Jack’s First Adult Spanking

“Come now, my naughty pet; you know you’ve earned this spanking fair and square.”

A frisson went through Jack. Carlene had called him her “naughty pet” before, and it never failed to produce a pleasant sensation. Now that she’d added the word  “spanking” in the same sentence, he felt an even more visceral thrill that nearly made him come undone.

“Oh...oh, Carlene, please...”

“That’s ‘Miss Carlene’ or ‘Ma’am’ to you, young man.” The brunette beauty sitting on the other side of the parlor was far younger than he; when she called him “young man” and fixed him with one of her trademark strict, no-nonsense stares, it did him in.

“Sorry, Miss...Um...I...”

“A little tongue-tied, are we, little Jackie? I think you’d better come over here and drape yourself over my lap right now, don’t you?”

Oh, yes! he thought. Please make me. Don’t let me get away with a thing.

“I said now, young man,” the dark-haired, curvy disciplinarian commanded sharply. “You’ve already earned some firm over-the-knee discipline; if I have to repeat myself again, you’re going to find sitting down particularly difficult for a few days!”

Jack felt his stomach flip in anticipation. As if robbed of volition, he walked woodenly over to where the slight young woman sat on the duvet in the parlor across from where he’d been standing. His ears went red as he approached under her watchful eye. She wore a long floral sundress that was low-cut enough to highlight her ample breasts, which he found it impossible not to gaze at longingly. Her feet were adorned with silver ankle bracelets and matching toe rings, and he noticed she had just had a French tip pedicure done. The light, petal scent of her perfume wafted into his nostrils as he approached, and he felt light-headed. How had he managed to get himself into a spanking situation with this demure-yet-strict young woman? He suddenly realized--to his great embarrassment--that there would be no hiding his aroused state once he was draped over her knee!

“Well, well...” Carlene took in his helpless reaction, smirked slightly, and made a clucking sound with her tongue. “It seems my naughty little pet is excited about receiving a spanking from Miss Carlene. Is that right, boy?”

Jack groaned, his face flaring like a bowl full of strawberries. He looked down at the hardwood floor of the parlor and mumbled something quite unintelligible.

Carlene took his chin in her hand and raised his gaze to meet her own. “Look me in the eye and speak clearly, young man.”

“Y-yes, Ma’am, I...I can’t help it, Ma’am.”

Carlene smiled. “No, I suppose you can’t. Very well then; kindly remove your trousers.”

The words hit him like a thunderbolt. “Ma’am?” he croaked, horrified.

“Yes?”

“R-right here?”

“Certainly. Why not?”

“It’s just that...” his eyes scanned the small sitting room with its wide French windows that threw the entire tableau open to the street. “I...um, the windows...” He gestured weakly and  colored admirably; he was also utterly tongue-tied, much to the young woman’s delight. She understood--even more fully than he did himself--how much and on how many levels he needed this.

“I’d think a big strong man like you wouldn’t be ashamed to take his punishment like a man. If the neighbors happen to see, so much the better: it’s important to broadcast the fact that disciplinary matters in this house are handled swiftly and without regard for the tender sensibilities of naughty boys. Little boys who know full well that, when they choose to break the rules, they forfeit their right to privacy.”

Jack felt even more light-headed now-- almost on the verge of vertigo. Her back-and-forth references to “big strong men” and “naughty little boys” had his head spinning! Still, he was riveted to the place he stood, quite incapable of movement.

Carlene sat up straight and tapped her foot, crossing her arms across her chest and narrowing her eyes. “You’re sorely trying my patience, young man. Are you going to do as you’re told, or do I need to use my heavy wooden hairbrush on that naughty bare behind of yours?”

“NO! I mean, please, no, Ma’am...I’ll...um, obey.”

Carlene relaxed and smiled. She was a cat playing with a mouse, and she had him right where she wanted him.

“Then tell me: why are your pants still on, rather than draped over that chair where they should be?”

Jack’s stomach was doing aerial maneuvers, but he realized there was no way out without appearing weak in front of Carlene. He'd fantasized about this countless times, but now that it was actually happening, a titanic inward battle was raging. Still, as dreadful as it would be to go over her lap in his underwear in front of these French windows, wimping out would be even worse. He felt cornered and to no small degree intimidated, but with one last, anxious look out the windows, he quickly divested himself of his trousers and folded them neatly over the chair opposite the duvet. He stood by Carlene’s side in as dignified a way as he could manage in just his boxers and shirt, his hands held strategically in front of his crotch. His face was blazing like a heat wave in deep summer. Carlene smiled and patted her lap.

“Over you go, little boy.”

Jack was much larger than the woman who was calling the shots; there was no way to go over her knee that didn’t feel entirely clumsy and awkward. Once in the juvenile position, he was instantly transported back in time to the occasions when he’d had to assume this awkward posture as a boy. It hadn’t been any fun then; now it was quite unnerving, yet thrilling at the same time. He hung there, his heart hammering in his chest. He felt Carlene’s hand patting his boxer shorts-covered behind and felt a thrill course through his body, starting at his erection and radiating outward in all directions.

“Let’s get this spanking started, shall we?” Carlene said sweetly.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Carlene smiled and raised her right hand high.

{End Part One}

Copyright 2013 by Aunt Carla
All rights reserved

Carrie Gets a Spanking

Part One

Image from girlsinpyjamas.com

It was nine o'clock on a Saturday morning. Carrie Scanlon crept down the stairs, barefoot and still in her pajamas. She smelled bacon frying in the kitchen, and her stomach rumbled. Then she thought of the punishment she'd been promised today, and she lost her appetite.

It was so unfair! Who still had an eleven o'clock weekend curfew at age 16? The party last night had been so much fun; 11:00 p.m. had come and gone before she even noticed. By the time she'd finally gotten home, it was 12:15, and her mom had been sitting in the family room, not at all pleased with her daughter. With a promise to "take care of things" in the morning, she'd sent Carrie to stew in her room.

"You want some eggs, Princess?" her father asked.

"Sure, Dad, thanks," Carrie replied, taking a seat at the table. It crossed her mind that this would probably be the last time she would sit comfortably for awhile.

He spooned out some scrambled eggs and bacon onto a plate for his daughter, and poured her some orange juice. "I understand you've got a not-so-fun day to look forward to today," he said kindly. It was amazing to Carrie how Mom and Dad switched roles so naturally in their good cop - bad cop routine.

"Yeah, I guess so," she replied, trying to ignore the smirk on her little brother's face.

"Well, I hope you know how concerned we get when you don't come home on time," he replied seriously. "We love you a lot, and we don't want anything to happen to you."

Just a hint of tears appeared in Carrie's eyes as she realized that her carelessness had worried him. "I'm sorry, Dad," she said quietly.

"It'll be okay, Sweetheart. Just take your punishment like a big girl, and it'll be over before you know it."

Easy for him to say.

