It's Not Fair
By Crimson Kid
crimsnkidck@yahoo.com
Copyright 2015 by Crimson Kid, all rights reserved
* * * * *
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.
* * * * *
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!" by the Crimson Kid
Dear
"It's
Not Fair!",
Percival
(age 17)
I'm
writing to you
about problems I'm having with my stepmother (Michelina, who's called
"Mitchie" by her grownup friends and my father, but of course I have
to address her as "Mom") and my two stepsisters, Joanne (16) and
Candy (14).
When
Dad got
remarried six months ago, after having been a widower for two years,
that's
when everything began changing for me, much for the worse. My
biological mother
had been what's called "socially liberal," she'd disliked the
so-called "Conservative Resurgence" and that medication (Puericil)
which was supposed to eliminate aggressive tendencies in males. Since
my father
doesn't pay much attention to social issues (he works for a high-end
private
security company which does mostly government work), he went along with
his wife's
ideas on child-rearing and left the "family stuff" to her.
However,
my
stepmother is a big supporter of the "Conservative Resurgence,"
almost as soon as she married Dad there were changes in my lifestyle,
some of
them caused by adding three new female family members but some also due
to her
strict "social conservativism" about corporal punishment for males.
I'll
get to a lot more about that right away, but at least I convinced my
father to
let me only be given a one-third dose of that medication, since I was
(and
still am) on my high school's football, wrestling and tennis teams, so
aggressiveness is a quality I needed to have for competitive purposes.
(The
only physical effect I can tell is that my body hair has thinned out a
touch,
but luckily not disappeared altogether, plus there's thankfully been no
bed-wetting, and I'm still an aggressive enough athletic competitor.)
Since
he'd pretty
much supported me on that issue, he must have felt he should go along
with his
new wife on "reinstituting corporal punishment for Percival," as she
put it. My biological mother had spanked me occasionally, using the
flattened
back of a wooden cooking spoon on my naked hiney once I turned eight
years old,
but she'd stopped doing it once I became a teenager. Not only did Mom
(as I now
have to call my stepmother) plan on walloping me "very soundly and
quite
regularly, to adjust his arrogant attitude," she intended to do that
right
in front of my younger stepsisters (who weren't subject to being
spanked themselves)
with me "naked as a jaybird," to use her pointed expression.
Well,
I got just a
smidgen of good fortune, because Dad insisted that it wasn't proper for
the
girls to view my "sexual equipment" since I was fifteen years old and
pretty well developed, so he and my stepmother worked out another
compromise: I
would be allowed to wear an athletic supporter (jockstrap) or thong
brief while
my bare behind was being worked over by Mom for disciplinary purposes,
or if it
happened away from home my undershorts would just be lowered to my
upper thighs
in the rear only.
Let
me state here
that I have never disliked my stepmother or her daughters, both of whom
were
attractive--Joanne was rather petite, only 5'2" tall, slim but nicely
developed with a curvy body, plus she was a sweet, caring person, while
Candy
was taller (5'6"), pleasingly plump with cute firm breasts and a
generous,
fully-rounded derriere, while she had a sassy yet friendly personality.
Both of
them had blonde hair (Joanne often wore hers in a pony tail) and light
blue
eyes, something like their mother, who was actually a "strawberry
blonde" but had a totally awesome body, looking like some sort of Earth
goddess.
You
see, I'm not
bad-looking myself (although my appearance is mostly Mediterranean) and
a
pretty good athlete, so I was popular at school and I'd become a bit
swell-headed in dealing with the girls I flirted with and sometimes
dated. I
have to admit that I showed a lot of that attitude toward Joanne and
Candy,
even though I really did like them quite a bit--my belief was that,
since I was
older and the only male among the three of us, they should defer to my
wishes. Of
course, Mom had brought them up to believe that girls were much more
mature and
self-disciplined than boys, even ones somewhat older than themselves,
so they
had no intention of letting me dominate them.
The
first time I
was "corporally corrected" (as Candy later described it) by Mom
happened about three months after our households had been combined,
which had
been in her big four-bedroom, two-story house. Joanne was viewing a
televsion
program on the widescreen TV in our living room, but I wanted to watch
the
Thursday night pro football game there instead--I tried to convince the
girl to
relocate to her bedroom and look at her program on the small TV set
there, but
she told me to follow that advice myself (in my bedroom) since she was
already
watching the widescreen. Finally I just grabbed the remote control away
from
her and pushed her away--she did stride off quite angrily, but two
minutes
later she returned with her mother, who looked even angrier with her
eyes
flashing white fire.
