Kylie Johnson and Brittany Spencer, fourteen and thirteen years old respectively and best friends since Kindergarten, sat on the couch of Kylie’s living room without a care in the world. As soon as Kylie’s parents had gone out for the night, the two teenagers had taken ice-cream and drinks out of the refrigerator and had started their very own private party, which consisted in a "Buffy" marathon on TV. Kylie had changed in her pj’s and slumped down on the sofa while her friend started the DVD in the player. The Johnsons weren’t supposed to come back home before midnight, but of course Kylie’s bedtime – and Brittany’s too, since she was sleeping over like always – was much earlier than that: "In bed by ten, and no exceptions!" Honestly, the girls did mean to respect the limit: it was only 7:45, soon after dinner, when they started their first Buffy episode, but somehow time seemed to slip by, like it always does when you’re having fun.

"Riley is just so fucking hott," Kylie stated for the millionth time as Marc Blucas and Sarah Michelle Gellar exchanged a passionate kiss on the TV screen.

Brittany, who despite loving Kylie like a sister could never get used at such bluntness in her language, blushed and gave a small giggle as she covered her mouth with a hand.

"Oh c’mon, deny that!" Kylie said as she dropped her almost-empty cup of hazelnut and chocolate ice-cream on the table and picked up her iced soda glass.

"Naah he’s cute," Brittany had to admit. "But I’ll never forgive ‘em for writing Angel off the series."

"Well duh," Kylie rolled her eyes as she bopped her playfully with a pillow, making Brittany giggle again. "Give me David Boreanaz in my bedroom for a couple of hours and I... whoa," she waved a hand in front of her flushing face, wishing that a fan would cool her down.

"Ky, come on," her friend scolded gently. "You’re getting gross now."

Giggling, Kylie reached over to Brittany and ruffled her hair. "Sorry babe. It’s just that I get hot thinking of some things, you know. Didn’t mean to gross ya out."

"Naah it’s okay," Brittany had to admit, hesitating. "I feel like that too... I just don’t say it."

Kylie exclaimed: "Wimp! In your life, what you feel, you need to say it out loud, ya know? People ain’t ever gonna listen to you if you don’t scream."

"Yeah, yeah, yadda, yadda," Brittany rolled her eyes. Somehow Kylie always found the way to pretend she was so much older and more experienced than her, even though less than ten months separated them.

"Listen to me, girl, you gotta say what you feel," Kylie insisted as she turned off the TV after the ending credits to the episode started rolling. "Okay, take a deep breath and say: ‘I’m Brittany Spencer, I like David Boreneaz and want to fuck his brains out!’, and say it loud!"

"Dear God, no!" Brittany’s blushing increased and her giggles renewed.

"Come on... hey!" Kylie shot her a glare. "Say it, or I’m not talking to you ever again."

Brittany gave a nervous laugh. She knew her friend was only joking, and after all, what was wrong in saying it just once? But she had been taught better than that, and the hard way, too.

"Aww I don’t wanna get in trouble... my parents spank me if I say bad words."

"Duh, you think I don’t know? So do mine. But we’re ALONE, girl! Come on!... and then it’s eleven already, we should have been in bed an hour ago. We’re in trouble already," she giggled as though she didn’t care – and she really didn’t.

Brittany seemed to, though, and again she clasped her hands to her mouth. "Oh my gosh! I didn’t realise it was so late! C’mon, let’s get to bed before they notice, I..."

"Relax! They’re not here, and they won’t be for an hour at least. They never come back at the time they say they do anyway, so... come on. Go ahead and say it," she added with another glare.

Sighing and knowing they were on very thin ice already, Brittany thought it wouldn’t hurt if she just did what she was being asked to. Didn’t she always end up doing what Kylie said anyway? Oh well. It wouldn’t be the first time and wasn’t going to be the last, and Kylie’s parents really weren’t home, so...

"‘kay, but... promise we’re going to bed after I do this?"

Rolling her eyes, Kylie nodded. "Yeah, yeah, but now go ahead and say it. Be sincere, for once!"

Giving another giggle, Brittany stood and set her own cup of ice-cream on the table, then straightened her white T-shirt and took a deep breath. "I, Brittany Spencer..." she started hesitantly as Kylie ad-libbed her in silence, "... like David Boreneaz and want to fuck his brains out."

