"NUDITY" ("Maternal Matrimony" #16) by the Crimson Kid f/m
Part 1 § 2
(All rights reserved. This story's setting begins the morning following the conclusion of "BAD THURSDAY", in the McMichael family's quarters on Starbase Seventeen, orbiting the planet Vladivost in the mid-28th century.)
Feeling somewhat drained, physically and emotionally, from the previous evening's activities, Rebecca programmed the multicooker to produce breakfast while she reviewed high-security Starfleet information on her datapad. After focusing briefly on the one key situation of immediate concern, she deactivated the pad and relaxed in reflection, sinking back into the couch's soft cushions...
Montana's Aunt Amanda, unexpectedly raising a newly-rejuved five-year-old just as the admiral was, had initially proved rather resistant to advice about child-rearing strategies that evening. Even though the woman admittedly hadn't been a parent for almost a half-century, during her second adulthood, she'd initially expressed criticism of what she called "Traditionalist overreliance on corporal punishment," which she'd claimed would produce "resentment and negative attitudes" in children.
Then Rosita, with her hostess's approval, had activated the security surveillence system to allow the three women to momentarily view Carlton's bedroom via the living room holovision field. Lying supine in the middle of her brother's bed, her head and shoulders propped up by a foampillow, nightgown-clad Nantessa had been reading aloud from a datapad novel's text projected in midair. The teenager's arms had been encircling the two young rejuves, Montana and Carlton, who had been snuggled against her on either side facing each other, their foreheads almost touching as they hugged the thirteen-year-old, listening while smiling dreamily at one another.
"Okay, Rosie, shut it off," Rebecca had instructed brisky, "I think we've got the picture."
Using a universal remote control, the commander had complied. "Yes, I don't think we can take much more of the 'resentment and negative attitudes' dominating that room anyway."
"All three of those children were corporally corrected today, for mistakes in judgement and resultant misbehavior," the admiral had stated pedantically. "Carlton was spanked soundly three times, including once by you, Amanda...Did you feel any resentment from him after that bare-bottom hairbrush walloping you administered?"
"No," the visitor had replied, "But it was something he'd requested from me, after all."
"Montana was disciplined by her teacher," the commander had pointed out, "Which I assume she mentioned to you."
"We discussed it," the redhead had confirmed.
"So did your niece express negative feelings towards Mrs. Kemp," Rebecca had inquired pointedly, "Based on the panties-down punishment she received in front of her classmates?"
"Not at all," Amanda had admitted. "Montana said that she was ashamed of her poor behavior, which put her teacher in the position of having to correct her in front of the class. She's hoping to work her way back into Mrs. Kemp's good graces by being especially well-behaved at school from now on."
"That's exactly how Carlton feels too," Rosita had noted. "He doesn't blame his teacher for chastising him, he holds himself responsible for his own misconduct."
The civilian woman had smiled thinly. "I take it that you're a Traditionalist also, commander?"
"Fem-dis strict Traditionalist, sixth generation in my family," the buxom brunette had responded briskly. "Please call me Rosie, though."
"Fem-dis?" Amanda's brows had furrowed.
"It's short for 'feminine-disciplinary'," the admiral had explained. "Rosie and I would enjoy enlightening you on the fem-dis approach to child-rearing and gender relationships, while Nannie finishes reading that book chapter..."
Rebecca mused that the convincing arguments she and Rosita had presented, which had half-converted the tall redhead in a mere fifteen minutes, might result in additional corporal punishment for the two Medicalos rejuves who'd been concurrently being read to by Nantessa down the hallway.
If Amanda did apply the strict Traditionalist 'spare the rod and spoil the child' philosophy to Montana's upbringing, the little girl could expect her fourth childhood to feature sound spankings for misbehavior. If the fem-dis belief system was adopted by the redhead and taught to her niece, however, the young lady would likely insist that she should exert extensive disciplinary authority over Carlton if they remained close comrades as teenagers—fem-dis tenets considered adolescent males to be subject to bare-bottomed chastisement from female friends and relatives of their peer group as well as numerous adult women.
The admiral realized that, if her long-range plans developed, she would be in her one-time husband's age group when he entered his teen years. How would she feel, she wondered, about sharing punitive privileges concerning Carlton with pretty, sweet Montana—already bonding tightly with the boy—at that time?
She sighed, realizing that she was worrying about a situation eight years into the future that might not follow her projection; there were many variables involved. The woman's reverie was broken by the sound of Nantessa's soft sobbing, coming from her brother's bedroom.
Immediately entering her ward's room, Rebecca observed that the youngster, still attired in his old-style sleepers, was standing and hugging his sniffling big sister as she lay prone on his bed. Wearing a shimmering blue nightgown, the young teen was holding a packaged HV disk in her hands while cradling her head with her upper arms.
"Please stop, Nannie," he urged softly, "It upsets me when you cry." Suddenly aware of his guardian's presence, he looked at up her and shrugged helplessly. "I was hoping she'd like my present..."
Gently removing the disk from her daughter's grip, the blue-uniformed officer wonderingly read its package label. "This is Nexus Andorr's New Berlin Concert...Where did you get this, Carltie, and how much did it cost? Did Aunt Rosie buy it for you?"
"The owner of Starr-Boltz is Montana's cousin," the Medicalos explained. "He insisted that I take the disk for free because of my treating her on the planet before we rejuved. I didn't ask him to or anything, Mommy—"
"That's fine, honey," the woman interrupted reassuringly, "When people want to show gratitude, it's proper to let them do so without false modesty." She shook her head in puzzlement. "But why is Nannie unhappy about it?"
The girl lifted her head to meet her mother's gaze. "Because I don't deserve it, not after the hateful way I treated Carltie yesterday. He got that concert disk for me after school, Mom; his feelings were still totally hurt from my being cruel to him, yet he went out of his way so I could have the disk I thought was so important."
"Sit up, sweetness," Rebecca instructed soothingly, setting the HV disk on the bedstand. Nantessa reluctantly complied, swinging her feet downward as she twisted her hips around while lifting her torso.
