Fiction: Daddy is Disciplined (FFFFF/M)

James knew he was in trouble the moment he stepped through the front door. His wife, Emily, stood waiting for him in the living room, arms crossed, lips pursed

“Two hours late.” Her voice was low, controlled. “I suppose you didn’t hear your phone?”

James swallowed hard. “Emily, I—”

“Save it.” She nodded toward the wooden chair in the center of the room. “You know what to do.”

His stomach clenched. “Here?”

“Yes, here.” She arched an eyebrow. “Or would you prefer I wait until tomorrow morning at breakfast, when Claire is sitting right there?”

James' face went crimson. Their seventeen-year-old daughter was upstairs in her room. She wouldn't see anything—but she would certainly hear everything.

The humiliation was already burning through him as he unfastened his belt. With a deep breath, he lowered his slacks to his ankles, hesitating at the waistband of his briefs.

“All the way, James.”

His hands trembled as he obeyed, baring himself completely. His instinct was to cover up, but Emily was already seated, taking his wrist and pulling him over her lap.

From upstairs, he heard the faint creak of Claire's bedroom door opening slightly. His heart pounded.

Emily adjusted him, ensuring his bottom was in the perfect position, high and vulnerable. “You knew you were supposed to come home.” Her palm traced slow circles over her bare skin. “And yet, you ignored me. What does that tell me, James?”

“That I… made a mistake?”

“That you were irresponsible.” And with that, she raised her hand and brought it down hard.

SMACK!

James sucked in a breath as the sting spread across his backside. Emily settled into a steady rhythm, each slap firm and deliberate.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

A giggle drifted from upstairs. Claire.

James groaned in mortification, his face burning hotter than his bottom. His teenage daughter was listening to everything.

Emily wasn't fazed. “Who decides what time you come home?”

“You do, ma’am,” he gasped.

“That’s right.” Her hand found the sensitive undersides of his cheeks, making his legs kick involuntarily.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Then he felt Emily reach for the hairbrush.

“Since you chose to waste two hours drinking with your friends, you'll receive two minutes with the brush.” She tapped the cool wooden surface against her already burning skin.

James groaned. “Emily, please—”

THWACK!

The first stroke landed with a sharp, unforgiving bite.

“OWW!” His legs jerked, his toes curling against the floor.

From upstairs, Claire snorted in laughter.

James clenched his fists, his humiliation complete.

Emily, unfazed, continued. THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! The brush snapped down with metronomic precision, covering every inch of its bottom.

James wrote, yelping, desperate to keep his composure, but the relentless rhythm of the hairbrush was breaking him down. The sting deepened, layering over the earlier smacks, until he was wriggling, twisting, and kicking.

The worst part wasn't even the pain. It was knowing that Claire was listening.

Emily remained unwavering. “You will listen to me next time, won’t you, darling?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he croaked.

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

The final strokes were the hardest yet. Then, suddenly, it was over.

Emily placed the brush back on the table and ran a soothing hand over her trembling thighs.

“Stand up.”

James pushed himself upright on shaking legs, his face nearly as red as his punished bottom. His hands instinctively went to rub, but Emily caught his wrist.

"Corner. Hands on your head.”

His ears burned as he shuffled toward the corner, his blazing bottom on full display.

From upstairs, Claire couldn't hold back anymore. She burst into laughter.

“Good luck sitting tomorrow, Daddy!” she called down, still giggling.

James squeezed his eyes shut.

Emily smiled at Claire's teasing from upstairs. She had no doubt that their daughter had been enjoying the entire thing—after all, James had certainly earned himself a lesson in both discipline and humility.

She glanced at his bright red bottom on full display in the corner, his hands obediently on his head. He was standing there, moving from foot to foot. And yet, Emily wasn't done making her point.

“Claire, sweetheart,” Emily called up the stairs, her voice warm but firm, “why don’t you come down for a moment?”

James stiffened. “Emily—” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, panic lacing every syllable.

Emily turned and gave him a knowing look. “I don't believe you're in any position to be questioning me, are you?”

His lips parted as if to protest, but at that moment, Claire's footsteps sounded on the stairs.

James clenched his eyes shut.

“Oh wow.” Claire's voice was brisk with amusement as she entered the living room. “You really spanked him, Mom.”

Emily leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, completely relaxed. “I did,” she confirmed. “And I think he’s learned a very valuable lesson tonight, don’t you?”

James swallowed hard, his ears burning hotter than his freshly spanked backside. He didn't dare turn around.

Claire strolled over, her sneakers squeaking slightly against the hardwood. “Dad, you’re seriously standing in the corner with your bare butt out!” She giggled. “That is so embarrassing.”

James clenched his fists. “Claire, please—”

“You don’t get to ask for anything right now, sweetheart,” Emily said smoothly. “I decide when you're done, and I decide what's appropriate.” She turned back to Claire. “You see, your father sometimes forgets that I set the rules in this house.”

“Oh,” Claire laughed. “he won’t be forgetting now!”

