"TRIPLE JEOPARDY" ("Maternal Matrimony" #18) by the Crimson Kid f/m F/m F/f F/mf, f/mf

Part 1 § 2 § 3 § Epilogue

(All rights reserved. This story's setting begins seven weeks following the conclusion of " Easter, Bright and Dark," in Mrs. Kemp's kindergarten classroom within the Starfleet School on Starbase Seventeen, a space station orbiting the planet Vladivost in the mid-28th century.)

"Put your fanny where your mouth is, Carltie," Greta challenged pugnaciously.

Her pretty dark-haired classmate smiled wryly. "That doesn't sound advisable, or even anatomically possible for him," Montana remarked lightly.

"He knows exactly what I mean," the smaller girl countered, "So quit trying to divert us from the subject, Montie."

"Of course I know," Carlton acknowledged, "But I wasn't claiming anything about my gaming ability."

The three rejuved kindergarteners were comfortably half-sitting and half-lying on an oversized flowmorph cushion, Montana in the middle of the trio, during their class's relaxation time.

"It sounded like you were bragging that you're now better than BIlly at simulgames," Greta said pointedly. "Was that your impression too, Montie?"

The female Medicalos softly cleared her throat."Ummm...well...not necessarily..."

Her Innocenta colleague smirked triumphantly. "That proves my point, if even your closest friend won't totally back you up, Carltie—normally she'd agree if you claimed that the sky was orange."

"That's ridiculous, I don't think like that," Montana began to protest, "It's just that...Oh, hell, you're pretty much right—I find it hard to disbelieve Carltie on anything."

"That's a very fine quality, Mon," he assured her. "Greta should be more like you that way."

"Don't hold your breath waiting for that." Greta grinned saucily. "So you weren't boasting about defeating Billy at 'Tobruk Tactical' yesterday?"

The five-year-old's visage was pensive. "I stated that I'd beaten him, yes, but I didn't mean to sound arrogant or anything. If I did, I apolog—"

"Don't be silly, sweet boy," Montana interrupted. She slipped his right hand into her left and squeezed tightly. "She's just trying to provoke a reaction, we both know that you're hardly a braggart." Her level gaze met the other girl's. "Isn't that true, Greta?"

"Uhhhhh...Yes, sure," the petite blonde agreed, "But our darling boy did sound extremely...proud, let's say."

"So what's your point again?" Carlton demanded briskly of Greta.

"Proposition, not point," she replied, "The general idea of which you're already aware—so let's agree on the numbers and other specifics of our friendly wager."

"What wager?" Montana's brow furrowed as her hand released its affectionate grip.

"Carltie against me, in any simulgame of his choosing—he's literally betting his ass and I'm betting mine." The Innocentata chortled. "You can pick whichever side you prefer too, Carltie dear, so you'll have all the advantages to start out."

"Except for your extra three hundred years of experience," he pointed out.

Greta smiled smugly. "Yes, except for that. Do we have an understanding and agreement as to the general terms?"

"Okay, I'm game," the boyish blond muttered somewhat grudgingly, "But the devil is in the details."

His cute antagonist shrugged affably. "So let's work them out, dear boy. I can be perfectly reasonable—as long as I'm basically getting what I want."

"What are you two talking about?" Montana demanded in exasperation. "Speak in plain Panglish, will you?"

"A spanking bet, Mon," her fellow Medicalos explained, "The winner of our wager gets to paddle the loser."

"On his butt-naked buns," Greta elaborated, "And I do mean HIS, not hers—but you've already agreed, honeybun, so no backing out now."

The other girl snorted incredulously. "You don't get enough fanny-whackings at home, Carltie, so that you have to bare your bottom for Greta to wallop?" She looked into her best friend's blue eyes. "I'm afraid she's too good for you, sweet boy, even if you did win a couple simulgames against Billy."

"Maybe," he stated quietly, "But until yesterday Billy also was too good for me—I'd only beaten him when he was distracted by his Easter punishment day coming up, otherwise he'd always won against me."

Montana could only sigh resignedly while objectively admiring Greta's cleverness in manipulating Carlton by using his little-boy pride as a lever, getting him to agree to a 'sucker bet' that—in spite of the tactical options allowed to him—he was quite likely to lose.

The less-than-innocent Innocentata quickly suggested that the competition, and its punitive payoff, take place on that upcoming Thursday during their kindergarten class's afternoon picnic at the Holt Arboretum. She also proposed gradations of chastisement depending on how many moves were required for the winner to achieve victory—72 strokes for a triumph in three or less moves, 60 strokes for one in four moves, 48 for five, 36 for six and 24 for seven or more.

"There are plenty of secluded areas in the bushes than we can use to keep my working over of your bare bottom our little secret," she postulated, "Especially with Montie serving as our lookout."

The pretty brunette chewed her lower lip. "Uhhhhhh...Okay, I suppose—somebody has to make sure that things don't blow up in your faces."

Greta chuckled. "Oh, Carltie's FACE will remain as handsome and unmarked as ever, it's his chubby caboose that I'm going to be painting with red-hot stripes."

"You're pretty cocky about this, aren't you?" her intended victim queried sharply.

The blonde smirked. "As you said yourself, my edge is three hundred years' worth of gaming experience—that's a big-time advantage."

Montana slowly shook her head. "I don't see why this contest has to involve pain as a result, can't you just play for fun and bragging rights?"

"It won't be serious pain, just some sizzling sting on Carltie's naked fanny—it's a fillip that makes the game more intense and focused," the other girl explained. "Besides, our sweetheart's 'Spank-me-ma'am' seat cushions have been going to waste lately because he's been such a perfect gentleman. Someone has to get that tempting tushie back where it belongs, as an exposed target for a womanly disciplinarian."

"How long has it been since you've been spanked, sweet boy?" his fellow Medicalos inquired.

"Just a little while back," the five-year-old stated, frowning in concentration. "It was at the RAC, I got myself paddled by Miss Tabitha for disobeying the rule concerning not talking about another rejuve's punishment."

"That was over a month ago," Greta rejoined dismissively. "Your mother and sister obviously aren't doing their jobs properly, neglecting that spankable naughty behind of yours, so I'm going to have to take action as a concerned citizen." She paused in thought before addressing Carlton. "Aren't you subject to 'double jeopardy,' didn't your mom give you a bare-assed licking that night too?"

He nodded. "Six dozen butt-burners with her strap, she totally had me howling—like a banshee, to use your expression."

"Not to mention seven dozen whacks with the black leather paddle on the next Sunday morning before church, that's what you told me," Montana added. "So it's actually more like 'triple jeopardy,' since you're due for a reminder bottom-warming on Sunday whenever you get spanked during the week."

"Triple-ouch!" Her fellow female shuddered. "At least I don't get two extra fanny-tannings when I'm walloped by someone besides my stepmom, one more at bedtime is plenty." She turned toward Montana. "You don't even get that, do you?"

"Nope." The brunette shrugged nonchalantly. "Aunt Amanda figures that if I was dealt with at the time by someone in authority, that's enough discipline for that offense."

"Lucky girl," Greta muttered with a touch of envy.

Montana didn't mention that she'd received only two mild handspankings on the seat of her panties (even though Rebecca and Rosita had both recommended chastisements applying a paddle, hairbrush or strap to her naked buttocks) since her guardian had instituted corporal punishment in their household two months earlier. Although she'd informed Carlton about the moderate nature of her over-the-lap corrections, he kept those revealations in the strictest confidence and refrained from commenting to their classmate on that subject.

"I suppose so," was her brief response.

Two days later on Wednesday evening, Billy and Carlton watched as the living room holovision screen projected an image of British Matilda tanks triumphantly rolling down the streets of Tunis accompanied by the martial strains of "Rule Brittania." The satisfied, smiling face of Sir Claude Auchinleck appeared as the general saluted his victorious Desert Army on parade, then the words "GAME OVER—CONGRATULATIONS UNION JACK!" in three-dimensional scarlet lettering flashed through the military images.

Scowling slightly, the penny used an interior universal remote to shut down the screen, then clambered off the old-style couch onto the carpeted floor. "You beat me in four moves this time, Carltie, but I'm finished—in fact, I may never play the 'Cross' side in 'Tobruk Tactical' again, I'm so tired of it."

"Thanks for helping me out, Billy," his host said sincerely, "I think I've got a good feel for playing the 'Jack' side now."

"You handled me two out of three games yesterday and all three today, so I have to agree." Billy replaced the remote in the couch's built-in magnapocket. "Why is it so important to you anyway?"

"I'm wondering that too, baby brother," Nantessa remarked as, attired in a pink simulsatin bathrobe, she entered the living room. "Why are you insisting that the two of you play the same game, with the same sides, for two nights running?"

"I have my reasons, Nannie," her younger sibling replied cryptically.

"Well, I have my reasons for needing you to get into the bathroom and undress now," the attractive teenager countered. "Once you're nude and in the bathtub, I'll bet I can tickle your secrets out of you."

Their guest grimaced. "That doesn't sound too good for you, Carltie."

"Well, Billy dear, I could employ Miss Lexie as a persuader instead," the girlish Kindern suggested devilishly.

"Miss Lexie?" the Penitatas queried quizically.

"A lexanite bath brush that has a wicked sting when applied smartly to a little boy's wet, bare bumcheeks," Nantessa told him. "I'd be happy to demonstrate it personally to you, dear boy, if you'll just strip down for me and step into the tub..."

The young penny thought of the 'Personal Punisher' paddle that he'd received on Easter, his first special punishment day, which had immediately replaced the lightweight wooden 'Mother's Helper' paddle as his mother's favorite instrument of corporal correction—it was composed of somewhat thinner lexanite than Miss Lexie, yet it still stung him fiercely when smacked against his exposed posterior.

"Ahhhh-I'd better be getting home, Catltie," he ventured nervously, imagining the devastating effect that the sturdy bath brush would have on a bare behind glistening with moisture—namely his, if the athletic teenaged girl decided to act on her playful proposal.

"Yeah, it's my bathtime," his rejuve comrade agreed. "Thanks again, Billy, you're a true friend."

"If you'll misbehave a touch on your next visit and drag Carltie into trouble too," Nantessa noted breezily, "You two can bathe together and then each experience an intensive encounter with Miss Lexie afterward—my treat."

After the six-year-old had bolted out of the McMichael quarters, Carlton shook his head in mild condemnation.

"I think you really scared him, Nannie. As a penny, Billy takes any talk about being disciplined to heart."

His sister reached down and fondly ruffled his curly locks. "Well, he should—and so should you, cutie, because your lucky streak won't last forever."

The blond's eyebrows arched. "What lucky streak is that?"

"The one that's lasted about five weeks according to your perky classmate, the good fortune that's kept your bouncy little bottom pristinely snow-white even without nanolotion." She chuckled. "I didn't realize that you've gone that long without a good hard fanny-whacking, baby brother—Mom must've been totally distracted by her work this past month."

The Medicalos looked striken by that statement. "But, Nannie," he protested shakily, "I've tried so hard to behave myself, I truly have..."

Instantly regretful, Nantessa picked her brother up in her arms and kissed both of his cheeks. "Oh, Carltie honey, I know you have and I'm very proud of you." She smiled indulgently. "Why do you boys take everything I say so seriously? I was just teasing you, darling boy, and Billy too."

She carried Carlton into the hallway bathroom, set him down on the floor's thick carpet and began helping him undress. (Although the youngster actually needed no assistance in stripping off his clothing, both children enjoyed the sibling closeness involved in the process.)

"So you were talking to Greta?" he asked ingenuously.

Nantessa nodded. "She gives me a holoview call every now and then...You know, girl talk."

"About what," her brother asked, "Or rather about whom?"

"The what would be mostly about spankings, the whom would be...basically you, cutie." The thirteen-year-old efficiently finished up her sisterly task, leaving Carlton completely nude. She briskly slapped each of his pale plump nether cheeks. "This part of you especially, as you could probably figure out on your own."

He blanched. "Greta doesn't know about your HV disks of my grownup disciplinary sessions with Mommy, does she?"

The attractive brunette lightly patted his face. "Of course not, honey, my disk collection of your adult wallopings by Mom is a family confidence." She frowned slightly. "However, I did tell her about your playing 'Tobruk Tactical' with Billy these past couple evenings."

The naked rejuve's expression soured. "There goes any advantage of surprise I might have had in our contest."

"What are you talking about, baby brother?" Nantessa inquired.

"I'll tell you while you're washing me, Nannie," he informed her with a tight smile. "This whole situation will take some explaining."

