"SKYWARD BOUND" ("Maternal Matrimony" #10) by the Crimson Kid F/m
Part 1 § 2
(All rights reserved. This story's setting in five hours following the end of "BEDTIME BOOKENDS", in a plastitube bulletcar en route from the city of Guderian to Starbase Seventeen, in geosynchronous orbit around the planet Vladivost, mid-28th century.)
Traveling at 600 miles per hour in the ultraspeed passenger bulletcar, the McMichael family rapidly approached Starbase Seventeen. Sitting between his tall, commanding guardian Rebecca and his pretty older sister Nantessa, who had a week earlier been his wife and daughter respectively, five-year-old Carlton reflected on the reverse plastitube trip that they had taken only three days earlier...
That journey to their occasionally-occupied home on the planet's surface had been triggered by the wrenching trauma of his emergency medical rejuve due to Kelvaron radition poisoning. Their small family, formerly a two-parent union with a single child, had been dramatically impacted by Carlton's transformation from a Starfleet medical officer into a young boy—it had required three rejuves to restore him to full health, albeit as a child who was physiologically five years and eight months old.
The family had gone into semi-seclusion on Vladivost, all three members attempting to adjust to the overwhelmingly-changed circumstances they'd found themselves facing. For Rebecca, both a Starfleet rear admiral and a brilliant psychologist noted for her expertise in dealing with rejuve-related family issues, that intensely-personalized challenge had become the greatest of her highly-successful second adulthood.
Seated on the bulletcar's comfortably-padded wide seat and surrounded by the snug womanly warmth, both physical and emotional, of the two females, the young Medicalos sensed his rational adult mentality temporarily asserting itself within his awareness as he glanced at the backs of his hands with their silverish "M" imprints.
To the outside world Carlton was a military hero, a recipient of the Platinum Cross for risking his life to successfully rescue Vladivostan miners, but the boyish rejuve's wife-turned-guardian believed that he had deliberately disregarded personal directions from her—spousal instructions that, if they'd been followed, would have avoided the necessity of his being rejuved.
Although the situation had not been entirely clearcut at the time that he'd hastily proceeded against his then-wife's wishes, Carlton readily conceded that he felt considerable retrospective regret at the outcome of that self-sacrificial act of marital disobedience.
The previous three days, spent at their family's planetary residence in the suburb of Yamamoto, had demonstrated to the newly-rejuved child the twin themes of retribution and forgiveness, as expressed via strictly-applied bare-bottom discipline followed by affectionately caring treatment, although it had taken some time before his big sister had included the postpunishment comforting. Carlton had received ten sound spankings, all administered on his naked buttocks, during that time period—five sisterly ones from Nannie, four motherly ones from Rebecca and a single neighborly one from his guardian's friend Portia Highsmith.
Remembering those recent punishments and how emphatically they had impacted his bare derriere, the five-year-old winced slightly and tightened his hold on Esme, his stuffed female teddy bear.
"Still feeling a bit sore from from that handspanking your sister gave you this morning?" Rebecca asked her ward, ruffling his curly blond hair.
"No Mommy, not really." He shook his head lazily. "Nannie put some of that cool greenish cream on my bottom, and it works fine—although it's not as effective as nanolotion."
"Tantris herbal cream," Nantessa elaborated. "According to Mom, it's the next best thing to nanolotion—except without the itching."
The admiral chuckled in agreement. "Just the medicine for a smartly-smacked seat, according to Portia; she's the one who told me about it. She sent us a couple of tubes by express minitube delivery last night, so Carlton would have it available for his fanny while we're on the station."
"Aunt Portia's a very nice woman, Mommy," Carlton remarked fondly, "Even though she does spank plenty hard."
Nantessa laughed impishly. "I guess you'd know about that, baby brother."
