her mother.

"Pull down that dress of your'n. Sick of the sight of that fat striped bottom of yours a'twitchin' and a'quiverin'. Now watch your daughter get hers!"

Hester, her shoulders shaking, tears streaming down her cheeks, hastily stood up and pulled her smock down with trembling hands to cover her raw-red bleeding backside.

"No, Vic. Yes, Vic, I mean thank you, Vic. I shan't forget. Next time whoever it is 'll have to wait. Your food comes first."

Vic Berger gave a grim laugh.

"An' if he wants a bit of the other, tell him to go and get his own. You're mine, see?" Hester gulped. "Now for the kid," Berger went on. "First of all, what are you doin' here? Want some like y'r mother, eh?"

A tremor went through Tammy. In spite of her determination not to be intimidated, the thought of the thrashing frightened her.

"No, Daddy. I've just come from school. My last day and you told me I mustn't be late so I came straight home." She could barely speak.

Vic grinned.

"Last day, eh? Reckon that calls for somethin' special. Somethin' to mark the occasion, eh? Y're a big girl now. You needn't think y're gonna spend half the day in bed doin' whatever it is you do in bed. Wankin', isn't it?" He leered at her.

"No, Daddy. I don't wank anymore."

Best to agree with the old sod, Tammy thought. He was still excited from using the belt on her mother.

"Reckon you better get a job quick," he said. "Bring some money in. Give me some f'r a change. Anyway, what's happening about that young feller o' your'n? What was his name? Carl? Somethin' pansy like that."

"Yes, Daddy. Carl. He's ... well, his mother wants him to ... "

She stopped. She knew Vic wouldn't hesitate to use the belt on Carl if he thought he could get away with it. Carl's own father was dead so there would be nothing to stop him putting Carl across the kitchen table, too.

She found the thought excited her. All three of them together.

She was shocked to find she wouldn't mind that. Carl really was rather a wet but he was all she could get at the moment. She doubted if he had ever had a full erection, too. She hadn't been able to make it go stiff, really stiff.

Something to do with his never having been spanked as a kid, perhaps? He still called his mother "Mummy", and "Mummy" was always afraid if he didn't eat sufficient he'd catch cold! Always fussing about wearing his scarf and making sure he didn't overstrain himself. Things like that.

"Mummy" didn't know Carl used to let Tammy hold his "thing", though. He used to ask her to kiss it. Stupid little "thing". White, wet and droopy. Not like Bert Austin's. At least, that's what Tracey Baxter, the school's No. 1 player, always said. Bert's was wicked, Tracey said.

One of these days, Tammy promised herself, she'd put Carl's little "thing" right inside her mouth and give it a suck. Good and hard! Draw him out. That'd show Tracey Baxter. Bet she'd never done THAT!

"His mother wants him to do what?" Berger's voice made her jump.

"She ... she ... wants him to..."

"What?"

It was too late now. She'd have to tell him.

"She wants him to become... " Tammy stopped again, licking her lips that had suddenly gone dry. Then she whispered. "...become a hairdresser."

Berger gave a roar of raucous laughter.

Tammy hurried on.

"She says there's a lot of money in it, you see. And as he hasn't got a father, she thought, what with tips and all that, he'd be fetching in good money while he was learning."

Berger raised the belt.

"That's enough about your Carl. Count," he snarled.

The first cut bit into her like fire.

"One!" she shrieked.

She heard the knocker on the front door bang hard, three times. Her heart sank. That meant the next-door neighbour, Miss Primross, an elderly, nosy spinster, had heard the noise coming from the kitchen and had come to complain.

"I'll go, Vic. ... If you like."

Hester was unsure whether to answer the door or not.

Berger nodded. "Tell 'em I'm engaged. Call back later."

As Hester left the kitchen, the second stroke flashed into Tammy's bottom.

"Two!" she screamed.

Over her agony she heard voices at the door.

"Oh, Miss Primross! Well, Tammy's getting her first proper belting, you see."

Did she have to tell the nosy old woman everything? Tammy thought.

Footsteps sounded in the passage.

No, Tammy shivered, don't fetch the nosy old moo in while I'm like this!

"Vic, it's Miss Primross. She said she wanted to see you."

"If I'm interrupting anything...?"

The elderly spinster was clearly hoping she was. Hoping to see exactly what she was seeing. Tammy across the table being thrashed, her knickers down round her ankles and Mr Berger using the belt.

"Come in, Miss Primross. Just settlin' a family matter. Take a seat. Shan't be long."

Miss Primross fluttered. Her bright little eyes sparkled behind her glasses.

"Oh, Mr Berger, don't stop because of me. I'm sure you have a great deal to do."

The belt came down on Tammy's exposed bottom again.

"THREE!"

"Dear Mr Berger. So like my father." Miss Primross had a high-pitched voice that went with her appearance. Tall, thin, steel-rimmed highly-polished spectacles that glinted, a flat concave bosom with no curves that rose and fell as she breathed, especially when she was excited. Her thin nose twitched when she found something to interest her.

"My Daddy used to spank me, too." Miss Primross was practically drooling. "So did Mummy. Many's the spanking I got when I was naughty. Like the time when I was caught stealing from Mummy's purse. I wanted to buy a gob-stopper, you see, but as I hadn't any money, I thought I'd get some from Mummy's purse. Oh, my! Mummy used a hairbrush that time. My little bottom - Daddy used to call it my "bum-bum" - but then, of course, he was a man and men are allowed to say such things, aren't they, Mrs Berger?"