Mom came into the kitchen, and Dad served her as well. Then he disappeared behind his paper. Carrie's brother Bobby plugged his Disc man into his ears, and the four of them ate in near-silence. After they finished, Carrie got up and cleared the table, hoping to win points for cooperation and maturity. When all the dishes were cleared and in the dishwasher, her mother said,

"Alright, young lady. Go change into your punishment outfit, and be quick about it!"

"Oh come on, Mom, that's not fair!" her daughter whined. While she knew she'd messed up big time by ignoring curfew last night, it was an affront to her 16-year-old dignity to be punished in such a juvenile way. It was just nine thirty, and the command to change into her punishment outfit meant that she'd be wearing nothing else all day!

"Would you rather wear it all weekend?" her mother inquired.

"No, no, I'm sorry!" Carrie said quickly as she got to her feet. "I'm going."

Her father smiled behind his newspaper, while her brother smirked openly. Ever since her 16th birthday, Carrie had gotten a little full of herself, and Bobby was going to enjoy seeing her taken down a peg. Plus, the fact that she was being punished today meant that she had to do all his chores. For a 13-year-old boy, that was about as good as it got!

Carrie sniffed a bit as she headed for her room. It was so unfair! She was sure she was the only one of her friends who still got spanked. They certainly didn't have to wear a humiliating "uniform" all day either! She grumbled as she took the hated garment out of the drawer.

It consisted of a white sleeveless vest that just barely covered her belly button, and a pair of large, green "regulation-type" panties. She took off her pajamas and underwear and stood naked, looking at punishment clothing with distaste. Knowing that delaying would only add to her sentence, she sighed and resigned herself to her fate. She blushed as she put on the G string that she knew would be her only source of modesty once her panties were taken down. She then put on the vest and panties and looked in the mirror, blushing more deeply. She would have taken a hundred hard spankings to avoid being seen like this! The vest was at least a size too small and her growing chest strained against the fabric. The panties looked like something out of an old fashioned English boarding school, and she hated them with a passion. Even though it was just her immediate family who would see her dressed this way, her embarrassment was profound.

She stepped barefoot out of her room and took the long walk of shame downstairs. When she entered the family room, she was dismayed to see Bobby sitting in front of the TV. Mom and Dad were not yet in the room, but she knew where she was expected to go. Blushing furiously, she tiptoed past her grinning little brother toward the Punishment Corner, where the family spanking brush hung from a hook on the wall.

"Nice outfit, Sis," Bobby commented as she walked past. "Going out somewhere?"

"Why don't you just SHUT UP!" she hissed.

"CARRIE ANNE SCANLON!" she heard her mother exclaim as she walked into the room. "It's YOUR behavior that got you where you are. Your brother's just making the best of YOUR bad situation." She heard Bobby giggle. "I seem to recall you were none too kind the last time HE was punished. You were going to have 15 minutes in the corner, but thanks to that outburst, you can have thirty!"

Carrie's ears burned. She was right; of course, she had been kind of mean to him when he'd been on display wearing nothing but a size-too-small pair of white briefs. But while she had to admit that turnabout was fair play, she didn't have to like it! She put her nose and toes in the Punishment Corner and her hands on her head. She heard her mom set the kitchen timer for thirty minutes, and settled in for the singular torment that was corner time.

Carrie considered it cruel and unusual punishment to have to stand in this juvenile position, staring at the brush that would soon paint her backside a bright shade of red. Even worse, she knew that while Bobby was pretending to be engrossed in a video game, his eyes were no doubt glued to her panty-covered rear. Feeling her blush deepen, she settled in for a long, boring stint in the corner.

All too soon, she heard both her parents come into the family room, and heard the spanking chair being pulled into position. Her stomach flipped over as she heard her mother say, "Okay, Carrie, let's get this spanking started."

She took down the spanking brush, gulped and turned to meet her fate.

Part Two

Carrie looked around the family room, butterflies in her stomach. Dad sat in his easy chair, Bobby was sprawled on the sofa, and Mom stood next to the armless chair in the middle of the room. Looking at everyone else fully dressed, Carrie felt horribly exposed, the center of unwelcome attention, in just her vest and panties. Mom beckoned her with her finger.

Groaning, Carrie walked over and stood next to her mother for the lecture, the next part of this carefully crafted discipline ritual. She dropped her hands to her sides.

"Did anyone tell you to move your hands?" She was caught off-guard by the fact that it was her father, not her mother, who spoke to her so sharply.

"N-No Sir," she answered meekly.

"Then put them back where they belong."

She complied, tears welling up in her eyes. Doing so made her breasts jut out sharply, making her feel even more exposed.

"So, young lady," her mother began. "Apparently you're under the illusion that your curfew is more a suggestion than a requirement. I assure you, you couldn't be more mistaken. When your father and I say "eleven o'clock," we mean eleven, not eleven-thirty, and certainly not after midnight! Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"No, Ma'am," the embarrassed girl replied quietly. "Just that I'm sorry, and it won't happen again."

"No, it won't, of that I'm sure," her dad put in. You won't be going out at all the next two weekends. After that, your curfew is pushed back to nine o'clock. If you can keep to that for two months without exception, we'll consider going back to eleven."

Carrie was devastated. He may as well have said, "You have no social life for the foreseeable future," considering the strictures under which she was being placed. Two whole months! How would she explain to her friends that she had to be home by nine on a Saturday night?! But she knew better than to argue; it would only make things worse.

"Alright, young lady," Mom said as she sat in the spanking chair. "Hand me that brush, and get over my knee."

She blushed deeply, shamed beyond all imagining. Here she was, a sixteen-year-old young woman, dressed in a too-small vest and horrible panties, going over her mommy's lap for a spanking like a little girl in front of her father and brother. It was so unfair! She was grateful for one small mercy, however - at least all the curtains were drawn. While the sounds of her spanking might well carry outside, at least no one outside the family would see her in this humiliating position. She looked up and saw the delighted grin Bobby wore: this was payback time for a month ago when he'd been in her place.

Her mom took a moment to position her daughter properly so as to have maximum access to her bottom. Aware that the girl would be unable to keep from reaching back to protect herself once things got going, she took Carrie's right hand and held it in place behind her back. She put the brush on the coffee table for the moment, then raised her right hand high.

SWAT!!

"OH!"

SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT!

"OW! ... AH!!"

Mom wasn't holding back at all! Even though she was using just her hand over panties, it still stung abominably right from the start. She brought her hand down hard all over her daughter's pantied bottom and her bare upper thighs, determined to make a lasting impression.

SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT!

"OWWW ... MOM, OWWWWWWWW!!" Carrie cried, her hopes of maintaining her dignity dashed by her mother's hard hand. She began to kick her feet helplessly in the air and clench her hands into fists. Suddenly, the swats stopped for a moment, and she felt her mother take hold of her panties. This was the worst part of the punishment, the thing she would have done anything to avoid. But there was nothing she could do; in one clean, sweeping motion, her mother brought the green panties all the way down to her knees, and her plump round bottom virtually exploded into view!

