It's Not Fair 3

By Crimson Kid

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

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Note from the editor (Cassie):

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

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

"IT'S NOT FAIR! LETTER #3" by the Crimson Kid

Dear "It's Not Fair!",

(Percival, age 17)

This is my second letter to this column, after the first one I sent in about six weeks ago, and I have to correct a couple of "misstatements" I made in that one.

My stepmother, Michelina, whom I call "Mom," and my stepsisters, Joanne (16 years old) and Candy (recently turned 15), all like to borrow my copy of BOY STUFF magazine just to read this part of it (my stepmother says it's "a good source of ideas for disciplining naughty boys"), and they caught two small mistakes that I made in the letter of mine which you've already printed.

First of all, I was 17, not 15, when my father married Mom--I was only 15 when he first started dating her, about two-and-a-half years ago. Also, according to my stepmother I underestimated how many demerits I usually earn in a week's time, which have to be "retired" from my weekly "behavior chart" by three licks of the short leather strap and two swats from Mom's punishment paddle for each one. I was figuring around 25-30 per week, which would mean 75-90 strap-strokes and 50-60 paddywhacks, all delivered with me bent bare-bottom-up across my stepmother's wide lap, but she pointed out (by showing me all my "retired" past charts) that I only got that few demerits a couple of times--mostly I got about 35-40 per week, which resulted in me receiving between 105-120 licks of the strap followed by 70-80 swats with that modified Jokari paddle.

However much walloping I have to endure, and there were several weeks when my demerit total was over fifty, I always end up "bawling like a kindergarten baby with your (my) naked hiney glowing a really dark red," according to how Candy describes the outcome of my Saturday morning disciplinary sessions, during which she and Joanne not only get to watch but actually act as "assistants" to Mom. (Once I'm wearing my punishment outfit and have reported to the living room for corporal correction, Joanne lowers my shorts to expose my posterior--I'm wearing a jockstrap or thong brief underneath--while Candy gets to rub baby oil onto the skin of that bare behind, before my strapping and again (following my "cornertime" between spanking implements) before I get paddled.

My two false statements were first going to be considered "Serious dishonesty" by my stepmother, at Candy's suggestion, which would've counted fifteen demerits, plus also have resulted in an immediate session with the strap and paddle; any offense costing me ten or more demerits has that penalty, and those spanks aren't counted, I'm simply chastised intensely until Mom decides I've had enough, which almost always involves a ten- to twelve-minute blistering with each hurtful implement. However, my stepmother agreed to Joanne's proposal that the pair of mistakes be considered together as "Carelessness," which is only a five-demerit offense, so I didn't get a two-part spanking at the time. (My hope had been for Mom to simply let it go as "natural human error," so her older daughter's idea seemed like kind of a compromise, I suppose.)

Anyway, I apologize for those two "misstatements," as my stepmother called them, and whoever responds to this letter (if it gets printed), such as Doctor Almeda McMichael who answered my other one in BOY STUFF, should feel free to assign me any corporal correction she thinks I deserve for my mistakes, and my two stepsisters will carry it out for her here at our home. (Naturally, that wasn't my suggestion, it was Candy's, which her mother insisted on me adopting, so here it is--it's to be considered as my personal request to whatever woman replies to this letter in the magazine.)

Before describing my first "behavior chart retirement" ass-thrashings from my pretty blonde stepsisters, I'm going to briefly recount the spankings that I received from both them and their mother on Candy's fifteenth birthday, which was twelve days ago. Yes, it's now a household rule that there's going to be a bare-bottomed birthday spanking given by Mom, Joanne and Candy on each of their birthdays, but I'm always going to be the recipient of each one, regardless of whose birthday it is. (Naturally, I'll also be spanked on my naked hiney by each of my female step-relatives on my own birthday.)

So, much to my dismayed surprise, after Candy had enjoyed a trip to the roller rink with her older sister and her three "best girlfriends," as she calls them, followed by a short dining-out party at the Prussian Inn II with cake and presents (I'd been invited but had politely declined to be involved), her friends were dropped back at their own houses by my stepmother, who then drove my stepsisters back home so they could all carry out the brand-spanking-new birthday tradition in our blended family.

