Subject: Repost: Missy's Birthday Story Part 1 <various/f>
From: Kent Stoneking <kentls001@worldnet.att.net>
Date: 23 May 1999 21:28:24 -0700
Tracey looked at her watch again and sighed. She still couldn't believe her parents had done this to her. The first decent day of spring; blue skies, warm temperatures. She ought to be at the beach with her friends right now, getting a head start on her tan and scoping out the local studs. But NOOOOOOOO! She got stuck overseeing her little sister's birthday party!
Her parents, apparently oblivious to the importance of beach time in a 14-year-old girl's life, laid down the law to her that morning before departing for their own "important" commitments: Dad for golf, Mom for birdwatching. There would be a family celebration later that evening, but for now, Tracey was in charge - and there better not be any trouble. Her pleas fell on deaf ears; the party would be held that afternoon; she would_ be there to supervise, and she _would make sure that everybody - especially Missy - had a good time.
Tracey checked the time again; the runts had played long enough. She got up from her seat at the family picnic table and shouted, "Okay, kids! Time to cut the birthday cake!"
A few minutes later, the party guests (half a dozen neighborhood girls, all more or less Missy's age) came racing around the corner of the house from where they'd been playing some babyish game. Bringing up the rear came the birthday girl herself. Missy, ecstatic from all the attention, spun herself around merrily, showing off her brand-new birthday dress - and, inadvertently, as the skirt swirled up, her brand-new birthday panties.
The sight of her little sister's underwear gave Tracey a rather evil idea. Sure, she considered, it wouldn't make up entirely for having her day ruined, but at least she could take out some of her frustrations. And, if she did things right, nobody could blame her at all...
She intercepted Missy on the way to the picnic table and led the unsuspecting child to a nearby lawn chair. "Before we have the cake," she announced, "there's another birthday tradition we have to take care of." With that, she sat down and quickly pulled Missy face-down across her lap.
"Hey, what gives? Lemme go!" the girl protested, squirming vigorously.
"Pipe down, Squirt!" Tracey instructed. "It's your birthday, right? So it's time for your birthday spanking!"
"Oh. Okay," Missy replied, stopping her struggles - until she felt her dress pulled up over her back. "No! Don't do that!" she yelled, wriggling again.
Clamping her sister in place, Tracey took a moment to admire the petite buttocks, encased in pristine white cotton panties. She really wanted to take down those undies and spank Missy's bare bottom, but that would get her in too much hot water. The panty exposure could be blamed on the shortness of the dress, or the wind blowing it up, or something.
Wishing she could use a hairbrush, Tracey raised her right hand high and delivered a sharp blow, dead center, to Missy's pantyseat. SMACK! "One!" she counted aloud.
"OWW! Not so hard!" Missy yelped.
"Don't be such a baby," Tracey answered, repeating the blow. SMACK! "Two!"
"OWW! I'm not a baby! It hurts!"
"Oh, it does not." SMACK! "Three!"
"OWW! Does too!" Missy stuck a hand behind herself, only to have Tracey pin it to the small of her back.
"Stop making such a fuss!" SMACK! "Four!"
"OWWW! I'm telling!"
"Telling what?" SMACK! "Five!"
"OWWW! You're spanking me too hard!"
"I'm barely touching you." SMACK! "Six!"
"OWWWW! You are not either! You're hitting really hard!"
"Wait until Dad spanks you tonight. He spanks a lot harder than I do." SMACK! "Seven!"
"OWWWWW! He does not either! He does it right!"
"Just goes to show what you know." SMACK! "Eight! Okay, I guess you're done."
Eight spanks; one for each year of Missy's age, and one to grow on. Any more, and Tracey would be in trouble. The severity of the spanks would be a matter of her word against Missy's. Reluctantly, she started to let the little girl up - then pulled her back into place as inspiration struck again.
"Not so fast, Squirt." Tracey turned to the assembled guests, who were all staring wide-eyed at the tableau. She pointed to the nearest one. "You. What's your name?"
"Ma-Maria," stammered the girl. This wasn't like any birthday spanking she'd ever seen.
