It Sure is Fun! 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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This is a letter from one girl to the magazine "Girlish Giggles and Grins", then a response by a psychologist. Set in the Puericil Universe.

"IT SURE IS FUN! #3" by the Crimson Kid

From the October issue of "Girlish Giggles and Grins":

"IT SURE IS FUN!" #3

Greetings, Doctor McMichael, my name is Candy, I'm fifteen years old and you might remember a bit about me because my stepbrother Percival (we call him "Percy") has written to a letters column in some magazine for boys which you sometimes are the guest editor for. Your replies to his two letters were "spot on" according to my mother, who grew up in England and uses some of the silly expressions from there, but I still thought that one of us (her, myself or my sixteen-year-old sister Joanne) should describe Percy's bare-bottom blisterings from the point of view of the females, or one of them anyway, who spank him very often in our household.

Mom told me that I might as well do that, if I could find a magazine which published letters on "female-led domestic discipline of young males," as she called it. I realized that she was referring to "Girlish Giggles and Grins," so I tracked down a couple of past issues and reread those two letters from "Chrissie" about her cousin "Reddy" being strapped, paddled and brush-spanked in the nude by her mother, big sister and aunt--I really enjoyed reading them again, that's for sure.

In your response to Percy's second letter printed in his boys' magazine, you told him that you were assigned him a punishment which my older sister Joanne and I were supposed to administer to him, sixty-four hard swats to his bare behind with the same implements we'd used for his spankings on my birthday.

Of course, my stepbrother had acted "just like a typical male," as Mom put it, by hiding his copy of that magazine from us and claiming that it had been accidentally misplaced somewhere. He didn't want us to read the letter column with your "sentencing" of him to fanny-tannings from each of his stepsisters (Joanne and myself), but my mother merely borrowed a copy of it from the teenage son of one of her girlfriends. Once all three of us lovely ladies had all read it, Mom called Percy into the living room where we were seated, waiting for him. When he saw the magazine being held in my mother's hands, opened to the page including your reply to his letter, his normally "dark-complected" (as Mom describes it) face turned almost totally white.

"Can you explain your failure to mention being assigned this corporal correction by Doctor McMichael?" she asked him, sounding quite strict.

"According to her, both Candy and I are supposed to give your fully-exposed rear end a good sound smacking, sixty-four smart stingers each," Joanne said with a tight smile. She's much smaller than our stepbrother, who's six feet tall and a muscular high school athlete, yet it clearly seemed as though she was his dominant disciplinarian. "How were we supposed to do that, my dear brother, if you neglected to tell us about your required ass-thrashings?"

His face suddenly changed color, from pale white to blushing pink. "Ummmm, I just thought it was...you know, only a suggestion from her, just something to do if I...uhhhh, thought it was necessary."

Mom shook her head. "No, Percival, that's not correct and you're certainly intelligent enough to have understood Doctor McMichael's meaning." Her expression was stern. "You've earned yourself a long, hard, bare-bottom blistering from me for lying about mislaying your magazine, plus failing to tell us about what the doctor wrote in her response to your letter, that's in addition to the spanking from each of your sisters."

I couldn't help giggling. "Oh boy, does that ever sound great, it's just what our dishonest brother deserves, bare-assed lickings from all three of us beautiful women."

My mother sent Percy upstairs to put on his "Doctor Denton" pajama outfit, which has cute little footies and a childish three-button "trap door" (seat flap) covering--and uncovering, once its been lowered--his often-spanked derriere. Joanne went out into the kitchen, where "Percival's Behavior Chart" hangs on the wall, usually flanked by the black leather strap and the oaken Jokari paddle (which has small holes drilled in its striking surface) which are applied to his naked buttcheeks during his punishment spankings, and wrote "Serious dishonesty" under the "Offense" column and "15 demerits" next to that under the "Penalty" column. (So not only was my naughty stepbrother going to receive an immediate two-implement chastisement from Mom, he'd also added forty-five strap-strokes and thirty paddle-swats to his "behavior chart retirement" fanny-tanning from Joanne and myself on Saturday morning.)

As my older sister brought the leather strap and Jokari paddle into the living room after making her entry on Percy's "behavior chart," I also arrived there after retrieving the bottle of baby oil from the hallway bathroom upstairs.

"Thank you, dears," Mom told us both, smiling smugly while seated on a round-topped, plush ottoman stool, "Now please go up to your room and await your brother's arrival."

