1. " Too Old... Not "

(F/m nc)

– THIS STORY IS FICTITIOUS –

I could barely believe my ears when I heard that.

"What?...a babysitter??... Mum, I’m twelve!"

But mother wasn’t impressed. "Oh please Haley," she said with that condescending tone of hers, "you don’t really expect me to leave you home alone a whole day, do you."

"Yes I do!"

She rolled her eyes. "Well, I’m not. A few minutes, yes, but I don’t think you’re ready for that."

"And when will I be, just so I know?" I was exasperated already.

"When your father and I say that you are, and don’t take that tone." And that was all she would say. How frustrating! I hated it when I was cut off like that. No-one ever seemed to want to talk.

Not that I was a troublesome boy, not at all. I was usually quiet and mild-mannered and minded my own business; never was one to get into trouble. But, looking back, I’m not sure I would be able to manage myself for a whole day at that age. True, I was very independent, and yes, I mostly stayed home anyway; but I stayed home with my parents, one or both, and rarely if ever alone, apart from when they’d leave for shopping or whatnot.

So, as much as my almost-teenager self hated to admit it, having someone around to watch that things didn’t get out of hand wasn’t that bad of idea.

"And then it’s not a babysitter in the true sense of word, Haley," mother said as she grabbed her coat. Down the road, dad was smoking and cooling the car: summer had struck early that year and the air was 30 degrees and hotter. "Consider her a company. You do your own stuff, and she’ll just hang around and..."

"She??" I exclaimed loudly.

"... I beg your pardon?"

I gritted my teeth and repeated: "You said ‘she’? It’s a she, not a he?... You rented me a girl?"

I know just how *bad* that sounds, but hey, I was an innocent soul back then! Mother sure saw the irony and laughed. She tousled my hair, which I hated, given the time I put in styling it.

"No, silly. And the verb is ‘to hire’. Gina and yourself are going to get along, I promise."

"B-but... but..." I stammered, not finding the words. "But... why can’t it be a guy, huh? Can’t it be a guy? My friend Erica’s got a big brother and he babysat her all the time!"

"That’s different. He’s family. I don’t trust a male stranger to be alone with you."

I couldn’t figure the exact reason behind that reluctance, but it didn’t sound good even to my 12-year-old ears. Now I could argue for hours over this reverse lack of equal opportunity, but back then, my reaction was far less reasonable and much more... how can I say... childishly sexist.

"Mum, you can’t leave me with a girl, it’s... it... it’s a girl!"

Well, I was actually way past the phase when girls were something to repel. Actually, by twelve I’d had a couple of crushes already, but still, I saw that as an insult to my supposed masculine superiority! Me! Twelve and practically a man!... babied by a girl? My goodness, I couldn’t believe it.

I had to accept it though, because what my parents decided eventually would take place, one way or the other. They had their own subtle, twisted way of being imposing without actually being imposing. Again: how frustrating!

As my mother fumbled with her coat and filled her purse with useless junk, I sighed and stuffed my hands in my pockets. "Please, tell me she’s not, like, 14 at least. Like in American movies..."

She gave another mild laugh. "Oh, don’t be silly. A 14-year-old needs to be babysat, herself."

Did that mean I would be sat till I was fourteen? I shuddered. For the record, no, even my parents weren’t that paranoid, so it wouldn’t happen, but I didn’t know back then.

"She’s twenty-four and a university student, not to mention quite referenced from an agency," my mother explained. At least I appreciated the fact that she wouldn’t just leave me in the care of some teenage neighbour: that would be irresponsible.

And humiliating. I don’t know how I could have ever survived the embarrassment of being bossed around by someone I was likely to see hanging out at my school!

The bell rang and she went for the door. I sighed and shook my head. The door was opened and this girl appeared on the threshold. She did look like a woman in her mid-twenties. Her wavy corvine hair had a weird look to them, as if they were aglow or something; her lips were curved in a bright smile; her blue eyes shone. She wasn’t exactly beautiful, but looked somewhat appealing. But after all, apart from those two crushes above, my idea of feminine appeal back then was super models with giant boobs and tight costumes. Baywatch anyone?

"Hello, Gina. Welcome. Please, come in." My mother stepped aside and let her in.

