Social History

by Crimson Kid

(This story’s setting is September of 2010 on the Eastern Seaboard of the U.S.A.)

I grinned to myself upon hearing my fourteen-year-old stepbrother, Manfred Mannerheim, sighing wistfully as he regarded the portraits in the colonial-style living room. Neither he nor I knew the identities of the two men pictured on the wall, one portrait on either side of the fireplace’s mantle, but I intuited that he assumed they’d been the heads of their respective households back in the days when the strong-willed ‘man of the house’ dominated the female members of his family—at least that’s what the formal historical record stated.

Manny, as I always called him with a mixture of affection and condescension, obviously wished that he could be an alpha male type—but he was totally unsuited, both physically and psychologically, for such a role in life.

“Forget it, Manny,” I told him cheerily, “You’re never going to dominate anyone so you should get used to it already. Even if you’d been born back in the old colonial days, your mother and sisters—not to mention your wife if you somehow ended up getting married—would’ve ended up whipping your pudgy bare ass for you all the time.”

He unexpectedly flared up a bit. “Not back then, Roxie, they wouldn’t dare, I would’ve been the one in charge and they’d better listen to me—or else!”

Just then my younger sister Lisbeth and her best friend Carlotta entered the exhibit room, both of them looking surprised by Manny’s mild outburst. Even though they were both rather immature twelve-year-olds—at least I considered them less emotionally controlled than almost-teenaged girls rightfully should be—both of them were quite aware that him backtalking to me was not allowed in our family.

I stepped over to stand by his left shoulder—since I’m four inches taller than his modest 5’6” in height I was looking slightly down at him—then my right hand pushed downward inside the elastic waistband of his sweatpants and sharply squeezed his chubby right nether cheek. “Don’t you dare raise your voice to me, little boy, and it’s ‘Roxanna’ to you! In fact it’s now ‘Mistress Roxanna’ since you were rudely arguing with me.”

“Ahhhhohh!” he squealed girlishly, twisting his wide hips in a vain attempt to break my grip on his bouncy bumcheek. “Let go of me, Roxanna!”

Both of the watching preteen girls giggled at Manny’s plight but I myself was considerably less than amused at his continued defiance to me. Stepping directly behind him, I gripped their back waistband with both hands and jerked his powder blue sweat bottoms down to his upper thighs. Since his required underwear was a seatless crimson ‘Spank Me’ brief, my abrupt action left my stepbrother nicely bare-bottomed.

“Giving me orders, how dare you!?!” I admonished curtly. “How do you like that, mister pulled-down smartypants?”

Given his striken expression, he clearly didn’t care for it at all—on the other hand, Lisbeth and Carlotta had both broken into peals of laughter at Manny’s embarrassingly-exposed plight.

“There’s a really full moon showing,” Carlotta tittered. I mildly liked her because she looked a lot more like myself than my sister did—medium-length, straight dirty blonde hair, piercing pale blue eyes, slim, well-toned athletic body, only a couple inches shorter than me in spite of being five years younger.

“What a girlish-looking fat fanny,” Lisbeth chortled. Although we were siblings, she somehow strongly resembled our stepbrother—curly dark brown hair (hers cut fairly short), wide light brown eyes, plump, pear-shaped body, three inches shorter than him—although in her those attributes combined with a cute, perky face to make her a highly attractive girl whereas in Manny they merely made him look soft and close to effeminate.

My fingers had released the waistband of his sweatpants, but he knew better than to add to my annoyance by attempting to restore his missing modesty by re-covering his rotund rump; his broad bare behind quivered while his facial cheeks flushed to a bright pink hue.

“Well, I’d say that it’s fully-rounded and chubby,” I countered, “But it does look quite a bit like your own sweet seat, Lissie, so it could easily be mistaken for a girl’s nicely zoftig derriere.”

Carlotta looked puzzled. “What does ‘zoftig’ mean, Roxie?”

Her girlfriend answered her before I could. “Oh, like… pleasingly plump.”

I nodded in agreement. “But in a strictly feminine way, of course; buxom would be a good synonym for zoftig.” My right palm slapped smartly against Manny’s left buttock—SMACK!— making him yip sharply; the light pink imprint of my palm appeared on that opulent nether cheek.