Percy was required to report to our shared bedroom, wearing whatever his punitive outfit was going to be for that disciplinary session, and hand us girls the spanking implements which we would soon be applying with enthusiasm to his exposed plump posterior. For a "behavior chart retirement" walloping on Saturday morning, those would be the short strap (used by Joanne) and the heavy oakwood paddle (used by me), but in that case it was the oversized kitchen spoon (Joanne) and the "Vermont Country Store" wooden bath brush (myself), which were assigned by yourself, Doctor McMichael: "We aim to please, while aiming stinging smacks at Percy's bare behind," as my big sister had earlier told him with a grin.

"Do you have a request for us, my dear dishonest brother?" I asked him once he'd knocked on our door and been told to come in.

Since he was wearing that deep maroon "Doctor Denton" pajama suit, Percy was already pink-cheeked (his facial ones, that is) in spite of his "Mediterranean complexion," as my mother describes it, yet his blush brightened as he offered each of us the proper spanking implement while formally requesting that we "Please escort me downstairs to the living room, lower my rear-end trap door, baby-oil my bare-naked fanny, then administer the discipline which I was sentenced to by Doctor McMichael." (As always, it was really obvious that he was totally humbled at having to ask us to lambaste his bare buns, he stammered a whole lot while doing so, with his gaze on the floor while Joanne and I were tittering at his boyish embarrassment.)

Given the pattern we'd established over five weeks' worth of Saturday morning "behavior chart retirement" chastisements, Joanne lowered our stepbrother's seat flap, exposing his chubby nether moons to our girlish gazes, then she slapped them sharply with her palm one dozen times, after which he was marched downstairs ahead of us, with me walking directly behind him while I briskly whacked his baby-naked buttocks with the solid bath brush in my right hand. Boy, did Percy ever squeal and squirm as I heated up his hapless hiney, yet the true "domestic discipline" hadn't even started!

After being required to ask Mom to "Please put me over your knee and strap my bare bottom very long and extra-hard, ma'am," her naughty stepson, who was "trembling like a leaf" (her expression), lowered himself into the proper across-her-lap position for a good leathering. Then I took the bottle of baby oil, poured a large dollop of it onto my palm and rubbed it onto Percy's quivering, naked buttcheeks--they were glistening brightly by the time I was finally finished. After putting the bottle aside, I kneeled behind his legs and grabbed his ankles in my hands, pushing his feet to the floor's carpeting, giving me a straight-on view of his nicely-toned asscheeks. Joanne took her position by kneeling in front of our stepbrother, then grasped his elbows with her hands and looked directly into his face, which like his precious rear had a pretty pinkish glow.

My mother surprised me by announcing a stroke number, "Ninety-six with the strap," which she generally didn't do except during Percy's Saturday morning wallopings, but then she added, "silent count," meaning that he still wouldn't be able to figure out when that part of his punishment was close to ending, since he'd earlier told Joanne and myself that he couldn't keep track of the swats once he'd started crying.

Mom is my role model in life--many of my girlfriends don't get along all that well with their mothers, so they act surprised when I tell them how much I admire mine. She's as tall (six feet even) as Percy, drop-dead gorgeous--like Joanne and myself, she has what she calls "Nordic features"--and very athletic, since she plays in a women's doubles tennis league twice a week and jogs three miles on most other days. However, even though she has well-toned muscles, Mom is also fully feminine--my stepbrother calls her a "buxom Earth goddess," and I have to agree with him on that point.

Anyway, my mother administered a totally awesome leathering smack on top of Percy's openly-exposed asscheeks, cracking that wicked short strap of hers across his tender underbuns over and over again, covering "the bottom of his bare bottom" (as she often refers to the "sit spots" just above his thigh folds) with shining bands of brilliant magenta (that's purplish-red) coloration--boy oh boy, did his chubby cheekies look cute, not to mention that they must of been "blazing like a bonfire," to use one of Joanne's expressions, based on how childishly he was crying for almost that entire severe strapping. He's a solidly-built, muscular seventeen-year-old boy, but Mom gave him a flap-down, across-her-lap licking just like he was a naughty kindergartener, and she made him blubber like a well-spanked five-year-old too.

Our sobbing young man was allowed a few minutes to "compose yourself, Percy darling, and stop bawling like a baby," as his stepmother told him, while she gently rubbed his back with her left hand and I massaged another handful of baby oil onto the skin of his twitching buttcheeks, feeling exactly how heated up they were--man oh man, they must have been stinging like the very devil herself! (In our family, both God and her rival are considered to be feminine.)

