It's Not Fair 4

By Crimson Kid

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This story is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It contains explicit 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.

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Note from the editor (Cassie):

This is a letter in the It's Not Fair series, set in the Puericil Universe. The author has added a response from a "guest editor," the same character he used in his "It Sure Is Fun!" letters (Doctor Almeda McMichael). I have added it as an independent story. It would make little sense to make it part of my INF series, since I haven't written any part of it.

For the record, any author who is interested is invited to write "It's Not Fair" letters, either writing the editor's response or letting me write it. Both approaches work perfectly well for me!

"IT'S NOT FAIR! LETTER #4" by the Crimson Kid

Dear "It's Not Fair!",

(Percival, age 17)

This is my third letter to this column, the second one I sent in around eight weeks ago and my situation has continued to change, which Doctor Almeda McMichael (sometimes a guest editor for this column in BOY STUFF magazine) is clearly aware of, given the letters from my two stepsisters, Joanne (16 years old) and Candy (15), which she has responded to in a popular publication for teenage girls.

I don't read female-oriented magazines (although my stepmother and her daughters read this column in my copy of BOY STUFF every month), but each of my stepsisters insisted on reading her printed letter, plus Doctor McMichael's response to it, out loud at the dinner table as soon as she spotted it in that edition. So I had no choice but to hear exactly what they made public about our family situation, particularly how they both now get to wallop my bare behind every Saturday morning, sometimes even with outsiders (their girlfriends or Mom's close female friends) being allowed to observe my spankings and cornertime. (Each of them did seem to skip over a little bit of her letter and also Doctor McMichael's reply, although I don't know why--the 95% of both letters which they did read to me was certainly humbling enough already.)

My stepmother reminded me that most of the readers of BOY STUFF are teenage males who likely don't read that silly girls' magazine, so they wouldn't know about the events described by Candy and then Joanne in their letters, meaning that I should summarize them briefly here.

To put it bluntly, since there's no effective way to avoid stating what's true in this case, after Joanne and Candy had taken over my Saturday morning "behavior chart retirement" bare-bottom-up, across-the-lap spankings, something which I wrote about in my previous letters, our family relationship dealing with my domestic discipline has "continued to evolve," as Joanne cheerfully expresses it.

First of all, I intentionally neglected to pass along Doctor McMichael's "sentencing" of me to an over-the-knee spanking (64 swats each) on my naked hiney from both Joanne (with the wooden spoon) and Candy (with the oaken bath brush), to the three females in my "blended family"--but of course Mom was clever enough to obtain the edition, so not only did I undergo those two assigned stepsisterly chastisements as directed by you, but my bare derriere was also given two maternal wallopings (96 licks with the leather strap plus 64 with the Jokari paddle), all four of them intermixed together. Wow, was I ever bawling like a baby during that time, which included two red-assed cornertime sessions as well.

Boy oh boy, that was both seriously hurtful (physically) and extremely embarrassing (emotionally), especially with all the girlish teasing which I was subjected to during and following that disciplinary session. I'm also required to apologize to Doctor McMichael for not initially telling my stepmother and my stepsisters about the "sentence" she gave me--however, it was eventually delivered by Joanne and Candy, plus I was very soundly chastised by Mom for my disobedience to her printed instructions. She can be certain that it won't happen again, I'm promising that much to her right now. Since my mother has e-mailed her about a half-dozen photos showing me getting my naked fanny walloped, plus doing two stints of cornertime, I'm certainly hoping that she was fully satisfied with my punishment--it hurt me (physically and emotionally) a whole lot, that's for certain!

Several weeks after that incident, Joanne was able to "break the ice" in terms of convincing her mother to allow an outsider, a female who is not a member of our immediate family, watch one of my "behavior chart retirement" disciplinary sessions, that is me being both strapped (by Joanne) and paddled (by Candy) on my bare behind while bent across their respective laps. It was Maisie McIntyre, a cute brunette sixteen-year-old who's also my second cousin (the daughter of my father's first cousin, whom I call "Aunt Adrianna"), who eagerly watched my naked hiney getting walloped by my stepsisters on a Saturday morning while I carried on childishly, bawling like a baby during the spankings and then sobbing during my cornertimes. She was actually pretty nice to me afterward, telling me that she did "enjoy the fanny-tanning show" but still giving me plenty of sympathy and understanding. (Unlike Candy and Joanne, cousin Maisie still undergoes sound panties-down paddlings herself at home.)

