Public Hair 1

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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.
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Public Hair - Chapter 1

I was 11 years old when I started growing hair down there - a momentous event that would begin a lifetime of immeasurable embarrassment for yours truly. That was the year when I started growing what would later be mockingly called my 'public hair' (har, har; thanks a lot for that one, Frankie).

Sure, most of the girls at school reached puberty the same year that I did. Also, -and here we must introduce another enormously important element in my story- all of those girls (myself included) received regular discipline by means of an old-fashioned, over-the-knee, good ol’ spanking whenever they (we) misbehaved. But there was a huge, HUGE difference in my particular case: I was the only girl in town that was spanked... well, less than privately.

It sounds incredible, right? But it was the terrible, terrible truth. Every other girl I knew got spanked in the privacy of their bedrooms, behind a closed, locked door. Which means that their mothers had enough common sense to respect their modesty. But my mom? Forget about it! She had always spanked me in whatever room of the house I happened to be in at the time she made the decision to spank me, never mind who might walk in or already be there to witness it. That meant flashing my prepubescent bottom half to aunts, uncles, cousins (of both genders), neighbors, the freaking pizza delivery guy... anyone!

I guess that one could maaaaaybe understand such a thing when I was, say, seven or eight (and even then, it was awfully embarrassing). But when I was 11 and already undergoing the changes of puberty? That had to definitely merit a change in her modus operandi, right? It would be too much to hope that she would stop spanking me altogether, given that most girls in town were regularly spanked by their parents all the way 'til marriage (which was when their husbands took over said duty), but I was certainly expecting that my bodily changes would lead to some privacy during my spankings – the same privacy that every other girl in town had enjoyed since their very first spanking! So you can imagine my shock when I talked to mom about it and she brushed off the idea as casually as if I was discussing dinner or something just as ordinary.

"Don't be silly, Lizzie," she mumbled as she munched peanuts and watched a reality show, without even looking up at me. "If it makes you feel more embarrassed, well, then it's an even better punishment than before, right? It will help you think even harder before misbehaving. Now shush, I’m watching this show."

Naturally, I protested loudly and threw a big tantrum right then and there. Also naturally, this tantrum earned me a spanking right then and there. And just to stress her point and because I got her so mad with my tantrum (also, she hated interruptions during her favorite tv shows), she actually called Frankie on the phone and asked him to come over.

Frankie is... (sigh), well, he's a lot of things. He's our next-door neighbor. He's also my classmate, my friend, my enemy, my sometimes-crush (I really have to get that part sorted out soon, by the way) and my mom's godson. Most of the time, though, he's a real pain in the ass. My ass, that is. He just loves watching me get spanked. Which is why he's always telling on me when I misbehave in even the most inconsequential of fashions, and he often is actively looking to get me in trouble ('trick me into trouble' might be more accurate). He just loves the sight and sound of poor little ol’ me getting it but good! Although, well, I guess I can't fault him for that. I mean, what kid doesn't love getting to see another kid getting spanked, right? Even more so when it's someone from the opposite gender, I guess.

Anyway, so there I was, hands on my head and naked from the waist down when Frankie arrived. By then, I was used to him seeing me in such a state, but like I said, it was different now that I had hit puberty. So I wanted the floor to swallow me when mom explained to Frankie the reason for my upcoming spanking: My ‘silly idea’ that my newly acquired hair should mean less embarrassing, private punishments.

"Wow, you're right, Mrs. Henderson!" Frankie said, leaning closer to my freely displayed pubic region in order to inspect it, a huge smile on his impish face. "She's growing a little hair down there already! Just a few curlies, just as black as the hair on her head. There are still so few that I could even count 'em if I wanted to, but they are definitely there!”

"Yeah? And you could definitely go fuck yourself, too!" I said, losing all composure. I have always had a dirty mouth when I get angry and Frankie has always managed to make me angry when he wants to. You can easily guess what that usually leads to, and this time was no exception.

