Subject: New story: Missy and Tracey Part 3 <M/F, F/f>
From: Kent Stoneking <kentls001@worldnet.att.net>
Date: 23 May 1999 21:24:36 -0700
"Damn bugs!" Tracey Dowling muttered, swatting away another mosquito. As she scratched the stinging spot on her arm, she reflected (again) how a seemingly good idea went so horribly wrong.
After slogging through her first two terms in college, the idea of spending spring break at a lakeside resort sounded very appealing to Tracey. Never mind that her family would be there; the place was bound to be crawling with hunks and studs, which her 19-year-old hormones found extremely enticing. When her father asked if she wanted to come along, she enthusiastically agreed.
Much to Tracey's chagrin, though, she found the remainder of the resort occupied by an AARP convention. The only males within 40 years of her age were the resort staff, who looked like they'd been recruited from the cast of "Deliverance." All the old farts and simianoids constantly leering at her made Tracey regret the skimpy wardrobe she'd brought. Even worse, after only two days, her father got called away to handle some pressing business (and why hadn't she seen that coming, Tracey thought sourly), leaving her stranded with her mother ... and her still-twerpy little sister, Missy.
The two traded spankings and switchings five years earlier, on Missy's seventh birthday. The next day, Tracey "worked a few things out" with her siblings through some "sisterly bonding" time (which involved a couple of Missy's jumpropes and one of Tracey's scarves). Since then, Tracey hadn't spanked Missy, Missy definitely hadn't spanked Tracey, the flying monkeys hadn't reappeared, and the willow tree hadn't lost any more branches. However, each girl went out of her way to make sure the other got spanked as often as possible.
There was the time Mr. Dowling entrusted Tracey with some important letters to mail, which mysteriously disappeared (causing several bounced checks and a hefty late fee on the VISA), only to be found in Tracey's backpack. Then Missy's bicycle (which Missy swore she'd put away) somehow found its way to the middle of the driveway several nights in a row, blocking Mr. Dowling's access, until he got fed up and took posterior action. Any transgression, from bad grades to missed curfews, got promptly reported to parental authority.
This way of life ceased for Tracey when she went to college; as a result, she hadn't been spanked for almost a year. She derived a certain pleasure knowing that bratty little Missy undoubtedly still "got it" on a regular basis ... even if she wasn't there to witness it.
"Tracey?" Her mother shattered her reverie. "Lunch is ready. Will you call Missy?"
"I don't know where she is, Mom," Tracey grumbled.
"She said she was going down by the woods. Would you look for her, please." Mrs. Dowling's voice held a note of quiet exhaustion.
"All right," Tracey sighed, climbing out of her lawn chair, and quickly tugging down the legs of her white terrycloth shorts where they'd ridden up. No sense giving the fogies in the next cabin too much of a show! She trudged off towards the wooded area bordering one side of the resort.
Tracey soon reached the woods. A cursory glance around; no sign of Missy. She was about to head back for the cabin when a flash of bright color caught her eye. She noted a patch of pink behind a nearby shrub. Missy had a pink sundress; was she wearing it today?
"Missy? Is that you? C'mon, lunch is ready." At her words, the pink shape turned and scuttled away. Exasperated, Tracey spun on her heel to head back to her cabin ... then remembered her mother's tone. This was an opportunity to be the "good" daughter and earn herself a few brownie points. Maybe she could even get the little brat spanked for running away!
"Come on, Missy, this isn't funny! Get back here, now!" she shouted as she followed the fugitive deeper into the woods. Before long, Tracey came to a barbed wire fence with a "No Trespassing" sign conspicuously displayed. The pink-clad figure hovered on the far side, then dashed away again as Tracey neared.
Managing to crawl through the fence with only a minor snag on her blouse, Tracey continued the chase. Her pursuit ended abruptly as she entered a small clearing and nearly ran head-on into the man standing there.
He was her age or a little older, several inches taller than her, with stringy black hair and a matching beard, wearing bib overalls and a ragged T-shirt. "You're trespassing," he informed Tracey. "This here's private property."
"I'm sorry," Tracey replied, quickly regaining her composure. "I'm looking for my little sister. Have you seen her? She's twelve, about so tall, long brown hair, wearing a pink sundress -"
"You're trespassing," the man interrupted.
Tracey rolled her eyes upwards. Obviously, she wasn't exactly dealing with the sharpest carrot in the bunch. "Look, I thought I saw my sister over here, so I came after her -"
"This here's private property," he repeated.
