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From: Pee Wee Herman <indexhtml@nhell.com>
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Subject: MY NAUGHTY LITTLE SISTER 1 (Mg, incest, cons)
Date: Tue, 24 Aug 2004 11:57:27 -0700
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MY NAUGHTY LITTLE SISTER 1 (Mg, incest, cons)
BY NAP
[ part 1 ]
It all began when I rescued my sister from being molested. Except she was
not my sister, I did not rescue her and she was not being molested.
Let me explain:
My mother died when I was quite young and in fact I hardly remember her.
When I was eleven my father married again to a lady whom I came to call
Marge. Marge had a daughter aged seven who was a rather cute kid called
Susie. Susie and I got along fairly well, but as there was a four-year age
gap and an even more distancing sex difference, I was rather aloof, even
though I was secretly attracted to my little stepsister. For her part, she
was relentlessly friendly, despite all my apparent efforts to rebuff her.
We lived in suburb of London and our main open playing area was Audley Park,
named after some ancient local worthy who had originally donated the land.
This was typical of that sort of place at that time - neat beds of flowers
with 'Keep Off The Grass' signs, a bandstand, a boating pond, a paddling
pool, some swings, slide, a roundabout set on hard, knee-cracking concrete
and a worn open space for ball games. The whole place was run by
indistinguishable grumpy park keepers, known as "parkies", who would eject
any kid who stepped on their precious grass.
Except one, who was friendly, tolerant and therefore popular.
One day Susie went along to the park on her own (kids still did that in the
sixties) and when she returned she was obviously very happy and thrilled
about something. I was desperate to know what she had been doing to make her
so pleased with herself, but I would not lower my dignity enough to ask. In
any case, I was sure my little stepsister would not be able to resist
telling me her secret eventually and sure enough she did, bubbling with
excitement. She showed me a shiny half-crown and said that the nice parkie
had offered it to her in return for her knickers! Susie had reasonably
decided that a half crown in the hand was worth a pair of knickers one the b
um and did the deal there and then. She quickly lifted her dress and without
any more ado slipped off her knickers, much, no doubt, to the eye-scorching
delight of the parkie.
I must acknowledge that I was a horribly and hypocritically good boy and,
without any qualm of conscience, dutifully passed this information on to my
father. He, seeing in the episode rather more than I, anxiously told my
stepmother.
All hell broke loose.
The authorities were informed and the unlucky parkie lost both his job and
his extensive collection of young girls' underwear. Susie lost her
half-crown, which was given to me as a reward for my public spiritedness. Of
even more interest to me than the money, though, was that Susie was
immediately spanked.
Spanking was unknown to me. My father was much too kind, and I much too
good, for it to be known in our house. And I went to an unusually liberal
school where, very rare for the times, corporal punishment was never
applied. But although I had never seen anyone spanked, I had often
fantasised about it. I have to say that this first real experience was even
better than my imaginings.
As soon as she heard of Susie's illicit trading, Marge grabbed hold of her
and, after a brief but ferocious commentary on her character, threw the
little girl across her lap and pulled her dress up to her armpits. As Susie
had sold her panties to the parkie, she was bare between her ankles and her
shoulder blades. My eyes stood out on stilts. I could not believe it. Here
was a girl - A GIRL - practically naked and about to be spanked. SPANKED!
My father was much too tender hearted and considerate of his young
stepdaughter's feelings to have stayed, and had taken himself off on some
supposed business to save both himself and her embarrassment. I, however,
had no such finer feelings. I remained in the room, fearful that any moment
Marge might dismiss me before she got down to business. No chance of that!
Marge wasted no time in spanking Susie's tiny bottom. She wasted no effort
either, swinging her hand like an expert with a great follow through. She
raised her hand high and brought it down hard making the air seem to vibrate
with the mighty SMACK that resounded around the room. She did not, as I had
imagined in my fervid fantasies, slap wildly fast, but steadily so she made
sure every slap counted. Susie's little bottom quickly changed colour from
pale cream to bright red. Much to my surprise and admiration, she took the
first few heavy-handed smacks in silence, but as the spanking continued in
unremitting intensity, she began first to yelp, then to squeal and finally
to cry out loudly. At first too, she was comparatively still, but then she
began to wriggle and squirm increasingly energetically until she was jerking
her bum and lashing out her legs.
