Let George Do It
By Red Rover and Rick1463
[email protected]
[email protected]
Copyright 2017 by Red Rover and Rick1463, all rights reserved
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This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of
sexual activity
involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to
view such material or
if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do
not save this
story.
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Let
George Do It
By Rick
1463 and Red Rover
INTRODUCTION
Diane Doris Webster,
known as “DD” or “DeeDee” has just turned fourteen and graduated from the eighth
grade. Her parents, Drs. Michael and Janet Webster are anthropology professors at
a large Eastern university. DeeDee is their only child and thoroughly spoiled. She
is small and immature appearing for her age and her behavior tends to be childish
as well. The Websters have been offered the opportunity to spend their sabbatical
year excavating a find of early hominid fossils in Africa. They had hoped to bring
DeeDee with them, but the dig site is remote and somewhat dangerous. There is no
place for a young girl and DeeDee is far too immature to be a useful member of the team. So the Websters have
decided to send DeeDee to live with Janet’s older brother Daniel Loring and his
wife, Peggy, in Arizona. The Lorings live in a remote town of about 10,000 people,
most of whom are members of the Reformed Church of Saint Timeas, an fairly obscure
sect with some rather odd religious and cultural practices. The Lorings have three
children; Angela (“Angie”), 17, Roberta (“Bobbi”), 14 and George, 12.
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PART 1
My name is Diane Doris Webster, but everybody
calls me “DeeDee” or “DD.” I am a brat. Well my psychological profile actually describes
me as "emotionally immature, impulsive and rebellious." That's psycho-babble
for "a brat." Shortly after my 14th birthday, I graduated from the eighth grade and was looking forward
to starting High School in the fall with my friends. But my parents had other ideas.
They are anthropologists, which means they dig up old, dead people and look at their
bones. Gross! So they got funding to go to Africa for a year and dig up a bunch
of old bones from some kind of advanced ape or primitive human or something in between.
Now I am normal teenage
girl. I like social media, dressing up, gabbing with my buddies and all the stuff
a kid my age would be doing. The idea of living in a tent in East Mudflat, Africa
for a year with all those animals waiting to eat me, not to mention snakes and bugs
and all that sort of thing was positively revolting. Lucky for me (or so I thought),
my parents agreed. They decided to send me off to live with my Uncle Dan and Aunt
Peg in Arizona while they were gone. I hated to leave my friends for a year but
they assured me they had Netflix, Internet and satellite TV, so it would at least
be tolerable and better than the bugs and snakes!
So off I go on a plane to Phoenix and a bus
that took forever to carry me through miles of desert into a mountain area where
there were green trees, grass and water. I could see lots of farms full of veggies,
cows and goats and wild critters. At least it would be better than peeing behind
a bush, waiting for a lion or leopard to jump out and eat me. The town was named
“Romney” after a Mormon family that had settled there in the 1870’s. But the Mormons
were long gone and the town was being run by the “Reformed Church of Saint Timeas”
whoever he was. They called themselves the “Saints.” (I found out later that other
people called them “Timmies.” I also found out that calling one of them a “Timmy”
was a good way to get a punch in the nose.)
The town was kind of nice, lots of big houses,
almost all of which had big gardens behind them. I found out that the saints, like
the Mormons, believed in big families. Most families had 6-8 kids, which meant a
lot of kids running around. There was a big grocery store , a Wal-Mart (naturally)
and a few gas stations and the usual assortment of small businesses. Everything
looked neat and tidy, no homeless people, trash or run-down houses. There was a
high school, a middle school and three elementary schools. These were bigger than
I expected but apparently they served a lot of kids from nearby small towns and
ranches.