"March
yourself upstairs, young man, change into your punishment outfit and
get your
impudent ass back down here in three minutes!" Mom gave me that
instruction, her words very clipped, but I'd forgotten what my
"punishment
outfit" was supposed to be, although it had been explained to me a
couple
of months earlier. She turned to Joanne, who was pink-faced and close
to
crying, and told her, "Remind your darling brother, sweetheart."
"Gym
shorts,
white socks, t-shirt and a jockstrap--or thong brief, I think, either
one--underneath the shorts," she informed me. "Two-and-a-half minutes
left, Percy, you'll get extra swats for being tardy!" Joanne flashed me
a
predatory grin, I could tell she was looking forward to watching me
receive my
well-deserved comeuppance.
I
hustled up the
stairway and into my bedroom, and as I changed into my punishment
outfit,
electing to wear an athletic supporter under my shorts, my mother's
voice
called from downstairs: "Candy dear, would you please bring me the
Jokari
paddle from my bedroom closet?"
"Sure,
Mom,
it will be my privilege," I heard my other stepsister reply. Her voice
sounded rather self-satisfied, so I knew that she was thrilled with the
opportunity to see me getting paddled by her mother. By the time I'd
returned downstairs
to the living room, Mom was seated on top of a plush, round-topped
ottoman
stool with her pleased-looking daughters standing behind her. Joanne
was
holding the wooden spoon from the kitchen, the same one my own
biological
mother had smacked my seat with years earlier, while Candy was gripping
the
handle of her mother's Jokari paddle, which was rather thick (around
half an
inch) and had an oval head, somewhat bigger than a ping-pong paddle's,
with a
black rubber handle--it looked pretty fearsome, and I gulped at the
sight of it
in my stepsister's hand.
"Yes,
it
truly hurts a great deal," my stepmother snickered, "Which you'll
find out soon enough. Now, Percival, come stand directly in front of me
and
politely request that I take down your shorts and give you a long, hard
spanking on your bare babyfat bottom--remember that I'm to be addressed
as
'ma'am' during a punishment session, and that goes for addressing your
sisters
as well."
Well,
I may have
been acting a touch overbearing but I wasn't foolish, so I stood in
front of
Mom, my eyes downcast, and stammered that request, although asking for
"a
long, hard spanking on my bare babyfat bottom, please, ma'am" was
highly
humbling, especially with both girls giggling gleefully at my sorry
predicament.
"I'll
tell
you what, let's have Joanne lower your shorts, after all she is the
injured
party here." The woman's aquamarine eyes were twinkling at me.
"Request her to bare your babyfat bottom for a nice warm-up smacking
with
the wooden spoon, and be sure to address her as 'Miss Joanne, ma'am'
while you
do." Well, that was difficult to do, especially with the way that she
was
smirking with so much pleasure at my plight, but I did manage to ask
her to do
that for me, in a totally embarrassed half-whisper.
"It
will be
my pleasure, Percy," she told me while handing her sister the spanking
spoon, then she squatted down behind me, slipped her fingers into the
waistband
of my shorts and pulled them all the way down to my ankles. "Elevator
going down," she chuckled, then she gave each of my exposed asscheeks a
sharp slap before rising back up. "Nice firms buns there," my smiling
stepsister cheerfully taunted me.
Candy
tittered.
"Perfect for a really blistering-hard paddling," she said.
Mom
nodded in
agreement. "Well, that's my cue, I believe. Percival, I want you bent
way
over my knee (she patted her right thigh), with your naked fanny
pointed at the
ceiling, ready to do some all-out bawling like a baby. Candy dear, once
your
brother's in position you can hand me the wooden spoon and I'll give
his
impudent bare ass an extended warm-up smacking with it."
Boy,
did my
stepmother ever keep her word there! Since I had kind of considered
that
cooking spoon a little kid's punishment implement, because I'd only
been spanked
with it before I became a teenager, I hadn't expected it to hurt me all
that
much since I was almost an adult, at least the way I figured it. Well,
I sure
turned out to be wrong about that belief, because Mom had me yelping
right away
as she cracked that spoon's flattened oaken back against my unprotected
posterior. Those swats stung me plenty, and it wasn't long--around
three
minutes into my walloping, Candy told me afterward--before I was
kicking,
crying and squirming across my stepmother's lap, while that hardwood
just kept
on smacking against my naked buttcheeks, mostly upon the "sit spots"
just above the fold between my glutes and thighs.