Then my mother and sister switched places, so that Percy, still sniffling, had to stand up for a moment and then lower himself back down, bending himself over Joanne's knee, after which Mom kneeled to grip his elbows while I took hold of his ankles again. "Silent count, sixty-four swats, as stated by Doctor McMichael," she announced, her voice sounding determined in spite of coming from a rather petite (yet also extremely attractive) body, then she immediately began smacking his bare behind with that cooking spoon's flattened-out back.

It's really obvious that my sister is attracted to our stepbrother--she had a crush on him three years ago at school, even before his father was dating our mother, and she's reminded me that "We're not biologically related to Percy," quite a few times. Still, she seriously wallops his naked fanny each and every time that he's being spanked by her, it's almost as though she's focusing her romantic feelings for him into hurting his hiney as much as she possibly can. That time was hardly different, since her wide, sky blue eyes were sparkling while she was using sharp wrist-snaps (from the one sport she plays a whole lot of, table tennis) with the oaken spoon to deliver a steady tattoo directly upon Percy's already-sore plump underbuns, leaving him "wailing like a shameless child" (to quote Mom's description of his reactions) during his chastisement across her thighs.

Surprising to my sister and myself, our mother took a cell phone photograph of our stepbrother, from a angled position which showed his tearstained face and his glowing magenta rear end, just as Joanne's oversized cooking spoon was impacting against it near the end of his spanking from her. Usually Mom wouldn't allow any pictures of Percy's punishments to be taken, but she also took one of his fiery-looking fanny while he was serving his fifteen-minute cornertime session.

After that was up, by which time he'd finally stopped sniffling, she put him over her knee again, then had me apply another coating of baby oil to his bright crimson "southern hemispheres," as she teasingly called his chubby cheekies in the rear, which had cooled off just a touch. With me in the front kneeling position, gripping Percy's elbows while Joanne took over "at the stern" (another motherly expression) to hold down his ankles, Mom really went to work on his poor unprotected posterior with her Jokari paddle, to the tune of "Sixty-four more stingers, silent count," for that part of his punishment.

Boy, did she ever paddywhack him with "extreme prejudice," to use more of her spanking-style terminology, much to my amusement as I watched the teardrops resume flowing down his bright pink face. Those pistol-shot cracks of that thick fanny-whacker even hurt my ears a bit, so I can only imagine how much they must have scorched Percy's bare bottom, connecting to his oh-so-sensitive "sit spots" as he howled loudly--which likewise didn't do my ears any favors. His whimpering afterward, while my mother fondly rubbed his back as I massaged still another dollup of baby oil onto the wonderfully warm (from my point of view anyway) surface of his ravaged rump, that was much more tolerable to me.

"I'm sure that your walloped hiney is hurtin' for certain," Joanne said to our stepbrother as he tried to control his breathing, "But you brought Mom's discipline on yourself through your dishonesty, Percy. I truly hope that you're learning a good lesson from the punishments you've earned by withholding information from us. We're now a family, so we have to be able to trust one another."

"You're right, Joanne, I'm very sorry," he replied, but he blubbered it so that I had to listen carefully to understand him.

His stepmother helped our sobbing boy climb to his feet, then she and I exchanged positions and a moment later he was bent across my thighs with his hot-looking derriere sticking up and out, giving me a near-perfect target to plaster with the sturdy bath brush which my right hand was raising. "Your final sixty-four swats based on what Doctor McMichael decided, Percy dear, I'm going to make them as memorable as I can."

This column is titled "It Sure Is Fun!", yet however--as Mom has explained to both Joanne and me--corporally correcting a deserving male is much more than simply enjoyable, it's also what she calls "empowering," a demonstration of the natural feminine role as disciplinarian in relation to the masculine one as a person needing to be soundly chastised on a regular basis. As I cracked that spanking brush's flat back against the base of Percy's childishly exposed asscheeks, alternating smacks from one wriggling buttock round to another while he wept and wailed, my awareness--that I was helping maintain his role as a person subject to corporal punishment within our household--filled me with such sweet satisfaction.

My mother took a third cell phone shot, showing the oaken brush connecting forcefully to its bouncy target behind her stepson's tear-streaked face, plus still another one which featured him doing his second session of flap-down cornertime after I'd delivered his fourth bare-bottom blistering of the day. The final photo was taken by Percy, at Mom's request, a frontal picture of all three of us disciplinary ladies, holding the four punitive had implements which we'd each recently applied to his stinging-hot rear end.

