Getting Mikey on Track 1

By Chris

* * * * *
This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
* * * * *

Chapter 1:

My name is Lizzie and this is the story of my introduction to the fascinating world of spanking. It all started with me and my neighbor, Mikey, who had lived next door to me since we were both 5 years old. Mikey and I were good friends, and had been since he moved in 8 years ago. He lived across the street from me and we went to the same school. I was the more studious, responsible one – as girls often are – and he had a reputation for being careless and absentminded at school and at home. His mom was really good friends with my parents, and over time we almost considered ourselves one big extended family.

Despite his irresponsible character, Mikey was a sweet and kind boy. He was average height and had straight, black hair that fell uncombed above his eyebrows. He had dark features on account of his Greek heritage and loved playing sports, especially riding around on his bicycle.

It was probably because of his bike-riding that Mikey had a thin, but not skinny, body. His was a typically athletic 13 year-olds build, with a flat chest and stomach and thin, toned arms. Definitely his most pronounced feature, however, was his bottom. It jutted out in a noticeable way, and even though the shirts he wore were baggy, they usually ended up resting on the top of his backside. I always thought it was funny and cute, the way his bottom tended to get your attention, but never really dwelled on it too much in the past. That would change, as you will soon find out.

Me on the other hand, I was your average 13-year-old girl, not fat but not thin, with the beginnings of the body changes that accompany puberty starting to kick in. My hair was long and blond, and I had big blue eyes and a little button nose. People often commented that I look a lot like a mouse, I guess because of my round face and nose. Growing up, I was a bit of a tomboy, which was one of the reasons Mikey and I got along so well. I was slowly starting to get into the girly stuff though, and was beginning to experiment with makeup and dressing up nicely. My interest in boys was also growing, and boys’ cuteness was now a common topic between my girlfriends and I.

Mikey’s parents divorced before he moved into our neighborhood, and he lived with his mom. I’m not sure where his dad lived, but I never saw him and doubt he ever visited. His mom, Mrs. Bingaman (or Mrs. B for short which was what I called her) was a wonderful woman; she was always sweet and kind and would call out to me whenever she saw me outside to invite me over for cookies or lemonade. She was a heavy-set woman. Not obese, but had a motherly thickness that was most pronounced in her bosom, hips, thighs and bottom. Mrs. B was short, but her ample curves made her seem quite formidable. She usually had a big, radiant smile, but when she got frustrated with Mikey that smile would vanish and she would put on a face that would usually get him to cast his eyes downward and immediately somber his mood. I saw it happen on a few occasions and was impressed at how quickly she could get him to shape up if he was slacking off or misbehaving, just by giving him a look or sternly saying nothing more than his full name, “Michael.”

Our story starts during the beginning of the summer between our 8^th and 9^th grade. My parents called me over for a serious talk one morning and explained to me that Grandma (my dad’s mom) was really sick and that they would be flying over there to look after her. They explained to me that it would be better if I stayed, since I had summer school and they had no idea how long they would have to be there for. I loved my Grandma, but my parents explained that she would most likely be slipping in and out of sleep most of the time so I wouldn’t really be able to spend quality time with her anyway. My parents had already spoken with Mrs. B and had agreed that I would spend the summer in their guest room until they got back. They warned me to be on my best behavior and to help with the house chores.

The prospect of spending so much of my summer with Mikey made me a bit anxious. Would he be annoyed at my presence? Would we be stepping on each other’s toes? We got along well normally, but the thought that I might be encroaching upon his personal space made me unsure about how things would progress.

Later that afternoon I packed my essentials and said goodbye to my parents as they made their way for the airport and I made the short trek across the street to the Bingamans. Mrs. B opened her door as she saw me approaching and called out to Mikey to help me with my things. Afterwards we settled down in the living room and Mrs. B got each of us a glass of lemonade.

“We’re really happy to have you here to spend the summer with us Lizzie.” She explained with a smile. “I’m sure you and Mikey will have a great time hanging out together.”

I looked over at Mikey and his eyes seemed glazed as if his mind was contemplating something else, possibly his big plans for the summer.

Mrs. B continued, “We will set you up in the guest bedroom upstairs, just opposite Mikey’s room. You and him can share the upstairs bathroom. You don’t mind, right Mikey?”

“What? Umm, no of course not.” Replied Mikey as he was jolted back to our conversation.