James could practically feel her eyes on him, taking in the humiliating sight of his glowing red bottom. His pride was in tatters, his authority completely dismantled. He wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

“Mom,” Claire said, grinning, “can I take a picture?”

James gasped. “Absolutely not!”

Emily chuckled. “Tempting, but no, sweetheart. This is his lesson, not something for social media.”

Claire pouted playfully. “Fair enough. But can I at least stay and keep him company?”

Emily smiled “I don’t see why not.”

James groaned.

Claire plopped onto the couch, stretching out like she was settling in for a movie. “This is so great,” she teased. “Dad always misbehaves. I love seeing him like this.”

Emily smirked. “Well, whenever he forgets his place, you can rest assured I’ll be reminding him.”

Claire laughed. “Good to know. Maybe next time you should invite some of my friends over. They’d die seeing this.”

James nearly whimpered.

Emily tilted her head. “That’s an interesting idea, Claire. We’ll see.”

James squeezed his eyes shut.

It was going to be a long night.

——

James stood trembling in the corner, his bottom still radiating heat, his face just as red. He had thought the worst was over—but now Claire was lounging on the couch, openly enjoying his humiliation. And Emily wasn't done yet.

“All right, James,” Emily said at last, her voice smooth and firm. “You may come out of the corner.”

Relief surged through him. He moved quickly to raise his pants—only for Emily to hold up a hand.

“Not so fast,” she said. “Keep your hands on your head.”

His stomach dropped. That meant he would be standing there, fully exposed, unable to shield himself.

“Emily, please…”

Her expression didn't waver. “Unless you want to go back over my knee?”

James swallowed hard and obeyed, turning around slowly, his hands staying interlocked on his head. His stomach churned as Claire's eyes immediately dropped, taking in the humiliating sight of his genitals on full display.

“Oh my God,” Claire whispered in delight, clearly relishing this.

James' throat tightened. He couldn't meet her eyes.

Emily gestured at him. “Apologize.”

He blinked, confused. “I—I already—”

“To me,” she clarified. “For being irresponsible. For disobeying. For wasting my time.” She tilted her head, watching him squirm. “And do it properly.”

James clenched his jaw, his whole body screaming with embarrassment. He hated this. But he knew better than to refuse.

“I…” His voice was barely above a whisper. He swallowed. “I’m sorry, Emily.”

Her eyes flickered up. “For what?”

James felt his stomach churn. His hands clenched in his hair.

“For… disobeying you,” he forced out. “For wasting your time. For not coming home when I was supposed to.”

Emily studied him for a moment, then agreed approvingly. “That’s better.”

James let out a shaky breath. Maybe, finally, it was over—

“And now,” Emily said, her voice deceptively light, “apologize to Claire.”

His heart stopped.

His whole body stiffened. “What?”

Emily arched an eyebrow. “You heard me.”

James' mouth went dry.

“I—” He darted a glance at Claire, who was now sitting forward on the couch, grinning like this was the best entertainment she'd had in weeks.

“Oh, this is so good,” she giggled.

James felt his legs lock up. He could barely process the humiliation. Apologizing to his own teenage daughter while standing there, fully exposed.

Emily's voice turned silky. “Or would you rather go back over my knee?”

James' whole body burned. He couldn't go through that again.

His throat tightened. “Claire, I—” He stopped, mortified by the way his voice cracked.

Claire smirked, resting her chin in her palm. “Go on, Daddy,” she teased. “I’m listening.”

James squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to die.

“I’m…” His voice was barely a whisper. “I’m sorry you had to hear all that.”

Claire leaned back, smirking. “Oh, I didn’t mind,” she said cheerfully. “It was hilarious.”

James wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

Emily turned to her daughter with an approving smile. “Now, Claire, I know this might seem funny to you, but there's actually a very good reason why your father is giving a proper bare apology.”

Claire raised an eyebrow. “Because it’s hilarious?” she teased.

Emily chuckled. “That, too. But more importantly, it teaches him humility.” She gestured toward James, who was visibly shaking with shame. “You see, when a man misbehaves, he often carries a lot of pride. And that pride is exactly what gets him into trouble. If I simply let him mutter an apology while standing there fully dressed, he might say the words, but he wouldn't feel them the way he should.”

Claire grinned. “But this way, he definitely feels it.”

“Exactly.” Emily nodded. “A bare penis apology forces him to confront his actions in the most humbling way possible. It makes sure that when he says 'I'm sorry,' it's coming from a place of complete vulnerability. Nothing strips a man of his ego quite like standing in front of the people he's wronged, completely bare, completely exposed, and completely at their mercy.”

Claire giggled, her eyes darting downward. “I’d say Dad definitely looks exposed.”

James' face was beet red, his lips pressed into a thin, miserable line.

Emily smiled “Oh, he is. And that’s the point.” She turned back to her husband. “Isn’t it, darling?”

James swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Emily tilted her head. “And do you think you’ll be making the same mistake again?”

James shuddered. “N-no, ma’am.”

Claire snorted. “Yeah, I bet he won’t.”

