"Hold it right there, young man!!"

Alex Fairfield froze in shock, eyes swiveling towards the living room door. A cold finger ran the length of his spine: he knew that tone, recognized the naked anger in his Aunt's voice. It was a tone he'd come to fear over the past three years, one he'd learnt to treat with the utmost respect. His pulse leapt into overdrive as the adrenalin hit his bloodstream. He was in trouble this time.

Enormous trouble.

Almost breathless with surprise, Alex turned to face the tall, green-eyed virago looming in the doorway. Julia Conway stood with her hands straddling her wide hips, face simmering with rage and relief. Relief because her wayward nephew had finally arrived home; rage because it was two-thirty in the morning.

"Where have you been?" Julia demanded, her words slicing the air like a razor. Alex flinched like a frightened child, his mind whirling with panic. Aunt Julia wasn't just angry. She was utterly furious. Her eyes sparkled with emerald fire, her mouth was a taunt red line. Alex could almost feel the heat radiating off her in blistering waves. He wavered before that scalding gaze, frantically searching for an excuse, an escape route; some pretext by which he could evade imminent justice.

Nothing much came to mind.

She'd caught him red-handed, after all. All his lies and schemes and covert little deceptions had come to nothing: she'd snared him with an almost contemptuous ease, laying her trap with the confidence of long experience. What had he been thinking, sneaking in through the back door like some rank amateur? She was a barracuda trawling the depths, he was a minnow frolicking in the shallows. He'd under-estimated her intellect, and the mistake was going to cost him.

Dearly.

"I assume you know what time it is," Julia said, striding into the hallway with a menacing, determined step, "I've had the police out looking for you since midnight, Allie!"

"The police?!" Alex cried, his voice high and thin, "Aunt Julie, you didn't -"

"Yes, I did. They weren't terribly impressed - and neither was I. I've warned you before about your curfew. Ten-thirty by the latest - no exceptions." She halted two paces from the boy, her slim, pantherish figure framed in a rectangle of fluorescent light. Her glare could have felled a Minnesota Bull. Alex wilted in open dread, knowing what was coming next.

"B-but it w-wasn't my fault, Aunt Julie," he stammered, falling back from that livid, unforgiving gaze, "I just d-didn't -"

"I don't care what your excuse is," Julia cut him off, her voice rising by at least two decibels, "if you're late, you call home! That's the rule, Allie - and you know it!!" Which was true. She had drummed this precept into him every week for the last eight years, ever since he'd first come to live with her. There was no room for misunderstanding under Julia Conway's roof. Lower lip wobbling in dismay, Alex found himself reduced to the status of a pleading child.

"Please, Aunt J-J-Julie," he began, desperate to avoid the punishment he could feel looming over his head, I'm ruh-really s-sorry -"

"Not as sorry as you're going to be!" Julia interrupted, dismissing the boy's apologies with an impatient wave of her hand, "I think it's time you were reminded who sets the rules in this house. Now - up to your room and change out of those clothes. I'll be along in ten minutes."

Allie's mouth flopped open. The verdict had been reached, his worst fears confirmed.

"No, no, PLEASE Aunt Julie," he wailed at the top of his lungs, "I don't want a SPANKING!!"

"Well, a spanking is exactly what you deserve," Julia replied, her expression literally blazing with threat, "Now GET UPSTAIRS and GET CHANGED. You know what to do."

"Aunt Julie -"

"RIGHT NOW!!" Julia roared, stabbing a lean (and rather muscular) arm towards the staircase. She'd had it up to here with his disobedience, his dishonesty, his malicious, lying deceit. Here he was, skulking around the house at two-thirty in the morning, crying innocent and reeking of Jim Beam. Did he think she was an idiot? Came down in the last shower? By god, she was going to teach him the lesson of a lifetime!!

Alex fled up the stairs, choking back his tears like a little girl. Julie was going to spank him: pull his pants down and paddle his bottom the colour of a maraschino cherry. He knew from prior excursions over her knee that the pain would be excruciating. His aunt was a world-class spanker, having spent years perfecting her technique. Hardly a week went by when she didn't turn him over her knee and tan his errant young cheeks with her wide, steely hand. The knowledge of his impending punishment had him weeping with fright. Could there be anything worse than a hot, throbbing bottom?