"Well, Maria, it's your turn to spank the birthday girl!"
"Noooo!" Missy squealed, kicking frantically.
Tracey swatted the back of one thigh. "You be quiet!"
Maria didn't move. "Come on, Maria," Tracey cajoled. "Don't you want_to spank Missy?"
The teen could see the wheels turning behind Maria's eyes. Tracey knew, all too well, that Missy frequently was an insufferable, stuck-up little snoot - and that's what she was counting on now.
Maria slowly approached the pair. She stood staring at Missy's rump for a few seconds, then, very tentatively, reached out and gave it a soft pat.
"Harder, Maria!" Tracey encouraged. "That one didn't count."
The girl tried again, putting a little force behind the swat. Smack!
"Come on, Maria! You can do better than that! That one didn't count either!"
Maria raised her hand high above her head and brought it down with as much strength as she could muster, resulting in a satisfying SMACK! and a sharp outcry from Missy.
"That's the way! There's one!" Tracey encouraged.
Grinning widely, Maria administered another swat. SMACK!
"Good one, Maria. Two! Count along, everybody!"
Softly at first, then with increasing volume, the remaining guests kept count as Maria spanked Missy. SMACK! "Three!" SMACK! "Four!" SMACK! "Five!" SMACK! "Six!" SMACK! "Seven!" SMACK! "Eight!"
A very satisfied Maria took a seat at the picnic table as Tracey beckoned to another girl. "What's your name?"
"Sharon."
"Well, Sharon, would you like to spank the birthday girl?"
She thought for just a moment, then nodded vigorously.
"All right then," Tracey replied, proffering up Missy's bottom, "go right ahead!"
Sharon proved a quick study, delivering eight hard swats to the fundament in question. The group counted along, partially drowning out Missy's increasingly loud cries of distress.
When Sharon finished her turn, another girl leapt forward, shouting, "Me! Me! I wanna go next! Pick me! I wanna spank Missy next!"
"And your name is?"
"Kristin!"
After Kristin came Bonnie; then Alicia; then, finally, Dawn. When the last guest finished her swats, Tracey released her grip on the thoroughly spanked birthday girl, who rolled off her lap, climbed to her feet, and started towards the house.
"Oh, no you don't!" said Tracey, jumping up and catching her sister by the arm. "It's time for cake and ice cream. So you just sit right here and enjoy your party like a good little girl," plopping Missy down at the picnic table, in front of the brightly decorated cake.
Right then, birthday cake was the last thing on Missy's mind. She only wanted to crawl into her bed and stay there the rest of her life. She knew Tracey wouldn't let her get away, though.
Wincing from the roughness of the hard wooden bench against her sore, stinging backside, Missy sat sullenly while Tracey lit the seven candles on her cake. The group gave her a rousing chorus of the birthday song, then her older sister said, "Okay, make a wish and blow out the candles!"
Wiping away a stray tear, Missy looked at the smug expression on Tracey's face, and at her so-called friends. Her once-happy birthday party lay in ruins. She took a deep breath, made her wish, and blew out all seven candles.
For a moment, nothing happened; then the beating of multiple wings sounded overhead. In unison, the group looked up. Bearing down directly on them was a group of winged figures, arranged in a vee. They looked ... they looked exactly like the winged monkeys from the Wizard of Oz movie. If anyone had thought to count, they would have tallied seven of the beasts.
Unable to believe their eyes, nobody moved at first; then, realizing the creatures' intent, they scattered - but too late. Bonnie, Dawn, and Maria barely got to their feet before the monkeys were upon them. Kristin stumbled getting off the bench and was quickly captured. Sharon tried to dive under the picnic table, only to be dragged out by one leg, kicking and screaming. Alicia and Tracey headed for the house; the little girl got only a few feet, but the teen, with her longer legs, almost reached the back door before the last monkey scooped her up.
Missy, thoroughly terrified, fell to the ground and covered her head with her hands, expecting at any moment to feel rough paws on her body. When several moments went by and nothing happened, she cautiously looked up.
