Babysitter’s Boy Toy
I.
Orion Cosmo Littlejohn was a 12 year old Yoruban Nigerian-English Jewish boy with caramel skin and a bald head. His father and mother, a Nigerian man and an English woman had both been born in London, England in Britain. But due to economic hardship, they fled to the United States to pursue the American dream. They first landed in New York and then took another plane to San Diego and then to Hawaii. They did so because the racism there was much less pronounced the on American mainland. Unlike his parents, being born in America mean, he didn’t have a British accent.
His mom and dad had both told him that he would have an excellent time with his new babysitter, Rudbeckia Mayflower Emmerich-Sturmgeist. They said she came highly recommended, and they also vetted her carefully, make sure there were no complaints or even suspicion of abuse. They would never think about leaving their son with someone who they thought would hurt him. However, they also warned him that she had the authority to spank him if he acted up or was naughty.
Orion had been spanked before by their babysitters that his parents got, since they had first worked on over now managers of their own farm and couldn’t spend as much time with him as they wanted to. Both his parents and his sitters believed that lecturing a child for a long time or cum stand in the corner or time out or whatever was tedious and useless. A spanking, even a quick one like five or 10 slaps was the quickest way to get kids to behave. The adults in his life also believed that being a grown-up was stressful enough without bratty behavior from children making it harder, this is another reason they spanked said children for any infraction. his case, a burning, swollen and discolored bottom certainly encouraged him not to do anything to upset his caretakers.
Orion‘s parents had arrived in a red Jeep, driving up the dirt road to the top of the hill where Rudbeckia’s concrete covered pink painted brick house with a purple terra-cotta roof stood. It was one story high, and Orion wondered if it had a basement. Even though his babysitter had not met him yet, she had met his parents, who paid careful attention to her behavior and demeanor. She showed absolutely no sign of malevolence or deception, and her smile seem to reach her eyes.
Orion got out of the red Jeep and walked up to the door of the house, which was painted a shamrock color, knocking on it. He just use his fist, even though he had a dragon face to knock her, and even though there was a doorbell. The door opened and read Becky greeted him with a seemingly genuine smile. She been down to hug him, and he blushed; he couldn’t deny that this babysitter was hot. Read Becky had platinum blonde hair, beautiful turquoise eyes that reminded him of the ocean, Violet, polished fingernails, cotton, short, sleeved, gentle, camouflage shirt that was pink, and then matching jungle camouflage cotton pants that were purple. The pants were held up by a white drawstring she had tied into the loopy loop style just like shoe strings.
"Be good, Orion," his mother called from the Jeep's open window, adjusting her sunglasses as his father shifted into gear. "And have fun with Miss Emmerich-Sturmgeist!" Orion nodded, waving at the dust cloud kicked up by their departing tires before turning to face the pink-bricked house again. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Rudbeckia's posture changed—shoulders loosening, lips quirking into a grin that made his stomach flip.
"Come this way, sweetie," Rudbeckia said, her voice lilting as she guided him toward a couch upholstered in a dizzying Hello Kitty pattern. Orion blinked at the riot of colors around him—walls painted with sprawling pink plumeria blossoms, a carpet embroidered with dark purple plums, and a ceiling mural of swaying coconut trees that made him feel like he’d stepped into some tropical dream. Behind the couch, an open kitchen and dining area sprawled without walls, the gold handles on the cabinets catching the light. His eyes flicked to a plain door that likely led outside, then to another, this one painted a gleaming gold, which he guessed hid the basement stairs.
Rudbeckia settled onto the couch, patting the space beside her. "Now, Orion," she began, tilting her head, "tell me honestly—have you ever done anything naughty?" Her turquoise eyes held his, unblinking. "Like spying on girls changing? Or maybe sneaking junk food when no one’s looking?" She counted off possibilities on her violet-polished fingers. "Violent video games? Movies not meant for kids?"
Orion shifted, his bare legs sticking slightly to the Hello Kitty upholstery. "No," he mumbled, staring at the plum-patterned carpet.
"Are you sure?" she pressed, leaning closer. The scent of coconut shampoo wafted from her platinum hair. "What about... naughty books? Or movies?" Her emphasis on the last word made his ears burn.
"No!" he squeaked, then cleared his throat. "No, ma’am."
Rudbeckia's knees pressed into the Hello Kitty couch as she leaned closer until her nose was against Orion's.