Actually, there was - as Alex had discovered to his everlasting regret.

Aunt Julie was a most formidable woman; strict, uncompromising, and completely self-assured. Undisputed mistress of her domain, her decisions were both ruthless and intractable, particularly where matters of discipline were concerned. She had established a strict regimen of conduct governing the boy's behaviour, under which the slightest transgression would be met with the most humiliating of penalties.

(Allie. she called me Allie)

Yes, there was something far worse than a well-smacked bottom, something he detested from the very core of his being. The paddlings were bad enough, an embarrassing, juvenile form of correction that he sought to avoid at all costs, but he would have gladly endured a dozen spankings if he were allowed to face them like a man ... so to speak.

(GET UPSTAIRS and GET CHANGED!!)

Sobbing with apprehension, Alex burst into his room and made straight for the bed, his large, blue eyes moist and glistening. His mind was groping for a way out of this nightmare. Even now, with his punishment only minutes away, he still clung to the hope of a suspended sentence. A slender hope at best (virtually non-existent, in fact), but better than none at all. Maybe an outright admission of guilt would sway his Aunt's irreversible judgment. Maybe a heart-felt, tearful confession would lead to some less severe alternative.

Yeah. And maybe Granny Fairfeild's prize porker would sprout wings and fly to Wisconsin for the summer.

All hope evaporated as Alex approached the bed and saw what had been left for him. A warm, moist flush engulfed his belly as he stood looking down at the dainty, fragile things laid out on the duvet. He should have known what to expect, should have seen this coming. He knew his Aunt well enough to have second-guessed her, at least in this regard.

The bed was covered with girl's clothing.

Alex backed slowly away, his head reeling with adolescent misery. It wasn't enough to turn him over her knee like a naughty five-year old, not by a long shot. Aunt Julie believed that humiliation was the best deterrent. Subsequently, his spankings were a treadmill of disgrace; a degrading, shameful ordeal few boys his age could even imagine. She was determined to leave him without so much as a shred of masculine dignity, to shatter his ego like some fragile, scintillating mirror.

She called me ALLIE, he thought for the third time.

Allie was not a boy's name. It was short for Allison, the name she'd given him. The one he'd been forced to accept after he'd moved in with her. Along with the dresses and tights; the bangles, blouses and lacy white girl-socks. There was the truth of it: eight years of brief red miniskirts and sheer yellow sun frocks had transformed him into a mincing little sissy. Julia had coerced and manipulated him for close on a decade, gradually eroding his frail, teenaged psyche until he'd begun to doubt his own gender.

It was so unfair, so unjust. So wrong. He hated being treated like a little girl, hated having to dress up in the gleaming, satin underthings Julie insisted he wear beneath his day clothes (even if it sometimes left him gasping with excitement, something which occurred far too frequently of late), hated the lipstick and the make-up and the endless platoons of barbie-dolls lining his closet shelves.

More than anything else, he hated the girl-spankings!!

Embarrassing beyond description, they were the ultimate act of submission, a complete surrender of his incipient manhood. If only he had the courage to stand up to her, summon up the nerve to defy her commands. He often fantasized about casting off his shackles; facing her down and emerging triumphant in this incessant battle of wills.

Of course, Alex knew that was never going to happen. Refusal was not an option, never had been. The mere threat of a hot, throbbing bottie was enough to reduce him to tears. She was so much stronger than he was, so confident and powerful. He'd come to accept her dictatorial presence in his life years before (just as he'd accepted her love and sometimes amazing generosity). The spankings were inevitable, unavoidable, a consequence of his own natural timidity. He would simply have to live with them.

Whimpering in dismay, he took off his denim jacket and started unbuttoning his shirt. She'd given him ten minutes to get ready, he couldn't afford to delay a moment longer. He had to be sitting obediently on his bed by the time Julia arrived; a sorry little girl awaiting a well-deserved spanking. If she caught him wearing so much as a stitch of male clothing, she'd be sure to add an extra minute or two to his sentence.