No sense arguing with this dullard any further, Tracey reckoned. "Well, since you haven't seen her, I'll be going now," she said casually, heading back to the resort.
She felt rough hands on her shoulders. "Not so fast, little missy," the man replied. "'Round here, we punish naughty little girls who trespass on other people's private property."
So outraged was Tracey by this violation of her personal space that his words didn't even register. "What do you think you're doing? Get your hands off me!" she snarled, twisting about and raising one arm to slap him. He was too quick for her, though, and seized both her wrists, spinning her around and pinning them behind her back. She tried kicking at him, but he managed to dodge her feet.
"Feisty little thing, aren't you?" he chuckled. "Hmm ... that oughta do just fine." Gripping Tracey's wrists with his left hand, he encircled her waist with his right and half-dragged, half-carried her to a nearby tree. He put his back against the tree and slowly slid down until he was seated on the ground, meanwhile maneuvering her across his lap. Without her arms to support her, Tracey landed face first, fortunately on a nice, soft tuft of grass. "Lemme go, you asshole! Lemme go!" she demanded, wriggling desperately, but unable to break free.
He clucked his tongue. "You got a real mouth on you, know that? You're a very naughty little girl, and you need to be punished."
Punished? Tracey suddenly realized just what position she was in. "Don't you dare! Lemme go right now, you hear me! Let me go!"
"I don't think so, little girl. Not until you've been punished. Let's see here," he went on, softly patting her upturned nether cheeks. "Do naughty little girls get spanked with their pants up? No! Naughty little girls get spanked with their pants down!"
Her captor's words drove Tracey to outright panic. "No! NO! NOOOOO!" she screamed, renewing her struggles. He ignored her. Taking hold of the waistband of her shorts, he slowly, gradually, bit by bit, a little on this side, a little on that side, pulled them down. Incredibly, he somehow managed to do it while leaving her white nylon panties (white panties beneath white shorts, right?) undisturbed.
When a few inches of bare thigh showed between Tracey's shorts and her panties, he ceased his attentions there. "Yes, sir," he said, running his palm over her nylon-encased backside, "this naughty bottom's just about ready to get spanked. Just about."
Just about? Tracey froze. That could only mean -
"Do naughty little girls get spanked on their panties? No! Naughty little girls get spanked on their bare bottoms!"
"NOOOOOO!" Tracey kicked and squirmed frantically, but to no avail. Her tormentor slowly peeled her panties down to join her shorts. "Now this bottom's ready for its spanking," he intoned. Tracey sensed him raise his hand, and involuntarily clenched up.
SMACK! The first swat landed atop her left cheek. Tracey squealed as the all-too-familiar sting began arising. SMACK! Another spank, on the other side. "OWWW!" She may not have been spanked for a while, but her rump hadn't forgotten.
He set up a slow, steady rhythm, alternating between her nates. Tracey could see he had no intention of stopping any time soon, so she altered the thrust of her arguments. SMACK! "HELLLP!" SMACK! "HELLP MEEEE!" SMACK! "Somebody, please, HELLLP MEEEE!" SMACK!
"You think somebody's going to hear you?" the man asked. "We're way deep in these woods. There's nobody else around for miles. But go ahead and holler. I like the sound you make."
At this, Tracey bit back her protests, confining herself to an involuntary squawk as each spank landed. As if she wasn't embarrassed enough, the yokel started lecturing her. "Naughty girl!" SMACK! "Trespassing on other people's property!" SMACK! "Can't you read?" SMACK! "Or do you" SMACK! "figure the rules" SMACK! "don't apply to" SMACK! "you?" SMACK! "Well, you're wrong!" SMACK! "You hear me!" SMACK! "Wrong," SMACK! "wrong," SMACK! "wrong!" He emphasized each "wrong" with an exceptionally hard spank.
Thrashing her head around, Tracey suddenly caught a glimpse of pink out of the corner of her eye; but her vision was so blurred, she couldn't be sure. She blinked and looked again; no sign of anything pink. She hoped it wasn't Missy. The last person on earth she wanted to know about her ordeal was Missy.
Dimly, Tracey became aware the man was speaking again. "So, you think you've learned your lesson?" She was crying too hard to reply.
SMACK! A hard spank, dead center, at the base of her tail. "I asked you a question, little girl!" SMACK! "Answer me!"
"Y-yes," Tracey choked out, knowing that's what he wanted to hear.
SMACK! "And you won't" SMACK! "go trespassing" SMACK! "on other people's property!" SMACK! "again?" SMACK!