Twenty minutes later, Carlton was sparkling clean from head to toes and was wrapped within a soft fleecy towel while being dried off by his big sister, who was squatting in front of him.

"It's pretty clear that you were outsmarted and manipulated by Greta," she announced disapprovingly. "I thought you were smarter than that, cutie, but apparently you have the same 'Achilles heel' as the rest of your gender."

"What's that?" he inquired, sounding rather defensive.

"The all-consuming masculine ego," the teenager stated bluntly. "Well, if you lose and have to pay up by taking a sound switching on your bare babyfat bottom, just don't come crying to me."

"You wouldn't comfort me?" her brother demanded disconsolately, his gaze downcast.

She leaned forward and softly kissed his forehead. "I probably shouldn't, since you'd deserve the chastisement you'd have received—but since I love you, Carltie honey, I suppose I actually would."

The rejuve's young face brightened happily, melting Nantessa's heart, and she couldn't keep herself from kissing him again, sweetly smack on the lips.

"Whoever's doing the switching, which will likely be Greta, just be careful not to be caught by your teacher," she warned the kindergartener, "Or that session with the switch will be only your first trip to Sorebottom City tomorrow."

"Aren't you three going to get out into the foliage?" Mrs. Kemp asked good-naturedly. "I know that you like simulgames but you can play them anytime, after all."

"Just one quick game, Mrs. Kemp," Greta promised, "Then we'll go spend some time out among the trees enjoying the scenery."

Their kindergarten class had finished consuming the picnic lunch provided by Starbase Seventeen's Civilian Coordinating Council, and after the postmeal cleanup the petite blonde had set up her holovision portafield on a plastiform tabletop.

"We could've just used a datapad," Carlton noted curtly.

"This will give you a bigger screen, though." His fellow Medicalos seated herself next to him, clearly for moral support, as both he and Greta took their input pads in hand.

The five-year-old started to reach into his LRDG patrol jacket's chest pocket for the game disk, but his opponent waved dismissively.

"My 'Tobruk Tactical' game has already been uploaded," she stated simply, "So we're ready to play, General Auchinleck."

"Thanks, Nannie," Carlton muttered to himself. "Ummmmm...I guess I'm ready to start, General...uhhhh..."

"Rommel, actually." The Innocentata chuckled. "Remember, no welshing on our bet."

"Carltie would never do that, Greta," Montana protested earnestly.

Then the historically-accurate simulation began, with each player trying to change the actual outcomes to favor his (or her) side by programming both overall strategy and specific battle tactics for the forces at his (or her) disposal.

Greta employed an unusual opening strategy, attacking a small island off the North African coast with virtually all of the "Iron Cross' air power and naval strength at her command in addition to significant infantry units. While she was able to overpower her opponent's 'Union Jack' island defenders, her remaining forces were badly defeated and forced backward as the boyish blond took aggressive advantge of their numerical inferiority and lack of aerial cover.

The Innocentata redeployed most of her side's strength back to the mainland in the second move, but conquering the strongly-garrisoned island had resulted in considerable casualties to her land forces—Carlton's armored attackers forced the depleted 'Iron Cross' ground units into another retreat, putting him within striking distance of the "Union Jack' objective of Tunis.

Abruptly the tide of battle turned dramatically, as the reinforcements and supplies that the British Desert Army would normally receive arrived in much smaller quantities than the Medicalos had anticipated. On the other hand, the German Afrika Korps seemingly had been much more strongly reinforced and resupplied than it usually was following the second move, Carlton calculated, based upon the force of his cunning opponent's sweeping counterthrust on the third move.

His 'Union Jack' forces were all but overwhelmed, positioned as they were to launch a conclusive attack rather than situated to resist a powerful counterattack. The five-year-old desperately tried to withdraw his ground units but lost too many of them to establish an effective defensive line. When Greta launched a brilliantly-coordinated all-out offensive on the game's fourth move, her panzers were unstoppable as they ripped apart the makeshift British defenses.

The holoimage appeared suddeny, German Panzer Mark IV tanks rolling down the streets of Cairo to the accompanyment of the stirring strains of "Prusseuns Gloria." The 'Desert Fox' was shown reviewing his victorious Afrika Korps, then the scarlet-lettered holographic message "GAME OVER—CONGRATULATIONS IRON CROSS!" flashed across the triumphant scene.

"That was fast," Carlton remarked glumly.

His cute conqueror sniggered as she shut off the screen. "Wasn't it, darling boy? It looks like you've just had your butt whipped, figuratively speaking, so now all that remains is for me to do it literally as well."

"Why am I not all that surprised by this outcome?" Montana wondered out loud.

"Because I'm a born loser?" the defeated boy theorized in a low voice. "Or a rejuved one, anyway..."

"I won't hear any of that, Carlton Kristain," his brunette compatriot addressed him firmly. "You stop talking like that or I'll thrash your tushie myself after Greta's through collecting on your wager." Putting her right arm around his shoulders, she leaned sideways and kissed his left cheek. "Your personal worth has nothing to do with losing some silly simulgame, sweet boy."

"But the future color of your chubby caboose does," Greta countered, standing up. "Let's go, you have to cut me a nicely-whippish Kamchatwillow switch to use on your naked fanny, Carltie—that was part of the deal, if you recall."

Her two classmates also rose, rather reluctantly, while the small girl pocketed her datpad then held out the four-pound HV portafield.

"What am I supposed to do with that?" Carlton sounded confused.

His brunette companion rolled her eyes. "Carry it for her like a gentleman, silly child."

Putting his datapad in a jacket pocket, he took the rectangular field generator from Greta. "I don't suppose that being polite will subtract any...ummmm...?"

The Innocentata smirked. "Strokes from your bet payoff? No, it doesn't work that way."

The trio of kindergarteners began walking down a plastifoam pathway leading into the nearby wooded area.

"Cutting any of the plants here, doesn't that violate the arboretum's regulations?" Montana asked uncertainly.

"Kamchatwillow branches can be taken from a tree if they're going to be used for purposes of corporal correction," the other girl informed her, "Which is the case here."

"Wasn't that intended basically for parents disciplining their children?" Carlton queried clinically.

"Whatever," the petite blonde answered dismissively, "But it's technically legal."

Finding a secluded location within the physical parameters established by Mts. Kemp proved extremely difficult, resulting in Greta finally choosing a spot that was slightly outside of their class's designated area but well-screened by thick Baikabushes.

"What if you're caught here?" Montana asked.

"It's your job to make certain that we're not," her Innocentata colleague pointed out. "Anyway, if Carltie's caught mooning me while I just happen to be casually flicking a willow wand in the general direction of his derriere, being a bit out of bounds will be the lesser of his crimes." Producing a miniature fieldcutter from her side pocket, she handed it to her victim-to-be. "Cut me a Kamchatwillow switch, young man, and make it a really swishy one."

Carlton, honorbound by the terms of the bet, followed those directions promptly, walking away but soon reappearing with a thin, highly-flexible willow branch about thirty-two inches long. He handed both her cutter, which she pocketed, and the smoothly-peeled switch to his petite classmate as she nodded approvingly..

"Will this do, Greta?" he asked mildly.

"It looks adequate—or perhaps better," she conceded, her eyes twinkling merrily, "But the proof of the instrument of correction is in the ass-whipping, of course." She turned toward Montana. "Get to your sentry post, soldier, and keep a sharp lookout for intruders."

The bigger girl hesitated. "All right...Please don't truly hurt Carltie..."

"Trust me, he won't be harmed," Greta interjected. "I'm just going to sting him intensively, put some stripes across his sassy seat cushions, that's all—it's part of the game, a friendly payoff."

As Montana trudged to a spot in front of the sheltering bushes, her two fellow kindergarteners faced one another.

"How do you want me, ma'am?" Carlton asked resignedly.

"Let's go with the presenting position I had you assume on your bed when I paddled you on Easter," his petite colleague responded. "That's face and arms on the ground, knees under your tummy and back arched downward to make your behind stick up and out—I want to have complete access to your tender undercheeks, darling boy."

He smiled thinly, looking uncertain. "Ummmm...Should I...?"

Greta grinned. "I'll do the honors of pulling down your pants, Carltie, once you've positioned yourself properly for a sound switching." She touched the wand's tip to his chest. "So get that fanny wide open for me, young man, right now."

He sighed softly. "Yes, ma'am."

Thirty seconds later, kneeling on the soft grass in the humiliating posture he'd been ordered to assume, the boyish rejuve felt eight little-girl fingers hook under the back elastiflex waistbands of both his uniform trousers and the turquoise underpants beneath them. He shivered as both protective layers of clothing were insistently tugged down to his upper thighs, exposing his twin-moon target area.

"Teacher, teacher, I declare—I see Carltie, bottom bare," the blonde taunted gently in a sing-song voice while she adjusted her stance to the boy's left; holding the Kanchatwillow branch in her right hand, she tapped the base of his upthrust buttocks with it, measuring her striking distance. "Are you ready, honeybun?" she demanded.

Carlton gulped, his naked posterior twitching. "Yes, mah-ma'am."

"Sixty strokes—remember that you've got to count the licks or you'll get them over, and stay strictly in position with your back arching down and that naughty fanny pointing skyward." The Innocenta raised the switch high and chortlled. "Here goes!"

Montana was startled by a firm feminine hand grasping her left elbow from behind; she spun around to face her blue-uniformed teacher, who had a finger placed to her lips in a 'be quiet' gesture.

"You're relieved of outpost duty," Mrs. Kemp said in a near-whisper. "If you want to avoid disciplinary action, Montana, you'll leave this area immediately without a sound."

"Rih-Right, Mrs. Kemp," the pretty Medicalos acknowledged, then she obeyed at full speed.

SWIIIISH-SWAP!! SWIIIISH-SWAP!! Greta congratulated herself for choosing the whippy willow wand as her punitive implement as she energetically whipped her classmate's bare bumcheeks with it, making him gasp and yelp with every smarting impact—as an instrument of corporal correction it was quiet and its effectiveness required wrist-flicking finesse rather than pure physical strength.

"Yeeeeohhhh! Twenty...Owwwwwww! Twenty-one...Uhhhhhowwww! Tweh-enty-two...Ahhhhhowwww!" Carlton desperately maintained his punitive posture even as the stinging-hot swishes snapped across the sensitive 'sit spot' just above his thighs, but he couldn't keep his hips from squirming frantically.

"That's quite a suggestive dance your behind is doing for me, dear boy," the undersized rejuve announced teasingly as she continued administering the chastisement—SWIIIISH-SWAP!! SWIIIISH-SWAP!!

The recipient of her switching expertise eventually was howling and sobbing as his pants-down butt-whipping continued at a steady but deliberate pace, Greta focusing her blazing attentions on the boy's lower buttcheeks through the first fifty-four licking lashes before finally pausing.

"Fifh-hifty-threeee!...(SWIIIISH-SWAP!!) Waaaaaaahhhhowww!! Fift-tuh-ty-foooour!" The five-year-old's derriere, crisscrossed with thin scarlet stripes, wriggled helplessly as he hugged the ground.

"Six more, Carltie, that's all," his chastiser cooed, "All of them to be delivered smack on the crease between your bottom and thighs, where they'll sting you big-time—so keep those buttcheeks wide open, no clenching please, to give me a perfect target."

"Yeh-Yes, muh-ma'am." Carlton reluctantly relaxed his gluteal muscles.

The last half-dozen strokes of the springy branch seared precisely against his exposed thighcrease, causing him to buck wildly as his flaming posterior pistoned up and down after each one—but his petite punisher patiently waited for his southern hemispheres to resume their upturned position before continuing. Finally the Kamchatwillow switching concluded as its sixtieth sizzling lick was applied, just as vigorously as the first, to the wailing youngster's naked buttocks.

After helping him to his feet, Greta embraced her sniffling, red-bottomed schoolmate and kissed each of his tearstreaked cheeks. "Remember that we were only playing," she told him, "And never forget how much I care for you, Carltie." She kissed him fondly on the lips.

"Discipline and affection, how touching," they heard a womanly voice intone...

{PART TWO}

Still hugging her well-chastised kindergarten colleague, Greta looked up into the pale blue eyes of their teacher, Mrs. Kemp.

Carlton, having recognized the feminine voice, turned slowly as he reached down to pull his trousers and briefs up to waist level, wincing with discomfort as he did so.

"Hello, Mrs. Kemp," he greeted her evenly.

