"All right, that's IT, young man!!"

Marion Hoskins was at the end of her tether. She'd had the worst day in recorded history and the last thing she needed was another screaming match with her son. The boy had been testing the limits for over a month now, and she'd finally decided it was time for some direct action. All she wanted was a little old-fashioned respect, after all. Recognition for the long days she put in at work; for her senior status within the household. Sixty hours a week in the office from hell and all she could look forward to was a mouthful of Jessie's sneering contempt. Well, all that was about to change. At the end of the day, she deserved better than this. She was the one who brought home the bacon, for Chrissake!

"Get up to your room this instant," Marion growled, scowling down at the boy from withering, arctic heights, "You have ten minutes to get ready!"

Jessie's eye widened with dawning horror. Ten minutes' head start could only mean one thing.

"No Momma, no, please!" Jess cried, knowing what she had in store for him, "anything but a SPANKING!!"

His posturing, adolescent pride evaporated immediately; Jess had good reason to fear his mother's anger. Instigating that argument on the way home had been a tactical error. He knew from painful experience that she wouldn't tolerate any of his snide backtalk. If only he'd managed to keep his mouth shut. There were certain boundaries that should never be crossed. The consequences were too dire to contemplate.

Unfortunately, the time for negotiations had long passed. Marion had already made her decision; nothing would alter her verdict. And that was one thing Jess could count on.

"Get up to your room NOW!!" she snapped, leaning in close to the boy and pointing towards the staircase. A single vertical line appeared on her forehead, directly between her eyebrows. Jessie's heart sank; he recognized that particular signal. His mother wasn't simply angry - she was downright furious. A chill of suspense played his spine like a xylophone. Whimpering in protest, he turned and fled for the staircase, his long, blonde ponytail flaring out in his wake.

Marion watched him hit the stairs at a full run. A tall, handsomely constructed woman in her early thirties, she stood with one hand on her hip, forcing her pulse to drop back to its normal pace. Jess was long overdue for discipline, but she wanted to be completely calm when she entered his bedroom. The task ahead would require her full concentration, and she intended to savor every squirming, twitching moment to its fullest extent.

Where was that brush? The one with the teak wood finish, as smooth and dark as a baby grand. She usually kept it on the mantle piece over the fireplace, where it would always be within easy reach. Marion normally applied her open hand to Jessie's naughty bottom, but today, she felt the circumstances required a little something extra. A grim smile touched her full, red lips.

I'm going to enjoy this, Marion thought, walking through to the dining room.

It was time for a dose of Old Faithful.

Jess bolted up the stairs in tears, his expensive Nike sneakers pounding the steps two at a time. He was literally overwhelmed with shame and fright; it had been more than four months since his last spanking, and he knew this would be far worse than a couple of glancing smacks on the tail. His Mother was mad this time, REALLY mad. He should never have started that stupid argument on the way home.

She's going to SPANK me!! Jess thought frantically, wiping the moisture from his cheeks. He sprinted along the upstairs passage way and headed for his bedroom door. He couldn't afford to drag his heels. He had to prepare for his punishment. If he wasn't finished by the time she arrived, things would probably go a lot worse for him.

At thirteen years of age, there were very few things Jess hated more than a spanking. He would gladly have eaten spinach every night for a month if he could avoid going over his Mother's knee. Of course, no such options were available on this occasion. Nothing could temper her judgment once she'd made up her mind. Hot tears filled his eyes once more. He could already feel her wide, scarlet handprint burning into his naked buttocks.

Running through the doorway, Jess paused a few feet from his bed and stood looking around the room, his face a mask of trepidation. How much was it going to hurt this time? Was she going to use the brush, that hard, black heirloom she kept on the mantelpiece over the fire? He'd only felt its touch a handful of times, but he dreaded it more than any other weapon in his mother's arsenal. The last time she'd applied it to his tender young bottie-cheeks, he'd had to eat standing up for nearly three days.

Sobbing in misery, Jess went over to his study desk and started dragging the old, straight-backed chair into the middle of the floor. He'd come to think of it as THE SPANKING CHAIR, the site of a thousand bare-bottomed torments. It was a constant reminder of his juvenile status within the family hierarchy, the fact that Marion was his mother and he would always be subject to her authority.

Shifting the chair to its venerated position, Jess went over to his built-in closet. He hesitated before the folding door, his belly tensing up in apprehension. Now came the part he loathed the most; the thing he despised more than any other part of this ritual of disgrace.

It was time to get changed.

Stealing a glance at the clock (he estimated he had less than six minutes to go), Jess began to undress, pulling off his t-shirt and unbuckling the belt of his jeans. He bit his lower lip, whimpering in consternation. Why did he have to do this? It seemed so unfair, so terribly unjust. Even a child should be allowed some measure of dignity, no matter what he'd done to incur the maternal wrath.

Tossing his jeans and underpants into the laundry hamper, Jess reached back to remove the band from his ponytail. And at that moment, Jessie Hoskins no longer looked like a thirteen year-old boy. He didn't look like any kind of boy for that matter. With his long, curvaceous limbs and his slightly protruding belly, he seemed small, dainty ... vulnerable.

Sniffling like a child lost in the rain, he folded the closet doors back into themselves and surveyed the interior. His soft, child-like features melted with dismay. He'd known what was awaiting him, but a vast wave of despair overpowered him nonetheless.

The closet was full of dresses.

And there it was: the ultimate humiliation. Marion always insisted he dress up as a little girl whenever a spanking was on the agenda. She had instituted this rule not long after his fifth birthday, and had enforced it ever since, brushing aside his protests with barely a second thought. It was the most degrading thing he could imagine, a betrayal of his budding, teenaged masculinity: being forced to slip into a pair of girl's panties and a sun-frock prior to having his bottom tanned...

Visit the Transfiction Wiki