This artist did a good job of this for me. Don't ask who it is, they wish to remain anonymous. ^^
Such a brat! Seven years old, running screaming through the house like he owned it!
His poor mother, having to deal with this day in, day out. She had always spared the rod,
per her nature, but too much was too much. And it had become too much!
It was to be the hottest day of the year. “Come here” said the mom “You need to shed some clothes”.
Shoes, socks and shirt came right off. “Shorts”, said the mom. The shorts came off, leaving the troublemaker in his underwear. He felt his mom’s fingers on the elastic band of his briefs. “These are coming off, too!”, said the mom.
No sooner had the brat stepped out of his underwear did the mom take him by the arm.
“I’ve got you”, she said, revealing a hard ping-pong paddle she’d been sitting on. “First, I’m gonna give your bare bottom a good, hard spanking! Then, I’m going to tickle you until ‘I’ think you’re sorry!”
The brat was slick—he pulled away from his angry mom and ran off down the hall. The mom gave chase, more determined than ever to exact discipline on this scrawny terror!
Over, under and through furniture; in and out of doors—such a chase! A noisy chase.
Unbeknownst to the mom and brat, a mother raccoon and her five kits had moved into the house’s attic. Awakened by the chaos downstairs, the mother raccoon chanced a peek through the ventilation to see what was going on.
“It’s that brat again!” thought the mother raccoon to herself. “I should have known—he’s been disturbing our sleep for days now. He’s naked as a jaybird, and it looks like his mom is finally ready to discipline him, but can’t catch him. Oh, if I got my paws on him!”
The mother raccoon decided to keep an eye on the goings-on, just in case.
The brat’s mom was wearing out—she wasn’t in the greatest of shape. The brat ran up the stairs and hid himself in a closet. The mother wold need a rest before she would go after him. She sat herself at the bottom of the steps—he wouldn’t escape before she got her wind back.
The brat closed the closet door behind him. He knew going up there was a mistake—it would only be a matter of time before his angry mom would drag him to his discipline! …But, then, she had never followed through with it before. Maybe he’d be lucky again?
“You’re in big trouble!” said an angry, female voice. Startled, the brat looked around. It was dark in the closet. The closet had a short staircase that led to the attic, and from the attic, a small window afforded the closet some light.
The mother raccoon stepped into this light, pointing at the brat. “I’m taking you straight to your mother, and I will personally make sure she punishes you! For days and days, your loud, disobedient behavior has prevented my kits and I from having a proper day’s sleep! You won’t get away with it again—not this time!”
“You’re not my mom!” said the defiant brat. “You can’t say or do anything—you shouldn’t even be in MY house!”.
“Ohohoh, you shouldn’t have said that!” said a voice from the top of the attic steps. The brat looked up to see five sets of eyes looking down on him—five sets of eyes with twitching tails attached!
“I’m not your mom” said the raccoon mother “But I am ‘a’ mom, and you’re a cub. Mom’s discipline cubs!”, continued the raccoon mother, taking the brat by the wrist.
“No, no. no! Please don’t!” squealed the brat, as the raccoon mother led him slowing up the attic steps.
“He’s barefooted all over!” said a raccoon girl.
“And in lots of trouble!” said another.
“Please, please, please let us help, Mom!” pleaded two other little raccoons.
The fifth raccoon cub trotted up with some rope between his grinning jaws.
The brat begged and squealed pitifully, as the mother raccoon tied him up. The kits were chuckling, rubbing their paws together and bouncing with anticipation.
“Just let him beg!” said the mother raccoon, passing the rope-leash to one of her kits. “Find all his tender, tickle spots—do a good job!” she warned.
The kits took the brat behind a wall where they could have their fun. They had the brat begging for relief—relief that was not forthcoming.
“Tell me I’m cute!” ordered the oldest raccoon girl, tickling the brat. “Tell me I’m cute and I’ll stop!”
“WHA-HA-HAHA! YOU’RE CUTE YO—HA-HA! NO-HA-HA! YOU’RE CUTE!” the brat shouted.
“I don’t believe you”, said the raccoon girl. “How does ‘this’ feel!?”
“You’re begging now” said the raccoon mother from the wall corner. “Those are just kiddie tickles—just wait until you’re in ‘my’ paws!”
…It was true!
“Oh, Mom! That’s mean!”, chuckled one of the raccoon kits, watching his mom tickle-torture the brat.
“You miss us?”, asked another of the raccoon kits.
“Do you think I’m cute now!?”, asked one of the girls.
“Oh, Mom! Get his belly button! He can’t take it!”
“I’ll hold him!”
And so it went until the closet door opened. It was the brat’s mom (and she brought her paddle)!
In the end, the two moms formed a friendship …and a partnership! The brat was kept bare the remainder of the summer, under the shift-supervision (and discipline!) of the two moms and the kits.
1 year, 1 month ago
07 Jun 2018 08:32 CEST
Full Size: 2c819549429fde685144e5d36b4310f5