It's Not Fair

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!" by the Crimson Kid

Dear "It's Not Fair!",

Percival (age 17)

I'm writing to you about problems I'm having with my stepmother (Michelina, who's called "Mitchie" by her grownup friends and my father, but of course I have to address her as "Mom") and my two stepsisters, Joanne (16) and Candy (14).

When Dad got remarried six months ago, after having been a widower for two years, that's when everything began changing for me, much for the worse. My biological mother had been what's called "socially liberal," she'd disliked the so-called "Conservative Resurgence" and that medication (Puericil) which was supposed to eliminate aggressive tendencies in males. Since my father doesn't pay much attention to social issues (he works for a high-end private security company which does mostly government work), he went along with his wife's ideas on child-rearing and left the "family stuff" to her.

However, my stepmother is a big supporter of the "Conservative Resurgence," almost as soon as she married Dad there were changes in my lifestyle, some of them caused by adding three new female family members but some also due to her strict "social conservativism" about corporal punishment for males. I'll get to a lot more about that right away, but at least I convinced my father to let me only be given a one-third dose of that medication, since I was (and still am) on my high school's football, wrestling and tennis teams, so aggressiveness is a quality I needed to have for competitive purposes. (The only physical effect I can tell is that my body hair has thinned out a touch, but luckily not disappeared altogether, plus there's thankfully been no bed-wetting, and I'm still an aggressive enough athletic competitor.)

Since he'd pretty much supported me on that issue, he must have felt he should go along with his new wife on "reinstituting corporal punishment for Percival," as she put it. My biological mother had spanked me occasionally, using the flattened back of a wooden cooking spoon on my naked hiney once I turned eight years old, but she'd stopped doing it once I became a teenager. Not only did Mom (as I now have to call my stepmother) plan on walloping me "very soundly and quite regularly, to adjust his arrogant attitude," she intended to do that right in front of my younger stepsisters (who weren't subject to being spanked themselves) with me "naked as a jaybird," to use her pointed expression.

Well, I got just a smidgen of good fortune, because Dad insisted that it wasn't proper for the girls to view my "sexual equipment" since I was fifteen years old and pretty well developed, so he and my stepmother worked out another compromise: I would be allowed to wear an athletic supporter (jockstrap) or thong brief while my bare behind was being worked over by Mom for disciplinary purposes, or if it happened away from home my undershorts would just be lowered to my upper thighs in the rear only.

Let me state here that I have never disliked my stepmother or her daughters, both of whom were attractive--Joanne was rather petite, only 5'2" tall, slim but nicely developed with a curvy body, plus she was a sweet, caring person, while Candy was taller (5'6"), pleasingly plump with cute firm breasts and a generous, fully-rounded derriere, while she had a sassy yet friendly personality. Both of them had blonde hair (Joanne often wore hers in a pony tail) and light blue eyes, something like their mother, who was actually a "strawberry blonde" but had a totally awesome body, looking like some sort of Earth goddess.

You see, I'm not bad-looking myself (although my appearance is mostly Mediterranean) and a pretty good athlete, so I was popular at school and I'd become a bit swell-headed in dealing with the girls I flirted with and sometimes dated. I have to admit that I showed a lot of that attitude toward Joanne and Candy, even though I really did like them quite a bit--my belief was that, since I was older and the only male among the three of us, they should defer to my wishes. Of course, Mom had brought them up to believe that girls were much more mature and self-disciplined than boys, even ones somewhat older than themselves, so they had no intention of letting me dominate them.

The first time I was "corporally corrected" (as Candy later described it) by Mom happened about three months after our households had been combined, which had been in her big four-bedroom, two-story house. Joanne was viewing a televsion program on the widescreen TV in our living room, but I wanted to watch the Thursday night pro football game there instead--I tried to convince the girl to relocate to her bedroom and look at her program on the small TV set there, but she told me to follow that advice myself (in my bedroom) since she was already watching the widescreen. Finally I just grabbed the remote control away from her and pushed her away--she did stride off quite angrily, but two minutes later she returned with her mother, who looked even angrier with her eyes flashing white fire.

