"BAD THURSDAY" ("Maternal Matrimony" #15) by the Crimson Kid f/m F/m F/f

Part 1 § 2 § 3

[Apologies to P.L. Travers for *borrowing* her title idea...]

(All rights reserved. This story's setting begins almost a week following "YIKES!", Thursday morning in the McMichael family's quarters on Starbase Seventeen, orbiting the planet Vladivost in the mid-28th century.)

When he drowsily awakened to the sight of his schoolgirl-uniformed sister towering over his supine form, a determined expresssion on her face and a paddle gripped in each hand, Carlton realized he was facing a strenuous start to his day—but he had no inkling how badly things would turn out.

For the previous six days, his rejuved life had been improving...

Even though the reappearance of Rosita, his Academy 'designated spanker' for two years, had seemed to portend dire disciplinary happenings vis-a-vis his oft-spanked boyish buttocks, subsequent events hadn't supported that premonition.

After receiving a glowing report concerning her ward's kindergarten performance on Friday afternoon, Rebecca had cancelled that day's scheduled bedtime spanking. After a chastisement-free Saturday, the five-year-old had faced his unavoidable Sunday morning wake-up paddling from Nantessa.

Since her brother had accepted a very sound seat-smacking from her three days earlier, one he could have escaped via a paddling-free lumnicard in his possession, the pretty teenager had argued that he should be allowed to avoid the scheduled prechurch punishment instead.

The admiral had refused her daughter's proposal but eventually had agreed to a compromise that allowed the girl to administer only a solid handspanking rather than a 'Seat Sizzler' walloping. Applying barehanded swats for three minutes followed by a one-minute whacking while wearing her leather spanking glove, Nantessa had turned Carlton's exposed bumcheeks a bright pink and left him sniffling across her lap; still, it had been a fairly mild bottom-warming by strict Traditionalist standards.

Monday's bedtime disciplinary session had proven similarly moderate, Rebecca delivering two dozen handspanks and two dozen swats of her leather-gloved palm to her little boy's plump bare derriere—just enough chastisement to produce trickling teardrops on his facial cheeks and a rosy glow on their nether counterparts.

Since his sister had graciously provided Carlton with a lumnicard when she'd kissed him goodnight that evening, he'd happily escaped receiving a wake-up paddling the following morning.

The five-year-old had carefully avoided earning any punishments for misconduct over six days, showing self-control which pleased his maternal guardian so much that she'd announced at Wednesday's suppertime the cancellation of his scheduled bedtime fanny-tanning.

"If you keep behaving so responsibly, sweetheart," she'd told the youngster, "I may have to eliminate your scheduled spankings altogether—except for the Sunday morning preventive session."

"You've been a very good boy, baby brother." Nantessa had proudly kissed his cheek.

Feeling rather self-satisfied later that evening, Carlton had become tangentally involved in a feminine parent-child dispute. Rebecca had refused to give permission for her daughter to leave the 'Brat Academy' campus during lunch period the following day.

"The HV disks go on sale at noon exactly," Nantessa had protested, "So I won't get one if I wait until after school. There'll be just fifty available on the station, all at the Starr-Boltz Music Emporium."

"Well, that's ridiculous," the admiral had snorted dismissively. "Why can't they produce more concert disks than that?"

"Basic economics," the kindergartener had interjected, his rational adult mentality momentarily asserting itself, "Since a supply shortage means that the store can charge a gigantic markup on each disk. This Andorr guy's company could deliver a thousand copies if it wanted to, but then the price would be much lower. Also this makes him look hugely popular, screeching teenagers fighting for the HV disk of his latest concert; he's capitalizing big-time on his fifteen minutes of fame."

"Nexus Andorr's been famous for over a year already," the girlish adolescent had stated defensively.

"That's just an expression," her mother had explained, "It's from Earth around the turn of the millenium."

The two females had been seated at opposite ends of the living room's Terran-style couch with the blond rejuve sitting on his guardian's lap; there had been a definite undertone of tension in the room.

"I have the credits," Nantessa had argued, "But those New Berlin Concert disks will sell out in ten minutes—and lots of parents are letting their kids leave campus tomorrow to buy them."

"I'm sorry, darling, but I'm not helping you overspend for something that will be selling at a quarter of its original price two weeks later." Rebecca's tone had been adamant.

"What reason would Mommy give for your leaving campus anyway, Nannie?" Carlton had asked uncertainly.

"Oh, well...Almost anything," the girl had responded hesitantly, "Some sort of medical appointment or family situation—it wouldn't be challenged by the school administration..."

"That would be totally dishonest," the woman had declared bluntly. "Sorry, sweetness, but there's no further discussion necessary."

"It won't matter in the long run," the five-year-old had remarked, "Since Andorr will be forgotten in another couple years. He's not exactly Mozart, Simon or Brumblett, is he?"

His sister had stood up abruptly. "He's a brilliant musical innovator, not like those old fogies from centuries past!" She'd stormed away angrily, entering her bedroom and activating its doorway to close behind her.

"He does have stellar showmanship and a decent voice," the Medicalos had murmured agreeably, "But that's about all."

"Never mind, honey, just drop the subject." The admiral had lovingly touseled her ward's curly hair. "Come on, it's time for your bath now."

At his bedtime, sparkling clean and attired in his aquamarine 'Doctor Denton' pajamas while holding Esme, his female teddy bear, Carlton had expected that his older sibling would come into his room to kiss him goodnight—and give him a paddling-free lumnicard for the following morning. However, she hadn't shown up and the boy had eventually drifted off into a vaguely troubled sleep...

"Get up, Carltie! We have disciplinary business to carry out, and we can't afford to waste time." Nantesssa was holding the 'Seat Sizzler' paddle in her right hand while she roughly nudged her brother's shoulder with the black leather paddle in her left. "It's been a week since you've received an all-out butt-blistering, and you've shown that one is clearly overdue."

"Uhhh...Yes, Nan—Miss Nantessa." The young rejuve groggily scrambled onto all fours on his bed, noticing his sister's flinty expression as he tried to catch her gaze while his eyes pleaded for mercy—or at least enlightenment.

Gracefully turning around while seating herself on the side of the bed, the young teen set the leather paddle on her brother's bedstand; her left hand then patted her right thigh.

"Over my lap now, young man, and don't insult me with that innocent act," she instructed sharply.

"Yes, ma'am." The kindergartener quickly obeyed the order, crawling across the girl's firm thighs to the accompanyment of two brisk flicks of the 'Seat Sizzler' paddle against his flap-covered posterior. Her right forearm pushed his body forward while her left hand's fingers unbuttoned and lowered the pajamas' seat flap to expose her younger sibling's plumply-rounded derriere.

"Now I'm going to teach you a hard-learned lesson about being respectful, naughty brat." Pressing her left forearm across the boy's lower back, Nantessa raised the wooden 'Sibling Seat Sizzler' high in her right hand, then swung it furiously downward toward her spankee's trembling bare bottom.

SMACK!! The paddle bridged both of Carlton's bumcheeks dead center as it impacted, making him gasp sharply.

WHACK!! CRACK!! Each of the next two smartly-delivered swats landed at the base of a boyish buttock, right then left, resulting in involuntary kicking while the rejuve's gasps became louder.

The highly-focused teenager continued to wallop her hapless little brother's naked nether cheeks within that center-right-left pattern for five long minutes, spanking steadily and forcefully as he squirmed helplessly across her lap. His gasps became yelps and howls, but he soon was reduced to pitiful wailing as the punishment continued inexorably and his tears began to flow freely. By the time the boy's stern sister was finished applying the 'Seat Sizzler' to her sibling's crimson-hued twin moons, his childish face was flushed and tearsoaked.

Pausing momentarily, Nantessa exchanged implements with her right hand. Tightly gripping the black leather paddle, she lifted the fearsome instrument of correction above Carlton's quivering, hotly-glowing gluteal globes.

"You've already felt this leather spanker courtesy of that babysitter you have such a crush on, haven't you?" The thirteen-year-old shook her head ruefully. "I should have used this on your sassy little rump back when I originally planned to, then I'd have been the one to break it in. Well, I'll just have to make up for lost time now." She pressed the paddle's cool, slick surface against her brother's hot, stinging seat. "I hope that you're internalizing this result of making smartassed remarks, Carltie."

"Yuh-Yes, Mih-Miss Nantuh-tessa," he whimpered, still confused but afraid to say so. "Ahh-It wuh-won't haphuh-pen uhh-again, mah-ma'am."

"For your behind's sake, you'd better hope so." The girl swiftly swung the leather implement, using a wrist-flick to snap it across her spankee's exposed asscheeks—THWACK!!

"Ahhhowww!" The boy bucked frantically, but his sister easily held him down as she set to work with the semipliable paddle, again plastering his upturned bare derriere in a center-right-left punitive pattern as he helplessly squirmed, kicked and bawled through another five minutes of intensive chastisement across his sibling's strong thighs. By the time the final leathering lick exploded against the five-year-old's blazing-hot buttcheeks, they were candy-apple red in coloration and he was blubbering bitterly and uncontrollably.