No words could quite describe the exquisite humiliation of that moment. She still had some "baby fat", and her bubble butt was something she would have gladly kept out of view. Unfortunately, that option was not open to her at the moment; both her brother and her father were getting an eyeful of those rapidly-pinkening twin mounds!

"Oh, Mom, PLEASE!!" she cried, kicking in humiliated frustration.

"Oh, Mom, NOTHING," her mother replied. "I intend to finish what I started." With that, she picked up the brush, and brought it down with devastating accuracy on the center of her sore left bottom cheek.

"AHH - OWWWWWWWW!!"

Her eyes bulged at the new intensity of the pain in her backside. The brush kept falling, and she flailed around in a hopeless attempt to avoid its nasty sting. Mom employed an almost diabolical system when wielding the hairbrush: three swats on the left, three on the right, three on the right sit spot, three on the left sit spot. Over and over and over in this fashion, until her daughter dissolved into incoherent wails of distress.

She was now a uniform hot pink color from the top of her bottom down to the tops of her thighs. She kicked, screamed, and pounded her fists in the air in a childish display of anguish. Before any bruises could surface, her mother began to slow her pace. As dreadfully sore as the girl was, even a light tap from the brush now elicited yelps and cries.

Mom kept at it for awhile, no longer swinging hard but concentrating brisk, sharp snaps of the brush all along Carrie's ultra-sensitive sit-spot. She was determined to ensure that her daughter took the family rules seriously. And she hoped that every time the girl sat down for the next few days, she'd be painfully reminded of the consequences of ignoring them. Then, with three HARD swats to each of Carrie's four "spanking zones", her mother brought the spanking to a spectacular finish.

While the girl cried over her mother's lap, Bobby looked on, no longer grinning, but in awe. He couldn't believe the hard spanking his sister had just taken, and he was more than a little proud of her. Her dad, for his part, was impressed with his wife's skill as a disciplinarian. After a few minutes, Carrie's crying had subsided; her mom gently pulled her up to sit (painfully) on her lap and hugged her.

"No more curfew violations, right, Honey?" she said, gently petting Carrie's head.

"No, Mom, I SWEAR!"

Her dad chuckled quietly at that, wondering how long the pledge would last. Mom said, "Do you need to use the bathroom before your corner time?"

Carrie blushed and nodded, and her mother helped her to her feet. They watched Carrie walk slowly and stiffly in her disheveled vest and G string toward the bathroom. Her dad picked up the panties that had gone flying during the hairbrush portion of the spanking and hung them on the hook where Carrie would find them.

The Scanlons were firm believers in the efficacy of long post-spanking corner times to drive home the lesson. It was ten-thirty when their daughter emerged from the bathroom; they directed her back to the corner where she would remain until lunchtime. Standing there sniffling with her hands on her head and her bright red bottom on display, she was the very picture of penitence.

Bobby surprised everyone that day. Instead of sitting and gawking at his sister while she suffered in the corner, he went to work, doing the laundry, the yard work, and even some vacuuming. Carrie was released from the corner at noon, happy to be given even the hated green panties to cover her bottom. She fully expected to have to spend hours after lunch doing housework. When she discovered that there was little left for her to do than clean her own room, she was so happy that she embarrassed Bobby with a tight hug and a kiss on the forehead. Then she joined the family for lunch, sitting gingerly on the biggest pillow she could find.

She spent the rest of the day in her punishment outfit with the family as required, but she had the unusual luxury of lying down on the couch and taking a much-needed nap. On her stomach, of course.

© Aunt Carla All rights reserved

After-Dinner Discipline

Part Two

Image from homeandschooldiscipline.com

(Our story began here: http://auntcarlascorner.blogspot.com/2013/03/after-dinner-discipline.html)


SMACK!

Carla’s body went rigid as a board at the first strike of Maggie’s palm. Even though Carla still had her silk purple pajama pants up (so far, at least), they offered scant protection against such a determined hand. Maggie was angry, and was spanking accordingly.

Carla kicked her little bare feet, her hands balling into fists. Hard spanks rained down all over her tender bottom, and she fought to let no sound escape her lips. She was all too aware that Jayna and Isabel could hear the hard smacks beings delivered, and she was loath to further humiliate herself by broadcasting her distress. Then Maggie grabbed the waistband of her little pajama bottoms and hauled them down to her knees, leaving her already-pink behind quite bare.

It was at this point that a high-pitched squeal escaped her lips: it was quite beyond her control. Maggie smiled at the familiar sound; no matter how many times Carla was spanked, the inevitable baring of her bottom never failed to produce an admirable response.

“I mean to have your full attention, little one,” said Maggie with a satisfied smile. She continued her assault on her naughty lady’s tender behind, and get her full attention it did. She immediately bucked, kicked, and caterwauled.

SMACK! SMACK SMACK!

“Oh! AHH!”

SWAT!! SWAT!!

“Oh my God...OWWW...PLEASE!!!”

“Please what, little girl?”

“Stop...OW! spanking...AHH!! ME!!!”

“Well,” Maggie replied, her hand resting on Carla’s rapidly-cooking bottom (and giving the girl a moment’s blessed relief), “we’re not done just yet. My hairbrush would like to make a contribution to your private version of global warming.”

“OHH!!!” Carla truly feared that little wooden brush, and would have given just about anything to skip this part of her punishment. Maggie typically concentrated it on the ultra-sensitive junction of her lady’s bottom and thighs, the better to remind Carla of her lesson each time she sat down for a couple of days. Since this was a duly earned discipline spanking, she could expect no clemency. What horrified her even more than the intense sting the implement packed was the fact that she knew she’d have absolutely no control over her banshee cries when it was being applied to her naked behind. In just moments, she would be serenading her friends with a chorus of blood-curdling shrieks.

*     *     *

“Geez, she’s really giving it to her this time.”

Isabel sat cross-legged on the guest room bed next door, her body tense. She winced at the sound of hard wood connecting with tender flesh, and of her friend’s soulful squawking. As a regular recipient of discipline spankings over Jayna’s knee, she could feel Carla’s pain. Jayna was lying beside her, watching a NatGeo special on Big Cats.

“Hey, no more than she deserves. You ever pulled that kinda crap in public, you’d get the same thing.” Jayna looked at her fiancee and caught her eye. “And there’s no guarantee I’d wait ‘til we were home to get started, either.”

A frisson went though Belle at the veiled threat. Going over Jay’s knee in public would be even more humiliating than what poor Carla was experiencing right now. Jay had often made half-serious threats of that kind, but other than the occasional single warning swat to Belle’s fully clothed bottom, had never delivered on them. In the realm of fantasy, Belle found the idea of a public spanking a huge turn-on. In real life, she thought it would be purely horrible.

*     *     *

Carla’s butt and upper thighs were thoroughly cooked. She had kicked wildly, thrashing around and pounding the air with her fists, and her throat was hoarse from her caterwauling. Maggie put the brush aside, picked up several tissues, and dried Carla’s tear-stained face. She then opened the drawer beside the bed and took out some soothing skin cream, which she massaged tenderly into her lady’s outraged buns and thighs. It took quite some time, but eventually Carla regained her composure.