“It's probably because you knew you'd get in trouble," she murmured, her breath warm against his cheek.
"If your sitters or parents caught you. Wasn't it?" Orion swallowed hard, his fingers digging into the upholstery.
“Yes," he admitted. Her lips curved.
“But I bet you were tempted." His throat felt dry. "Yeah," he whispered.
She straightened suddenly, clapping her hands together like a judge delivering a verdict. "Well, guess what? I'll let you do all those things." Her smile widened as Orion's mouth fell open.
“Spy on me changing, sneak junk food, play violent games—whatever you want. Arcade trips? Beach days? Camping? Extra cash? Just tell me, I’ll take you there.”
She counted each offer on her violet-tipped fingers.
"But," she added, leaning in again, "it comes with a price." Orion's pulse hammered. "What?" he croaked.
Rudbeckia's giggle was light, almost musical. "You're going to have a very sore, very pink—or maybe purple—bottom." She watched with delight as his face flushed crimson. "See, my parents fled Germany the same way yours left Britain," she continued, twirling a platinum lock around her finger. "Growing up hearing how women got treated like furniture made me... hungry." Her turquoise eyes darkened. "Babysitting? Perfect. Kids can't fight back, can't quit, can't even complain properly."
Orion shifted uncomfortably as she described the rush she got from reducing children to wailing, squirming messes—the way their skin bloomed under her hand (or belt, or hairbrush). "It's like drugs," she sighed dreamily. "Better, even."
Orion was stunned, he didn’t know why. He knew about adults and kids being on power trips when they were in positions of authority, as well as What sadism was. Also, he had never been abused by any of his babysitters, some were a little too strict, spanking him for the tiniest thing, not to mention, bossy, and he suspected that he enjoyed punishing and micromanaging him.
“I came to enjoy spanking so much, but I started hoping and praying that The little boys and girls I looked after would be naughty so I could tenderize their butts,” Rudbeckia continued.
“The thing is, some of the kids I babysit were on their best behavior. Maybe I couldn’t punish them which really irritated me even though I didn’t show it. I would bribe the kids by letting them do things and have things they normally weren’t allowed to do or have, But they are bare bottoms would pay the price. They would have to let me slap their booties whenever I wanted to. Whether I used my hand or a curtain rod, whether it was 10 seconds or 10 minutes, they had to lie over my lap or bend over the armchair of the couch wherever I put them and just take it. If they ever come complain or begged me to stop, I would remind them of the gifts. I promised them in exchange for baking their buns. So far, no child I’ve watched has refused this arrangement.”
She cupped his chin suddenly, forcing him to meet her gaze.
“So here's the deal, Orion. I give you the world,"—her other hand gestured grandly—"and in return?" Her thumb brushed his lower lip. "Your backside belongs to me. Anytime. For any reason. And I’ll spank you as hard as and for however long I want, and with whatever implement I choose."
The gold door behind her seemed to glow ominously as she whispered, "Do we have deal?”
Orion's fingers twitched against the Hello Kitty upholstery, his throat tight as turquoise eyes pinned him in place. The air smelled faintly of coconut and something metallic—maybe the gold doorknob catching sunlight. He knew exactly how a spanking felt: the sharp crack of skin meeting skin, the way fire would bloom across his backside in uneven patches. But Rudbeckia was offering him the world, tempting him with various forbidden fruits. Plus, her knees were warm where they pressed against his thigh, and when she leaned in, her pink camouflage shirt gaped just enough to show the lace edge of a bra the same violet as her nails.
"Okay," he whispered, and her breath hitched.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then Rudbeckia pursed her lips, muffling a sound halfway between a squeal and a laugh. Her eyes widened like someone had lit sparklers behind them, fists clenching in front of her chest as she trembled. "Oh, sweetheart," she breathed, and then Orion was yanked forward—face pressed into soft cotton and softer skin, her floral perfume flooding his nose as she crushed him against her for exactly ten rapid heartbeats. When she released him, her fingers lingered on his shoulders, nails grazing the fabric of his shirt.
“I’m happy that you’ve decided to play along Orion, you’re being such a good sport!” She said.
Rudbeckia stood up with a sudden fluidity that made Orion flinch, her turquoise eyes glinting like shards of sea glass catching sunlight. She smirked down at him, that devilish curve of her lips making his stomach drop. "Let's nip this in the bud, honey," she purred, tapping one violet-nailed finger against her chin.