Nantessa pushed the crying child roughly off her lap, pointing toward the near corner as he struggled to maintain his balance.

"Into the corner, nose against the wall—move!" She crisply smacked the firm leather against Carlton's flaming fanny one last time, propelling him forward. "I'll tell you when you can come out, Mister Smarty-Bottom."

"Ohhhh-kay, Mihhh-Miss Naaaahn-huhtesssa." He stumbled into the corner, teardrops streaming out of his eyes and onto the floor, as she stood up, retrieved the 'Seat Sizzler' and departed with both paddles.

Five minutes later, the distressed Medicalos was still sobbing when his older sibling returned to his room.

"All right, young man," she addressed him curtly, "Get dressed for school and then come to breakfast."

Turning slowly, he gave her an imploring look. "Do-Don't I uhh-even get ah-any herbal cuh-cream—please?"

"You can rub that stuff on those disrespectful buns yourself," the teenager replied dismissively, "It's not my problem."

The boyish rejuve didn't bother, instead dressing in a kindergarten uniform and plodding dejectedly to the kitchen, still facially flushed and teary-eyed.

Although Rebecca had cooked an excellent Terran-style breakfast of French toast and sausage links, neither of her children consumed much of it; her daughter stared straight ahead with a cool, resolute expression while her spousal ward sniffled continuously and picked at his food.

The admiral didn't comment on the wake-up chastisement that had occurred earlier, letting the mealtime pass in silence except to inform Carlton of a change in the day's plans.

"Aunt Rosie will be picking you up at school dismissal," she announced, "Since Nannie has an afternoon powerball practice and I'm not sure how long my Operations officers' meeting will last. I've made the arrangements with your teacher already, sweetheart."

"Uh-Okay," he agreed, "Thuh-Thank you, Mommy."

"You're welcome, honey." The woman gently ruffled the unhappy youngster's curly locks. "Go steriflush your mouth and get ready for school, since you're obviously not hungry; Nannie can help me clean up from breakfast."

"Yes, Mommy." With a quick, pitiful glance at his sister's impassive face, Carlton left the table.

"That was quite a sound paddling you gave to Carltie, wasn't it?" Rebecca asked her daughter while they placed the durasteel dining items in the recycle-sanitizer unit.

"Isn't that my decision to make, how long and hard his bare behind should be spanked, if I'm scheduled to administer the discipline?" Nantesssa demanded defensively. "Carltie's attitude toward me clearly needs to be adjusted."

"His attitude toward you seems to be that he adores and admires you," her mother rejoined calmly. "So which part were you adjusting, dear, the adoration or the admiration?"

"Well, his behavior toward me could certainly stand improvement," the pretty teenager stated bluntly.

"His behavior, of course," the admiral responded agreeably. "Let's see, Carltie's very loving and affectionate toward you and he tries hard to please you. Is it one of these behaviors that you're attempting to modify?"

The girl's lips pinched together tightly before she spoke. "It's highly disrespectful of him to disparage my taste in music and insult a performer that he knows I'm a serious fan of, isn't it?"

"So that's it." After programming the kitchen unit to close and cleanse, Rebecca turned to face her daughter. "At least you had a reason for that wicked butt-blistering you delivered, although it's questionable whether disagreeing with your taste in musicians constitutes personal disrespect by your brother." The woman's gaze bored into her girl's brown eyes. "Does Carltie at least know why he was walloped so intensively, dear?"

"I mentioned him being sassy and smartmouthed," Nantessa responded.

"What about comforting him afterward?" her mother inquired pointedly. "Did you hug and kiss him, then massage Tantris cream on his sore behind?"

"I wasn't in a forgiving mood," the teenager explained furtively, "I'm not going to fake emotions I don't feel."

"Emotions like caring and concern for your baby brother's feelings?" The woman's eyebrows arched questioningly. "Never mind then, Nannie, but I'm going to give Carltie some comfort and affection—plus rub soothing gel on his poor fanny. I'll explain your rationale for paddling him so thoroughly, but I can't extend him your forgiveness—only you can do that."

The young teen shrugged diffidently. "When I'm ready, Mom..."

"Certainly, darling, but there's one question I want you to consider carefully when you get the chance." The admiral gently patted her daughter's face. "Did you really punish your little brother for being disrespectful to you—or did you displace your anger at me, for refusing to release you off campus at lunch today, onto Carltie's bare bottom?"

Nantessa looked stunned; she opened her mouth to speak, then abruptly shut it, before finally muttering a reply.

"Well...I wouldn't do that...I mean, he said that Nexus isn't a great singer...Of course I was mad at that...But now...I-I'm n-not sure..."

"Think it over, take your time." Rebecca smiled at the thirteen-year-old. "Have a good productive day at school, sweetness." She gave the girl a quick kiss on her forehead. "Now I've got to love on my little boy, he's truly brokenhearted."

At that point the two females parted company, both of them feeling pensive and discontented.

In spite of his spousal guardian's endearing words, warm embraces and gentle hands which applied cooling lotion to his smarting seat, Carlton was sad-faced and sore-bottomed when he arrived at his classroom and was maternally kissed goodbye.

Dejected and close to tears throughout the morning's kindergarten activities, the boyish Medicalos responded minimally to Mrs. Kemp's attempts to draw him into active class participation, although normally he was a highly cooperative pupil. Even his close friend Montana was unable to engage him in meaningful dialogue during their relaxation time.

"What's the matter, sweet boy?" she asked sympathetically.

"Oh, nothing..." His eyes focused on the floor by his feet.

"There certainly IS something," the girlish rejuve countered, her voice firm but sweetly concerned. "Can't you tell me about it, Carltie?"

"It's trivial, just a minor family situation," the despondent youngster insisted, "There really isn't anything to discuss about it."

"Talking to me might help you deal with it," his compatriot pointed out. "I'm a good listener, I'll keep everything confidential."

Carlton silently shook his head, clearly miserable and uncommunicative. He found it imposssible to accept his guardian's explanation for Nantessa's chastising him so severely then denying him any postpunishment solace. Although Rebecca had claimed that the teenager had been upset by his mild comments about Nexus Andorr, the five-year-old believed otherwise—that his idolized big sister had simply decided he wasn't worthy of her consideration, much less her love.

If Montana found out that Nantessa was indifferent toward her younger brother, might she not accept that judgement and begin to feel that way about him too? From his distraught, emotionally-injured childlike perspective, such a scenario seemed highly likely to Carlton—so, unwilling to risk rejection by his beloved classmate, the sorrowful rejuve stubbornly refused to share his feelings with her.

Near the end of their lunchtime, however, the brooding young boy made a proposal to his kindergarten comrade.

"I'm going to play that new simulgame, 'Atlantic Wall,' in the game room during rest period," he informed her. "Will you come with me, Mon?"

"That's not our recreation time, Carltie," she pointed out, "We'll be taking our naps then."

"Mrs. Kemp will be on her break after escorting us to the classroom," Carlton explained, "While one of the aides will cover our class. What if we go to the lavatory as soon as we get back? Mrs. Kemp will just assume that we'll return for nap time, so she might not tell the aide to expect us back—then we can slip into the game room, mixing with the kindergarteners already in there."

"Isn't that a Kindern class though?" Montana shivered slightly. "We can't fraternize with Kinderns, that's a serious disciplinary offense if we get caught."

"We won't get nailed if we're careful," her fellow Medicalos insisted. "Kindern kindergarteners won't be interested in playing a complex simulgame, so we shouldn't have trouble getting the only 'Atlantic Wall' disk available—which I haven't been able to do when our class is in the game room."

"Mr. Kilmer will spot us," the female rejuve predicted, referring to the recreation area monitor. "He'll notice that our lumibadges are yellow instead of white, like Kindern ones, or he'll identify us by our hands." She indicated the silverish 'M' on the back of each of her hands by raising them both. "Besides, how will we get back into our classroom afterward?"

"We'll get there before Mrs. Kemp returns and give the aide some sort of excuse," the blond child remarked offhandedly. "As for that game room monitor, just avoid facing him front-on and try to keep your hands out of sight." His eyes were shining with anticipation. "We can pull this off, Mon, if we're smart and careful."

"It seems awfully risky, Carltie, but more than that is the deceit and even outright lying to Mrs. Kemp, who trusts us." Montana's expression reflected a conmingling of incredulity and anxiety. "This is totally unlike you, sweet boy, you'd never normally be dishonest and manipulative...Can't you please tell me why you're upset today, so we can deal with it?"

"Never mind then," Carlton stated brusquely, "I'll do it myself, alone."

The young brunette sighed softly. "I know I'll regret this, but we're friends forever—I'm with you."

Initially, the hastily-conceived plan worked to perfection. Mrs. Kemp was so relieved to observe an apparent improvement in Carlton's spirits that she didn't question his claimed eliminatory needs coinciding so closely with Montana's, nor did she bother to inform the class-covering aide that two of her pupils were out on restroom visits—they were simply expected to return forthwith.