"Even though it's my birthday, Percy, we have a special present for you, so you can help us celebrate," Candy told me while smiling smugly. Joanne then handed me a nicely-wrapped gift, which I guessed was some sort of clothing, based on its size and rectangular shape. Well, I turned out to be correct--it was an adult-sized "Doctor Denton"-style pajama outfit, maroon in color and made of soft flannel, with the classic footies but also, much more foreboding to me, a traditional three-button seat flap in the rear.

"Ohhhh, look at that cute 'trap door' for your fanny," Candy giggled. "I can hardly wait until it comes down, once you're dressed in this outfit."

Mom chuckled. "The seat flap was originally designed for...let's say, an eliminatory purpose...but it's now going to be used for a much more enjoyable one, which I'm sure you can easily guess, Percival."

Joanne snickered at me. "I'll give you a hint, my beloved brother--it involves what happens to a boy's bare bottom on his sister's birthday in this household."

"Something that also happens to it every Saturday morning," Candy added, her cornflower blue eyes shining with anticipation as they merrily met my anxious gaze.

Naturally I tried to protest, pointing out that the "birthday girl" was supposed to be the person getting spanked, but my stepmother just explained that it was going to work differently in our family--only males got their exposed posteriors walloped, even in an "all-in-fun situation," as she claimed it was, so I would be taking her younger daughter's birthday swats. While I wasn't to be chastised using either of our "purely punitive implements," the leather stap and wooden paddle hanging on the kitchen wall and flanking "Percival's Behavior Chart," as it was labeled, any other item that could be employed to effectively spank me was allowable--still, Mom had decided to be merciful and use only her smacking palm to deliver my thirty-two "seat-stingers" from her.

I was confused. "How do you calculate thirty-two spanks when she's only fifteen years old?" I demanded.

Joanne gleefully explained it to me: "Well, there's always 'one to grow on' at the end, the hardest whack of them all, so that makes sixteen total--but you get that many for each bumcheek of our sister's, for a grand total of thirty-two smackers from each of us."

"Each of my sweet, adorable rear cheekies is fifteen today, so there should be sixteen total spanks for each of them," Candy said teasingly, then she stood up, turned around and waggled her cutely chubby and extremely attractive derriere at me. "Now do you understand, Percy?"

Mom answered for me. "Of course he does, sweetheart--your brother is quite intelligent, and he'd be more than happy to take three playful birthday spankings on his bare behind, in order to celebrate with you." She handed me the "Doctor Denton" pajama suit. "Percival, you've got three minutes to reach your bedroom, strip to the buff before putting this outfit on, and then return here. Girls, if you'd prefer to wallop your big brother's naked fanny with something more impactful than your hand, get whatever implement you desire right away." As I rose to my feet, she cracked her palm sharply against the seat of my light bluejeans. "Okay, now scoot!"

By the time I got back to the living room, embarrassed by my childish-looking attire, Joanne had retrieved that flat-backed, oversized wooden spoon from the kitchen, while Candy had procured our "Vermont Country Store" oakwood bath brush from the bathroom we three teenagers shared. Their mother was seated on the plush-topped ottoman stool that she always occupied while corporally correcting me, while they stood to either side of her, grinning like Cheshire cats as I entered the room and slowly approached Mom.

"Oh, Percy darling, you look soooo cute in that little-boy pajama," Candy tittered. "Come over to me, then turn around--since I'm the birthday girl, I get to unbutton your 'trap door' and pull it down so we can all see those bouncy buns of yours, before we spank them to a red-hot fare-thee-well."

I had no choice but to follow her instructions, unless I wanted to be seriously disciplined for "Outright disobedience" (a twenty-demerit offense) right then, so I immediately experienced the feeling of my younger sister's nimble fingers unfastening the seat flap's three buttons, then lowering it to expose my buttock rounds to the gaze of three pairs of feminine eyes, not to mention the cool air conditioning which made me shiver a touch.

Joanne laughed. "You have goose-bumps on your bare bottom, my dear brother, but don't worry--we'll be very happy to heat it up nicely for you."

"Me first," my stepmother noted with a broad smile, her right hand patting her lap. "Get those white buttcheeks of yours over my knee, Percival, I'm going to give them a bright pink blush to match the one on your facial cheeks." After adjusting me forward once I had bent myself across her firm thighs, Mom seized my right wrist in her left hand, pinning it against my lower back. "Who's going to count the spanks to each plump cheekie?" she lightly inquired of her daughters.