‘Gina’ had a very self-confident way of moving, talking, doing pretty much anything. She shook my mother’s hand firmly, then turned to me. "Hey Haley. Nice to meet ya." She outstretched a hand and I grabbed it feebly. Still, I had noticed that she hadn’t hugged me or said how cute I was or made jokes about my name or any of that cheesy stuff. For that I couldn’t but be grateful.

"Howdy," I just said.

"Alright then, we need to hurry." My mother grabbed her purse and walked out the door. "Thank you, Gina. We’ll call to check every now and then. Be good Haley, okay? See you this evening."

I’m not sure if it was the ‘be good’ part to embarrass me more or the fact that they would call ‘to check’. As soon as she was out of the door, I let it slip that... "Not only they leave me with a babysitter, but they’ll also call every other goddamn minute. Great."

Gina gave a come-on-now-be-good sort of smile and shook her head as she got rid of her own bag. She wore a knee-long jean skirt and a short-sleeved dark green top. "Now, now, what’s that language. And your parents are just worried. Still..." She looked around, then back at me, "let’s just hope they don’t actually call every other minute!"

And she rolled her eyes. Even a toddler could see she was being condescending now, and just try to make me feel at ease. Ironically, that made me more nervous. I bit my tongue and just shrugged.

"Alright, so, you have things to do? School stuff, I mean."

"A little homework. Nothing serious."

"Cool." She retrieved her bag and produced a book and a few notebooks. "I’ve got something to study too. Wanna do it together? Different rooms? You choose."

"My room I guess. I keep the TV on."

Gina shook her head gently and smiled. "I don’t think so."

I was surprised, but most of all, it was starting to annoy me: was she going to tell me what to do? ‘Cause that would be unbearable. "Huh?... it keeps me company. I don’t watch it."

"Cool, then I’ll keep you company instead. You won’t watch me either, I’m sure."

She sat at the table, still calm and smiling, and opened her pencil case.

"I..." I didn’t know what to say. Gina did, though.

"Look, the sooner you finish homework, the sooner you can do whatever you like."

"C’mon, I have all day to..."

"... to do whatever you like," she finished the sentence for me.

Now, one shouldn’t think that I was the kind of lazy boy who doesn’t want to work and just thinks of playing – even on a school-free day like that. To tell the truth, I had straight A’s through all of middle school (which, to my eyes, was actually one more reason not to study!, but that’s another story). Quite simply, my temples were burning because this perfect stranger was standing there in a I’m-cute-and-I’m-older-and-I’m-in-command sort of way, giving me orders like I was six or something. Perhaps I was even more independent than I thought, because it was hardly bearable.

"Whatever," I snapped as I walked away, making a big show of taking off my sweater – it was getting hot – and throwing it down on the sofa.

I wasn’t halfway down the corridor to my room that she called me back.

"Haley!"

There wasn’t anger in how she’d said that, but severity, yes. I’d never quite heard my name snapped like that. Sure, mother and father could scold quite sternly and they did, but the way Gina had addressed me was surprising to say the least.

I turned around, still holding most of the sassiness in my voice. "What?"

"Come here a moment, will you? Please." She was serious now and I saw she meant business, though I admit I walked back to where she was only because of the ‘please’ part.

When I stood in front of her, she pointed a finger to my face and smiled. "Listen, Haley, you don’t like me being here, and that’s fine. Personally, I think a boy your age should be allowed to stay home alone. I’m not your mother, though: I’m the one your mother pays to watch over you. Get this straight, I’m only doing my job here. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stand here and take mud from you. You don’t like me? Fine. I wish I was somewhere else too. But keep your rude manners to yourself, or else. We can spend the day fighting or try to get along, what do you think?"

Actually, part of my mind had stopped at the ‘or else’. What was she going to do anyway? Her whole little speech made sense, indeed, and I was even half-convinced that the less resistance I put up, the better it would be... but that one hint of authority was driving me nuts. No-one can tell a twelve-year-old boy what to do in his house on a free day.

Right?

"Yes well I’d like to get along, but not if you’re bugging me every other minute," I spat before really thinking about it, just expressing what I genuinely felt. "How about you mind your own damn business and I mind my own damn business?"

The word I used was a little worse than ‘damn’. Heh. Gina obviously noticed that, and my tone must have been a tad too disrespectful to her ears, if it’s true that she pointed her hands on her hips and did actually look angry.

