Rogue's Weyr : "the Weyr is where the dragon is" -Brekke Rider of Gold Wirenth, Southern Weyr

"SMALL WORLD" (Maternal Matrimony #3) by the Crimson Kid F/m

(All rights reserved. This story's setting is the mid-28th century at Rebecca McMichael's residence in Yamamoto on the planet Vladivost, nine hours after "Awareness".)

Carlton sat on his new bed, which was actually the old junior bed that his then-daughter Nantessa had outgrown five years earlier, and found himself fidgeting nervously—another childish behavior that his newly-rejuved body, physiologically that of a five-year-old, was producing in him.

He did have an understandable reason for his anxiety, as he was awaiting the arrival of his Rebecca. She was going to tuck him into his little bed and kiss him goodnight, but before that she would be giving him a bare-bottom butt-blistering across her lovely lap—his first from her as a rejuve child, although she had soundly spanked his naked adult posterior quite regularly throughout their courtship and marriage.

Actually, Carlton mused, being corporally chastised by his wife/guardian was one of the few aspects of his existence that hadn't been radically altered by the medical rejuve he'd undergone. His family relationships were totally distorted and would it take considerable time for them to resolve themselves, which was a source of much discomfort to him and extreme resentment to Rebecca and Nantessa.

After the extended over-the-lap hairbrush spanking that Nantessa had administered to her new little brother's bare rump in the hovercar's back seat, she had admonished him: "That's for taking such a foolish risk when Mom told you not to, Carltie. Now I have a younger brother, but I've lost my father. It's going to take a really long time for me to adjust to that, brother dear, and I'm going to be walloping your nicely-naked bumcheeks EVERY DAY in the meantime!"

Carlton pondered the divided reaction he'd had to his biological daughter's condemnation. His retained adult awareness had been filled with remorse over the situation, but there had been a strong, self-centered mental undercurrent concerned with only two things—the stinging-hot aftereffects of the fanny-tanning that he'd just received, and the distressing prospect of daily repetitions of similar pants-down punishment. Even his having been put across a thirteen-year-old girl's thighs with his compact buttocks exposed, then wailing and blubbering babyishly through a lengthy hairbrush paddling—that would have deeply humiliated him as an adult male, but as a rejuved young boy he'd merely found it mildly embarrassing.

Remembering how humiliated he'd always felt during and following his bare-assed wallopings from Rebecca, especially the occasional public paddlings he'd received at monthly Sorority meetings, Carlton realized that the acute embarrassment had been almost as punitive as the fiery swats to his bare backside. However, the experience of being spanked obviously affected a child differently; while kicking and crying across Nantessa's lap that morning, he'd been focused almost entirely on the solid smacks of her hairbrush and the resultant stinging intensity blazing across his bouncing bare buttcheeks.

Humiliation had washed over him after their arrival home, when Rebecca had directed him to face the living room corner, lower his shorts and briefs to his knees and put both hands on top of his head.

"You're blushing, Carltie," Nantessa had informed him as he'd slowly walked to the corner, "Your cheeks are turning red." She'd giggled as he'd reluctantly bared his glowing crimson bottom, displaying her highly-effective hairbrush handiwork. "But not nearly as red as THOSE chubby cheekies, the ones I 'colorized' for you."

Since the immediate flaming sting from the spanking had subsided somewhat by that time, Carlton had then experienced a feeling of extreme embarrassment—at both the chastisement itself and being forced to stand repentantly with his smacked seat on display for the two females, especially his daughter-turned-sister.

Well, he told himself reflectively, Nannie had been clandestinely listening to and often observing his spousal bare-bottom punishments for six years—in fact, she'd even HV-disked at least one of them. Wasn't that, in newly-aware retrospect, more humiliating than the 'woodshed discipline' she'd administered to him that morning? It wasn't, he decided, because (1) he hadn't been aware of her knowledge that he was regularly spanked by her mother, and therefore hadn't had to endure her smug satisfaction at his chastisement; and (2) being GIVEN a pants-down paddling by a thirteen-year-old girl was considerably more embarrassing than having her merely watch (and even view repeatedly on a HV disk) Rebecca administer the punishment.

The only thing more humbling than that, at least that Carlton considered at that time, would've been to be an adult while receiving that morning's hovercar hairbrushing from Nannie. He shivered slightly at that idea, glad that Rebecca hadn't involved Nannie in their female-disciplinarian marital relationship—and that she'd insisted on his wearing the Sorority-produced 'spankybriefs' that covered his front side (but exposed his posterior) while she chastised him. It had puzzled him at the time, but it made sense since she'd anticipated that their daughter might be watching their disciplinary activities.

"Nannie ought to be paddled herself for that spying," Carltom muttered to himself, but he knew it wouldn't happen. Rebecca considered Nantessa's secret behavior to have been normal childlike curiosity; she'd even allowed the girl to retain whatever HV disks had been recorded of Carlton's bare behind being walloped, "To remember your grownup father by, sweetness."