"Sore rear end, Carltie?" she demanded rhetorically. "Greta gave you an old-fashioned licking with that Kamchatwillow branch, didn't she? Congratulations on your disciplinary expertise, Greta," the thirtyish woman told her smallest pupil, "Especially your choice of implement, one that doesn't require physical size to wield effectively and strikes very quietly." She chuckled lightly. "However, Carltie here wasn't nearly so silent while you were switching his bare behind."

"Is that what gave us away?" the Innocentata inquired clinically.

"No, that wasn't it," their instructor replied, "It was your leaving the area I'd designated the class to stay within. Those boundaries were inputted into my datapad, which I then programmed to inform me if they were crossed by any of my students."

Carlton frowned uncertainly. "Your datapad knows our locations?"

"From our lumnibadges," his more experienced classmate informed him.

"The transponder in the badge is activated by body heat," Mrs. Kemp elaborated, "So I can locate any of my pupils at any time during school—actually, whenever they're wearing their uniforms—by their individual frequencies." Her expression became regretful. "It's something I rarely do because I want to believe that my charges can be trusted to obey me, but apparently not this time."

The Medicalos swallowed hard. "We let you down, didn't we?"

"Don't be so melodramatic, Carltie, we just bent one rule a smidge," Greta said impatiently, "We didn't mean any harm, it was just our taking an opportunity to have a little competetive fun."

"That bet payoff looked like it was a lot more enjoyable for you than for him," the woman noted. "Even though I believe that your misconduct was meant as mere mischief rather than a serious offense, it still involved outright disregard of instuctions that I gave to help guarantee your safety, children." She gazed meaningfully into both pairs of young blue eyes. "You understand the consequences of your actions, I presume?"

Carlton nodded. "A variation on what's already happened to me today, I'm fairly certain."

"What goes around, comes around," his cute compatriot added, "Right now it seems like taking the chance was worth it." She shrugged. "This assessment may change once that polyplast paddle starts landing on my naked fanny, of course."

"Strap and paddle, not to mention that I'll be informing your parents about this misconduct," Mrs. Kemp amended. "For now, go sit down where you were before—I'm sure your other triplet will show up there too."

Montana was indeed already waiting by the picnic table, concern showing on her pretty face, when her two kindergarten comrades trudged up ro it. "Are you both okay?" she asked.

"You're not much of a lookout," Greta noted bluntly, sitting down on the thinly inflapadded bench.

"It's not Montana's fault, she couldn't have done anything—we were outsmarted by Mrs. Kemp all the way." The five-year-old set the HV portafield down and smiled thinly. "If you like watching spankings, Mon, you're in for a treat once we get back to school."

The brunette sighed unhappily. "I was afraid of that, sweet boy—I'm so sorry."

"Apparently you saved your own precious rear," the other girl muttered.

"Where I was standing wasn't out of bounds, I guess," Montana explained, feeling defensive. "Mrs. Kemp snuck up behind me and told me to leave, so what else could I do?"

"Nothing, Mon, it's not your responsibility," her fellow Medicalos assured her. "Greta and I took the risk and we got caught, now we'll have to pay the piper."

"Can Montie ever do anything wrong in your eyes, Carltie?" Greta challenged.

"She hasn't yet, not since I've known her, other than listening to me once when she shouldn't have." He sat down gingerly, the prickly-hot sensation at the base of his buttocks intensifying in spite of the bench's padding. "Owwww, that smarts."

The Innocentata giggled. "I'll bet it does, especially right where I whipped in those last half-dozen stingers." She addressed her fellow female. "Our poor darling boy, I had him squirming and squealing, shamelessly shaking his cute caboose for me." Leaning to her left, she turned her head and kissed the blushing boy's right cheek. "But overall he took his punishment very well, not getting out of position even once—you would've been proud of him."

Sitting down on his left side, Montana adoringly delivered a matching kiss on Carlton's other cheek. "I always am, Greta."

The five-year-old's body relaxed. "Well, I'm relieved about one problem that's been resolved for me."

"What problem would that be?" Greta asked curiously.

"Withholding information from his mother, if I know our honest little boy," the other girl surmised.

"That's right, Mon," Carlton confirmed. "Nannie worked out a contingency plan with me, figuring I'd likely lose the wager, but I wasn't totally comfortable with it."

"Contingency plan?" The petite blonde's eyebrows arched.

"Based on what his bottom must look like now, thanks to your kind attentions," Montana stated pointedly, then turned to her closest friend. "How were you going to keep that evidence from your mom, sweet boy?"

His expression was sheepish. "Nannie was going to volunteer to bathe me tonight, so Mommy wouldn't see the switchmarks on my seat, then she would bring in a cup of Siberoot tea after my mother had kissed me goodnight."

"So you'd be able to sleep after Nannie rubbed some nanolotion on your behind then activated it," his fellow Medicalos speculated.

The boy nodded. "Nannie was willing to help me out, but it would've meant keeping the truth from Mommy and involving her in that deception."

"You weren't going to point-blank lie to your mom, were you?" his Innocenta colleague inquired pedantically. "If she'd asked if you'd lost a bet and got an ass-whipping with a Kamchatwillow switch as a result, would you have admitted it?"

"Of course," Carlton replied, "But if all went well she wouldn't have known to ask."

"Which means that you wouldn't have had to deal with that question, darling boy." The undersized six-year-old licked her lips. "Carltie dear, children have been trying to get around their parents' rules and restrictions from time immemorial, that's expected behavior—it's hardly unethical to avoid getting caught if you can manage it without outright lying."

He nodded but his expression was doubtful. "Nannie said the same thing, that it's just expected 'kid stuff' and as siblings we have to stick together in those situations, which is why she was willing to help me out."

"You've got a supersmart big sister," Greta acknowledged breezily.

Her male colleague chewed his lip."Still, I didn't feel quite right—"

"You're hopeless, dear boy," the blonde interrupted with exasperation, "Truly hopeless."

Leaning her curly-ringleted head on Carlton's left shoulder, Montana fondly squeezed his upper arm as she snuggled against him.

"Don Quixote, Sir Galahad and Carltie," she recited dreamily, "No wonder you're my hero..."

Carlton was feeling considerably less than heroic, however, after their class had returned to the Starfleet School an hour later and Mrs. Kemp started to address the kindergarteners, all of whom were seated in their room's semicircle of foamseats facing her.

"If any of you are wondering why we returned here twenrt-five minutes earlier than scheduled," the dishwater blonde explained, "There is a disciplinary matter that must be dealt with before the end of school today." A murmur of speculative anticipation ran through all but three of the seated young rejuves, but was stifled quickly when the instructor held up her right hand.

"Two of your number deliberately disobeyed my instructions," she intoned somberly, "Taking unnecessary and unacceptable risks with their personal safety by entering areas of the arboretum that I had designated as off-limits to all of you." Twisting her torso to the right, the teacher reached back to her desktop and picked up a short leather strap, one rather familiar to Carlton. "Both offenders will be strapped on their bare rear ends as the first part of their punishment, then they'll be likewise spanked with the 'K-3' paddle to conclude the corporal correction."

Once more a current of excited murmuring swept through the classroom until Mrs. Kemp's hand was raised again to silence her academic charges.

"Will the two offenders please come forward and stand before me," she commanded, "To have their chastisements administered with all due speed and severity."

"That doesn't sound good," Greta mumbled apprehensively as she and Carlton reluctantly rose to their feet.

Montana, sitting between them, reached out with both hands to pat the nearest leg of each of her compatriots. "Be brave, both of you," she urged quietly.

The rest of their classmates watched in silent wonderment as the condemned duo walked slowly toward their stern-looking instructor, stopping side-by-side directly in front of her.

"Anything to say, my disobedient darlings?" she demanded tersely.

Carlton shivered. "Just that I'm sorry for disregarding your instructions, ma'am, and that I understand your duty to discipline me for my misconduct."

The woman nodded in agreement. "Do you wish to volunteer to accept the chastisement of your partner in crime, along with your own?" she asked with a wry smile.

"No, ma'am," he responded, "Not in this case."

"I expected as much, considering that she's already directly contributed plenty of discomfort to your derriere." Mrs. Kemp moderately slapped the supple leather against her left palm—Thwack! "I'll take your uniform pants now, please, and remove them quickly."

"Yes, ma'am," the Medicalos agreed, then he immediately stripped off his kelly green trousers and handed them to her.

Greta pulled off her pants and surrendered them much more slowly, with considerable consternation, blushing self-consciously as she was revealed to be wearing buttercup yellow sheer panties.

"It's gratifying to see that your underwear is color compatible with Carltie's," the teacher offhandedly informed the embarrassed Innocentata, glancing at the boy's turquoise briefs. She tossed the two pairs of uniform trousers onto the magnachair hovering behind her desk, then solemnly faced the two hapless rejuves.

"Greta, your stepmother agreed to waive the usual kindergarten restriction of twenty strokes with each implement after your most recent punishment," she announced briskly. "Thirty swats with both the strap and the paddle is your current limit, which is what I intend to apply to your disobedient little fanny—panties down, of course."

"Okay, Mrs, Kemp." The petite blonde was trembling with anxiety.

"Carltie, your guardian has waived all institutional limits to the length of your chastisement," their instructor continued, looking down at the boy. "Based on her insistence that you're to be spanked very soundly whenever you misbehave, I'm going to administer forty extremely hard whacks with each corrective implement—smack on your bare behind."

"Yes, ma'am, I know that's what I deserve." The five-year-old shuddered in dread anticipation.

"We're agreed on that, young man, but you'll receive your walloping momentarily—ladies first, after all." Mrs. Kemp pointed at the schoolroom's front left corner. "Meanwhile, get your nose into that corner, then drop your underpants to your ankles so your classmates can observe what you've been doing with your little girlfriend—or rather what she's done to you."

"Yes, ma'am." Carlton promptly followed those instructions, lowering his briefs to expose his well-striped and roughly-reddened posterior once he'd reached the designated location and placed his nose against the juncture of the two walls.

That revelation of prior punitive action resulted in a collective gasp from ten of the sore-bottomed boy's fellow kindergarteners, accompanied by a dismayed groan from an eleventh observer—only the two females who'd witnessed the damage initially being done seemed unaffected by the sight.

"I must concede your expertise in administering corporal correction, Greta dear," the teacher noted calmly, "Now we'll see if you can take it as eagerly as you seem to dish it out."

"That won't happen," the Innocentata remarked resignedly. "I have to take my medicine, I know that, but I'd certainly rather not."

The woman set her strap down on the desk. "At least your previous spankings have had that much effect, although they apparently weren't as much of a deterrent as I'd hoped they'd be." She swiftly reached down, scooped Greta up and seated herself atop the desk, all in one continuous movement, then deftly flipped the undersized child face down across her soft lap. It took only five more seconds for the cute rejuve's panties to be slipped down to her kneehollows, exposing her tightly-rounded pale posterior to the gaze of her watching classmates, then her body was being adjusted forward—head down and bottom up—by Mrs. Kemp.

"Uhhhmmmm," the girl moaned as a firm feminine right hand reached over and gripped the strap's comforfit handle while the left one pressed down lightly on her back; she felt the implement's cool leather touch her quivering buttocks and then withdraw as her determined disciplinarian measured the optimum striking distance for a full swing of her strong right arm.

"Thirty strokes," the woman intoned curtly, "The first half of your lesson in obedience, young lady."

Then the pliable leather began cracking sharply against the six-year-old's pert gluteal globes at a deliberate pace—THWACK!! SMACK!! THWAP!! CRACK!!—and she responded immediately with frantic wailing, hip-shifting and kicking, none of which significantly impeded the strapping she was receiving on her blazing bumcheeks. Greta's girlish derriere was small enough that the wicked little strap, even though designed for kindergarten-sized backsides, bridged both of her flaming southern hemispheres with each snapping impact as the teacher concentrated her disciplinary efforts on the weeping Innocenta's sensitive 'spank spot' at the base of her exposed posterior.

Once the full allotment of leathering licks had been smartly delivered across the blonde's nether cheeks, Mrs. Kemp dropped the strap onto her desk then gently deposited the wailing little girl on her feet, after first raising the sheer panties back up over her hips.

"March into that corner and touch your nose to the wall, young lady," her punisher ordered, flicking a finger toward the front right of the room, "Then drop your underwear to your ankles."

"Yeh-Yess, Muhh-Mrs. Keh-Kemp," Greta acknowledged raggedly, thereupon she immediately followed those instructions.

"Your turn, Carltie," the woman announced sharply. "Underpants up, then come over here and climb aboard my lap for a good sound strapping while your partner in crime looks forward to her upcoming encounter with my 'K-3' spanker."