Emily smirked. “Exactly.” She turned back to her daughter. “So, you see, Claire, discipline isn't just about the spanking itself. It’s about making sure he truly understands the consequences of his actions—physically and emotionally.”

Emily smiled “Alright, James, that’s enough for now.”

Finally, finally, she let him lower his hands. He immediately covered himself, his whole body burning.

“You can pull your pants up now,” she said smoothly.

James fumbled desperately, yanking his briefs and slacks up over his burning backside. The relief was instant—but the humiliation still coursed through him like fire.

Emily turned to Claire. “I think Daddy’s learned his lesson, don’t you?”

Claire snorted. “Oh, definitely.”

Emily and smiled back to James. “Now, go wash your face and get ready for bed,” she said lightly. “You've had enough excitement for one night.”

——

A week later, the house buzzed with the chatter and laughter of Claire’s friends. They’d gathered in the living room, sprawled across the couch and floor, munching on snacks and scrolling through their phones. Claire sat cross-legged on an armchair, grinning as her friends tossed around playful banter. Upstairs, Emily’s voice rang out sharp and clear, cutting through the noise.

“James, I told you to fetch and fold the laundry an hour ago! Get it done now, or you’ll regret it.”

A muffled, “Yes, ma’am,” followed, from the basement, accompanied by the sound of hurried footsteps. Downstairs, the girls exchanged glances. Claire’s friend Mia, a lanky girl with a mischievous streak, arched an eyebrow.

“Okay, Claire, what’s up with that? Your mom’s got your dad running around like her personal servant.”

Claire smirked, popping a chip into her mouth. “Oh, that’s just how it is around here. Mom’s in charge. When Dad messes up—or even when he doesn’t—she keeps him in line.”

Sophie, another friend with wide, curious eyes, leaned forward. “In line how? What’s that mean?”

Claire’s grin widened, a glint of amusement in her eyes. “Let’s just say Daddy gets spanked by Mom when he’s naughty.”

The room erupted. Mia choked on her soda, Sophie’s jaw dropped, and a third friend, Lila, burst into incredulous laughter.

“No way!” Mia said, wiping her mouth. “You’re telling me your mom spanks your dad? Like, actually spanks him?”

Claire nodded, unfazed by their reactions. “Yup. Bare butt and everything. Hairbrush, hand, whatever she’s feeling. He was over her knee just last week because he came home late.”

Sophie’s eyes widened further. “And you’ve seen this?”

“Heard it mostly,” Claire said with a shrug. “But last time, Mom made him stand in the corner after, and I got the full show. Bright red butt, hands on his head, the works. He even had to apologize to me while standing there buck naked.”

Lila doubled over, clutching her stomach. “Oh my God, that’s insane! Your dad just… lets her?”

Claire chuckled. “He doesn’t have a choice. Mom’s the boss. Always has been. He grumbles sometimes, but he does what she says. Honestly, it’s kinda hilarious.”

Mia leaned back, still grinning. “Okay, but does he, like, secretly like it or something?”

Claire tilted her head, considering. “I dunno. Maybe? He doesn’t fight it too hard. But he definitely hates it when I’m around. Last time, he was so embarrassed he could barely look at me after.”

Upstairs, Emily’s voice cut through again. “James, are you done yet? Don’t make me come down there!”

“Yes, ma’am, almost!” came the hurried reply, followed by the rustle of fabric being frantically folded.

The girls burst into giggles. Sophie shook her head. “That’s wild. My dad would never let my mom do that.”

“Mine either,” Lila chimed in. “He’d probably keel over from the embarrassment first.”

Claire shrugged. “It’s just normal here. Mom says it’s about keeping him humble or whatever. Works, too—he’s been on time all week since the last spanking.”

Mia’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You should invite us over next time it happens. I’d pay to see that.”

Claire laughed. “I’ll think about it. Mom did say she might let you guys watch sometime if he screws up bad enough.”

The girls dissolved into laughter again, just as James appeared at the top of the basement stairs, his face flushed and his arms full of neatly folded laundry. He froze, catching the tail end of their conversation. The room went quiet for a split second before Mia broke the silence.

“Hey, Mr. C! Laundry duty, huh?”

James’ ears turned pink. “Uh, yeah,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact. “Just… helping out.”

Emily’s voice called from upstairs. “James, bring those up to the linen closet when you’re done socializing with the girls!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said quickly, scurrying off as the girls stifled their giggles.

Sophie whispered, “He’s terrified of her.”

“Wouldn’t you be?” Claire shot back, grinning. “She’s got a mean swing.”

As James disappeared up the stairway, the girls settled back into their chatter, but the air hummed with a new energy. Claire’s friends couldn’t stop stealing glances toward the stairs, half-hoping Emily would come down and give them a live demonstration. Claire, meanwhile, leaned back in her chair, perfectly content with her front-row seat to the family dynamic that kept her endlessly entertained.

——

The girls were still sprawled across the living room, their laughter from James’ hurried retreat barely fading, when Emily’s voice boomed from upstairs again. This time, it carried a sharper edge, laced with exasperation.