“Sit up, sweet girl,” Maggie said gently. Carla obeyed, wincing as her well-cooked rear end made contact with Maggie’s lap. She threw her arms around her loving disciplinarian’s neck.

“I love you,” she said, holding on tightly.

“I loved you too, sweet girl.” Maggie gently patted her woman’s well-fried hams. “And now it’s time to ditch these PJs and give me ten minutes in the corner. Before we move on to more pleasant things.”

“God, I’m so embarrassed...they heard everything!” Carla blushed brightly as she stood and  rubbed her well-reddened behind vigorously in a vain attempt to assuage the sting.
She stepped out of the pajama bottoms that now pooled around her ankles.

“Nonsense. They know you get your tail spanked on a regular basis. Hell, Isabel gets it even more often than you.”

“Yeah, I know. I guess that makes me feel a little bit better. Still not gonna be any fun facing them in the morning, though.”

“Well, I’m sure you know you’re gonna be apologizing to them at breakfast as well.”

Carla’s stomach flipped at the thought, and she blushed. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good girl. Now you owe me ten minutes...so get out of that top and scoot!”
 
Carla yelped at the encouraging swat to her ultra-sensitive rear. She trotted over to the corner, peeled off her pajama top, and placed her hands on her head. Birthday-suited corner time was as integral a part of her discipline as the spankings themselves.

“Mmm...the most beautiful woman in the world,” sighed Maggie contentedly. “Naked in the corner with a glowing butt-- definitely one of my all-time favorite sights.” Carla blushed further at the compliment and the thought of her asymmetric nudity. Even when she was being punished, it never ceased to turn her on, knowing that the fully-clothed Maggie was gulping in her naked form as she stood in the corner with her hands on her head. It made her head swim pleasantly and her heart rate triple.   

Exactly ten minutes later, Maggie said, “Turn around, little girl.”

Carla did so, and was surprised (and delighted) to see that Maggie was now as naked as the day she was born as well.

“I’ve got a job for that little tongue of yours,” she said huskily, spreading her legs slightly. Carla moaned with anticipatory pleasure and quickly crossed the room. Skipping any preliminaries, she went down on her lady hungrily. She pulled her vulva apart with both hands and licked all around Maggie’s clitoris before zeroing in on it. Maggie’s head lolled back and she moaned with pleasure. Once Carla’s tongue found its target, she kept up a steady, nonstop stimulation that sent Maggie into the stratosphere in very short order. After the cascades of pleasure subsided, Carla slowed the speed and intensity of her oral ministrations. Eventually, when she sensed that Maggie was spent, she stopped altogether.

“Damn, girl,” Maggie said in a post-orgasmic haze. Carla smiled contentedly and spooned with her, pulling the bedspread over them. Even as turned on as she was, she kept to their recent agreement: when she’d been punished, she would wait until the following day to receive her “happy ending.” It was more than a little frustrating given her state of arousal, but she knew from experience that it would be that much sweeter for having waited for it. Plus, tomorrow night they’d have the house to themselves again, and she’d be free to scream her head off! Maggie was asleep in about five minutes, and Carla followed about a half hour later.

*     *     *

The next morning, Carla awoke to the smell of bacon frying, and she smiled. She also winced at the soreness that remained in her well-spanked behind; without a doubt, sitting would be a challenge today.

The greater challenge, however, would be facing Jayna and Isabel after her loud performance the night before. She blushed deeply at the thought. There was no getting around it, though, so she put on her pajamas and went to the bathroom. She washed up, fixed her bed-head hair, and went back to the bedroom to change into a pair of shorts and a sleeveless blouse.

“Hey, Baby,” Isabel said with a warm smile as Carla padded blushing sheepishly into the kitchen. Isabel stood and gave her a hug of spankee-to-spankee solidarity.

Maggie was at the stove cooking, and Jayna sat at the kitchen table sipping coffee with the Sunday paper in front of her.

“Hey guys,” Carla said, “I want to apologize for last night. I drank too much, got stupid, and embarrassed everybody. I’m really sorry.”

“That’s alright, kiddo,” Jay replied with a grin. “From the sound of things last night, your butt paid the price for your indiscretion.” She winked at the blushing girl and took a long swallow from her coffee cup.

“It’s okay, sweetie; we’ve all done stuff like that.” Belle smiled at her friend, eager to ease her discomfort. “Lord knows I’ve had my butt smacked for it!”

“Yeah, but never with people listening in the next room, right?” Carla asked ruefully.

“Well, that’s true.”

“So far!” said Maggie as she came over to serve everyone bacon and eggs.

“Exactly!” Jayna agreed. “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time ‘til my naughty little girl gets her bare behind toasted in front of an audience.”

Isabel blushed deeply, but joined in the good-natured laughter. As did Carla. Even though she winced as she placed her well-cooked rear on the wooden kitchen chair, she realized how lucky she was. She loved Maggie, and she loved her friends.

[END]

Copyright Ⓒ 2013 by Aunt Carla
All rights reserved

Coming to Terms

Image from girlsboardingschool.com

I'm in therapy, and my therapist tells me I need to "come to terms with" a singularly humiliating event from my teenage years, which she's convinced is the root cause of my emotional problems. She suggested that I write about the event in detail in a public - yet - anonymous forum, get responses, and see where that leads me emotionally. Her thinking is that I might draw out others with a similar experience, and no longer feel so isolated by it. I'm not sure anyone else has in fact had an experience quite like this one, but I'm willing to give it a go.

I guess different kids respond to different kinds of discipline. For a long time, nothing but a spanking or the threat of one could get my little brother to behave. My big sister, the socialite of the family, had a horror of being grounded. My parents figured out early that the best ways to get my behavior under control were; 1) to make me stand in the corner, and 2) to put me in a punishment outfit. Without question, the most effective punishment for me growing up was being restricted to just panties and a tank top in the house and put in the corner for awhile. Still retaining some baby fat well into my teens, my behind was kind of on the large side, and I was really shy and super-modest about it; I hated having it "hanging out" in panties for all to see!

Intellectually, I knew I wasn't showing any more than when I went swimming, but emotionally, it was a different story. I felt so exposed in just my panties and a tank top, it was almost like being naked. Plus, when I was standing with my nose in the corner, I couldn't tell what people were doing or saying behind me, and it made me crazy and paranoid. Once, when I was 12, I was on "clothing restriction" (as my parents called it) for a whole weekend, and I spent a half hour twice each day in the living room corner. It was purely horrible. After that, when I started being a brat, all my parents had to say was, "Looks like somebody needs to spend some corner time in her punishment outfit," and I would straighten up in a heartbeat!

Of course, the worst thing about a clothing restriction day was that I wasn't allowed to hide in my room. Because my parents had discovered that embarrassment was the key to punishing me, I had to stay out in the common rooms of the house - the kitchen, the living room, etc. - even when someone from outside the family was in the house! The worst time was when I was 15 and my parents had guests over - I wanted to die! It was a Saturday, and I was on "clothing restriction" for cheating on a test at school (doubly dumb, it turned out, because the kid I cheated off of was actually a worse student than I was!). When I heard that our neighbors were coming over for a visit, I just begged my parents to let me stay in my room. No such luck.