Like his petite fellow rulebreaker, the Medicalos promptly obeyed his teacher and quickly found himself bent over her thighs, his briefs being whisked down to 'half-mast' position around his knees.

The instructor picked up her wickedly-flexible strap and gauged the distance to her childish victim's twitching bare buttcheeks. "I saw you glancing back at Greta's bright red bottom, young man—I hoped you enjoyed the view, because I'm going to give your disobedient derriere even more of a shine." She raised the instrument of corporal correction over her right shoulder and clamped her left hand around the boy's right wrist, firmly twisting it up behind the small of his back. "I'm extremely disappointed in you, Carltie, and now I'll demonstrate that for your edification."

THWACK!! CRACK!! SWACK!! THWAP!! CRAACK!! Once the fanny-tanning was underway, the smooth, supple leather snapping emphatically against his naked buttocks, the blond rejuve became unmistakably edified regarding the aforementioned disappointment with his behavior as he shamelessly yelped, kicked and squirmed in response to the rapidly-igniting bonfire on his vulnerable behind.

Since Carlton's behind provided her with a considerably broader disciplinary target (compared to his Innocentata colleague's fanny) to work upon, his chastiser was able to experly place her strap-strokes in groups of five, striking the crest of his right bottomcheek followed by the left, then plastering in turn the 'sit spot' at the base of each globe and concluding with an extra-hard lick that bridged both chubby cheeks along his thighcrease—the area that Greta earlier had taken special delight in swishing her Kamchatwillow switch across.

The five-year-old sobbed in reaction to the scorching swacks that impacted his separate hemispheres but howled piercingly after every buns-bridging fifth one, his blazing backside bouncing buoyantly as the flowing teardrops rolled off his face and onto the floor. By the time Mrs. Kemp had delivered the fortieth sizzling-hot stroke of the strap, her spankee's well-striped seat was indeed shining brilliantly—like a Hawaiian sunset on Earth—while his wailing had become continuous.

After replacing Carlton's turquoise underpants in their normal position, his womanly disciplinarian absently rubbed his lower back for two minutes while waiting for the quivering in his legs to subside before standing him onto his feet.

"Back into your corner, naughty child, then put those rosy rumpcheeks on display for your classmates so they can see the cost of disobeying me." She picked up the translucent 'K-3' paddle from her desk and displayed it, notably the small holes in its flat polymer striking surface, to the blubbering boy. "Imagine how much this spanker is going to sting, landing on those hot stripes crisscrossing your rear end, when you're back over my lap in a few minutes—listening to Greta's fanny-whacking may aid your imagination in that regard, I'd venture."

"Yeh-Yesss, mah-ma'am," he agreed, wiping at his teary eyes with a shirtsleeve.

Mere moments later the Medicalos was again standing in the corner, nose to the wall and briefs puddled atop his insulshoes, keeping his hands tightly locked together behind his back as he desperately resisted the urge to massage his fiery, intensely smarting buttcheeks.

Greta found herself in an even worse (albeit familiar) position, also bare-bottomed but upended over her teacher's knees for the second act of her disciplinary drama. Raising the polyplast paddle with her right hand while the left one pressed down on the blonde's back, Mrs. Kemp addressed her wayward pupil.

"What function of mine did you usurp, young lady, that's about to result in this part of your correction?" she demanded curtly.

"Ahhh-Administering corporal punishment, Mrs. Kemp," the girlish rejuve answered softly.

"Correct, dear girl—only I get to colorize the behinds of the kindergarteners in this class, at least during school hours." The woman smiled forbodingly. "Let me demonstrate that for you now, Greta..."

SMACK!! WHACK!! CRACK!! SMACK!! The paddle connected crisply to its target, the Innocentata's exposed posterior, as the instructor was able to alternate between her victim's nether cheeks due to the 'K-3' spanker's relatively short (but wide) striking surface. Most of the solid swats were applied to the wriggling blonde's 'sit spots' on her tender undercheeks, making her wail helplessly from the flaming intensity of every stinging impact. By the time the thirtieth paddywhack had landed full force against her crimson-hued derriere she was crying continuously, splashing the floor with teardrops that conmingled with those of her compatriot in misconduct.

Once Greta had been restored to minimal modesty then set down into a standing position, her disciplinarian lightly touched the girl's elbow.

"Stay right here and watch up close as your boyfriend gets his comeuppance from the paddle," Mrs. Kemp instructed. "Since I'm fairly certain that this little misadventure was your idea, young lady, I want you to witness its end result on Carltie's misbehaving bare rear end."

"Ohh-Okuh-kay," the petite rejuve agreed, sobbing pitifully.

A scant minute later Carlton was again in classic spanking position, bent over his teacher's lap with his underpants tangled around his knees and his brightly-reddened rump upturned and inviting further chastisement. He felt the polyplast implement's smooth, flat surface pressing against his vulnerable, smarting buttcheeks as his chastiser chastened him in a strict tone.

"This second part of your intensive correction will serve to remind you that there's only one individual in this class that's authorized to expose your behind and then spank it to a glowing-red fare-the-well, Carltie." She lifted the 'K-3' paddle high over her right shoulder while pinning her spankee's upturned right wrist against his lower back with her left hand. "Whom would that be, my wayward pupil?"

"You, ma'am." the Medicalos answered, his well-rounded buttocks trembling.

"That's correct," the woman confirmed, "So consider this a reinforcement activity, young man, to make certain you retain that knowledge."

Mrs. Kemp then administered the hardest-hitting dose of discipline she'd delivered with her highly-effective polymer spanker all year, plastering her boyish victim's already-flaming fanny with sweeping swings of the hole-surfaced paddle that connected with resounding pistol-shot cracks—SMACK!! WHACK!! WHAP!! SPLACK!! CRACK!! SMACK!! SPLAT!! WHACK!! Determined to demonstrate the full penalty for disobedience to her entire class of rejuved kindergarteners, the teacher applied teeth-rattling swats to Carlton's unprotected posterior, especially targeting the base of his squirming seat, while he futilely kicked and howled across her thighs.

The hapless child's teardrops were flowing copiously, steadily accompanied by his shrill wailing, well before the thorough chastisement finally concluded with the fortieth blistering-hard impact of unyielding polyplast delivering its measure of scorching intensity to his bouncing bare buns.

Her face pinked and her breathing somewhat labored, the blonde instructor smiled with satisfaction at the knowledge that she'd obviously made a decisive impression on the watching rejuves. Once again she almost caressingly rubbed her left hand over the boy's back, allowing him several minutes to regain his composure. Scanning the classroom, she became aware that a third pair of eyes had been moistened as a result of her corrective actions—Montana's head was bowed as she whimpered quietly but distinctly.

After pulling up his underwear before plopping him back onto his feet, his womanly disciplinarian confronted the teary-eyed student.

"I'd have to say that I've adequately fullfilled the admiral's requested that you be rendered 'red-bottomed and bawling' whenever you misbehaved, Carltie," she informed him. "Do you have anything to tell me now, before you and Greta return to your corners to show off your red-hot rear ends until you're picked up at dismissal?"

Carlton gulped, realizing that numerous parents and caregivers, generally females, would certainly be observing his nose-to-the-wall and briefs-at-the-ankles penitence as they arrived to collect their respective rejuved charges, a situation that would heighten his humiliation at having his soundly-spanked derriere on open display.

"Ohhhh-Onl-luh-ly thuh-that Ahhh-I'm ver-ruhry s-sorry, mah-ma'am," he apologized sobbingly, "Ah-And Ah-I h-hope yuh-you'll for-ruh-give m-me suh-someday."

"Someday?" Mrs. Kemp grinned bemusedly."You're fully forgiven right now, darling, you're entitled to that much after the number I did on your bad little boy's bare behind. Of course, your guardian will undoubtedly want to deal with your school misbehavior as well, once I've contacted her and reported on your misadventures at the arboretum and their corrective consequences in this claaroom."

"Sh-She shuh-surely will." The boyish blond shuddered.

"That will give you something to reflect upon as you continue your cornertime," his instructor noted clinically, "Which is what I want you two reprobates doing right now—so scoot!" She smacked the 'K-3' spanker solidly against his brief-covered backside—WHACK!!—making him yelp as he and Greta immediately headed for their separate corners to resume their highly embarrassing, underpants-down postures.

Over the following ten minutes the two fiery-bottomed youngsters endured the arrivals of a half-dozen mothers and babysitters, all of whom clucked in smug approval when given a brief explanation regarding the reason for the intense retribution that had been rained down upon the two rulebreakers' naked posteriors. Each and every smirking female congratulated Mrs. Kemp on her disciplinary prowess, impressed by the teacher's willingness to soundly chastise a Medicalos and even an Innocentata.

The seventh caregiver to arrive at the classroom was Atlanta Jurgensen, a very pretty curly-haired brunette of medium height who wore the tight-fitting, semi-military orange uniform of the Rejuve Activity Center administrative staff.

After several minutes' conversation regarding her stepdaughter's misconduct and ensuing corporal correction, the midtwentyish woman approached Carlton as he stood in his corner holding his humiliatingly-exposed posture.

"Get dressed, Greta, cover up your little red caboose for the moment," she coolly instructed the sniffling blonde, then she squatted down to inspect the boy's shining scarlet gluteal globes.

"You're Carltie, obviously," she cooed, "I've heard a lot about you."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mrs. Jurgensen," he responded simply, not breaking position."

"Thank you for the view of your nicely-glowing seat cushions, they do look so very spankable," Atlanta commented, "Hopefully I'll have them bottomside up over my lap sometime in the near future. Wouldn't that be fun for us, Carltie?"

"Ahhhh...It would be a new experience, ma'am." The five-year-old shivered.

She playfully patted each of his warm nether cheeks, then straightened up. "You're adorably polite, sweetie..."

No sooner had the young brunette swept out of the room, her petite child in tow, than a fairly tall, wholesome blonde attired in a teal blue Starfleet uniform, its rank that of lieuenant junior grade, entered at a brisk pace.

"Lieuenant Lansford," Mrs. Kemp greeted her, "I was expecting the admiral herself to pick up Carltie."

"Delayed in a coordination meeting," Yolanda explained breezily, "So I volunteered to do a bit of babysitting and—hmmmm, those blazing bare bumcheeks look familiar, someone I know has been extremely naughty." She strode over to stand behind Carlton. "Hello, precious...Trouble at the picnic today?"

The five-year-old nodded. "Yes, Miss Yolanda, I'm afraid so."

"I'll be calling his guardian to detail the matter shortly," his instructor informed the junior officer.

"That works for me," the blonde agreed. "Let's get going, Carltie dear."

Two minutes later the duo was on their way out of the school when a girlish cry halted them suddenly.

"Please stop!" Emerging from the schoolroom, Montana raced down the corridor and caught up to her close friend, throwing both arms around him. "Oh, Carltie, are you all right? You got walloped really hard, sweet boy, I'm so sorry!" She fiercely kissed each of his tearstreaked cheeks.

"You've got to be Montana," Yolanda surmised, amusement in her voice, "But what reason do you have to be regretful? Didn't Carltie get what he deserved?"

"She doesn't like to see me hurt, no matter what," her fellow Medicalos remarked, returning the tight embrace. "Say hello to Miss Yolanda, my babysitter, Mon..."

The pretty six-year-old glanced up at the Starfleet officer. "Hi, Miss Yolanda, nice to meet you—but Mrs. Kemp only gave me a minute to talk to Carltie."

"Be my guest then," the babysitter offered good-naturedly.

"Sweet boy, will you call me tonight after...well, you know...your mom deals with today's problem?" the girl demanded worriedly. "I won't sleep well until I know you're okay, Carltie."

He shrugged. "If Mommy will let me, Mon, but she's going to be very unhappy about my misbehavior—so I can't guantee it."

"Please try hard, for my sake," Montana insisted, then she quickly kissed his lips before darting back down the hallway and into the classroom.

Taking the boy's hand in hers, Yolanda grinned appreciatively."You've got one hell of a concerned, caring girlfriend..."

{PART THREE}

(This part's setting begins twenty minutes after the conclusion to Part Two, inside the McMichael family's Starfleet quarters on Starbase Seventeen, a space station orbiting the planet Vladivost in the mid-28th century.)

Yolanda hadn't questioned her young charge on their turbotube trip back to the admiral's family quarters, instead allowing him to sit on her lap as he sobbed softly. After she'd used a santibreeze minispray to cleanse and dry his tearstained face, the attractive blonde had simply held Carlton in her arms while gently stroking his curly locks.