“James! What on earth have you done? You mixed the colors with the whites again, didn’t you? The sheets are pink! Pink!”

The girls froze, exchanging wide-eyed glances. Claire smirked, already anticipating what was coming, while Mia sat up straighter, her grin spreading like wildfire. From below, they heard James’ voice, faint and pleading.

“Emily, I—I didn’t mean to, I thought I checked—”

“You thought?” Emily’s tone was incredulous, cutting him off. “Those were brand-new white sheets, James! What am I supposed to do with pink sheets? Sleep in a Barbie dreamhouse?”

Sophie clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle, and Lila whispered, “Oh, he’s so dead.”

Claire leaned back, folding her arms. “Told you. Mom doesn’t mess around.”

Before anyone could respond, a sharp, unmistakable SMACK! echoed down the stairs, followed by a yelp from James that made Mia snort into her soda. The girls’ heads snapped toward the ceiling, their chatter dying instantly as the rhythm of a hard, relentless spanking began.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Each slap landed with crisp precision, and almost immediately, James’ voice broke into a high-pitched sob. “Oww! Emily, please!” he wailed, the words dissolving into a childish whimper that carried down to the girls below.

Mia’s eyes widened. “Is he… crying already?”

Claire nodded, smirking. “Oh yeah. He’s a total baby when Mom gets going.”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

The spanking hadn’t even reached its stride, and James was already blubbering like a scolded toddler. “I’m sorry! I’m so-sorry!” he cried, his voice cracking between loud, hiccupping sobs. The girls exchanged stunned glances, barely able to suppress their laughter.

Emily’s voice cut through, stern and unwavering. “You’d think after all these years, you’d learn to separate the laundry properly!”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

“Please, ma’am, I didn’t mean it!” James bawled, his pleas punctuated by wet sniffles and gasps. The spanking paused, and Claire tilted her head, listening.

“Hairbrush now,” she confirmed. “He’s done for.”

Sure enough, a moment later, the sharp THWACK! of wood against skin rang out, followed by a piercing, “OWWW!” that dissolved into a full-on wail. James’ crying escalated, loud and unrestrained, his legs audibly kicking against the floor as he squirmed.

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

Sophie winced, whispering, “He sounds like a little kid!”

Lila nodded, half-laughing. “He’s not even halfway through, and he’s already a mess!”

Upstairs, Emily remained unfazed. “You’re lucky I don’t make you hand-wash every single one of these to try and fix it!” she snapped.

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

“I’ll fix it! I’ll fix it! Please, Mommy, stop!” James sobbed, his voice a frantic, tear-soaked mess. The girls downstairs froze at the slip—Mommy?—and Mia nearly fell off the couch laughing.

“Did he just call her Mommy?” she wheezed.

Claire grinned. “Yup. Happens when he’s really losing it.”

The spanking stretched on, James’ cries growing louder and more pitiful with every THWACK!. His protests melted into incoherent blubbering, a mix of “I’m sorry!” and “Please!” drowned out by the steady rhythm of the hairbrush. Finally, after what felt like an eternity to the girls—but was surely torture for James—the sounds stopped. A heavy silence settled, broken only by his shuddering, childish sobs drifting down.

Emily’s voice came again, calm but firm. “Corner, James. Hands on your head. You’ll stay there until I say otherwise.”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” he whimpered, his voice thick with tears, followed by the faint shuffle of movement.

The girls erupted into stifled laughter, careful not to let it carry upstairs. Mia wiped tears of mirth from her eyes. “Claire, your dad’s a wreck!”

Sophie leaned forward, still giggling. “Is he seriously standing up there crying like that?”

Claire nodded, smirking. “Oh yeah. Probably still sniffling like a baby. Corner time’s his least favorite part.”

Lila shook her head in disbelief. “Your mom’s ruthless.”

Before Claire could respond, footsteps sounded on the stairs. The girls straightened up, their giggles fading as Emily descended into the living room. She carried herself with cool authority, a faint glint of satisfaction in her eyes. She glanced at the group, then at Claire.

“Having fun, girls?” she asked, her tone light but knowing.

Claire grinned. “Oh, tons.”

Mia, bold as ever, piped up. “Uh, Mrs. C, that was… intense. He was crying like a little kid up there!”

Emily raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “He does that when he knows he’s earned it. Maybe next time he’ll think twice before ruining my sheets.” She smirked slightly, then added, “He’ll be down in a bit, once he’s pulled himself together.”

Sophie bit her lip, barely containing a laugh. “Is he okay? He sounded… uh, pretty upset.”

Emily waved a hand dismissively. “He’s fine. A good cry and a sore bottom never hurt anyone. Keeps him humble. Right, Claire?”

Claire nodded, still grinning. “Oh, definitely.”

Emily glanced toward the stairs. “Well, you girls enjoy yourselves. I’ve got a husband to finish dealing with.” With that, she turned and headed back up, leaving the girls in a mix of awe and hysterics.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Mia leaned over to Claire. “Your dad calling her Mommy? I’m dead.”

