Finn’s Dream of Independence

Finn’s Dream of Independence 4

By YourWetDream

[19,552 words]´

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This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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CHAPTER 4

Finn couldn't move. The tears were running down his face, hot and silent. He didn't wipe them. He didn't care anymore.

What do I do now? How do I get out of this situation? What excuse can I use? Quickly, Finn, think, quickly!

He placed his elbows on his thighs, leaned his head into his hands, hiding his face behind his fingers. The world had shrunk to the space between his palms and the muffled sound of his own breathing. He could hardly believe the situation he had found himself in.

Who am I lying to? There's no way out. I am getting a spanking. A spanking that I personally asked for. Twice. I hate spankings. I hate them. And it's from HER. She knows I'm fourteen and a half. She knows I'm practically a young adult. Oh my god. No. I can't. This can't be happening.

"Finn." Sophie's voice cut through the fog, calm and expectant.

No. I can't. I just can't look at her. I can't talk to her. If I don't move, maybe time will stop.

"FINN." Louder now. A warning.

Oh my god. I have to react. But I can't. I'm frozen. Fuck, I won't move. She has no power over me. I'll just sit here. What's she going to do, spank me twice?

"FINN." Her voice dropped into something colder, more precise. "It's the last time I'm calling you. If you don't come over in the next second, your spanking will be doubled."

Fucking bitch.

But his body moved before his mind could stop it. The threat of doubling—of more pain, more humiliation—was a force stronger than pride. He stood up and approached her, his eyes fixed on the floor, on her feet, on anything but her face.

"Finn." Her voice was softer now, almost gentle. "You know you earned this. You even asked for it yourself. Please, don't make it longer than it needs to be. Just be a man about it. Get ready."

Be a man. About a spanking. Does she hear herself?!

He stood there, trembling slightly, the words stuck in his throat. He had to ask. The humiliation of asking was somehow worse than the act itself.

"Ekhm… yeah… do you… how… I mean… you want… ekhm… over… your lap… or…" The words were a jumble, a stutter of shame.

"Yes. Please get ready and over my lap."

"Okay… let's get it over with," Finn said quietly, taking a deep breath. I think I might have an idea how to make it less embarrassing. He stepped forward, moving to position himself.

"Hey, hey, hey, wait!" Sophie's hands shot out, pushing him back. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Am… you said you wanted it over your lap…" He was confused, thrown.

"Yes, but you are not ready!"

"What do you mean?! I am ready! I'll take it!" A flicker of defiance, quickly extinguished.

"Maybe you're mentally ready," she said, her voice dripping with condescending patience, "but definitely not physically. Since when do we spank over clothes?!"

"Ough, Sophie! What kind of question is that!"

"A normal question. Pants off. Now."

The words landed like a physical blow. Pants off. He had known, somewhere deep down, that this was coming. But hearing it was different.

"No, no, Sophie, seriously!" The protest was automatic, desperate. "Since I was twelve, we always do it over trousers!"

"Oh, that's new to me." Her eyebrow arched, skeptical.

"Really, Sophie! Even my mom says that! I'm way too old for that! I might need a spanking sometimes, I admit, but not on a bare bottom! Not anymore!" He was pleading now, grasping at any straw.

"Oh, really? You're not lying?"

"Definitely not! I… I am fourteen and a half now, you know? You really wouldn't do that!"

"Oh… okay… yeah, I see…" She seemed to consider it, her expression thoughtful.

I can't believe it. My plan worked.

"Yeah… so… let's get it over with quickly!" He stepped forward again, hope flickering.

"Wait!" The hand came up again, blocking him. "I really have a strong belief that spanking must be felt—physically as well as emotionally. Otherwise, it makes no sense. I'll ask your mom quickly if she really has something against it."

The hope detonated into pure panic. "What?! No, Sophie, no need for that! Come on, let's just do it! I reeeeaaally need a spanking, you know!" He stepped forward again, a desperate, pathetic lunge.