"March yourself upstairs, young man, change into your punishment outfit and get your impudent ass back down here in three minutes!" Mom gave me that instruction, her words very clipped, but I'd forgotten what my "punishment outfit" was supposed to be, although it had been explained to me a couple of months earlier. She turned to Joanne, who was pink-faced and close to crying, and told her, "Remind your darling brother, sweetheart."

"Gym shorts, white socks, t-shirt and a jockstrap--or thong brief, I think, either one--underneath the shorts," she informed me. "Two-and-a-half minutes left, Percy, you'll get extra swats for being tardy!" Joanne flashed me a predatory grin, I could tell she was looking forward to watching me receive my well-deserved comeuppance.

I hustled up the stairway and into my bedroom, and as I changed into my punishment outfit, electing to wear an athletic supporter under my shorts, my mother's voice called from downstairs: "Candy dear, would you please bring me the Jokari paddle from my bedroom closet?"

"Sure, Mom, it will be my privilege," I heard my other stepsister reply. Her voice sounded rather self-satisfied, so I knew that she was thrilled with the opportunity to see me getting paddled by her mother. By the time I'd returned downstairs to the living room, Mom was seated on top of a plush, round-topped ottoman stool with her pleased-looking daughters standing behind her. Joanne was holding the wooden spoon from the kitchen, the same one my own biological mother had smacked my seat with years earlier, while Candy was gripping the handle of her mother's Jokari paddle, which was rather thick (around half an inch) and had an oval head, somewhat bigger than a ping-pong paddle's, with a black rubber handle--it looked pretty fearsome, and I gulped at the sight of it in my stepsister's hand.

"Yes, it truly hurts a great deal," my stepmother snickered, "Which you'll find out soon enough. Now, Percival, come stand directly in front of me and politely request that I take down your shorts and give you a long, hard spanking on your bare babyfat bottom--remember that I'm to be addressed as 'ma'am' during a punishment session, and that goes for addressing your sisters as well."

Well, I may have been acting a touch overbearing but I wasn't foolish, so I stood in front of Mom, my eyes downcast, and stammered that request, although asking for "a long, hard spanking on my bare babyfat bottom, please, ma'am" was highly humbling, especially with both girls giggling gleefully at my sorry predicament.

"I'll tell you what, let's have Joanne lower your shorts, after all she is the injured party here." The woman's aquamarine eyes were twinkling at me. "Request her to bare your babyfat bottom for a nice warm-up smacking with the wooden spoon, and be sure to address her as 'Miss Joanne, ma'am' while you do." Well, that was difficult to do, especially with the way that she was smirking with so much pleasure at my plight, but I did manage to ask her to do that for me, in a totally embarrassed half-whisper.

"It will be my pleasure, Percy," she told me while handing her sister the spanking spoon, then she squatted down behind me, slipped her fingers into the waistband of my shorts and pulled them all the way down to my ankles. "Elevator going down," she chuckled, then she gave each of my exposed asscheeks a sharp slap before rising back up. "Nice firms buns there," my smiling stepsister cheerfully taunted me.

Candy tittered. "Perfect for a really blistering-hard paddling," she said.

Mom nodded in agreement. "Well, that's my cue, I believe. Percival, I want you bent way over my knee (she patted her right thigh), with your naked fanny pointed at the ceiling, ready to do some all-out bawling like a baby. Candy dear, once your brother's in position you can hand me the wooden spoon and I'll give his impudent bare ass an extended warm-up smacking with it."

Boy, did my stepmother ever keep her word there! Since I had kind of considered that cooking spoon a little kid's punishment implement, because I'd only been spanked with it before I became a teenager, I hadn't expected it to hurt me all that much since I was almost an adult, at least the way I figured it. Well, I sure turned out to be wrong about that belief, because Mom had me yelping right away as she cracked that spoon's flattened oaken back against my unprotected posterior. Those swats stung me plenty, and it wasn't long--around three minutes into my walloping, Candy told me afterward--before I was kicking, crying and squirming across my stepmother's lap, while that hardwood just kept on smacking against my naked buttcheeks, mostly upon the "sit spots" just above the fold between my glutes and thighs.