Slipping through the game room's open doorway while Mr. Kilmer—a lanky, white-haired man in his mid-fifties wearing the butter yellow uniform of a school paraprofessional—was assisting a Kindern five-year-old, the two Medicalos kindergarteners mingled with the first-time children and rapidly reached the storage files. Carlton found the 'Atlantic Wall' simulgame and quickly activated a miniature holovision field, inserting the game disk to begin the historically-based competition.

"Now we're in business." The boyish rejuve sounded almost enthusiastic as the three-dimensional playing arena materialized in front of him; he accessed the strategic control pad to bring his simulated military forces into play.

"Make it quick," his nervous compatriot urged in a half-whisper, "Then let's get out of here."

The monitor's sharp eyes had already caught a flash of bright yellow from her companion's lumnibadge, however, and a closer look had identified the rejuve's room number—which resulted in a brief, urgent message transmitted via the man's datapad.

Two minutes later, as Carlton was trying to fathom the parameters of the game's rules, he and Montana were chilled by the sound of a familiar voice.

"Children, come with me right now," Mrs. Kemp commanded, "You're in more trouble than you can imagine."

The two classmates, striken by mute panic, looked up into the disapproving eyes of their stern-faced teacher. Practicing discretion, albeit too tardily to save their five-year-old rear ends, they followed her silently back to their kindergarten room.

The other rejuves were lying down, their foamseats converted to padded mats with built-in air-cushion pillows, when the two errant classmates were escorted into the classroom by their frowning instructor. Waving at the young aide to stay seated, Mrs. Kemp pointed toward the room's back corners.

"Into each corner, Montana to the right and Carltie to the left, nose touching the wall and hands behind your back," she ordered curtly. "You can leave your pants up for now; we won't expose your naughty fannies for the class yet—I prefer waiting until there's bright color to put on display." The pretty woman shook her head resignedly. "There'll be a serious disciplinary reckoning following nap time, children, but for now continue resting."

Then she quickly exited, leaving behind a room abuzz with an undercurrent of excited anticipation—with the exception of the two caught-in-the-act culprits, somberly assuming with trepidation their penitent cornertime positions.

Thirty minutes later the Medicalos duo stood, gazing downward, in front of their instructor's wide omniwood desk as she addressed them.

"Do either of you have anything to say for yourself before I deal with this disgraceful conduct of associating with Kindern students?"

"Just one thing, ma'am," Carlton replied, forcing himself to meet the woman's gaze and see the disappointment in her eyes. "Montana didn't want to break the rules, I pressured her to go along and she did so out of friendship—it's entirely my fault and she shouldn't be punished at all." He gulped, blinking twice. "Please give me any correction you'd intended for her, in addition to my own."

Montana gasped, as did most of her classmates, at her friend's request. Even Mrs. Kemp seemed momentarily taken aback, although she recovered quickly.

"Well, Mr. Clemens is truly an immortal of human literature, apparently." Her tight smile flashed briefly. "However, I can't believe that your partner in mischief has no free will of her own, Carltie." She paused in thought. "Since you've made such a chivalrous offer, and Mr. Kilmer verified that neither of you actually interacted with any Kinderns, I'm willing to compromise on her behalf."

"C-Compromise, ma'am?" Montana was white-faced, wavering on her feet.

"You were each going to receive the maximum spanking allowed for kindergarten rejuves, twenty paddleswats followed by twenty licks of the strap. Normally I couldn't administer more than that, but Carltie's guardian has a waiver on file allowing me to exceed the limit at my discretion. Since he's assumed primary responsibility for your misconduct, Montana, I'm going to transfer half of your chastisement to him—so you'll receive ten strokes with each implement and he'll receive thirty with each." The teacher stared penetratingly at the childish miscreant pair. "That's the best offer I'm making, so take it or leave it..."

"We'll take it, ma'am," the blond rejuve agreed. "Thuh-Thank you, Mrs. K-Kemp."

"You won't be so thankful shortly," the dishwater blonde warned him as she accessed her middle-right desk drawer and withdrew two punitive implements, one a short leather strap similar to Rebecca's, the other a translucent polyplast 'K-3' spanker with a flexiform grip—it was the size of a 'Mother's Helper' paddle but somewhat thicker with small holes covering its smooth striking surface. "Step to the right of the desk, naughty children."

She stood up, walked to the front of her low-built desk and seated herself atop it.

"Montana, remove your pants entirely, please." Mrs. Kemp set the paddle on the desktop behind her. Sobbing softly, the young brunette complied, revealing bright pink panties. "Across my lap, then I'll finish the unveiling." She lifted the child, helping guide Montana into spanking-recipient position, then pulled the panties down to the hapless rejuve's knees to expose her plump girlish derriere .

"I'm extremely disappointed in both of you," their instructor lectured, "You've broken an important rule of rejuve behavior and you're going to pay for it dearly." She raised the strap with her right hand, pausing as she observed her pupil's quivering bare bumcheeks. "Carltie, you will watch from up close—remember that you led Montana into temptation while I'm disciplining her."

The boy swallowed hard, eyes downcast. "Yuh-Yes, ma'am."

The resolute woman swung the flexible leather downward, snapping it against both of Montana's naked buttocks—THWACK!!

The little girl yelped while her male comrade flinched, the chastisement underway...

Knowing that her spankee was unaccustomed to corporal correction, Mrs. Kemp restrained the force of her swats with both the strap and the paddle. Still, the female Medicalos quickly was crying childishly, kicking and wriggling as her bottom was walloped to a rosy red hue via those stinging implements.

The spanking was mercifully short, at least by strict Traditionalist standards, but Carlton winced with every smarting impact of licking leather and unyielding polyplast, certain that he was witnessing the destruction of the most heartfelt friendship of his rejuved life.

The teacher raised Montana's panties into place before setting the bitterly-weeping five-year-old onto the floor.

"Back into your corner, young lady," the woman instructed. "Once you get there, drop your underwear to your ankles before putting your nose to the wall with your hands behind your back—and unless you want more punishment, don't move at all."

"Yuh-Yes, huhhuh, muhh-ma'am." The whimpering girl obeyed, keeping her gaze focused on the floor.

Placing the paddle on her desk and picking up the devilish strap, Mrs. Kemp looked impassively at her other rulebreaker.

"Your turn, Carltie," she stated sternly. "Pants off, young man, then bend over my lap. Your guardian made it crystal clear that she wants your bare behind to be spanked to a flaming-hot fare-thee-well any time you misbehave—so that's exactly what I'm going to do..."

{PART TWO}

Watching Carlton remove his uniform pants, revealing teal blue briefs, Mrs. Kemp reflected on the twisted irony of the situation. All morning long, with the despondent Medicalos pupil on the verge of weeping, she had wished to somehow comfort him and keep the tears away—instead she was about to make him cry loud and long, chastising and humbling him in front of his classsmates. Still, the young woman understood that she had no viable option but to emphatically punish the errant youngster; academic discipline had to be maintained and he'd committed a serious breach of the school rules.

"Get into position, Carltie," she ordered, then adjusted his body forward as the boy pulled himself up and across her thighs. Feminine fingers hooked underneath the waistband of his tight-fitting underpants and slid them down to their young wearer's knees, exposing a fully-rounded posterior still roughly pinkened from the intensive wake-up paddling it had undergone earlier that day.

Many of the watching kindergarteners gasped, while their instructor bit her tongue to avoid doing so herself, at the obvious damage to their classmate's derriere—and their knowledge that he was about to receive further sound spanking. Carlton began whimpering with humiliation while Mrs. Kemp was torn by deep regret over the circumstances facing her; she understood, at least partially, the reason for her normally-cheerful student's dejected demeanor that morning—but it remained her duty to administer additional corporal correction to him. She raised the leather strap in her right hand while her left pressed against the trembling rejuve's waist—then she hesitated, verging on tears herself, while the class waited with bated breath.

"Ah-I'm r-ready, ma'am," the five-year-old stated softly, a shiver running through his small form.

"Very well." The teacher steeled herself. "Young man, I hope you'll learn a long-lasting lesson about honesty and obedience from this." She swung the supple leather swiftly downward with a wrist-snap to impart extra force at the point of impact, the base of her spankee's bare buttcheeks—THWACK!!

He gasped sharply, the young observers exhaled and the intensive chastisement was underway. Once she'd finally started applying the strap, the disciplinarian aspect of the young educator's persona assumed control as she delivered blistering-hard cracks of the flexible leather across her rulebreaking pupil's upturned posterior, each fiery lash leaving a reddish stripe in its wake. The small Medicalos was sobbing by the sixth sizzling stroke and bawling openly by the twelfth, but his teacher resolutely applied all thirty leathering licks to his starkly-exposed squirming asscheeks.