She stopped him. Again. Her face was unreadable.

"I really don't do spankings over trousers, even for a hundred euros. I don't do things I don't believe in. I'll ask her quickly. It's always better to ask in sensitive cases."

She reached for her phone on the table.

"No, no need for that, really!" Finn's voice was climbing into a desperate register.

"Yeah, I'd rather be sure we're on the same side." Her fingers closed around the phone.

Oh no, no, no, no! That can't happen! Mom will kill me! She'll know I tried to lie! She'll make it worse!

"Okay, Sophie, you're right!" The words tumbled out, a surrender.

Sophie looked at him, her eyebrows raised. Waiting.

"There's no need to bother her again with that nonsense, you know! We'll just do it the way you prefer it." The words tasted like poison, but they were better than the alternative.

A slow, knowing smile spread across Sophie's face. "You know what, Finn? Somehow I knew I wouldn't even have to call her. I always detect your lies. To think you could trick me out like that." She shook her head, amused. "I told you, I'm an experienced babysitter, didn't I?"

Finn didn't say anything. He just stood there, his face burning, his eyes on the floor.

"I asked you a question."

"Yes… you are an experienced babysitter… and you are right… I was lying…" The admission was a whisper.

"But one thing you said wasn't a lie." Her voice dropped, intimate and terrifying. "That you reeeeaaally need a spanking. About that, you were right."

He gulped. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet room.

"Now. Get ready."

Pants off. She means pants off. This is really happening.

He knew what that meant. There was no escape now. Slowly, his hands moved to his zip. The metal tab felt cold against his numb fingers. He pulled it down. The rasp of the zipper was a death knell. He pushed the jeans down over his hips, let them fall to his ankles.

"Step out of them."

He did as he was told, lifting first one foot, then the other, the denim pooling then releasing him. Sophie bent down, picked up the jeans, folded them with infuriating neatness, and placed them on the arm of the couch.

Now there was only one thing left that had to go. The grey briefs. The new ones. The children's size 12-14 that she had chosen for him. They felt suddenly flimsy, inadequate protection against what was coming.

"Don't hesitate," Sophie said. Her voice was calm, patient, utterly without mercy.

Finn closed his eyes. He placed his hands over the soft elastic waistband of his underwear. The fabric was warm from his body. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, a trapped bird desperate to escape. His fingers curled into the band. He took a breath. He pulled.

And then—

DING-DONG.

The doorbell rang. A bright, cheerful sound that sliced through the tension like a blade.

Finn's eyes flew open. His hands dropped from his waistband as if burned.

"Ough, who is it at this time?" Sophie rolled her eyes, a flicker of irritation crossing her face. She looked at him—half-undressed, frozen in place—and then at the door. "You wait here, as you are. Don't even try to move. I'll get it quickly."

She left the room, pulling the door closed behind her. The click of the latch was a tiny, temporary reprieve.

Finn stood alone in the living room, his jeans pooled on the couch nearby, his grey briefs the only thing between his shame and the cold air. He couldn't move. He couldn't think. He just stood there, listening.

Who the hell could that be?!

He heard the front door open. Murmured voices. He couldn't make out the words.

Let it be quick. Oh god, I just want to get this over with. The waiting is worse. Just do it and let me start over tomorrow. I'll be good. I'll be so good. I'll wear the stupid briefs. I'll go to bed at seven. I'll—

The voices continued. Laughter. Sophie's laugh, light and easy. Then a deeper voice. Male.

Who is that?

He strained to hear, his heart pounding. The voice was familiar. That laugh. That tone.

No. It couldn't be.

More murmuring. Then footsteps. Coming closer. Toward the living room door.

Finn looked down at himself. Grey briefs. Bare legs. The jeans a crumpled heap nearby. The physical evidence of his impending punishment, frozen in time.

The doorknob turned.

And Finn realized, with a fresh wave of horror, that whoever was on the other side of that door was about to see him exactly like this.

"Hello, Finn." A familiar voice. A voice from school. From the locker room. From the lies.