"That's a nice lap," Carlton remarked, patting his sibling's silk-covered thigh, "I'm going to take advantage of it." He promptly climbed into a seated position on the girl's lap, hugging her as he leaned against her chest. "This is so much better than being OVER your knee like I was yesterday, Nannie."
"You're such a devilish rascal, baby brother," she chided smilingly, her arms warmly encircling him, "You won't even let me feel bad about myself when I deserve to." Bending her head forward, the attractive adolescent kissed her brother's curly blond locks. "Thank you very much for the concert disk, sweetie; I'll always treasure it because of your thoughtfulness in getting it for me."
"Nannie, you could believe that you'd been so good to Carltie," Rebecca postulated, "That he knew deep down that you still loved him, even when your surface behavior indicated otherwise." Her daughter nodded wordlessly, gratefully shining eyes contrasting with tearstained cheeks.
"That's true, Mommy," the boy agreed, "Even though Aunt Rosie had to help me realize it. Anyway, we've both paid for our mistakes—though the nanolotion has eliminated the evidence, I'm sure."
"Let me check that out," the admiral announced. "On your feet, children, and bare your bottoms for inspection," she instructed breezily. The sibling pair both stood and turned around, flashing sheepish looks. "You first, Carltie—let's see those cute round buns."
"Yes, Mommy." He unbuttoned and lowered his pajama outfit's seat flap, then leaned his elbows on the bed's edge to push his nude rump backward.
"Pure white as the driven snow," his one-time wife chortled, fondly patting each pale plump gluteal globe.
"Nice tempting position, cutie." Nantessa giggled. "Better to be baring it for viewing than paddling, huh?" She gave each boyish bumcheek a playful pinch. "Okay, my turn..."
As his older sister lifted the nightgown's hem to her waist in the back, exposing an athletically-toned, trim-yet-full pristine posterior, Carlton quickly turned his head away to avoid the sight.
His guardian chuckled. "She's your sister, sweetheart, it's just her derriere—everybody's got one, you know." She gave each girlish twin moon a solid smack with her palm. "Her saucy seat is nice to swat, too—just like yours, dear boy."
"Anytime I deserve it, Mom—like last night." The thirteen-year-old grinned. "However, as a fem-dis woman I'll be spending my grownup life on the fun, swinging side of spanking implements, dishing out the discipline." She waggled her hips teasingly. "Still won't look, baby brother, even though I see your bare behind plenty? Well, suit yourself..."
The multicooker's loud metallic ping rang out from the kitchen.
"That's breakfast," Rebecca stated, admiring both naked posteriors at her visual disposal. "Get dressed quickly, darlings—Carltie and I need an early start today."
Having arrived at Carlton's kindergarten classroom fifteen minutes earlier than usual, the admiral felt a quiet satisfaction listening to her spousal ward finish his apology to his teacher, beaming in her smartly-cut sky blue uniform.
"...I deserved the punishment you gave me, ma'am, and I'll do my best not to violate any school rules again." He gulped, then looked hopefully up into the pretty blonde's sparkling blue eyes. "I'm hoping you'll give me a second chance, ma'am, but I'll understand if you want me transferred to another class."
Mrs. Kemp was startled. "Transferred? Where did you get that idea, Carltie dear?"
His guardian shrugged, also surprised. "Don't look at me, Katrina; I never suggested that to him."
The instructor stood up behind her desk, her expression puzzled, then she laughed lightly. "So how many pupils would I have left if I did that to every rejuve I disciplined, do you think?" She addressed the concerned child tenderly. "Honey, I won't give up on you after one mistake, even a serious one—what kind of teacher would I be? Would you like to discuss yesterday's problem with me right now?"
"Could I sit on your lap while we're talking, ma'am?" he asked shyly, aware that sitting on a woman's lap invariably indicated comfort and forgiveness.
"Why not?" The teacher sat back down, then scooted the magnachair away from the desk as she patted her thigh. "It's much better than being over my knee, isn't it?"
"I was thinking that too, ma'am" the green-uniformed boy agreed, walking around to climb onto her soft thighs with her assistance.
Rebecca nodded in farewell, then strode over to kiss Carlton's forehead.
"I've got to get going, there's a potential crisis in a frontier mining settlement to deal with," she informed Mrs. Kemp. "Have a meaningful dialogue together and a good day at school—both of you."
"Thanks for your support, Rebecca." The younger woman toyingly touseled her student's blond hair.
"Bye, Mommy," the youngster said contentedy, "Love you a lot..."
Sitting side-by-side at relaxation time that morning, Montana and Carlton were approached by their classmate Greta Jurgensen, a smallish silver blonde Innocentata. She reached into her pocket and produced two round lumnitabs, each about an inch in diameter with permabond backing.
"Welcome to the club," she said airily, "I wasn't sure you'd join us, you were so nicely behaved and obedient—until yesterday." Squatting in front of the Medicalos pair, she pressed a tab against the underside of each one's right collar lapel. "They can't show, so we wear them under our lapels where they can be easily revealed to fellow members."
The blonde pulled her right lapel leftward, displaying her own tab with the crimson lettering "ORB" above a symbol—it showed a leather strap crossed over a polyplast paddle, the disciplinary implements used in their class.
"What's this for?" Montana asked uncertainly.
In response the other girl grasped the brunette's shoulders, leaned forward and ceremonially kissed each of her cheeks; after turning to Carlton, she repeated the procedure with him.
"You've formally joined the Order of the Red Bottom," Greta told them impishly, "Since our beloved teacher initiated you yesterday."
"Are you the only other member?" Carlton inquired.
"We're all in ORB, everyone in this class," the girlish Innocentata replied. "I was the first to get it on my bare heinie, only two weeks into the school year, so I'm the honorary leader." She giggled. "We really enjoyed watching your initiations—Mrs. Kemp is a such a superb fanny-tanner, isn't she?" Her pale blue eyes signaled good-natured devilment. "Carltie, you have such round, tempting bumcheeks, they might as well have 'SPANK ME, MA'AM!' imprinted across them...You're no stranger to having your seat smacked, are you?"