Arranged around her in a semicircle, the seven monkeys hovered, their gently flapping wings keeping them a few feet off the ground. Each clasped a girl tightly, one arm wrapped around the captive's waist, the other paw covering her mouth, muffling their piteous cries.
The largest monkey, holding Tracey, addressed Missy in a guttural, but still understandable, voice: "We are here to do your bidding. You wished to see these girls spanked; with your leave, that is what we will now do."
With that, each monkey turned its captive bottom-upmost. Six party dresses, and Tracey's sundress, were pulled upwards, revealing seven sets of panties of various hues and decorations. Seven paws raised skywards, ready to descend.
Her fear fell away as Missy realized she was now in charge. She quickly climbed to her feet. "Wait!" she shouted. The monkeys froze.
"These girls were all very naughty. I think they ought to be spanked
... bare bottom!"
Her winged servants hastened to comply. The panties were quickly dragged downward, revealing twelve childishly flat bottom cheeks and one slightly rounder, plumper pair. Again the monkeys raised their paws; this time, though, there would be no reprieve.
With one thunderous SMACK!, the creatures each delivered a sound spank to the backsides of their captives. Thereafter, each monkey set up its own individual pace. Some spanked quickly; others slowly and deliberately; but, judging by the girls' shrieks and wails, each was equally effective.
Everywhere Missy looked, she saw a bottom turning red while its owner struggled desperately, helpless in a monkey's grasp. Serves them all right, she thought. That'll teach them to spank me. See how they like it!
When all seven rumps glowed bright scarlet, the monkeys ceased their efforts. Missy got another idea. "Hold on a second," she commanded. "It's my turn now."
The creatures obediently held their spankees in place while Missy went around the circle. She gave each of her guests ten good swats - payback with interest. Lastly she came to her older sister. Knowing her birthday spanking was all Tracey's idea, she spanked the teen twenty times. Ordinarily, Tracey would have felt only a mild sting; however, with her nether cheeks pre-tenderized, Missy's swats greatly increased her agony.
When Missy finished the circuit, the largest monkey spoke again. "We have fulfilled your birthday wish. Our service to you is now complete. Farewell." Rather unceremoniously, each creature released its captive, dropping her to the ground; then the monkeys fully extended their wings, rose quickly to a great height, circled the area once, and sped off, soon disappearing from sight.
Missy stood amongst the sobbing, moaning girls, a very satisfied smile on her face. This was the best birthday she'd ever had. Who said wishes don't come true?
Tracey recovered first. Slowly, very slowly, she rose to her knees, pulled her panties up over her stinging, throbbing nates, climbed to her feet, and staggered toward her sister, a murderous glare in her eyes.
Looking around quickly, Missy noticed her guests were also getting up, their expressions amazingly similar to her sister's. She suddenly comprehended she was surrounded by seven girls who'd just been soundly and thoroughly spanked ... all because of her ... and now, there was nothing restraining them.
Missy tried to flee, but Tracey was quicker; catching her little sister around the waist, she dragged her back to the picnic table and bent her over it, face down. "Hold her tight!" she instructed the other girls, who clustered around. "Don't let her get away. I'll be right back!"
Six pairs of hands took hold of Missy as Tracey grabbed the cake knife and stalked away. Bonnie and Dawn held her left arm, Kristin and Maria her right, while Alicia and Sharon pressed down on her back. She wriggled and squirmed, but couldn't make any headway. "Please, guys, let me go," she pleaded. "I'm really sorry! Please?" The grim silence told her there would be no mercy.
Looking over her shoulder, Missy saw Tracey walking determinedly toward her, stripping the leaves and twigs off a limb freshly cut from the nearby weeping willow tree. Her eyes widened in terror. "No, Tracey, no! Not with that! Please, Tracey!" she begged, renewing her struggles, but without result.
Tracey flipped Missy's short dress well up onto her back, then yanked her panties right down to her ankles. She raised the switch and brought it down across the girl's still-slightly-pink buttocks. THWICK! Missy howled as a line of fire ignited across her rump, reawakening the lingering burn.
