"Stacey"
(M/f implied, drama, psychological abuse)

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Nine-year-old Stacey paid attention like never before. She sat at the table nicely and slow, careful not to wrinkle her chequered white-and-blue school uniform. She answered politely at the questions she was asked, and helped her mother and father with their bread and butter before starting her own breakfast. She prepared her own bread in silence and was very careful not to stain the table with marmalade. Eventually a couple of orange-coloured sweet drops ended up on the table top, and Stacey's father shot her a glance that seemed it would last forever. The child sustained his gaze and did not move, did not breath, her heart pounding wildly. She was scared as one could be. But her father just lowered his icy eyes, resuming his breakfast.

Stacey sighed in silence, and let herself breathe again. But the damage was done. She was very nervous now, and she knew she tended to be sloppy and make mistakes more easily when nervous. Her hand was starting to tremble, and she was afraid she could not keep the knife steady enough to put more marmalade on the bread, so she closed the jar and put the knife back in place aside her plate. She ate in silence and with her eyes low, taking small bites as she was taught, being fast but not hurried, as it was proper for a young lady. I am a nice, sweet, polite young lady. I am a nice…

Stacey finished the bread and licked her lips, then carefully polished her mouth with a small towel. A quick glance at her dad told her he was still looking, and very closely as well. Inspecting. Again with a trembling hand she picked up the glass of milk. I can not do this. I will fail, I feel it. The glass felt like it weighed a ton. How could she ever hold it? She brought it to her lips and took the first sip. His eyes were on her, staring, staring, staring... If I spill a drop on my dress…

She gulped.

Not only one drop, but a good amount of the pearly liquid spilled all over the upper part of her brand new, just-ironed private school uniform. She felt the dampness on her chest, and her eyes flew to those of her father. His pupils were dilated. He had the sternest expression painted on his face. Daddy please don't. He opened his mouth. Daddy… She felt like dying.

"Boo!!" the man screamed. Stacey let out a small shriek, while he looked in his wife's eyes and they both laughed.

Stacey just could not hold it any longer, and peed herself before fainting face-down on the table. Her father shook his head and, still smiling, rose to go and get the cane from the cupboard. His little girl needed more teaching.

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THE END

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The author is completely against the practice of non-consensual spanking applied to children and teenagers as a form of discipline: it is dangerous, violating and potentially abusive. All my stories are archived at http://www.geocities.com/haley_brimley/