At that point two other people entered the room, an attractive thirtyish woman named Ericka Carmichael and her six-year-old daughter Athena. Both of them had Scandinavian-looking features, with long, straight silver-blonde hair, pale blue eyes and quite buxom figures themselves; we knew them slightly because they attended our church regularly.

Athena’s eyes widened at the sight of Manny’s exposed posterior. “Look, Mommy, that big boy’s fanny is showing.”

“Hello, Ericka,” I greeted the momentarily perplexed woman, “Manny’s been misbehaving so I’m deflating his pride with some southern exposure, but if it’s a problem with Athena seeing—“

“Not at all,” she interjected cheerfully, “Athie’s seen a bare bottom or two in her time, she’s comfortable with the human body.”

Athena giggled. “Everybody has a hiney, right, Mommy?”

“Manny here has a nice plump, girlish one,” Carlotta noted impishly, “And you can see that he just got a sweet spank on it if you look carefully.”

Ericka then noticed the palm print on my stepbrother’s gluteal globe. “It looks like he needs a matching one on the right side, I’d say.” Stepping forward, she swung her right arm upward and landed a solid openhanded swat on Manny’s right undercheek—SMACK!

“Owwwwch!” He wriggled his buns but didn’t dare try to protect himself or move away, knowing that would result in an intensified chastisement.

Athena tittered gleefully. “You spanked him, Mommy! I bet that stings on his bare fanny!”

We all chuckled at the little girl’s childishly accurate assessment of the situation—all of us other females anyway, the one male present didn’t seem to find her comment that amusing—while a second imprint, of a marginally smaller hand than mine, appeared on that nominally masculine derriere.

“Well, he needed a second spank, didn’t he?” Her mother demanded devilishly.

Carlotta walked over to position herself on Manny’s right side, then she slapped each of his chubby, quivering bumcheeks twice with her left palm— SMACK! SWAP! SPLAT! SMACK!—seemingly as hard as she was capable of.

“Ohhhh! Yeowwww! Owwwwch! Uhhowwie!” His hips squirmed rather suggestively as he yelped helplessly, his cries of discomfort mingling with his spanker’s smug snickering and the tinkle of amused laughter from the rest of us females—even Athena, who was obviously intrigued by the boy’s plight.

“He doesn’t dare move away, does he, Mommy?” she asked rhetorically.

The woman smiled knowingly. “Apparently not, sweetie, just like you have to stay bare-bottom-up over my lap when I’m spanking you.”

Her daughter nodded seriously. “Or I get lots of extra spanks…Is he going to get spanked any more right now?”

“He most certainly is,” I informed the little girl—and indirectly everyone else as well. “I’m going to commandeer the ladies’ rest room for our private use, then Manny’s going to get his plump bare rump paddled with my hairbrush and strapped with Carlotta’s leather belt—it’s going to be a butt-blistering educational punishment to teach him about the REAL social history of colonial times here in America.” I licked my lips. “Would anyone here like to accompany us and witness the proceedings, watching while this naughty boy ends up weeping and wailing like a well-spanked schoolgirl?”

Carlotta grinned like a predator that has trapped its prey. “If you want to borrow my belt, Roxie, then I should get to participate too—at least in the strapping part of his bare-assed thrashing.”

“Agreed.” I was becoming increasingly impressed with my sister’s friend, she seemed to be relishing Manny’s predicament—unlike Lisbeth herself, whose expression struck me as vaguely sympathetic to him.

“Can we watch too, Mommy?” Athena inquired eagerly. “I never saw a boy get a spanking on his bare hiney, and with a brush and a belt too! Please, it will be so much fun to see…”

Her mother pretended to be pondering the request. “Perhaps, dear—but only if it’s going to be a very long and very hard fanny-tanning, so it will be worth our while to witness it. We do want to see a good show, don’t we?”

Manny began whimpering. “Noooo, Roxie, please don’t—“

SMACK! SWACK! SPLACK! SMACK! Four times my palm impacted smartly against his rotund posterior, alternating asscheeks with practiced precision while he howled haplessly.