"And then we can have a fun day."
The way she emphasized "then" sent a shiver down his spine—like the fun was contingent on surviving whatever came first.
Before Orion could blink, her hand closed around his wrist, tugging him upright with surprising strength. The Hello Kitty couch cushions sighed as his weight left them. He gulped, which made her smile widen impossibly further. Her hands pressed firmly against his shoulders as she steered him down the hallway, the gold door looming behind them like a forgotten threat. The walls pulsed with color—neon hibiscus blooms stenciled between door frames, their petals seeming to twitch as they passed.
The hallway unfolded like a fever dream: a single cavernous closet yawned open on their left, stuffed with rainbow-hued feather boas and what looked suspiciously like a jeweled riding crop. Further down, an open doorway revealed a guest bedroom swallowed by peach-colored satin—everything from the curtains to the lampshade dripped in it. Rudbeckia’s bedroom waited at the end, its doorway framed by carved wooden vines that twisted into obscene shapes if you looked too closely.
Orion’s breath caught as they crossed the threshold. It was as if he had entered that Amazonian jungle. Various animals and plants from the world‘s largest rainforest—Jaguars, tapirs, peccaries, sloths, river dolphins, Rubber Tree, Giant Water Lily, Cacao tree, and Heliconia— decorated the walls, the carpet, the bedspread and the ceiling. He didn’t just see this floor in Fana, he felt him like he actually were in the Amazonian rainforest. Rudbeckia walked to the side of her bed that was closer to the bathroom and knelt down.
"Hands on your head, Littlejohn," shw commanded, her voice dripping with mock severity. When he complied, her violet nails made quick work of his khaki buttons. The pants pooled around his ankles with a whisper of fabric, revealing Winnie the Pooh grinning cheekily from his underwear. Rudebeckia’s laughter rang out like wind chimes—bright, musical, and utterly merciless.
“Oh, Pooh bear!" she cooed, tracing the cartoon's face with one finger.
"You're in for quite the honey pot today." Orion's ears burned as she knelt to peel off his New Balances, the candy cane socks following with a playful flick of her wrists.
The jungle camouflage shirt came next, her fingers skating over his biceps with appreciative pressure.
"Someone's been watching those martial arts tapes," she murmured, her breath warm against his collarbone. Orion nodded mutely, acutely aware of her thumbs circling the dip above his hips. Then the Pooh underwear descended, leaving him exposed under the bedroom's pulsing magenta light. The German womaan circled him slowly, her turquoise eyes darkening as she took in the taut curve of his backside. "Frankfurt sausage and fresh bread rolls," she sighed wistfully, giving his left cheek an experimental squeeze that made him gasp.
"I could just eat them up!”
The English-Nigerian boy she was watching over grounded audibly, even though his mouth was closed, and she chuckled with delight at his embarrassment. Since she sat down on the mattress.
"Over my lap, Littlejohn," Becky commanded, her voice laced with playful sternness. Orion gulped but obeyed, draping himself across her thighs and burying his face into the pillow she'd propped there. skin.
"If you try to reach back with your hands or bring your feet up to protect your butt," Rudbeckia murmured, her fingers tracing idle circles just above the curve of his thighs, "I'll hit them—" she tapped his left ankle sharply with her foot, "—and then I'll start all over."
Her palm came to rest heavily between his shoulder blades. "Also, like I said, doesn't matter how much you beg or plead. I'll spank you until I'm satisfied. And you agreed to my deal. Got it, baby?"
Orion's breath hitched as he nodded into the pillow.
"Yes, Rudbeckia, I understand."
Rudbeckia rubbed the top of Orion's bald head with affectionate roughness, her violet nails catching briefly against his scalp. "You're such a good boy," she cooed, her voice dripping with honeyed approval. "And I know why you keep it shaved—your parents told me how much you hated haircuts."
She chuckled, leaning down until her lips brushed the shell of his ear.
“From now on, you can just call me Becky." Orion shuddered, his fingers clutching the pillow tighter.
“O-okay, Becky," he stammered, burying his face deeper into the fabric as her palm began tracing slow, deliberate circles over his bare bottom.