"Didn’t I just say to mind your language?" she said in a reproving tone. "And that’s the least. I really don’t like it how you talk to me, kiddo. I respect you, how come you don’t respect me?"

"Must be ‘cause you don’t deserve it," I mumbled, again without thinking, and again I retreated towards my room.

And again I didn’t make it, but this time because Gina had my wrist in her hand, and before I realised what was going on, she had dragged me back to the living room and was sitting on a chair.

"What the f..."

The second before I could finish the sentence I saw myself being pulled to her and across her lap. I stared at the carpet, bewildered, my feet off the floor and my hair barely brushing it.

I tried again: "Hey, what the f..." but a loud smack to my upturned backside cut me off. That was unexpected to say the least. My mind went like "uh-oh".

It dawned on me that I was being spanked. Not sure if one swat qualified as a spanking, nor if more would follow, but still, it was pretty clear. One should know that despite having never been spanked for real, I knew very well what it was. It’s something you play at with friends, or read in books and see on TV from time to time. And of course, it was one of my favourite themes of interest. I wouldn’t be writing this very story now, years later, if it wasn’t.

Back then, which is quite recent anyway, it had the looks and feels of a cool game; the sexual aspect of it wasn’t really clear to me yet, though I could make guesses. Those times I’d engaged in the usual little spanking games with friends (most of which were far less curious than me, ha!) I had found it intriguing, though I’d always thought that when adults did it to kids, it wasn’t a good thing.

Quite simply, I was brought up in the knowledge that parents who hit their children aren’t being good parents 99% of the times, and I still kinda stick to that. So imagine my surprise when Gina, an adult and a girl, smacked my bottom. I could really barely believe it, and my head was spinning.

"No more bad words, Haley. Please. That’s really rude and unnecessary. Understand?" she said.

I was still too confused to reply, so I tried to struggle free, only to find she was holding me more tightly than I could escape from. "Let me up now!" I demanded, pangs of guilt, fear and indignation wracking my stomach. And of course a latent excitement that wouldn’t come out yet.

Gina’s reply to that was two more whacks, back-to-back, one on each of my bottom cheeks. They stung, too! Definitely not the play swats I gave and took in those games. This felt real, and it felt... well, it felt, period. Even through my navy blue shorts and my briefs.

"I’m letting you up in a moment," she said, still calm, "but before, you have to promise that you will stop using foul language, and that you will talk to me more respectfully. I’m not asking for a red carpet, sulk all you want, but I won’t accept straight-out sass from you, because I’m doing my job here and that’s to make sure you’re okay. Babysitting is a job, not a past-time. Understood?"

SMACK! One more fell across both of my buttocks when she was done talking.

"Ow!" I yelped aloud, and tried to squirm free some more, but to no avail. "Yes, yes alright... just let me up!"

Another intense smack followed, right on my lower left cheek, and I involuntarily kicked my leg.

"I said I’ll let you up in a moment. Do you promise?"

"Yeahhhh, I promise!" I barked, more out of exasperation than anything.

Embarrassment was playing a big part, too. Once realised that this was (sort of) a spanking, and that it wasn’t a game either, I was feeling as juvenile as one could feel, and that was really not the way to be for a boy my age.

"Good," Gina said. I expected another blow now but it didn’t come. She still held me tight, though. "Homework done and clean talk, that’s all I ask. After that, you can do whatever you like as long as you don’t set the house on fire. I mean it, I’m not here to impose stuff on you and we don’t have to play games. You’re not a toddler, you’re almost a teenager, for God’s sake. Why don’t you start behaving like one?"

Knowing she knew I wasn’t a little boy but just acting like one hurt more than anything. Bloody hell, it was the other way ‘round: she could start by treating me like a teenager and perhaps I would consequently behave like one!... but I was in no position to voice that thought, of course.

"I... I am... I mean, I will... gosh, can’t you just let me up now? Blood to the head." It wasn’t true yet, but I sure would feel like it sooner or later.

She ignored it anyway. "Alright. I trust you, okay? Let’s just get along, or ignore each other. If even that is too much for me to ask, you’re going to find yourself in this position again. But next time..." She took hold of the elastic waistband of my shorts and underwear, lifted it and snapped it back into place! "...I will spank you good and hard right on your bare bottom. Am I making myself understood, Haley?"