"It's rather ironic, actually," Rebecca informed her daughter with a knowing grin. "Portia watched me give your father a totally devastating bare-assed walloping with my Spencer paddle at the first monthly Sorority meeting she attended, six months ago; his behind was glowing a deep maroon shade by the time I'd finished applying ten dozen all-out paddywhacks to his flaming-hot fanny, and his tears were forming puddles on the floor."
Her young ward's expression became quite pained in recollection of that event.
"Never call Mommy the 'B' word, Nannie," he advised somberly, "Especially not in front of one of her Sorority sisters."
Nantessa shook her head condescendingly. "It took a pants-down public paddling for you to figure that out, even though you were a Starfleet doctor?"
"That was his third fanny-tanning for that particular offense," her mother added. "I made him strip all the way down to his bare-bottom spankybriefs for a good long strapping followed by a wicked switching, right in front of Anita Fairchild, immediately after he'd shown such blatant marital disrespect. Just two days later I favored your father with an extended reminder hairbrushing over my lap right before bedtime, while he was wearing those special punishment pajamas with their bottoms' detachable seat removed."
"Then you made him bend forward and touch his toes for thirty-six whipping swishes with the rattan cane, didn't you?" The pretty teenager giggled with glee. "I've got that complete session saved on a holovideo disk, and it's one of my truly awesome all-time favorites. Boy, did Daddy ever howl for mercy that night!"
Her little brother's facial cheeks flushed pinkly.
"Uhhh, Nannie...Do you have to remind me about your HV collection?" he asked, his voice clearly reflecting his discomfort.
"Are you blushing, Carltie?" Nantessa inquired, teasing sweetly. "My having all those holorecordings of your grownup bare-bottom blisterings at Mom's hands—does that embarrass you, honeybun?" She gently patted his head. "Okay, I'll stop now."
"Back to my original point," Rebecca interjected, "Which is that Portia had been eager to paddle Carlton's bare derriere for six months, while he was still an adult. She'd been enthralled by that pants-down public punishment I gave him, which was the first disciplinary spanking she'd ever seen administered to a grown man's bare behind; she'd insisted on observing a monthly meeting before formally joining the Sisterhood."
"Let me guess the twist ending here," her clever daughter volunteered confidently. "Aunt Portia never got to redden Daddy's rear end while he was a grownup...But the first time she met him as our cute little Carltie, he ended up bare-bottomed over her lap while she whaled away with that nasty wooden spoon."
She frowned briefly in remembrance of past bottom-warmings of her own, maternal ones applied via the kitchen tool's wide, flat back.
"You're very perceptive, sweetness," the admiral informed her astute teenager. "That's exactly what happened, much to Portia's delight. I don't know which she enjoyed more, finally getting to smack Carltie's bare buns to her heart's content or comforting him so sweetly afterwards."
"Lots of hugs and kisses, I'm certain." Nantessa playfully waved her finger back and forth in a warning manner. "Watch out for those alluring older women, dear brother—especially ones wearing police uniforms."
Twenty minutes later, their small family had arrived at Starbase Seventeen and was being processed through a Starfleet security checkpoint.
The thirtyish crimson-uniformed petty officer in charge glanced quickly at Rebecca, who was informally attired in a civilian outfit of snug-fitting maroon pants and black pullover shirt. He idly regarded the datapad in his left hand, his attitude seemingly rather bored.
"Name, please, and your purpose for being on the station?" he asked laconically. He was carrot-topped, thin and fairly short, not as tall as Nantessa, and the physically impressive admiral almost dwarfed him.
"Rear Admiral Rebecca McMichael, resuming command of Starbase Seventeen, accompanied by my daughter and my ward." She focused her gaze on the enlisted man's Starfleet lumnibadge. "Requesting permission to come aboard this station, Petty Officer Norwood..."
"Permission granted." Momentarily startled, Norwood had recovered enough composure to snap a smart salute. "Welcome back, ma'am."
"Thank you." Rebecca casually returned the salute; Carlton started to do so also, acting out of past habit, before abruptly catching himself.
Although the checkpoint guard appeared to be mildly flustered, he was quick-witted enough to display some sensitivity.