"Lizzie!" Mom said in shock and outrage. "You just earned yourself a good dose of the hairbrush, young lady!"

"But moooOOOM!" I pleaded. "He's a BOY! And he's talking about my… about my hair! That hair! He's a stupid idiot and I want him to go away!"

"He's a dear friend of this family and a responsible young man. And I won't have you calling him such awful names!" mom said. "Besides, I don't know what you're so upset about, he's been seeing your spankings for years. He's practically your relative by now!"

"But mom, don't you understand? It’s different now! I have HAIR down there, I don't want him to see it! He's an idiot and he's making fun of me and he… he just said that he wants to count my hairs! Goddammit, aren't you fucking LISTENING?"

"I am THROUGH with that kind of language, young lady! In fact, you know what? If your new hair makes you so embarrassed, then I believe we can find a way to use that to improve your punishments. Starting now! Frankie, why don't you do as you suggested while I go fetch the hairbrush?"

"What I suggested?" Frankie said. "You mean...?"

"Yes, count her oh-so-embarrassing new hairs. It’ll be a good idea to keep track of her physical development from now on. Hopefully, this will help to humble her a little. Lord knows she needs it!"

"MOOOOOOM! NOOOOOOOO!"

"Good idea, ma'am!" Frankie said, elated. He was so excited that he jumped in place. He always jumps in place when he gets too excited.

Mom went upstairs to get the stupid, painful hairbrush while Frankie started working on his appointed task. The blond-haired boy knelt in front of me and I could do nothing but watch (by then I was too scared and humbled by the turn of events that I did not dare disobey any further - who knows what new torture might mom dream of next!) as the overjoyed boy started counting my short, black curlies. My brand-new pubes were still quite sparse and short, mostly sprouting around my slit and above it.

Frankie has always seemed a little like a christmas elf to me, mostly because of his big ears I guess, but never more so than when he smiled with true glee like he was doing at the moment. So I had to stand and wait with hands still on my head while Santa's freaking helper counted my pubic hairs one by one. In order to do so, he tugged on each one of them, just hard enough for it to sting but not hard enough to pluck them out. He counted out loud as he tugged. "One!" (ouch!), "two!" (ow! geez!) "three!" "(OW! dammit!), and so on. Besides my few relatively longer pubes, there was a lot of peach fuzz and shorter hairs in the whole area, but Frankie ignored those, as it was probably impossible to tug on them.

He had finished counting by the time mom walked back into the room. I was already weeping from the whole humiliating ordeal, but the waterworks really started working the moment I saw the hairbrush. I have always been so afraid of the hairbrush, even now in my twenties. Hell, I have always been afraid of a regular hand-spanking, even though I have been getting them all my freaking life. But whenever there's a spanking implement at play, my panic increases accordingly.

Then, Frankie's all-time favorite show started in earnest: Mom pulling me across her knees and whacking my butt with unrelenting force as I kicked, screamed, begged, screamed louder, begged some more, kicked harder, screamed even louder and cried, cried, cried. And then, when one would think the spanking had been enough and I had become a very, very sorry little girl, mom just kept on whacking away for a couple more minutes, just for good measure. So there was some more desperate screaming and violent squirming and lots, lots of pain on my poor young tail. The hairbrush stamped its rectangular fury upon my burning-red posterior with a vengeance… *WHACK!*, again… *WHACK!* and again… *WHACK!* and again… *WHACK!* and again and again and again and again…

Then it was finally over and mom let me up so I could begin the dance of the just-spanked, jumping around and rubbing my butt as I -once again- flashed my frontal nakedness to the smirking Frankie. As I rubbed away, I inadvertently pushed my pubic region forward, in true unladylike fashion, giving Frankie a better and funnier show as I did. And of course, I kept on crying like crazy during the entire dance. Sadly, it was a performance I was very used to give. Just as Frankie was used to watching me perform it. But again: Now. It was. DIFFERENT! Because now I had pubic freaking hair, goddammit! It was way more embarrassing! Was it really so hard to understand this simple point? I was not a little girl anymore!