Mrs. Kemp paused to catch her breath while she replaced the strap with the translucent paddle in her right hand. She noted that Carlton's rump was crisscrossed with bands of crimson coloration which meged together on his 'spank spot,' the plumpest part of his buttocks just above the thighcreases.

"If you're wondering why I changed my planned order of implement use," the dishwater blonde explained calmly, "I decided that paddling on top of strap stripes is a more effective punishment." She raised the sturdy polyplast spanker over her shoulder, resisting feelings of sympathy for the teary-eyed rejuve bent over her lap, and resumed the disciplinary session.

SMACK!! WHACK!! SMACK!! WHAP!! CRACK!! SMACK!!

Alternating between her spankee's chubby bare nether cheeks, the determined instructor steadily and rhythmically delivered thirty stinging-hot paddleswats while he howled, wailed, kicked frantically and vainly twisted his hips across her thighs. By the time of the final resounding crack as the polymer paddle impacted against his deeply-glowing, bright red gluteal globes, Carlton was blubbering helplessly while his teardrops freely splashed onto the floor.

Shuddering as a wave of relief washed over her psyche, Mrs. Kemp set down the paddle, pulled up his briefs and gently helped the suffering child to his feet. He faced her and managed to speak through his ragged blubbering.

"Thuh-uhhhh-ank yuuuh-you fuh-for cuhh-caring enuuuh-ough tuh-to cuhhh-correhhhct muh-me, muhhh-'ahhhm," he told his chastiser, to her surprise and the amazement of most of his classmates. "Ah-I'm suh-sorry Ahhh-I mihhsbuh-behaved suh-so buhhh-adly."

Unable to deny the boy some comfort, the teacher leaned forward, put her hands under his chin and lightly kissed each tearstained cheek.

"I'm sorry you did too," she responded with heartfelt sincerity. "Now return to your corner, drop your underpants to your ankles and resume your previous position." As the weeping youngster hastened to obey, the young woman addressed the audience of kindergarteners.

"Children, you've just seen the consequences of breaking a serious school rule. Tonight I'll be contacting the parents of these two naughty students about their misconduct, so they'll probably receive additional punishment at home." She shook her head slowly. "I hope you'll all remember what's happened to Montana and Carltie today, so as to avoid experiencing it yourselves."

After fifteen minutes of bare-bottomed cornertime, the Medicalos rejuves were allowed to replace their underwear, put on their uniform trousers and return to their foamseats—but with a stern warning.

"If there's one word exchanged between you two before dismissal," Mrs. Kemp informed them, "You can each expect another spanking first thing tomorrow. You'll go back to your corners during free time and structured play period this afternoon."

The no-talking decree was welcomed by Carlton, who carefully avoided looking in Montana's direction; he had no desire to witness the same coldness and rejection on her facial features that he'd already seen on Nantessa's. It was only a delaying tactic, he realized, but at least he could postpone the formal termination of the most important friendship of his new life until the following morning. After leading his reluctant compatriot into big-time trouble he acknowledged that her scorn for him was deserved, but he wasn't emotionally ready to endure it at that time—tomorrow would be all to soon enough.

Montana was highly frustrated by her inability to communicate with her best friend, on the other hand. She wanted to give Carlton a grateful smile and blow him a kiss, in appreciation of his sacrifice on her behalf, then playfully rub her rump while flashing him a rueful grin; his unwillingness to face her puzzled the girlish rejuve, since it seemed that they should be consoling one another over their tingling-hot derrieres and the embarrassment they'd endured.

His disastrous academic day finally concluded with Rosita, attired in her black-and-silver Starfleet uniform, taking custody of the downcast little boy to escort him home. As an Intelligence officer she had little trouble interpreting the meaning of his reddened eyes, tearstreaked face and sorrowful expresssion.

"You must have had a rough time today, sweetie," she speculated. "Can I do anything to help?"

The youngster hesitated before countering with his own question. "Would you give me a hug, Aunt Rosie," he inquired hopefully, "Even if I don't deserve one?"

"Even if you don't deserve one, you definitely NEED one," the buxom woman stated compassionately, opening her arms, "Which is good enough for me." She leaned forward as Carlton stepped into her warm embrace, hugging him tightly while he sniffled quietly.

"So what's wrong, honey?" she asked caressingly.

The kindergartener wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. "My sister hates me, I lost my best friend, my teacher thinks I'm a spoiled brat—and after she talks to my mother, Mommy will want to put me up for adoption."

The commander couldn't help grinning. "Oh, is that all?" She ruffled his curly blond hair. "It could be worse, after all—you could have forgotten how to exaggerate."

"Please don't make fun of me," he pleaded pitifully, "I've had a terrible day."

Straightening up, she clasped the rejuve's small hand in hers. "Let's go find someplace we can sit and talk," she suggested, "Then you can tell me about it."

"Wuh-Will you hold me on your lap, Aunt Rosie, while we're talking?" He managed a shy half-smile that melted the Starfleet officer's heart.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," she assured the distressed child.

As they walked hand-in-hand from the Starfleet School, Carlton wondered about how much to tell Rosita—she had, after all, already been given disciplinary authority over him by his guardian. What if she decided to paddle him herself after being told about his major-league misconduct at school?

He remembered his last two years at the Academy, when she'd been his 'judge, jury and executioner'—she'd ruthlessly uncovered his misjudgements and slipshod behaviors, pronouncing punitive sentence then relentlesssly executing it upon his naked buttocks via hairbrush, paddles, straps and even a rattan cane. However, the female cadet had also been her classmate's counselor, confidant and confessor—someone who'd given him guidance, support and understanding along with the strict red-bottomed correction she'd administered.

Once seated on Rosita's wide lap and leaning against her ample bosom while her arms tenderly encircled him, though, it didn't matter how much Carlton had planned to reveal—the whole story of his day's woeful experiences came pouring out, intermixed with sobs and occasional spates of soft weeping, as he was able to freely release his feelings.

"I did everything wrong today, Aunt Rosie," the young Medicalos concluded, shaking with emotional exhaustion, "I betrayed and disappointed everyone with my misbehavior." He looked anxiously up into her eyes. "Ah-Are you going to spank me too?"

"Hush, darling, don't even think that," the plump brunette chided gently, "The last thing you need now is more punishment." She brushed at the front of her uniform blouse, which was damp from the boy's tears, as she rose from the public magnabench and set him on his feet. "You've done enough crying for the moment, I'd say. Why don't we go on home now, and I'll talk to the admiral about your situation when she gets there."

"Thank you for making me feel better, Aunt Rosie." The five-year-old's eyes shone with gratitude. "Could we make a little detour on the way?"

Nantessa had endured a difficult day at her school, the 'Brat Academy,' as well. She hadn't been corporally disciplined, but in every class the teacher had admonished her at least once (more than once in two of them) for being unfocused and inattentive. Her powerball teammate Marcella Moseley commented on the verbal reprimands as the two classmates exited the school.

"Jeez, you were distracted today, Nannie—your mom might get some HV calls from your teachers tonight." Only an inch shorter than her companion, the chocolate-complected fourteen-year-old looked the younger teen in the eye. "Missing out on getting the concert disk isn't THAT big a deal to you, is it?"

The thirteen-year-old shook her head. "That's not it, Marcie," she explained, "I just can't stop thinking about a family problem with my baby brother."

The older girl snorted. "Little brothers can be such brats—and not in the military sense of the word."

Nantessa rounded suddenly on her friend, shouting angrily. "Don't you dare talk that way about Carltie! He's a sweet little boy and I don't deserve to have a loving brother like him!"

Marcella was taken aback by the outburst. "Okay, sure...Cool off, Nannie, I didn't mean to insult your brother—I was just playing along with you. Really, I like my younger brother too but he can be a nuisance sometimes."

"Carltie's never a nuisance," the distraught teenager said defensively, "He's so good to me and I was truly hateful to him this morning." She sniffed in self-rebuke. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, Marcie—I'm an evil harpy who hurts nice people out of pure spite."

Her compatriot snickered. "Maybe you were in a bad mood and took it out on your brother, but I don't think you're the devil..."

Bryan Starr, proprietor of the Starr-Boltz Music Emporium, was pleased with the day's profits but frazzled from dealing with shrill, celebrity-infatuated teenage girls. His store's HV disks of Nexus Andorr's New Berlin Concert had sold out in twenty minutes' time, but desperate adolescent females kept arriving and demanding copies.

He was aware that the high-ranking Starfleet officer in her unusual black-and-silver uniform, holding the hand of a young boy, wasn't to be dismissed like a teenager.

"Do you have any New Berlin Concert disks left from the sixty that you received today?" the woman inquired politely.

"We only had fifty, and they sold out before twelve-thirty," the middle-aged man replied. "Sorry, commander...Is your son a Nexus Andorr fan?"

"My sister is," Carlton interjected, not correcting the tan-uniformed merchant's misimpression. "What about the ten extras, sir—did you sell them already?"

"He's referring to the station's import register listing sixty concert disks," Rosita elaborated.