"His mother and former wife is a fem-dis strict Traditionalist," Montana stated smugly, "So what do you think, Greta?"
The petitely cute kindergartener grinned. "Just as I figured..."
Just before lunchtime Mrs. Kemp escorted her young Medicalos pupils to the game room, then not in use, to apologize to Mr. Kilmer for their misconduct the previous day. Montana's apology was brief and perfunctionary, but her compatriot's was longer and quite sincere.
"...Anyway, it won't ever happen again, sir, so I'm hoping that you won't ban me from the game room." Carlton, standing in front of his kindergarten instructor, spoke solemnly. "If you wish me to be disciplined further, sir, my family is fem-dis regarding corporal punishment, but my mother will permit Mrs. Kemp to administer that type of correction at your behest—I'd prefer that to being banned from here."
Standing beside her teacher, Montana glanced up and giggled softly as the woman vigorously shook her head and mouthed a silent 'No!' to the recreation monitor.
The yellow-uniformed man also appeared amused. "From what I've heard you've both been punished enough, young man." He reached down to playfully ruffle the boyish rejuve's curly locks. "Based on your promise to behave yourself in the future, you're welcome back with your class—I've gotten approval to purchase two more copies of the 'Atlantic Wall' simulgame this weekend."
The youngster's expression brightened. "Thank you so much, sir."
Mrs. Kemp sighed gratefully. "Carltie, head back to the room now; I want a word with Montana."
"Okay, ma'am." Carlton obeyed promptly, exiting the room as the thirtyish educator turned toward his fellow Medicalos.
"Were you laughing at me, young lady?" the blonde woman demanded with mock severity.
"Yes, Mrs. Kemp," the girl affirmed. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help it, you looked—"
"Pretty ridiculous," Mr. Kilmer interjected, chuckling at his co-worker, "But in a nice way, since you were thinking of the boy's welfare."
"I guess you're right," the instructor conceded wryly; she patted Montana's head. "Off with you, sweetie, go catch up with your boyfriend—I'll be along momentarily."
"Yes, ma'am." The pretty five-year-old left the room, murmuring to herself. "Boyfriend, huh? I like the sound of that..."
"That boy's mother must be a strict Traditionalist," Mr. Kilmer surmised, "Isn't she?"
His colleague nodded. "Rear Admiral McMichael, the station's commanding officer."
"No kidding?" The monitor's eyebrows arched. "Even when they misbehave, which they usually don't, I like strict Traditionalist children—they admit they're wrong and don't try to get out of taking their medicine for misconduct."
Mrs. Kemp's smile was affectionate. "Except for what happened yesterday, Carltie's been an absolute angel in class. He and Montana are so adorable together..."
The slim, black-haired young man wore the gold, emerald-trimmed uniform of a full lieutenant in the Starfleet Engineering Corps; he nervously entered the reception room outside the office of Starbase Seventeen's commander-in-chief, Admiral McMichael. Jason Stenerud noticed that there were two other officers in the room, both women—a fairly tall, strikingly pretty blonde jaygee (lieutenant junior grade) of the Medical Corps and a shorter, plump brunette whose uniform identified her as a commander in Military Intelligence.
Lieutenant Stenerud gave them a tight smile, which they responded to with polite nods of acknowledgement before returning to their amiable chatting; they seemed to have known each other, or at least of each other, before their encounter in the admiral's outer office area.
"Becca told me about that nasty little prank that Carltie and his penny buddy played on you," the Intelligence officer told her compatriot, "Not to mention your...ahhh, retribution...that convinced them to rethink their behavior in future situations."
"Boys will be boys," the blonde noted breezily, "But they'll still get their naughty rumps paddled when needed."
A miniholovision field in the room's center flickered on, projecting the image of Admiral McMichael sitting at her broad, old-style simmahageny desk. Within that image, she glanced around before speaking.
"Ah, good—everybody's here, right on time. Ladies, I'll need five minutes with Lieutenant Stenerud first, so just relax and get personally acquainted for the moment. Lieutenant, please come in now."
The inner door slid momentarily open as the holovision field blinked off, and seconds later Jason found himself sitting in a magnachair face-to-face with the commander-in-chief of Starbase Seventeen, a woman he'd seen only at infrequent ceremonial functions.
"Do you mind if I call you Jason," the beautifully dominant woman inquired rhetorically, "Since we'll be discussing a private family matter rather than an official one?"
"Not at all, ma'am," the engineer replied, feeling anxious. "I know my powerball player Nantessa is your daughter—"
"I'm aware that you know that, Jason," the admiral interrupted, forestalling a laborious explanation by the junior officer. "I'm also aware that you ejected her from practice yesterday—is that correct?"
The lieutenant gulped. "Yes, ma'am—that's true."
"I just want to express my gratitude and support for your requiring Nannie to be a disciplined team member, Jason," Rebecca stated calmly. "She's the team's best player, isn't she?"
"Marcie Moseley, our other outer defender, is almost as good," the young man responded, "But we'd be in bad shape without either her or Nannie, ma'am."
"Yet you still won't let my daughter even practice without an all-out effort for the team," his superior noted. "That's good coaching, Jason, with stars and backups treated the same way. Don't worry about Nannie, though—she was distracted by a family situation, but it's been favorably resolved."
He smiled tightly. "That's good to know, ma'am."
"Just one other item," she continued, "Which would be a schedule of the team's practice and game times for the next week—could you transmit one to my datapad immediately after you leave? I know that Nannie has that information, but I'll need it myself right away."
Jason nodded. "No problem, ma'am; you'll have it from my database in two minutes."
"That will be appreciated, Jason." The woman's gaze probed his dark brown eyes. "Is the team really championship caliber, as Nannie seems to think?"
The engineer chewed his lower lip. "Realistically, we're only average in ability except for Nannie and Marcie, which is why I have to count on them heavily for both defense and scoring." He sighed softly. "If they don't wear out or stress out from what we have to expect of them, the team has a shot at the league title—that's the bottom line, ma'am."
"Thank you for your honesty." Rebecca was impressed by the young officer's integrity and forthright manner. "Good luck in the null-gee arena, Jason. On your way out, please send the ladies in—Dismissed..."