"Admiral McMichael, ma'am, on behalf of all station personnel I'd like to extend our regrets and condolences over your recent...family circumstances." He looked down at the boyish rejuve standing on her left. "To you especially, Commander Kristain—everyone admires the sacrifice you made and the courage you showed."
"I'm not a Starfleet officer anymore," the small child replied, "But thank you anyway."
"Likewise," added the admiral, loosely grasping the security guard's elbow for two seconds. "Let's look a little more alert while on duty, Norwood."
"Yes, ma'am. I'll need your thumbprint and security authorization codeword entered on this pad, please." Norwood handed Rebecca the datapad, then took it back after she'd made the proper verifications; he scanned the confirmation readout. "You're all cleared, admiral."
As the three returning arrivals walked toward the massive space station's central corridor to enter the closest turbotube terminal for transport to their living quarters, Carlton clutched Esme tightly in nervous anticipation of meeting someone he'd known while an adult medical officer.
Although he was aware that he would eventually encounter Starfleet personnel familiar from his recently-terminated past existence, the young Medicalos hoped to postpone any such problematical situations for as long as possible; he was, after all, still adjusting psychologically to being a rejuved five-year-old.
As their threesome neared the turbotube entrance, Carlton was about to breathe a sigh of relief when he heard an urgent voice that he immediately recognized...
{PART TWO}
"Admiral McMichael, ma'am," came a liltingly feminine request from behind the family, "Please wait for a minute!"
Rebecca stopped and turned, as did her underage companions, to observe two members of Starfleet, both wearing the teal blue uniforms associated with life sciences, approaching them at a fast walk; one of them was an attractive female ensign and the other a stocky male chief petty officer, both of them in their mid-twenties in age.
"Friends of Daddy's?" Nantessa asked her mother, noting their uniforms.
"Part of his medical team's bridge crew, actually." The admiral smiled thinly as the two young adults halted in front of her; like Carlton, she would have preferred to avoid family interaction with her one-time husband's Starfleet associates at that time—but common courtesy demanded otherwise.
"Ensign Lansford and C.P.O. Bakken," Rebecca greeted them, her voice authoritatively calm. "These children are my daughter Nantessa and my new ward Carlton—with whom you're already acquainted, in a sense."
"Commander Kristain?" Yolanda Lansford, a wholesome-looking blonde who resembled Rebecca bodily albeit standing four inches shorter, stared down at her former commanding officer. "Is that really you?"
"He goes by Carltie now," the admiral stated simply, glancing sharply at the five-year-old. "Sweetheart, the ensign asked you a question, I believe..."
"Yes, ma'am," Carlton replied, looking up into his one-time subordinate's sparkling blue-green eyes, "I'm afraid so."
Landon Bakken grimly shook his head. "It's a damned tough situation, com—ahh, Carltie." He briefly ruffled the boy's soft blond hair.
Yolanda smiled sweetly at the young rejuve, who was fidgeting slightly. "May I pick him up, admiral?"
The older woman nodded, gratified to have the pretty junior officer treating her ward as what he essentially was, a five-year-old child.
"If Carltie doesn't mind, which I'm sure he doesn't." She smiled tightly at her ward, gently taking Esme from him. "Carltie dear...?"
Carlton had always been circumspect in his dealings with Yolanda while he was her military superior, correctly suspecting that she had developed a mild crush on him. The realization abruptly dawned on him that, as a little boy, he had no further need to personally distance himself from her.
"No, ma'am...I don't mind." Raising his arms up toward her, the youngster flashed the attractive ensign a winning smile. She responded by bending forward to pick him up, lifting him tightly against her right shoulder as her arms formed a solid seat under his rump; his arms loosely encircled her neck.
"Now that I've got you, Carltie," she addressed him with playful severity, "We have something to discuss, young man."
"We do?" Her young captive sounded puzzled.