Since it was part of Rebecca's centuries-long family tradition for the women to strictly discipline their husbands via corporal punishment, Nantessa would have discovered her parents' marital spanking relationship at some point anyway, Carlton knew. Still, the image of Nannie sitting in her room, giggling while viewing disks (probably more than the one she'd mentioned) of Rebecca making him squirm, howl and sob loudly as his naked posterior crimsoned under her punitive ministrations—it made him shiver as he reflected on it.

That afternoon Carlton had found his spousal guardian watching an HV disk, one that showed a bare-bottomed young boy—who'd seemed to slightly resemble himself—being whacked over her lap by a thirtyish woman swinging a moderate-sized but solid-looking wooden paddle.

"Just reviewing a Penitatas-rated parental demonstration disk, honeybun," Rebecca had explained cheerily. "I haven't spanked a five-year-old in eight years, so I need a refresher on how long and hard to wallop your chubby bare babybuns. You wouldn't want to be shortchanged on your bedtime butt-blistering, would you?"

"I'm sure that's not likely," he'd replied, trembling apprehensively at the thought of his impending chastisement.

She'd chuckled at his discomfort, while gently ruffling his soft blond hair.

"This is embarrassing for you, being a child and undergoing corporal punishment—especially from Nannie, I'm certain. However, this is the best way to deal with the severe feelings of distress and resentment that both she and I are experiencing over this situation."

What Rebecca hadn't stated was her belief that his spanking regimen might also benefit Carlton psychologically, in terms of resolving potential guilt and regret. Of course, he did still have spankophile-submissive tendencies—so at some level of his psyche (albeit not his conscious awareness) he would receive gratification from his bare-assed blisterings, as well as emotional release.

"Not only am I small physically," Carlton had murmured, half to Rebecca and half to himself, "But my world is so constrained now. I used to be part of Starfleet and go on deep-space missions to the edge of the known galaxy, but now my existence will be going to school and being in this neighborhood."

"You'll still be on Starbase Seventeen most of the time," his wife-turned-guardian had pointed out gently.

"But as a military brat, not a medical officer." He'd shaken his head. "School and the nonrestricted areas of the starbase, that'll be my world there—plus regular daily discipline in our family quarters, of course."

"You'll have to adjust, darling, just as Nannie and I are trying to deal with our new family relationships." She'd smiled ruefully. "At least you're accustomed to having your bare fanny smacked regularly, although not twice a day."

"It's rather different as a five-year-old, honey—uh, Mommy."

"That I can believe," Rebecca had agreed sincerely, still viewing the child-spanking HV images.

Carlton's recollections were abruptly ended by the sound of his wife's footsteps on the stairway, the leather-on-ceramic clicking becoming increasingly louder as she approached the second floor. That auditory evidence that a looming corporal punishment session was imminent had always unnerved him even as an adult, but the effect was intensified on his rejuved psyche as he shivered with childish dread. He anxiously bit his lower lip while the firm feminine footsteps, having reached the second floor, could be heard closely in the hallway—Click-Clack-Click-Clack-Click...

Then Rebecca was standing in the bedroom doorway, attired in a casually conservative navy blue outfit. A pliable black leather strap was gripped in her right hand—it looked somewhat shorter than, but almost as wide and thick as, the razor strap that his naked adult buttocks had often become intimately and scorchingly acquainted with—while a small rectangular couch pillow nestled in her left.

"Bedtime, darling." She smiled maternally down at her husband-turned-ward, who was wearing old-style teal blue 'Doctor Denton' sleepers—complete with footies and a doubly-practical (considering their bedtime agenda) rear 'trap-door' flap.

"Spank-time first, of course." Rebecca sat down to Carlton's left, on the side of his low bed. "Over you go, naughty boy." With humbling ease, he was simply lifted onto his strong spouse's welcoming lap and maneuvered into optimum position to be soundly spanked, with the pillow slipped between his abdomen and Rebecca's right thigh—the effect was heightened elevation of his derriere over her right knee.

"Oh, no..." Wallowing in childlike helplessness, Carlton felt nimble matronly fingers unbutton his seat flap and pull it down to expose his starkly-elevated boyish behind.

"Oh, very much yes." Rebecca's left arm encircled her young spankee's waist as she slowly raised the leather strap, calculating the implement's ideal range for a sharp, fast swing at his quivering defenseless derriere. "Nannie was right, your cute little-boy tushie is still quite round—I'll be able to spread my strap-strokes around, especially across those plump undercheeks. This strap is Penitatas-rated to enflame your bare babybuns very effectively, dear boy—so I'll let you feel it now."

"Pluh-Please, Mah-Mommy..." Carlton knew that babyish whining wouldn't deter his strict, determined new guardian, but he nevertheless couldn't help pleading for mercy—even before the chastisement was underway.

"Trust me, sweetie—Mommy knows best." Rebecca's own posterior pushed down against Carlton's low bed as she flicked the wickedly-flexible leather implement backward, then snapped the strap downward against his compactly-rounded, embarrassingly-exposed gluteal globes—THWACK!!

"Wahhhowwww!" Carlton wailed as his small word shrunk further, from his perspective—it contained only his blazing bare bottom and Rebecca's searing-hot, cracking-hard leather strap...for an extremely long time.


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