After about six minutes Mom briefly paused in spanking me, but only to tell Joanne to kneel in front of me and hold my arms (at the elbows), and Candy to do the same behind me, her grasping my ankles--apparently I was wriggling around on top of her thighs so much that she was having a tough time keeping me from rolling off them. Once my stepsisters were in their positions to help restrain me--allowing Joanne to look straight into my overbrimming eyes while Candy got a close-up view of the spanking spoon steadily impacting atop my bouncing bottom--the "corporal correction" continued, even more intensely than before, for another six minutes or so. By the time that part of it was finally finished, I'd stopped squirming and howling, I was just sobbing softly and moaning.

Joanne surprised me, and her mother too it seemed, by suggesting that I be given "a bit of a break so he can get his breath back and stop crying." Of course, I was instructed by Mom to stand in the closest open corner of the living room with my hands locked together behind me and my nose touching the intersection of both walls, a position that made those throbbing, sizzling asscheeks of mine stick out backward, much to my stepsisters' amusement--I had to waddle over there with my shorts still tangled around my ankles, while my supporter-framed rear end was "jiggling so cutely with such a nice cherry red glow," according to Candy.

It took me twelve minutes in the corner (Joanne later informed me), while my feminine step-relatives sipped ice tea and made teasing comments about my carrying on childishly like a five-year-old while being spanked, before my stepmother decided I'd regained enough composure to awkwardly shuffle back over to her and resume my "chastisement-receiving position," according to her, but that time she had me bend over only her left knee, after which she pressed her right leg across my thighs and hooked its foot under her left ankle.

"This should help hold you in proper position for your actual discipline, Percival, considering how immaturely you wiggled around during your warm-up," she announced happily. "Candy, hand me the Jokari paddle and then I want you girls in opposite spots from before, Joanne holding your brother's ankles and Candy his arms--let's make this naughty little toddler take his paddling properly, without his bare bottom trying to avoid the red-assed shellacking it has coming."

I'd thought that the wooden spoon had hurt my poor hiney a great deal, but then that thick, sturdy oval-shaped fanny-whacker was a true revelation to me--boy, did it ever plaster my exposed posterior with a vengeance! (Afterward, Candy joyfully described my expression as "purely priceless" once that first paddywhack had connected to my wide-open undercheeks--I was literally breathless for a moment, before exhaling with a loud, pained "Owwwwch!!") The tears started flowing again pretty much immediately, but my maternal disciplinarian simply kept on walloping me with her heavy paddle (it was actually designed for a game which was popular decades ago), again focusing most of her steadily deliberate yet intensive swats against my sensitive and already sore "sit spots," much to my weeping and wailing distress. (Joanne later playfully described my "babyfat bare buns bouncing with every smack of Mom's paddle, it was so adorably cute.")

It turned out to be another twelve-minute butt-blistering, with my stepsisters switching restraint positions about halfway through. The teardrops were flowing so freely, spattering onto the shag carpeting beneath my face, that I could barely meet Joanne's gaze, yet her expression seemed to be sympathetic. The chastisement's concluding couple of minutes left me whimpering quiety plus groaning softly after each resounding paddywhack, much to my paddler's satisfaction--her eyes were shining while, after being helped to stand up and face her by the girls but before being sent to do fifteen minutes' worth of post-punitive cornertime, I blubbered an abject apology to my stepsisters and herself for my "arrogant attitude" toward females.

The strange thing is that I actually did feel regretful over the way I'd acted toward the girls, and even my stepmother a bit, so I hasn't just saying what I knew Mom wanted to hear in order to avoid any more discipline from her. Luckily for me, following my second sniffling, sore-bottomed stint in the corner, I was hugged and kissed by all three of them, showing that I'd been forgiven, but ominously I was maternally warned that "This is only the beginning of your reformation process, Percival."