Following a moderate powerball practice after school, one in which the admiral's daughter performed with blazingly intense determination, she accompanied Marcella to the fourteen-year-old's bedroom in the Moseley family quarters.
The two teammates were eagerly watching Nantessa's HV disk of Nexus Andorr's New Berlin Concert when nine-year-old Royal, still in uniform from a Modified League powerball game, stepped into into his sister's room.
The solidly-built, short-haired youngster began talking excitedly."Hey, Marcie, let me tell you—"
"Can't you see we're busy?" Lying prone on her bed, Marcella irritably interrupted her younger brother. "Don't pester me with your babbling right now!"
The boy's face fell, dejection crossing his features. "Sorry, sis..." He quickly departed the room, eyes downcast.
The small tabletop holovision field abruptly flicked off as Nantessa deactivated it with the bedroom's remote control, which she set down after rising from the magnachair she'd been occupying.
"What the hell are you doing, Nannie?" the dark-skinned girl demanded.
Her friend picked up a sturdy, flat-backed polyplast hairbrush from the bedstand. "I'm helping you establish your priorities, Marcie—let's go to Roy's room so you can apologize for hurting his feelings."
"He butted in here without being invited," Marcella pointed out curtly. "Now play the concert disk, will you?"
"I don't think so." The thirteen-year-old swiftly pulled her comrade's navy blue uniform skirt to her shoulders, exposing the older girl's matching-colored panties encasing an opulently-rounded derriere; she swung the hairbrush twice, connecting with each scantily-covered buttock, left then right, in turn—SMACK!! WHACK!!
"Owww! Ouch! That stings, Nannie...Why did you do that?" Rolling off her bed and onto her feet, the older girl reached under her skirt to rub her smarting panty-clad buns.
"To get your full attention," her brush-wielding guest replied firmly. "Now are we going to your brother's room, or do you need more convincing?"
"Okay, okay—whatever you want," Marcella grumbled, "But I don't see why it's so damned urgent."
Royal was surprised to see his older sister, followed by her close friend Nantessa, enter his bedroom as he was seated on the twin bed removing his null-gee maxiflex shoes.
"Go ahead, Marcie," her pretty companion instructed Marcella, motioning toward the nine-year-old with the hairbrush she held.
"Ummm...I'm sorry I was, well, kind of mean to you, Roy—brushing you off like that." Startling even herself, the fourteen-year-old strode over and bent to lightly embrace her brother. "So did you guys win your game today?"
Returning her hug, he grinned happily. "Yep, by nine to five—it was a tough one."
"Congratulations then, little brother." His sister planted a warm kiss on the boy's cheek before lifting back up.
"What position do you play, Roy?" Nantessa asked cheerfully.
"Inner defender," he responded, "It's pretty rough there."
"You're right," the girlish guest agreed, "Lots of hard contact but no glory from getting to score. If your opponents only got five points, your defense must've really played well."
Royal smiled uncertainly, puzzled that Nantessa, who'd barely noticed him before when she'd visited his older sibling, was being so friendly . "Thanks, uhhh, Nannie...I guess we did."
"We'll let you change out of your uniform now," Marcella told him, giving his close-cropped hair a quick ruffle. "Catch you later, sunshine."
Out in the hallway, the translucent brush exchanged hands.
"Take it, Marcie," the younger girl insisted, passing it to her hostess. "If you think I was wrong, lift my skirt and give me those two swats back as hard as you want."
"That sounds tempting, Nannie," the fourteen-year-old mused, "But I won't do it now. You were right about treating Roy nicely—it made me feel good about myself."
"Just remember, Marcie," her friend said pointedly, "Your relationship with your baby brother is worth a thousand concert disks; I was reminded of that yesterday..."
At supper that evening, while enjoying traditional Terran cuisine, Rebecca let her children discuss their day's events.
"My apology to our team was accepted by Coach Stenerud and Marcie, the other co-captain," her daughter related in a simple narrative. "I was thinking that being in a fem-dis family was finally going to work to my advantage—until practice ended."
"What do you mean, Nannie?" Carlton's expression was puzzled.
"Marcie knew that I'd probably have gotten a solid bottom-warming from a woman coach, at Mom's insistence, so she decided that the team should give me one instead." The teenager shook her head ruefully. "Five smacks each from thirteen girls, in the showers on my wet bare behind, which made it sixty-five—then as co-captain Marcie gave me fifteen stinging slaps." She chuckled. "It smarted plenty, but the swats were all in good fun and I deserved them; besides, it was a picnic compared to one of Mom's extended fanny-tannings."
"Maybe Marcie needs to borrow our lexanite bath brush next time, sweetness," her mother teased, "That would really have you hopping."
"Hopping?" Nantessa giggled girlishly. "Considering what each session sounded like when you applied it to Daddy's nude derriere in the shower all those times, I'd be howling like a banshee and bawling like a baby...No thanks, Mom."
Blushing at his former daughter's reference to the blistering adult chastisements he'd received from Rebecca, the pink-cheeked rejuve quickly changed the subject; he described Greta's awarding of the Order of the Red Bottom to Montana and himself, much to the amusement of his female listeners.
"An award for being spanked," his sister remarked, "That sounds right up your alley, cutie. If you get another punishment in class do you earn another one?"
"One trip across Mrs. Kemp's knee is enough," Carlton noted clinically. "However, there are higher levels for receiving additional bare-bottom correction—oak leaves, swords and diamonds, for a pupil's second, third and fourth wallopings."
"Do any of your classmates have those extra-discipline awards?" the admiral asked, clearly intrigued.
"A couple of the Voluntaras kids have oak leaves," the youngster stated, "But Greta's the only one with swords—our only three-thrashing recipient so far, even though she's an Innocentata."
"Are you going for diamonds, baby brother?" Nantessa inquired devilishly. "You'll have to hustle to catch up with Greta—but you're quite adept at ending up pants-down across womanly laps, aren't you?"
"All right children, I have a serious announcement." Rebecca gazed fondly at the two children, who gave her their full attention.
"I'm going to be leaving you tomorrow..."