Once at their destination, however, she had insisted that the five-year-old explain the reasons for the harsh retribution that his teacher had visited upon his naked buttocks with both a leather spanking strap and an official 'K-3' polyplast punishment paddle.

"From the appearance of your flaming fanny she really did a number on your chubby little bumcheeks, precious, so you must have misbehaved very seriously for a caring person like Mrs. Kemp to have disciplined you that soundly." The woman squatted down to look into the boy's cornflower-blue eyes. "Am I correct, young man?"

The blond rejuve nodded miserably, reluctantly meeting his inquisitor's steady gaze.

"Ahhh-I'll tell you about it, Miss Yolanda, even though you won't like me at all afterward." Salty moisture began to form again in the corners of his eyes.

"Honey, I'll certainly be unhappy with your misconduct, but I won't stop liking you," the babysitter said assuringly.

"Wih-Will you punish me yourself?" he asked anxiously. "Mommy's given you permission to paddle me whenever you think it's necessary, I know that."

The junior officer chuckled, in her mind adding "from personal experience" to the end of that sentence. "I don't perceive that you've been insufficiently spanked today, honey." She tilted his face up with a finger under his chin, affection showing in her blue-green eyes. "Talk to me about it, precious..."

After Carlton had completed his somber narrative, however, his listener's eyes were flashing with other emotions—disapproval and annoyance.

"You certainly were easy to manipulate, weren't you?" she sputtered accusingly. "I know how intelligent you can be, little boy, but apparently it was just easier for you to turn off your mind and act like an ignoramus. How the hell could you allow yourself to be maneuvered into a 'sucker bet' like that, Carlton Kristain?"

He swallowed hard. "It wasn't too astute of me, I admit—"

"Male ego, pure and simple," the babysitter cut him off. "There's only one way to contol that masculine conceit, according to the admiral—constant blistering-hard beatings of a man's naked backside until its raw, never letting him sit comfortably."

"Mommy never put it that way, Miss Yolanda," the Medicalos protested tentatively, "You're exagger—"

Yolanda interrupted him again. "Are you calling me a liar, young man?" she demanded, her eyes sparking angrily. "Don't think I can't change my mind about walloping your sore seat if you keep acting like a disrespectful brat!"

The child stared at the floor. "Then do that," he acquiesed, speaking in a near-whisper, "If that's what it takes for me to get any comfort." A teardrop began to slide down his right cheek. "At least you'd be nice to me afterward, wouldn't you?"

She suddenly felt remorse for being overly judgemental. "Oh, honey, you know I wouldn't really discipline you now—I didn't mean that threat and I shouldn't have made it."

"I know I don't deserve any consolation, ma'am," he stated quietly, "But I still really NEED some. Montana could have called me a fool for ignoring her warnings, and she'd have been 100% correct, but she was sweet to me instead."

The woman paused in thought, realizing that a six-year-old girl had indeed been more generous and understanding toward Carlton than she herself was being at the moment. Montana's affectionate treatment had even induced a touch of envy, making the lieutenant wish that she could be similarly demonstrative towards her distressed young charge—so why was she spurning such an opportunity now that it was being offered?

"You're right, precious," Yolanda conceded, "You'll get plenty of scolding and lecturing from your mom, that's for certain—what you need now is a strong dose of TLC, and that's what I'd enjoy giving you."

Mere seconds later she was seated on the old-style living room couch with the five-year-old snuggled up against her right side, his blond head pillowed atop her welcoming bosom as his body slowly relaxed in her encircling arms.

"Thank you, Miss Yolanda," he murmured before dozing off.

Upon arriving home twelve minutes later, Rebecca found her Starfleet subordinate half asleep herself, the blonde having sprawled out lengthwise on the couch with her babysitting charge prone on her stomach while she lightly rubbed his back.

"Rough day, lieutenant?" the admiral queried as she entered the room.

The junior officer slowly sat up, still holding Carlton and jostling him awake as she slid her legs off the couch. "Actually, ma'am, it was Carltie here who had...a strenuous time, let's say...at school today."

"So I've heard," the tall brunette affirmed. "I'd just finished dealing with those self-important CCC bureaucrats when I received a holoview call from Mrs. Kemp, redirected to my office from these quarters."

The Medicalos dropped down to his feet and turned to face his guardian, looking upward to meet her judgemental gaze.

"Hello, Mommy," he greeted his former wife, speaking in a low voice, "I guess Mrs. Kemp told you all about my misbehavior today, didn't she?"

She nodded gravely. "Do you have anything to add from your perspective, Carlton Roman Kristain?"

He hesitated briefly. "Just that...I mean...we'd hoped, Greta and I, that we wouldn't have to go off-limits...to find a secluded place...where no one would see..."

"See you exposing your disobedient derriere so that your clever little girlfriend could give you a whipping on it?" his guardian demanded sharply.

"Actually, she was the one who pulled down—" the rejuve began to elaborate.

"No excuses, Carltie dear," Yolanda interrupted him, "You know better than that." She stood up and supportively ruffled his blond curls. "Admit your crime and accept your punishment like a responsible person."

"Yes, Miss Yolanda." He gulped. "Whatever Mrs. Kemp told you is the truth, Mommy," he confirmed to the admiral, his expression downcast. "She disciplined me in class because I deserved it for violating her instructions at the picnic. Please administer any further correction that you believe is warranted, ma'am."

"That request will be granted in full, my naughty child," Rebecca agreed grimly. "If you like baring your bottom for a good old-fashioned licking, as you apparently do, tonight's domestic activities are going to be just your cup of tea."

"Carltie pretty much knows what he's in for, admiral," the lieutenant told her superior, "So I think he feels anxious enough already."

The older woman stopped to reconsider her attitude, suddenly aware that she had been perceiving a repetentant little boy as akin to a hardened criminal.

"You're right, Yolanda." Looking down, she addressed her ward firmly but with fondness in her voice. "I'm sorry that you engaged in this premeditated rulebreaking, sweetheart, and it's going to result in extremely serious chastisement this evening—however, remember that I'll be punishing you out of love."

Carlton flashed her a rueful grin. "I know that, Mommy."

"Say good-bye to Miss Yolanda now, then I want you to head into your room and put on your aquamarine sleeper outfit before reporting back out here."

"Okay, Mommy." After a brief exchange of hugs and kisses between himself and his babysitter, the youngster walked off toward his bedroom.

His guardian faced the younger woman. "Your help is much appreciated, lieutenant, as usual."

Yolanda cleared her throat. "I have a request of you, ma'am, one that I'm making on behalf of someone else..."

When Carlton returned to the living room four minutes later, having obediently changed into his 'Doctor Denton' sleepwear, he noticed two new additions to the decor: His Terran-model Cornerstool was sitting by the closest juncture of two walls, and tight into that corner was a long, narrow statistube magnabolted in a vetical position with a classically-crooked handle sticking out at its top—the black flexiplast grip would be about at eye level for a young child sitting on the stool's pointy sitting surface, he noted nervously.

"I'm afraid that your serious disobedience at school has required this bit of redecorating, honey, since we're finally breaking out two more of our disciplinary items." The admiral's visage reflected reluctant determination as she stood facing the trembling young rejuve. "You recognize that circular handle, I assume?"

The boy licked his lips. "That's the junior cane, isn't it?"

"Indeed it is, sweetheart, and it's now become part of our punitive repetoire, so to speak—as has the Cornerstool, which I'm going introduce you to right now." She squatted down and lightly touched his left shoulder. "Turn around so I can unbutton your 'trap door,' please."

"Okay, Mommy." The five-year-old obeyed immediately, then he felt nimble fingers unfastening the old-style seat flap and lowering it to expose his rosily-glowing rear end.

"Mrs. Kemp does highly effective work," Rebecca remarked admiringly, "She must have lambasted this naughty bottom of yours something fiece for it to remain so nicely reddened." She cupped her palm under the well-rounded buttocks, squeezing softly. "Mmmm, still quite toasty too, so I'm guessing that these chubby cheekies are tingling sharply even now...Am I correct, Carltie?"

"Yes, ma'am, they—ahhhhhoooh!" He exclaimed as his guardian's hands lifted him under his armpits while she suddenly straightened up. With one quick stride, she plopped her child's pricky-warm unprotected posterior onto the Cornerstool's sharp points as he gasped in discomfort. "Owwwww, that smarts!"

"Sorry, darling, but it's time for you to be uncomfortably seated for a while," the tall brunette stated as she immobilized his ankles under the stool's restraining bar, forcing all of Carlton's body weight to be borne by the tenderized flesh of his nether cheeks, into which the stool's tiny wooden pyramids were painfully projecting.

"For huh-how long, Moh-Mommy?" he asked plaintively as his disciplinarian used an interior remote to program the HV field's autotimer.

"Fifteen seconds for each whack you received from Mrs. Kemp today," she replied briskly, looking into his wide eyes. "Do the math for me, honey..."

"Coww-Counting both the struh-strapping and the pah-paddling?" The Medicalos gingerly shifted his hips, trying in vain to effect some release from the burning, pricking sensation afflicting his southern hemispheres.

"Of course, silly boy." Rebecca affectionately touseled his soft curls. "How many minutes total then?"

"Tweh-Twenty, ma'am." Carlton sounded disconsolate.

She smiled tautly. "That's correct, sweetheart, and I'd recommend that you spend that time reflecting on your premeditated violation of both school rules and your teacher's direct instructions." Reaching in front of her ward, she smoothly freed the child-sized rattan cane from its thin sheath, flicked it quickly then bent it into a semicircle with her left hand grasping its tip.

His face blanched. "Ah-Are you go-going to yuh-use that on me tuh-tonight, Mommy?"

The admiral nodded resolutely. "For such a serious offense, Carltie, I'm afraid so—but only after I've applied the leather paddle and my hairbrush to your disobedient bare derriere and you've endured a second sitting on this Cornerstool." After releasing the cane's tip so that the rattan spang back into a straight line, she lightly touched it to the boy's nose. "You do admit that your friendly little fanny-lashing encounter with Greta was preplanned, don't you?"

Desperately but futilely twisting his buns again, he met his guardian's steady gaze. "Yeh-Yes, ma'am, but we'd huh-hoped that we wah-wouldn't have to guh-go out of bow-bounds during the picnih-nic."

"Didn't you realize that Mrs. Kemp would set boundaries to keep all her pupils in open view, darling, for your own safety?" Rebecca shook her head bemusedly. "Sometimes you're just too naive for your own good, honeybun—and this is definitely one of those times." She slipped the junior cane back into its narrow cylindrical container. "You haven't received a caning since you rejuved, have you?"

"Nuh-Nooo, muh-m'aaaam." Carlton couldn't help whimpering from the sharp discomfort afflicting his vulnerable backside.

"You could try to anticipate that feeling again, my young reprobate, while you're contemplating your crimes and their consquences." The woman leaned forward to kiss her suffering child on the forehead. "I'll leave you to your private thoughts and sensations now, darling—hands on your head, please..."

When Nantessa arrived home from null-gee powerball practice sixteen minutes later and observed her younger brother seated on the Cornerstool, fingers interlinked atop his sweaty blond head, she immediately made an accurate assessment of his situation.

"You got caught by your teacher, didn't you?" she demanded as she strode over to stand in back of the tearfully-sobbing boy, clinically regarding what she could see of his reddened buttcheeks. "Who did all that damage to your fanny, Mom or your teacher?"

"Muuuh-Myyyy teeeeh-eacher," he blubbered helplessly, "Beeeefuh-fore huh-her Grehhhh-Gretaaaa toooowwwww!"

"It serves you right, I warned you to be careful," the pretty teenager said bluntly. "That's two thoughtless mistakes on your part, baby brother."

"Ahhhh-I knuh-knowwww, Nah-Nahhhhhnnieee," Carlton agreed, "Buuuuuh-But Ahhhh-I nuh-neeeeed suh-some luh-loving rih-riiight nowwwwwww."

The girl's judgemental expression softened. "Yes, I understand, Carltie dear—all those tears you're shedding should've been a giveaway on that point." Reaching from behind him, she put her arms around his torso and kissed his tearstained left cheek while lifting up slightly to take most of his body weight off his smarting naked posterior. "If Mom catches me doing this," she whispered in his ear, "I'll be on the stool next."

Fortunately for both siblings the autotimer began to chime, a deep melodious sound. The admiral entered the living room and deactivated the timer while Nantessa released the ankle-restraint bar and picked her brother up from the stool, pulling him tightly to her bosom.