"You lied to me, didn't you?" Yolanda's firm gaze met her one-time commander's cornflower-blue eyes. "You told me that the last two settlers from that mining crew had already been given their emergency radiation treatment, and that you'd be right behind me."
Carlton gulped. "Well, I ordered you to get into the ship and activate its repulsor shields—"
"I'd never have obeyed that order," the ensign interrupted pointedly, "If I'd known that those last two people still had to be treated before they could be moved."
"I'm guessing that he figured as much," Rebecca surmised.
"No need for two people to stay behind," Landon noted clinically. "An extra person wouldn't have made the anti-radiation protocols go that much faster, since the two-minute interval between each of the three hypospray injections was the main problem—and the victims couldn't be shifted onto magnasleds until two minutes after the third one."
"Those last two I treated...?" The young Medicalos looked questioningly at the lovely woman holding him.
"The young guy didn't have to be rejuved, which was close to a miracle," Yolanda recounted. "However, that older woman did have to—three rejuves, just like you." Her face took on a mock-stern expression as she lightly bounced the boyish burden in her arms.
"But what am I going to do about your dishonest behavior, you deceitful child?" She paused pensively, considering her options. "Should I kiss you for saving me from having to rejuve, or spank you for deliberately tricking me?"
"Is it my choice?" Carlton proposed devilishly. "Then I'll take the kisses."
"You're so precious as a little boy, I'll bet you get hugged and kissed all the time." The junior officer grinned indulgently. "However, I'm certain that the admiral finds you too adorable to bring herself to smack your cute little fanny and make you cry."
"Hmmph!" Nantessa snorted derisively, her eyes sparking with annoyance.
"Manners, sweetness," her mother cautioned, smiling knowingly. She addressed the two teal-uniformed young adults. "We need to be getting to our quarters now, but we do appreciate your stopping to say hello to us, especially to Carltie. However, he's still adjusting to his rejuved state, so we're limiting his interaction with his former Starfleet colleagues for the time being."
"That's understandable, ma'am." Landon nodded in agreement. "We just wanted to express our gratitude for your husband's sacrifice on our behalf, keeping himself behind to treat those settlers while sending us to the rescue craft. If you ever need our support, anything at all..."
"Especially babysitting," his female companion specified cheerfully. She quickly planted a kiss on each of Carlton's cheeks, then carefully lowered him down to his feet.
"That's a possibility sometime, if you're actually offering," Rebecca noted briskly.
"Absolutely, admiral." Beaming warmly at the small child, Yolanda leaned over and touched her finger to his nose. "Just because I decided to kiss you today doesn't mean I've ruled out paddling your tender tushie later, young man—so be a good boy on the station, or else."
"I always try to be good, ma'am," he replied earnestly.
"I'm sure you do." The ensign straightened up, then ruffled the youngster's soft curly hair. "I'm just teasing you a little, sweetie." She nodded at the admiral. "Good afternoon then, ma'am."
During their eight-minute turbocar trip to the senior officers' residential sector, all three family members were almost totally silent.
Rebecca was focused upon resuming her command duties, a responsibility which had been abruptly postponed five days earlier by the family crisis. Carlton, tightly holding Esme, was experiencing a conmingling of relief and anxiety—relief that his first personal contact with former Starfleet colleagues had been pleasantly tolerable, accompanied by anxiety over similar future encounters—as he hummed pensively to himself.
Nantessa, sitting to her brother's left but noticeably distanced enough that her body wasn't touching his, displayed an irritated expression on her otherwise-attractive face.
"Do you have to make that annoying noise, Carltie?" she demanded curtly. "I'm trying to hear myself think here, if you don't mind."
"I'm sorry, Nannie." The five-year-old sighed disconsolately, wondering why his usually-affectionate sister seemed so sharply impatient with him.
"Don't be sorry, just be quiet." There was a definite undercurrent of spitefulness in the teenager's voice.
Noting the hurt expression on her little boy's face, the admiral considered addressing her daughter; she decided instead not to intervene when both children fell silent again, Carlton refraining from the soft humming he'd been chided about.