That night Joanne, who's a "candy striper" (volunteer nurse's aide), came into my bedroom with a tube of aloe cream, which she offered to massage into the ravaged skin of my still-smarting seat. Lying prone (naturally under the circumstances) on my bed, I started to protest when she began pulling my pajama pants down to upper-thigh level, which made her giggle at my foolishness. "If you're worried about protecting your rearward modesty to avoid having plenty of 'southern exposure' in front of me, I'd say that ship has sailed, Percy." I had to agree with her there, and I really did enjoy the feel of her caring hands rubbing that soothing lotion onto my exceedingly well-punished posterior.

Of course, long-practiced behavior patterns don't simply disappear, so over the next two weeks I underwent four more lengthy spanking sessions, virtually identical to that first one (over-the-knee, bare-assed smackings via the wooden spoon followed by similar Jokari paddlings, with the girls acting as "assistants"), administered quite severely by my stepmother. As with the original extended "corporal correction," I'll admit to deserving all of those wallopings--however, my conduct toward my stepsisters was steadily improving over that time period, in spite of a few mild "regressions," as Mom put them, which resulted in me sporting sore, stinging-hot buttock cheeks and tear-streaked facial ones while I sobbed in the living room corner.

Here's what is not fair, though: My stepmother decided that the overall improvement in my attitude toward females was due to my being thoroughly thrashed upon my naked fanny on a regular basis, so she worked out a so-called "disciplinary regimen" to make certain that I would continue to be embarrassingly punished that way--in fact, she's gradually made my butt-whackings more hurtfully intensive, not to mention highly humbling to me personally.

Now there's a weekly "Percival's Behavior Chart," which actually is a type of "misbehavior chart," posted prominently on the kitchen wall--it lists twenty-four different kinds of misconduct I might be guilty of committing, some of them pretty picayune stuff, with demerits for each violation. For example, the minor offense of "Toilet seat left up" will earn me four demerits, while the major one of "Disrespect toward sister" results in my acquiring twelve of them. However, in the case of any major violation, meaning one worth ten or more demerits, I also receive an on-the-spot, bare-bottom spanking session with both of the punitive implements Mom now employs.

The cooking spoon has been replaced by a fairly short, school-style rubber strap, which snaps across my unprotected posterior with a fiery-hot impact, while the Jokari paddle has been retained, but with supposed "improvements": Fifteen small holes have been drilled into its oval-shaped striking surface, to make it sting me even worse, an inscription has been painted on its other side and varnish has been applied to the smooth blonde wood. The printing, in black, crimson-trimmed capital letters, reads as follows: "MITCHIE'S SPANKING PADDLE FOR PERCIVAL'S BARE BEHIND." These two implements hang on pegs, one on each side of my "behavior chart" in the kitchen, where of course any visitors there can easily spot them--which refers to my stepmother's female friends and the girlfriends of my stepsisters, all of whom seem to find that display of my disciplinary status to be quite amusing. (The girls aren't allowed to have male guests at our house, and obviously I don't invite any of my friends over any more.)

Mom's final "refinement" (at least so far) in my punitive sessions has been to have one of her daughters, usually Candy, massage baby oil into the skin of my exposed asscheeks, after I've been bent across her lap, for each part of my walloping, first the licking with her rubber strap and later the paddling. It feels cool and comfortable going on, leaving my rear end "glistening brightly," according to Joanne, but I know that it will intensify the stinging heat atop my defenseless derriere once the spanking is underway. Boy, am I ever "hurtin' for certain" back there while enduring those baby-oil blisterings.

Every weekend, generally on Saturday morning, there's a meeting in which my "behavior chart" for the past week is reviewed and the demerits tallied. Even if I've been separately spanked for a major disciplinary violation during that time, which almost always seems to have happened at least twice, those demerits are added up along with the ones assigned due to lesser offenses. The weekly tally is entered at the bottom of the chart, to be "paid off" with three cracks of the strap and two swats with the Jokari paddle for each demerit. (These are the only chastisements I receive during which a specified number of strokes are delivered.) The girls, who have the authority to assign me demerits on their own, attend that meeting and as usual are Mom's "assistants" in administering the strappings and paddlings needed to "retire" that previous week's "behavior chart."