The tall entrepreneur grinned. "Black with silver trim, now I remember—Military Intelligence." He chewed his lip. "They're available, but only for special customers at an even higher markup than the first fifty."

"How much?" the woman demanded.

"The first fifty went for thirteen Confederation credits each, the final ten are sixteen apiece." The man shrugged. "In two weeks they'll be available at the regular price of three credits—you could just wait."

"It's highway robbery, but I'll take one," the commander stated bluntly.

"No, Aunt Rosie," Carlton protested, "That's too much for you to spend."

"I'm sure the admiral will reimburse me," she responded calmly.

"Mommy's not going to be feeling at all generous toward me," the rejuve countered glumly, "So she might not—"

Starr interrupted him. "You're Admiral McMichael's husband, rejuved after being exposed to Kelvaron radiation?"

The Medicalos displayed the back of his hand with its silverish 'M'. "Yes, sir."

"You saved my cousin Montana's life, Carltie," the man informed him. "Now you're her best friend at school, right?"

"Not any more, I'm afraid." The youngster sadly shook his head. "She won't have anything to do with me after today, Mr. Starr."

"You don't know that," Rosita pointed out. "You're being melodramatic, honey."

"How many disks do you want?" The merchant smiled broadly. "Your money's no good here, Carltie—anytime you want anything I've got, it's on the house."

"Just one copy," Carlton answered. "Thank you so much, sir."

His benefactor touseled the boy's hair. "For my favorite cousin's life? Small payment indeed..."

Rosita questioned her Medicalos charge during their brief turbotube ride. "Do you think that concert disk will get you back into Nannie's good graces?"

"I won't give it to her until she starts liking me again," he responded, "If she ever does." His expression was determined. "No using it to bribe her, ma'am."

The five-year-old was sitting on his one-time classmate's lap; she bent her head downward to kiss his blond curls. "Good decision, sweetie."

"My only one so far today," he rejoined ruefully.

"I think your taking Montana's punishment for her, as much of it as you could, was very brave and selfless." She softly stroked the side of his face. "Tell me, do you consider her friendship worth fighting for?"

"I'd do anything to win it back," the young child affirmed. "But even if I did, what about Nannie disliking me so much?"

The commander paused pensively."Well, Nannie's a good-sized girl, bigger than some grown women (she was in fact 5'9" tall and weighed an athletically-toned 135 pounds), plus she's highly intelligent and has been raised to be quite responsible."

"That's all true," Carlton agreed, "But what's your point?"

"That it's easy to forget she's still only thirteen, so she's going to react with adolescent emotions at times," Rosita explained. "She really loves you, darling, so I think that your sibling relationship will straighten itself out."

"You do, Aunt Rosie?" The rejuve's voice reflected considerable doubt.

"Yes, Carltie, I truly do," she confirmed. "Now let's get back to Montana..."

After missing his afternoon nap and experiencing an eneverating day, the kindergartener was barely awake as the pert Intelligence officer activated the McMichael family's doorway to open and they entered the quarters.

Rebecca was already home, sitting on the living room couch and half-heartedly watching the Starfleet Public Information channel on the holovision field; she stood up as the entrance slid shut.

"Where have you two been?" she demanded. "You're twenty minutes late, Rosie." She noticed that her ward looked both exhausted and apprehensive as his gaze reluctantly met hers. "Trouble in class, sweetheart?"

"We've already discussed it in detail," the commander stated, omitting to mention their quick shopping trip, "Which is why we're running late."

"So what happened, Carltie?" the admiral inquired pointedly.

"Carltie's dead tired and emotionally drained, Becca," Rosita told her colleague, "He desperately needs to get some sleep now. If you'll put him to bed, I'll explain what happened at school today—he's told me all about it." She patted the youngster's head affectionately. "Why don't you go lie down, honey...?"

"Sure," he agreed drowsily, before hugging her tightly around the waist. "Thank you for being so kind and understanding, Aunt Rosie."

"You're welcome, Carltie. Now go take a nap, darling." She turned to Rebecca as the five-year-old trudged toward his bedroom. "Becca, what he needs right now is a hug, a kiss and a reminder that you'll always love him—trust me on this."

Although a highly-regarded child psychologist herself, the older woman had great respect for her friend's insight into human nature. "If you say so, Rosie, I'll take your word for it."

Carlton was spawled on his bed, fully dressed and almost asleep, when the admiral arrived. After removing his shoes and elastibelt she picked him up, pulled back the bedcovers and lovingly deposited him back down. Giving the semidozing child a warm hug, his maternal caregiver kissed his forehead then tucked the covers up around him.

"Sweet dreams, precious boy," she told him tenderly, "Remember that I love you."

"Love you too, Mommy," he mumbled before falling into a deep slumber. His face relaxed, looking peacefully cherubic thanks to the comfort and compassion he'd been extended by the two women.

"Oh, my poor little boy," Rebecca moaned after hearing her compatriot's second-hand account of Carlton's devastating day. "He was so depressed this morning, I was afraid he might have problems at school—but I didn't expect anything like this. Mrs. Kemp can hardly be blamed for chastising him soundly, given my instructions to her about Carltie's behavior. So he assumed part of Montana's punishment?" There was obvious pride underlying that inquiry.

"As much as he was allowed to by his teacher," Rosita answered. "Did Nannie really wallop him as extensively as he claimed?"

The admiral nodded grimly. "She most certainly did, Rosie."

The holovision field suddenly emitted three reverberating bongs while its bright blue light flashed repeatedly, then a mechanical voice replaced the bonging: "Transmission contact request for Rebecca McMichael from Katrina Kemp..."

Retrieving an interior control pad, the tall woman initialized the holovision field on its 'call response' setting and a holoimage of the pretty blonde teacher in her sky blue uniform materialized.

Rebecca smiled wanly. "Good afternoon, Katrina..."

Minutes later, Nantessa arrived home as her mother's conversation with Mrs. Kemp was concluding.

"...Carltie would never have committed such a serious rule infraction if he hadn't been in a negative frame of mind to begin with," the instructor surmised. "Up until today, he'd been a model pupil in my class."

"I agree, Katrina," Rebecca responded. "I'll deal with my ward's further discipline tonight and we'll be at school early tomorrow so he can apologize to you. Thanks again for contacting me, and I'll see you then."

"Please don't be too harsh," Mrs. Kemp urged, "He was spanked very soundly in class already. Goodbye, Rebecca."

As the connection terminated the admiral addressed her daughter, who was standing stock-still with a crestfallen expression on her face.

"You're home quite early, Nannie...Is there something wrong?"

"Coach Stenerud told me to leave practice after only half an hour," the girl recounted. "He said not to show up again until I'm ready to concentrate on the game."

"Why weren't you focused on powerball, sweetness?" the woman asked blandly.

"Permission to use profanity to make a point?" the teenager requested.

"Granted, dear," Rebecca agreed. "Go on, please..."

"All I've been able to think about all day is what a total bitch I was to my baby brother this morning; you can expect some calls from my teachers too—I wasn't able to pay attention in class." She sighed defeatedly, her eyes beginning to brim with tears. "Why am I such a mean, destructive person, Mom? Why did I treat Carltie so cruelly, when he's always been so sweet to me? How can you possibly love me when I'm such a heartless..." The pretty teen broke down into ragged sobs, her body slumping.

Her mother rapidly stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the thirteen-year-old's shuddering body. "Mean, heartless people don't suffer acute attacks of conscience, darling," she explained soothingly. "While you did mistreat your brother this morning, your feelings of remorse show that you're hardly a real...bitch, to put it succinctly."

Nantessa abruptly pulled away, her eyes darkly intense. "If you're planning on delivering punishment tonight, I should receive it in place of Carltie. His teacher said that he got in trouble because he was feeling hurt and that's completely my fault, so I deserve whatever he got at school—no, I deserve double it for paddling him unfairly and spitefully."

Rebecca hesitated, hoping that her children were truly noble rather than merely masochistic in their willingness to accept chastisement due to others. "You're sure, sweetness?"

Her daughter nodded, tears glistening on her cheeks. "It's the only way I'll sleep at all tonight, Mom—but I still don't know if Carltie will ever forgive me."

"Don't sell your brother short on generosity of spirit," the admiral advised. "Okay, I'll work out the details of the discipline...But be aware it's really going to sting, darling."

The young teen grinned crookedly. "That's a no-brainer, Mom."

"Carltie's asleep right now," the woman noted. "You might want to rest a little before supper yourself. Aunt Rosie's eating with us tonight, right now she's programming the multicooker—and according to her, I have to invite a couple guests for later tonight." She smiled bemusedly at the girlish adolescent's quizzical look. "Don't ask now, honey—you'll see soon enough..."

Rosita entered the living room three minutes later, having given her hostess privacy regarding HV conversations and talking with Nantessa, carrying two glasses of New Parisian sparkling wine.

"Care for a drink?" she asked merrily, sitting on the couch next to her long-time comrade after handing her one of the transparent omniplast glasses.

