"PRODUCING A SWITCH" by the Crimson Kid [Category: Child] 

(All rights reserved. This story is a *memoir* from 1960's America.) 

   I was the designated 'switch-getter' for my sister Rosemary by the
time I was seven years old--that's when my brother Darrell's most
embarrassing switching occurred. 
  
   My fourteen-year-old sister, Tracie, was having a slumber party with
four of her girlfriends when Darrell tried to peek into her bedroom
while they changed clothes. One of the girls, Belinda, somehow spotted
him, whereupon Tracie tattled to Rosemary. 
  
   She instructed me, "Get a switch, Carolyn--seriously whippy and
durable." 
   I didn't have to be told twice, because I idolized my 20-year-old
sister. She was basically the family disciplinarian, but she'd only ever
given me a few mild slaps on the seat of my pants. Darrell and Tracie
both received extensive 'pantsdowners' across Rosemary's thighs, her
wielding a wooden hairbrush, when they misbehaved--if they were
especially naughty their bare bottoms were also switched, and this
situation was a obviously 'switching offense.' 

   My fondness for my brother didn't prevent me from finding a
wickedly-supple switch to apply to his sixteen-year-old posterior,
because Rosemary was never wrong--and she clearly believed he deserved a
double punishment.
   After cutting the 40-inch willow wand, I carefully peeled most of it
to produce a smooth, sharply-biting striking surface. Swishing it a few
times, I felt confident it would meet Rosemary's high
standards--producing punitively-effective switches was my specialty,
after all. 

   I returned inside to find Darrell's chastisement underway. Seated on
a hassock, Rosemary had him bent over her lap, pajama bottoms at
mid-thigh, and was soundly walloping his naked buttocks with her
flat-backed hairbrush. 
   Darrell was yelping and sqirming as his trim bumcheeks reddened under
the stinging smacks, while Tracie and her girlfriends watched. Highly
amused, they giggled gleefully while observing the extended
butt-blistering. 

   "That brush must really smart, it cracks like pistol shots." 
   "Look at Darrell wiggle his fanny, those buttcheeks are dancing!" 
   "He's got cute-looking bare buns."
   "Especially when they're bright red!" 
   "He's starting to cry, isn't he?" 
   "Poor naughty baby, is his bare little bum-bum getting spanked too
hard?" 
  
   They dissolved into laughter at that comment, while Darrell indeed
bawled babyishly throughout the hairbrush's final thirty whacks. It had
been a long fanny-tanning, with 'Act Two' yet to follow--after
'Intermission.'
   "Cornertime--march," Rosemary ordered. 

   Darrell blushingly spent ten humiliating minutes facing the corner,
listening to the teenaged girls' gloating remarks about his "southern
exposure," "Hawaiian sunset moonglow" and "two pairs of crimson cheeks,"
before reluctantly upending himself over the hassock, looking straight
into four pairs of female eyes. 
   "Excellent switch," Rosemary noted, "For delivering a first-class
whipping." 
   That she did, to the cheering and chortling of her appreciative
audience. Darrell blubbered plaintively and begged for mercy, his behind
crisscrossed by scarlet stripes, throughout the lengthy switching. 

   Afterward, while my brother sniffed as Belinda smugly opined that
"Boys need regular bare-assed lickings," I regarded Darrell's face.
Despite his shame-filled embarrassment, he looked relieved--he'd atoned
for his misdeed. 
   Rosemary's face shone with satisfaction and pride of
accomplishement--she'd administered retributive justice. 

   On my part, a switch had been produced... 
   {The End}