"You, Brittany Anne Spencer, are in very serious trouble!"

It wasn’t the enthusiastic approval from Kylie that Brittany had been expecting, though, but rather the stern voice of a stern-looking woman who had just appeared in the living room doorway.

"And you are too, Kylie Marie Johnson," said her husband, standing aside his wife, hands on his hips.

"Uh... daddy... mum..." Kylie gulped and her face drained of blood all of a sudden. She was right, after all: they never got home on time, did they. Brittany, on her behalf, felt she could faint at any time, and blushed deep red and wished she was six feet underground.

"Do you know what time is it, young ladies?" a very upset Mrs. Johnson inquired, putting down her coat and stepping towards the girls.

"Err... five to ten?..." Kylie said tentatively, glancing at the clock on the wall.

"Five to eleven, missy," her father sentenced in a firm tone, crossing his arms. "Or you unlearned to read time?"

"Wow, you’re early," Kylie muttered, carefully avoiding her mother’s gaze. Brittany just stared at her bare toes, twisting and twirling on the carpet, and tried not to feel more ashamed and scared than she already was.

Mr. Johnson nodded his head: "And you’re late, and such language in this house will not be tolerated, by either of you," he said, glaring at Brittany.

"I’m... I’m mortified, sir, I..."

"Silence, Brittany," said Mrs. Johnson. "You’re in enough trouble as it is. Just you wait till your mother hears about this."

"N-no ma’am, please, you don’t have to tell her..."

"I do and I will, and now silence. Randy?"

Mr. Johnson gave a firm nod, reached out to his daughter and took a firm grip on her forearm. "To your room, Kylie, and not a word out of you."

"But dad!..." SMACK! "Ouch!"

"Right now, Kylie Marie!"

"Oww... yes sir!" she spat, rather angrily, and scurried off to her room. Her father exchanged a meaningful look with his wife before following her down the hallway.

The moment after she heard her daughter’s room’s door being closed, Mrs. Johnson strolled over to the couch and sat down, and grabbing one of Brittany’s wrists, she had her stand in front of her.

"I am very disappointed in you, Brittany," she said in a severe reprimanding tone. "You’re such a good girl, and supposed to have a good influence on our Kylie... What’s getting into you? Why were you two still awake after your bedtime? And what was that obscenity I heard out of your mouth?"

Brittany’s eyes were glittering with tears already, and she shook her head and muttered an apology. "I’m sorry, ma’am... I don’t know... we were watching TV and time kinda slipped by... and as for that, I... I... ooh please, I didn’t mean to!"

"Did Kylie force you to say that?" Mrs. Johnson asked matter-of-factly, full knowing her daughter could be a hothead at times and fully capable of such a thing. Taken aback and not wanting to worsen her situation, Brittany just nodded her agreement. "Blimey. As if I didn’t know..." the woman muttered, more to herself than anything. "Well, your friend won’t be able to sit down for quite a while, that’s for sure. To be honest, we don’t know what to do with her anymore... we’ve tried everything... but that is none of your concern, I’m sorry. Right now, all you should care for is your backside, missy. You know perfectly well I have full authority to deal with you as I see fit while you are at my house, isn’t that right?"

"Y-yes ma’am... oh please, don’t... I’m so sorry!"

"It is too late for that, Brittany. And you..."

They were interrupted by Kylie’s high-pitched voice yelling at her father; Brittany couldn’t quite figure out what the exact words were, but she was pretty sure she heard something like "not the belt, you can’t!". That gave her the creeps, but she was also astonished her friend would use such a tone, and still be defiant when already in trouble.

"... and you should know better than this," Mrs Johnson continued. "I’m very disappointed in you. I thought you were able to think with your own brain." And with that, she proceeded to unsnap the thirteen-year-old’s tight-fitting jeans.

The girl couldn’t be more mortified by now, and those words were hurting inside. She knew she shouldn’t give in to Kylie’s attempts to look grownup, or to have her look grownup, but somehow she still couldn’t resist, and these were often the consequences. A mix of anger and resentment, fear and embarrassment stirred up in her heart and mind as Mrs. Johnson opened her jeans in the front and lowered them past her hips, down her thighs and knees until they rested in a bunch at her ankles. Soon the young teenager’s panties made the same trip down her slim legs, and despite her moans and muttered pleas and apologies, she was still hauled, bare from the waist down, over Mrs. Johnson’s lap.