“You will both be attending summer school together so I expect you both to be ready for the bus every morning. And I also expect you both to keep up with your homework assignments and be ready for your tests. I have a very busy few months coming up at work so I won’t be able to be chasing after you guys. I expect you both to be responsible. You’re not babies anymore.” As she spoke, Mrs. B kept a stern gaze on Mikey, indicating to me that similar discussions might have taken place between them two in the past.

“Mikey, you’re very lucky Lizzie will be staying over. I heard she is excellent at math and I’m sure she would be more than happy to help you out. We don’t want a repeat of last semester’s grades do we?”

I had no idea what Mikey’s math grades were, but he did always have an air of space-cadetedness in class, and this was especially the case in math.

Mrs. B sat across from us as she spoke. The living room consisted of one long couch and two cushioned chairs opposite the couch where we were each sitting. There was no TV, which I found interesting, although there was a small one in the kitchen that usually had the local news on. The couch where me and Mikey were sitting on was low to the ground and comfortable. Mrs. B faced us from her slightly elevated chair, creating an added sense of authority as she dictated the terms of our summer to us both.

“Aside from schoolwork, I expect you both to complete your chores, let me know your whereabouts at all times, and be home by 9. And Lizzie,” she turned to me and continued. “You are like a sister to Mikey and a daughter to me. You can feel right at home here and if there is anything that you need please don’t feel too shy to tell me. You are a responsible and bright girl and I’m sure we won’t have any problems getting along.” She added that last part with what seemed to be a genuine smile. I probed her expressions a bit further in search of hidden threats or warnings but could not detect any.

“Right then, I’m off to the grocery store. Mikey, will you help Lizzie get settled in her new room?” And with that, Mrs. B clapped her hands on her thighs and got up to leave.

Mikey helped me carry my things upstairs and showed me to my room. It was spacious with a comfortable-looking bed. My door directly faced the door to Mikey’s room. I peered in and saw that his was just a far messier version of my own, with the same sized bed and a desk in the far corner beside the window. Mikey walked passed me as I stood at his door and asked if I wanted to ride our bikes down to the mall. I explained that I wanted to get a head-start on some of our school reading. He smiled back at what he undoubtedly perceived to be a lame answer. “Suit yourself Lizzie. I’m going out. Let me know if you change your mind!” He was kind, but it was clear that he was disdainful of my decision. I considered my decision wise on the other hand, knowing that workloads tend to be far greater in summer school given the tightened schedule. And with that, we went our separate ways for the day.

Things went smoothly at the Bingaman household for about two weeks. Every morning Mikey and I would wake up, take turns using the bathroom, and make our way for school. Mikey wasn’t in most of my classes, since I was in the advanced classes for math, English and history. We would typically meet up again at the end of the day and head back home on the bus together. Schoolwork was intense and required daily reading for each class. After only the first two weeks we had gone through several chapters already. After school I would normally eat with Mikey and chitchat about random things like school gossip. Then each of us would go to our rooms to study for a few hours. It was only after the first two weeks, when we each got our progress reports, that I understood things weren’t exactly as they seemed.

It was on Tuesday that all students received their progress reports, which summed up how well you were coping with the work and how well you did on the first big test that we had on Monday. Each student was supposed to get their report signed by a parent, and I was quite pleased when I opened mine up from its envelope and read that my prognosis was well. I smiled as I read down the list of grades and found myself wearing a proud expression as I read the general summary: “Elizabeth is hard-working, articulate and contributes well to class discussions. She is an absolute joy to have in the classroom.”

When I saw Mikey on the bus he seemed a bit anxious.

“What’s wrong Mikey?” As I asked I noticed he held his progress report in his hand, which was still in its sealed envelope.

“Why is it still closed?” I asked, pointing to the envelope in his hand. “Aren’t you curious to know how you’re doing?”

Mikey was seated with his head hanging low. He seemed apprehensive, like a man awaiting trial for a crime he knows he is guilty of. He held up the envelope, revealing a handwritten note on it that said, “To be opened by Parent only.”

I was surprised. “Oh... Mine didn’t say that.”

“Only the bad ones do.” He said.

“But I thought you were doing well. Are the classes more difficult than you thought they’d be?” I was trying to sound sympathetic. He truly seemed worried about his predicament.

“Hey look, it’s only two weeks in. I’m sure your grades aren’t that bad.” I said, raising the pitch of my voice to sound more encouraging. “However bad they are, I’m sure you can bring them back up if you keep working at it.”