Well, that first time "opened the floodgates," as Mom expresses it with her eyes twinkling merrily, so that now there are almost always several feminine witnesses (beside my stepmother) to those "behavior chart retirement" punitive proceedings every Saturday morning, all of them being fairly close girlfriends of Joanne, Candy or even Mom. (Maisie wasn't all that serious of a friend to Joanne when she originally viewed my bare-bottom blisterings, since she was chosen basically due to her extended-family relationship to me, but they did become much more friendly after that--my cousin has observed two additional Saturday morning sessions since then.)

These teenage girls and early-middle-aged women already knew that I was corporally corrected atop my naked buttcheeks by the three females in my "blended family" household, and had earlier been sworn to strict secrecy about knowing it, but of course the experience of having them physically present to watch it happening has greatly heightened the intensity of the embarrassment I currently end up feeling during my "behavior chart retirement" spanking sessions. In school, the sly smiles and knowing winks those good friends of my stepsisters give me seem much more brazen after they've actually seen my unprotected posterior being strapped by Joanne and paddled by Candy.

In the confines of our house, of course, feminine visitors are free to tease me and ask any questions they desire to, while I am required to accept their remarks "in a friendly spirit," according to my amused stepmother, and respond respectfully to any girlish, gleeful questioning directed to me, no matter how humbled I feel in doing so. Fortunately, any truly mean-spirited taunts are very rare, so I'm almost always teased playfully, plus sometimes even empathized and/or sympathized with--still, those are humbling conversations which I would much prefer to avoid.

When my father finally returned home on a brief break from his highly confidential work with a private security company, one which carried out overseas assignments for both corporate and government clients, I hoped to convince him to intervene against the "strict disciplinary regimen" which his second wife had imposed upon me. I had been e-mailing him with my protests on occasion, but he had replied simply that he was in no position to inferefere with Mom's parenting approach since he wasn't present to observe its effects on the household. Once he'd arrived at house early in the evening on the Monday before Thanksgiving to begin a four-day leave from his job, I was hoping that he would realize how unfairly I was being treated by my stepmother.

I'd been paddled with her Jokari paddle, the oval-headed one with small holes in its striking surface which was imprinted with the label "MITCHIE'S SPANKING PADDLE FOR PERCIVAL'S BARE BEHIND," only three hours earlier. I'd sassed her rather rudely, I must admit, over a minor problem which turned out to be my fault (the misplacing of my school wrestling uniform), and she'd responded by promptly instructing me to change into my "punishment outfit" and after that bring me the wooden fanny-whacker from the kitchen, then telling Joanne to enter the offense of "Disrespect to mother" on "Percival's Behavior Chart," accompanied by its eighteen-demerit addition to my weekly tally of demerits.

Candy had been sent to retrieve the baby oil from the upstairs bathroom, and soon all three of us teenagers were in the living room facing Mom, who was seated on the plush, round-topped ottoman. At her mother's request, Joanne had squatted down behind me and lowered my running shorts to ankle level, baring my quivering buttcheeks, which were framed by the bands of my athletic supporter--then my sweet, pretty stepsister slapped my naked hiney a dozen times with her smacking palm, making it smart a touch in spite of the smallness of her hands.

Once I'd bent across the firm, wide lap of my tall, athletic "Earth goddess"-type stepmother, Candy had kneeled behind me and slowly massaged baby oil onto my buttock rounds. After handing Mom the Jokari paddle, Joanne had taken a position kneeling in front of me and gripped my elbows in her hands. (Obviously, I could easily have twisted my arms away from her gripping fingers, but I knew better than to do so.) As my sixteen-year-old stepsister's baby blue eyes had met my gaze, I'd been aware of both bemusement and genuine sympathy reflected in them. Meanwhile, her younger sister had finished 'oiling up' my exposed asscheeks, so she'd grasped my ankles, pulling my sock-clad feet to the carpet to restrict any kicking on my part.

Mom then patted the thick hardwood's striking surface against my trembling rear end. "My, these nicely-rounded glutes of yours are glistening so brightly," she'd clucked. "Now precisely what do I need to do with this 'Mitchie's Spanking Paddle' of mine, Percival darling?"

I couldn't help gulping before I responded. "Ahhhh, please wallop my bare behind with it, Mother dear, very long and extra hard, to teach me a proper lesson about not being disrespectful to you, ma'am."