Lila nodded. “He’s never living that down.”

Claire laughed, popping another chip into her mouth. “Nope. Just another day around here.” She glanced toward the stairs, where faint sniffles still echoed, and shook her head. “Poor Dad. He’s gonna hate that you all heard him bawling like that.”

Sophie smirked. “Totally worth it, though.”

“Absolutely,” Mia agreed, and the girls dissolved into laughter again, the memory of James’ tearful breakdown etched into their minds.

——

The girls were still reeling from their laughter, wiping tears from their eyes and trading whispered jabs about James’ tearful “Mommy” slip, when Emily’s voice rang out again from upstairs. The sharp edge was back, laced with a mix of exasperation and command.

“James, stop sniveling already! You’ve made enough of a fool of yourself tonight,” she snapped, her tone cutting through the lingering sniffles. “And since you seem to like pink so much—ruining my perfectly good white sheets—you’ll be wearing pink panties for the next week. Maybe that’ll remind you to pay attention next time.”

The girls downstairs froze, their jaws dropping in unison. Mia clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with delight, while Sophie whispered, “No way. Pink panties?”

Claire grinned, leaning forward. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Upstairs, James’ voice came in a shaky, pleading whimper. “Emily, please, not that—I’m sorry, I—”

“No arguments,” Emily interrupted, her tone brooking no dissent. “Take every stitch off. Now.”

A faint rustle followed—fabric hitting the floor—and then a quiet, mortified sob as James clearly obeyed. The girls strained to hear, barely breathing, as Emily continued.

“There’s a pair in the top drawer. Put them on. Let’s see how you like prancing around in pink after your little laundry disaster.”

Lila bit her lip to stifle a laugh. “Is she seriously making him wear them right now?”

Claire nodded, her grin widening. “Mom doesn’t bluff. He’s probably sliding them on as we speak.”

Sure enough, a moment later, Emily’s voice rang out again, crisp and commanding. “Good. Now, James, you’ve made an utter spectacle of yourself tonight, crying like a baby with Claire’s friends downstairs listening to every second of it. You’re going to go down there and apologize to them all. Properly.”

A choked, “What?” escaped James, followed by a frantic, “Emily, no, please—I can’t—”

“You can, and you will,” she said firmly. “You’ve embarrassed yourself, and you owe them an apology for the commotion. Go on. Downstairs. Now.”

——

Heavy, reluctant footsteps sounded on the stairs, each one slower than the last. The girls held their breath, their eyes locked on the doorway. Finally, James appeared, his face a deep, humiliated crimson, his hands twitching at his sides as if desperate to cover himself. He wore nothing but a pair of bright pink panties—frilly, lacy, and utterly ridiculous on his frame. His eyes were red-rimmed from crying, his cheeks still damp with tears, and his posture screamed defeat.

The room erupted into barely contained snickers. Mia turned away, burying her face in a pillow to muffle her laughter, while Lila’s shoulders shook with silent hysterics. Sophie stared, wide-eyed, her hand over her mouth.

As James stood at the foot of the stairs, his body was a trembling tableau of shame. The bright pink panties clung to him, their lacy edges a stark contrast against his smooth, hairless skin. Not a single strand of hair marred his form—his legs, long and lean, gleamed under the living room lights, shaved bare from ankle to thigh with meticulous precision. His arms, too, were devoid of any stubble, their contours soft and vulnerable, while his chest and stomach, equally smooth, rose and fell with shallow, nervous breaths. Even his underarms and the delicate top of his pubic region, peeking out above the strained fabric, bore the telltale sheen of a recent bikini wax, leaving him utterly exposed, stripped of any natural shield.

His skin, pale from a life indoors, flushed a deep, mottled red—not just across his face, but creeping down his neck and chest, a vivid map of his mortification. The blush seemed to pulse with every heartbeat, darkening as the girls’ giggles filled the air. His cheeks, still damp with the remnants of tears, burned brightest, the color clashing absurdly with the frilly pink panties that hugged his hips. The garment itself was a cruel joke—too small, too delicate, its lace trim digging into his flesh, accentuating the absurdity of his predicament. The fabric stretched taut across his groin, hinting at the contours beneath.

His posture was a study in defeat—shoulders slumped, head bowed, his hands twitching at his sides as if aching to cover himself but knowing better than to try. His legs, smooth as silk, shifted nervously, the muscles tensing as he fought to stand still under the weight of their stares. Every inch of his shaven body seemed to amplify his vulnerability, the lack of hair stripping away any pretense of masculinity, leaving him bare and boyish in a way that only deepened his humiliation. His toes curled against the hardwood floor, nails neatly trimmed, as if even they had been groomed for this moment of disgrace.

The girls’ eyes roamed over him, their laughter a sharp blade against his fraying composure. His blush deepened, spreading to the tips of his ears, which glowed like twin beacons beneath his mussed hair. He looked less like a father and more like a chastened child caught in a ridiculous costume, the pink panties a final, humiliating flourish to Emily’s unrelenting lesson.