Quite upset that one of her kids had been caught cheating, Mom put me in the worst punishment outfit of all: plain white panties and a matching tank top that was a size too small. I was a real "girly girl", and I was partial to pink and lavender matching bra and panty sets. Wearing plain white, ill-fitting underwear any time made me feel crummy; when I knew it was gonna be on display, it was an absolute horror to me! Plus, I wasn't allowed to wear shoes, and being a little "fashionista" with a lot of nice shoes, being barefoot for company bothered me almost as much as having them see my panties.

That morning, I crept red-faced into the kitchen for breakfast, not wanting to eat a thing. I forced myself to have some toast and orange juice, enduring mocking glances from my dear siblings (grrr...). Then it was morning corner time. I went to the living room corner and put my hands on my head as required. This made my small tank top ride up, embarrassing me even more.

The doorbell rang, and my face flared like raspberry jam. Oh my God, Mr. and Mrs. Jensen were here! My heart raced as I heard Mom open the door.

"Hi, hi, come on in!" I heard her say, and my face burned like I had a 104 degree fever! I couldn't turn around, because one of the rules was that if you talked or turned around when you were in the corner, you got spanked. The only thing I could imagine being actually worse than my current predicament was winding up over Mom or Dad's lap in front of company! But I guess I lacked imagination, because in just a few seconds things did get worse. Infinitely so.

"Uh-oh, looks like someone's been a naughty girl!" I heard a familiar voice say. It was Lance, the Jensens' 18-year-old son, the boy I'd had a crush on forever! OH MY GOD!!

I prayed for the floor to swallow me up, but no such miracle was in the offing. I heard my dad say,

"Yes, someone has. Little Miss Alyson is learning a lesson about academic honesty today."

My humiliation mingled with the anger that had been building in me for some time, and I surprised everyone including myself when I whirled around, dropping my hands instinctively to cover myself.

"God damn it, Dad!" I spat out as our our three guests stared at me. "Do you have to tell the whole frikkin' world?!"

There was a moment of stunned silence, then I heard,

"Alyson Jane Jennings!" It was my mother, and she had used my full name - never a good sign. "You know better than to talk to your father like that! Not to mention turning around when you're in the corner!"

"I shouldn't be out here like this!" I yelled. "Not in front of company!!"

And then every teenage girl's nightmare scenario materialized. It seemed to happen in nightmare fashion, too, in slow-motion. She strode over to me, resolutely saying, half to me and half to our guests,

"In this family, little girls who disrespect their parents, and misbehave while they're already being punished, get soundly spanked!"

"No, Mom, PLEASE!!" I begged, my anger giving way to fear and overwhelming embarrassment. She just grabbed me by the wrist, sat on the couch, and flipped me over her lap. I struggled (as you can well imagine!), and that just made her angrier. She swatted me several times on my panty-clad behind, and I squawked immediately from the pain. It had been quite awhile since I'd been spanked, and I'd forgotten how much it stings!

"Phil, could you get drinks for everyone?" my mom asked my dad as she continued spanking me. "It looks like I'm going to be busy for a few minutes."

"Please, Mom. I'm SORRY! Just take me to my room, PLEASE!!"

I begged as I'd never begged for anything in my life, but alas, it was not to be. She just continued raining down hard, stinging spanks on my butt, and I started kicking my bare feet and squirming, feeling absolutely ridiculous and juvenile. The Jensens - all three of them - sat down, mesmerized by the sight of a well-developed teenager bouncing over her mom's lap in her underwear like a five-year-old. My brother and sister came running, too, and soon it was standing room only for my spanking! I'm sure my brother was in 13-year-old-boy heaven, since he was the only member of the family still receiving spankings on a fairly regular basis.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"OWW!! AHH!!"

"I believe Evelyn has the right idea," I remember Mr. Jensen telling my father. (It seems quite weird that I can remember specific things that were said while enduring a public walloping over my panties, but I guess all my senses were heightened or something.) "If only more parents would do this when their kids disrespected them!"

SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!!

"OWIE ... OH, PLEASE! AHH!!"

"If I'd spoken that way to my dad growing up, I wouldn't have sat comfortably for a week!" Mrs. Jensen added. Again, I remember it verbatim.

"I have a feeling Alyson's going to find herself in much the same predicament," my father replied with grim satisfaction. I couldn't believe they were talking about me like that! Hello, standing - well, flopping around - right here!!

I remember looking up in the midst of my considerable pain and shame to see Lance sitting right across from me, watching intently with a flush on his cheeks. It was so wrong. I wanted to die. The flush on my cheeks - all four of them - grew every second as my mom spanked on and on. I kicked my feet involuntarily and squirmed around, seeking relief from the onslaught that was nowhere in sight.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!!

"OWW! I'm SORRYYYYYY!!" I shrieked.

"Not as sorry as you will be!" answered my determined mother.

I really thought it couldn't get any worse, but I was mistaken. She stopped spanking me, and I felt a moment's relief, sure that at least now I'd be able to hide my face in the corner. Instead, I felt her hands take hold of the waistband of my panties, and it registered in my brain: SHE WAS ABOUT TO TAKE MY PANTIES DOWN!!

Well, I'm sure you can imagine my reaction. I kicked, I begged, I promised to be good, I shrieked that I was too old ... in short, I did and said everything you'd expect of a teenage girl when she's on the brink of a public bare-bottom spanking! It was all for nothing, though. Once my parents decided one of us kids had earned a punishment, nothing could deter them from carrying it out.

"You're getting spanked exactly where you need it, Missy," she said firmly. "Right on your bare little bottom!"

Well, there was nothing little about my bottom, but one firm yank on my panties and it was certainly bare!

Words can't really convey the exquisite humiliation I felt the moment my naked bottom sprang into view. Imagine one of your classmates in high school finding your diary and reading it out loud at school over the intercom, then increase it by a factor of ten. Even then it wouldn't really be comparable.

I could feel, I mean, really feel, every eye in the house glued to my big naked bottom, which by now had to be completely strawberry-colored. Although in retrospect I know this wasn't the case, it felt swollen to twice its normal size from being spanked so hard.

My mother reached over and opened a drawer next to the couch, and I still had enough awareness to realize she was going for the wooden hairbrush that she still used on my brother's butt occasionally. I shrieked, bucked and kicked in helpless frustration.

"NO! Not the BRUSH!" I yelled.

"Quiet!" she yelled back. As if I could be!

SWAT!! SWAT!! SWAT!! SWAT!!

Oh. My. God. The pain was, frankly, amazing. I'd never felt anything remotely like it; in fact I never did, not until I had my first child.

"OWWW!! AHHHH!!"

SWAT!! SWAT!! SWAT!! SWAT!!