"Y-y-yes." SMACK! "No! I won't trespass anymore!"
"And you'll" SMACK! "respect" SMACK! "other people's" SMACK! "privacy" SMACK! "from now on?"
"I will, I will, I promise!"
"Okay." He released her wrists. She pushed herself to her knees and hastily pulled up her shorts and panties, trying to minimize her exposure, before climbing to her feet. He got up, as well. "If I ever catch you here again, I'll take a switch to that naughty bottom of yours," he informed her, shaking his finger in her face.
"Don't worry. I'll never come here again," she replied sullenly. He frowned, and she cringed, thinking she may have annoyed him into spanking her some more. But he just said, "G'wan, beat it," and sent her off with a stinging slap to her thigh.
Wiping the tears from her eyes, Tracey quickly made her way back to the barbed wire fence and climbed through. Her tight shorts rubbed against her battered rump with each step, increasing her agony. She'd forgotten all about finding Missy; the little twerp could have fallen into a swamp and drowned, for all she cared. In fact, she almost hoped that's precisely what happened.
Now more than ever, Tracey felt the eyes of the resort guests and staff on her. She knew her flushed, tear-stained face and the redness on her thighs made quite a display. She kept her head down, avoiding all eye contact, until she reached the sanctuary of the Dowling cabin.
Inside, her mother and Missy (who was wearing her pink sundress) were busily consuming lunch. Mrs. Dowling took one look at her oldest daughter and leapt to her feet. "Tracey! Are you all right? What happened to you?"
Faced with confessing her humiliating experience, Tracey broke into fresh tears. Her mother took her into her arms and held her tight, trying to console her with soft words, while she sobbed and wailed.
When Tracey settled down again, Mrs. Dowling took her chin in her hand and looked directly into her eyes. "Now, tell me," she commanded, "what happened to you?"
Slowly, word by word, Tracey stammered her story out. "I - I went - went down - by the woods - looking for Missy - and - and - I saw - something - that looked - like her -"
"Wasn't me," Missy interrupted. "I haven't been anywhere near those woods today." She picked up an apple and took a bite.
Shooting a murderous glance at her sister, Tracey continued. "I - I went - into the woods - and there was - was this man - and he - he told me - I was trespassing - and he - he - he -" She could go no further.
"He what? Tracey, what did he do to you?"
She still couldn't speak.
"Did he rape you?"
Tracey shook her head, no.
"Then what did he do? Tell me!"
She literally had to force the words out. "He - he-he spanked me!"
Missy snorted. "Missy!" Mrs. Dowling admonished. "This isn't funny." Turning back to Tracey, she instructed, "I want you to write down everything you can remember about this man - what he looked like, how he talked, everything. Then I'm calling the police."
The police! Tracey felt humiliated enough already; the prospect of repeating her story to complete strangers devastated her. "No, Mom, don't do that," she whined.
"Tracey, we've got to. That man can't be allowed to get away with this. It may constitute a sexual assault, anyway. Did he touch you ... down there?"
Fighting desperately to keep some shred of her dignity, Tracey lied, "Mom, he didn't even take my pants down -"
Missy burst out laughing. "You big liar! He did too! You should have seen her butt, Mom! I swear it was this color," brandishing her apple. "And the way she squealed - sounded just like a ..." her voice trailed off as she saw the expressions on her mother's and sister's faces.
"It was you! You were there all along!" Tracey snarled. "You little twerp! I oughta wring your neck!" She took one step towards Missy, intent on serious mayhem.
Mrs. Dowling intervened. "Tracey, no!" she said firmly, restraining the young woman.
"But, Mom -"
"I know you're angry, and you have every right to be," her mother soothed. "But let's handle this like adults." She turned to Missy. "I believe you've got some explaining to do, young lady."
"I went into the woods yesterday to pick some flowers," Missy confessed, her face blushing to apple-red. "Joey - that's his name - caught me and threatened to spank me. I asked him if he spanked everybody who trespassed, and he said just the cute girls. So I led him to where you were sunbathing, and he said if I could get you into the woods, he'd spank you, and I could watch."
"Well," Mrs. Dowling said quietly, obviously appalled by the extent of the setup. "I think I know how best to deal with this. Like your father always says, let the punishment fit the crime. Don't you go anywhere," she ordered Missy before leaving the room.
Tracey felt elated. She knew exactly where her mother had gone. Missy's goose was cooked, and very soon something else of hers would get equally roasted. "You're gonna get it, you're gonna get it," she taunted her little sister, in a just-audible tone.
