+++
title = "First Timers, Serial Offenders Pt1"
names = ["KrishnaKarnak"]
date = "2014-02-24 12:41:46"
tags = ["F/f", "hoof", "otk", "non-consensual", "beg"]
spankers = ["Candy Mane"]
spankees = ["Babs"]
posts = [""]
+++

(You are now Candy Mane)

Sipping your coffee, you try to ignore the pounding of your headache. Your husband pours a small measure of whiskey into your mug to help calm your nerves. He sits down across the table and stars on his own mug. After a few minutes of pained recollection of the night’s events, you notice him shaking his head back and forth.

“Never a dull night with our kids, is there? We haven’t even been back for an hour.”

“You got that right,” you sigh. “What're we doing with Creme? She was an idiot, but she's still a child…”

“I'm going to deal with her myself, and that'll be that,” he says simply. “Are you coming?”

You nod. “I will, Streamline. I'll save a proper telling off for then. I expect she already knows how bad she's screwed this up!” Groaning, you take another sip of your beverage. “At any rate... are you staying?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You're going through with it, then?”

“I am... and in here, I think. I don't want to, but Babs Seed's old enough to know better, and she's old enough for it.”

Streamline looks a little upset. You don't feel that fantastic either. However, he speaks up again.

“I'll stay for moral support.” He gives a small grin. “After all, somepony's gotta be the 'good' parent.”

Frowning, you bow your head, staring into what was left of your whiskeyed coffee. “She'll understand, I hope. I'll make sure…” you mumble uneasily; you hate always being labeled the 'bad' parent in the kids' eyes on these nights. “Anyway, I'm going to have a chat with Scorecard before we start.”

As you stand up, you drag your kitchen chair away from the table and turn it so the back of it was against the middle. Streamline mumbled something about bringing them into the kitchen as you depart.

Shortly thereafter, after calling him from the living room, you lead your son to his bedroom. You don't want him listening, and it is close to his bedtime, anyway.

“Mommy's gonna tuck you in, Score.”

He rolls his eyes. “Mama, I'ma way too old to be gettin' tucked in! I'm almost seven…”

“Oooh, big stallion, are we?” you ask, smiling. “Mommy's going to anyway!”

He gives a snarl, but makes no efforts to fight you off as you pull back his bedsheets and scoop him into your arms as you sit down. You know as well as he does that he likes being mothered.

“You did a very brave thing today, Score…” you whisper into his ear, which twitched. “Mommy's so proud of you. The neighbors told me how you did your best to calm your big sister down when Babs got lost. And you asked Mr. Breeches to help you find a police officer, even though you're scared of going outside at night. Mommy's brave little colt...

“I'ma stallion…” he mumbles , blushing as he permits you to pepper him with kisses. “Mama, what's gon' happen to Babs?”

You stroke his mane gently. “Nothing as bad as what could’ve happened if nopony found her tonight. A five year old filly all alone in the big city? She’s going to be fine, don’t worry.” Judging by the pleading look in his eyes, he already knows full well what was going to happen to her. You sigh. “Try not to listen if it upsets you, Scorecard…”

Once he’s tucked into bed, you kiss him goodnight and close his bedroom door. Outside in the hallway, you can already hear Streamline’s rising voice coming from the kitchen. It sounds like Creme Egg has decided to defend herself, judging by her own escalated shouts. You hurry back to the kitchen.

Creme Egg is sitting on the floor, her hooves crossed over her chest. The blood thunders in your ears; who does she think she is, roaring at her father like that? This is all her fault! Looking to Streamline’s chair, you find that Babs is sitting in his lap, her long reddish-pink tail curled around her body, her muzzle nuzzled into his stomach.

“I’m s-sawwy I upset you, Papa!” she repeated over and over in a sniffly voice.

He’s running his hoof through her mane while he glares over at his eldest daughter. Creme looks back, tossing her cappuccino mane, and opens her mouth furiously to speak. As you cross the room, you shoot her the dirtiest look you can muster, and her mouth snaps shut.