After
about six
minutes Mom briefly paused in spanking me, but only to tell Joanne to
kneel in
front of me and hold my arms (at the elbows), and Candy to do the same
behind
me, her grasping my ankles--apparently I was wriggling around on top of
her
thighs so much that she was having a tough time keeping me from rolling
off
them. Once my stepsisters were in their positions to help restrain
me--allowing
Joanne to look straight into my overbrimming eyes while Candy got a
close-up
view of the spanking spoon steadily impacting atop my bouncing
bottom--the
"corporal correction" continued, even more intensely than before, for
another six minutes or so. By the time that part of it was finally
finished,
I'd stopped squirming and howling, I was just sobbing softly and
moaning.
Joanne
surprised
me, and her mother too it seemed, by suggesting that I be given "a bit
of
a break so he can get his breath back and stop crying." Of course, I
was
instructed by Mom to stand in the closest open corner of the living
room with
my hands locked together behind me and my nose touching the
intersection of
both walls, a position that made those throbbing, sizzling asscheeks of
mine
stick out backward, much to my stepsisters' amusement--I had to waddle
over
there with my shorts still tangled around my ankles, while my
supporter-framed
rear end was "jiggling so cutely with such a nice cherry red glow,"
according to Candy.
It
took me twelve
minutes in the corner (Joanne later informed me), while my feminine
step-relatives sipped ice tea and made teasing comments about my
carrying on
childishly like a five-year-old while being spanked, before my
stepmother
decided I'd regained enough composure to awkwardly shuffle back over to
her and
resume my "chastisement-receiving position," according to her, but
that time she had me bend over only her left knee, after which she
pressed her
right leg across my thighs and hooked its foot under her left
ankle.
"This
should
help hold you in proper position for your actual discipline, Percival,
considering how immaturely you wiggled around during your warm-up," she
announced happily. "Candy, hand me the Jokari paddle and then I want
you
girls in opposite spots from before, Joanne holding your brother's
ankles and
Candy his arms--let's make this naughty little toddler take his
paddling
properly, without his bare bottom trying to avoid the red-assed
shellacking it
has coming."
I'd
thought that
the wooden spoon had hurt my poor hiney a great deal, but then that
thick,
sturdy oval-shaped fanny-whacker was a true revelation to me--boy, did
it ever
plaster my exposed posterior with a vengeance! (Afterward, Candy
joyfully
described my expression as "purely priceless" once that first
paddywhack had connected to my wide-open undercheeks--I was literally
breathless for a moment, before exhaling with a loud, pained
"Owwwwch!!") The tears started flowing again pretty much immediately,
but my maternal disciplinarian simply kept on walloping me with her
heavy
paddle (it was actually designed for a game which was popular decades
ago),
again focusing most of her steadily deliberate yet intensive swats
against my
sensitive and already sore "sit spots," much to my weeping and
wailing distress. (Joanne later playfully described my "babyfat bare
buns
bouncing with every smack of Mom's paddle, it was so adorably cute.")
It
turned out to
be another twelve-minute butt-blistering, with my stepsisters switching
restraint positions about halfway through. The teardrops were flowing
so
freely, spattering onto the shag carpeting beneath my face, that I
could barely
meet Joanne's gaze, yet her expression seemed to be sympathetic. The
chastisement's concluding couple of minutes left me whimpering quiety
plus
groaning softly after each resounding paddywhack, much to my paddler's
satisfaction--her eyes were shining while, after being helped to stand
up and
face her by the girls but before being sent to do fifteen minutes'
worth of
post-punitive cornertime, I blubbered an abject apology to my
stepsisters and
herself for my "arrogant attitude" toward females.
The
strange thing
is that I actually did feel regretful over the way I'd acted toward the
girls,
and even my stepmother a bit, so I hasn't just saying what I knew Mom
wanted to
hear in order to avoid any more discipline from her. Luckily for me,
following
my second sniffling, sore-bottomed stint in the corner, I was hugged
and kissed
by all three of them, showing that I'd been forgiven, but ominously I
was
maternally warned that "This is only the beginning of your reformation
process, Percival."
