When will it be lunchtime?, asked my stomach, plaintively. Don't
worry, can hear Mom making preparations out in the kitchen, my ears replied.
Taking care not to step on my little sister's doll accessories scattered
on the carpet, I crossed the livingroom and settled into an overstuffed
armchair which faced out the garden window. I was soon so engrossed
in my comic book that I didn't hear Pammy
come in from the kitchen, but my ears pricked up at once when she exclaimed,
"Young lady! Do you want to be spanked, or will you
behave yourself?!" One word could always win my full attention, and
Pamela had just uttered it.
Quietly, I set the comic on my lap and peeked around the side of the chair.
As I suspected, my sister was scolding her doll, quite unaware of my presence.
It was Sunday, and she still had on the outfit she'd worn to church: a
ruffley white pinafore over a long-sleeved floral print dress, white tights
and black MaryJane shoes. Her long golden hair was tied with a pretty
velvet bow which matched her dress.
"I mean it, young lady,
you have been a very naughty girl all morning, " Pammy added, frowning
at the doll and waving her finger sternly from side to side, "Why, I have
half a mind to turn you over my knee and spank
you right this instant!"
A feeling of restless
excitement stirred in me as I watched. Yet it was also hard not to
betray my presence with laughter. Pammy "did" our Mom well in any
event. And she could talk and act exactly like our mother
did while preparing to spank one of us or threatening to do so. Every
mannerism, every inflection of tone, was perfect.
Pammy murmured something
inaudible under her breath, putting soft, high-pitched little words into
her doll's mouth. "No," she quickly replied, firmly laying
down the law, "it's time for your nap now." The doll began to protest
in the same faint, falsetto voice, but Pammy cut it right off, saying,
"do as you're told! And I don't want to hear one more word out of
you. Is that understood?"
Holding the doll's waist
in her left hand, Pammy made it walk slowly and dejectedly towards the
doll bed on the carpet next to the padded footstool. The doll halfway
climbed into bed, stoppped, turned to look back at Pammy, and then definantly
sat down on the floor, refusing to budge another inch.
Pammy released her hold
on the doll, jumped to her feet, and indignantly placed her hands on her
hips. With a sharp little stamp of her foot, she snapped, "I am through
talking to you, young lady! What you need is a good sound spanking,
and that is exactly what you're going to get!" Seizing her doll by
it's wrist, Pammy sat down on the footstool and smoothed the wrinkles from
the lap of her pinafore with her free hand. "No-o-o-o-o Mommyyyyy!"
cried the doll as Pammy placed it face-down across her lap in the standard
spanking position which my sisters and I knew only too well.
"Don't spank me Mommyyyy!"
squealed the doll, "I'll be a good girl! I'll take my nap! Ple-e-e-ease
don't spank me-e-e-e!" Pammy knew exactly how to make an about-to-be-spanked
doll sound: just like Pammy herself sounded while being turned over Mom's
knee. Unfortunately for Pammy's doll, last minute pleas and promises
of good behavior always proved just as futile in persuading Pammy to spare
the rod as they invariably were in moving our mother to do likewise.
The doll continued to
beseech Pammy for a second chance in the same high, squeaky little voice;
but Pammy paid no heed as she pulled down the doll's small white bloomers,
exposing the pudgy, rounded cheeks of its injection-molded plastic buttocks.
She knit her brow, as if annoyed at her doll's naughty behavior but the
set of her lips betrayed a keen pleasure in this make-believe game in which
she got to be the confident, in-control, punishing Mommy, instead of the
not-infrequently-spanked little girl she actually was.
After scolding her doll
further, Pammy began to spank it, administering brisk, rhythmic slaps to
its backside. She didn't smack hard enough to hurt her hand, but
enough to elicit realistic smacking sounds. While she continued to
slap her doll's bare bottom, Pammy made "Waaaaaaaah!" crying noises and
twisted the doll slightly from side to side as if it were kicking and sobbing
from pain. But no matter how much the doll twisted and squirmed on
Pammy's lap, it could not escape its punishment, as Pammy's quick little
palm landed squarely across the wailing doll's backside each and every
time. Pammy was always a strict disciplinarian with her dolls.
Once one of them had earned a spanking from Pammy it never got off lightly.
This time was no exception. Pammy continued to spank soundly for
quite a while before she finally pulled the doll's bloomers back up and
put it to bed for its nap.
"Pamela!" exclaimed our
mother from the kitchen doorway, "I have asked you twice this morning to
pick up your toys from this floor and you still haven't obeyed!"
Pammy gasped with alarm and began hurridly grabbing doll accessories and
piling them onto the doll bed as Mom walked in and stood over her, hands
on hips, frowning sternly, and tapping her foot impatiently on the carpet.
"I-I was just cleaning
them up now Mommy!" piped Pammy, scampering crablike around the carpet
and gathering an armload of doll stuff.
"You most certainly were
not!" snapped Mom, folding her arms and fixing my sister with an accusatory
stare, "You only started the moment I spoke. You know better than
to tell Mommy a fib like that, young lady!" She untied her apron,
draped it over the back of the sofa, and then took hold of Pammy's wrist
with her left hand, causing Pammy to drop an armload of doll-sized furniture
and clothes as she was quickly led over to the sofa. There Mom sat
down and faced my squirming sister eye to eye, still gripping her tightly
by the wrist.