“How DARE you speak to your father like that, Creme!” you scold, staring down at her.

She screws up her face, trying not to explode with anger. “He’s acting like I don’t realize I messed up! He’s making me feel like CRAP just so he—”

“Creme,” Streamline cuts across her, his voice sharp like a whip, “cut your overly-dramatic act! You’re DAMN right you messed up, and you’re going to have a good chat with me and your mother later, but right now, I want you to go to our bedroom and wait for us. Now!”

Creme’s face is inscrutable. However, she raises no objections, getting to her hooves and storming from the room. When your husband’s voice gets like that, the kids generally know he is not to be tested. At least, Scorecard and Creme Egg, know.

“Dat’s a bad word…” Babs mumbled softly.

Streamline ruffled her mane again. “You’re right, sweetheart. Daddy’s sorry. Creme said a bad word, too, didn’t she?”

“Mm hmm…” Babs agrees.

After locking eyes with your husband, you catch Babs looking up at you and looking suddenly fearful. With a sigh, you know she has good reason to. It is time to get down to business. Walking toward the table, you sit down in the chair you had placed there earlier, looking sideways over at your husband and five-year-old. She sank a little lower on her father’s lap, trying to hide behind the long tail she would one day start cutting short.

You clear your throat.

“Babs Seed… you did something today that you shouldn’t have done, didn’t you?” Her answer is incomprehensible as she whispers into her tail hairs. Streamline strokes her back encouragingly. “Answer Mommy, Babs…”

“I dids… I’m s-sawwy, Mama.” Her voice is very low.

“What did you do, Babs?”

“I-I-umm… I went outside when I wasn’t ‘llowed to…”

You turn the chair so that it’s facing your youngest. “How come you weren’t allowed to?”

Babs gives a little sniffle. “‘Cause it was d-d-dark outside and Sissy never saids I could.”

“Good fillies are supposed to listen. They aren’t supposed to go outside in the big city all alone when it’s dark out, are they?” you ask her clearly, feeling a cold growing in your stomach.

“Umm mmm…”

”Answer me clearly, sweetheart.”

“No, Mama… b-but, b-b-but I wanted to—”

You give a sigh. “I know you wanted to go to the park, Babs, but what do Mommy and Daddy always say? You’re not allowed to leave home without us or your big sister. You were there when I told Creme that I didn’t want you or your brother outside while me and Daddy were out of town!”

Babs Seed starts to whimper a little. “Mama, I’m sawwy I never listened!”

However, it’s too late for apologies. Your mind is made up. “‘Sorry’ isn’t going to cut it this time, Babs Seed.” Babs’ eyes widen and her ears snap back. “Mommy knows you’re only a little filly and you can get up to mischief sometimes, but sneaking out because your big sister wasn’t watching you closely enough and getting yourself LOST is taking things too far. Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you tonight?! You’re very lucky that your big brother found somepony to help!”

Babs is starting to cry. Perhaps, you wonder, she already knows what’s coming. It’s a threat you have used on her before and she has walked in on her brother’s more than once. She lifts her head from behind her tail and looks up at her father. Streamline, however, is giving her a look of stern disapproval. She looks back at you, pleading.

“Maaama, pl-please don’t smack my bottom!”

You have never been driven to employing your very worst parental tool against your youngest child yet, but tonight must never be repeated. That icy feeling is dulling to emptiness; you’re putting your emotions aside so you can punish your child properly, doing what must be done. Babs Seed will be going across your knee for the first time.

“I’m sorry, Babs, but this isn’t your choice. Mommy’s going to give you a spanking because you need to be taught a very important lesson. Come here.”

“NO!” Babs wails, leaping up and clutching into her father’s chest.

“Babs…” Streamline whispers to her softly, “you have to listen to your mother.”

So much for playing the ‘good’ parent. Babs Seed looks horrified at Streamline’s support of your decision, but clings even tighter to him. It is breaking your heart to see your child so distressed, but you are going through with this.