"Rosie, you're a lifesaver," Rebecca remarked, just before taking a long sip of the slightly-alcoholic beverage. "I don't mean just the drink, either—I mean rescuing my darling boy today."

"Rescuing him?" The commander's brows furrowed. "I picked him up from school, and I was happy to do that; I want to get to know Carltie in his new life."

"You didn't just bring him home, you gave him comfort and affection which he desperately needed." The admiral's face radiated gratitude. "You've always been there for Carlton and me when we needed you, Rosie, and I want to add my appreciation to Carltie's."

"So what are friends for?" The younger woman sipped her own drink. "Speaking of friendship, are you expecting visitors this evening?"

Her Starfleet superior nodded. "Seven-thirty tonight, they'll be arriving—so you should be here then, just to see how things turn out. You might want to go home and change into casual clothes, while I relax and wait for calls from Nannie's teachers—I have another favor to ask you."

"Which would be...?" Rosita arched her eyebrows.

"Give Carltie his bath tonight after supper, while I favor Nannie with the rather severe punishment she's insisted upon," Rebecca replied. "It will distress my sensitive child to hear his sister being chastised, even if she deserves and desires it for her treatment of him. He probably won't hear much from his bathroom, particularly if you keep him engaged in talking to you."

"Carltie won't mind being undressed in front of me?" the commander asked doubtfully.

"At bathtime he's a five-year-old emotionally," her colleague explained. "There's never been a problem with his nudity for bathing so far, and he's become pretty fond of you today—you're family now, Aunt Rosie."

"In that case, I'd be happy to help out with your sweet boy." The Intelligence officer grinned wryly. "Are things always this hectic in your household?"

"Not like this, no." The admiral chuckled. "Carltie and Nannie will be reconciling, we'll need to have a dinnertime discussion about behaving properly even when feeling unhappy, Nannie's bare buns will be thoroughly scorched with various instruments of correction and Carltie's going to try to win back his best friend from school."

Rosita tittered lightly. "Sounds like a piece of cake..."

{PART THREE}

(This part begins ninety minutes after the conclusion of Part Two at the same location, the McMichael family's living quarters on Starbase Seventeen.)

Returning from her own nearby quarters after changing into comfortable civilian clothing and dealing with Military Intelligence business, Rosita activated the entry request to her commanding officer's station home and was immediately admitted inside.

Rebecca, also attired casually, waited for her long-time friend in the living room.

"Ready for some sibling interaction?" she asked as the doorway resealed. "I just woke up Carltie and told him to put on his play clothes, so he should be out soon—well, speak of the devil..."

Stifling a yawn, eyes heavy-lidded and curly locks disheveled, the five-year-old drowsily walked into the living room; he wore royal blue durademin overalls (the type associated with old-style Terran farmers), a crimson quasicotton t-shirt and charcoal gray insulshoes.

"No, it looks like an angel to me," the commander countered. "Feeling rested, little angelic sleepyhead?" She ruffled the youngster's unkempt blond hair.

"Yes, thank you, Aunt Rosie." Carlton beamed at the sight of the plump woman, remembering her caring comfort when he'd needed it earlier.

"Your sister's in her room, Carltie," his guardian informed him. "She might be willing to patch things up with you, if you apologize for offending her with your comments about Nexus Andorr."

"Okay, Mommy," the rejuve agreed uncertainly. "Should I just go in...?"

"The direct approach often works," Rebecca noted clinically. "Go ahead, sweetie—there's nothing to lose."

"Hmmmpf!" Rosita sounded miffed as she watched the boy reluctantly approach his big sister's room down the hallway. "I'd say that Nannie owes HIM an apology, Becca."

The admiral smirked knowingly. "Carltie won't get out six words of regret, Rosie—trust me." She motioned toward her daughter's bedroom. "Come on, let's be naughty and eavesdrop a little."

The two women stealthily entered the hall just as the young Medicalos entered his sibling's open room.

"Isn't this unethical?" the commander demanded quietly.

"We'll have to chastise each other later," her Starfleet superior whispered, grinning playfully. "Just listen..."

Nantessa lay on her bed, turned toward the bedroom's far wall, still wearing her navy blue and white schoolgirl outfit. Her mind was in a deep, disturbed reverie, which was abruptly broken when her brother spoke after a momentary hesitation.

"Nannie, can I talk to—" he began, but his question was cut off at that point.

Upon hearing the youngster's voice, his sister rolled over, sprang to the floor and swooped down on her startled sibling; she picked him up, encircled his waist and hips with her arms and peppered his face with quick kisses, talking rapidly and excitedly.

"Oh, Carltie...my sweet baby...I'm deeply sorry, I really am...I was so cold-hearted and mean to you...Please forgive me, honey...I'm ashamed of myself, treating you cruelly like that...but I truly do love you, sweetheart...You got in trouble at school because of me...Mom's going to make me pay for that...Can you ever forgive me, darling?"

Listening from the hallway, Rebecca giggled softly. "What did I tell you, Rosie? Carltie's totally dumbstruck."

Carlton eventually recovered his composure when his sister stopped talking and began to sniffle, teardrops trickling down her cheeks.

"Don't cry, Nannie, please don't cry," he urged, gently kissing her face and tasting the salty water. "I'll just keep kissing the tears away until you stop, you know..."

The remorseful adolescent gave the concerned child in her arms a rueful half-smile, tightening her hold on him. "But I was so spiteful to you this morning, Carltie, it's hard to live with myself...Then you got spanked by your teacher because I'd mistreated you—I'm taking your punishment from Mom, double what you got at school, and there's no argument." Her brown eyes blazed, daring the rejuve to challenge her intention to endure bare-bottomed maternal retribution in his stead.

"It's unnecessary," he protested mildly, "But I can tell you won't be deterred, Nannie."

She gave him a heartfelt sisterly kiss on the lips. "You got that right, baby brother—Mom's going to make me bawl like a naughty toddler, and I'll deserve everything she's dishing out on my bare fanny." A shiver ran through her body as the teenaged girl realized how lengthy and intensive the chastisement would be. "I'm thoroughly sorry for the terrible treatment I gave you, sweetie—that long, hard paddling then my being hateful to you." She gazed intently into her brother's blue eyes. "Will you ever forgive me, honey?"

He sighed, blissfully relieved, figuring that he'd never understand females. "You're forgiven now, Nannie."

Outside the room, Rosita chuckled. "You know your own children, Becca, I must admit."

The family's supper meal, which had been programmed into the multicooker by their guest, was a Posteria Priman dish—thick, herbally-spiced stew which contained two kinds of meat mixed with protopods and a variety of vegetables.

Having originally been a native of Posteria Primus, Carlton appreciated Rosita's cuisine although it made him slightly nostalgic for his Kindern childhood.

The dinnertime discussion, under Rebecca's firm direction, centered on the mistakes that her children had made in allowing negative feelings to dominate their decision-making processes—and how other people had been affected by their emotion-driven behavior.

"I'm gratified that you want to make amends by accepting sound discipline in Carltie's place," the admiral told her daughter, "But remember that the most important result of your remorse should be never repeating that type of misjudgement."

Nantessa nodded solemnly. "You're right, Mom—I mustn't act that mean-spirited again."

"Maybe Montana will consider continuing our friendship if I accept the punishment that her aunt would be giving her," her brother mused hopefully, "Otherwise I've lost my best friend."

"She pretty much told you to get out of her life, huh?" The thirteen-year-old's tone was sympathetic.

"We didn't actually talk," the kindergartener explained, "Our teacher made us keep quiet until dismissal."

"Her expresssion said it all though, didn't it?" the girl rhetorically asked her sibling. "That cold fire from embittered eyes, I've seen that look."

"I didn't face her," Carlton stated gloomily. "I didn't dare to, considering the way she was feeling toward me."

"Then you don't actually KNOW how she reacted to the situation," Rosita interjected, "Do you, Carltie?"

"I got her into big-time trouble," the five-year-old replied, "So it's not hard to figure out that she's through with me."

"Well, sweetheart, Montana may be more understanding than you're giving her credit for," Rebecca pointed out. "You did do your best to save her from the consequences of your misconduct—which she voluntarily went along with anyway. Even if she is rather upset with you, she still may value your friendship."

Her ward's gaze was resignedly downcast. "I wish you were right, Mommy."

"Just don't forget the other victim of your ill-fated misadventure," his one-time spouse reminded him, "Who's extremely unhappy about what happened."

"Besides Carltie and Montana?" Nantessa sounded puzzled.

"I think Mommy means my teacher, Mrs. Kemp," her little brother surmised. "She truly regretted having to spank us...Although she certainly didn't let emotions restrict her effectiveness once she got started on our bare behinds."

"Nonetheless," the admiral stated flatly, "We'll go to school early tomorrow—then you WILL apologize to Mrs. Kemp for your blatant rulebreaking, young man."

Carlton nodded, hoping that he could restore some measure of the mutual trust and affection he'd shared with his much-admired instructor. "Yes, ma'am..."