“It’s ‘Mistress Roxanna’ to you, that disrespect has just doubled your discipline, you impudent child,” I announced curtly. “If you don’t desire even more corrective chastisement, my darling brother, I’d suggest that you refrain from any further interrupting while we women are talking; you’re to be seen and not heard, except for when you’re being paddled with your pants down—then you can bawl like a baby to your heart’s content.”

“Shall we go then?” Ericka suggested. “I’ve got a nice sturdy hairbrush myself, it’s made of red maple and has a wide, flat back. If you meant what you said about doubling Manny’s punishment, I’d be more than happy to match any whacks you deliver with your own spanking brush.”

“Done deal, Mrs. Carmichael.” I chuckled. “Do you have much, ummmm, disciplinary experience?”

She tittered lightly. “I’m the head of my household, Roxie, which is something that Athie accepts quite easily—but my husband can be rather hard-headed at times, so I have to give him frequent reminders of his subordinate status while he’s bending over bare-bottomed for my Spencer paddle’s stinging kisses.” Her voice lowered conspiratorially. “That’s just among us girls here, of course.”

The two twelve-year-olds had walked out into the exhibition building’s hallway, apparently checking for other visitors.

“The coast is clear,” Carlotta stated briskly from the corridor, “We’d better get moving.”

I addressed Athena. “Why don’t you give my stepbrother a couple good slaps on his babyfat bare fanny, then tell him to follow us—and make sure he keeps his pants down too.”

The girl giggled coyly, then she quickly strode over and swatted each of Manny’s pinkened bumcheeks with her small open hand— Swap! Splat! “Come on,” she commanded gleefully, “You’re getting a real good spanking and I’m gonna watch!”

“Acknowledge your instructions,” I directed him, “With courtesy and respect.”

A teardrop trickled down his rosily flushed face as he turned to face the six-year-old. “Uhhmm… Yes… ma’am.”

It was apparent that Manny felt deeply humbled by having to take orders from such a young girl, as well as being bare-assed in her presence and letting her smack his vulnerable posterior without protest, yet he could have refused to allow it—although it would’ve resulted in his upcoming chastisement being extended, he could have retained a slight bit of male pride by resisting my will at that point.

However, he’d given in completely instead, partly out of fear regarding the punitive fate of his chubby caboose but mostly out of desire to please me, because I was truly his goddess—even though he didn’t fully realize it himself at the time, he willingly accepted being humiliated if that was my desire.

Once we’d reached the ladies room, I stationed Lisbeth just inside the door to warn away any other females who might arrive, although the exhibition area had struck me as almost deserted—it was late morning on a weekday in mid-September, only our private academy’s unusual schedule left us free to visit at that time.

Still quite exposed on his quivering south side, Manny watched with wide-eyed, dreadful anticipation as Carlotta slid her thick black belt through the waist-level loops of her tight jeans; once it was free she efficiently doubled the pliable leather over and gripped its opposite ends together in her left hand. She pointed at the vanity’s low, flat surface.

“Bend forward and lean your arms and elbows on there,” she instructed firmly, “Make sure that girlish-looking bare derriere of yours is sticking up and out, young man—I want a perfect target to swing at.”

Manny’s face blanched but he did as he’d been directed, providing his pudgy naked buttocks as quite a tempting target.

Athena looked entranced and sounded excited. “Ohhhh, that belt’s really going to hurt him, Mommy!” She and her mother were standing about three feet to my stepbrother’s left, facing Carlotta as the left-handed preteen raised her doubled-over belt to begin his strapping.

“Fifty strokes with the belt from each of us.” Standing directly behind the anxious boy with an optimal view of his trembling unprotected bumcheeks, I pronounced sentence rather cheerfully. “Let him have it, nice and hard!”

Carlotta didn’t have to be told twice, she eagerly commenced strapping Manny’s bare fanny with full-force swings of that wickedly-flexible leather—each stroke cracked across his fatty ‘sit spots’ swiftly enough to make the skin of both nether cheeks ripple under the emphatic impacts; he struggled to stay in position but his hips frantically shifted back and forth under the belt’s cruel onslaught. Naturally enough, he’d started sobbing almost immediately and was blubbering like a toddler long before his youthful disciplinarian had delivered her fiftieth leathering lash to his fiery-glowing gluteal globes.