I only know what I looked like because my little brother later gleefully informed me. I was flopping about desperately like a fish on dry land, kicking my legs with all my strength and pounding the air ineffectually with my fists. Probably the last rational thought that occurred in my pain-addled brain was that Lance would forever see me as a goofy little girl who had a temper tantrum and got her bare backside spanked in front of him.

When my mother aimed for the tops of my thighs, a much more sensitive zone, I went into some other head space. It was bizarre, not unlike the way I've felt sometimes when I've smoked a whole lot of pot. From what I've read, I understand it was my body/mind's defense mechanism kicking in, releasing endorphins to help me get through it. I really don't remember any details from then until I found myself back in the corner, sobbing with my bottom still bare and on fire. I know I've blocked a lot of it, but I know my rear end was still bare, because I remember looking down at my toes and seeing my panties around them.

After God knows how long, I was released from the corner and allowed to pull my panties up. I was made to apologize to my father and our guests, again, something I know because my sister told me, not because I actually remember doing it. As if they didn't have the time of their lives, watching me get it bare like that! The other choice morsel I got from Dana later was that when I was struggling against the fire of the hairbrush, my tight tank top rode up and partially revealed my breasts to the room. Thanks, Sis. (Grrr...)

So that was my experience. Dr. Lansbury, I know you think that writing about this was a salutary exercise; I'll let you know once I've fully processed it.

Yours,

Jill


© Aunt Carla All rights reserved

After-Dinner Discipline

Part One

Image from girlspanksgirl.com

“I guess you realize you deserve a good spanking, right little girl?”

Carla whimpered slightly at the “S” word combined with the diminutive. That signaled an imminent discipline spanking, and Maggie’s discipline spankings were always long, hard and thorough. They were also delivered on a bare behind, often with the aid of a wooden hairbrush!

“But Jayna and Isabel are in the next room!” Carla whined. “They’ll hear...it’s just too embarrassing!”

“Oh, stop being melodramatic. Jay and Belle know damned well you get spanked regularly-- hell, they’ve spanked you themselves!”

“Yeah, but those were just birthday spankings!”

“Carla. You misbehaved in front of our guests and made them uncomfortable.  You should consider yourself damned lucky I don’t take this out to the living room and invite them to watch!”

Carla’s eyes widened and she crossed her arms over her  chest, an unconscious, self-protective gesture. True, Both Jay and Belle had seen her spanked--and spanked her themselves--but they’d never witnessed one of her discipline spankings. It was a completely different head space, and the thought horrified the young woman.

“Please...please don’t do that,” she said in a quiet but urgent tone.

“Then get your butt over my lap.”

Carla groaned aloud, her face flaring. Even though the couple play-spanked a lot, and as a prelude to incredibly hot lovemaking, this was different. Carla had misbehaved at dinner, getting a little tipsy and haranguing the waitress-- openly flirting with her, in fact. It had angered Maggie and (as she'd noted) made Jayna and Isabel quite uncomfortable. They were in the spare bedroom next door, and were no doubt listening for the inevitable aftermath. As Carla draped herself over Maggie’s lap, she felt like a naughty six-year-old.

“Now,” said Maggie in a no-nonsense tone, resting her hand on Carla’s pajama-covered behind, “tell Miss Maggie why you’re being punished.”

Carla’s face grew even hotter. Mags’ self-transformation from loving life partner into serious disciplinarian in these situations always contributed to the young woman’s embarrassment. Having to spell out the details of her misdemeanor prior to a spanking had a pronounced psychological effect.

“I...um, I drank a little too much...”

“No crime there, since I was driving.” Maggie waited, her hand resting on her wife’s ample bottom.

Damn. She was really going to make her spill it.

“I...I guess I was kinda...inappropriate...with the waitress.”

“Exactly!” Mags exclaimed with two vigorous swats to the rear end beneath her that made its owner yelp. “How do you think that made me feel, especially with Jay and Belle sitting right there?”

The hurt in Maggie’s voice cleared away the last of Carla’s alcohol-induced haze. She realized how it would make her feel if the tables were turned, and felt genuine remorse. She turned her head, her eyes moist, and looked at Mags.

“I’m so sorry, Baby. It was just...stupid. I’m really sorry.”

“I know you are, Babe, and I’m glad. Doesn’t get you out of your spanking, though.”

Of course it didn’t; Carla knew that. Mags knew her all too well: if she were “let off” a spanking she’d rightfully earned, she’d mope around feeling guilty for days. Maggie knew a sore tail was better for her lady than unresolved feelings of guilt.

“You know I’ll always take care of you, love.” And with a smile of grim determination, she raised her hand high.

[END PART ONE]

Copyright Ⓒ 2013 by Aunt Carla
All rights reserved

Favorite Babysitter

Part One

Image from barefootgirl.com

When I was 15, I got my first babysitting job. It was for these two really cute little guys down the street, Carlos and Miguel Hernandez. They were eight and ten respectively, and typical little boys: full of energy, creativity, and with a penchant for getting into mischief. Nothing really bad; just typical little-boy mischievousness.

The Hernandez family got together with mine frequently, especially in summer and during the holidays. So when the boys' regular babysitter (a friend of mine) got sick suddenly on a Friday night when Mr. and Mrs. Hernandez had planned to go out, they naturally thought of asking me to take her place.

It was a warm, sticky evening in early June, and I was wearing a t shirt, cut-off jeans, and sandals. My long blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, as it usually was in summer. Mrs. Hernandez greeted me at the door, and I was delighted to feel the rush of cool air...they had central air conditioning! We only had a window unit in one room, so it was a genuine pleasure to step out of the heat and humidity and into the cool house.

"Hola, Senorita Clarita," she said with a warm smile. I guess she knew I was taking Spanish at school, and wanted to give me a chance to speak it with a native Spanish speaker.

"Buenos noches, Senora Hernandez," I replied with my best accent.

"Muy bien! Pero esta 'buenas tardes.'" she gently corrected. "Very good, but it's 'good afternoon,'" is what she'd said.

"Si, Senora, gracias," I replied. I noticed Mr. Hernandez stepping into the room, and two cute little faces looking down shyly at me from the staircase. "Come on down, boys, Mr. Hernandez said. He had a deep, rich baritone voice, and I thought his accent sounded incredibly sexy. I had kind of a crush on him, I suppose.

The little guys came down the stairs and regarded me shyly. Mr. and Mrs. Hernandez herded me and the boys into the living room and had us all sit down.

"Now boys," Mrs. Hernandez said, "you both know Miss Clarita. She's going to be your babysitter tonight. I expect you to obey her just like you do Miss Janie."

Janie was a friend of mine, and she'd been the one who suggested they call me.

Miguel, the ten-year-old, stood up like a perfect little gentleman. "Hello, Miss Clarita, welcome to our house," he said.

"It's a pleasure to be here, Miguel," I replied, delighted by his little blushing smile as he sat down. He elbowed his brother, who stood up in turn.

"Hi, I'm Carlos, but you already know that," he said quickly, and sat down. "Carlos, try again," his mother gently chided. Sighing, he stood again and said, "Hi, Clarita, welcome to our house."