"Nannie dear," her mother greeted the thirteen-year-old, "Thank you for helping with Carltie—I'm sure that he appreciates getting off those nasty points as quickly as possible."

The rejuve was softly weeping, his tears wetting the front his big sister's uniform blouse, while she soothingly stroked his damp curls and comforted him. "You're all right, honey, it's over for now so just relax and cry it out."

Rebecca stepped closer to her children and began caressingly rubbing her ward's back. "Unfortunately for him, Carltie's facing serious corporal correction this evening, preceding either bathtime or bedtime—the one choice I'm giving him is whether his bare-bottom blistering takes place before his bath or after it."

"Go with 'before' and get it over with, baby brother," his one-time daughter urged, "That's what I'd recommend."

"Ih-If you suh-say so, Nannie," he responded trustingly, both arms around her neck in a tight embrace.

"Good decision, darling, better late than never for making one today." The tall woman bent her head down to kiss the five-year-old's right cheek; her hand lightly patted his still-exposed, chafed gluteal globes as she addressed Nantessa. "Why don't you put Carltie down for a nap, sweetness, while I program the cooker for supper?"

The teenager grinned wryly. "Right, Mom, he'll need all the rest he can get..."

At the civilian quarters of the Jurgensen family, Greta had just completed thirty minutes' worth of cornertime herself—it had been served in her bedroom with the petite rejuve in the traditional nose-touching-the-wall stance, the seat flap of her baby blue 'Doctor Denton' pajama outfit lowered to display her blushing pink nether cheeks.

The small six-year-old wasn't being put down for a nap, however, rather she was being placed face-down across her youthful stepmother's thighs and adjusted into optimal spanking position by the orange-uniformed woman.

Smiling smugly, Atlanta tightly gripped the flexiform handle of an oversized, old-style wooden cooking spoon, rubbing the flat back of its head in circles on her charge's upturned naked posterior.

"Right hand on your back, palm up," the brunette ordered, using her left hand to pin Greta's wrist down after the Innocentata had reluctantly obeyed. The spoon's hard back left the tightly-rounded little-girl buns as the chastising weapon was lifted up to strike, making its targeted victim gasp in distress.

"Ohhh, no, please..." the blonde whined.

"Not so much fun being on the receiving end of a fanny-tanning, is it, darling?" the woman remarked with a snicker. "Mrs. Kemp has taught you that lesson already, my dear daughter, now I'll reinforce your classroom learning here at home—I believe that matching those sixty stingers you got at school should do the trick."

The kindergartener began to protest but Atlanta immediately started the spanking, swinging her wooden punitive implement toward the center of her spankee's right bumcheek.

"No, that's too many—(SMACK!!) Ahhhowwww!" The child yelped as the spoon's hard back cracked against her defenseless derriere. "Mommy, I don't need—(WHACK!!) Ohhhhouuuch!" Her left buttock had absorbed the second stinging spoonswat dead-center, and thereafter Greta's verbal reactions to her chastisement were limited to wailing, sobbing and eventually weeping as the unyielding wooden instrument of correction continued to connect solidly to her wriggling bare behind.

However, her stepmother happily supplied a running commentary while vigorously paddling the six-year-old, focusing her disciplinary attentions on the 'sit spots' at the base of the misbehaving rejuve's rapidly-reddening nether cheeks.

"You want to... (CRACK!!) Play some naughty...(WHOP!!) Spanking games... (SMACK!!) Do you, dear? (WHACK!!) Fine then, my... (SPLAT!!) Manipulative little minx... (SMACK!!) Let's make a bet... (CRACK!!) Just for fun... (WHAP!!) On how burning hot... (SMACK!!) I can make... (WHACK!!) Your cute little caboose... (CRACK!!) With only sixty swats... (SMACK!!) Of my butt-beating... (WHOP!!) Fanny-tanning... (SPLAT!!) Sweetcheek-kissing...(CRACK!!) Trusty spanking spoon! (SMACK!) Okay, honey?"

Atlanta didn't expect to hear her stepdaughter's acceptance of the proposed vague wager, but she nonetheless kept walloping the girl's nicely-presented, glowing glutes as if determined to win it overwhelmingly...

While enjoying a supper of classic Posteria Priman cuisine and being allowed (at his sister's suggestion) the use of an inflapad cushion to make his sitting tolerable albeit hardly pleasant, Carlton haltingly recounted the events of his less-than-sterling academic day for his female family members.

"So this spanking bet you made with Greta," his guardian queried, "Did Nannie know about it before I did, sweetie?"

"I knew about it last night," the thirteen-year-old admitted quickly, before her sibling could respond. "If Carltie had lost the wager but hadn't been caught by his teacher while paying it off to Greta, then...I was going to bathe him this evening, rub some nanolotion onto his fanny and slip in a cup of Siberoot tea to help him sleep." She shrugged in resignation. "If I'm going to be disciplined for trying to—"

The admiral interrupted her with a rhetorical question."Hold on, darling, who mentioned anything about disciplinary action for being supportive of your brother?"

"No one," the Medicalos stated firmly, "Because Nannie was just being a protective big sister to me—that's nothing she should be punished for, Mommy."

"Agreed, honey." The woman beamed inwardly, maternally gratified at the close relationship developing between her two children. "One disobedient bare derriere to be thoroughly chastised tonight is enough of an agenda for me, that's for certain—besides, Nannie should appreciate being your sibling ally while she still can."

Nantessa looked puzzled. "What do you mean, Mom?"

"Simply that you'll turn fourteen in just over a week, sweetness," her mother pointed out, "At which time you'll have the responsibility to corporally correct Carltie whenever you believe it's justified—for general misbehavior rather than only for offenses that directly affect you—as his full-fledged, fem-dis older sister and strict Traditionalist disciplinarian ."

The attractive adolescent sighed. "Then let's hope that you're going to be a very good boy for me, baby brother, because I much prefer loving on you to spanking your bare behind."

"That makes two of us," Carlton rejoined quietly. "I'll do my best, Nannie." He faced his former spouse. "Ummmm...Mommy, may I ask a favor of you before I go to bed?"

The admiral's eyebrows arched. "Given your inexcusable rulebreaking at school today, young man, you're in absolutely no position to be making any petitions." Her voice was clipped. "However, I will grant Miss Yolanda's request that you be allowed to briefly call your classmate Montana following the conclusion of your punishment—I agreed to this for her benefit, not yours."

"Thank you, ma'am, for Montana's sake." The boy flashed a tight smile.

Rebecca fleetingly returned it. "With that off your mind, you can spend the next hour meditating on your reprehensible disobedience at the class picnic today—and what it's going to cost your chubby little buttcheeks..."

It seemed mere moments later that the youngster found himself in a familiar position, lying prone across his guardian's lap with a round pillow tucked under his tummy to elevate his flannel-framed trembling posterior, thereby providing open access to his plump undercheeks.

Seated on the living room coach and wearing a Starfleet bathrobe, the Amazonian woman raised the black leather paddle gripped in her right hand while encircling the child's waist with her left arm.

"Four dozen with this paddle, likewise with my hairbrush," she announced flatly. "I won't let myself be outspanked by your teacher."

Carlton considered it an unlikely prospect. "No, ma'am, you certainly won't."

His chastiser then proceeded to demonstrate the accuracy of that assessment, administering a blistering-hard paddywhacking that rapidly reduced the young rejuve to the state of a bawling, well-spanked toddler. He howled shamelessly as the heavy leather implement relentlessly landeded upon the base of his naked buttocks, impacting them solidly in a left-right-center pattern as they quickly changed color—blushing pink to rosy red to bright crimson—and bounced buoyantly with every resounding paddleswat.

SMACK!! WHACK!! CRACK!! SMACK!! Finally four dozen devastating licks had been emphatically delivered on target, much to their recipient's teary-eyed dismay.

After finally setting her paddle down on a magnastand, Rebecca gave the sobbing Medicalos only thirty seconds of recovery time while she picked up her sturdy wooden hairbrush then lighty patted his shining seat with its flat back.

"No rest for the weary, darling," she stated briskly, "Because I want this to be an intensive lesson that you're learning from me."

The disciplinary action immediately resumed as the wide-backed spanking brush began smacking the blond rejuve's fiery-hot bare bumcheeks with extreme prejudice, making pistol-shot cracks ring out repeatedly—SMACK!! WHACK!! CRACK!! SMACK!!—as the hapless youngster futilely wailed, kicked and squirmed across his beautiful punisher's thighs.

Determined to leave a last impression on her boy's mind (as well as his behind), the admiral continued swinging the hairbrush with a vengeance until it had plastered his quivering backside forty-eight times.

Then came two minutes of tearful blubbering accompanied by maternal back-rubbing, after which Carlton felt himself abruptly lifted up and deposited onto the Cornerstool via a smooth stand-and-carry motion on his guardian's part.

"Ahhhhhowwwwwiiee!" he yelped as his suffering southern hemispheres were forced to bear his entire body weight, pressing them down upon the stool's sitting surface with its diabolically-sharp tiny pyramids.

"Hands on your head again, sweetie," the woman instructed, then locked into place the restraining bar that elevated her child's ankles while he unhappily complied. "Fifteen minutes, honey," she informed him as she set the autotimer, "Then it will be time to paint some cane stripes across your disobedient derriere."

He nodded as teardrops steadily rolled down his face, which his disciplinarian patted fondly before exiting the room.

Entering the room later, Nantessa was stricken with pity upon observing her weeping five-year-old brother.

"Mom, please, I think Carltie's had enough," she called out loudly while checking the time elapsed with the universal remote. "It's been twelve minutes."

"Very well, sweetness, if you insist," Rebecca's voice projected from her bedroom.

The teary-eyed Medicalos was then swiftly rescued from the Cornerstool's painful points by his big sister. As Carlton sniffled into the pretty teenager's jersey while wrapped within her consoling arms, the admiral appeared and withdrew the junior cane from its statistube. "Put him on the couch, Nannie, and we'll finish up our repentant rulebreaker's correction with a dozen lashes of this punitive weapon." She flicked the whippy rattan implement, making both children wince. "Carltie, you can take the familiar presenting position that you did for Greta's switching—lengthwise on the couch, bare fanny sticking out to my right."

"Ohhh-kay, Moh-mmy." Upon being set down, the kindergartener obeyed orders and assumed the face-downward, posterior-upthrust posture that left his tender, smarting undercheeks invitingly exposed for chastisement; facing her victim's left hip, the tall brunette tapped her junior cane against his wide-open thighcrease.

Seating herself next to her sibling's head, Nantessa grasped his hands in hers. "Be brave, baby brother..."

The ultraflexible cane then started whipping across the boy's vulnerable buttocks, connecting just above his thighcrease in a series of crisscrossing swipes that made him wail continuously while his fingers desperately squeezed his sister's palms. Rebecca administered the sizzling slashes at six-second intervals, finishing the intensive caning in slightly over one minute.

Picking her ward up and hugging him to her bosom, she soothingly ruffled his sweat-soaked blond curls as he whimpered raggedly. "Ahhh-I'm suh-so sorry, M-Mommy, it's muh-my fault, ahh-all my fault, pl-please forgive me..."

"You've paid the price, sweetheart, you're fully forgiven," the admiral cooed. "It had to be a memorable punishment to completely make my point, but it's over now. Come on, Carltie dear, let's get you bathed and ready for bed."

"Mah-Montana," he stammered, "Ah-I've got to cuh-call her, Mommy."

The woman grinned wryly at the sniffling Medicalos, face streaked by tears and hair matted with perspiration. "Your appearance at the moment would upset her, honey—let's get you cleaned up and calmed down first."

Twenty minutes later, having been maternally cleansed with gentle consideration and having had nanolotion softly massaged onto his ravaged buttcheeks with sisterly affection, Carlton stood viewing the living room's holovision field while attired in fleecy turquoise 'Doctor Denton' sleepers and holding a cup of warm Siberoot tea.

"I'll get her, she's been waiting for your call," Amanda Starr's holoimage stated rather crossly from within the field. "She should be in bed now, there's no reason for her to stay awake fretting just because your brattish bottom was slapped a couple times tonight." The tall redhead's annoyed visage abruptly disappeared from view and was momentarily replaced by Montana's pretty curl-framed face, which was filled with caring concern.

"Carltie, please tell me that you're all right," the young brunette pleaded.

"Aside from a bit of a sore seat, I'm perfectly fine, Mon," her fellow Medicalos responded.