{PART TWO}
(This part's setting is late afternoon [station time] five days after Part One, still in the McMichael family's quarters on Starbase Seventeen, orbiting the planet Vladivost in the mid-28th century.)
"Okay, I'm here," Nantessa called out as she entered the main doorway to her family's quarters. She was wearing her heather grey athletic outfit and perspiring slightly, having hurriedly headed for home right from powerball practice.
Yolanda emerged from Rebecca's bedroom, where she'd been changing into her own teal blue athletic clothing, carrying a gym bag containing her civilian attire and shower articles.
"Good timing, Nannie," the young Starfleet officer told the teenager, "I should just make it to my close combat class on time." After using a universal remote control to open the front entrance, she walked through the living room and briskly past the slightly-shorter brunette, stopping by the doorway. "Rosita should be here around eight-thirty to spend the night, since we're not sure if your mother will make it back this evening...Correct?"
The thirteen-year-old nodded, not quite meeting the blonde's eyes with her gaze. "Yeah, right. Commodore Treadwell's datapad message said we shouldn't count on Mom getting here tonight, that her exact schedule isn't certain."
"That's basically what I've been told by her too. Anyway, Carltie's in his room doing a bit of research on his datapad reader." Yolanda smiled awkwardly. "Well, good evening, Nannie..."
"Sure, uhhh...good night, lieutenant." Nantessa gave a brief half-wave as the attractive jaygee exited the quarters, then breathed a sigh of relief as the door automatically slid shut.
The young teen pondered why her relationship with the Medical Corps officer was strained, even though she readily admitted that the woman was doing their family a major favor by helping her care for Carlton while their mother was on a key diplomatic mission. Of course the lieutenant's contribution wasn't entirely altruistic, the girl knew, since being owed a personal debt by an admiral could hardly hurt a junior officer's career.
Although their first acquaintance had resulted in her becoming rather jealous of Yolanda's affectionate treatment of her little brother, Nantessa was aware there was much more to it than that poor beginning. The root of her feelings of rivalry toward the blonde was the similarity between the two of them, the girl decided—although the jaygee was twice her own age, that was still young enough for the teenager to feel a threat to her big sister role in Carlton's life. The two of them were quite similar bodily, both being trimly well-shaped and lithely athletic, and both exuded a fresh, natural attractiveness although facially their prettiness was rather different.
Toward Rosita, who was nearly her mother's age, Nantessa had developed feelings that were almost filial in nature; the pleasingly plump woman, although only moderately attractive in terms of romantic appeal, radiated a strong maternal presence which both the teenager and her rejuve sibling responded to warmly.
Both of the female Starfleet officers had provided the emotional wedge that the girlish Kindern had used to push aside Rebecca's insistence on continued scheduled spankings for her five-year-old ward, something that both children greatly appreciated.
"Sweetness," the admiral had addressed her daughter five days earlier, "I'm afraid that you'll have to administer Carltie's bedtime strapping on Monday and possibly Wednesday, since I won't be there. I know you're a bit reluctant to wallop your brother's bare behind when it's not an earned punishment, but I'm counting on you to do a thorough job of it."
"What about Aunt Rosie and the lieutenant," Nantessa had demanded plaintively, "Why can't they make Carltie cry when he's done nothing wrong, if that's such a great policy?"
Rebecca, sitting on the living room couch next to the thirteen-year-old, had sighed unhappily. "Well, Nannie, they both point-blank refused when I broached the subject with them this afternoon. Neither of them will redden your brother's derriere unless he misbehaves, although they both agreed to emphatically deliver any deserved discipline." She chuckled. "Yolanda was outraged when I tried to explain the rationale for the regular spankings Carltie's received from us. She was on the bridge of the medical rescue ship when I instructed your father to wait; she insisted to me that his action was the only responsible option, given their lack of information at the time."
"Couldn't she be right, Mom?" the young teen had asked pointedly. "Why did you cancel Carltie's bedtime session with the strap tonight, if these unearned bare-bottom blisterings are so good for him?"
"He had three hard chastisements yesterday," her mother had explained, sounding rather defensive, "So I decided he deserved a little break."
"Hmmmph!" Nantessa had snorted derisively. "I'm guessing that you don't want to leave Carltie with the fresh memory of an unnecessary fanny-tanning from you, Mom, before you say good-bye tomorrow."
The tall woman had smiled wryly at her daughter's keen insight. "Perhaps you're right about that, darling. However, I still need you to give your brother his flap-down bedtime strappings on Monday and maybe Wednesday, since you're the only person I can rely on in that regard."
"I just have one question for you, Mom," the teenager had countered, "Do you want to punish me for disobedience now or after you return?"
Rebecca had shaken her head pensively. "Hmmm...I was afraid of this, once Rosie and Yolanda both refused my request. Maybe you're all correct, Nannie...I really don't have much enthusiasm for walloping Carltie's cute caboose anymore myself—not when he hasn't done anything to deserve it, that is."
"It might have served a purpose at first, when we were both resentful of the situation and he was feeling unresolved guilt, Mom," the girl had admitted, "But it's just unfair treatment now."
Her mother had nodded slowly. "Then let's discuss your own schedule for paddling your brother's bouncy bare buns, darling..."
The mother-daughter duo had eventually agreed that Nantessa would continue with the three-times-a-week wakeup bottom-warmings of her rejuved sibling, with the option of using her paddling-free lumnicards to cancel out the Tuesday and Thursday ones. Naturally, she planned on fully employing the cards unless she genuinely felt that Carlton deserved a morning session with her 'Sibling Seat-Sizzler.' (On her fourteenth birthday, when the adolescent would receive full disciplinary authority over her little brother, the weekday scheduled spankings would be eliminated.)
While the boyish Medicalos would continue to be given prechurch preventive punishments on Sundays, the length and intensity (including the use or nonuse of implements) would be up to the spanker—a designation that would vary between the two females in his nuclear family, meaning it would be his sister one weekend and his spousal guardian the next.