I hadn’t seen Uncle Dan and his family for almost
ten years so the size of the kids surprised me. They were all bigger than I was,
even 12-year-old George. Uncle Dan was 6-3 and like 230 pounds and Aunt Peg was
5-10. Now, of course, I am a shrimp. I have to stand almost on tiptoes to reach
5 feet and I might reach 85 pounds after a big meal. But George was 5-7 at age 12,
Angie was 5-5 at 17 and Bobbi was 5-3 at my age, 14. No question about who would
be the “baby” of the family, even though I was a month older than Bobbi. But I was
used to being the smallest kid in the group, so it didn’t bother me at first. Even
when Uncle Dan picked me up like I was three and kissed me on the forehead. But
I was embarrassed when George did the same thing and then patted my bottom as he
put me down. I almost told him off; after all, I was two years older than he was,
but then I looked at his muscles and decided to behave. The girls both giggled and
Angie said, “Don’t mess with George, DD, he’ll get you in the end.” Looking back,
that should have been my first big clue as to what was going on.
As with most houses in Romney, it had a lot
of space. Six bedrooms, three baths and big dining and living rooms. So I got my
own bedroom, which was a relief, I had thought I might have to share with Bobbi.
George’s bedroom was the biggest and he had a private bath, which I thought was
odd since he was the youngest, but since he was the only boy, it made sense. George
and the girls hauled my luggage upstairs and helped me unpacked. I was a little
shocked when George looked at my clothes and remarked. “These are a little too adult
for a little girl, we’ll have to get you some more suitable stuff.”
I bristled at that remark and said, “What do
you mean ‘little girl?’ I’m older than you are and a teen ager. I don’t wear “little
girl” stuff anymore.”
He laughed and ruffled my hair, which made me
even madder. “Feisty little one, isn’t she?” he remarked to the girls who looked
amused and scared at the same time.
“It’s her first day, George,” Angie said in
a little-girl voice of her own. “Don’t be too hard on her right away, please.”
That confused me even more. Angie was five years
older than George but was treating him like she would a parent.
George smiled again. “I know, kitten,” he said
calmly. “You and Bobbi will have to bring her up to date after dinner. Let’s go
downstairs and help Mom with dinner; DeeDee and Bobbi can finish the unpacking.”
“Kitten?” To his older sister? My mind was whirling
over the implications. It didn’t help when he gave her a swat on the bottom as they
left the room.
“So what’s up around here?” I asked Bobbi. “George
is the youngest, but he acts like he was in charge.”
Bobbi sighed. “It’s a long story. Angie and
I will explain it after dinner. Just don’t get George mad at you. Meantime we need
to get you out of those sweaty clothes and into the shower.”
So I took a nice, long shower and washed my
hair. Fortunately I keep it short, so it dried quickly. When I got dried off, Bobbi
had laid me out a T-shirt, shorts and underwear similar to what she and Angie were
wearing.
I sighed in relief. “For a minute there, I thought
you’d put me in a mu-mu or a schoolgirl dress from the 19th century,”
I joked.
Bobbi laughed. “George doesn’t object to exposed
girl skin, quite the opposite, in fact. But he doesn’t like flashy or sexy clothes
on little girls.”
There was he “little girls” bit again. What
the hell was going on around here? But I kept my lip zipped and we went down to
dinner.
Dinner was normal. Mostly we talked about me
and my parents’ trip to Africa. Then the other kids talked about all the wondrous
things to see and do in Romney County. I was, of course, underwhelmed. I’d seen
places none of the other kids had and done stuff they considered amazing. Like Angie
was the only one who’d flown on an airplane. But then, I thought about the bugs
and snakes and decided to make the best of it. After dinner, Uncle Dan and George
went out to do something with the chickens and Aunt Peg relaxed in front of the
TV while us three girls cleaned up the kitchen.
When we were done. Angie got this serious look
on her face and said, “Let’s go up to my room for some girl-talk.”
So we grabbed a few cookies and went up to Angie’s
room. I was surprised to see she had a mini-fridge in her bedroom and offered us
sodas. She had some nice furniture, too. Obviously the Lorings were well-off. Angie
sat on her desk chair and Bobbi and I sprawled on the bed. Angie sighed.
“There’s no real way to make this easy,” she
began. “But George is in charge of us girls and you, too.”
“In charge?” I was dumbfounded. “But he’s younger
than all of us. How can he be in charge?”