She grimaced. "My view shows a cane hanging on the wall beside a Cornerstool, so don't try to soft-pedal what happened to you—I want the whole story."

The five-year-old flashed a tight smile. "You want to know every embarrassing detail, huh?"

"That's what I'll settle for." Montana sighed in frustration. "What I WANT, sweet boy, is to hug you to pieces—but that will have to wait until tomorrow..."

{EPILOGUE}

(This part's setting begins eleven hours following the conclusion of Part Three, simulated early morning, inside the McMichael family's Starfleet quarters on Starbase Seventeen, a space station orbiting the planet Vladivost in the mid-28th century.)

Rebecca had hand-prepared one of her rejuved ex-husband's favorite breakfast meals, classic Terran-style French toast and pork sausages, and was maternally gratified to observe him consume it eagerly. She was also pleased that the five-year-old appeared to be in buoyant spirits in spite of the extremely sound disciplinary session that he had endured at her hand—or more precisely leather paddle, hairbrush and junior cane—the previous evening.

Nantessa, wearing her traditional-style school uniform of navy blue and white, was consuming the same foods, along with hot Baikabush tea, but without the obvious gusto that he was displaying.

"It's a good thing that simutaste butter and maple syrup are low-calorie, baby brother, or your bouncy bottom would be getting fatter than it already is." The pretty teenager chuckled devilishly.

Carlton stopped lifting his durasteel fork, a piece of sausage speared in its prongs, halfway to his mouth.

"Do you think I'm putting on too much weight, Nannie?" he asked uncertainly.

The admiral, attired in her royal blue Starfleet uniform, chuckled lightly. "Stop teasing your brother, sweetness, he's likely to take it seriously."

Her daughter grinned. "Just kidding, cutie, your childish caboose is pleasingly plump, that's all—a perfect 'Spank-me-ma'am' fanny, to quote a mutual acquaintance of ours."

The Medicalos refused to respond to that remark. "It's just that I'm pretty hungry this morning—I was too anxious to eat much at supper yesterday, and then later I sort of...well, used up a lot of energy..."

Nantessa reached across the table to playfully ruffle the rejuve's soft curls.

"Kicking and crying will do that, baby brother," she affirmed, "That's something we both know from extensive personal experience."

"As you're likewise aware, my darling daughter," her mother added, "Administering sound corporal correction can be quite eneverating as well, both physically and psychologically."

"At least Mom fixed your favorite breakfast after blistering your bare behind something fierce last night," his sister told Carlton, "That's worth something."

The Amazonian beauty smiled softly. "Carltie admitted that he deserved to be severely disciplined and he took his medicine with courage and fortitude."

"Not to mention weeping and wailing," the thirteen-year-old rejoined, "But you're right, Mom—he was a brave boy considering all the punishment his chubby little buns absorbed." She gazed at her sibling. "I hope you've learned a lasting lesson from that, Carltie honey, because it hurts me to see you being spanked so severely."

The youngster cleared his throat."Ummmm...I didn't enjoy it much either, Nannie, so I'll try to be on my best behavior from now on."

Rebecca heard the sincerity in her ward's voice even while knowing that the effect of the previous evening's chastisement would eventually fade somewhat—however, she felt that her intensive reinforcement of Carlton's initial correction at school had been emphatic enough to effectively modify his future conduct.

"While we're on the subject of your discipline, sweetheart, there's a perspective of mine that I wish to share with you," she stated in a matter-of-fact tone. "First of all, it's my belief that I contributed to your misbehavior at the picnic—I've been too lenient with you since our Easter weekend on the planet, when you got two punishments that you didn't deserve."

The boy began, "The one from Aunt Selena—"

"You agreed to that, I know," his guardian interrupted, "But the serious paddling that Portia administered with the wooden spoon, that walloping was my fault because of my insistence that you get your bare bottom warmed every Sunday morning."

"We were taking it pretty easy with those spankings, though," Nantessa pointed out. "I was just giving Carltie moderate handsmackings on my turns."

"Which was a mistake," the admiral said bluntly. "Corporal correction should be administered wholeheartedly or not at all, that was always my approach as a fem-dis wife and member of the Sorority, as well as a mother. Unfortunately, though, I didn't adhere to my own belief system for our little boy's Sunday fanny-tannings."

"Well, I felt uncertain about those sessions anyway," her daughter remarked, "Because Carltie hadn't done anything to deserve them."

"Which is why I should have simply included them when I eliminated the rest of his scheduled spankings. I now realize that they were..." The woman paused pensively before continuing. "Well, not totally justified, to put it mildly."

"Mommy, I think that you were right, at least partly, about me needing those punishments," Carlton interjected. "I didn't think so at the time, but now it seems to me that I was feeling guilty and upset about the situation—then I did feel...cleansed, kind of...after being spanked by Nannie or you."

"Even those first unfriendly bare-butt beatings I gave you?" his older sibling queried. "I feel ashamed of being so mean and unsisterly to you back then, baby brother, but I have to say that turning your sassy bum-bum cheeks cherry red did make me feel better—I was just so angry and frustrated at losing my father."

"I'll concede that there were valid psychological reasons for those disciplinary activities, but they were overdone for therapeutic purposes," Rebecca stated pedantically. "However, the point I was making is that I felt responsible for the undeserved blistering that Portia delivered to your brother's bare buns—I should have terminated those prechurch wallopings before then, but out of stubborn egotism I hadn't."

The pretty teenager shrugged. "No permanent harm was done, though, was it? I'm sorry that Carltie had to go pants-down over Mrs. Highsmith's lap for an extended session between the cooking spoon and his derriere, but it's just one more spanking he received in the past."

"Flap down, actually," her brother amended, "I was still in my pajama outfit."

"Don't be smartmouthed, cutie." Nantessa reached over to again tousel his blond hair. "Your plump round rump was unprotected, whatever was yanked down to give you that southern exposure."

The admiral addressed her former spouse. "Over the past month there were a couple of borderline situations in which I probably should've given you a proper paddling, Carltie dear, but instead I settled for applying a half-dozen handswats to your bare derriere."

Her daughter smiled knowingly. "A six-pack of smackbottoms as a warning to behave, I remember those—they do smart quite a bit."

"Not enough in your brother's case, apparently," Rebecca noted. "Because I didn't spank him soundly when I should have, due to my remorse over that gratuitous fanny-whacking by Aunt Portia, Carltie ended up getting into major-league trouble at his class picnic yesterday—which resulted in my having to chastise him quite severely."

The girl's brow furrowed. "Do you really think that it would have made a difference if you'd given him a red-bottomed shellacking or two during the past month, Mom?"

The admiral nodded. "Indeed I do, sweetness." She gazed at her young ward, her crystal blue eyes intense. "What do you think, honey?"

He flashed a tight smile. "You're probably right, Mommy—my mind wasn't too clear when Greta maneuvered me into that simulgame bet, my pride might have gotten the best of me there."

"Not to mention her Kamchatwillow switch clearly getting the best of your chubby caboose." Nantessa chuckled. "If it's any consolation, cutie, Greta went bare-bottom-up over her stepmom's lap last night—she got it good with a wooden spoon."

"Why would that make me feel better?" the Medicalos demanded. "I wasn't wishing for any more disciplinary action against Greta, I don't hold any grudges."

His guardian addressed the youngster. "Back to my point, Carltie darling: I'll definitely be treating you more strictly in the future regarding chastisement for any misconduct, even if it's fairly minor, to forestall any more circumstances like yesterday's. I found it highly disappointing that you would conspire to violate school rulles and quite disturbing that you'd deliberately disobey instructions that you were given to insure your safety in the arboretum."

Carlton swallowed hard. "Okay, Mommy, I understand what you mean and I'll try harder to behave properly for you."

She leaned sideways and lightly kissed his lips. "You've been doing very well overall, sweetheart, but I want to avoid any further slip-ups like the one we just resolved—it pains me to punish you as extensively as I did last evening, but I felt the need to make a long-lasting impression."

Half an hour later, as Rebecca and her ward were walking hand-in-hand toward the Starfleet School, the kindergartener stopped abruptly.

"Mommy," he asked anxiously, "Do you think Mrs. Kemp considers me a misbehaving brat after what I did yesterday?"

Squatting down and turning him to meet her gaze at his eye level, the beautiful brunette addressed her boy firmly but fondly.

"Carltie dear, nobody considers you to be a brat, in the nonmilitary sense of the word; you're a wonderful child, something of which your teacher is fully aware. The reason that I've set such high standards for your conduct and performance is that you've always needed to be challenged in order to achieve, personally and academically—so Mrs. Kemp has been respecting my wishes in having great expectations of you."

She grinned ruefully, ruffling the rejuve's soft curls. "Some sort of mischief was anticipated at the class picnic, I've been informed, and Greta was a prime suspect to be its perpetrator—your involvement was admittedly unexpected, but your teacher pretty much figured out how it happened on her own."

Carlton looked deeply troubled. "It's just that today is my final day in Mrs. Kemp's kindergarten, so I can't win back her confidence this time. I'm afraid I've really messed up badly, Mommy—now my teacher will always remember me as a naughty troublemaker, the last student from my class that she had to discipline for disobedience."

He began to sniffle softly, then his maternal guardian gripped his shoulders and kissed his cheeks.

"Sweetheart, she doesn't feel that way at all, please trust me on this." She straightened up and took his hand in hers again. "Come on, let's get you to school, I expect that Montana is waiting to give you plenty of TLC—probably Greta too."

That prediction was proven 100% accurate, the blond Medicalos being tightly embraced by both of his girlish compatriots, one on each side of him, and given several friendly kisses on each of his cheeks—Montana focusing on the left and Greta on the right—immediately upon entering the kindergarten classroom. He returned their hugs with an arm around each affectionate colleague, feeling rather self-conscious with the awareness that both his guardian and Mrs. Kemp were reacting with womanly amusement to the warm welcome he was receiving.

Still, Carlton was gratified by the fondly indulgent smile that his teacher bestowed upon their previously troublesome trio; she apparently was putting the past day's rulebreaking behind them. Rebecca good-naturedly waited for the girls to release her one-time spouse, then she planted a motherly kiss on his lips before bidding him farewell and departing.

Once their final academic day in her kindergarten had formally begun, Mrs. Kemp's pupils were surprised by a strong admonition made to the class as they sat in their padded foamseats and listened ro her.

"There are to be no awards ceremonies of any kind held today without my notification to do so," she informed the seated rejuves. "If I find out that my directions have not been followed in this regard, those involved can expect to be chastised for blatant misconduct."

An undertone of anxiety ran through the seated students, eleven of whom had observed their instructor's administration of over-the-lap, bare-bottomed discipline less than seventeen hours earlier and fervently wished to avoid being a recipient of similar treatment on their final day in her class—none of them wanted to be the last class member to be soundly spanked during the academic year.

Greta and Carlton, who more or less shared that dubious distinction, both felt their recently-walloped derrieres tingling—an effect that was purely psychological due to the overnight effects of nanolotion—as the gazes of the other kindergarteners all surrepticiously focused on the two of them.

"So I can't be awarded my diamonds today," Greta muttered during morning relaxation time, referring to the decoration for her fourth kinndergarten fanny-tanning, "Even though I managed to earn them just in time."

Montana eyed her petite classmate suspiciously. "Were you trying to get caught so you'd get the diamonds?"

The silver blonde shrugged. "Not exactly, but I did figure that there was at least a fifty-fifty chance that Mrs. Kemp would nail us—she's pretty sharp, you know."

"Do you mean that you expected we'd be walloped the way we were yesterday?" Carlton queried, his expression one of uncertainty.

"That's not what I said," Greta countered, "But I did recognize the real possibility that we'd get caught and blistered in spite of our precautions." She smiled lazily. "Still, it's over now and we survived the worst even if our buns did get toasted quite a bit yesterday."

"That's easy for you to say since your punishment's been completed," her brunette colleague noted sharply. "Don't forget that Carltie still has another good spanking coming to his bare behind on Sunday—so it's not over for him yet."

The Innocentata slumped slightly in her foamseat. "You're right, Montie," she conceded, her voice subdued. "If I could do anything to help you there, Carltie..."

"Never mind, Greta," he replied dismissively, "I'll have to deal with that situation on my own."

Montana snorted softly. "Deal with it how, Carltie? With lots of kicking and crying, I'm figuring." She sighed glumly. "Three bare-assed blisterings for one offense, I just don't like that happening to you, sweet boy."

"Plus not even being presented with your oak leaves after that shellacking you took in class yesterday," Greta added.