She had chuckled, sounding girlish. "Very well, Percy darling, I'll be quite happy to fulfill your request, in order to help you become a better member of our family."

Then she had promptly administered a really long, extremely thorough paddywhacking smack on my defenseless derriere, focusing her blistering-hot swats on my tender undercheeks, what she refers to as "the bottom of your (my) bare bottom," which had quickly left me yelping, then sobbing, then finally weeping and wailing like a five-year-old being spanked over his mommy's knee. My hips had been twisting and my buttcheeks "bouncing buoyantly," as Joanne later described their movements to me, yet I was held tightly in place by my smug stepsisters for around twelve solid minutes, while my naked fanny had been maternally stung and enflamed by that wicked Jokari oakwood.

Afterward, while doing red-bottomed, sniffling contemplation with my nose pressed into the living room corner, I'd strangely felt a bit grateful that my chastisement had taken place before my father had arrived home (since I'm pretty certain to earn at least one spanking from my stepmother during the week, in addition to the sisterly "behavior chart retirement" session every Saturday morning), not to mention that there had been no visiting feminine observers. Of course, due to the methods employed to keep my boyish buttcheeks sensitive and vulnerable, Joanne rubbing aloe lotion onto them nightly while her mother shaves them smooth about three times a week, they'd been intensely blazing and throbbing as much as they always are after a very sound maternal "hiding" (still another term for an ass-thrashing used in our household, which I was the only person on the recieving end of, at least for the moment).

By the time Dad arrived that evening I was feeling pretty good, mostly because Mom had suggested that Joanne cream my sizzling seat with the soothing lotion right after my cornertime was completed, something she normally didn't allow until bedtime--I was supposed to "feel the burn on your (my) backside" until then, in order to reinforce the lesson which my punishment had been intended to teach me. Feeling my so-very-pretty stepsister's caring hands sweetly rubbing that cooling ointment onto the ravaged skin of my well-walloped hind end, while she teased me affectionately but also praised my cooperation while enduring the discipline I deserved, that never failed to improve my mood following a bare-bottom blistering--even one in which Joanne herself had lambasted my exposed posterior as part of it.

Without going into detail, our "blended family" had a great week, in which my father got re-acquainted with his stepdaughters, told me how proud he was concerning my academic improvement and my high degree of athletic success at school (we talked quite a lot about sports) and obviously spent a considerable amount of time alone with his beautiful wife. Candy and Joanne were thrilled to have such a handsome, youthful-looking stepfather--he was forty-three but in excellent physical shape--taking our family out for dinner at a high-class restaurant, to the movies and even ice skating one evening.

Of course, Dad could hardly miss viewing "Percival's Behavior Chart" posted on the kitchen wall, flanked by the hanging-from-hooks Jokari paddle and short leather strap, the punitive implements wielded (by Candy and Joanne respectively) during my regular Saturday morning over-the-knee spanking sessions, yet he was hardly surprised at the sight--both Mom and I had described my "strict disciplinary regimen" (although with very different degrees of approval) to him via e-mail messages, after all.

Following Thanksgiving dinner, which my stepmother and her two daughters had expertly prepared, my father and stepmother left to stay the night at a nearby four-star hotel. Joanne and Candy were smirking and giggling after they'd left, but I considered myself to be a "man of the world" and figured that our parents might be engaging in some sort of loud lovemaking (although their nightly interaction inside the master bedroom hadn't exactly been all that subdued on the previous three evenings) during their last night together.

While Joanne was giving me my usual bedtime aloe lotion massage later on, I asked her what she and Candy had considered so amusing. She laughed lightly and explained that her sister had checked out Mom's closet and found it missing several items, ones which I hadn't even realized were in her mother's possession--an oval-shaped lexan spanker (made of clear plastic polymer, she told me), a rattan cane along with a black nylon one (slim, whippy implements) and her cedar college sorority paddle--plus the rubber school strap and oakwood bath brush which my rear end was stingingly familiar with.

"Sooner or later your own naughty naked fanny will get to feel all of those other implememts, Percy dear, I'm pretty certain of that," she told me, sounding quite pleased at that prospect, "But Daddy's bare behind is the one getting a really long workout with them tonight. I know that Mom wasn't happy with his lack of regular communication while he was away, plus she mentioned that he always needed 'a firm, strict reminder to behave himself' before going back overseas--well, he'll sure be getting that from her this evening, won't he?" She gave each of my exposed asscheeks a sharp smack with her palm. "Don't act so surprised, in this household we girls do the butt-blistering and you boys do the babyish bawling. Once I turn eighteen, Daddy's bare buns will be mine to wallop along with yours, darling boy."