That
night Joanne,
who's a "candy striper" (volunteer nurse's aide), came into my
bedroom with a tube of aloe cream, which she offered to massage into
the
ravaged skin of my still-smarting seat. Lying prone (naturally under
the
circumstances) on my bed, I started to protest when she began pulling
my pajama
pants down to upper-thigh level, which made her giggle at my
foolishness. "If
you're worried about protecting your rearward modesty to avoid having
plenty of
'southern exposure' in front of me, I'd say that ship has sailed,
Percy." I
had to agree with her there, and I really did enjoy the feel of her
caring
hands rubbing that soothing lotion onto my exceedingly well-punished
posterior.
Of
course,
long-practiced behavior patterns don't simply disappear, so over the
next two
weeks I underwent four more lengthy spanking sessions, virtually
identical to
that first one (over-the-knee, bare-assed smackings via the wooden
spoon
followed by similar Jokari paddlings, with the girls acting as
"assistants"), administered quite severely by my stepmother. As with
the original extended "corporal correction," I'll admit to deserving
all of those wallopings--however, my conduct toward my stepsisters was
steadily
improving over that time period, in spite of a few mild
"regressions," as Mom put them, which resulted in me sporting sore,
stinging-hot buttock cheeks and tear-streaked facial ones while I
sobbed in the
living room corner.
Here's
what is not
fair, though: My stepmother decided that the overall improvement in my
attitude
toward females was due to my being thoroughly thrashed upon my naked
fanny on a
regular basis, so she worked out a so-called "disciplinary regimen"
to make certain that I would continue to be embarrassingly punished
that
way--in fact, she's gradually made my butt-whackings more hurtfully
intensive,
not to mention highly humbling to me personally.
Now
there's a
weekly "Percival's Behavior Chart," which actually is a type of
"misbehavior chart," posted prominently on the kitchen wall--it lists
twenty-four different kinds of misconduct I might be guilty of
committing, some
of them pretty picayune stuff, with demerits for each violation. For
example,
the minor offense of "Toilet seat left up" will earn me four
demerits, while the major one of "Disrespect toward sister" results
in my acquiring twelve of them. However, in the case of any major
violation,
meaning one worth ten or more demerits, I also receive an on-the-spot,
bare-bottom spanking session with both of the punitive implements Mom
now
employs.
The
cooking spoon
has been replaced by a fairly short, school-style rubber strap, which
snaps
across my unprotected posterior with a fiery-hot impact, while the
Jokari
paddle has been retained, but with supposed "improvements": Fifteen
small holes have been drilled into its oval-shaped striking surface, to
make it
sting me even worse, an inscription has been painted on its other side
and
varnish has been applied to the smooth blonde wood. The printing, in
black,
crimson-trimmed capital letters, reads as follows: "MITCHIE'S SPANKING
PADDLE FOR PERCIVAL'S BARE BEHIND." These two implements hang on pegs,
one
on each side of my "behavior chart" in the kitchen, where of course
any visitors there can easily spot them--which refers to my
stepmother's female
friends and the girlfriends of my stepsisters, all of whom seem to find
that
display of my disciplinary status to be quite amusing. (The girls
aren't allowed
to have male guests at our house, and obviously I don't invite any of
my
friends over any more.)
Mom's
final
"refinement" (at least so far) in my punitive sessions has been to
have one of her daughters, usually Candy, massage baby oil into the
skin of my
exposed asscheeks, after I've been bent across her lap, for each part
of my
walloping, first the licking with her rubber strap and later the
paddling. It
feels cool and comfortable going on, leaving my rear end "glistening
brightly," according to Joanne, but I know that it will intensify the
stinging heat atop my defenseless derriere once the spanking is
underway. Boy,
am I ever "hurtin' for certain" back there while enduring those
baby-oil blisterings.
Every
weekend,
generally on Saturday morning, there's a meeting in which my "behavior
chart" for the past week is reviewed and the demerits tallied. Even if
I've been separately spanked for a major disciplinary violation during
that
time, which almost always seems to have happened at least twice, those
demerits
are added up along with the ones assigned due to lesser offenses. The
weekly
tally is entered at the bottom of the chart, to be "paid off" with
three cracks of the strap and two swats with the Jokari paddle for each
demerit. (These are the only chastisements I receive during which a
specified
number of strokes are delivered.) The girls, who have the authority to
assign
me demerits on their own, attend that meeting and as usual are Mom's
"assistants" in administering the strappings and paddlings needed to
"retire" that previous week's "behavior chart."