What does a typical "retirement session" amount to in terms of length, you may wonder, so I'll figure 75-90 licks of the lashing rubber and 50-60 Jokari paddywhacks. Although I seriously attempt to avoid breaking any rules, some of the violations are pretty vague and subject to interpretation, such as "Acting argumentive" (four demerits) and "Being disagreeable" (three demerits). My stepmother and Candy are rather generous in assigning me demerits via notations on my chart, although Joanne generally does so only if I've somehow truly annoyed her.

Well, that's the situation I'm facing right now, and "It's Not Fair!" surely describes it. Not only do I seem to undergo at least three extremely emphatic spanking sessions, including cornertime, just about every week, but I'm teased a whole lot by the numerous female visitors who spot my "behavior chart," flanked by the school-style strap and that Jokari paddle with its humbling (to me) inscription, in our kitchen. Their gleeful, girlish giggles and smug grins are embarrassing enough, yet I'm also expected to politely answer any questions they have in full detail.

"Do you really get it smack on your bare ass, right in front of Joanne and Candy?"..."Does it seriously hurt?"..."Do you actually end up bawling just like a five-year-old, like Candy says you do?"..."How does it feel, standing with your nose touching the corner while your stepmom and stepsisters are looking at your naked red hiney?"..."So you get two bare-assed butt-blisterings every Saturday, one with the strap and another with the paddle, while you're bent over your stepmom's knee like a naughty little boy, is that right?" All of these insipid questions, but I have to reply to them with respectful courtesy.

I haven't yet been disciplined, while wearing my "punishment outfit" shorts-down of course, in front of any female visitors, although Mom has hinted broadly that it could happen quite easily in the near future. However, my most immediate problem is that she's decided to have her daughters handle my Saturday morning "weekly chart retirement" by administering my "corporal correction" themselves, Joanne wielding the strap and Candy using the paddle, with me bare-bottom-up across their laps. This is scheduled to start once Candy turns fifteen, and her birthday is only a month away.

I'm already extremely embarrassed by the situation I'm in, even though I've been trying hard to behave properly, yet it will surely get even worse once I'm being spanked by my younger stepsisters every weekend, especially when their regular guests find out about it--the teasing from those females will be totally humiliating, I'm afraid, and the knowing smiles they flash at me in the hallways at school will make me blush more than I already do. (All visitors are supposed to be "sworn to secrecy" about our household's disciplinary practices, but the sly smirks I receive from those girls at school nonetheless leave me pink-faced.) I'll probably also hear many more whispered questions like "How was Saturday's spanking on your bare behind?", once I'm being put across the girls' own laps for my double chastisement each weekend.

My father point-blank won't involve himself any further in what he considers to be "your mother's turf," household discipline, and he's out of touch at the moment anyway, assigned to some confidential project overseas for the next four months.

Meanwhile, I'm getting my naked fanny soundly strapped and paddled by Mom several times a week, and my sore-seated fate will only become even more humbling once my stepsisters are promoted from simply giving their mother "assistance" to spanking me themselves every Saturday.

Overall, I've become quite fond of my immediate female step-relatives, but concerning my continued "corporal correction" at their strict-yet-loving hands..."It's Not Fair!"

[Response from "Boy Stuff" magazine's female guest editor of this column:

Well, Percival, I understand why you might be feeling a touch upset over your situation regarding your "brand-spanking-new" female step-relatives, but my reaction is that you're being melodramatic and greatly exaggerating your problems.

First of all, it's now accepted in our society, thanks to the recent "Conservative Resurgence," that very sound bare-bottom spankings are desirable for boys (from my personal perspective all males), and their positive social benefits are significantly enhanced when young females are involved, as spectators, "assistants" (to use your stepmother's expression) or better still spankmistresses themselves.

Those chastisements which you've been receiving regularly from your stepmother are making you into a more considerate, mature and responsible person, so you should embrace them as a "necessary good" even though they hurt your naked hiney at the time you're undergoing them. True, you're shedding some tears on occasion and your posterior frequently ends up feeling quite sore these days, but you've admitted that at least your first five maternal butt-blisterings were deserved--however, I believe that all of your corporal correction was necessary to permanently adjust your "arrogant attitude" and break down your overweaning male ego.