For me this was a wonderful experience. Being an only child and very
innocent, I had never before seen a girl's private parts and, as sex
education was a neglected subject in those days, I had only the sketchiest
notion of their appearance. But now, as Susie wildly waved her legs, her
open thighs gave me a very intimate insight into the subject as I repeatedly
saw her sweet little slit exposed at every smack.
Marge seemed utterly unconcerned that I was witnessing her daughter's
shameful exhibition. She ignored the fact that I was sitting quite close to
the action, behind and slightly to the side of Susie's kicking feet. She
spanked on regardless. At last, though, she paused and I believed the show
was over. But Marge kept her crying daughter pinned across her lap by her
left hand and calmly said, "Would you please go upstairs to my bedroom,
John, and fetch down the wooden hairbrush in the top right hand drawer of my
dressing table."
This brought a heartfelt and even louder wail from Susie, but I eagerly sped
from the room on my exciting errand. I suppose a kinder or more principled
boy might have felt regret and bad feelings about Susie's painful position,
but despite my praiseworthy reputation, I always put my own interests first.
So I quickly collected the required hairbrush, noting with interest that the
varnish on the wooden back was somewhat worn, and ran downstairs to my step
relatives where I respectfully handed it over to Marge. As Marge thanked me,
Susie frantically screamed:
"No, Mummy please! Not the brush! Please, not the brush!"
But Marge said, "Be quiet, you disgusting girl. You deserve everything you
are going to get and I shall make sure you do get it!"
She did too. She took the handle of the brush in her right hand and brought
the flat back of the business end cracking down on Susie's tiny and by now
very inflamed bottom. The little girl's bellows seemed to double in volume
and her struggles became even more frenzied, but her mother determinedly
gave her another five swats with the back of the hairbrush.
At last, the howling child was released and hopped about with tears
streaming down her face tenderly rubbing her crimson and, to my eye, rather
swollen bottom. But her mother ruthlessly gripped her by her ear and led her
off to her bedroom where she remained for the rest of the day.
***
You might well think that after my cruel betrayal and the painful
consequences, Susie would have hated me. I must say I fully expected it. But
in fact, even while she could not yet sit comfortably, Susie was as
devotedly friendly as she had been before. I must admit I basked in her
affection. My introverted personality and solitary upbringing had turned me
into something of a loner and although I had some school friends, none was
close. Now I was the focus of this child's undivided admiration and I loved
it.
It was not long before I began to take advantage of my young admirer.
Despite, or perhaps because of, my lack of social skills, my father had
encouraged me to join the scouts. To my surprise, I rather enjoyed it. Not
the company of rumbustious little boys, but the skills that earned the
coveted badges. In particular, I loved learning knots.
I easily persuaded Susie that I needed to practise. She was willing to do
whatever I wanted so long as I gave her my attention. I began by tying her
wrists and challenging her to free herself. I enjoyed watching struggle
futilely against her bonds, trying to pull at the knots with her strong
white teeth. Then I began to tie her to things so that she had no way of
escape until she loosened the rope or I set her free. Occasionally, I would
use a granny knot, or tie the rope loosely just to encourage her, but mostly
she had no hope of success. As these games escalated, I worried that Marge
might disapprove - I always wanted the good opinion of those in authority -
but one day when I had Susie kneeling with her hands tied around the dining
room table leg behind her back, Marge came in, but when I looked up
anxiously she said, "All you need to do now is gag her, John, and we can all
have some peace!"