Following supper, which had included a traditional Terran dessert of butterscotch pudding with whipped topping, there was a one-hour hiatus before the evening's intense activity was scheduled—Rebecca's extensive corporal correction of her daughter, followed by her rejuved ward's attempt to reconcile with his fellow Medicalos classsmate. After working together to quickly load the dining items into the recycle-sanitizer, the women lounged in the living room while the children, both becoming increasingly anxious, retired to their respective bedrooms.

"Bath time, darling," Rosita informed Carlton at seven o'clock. He obediently accompanied her to his bathroom down the hallway and promptly stripped down to his birthday suit while the bathtub rapidly filled with comfortably warm water.

"Oh, sweetie, your poor blushing buns." She lightly caressed the naked boy's bright pink nether cheeks. "You really got it good today, didn't you?"

"Twice, Aunt Rosie, with another butt-whacking due later tonight—if I can convince Montana and her aunt to accept that arrangement." He gulped apprehensively. "I know it would sting something fierce since I'm quite sore back there already, but it'd be more than worth it to salvage our friendship."

"Let's hope that won't be necessary," the buxom woman remarked, feeling the water with her hand. "Ready now, honey—go ahead and climb in, get wet then I'll soap you up."

"Okay, Aunt Rosie." The youngster obeyed immediately, demonstrating excellent balance and coordination for a recently-rejuved child. "I'm afraid that I'll need to take a proper paddling from Montana's aunt, otherwise I'll still feel guilty about my leading her into trouble at school." He lowered himself gingerly into the water, wincing when his tingling derriere contacted its warmth. "There's no way around it that I can see."

"We'll start out with you bending way over the back of the magnachair—skirt up, panties down and naked backside pointing at the ceiling—for thirty cracks of the razor strap, followed by thirty wallops from the Spencer paddle." Rebecca was carefully rolling up the right sleeve of her maroon synwool blouse with her left hand while standing in the middle of her daughter's bedroom.

Nantessa, sitting on her bed, nodded tremulously. "Uhh-Okay, M-Mom."

"Then you'll have five minutes of nicely-exposed cornertime, nose to the wall while holding your skirt at waist level with hands clasped behind your back, to contemplate your upcoming trip across my lap." The tall woman, showing the hint of a smug smile, looked down at her pale-faced teenager. "Thirty swats with the black leather paddle will precede thirty smacks courtesy of my wooden hairbrush—that will conclude the chastisement you've insisted on accepting on Carltie's behalf."

"Y-Yes, ma'am." The adolescent nervously nibbled her lower lip.

"By the way, you were rather prophetic about my receiving HV calls from your teachers—there were two of them involving complaints of inattention in class." The admiral, her right bicep bared of clothing, raised her eyebrows questioningly. "You remember what correction results from those kind of reports, dear, don't you?"

Her daughter nodded, dread reflected in her voice. "I'm to receive 'six of the best' with the rattan cane for each one—we agreed on that, ma'am."

"Very good, Nannie." Stepping forward, Rebecca put her hand gently on the girl's shoulder. "You'd avoided being caned for the whole second semester until now, but there's no use crying over spilt milk—or striped bumcheeks either." She frowned pensively. "No, that doesn't make sense; you most certainly WILL be bawling while your bare behind is being swished with the cane."

Nantessa's voice choked. "Ahhh-I knuh-know ah-I will, m-ma'am."

"Well, let's get started then; I've got to deliver plenty of seat-scorching discipline before it's time for the cane to swing into action. The hairbrush is on my dresser, the leather paddle's in Carltie's implement drawer and the razor strap, Spencer paddle and cane are in the adult CP storage unit—until recently holding your father's instruments of correction." Her mother patted the young teen's face. "You've got two minutes to return with those five items and one minute after that to get into position bent over the back of the magnachair with the proper 'southern exposure' of your bottomcheeks—better move along, honeybun."

"Oh-Okay, Mom." Jumping to her feet, the striken schoolgirl hurried out of the room...

Momentarily relaxed, Carlton sighed contentedly as Rosita gently rubbed the well-lathered soap-center sponge all over his nude young body in the bathtub.

"You don't have any problem with being in a state of total undress in front of me, do you?" she asked curiously, squatting as she carefully washed her one-time classmate.

"No, Aunt Rosie," the youngster replied ingenuously. "My adult persona isn't generally dominant while I'm being bathed, because I'm usually tired then—or I'm facing a bedtime spanking, which brings out my childlike mentality."

"You said 'generally,' Carltie," the intrigued woman pointed out, "So have you EVER felt like your grownup self during a bath?"

"Once," he admitted, "But fortunately Mommy was doing the honors that night so it wasn't a problem; she saw my adult body naked for eighteen years, after all."

"This might smart a little, though I'm trying to be gentle," the commander warned as she began softly soaping the boy's tender gluteal globes. He inhaled sharply and squirmed slightly, then otherwise endured the rump-washing stoically. "This was the part of your cadet anatomy I spent a lot of time dealing with during our last two academy years," she noted cheerily, "But I never treated it tenderly until now."

The rejuve grinned wryly. "Better late than never, ma'am."

Nantessa's body was jacknifed over the back of the bedroom magnachair, her navy blue skirt thrown over her back and her matching synsilk panties tangled at knee level, and the treatment her firmly-toned bare derriere was undergoing felt anything but tender as her mother resolutely finished applying thirty snapping-hard licks of the flexible razor strap across the girl's quivering, scarlet-striped buttocks—THWACK!! CRACK!! SMACK!! THWAP!! CRACK!! THWACK!!

Tears were brimming in the teenager's eyes as she desperately tried to restrain the sobs that nonetheless escaped her lips. She started to lift up after her leathering, but Rebecca's left hand pressed forcefully down between her shoulder blades.

"Stay right there, Nannie dear," the tall woman ordered, dropping the strap onto the bed and picking up the half-inch-thick Spencer paddle with its hole-dotted wide striking surface, "We'll go right on to your paddling now." She took careful aim with the traditional Terran instrument of spousal correction. "This should sting devilishly, smacking against those hot-looking red bands crisscrossing your buns. If it's any consolation, sweetness, this implement will work wonderfully well on the bare behinds of your future boyfriends—and you'll be on the swingng side of the action then."

The hardwood paddle angled swiftly downward, bridging both of the adolescent's upthrust exposed asscheeks at their crests as it landed solidly—WHACK!!

"Uhhhhowww!" She howled helplessly, hardly feeling consoled at all...

"Mmmm..." Relaxing in the bathwater, eyes half-closed, Carlton moaned with pleasure as Rosita's caring hands massaged baby shampoo onto his hair and scalp.

"You seem to enjoy being shampooed," she clucked indulgently.

"Yes, ma'am, I truly do" the beaming bather confirmed gratefully. "Thank you for being so nice to me, Aunt Rosie."

"It's my pleasure, sweetie." The buxom brunette paused pensively. "Would it be a problem for you to be bathed by anyone except the admiral if your grownup persona were dominant at the time?"

"You mean like Nannie?" He pursed his lips in contemplation. "I guess it could be, ma'am...Being undressed in front of my teenage daughter, if I were mentally regarding her that way—I might resist that." His expression became puzzled. "Why do you ask, Aunt Rosie?"

"Pure intellectual curiosity, that's all." The woman shrugged. "Stand up, darling, let's rinse out your hair under the shower spray..."

Nantessa's brightly-reddened, firm-but-feminine bare buttocks jiggled girlishly as the last half-dozen paddleswats impacted against them. Although the thirteen-year-old tried to control her reactions, she couldn't help vainly wriggling, kicking and wailing as the smooth-surfaced Spencer paddle, guided by her mother's practiced hand, resoundingly plastered her starkly-elevated naked posterior—SMACK!! WHAP!! SMACK!! SPLAT!! WHACK!! SMACK!!

Then Rebecca, smiling at her daughter's glowing crimson southern hemispheres and blushing pink, tearstreaked facial cheeks, dispatched her into the corner, nose to the wall and flaming-red fanny displayed projecting backward...

"This is sort of fun," Rosita remarked as she vigorously dried off Carlton's sparkling-clean body using a thick, absorbent towel.

The young rejuve, standing on the bathtub's wide edge, nodded agreeably. He inhaled expectantly as the terryblend material moved down below his back, but his caregiver switched to soft, quick pats for drying his sore buttcheeks and he exhaled in relief. "Are you wondering why the thermabreeze isn't used instead of an old-style towel?"

"I'm guessing that this old-fashioned method, with its physical contact, is supposed to be a bonding experience between you and your mother—or sister," the commander speculated. She grinned knowingly. "Does it actually work that way, darling?"

Emboldened by her affectionate treatment, the kindergartener leaned forward, clumsily embraced the squatting woman and fondly kissed each of her cheeks. "What do you think, Aunt Rosie?"