James cleared his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. “Uh… girls, I—I’m sorry.”

Claire tilted her head, grinning ear to ear. “For what, Daddy?”

He swallowed hard, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “For… uh, making a commotion. Upstairs. With the, uh… the spanking and—”

Before he could finish, the sound of firm footsteps descended the stairs. Emily appeared, her presence commanding instant silence from the girls. She crossed her arms, eyeing James with a mix of amusement and authority.

“Halfway through and you’re still stumbling over your words,” she said, her tone sharp but laced with a smirk. “Turn around, James.”

His eyes widened in panic. “Emily, please—”

“Now,” she said, her voice leaving no room for argument.

With a shuddering breath, James turned, his back now facing the girls. His bright red backside, still glowing from the hairbrush, peeked out from the edges of the pink panties. The girls’ eyes widened, their giggles bubbling up again.

Emily stepped forward, her movements deliberate. “Since you’re so fond of pink, let’s make sure the girls can see those bright pink cheeks of yours.” She reached out, grabbed the waistband of the panties, and yanked them up hard, pulling the fabric deep into his crack. James yelped, his body jerking as the panties wedged tightly, framing his not pink, but crimson red cheeks in a humiliating display. Emily held him there, gripping the stretched waistband, keeping him lifted slightly onto his toes.

He squirmed, his face contorting in mortified embarrassment, his hands fluttering uselessly at his sides. “Emily, please!” he whimpered, his voice cracking as fresh tears welled in his eyes.

The girls exploded into laughter. Mia fell back onto the couch, clutching her stomach, while Lila wheezed, “Oh my God, look at his butt!” Sophie covered her face, peeking through her fingers, her shoulders shaking.

Emily glanced at the girls, her smirk widening. “See? He’s sorry for the noise, aren’t you, James?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he croaked, his voice trembling as he wriggled in her grip, the panties cutting deeper with every movement.

Claire grinned, resting her chin in her hand. “Super sorry, huh, Dad?”

“Very,” Emily answered for him, giving the panties a little tug that made him gasp. She released the waistband with a snap, then took his arm firmly. “Come with me.”

James stumbled as she led him across the room to the bottom post of the downstairs banister. The girls watched, their laughter dying into stunned silence as Emily turned him to face the girls, then grabbed the back of the pink panties again, stretching them upward and hooking the waistband over the rounded top of the post. The fabric pulled taut, digging even deeper into his crack and yanking tightly against his genitals. James gasped, his body lurching forward as he was forced onto his tiptoes, the panties wedging painfully, baring his high thighs and the sides of his pubic region—which, not at all to the girls’ surprise, appeared freshly bikini waxed, smooth and hairless.

Mia’s jaw dropped. “Did he… wax down there?”

Claire smirked. “Looks like.”

Emily stepped back, crossing her arms as James danced on his toes, his face a mask of agony and shame. “Hands on your head,” she ordered.

James whimpered, his trembling hands rising to interlock atop his head, his body swaying slightly as he struggled to balance. The panties stretched tighter, cutting deeply into the cleft of his buttocks, his red cheeks and waxed thighs fully exposed to the girls’ wide-eyed stares.

“Thirty minutes,” Emily declared, her tone firm. “You’ll stand there and think about why mixing whites with colors is a bad idea. Maybe next time you’ll check twice.”

“Emily, please,” he begged, his voice breaking into a sob, his legs quivering as he fought to stay upright.

She ignored him, turning to the girls with a calm smile. “Enjoy the view, ladies. He’s not going anywhere for a while.”

The girls burst into hysterics again. Lila pointed, laughing so hard she could barely speak. “He’s literally hanging by his panties!”

Sophie giggled, her eyes darting to his waxed thighs. “And that wax job—it’s like he’s ready for the beach!”

Mia wiped tears from her eyes. “Mr. C, you’re a mess. Those panties are killing you, huh?”

James groaned, his face burning as he shifted helplessly, the fabric pulling tighter with every move. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice thick with tears. “I’m so sorry…”

Claire leaned back, grinning. “You look like a flamingo, Dad. All pink and wobbly.”

Emily smirked, giving his exposed cheek a light pat that made him flinch. “He’ll be a very good boy after this, won’t you, James?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he croaked, his head hanging as low as his position allowed.

“Good.” Emily turned to the girls. “Let me know if he tries to get down before his time’s up. I’ll be upstairs.” With that, she ascended the stairs, leaving James dangling in his humiliating predicament.

The girls settled in, their laughter echoing as James squirmed, his toes barely brushing the floor, his waxed skin gleaming under the living room lights. Mia grinned at Claire. “Your mom’s a genius.”

Sophie nodded. “This is the best punishment ever.”

——

The girls lounged in the living room, their eyes glued to James as he dangled helplessly from the banister post, the pink panties stretched taut and hooked over the top. His toes barely grazed the floor, his body swaying slightly with each shaky breath, and his bright red cheeks and waxed thighs glistened under the light. The initial wave of laughter had settled into a gleeful, teasing energy, and the girls weren’t about to let the moment pass quietly.