"Let me whip her, too!" demanded Alicia as Tracey administered another stroke. THWICK! "Me too!" echoed Bonnie, and Sharon, and the rest of the group.
"Don't worry," Tracey replied coldly, meanwhile slashing again with the switch. THWICK! "You'll all get your chance." THWICK!
As blow after blow of the thin, supple switch impacted her quivering, tender cheeks, Missy resolved that, next year, she'd be a lot more careful with her birthday wish.
* * *
Some time later, Tracey stood by, watching her little sister's whipping. Dawn, Kristin, and Maria had taken their turns, and now Alicia wielded the switch. Missy lay draped over the picnic table, her struggles long since abandoned; she gave only a faint, incoherent cry each time her buttocks received another slash.
Deep within her, Tracey began having some vague feelings of concern. Missy's backside, criss-crossed with welts and bruises, had taken on a very ugly appearance. Tracey really didn't want to see Missy suffer any real damage; that'd be too hard to explain to their parents. Reluctantly, she stepped forward and grabbed Alicia's wrist, saying, "Okay, that's enough."
"No fair!" whined Sharon. "I didn't get my turn yet! You said we could all -"
"I said that's enough!" Tracey interrupted, snatching the switch from Alicia and brandishing it in Sharon's face. "Unless you want me to use this on you!"
Sharon stepped back quickly, shaking her head. She'd already had one spanking that day, and wasn't eager for another - especially with that switch.
"All right, then. Come with me." Tracey led the guests away from the picnic table. "Now, listen, all of you. This has got to be kept a secret. Nobody can ever tell anyone anything about it. Understand?"
The younger girls looked a bit confused. Finally, Maria ventured, "Why not?"
"First of all, nobody would believe you. They'd think you were crazy, and they'd put you in the loony bin." The guests exchanged frightened looks, comprehending their situation.
"Secondly, if you cause me any problems, I'll whip you a lot worse than her," Tracey added, pointing at her sister, who still hadn't moved a muscle. That certainly impressed the six!
"And, anyway, do you really want everybody to know you got your bare butt spanked today?" Each guest emphatically shook her head, no.
"So it's agreed. Each of you, swear never to tell anyone about this, as long as you live."
They went around the circle, each little girl repeating the oath. When they'd finished, a satisfied Tracey ordered the guests to go home. Missy's party was most definitely over.
"But it's too early!" Bonnie protested. "What'll I tell my mother?"
Rolling her eyes, Tracey explained, "Tell her Missy got sick, okay? You think you can handle that?"
As the girls filed into the house to use the phone, Tracey turned her attention back to her sister. Missy still hadn't moved, but her wails and sobs died down to low moans. Better get her inside and settle her down, Tracey thought. After all, Mom and Dad would be home soon, and that was one sight she didn't want them to see.
Almost tenderly, the teen picked the little girl up off the table and started leading her toward the house. Missy stumbled every few steps, fueling Tracey's annoyance, until she noticed her sister's panties twined around her ankles. She considered pulling them up, but decided that would be too cruel, even for her. Instead, she helped Missy step out of them completely.
Once inside, Tracey made a close inspection of Missy's backside. The skin wasn't broken anywhere, but even slight contact made the little girl cry out. Tracey remembered a trick she'd learned after getting paddled by their father a few years back. She made a quick trip to her bathroom to retrieve a bottle of skin lotion, then sat down on the living room sofa and pulled her sister across her lap.
Realizing what position she was in, Missy, squirming desperately, shouted, "No! NO!"
"Settle down, Squirt," Tracey replied, clamping one arm around Missy's waist. "I'm not going to spank you any more today. Unless, that is, you want me too!" she added mischievously.
Removing the cap from the bottle, Tracey squirted a generous dollop of lotion onto each nether cheek. The little girl relaxed as she felt the cooling fluid on her battered flesh. Tracey knew the lotion would alleviate the burning somewhat; not enough, though, that Missy wouldn't remember, for the next several days, what happened when she tried to mess with her older sister.