Hastily kicking off his baggy blue Levis, Alex took down his shorts, shivering more from dread than cold. The enormity of his punishment filled his mind; he could already see himself spread over Aunt Julie's lap with his buttocks raised and his underwear banded 'round his knees. His delicate, lace underwear. The image literally dominated his consciousness. Alex could think of nothing else: he was going to be SPANKED in girl's panties!!

(noooooooooooooo!)

Tossing his jockey-shorts into the corner, Alex turned back to the bed, pausing to study his reflection in the dressing-table mirror. Stripped of his denim vestments, he was a slender, petite youth with a slight figure and fine, blonde hair cascading down to his waist. His soft, babyish features were so effeminate that he could easily have passed for a girl of thirteen. This ethereal appearance was further reinforced by melting blue eyes and lush, pouty lips. Julia had once described him as the prettiest boy she'd ever seen. This was no exaggeration; visually speaking, Alex Fairfeild was poised on the absolute cusp of gender.

It wasn't simply his delicate bone structure which lent Alex his girlish characteristics. His body had developed a number of androgynous features in recent months; faultless, translucent skin the tone of snowy alabsaster, sleek, curvaceous hips and a waistline Kate Moss might have envied. He even had a pair of tiny ripening breasts, little more than rudimentary nubs protruding from his chest, but virtually perfect in shape and proportion. They were his most closely guarded secret. Alex had gone to extreme lengths to keep them hidden from everyone he knew, particularly his friends at college. If his classmates ever found out, the mockery - the harassment - would never cease. He'd have to go live in a cave and grow turnips.

I'm NOT a girl, he wept silently, looking away from the mirror and returning his attention to the articles on the bed. He was running out of time; his aunt had sent him upstairs to get changed, to slip into a dress and assume his other identity. He could hear Julia moving around down stairs, calmly preparing for the early morning fanny-smacking ceremonies. She was probably dusting off that antique paddle she'd bought downtown a few years back (Julie referred to it as The Gentle Persuader, though as far as Alex could see, there was nothing gentle about it).

Stark naked and sobbing with anxiety, Allie leaned in to inspect the shimmering, lace fragments she'd left there for him, a token of his subordinate position within the domestic hierarchy. Neatly folded near the lower corner of the bed was a pair of 'liquid satin' panties; glistening high-cut briefs covered with floral trimmings. Glaringly white and gossamer thin, they seemed innocent, pristine and achingly virginal. The very sight of them set Alex's head spinning with a conflicting blend of shame, guilt and ... something else. Something he simply couldn't admit to feeling. Even to himself.

A matching white brassiere had been placed next to the underpants, a skimpy little underwire with adjustable straps and transparent lace cups. Julie had started him on a training bra shortly after his thirteenth birthday, he'd recently graduated up to an A-cup as his pseudo-feminine physique had continued to develop.

Next to this was a bright pink halter-top and a black cotton mini covered with flamenco-style ruffles. Alex felt a moist heat suffuse his cheeks as he imagined himself wearing that garish ensemble: a layered salsa dance-skirt over shining white panties. He could almost feel the gauzy fabric clinging to his hips like a second skin. His belly tightened with unwilling excitement, his pulse accelerated with a kind of sultry expectation. Alex covered his mouth with both hands: what's wrong with me?!

Before he could pursue this chain of thought any further, his reveries were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Sharp, clocking footsteps, to be precise; glossy red high-heels ascending polished, wooden floorboards. Alex's eyes widened with horror, a bolt of near-hysteria tore through his system. His time had run out, Aunt Julie was coming up the stairs. Coming up the stairs to take him over her knee and SPANK his impudent young bottom!!

Footsteps, stern and unrelenting, echoing ominously up the hall: click-clock, click-clock, click-clock.

"No!!" Allie cried in sudden terror, reaching for her panties, "no, no, no NO!!"

Choking back his tears, Alex got dressed in a blur of motion, sweeping about the room like a whirling dervish. He had to get ready, had to complete his 'transformation' before She stepped across the threshold. The slightest delay could result in an extra ten minutes added to his sentence.