"That's Miss Clarita tonight, dear," his mom said.

"Hi, Miss Clarita," the eight-year-old said, his face turning a delightful shade of red.

"Now boys," Mr. Hernandez said seriously, "Miss Clarita is in charge of you tonight. That means you behave yourselves and do what she tells you right away with no arguments. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir," they chorused.

"And boys," their mom added, "don't forget Senor Rump Roast." She pointed to the wall; I looked over and saw a small wooden stick about the size of a ruler, hanging from a hook. The boys both blushed admirably, and I couldn't resist teasing them just a little.

"Senor Rump Roast, huh? I bet you guys don't want any close encounters with him!"

"No, I assure you they don't," Mr. Hernandez confirmed, and pointed to the corner adjacent to where the stick hung. "And that's the time-out corner, in case they give you any trouble." He looked pointedly at his sons. "But you won't, will you boys?"

"No, Sir," they chorused again. Clearly, they were embarrassed to have the fact that they got spanked and put in time-out announced to a teenage girl. I understood, having been spanked many times growing up; nothing was worse than having your parents reference your punishments in public!

"Oh, I'm sure they'll both be perfect little gentlemen," I said breezily, smiling at the boys.

"Well, have a nice evening, then," said Mrs. Hernandez, standing and picking up her purse. "The boys have KFC waiting in the kitchen, and of course there's enough for you, too. There's also ice cream for dessert, if the boys behave themselves, that is." She looked at her sons as she spoke, and they put on their most angelic faces. "They go to bed at nine," she told me.

"Yes, Ma'am, thank you," I replied. "And I have your cell number programmed into mine in case I need to contact you for some reason."

"Good, sweetie," she replied. "Also, the restaurant we're going to is called La Tia Morena, and the number's on the refrigerator."

"Great!" I said, standing and accompanying them to the door. "You guys have a really nice night; the boys and I are gonna have a great time together."

Mrs. Hernandez kissed the boys (who squirmed as all boys do with such attentions in front of someone new), and Mr. Hernandez issued a final exhortation to them to be on their best behavior and represent the Hernandez family well. I'd already liked this family; I found myself liking them even more now.

Once they'd driven away, I turned to the boys and said, "Okay, gentlemen. As long as you do what I tell you when I tell you, we'll have a great time tonight. If not," (I nodded in the general direction of the corner and the paddle), "well, you heard what your dad said. I'll tell him the truth, no matter what...understand?" I tried to look kind of severe, even though the 15-year-old Clarita Markinson wasn't exactly fierce.

"We'll behave," said Miguel.

"Good! So, are you two ready for some KFC?"

They were, unsurprisingly. We enjoyed eating together, and they enjoyed trying to outdo each other in impressing the new babysitter with stories of their exploits in school and elsewhere. They had a "fort" in the backyard-it was actually a treehouse their dad had built them--and I was obliged to go out in the waning light to see it.

"Very impressive, boys," I said as they climbed into the structure. It really was, in fact. Mr. Hernandez was obviously a talented carpenter. I let them goof off for awhile in the treehouse, and even climbed up myself! It was fun. It was getting dark, though.

"Alright, boys, you've been behaving perfectly so far, so who wants ice cream?" I asked.

"Oh! Me! Me!" I heard. They couldn't scramble down fast enough!

Inside we went, and I served two generous portions of chocolate ice cream for two delighted little guys. None for me, as I was watching my figure. Of course at 15, my figure wasn't much to write home about, but I was conscious of staying slim now that swimsuit weather was upon us.

After the ice cream, I asked the boys if there was something on TV they'd like to watch.

"Yeah!" Miguel shouted, and grabbed the remote. He flipped on a show that was so entertaining I have no memory of it. I noted the time as the show came to an end: 8:30.

"Okay, bedtime, boys," I announced. They both groaned.

"But we don't gotta go to bed 'til nine!" Carlos pouted.

"I know. And getting ready for bed takes time. I want you both in your pajamas, your teeth brushed, and both of you down here in ten minutes. Then you'll get to watch TV until nine."

"Aww..." Miguel groused, but he got up off the floor. Carlos did as his older brother did, as usual.

They climbed upstairs without enthusiasm. Why is getting kids to bed such a chore? Because they have boundless energy and want to stay up playing until they drop, I suppose.

A few minutes went by, and I heard the sound of running water and two little boys jostling for position in the bathroom. Then, silence; I assumed they were changing into their pjs. A minute later, I heard the sound of a Playstation being fired up at low volume. I smiled and shook my head. So, it was "test the new babysitter" time. Didn't kids realize that sound travels?

I climbed the stairs quietly in my bare feet and looked in the bedroom from which the sound emanated. There sat two little guys in the pajamas, playing a game as quietly as humanly possible.

"Ahem!" They turned around, actually having the nerve to look surprised!

"Um...we were just..." Miguel began.

"Just what? Didn't I tell you to come right back downstairs once you were in your pajamas?"

He looked down and said, "Yeah."

"So what are you doing?"

"Um... we just thought we'd play a little," said the older brother lamely.

"Well, I suggest you turn that off and come downstairs without one second's delay!" I said in my most commanding voice.

"Yes, Miss Clarita," said Carlos in a "poor me" voice. God, he was such a little cutie! Still, I knew I had to pass the test or risk losing their respect.

I went downstairs and sat on the couch. I was joined moments later by my two charges. I pointed at the corner.

"You guys owe me five minutes' corner time," I said matter-of-factly.

"No way!" Miguel had obviously decided it was time to take a stand and prove his manliness. No way was he going to be stood in the corner like a baby by a girl!

"No way? Did you do what I told you to?" I demanded.

"Well, kinda..."

"'Well, kinda' doesn't cut it. I suggest you put your nose in that corner before it turns into ten minutes," I said.

Miguel kicked the couch in anger. "Okay, ten minutes it is, then," I said calmly. "Get your little bottoms in the corner now, if you want to avoid a session with Senor Rump Roast."

Miguel put on a furious mask, and his little brother joined him. As they headed over to the corner, Carlos looked over his shoulder with a reproachful look and said, "You're mean!"

I chuckled. "Nope, I'm not mean. A mean babysitter would stick around to watch you get your little behinds spanked."

"Miss Janie does," Carlos mumbled. His brother elbowed him and hissed, "Shut up!" Obviously, the thought of going bottoms-up in front of the new babysitter was anathema to the ten-year-old. I grinned. So "Miss Janie" was the "mean babysitter" who stuck around to watch the boys get spanked at the end of the evening. I was going to have to give her grief over that!

They stood fairly quietly for about one minute. Of course, I had no intention of keeping them there for a full ten minutes; I knew that five would be more than enough. It would feel like a half-hour to the little guys! As they began to fidget, I warned, "You need to stand still in time-out, or it doesn't count." Miguel actually kicked the wall and dropped his hands from his head! I couldn't believe it; in my family, acting up like that in the corner was a sure ticket to what my dad euphemistically referred to as a "carpet inspection."