While she rubbed the liquid in, Tracey decided to rub a few other things in, as well. "I hope you learned your lesson today, Melissa Anne Dowling," she remarked, using her sister's full name. "In fact, this worked out so well, I think that's just what I'm going to do from now on. If you ever cross me, or don't do just as I say, I'll tan your bare butt good." Missy laid absolutely still, her soft moans and groans her only reply.
When she'd finished with the lotion, Tracey helped Missy off her lap, then held her in front of her as she laid down the law. "Now, listen, and listen good, Squirt. Don't you ever_ tell _anybody about this. That willow tree has plenty of branches, and I'd be more than willing to use every single one of them on you. Understand?"
Wiping away a lingering tear, Missy nodded.
"Good. Now, go wash your face and blow your nose, then why don't you lie down until Mom and Dad come home? Remember, not_a_word to them."
Her head slumped on her chest, Missy shuffled off up the stairs to her room, looking for all the world like a submissive, obedient little girl. Her long hair fell forward, hiding the crafty expression that suddenly flashed across her face.
Quite pleased with her sister's apparent attitude, Tracey checked the time. The girls' parents would be home soon. Tracey decided to earn a few more brownie points. She cleaned up the birthday party mess, finishing just as their mother's car pulled into the driveway.
"How was the party, honey? Did everyone have a good time?" the woman said, greeting her oldest daughter with a rather mechanical hug and peck on the cheek.
"Oh, yeah, Mom," Tracey replied, stifling a giggle. If she only knew how the afternoon's "entertainment" had gone! "I think Missy got a little too much sun, though. She's lying down."
"Oh, dear! Are you sure she's all right?"
"She's fine, Mom. Just let her rest; she'll be okay."
They went inside. Mrs. Dowling remarked on how neat and tidy the house looked. Then her eyes lit on the untouched birthday cake. "Tracey," she asked, "why didn't the girls have any cake?"
"Mother, those kids had so much candy and soda pop, if they'd eaten anything else sweet, they'd be barfing all over the place," Tracey improvised quickly. "I told Missy she could take the cake to school tomorrow."
Mrs. Dowling nodded her approval. "Very wise, dear. Well, I better go see how she's doing."
Tracey held her breath until her mother returned. "She's sleeping," the woman remarked. "Funny thing, though. She's lying on her stomach. I've never seen her do that before."
Biting back her laughter again, Tracey explained, "You know how it is, Mom. Too much sunshine, too much excitement. She probably didn't realize what she was doing."
Mr. Dowling returned from his golf match soon afterwards. Not long after that, Missy returned to the land of the living and wobbled into the living room, where the rest of the family sat watching television.
"There you are, Princess!" her father exclaimed, shutting off the TV and beckoning her to him. "How was your party? Did you have a good time?"
Missy, obviously still pretty woozy, wiped fitfully at her eyes before nodding.
"It was very nice of Tracey to supervise things, wasn't it?"
After a sidelong glance at her sister, Missy nodded again. Tracey relaxed, letting out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"Well, we've got a little birthday tradition to take care of here, then you can open your presents, okay?" Without waiting for an answer, Mr. Dowling guided his youngest daughter to his right side and pulled her over his lap. He patted her bottom lightly, twice, then said, "I think we need to have this out of the way," meanwhile flipping her short party dress up - and everybody froze. Missy hadn't put her panties back on, and her well-marked backside now lay exposed to the entire room.
"My God, Missy," Mr. Dowling breathed, "what in the world happened to you?" In reply, the little girl burst into tears. Her father rolled her over and hugged her against his chest, holding her tight as she wailed and sobbed.
Both Dowling parents reached the same conclusion at the same moment; both their heads swiveled towards their oldest daughter, who sat quietly, hoping they'd forgotten her. "Tracey," Mr. Dowling asked, "what do you know about this?"
She couldn't fashion a response.
He escalated matters a level. "Tracey ... did you do this?"
Still no reply from the teen, who fervently wished the earth would open up and swallow her whole. Unfortunately, it wasn't her birthday.
Her silence confirmed her guilt. "You did do it, didn't you?" Mr. Dowling continued. "Why? Why would you do something like that to poor little Missy?"