Hester gulped and nodded.

"Yes. They are."

"Oh, Mrs. Berger. I wonder if it's better to have a hairbrush or the belt?" Her flat chest was going up and down quickly. "Which hurts more? Do you know? You've got that nice dress on. Is it new?"

New? You old cow, Tammy thought. Of course it's not new. And you know it. It's what Mummy has to wear when she's being thrashed. And you know that, too.

Hester was spared from replying as Miss Primross chattered on.

"Please don't let me disturb you, Mr. Berger. I'm sure you have a great deal to ... "she giggled in a highly-pitched tone girlishly, "... see to."

The belt rose and fell across Tammy's flaming rear again.

"Four!"

Miss Primross giggled again.

"She has to count, has she? How sensible of you, Mr Berger. Which do you recommend, Mr Berger, the hairbrush or the belt? I do like to know these things, you see."

The sharp sting was bad enough, but the shame of Miss Primross seeing it made it worse.

"Five! O-o-o-oh! A-aah! Six!"

Tammy couldn't hold back her tears any longer. Tears brought on by the belting. Tears of shame, and of absolute misery.

"Girls need discipline, my Daddy used to say," Miss Primross kept on talking. "Mummy said it was good for ladies, all ladies, to have discipline. What do you think, Mr Berger? I mean I have no-one to ask so I don't know."

"That'll do for now, girl," Berger stood back and put the belt round his waist again, tightening it and patting it gently.

"Do you think all ladies need discipline, Mr Berger?" The spinster persisted anxiously.

"Most of 'em do," Berger agreed. "Maybe we could talk about it some other time, Miss Primross. Some time, eh?"

"Oh, Mr Berger!"

The old cow wants it, Tammy thought resentfully.

Then he said, "I could go and see Carl's mother." He seemed to be talking himself into doing it. "The boy needs a man's firm hand. A taste of the belt every now and then? ... Hmm?

"Yes, I think I'll do that. He could live here in the little room next to ours upstairs. There's room for a bed in there. A small one, of course. He could give his mother something every week out of his wages and pay for his keep here as well. Besides, he could make himself useful about the house.

"An' if Tammy went out to work also, between you and him, both of you would give us somethin' towards your keep. No tricks, mind you. No poppin' into each other's room at night. I won't have that.

"Yes, I think I can get her to see sense. She'll be glad to have a man's advice."

Berger cackled as the idea took hold of his imagination.

"He works long hours, father," Tammy blurted out, hoping to prevent the prospect that seemed to lay ahead.

Berger ignored the remark.

"Put your coat on, mother, and go and buy me another pair of kippers for me tea. You and Tammy c'n share the ones you burnt. I'll tell you all about it, Miss Primross, when I get back. I'm goin' to see that pansy boy's mother now. You're going to have a new neighbour, Miss Primross. Reckon we'll work something out between us."

He turned back to Hester.

"And don't burn them, if neither of you two wants another thrashing when I get back. What's his address, girl?"

As soon as Tammy told him, Berger left the house, winking at Miss Primross who was trembling with excitement as the little drama was played out in front of her.

Hester turned to Tammy.

"We'd better hurry before the shops close," she said in a shaky little voice. "He'll be ever so upset if he doesn't get his kippers. And then... " She looked at her daughter miserably. She had forgotten Miss Primross was there.

"Why did you marry him, Ma?"

Hester's mouth quivered.

"I was so lonely after your father died," she whined. "Lonely. Vic was different then. Comforted me. Made me feel wanted. Said he'd had a bad marriage and that his wife had run off with another feller."

"Yes, but what made him change?"

Her mother took the old raincoat from the hook hanging behind the kitchen door.

"Don't know, really. He said he 'wanted it'. 'Needed it', he said. So I gave in to him. But he wanted more and more and I couldn't keep up. First it was just at nights. Then he took to not going to work and wanted it during the day as well. I couldn't satisfy him. So he started using the belt. Said he'd make me do it." She gave a little sob. "Now he does it all the time whether I want to give it or not."

"Does he make you do anything else?"

Hester blushed.

"Let's go and get those kippers."

Tammy persisted.

"What does he make you do, Ma?"

"Please, Tammy. Don't ask me that."

"What is it Ma?"

"Oh, Tammy, please."

"I can hear you through the bedroom wall. What is it?"

Miss Primross was breathing loudly now.

Hester looked frightened.

"Tammy! ... Well, after he ... comes ... Inside me, I mean ... I have to ... "

She stopped and looked anxiously at the girl.

Tammy went towards the older woman and put her arms round her.

"Don't cry, Ma."

The two women kissed tenderly. Miss Primross, her eyes gleaming behind her spectacles, hardly moved.

"What do you have to do, Mrs Berger?" she whispered eagerly. "Perhaps I could help you."

Hester looked at her with tear-filled eyes. "I'm so ashamed. So ashamed."

Tammy drew away.

"If Carl stays here, you won't mind, will you, Ma?"

Hester looked at the girl.

"It won't stop there, you know. He'll be after Carl, too. You do understand that, don't you?"

"If Carl comes here, I'm leaving, Ma. I want a man, not a poodle."

Yes, Miss Primross breathed noisily. A man! That's what she herself wanted, too.