"Hmm... looks like someone does need an attitude adjustment," I said, stretching out on the sofa with my feet up. Just then, I heard a car pull up and saw the headlights. Mr. and Mrs. Hernandez were home early! I had hoped to handle things myself and gotten the boys to bed without incident, but it looked like that wasn't happening.

"Miss Clarita! Please let us go upstairs!" Carlos begged.

"Sorry, bud," I replied. You haven't finished your corner time."

"But... but..." Miguel sputtered, his bravado gone in a flash.

"No buts," I said, then couldn't help but add something I'd often heard growing up: "Except your butts, going over your dad's knee."

© Aunt Carla All rights reserved

Part Two

The front door opened, and in walked a relaxed, well-fed mom and dad. Unfortunately, their happy expressions changed in a heartbeat at the sight of their pajama-clad sons in the corner. I wondered if I'd made a bad judgment call. Maybe I should have let them escape up the stairs when I'd seen the car approach. But it seemed dishonest, and I didn't want to start my babysitting career on a dishonest note.

"Trouble?" asked Mr. Hernandez, glancing at his sons, then back at me.

"Not really, Sir," I replied. "Everything was going great; we just hit a little hiccup at bedtime."

"I see. And what was the nature of the 'hiccup?'"

"Well, I promised the boys I'd tell you guys the truth about whether they obeyed me or not..."

"Yes? And they didn't?" asked Mrs. Hernandez. She seemed more embarrassed at finding her sons in time-out than anything else.

"Well, I told them to come downstairs after they'd changed into pjs and brushed their teeth, but they decided to fire up the PlayStation instead."

"Boys! Get over here!" Mr. Hernandez commanded.

They walked over like little condemned prisoners, their heads hanging low. Mr. and Mrs. Hernandez gave them the third degree and asked if they remembered what they'd said would happen if they didn't obey me. Suddenly the lecture and the boys' almost inevitable spanking felt way out of proportion to the offense. I came to their aid as best I could.

"They really did behave great all night before that," I said. "They earned their ice cream and everything. And they've already served their corner time." The boys looked at me with the cautiously beaming faces of the potentially-pardoned.

"Yes, dear, and it's very sweet of you to stick up for them," said Mrs. Hernandez. "But we always keep our promises, don't we boys?"

Their faces fell again. "Yes, Mom," they said in pitiful unison.

"Very well, then." She went to the wall and took "Senor Rump Roast" off the hook. "Miss Clarita, you were the one they disobeyed, so you're more than welcome to stay for their correction."

I saw the panicked look in the boys' eyes (in Miguel's in particular), and thought about how awful it would have been if someone from outside the family had ever witnessed one of myspankings. I made my decision in a heartbeat.

"That's okay, Mrs. Hernandez. I'm sure the boys can learn just as well without an audience." I picked up my purse and moved toward the door. When I looked back, Carlos and Miguel were regarding me with beatific expressions usually reserved for patron saints and the Virgin Mary. It was at that moment, I realize now, that I became their favorite babysitter.

"Very well, dear, if you're sure," Mrs. Hernandez said.

"Yes, Ma'am, I am. I hope I get to babysit for your boys again; they're a lot of fun."

She walked with me to the door, I slipped into my sandals, and she paid me. She then gave me a hug and said, "I hope you can sit for us again, too, dear. I know they can be a handful, but they're good boys."

"Absolutely! I hope they don't get their bottoms roasted too bad."

I turned to look at my two charges. Little Carlos' eyes were brimming with tears, and it nearly broke my 15-year-old heart. His brother, hanging onto his macho self-image to the last, was holding it together admirably. I got down on my haunches and opened my arms, saying, "Come here, you guys!"

They both scurried over to me, and I caught them both in a tight hug. "I'm sorry, Miss Clarita!" little Carlos said earnestly, hugging me for all he was worth. "I didn't mean to call you mean. You're nice!"

"Aww, don't worry about it, little guy!" I said, and planted a little kiss on his forehead. I turned to Miguel, and it was clear there was an inward battle going on inside his head. He wanted to remain stoic, but he also wanted in on the Clarita love! I made the decision for him: I kissed his forehead and said, "Sorry about the spanking, Miguel. I've had them myself, and I know they're no fun."

That did it. His eyes got moist, and he hugged me tight. "I'm sorry I d-disobeyed you, Miss Clarita."

"That's okay, I know you'll do better next time," I replied, tousling his hair.

I left with a spring in my step, and moments later, I heard the all-too-familiar sound of light wood making contact with bare flesh. And the cries and pitiful sounds that inevitably accompanied same. I winced, remembering my last spanking: it had been just a year before, and it had been a pants-down, over-the-knee, hairbrush-on-the-bare-bottom affair. It had been embarrassing enough getting it like that in front of my brother and sister; I couldn't even imagine having an audience! Suddenly, I didn't just want to rib Janie for being "the mean babysitter;" I wanted to take her to task for it!

The next morning was beautiful, a warm, early-summer day without a cloud in the sky. I was sitting on our front porch drinking lemonade in my usual summer outfit of halter top, cut-off jeans and bare feet. I saw the Hernandez boys walking their bikes down the sidewalk toward my house. They seemed to be coming toward me, so I stood and greeted them.

"Hey, guys, you want some lemonade?"

"Sure!" said Carlos with enthusiasm.

"You too, Miguel?"

"Yes, please." What a sweet little gentleman!

"I'll be right back." I went inside, and less than a minute later, I emerged holding two plastic cups of lemonade with plenty of ice. I handed them over, and the little guys received them with grateful smiles. Even though I'd established myself as the "nice" babysitter, I had to rib them a little about what happened the night before.

"So, I guess you guys are gonna obey me from now on, huh?"

"Yes, Miss Clarita," said Miguel, blushing and looking down.

"We got our butts tanned," Carlos volunteered, rubbing his behind with his free hand. Oh my God, I thought, could they possibly be any cuter?

"Yeah, well, from now on just listen to me, and you'll be able to sit without a pillow!" I laughed. They grinned good-naturedly, and I found it delightful that an eight- and ten-year-old could laugh at themselves when their own butts were sore. "Yes, Ma'am," Miguel said, smiling shyly.

"So, are you gonna babysit for us some more?" Carlos asked, slurping his lemonade noisily.

"Sure, if your mom and dad want me to."

"They do!" he said right away. "They think you're nice. And reponsable."

I laughed. "Do you mean, 'responsible?'"

"Yeah, that."

"Alright, then! Next time maybe we'll have more time and you can show me your favorite PlayStation games."

That got them going. For the next several minutes, the regaled me with tales of their exploits in video game land. It was awfully cute.

When they finally took off, I noticed them both wince slightly as they sat on their bicycle seats. I couldn't help but laugh a little.

"Looks like you guys could use some pillows for your bike seats, too," I called after them. They pedaled away, looking back at me with blushing grins. I was now fully ensconced as the Hernandez boys' favorite babysitter.



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