Nantessa bucked frantically while bent over her mother's left thigh, but she couldn't evade the black leather spanker that was cracking crisply across the base of her bare buns with clockwork regularity. Rebecca's left hand had the young teen's right wrist pinned back at the waist and the powerful woman's right leg was tightly over her daughter's lower thighs in a scissors lock, holding her in place while the semirigid paddle was maternally applied to her 'seat of learning' with devastating effectiveness—as evidenced by freely-flowing tears and pitiful wails from the girlish spankee.

"Aaaaaaowww! (WHACK!!) Ohhhhyowww! (SMACK!!) Uhhhhhohhh! (CRACK!!) Ohhhhnoooo! (WHAP!!) Aaaaowwwiee!"

After the full thirty swats were delivered the weeping adolescent received little respite as the admiral, seated on the double bed, quickly reached to her right and exchanged the leather implement for her wide-backed wooden hairbrush. She briefly patted the punishment brush's flat back against her daughter's fiery-hued, well-warmed posterior.

"My, sweetness, I'll bet these cute crimson cheeks feel sizzling hot already," the determined disciplinarian surmised, "So my blistering hairbrush should leave a lasting impresssion on your mind—or rather on your behind..."

As Rosita carried him, wrapped in a fresh dry towel, down the hallway to his own room, Carlton could clearly hear the pistol-shot reports of the spanking brush's impacts upon exposed feminine bumcheeks reverberating from behind Nantessa's bedroom door.

He winced empathetically, knowing exactly the kind of stinging ordeal his sister was undergoing. "Oh, poor Nannie, she's really getting it good."

"She certainly is," the commander agreed, "But better her than you, honey."

Two minutes later the nude five-year-old, still enveloped in snug terryblend fabric, was being cuddled on his ex-classmate's lap. Down the hall his sibling was bent bare-bottomed over the foot of her bed, receiving from her mother the dozen cane strokes she'd been promised.

SWIIISH-SWAP!! SWIIISH-SWAP!! SWIIISH-SWAP!! SWIIISH-SWAP!!

Nantessa's hips squirmed frantically and her teardrops streamed onto the bedspread as she bawled shamelessly while struggling to maintain her backside's vulnerably-open outthrust position.

Her chastisement by whipping rattan ended, leaving her deeply-reddened derriere streaked by thin maroon weals, the thirteen-year-old was helped to her feet by Rebecca, who pulled her daughter into a tender embrace and cooed words of loving maternal comfort.

"There, sweetie...just cry it out, that's all right...You're my darling girl...who paid fully for her mistake...I know it stung something fierce...but you endured it bravely...to regain your brother's trust."

When the blubbering girl finally recovered a modicum of composure, she plaintively asked her mother, "C-Can I put Cuh-Carltie to b-bed tonight, pl-please, rub ahh-on his nanolotion f-for him and re-read him a story, M-Mom?"

"Certainly, sweetness," the admiral replied quietly, "If you'll do something first—forgive yourself for that one mistake, the way he's forgiven you."

"I'm not sure I deserve Carltie's forgiveness," Nantessa protested, "Or his love."

"It would be a cold, brutal existence if we only got what we deserved," her mother pointed out. "Sometimes, fortunately, we get what we need instead—so be grateful for your brother's generosity since it's what you need right now, honey."

Moments later the entry-request chime indicated the arrival of two visitors, Amanda and Montana Starr. Carlton, wearing his powder blue 'Doctor Denton' sleepers, waited anxiously in the living room as Rosita activated the front entrance to open.

"What if she slaps me, Aunt Rosie," he fretted, "Or she won't even look at me?"

"Stop expecting the worst, darling," the buxom woman reassured him.

"I'll kiss her feet if I have to," the youngster announced as the door slid away to reveal a slim, six-feet-tall fortyish redhead accompanied by her five-year-old niece.

"Carltie!" Montana dashed across the room and threw her arms around her fellow rejuve. "Oh, I've been so worried about you, sweet boy," she gushed with concern. "I tried to get your attention in class—why didn't you look at me? You really got walloped hard, are you okay now?" She hugged the stunned boy tightly, her cheek against his. "I'm so glad to see you, Carltie..."

The commander tittered. "Well, you don't have to worry if her shoes are clean."

Rebecca entered the room, smiling at her casually-attired guests. "Thank you for coming, Amanda—it's important to Carltie."

The redhead nodded. "Montana was quite insistent on seeing Carltie, once you'd invited us."

The admiral motioned toward the couch. "Sit down please, and I'll explain what my boy's proposing..."

Minutes later, Amanda frowned uncertainly. "So you've administered Carltie's home punishment to his older sister, at her request, and now he wants to take the discipline that I'd be giving Montana?" She hesitated. "I wasn't planning on correcting my niece at home since she was soundly spanked at school. I'm not a Traditionalist, I consider spanking to be a last resort—Montana hasn't been paddled since becoming my ward."

"Carltie's been blistered plenty already today," Montana added; she and her Medicalos comrade were sitting together in the center of the couch.

"He won't forgive himself until he's been chastised for getting Montana into trouble today, I'm afraid," the admiral stated succinctly.

"I am unhappy that Carltie was a bad influence on my niece," the other woman mused, "Perhaps he does deserve to be punished for that misbehavior..."

Momentarily, Carlton found himself upended over Amanda's lap, a couch pillow atop her right thigh providing additional elevation for his rounded buttcheeks; his mother had quickly retrieved Nantessa's wooden hairbrush and handed it it to the statuesque redhead.

"Lower that 'trap door' to bare his bottom and you're ready to smack away," Rebecca noted calmly. "Since Carltie's accustomed to sound spankings, I'd suggest giving him at least four dozen vigorous swats—put plenty of gusto into it, Amanda."

"Expose his rear end in front of Montana?" the couch-seated woman queried doubtfully.

"The whole kindergarten class has seen my bare behind," the boyish rejuve conceded, "So why should Montana be left out, especially since I've seen hers?"

"Besides," Montana admitted, "I already sneaked a few peeks from my corner during class."

"In that case..." Nimble feminine fingers unbuttoned and lowered his seat flap, giving the youngster 'southern exposure'.

"I've got to give my daughter some TLC," the admiral announced. "Go ahead with the disciplinary proceedings, ladies—I'll check back later." She strode away toward Nantessa's room.

The girlish rejuve ruffled her comrade's blond curls. "I agree that you DO deserve this butt-blistering, sweet boy, but not for the reason you've requested it. When it's finished, I want you to tell me what you truly did wrong to earn another paddling...Okay?"

He gulped nervously, his upturned naked buttocks twitching. "Ah-I'll try, Mon."

"This should smarten you up." She nodded at her aunt, whose right hand was raising the solid spanking brush. "Give it to him good, Aunt Amanda."

"As you both wish, dear," the woman agreed breezily, then she swung the hairbrush forcefully at its plumply-rounded target—SMACK!!

Amanda walloped her spankee's bare derriere steadily and energetically, alternating bumcheeks while he yelped, wailed and eventually sobbed as his teardrops spilled to floor. With grim satisfaction, Montana watched her friend's vulnerable nether cheeks squirm and bounce from the hairbrush's whacking attentions while he childishy kicked and cried. By the time the forty-eighth solid swat had been delivered, Carlton's rump was glowing with brilliant red coloration.

"That seriously stung, didn't it?" the girl asked rhetorically. "Why did you deserve that punishment, dear boy?"

F-For nuhh-not cuh-communicuh-cating, Mon," he blubbered tearfully, "Ahhh-I sh-should've tuh-talked tuhhhh-to y-you, it cuh-could've h-helped muh-me."

"I dearly wish you'd done that, sweet boy—I practically begged you to." She smiled ruefully. "We're not done yet, it's time for a spelling lesson." Catching her aunt's gaze, the female Medicalos explained the concept. "After each letter I say, Carltie gets a hard smack with the hairbrush; if he can tell me what's been spanked onto his bare fanny the correction is finished."

The redhead shrugged. "Sure thing, love, if that's what you want."

"Then here we go—you'd better pay close attention," Montana informed Carlton, who shivered mutely. "F...(SMACK!!) R...(WHAP!!) I...(CRACK!!) E...(SMACK!!) N...(WHACK!!) D...(CRACK!!) S...(SMACK!!) F...(WHOP!!) O...(SPLAT!!) R...(SMACK!!) E...(WHAP!!) V...(CRACK!!) E...(SPLAT!!) R... (SMACK!!) What's our promise to each other, Carltie?"

"Fruh-uhhhh-friends For-uhh-ever," her bawling classmate managed to reply.

"You'd better believe it," she affirmed benignly. "Now get down, I'm going to hug those tears away..."

The two five-year-olds were fondly embracing, the sniffling boy's rosy-hued buns still uncovered, when Rosita entered the living room minutes later.

"Ready for some nanolotion and a bedtime story?" she inquired brightly. "Nannie's offered to do the honors tonight; Montana can listen too. I brought the datachip, it's part of an old Terran novel."

"Old novel?" Amanda sounded curious.

Rosita nodded. "Chapter twenty of THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER..."

{THE END}

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