For sixty agonizing seconds, Becky's hand mapped every inch of his backside—palming the plump curves, kneading the dimples above his thighs, even pressing her thumb into the crease where his legs met his torso. She exhaled sharply through her nose, her turquoise eyes darkening. God, his ass is perfect, she thought, biting her lower lip. Round, tight, just begging to be painted red. For half a second, she hesitated—such unblemished skin almost deserved preservation. Almost.
Then her arm shot up, fingers splayed, and she held it there for ten excruciating seconds, watching Orion's shoulders tense.
Becky's hand came down with a sharp *crack* that echoed through the jungle-themed bedroom, her palm connecting squarely across the center of Orion's bare cheeks. The boy's entire body jerked violently, his scream muffled into the pillow as his fingers twisted the fabric into desperate knots. Before he could even process the first sting, her hand was already rising again—this time landing with brutal precision just below his tailbone. Another strangled cry tore from his throat, his toes curling against the bedspread's embroidered jaguars.
The rhythm was methodical: sit spots next, each cheek struck separately with a one-second pause between impacts that somehow made the burning worse. Sixty-five smacks later—exactly one minute and five seconds of continuous punishment—Orion finally cracked. He twisted his upper body, tears streaking his flushed face as he gasped, "Please stop, Becky! It feels like you're stabbing my butt with hot nails over and over—it's burning through my skin and bones!" His voice cracked on the last word. "I can't take anymore! It hurts!"
Becky's grin widened, her turquoise eyes glittering with dark amusement. Without a word, she brought her hand down even harder, the [smack* reverberating off the walls like a gunshot. When Orion collapsed back into the pillow with a shuddering sob, she deliberately turned her gaze away—focusing instead on the plum-colored handprint blooming across his right cheek. This became their twisted dance: every time he begged, she'd pause just long enough to meet his tear-filled eyes before delivering an even more vicious slap.
After ten relentless minutes—six hundred precisely counted strikes—Becky finally stilled her arm. A fine sheen of sweat glistened at her temples as she exhaled through pursed lips, watching Orion's limp form twitch across her lap. His entire backside had darkened to a deep violet, swollen taut as overripe fruit, and he was much more sweaty than she was. His butt is as purple as the plums designed onto my rug now. I’m so good at this! she thought to herself.
With a satisfied hum, she hooked her hands under his waist and hauled him upright, ignoring his broken whimpers. "You're so lucky," she crooned, brushing sweaty coils of platinum hair from her forehead, "I only used my hand today. Ten minutes with the hairbrush? Would've split this pretty skin like a peach. Also, there’ll be times when I’ll wait for your roasted rump to heal—when I want a fresh canvas to work with."
Her violet nails traced the plum-colored welts decorating his thighs.
"Other times? I'll spank you no matter how bruised your ass is."
Before Orion could process the threat, Becky scooped him up effortlessly—one arm beneath his knees, the other supporting his back—and cradled him against her pink camouflage shirt. His head lolled against her collarbone, exhausted tears dampening the cotton as she carried him through the pulsating jungle of her bedroom. She brought him to the kitchen, which smelled like fresh rain-soaked Azaleas, in laid him on his stomach over a round reddish-brown oiled stool. It was that was one of four underneath a pristine white square wooden table by the window.
She moved to the fridge with practiced ease, filling a pint glass with ice water that crackled invitingly.
"Drink," she commanded, pressing the cool glass into his trembling hands. Orion gulped it down greedily, rivulets escaping down his chin as Becky watched with amused approval. When the glass emptied with a final clink of ice, she plucked it from his grasp and set it aside.
”You’ll have to use the bathroom soon?" she said, already lifting him again.
Becky's bare feet made no sound on the bamboo bathmat as she guided Orion into the ensuite bathroom, its walls tiled in swirling turquoise patterns that mimicked ocean waves. She lifted the toilet seat with one violet-nailed hand, the porcelain gleaming under the seashell-shaped sconce lights. "Go ahead, sweetheart," she murmured, rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades. Orion trembled, hissing as the motion shifted the angry heat radiating from his backside, but the pressure in his bladder outweighed the pain. Thirty seconds of awkward silence passed before the telltale sound of liquid hitting water echoed off the tiles—Becky's approving hum blending with Orion's shaky exhale.