“Fifty,” counted out Ericka, who’d assumed the responsibility of enumerating the strokes. “Great job, Carlotta, that was a really good, hard licking you dished out.”

Her daughter nodded slowly. “I’m so glad she wasn’t whipping my bare bottom, Mommy, look at the naughty boy crying.”

“Well, he deserves to cry,” I remarked airily, “And I’m going to make him bawl like a baby for you. However, I’m right-handed so you two ladies will have to switch to Manny’s right side.” I held out my right hand, palm turned upward, toward Carlotta. “If I may borrow your belt, please…?”

We effectively rotated positions, leaving me standing next to my stepbrother’s left hip, facing the mother-child duo, with Carlotta standing directly to his rear with a self-satisfied smile on her lips.

“Fifty more,” she chirped, “See if you can make them match mine.”

That was a woman-to-woman challenge, I realized as I drew back my right arm to strike with the belt. “Just observe a true professional,” I countered.

Then I administered the severest leathering that I’d ever applied to my stepbrother’s defenseless derriere, at least up to that point, I strapped those writhing, deeply-reddening bumcheeks of his with relentless precision as he howled shamelessly. I was breathing heavily and perspiring quite freely by the time Ericka’s calm voice called out “Fifty” for the second time that morning.

Manny’s torso collapsed downward onto the vanity while he whimpered helplessly; his posterior was evincing a vivid magenta hue, which was even darker along the bottom of his bottom, that is the twin ‘sit spots’ just above his thighcreases.

“Now, Manny my boy, do you understand that Mother Nature has created you to be subservient to females?” I asked quietly. “Think before you answer, and remember that our country’s social history wasn’t written objectively—rather it was put into place to support what was the surface social order at that time.”

“What do you mean, Roxie?” Ericka seemed puzzled.

I handed Carlotta’s belt back to the twelve-year-old before I responded. “Only that there were undoubtedly many women who were the actual heads of their households, like you are of yours today—but they weren’t allowed to show their domination of their husbands openly back then, so the public histories don’t reflect how many husbands were actually disciplined by their wives.” I chortled. “Don’t you believe that Sally Jemmings must have regularly whipped Thomas Jefferson’s bare bottom for him?”

“That’s quite possible, now that you mention it,” the woman agreed. “He was a brilliant man, yet also often indecisive and uncertain of himself, and she was reputedly a highly confident and competent women.” She grinned bemusedly. “The slave-girl blistering her supposed master’s naked nates, hmmmm?”

I beamed at her. “Exactly, Mrs. Carmichael…Only one example of many, none of them part of America’s formal history—so much of the influence of the Sacred Feminine deliberately blotted out of the written record.”

Athena was clearly becoming bored with the lack of activity. “Mommy, aren’t you going to spank the naughty boy with your hairbrush?” she demanded with impatience.

“She needs to,” Carlotta interjected, “Manny’s fanny is cooling off, it definitely needs to be reheated into a blazing bonfire right away.”

Lisbeth spoke up from her spot by the doorway. “Right, Carlie… I’m getting hungry, I want to get to the snack bar and grab some lunch.”

Ericka laughingly withdrew a solid red maple hairbrush from her purse, gripping its handle tightly in her right hand. “Very well, young ladies, if you’re feeling all that impatient.” She seated herself on one of the two straight-backed chairs in front of the vanity area, after first turning it around. “Manny, I’ll need you to bend way over my lap so that your plump red rump is pointing at the ceiling, please.” She moderately slapped the punishment brush’s wide, flat back against her left palm. “Ohhhh, that stings! Boy, am I ever going to blister your bare babyfat bottom, young man, in the name of the Sacred Feminine and true social history.”

“Give it to him good and hard, Mommy,” her daughter urged after Manny had unprotestingly done as he’d been told.

I couldn’t help being highly gratified by my stepbrother’s loving obedience, even as he shivered while his womanly spanker patted his chubby feminine-appearing bumcheeks, upturned and unprotected, with her fearsome-looking spanking brush as she reassured her child.

“Certainly, sweetie—for you and for the sake of posterity…”

{The End}