© December 2022 by Blondie.
This is a work of fiction and is fantasy only. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
For ages 18 and older only.
Chapter 1: The Setup
Chapter 2: The Stripping
Chapter 3: The Substitute
Chapter 4: The Shaming
Chapter 5: The Sadists
Chapter 6: The Schoolgirl
Chapter 7: The Spandex
Chapter 8: The Schoolyard
Chapter 9: The Sheet
Chapter 10: The Showdown
Chapter 11: The Swimsuit
Chapter 1: The Setup
Hi, my name is Andrea. I just ran across this site last week, which is fortuitous, because there is something that occurred years ago—a memory that I'll always cherish—that I think will be ideal material for this platform.
I'm sure it's a memory that my brother does not cherish and one he would love to forget. But that will never happen, for at least a couple of reasons. First, the mental and emotional trauma he endured was too severe for any mortal to erase from their consciousness. Second, the event marked a turning point in our relationship—one where I went from being the long-suffering victim of his obnoxious behavior to suddenly gaining the upper hand, a situation I would take full advantage of for years to come.
* * * * *
My younger brother's name is Andy. I’ve never understood what possessed our parents to name him Andrew after naming me Andrea. But whatever. The important part for this story is that Andy was a brat when we were growing up. And, to my annoyance, it often seemed that his bratty behavior was directed at me.
Though his antics were usually minor, they always came at my expense. Still, nothing compared to the time he barged into my room without knocking when he was twelve and I was thirteen. It wasn’t just annoying; it was downright embarrassing. I was standing there in only my bra and panties. I screamed at him, but he just stood there a moment too long, leering at me before finally turning away, flashing that infuriating shit-eating grin of his. When I told our parents about it, all he got was a halfhearted admonition.
"It’s polite to knock before entering, Andy," our mother said, barely looking up from her book.
"Yes, Mom, sorry, I just forgot," Andy replied, giving me a smirk that only made things worse.
And that was the thing. He almost always got away with his mischief and misconduct with a slap on the wrist (or nothing at all!), and it bothered me to no end. I wanted to see him punished for the way he treated me, but rarely did that come to pass.
There was only one time I saw him punished to a degree that I found mildly satisfying. He was arguing with our mom, being his usual bratty self and giving her attitude. She reprimanded him for his 'tude, and in response, he called her a bitch. I have no idea what got into him, because he usually knew exactly how far he could push her without facing consequences, but this time, he crossed the line. In retrospect, he was only eleven—naïve and probably unaware of the full weight of what he had said. That lack of understanding would be remedied forthwith.
“What did you say?!” our mother exclaimed, visibly shocked. She grabbed him by the arm and started pulling him across the living room.
“Sorry! I didn’t mean it!” Andy tried to backpedal, but it was too late. She yanked a chair out from the dining room and forced him over her lap.
“No! Please!” he shouted, and I couldn’t help but relish the moment. “Not in front of Andrea!” he begged, but she paid him no mind. She swatted him hard about a dozen times. She was small and not particularly strong, so I’m sure it didn’t hurt much through his denim pants. But the humiliation was far more effective. When she let him up and sent him to his room, he was flushed with shame, tears of embarrassment trickling down his cheeks. And, perhaps even more satisfying for me, his face was beet red with humiliation.
He had to walk past me, and when our eyes met, it was a delicious moment of silent victory for me.
I remember thinking—and still do—that it would have been much more satisfying had she pulled his pants down and spanked his bare bottom right in front of me. But, alas, there was no such luck.
So, for the first thirteen years of our sibling relationship, I had to endure my brother’s bratty behavior, always frustrated by the fact that he never had to face any real consequences.
But then, thanks to Mia—a devious and cunning friend of mine—that was all about to change—in spectacular fashion.
* * * * *
It was a Wednesday evening in late May when Mia was over at my house. We were working on math homework in my room when Andy decided to pull one of his usual stunts. Only this time, he was unaware—and so was I at the time—of my friend’s sharp wit and her absolute moxie.
Andy barged into my room—without knocking, of course. "Whatcha doin'?" he asked, surveying the quiet scene with his typical smirk.
"We're doing homework," I replied, not looking up. "Please leave us alone. And you're supposed to knock."
"Oh, really?" Andy said, then proceeded to tip over my math book that I had propped up in front of me. "There, I knocked over your book. Happy now?"