Mia leaned forward, resting her chin in her hands, her grin wicked. “Wow, Mr. C, that panty’s really digging in there, huh? Must be slicing right up your bum crack like a knife!”

James’ face flushed an even deeper shade of red, his hands trembling atop his head as he let out a mortified whimper. He shifted his weight, trying to ease the pressure, but the movement only made the fabric pull tighter, eliciting a sharp gasp.

Lila snorted, pointing at the way the lace disappeared between his cheeks. “Seriously, it’s so deep it’s probably tickling your bum hole by now! Can you even feel your butt anymore?”

The girls erupted into giggles, and James squeezed his eyes shut, his lips pressing into a thin, miserable line. “Please…” he mumbled, his voice barely audible over their laughter, “stop…”

Sophie tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “No way, it’s gotta be way up there. Like, how does that even feel? Is it stuck in your crack for good?”

Claire joined in, smirking as she popped another chip into her mouth. “Come on, Dad, give us the details. Is it carving a trench back there? Bet it’s wedged so tight you can’t even wiggle without feeling it.”

James groaned, his legs quivering as he danced on his toes, the panties cutting deeper with every tiny movement. The fabric was indeed pulled impossibly tight, the frilly edges vanishing into the crevice of his still-glowing backside, leaving little to the imagination. His waxed skin only amplified the exposure, the sides of his pubic region and high thighs bare and vulnerable.

Mia cackled, leaning back on the couch. “It’s like a thong on steroids! I bet it’s sawing right through you, huh, Mr. C? Does it sting more than the hairbrush?”

“Or is it kinda cozy?” Lila teased, waggling her eyebrows. “Maybe you secretly like it up there, all snug and personal.”

“Stop it!” James croaked, his voice cracking as a fresh tear slipped down his cheek. His hands twitched atop his head, clearly itching to cover himself or yank the panties free, but Emily’s orders held him in place.

Sophie giggled, nudging Claire. “Your mom’s a pro. She knew exactly how to make those panties torture him. It’s practically splitting him in half!”

Claire nodded, grinning. “Oh yeah. She’s got it down to an art. Look at him—he’s squirming like a worm on a hook.”

James whimpered again, his body swaying as he tried to find a position that didn’t intensify the torment. The panties tugged relentlessly, the fabric biting into his crack and pressing painfully against his most sensitive areas. The front pulled tight against his genitals, leaving him utterly exposed and humiliated, while the back seemed to burrow deeper with every breath.

Mia smirked, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Poor Mr. C. That panty’s so far up your bum hole, it’s probably saying hi to your breakfast. How’s that feel?”

“Like a permanent wedgie,” Lila added, laughing so hard she nearly slid off the couch. “Bet you’re gonna be walking funny for days!”

James’ head dropped lower, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “Please, girls… I’m sorry…” he whispered, his voice thick with shame.

Claire tilted her head, grinning at him. “Aw, Dad, don’t cry. Just think—only twenty-five minutes left with that panty carving you up. You can handle it, right?”

“Twenty-five?” he groaned, his voice breaking. “I can’t…”

“Sure you can!” Sophie chirped, clapping her hands. “You’re already a champ at taking it up the crack. Look at you go!”

The girls dissolved into another round of laughter, their teasing relentless as James dangled there, helpless and mortified. The pink panties stretched tighter with every twitch, the lace cutting a deep, humiliating line through his red cheeks. His waxed thighs trembled, his toes barely holding him up, and the girls’ taunts only deepened his misery.

Claire smirked, glancing at her father’s pitiful form. “Mom knew what she was doing. That’s not coming out of his bum crack without a fight.”

James let out a strangled sob, his body swaying as he fought to endure the relentless pressure. The girls’ teasing echoed in his ears, each comment a fresh stab at his shredded dignity. Upstairs, Emily’s faint footsteps suggested she was listening, and the thought only made his humiliation burn hotter.

Sophie giggled, leaning closer to Claire. “Think he’ll ever mix colors again after this?”

Claire popped another chip, smirking. “Not a chance. That panty’s teaching him a lesson he’ll feel for weeks.” She glanced at James, still dancing on his toes, and shook her head. “Best punishment yet.”

——

The thirty minutes dragged on for James, each second an eternity as the pink panties cut deeper into his crack, his toes aching from balancing on tiptoes, and the girls’ relentless teasing ringing in his ears. His face was a mess of tears and sweat, his hands trembling atop his head, and his waxed thighs quivered under the strain. The girls had settled into a rhythm of giggles and taunts, occasionally snapping photos with their phones for posterity, much to his dismay.

Finally, the sound of Emily’s footsteps descended the stairs. The girls perked up, their eyes darting between her and James, who whimpered softly as she approached. She stood before him, arms crossed, her expression a mix of sternness and faint amusement.

“Time’s up, James,” she said, her voice calm but authoritative. “Let’s get you down.”