With the admiral away, the past Sunday's chastisement had been applied to the boy's bare bumcheeks across Nantessa's lap; it had been two minutes' worth of brisk barehanded smacking followed by a one-minute hard handspanking while wearing her leather spanking glove. Once Carlton had begun sobbing softly the bottom-warming had been abruptly concluded, leaving him with bright pink nether cheeks but only the beginnings of a trickling teardrop or two—which his sweetly-smiling sibling had promptly kissed away.
That had been the five-year-old's only chastisement since Rebecca's departure; his behavior at home for his adult caretakers—Rosita on Saturday and Tuesday, Yolanda on Sunday and Monday—had been exemplary, earning him only extensive affectionate treatment from them in the form of cuddling, storytelling and tender bathtime playfulness. Although he had still missed his guardian's maternal presence, the young rejuve had managed to enjoy himself with his sister and the two women taking care of him. The schedule had been rather tight on a couple occasions, such as the one just past, but the admiral's efficient planning had made the childcare coverage effective enough that Carlton had stayed at the Rejuve Activity Center for only one two-hour period early Monday evening.
School had been interesting for the boy and his kindergarten compatriot Montana on Monday and Tuesday—virtually all of their Voluntaras classmates, following the lead of Greta, had made it a point to talk to them during relaxation time or free time over those two days. The Medicalos duo found out, predictably, that ten of their twelve voluntarily-rejuved fellow kindergarteners were planning on pursuing careers as stardrive engineers or theoretical physicists; of the other two, one had undergone three rejuves to gain additional psychological adjustment time before reaching puberty and the other had required two age-reducing tries to recover his unexpectedly-lost male gender after the first rejuve.
Talking to Greta and Montana during Wednesday's relaxation time, Carlton had voiced concern over his classmates' earlier perception of his attitude.
"I hope no one thought that I was acting stuck up," he'd said worriedly, "Because I didn't mean to be snobbish or anything—I'm just a little shy."
"That's not it, Carltie," the silver-blonde Innocentata had assured him, "It's just that you were kind of intimidating—a former Starfleet doctor, winner of the Platinum Cross for saving Montana's life while risking yours, plus you were so perfectly behaved and smart in class."
The brunette Medicalos had chuckled. "Until last Thursday, anyway..."
"Yes, that changed everything," the smaller girl had agreed. "After you pulled that silly stunt, trying to get away with mixing into a Kindern class, you didn't seem so infallible." She'd giggled delightedly, eyes shining. "Then when you were bare-assed and squalling across Mrs. Kemp's lap while she reddened your rump but good—you reacted just like the rest of us did under those circumstances, putting on a really enthusiastic performance for our entertainment."
The boyish blond had smiled ruefully. "I'm glad you enjoyed it so much—that makes one of us."
"Some of your female classmates were feeling slightly coy about approaching you to start with, Carltie," Greta had added off-handedly, "Which is understandable."
His brow had furrowed. "Why would that be, Greta?"
She'd arched an eyebrow at Montana. "Doesn't he know?"
The other girl had shaken her head. "I didn't want him to become conceited." She'd faced her fellow Medicalos. "As boys go, you're quite on the cute side, darling."
He'd been nonplussed. "But...we're all...five-year-olds...just friends...Right?"
"A few of us recently turned six," the impish Innocentata had corrected him. "You've got to beware those older women, Carltie."
Montana had patted her perplexed friend's cheek. "She's teasing you, sweet boy."
Carlton had sighed good-naturedly, basking in the affectionate attention of the two grinning girls. "Well, that's a relief to know..."
As Nantessa headed for the kitchen to program the multicooker for supper, a decision was anxiously being awaited by another of her brother's rejuve friends. In the quarters of Lavinia and Selena, their Penitatas son Billy had just completed his afternoon session of large-motor coordination exercises. Perspiring nervously in his navy blue sweatsuit and gripglider athletic shoes, the dark-haired penny breathed heavily while regarding his pensive parent in her forest green hydroponics fatigues.
"Finished deciding, Aunt Selena?" Sitting on a hassock and looking up into the tall young woman's unfathomable eyes, the six-year-old paradoxically felt both impatience and hesitance toward hearing her verdict on his performance.
She smiled slightly. "One moment more, Billy dear..."
He shivered momentarily, thinking of his struggles to improve his physical abilities via twice-a-day workout sessions under the strict guidance of his attractive but firm-handed tutor. For almost two weeks he'd been evaluated by Selena after every hour-long exercise period, given a letter grade for both effort and performance that was to be 'paid off' if he failed to achieve perfection—an 'A' in each category. Thus far Billy hadn't managed the double-'A' objective, meaning that he'd been strapped soundly on his bare bottom by his taskmistress, using her doubled-over wide leather belt, twice every day—ten strokes for each grade level below 'A' in effort plus five for each one below it in performance.
Managing to improve his balance and coordination only slowly and unsteadily, in fits and starts, the boyish penny had received a plethora of stinging stripes across his naked buttcheeks and had cried copious tears as his physical abilities very gradually developed. That morning had seen him earn a 'B' in effort and an 'A' in performance, which had translated into a modest ten leathering licks from his maternal instructor's belt. Billy had achieved a 'B-and-A' evaluation a week earlier, after the late-afternoon session, only to have the exercises increased in difficulty the following day and his grades predictably falling to 'D-and-C' level again.
"Uhhh-Okay, ma'am." The boy's upper lip quivered as his gaze focused on the wide band of shiny black leather encircling Selena's trim waist. She placed her hands on her upper hips, playfully gripping the thick belt on either side while looking down into her rejuved child's concerned eyes. (Belts were not a necessary part of most Starbase Seventeen uniforms but they were in vogue in Vladivostan society, partially due to their usefulness as impromptu instruments of corporal correction.)
"I've decided, young man," the black-haired woman announced. "As usual there will be consequences based on my evaluation, and you're expected to cooperate fully in undergoing them...Agreed, Billy?"
The Penitatas sniffled. "Yuh-Yes, Aunt Seh-Selena."
"Your grades are 'A' for effort and..." She paused expectantly. "Let's see, the other one is...oh, yes...'A' for performance."
Billy exhaled in relief, his small body trembling. "Really, ma'am?"