That was a stunning revelation to me, although now looking back it probably shouldn't have been--my stepmother's emotional dominance over her second husband hadn't actually been all that much of a secret, plus of course she's been a very strong believer in the use of corporal punishment to enforce feminine authority over males, which is a key belief of her approach to the "Conservative Resurgence."

Before he left us the next day, Dad praised his newlywed wife's leadership of our "blended family" in his absence, especially the facts that my school grades had improved (from an 83% average to a 92% one) and that I appeared even stronger and healthier than before (which had undoubtedly contributed to my making first-team All-Conference in football)--Mom's insistence that I study harder and reduce my "junk food" intake, practices which were both supported by her carrying out of that "strict disciplinary regimen" atop my exposed posterior, were responsible for those personal improvements of mine, I must admit.

My father had also been pleasantly surprised at how well I got along with my stepsisters, especially the cooperation and respect which I showed them plus the obvious affection and sweetness which they demonstrated toward me. (Of course, any halfway intelligent guy is going to be cooperative and respecful toward girls who blister his bare behind on a weekly basis, as intensely as they desire to, and I'm guessing that it's pretty easy for girls to feel sweetly affectionate about an older-than-them male whom they cheerfully turn into a childishly crying, red-bottomed reprobate on a regular basis.)

The following morning, as usual on Saturday my naked buttcheeks, after being coated with baby oil before each spanking, were thoroughly "whupped" by Joanne (she decided to switch back to the rubber school strap, which seemed to sting even worse than the leather one) and then gleefully paddywhacked by Candy via the Jokari paddle, with me serving twelve-minute cornertime stints between the over-the-knee chastisements and following the second one. As I sobbed quietly while my blazing bare buns throbbed fiercely, having my nose pressed against the corner where the two living room walls met, my hopes had been totally deflated--I was stuck with enduring my sisterly "behavior chart retirements," those double-spanked disciplinary sessions every weekend, with no hope of relief.

That night, as Joanne's soft, caring hands gently massaged cooling aloe cream onto my still-smarting seat as I lay on her bed while she was seated stradling my waist, I muttered once again that "It's Not Fair!" Picking up the blushing pink wooden Sephora hairbrush from atop her bedstand, she forcefully cracked its smooth, flat back against my naked, upturned buttock rounds two dozen times, making me squirm and squeal as she tittered with amusement.

"It's for your own good, can't you understand that?" she demanded, then resumed rubbing the lotion onto the extra-tender spots she'd just lambasted with that butt-blistering brush.

All I could do was sigh in frustration, while wondering how to get out of this situation that I'm stuck in.

[Response from BOY STUFF magazine's female guest editor of this column:

"There are none so blind as those who will not see."

That classic saying sums up your situation from my perspective, Percival. Everything seems to be going extremely well in your life, yet you still protest against the very thing which has obviously made you into a better stepbrother, student and athlete--all improvements which your father noticed even during his rather brief period of time back home.

It was unrealistic of you to have expected him to somehow 'rescue' you from the "strict disciplinary regimen" which has been a prime factor in the wonderful family life which you're so fortunate to enjoy, yet in your misguided desperation you did exactly that. Now that you're finally aware of how fully your father is subject to your stepmother's bottom-blistering discipline, just as you yourself are, hopefully you'll be able to accept what everyone else in your 'blended family' already knows, that its female-dominated structure has worked out to the best interest of all of its members.

My impression is that it won't be very long at all before Joanne and Candy are given full corporally corrective authority over you, Percival, meaning that they will be able to spank you quite soundly with their choice of implements, pants-down across their laps, at any time they feel you deserve such punishment. (This would be in addition to them both still administering your 'behavior chart retirement' chastisements on Saturday mornings.) It's highly probable that any feminine visitors then present at your family's residence will be permitted to witness such highly humbling (from your point of reference) sisterly spanking activities occurring, just as they now are for maternal ones, not to mention for your Saturday morning double bare-bottom blisterings.

So my suggestion is to be prepared for those additional chastisements in the near future, and focus on avoiding any misconduct which might result in such truly embarrassing, red-assed retribution befalling you, Percival dear.

Sincere best wishes,

Doctor Almeda McMichael]

(The End)