It wasn’t Brittany’s first time in that position, nor probably it would be the last, but she still hated it a lot. She didn’t even have time to gather her thoughts when the first swat impacted with her upturned behind with a loud SMACK!

CRACK! descended Mr. Johnson’s belt on Kylie’s bare backside, and "Oww!" went the fourteen-year-old, burying her head in the comforter. Unmoved, her father continued to lash down on his target with the leather implement, while the girl, her lithe body doubled over the rungs at the end of the bed, pj’s bottoms at her ankles and bare butt facing the ceiling, started to whimper and cry.

Mrs. Johnson spanked at a fast pace, smacking her hand down on Brittany’s bottom twice, thrice per second, and had soon painted a bright pink hue on the young girl’s nates. She knew, from experience, that Kylie’s skin tended to change colour very easily, so she didn’t spare herself and spanked away, ignoring the teenager’s cries and promises to be good, and knowing that such redness didn’t mean she was spanking harder than she should have.

Mr. Johnson was a strict spanker, more than his wife herself sometimes approved, and when he decided to use a belt on Kylie he made sure he did a thorough job. That night he was quite upset indeed, not only because they had found the girls awake when they were supposed to be in bed, but also because Kylie had confessed forcing her friend into being vulgar, and that was something he just couldn’t stand. So, poor Kylie regretted each and every of her actions as her bottom was striped good and hard by a good thirty lashes of the belt. Her tears were flowing freely on the bed sheets and her bummy was covered in thin, horizontal red welts by the time it was over, and she clutched her burning behind as she was ordered to go and stand in the corner.

In the living room, Brittany hadn’t had an easier time. Mrs. Johnson’s hand had soon grown tired from all the swatting, and the small-built but resolute woman had produced a hard wooden red maple hairbrush from her purse, something that, wonder why, she always had handy. With that fearful instrument she had proceeded to paint poor Brittany’s tush an angry red, tending to crimson. She knew the spanking was seeming harder than it really was, so she kept it up until the first dark-red, purplish blotches started to appear, then stopped before causing any serious bruising. A sobbing Brittany was let up and, after a quick hug, marched to Kylie’s bedroom, where she stuck her nose in another corner.

It wasn’t until midnight that the girls were let off their time-out, only to be sent straight to bed. Kylie’s dad cuddled his daughter and tucked her in, repeating her she was still loved and that they would need to have a serious talk about her habits and attitude the following morning; a couple metres away, Mrs. Johnson was kissing Brittany’s head and assuring she would call her mother in the morning and say that she had been punished enough and that no further spanking was needed, something the poor girl was very thankful for. The lights were off a few minutes later, and the girls were only able to exchange a few words before sleepiness had the best of them.

"I guess it’s my fault," said Kylie, who had appeared very repentant with her father, but was actually quite angry herself. "Fuck, we should’ve been more careful."

"Oh shut up, I’m lucky they didn’t wash my mouth. And don’t swear, I don’t like it."

"Yeah whatever... Sorry Brit, I didn’t want to get you in trouble."

Brittany shrugged. "‘tis okay... I was no angel either. And then you got it worse."

"Naah, your ass... arse was purple."

"Just ‘cause I bruise easily. Doesn’t hurt that much... I’d hate the belt more."

"Yeah it’s so bad," she sniffled. "It’s unfair, I hate it and I hate my dad and my mum," she growled.

"It’s not unfair!" Brittany whispered, afraid of being heard. "We were wrong and got it, it’s all."

"Hey, what side are you on?"

"Ours... oh never mind. I still love you... and I’m sorry too."

Kylie would have wanted to argue some more, and to make her point that it was not fair they had been beaten like that, but her eyes were almost closing by now, so she just shrugged and shut up. And then Brittany’s love and admiration was more important than she would ever admit to herself, so those last words from her friend contented her.

"Love you too," she murmured back, clutching her pillow and shifting to find a more comfortable position on her tummy.

As for Brittany, she kept thinking about what she had said, about that hottie actor David Boreanaz, and about the bad word. She sighed and shrugged to herself, regretting what she had said and done, but the last thought going through her mind before falling into the arms of Morpheus was: "Well, at least I didn’t lie."

 

– The End –