This tacit endorsement and even encouragement of my activities immediately
inspired me, and within minutes, Susie was gagged with my none too clean
handkerchief. But a lot of the time I liked her to be able to make some
noise. For instance, one of my favourite pastimes started when I had her
tied by her wrists to that same table leg, but this time stretched out on
her back on the floor. Marge was away having coffee with a neighbour and so
we had our privacy. This, Susie's helplessness, and the fact that she was
wearing a sleeveless dress inspired me. I knelt down beside her and began
tickling her under her arms. It turned out Susie was very ticklish and was
quickly squealing and giggling. Excited so much that my little immature
penis hardened in my shorts, I moved my hands and tickled her ribs. Her
giggling squeals grew wilder. I tickled her chest - it was quite flat - she
shrieked with laughter, begging me to stop. I tickled her fat, little girl's
tummy. She rocked from side to side tears streaming as she giggled. I
grinned sadistically. Never had I known such a feeling of power. I moved my
hands and tickled her just above her bare knees. She threw herself from side
to side rocking on her bottom. She drew up her knees to try to escape my
ticking hands. I kept on going. Her skirt rode up I moved my hands up with
it, tickling her plump round thighs. She screamed with involuntary laughter,
almost hysterical. I could see the crotch of her knickers stretched tight
over her pubis, her slit clearly defined behind the tight material. How I
wished I dared to tickle her there, but I was too timorous of the
consequences. I stopped and released her, but she was still red faced and
giggling breathlessly when her mother came back.
Susie was a regular sort of kid. She was a normally robust little girl of
average height for her age with dark blonde hair that she usually kept in
plaits or a ponytail. Nothing too remarkable about her, then, apart from her
willingness to join in with my quirky games and the fact that she was
smacked a lot.
Hardly a day went past when Susie was not smacked. She was slapped on the
backs of her bare legs, or her skirt flipped up for a smack on the seat of
her knickers for the slightest reason. Or, so it sometimes seemed to me, no
reason at all. And about once a week on average, Susie would get a proper
spanking. She would be put across her mother's knee with her skirt up and
Marge's heavy hand would pound her panties. If she kept her panties on, that
is. As often as not they came down to her knees and I saw her tiny cheeks
quickly turn red. These spankings were nothing like as bad as that very
first one I have described, and Susie did not generally cry, but they were
sound enough.
I soon understood that my father did not approve of this harsh disciplinary
regime for his stepdaughter, but he accepted that Susie was Marge's
responsibility, and I guess he was not assertive enough to persuade her to
go easier on the kid. Also, it must be remembered that what would now be
regarded as definitely abusive, was then considered merely rather rigorous
punishment.
So the summer drifted on and I, for one, was thoroughly enjoying myself.
***
A more exciting playground than Audley Park was the garden of 'The Laurels'.
This was a run down Victorian house with a large garden that was just ripe
for redevelopment, and later became the site of a small block of flats. That
summer, though, it was an enchanting wilderness. Susie and I were forbidden
to go there, but despite my goody-goody inclinations, the place drew me to
it like iron filings to a magnet. It was the perfect place for my games of
'Cowboys and Indians' or 'Pirates' the sole purpose of which was for me to
get little Susie tied to a tree in the concealing undergrowth.
One day during the long summer holiday we clambered over the wall, with me
looking nervously in all directions in case we should be spotted. Once
inside, I became more confident and after the brief preliminaries of a sort
of hide and seek, I captured my 'Indian' and soon had Susie tied by her
wrists to the overhanging branch of a tree. I pulled out an old silk scarf
that I suppose must once have belonged to my dear departed mother, and used
this to gag my prisoner. Then I had an idea for a new twist to our game. I
told her I was going away for a short time and she would have to stay there
until I got back. Susie became oddly agitated at this point, shaking her
head and rolling her eyes as if in distress, but by now she was becoming
quite a good little actress in these plays and I assumed she was just
entering into the spirit of the game.
I did not plan o leave Susie for long, but events conspired against my good
intentions.
The first thing that happened was that an angry adult male voice shouted,
"Hey you, get out of there!" I still do not know whether this was directed
at me, but I fled from the garden just as fast as I could." Once outside,
old Mrs Eaton, called to me and asked me to go to the shops for something.
Being a helpful lad, I was automatically agreeing to do the errand, before I
gave a thought to Susie, and I did not want to venture back there for the
time being in any case. So I went to the shops and when I returned, Mrs
Eaton gave me sixpence and offered my cake and orange squash, which I
thoughtlessly accepted. By the time I had consumed these, I suddenly
remembered Susie and realised how long I had left her.