Now my heart really paced and my mind had a hard time following. A bunch of wild feelings accumulated in my head, and once again I didn’t know which was more utterly embarrassing. Probably, it was that she’d used the actual verb. "I will spank you," she had said. Loud and clear. Even I often hated to say the word, and to hear it spoken always made me blush. The threat of a bare bottom spanking, combined with my position and the momentary rush of cool air on my skin when she had raised the waistband, were quite literally blowing my mind.

The "okay I understand" I muttered was totally genuine, let me tell you.

~*~*~

Looking back, I’m not sure I was thinking straight that afternoon.

As soon as Gina let me up, I went to my room and took out all the textbooks and notebooks and pencils and pens and sprawled everything out on the desktop. When I sat, it did sting a little, but only for a minute. The physical distress was soon forgotten, but my mind was swirling.

I don’t think it had sunk in properly yet that I had been spanked. Not like a ‘real’ one, yes, but what do you call real when you’ve never had one in the first place? To me, given the rare clandestine games and the references in movies and books I was used to, that experience with Gina was as close as a real spanking I would ever get.

Or not?

The whole information that I would better straighten up or there would be worse took even longer to register. When it did, I realised that I actually had the chance to make it happen if only I wanted to. Not that I wanted to... far from my mind... I mean, I don’t want to get spanked, do I? Another way to look at it is that I was a kid and Gina was an adult and adults weren’t supposed to smack kids in my vision. Somehow, though, that was the very least of my worries. My mind was so full with new facts, feelings and emotions that I forgot about anything else.

Including my homework.

I’m not sure how you can call it. Freudian slip? Well, it wasn’t a slip, technically. A slip in actions, perhaps, and not in speech. Facts are that after more than an hour spent sitting there at my desk playing with my hands and my mind, I’d only finished about half of the algebra functions I was supposed to work on. When I realised, I felt thoroughly exhausted and I shut the book. As I said, I wasn’t thinking straight; for some strange reason, I wasn’t even getting that not doing my homework could’ve got me in trouble. I was tired and just wanted to rest and do something else.

And so I walked back to the living room, plopped down on the sofa and switched the TV on. Gina greeted me with a smile from the table, that I mildly returned before looking away. For a minute she seemed all busy on her own stuff as I checked out the various networks, but then she said, completely out of the blue:

"So you’re done? That’s great. See, it wasn’t that hard."

"Yeah," I said, without thinking twice. Without thinking at all, actually. Again.

"Good!" She sounded cheerful now. She stood from the table and shut her books. "Can I see?"

That’s when it dawned on me I was in trouble again, and this time for real. Somehow, I’m really not sure why yet, I hadn’t connected the concept of homework to the concept of someone looking it over. Definitely not thinking straight!

I mean, I’d copied my friends’ homework and let them copy mine several times, and never had trouble, and now I was being caught for something so childish? How humiliating. Things always ran so smooth in my life and my home and everything that being faced with something unusual like the weight of consequences, so to speak, was unsettling.

I think my heart beat a couple hundred times in the following minute, as I sank more and more in my armchair while Gina walked down the corridor to my bedroom, probably wondering why I was silent and wasn’t going too. What could have I done, after all? Surely not rush to the room and lock myself in and finish homework in ten seconds; nor just tell her "sorry, I thought I finished, maybe I’m not"... even I wasn’t that naive at that point. No sir, there was just no escape. She would go in there, compare the problems marked with a "v" on my exercise book with those solved on my notebook, and would realise the many fallacies.

And then what?

I had my answer soon. A few minutes later she re-entered the living room, stood by the armchair and looked down on me with a serious face. Not angry or anything, just... serious.

"You didn’t finish your homework," she stated matter-of-factly.

Silence.

"And you told me you had."

Silence.

Gina didn’t seem to want or expect a reply from me, though, because in the blink of an eye she grabbed my wrist again, pulled me up to my feet and yet again dragged me to the very same chair we’d been at one hour earlier. My ears were burning and blood pulsated heavily in my temples. On jelly knees I stood before her as she sat down and took my hands in hers, then looked up at me. I dared to look back this one time, and I saw nothing but sheer determination in her eyes.