"Get out, you little brat!" I yelled.
He turned and sauntered out, giggling as I slammed the door behind him. I walked back to my desk, only to find Mia giving me a disgruntled look.
"What a little shit!" she said.
"I know. You wouldn’t believe some of the crap I have to put up with," I responded, sighing.
"What about your parents? They let him treat you like that?" Mia asked.
"He’s a sneaky little devil. He knows exactly how to avoid annoying me in front of them. He always gets away with it."
"What else has he done?" Mia pressed.
"Well, just last week he took my phone and hid it. When I asked him about it, he said he’d probably find it if I gave him five bucks."
"Whaaat?"
"I know. So, I went to tell my dad. Andy overheard, so he snuck into the kitchen and put my phone on the counter. When my dad called him into the living room to ask about holding my phone for ransom, Andy claimed he was just joking and thought he saw it on the kitchen counter. My dad went to the kitchen, grabbed the phone, and said, 'Here you go, honey.' Andy just smirked at me and went to his room."
"What an asshole," Mia said, shaking her head. "And he just barges into your room without knocking? Does he always do that?"
"Oh yeah. One day last year, he came in and saw me in my underwear. I could’ve been naked! And instead of apologizing and leaving, he just stood there, taking a mental picture for himself."
"Okay, that does it," Mia said, exasperated. "We need to do something."
I raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "Good luck with that. I’ve been wanting to get back at him for years."
"Leave it to me, Andrea. We’re going to teach that little shit a lesson. One he’ll never forget."
My eyes widened. "Really? Like... how? What do you have in mind?" I asked, suddenly hopeful.
"Give me a minute. I’ll think of something. Maybe we can pull something off at school."
For some background, Mia, Andy and I were all in the same 8th grade class, even though I'm a year older. Long story, but we were living overseas while I was supposed to be in the first grade. I was being home-schooled by my mom. After a couple of months my dad got transferred back to where we are now. My mom was offered a job she couldn't turn down, and it was too late to enroll in the school we wanted, so I was held back.
We attended a parochial school (St. Veronica's). We usually had a nun for our teacher, but Sister Mary Joseph had to have a medical procedure done and was unavailable for the remainder of the school year. A layperson, Miss Hanover, took over for the rest of the year. Miss Hanover also happened to be the principal of the school.
Also, Andy's seat was right behind me in the middle of the room, and Mia was situated directly to Andy's left. You'll see as this unfolds why that is relevant.
Mia sat there, deep in thought for a while, and I kept quiet, allowing her to work through whatever plan was forming in her mind. For reasons I didn’t quite understand at the time, her gaze eventually landed on a back scratcher lying at the end of my desk. It was one of those wooden thingies, with a long handle and a curved end, shaped like fingers. I’m sure you know exactly what I’m talking about.
"Could you hand me that back scratcher, please?" Mia asked. Perplexed, I passed it to her. She examined it carefully, then reached out with it, a sly grin slowly spreading across her face. "I have an idea," she said. You could practically see the gears turning in her head as she worked out the details of her scheme.
"Tell me!" I said, leaning forward instinctively in my excitement.
"Well," she began, "Andy sits behind you, right?" It was more of a rhetorical question than anything.
"Go on," I urged, eager for more.
"What if... what if, during a lesson, he took this back scratcher, reached forward, and caught the hem of your skirt, pulling it up?"
Now, I was even more confused. I drew back, tilting my head with a puzzled expression. "But... why? How would that even work? I don’t think he’d ever do something like that."
Mia looked at me and smiled, a wicked gleam in her eye. "But Miss Hanover doesn’t know that," she said, her voice full of mischief.
I guess I was a little slow on the take. "But how....how do we get him to...?"
"So, here’s the plan," Mia interrupted. "I’ll bring the back scratcher to school with me. When Miss Hanover’s not looking, you scream out. You’ll have to pull your skirt up to make it look realistic. By that time I’m out of my chair acting like I’m fighting Andy off and taking the back scratcher away from him. He won’t know what hit him. It's pretty funny when you think about it—put yourself in his shoes!"