I hurried back and cautiously entered the garden. I worried Susie might have
been discovered and set free by some interfering adult and a report of my
cruelty sent to my father, but when I got there Susie was still tied to the
branch, safe and sound. I sighed with heartfelt relief. But as I approached
to untie her, I saw we still had a problem
Susie had wet herself. This was nothing like the sturdy little girl and she
was upset. I quickly got the gag and ropes undone and she told me that when
I had left her bound and gagged she had been trying to convey to me that she
was desperate for a wee-wee. Now her sandals, socks, the front of her dress
and, unseen, her knickers beneath were all soaked in urine. I glanced
anxiously at my watch. We still had more than half-an-hour before Marge's
bus was due back, Susie could get cleaned up and changed, and then we could
rinse her clothes and dry them in the summer sunshine. I sighed with relief.
There was no need for anyone to know of my cruelty to my stepsister.
I told Susie what we were going to do and she followed me slavishly. We
returned to the house and in through the kitchen door. I realised she could
not walk through the house to the bathroom and her bedroom in her sodden
sandals, so, turning up my nose in repugnance, I bent down to undo them.
Just then, Susie's mum walked in from the hall. It turned out she had been
given a lift back. Her eyes took in the scene and her own nostrils wrinkled
from the strong smell of piss.
"You disgusting child!" Marge shouted at Susie. How old are you? - Two!?"
"It was an accident," Susie protested.
"How did it happen?" demanded Marge angrily.
I was on tenterhooks lest Susie should explain more fully, but she just
muttered sullenly, "It was an accident."
"Accident! I'll give you accident!" Marge shouted. She advanced angrily on
Susie while I hastily got out of the way. She grabbed her daughter under her
armpits and swung her through the air and into the sink. "You filthy little
beast," Marge yelled. "Why didn't you go before?"
"It was an accident," Susie repeated obstinately. Marge slapped the back of
her legs just above the knee. "Ow! Ow!" Susie yelped.
Marge pulled off Susie's sandals and socks and three them onto the draining
board. She then whisked her daughter's striped summer dress off over her
head. Next second, Susie's sopping knickers were down around her ankles and
Susie obligingly stepped out of them. The underwear joined the rest of her
clothes.
I gawped in delight, all guilt gone. For the first time in my life, I was
seeing a girl naked and full frontal. There was not much to see, to be
honest. Susie's chest was flat and her nipples just little pink dots. Her
fat little tummy stuck out indented by her belly button. But beneath this
was the bulging slit of her little girl's bald twat.
Marge turned on the cold tap, grabbed a hard cake of coarse kitchen soap and
scrubbed at the lower part of Susie's little body. I watched entranced as
the rough soap slid over Susie's legs, bottom and immature genitalia,
raising an insubstantial lather while her mother continued to call her names
and demand an explanation to which Susie repeated the same phrase like a
mantra. Understandably, this made her mother even madder. She picked up a
cloth and roughly rinsed off the soap. She turned off the tap, twisted Susie
around and started slapping her wet bottom very hard while she stood in the
sink so that a fine spray flew from her cheeks with every smack. Suzie
yelled "Ouch!" and hopped up and down at each slap. She reflexively tried to
pot her hands over her bottom but her mother gripper her small wrists in her
own left hand and continued to spank her with the right. Susie's bottom
began to get very red.
"John," Marge said without pausing from tanning Susie's bum, "hand me over
that wooden spoon, please. Yes, just there. No, the largest one."
I passed over the indicated implement and Marge stopped spanking her
daughter long enough to take it from me. Then she began again, but this time
using the rounded back of the spoon's bowl. Susie yelled louder as the spoon
cracked across her bare cheeks and then louder still as her mother worked
down and up each thigh. It was the severest spanking I had seen Susie
receive since the 'knickers and the parkie' incident - this one may even
have been worse.
At last, Marge put down the spoon and lifted the loudly crying Susie out of
the sink and set her on the floor where she hopped from foot to foot in
obvious agony until a few seconds later her mother sent her to her room in
disgrace with another resounding smack on her sore bottom.
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