When I tell you to do
something, Pammy," she said, shaking her finger from side to side for emphasis,
"I expect to be obeyed the first time I ask. You know that full well.
What do you have to -" Her brows suddenly furrowed with displeasure.
"Pamela!" she scolded sharply, "Take your finger out of your mouth this
instant and look at me when I'm speaking to you!" Pammy's hand quickly
darted away from her face and slipped rearward to paste itself, palm outward,
fingers splayed, across the seat of her Sunday dress.
"What do you have to say
for yourself, young lady?" prompted Mom, frowning sternly.
"I'm.... sorry... Mommy,"
she replied in an anxious little voice, much like the voice of her doll
a few minutes earlier, "I... forgot."
"So... you 'forgot,'"
replied Mom skeptically as she reached around Pammy's back and took hold
of her other wrist with her free hand. Gripping both of Pammy's wrists
in front of her, Mom said, "What you need right now, young lady, is something
to help you not to 'forget' in the future!" And as Pammy wailed in
dismay, she found herself smoothly hauled by her wrists face-down across
"Please don't spank me,
Mommyyy!" begged Pammy, as she felt the skirts of her dress and fluffly
lace petticoat being tucked up above her waist. "I'll pick up my
toys! I promise! I'm sorry! I-"
"You most certainly will
pick up your toys..." said Mom with calm finality. She hooked her
fingers under the waistbands of Pammy's tights and panties, and added,
"...after you've been spanked!"
cried Pammy. She continued to plead for another chance and promised
to be good as our mother tugged the garments down to her upper thighs,
just far enough to reveal her plumply rounded backside. My heart
pounded in my ears and I realized I'd been holding my breath as I peered
around the back of the armchair. I wished Pammy didn't have to be
spanked. But if she had to get a spanking... I couldn't
help myself... I just had to watch.
The twin snowdrifts of
Pammy's creamy buttocks were now framed by the disheveled heap of her raised
skirts and the rumpled folds of her lowered tights. Mom had a firm
hold of Pammy's waist with her left hand. Pammy's teary eyed anxious
face turned to look back over her right shoulder, desperately begging Mommy
not to spank her.
wailed as she watched our mother raise her right palm skyward. Without
further ado, Mom began to swiftly slap the soft, smooth surfaces of Pammy's
sitting spot. My sister gasped for breath and began to cry as the
spanks rained down in a steady rhythm. She let out several tearful
sobs, took a deep gulp of air and began to wail with still greater urgency
while Mom continued to swat the reddening cheeks as crisply and firmly
as before. Pammy's resilient little buttocks quivered and vibrated
with each clap of Mom's open hand, looking a little pinker and a little
sorer every moment. But Mom didn't ease up - whenever she decided
that one of us needed a spanking, she would continue until she was certain
that the child across her lap was a thoroughly chastised little daughter
Before too long, the soft
surfaces of both of Pammy's buttocks were a solid shade of painful pink.
She cried urgently as tears poured down her cheeks and her little body
shook with sobs, while Mom, frowning with concentration, administered slap
after stinging slap to my sister's blushing bottom. As her punishment
continued, Pammy squirmed and kicked her legs fitfully; but Mom held her
firmly in position, and Pammy's bunched up tights prevented her legs from
flailing too wildly. My fingernails dug into the armrest of the chair
as I gripped it, riveted by the sight of Pammy draped across our mother's
lap, bawling with pain, as her naked backside received slap after slap
from Mom's practiced palm.
My heart ached for my
poor little sister. Kid sisters can be a pain sometimes, and Pamela
was no exception. But I still loved her a lot and wished she didn't
have get such a sound spanking. At least, I consoled myself, little
Pammy still wasn't old enough to be getting spanked with Mom's hairbrush
yet. So she hadn't yet experienced what a really hard spanking
from our mother felt like. But knowing Pammy's propensity for mischief,
and for testing her limits, I guessed that she would find out first hand
once she grew a little bit older - a guess which would later prove correct.
At last, Mom decided that
Pammy had learned her lesson. She pulled up Pammy's tights and panties,
and smoothed down her skirts while my little sister continued to sob and
cry across our mother's lap. Mom waited patiently for a couple of
minutes until my sister's crying began to subside. Then she stood
Pammy back on her feet facing Mom, took hold of her wrists again and ordered
her to hush. Pammy obeyed, with some effort, swallowing the last
of her tears while Mom gently but emphatically admonished her about the
importance of doing what you are told the first time you are told, and
about how in this house, little girls who choose to disobey their Mommy
must expect to get their little bare bottoms spanked each and every time
they do so. Pammy's face still glistened with half-dried tears, and
her lower lip protruded in a sorrowful pout as the lecture proceeded; but
when Mom asked her if she understood, she meekly nodded her head yes.
"So, Pammy," prompted
our mother, "are you going to be a good girl and put away your toys now?"
"Yes... Mommy," replied
Pammy in an almost inaudible little voice.
"Good girl!" exclaimed
our mother, drawing my sister close for a lingering hug and kiss.
"Please have your toys cleaned up in time for lunch." Pammy hugged
Mom back, but her pudgy cried-out eyes still looked sad as she did so.
After gently drying Pammy's
face with her apron, Mom put it back on and returned to the kitchen, while
Pammy picked up all of her doll accessories, rubbing the seat of her dress
with one hand all the while.
(c) Handprince, 2005