“Babs, come here. Don’t make Mommy count to three…”

“I don’t wa-wanna have my bottom spanked! I’m sawwy, Mamaaa! I promise!”

You are deaf to her pleas. That filly is getting her bum warmed, whether she’s going to cooperate or not. You pat your lap, gazing expectantly at your youngest. Babs Seed shakes her head, a wet streak running down either of her pudgy puppy-fat cheeks. Her father makes no effort to budge her; this has to be her decision, to either heed or wait out the dreaded count.

“One,” you say in a crisp voice, folding your hooves over your chest.

Babs continues shaking her head vigorously, her ears flapping against her bright mane, a preemptive hoof protectively shielding her backside. Five seconds pass.

“Two,” you continue, narrowing your eyes. “Babs, Mommy doesn't want to reach three. You don't want me to, either…”

Several long seconds pass. Streamline gives you a pained look as your filly continues clinging to him for dear life.

“Babs…” you prompt her. Come here, sweetheart. Your little bummy’s earned this, young lady. Mommy’s not going to ask you again!”

“Mama, nooo!”

You close your eyes, placing a hoof to your forehead. “Mommy's going to get to three.”

“P-please! I'm s-s-sawwy! I won't go out alones no more, I'll listen to Sissy!”

“Three.” You feel weird. You've never ever got to 'three' when counting. However, you’ve already worked out a strategy.

You look at your husband, who nods solemnly. Without a word, he gets off the chair, swiftly catching Babs by the fur around the withers. Holding her in his mouth, he approaches the chair you're sitting on. You stretch out your hooves and wrap them around her waist, supporting her as Streamline lets go. Ignoring the continued tears streaming down her face, you place her, kicking and bawling, across your lap; head to the left, butt to the right. She's small enough that her limbs barely curve to the floor, her pudgy midriff keeping her backside elevated. Pulling back her tail, you pin it under your left arm, keeping your child secure. As Streamline sits back down, you watch him fold his front hooves in his lap and lower his eyes from your face to his daughter.

You can feel Babs trembling in fear, seeing her rump clench and unclench, the cheeks jiggling in her shaking. Without hesitating any longer, you bring down your hoof with a sharp slap to start. Babs lets out a shriek and kicks out both of her back hooves as you feel her right buttcheek flatten from the impact. You immediately bring the hoof back up and connect again, on the left.

She’s not going down without a fight. Already writhing and struggling with all of her might, you have to double the strength behind your restraining arm. However, Babs’ strength is not equal to it, and you hold her easily. Keeping your eyes fixed on your target, you continue to rain your hoof down upon her rump.

You must keep in mind that Babs is only a five year old filly. Scorecard's recent spankings have kept you in practice for tanning a young foal's hide, thankfully. You would not have to spank hard; a rapid hoofspanking would leave a lasting burn, and you always made sure the first spanking's sting would linger in their minds. Another 'tradition' of a first spanking is that your husband is present, maintaining a silent vigil as you paint the rump before you red. It was the case with Creme Egg, the same with Scorecard, and now continued with Babs Seed. And, of course, even if the foal is wearing pajamas, the first spanking was always on the bare bottom. You can’t have the child forgetting it any time soon.

The first thirty seconds of the spanking pass by unremarkably. You’ve fallen into a good rhythm with your swats, spending a few spanks in one spot before moving to another. You keep it all concentrated around the middle of her cheeks. The shock and pain of this first spanking has Babs howling in misery, kicking her hooves and clutching at your tail. You can’t stop yourself feeling sorry for the whole thing; she’s already practically screaming, but this spanking is far from over.

“Babs,” you start, raising your voice an octave so that your little filly would hear it over her cries, “do you know what could have happened if you weren’t found? You could have been foalnapped by somepony bad! You could have been ran down by a carriage in the darkness! You are never going to go anywhere alone ever again, do you understand me?!”

You do not cease your spanking as you scold her, bringing that hoof down again and again, turning her dark orange rump a peach colour, changing to pink.

“Waaaah! Maaamaaa! It huuur-uuuurts!” Babs sobs, hiccupping as she shrieks.