What
does a
typical "retirement session" amount to in terms of length, you may
wonder, so I'll figure 75-90 licks of the lashing rubber and 50-60
Jokari
paddywhacks. Although I seriously attempt to avoid breaking any rules,
some of
the violations are pretty vague and subject to interpretation, such as
"Acting argumentive" (four demerits) and "Being
disagreeable" (three demerits). My stepmother and Candy are rather
generous in assigning me demerits via notations on my chart, although
Joanne
generally does so only if I've somehow truly annoyed her.
Well,
that's the
situation I'm facing right now, and "It's Not Fair!" surely describes
it. Not only do I seem to undergo at least three extremely emphatic
spanking
sessions, including cornertime, just about every week, but I'm teased a
whole
lot by the numerous female visitors who spot my "behavior chart,"
flanked by the school-style strap and that Jokari paddle with its
humbling (to
me) inscription, in our kitchen. Their gleeful, girlish giggles and
smug grins
are embarrassing enough, yet I'm also expected to politely answer any
questions
they have in full detail.
"Do
you
really get it smack on your bare ass, right in front of Joanne and
Candy?"..."Does it seriously hurt?"..."Do you actually end
up bawling just like a five-year-old, like Candy says you do?"..."How
does it feel, standing with your nose touching the corner while your
stepmom
and stepsisters are looking at your naked red hiney?"..."So you get
two bare-assed butt-blisterings every Saturday, one with the strap and
another
with the paddle, while you're bent over your stepmom's knee like a
naughty
little boy, is that right?" All of these insipid questions, but I have
to
reply to them with respectful courtesy.
I
haven't yet been
disciplined, while wearing my "punishment outfit" shorts-down of
course, in front of any female visitors, although Mom has hinted
broadly that
it could happen quite easily in the near future. However, my most
immediate problem
is that she's decided to have her daughters handle my Saturday morning
"weekly chart retirement" by administering my "corporal
correction" themselves, Joanne wielding the strap and Candy using the
paddle, with me bare-bottom-up across their laps. This is scheduled to
start
once Candy turns fifteen, and her birthday is only a month away.
I'm
already
extremely embarrassed by the situation I'm in, even though I've been
trying
hard to behave properly, yet it will surely get even worse once I'm
being
spanked by my younger stepsisters every weekend, especially when their
regular
guests find out about it--the teasing from those females will be
totally
humiliating, I'm afraid, and the knowing smiles they flash at me in the
hallways at school will make me blush more than I already do. (All
visitors are
supposed to be "sworn to secrecy" about our household's disciplinary
practices, but the sly smirks I receive from those girls at school
nonetheless
leave me pink-faced.) I'll probably also hear many more whispered
questions
like "How was Saturday's spanking on your bare behind?", once I'm
being put across the girls' own laps for my double chastisement each
weekend.
My
father
point-blank won't involve himself any further in what he considers to
be
"your mother's turf," household discipline, and he's out of touch at
the moment anyway, assigned to some confidential project overseas for
the next
four months.
Meanwhile,
I'm
getting my naked fanny soundly strapped and paddled by Mom several
times a
week, and my sore-seated fate will only become even more humbling once
my
stepsisters are promoted from simply giving their mother "assistance"
to spanking me themselves every Saturday.
Overall,
I've
become quite fond of my immediate female step-relatives, but concerning
my
continued "corporal correction" at their strict-yet-loving
hands..."It's Not Fair!"
[Response from
"Boy Stuff" magazine's female guest editor of this column:
Well,
Percival, I
understand why you might be feeling a touch upset over your situation
regarding
your "brand-spanking-new" female step-relatives, but my reaction is
that you're being melodramatic and greatly exaggerating your problems.
First
of all, it's
now accepted in our society, thanks to the recent "Conservative
Resurgence," that very sound bare-bottom spankings are desirable for
boys
(from my personal perspective all males), and their positive social
benefits
are significantly enhanced when young females are involved, as
spectators,
"assistants" (to use your stepmother's expression) or better still
spankmistresses themselves.
Those
chastisements which you've been receiving regularly from your
stepmother are
making you into a more considerate, mature and responsible person, so
you
should embrace them as a "necessary good" even though they hurt your
naked hiney at the time you're undergoing them. True, you're shedding
some tears
on occasion and your posterior frequently ends up feeling quite sore
these
days, but you've admitted that at least your first five maternal
butt-blisterings were deserved--however, I believe that all of your
corporal
correction was necessary to permanently adjust your "arrogant
attitude" and break down your overweaning male ego.
