By Handprince

    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 living room 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 red velvet pinafore over a puffed-sleeved lace-trimmed blouse, full petticoat, 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, stopped, turned to look back at Pammy, and then defiantly 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 hurriedly 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 Mom's lap.

        "Please don't spank me, Mommyyy!"  begged Pammy, as she felt the skirts of her dress and crinoline petticoats 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!"

        "No-o-o, Mommy-y-y!  cried Pammy.  She continued to plead for another chance and promised to be good while our mother tugged the garments down to her upper thighs, just far enough to reveal the two creamy cheeks of Pammy's plumply rounded little backside.  My heart pounded in my ears and I realized I'd been holding my breath while peering around the back of the armchair.  How I wished sweet little sister 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 girlish little 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 and promising to be good.

        "NO-O-O!"  shouted Pammy helplessly as she watched our mother raise her right palm skyward.  Without further ado, Mom began to swiftly slap the soft, pale flesh of Pammy's sitting spot.  My sister gasped for breath and began to cry as Mom's 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 or son.

        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 little backside received slap after slap from Mom's well-practiced, child-worn 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.

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(c) Handprince, 2005