“Babs?” The next few spanks are much harder than the previous. As each lands, Babs’ whole body looks to contract and her writhing gets so intense that she is practically leaping off your lap. “I said ‘Do you understand me?’!”

“YEEE-EEES!”

You nod, even though she can’t see it and you don’t think Streamline is looking directly at you. You slow down the spanking, giving her a light swat at a sharp angle every few seconds. She gives a great gasp as her breath catches in her lungs, and it seems that you slowed this experience down for her just in time.

“And are you always going to listen to whoever Mommy and Daddy put in charge of you?” you ask her, feeling cold snot as your tail slips from Babs’ grasp and scraps your leg as it falls.

“Yeees, Maaamaa! P-please, I’m sa-sa-sawwy!” Babs bawls, trying to shield her bottom with her front hooves, but they can’t reach with your arm positioned the way it is, wrapped snugly around her back.

“Alright, Babs Seed…” You release your hold over her.

She stops trying to shield her backside and simply lays there, squirming and blubbering. You give her a reprieve of thirty seconds or so, taking the time to study the colour of her fanny. The middle-to-bottom of each pudgy cheek is the darkest pink, with lighter shades all around them. You know that bum has to be on fire. Finally, you put your arm under her chest and push her up, the other one supporting her around the upper thighs. Moving Babs into a standing position on your lap, you have her facing you, her red face stained with nose runoff and tear streaks, those green eyes puffy and reddened, mouth wide as she continued to sob. You’re holding her steady with your left arm.

“Now,” you finish, placing your right hoof against the fattest part of her left cheek, the top of her thigh. “Babs, next time Mommy tells you to come—” With a sound WHACK, you slap the hoof hard against the sitspot and Babs lets out a yelp of pain. Moving to the right, you smack her hard again. Back to the left, smack, the right, smack. Babs dances on the spot, wailing. “—you are going to come to her. Do I make myself clear? You don’t want Mommy to count to three again!”

“I’LL C-C-COOOMEEE!” she screeches, tears splashing into your lap as she gasps from the renewed swatting. “Maaamaaa-haaa-haaa!”

Finally, you’re finished. No longer warming her upper thighs, you let your daughter cry freely, tracing your hoof up and down her back while she leans limply against your left. Eventually, you draw her into your chest and wrap your arms tightly around her. She simply bawls and bawls, soaking your fur.

“Alright, alright, sweetheart…” you coo softly. “It’s all over, there’s nothing you have to worry about anymore.” You run a hoof through her mane. “Mommy’s not mad or upset with you any longer, I promise.”

“Mama, I’m sawwy, I’m sawwy…”

“That’s enough, Babs… you have nothing to be sorry for anymore.”

You continue to hold her for a little while longer, thankful that she is still able to accept your comforting embrace. Rocking her in your arms, you rub her blazing backside gently. Hearing Streamline’s chair pushed into the table, you glance back over to him, having momentarily forgotten he was even present. He gives you a warm, encouraging smile and your chest swells.

“You did good,” he says in a whisper as he nuzzles the side of your head.

“Of course I did!” you murmur in response, smiling back. “Think I don’t know my own babies?” You are, of course, talking about a mother’s instinct, and knowing how much your child can take before it becomes too much to bear.

He playfully rolls his eyes, clears his voice, and taps his daughter on the shoulder. “Babs Seed, honey, it’s your bedtime. Daddy will put you to bed, okay?” She nods softly. “Candy, I’ll join you and Creme in a few minutes.”

Kissing your little filly on the forehead, you permit Streamline to pick her up again and toss her onto his back. “Goodnight, Babs. I love you,” you tell her, getting to your hooves and putting the chair back. “Mommy really means it.”

“Love you, Mama…” Babs mumbles sleepily, burying her exhausted head into her father’s mane.

You follow your husband and youngest into the hallway. As he turns into Babs’ bedroom, you turn the opposite way and push open your own bedroom door. This time, you have a different role to play; it is time you have a talk with Creme Egg.

End of Part 1