"Haley, what did I say would happen if you were rude again or didn’t do your homework?"

So that was it? She wanted me to say it aloud? Well, sure, I could do that. It would buy me some time if we talked, and perhaps she would change her mind, and... and then why on Earth words were not coming out of my mouth even though they were supposed to?

The word ‘spanking’ stopped there on my tongue and just wouldn’t come out no matter how hard I tried. How could I just say "that I’d get a spanking" when I was actually about to get one?? I mean, come on, that was plain cruel to ask. At least she could grant me a little more time to think it through, or help me, or...

Well, she did help in a way. Gina must have realised that it was difficult for me to accept the whole thing, and so, while I stood there fidgeting and wetting my lips and trying to make ends meet, her hands moved to the small string tying my jogging shorts and started unlatching it. She was fast and to-the-point, and only when my poor shorts were down at mid-thigh I realised I was being bared for my spanking. Bared by Gina. A girl. Right there and then.

That was all the help I needed, and I suddenly found my voice again: "You said you’d spank me but c’mon you don’t need to, I... I mean... I was all distracted and stuff and... oh you know!"

"Then why didn’t you call and ask for help?"

She gave another firm tug and my shorts fell to my knees. I tried to hold them up, but a firm slap to my hands made me think twice.

"I... I don’t know, I think... I thought I could do it on my own..." By now the cool air was caressing my thighs and legs and my underpants, and I was fully aware of my vulnerability and soon-to-be nakedness. "Hey listen... how about this huh? I’ll do that now and you help me and teach me things and stuff and maybe we can..."

"Excuses, Haley." With one final tug my shorts were bundled around my ankles and I shivered. "These are only excuses, and I’m getting the feeling you’re a boy who lives on excuses. I’m not sure how it works between you and your parents, but with me, excuses won’t land you anywhere but across my lap. Do you understand?"

The look in her eye was so firm I had to hang my head and reply with a meek ‘yes’. To say I was scared isn’t quite right; I was taken aback, and worried. Ironically, the fact that she wasn’t my mother and had no right to discipline me wasn’t even in question: she seemed to have natural authority over me. I can’t quite explain, but somehow I knew that all made some sense, deep down.

Gina’s fingers in the waistband of my underwear made sense too – but, hell, wasn’t it the most embarrassing thing I’d ever experienced! Part of me wanted to run, and run real fast. I was a little chubby back then and not exactly fit, my favourite sport being watching others do sports, but I think I could have outrun her to the bathroom, where I would lock myself, and then... okay, then what? Stay there for eight hours with this girl pounding on the door every now and then?

And why was that feeling that I *deserved* it growing more and more powerful by the minute?

"Good. So, I’m asking you again..." Gina said. Her fingers brushed my sides as they clasped the underwear fabric, and stayed there. "What did I say would happen?"

An undefined number of gulps later, I found it in me to say: "You’d spank me..."

"That’s right. And how?" Fingers still there, but gripping the waistband tighter.

"G-good and hard..." I stammered, well remembering the ominous words of her threat.

"Exactly. And what else?..." Fingers starting to tug down, but then stopping.

There, she really wanted me to say it all, and I mean all. And I know that as soon as I’d say it, she would finish her task of preparing me and the real action would begin. Since there was no more point in procrastinating now, I just spat it out in a feeble whisper.

"... on my bare bottom..."

Without a moment’s hesitation she peeled my pants down past my hips, down my thighs and to my knees, where they rested.

Now the embarrassment was total, and only the front of my shirt falling back in place prevented me from a thorough exposure... but that was very, very little consolation, I can assure you.

Still without a word, Gina guided me across her lap like she had an hour before, with the only difference of a few layers of tissue between me and her. I found myself staring at the carpet again, and my face must’ve been twice as flushed this time. My T-shirt wasn’t as long as I’d thought, now, since it rode up my back, uncovering my buttocks even more: if ever I wasn’t sure at first, now I was definitely bare, back there.

"Very well," Gina said in her usual controlled voice. "You understand why you’re being spanked, right?"

Was asking if the fire is hot, or...?

"Y-yeah..." is all I said.

That seemed enough for her, because I felt her left hand grip my side and her right hand raising up high. A second later the air moved and I heard the first swat before feeling it. SMACK!

"Ohh!..."