Candy chuckled, making a bell-chime sound. "Okay, Mom, since it's my birthday I'll count your smacks...But since you're only using your palm, please really give it all that you've got, I want Percy to squirm and squeal for us."

I felt my beautiful, Earth-goddess-type spanker tense her own buttock muscles as she raised her right hand over her shoulder to strike. "Your wish is my command, since you're the birthday girl today!"

Given that Mom was only employing her palm against my rear end, which was pretty firm since I was an athlete who exercised regularly, I ended up being unhappily surprised by how effectively she was able to wallop me with her open hand. She had me gasping and then yipping as her palm cracked across my naked hiney at a deliberate pace, it seemed like a spank every six seconds or so. Candy counted the smarting slaps out, repeating each number as my right cheek was impacted after my left one had been just before it, until I received the sixteenth swat to each nether moon.

"He's nice and pink on his bare rear end," Joanne announced. "Now that Mom has you warmed up, Percy, you're going across my lap for a sound spanking with this cooking spoon."

I'd been walloped with that wooden implement several times before my stepmother had switched to the short, flexible strap for the first part of my disciplinary sessions, so I thought that I remembered it pretty well--but apparently my memories weren't entirely accurate. Although she was only 5'2" tall, ten inches shorter than me and rather slim (although her breasts and buns were sweetly rounded), my 16-year-old stepsister had little trouble getting my 180-pound body adjusted so that she could support enough of my weight (the rest being supported by my arms and legs) to keep me stable on her thighs with my exposed asscheeks pointed at the ceiling.

It was an extremely unpleasant surprise, how emphatically Joanne was able to plaster my fanny with that oaken spoon's flattened-out back. For a small girl, she somehow knew how to deliver a highly hurtful whacking, her swats catching me explosively smack on the undercheeks of my bare hind end where it felt really sensitive--Ouchie!! Thirty-two total stingers, which she took almost four minutes to deliver, had me yelping and even sobbing by the time she was finished, with salty moisture building up in the corners of my eyes. Mom was snickering at my bouncing, reddening buttcheeks while Candy once again counted out the spanks, but my full focus was on how effectively Joanne was stinging me.

"Owwww," I complained sharply afterward, after standing up--I desperately desired to rub my fiercely smarting seat, but I figured that it still wasn't allowed, even after a birthday spanking. "Did you get that good at tanning my behind just by watching your mother do it so often?"

Mom chortled. "Actually, the girls have been practicing a few times every week for the past three weeks, on one of your male classmates whom we've promised not to identify. His mother is a casual friend of mine from church, and she generously agreed to loan out his naked hiney for your sisters to practice on, with a nice variety of implements."

Candy nodded at me, her expression impish. "We should be able to truly set your precious rear on fire this Saturday, big brother--now I'm going to give you just a small sample of what you'll be getting from me then, so let's get started."

Her pleasingly plump rump replaced her sister's on top of the circular stool, then I lowered myself down upon her denim-covered thighs--she easily maneuvered my body into position, leaving my upturned fanny, already glowing rosily (according to Joanne) from its earlier smackings, bent over her right knee. Although younger than her sister, Candy was taller (5'6"), somewhat more buxom, and (as I quickly found out) quite a bit stronger--or perhaps that sturdy oakwood bath brush was simply a more severe instrument of correction than the wooden spoon. However it might be explained, the paddling I promptly underwent from my fifteen-year-old stepsister truly seemed to hurt my poor, unprotected posterior quite a bit more than the first two birthday spankings had.

I was point-blank weeping and wailing, with teardrops trickling down my face, by the time Candy twice counted out "Sixteen!" following each of her final, forceful couple of swats with that nasty spanking brush. Mom and Joanne had both giggled and grinned as those true stingers crisply cracked against my wriggling, sizzling nether moons, but all I could concentrate on at the time was my fiercely smarting bare derriere.

"Owwwwie, does that ever hurt!" I said in a shrill voice as I stumbled to my feet. "Please, Mom, may I rub my rear end, since it's stinging so much?"

She was merciful, since my chastisements were supposed to be playful ones (which also explained why my behind hadn't been coated with baby oil before each of them), and let me reach back to massage my blazing buttcheeks. "In this case, Percival darling, why not? While you're doing so, however, I want you to thank Candy for the present of this cutely childish pajama suit--she read about one being described in an old issue of BOY STUFF, then she went online and found a website where I could purchase this particular outfit."