"Shut up!" Missy hissed.
"You're gonna get it, you're gonna get it -"
"Shut up, you bitch!"
Well, Tracey thought, Missy certainly was growing up! She altered her chant a bit. "You're gonna get it, and I'm gonna watch -"
The teasing ended as Mrs. Dowling reentered the kitchen. As Tracey expected, she carried the heavy wooden-backed hairbrush used for maternal discipline sessions.
"Mommy, no, please!" Missy pleaded. "Not the hairbrush! Please, Mommy, don't use the hairbrush on me!"
"You're getting the hairbrush, young lady," her mother replied, obviously not buying the "little girl" act. "But not from me." She handed the dreaded implement over to Tracey.
"NOOO!" Missy jumped up out of her chair, backing into a corner. "Not her! She hates me! Please, Mommy, don't let her spank me!"
"Don't be silly, Missy," Mrs. Dowling answered. "Your sister doesn't hate you." (So much for a mother's ability to read minds, Tracey thought). "But that was a very cruel thing you did to her, and it's only right that she should be the one who punishes you for it."
Grinning malevolently, Tracey pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and sat down, squirming a bit as her still-stinging flanks came in contact with the seat. She beckoned to Missy, who didn't move from her corner.
"All right, Missy," Mrs. Dowling stated, "get over Tracey's lap." Missy didn't budge. "Don't make me come over there, young lady." Still no movement. "Missy, if you're not over your sister's knee in the next five seconds, you'll get another spanking from me after she's done with you."
Missy shuffled over to her sister, then cast one last pleading, pouting, puppydog-eyed look at her mother. Mrs. Dowling merely pointed at Tracey's awaiting lap. With a heavy, heartfelt sigh, Missy flopped down into position. Tracey immediately flipped the pink sundress up onto the girl's back, then took a firm grasp on the waistband of the matching cotton panties.
"No!" Missy squealed, flailing her arms and legs. "Not like that! Please, Mommy! Don't let her take my panties down!"
"Tracey," Mrs. Dowling asked, "did you get spanked with your panties down?"
"Yes, Mom," Tracey admitted. After all, Missy had already said so.
"Then that's how you'll get spanked, Missy. Go ahead, Tracey."
With one smooth yank, Tracey bared her sister's bottom. She rested the oval-backed hairbrush on Missy's left cheek, pressing it down slightly. I'm really gonna enjoy this, she thought.
CRACK! "OWWWCH!" Missy yipped as a pink oval formed on her left buttock. CRACK! "AWWUUUU!" Another blotch took shape on the right. CRACK! "OWWWOOOWW!" And Missy put both hands back, covering her behind.
Remembering, all too well, Joey's method, Tracey immediately gathered Missy's wrists in her left hand and pinned them to the small of her back. She laid it on mightily with the hairbrush, paying special attention to the underside of Missy's rump and the tops of her thighs. She wanted this to be a lesson her sister would remember for a long, long time.
Before long, Missy started making her yelps and howls into words - aimed not at Tracey, who she knew would show no mercy, but at her mother. CRACK! CRACK! "Mommy!" CRACK! CRACK! "Mommy, please!" CRACK! CRACK! "Make her stop!" CRACK! CRACK! "Please, Mommy, please!" CRACK! CRACK! "Mommmmie!"
After a time which seemed interminable to Missy, but all too brief to Tracey, Mrs. Dowling called a halt. Missy's hindquarters glowed bright red, with several purple patches indicating rapidly forming bruises. She laid still across her sister's lap, moaning softly, "Please, make it stop ... please, make it stop ... please, make it stop ..."
When Missy recovered enough to push herself to her feet and pull up her panties, Tracey got up quickly too, glad to relieve the pressure on her sore rear end. Mrs. Dowling took the hairbrush from her oldest daughter, then said, "All right, now give each other a hug."
Tracey's jaw dropped. The girls exchanged glances, then stared in disbelief at their mother.
"I mean it. I'm sick and tired of the way you two have been acting towards each other, and I want it to stop, now. So, go on. Hug each other and make up."
Reluctantly, Tracey went to embrace her sister. Hugging Missy felt like hugging a telephone pole. Tracey made sure to keep her own body equally rigid and unyielding.
"I saw your bare bottom get spanked," Missy whispered in Tracey's ear.
"Yeah, well, I spanked yours good," Tracey murmured back.
"Bitch."
"Twerp."
"That's my girls!" Mrs. Dowling exclaimed happily.