I gasped in surprise. The sting took a little longer to surface, and when it did it left me breathless. The other smacks, before, had really been a mere warning. Now I could tell the difference.

Gina didn’t waste time and applied her hand to my backside again and again. The whacks resounded loudly in the room and the sting built very fast. I stopped counting at ten, and by then I wasn’t feeling comfortable at all! The sting was now accompanied by a distinct burn and I had grabbed the chair rungs to keep myself steady. Despite my being chubby, Gina’s hand covered the whole of my 12-year-old bottom, and each smack fell right on top of the others.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!... it... ouch!... no..." I tried to speak some, but not much would come out.

"I suggest... you do not try... to speak, Haley..." my babysitter (sigh!) said in-between smacks. "Nothing you say... is making me stop... before it’s time... anyway."

She punctuated that with a flurry of brisk spanks that left me breathless again, and a huge lump was forming in my throat. Was I going to cry? Silly as it is, the biggest of my worries in that frame was that I did NOT want to let that girl hear me cry. That was just so embarrassing!

SPANK! CRACK! SMACK!

Gina seemed intentioned to get a few sounds out of me, though, because the spanks didn’t stop. And come the sounds did: I ow-ed and ohh-ed and all those gasps and yelps you let out during a spanking, even though at the time I didn’t know a spanked kid isn’t to blame for complaining. I was still in the phase of: "I don’t whine, I don’t beg, I burp and fart, I don’t cry, I’m not sleepy, I say profanities, I take rare showers = manly". Heh. Time has passed after all. Little time, but still.

SLAP! SPANK!

"Owwww! Noooo not there!..."

If anything, the smacks were moving. Gina left the fullness of my nether cheeks to focus her efforts on the very lowest part of the buttocks themselves – the so-called sit-spots. I squealed when the first of many hearty smacks hit, and I reached back to rub the awful sting. Bad move, Haley.

"Oh no you don’t," Gina said calmly. She took hold of my wrist and before I could react she had it pinned to the small of my back. "Be a good boy and take your spanking without interfering."

Yeah, as if I could have just laid there and let her spank me silly! Well, yes, I could. I was supposed to. And it’s exactly what I did: I lay there and let her have a go (several, actually) at my bare, upturned and defenceless behind. It must have been looking quite red indeed by then. I remembered the colour from those times when I’d spanked a friend – male friend... bad luck... why did girls my age have this problem with their clothes coming off? Hmph! However, if my backside was looking as bad as it felt, I would be in for some serious trouble sitting.

Ironically, that and my vow not to cry became the very least of my worries within the next minute. Gina was right: she said she would spank me good and hard and she was spanking me good and hard. Eventually my last line of resistance gave way and tears sprung from my eyes. I couldn’t help it. The sting had now graduated to pain and was spread all over and simply impossible to bear without putting on a show. All things considered – that it was my first spanking and everything – I think I fared pretty good, but that was definitely not my impression at the moment.

"Owww oh God nooooo...! Please stopppp!"

So much for the manly part. But at least I wasn’t sleepy.

This time she didn’t even reply, just kept spanking my bottom for all she was worth. Little did I know that she was actually holding back some, heh. To me, it felt like the world was falling apart, and it was falling right there on my naked sit-upon.

Gina kept up with the rhythm, delivering a couple of slaps per second. She gave me a very thorough spanking that day. I’m not sure how much time I spent upended over her lap, probably no longer than three or four minutes, but those were memorable, like everyone’s first spanking. When she finally allowed me to stand, I was one contrite young man with a glowing red bottom.

My inhibitions long since flown out of the window, I grabbed my cheeks and furiously rubbed at the sting. Gina was kind enough to help me put my underwear back on, even though I did not want it back on. The fabric stung and itched something awful! She would have none of it anyway, and said it was part of the punishment to feel the aftermath of a spanking. Whatever.

"There, there..." she cooed. She must have understood my need not to get all touchy and huggy and stuff, because she just patted my head and rubbed my arms in a comforting way. I got the distinct feeling that I wasn’t the first kid she’d spanked, and by golly, wasn’t I right.

"Behave now, Haley, okay? You’re a good boy but don’t abuse that, because I won’t stand for disrespect and I don’t like it when you lie to me."