Finn's eyes couldn't believe what they were seeing. Luca stepped through the doorway, his face split by that stupid, knowing smirk.

"Oh, hi there!" Noah pushed in right behind him, his eyes already scanning the room, already landing on Finn.

FUUUUUCK. NOOOOO.

The world detonated into silent, screaming panic. His eyes went wide—comically, horribly wide. His hands flew down, slamming against the front of his grey briefs, pressing the thin cotton against his body in a desperate, futile attempt at coverage. His bare legs felt like they were glowing under the lights.

Sophie strolled in behind them, the picture of casual hospitality. She didn't look at Finn. She didn't need to. She knew exactly what she'd done.

"Ekhm… Hi… Ekhm…" Finn's voice was a croak, a strangled sound from a throat that had forgotten how to work. "What are you… doing here? Heheh." The laugh was hysterical, unhinged.

"You remember," Sophie said, her tone light, almost playful, "when I picked you up from school today, I invited the boys over for cake. You told me they never come over, and obviously now I don't have a cake!"

Because they never visit!! The last time they came here was two or three years ago!! Why would they come today?! Of all the days, why TODAY?! Fuck, fuck, fuck, this can't be real. This is a nightmare. I'm going to wake up.

"Oh… yeah… hmmm…" He was babbling, his brain short-circuiting. "Maybe… they should just come over tomorrow?"

"What?! Nonsense!" Sophie waved a dismissive hand. "Since they were kind enough to come here, at least they'll get some ice cream. After we're done here with you, obviously."

After we're done. After the spanking. After they watch me get—no. No, she wouldn't. She can't.

"And what are you doing here, actually?" Noah asked, his eyes roaming over Finn's bare legs, the jeans on the couch, the desperate hands.

"Yeah, why are you running around without pants?" Luca added, and there it was—that familiar, mocking edge. The same edge Finn had used on him in the locker room. Now it was aimed back.

Both of them had smirks plastered on their faces. They knew something was wrong. They were enjoying it.

Think, Finn. Think. Say something normal. Act cool.

"Ekhm… you know… it's pretty hot here, so… yeah." The excuse was pathetic, transparent.

Luca's eyes narrowed, then widened with a new, delighted discovery. "You look like you've been crying."

Shit. The tears. They can still see the tears.

"Do you miss your mommy, or what's going on?" Luca's voice dripped with mock concern, the kind of cruelty that only a former friend can deliver.

"What?! No! You're ridiculous! Obviously I don't miss her!" The indignation was automatic, but it sounded hollow, desperate.

"Finn here is about to get a spa—" Sophie began.

"STOP! SOPHIE!!! ARE YOU CRAZY?!" The scream tore from him, raw and primal.

"What?!" She looked genuinely puzzled, as if she hadn't just been about to detonate a nuclear bomb in the middle of his social life.

"DON'T TELL THEM THAT!"

She tilted her head, a small, cruel smile playing at her lips. "You want to tell them yourself?"

"WHAT?! NO! No one is telling anything! They should leave my house. Now!"

The words came out with a force that surprised even him. For a moment, he felt a flicker of control. My house. My rules.

"That's really mean, Finn!" Sophie's voice sharpened, but her eyes were glittering with something dangerous. "You don't throw people out like that. Not your best friends! They're not going anywhere until they've had their ice cream."

"Well, it is my house, not yours, so yes. They leave. Now." He put his hands on his hips, the gesture of authority feeling absurd when he was standing in nothing but hoodie, socks and children's briefs. But he had gained a sliver of confidence. He was the owner here. She was just the employee.

The temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees.

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?!"

The words hit him like a physical blow. Sophie's face transformed—not into anger, but into something colder, more terrifying. The face of absolute authority being openly defied in front of witnesses.

Finn was dumbfounded. The confidence evaporated, replaced by a chilling realization of what he'd just done.