She flushed with her elbow, then guided him back into the jungle-themed bedroom where humidity clung to the air like a second skin. From atop the nightstand, becky picked up 8 quart sized white lotion bottle that was labeled cocoa butter-and-
Orion Cosmo Littlejohn was a 12 year old Yoruban Nigerian-English Jewish boy with caramel skin and a bald head. His father and mother, a Nigerian man and an English woman had both been born in London, England in Britain. But due to economic hardship, they fled to the United States to pursue the American dream. They first landed in New York and then took another plane to San Diego and then to Hawaii. They did so because the racism there was much less pronounced the on American mainland. Unlike his parents, being born in America mean, he didn’t have a British accent.
His mom and dad had both told him that he would have an excellent time with his new babysitter, Rudbeckia Mayflower Emmerich-Sturmgeist. They said she came highly recommended, and they also vetted her carefully, make sure there were no complaints or even suspicion of abuse. They would never think about leaving their son with someone who they thought would hurt him. However, they also warned him that she had the authority to spank him if he acted up or was naughty.
Orion had been spanked before by their babysitters that his parents got, since they had first worked on over now managers of their own farm and couldn’t spend as much time with him as they wanted to. Both his parents and his sitters believed that lecturing a child for a long time or cum stand in the corner or time out or whatever was tedious and useless. A spanking, even a quick one like five or 10 slaps was the quickest way to get kids to behave. The adults in his life also believed that being a grown-up was stressful enough without bratty behavior from children making it harder, this is another reason they spanked said children for any infraction. his case, a burning, swollen and discolored bottom certainly encouraged him not to do anything to upset his caretakers.
Orion‘s parents had arrived in a red Jeep, driving up the dirt road to the top of the hill where Rudbeckia’s concrete covered pink painted brick house with a purple terra-cotta roof stood. It was one story high, and Orion wondered if it had a basement. Even though his babysitter had not met him yet, she had met his parents, who paid careful attention to her behavior and demeanor. She showed absolutely no sign of malevolence or deception, and her smile seem to reach her eyes.
Orion got out of the red Jeep and walked up to the door of the house, which was painted a shamrock color, knocking on it. He just use his fist, even though he had a dragon face to knock her, and even though there was a doorbell. The door opened and read Becky greeted him with a seemingly genuine smile. She been down to hug him, and he blushed; he couldn’t deny that this babysitter was hot. Read Becky had platinum blonde hair, beautiful turquoise eyes that reminded him of the ocean, Violet, polished fingernails, cotton, short, sleeved, gentle, camouflage shirt that was pink, and then matching jungle camouflage cotton pants that were purple. The pants were held up by a white drawstring she had tied into the loopy loop style just like shoe strings.
"Be good, Orion," his mother called from the Jeep's open window, adjusting her sunglasses as his father shifted into gear. "And have fun with Miss Emmerich-Sturmgeist!" Orion nodded, waving at the dust cloud kicked up by their departing tires before turning to face the pink-bricked house again. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Rudbeckia's posture changed—shoulders loosening, lips quirking into a grin that made his stomach flip.
"Come this way, sweetie," Rudbeckia said, her voice lilting as she guided him toward a couch upholstered in a dizzying Hello Kitty pattern. Orion blinked at the riot of colors around him—walls painted with sprawling pink plumeria blossoms, a carpet embroidered with dark purple plums, and a ceiling mural of swaying coconut trees that made him feel like he’d stepped into some tropical dream. Behind the couch, an open kitchen and dining area sprawled without walls, the gold handles on the cabinets catching the light. His eyes flicked to a plain door that likely led outside, then to another, this one painted a gleaming gold, which he guessed hid the basement stairs.
Rudbeckia settled onto the couch, patting the space beside her. "Now, Orion," she began, tilting her head, "tell me honestly—have you ever done anything naughty?" Her turquoise eyes held his, unblinking. "Like spying on girls changing? Or maybe sneaking junk food when no one’s looking?" She counted off possibilities on her violet-polished fingers. "Violent video games? Movies not meant for kids?"
Orion shifted, his bare legs sticking slightly to the Hello Kitty upholstery. "No," he mumbled, staring at the plum-patterned carpet.
"Are you sure?" she pressed, leaning closer. The scent of coconut shampoo wafted from her platinum hair. "What about... naughty books? Or movies?" Her emphasis on the last word made his ears burn.
"No!" he squeaked, then cleared his throat. "No, ma’am."
Rudbeckia's knees pressed into the Hello Kitty couch as she leaned closer until her nose was against Orion's.