Slipping the panties up to his hips, Allie reached down for the brassiere with trembling fingers. The enormity of his punishment filled his mind; he could already see himself spread over Julie's lap with his cheeks bared for discipline. The image literally dominated his consciousness; he could think of nothing else.

It's not fair, he wept silently, clipping the bra into place and leaning over to retrieve the halter top. How often had he been subjected to this treadmill of humiliation? At least thirty times over the last six months alone. The spankings had become increasingly frequent as he'd grown older, particularly since he'd begun asserting his insipid masculinity. She was determined to grind the last shred of manhood out of him, to tear it out and crush it ruthlessly under her stiletto heels.

Working the mini-skirt up his bare thighs, he fastened the zip and glanced around the room, wondering if he'd missed anything. Julia's eyes were sharp: if he overlooked even the slightest detail, she'd know. He scanned his reflection in the mirror, making minor adjustments to his ensemble. His mind was swirling with blind panic: did he look girlish enough to pass inspection? He was almost out of time; any second now, she'd appear in the doorway - probably bearing The Persuader in her right hand.

Everything seemed to be in order.

Brushing a lock of hair back from his tear-streaked face, Alex turned away and walked quickly over to his dressing table. The final thing he had to do was drag his heavy wooden study chair into the middle of the room (Aunt Julia referred to it as The Seat of Learning, though once again, Alex doubted its capacity for education). Shifting it across the floor was no easy task, as he couldn't afford to leave any marks on the paneling. Fighting back a wave of panic, Allie wrestled the chair into place and stood back to catch his breath.

Just at that moment, those sharp, menacing footsteps came clocking into the bedroom. Julia stood just inside the doorframe, her features set in a kind of cold, patient rage. She'd been waiting all night for this moment, and she intended to relish the occasion as long as possible. This would be a spanking to remember; the stuff of urban myth and legend. She could already feel the paddle descending on her nephew's naked buttocks. God, she was going to whale some butt tonight!

Seeing the look on his Aunt's face, 'Allison' threw himself on the mercy of the court. Eyes sparkling with liquid fear, he lapsed into a catechism of remorse; wailing apologies and begging for one last chance: "Please, Aunt Julie, I'm really sorry I came home so late, I'll never do it again, I promise I won't, don't spank me, please don't, it really hurts, I can't stand it -"

Julia shook her head in vague amusement, savoring Allie's evident consternation. The boy knew how much this was going to hurt; knew he had no one to blame but himself. His desperate pleas added considerable spice to the experience; he'd been testing the limits for weeks now, moping around the house and pouting like a brat whenever he couldn't have his own way. His little escapade tonight was just the latest in a long line of furtive acts of rebellion. Well, Julia Conway had very little respect for passive resistance, as her whimpering young ward was already aware.

"Stop that whining!" Julie snapped, striding grimly towards the Seat of Learning, "you know what you've done to deserve this. You're going to be spanked, Allison - long and hard on that naughty little bottom of yours. By the time I'm finished, you'll rue the day you ever crossed swords with me."

Face working with emotion, Allie broke into a fresh storm of tears:

"No, I'm not a child, you have no right to treat me like one! I'm sixteen years old, you can't spank me, you can't!"

"Don't you argue with me, young lady," Julie replied angrily, "you're going over my knee, and that's the end of it." Tapping the paddle against the flat of her palm, she punctuated each of her words with a barely audible thwack.

"I've put up with as much of your sulking and insolence as I'm willing to take. I don't care how old you think you are, Allie - you've earned yourself a spanking, and that is precisely what you're going to get."

"Noooo!" Alex bawled, stamping his feet in helpless anxiety, "I don't want a spanking! It'll HURT!!"

"Oh, yes, it's going to hurt, all right," Julie agreed conversationally, "I can promise you that much. Now - no more arguments, little miss. It's high time I smacked your buns."

Allie knew better than to disobey at this point; the consequences of refusal were unthinkable. Tottering forward with halting, uncertain steps, he stood next to the Seat of Learning, awaiting his Aunt's next instruction.

"That's better," Julie commented, scrutinizing him with a forbidding glare, "might as well get started right away. You know what comes next, Allie." Julie paused, allowing her words to sink in, then continued in a tone that brooked no debate:

"Bend over, raise your skirt and take down your panties."