"Meanwhile, Miss Hanover will be wondering what the commotion is all about. One or both of us will tell her what that rascal Andy did. She’ll see your skirt hiked up, and that’s all the proof she’ll need. He’ll be in deep shit, and he won’t even know what hit him. Of course, he’ll deny it, but he’s outnumbered, and the evidence is right there. Who do you think she’s going to believe?"
When Mia finished, I was momentarily speechless. I just stared at her, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Then, slowly, a grin spread across my face.
"Oh my God, you’re terrible!" I finally said.
"I know, right?" Mia replied, grinning wickedly.
"How do you come up with this shit?" I asked, shaking my head. "I love it!" I paused, then added, "And you know what? I think it might just work!"
"I absolutely think it will work," Mia said confidently.
"But…" I hesitated, thinking out loud. "I don’t want him to get in too much trouble. And I definitely don’t want our parents to get involved."
"That’s a risk, sure, but a calculated one," Mia said. "Think about it, though. Even if it did happen—and I really don’t think it will—after all the crap he’s pulled on you over the years, he’d deserve whatever punishment he gets. But honestly, I doubt it’ll go that far. Miss Hanover has a reputation for handling things in-house—she doesn’t like to get parents involved. And as you may have heard, her punishments can be pretty embarrassing."
"Really?" I said, my excitement growing. "I didn’t know that."
"Oh yeah. Did you ever see that eighth-grade boy walking around in the girls' uniform last year? That was her doing."
"Wait, she actually made a boy do that?" I asked, my eyes widening. "He must have been mortified!"
"One hundred percent," Mia confirmed. "I only saw him briefly in the hallway—he was probably hiding out whenever he could. He was kind of a big kid, and the uniform was tiny on him. His face was flaming red from embarrassment. I nearly died laughing when I saw him, and I wasn’t the only one."
"I cannot believe I missed that!" I laughed.
"And get this," Mia continued, leaning in. "I heard about a kid who got sent to her office once, and she actually put him over her knee and spanked him like a little boy. A couple of girls were eavesdropping at the door, and they said he was crying like a baby."
"I wonder if she...?"
"If she pulled his pants down?" Mia interrupted, already guessing where my thoughts were headed. "Unclear. One of the girls said it sounded like slaps on a bare ass, but the other wasn’t so sure. Either way, it left an impression—'cuz I hear the guy was still blubbering when he came out, and his face was flaming red."
"Oh, Mia! Can you imagine if we actually pull this off and she does that to Andy?"
"Oh, we’re going to pull it off," Mia said confidently. "There’s no telling exactly what she’ll do, but I guarantee it’s not going to end well for Andy."
"So….we’re really doing this?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"He deserves whatever happens to him," Mia said with a smirk.
"Okay, then. I guess we’re really doing this," I said, still a little incredulous about what we were plotting. "When should we do the dirty deed?"
"You got a problem with tomorrow?" Mia asked.
"Oh my God. Tomorrow it is!" I replied, my pulse quickening with excitement.
I was so giddy I jumped up and hugged Mia. She hugged me back, still gripping the back scratcher like it was a magic wand. When we pulled apart, I glanced down at the wooden tool, smiled, and shook my head.
"It all starts with a back scratcher," I said.
"No," Mia corrected, her eyes glinting. "It all started years ago when your asshole little brother started treating you like shit. Now? It’s payback time."
I nodded, grinning, thanking my lucky stars that I had Mia on my side.
* * * * *
Before Mia left, we went over the plan one last time.
"Remember," she instructed, "we do it when Miss Hanover isn't looking. I'll signal you when it's time. You need to let out a good shriek—make it sound real. Act like you're shocked and shaken up. I'll handle the rest. Oh, and you'll have to hike your skirt up as high as you're comfortable with to make it look genuine."
"Oh, I'll hike it up, alright. In fact, I’ll take it completely off if that’s what it takes."
Mia snorted. "I don’t think that’ll be necessary. But if your panties end up showing? All the better."
We both cracked up, then hugged again before she grabbed the back scratcher and headed out.
As luck would have it, Andy was lurking in the kitchen at that very moment. His eyes locked onto the back scratcher in Mia’s hand as she walked past.
"What’s with the back scratcher?" he asked once she was gone.
Oh, if you only knew, dear boy.
"She has an itch," I said casually, fighting back a grin.
An itch to teach you a lesson you'll never forget!
I couldn't wait for the next day, and I can't wait to tell you all about it!