“It's probably because you knew you'd get in trouble," she murmured, her breath warm against his cheek.
"If your sitters or parents caught you. Wasn't it?" Orion swallowed hard, his fingers digging into the upholstery.
“Yes," he admitted. Her lips curved.
“But I bet you were tempted." His throat felt dry. "Yeah," he whispered.
She straightened suddenly, clapping her hands together like a judge delivering a verdict. "Well, guess what? I'll let you do all those things." Her smile widened as Orion's mouth fell open.
“Spy on me changing, sneak junk food, play violent games—whatever you want. Arcade trips? Beach days? Camping? Extra cash? Just tell me, I’ll take you there.”
She counted each offer on her violet-tipped fingers.
"But," she added, leaning in again, "it comes with a price." Orion's pulse hammered. "What?" he croaked.
Rudbeckia's giggle was light, almost musical. "You're going to have a very sore, very pink—or maybe purple—bottom." She watched with delight as his face flushed crimson. "See, my parents fled Germany the same way yours left Britain," she continued, twirling a platinum lock around her finger. "Growing up hearing how women got treated like furniture made me... hungry." Her turquoise eyes darkened. "Babysitting? Perfect. Kids can't fight back, can't quit, can't even complain properly."
Orion shifted uncomfortably as she described the rush she got from reducing children to wailing, squirming messes—the way their skin bloomed under her hand (or belt, or hairbrush). "It's like drugs," she sighed dreamily. "Better, even."
Orion was stunned, he didn’t know why. He knew about adults and kids being on power trips when they were in positions of authority, as well as What sadism was. Also, he had never been abused by any of his babysitters, some were a little too strict, spanking him for the tiniest thing, not to mention, bossy, and he suspected that he enjoyed punishing and micromanaging him.
“I came to enjoy spanking so much, but I started hoping and praying that The little boys and girls I looked after would be naughty so I could tenderize their butts,” Rudbeckia continued.
“The thing is, some of the kids I babysit were on their best behavior. Maybe I couldn’t punish them which really irritated me even though I didn’t show it. I would bribe the kids by letting them do things and have things they normally weren’t allowed to do or have, But they are bare bottoms would pay the price. They would have to let me slap their booties whenever I wanted to. Whether I used my hand or a curtain rod, whether it was 10 seconds or 10 minutes, they had to lie over my lap or bend over the armchair of the couch wherever I put them and just take it. If they ever come complain or begged me to stop, I would remind them of the gifts. I promised them in exchange for baking their buns. So far, no child I’ve watched has refused this arrangement.”
She cupped his chin suddenly, forcing him to meet her gaze.
“So here's the deal, Orion. I give you the world,"—her other hand gestured grandly—"and in return?" Her thumb brushed his lower lip. "Your backside belongs to me. Anytime. For any reason. And I’ll spank you as hard as and for however long I want, and with whatever implement I choose."
The gold door behind her seemed to glow ominously as she whispered, "Do we have deal?”
Orion's fingers twitched against the Hello Kitty upholstery, his throat tight as turquoise eyes pinned him in place. The air smelled faintly of coconut and something metallic—maybe the gold doorknob catching sunlight. He knew exactly how a spanking felt: the sharp crack of skin meeting skin, the way fire would bloom across his backside in uneven patches. But Rudbeckia was offering him the world, tempting him with various forbidden fruits. Plus, her knees were warm where they pressed against his thigh, and when she leaned in, her pink camouflage shirt gaped just enough to show the lace edge of a bra the same violet as her nails.
"Okay," he whispered, and her breath hitched.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then Rudbeckia pursed her lips, muffling a sound halfway between a squeal and a laugh. Her eyes widened like someone had lit sparklers behind them, fists clenching in front of her chest as she trembled. "Oh, sweetheart," she breathed, and then Orion was yanked forward—face pressed into soft cotton and softer skin, her floral perfume flooding his nose as she crushed him against her for exactly ten rapid heartbeats. When she released him, her fingers lingered on his shoulders, nails grazing the fabric of his shirt.
“I’m happy that you’ve decided to play along Orion, you’re being such a good sport!” She said.
Rudbeckia stood up with a sudden fluidity that made Orion flinch, her turquoise eyes glinting like shards of sea glass catching sunlight. She smirked down at him, that devilish curve of her lips making his stomach drop. "Let's nip this in the bud, honey," she purred, tapping one violet-nailed finger against her chin.