"Nooooooo!!" Alex cried, shifting from foot to foot in childish dread, "no, don't make me bare my bottom! Let me keep them up, spank me on my panties!!" He was losing all self-control; his chubs were literally inches away from a thrashing, and all his attempts to forestall the inevitable had been fruitless. Weaving from side to side in abject terror, he looked roughly twelve years old (and sounded considerably younger).

Julia's eyes narrowed to feline slits. She had reached the limit of her patience. Laying the paddle slowly across her lap, she glared at her nephew in cold, steely wrath.

"I said - take DOWN those PANTIES!"

Weeping with shame, 'Allison' bent over and peeled down his briefs. His smooth, dimpled cheeks pumped back and forth in anticipation, a thrill of gooseflesh rushed down his inner thighs. This was the point at which his punishment became a nightmare. His tushie was now completely exposed; he was practically nude from the waist down. He'd been spanked this way since his tenth birthday; in all that time, he'd never grown used to baring his bottom.

"Good," Julia said, nodding to herself in vague satisfaction, "now, turn around and face me".

Alex straightened up, not quite meeting his Aunt's unwavering gaze. Standing before her with his panties stretched around his knees, he felt all of five years old. Why was this happening to him? He didn't deserve such abject humiliation; no one should be forced to display their bottom-cheeks for a spanking, especially at his age.

"All right," Julie remarked, then reached down and picked up the hand paddle.

The Persuader was an authentic 1920s seat-warmer, a quaint reminder of those bygone days when willful children were dealt with in the traditional manner. Larger and heavier than the average table-tennis racquet, it possessed a flawless ebony surface and a long grip for maximum swing. Julie had found it in a Lainsbury antique store some five years before, divining its purpose immediately. Alex had despised the vicious, black thing from the very start, as the merest touch seemed capable of raising the most painful blisters. Fortunately, his Aunt used it more as a deterrent than anything else, and Allie had soon learned to keep his conduct down to an acceptable level.

Not this morning, however.

Julie turned the paddle over in her hands, testing its weigh and balance, then motioned the boy forward. There would be no scolding, no lecturing, no further recriminations. Julie had wasted more than enough time in idle chatter: months of discussion had achieved nothing. The Persuader was poised for action and "Allison's" denuded buttocks awaited the summary ruling.

"Bend over my lap," Julie told him curtly, eyelids narrowed to slits.

"No, Aunt Julie, please," Allie wept, stumbling forward with her panties constricting her movements, "don't use the paddle, you don't know how much it hurts, I'm sorry, PLEASE don't -"

He climbed helplessly over Julie's lap, folding himself into a human jack-knife. His upraised cheeks were gaping at the ceiling, clenching with expectation, firm and ripe and alabaster pale. Allie moaned his final entreaties in soft, hopeless whispers.

"… no, please no, don't, I'm sorry, please, no, don't …"

Taking a deep breath, Julie lifted the paddle up and back over her right shoulder. Allie welded his eyes shut, straining every muscle in his body -

And The Persuader whipped down.

There is a commonly held belief that human flesh goes numb beyond a certain point; that a young child's bottom will feel nothing after a few minutes of sustained punishment. Nothing could be have been further from the truth so far as Allie was concerned. An experienced 'hand' knows how to stretch a spanking out to the very limits of endurance, increasing the force and velocity by slow degrees. Julie Conway had spent many years refining her technique, and understood that the key to success was pacing. Moderate discomfort should give way to writhing, shrieking torment. The last few minutes should be a fugue of agony from which there is no escape.

Dangling limply over his Aunt's thighs, Allie kicked and struggled in mounting distress. Varnished wood-grain seared his buns with a kiss of fire. The paddle leapt from side to side, raising an angry pink blush over his jostling hindquarters. Allie knew from prior encounters that things were going to get far worse - his spanking had barely begun, and Aunt Julia wouldn't be satisfied until his derriere was a mass of scarlet blisters. Nor could he hope for any lessening of the penalty. Julie was furious with him, angrier than Allie had ever seen her. She'd probably extend his paddling by a good five minutes - at the very least.