Candy was smiling at me, looking self-satisfied. "I chose the color to match the deep glow I'm planning to give your naughty bare bottom on Saturday, with Joanne's help. Today was just a love-patting little warmup for what's going to happen then, once I've got you bent over my knee with your bare-naked bumcheeks waiting for the fiery-hot kisses of Mom's spanking paddle."

Joanne gave me her sweet post-punishment aloe cream massage for my tender behind that evening, as usual I found it highly enjoyable. "Are you going to tell me how much you're looking forward to being walloped across my lap on Saturday?" she demanded teasingly.

I was puzzled by her suggestion. "Why would I do that?"

"Isn't that what Doctor Almeda McMichael advised you to do when she replied to your letter in BOY STUFF magazine?" She chuckled. "You know, Doctor McMichael is a minor celebrity to Mom and Candy, they read her regular column in our girls' magazine too."

My reaction was a soft snort. "What's that one about?"

Her hands gently ruffled my curly dark blond locks. "Younger girls watching nude boys being paddled by women and other girls, pretty much. I do agree with the doctor's approach to domestic discipline, males have to be kept firmly under control through feminine-administered corporal correction--especially if their Puericil dosage is low, like yours is."

We'd discussed that issue before without coming to any kind of agreement. Since I didn't want to argue with Joanne, because we'd become quite close emotionally and I appreciated her affectionate caring at that time, I dropped the subject.

It seemed like only a few hours later, although actually it was two-and-a-half days, that the time was ten-thirty Saturday morning and I was facing my first-ever (but hardly last) "behavior chart retirement" bare-bottom blisterings from my eager stepsisters. Although my "spanking pajama outfit," as Mom called it, wasn't going to be worn for my "demerit retirement" chastisements on a regular basis, she did agree that I should be dressed in it for that "changing of the guard," to use Candy's expression, since it was an important event in our newly-formed family's development.

The girls insisted that I come to their bedroom, knock on the door and politely ask them to "Please escort me downstairs to the living room, lower my rear-end trap door, baby-oil my naked fanny, then administer the discipline needed to retire my behavior chart for this week by spanking me with these implements, my beloved sisters." Obviously, after that I was required to hand the short black leather strap to Joanne and her mother's Jokari paddle, with the small holes in its striking surface to increase its sting, to Candy. (Yes, I really did have to memorize that precise wording, and it certainly was humbling for me to not only request my own corporal correction but report to my stepsisters' room to do so, as though I were asking them for a personal favor.)

Sitting on her twin bed, Candy tittered. "Well, Percy dear, since you've asked us so nicely and respectfully, I don't see how we can refuse. However, I must warn you that the strapping and paddling you'll be receiving from us will be serious ass-thrashing punishments, nothing like the playful love-pattings we gave you three days ago." Her eyebrows arched up as though she was focused on my reaction. "Is that clearly understood, you naughty little boy?"

Feeling anxious, I nodded just a touch. "Yes, it is...ma'am."

Joanne slid off her own bed, where she'd been lying supine and playing a game on her cell phone, and walked over to me, her right hand extended. "Then let's not waste any more time, there's a bouncy boyish behind which needs to be blistered long and hard. I'll relieve you of that snappy devilish strap, my darling brother, and I'm thinking that I might as well lower your seat flap right now, so we can look at your bare bottom as you lead us downstairs." Somewhat numbly, I handed her the leather implement and turned my back toward her.

Jumping to her feet, Candy took the paddle from me and smacked it against her left palm, while her older sister, squatting down behind me, quickly unbuttoned the "trap door" to my maroon pajama suit and yanked it downward, exposing my posterior. "You're back to having snow-white buns again, sweetie pie, but not for long," the fifteen-year-old snickered.

Joanne gave me four sharp handslaps, two to each buttcheek, before standing back up. "Ohhhh, I'm so going to enjoy setting this impudent ass on fire, so let's head to the living room."

As we walked downstairs, with me in front of the girls, Candy kept applying moderate swats of the Jokari paddle to my flannel-framed behind while they both chortled--they were so schoolgirlishly delighted that they were finally getting to spank me themselves, with their voices sounding both angelic and devilish in a weird combination.