"Actually, that's not precisely what Mrs. Kemp stated," the blond Medicalos mused. "I expect we'll be receiving our awards today in a public ceremony."

He was proven correct at the end of the school day, when their teacher called the class to attention twenty minutes before dismissal time. "Children," she announced clearly from a stance in front of her desk, "There is one final item, or actually a pair of items, that this class must deal with."

"That's us," Carlton whispered to Greta.

"That's correct, Carltie," Mrs. Kemp affirmed, showing acute hearing. "You and your leader in the Order of the Red Bottom are hereby directed to march up here immediately, front and center."

He helped his Innocentata compatriot to her feet then nudged her forward. "She...knows...?" Greta asked as she accompanied her comrade to the front of the room.

The thirtyish woman chuckled. "I know what goes on in my classroom, it's my business to know that." She sat down on the top of her desk, then reached back to produce the leather strap and the 'K-3' paddle from its top drawer.

Carlton's cornflower-blue eyes widened with alarm. "Oh, not those..."

"Just a few symbolic swats, that's all," the instructor said calmly, setting the instruments of corporal correction on the desktop. She reached into her skirt pocket and took out two lumnitabs, which she held facing upward on her left palm—one was the diamonds decoration and the other the oak leaves, both of them slightly larger and more ornate than the standard O.R.B. awards.

Greta gulped. "Where did you get those, ma'am?"

"I had them replicated based on the ones used in the organization you represent, sweetheart, but I made them a little fancier since they'll be the final two given out this school year.'" Mrs. Kemp showed them to the smallish girl. "They are accurate in design, aren't they?"

Recovering her composure, the blonde nodded. "Yes, they're perfect."

"As expected." The teacher grinned. "Now both of you are to give yourselves some southern exposure for this little ritual—pants and underwear down to your thighs in the back, please, so your classmates can observe the magical effects of nanolotion."

It was Carlton's turned to act somewhat stunned. "Wuh-We have to...?"

"Show them our naked fannies," Greta finished. Blushing and giggling, she lowered her uniform trousers and sheer pink panties to just below her tight, snow-white bumcheeks.

Cheers, appreciative applause and whistles erupted from her seated fellow rejuves, especially the boys.

"Let's see your cute caboose too, Carltie!" Montana called out playfully, using Greta's expression for their mutual friend's rear end.

"Bare that bouncy bottom right now, young man," Mrs. Kemp instructed Carlton.

"Okay, ma'am." He obeyed, following his Innocenta colleague's example by pulling down his pants and scarlet briefs to upper thigh level as his facial cheeks flushed pinkly.

The renewed cheering and clapping from his watching classmates featured much more feminine enthusiasm in response to the exposure of his plump boyish buttocks.

"Embarrassing, isn't it?" his teacher asked rhetorically as the youngster's blush brightened to a rosy shade. He nodded, more focused on his posterior's nudity than he would've been if he'd had an upcoming chastisement to anticipate. "Let's get things quieted down, shall we?"

Leaning forward, she forcefully slapped each of Carlton's naked asscheeks with her open hand—SMACK!! SMACK!!

"Owwww!" he yipped as two pink palmprints appeared on his smarting seat while the observing rejuves fell silent.

"Now that Carltie's helped me get your undivided attention," Mrs. Kemp stated briskly, "I'm going to present him and Greta with the awards they earned yesterday over my lap." She looked at Greta. "Ladies first—step forward, dear girl."

The petite six-year-old did so, then the young woman pressed the diamonds lumnitab on the outside of her uniform collar.

"Thank you, ma'am." The girl grinned.

Her teacher responded by kissing Greta lightly on each facial cheek, then picking up the strap, bending forward and cracking the thick leather implement across each of the Innocentata's nether cheeks in turn—THWACK!! THWACK!! The child squealed and squirmed, then Mrs. Kemp exchanged the polyplast paddle for the strap and administered two hard whacks, one landing atop each emerging red stripe—WHACK!! WHACK!!

"Restore your modesty, please, then stand back," the woman directed. As the grimacing six-year-old did so, Mrs. Kemp addressed the seated kindergarteners. "Greta is the first pupil of mine to earn herself four spankings from me during a school year—I'll remember that, one way or another, for the rest of my career." She then regarded Carlton. "Carltie is a true paradox, a boy who's been extremely well behaved overall yet managed to receive two intensive chastisements in less than three months in this class. Step forward, young man."

The Medicalos promptly obeyed, uncomfortably aware that he'd become the only bare-bottomed person in the room. He nodded as his teacher placed the oak leaves lumnitab on his collar then kissed him twice on each facial cheek.

"Double the kisses that Greta got on those cheeks," Carlton queried, "Does that also mean...?"

The dishwater blonde smiled as she picked up the strap and leaned over his shoulder. "You're very astute, dear boy." She swung the supple instrument of correction four times in rapid succession, landing two leathering licks on each of his bare buttcheeks—CRACK!! THWACK!! THWAP!! CRACK!!

As the youngster winced in discomfort, Mrs. Kemp switched to the 'K-3' spanker and delivered four vigorous swats that connected to his striped seat with blistering impacts—WHACK!! SMACK!! CRACK!! WHAP!! Carlton gasped sharply but didn't cry out, although a tiny teardrop trickled down his right cheek.

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Kemp," he told his teacher, realizing that she'd given him an appropriate and memorable farewell.

"You're quite welcome, honey," she replied. "Now give the girls a few moments to enjoy their view of your glowing glutes before pulling up your pants."

About forty-two hours later Carlton's well-rounded rump was again exposed after his older sister finished unbuttoning the seat flap of his aquamarine 'Doctor Denton' sleepsuit. He had earlier experienced the privilege of opening an early birthday present—it was a blue-tinted lexanite 'Personal Punisher' paddle of the type found in Penitatas households—and was about to undergo a first-hand demonstration of its stinging effectiveness on a rejuve's bare derriere.

"A long, hard walloping with this brand-spanking-new fannny-whacker, then a dozen strokes of the junior cane, followed by fifteen minutes on your Cornerstool to reflect on being a smarter little boy next time," Nantessa stated calmly, listing the steps in the boy's upcoming punishment—it was taking place in the living room of their quarters, a location convenient for the second and third parts of the disciplinary proceedings. "This had better be a good lesson for you about letting yourself be outsmarted, baby brother—first you let Greta manipulate you into that sucker bet, then you get caught paying it off and taken to the woodshed by your teacher."

"Sorry, Nannie." Carlton shivered, acutely aware of impending events even without being verbally informed of them. He was bent forward over his sibling's left knee in a spanking-recipient restraint position, her right leg firmly over his thighs and her left hand pressing his upturned right wrist against the small of his back, leaving his naked buttocks pointed almost straight upward—his body knew exactly what always befell it once it had assumed that vulnerable posture, hence its shivering.

"I'm going to make you a whole lot sorrier," Nantessa informed her hapless captive as she patted his defenseless derriere with the paddle's smooth transparent striking surface, "I'm extremely disappointed in—"

The front door's entry-request sensor chimed, interrupting the sisterly lecture.

"Who's that?" Rebecca's voice called out from the kitchen.

"Could you check it, Mom?" her daughter asked loudly. "I''ve got Carltie over my knee, ready for his paddling...Who'd be here this early on a Sunday anyway?"

Wearing her simulsatin Starfleet bathrobe, the admiral entered the room, picked up an interior universal remote and activated the doorway holoview function.

"Atlanta Jurgensen and Greta," she announced, glancing at the projected holoimage. "Why would they be here?" Her brows furrowed in puzzlement. "Well, they've both seen our little boy's bare bottom already, so I'll admit them."

The door slid open and the two females entered; the woman was attired in a casual emerald green outfit while her smallish stepdaughter wore a soft pink 'Doctor Denton' pajama outfit.

"Hello, Atlanta, Greta," Rebecca greeted their unexpected guests as the doorway closed up. "We're in the middle of some private family business, as you can see."

"That's what we're here about," Atlanta said pointedly.

"Just in time too," her Innocentata child added, noting that Carlton's exposed posterior was still white and his eyes were tearless.

"You came here to watch and gloat, Greta?" Nantessa demanded.

"No, Nannie," the petite blonde responded bluntly. "I'm not here to observe, I want to share Carltie's punishment."

In the brief four-way conversation (Carlton feeling too humiliatingly exposed to participate) that immediately ensued, Greta successfully convinced her two hostesses that she was partially responsible for her classmate's misbehavior at school and that she should be allowed to accept a share of his looming chastisement. At Rebecca's insistence, that portion was established at one-third of each disciplinary activity since she held her spousal ward to be primarily accountable for his own actions and decisions.

"Then let's get underway," Atlanta chirped brightly, sitting down on the old-style couch as the admiral departed.

Greta gently touseled Carlton's blond curls while he faced the floor awaiting his fanny-tanning retribution. "Don't you think of objecting either, darling boy."

Seated on a magnachair, Nantessa raised the 'Personal Punisher' to strike its quivering twin-moon target. "He'll be too busy bawling, I guarantee that." She swung the paddle swiftly downward.

SMACK!! WHACK!! CRACK!! SPLAT!! Alternating between her brother's bouncing buns, the thirteen-year-old resolutely plastered his upturned behind with practiced precision, as usual working over the 'spank spot' at the base of his bare buttocks while he futilely squirmed, kicked and cried. Making up for the delay in administering Carlton's spanking, his older sibling emphatically applied the lexanite paddle to his reddening rear end for over eight minutes.

Greta quickly replaced her fellow rejuve across Nantessa's lap, but the Innocentata was small enough that her punisher didn't need to use a restraint position to control her bodily. "Get ready, this is going to sting you good," the older girl warned her victim as she unbuttoned and lowered the child's 'trap door' to expose trim little-girl bumcheeks.

While Carlton sobbed, allowed to watch but not to rub his flaming fanny or prance in place, his female friend was paddled for four minutes by his sister—the swats weren't quite as hard as the ones he'd received, but they were energetic enough to produce a flow of teardrops which spattered the thick carpeting.

Then Greta found herself standing next to her young host, each of them sporting a tearstained face and glowing crimson bumcheeks.

"We've got to stop meeting like this." He flashed a wry half-smile.

Having withdrawn the junior cane from its statistube in the corner, Nantessa touched it to the couch next to Greta's stepmother. "Presenting position, Carltie dear, right here. Pardon me, Mrs. Jurgensen, but you'll have to get up."

Atlanta complied, sitting on the vacated magnachair as Carlton climbed onto the couch and knelt facing sideways, back arching downward and face pressed against the cushioned surface. His sibling tapped the thin rattan implement against his outthrust rosy rump while Greta took his hands in hers.

"Be brave for me, darling boy," she urged quietly, just before Nantessa whipped the cane forward.

SWIIIISH-SWAP!! "Ahhhhhhowwww!" Carlton howled as fiery intensity scorched across both of his wide-open undercheeks. His blazing-hot punishment proceeded, the pretty teenager slashing the wickedly-flexible junior cane across his 'sit spots' seven more times, at ten-second intervals, while her little brother squeezed Greta's fingers and wailed each time a new scarlet stripe was painted on his sizzling southern hemispheres.

Blubbering babyishly, the Medicalos then switched positions with his female comrade and Nantessa administered four strokes of the flicking rattan to the girl's more compact red buttocks—the lashes were less intensive than Carlton's had been, but still effective enough to make Greta yelp and grip his hands tightly when they landed.

A moment later, the sharp wooden points of his Cornerstool digging into the tender flesh of his throbbing bottom and his ankles trapped in the restraints that forced his well-chastised posterior to bear all of his body weight, Carlton wept softly but steadily while keeping his hands on his head. Only Greta, sitting on the couch and contemplating her approaching turn atop the punitive stool's tiny pyramids, remained with her classmate in the living room.

After ten minutes of her brother's Cornerstool crying time, Nantessa returned to replace his naked fanny with his rejuve compatriot's.

"Greta's buh-ehind is ahh-already cooling off and fuh-feeling better," the five-year-old stated while sniffling. "Th-There's no nuh-need for her t-to make it wah-worse now, I can tuh-take it uh-up here a lih-little longer."

His older sibling agreed, so Carlton continued sobbing while his nether cheeks smarted intensely for five more minutes. After he was removed from the stool's pointed surface, Greta wasn't the only female to kiss him with mixed admiration and affection—but she was the first, hard on the lips while she hugged him tightly.

"No more bets," he informed her.

The petite blonde grinned devilishly, her eyes twinkling. "We'll see about that..."

{THE END}

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