Copyright © Tracy Lane, 2000/2021.
Tender Mercies
Note: this story is set in the Tranzie Universe; the protagonist is biologically male but looks anatomically female.
4.
My vision blurred as I strode reluctantly into the middle of the parlor. Hot tears streaked down my cheeks; I had never felt so utter degraded in my entire life. Here I was, surrounded by a gaggle of old maids, clapping and leering with delight. I shimmied my pelvis from side to side, sauntering around in a wide circle, allowing everyone a close-up view of my gauzy blue underwear. I felt trapped, cornered, exposed: practically nothing was left to the imagination.
Cronish hands wandered over my body as I strutted past, stroking my waist and tummy. Some of them slapped hard at my bottom, leaving sharp, red handprints. I wept as much with pain as anxiety, resisting the temptation to rub my stinging fanny. Others commented on my slim, coltish legs, remarking that I should wear a pair of thigh-highs next time.
My eyes widened with horror at the thought – what did they mean, next time?? Would Aunt Cathy force me to go through this ordeal again? I sudden understood how desperate my situation had become. They wanted to see me decked out in suspenders, stockings and a wonder bra.
"We should make this a weekly event," Mrs Rhodes suggested, prompting a chorus of agreement from the hen's club, "bring our kids along to see what we do with knicker-pickers."
I voiced a tiny scream, wincing at the fresh burst of shrewish laughter. This was so unjust – I wasn't a 'snow-dropper,' I'd never been anywhere near the neighbors' clotheslines. Needless to say, it made no difference whatsoever. Nobody would have believed me over Aunt Cathy. I was a teen, she was an adult, as far as they were concerned, my guilt had already been established.
Cathy forced me to complete five more circuits of the floor, then decided to put the finishing touches on the afternoon's entertainment. I knew exactly what she had in mind as soon as her fingers closed around my wrist.
"No, Aunt Cathy, please! Not a spanking!!"
A rousing burst of applause followed us across the room as I was led towards the straightback chair. I stumbled along in tow, sobbing and pleading for mercy. Struggle as I might, I simply couldn't break that iron grip.
"Adeline – could you hand me the hairbrush from my purse?" Cathy asked Mrs Rhodes, "I think it's time we dealt with our little panty-thief here."
"NOOOOOOOO!!!" I wailed at the top of my lungs, "not the hairbrush, NOOOOOO!!!"
The forementioned brush was instantly produced and passed along to my Aunt, who placed it on the footstool next to the chair.
"I think we'll do this on the bare, young 'lady'!" Turning me around to face the audience, she slipped her thumbs through my knickers and peeled them down to my ankles. Squealing in child-like shock, I crossed my hands in front of myself, much to the amusement of the assembled witnesses. Unfortunately, Aunt Cathy wouldn't countenance any 'false' modesty. Taking me by the forearm, she pulled me firmly over her lap, centering my position so that my naked bottom-cheeks were staring at the ceiling.
"Noooo!!!" I wailed in absolute terror, "please don't Aunt Cathy!! It'll hurt!!"
"Oh, you can bet this is going to hurt, little girl," she replied, raising the brush high over her right shoulder, "now stop struggling or I'll make this a lot worse for you!!!"
Dooonn't, I whimpered as the brush flashed down over my upraised bottom-tops. Aunt Cathy had always spanked hard, within a few minutes, my buns were scorched bright pink. Whipping my head back and forth, I thrashed my legs in exquisite agony. The Bridge Club cheered their appreciation as my hynie blazed with scarlet heat. At some point during the proceedings, my knickers flew off my feet, leaving me in nothing but my frilly white knee-socks.
The spanking continued for ten endless minutes while the brush seared my plump, round orbs, alternating left to right. There was no escape, no respite. I was going to take my punishment no matter how much I yowled and begged for leniency. By the time she finished, I could only lie exhausted over her knee, my bottom glowing a deep, tortured violet.
"Now – up to your room," Cathy ordered, concluding the afternoon's jubilations, "I'll be along to talk to you later."
Finally released from her tender mercies, I fled naked to the stairs. Peals of raucous laughter echoed along the passageway as I threw myself weeping onto my bed.
I'd been sobbing into my pillow for over an hour when I heard Cathy's heavy footsteps approaching my door. I turned over and watched in trepidation as she entered the room, bearing the brush in her right hand. My nerve broke at the sight of it, I lapsed into a litany of frightened pleas:
"Please don't spank me again, Aunt Cathy," I blubbered like a six-year old, "it still hurts really bad, I can't stand it, please don't -"
"All right, that's enough," she snapped, eyebrows knit in clear disapproval, "it's time we had a talk…Chrissy."
Adopting her sternest posture, she laid down the law in no uncertain terms. The journey I'd taken over her knee today would be nothing compared to the punishment I'd receive if I didn’t do precisely as I was told. She'd known all along that I was a tranzie, more or less since the moment I'd first moved in. There would be no more secrets between us, no more skulking around like a thief. From now on, I'd be modeling my panties in public!
NOOOOOOOOO! I cried out in disgrace, but a single stroke of the hairbrush cut my protests short. Aunt Cathy was deadly serious and meant every word she said. Over the next few weeks, my Friday afternoon lingerie parades became a regular event (exactly as Mrs Rhodes had implied), where I was forced to traipse around the living room with my satin underwear on open exhibition.
I swiftly discovered there was no defying her authority, and my life became a living hell as she ground me under her thumb for the next six years. There was no escape, no respite. She had me in lace, skirts and dresses right up to the day I moved out to attend college. Even after that, I was still a laughing stock, a mockery to everyone who'd known me throughout my tormented adolescence.
And in the end, I guess it was no more than I deserved.
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(page 11)