Something snapped inside Tracey at her father's words. Poor little Missy? "Well, look what she did to me!" she snarled in reply, leaping to her feet, pulling up her sundress, and lowering her panties to show off her own still-crimson backside.
"And just how," Mr. Dowling inquired dryly, "did Missy do that to you?"
By wishing for a bunch of flying monkeys to swoop down out of the sky and spank everybody, Tracey thought, but quickly bit her tongue. Tell that to her parents? Yeah, right! They'd sic the men with the long white coats and the butterfly nets after her. She pulled her panties back up and dropped her dress, searching for an explanation.
Her father provided one of his own. "You were sunbathing nude again, weren't you?"
"That's right, Daddy!" Missy contributed. "She made all my party guests go home early so she could work on her tan without us bothering her! And when I said that was no fair, she cut a branch off the willow tree and whipped me with it! She said she'd do it worse if I told anybody! It hurt so much..." and she lapsed into tears again.
Tracey stared at her sister with a mixture of amazement and grudging respect. Missy's ability to improvise rivaled hers.
"There, there, dear," Mr. Dowling said, cuddling his distraught child. "We'll take care of everything. Tracey'll get what's coming to her. We'll make it better." Tracey didn't like the sound of that at all.
Mrs. Dowling spoke up. "You really whipped her with a willow branch?"
Knowing she was in enough trouble, Tracey nodded.
"Just because you wanted to sunbathe nude?"
"I wasn't sunbathing, Mom! I was -"
"Then just what were you doing?" Mr. Dowling interrupted.
Tracey knew she was trapped. Try as she might, she couldn't come up with a believable excuse for whipping Missy. The guest's mothers would confirm that their daughters had been sent home from the party early - and the guests themselves had been sworn to secrecy, under threat of direst consequences from Tracey herself. Missy held all the cards.
Mr. Dowling broke the uncomfortable silence. "I think we've heard enough." He gently eased Missy off his lap, got up, and strode determinedly from the room, heading for the back yard.
"I better see what he's up to. Wait here, girls," Mrs. Dowling commented. "And don't you go near her," she added to Tracey, before following her husband.
Left alone for a few minutes, the girls looked daggers at each other. "Why didn't you put your panties back on?" Tracey asked.
"You didn't tell me to. You said I should only do what you told me to. Remember?"
"Why, you -" Tracey took half a step towards Missy, halting herself at the sound of their parents returning. "You'll get yours, twerp," she hissed. Missy just stood and smiled. The wheel had turned, again, and now she was back in charge.
"Dear, are you sure this is the right thing to do?" the girls heard Mrs. Dowling say.
"Why not? Let's let the punishment fit the crime," Mr. Dowling replied as he entered the room. Although Tracey had a good idea what to expect, she still gasped when she saw the freshly-cut willow branch held tight in his hand.
"Now, let's see..." The man looked around the room. "Tracey, get one of the chairs from the dining room table."
"Daddy -"
"NOW, young lady! And none of your backtalk!"
Tracey stomped off to the dining room, removed one of the straight-backed chairs from around the table, and carried it into the living room.
"Very good. Set it there," indicating a spot in the center of the room. He continued directing traffic. "Now, Missy, you sit --" (she gave him a horrified look) "--sorry, stand, right over here. I want you to have a good look at this." Turning again to his oldest daughter, he ordered, "And you, bend yourself over that chair."
"Daddy, I -"
"I don't want to hear it! You're lucky I don't throw you out of this house for your conduct today! Over the chair, NOW!"
Ignoring, as best she could, Missy's smirk, Tracey approached the back of the chair, took a deep breath, and bent herself over it. The chair's top caught her right at waist level; her toes barely held contact with the carpet. She placed her arms on the seat of the chair, steadying herself. At least, she thought, in this position, I can't see Missy.
Her short sundress, already riding high on her thighs, soon found itself flipped up onto her back; moments later, hands that (Tracey hoped) belonged to her father invaded the waistband of her polka-dot bikini panties, drawing them steadily down to her ankles. She shivered as she felt the switch pressed against her bare flesh. "Let's see how this feels on that sunburned butt of yours," Mr. Dowling said. Neither parent apparently thought it strange that Tracey's "sunburn" covered only her rump and upper thighs.
