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She tapped it a couple of times on Margaret bottom cheek so that she was aware of what was about to happen.Margaret gasped when the paddle hairbrush was tapped on her bottom. She had spotted it on the table within easy reach of Vicky and had reckoned that it was going to be used on her bottom. Now that moment had arrived she knew that the worst part of the spanking was about to come.Vicky raised the hairbrush and landed the paddle on Margaret’s already red bottom cheek. This time, Margaret let out a much louder gasp which Vicky enjoyed listening to.Margaret had never been spanked with a paddle hairbrush before and it was certainly harder to deal with than she had anticipated. She had used one often enough on her pupils and had watched them dissolve into crying childishness and now knew that that was what was going to happen to her. Indeed, as the spanks continued to land on alternate bottom cheeks she could not stop the tears welling up in her eyes and then the tears dripping down. She'd left him, he remembered. Shit.But also, the loud rock music that usually came from his daughter's room upstairs wasn't to be heard, either. Strange.He began to grow nervous again. Maybe she'd left. Maybe his little girl had hiked up to the police station, or was at a neighbor's house. Or maybe, he thought optimistically, she simply ran away. Maybe she was on the streets of the Cleveland ghetto right now, officially becoming the whore he knew she was.Then he saw her little silver purse on the kitchen counter. She hadn't run away. She was still in the house.He knew that he wasn't going to be able to relax until he confirmed this, though. After all, it was too much to ask for. So George, walking softly, went to the stairs. He ascended them. He stood in front of his little girl's door. And then he knocked.At first there was no response, and his hopes began to fade. She was at a police station; she was being counseled by some tight-assed D.A., who was getting every detail possible,.
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