“Look,” I said more quietly as I put my hand on his knee. “I will look over your class notes when we’re home and we can see how you can improve.” And then with a smile, “Cheer up. They can’t be that bad.”

He looked up at me when I put my hand on his knee. “It’s not just the grades Lizzie. I’m worried they found out that I’ve been skipping classes. It’s killing me that I can’t open this up to see what it says.”

I was surprised to hear this coming from Mikey. I had no idea he was ditching classes. Laziness and poor grades were relatively manageable offenses in my mind. Skipping class was an entirely different ballgame and I found myself getting a bit annoyed with Mikey at his complete and utter neglect – almost like a mother or big sister would. We sat in silence the rest of the ride home. I would occasionally look over at him to see how he was doing. He kept an emotionless gaze out of the window the entire bus-ride.

When Mrs. B came home later that afternoon she called us both down to the living room to ask how our day had been. We each answered in our own way. I kept the progress report neatly folded in my pocket but made no mention of it, not wanting to throw Mikey under the bus. Mrs. B sat on the long couch as we both stood facing her. She asked a few follow-up questions and, after we answered, went silent, as if giving us a chance to say something else.

When nothing else was said by either of us, she looked at us both and asked in an exaggerated casualness, “Weren’t you guys supposed to get your progress reports today?”

I pulled mine out from my pocket and tried not to sound too chirpy. “Oh ya, here’s mine.”

Mikey was more reluctant. “Here’s mine.” He said as he pulled the wrinkled envelope out of his pocket.

Mrs. B read through mine quickly and exclaimed, “Well done Lizzie! I am so proud of you.”

She then picked up Mikey’s and with a frown opened it up and began reading. I watched her eyes as she glared over each word carefully. Sometimes it seemed almost as though she was reading the same line over again, her eyes would trace over a line and then pause and move back to repeat the motion. I could see the anger surfacing on her face as she continued to scrutinize the letter in her hands. I glanced over at Mikey who stood beside me. He stood nervously across from his mother with his hands in his pocket, fidgeting from one foot to the other as he waited for her to finish reading.

When finally, it was over, she looked up at him. “Skipping class Mikey? Two Ds, one C and an F on your tests so far?” She displayed a silent rage that I had never seen on her before. Her usually bright face now seemed much more violent as her eyebrows frowned and she spoke through pursed lips.

“It was just twice, Mom.” Mikey timidly replied. “And the classes are hard. I tried to study for them but I just don’t get a lot of the stuff.”

“Mikey, don’t make excuses. You are doing poorly because you’re not studying and you’re ditching classes.” You could see the anger boiling inside her as she said the second half of that sentence. “ditching classes.”

“You must think you’re a real cool cat, skipping class to go hang out with your friends at the mall.” This was a completely new side to Mrs. B that I had never seen before. I began to feel awkward at my presence in this intimate mother-son moment.

She continued, “I will not have a repeat of last semester. I am determined to get you on the right track Mikey, no matter what it takes. No son of mine will be one of those losers that fails out of school.” She then paused again and, almost to herself, said, “nope, not on my watch.”

Mikey spoke up, “I’m sorry Mom. I’ll do better I promise.”

She didn’t seem to hear him. She sat there in deep thought, contemplating what to do about the wayward offspring that cowered before her.

I was surprised when she suddenly turned her gaze on me, as if again realizing that I was also in the room. “Lizzie dear, you can have a seat. No use you standing here next to this one.”

I was tempted to interpret her direction as an excuse to leave the room. But a part of me was curious to see the outcome of this situation. My time spent in this household gave me a sense that I was also emotionally vested in its affairs, which meant I too harbored a sense of betrayal at the way Mikey tricked us both into thinking he was getting his work done, especially since I had repeatedly offered to help him and he would turn me down saying everything was fine. So I slowly walked behind Mikey and took a seat on one of the cushioned chairs to where Mikey was now standing between me and Mrs. B.

Turning back to Mikey, Mrs. B began again, “You are clearly getting too big for your britches Michael. I told you last month that if you were going to act like an irresponsible child this summer that I was going to start using methods that are reserved for little children. Your grades have been slipping for some time now, and this ditching school business is the icing on the cake. You clearly need to be taken down a peg.”

