A Rebel

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I need *fun*.  Thirteen-year-old teeny boppers have more fun than me.
It's not because they are cooler; I am plenty cool.  It's because they
have reasonably sane parents.

Mine think that any contact with the real world will lead to
destruction.  I told them that I'm going to be out there in a few years
and need practice.  They interpreted that to mean that I needed more
chores.

Mother has always home-schooled me.  She's a good teacher, but I'm
tired of her and suspect that the feeling is mutual.  I can't go to
public school because of the "bad influences" there, otherwise known as
boys.  Father seems to believe that he is the lone male member of
humanity who won't destroy me.

Sunday at church and Wednesday night Youth Group are the only times I
see boys.  I have two friends in similar predicaments.  We once
conspired to skip Youth Group and find some *fun*, otherwise known as
boys.  We did too, not a block from the church, and we had fun.  I
learned that I can gag down enough beer to appreciate its appeal.  I
learned that there is more to kissing than I imagined.  Like eating a
Dove bar, it's sweet and creamy, a little too good not to be sinful.

We got caught.  My entire life I've never gotten away with anything. I
suspect Father had a homing device implanted in my body when I was a
baby.  It goes off if I start feeling too good.  So I was busted
mid-smooch in the backseat of a cutie's car and hauled out by Father.
When he is seriously angry with me, he treats me like a small child
because he knows how much I hate it.

"You naughty, nasty little thing.  Out of my sight for an hour, and
this is what you do.  And you wonder why I keep you on a tight leash.
Shame on you.  I know how to handle a bad, little girl like you.  A
sound spanking will straighten you out."

Father sat on the hood of cutie's car.  He grabbed my pants and I tried
to fight him, but he has big, strong, calloused hands.  He got my pants
unbuttoned, unzipped and down to my thighs, along with my panties.  I
was standing there with my pussy in the breeze, and the man who is
obsessed with my chastity did not care.  He got me across his lap,
locked up tight between his legs, and let me have it.  My bottom was
spanked from here to hell and back.  He had my skin blazing from
mid-thigh on up.  I knew he would stop if I cried but I refused to give
him the satisfaction.

He put me down and I rushed to get decent.  He said, "I'm not finished
with you.  When we get home, I'm giving you a dose of the strap.  I
will see tears of regret before this night is through."

He did, but it was one long night.