"And then we can have a fun day."
The way she emphasized "then" sent a shiver down his spine—like the fun was contingent on surviving whatever came first.
Before Orion could blink, her hand closed around his wrist, tugging him upright with surprising strength. The Hello Kitty couch cushions sighed as his weight left them. He gulped, which made her smile widen impossibly further. Her hands pressed firmly against his shoulders as she steered him down the hallway, the gold door looming behind them like a forgotten threat. The walls pulsed with color—neon hibiscus blooms stenciled between door frames, their petals seeming to twitch as they passed.
The hallway unfolded like a fever dream: a single cavernous closet yawned open on their left, stuffed with rainbow-hued feather boas and what looked suspiciously like a jeweled riding crop. Further down, an open doorway revealed a guest bedroom swallowed by peach-colored satin—everything from the curtains to the lampshade dripped in it. Rudbeckia’s bedroom waited at the end, its doorway framed by carved wooden vines that twisted into obscene shapes if you looked too closely.
Orion’s breath caught as they crossed the threshold. It was as if he had entered that Amazonian jungle. Various animals and plants from the world‘s largest rainforest—Jaguars, tapirs, peccaries, sloths, river dolphins, Rubber Tree, Giant Water Lily, Cacao tree, and Heliconia— decorated the walls, the carpet, the bedspread and the ceiling. He didn’t just see this floor in Fana, he felt him like he actually were in the Amazonian rainforest. Rudbeckia walked to the side of her bed that was closer to the bathroom and knelt down.
"Hands on your head, Littlejohn," shw commanded, her voice dripping with mock severity. When he complied, her violet nails made quick work of his khaki buttons. The pants pooled around his ankles with a whisper of fabric, revealing Winnie the Pooh grinning cheekily from his underwear. Rudebeckia’s laughter rang out like wind chimes—bright, musical, and utterly merciless.
“Oh, Pooh bear!" she cooed, tracing the cartoon's face with one finger.
"You're in for quite the honey pot today." Orion's ears burned as she knelt to peel off his New Balances, the candy cane socks following with a playful flick of her wrists.
The jungle camouflage shirt came next, her fingers skating over his biceps with appreciative pressure.
"Someone's been watching those martial arts tapes," she murmured, her breath warm against his collarbone. Orion nodded mutely, acutely aware of her thumbs circling the dip above his hips. Then the Pooh underwear descended, leaving him exposed under the bedroom's pulsing magenta light. The German womaan circled him slowly, her turquoise eyes darkening as she took in the taut curve of his backside. "Frankfurt sausage and fresh bread rolls," she sighed wistfully, giving his left cheek an experimental squeeze that made him gasp.
"I could just eat them up!”
The English-Nigerian boy she was watching over grounded audibly, even though his mouth was closed, and she chuckled with delight at his embarrassment. Since she sat down on the mattress.
"Over my lap, Littlejohn," Becky commanded, her voice laced with playful sternness. Orion gulped but obeyed, draping himself across her thighs and burying his face into the pillow she'd propped there. skin.
"If you try to reach back with your hands or bring your feet up to protect your butt," Rudbeckia murmured, her fingers tracing idle circles just above the curve of his thighs, "I'll hit them—" she tapped his left ankle sharply with her foot, "—and then I'll start all over."
Her palm came to rest heavily between his shoulder blades. "Also, like I said, doesn't matter how much you beg or plead. I'll spank you until I'm satisfied. And you agreed to my deal. Got it, baby?"
Orion's breath hitched as he nodded into the pillow.
"Yes, Rudbeckia, I understand."
Rudbeckia rubbed the top of Orion's bald head with affectionate roughness, her violet nails catching briefly against his scalp. "You're such a good boy," she cooed, her voice dripping with honeyed approval. "And I know why you keep it shaved—your parents told me how much you hated haircuts."
She chuckled, leaning down until her lips brushed the shell of his ear.
“From now on, you can just call me Becky." Orion shuddered, his fingers clutching the pillow tighter.
“O-okay, Becky," he stammered, burying his face deeper into the fabric as her palm began tracing slow, deliberate circles over his bare bottom.