“It’s different from the way it is in most of
the country,” Angie explained. “But in our religion, the oldest male child is in
charge of the other kids in the family. Since George is the only male child, he
is the boss as far as us kids go.”
“So he, like, tells you what to do and you just
do it?” I asked in horror.
“It’s even worse than that,” Bobbi said. “If
we don’t obey him or give him any trouble at all, he can spank us. In fact, he can
spank us any time he wants to. Sometimes he just feels like we need spanking and
our panties come down and we go over his knee then and there.”
This was getting worse and worse. “He spanks
you on the bare bottom?” (OMG, I changed my mind, I’ll take my chances with the
leopards!)
“Almost always when we are at home or at a friend’s
house,” Angie confirmed. “Not usually when we are out in public.”
“But-but-but that has to be against the law
or something!” I sputtered. “Don’t you have, like, child abuse laws in Arizona?”
“Spanking girls is quite legal in this county,”
Bobbi said. “Bare bottom or not, it doesn’t really matter. Every girl in town is
used to being spanked by boys. Usually it’s a brother but some families don’t have
male children so a neighbor boy does the job.”
“Neighbor boy???” (Suddenly the snakes and bugs
are looking better and better.)
“So who spanks the boys?” I asked, dreading
the answer.
“Boys over age 6 don’t get spanked,” Angie said.
“They get grounded or detention or extra chores or something else.”
“Detention? You mean you get spanked in SCHOOL,
too?”
“Of course,” Bobbi snorted. “But the teachers
aren’t allowed to do it, so it’s usually the oldest boy in your class or somebody
designated by your parents.”
“I suppose they spank your bare bottom in school,
in front of the class,” I said sarcastically.
“Well that’s up to the boy doing the spanking,
but yes, it’s usually on the bare,” Angie said.
“So girls get spanked by boys, sometimes by
younger boys, on the bare bottom, in public?”
“Yep, that’s the way it works,” Bobbie said,
without batting a lash. “It’s the way we were raised and we just accept it and try
not to get into trouble.”
“It’s not a big deal for anybody else, either,”
Angie put in. “Except for the girl being spanked, of course. But it’s the way things
are done around here. Has been for years. Didn’t your mother explain that to you?
She grew up here.”
(Now I am wondering if matricide is a capital
offense in Arizona.)
“She told me that Uncle Dan used to spank her,
but he’s like, ten years older than she is, so I figured it was just, like, him
babysitting her when she was little”
“Nope,” Bobbi said. “Girls can be spanked as
long as they are living with family.”
“You mean you and Angie can still be spanked
by George when you are over 18?”
“Yep. One of George’s sixth grade teachers is
24 and she can still get spanked by her 17-year-old brother.”
“So how old do boys have to be before they can
spank their sisters?” I asked.
“Boys have to be designated as “Mentors” before
they can spank girls,” Angie replied. That normally is age 14, but some very mature
boys can get designated at ages 13 and 12. George got his Mentor badge on his 12th
birthday, but he is unusually mature. Some boys never get the Mentor badge at all.”
“So if George messed up real bad, he could get
his badge taken away and then he couldn’t spank you anymore?”
“Right,” Angie replied. “But that doesn’t happen
often. They are pretty careful who they give the badges to. They don’t want any
girls to be hurt or molested.”
“So George gets to see your bare bottom anytime
he wants to, then?” I knew the answer, of course, but had to ask anyway.
“Sure, he’s seen everything a hundred times,
anyway.” Bobbi replied. “In fact, sometimes, he has us running around bare-bottomed
or totally nude in the evenings. Especially when he has his buddies over.”
(I KNEW I should have opted for the bugs and
lions!)
“And your parents are OK with that?” I couldn’t
believe what I was hearing.
“Sure,” Bobbi giggled. “They think little girls’
bare bottoms are cute. And some of George’s buddies are pretty cool.’
“Another thing, I should warn you about,” Angie
said. “George has a hobby of collecting pubic hair from the girls he spanks.
WHAAAATTTT??????
End of Part 1
(End of File)