Mom was waiting for us in the living room, beaming at her daughters. Like them, she was dressed casually in tight-fitting jeans, a light short-sleeved blouse and leather sandals, about the same as the girls were, and I was struck by the fact that I lived with three extremely attractive females who, except when they were corporally correcting me, were especially affectionate and considerate toward me. At that particular time, unfortunately, I was facing extensive discipline in order to "retire" my weekly "punishment chart," an impending event that the bottle of baby oil in my mother's hands was reminding me of.

She rose from her seat on the ottoman stool. "I can see how eager you girls are to blister your brother's buns, so let's get started right away. Sit down, Joanne honey, and prepare yourself to administer an extended tanning to Percival's naked fanny--144 licks with the strap, to be precise, since he has forty-eight demerits to retire today."

Although I'd only had one major offense which had resulted in an immediate chastisement, "Blatant disrepect to mother" (eighteen demerits) way back on Monday, unfortunately my nervousness over being directly disciplined by my stepsisters on Saturday had resulted in me commiting quite a few minor rule violations, usually in the three-to-six-demerit range, which had contributed to the weekly total of four dozen demerits.

Joanne seated herself on the well-padded stool's top, then patted her right thigh with the black strap. "Climb over my knee, Percy darling, but first request your punishment from me."

"Ummmm, please...ahhhh, spank me on my...bare-naked babyfat bottom...with the leather strap...and make it really sting...ma'am." I managed to mutter the words with more than slight difficulty, while standing directly in front of my smirking stepsister.

"That will be my great pleasure, darling boy," she said sweetly.

Then I bent myself across her trim thighs, after which Candy took the baby oil from her mother and thoroughly rubbed a globule of it onto the skin of my quivering buttcheeks. "That's a nice shine you have on those glutes," she told me cheerfully, while kneeling and taking my ankles in her hands. Mom knelt in front of me to grip my elbows in her hands, pulling me slighty forward to further elevate my exposed buttock rounds over Joanne's right knee. "He's oiled up back here, sis, so really let him have it--I'll count the swats for you."

Boy oh boy, did my 105-pound stepsister ever amaze me with her ability to crack that lashing leather across my defenseless derriere! She was truly methodical, as a person planning on being a nurse would tend to be, I'd figure, focusing the majority of her strokes against the base of both buttcheeks, the plumpest part of my posterior, and she'd clearly developed a wicked wrist-snap which increased the force and speed of each blistering-sharp lick with that vicious strap. In almost no time I found myself yelping frantically, then I couldn't stop myself from sobbing, wailing and finally howling as Joanne steadily laid into my sensitive underbuns with the diabolically pliable length of leather.

By the time my other stepsister finally called out "One hundred forty-four!", I had been reduced to whimpering softly, all resistance broken in surrender to the corporally corrective expertise of my calm, resolute spanker. "Look at that bare behind," Candy noted while I struggled to regain a touch of self-control, "It looks like a candy-apple red sports car that's been turtle-waxed, its so bright and shiny...Terrific job, Joanne, you seriously stung him."

Indeed, to me it felt as though she had given me a strapping which pretty much equalled the ones I'd been receiving from my stepmother, since whuppin' an exposed posterior with a leather strap required physical coordination and concentration rather than size and strength. I had twelve minutes of sore-seated cornertime to contemplate how my relationship to my stepsisters was in the process of changing--there was no doubt in my mind that it was doing so, rather dramatically, I'd figured out that much. Whatever remnant of the aloof superiority with which I had treated them earlier, the part of it that had somehow survived their joyously watching my maternal ass-thrashings, it was in the process of being shattered.

The fierce paddling which I shortly underwent across Candy's lap, after Joanne had given my still-sizzling rear end another coating of baby oil (which felt soothing at the time, yet I knew that it would increase the scorching heat delivered via the Jokari paddle) then gripped my ankles while Mom did the same to my elbows, her sky blue eyes merrily meeting my anxious gaze, finished the destruction of my "superiority complex," as my stepmother called it, toward her pretty daughters. With her greater size, strength and altheticism (she was on our high school's girls' field hockey and swimming teams), Candy was the obvious choice to wield that thick, heavy oakwood fanny-whacker, she had no trouble plastering my nakedly vulnerable hind end smack atop "the bottom of Percival's bare bottom," to use Mom's expression, her paddle-swats solidly impacting against the same fatty undercheek areas which Joanne had moments earlier focused her strap-strokes upon.