For sixty agonizing seconds, Becky's hand mapped every inch of his backside—palming the plump curves, kneading the dimples above his thighs, even pressing her thumb into the crease where his legs met his torso. She exhaled sharply through her nose, her turquoise eyes darkening. God, his ass is perfect, she thought, biting her lower lip. Round, tight, just begging to be painted red. For half a second, she hesitated—such unblemished skin almost deserved preservation. Almost.
Then her arm shot up, fingers splayed, and she held it there for ten excruciating seconds, watching Orion's shoulders tense.
Becky's hand came down with a sharp *crack* that echoed through the jungle-themed bedroom, her palm connecting squarely across the center of Orion's bare cheeks. The boy's entire body jerked violently, his scream muffled into the pillow as his fingers twisted the fabric into desperate knots. Before he could even process the first sting, her hand was already rising again—this time landing with brutal precision just below his tailbone. Another strangled cry tore from his throat, his toes curling against the bedspread's embroidered jaguars.
The rhythm was methodical: sit spots next, each cheek struck separately with a one-second pause between impacts that somehow made the burning worse. Sixty-five smacks later—exactly one minute and five seconds of continuous punishment—Orion finally cracked. He twisted his upper body, tears streaking his flushed face as he gasped, "Please stop, Becky! It feels like you're stabbing my butt with hot nails over and over—it's burning through my skin and bones!" His voice cracked on the last word. "I can't take anymore! It hurts!"
Becky's grin widened, her turquoise eyes glittering with dark amusement. Without a word, she brought her hand down even harder, the [smack* reverberating off the walls like a gunshot. When Orion collapsed back into the pillow with a shuddering sob, she deliberately turned her gaze away—focusing instead on the plum-colored handprint blooming across his right cheek. This became their twisted dance: every time he begged, she'd pause just long enough to meet his tear-filled eyes before delivering an even more vicious slap.
After ten relentless minutes—six hundred precisely counted strikes—Becky finally stilled her arm. A fine sheen of sweat glistened at her temples as she exhaled through pursed lips, watching Orion's limp form twitch across her lap. His entire backside had darkened to a deep violet, swollen taut as overripe fruit, and he was much more sweaty than she was. His butt is as purple as the plums designed onto my rug now. I’m so good at this! she thought to herself.
With a satisfied hum, she hooked her hands under his waist and hauled him upright, ignoring his broken whimpers. "You're so lucky," she crooned, brushing sweaty coils of platinum hair from her forehead, "I only used my hand today. Ten minutes with the hairbrush? Would've split this pretty skin like a peach. Also, there’ll be times when I’ll wait for your roasted rump to heal—when I want a fresh canvas to work with."
Her violet nails traced the plum-colored welts decorating his thighs.
"Other times? I'll spank you no matter how bruised your ass is."
Before Orion could process the threat, Becky scooped him up effortlessly—one arm beneath his knees, the other supporting his back—and cradled him against her pink camouflage shirt. His head lolled against her collarbone, exhausted tears dampening the cotton as she carried him through the pulsating jungle of her bedroom. She brought him to the kitchen, which smelled like fresh rain-soaked Azaleas, in laid him on his stomach over a round reddish-brown oiled stool. It was that was one of four underneath a pristine white square wooden table by the window.
She moved to the fridge with practiced ease, filling a pint glass with ice water that crackled invitingly.
"Drink," she commanded, pressing the cool glass into his trembling hands. Orion gulped it down greedily, rivulets escaping down his chin as Becky watched with amused approval. When the glass emptied with a final clink of ice, she plucked it from his grasp and set it aside.
”You’ll have to use the bathroom soon?" she said, already lifting him again.
Becky's bare feet made no sound on the bamboo bathmat as she guided Orion into the ensuite bathroom, its walls tiled in swirling turquoise patterns that mimicked ocean waves. She lifted the toilet seat with one violet-nailed hand, the porcelain gleaming under the seashell-shaped sconce lights. "Go ahead, sweetheart," she murmured, rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades. Orion trembled, hissing as the motion shifted the angry heat radiating from his backside, but the pressure in his bladder outweighed the pain. Thirty seconds of awkward silence passed before the telltale sound of liquid hitting water echoed off the tiles—Becky's approving hum blending with Orion's shaky exhale.
She flushed with her elbow, then guided him back into the jungle-themed bedroom where humidity clung to the air like a second skin. From atop the nightstand, becky picked up 8 quart sized white lotion bottle that was labeled cocoa butter-and-
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