James let out a shaky breath of relief, but it was short-lived. Emily reached for the waistband of the pink panties, still hooked tightly over the banister post. She frowned, then gripped it with both hands and yanked upward with force, pulling the panties even harder against his tortured skin. James yelped, his body jerking as the lace dug in one last time before the waistband finally popped free from the post.

He stumbled forward, nearly losing his balance, his hands still locked atop his head. The girls burst into fresh laughter as he wobbled, the panties sagging slightly but still wedged tightly between his cheeks.

Emily stepped back, shaking her head. “Well, you’ve made a fine mess of yourself. Go on, James—dig that panty out. I’m not doing it for you.”

His eyes widened in horror, darting to the girls, who were now leaning forward with gleeful anticipation. “Emily, please…” he whispered, his voice cracking.

“Now,” she said firmly, gesturing toward his predicament. “They’ve seen enough already.”

With a trembling sigh, James lowered his hands, his face burning as he reached behind himself. The girls watched, barely containing their giggles, as he fumbled with the fabric. The panties were so deeply embedded that his fingers struggled to find purchase. He tugged awkwardly, wincing as the lace scraped against his raw, red cheeks. In his haste, he pulled too hard and too far forward—the front of the panties slipped down, and for a brief, mortifying moment, his hairless penis and testicles spilled into view, smooth and exposed from the bikini wax.

The girls gasped, then erupted into shrieks of laughter. Mia clapped a hand over her mouth, Lila doubled over, and Sophie squealed, “Oh my God, Mr. C!”

James yelped, his hands flying to cover himself as he yanked the panties back up, but the damage was done. His face turned a shade of red that rivaled his backside, and he stammered, “I—I didn’t mean—!”

Emily shook her head, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Really, James? Flashing the girls now? I thought you’d learned some modesty tonight.”

“I’m sorry!” he croaked, his voice thick with panic. “It was an accident!”

“An accident,” she repeated, her tone dripping with skepticism. She stepped forward, grabbing his arm. “Well, let’s make sure you understand the consequences of showing off.”

Before he could protest, Emily sat on the edge of an armchair and pulled him across her knee with practiced ease. James flailed, his hands grasping at the air as she positioned him, his red cheeks high and vulnerable. The girls watched, wide-eyed and grinning, as she hooked her fingers into the waistband of the pink panties and tugged them down to his thighs, baring his still-glowing backside.

“Emily, no, please!” he begged, his voice breaking into a sob, but she ignored him.

“You don’t get to flash my daughter’s friends and walk away unscathed,” she said, her tone firm. She raised her hand and brought it down hard.

SMACK!

James yelped, his legs kicking as the sting reignited across his already tender skin. The girls stifled their giggles, leaning closer as Emily settled into a brisk rhythm.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

“You’ll think twice before letting those panties slip again,” she lectured, her palm landing with crisp precision. “Won’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am!” he wailed, tears streaming down his face as he squirmed helplessly.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

The spanking was quick but fierce, each slap drawing a louder cry from James until he was blubbering again, his dignity in tatters. After a dozen or so firm swats, Emily stopped, resting her hand on his blazing backside.

“Since you seem to enjoy showing off so much, let’s make it official. Hands on your head, James. You’re going upstairs just like that—panty around your knees. Maybe a little march will teach you some humility.”

His jaw dropped, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. “Emily, please, I—”

“Up,” she ordered, pushing him off her lap.

James stumbled to his feet, his hands hovering uncertainly as the panties dangled around his thighs, leaving him fully exposed front and back. His waxed genitals and red cheeks were on full display, and the girls’ laughter swelled once more.

“Hands. On. Head,” she repeated, her voice icy.

With a defeated sob, James raised his trembling hands to his head, interlocking his fingers. The pink panties sagged around his knees, hobbling his steps and leaving his hairless front and punished rear bare for all to see. The girls watched, their laughter barely contained, as he shuffled toward the stairs, his movements awkward and slow.

Mia whispered, “He’s waddling like a penguin!”

Lila nodded, grinning. “Those panties are tripping him up so bad.”

Sophie giggled. “And that wax job—everything’s just… out there!”

Claire smirked, resting her chin in her hand. “Mom’s outdone herself this time. Look at him go.”

James reached the stairs, his head bowed as he began the humiliating climb, each step a struggle with the panties binding his legs. His red cheeks jiggled slightly with the effort, and his waxed skin gleamed under the light, drawing more snickers from below.

Emily turned to the girls, her smirk softening into a satisfied smile. “Well, ladies, I hope that was entertaining. He’ll be feeling this lesson for a while.”

“Best show ever, Mrs. C,” Mia said, still wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

Sophie nodded. “I’m never forgetting this.”

Claire grinned at her mom. “You’re a genius. He’s gonna be so careful with the laundry now.”

Emily chuckled. “He’d better be. Enjoy the rest of your night, girls.” With that, she followed James upstairs, leaving the group in a state of gleeful chaos.

Claire popped another chip into her mouth, glancing at the stairs where her father’s pitiful sniffles faded into the distance. “Poor Dad. He’s never living this down.”

Lila smirked. “Neither are we. Pink panties, waxed bits, and a spanking? Legendary.”