I could not see Mikey’s face as Mrs. B spoke, I only heard his quiet response. “Please mom, I’m sorry.”

She was unflinching, and said matter-of-factly, “Mikey, starting from now, I am going to start spanking you again. The last time I did you were still in diapers, but that was clearly the wrong decision. So going forward, any slacking at school or with your chores will result in swift, firm action. Hopefully you will rediscover that you are still a little boy and get your priorities back in order.”

I felt my stomach fluster at Mrs. B’s mention of a spanking. I was never spanked at home, nor did I ever witness one in real life. The subject always carried a mild fascination in my mind, and I remember seeing the occasional spanking on tv shows or cartoons and being mystified by the whole thing. I would even look up the word in dictionaries, even though I knew what it meant. Something about the thought of someone applying punishment to such a private place of someone else’s body just seemed so taboo. I felt shame and embarrassment just seeing it on tv or imagining it. Bottoms were considered a private body part, even more private than boobs! How could it be considered acceptable in some households to smack somebody’s bottom?! How humiliating a punishment. And yet, how intriguing a concept!

I found myself looking straight at Mikey’s bottom as Mrs. B spoke. He had changed into his ‘house shorts’ when he got home from school. They were a pair of blue cotton shorts that were quite thin and looked very snug. As I continued staring, I wondered if Mrs. B would spank him in his room or here in the living room. How hard would it be? And would Mikey cry?

As Mikey stood there, he managed to mumble again, “Mom, please. I said I was sorry.”

“You definitely will be sorry Michael. No son of mine ditches school and does not have a forgettable punishment for it. Yes indeed, when I’m done with you, you will be extremely sorry I can assure you.” Mrs. B was now working herself up the more she spoke. “Alright then,” she said as she sat up straight and began smoothing her long skirt across her lap. “Let’s have you over my knee Mikey.”

For the first time, Mikey began to acknowledge my presence in the room. “But… Mom. Lizzie is here…” He almost whispered it, somehow still hoping I would not be aware of the embarrassing predicament he was currently finding himself in.

Mrs. B glanced over at me and thought for a moment. “Sounds like some much needed humble pie for you, my boy. You thought you were such a rebel, skipping school. You even tricked Lizzie, who I am sure feels just as let down as I do. So she can stay here and watch what happens to naughty boys in this home.” She thought some more and added, “Lizzie is a part of this household now, just like you and I. I’m going to have to start counting on her to make sure you’re getting your studying done.”

I was dumbfounded at the thought of actually staying there to witness the actual spanking. That thought had never even crossed my mind. The most I was hoping up to that point was to hear it taking place and maybe sneak a peek if I could.

Mikey began to protest again but was cut off firmly by his mother. “Mikey, if I have to repeat myself, things are going to get a lot worse for you. You are in enough trouble as it is, Mister. Now get over my knee.”

Mikey shuffled slowly towards his mother. I held my breath in anticipation as I watched his bubble butt inch closer towards the wide maternal lap where its fate awaited. When he reached her he began to awkwardly lay down across her lap, with his legs stretched out behind him on the floor and his body resting on the couch. Mrs. B pulled him by the arm so that more of his body rest on the couch and his bottom was placed in the center of her right thigh. His knees were bent behind him because of how low the couch was, and his toes rested on the floor.

My vantage point was ideal. In front and slightly to the right of Mrs. B, I was staring dead center at Mikey’s bottom, which now stuck out invitingly through his thin cotton shorts. His position allowed the shorts to stretch neatly across his bottom, outlining its bulbous shape. I quietly admired the roundness of each plump butt cheek that was presented in front of my young curious gaze.

Then it began. Mrs. B’s thick right palm began a barrage of smacks, alternating between cheeks. I watched as Mikey’s bottom bounced with each smack. The jiggle of one cheek would continue as Mrs. B switched sides and would start its jiggle again once she switched back. Mikey lay still with his arms clasped under his face which was buried in the couch. He was in obvious discomfort, but the entire ordeal seemed more a damage to his pride and ego than any physical pain he was enduring.

Mrs. B must have been thinking the same, because she suddenly stopped and, in a move that made me noticeably gasp, reached with both hands for the waistband of Mikey’s shorts and began to pull them down.

Mikey began to protest loudly, reaching back with his hands. “Mom, noooo.”