Man oh man, did I ever carry on childishly, helplessly bawling like a baby, through ninety-six resounding wallops of that inflexible wooden paddle, with all those holes in its striking surface which made it hurt something fierce every time it connected to my squirming, baby-oiled asscheeks. My mother was smiling at me, although I could only vaguely perceive it since my eyes were overflowing with teardrops, while my feet were held firmly enough by Joanne to restrict my frantic kicking. My desperate attempts to move my behind somewhere that Candy couldn't continuously connect to it with the blistering hardwood, they merely resulted in my blazing buns squirming wildly yet vainly, which all three females clearly found to be highly amusing.

Afterward, standing with my nose touching the corner once again, it took me almost the entire twelve minutes to get my blubbering under control while my stepsisters discussed how much they had enjoyed having me under their corrective control. "This changes everything, doesn't it Mom?" Candy asked rather rhetorically, and of course she was quite right.

That evening shortly before bedtime, Joanne showed up as always to rub soothing aloe lotion onto my ravaged rump before I fell asleep. However, she only gave two quick knocks on my bedroom door, then called out that "I'm coming in now, Percy," before opening it and entering the room. Previously, she had waited for me to invite her to come in, but at that time she was assertive about her authority to enter my bedroom when she wanted to do so.

Her massaging of the seat-cooling cream atop my scorched rear end was even more affectionate and caring than earlier sessions, but I was still a bit upset that she and Candy had been given the authority to administer my "chart retirement" punishments every Saturday. When I exclaimed "It's Not Fair!" to her, she chuckled while giving my naked fanny a sharp slap on each buttcheek.

"It may not be fair from your personal point of view, Percy, but it represents what is the correct and proper relationship between your sisters and yourself," she softly informed me. Her voice sounded very smug, and I guessed that she was grinning.

So now what can I do?

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

Well, Percival darling, I'm going to make my reply short and sweet since I can't improve much on what your stepsister Joanne has already told you. She's quite a mature and perceptive young woman, so I hope that you appreciate how fortunate you are to have her--plus your other stepsister (Candy) and your stepmother as well--sharing your blended-family household with you.

You having been so soundly spanked bare-bottom over the laps of your stepsisters has obviously altered the sibling dynamic between them and yourself, on a permanent basis, thus it was clearly an event which had needed to happen. Those milder yet still rather stinging chastisements you underwent from them, in order to celebrate Candy's fifteenth birthday, were apparently your loving stepmother's way of psychologically preparing both the girls and you for the serious 'chart retirement' bare-bottom blisterings which were carried out three days later; she's to be commended for having such an insightful approach to the situation, which clearly involved a 'paradigm shift' within your blended family relationships.

As I recommended to you before, embracing the new sibling dynamic between your wonderful stepsisters and yourself is the approach which should work out the best for you, Percival--keep in mind that, although Joanne and Candy may indeed gain significant gratification from their roles as your disciplinarians, ultimately you are the greatest beneficiary of all those hurtfully intensive shorts-down (or flap-down, while you're wearing your 'Doctor Denton' pajama suit) trips across their laps. So push that naked hiney of yours up high, to make those plump, tender undercheeks eagerly welcome each and every crack of the leather strap and whack of that wicked Jokari paddle, letting your stepsisters know how much you appreciate their willingness to help make you into a more respectful and much more accomodating stepbrother to them.

By the way, I agree with Candy that maroon seems like the ideal color for your 'spanking pajama outfit,' since it will match the deep hue which your exposed posterior should always be glowing after you've been thoroughly walloped for your misconduct. I'm figuring that, sometime within the upcoming three months, the girls will be given extensive punitive authority over you, that is in other words beyond their merely administering your Saturday bare-assed thrashings.

Concerning your discipline for carelessly setting me up to have misinformation printed in this magazine, I'm going to take your mother up on her offer: Your stepsisters should deliver to you the precise same types of spankings (with you wearing that pajama outfit, 'trap door' down in the rear), with the identical implements, which they did for Candy's birthday, but in each case with the number of swats doubled to sixty-four--please make them all extra-emphatic, ladies. Think of me while they're giving you the wallopings I've suggested for you, plus remember that they are indeed being administered for your own long-term benefit.

Whether they're objectively fair or not, those sisterly rear-reddenings are certainly right and necessary for you--never forget that basic truth, Percival.

Sincere best wishes,

Doctor Almeda McMichael]

(The End)