(At supper that evening, she explained that the five shots had been sent to you, Doctor McMichael, using the personal e-mail address shown in this magazine, then deleted from her phone--she figured that you had the right to see that your assignment had been carried out by my older sister and myself. She got this idea from reading a letter in an issue of the boys' magazine which you guest edit once in a while.)

Of course, at bedtime Joanne went to Percy's bedroom to rub soothing aloe lotion onto his sore, smarting seat, something that she does for him every time he gets his derriere spanked. She really would like to give him a sweet, passionate kiss, rather than the sisterly pecks on his cheek that he usually gets from both of us, but the shy girl hasn't gotten up the nerve to do that yet.

Anyway, Doctor McMichael, now you have the "narrative" (my mother's word) to go along with the photographs Mom sent to you--they're for your eyes only, of course, but I'm hoping that you'll see fit to print this letter in the "It Sure Is Fun!" column.

Being a girl who spanks in my new "blended family," it sure is fun!

Yours in spanking sisterhood,
Candy

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[Doctor McMichael's Response:

This is a very good letter, especially via its describing precisely how Percival was corporally corrected by your mother, older sister (Joanne) and yourself, and also your personal reaction to both witnessing and directly participating in his punishment. I've read (and responded to) a couple of his letters in the male-oriented magazine he reads, so I found it quite enlightening to be exposed to your perspective as one of his feminine disciplinarians.

Your stepbrother strikes me as being a good person overall, partially due to your mother's strong commitment to keeping his male ego under strict control, yet his general positive behavior shouldn't--and fortunately didn't, in this case--protect his bare bottom from any serious retribution that he's earned via misconduct. I'm very pleased that Percival was very soundly chastised for his dishonesty, even though it was passive (withholding information) rather than active (outright lying) in nature.

If he had simply passed on my decision regarding his deserved retribution, showing his stepmother my reply to his second published letter, the young man would still have been spanked on his naked buttocks (sixty-four swats each) by Joanne and yourself, but there would have been no strapping and paddling over your mother's knee as well. (I was impressed by the 'intermixing' of the two corporal correction sessions, since they were clearly interrelated in terms of cause and effect.) Also, his "behavior chart" offense added those forty-five strap-strokes (courtesy of Joanne) and thirty paddle-swats (from yourself) to his Saturday morning "behavior chart retirement" disciplinary session--that's a double-jeopardy "Ouchie!!" for sure.

It's apparent to me that all three of you beautiful ladies truly care for Percival, and you each understand the 'Conservative Resurgence' concept that boys (and even males in general, I'd opine) are to be very soundly disciplined, via ass-thrashing corporal punishment which is accompanied by extreme embarrassment, not "in spite of" their womenfolk's loving affection for them, but rather "because of" it. Your stepbrother has clearly developed into a much more considerate member of your household since the introduction of his bare-bottomed spanking regimen, so please keep it up--it is indeed for his own long-term good (to mention one classic fanny-whacking cliche'), although it's clear that it hurts his naked hiney a great deal while his chastisers contrawise are gratified at their administering roles in it (thereby contradicting another such cliche').

My advice to Joanne would be to enjoy the emotional closeness which comes from her post-punitive 'nursing' of her stepbrother (massaging aloe cream onto his sore seat at bedtime), but to hold back on any romantic interaction until both of them are adults. There's no biological reason for stepsiblings to avoid such a relationship, but there still exist social conventions which could result in an awkward family situation.

Finally, thank your mother for the photographs which she e-mailed me, which of course will be treated as strictly confidential by myself. Percival is extremely fortunate to live in a household with three highly attractive females, ones who are deeply fond of him and thus blister his bare behind very thoroughly whenever he deserves such discipline. He's quite a handsome, solidly-built young man, yet he paradoxically looks so much like a naughty, well-spanked kindergartener with his facial cheeks blushing as teardrops flow down them, while his nether moons evince such a deep maroon glow, almost matching the color of his childishly cute, flap-down 'Doctor Denton' PJ outfit.

His exposed posterior certainly must have been sizzling and throbbing at the time, yet masculine rear ends are designed by the Sacred Feminine to absorb a very high degree of corporal correction without any permanent damage. As long as you ladies treat him affectionately afterward, Percival will eventually embrace the strict spanking regimen which he's subjected to by all three of you, I'm confident of that. To quote a bit of excellent advice for mothers and sisters (plus sometimes even daughters, I'd suggest), "Show him that you really care, spank him soundly, bottom bare!"

Keep up the great work, Candy--happy paddywhacking!

Yours in spanking sisterhood,
Almeda McMichael]

(The End)