But Mrs. B was adamant. “Yes, Mikey. These shorts are coming down and that’s final.” She slapped Mikey’s hands hard enough to where he moved them away again. “If I have to get my belt, I will. Don’t think this can’t get any worse for you, my boy.” Again, Mikey resigned himself to the fate his mother had set out for him. He put his hands under his head and buried his face deep in the couch cushion.

I now sat eagerly watching as Mrs. B pulled Mikey’s shorts down to his knees. Again, I made an audible gasp when I saw that Mikey was not wearing any underwear, and it was now his bare bottom that was in view before me!

It was a glorious sight. His lean thighs converging together into two well-rounded cherubs. There was a clear distinction between his thighs and bottom, with the bottom of his bottom curving inwards suddenly at the transition to his thigh. His bottom seemed firm, despite the obvious baby fat that still lingered with him. The cleft of his bottom seemed deep, and he was probably aware of my presence behind him since once his shorts came down he put both of his thighs together to protect some semblance of modesty that remained.

I was still reveling in the sight before me when the spanking resumed in earnest. Smack after smack rained down on alternating cheeks. The absence of any protection in the form of clothing seemed to be having an immediate impact on poor Mikey. He began to fidget and his bottom began to change color slowly. Mrs. B was like a machine, maintaining a pace of one spank every 2 seconds, a look of determination on her face as she stared downwards at the task at hand.

When Mrs. B switched her routine to two spanks on one cheek before alternating to the next, Mikey’s reaction was almost immediate. His breathing became more heavy and he began to drum his feet against the floor. He started to wriggle across his mother’s lap, which caused her to wrap her left arm around his waist while continuing her wanton aggression on her poor son’s behind. Mikey’s legs began to move uncontrollably, his shorts coming completely off and resting on the floor beside him. As Mrs. B again picked up the pace, Mikey’s legs began to move in a frog-kick motion in a desperate attempt to escape his mother’s smacks. His previous attempts to maintain some dignity was all but lost, and so was whatever modesty he wanted to protect by initially keeping his thighs together. As he continued his frog-kicks, I could see directly between his deep bottom cleft at the dark skin that would momentarily expose itself to me before disappearing again between the two fat cheeks. I was aghast by the obscenity of it all, but could not turn away, as I had never been as aroused as I was then. Poor Mikey was now openly crying, and eventually he gave up struggling, accepting his fate as he lay helplessly over his mother’s powerful thighs. His bottom was now rose-colored, and Mrs. B began to target the bottom-most curve of Mikey’s butt cheeks, purposely flicking her wrist to give each cheek an exaggerated bounce before switching to the next one.

I found myself feeling guilty that I wanted it to continue forever. But sadly, it ended as suddenly as it began. Mrs. B rested her palm on Mikey’s right butt cheek and explained that she hoped he learned his lesson, warning him that he would find himself in a similar situation if he did not shape up fast. She then reached over for his shorts and put them through one foot and then the other before allowing Mikey to stand back up.

“I hope you’ve learned your lesson, Mikey.” Said Mrs. B, who was breathing a bit heavily because of the work she had just put into disciplining her son. I was also breathing heavily but for quite different reasons. My heart was still racing and I tried to maintain a blank, mature expression despite what I had just witnessed.

“Yes, Mom.” Said Mikey with his tearful face. He did not once look at me, and I could not blame him. The shame he felt was almost palpable in the room.

“Good. Now go up to your room and study. You can study on the bed if it hurts you to sit. I’ll be up later on to check on you.” Said Mrs. B. And with that, I watched Mikey’s clothed bottom again as it went towards the stairs and up to his room.

Mrs. B then acknowledged my existence once again. “You know, I’m gonna need you to start making sure he’s keeping up with his schoolwork, and helping him out for the stuff he finds difficult. Do you think you could do that?” she asked.

“Y-yes Mrs. B, of course.” My voice was hoarse, and I had to clear my throat before properly responding.

“Excellent. I have to step out for a bit. If I’m not back in half an hour can you just go check up on Mikey and make sure he’s ok, and that he’s actually studying?”

“Sure thing Mrs. B. I can do that.”

“Thanks Lizzie. I knew I could count on you to help me straighten this boy out. He had a tough ordeal with his father leaving and all. But what he needs now is a firm hand to keep him from going astray, and that just what we are going to give him isn’t that right Lizzie?”

I felt an air of importance and responsibility, and with a big smile I said, “Yes, Mrs. B, I would be more than happy to help.”

(End of File)