Working with infinite patience, Julia gradually intensified her swing, switching her focus from haunch to upper-thigh. The effect was both dramatic and instantaneous - 'Allison' voiced a long, keening howl and tried to scramble off Julie's lap. The attempt was an unqualified failure, needless to say. The Persuader lashed down with lethal accuracy, scorching the air in its wake. Pushing his palms against the floor, Allie looked imploringly back over his shoulder.

"OWWW! Stop it! Don't! It HURTS! Stop it!"

Julie ignored these shrill protests and continued without a second's hesitation. She felt no pity, no regret, and no compassion. The boy hadn't shown the slightest consideration for her feelings when he'd disappeared into Westside last night. Two-thirty in the morning without so much as a phone call to ease her fears. The Westside was one of the roughest parts of downtown Chamberlain, notorious for its drugs, gangs and street-crime. Teenagers went missing out on Pitt Street every second week. Julie had good reason to be worried; Allie might have the body of a young...woman, but he was still a child in every other respect.

"You have no idea what you put me through, young lady," Julie growled, mostly to herself, "but I'm going to make sure you remember this lesson for a long time to come." Redoubling her efforts, Julie layed the paddle up and down Allie's naked thighs. Livid, crimson marks sprang up on his shanks, glowing halfway to the knees. He wriggled his hips in a pointless effort to avoid that scathing caress. The paddle's cedar edge bit into his wobbling plumps regardless. The pain was nothing short of excruciating.

"NO! STOP! THAT HURTS! NO!"

Screaming fit to burst a lung, Allie felt his ego dissolve under a torrent of disgrace. How could this be happening to him? Here he was, a junior at Greenmeadows High, dangling from his Aunt's lap with his panties slipping towards his ankles. His bottom was pulsing with outrage, blazing like a storm beacon on a winter night. If dropping his pants had been mortifying, then this was an exercise in degradation. He would never forgive his aunt for this ordeal of shame, no matter how long she lived.

Leaning in closer, Julie braced for the grand finale. The prelude had finished; The Persuader was doing an admirable job. Allie's fanny-tops had darkened to a shimmering scarlet hue bordering on violet. She paused for several moments, relishing the spectacle. No doubt about it, there was nothing quite so gratifying as the sight of a freshly-smacked bottom. Especially one as indisputably naughty as this.

Well, can't afford to sit around admiring the view, Julie thought, then returned her attention to the task at hand. Allie's seething posterior was a veritable opus, but the concerto was still a few notes shy of completion. Strengthening her grip on the seat-warmer's handle, Julie drew back for the next volley. The Persuader swept down faster than the eye could follow, detonating against Allie's shuddering cheeks. Sharp, explosive retorts echoed around the room, punctuated by piercing, girlish screams.

"YEOW! NO! STOP! IT HURTS! NOOOOO!"

"Oh, it hurts, does it?" Julie inquired amiably, shifting her position to allow for greater accuracy. Allie's hair flailed wildly around his face.

"YES! OWW! YES, IT HURTS! STOP IT! DON'T!"

"Oh, we have a long way to go yet, little miss," Julie told her, lashing down twice as hard.

"OWWW! NO!! NOOOOO! PLEASE! STOP!! YYYEEEOOOOWWW!" Hands clutching at empty air, Allie attempted to hurl himself to the floor. He couldn't endure another second of this torture. Molten steel seemed to be coating his cheeks. He had to get away. Unfortunately, retreat was an impossibility at this stage. Julie shoved him back to the central position with an almost contemptuous ease - and the spanking rolled on.

Had anyone else been watching, they might have noticed that this was an unusually long paddling, clocking in at close on nineteen minutes. The last three were the most harrowing, as Julie accelerated her tempo towards the end. Concentrating on the fleshy overlap between thigh and buttock, she tanned Allie's melons with renewed vigor. A gentle smile played across her lips. There was no denying the satisfaction she felt, wielding The Persuader over her nephew's recalcitrant botts. If it wasn't for the boy's constant misbehavior, there'd be no fun in life whatsoever.

Of course, no performance can go on forever, no matter how entertaining the venue.