"Yes, really—which means that I'm going to hug you for working so hard and doing so well, and you're going to accept it gracefully." Selena squatted, lowering her torso to her young trainee's level. "Now come over here and receive some deserved affection, whether you want it or not."
Although he was normally resistant to being embraced and held by either of his parents unless he was half asleep, the six-year-old was so relieved at avoiding a pants-down butt-whipping that he gratefully walked into his maternal mentor's encircling arms and even hugged her back briefly.
When Selena kissed each of his cheeks, Billy was suffused with pleasure—until his underlying patri-dom pride emerged.
"You don't have to kiss me," he sputtered in weak protest.
"No, but I wanted to reward you—and you liked it too, even if you won't admit it." She looked directly into the boy's deep brown eyes. "You need our loving care, sweetie, just as you're required to take the discipline we administer—the sooner you realize that, the better off you'll be."
"My father taught me that a true man accepts affection from a woman on his own terms, when he wants it," Billy rejoined stubbornly, wriggling out of Selena's warm embrace.
"In case you haven't noticed, you're a little boy now—one with filled-in 'P's on his hands." She straightened up, then reached down to ruffle his short-cropped hair. "I wish your father were a penny in this household for a couple weeks—I'd teach him lots of long, rump-roasting lessons about filling your head with all that patri-dom blather." She shrugged nonchalantly. "You may have absorbed it into your brain, but we're going to have to wallop it out of you on the other end."
The rejuve shuddered. "Ah-I guh-guess so, Aunt Selena."
"But that's for later," the woman noted breezily. "Right now, you've earned yourself an hour of using the holovision field—and dessert at supper tonight."
"Thank you, Auntie," he blurted happily, "I luh—ahh, never mind."
She watched her young charge scamper away. "I love you too, honey..."
Nantessa was removing her maxiflex null-gee shoes when the entry-request chime to her doorway tinkled.
"Come in, Carltie," she stated calmly, the intercom automatically activated.
The door slid aside and her playclothes-attired little brother entered, holding his datapad and frowning in concentration.
"Hi, Nannie," he greeted her, smiling shyly, "Any news about Mom?"
"Nothing definite." The thirteen-year-old shrugged. "So what's up, cutie—schoolwork problems?"
Carlton nodded. "We're supposed to familiarize ourselves with Piotor Strelnikov, the discoverer of Vladivost."
"You didn't learn about him in school when you were a Kindern?" she asked briskly.
"Ummmm...No, not on Posteria Primus—remember, I didn't grow up on Vladivost or Starbase Seventeen." He glanced at his datapad. "I know that he was from a very cold part of Earth called Siberia, and that he's referred to as something called a 'buff' regarding a major war fought in the twentieth century." His voice sounded puzzled. "Was he in superb physical condition, some sort of bodybuilder?"
"I don't think so," his sister replied. "He was an interstellar explorer, so he was probably in pretty good shape though. Why would you ask that?"
"The word 'buff' is obscure," the rejuve explained, "It has several meanings in Old Terran English...I must be missing something."
"Let me get showered and changed," the teenager suggested, "Then I can help you out, baby brother. Can you wait ten minutes?"
"Sure, Nannie, I'll stay right here if that's okay." He sat down on the room's magnachair.
She shrugged. "Well, you might as well go to your room if you want. I'll track you down when I'm finished getting dressed."
"That's okay, I don't mind waiting..." The five-year-old's sentence trailed off as the young teen strode into her bathroom and the doorway closed itself behind her. He activated his pad's miniholographic display of the discovery of Vladivost by Piotor Strelnikov.
Twelve minutes later her bathroom door slid open and Nantessa, sparkling clean and totally naked, stepped back into the bedroom. Seeing her boyish sibling still sitting on the magnachair, she stopped abruptly in surprise. "Oh, my! Carltie, I thought you'd left..." She giggled sheepishly. "Guess not, huh?"
Momentarily stunned, Carlton recovered enough to turn away while his hands flew upward to shield his eyes.
"Nannie, no!" His voice betrayed shocked astonishment. "Oh, no! I'm s-so sorry, Nah-Nannie, I didn't know you'd buh-be undressed, I didn't mean to see you like this!"
The attractive adolescent grinned at her brother's discomfort and his jerkily-averted gaze. "Gee, cutie, I'd always thought I had a nice-looking body. Just give me a couple minutes to get my clothes on, baby brother."
Feeling positive that he was in extremely serious trouble with his older sister, the rejuve was guiltily silent while she dressed in a comfortable soft brown outfit.
"You can turn around now, Carltie," the girl instructed cheerily, but her voice took on a concerned tone after she observed the dread in her brother's eyes and his remorseful expression. "What's wrong, darling?" she asked quizzically.
The Medicalos squared his shoulders resolutely. "I'm ready for my punishment," he said dutifully.
"Punishment?" Nantessa's brows furrowed. "For what, sweetie? I hope you don't mean for seeing me in the altogether for a couple seconds, which was completely accidental—and more my fault than yours."
"I shouldn't have seen you nude like that, Nannie, I should have left after you told me to," he rambled. "Go ahead and paddle me, I deserve it."
"Except I didn't tell you to leave the room, I just suggested it," the pretty brunette pointed out. She shook her head. "It's obvious you're set on being disciplined, though, so waltz over here and climb across my lap."
"Yes, Miss Nantessa." As his sibling seated herself on the side of her bed, Carlton walked over to stand at her right side; then he gripped his trousers' elastibelt, a hand at each hip.
"Who said anything about pulling down your pants?" Nantessa demanded rhetorically. "Come on, just get over my knees."
"Yes, ma'am." Looking puzzled, the young rejuve followed instructions and lay across his sister's firm thighs with his still-clothed derriere upturned for chastisement; encircling his waist with her left arm, she raised her right hand high to strike.
"I'm giving you as much of a spanking as you've earned," the thirteen-year-old announced. She then delivered six mild, barely-felt slaps with her open palm to the boy's trousered backside before gently lowering him to his feet.
"That was it?" he asked in disbelief.