Anyway, when my dance was over, I learned that my ordeal wasn't. To my unbelieving horror, mom handed Frankie a measuring tape and asked him to take me to my bedroom, pull off the rest of my clothes and measure my chest, waist and hips.

"If we're going to keep track of her development," mom said. "We'd better do it properly, I guess. I’ll need you to take her measurements every week, Frankie. And keep track of her pubic hair growth, of course. Can I count on you to do that? It’ll be a weekly chore for you.”

"Oh, sure thing, ma'am!" Frankie said with giddiness. “I’m glad to be of help!”

"WHAAAAT? BUT MOOOOOM!" I said with utter disbelief.

"It'll be good to check if you're developing as you should," mom said. "I'd have done it myself, but now I believe it'll be good to have Frankie do it, in order to humble you a little. Humbleness will be good for you in the long run, you'll see, you'll be thanking me one day. But for now, you're far too arrogant and bad-mannered for your own good, girl, and I aim to change that. Carry on, Frankie."

Frankie took my hand and led crying-little-me upstairs and into my bedroom. He closed the door and then took hold of my blouse, trying to pull it off. I pulled away, protesting about it.

“I can do it myself!” I said. I knew I wasn’t going to avoid the humiliating measuring of my naked body parts, but at the very least I might avoid the indignity of having a boy –a BOY- strip me.

“Your mom said that I should do it,” he said. “Want me to go tell her you’re disobeying her?”

That would mean seconds for sure. With the hairbrush, no less. My butt was still burning an awful lot, so I knew I couldn’t risk it. So I whimpered and allowed the stupid, grinning boy to pull off my blouse and training bra. He whistled as my budding breasts came into view and I felt my face growing hot with sheer embarrassment. As I’ve said before, lots of people had seen me naked from the waist down during my spankings, but this was the first time that anyone had seen my naked chest. And it was a boy! GRUMBLE!

So I had to stand there wearing only my socks, hands once more upon my head, as he took his time measuring my breasts, waist and hips. His fingers wandered a little sometimes and I growled about it, but I was too afraid of earning seconds with the hairbrush to do anything other than grumble and blush and whimper. He committed the measurements to memory and promised to bring a notebook next week, in which to keep track of my development as mom had asked of him.

Then, when I thought my long punishment session was finally over, he added a final touch to make my humiliation complete: He struck a casual, sharp smack upon my naked bottom as he was walking toward the door. Can you freaking believe it? The little imp spanked me! I mean, of course, fast forward to the present and that’s far from a shocking event, but at the moment, for little 11-year-old me it was an unbearably embarrassing shock.

"See you tomorrow at class," he said, at exactly the same time as he had smacked my ass, leading me to realize that the smack had been meant as a (playful? insulting? friendly? humiliating? all of the above?) good-bye gesture on his part. It implied control. It suggested that my body was now accessible to him. Perhaps not limitlessly accessible, but accessible nonetheless. I wanted to reply on the spot. I wanted to protest and, at the very least, remind him that he had not been authorized to smack my butt like he had just done. I wanted to say something, anything, in order to retain some small shred of dignity.

But I said nothing. I just stood there stupidly with my mouth hanging open, as if I evidently wanted to say something but couldn't, wouldn't or did not dare to. He stared at me for a second, then I guess he realized I wasn't going to say anything after all (even though I clearly wanted to), so he grinned at me again, turned around and left.

I stayed frozen for a few more seconds. Then, ridiculously, I finally covered myself with both arms, even though there now was no one in the room to see my nakedness anymore. Clearly, I was ill-prepared for these terrible changes in my punishment system, and even less so for the changes still to come.

So there I was. An 11-year-old girl whose 11-year-old male neighbor had just seen naked, touched, measured and even spanked-goodbye. It was the most embarrassing day of my life. But it was a far cry from the humiliations I would later have to endure, most of them involving spankings and my (sigh) 'public hair'.

To be continued...

(The End)