Red Bottom Chronicles

He’d been frozen in shock and awe, watching his older cousin get spanked, never once thinking he might be next. But now the reality hit him hard. There was no way he could handle what he’d just witnessed.

Desperately, he tried to talk her down. He’d told her he’d never been spanked and that there had to be another punishment she could give him.

His aunt just laughed, low and unimpressed.

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

In one swift motion, she yanked him over her lap.

It was only day 1, and he was already stripped completely naked, draped over her lap while she roasted his bare bottom with her wooden hairbrush. He’d tried to push back and show her she had no authority over him, but he’d been quickly and thoroughly over-matched.

Now she was naked, over her mother’s lap, her bare bottom getting a very real, very thorough spanking. Nothing about it felt fun anymore.

She had tried everything, being kind, talking things through, reasoning with her, even bargaining. Nothing worked. The girl remained rude, defiant, and completely unwilling to follow the rules of the house.

Finally, she’d had enough.

She pulled her stepdaughter over her lap, bared her bottom, and gave her exactly what she needed: a long, hard spanking with the wooden hairbrush. As her stepdaughter kicked, cried, squirmed, and desperately apologized under the relentless sting of the brush, something shifted. The message was clearly landing.

By the time the spanking was over, her stepdaughter was a tearful, sorry mess. And in that moment, she made her decision: this was how misbehavior would be handled from now on.

Whenever she slid open that drawer, his stomach dropped. He’d stand there frozen, heart pounding, trying to guess which one she’d pull out this time.

After all, he was just visiting. Why should he have to do chores?

When she returned and found the kitchen exactly as she’d left it, her expression darkened. Without a word, she grabbed him by the arm, yanked his pants and underwear down to his ankles in one swift motion, and leaned him over the counter.

The spanking started immediately, her hard hand cracking relentlessly across his bare bottom. He gasped and squirmed, but she wasn’t even close to finished. The kitchen was full of tools—wooden spoons, spatulas, cutting boards—and she planned to try every single one on his rapidly reddening backside.

The wooden paddle was too hard, and her bottom was far too soft. She was convinced she wouldn’t survive another swat. Yet her mom showed no mercy. The paddle kept landing with heavy, stinging cracks across her bare, unprotected bottom.

This has to stop soon, she thought, biting back a sob. But her mother showed no signs of slowing down. Each swat built on the last, the burning pain swelling hotter and deeper with no escape in sight.

Though she had become all too familiar with its bite, the familiarity never dulled the pain. Each stinging lash still made her gasp and squirm.

She lay perfectly in position with her bottom high, heart racing, stomach twisting into anxious little knots while she listened for her mom’s footsteps returning. The waiting was almost worse than the spanking itself. Almost…

Without a word, she grabbed his wrist, pulled him across her lap, and yanked his pants and underwear down in one swift motion. He kicked and squirmed, already crying protests, but she held him firmly in place. Her hand came down hard and fast, painting his bare bottom a bright, stinging pink.

But she was just getting started.

He was very wrong.

The ruined breakfast only made her angrier. She tightened her grip on the paddle and took out every bit of her irritation on his already sore, reddened bottom—each swat harder and sharper than the last.