Mr. Dowling raised the switch high and brought it down across his daughter's naked, upturned hindquarters. THWICK! The impact took Tracey's breath away; then, as the initial sting blossomed into an outright burn, she let out a low, guttural moan. This reaction evidently didn't please her father, because the next stroke was much harder. THWICK!
Tracey screamed and flung both hands behind herself, rubbing and kneading her abused flesh. "Move your hands!" Mr. Dowling commanded.
"Daddy, please!" Tracey begged. "I can't take any more! Please, stop!"
"Hold her hands, Dear," her father instructed his wife. Tracey felt her arms pulled forwards, held securely at the wrist. His aim now unimpeded, Mr. Dowling continued chastising his wayward daughter.
THWICK! Tracey's frantically kicking legs sent her panties flying across the room. THWICK! Another sharp slash left its mark. THWICK! Mr. Dowling found his rhythm and settled into a steady pace. THWICK! THWICK! THWICK! THWICK!
Each blow sent fresh waves of pain racing through Tracey, bringing an anguished outcry from her lips. When she'd endured about fifteen solid strokes, the teen broke down, pleading, "Dadddiiiieee! I'm sorrrriieee! Please, have mercy!"
"Mercy!" the man snorted. THWICK! "Did you have mercy on Missy earlier?" THWICK! "How do you think she felt!" THWICK!
But she deserved it! Tracey thought, biting her lip to keep from screaming it out loud as the switch continued dancing across her battered nates. The constant pain drove her past her point of endurance; she floated on the verge on consciousness, brought back each time the willow branch connected.
An eternity later, Tracey sensed a pause. She could hear her father behind her, his breathing rapid and heavy. Then her sister spoke: "Daddy ... can I whip her?"
"I don't see why not, Princess. Here you go. Give her, oh, say, six good ones, then I think she'll have had enough."
So far gone was Tracey that she didn't even protest this last indignity. The six additional strokes barely registered. Then, it was over. She felt her hands released; she laid still for a few seconds, getting her breath back, before pushing herself upright. Her legs barely supported her; she instinctively put her hands on her bottom, only to pull them away again. Her backside was too sore to even rub!
"Now, young lady," Mr. Dowling intoned, "you go to your room and stay there the rest of the night. And you think about what happened here today, and why." Tracey obediently left the room, scooping up her panties on the way. Not having to face her little sister now was a blessing.
When she'd gone, the girls' father turned to Missy and said, "Okay, you can open your presents now." Missy, still clutching the switch, grinned widely. She'd already received the best birthday present ever.
* * *
The next morning, the girls sat uncomfortably at the breakfast table, eating quietly while studiously not looking at each other. Mr. Dowling, running late as usual, rushed into the kitchen carrying his briefcase. He gave each daughter a perfunctory kiss, then advised his wife, "I'm going to the club after work tonight, and thrash out that Henderson account. Don't hold dinner." And, with that, he was out the door.
"Darn that man!" Mrs. Dowling exclaimed, her voice filled with exasperation. "My library committee meeting is tonight. Now where am I going to find a sitter for Missy on such short notice?"
"Mom?" Tracey spoke up. "I could watch her for you."
"Really? You wouldn't mind?"
Missy cocked an eyebrow at her older sister, wondering what she had up her sleeve.
"I don't mind, Mom," the teen answered, smiling sweetly at the little girl. "It'll give us a chance to work a few things out. You know, some sisterly bonding time."
Mrs. Dowling smiled. "That's very mature of you, Dear. I'm very proud of you."
Tracey got up from the table, crossed over to the stove, and picked up a thin metal spatula. She measured the heft for a moment, then brought it down sharply across the palm of her free hand. CRACK!
"Dear!" her mother exclaimed. "Doesn't that hurt?"
"Not if you do it right, Mom," Tracey replied, repeating the blow. CRACK! "See?" She held her palm up to her mother, and her little sister. "It doesn't even leave a mark."
Missy cringed.