Upon the turbocar reaching its destination, their trio began the short walk to the family's living quarters. Rebecca quickly grasped her ward's free hand in hers, before he became aware that Nantessa clearly had no intention of holding it herself.
"We'll be unpacking immediately once we get home," the admiral announced as they rapidly approached the spacious residential suite assigned to the starbase's commander-in-chief. "We didn't send too much from the surface, except for Nannie's clothing purchases, but there should be quite a few things waiting for you, Carltie—I had them delivered directly to our quarters here."
"What did you get for me, Mommy?" Carlton asked hesitantly, thinking apprehensively of corporal punishment paraphenalia.
"Mostly clothes, toys, HV simulgames, storybook disks and four kindergarten uniforms." His guardian paused, noting the rejuve's somewhat anxious expression. "If you're wondering about various items that were acquired to deliver discomfort to your derriere, honey, those were ordered by your sister." She cast a sidelong glance at her daughter. "What would they be, Nannie dear?"
Nantessa finally smiled, but it was a forboding smirk as she flawlessly recounted the menu of disciplinary purchases she'd initiated five days earlier.
"Besides the two wooden paddles, the leather strap and the spanking gloves we packed and sent this morning, we should have already received here...let's see, if I recall...two syntheswitches, a genuine leather paddle, a junior cane, level one and level two bee-riefs and a medium-pointed cornerstool."
Carlton shivered, momentarily almost halting entirely, which seemed to give his older sibling a smug sense of satisfaction.
"Hopefully we won't have to actually use most of those things very often, sweetheart," Rebecca soothingly told her suddenly pale-faced ward, squeezing his hand reassuringly.
"I sure hope not, Mommy." He nervously chewed his lower lip.
Upon entering their comfortable Starfleet-provided living quarters, a process requiring the correct palmprint and identification code, all three family members noticed that the bright blue light above the receiving bin's entranceway was flashing steadily—an indication that deliveries were waiting inside.
"Let's sort out the packages first, children," the admiral instructed, "Then we'll take them into our rooms and put everything away properly." She lighly patted Carlton's head. "The smaller guest room will be your bedroom, sweetie. Once I've stowed away the, ahhh, disciplinary items, I'll help you get your room in order."
"Okay, Mommy." The five-year-old looked up at his older sister, searching for some glimmer of warmth on her features, but her expression was sullen and flinty-eyed.
With the advantage of Rebecca's typical speed and efficiency, the sorting, unpacking and organizing tasks were accomplished within an hour's time. Carlton gratefully discovered that his spousal guardian had been reasonably generous in the purchasing of toys and simulgames for him, although all of them predictably featured strongly educational aspects. His maternally-chosen wardrobe was quite stylish, but it happily included casual and durable playtime attire.
"It looks like you're squared away, honey." The admiral regarded the small, tidy-looking bedroom with satisfaction, then her gaze rested upon the high double bed with its metallic blue quilted bedspread. "Will this bed be too tall for you, do you think?"
The youngster shook his head. "It's fine, Mommy—I'm a good climber."
"That's true, Carltie," she agreed, "Your large-motor coordination has developed exceptionally quickly for a triple-rejuved child."
"Mommy," Carlton asked somberly, "Can you answer a serious question for me?"
"I'll certainly try, sweetheart." Rebecca squatted down in front of her young ward, facing him at eye level, and gently touched her finger to his forehead. "What's on your mind, my darling boy?"
His voice choked slightly while he stared downward. "Why is Nannie being so cross with me, Mommy? Did I do something wrong?"
"Well, honey," the admiral explained patiently, "It's possible that your sister's feeling a little jealous over the attention that Ensign Lansford was giving you earlier; while Miss Yolanda was holding you, Nannie may have felt a bit left out of things—like her little brother's affections."
"But I was just being friendly," Carlton protested mildly. "I didn't want to hurt Nannie's feelings, Mommy; she's my sister and I love her."