"Okay... I’m sorry... won’t do it again... and ow!" I nodded tearfully as I wiped my face in my sleeves. My crying was dying down, and came the knowledge I had cried. What a sissy!, I thought.

"I’m very glad to hear that, Haley," Gina said as she offered another pretty smile. "Believe me, if I need to, I will not hesitate to turn you across my lap again, lower your panties and spank you like I just did. Okay, now, it’s all over. Want a glass of water?"

I nodded and headed to the kitchen, leaving my shorts on the floor. I moved as fast as I could to hide the additional blushing of my upper cheeks. Panties, indeed! One should note that in my language, the translation for the term ‘panties’ is used for boys’ and girls’ underwear – little boys and girls. They wear ‘panties’ or ‘briefs’, whereas adults, that they are males or females, just have pants. When your parents or whatever start to call your underwear ‘pants’, you feel kinda grownup.

Well I did feel like a pants-boy indeed! Not a panties one. So, Gina’s remark was the ultimate sign that... A) I wasn’t too old or too smart to have a babysitter. B) I wasn’t too old or too smart to be spanked. C) I wasn’t too old or too smart to be spanked by my babysitter! Sigh.

One thing I’ll say for me is that the rest of the day was kinda good, and that Gina and I even got a few chances to talk. Can’t say I liked her from the very start, but despite everything I didn’t find myself hating her or something. She was actually kinda cool to be around. As long as you’re good!

True enough, I was on my very best behaviour – duh! Although, sitting on my hard wooden chair for an hour while Gina helped with my homework wasn’t exactly pleasant, quite the opposite, but hey, I was still the punished one there after all. There wasn’t much I could do, not if I wanted to avoid another trip across her lap, and God knows I did.

And then this weird feeling that I had deserved most if not all that I’d got that day would just leave me alone. Strangely enough, that made me feel at peace with myself.

~*~*~

At seven in the evening, my parents came back. I could tell they were surprised to say the least to see Gina and me get along, given my major scowl when she’d first walked in. They asked all sorts of questions, most of which they had asked countless times already during their phone calls. Gina was very patient and put on her best smile to reassure them everything was right. I must have not been as polite in a few of my replies, because sure enough my new-found sitter cast me a sideways glance, and I knew right away what that meant.

In the end, it is true that a 12-year-old boy... well, a 12-year-old anyone... is too old to be sat, but it’s the whole concept of ‘sitting’ that needs some heavy redefining. Despite what mum and dad thought, Gina wasn’t there to make sure I wouldn’t set the house on fire, or that I wouldn’t break my neck, or that I wouldn’t open the door to a stranger. Her kind of sitting for me was thoroughly different. Call it a behaviour-control intervention, or whatever, but it’s that kind of sitting that is needed to more young boys and girls than one could think of.

And hey, I’m not saying "let’s spank them all". As my affectionate readers know, I strongly oppose to non-consensual spanking. But for me, it worked that way.

Several times.

– THE END –

This story is truly fake. Heh. Jokes aside, it is a collage of several events that actually took place in my life, between my 9th and 13th year of age more or less. I have pasted them together and shaped them in a dramatised way that could result enjoyable when reading. I hope I have succeeded in portraying the feel of a wonderful age that, despite me still being very young, I already miss something awful. Corruption is everywhere and spares only the young and the old.

On a much lighter note, I wanted this story to be humorous and entertaining while somewhat serious and realistic at the same time. Once again, I hope I have succeeded. Last but not least, I re-iterate that I am against the non-consensual spanking of children and teenagers for discipline – even though in a few cases, if the need is scarce and is done with kids who do understand to some degree what they’re going through, it might be effective for a thing or two.

Quoting something I read once on the Internet: "Spanking may be effective for kids if they need it once, maybe twice in their life. It should be a life-altering experience, not a recurring one, because if it is needed often, it’s useless." Ditto.

Love it? Hate it? Could be better? Could not be better? Could be worse? Could not be worse? Let me know !

Thanks to my sweetheart Lindsey Kate , who was the first to read this
and have the decency to not tell me that it sucks. LOL. Just kidding.

Though based on actual persons and events, this account is subject to dramatisation.
Any similarities to other situations and people, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.

The original content of this story is exclusive copyright of Haley Brimley , and can not be
reproduced, even in parts, without the author’s express consent. Contact for information.