If your continued spanking sessions were to be ended, as you clearly desire, how long would your improved treatment of your stepsisters actually last, do you believe? The high degree of embarrassment involved in those bare-bottom punishments is what's keeping you accomodatingly courteous in your relationships with Joanne and Candy, that's what I'm guessing, and it's obvious to me that your stepmother also feels that way, which is why she has no intention of terminating them.

Surely it's no oversight that female visitors to your house are quickly made aware, via the open display of your "behavior chart" and the instruments of corporal correction (notably that Jokari paddle with its humiliatingly stark inscription) hanging beside it in the kitchen, that you're subject to getting your exposed posterior maternally walloped on a regular basis. Your stepmother wants you to experience a healthy masculine feeling of humility toward your household's feminine guests, I'm pretty certain, which will result in you treating them respectfully rather than condescendingly, so therefore causing you some degree of embarrassment is an effective method of achieving that objective.

It's an accepted axiom in today's society that boys, even those of them in their late teens and early twenties (I'd personally include all males below the age of 100), are generally immature and lacking in self-discipline, thus they require strong guidance, leadership and often behavior modification via sound chastisement, such necessities to be provided by their womenfolk, even including younger females--who are nonetheless considerably more mature and emotionally advanced than their male counterparts.

Mother Nature (also known as the Sacred Feminine) has designed boys (and in my opinion adult males as well), physically and psychologically, to be the recipients of frequent sound spankings, preferably delivered upon their bare behinds, from the females in their lives--you childishly naughty fellows have firmly-rounded buttcheeks which can absorb a great deal of emphatic smacking, whacking, strapping, switching and whipping with no more than intensive stinging, sizzling soreness, which will eventually disappear, leaving your resilient rumps ready for their next round of feminine-administered discipline. As your own response to receiving continuous corporal correction has pointedly demonstrated, boys (and I'd venture males in general) react well, in a socially desirable manner, to being seriously spanked and humbled by their womenfolk (of all ages).

In a sense you're very fortunate, Percival, since you're not stripped totally naked for your chastisements and cornertime, not to mention that your low dosage of Puericil has allowed you to avoid almost all of the seemingly negative (to you) effects of the medication. However, there is a trade-off involved, so that you have to frequently receive emphatic, embarrassing corporal punishment in order to keep your otherwise arrogant, overly aggressive male ego under strict control. Therefore, your spanking regimen is the "opportunity cost" of the athletic success and well-developed masculine body which you enjoy, so you should embrace it as such.

As for your stepsisters becoming your spankmistesses in the near future, I must side with their mother on this issue. You've stated that you like the girls and now treat them nicely, but have you accepted their feminine guidance and leadership, despite them being younger than yourself? That needs to happen as soon as possible, and your stepsisters merely being "assistants" to their mother in administering your shorts-down wallopings obviously hasn't accomplished that. Once you start going bare-bottom-up across their loving laps for your Saturday strappings and paddlings, I believe that your relationships with Joanne and Candy will become properly defined via our societal norms, which I figure is your stepmother's intention.

So my advice to you, Percival, is that you enthusiastically embrace the upcoming disciplinary roles which the girls will soon be assuming--tell them that you're looking forward to being soundly spanked over their knees each Saturday because it will redefine the relationships between themselves and yourself in a highly positive manner, and remind them to never "go easy" on your naked hiney while they're chastising you.

Just to give you advance notice, I'm reasonably sure that Joanne and Candy will be given the authority to spank you whenever they deem necessary within the next few months. Also, you can quite probably expect that at least a few select feminine visitors will be allowed to witness your maternal spankings in the not-too-distant future, then eventually your sisterly ones as well.

However, all of these developments will be to your long-term benefit, so don't despair, Percival. That classic saying, "This is for your own good," is going to be accurate in your case.

On the other hand, if any of your female step-relatives claims that "This hurts me more than it hurts you," while she's thoroughly blistering your bare bottom across her lap--LOL! I wouldn't believe that one!

Sincere best wishes,

Doctor Almeda McMichael]

(The End)