Julie laid the paddle down and held Allie over her knee in a broken, sobbing heap. There was no sense in prolonging the agony (so to speak); the lesson had been well and truly taught. Extending the sentence would be little more than overkill. Alex was weeping like a six year old; he was most unlikely to ignore his curfew ever again.

Julie allowed the boy several minutes to exhaust his tears, then helped him sit upright on her lap. Allie moaned softly as he tried to find a comfortable spot - his poor little bottom was so sore! It felt huge, bloated, inflated to thrice its normal size. The blisters were likely to reach half-way down to the back of his knees. He'd have to wear jeans and cargo pants to school for the next two weeks if he didn't want his friends growing suspicious - assuming, of course, that she ever let him dress like a boy again.

Still smiling that thin, satiated smile, Julie took the boy gently by the shoulders.

"So…are we ready to behave ourselves, babygirl?" There was an element of playful menace in her tone. The message was clear: tread VERY carefully indeed, or you'll be straight back over my knee.

"Yes," Allie replied, still weeping under her breath.

"No more sneaking out to the Westside?"

"No." Allie closed his eyes, squeezing two large tears down his cheeks.

"No more drinking until three in the morning?"

"No." Shaking his head, he lowered his gaze to the floor.

"No more lies, no more sulking, no more backtalk?"

"No," Allison whispered breathlessly, "I promise." He had never felt so ashamed in his entire life.

"Good," Julie said. Placing a hand under Allie's downcast chin, she tilted the boy's face up to meet her. Again, there was that sense of unspoken threat: the spanking was finished, but The Persuader was still within easy reach. Julie's smile thinned to a knowing crescent.

It was time to re-establish the ground rules.

"Now - listen very carefully, young lady. I don't intend to tell you twice…"

Swallowing his dignity, the boy nodded agreement to each of his Aunt's terms. There would be no excuses, no evasions, no misunderstandings of any description. From this day forward, he would be polite, considerate and well-behaved in every sense of the word. He would treat her with the respect that every mother expects from her child.

And at that precise moment, Alexander Fairfeild became Allison Conway.

At the time of writing, Allie has grown into an extremely beautiful young woman. Now in the third year of her Bachelor of Arts, she attends Greenmeadows University, and by all accounts has a promising career in sociology ahead of her. Popular with her classmates, she is well-known for her sharp intellect, quiet modesty, and sweet nature.

At the age of twenty-one, Allison still lives at home with her Aunt. She would love to move out and share a campus apartment with a couple of girlfriends, but is unable to afford it, being dependent on Aunt Julia for both her educational and living expenses. She'd give almost anything to live under her own roof and make her own rules (like the rest of her friends), but economic rationalism dictates against such liberties (one also suspects that Julia might have something to say on that particular subject. I'll leave that one up to your imagination).

Allison still receives regular spankings from her Aunt.

You might expect that Allie would have become accustomed to her frequent tips over Julie's lap by now. However, Allie-girl still objects to her Aunt's punitive methodologies just as much these days as she did during her teens. Julia, for her part, has fulfilled her vow to keep a tight reign over her ward's wayward tendencies, attending to her needs on a weekly basis.

Allison's evening curfews are 8.30pm on week nights and 10.30pm on Saturdays. She is extremely careful to observe these deadlines, as even a minute late usually results in a rather painful reminder. Naturally, the later Allie arrives home, the longer she can expect to spend over her Aunt's knee. Nevertheless, boys will be girls, and student parties are sooooo much more exciting than sitting at home studying for the mid-semesters.

So far, Allison has managed to keep her juvenile status secret from her friends. While her Aunt now allows her considerable latitude in her choice of clothing, Allie usually favours sunfrocks and leggings, as mini-skirts and short shorts tend to reveal a little too much after one of her bottom-smacking festivals.

Viewed in retrospect, Allison had taken an extremely long and difficult path, a journey often fraught with anger, tears and sorrow. Yet for all those difficulties, it had been a path well worth the taking… albeit one she might not have chosen it for herself. In many respects, she'd been a little slow to learn, but in the end - so to speak - she'd understood completely.

As Aunt Julia sometimes mused in private, all it had taken was a little… 'gentle persuasion.'

---