"I know you do, Carltie, and down deep Nannie knows it too." She gave the wistful-looking young rejuve an understanding smile. "Why don't you go see your sister now, and remind her of how much she means to you?"
"I don't think she wants me to bother her," he concluded sadly. "She probably won't even talk to me."
"Then YOU talk to HER, sweetheart, right from your heart—you just might be surprised at her reaction." Rebecca straightened up. "Just go ahead, show me what a brave boy you really are."
When Carlton entered his older sister's bedroom through its open doorway, its occupant was sitting crosslegged on her queen-sized bed and staring dreamily yet determinedly into space. The small tabletop holovision field was displaying a holovideo recording of a concert by the teen idol Nexus Andorr, while Nantessa was absently slapping a flexible black leather paddle against her left palm in time with the musical beat.
The paddle, her brother noticed, was about the size and shape of the wooden "Mother's Helper' paddle, except that its far end formed a shallowly triangular point rather than a slightly-curved arc. Just above its flexiform handle, on the paddle's back, shined the crimson heart logo of the Tokyo Rose Spanking Supplies company.
"Can I talk to you, Nannie?" The five-year-old halted his progress only a yard into his sister's room, ready to make a sudden exit if necessary.
"I'm busy," the teenager snapped. "Can't you see that?"
Although Nantessa didn't seem especially involved in any vital task from his perspective, Carlton refrained from verbalizing that personal observation. He also correctly deduced that his stony-faced sibling had secured the leather spanking implement with the intention of applying it to his own bare behind the following morning, but he didn't pursue that line of thought either.
"It's true that I enjoyed being held in Miss Yolanda's arms," the youngster admitted.
"That was obvious," Nantessa commented cuttingly. "She used to flirt with you when you were a married man, so she's going to smother you with her syrupy simpering now that you're a little boy...Meanwhile you just lap it up!"
"Okay, I don't mind being treated nicely by beautiful young women," her brother conceded, forcing himself to look directly into her coldly-intense eyes, "But Miss Yolanda isn't my favorite beautiful young woman."
"Oh, really? So then who is?" The girl's voice was disparagingly dripping with contempt. Carlton's basic male impulse was to flee the scene, but instead he screwed up his childish courage and stood his ground.
"You are, Nannie," he responded simply but clearly, "You're my dear sister and I love you very much."
The pretty teenager's hardened facial features almost appeared to melt, seemingly like a wax sculpture being subjected to a concentrated ionic heat-blast, as petty resentment was abruptly replaced by caring affection conmingled with deep regret.
"Oh, Carltie," she blurted, her voice catching raggedly, "I'm suh-sorry I've b-been so m-mean to you, huh-honey."
Nantessa started to sob softly, which galvanized her younger sibling into action. He rushed forward, half-hurdled onto the bed and literally threw himself onto her lap, almost knocking her over backwards.
"It's okay, Nannie," Carlton insisted with childlike sincerity, "So please don't cry."
"Maybe I deserve to cry," she countered, setting aside the paddle and embracing the boyish rejuve tightly as she sniffled softly.
"Well, I won't let you." He raised himself upward, then leaned forward and kissed away the teardrops welling in his sister's eyes, tasting the tang of salt.
"I see that you won't, baby brother." Nantessa began to chuckle while she was still on the verge of weeping, making an awkward hitching noise that caused her brother to break into bemused laughter. The two began giggling giddily, then together they fell over sideways onto the soft pink bedspread while embracing in mutual comfort and forgiveness.
Overhearing their sweet sibling silliness from her own bedroom, its doorway also open, Rebecca smiled in relief and satisfaction.
After Carlton returned to his big sister's good graces, the rest of the afternoon passed quickly into suppertime followed by a relaxed evening. Rebecca left for ninety minutes to talk with her executive officer, Commodore Lavinia Treadwell, who had been the starbase's acting commander for the previous week's time. Nantessa used her bedroom's small holovision field to make several extended holoview calls to girlfriends from her school, but she entered the living room to check on her brother between the adolescent conversations.