If
your continued
spanking sessions were to be ended, as you clearly desire, how long
would your
improved treatment of your stepsisters actually last, do you believe?
The high degree
of embarrassment involved in those bare-bottom punishments is what's
keeping
you accomodatingly courteous in your relationships with Joanne and
Candy,
that's what I'm guessing, and it's obvious to me that your stepmother
also
feels that way, which is why she has no intention of terminating
them.
Surely
it's no
oversight that female visitors to your house are quickly made aware,
via the
open display of your "behavior chart" and the instruments of corporal
correction (notably that Jokari paddle with its humiliatingly stark
inscription) hanging beside it in the kitchen, that you're subject to
getting
your exposed posterior maternally walloped on a regular basis. Your
stepmother
wants you to experience a healthy masculine feeling of humility toward
your
household's feminine guests, I'm pretty certain, which will result in
you
treating them respectfully rather than condescendingly, so therefore
causing
you some degree of embarrassment is an effective method of
achieving that
objective.
It's
an accepted
axiom in today's society that boys, even those of them in their late
teens and
early twenties (I'd personally include all males below the age of 100),
are
generally immature and lacking in self-discipline, thus they require
strong
guidance, leadership and often behavior modification via sound
chastisement,
such necessities to be provided by their womenfolk, even including
younger
females--who are nonetheless considerably more mature and emotionally
advanced
than their male counterparts.
Mother
Nature (also
known as the Sacred Feminine) has designed boys (and in my opinion
adult males
as well), physically and psychologically, to be the recipients of
frequent
sound spankings, preferably delivered upon their bare behinds, from the
females
in their lives--you childishly naughty fellows have firmly-rounded
buttcheeks
which can absorb a great deal of emphatic smacking, whacking,
strapping,
switching and whipping with no more than intensive stinging, sizzling
soreness,
which will eventually disappear, leaving your resilient rumps ready for
their
next round of feminine-administered discipline. As your own response to
receiving continuous corporal correction has pointedly demonstrated,
boys (and
I'd venture males in general) react well, in a socially desirable
manner, to
being seriously spanked and humbled by their womenfolk (of all ages).
In
a sense you're
very fortunate, Percival, since you're not stripped totally naked for
your
chastisements and cornertime, not to mention that your low dosage of
Puericil
has allowed you to avoid almost all of the seemingly negative (to you)
effects
of the medication. However, there is a trade-off involved, so that you
have to
frequently receive emphatic, embarrassing corporal punishment in order
to keep
your otherwise arrogant, overly aggressive male ego under strict
control. Therefore,
your spanking regimen is the "opportunity cost" of the athletic
success and well-developed masculine body which you enjoy, so you
should
embrace it as such.
As
for your
stepsisters becoming your spankmistesses in the near future, I must
side with
their mother on this issue. You've stated that you like the girls and
now treat
them nicely, but have you accepted their feminine guidance and
leadership,
despite them being younger than yourself? That needs to happen as soon
as
possible, and your stepsisters merely being "assistants" to their
mother in administering your shorts-down wallopings obviously hasn't
accomplished that. Once you start going bare-bottom-up across their
loving laps
for your Saturday strappings and paddlings, I believe that your
relationships
with Joanne and Candy will become properly defined via our societal
norms,
which I figure is your stepmother's intention.
So
my advice to
you, Percival, is that you enthusiastically embrace the upcoming
disciplinary
roles which the girls will soon be assuming--tell them that you're
looking
forward to being soundly spanked over their knees each Saturday because
it will
redefine the relationships between themselves and yourself in a highly
positive
manner, and remind them to never "go easy" on your naked hiney while
they're chastising you.
Just
to give you
advance notice, I'm reasonably sure that Joanne and Candy will be given
the
authority to spank you whenever they deem necessary within the next few
months.
Also, you can quite probably expect that at least a few select feminine
visitors will be allowed to witness your maternal spankings in the
not-too-distant future, then eventually your sisterly ones as well.
However,
all of
these developments will be to your long-term benefit, so don't despair,
Percival. That classic saying, "This is for your own good," is going
to be accurate in your case.
On
the other hand,
if any of your female step-relatives claims that "This hurts me more
than
it hurts you," while she's thoroughly blistering your bare bottom
across
her lap--LOL! I wouldn't believe that one!
Sincere
best
wishes,
Doctor
Almeda
McMichael]
(The End)