"Yes, that's all," his sibling replied, "Since you insisted on a spanking for something that you didn't deserve to be chastised for." She regarded him levelly. "Look, baby brother, I strongly dislike toasting your buns unless you truly deserve it—which you didn't in this case." She tittered lightly. "Besides, we're brother and sister now; I see you in your birthday suit all the time, cutie."
"But you're a big girl, Nannie," Carlton protested mildly, "So it's different."
The young teen shrugged. "Maybe a little, but your sense of propriety certainly didn't stop you from spying on your showering babysitter a couple weeks ago, did it?"
"That was Billy's idea," he blurted defensively, "I didn't want to—uhhh, I mean..."
"I suspected as much—his idea, but your bare fanny receiving most of the paddling retribution." She playfully touseled her brother's curly locks. "Let's go, it's about suppertime..."
The behavior problem occurred at the young rejuve's bath time, after a relaxed evening of schoolwork and HV program viewing.
"Okay, cutie, head for your bathroom and get undressed," Nantessa said briskly, "I'll be in momentarily."
Sitting on the couch, the boy shifted uneasily. "Ummm, couldn't I just take a quick shower by myself, Nannie? I can do it, no problem."
Surprised, the girlish adolescent shook her head. "No, of course not—I'm going to bathe you, as usual. Get going, sweetie."
He still remained seated. "Maybe we could wait until tomorrow morning—"
"Stop fooling around, Carltie, and do as I told you." There was a trace of impatience in the thirteen-year-old's voice; her small sibling reluctantly obeyed, sliding to the floor and trudging to his bathroom.
When she arrived there two minutes later the Medicalos was still fully dressed, dejectedly sitting on the bathtub's wide edge. "Please, Nannie, let me wash myself, I'm not in the mood for—"
"Not in the mood?" the brunette demanded in clear annoyance. "Remember what Gurney Halleck said about moods? You get those clothes off right now or I'll strip you myself—and if I have to do it, you'll go across my lap before hitting the bathwater. Understand me, Carltie?"
"Please, Nannie," the Medicalos pleaded, "Don't make me do this, my mindset is all wrong."
"Then I'll get you ready myself," she stated curtly, "But you'll pay for the service, baby brother." Grasping both his biceps, she pulled the youngster to his feet and began undressing him. While he didn't actively resist his sister's efforts he didn't cooperate either, much to her irritation. "I don't know what your problem is tonight, stubborn boy, but I'll get to the seat of it unless you start stripping down ." Pausing in her efforts, she squatted and lifted his chin so that their gazes met. "It'll be a long, strenuous nude session with 'Miss Lexie' too...So will you finish getting undressed yourself?"
Carlton glanced sideways to his right, where the transparent lexanite bath brush hung from a wall peg via a round hole in its handle. Although used for cleansing ablutions, the stiff-bristled polyplast implement had been purchased by Rebecca a decade earlier primarily for its fearsome effectiveness as an instrument of corporal correction—it delivered a wickedly-intensive sting when smacked smartly against wet, naked buttcheeks, a process at which his wife had proven highly proficient.
Still, he sadly averted his eyes. "I...cuh-can't, Nannie."
"So you leave me no choice, disobedient child." Her visage was intent.
Within a minute's time the youngster was lying stark naked across Nantessa's towel-covered lap as she sat on the tub's edge, his plump posterior upturned over her right leg, while the warm bathwater was flowing and she was splashing cupped handfuls of it onto his boyish bumcheeks. Then the adolescent pressed her left forearm across her brother's lower back and raised the long-handled, smooth-backed punishment brush in her right hand.
"I don't know what's gotten into you, Carltie," she told him sharply, "But I'm going to wallop it out of you with a sound wet-bottom spanking."
"Yes, Miss Nantessa," the rejuve acknowledged miserably, his glistening buttocks quivering.
The emphatic discipline started, the determined adolescent whacking her hapless sibling's soaked, exposed buttocks with emphatic swats of the unyielding transparent bath brush, alternating chubby nether cheeks as he wailed and sobbed, desperately kicking and squirming across her lap. Twice she paused briefly to pour more water onto his rapidly-reddening rear end, as the impacts of the polymer brush's flat back were drying off the stinging skin over two-minute intervals, before resuming the boy's blistering-hard chastisement. After more than six sizzling, rump-smacking minutes the intensive paddling was finally concluded, leaving Carlton bawling shamelessly as his sister gently deposited him back on his feet and deactivated the faucet.
"I wish I knew why you forced this issue," she muttered ruefully, "You've never resisted being bathed by me before."
Tears flowing freely down his face, the boyish blond gingerly rubbed his glowing crimson bumcheeks as he blubbered an explanation.. "Ah-It was...my uhh-adult p-persona...in cuh-control...M-My puh-perspective...that Ah-I was buh-being bathed...by m-my teenaged duh-aughter...n-not my b-big sister...It huh-hasn't happened b-before...n-not with yuh-you, Nannie."
Nantessa looked stricken, verging on tears herself. "Oh, sweetie, why didn't you tell me that? This discipline could have been avoided, honey, we'd have worked something out." Her arms encircled him as she pulled him into a tight, tender embrace.
"Ah-I d-did say I wuh-wasn't in the muh-mood," the five-year-old reminded her softly.
"Baby, that's too vague," the girl countered regretfully, "You needed to be more specific. Your poor fanny's on fire because you didn't communicate clearly, Carltie...Will you ever learn?"
"Ah-I'll certainly w-want to t-try," he conceded, "I g-guess I messed uh-up."
"That's an understatement." She patted her brother's brightly-blushing buns. "Well, let's get you cleaned up, my sore-bottomed boy..."
Twelve minutes later, just as the young rejuve was being dried off by his doting sister, the bathroom door slid open to reveal blue-uniformed Rebecca, looking tired but satisfied.
Within five seconds she was receiving double hugs, from a birthday-suited, rosy-cheeked little boy and a fully-dressed teenaged girl. The admiral leaned over and picked up Carlton, her right arm circling under his freshly-spanked behind as she maternally kissed his lips.
"As Dorothy said," the woman beamed, "There's no place like home..."
{THE END}