The five-year-old spent his free time experimenting with playing numerous newly-purchased HV simulgames, eventually determining that his favorites were 'Kassarine Counterattack' and 'Stalingrad Pocket'—played from the historical loser's standpoint, they were by far the most challenging to win. Bathtime temporarily foreclosed the young rejuve's competitive efforts, but he contentedly endured Nantessa's thorough scrubbing, shampooing, rinsing and drying of his nude body since it was accomplished with a tender touch and accompanied by friendly words and sisterly smiles.
Soon afterward Carlton found himself sitting on his high double bed, properly toileted and attired in his aquamarine 'Doctor Denton' sleeper outfit, reluctantly awaiting his bedtime spanking from Rebecca. When the impressive-looking woman promptly arrived, her ward noticed with trepidation that the leather paddle's handle was visibly extending from the right pocket of her Starfleet bathrobe as she entered the bedroom carrying a small couch pillow. After seating herself on the room's thickly-padded Ottoman, the admiral placed the thin, elongated pillow atop her right thigh.
"Come here, Carltie," she instructed firmly, "Let's get this bottom-warming business underway."
"Yes, Mommy." Trembling slightly while keenly focused on the pocket-protruding paddle, the anxious child approached his tall, powerful guardian, who then picked him up bodily and placed him bottomside up across her lap; his plumply-rounded rump, still momentarily covered by fleecey flannel fabric, was ideally elevated by the bolster-shaped pillow under his abdomen.
"Clearing the deck for action," Rebecca announced, following instantly with the unbuttoning and lowering of her hapless young ward's posterior seat flap, exposing his nervously-twitching pale nether cheeks. While tightening her left arm's grip around the boyish spankee's waist, his maternal disciplinarian raised her open right hand up high. "Four dozen smacks with my palm, to start with." Her hand flashed downward, targeted on Carlton's starkly-upturned bare behind...
Smack! Slap! Whap! Smack! Splat! Slap! Whap! Smack!
Spanking briskly and steadily, the admiral delivered forty-eight sharply-smacking swats with her palm, making the rejuve's bare buns jiggle merrily as they rapidly pinkened. The handspanks were quite effective, producing first yelps and then sobs from the five-year-old, who ended up wriggling, kicking and crying his way through most of the chastisement.
Pausing briefly, Rebecca reached into her left pocket and withdrew a black leather spanking glove, which she pulled onto her right hand. Encircling her spankee's waist again with her left forearm, the forceful woman raised her leather-covered open right hand.
"Expect increased stinging impact, honey," she forewarned, "Now that I'm wearing my spanking glove. Let's go with a dozen good stingers."
She then resumed the punishment, swinging her glove-encased palm against Carlton's openly-exposed buttocks with resounding hard wallops—SMACK!! WHACK!! CRACK!! WHAP!! SMACK!! CRACK!!
By the time his guardian's twelfth leather-enhanced handswat had connected to his chubby bare backside, the youngster was helplessly squirming and weeping as his well-smacked fanny's hue deepened to a warmly-glowing rosy red. Ceasing her punitive ministrations, Rebecca began slowly rubbing her young charge's back with her left hand while he recovered a modicum of composure.
"Okay, sweetheart, that's it for tonight's fanny-tanning session." She gently lifted Carlton to his feet. "It could've been much worse, couldn't it?"
He nodded, his sniffling under control. "But what about that leather paddle in your pocket, Mommy?"
"That's for whacking my naughty bare bumcheeks," said Nantessa, entering the bedroom attired in a bright pink nightgown. "I'm going to be taught a much-needed lesson, six dozen swats, about being jealous and petty toward my darling brother."
"Nannie and I made up, Mommy," the five-year-old quickly informed his guardian, "So you don't have to paddle her."
"Yes, she does," the pretty teenager countered firmly, "I'm insisting on it." She smiled ruefully at her brother. "As I told you before, I deserve to cry..."
{THE END}