"I kindly remind you," Sophie said, her voice dropping into that terrifying, quiet register, "that I am your babysitter, and I am in charge here. We just asked your mother to remind you of that too. You have just openly disrespected me again. That will have the worst consequences for you."

The words hung in the air, heavy as stones.

"What? No, no, Sophie, excuse me, I am so sorry, I didn't mean that!" The panic was back, full force, crashing over him in waves. He was drowning again.

"Yes, you meant it. We'll make that spanking extra long now. Don't waste my time. Get ready and over my lap."

"Sophie!!"

"YOU… ARE… GETTING… A SPANKING?!" Noah's voice was a disbelieving shout, his mouth hanging open like he'd just witnessed an alien landing. Luca's face was a mirror of the same shock, the same dawning, delicious delight.

No. No, no, no. This isn't happening.

"Noooo!!!" The scream was high-pitched, childish, torn from somewhere deep. His hands flew back to the front of his briefs, as if remembering at the last second that there was something to hide.

"Of course he is!" Sophie's voice was utterly matter-of-fact. "Stop that nonsense, Finn. You just asked me to do it quickly because you need a spanking so badly. Off with these undies and over my lap. NOW!"

The boys looked at each other. And then they laughed. A sharp, cruel, disbelieving laugh that cut through Finn like glass.

His head whipped left and right, from the smirking faces of his former friends to the implacable authority of his babysitter. He was totally, utterly panicked now. His heart hammered against his ribs. His breath came in short, sharp gasps.

She can't be that cruel. She can't undress me in front of them. They can't see. That can't happen. That would be the end. Heck, it IS the end. They found out about the babysitter. They found out about the spanking. My life at school is over.

"What are you waiting for?!" Sophie's voice was impatient now.

"Sophie, please!! Not in front of them!" He was begging, his voice cracking.

"What?! What nonsense. Take the underwear off and get over my lap. Now!"

"No!! Please!!! Make them leave!"

"Finn, they're just your friends. They're boys too."

"BUT I DON'T WANT THEM TO SEE!!!" He was openly crying again, the tears streaming down his face, his whole body shaking. This was the lowest point. Lower than the roadside. Lower than the piss. Lower than anything.

"Then you should have thought of that before you behaved like a little brat all day!"

"Please!! Sophie!! I'll do anything!! I'll be brave, I swear! Have mercy!!"

Sophie rolled her eyes. A long, theatrical roll that said I am so tired of this child.

"Boys," she said, turning to Luca and Noah, her voice shifting into a pleasant, hostess tone, "would you please go to the kitchen and start making us some coffee? There's a machine on the counter, it's easy."

Thank god. Thank god for small mercies.

The boys exchanged a look—disappointed, but intrigued. They shuffled toward the kitchen door, but not before Luca shot Finn one final glance. It was a look Finn knew well. It was the look of someone who had just been handed the most valuable piece of blackmail material imaginable.

They left the room. They left the door wide open.

And the kitchen was directly opposite the living room. If they stood at the counter, if they looked through that open doorway, they would see everything. The coffee machine faced the living room.

Finn stared at the open door, then back at Sophie. His hands were still clamped over his briefs. His face was a wet, red ruin.

Sophie settled back onto the couch, patted her lap, and waited.

"Well?" she said. "We don't have all night. And your friends are waiting for their coffee."

The open door loomed. The kitchen light was on. Any moment, one of them would glance over.

Finn stood there, frozen between the ultimate humiliation and the impossible alternative.

He was still covering his front with both hands. Even though it was pointless. Soon he would have to reveal everything. Move his hands to the sides, take the briefs off, and lay across her lap. She had seen it all before—the bathroom, the morning wake-ups, the roadside. Every inch of him was already catalogued in her memory.

Damn. It feels so different now. I even kicked my pajama pants off on purpose that night, just to let her see my dick. Heck, I even masturbated in the shower imagining her spanking me. The irony. Now the moment is here, and I don't feel aroused at all. I just feel sick. I wish I could disappear. I can't move myself to do what's necessary. Even though I asked for it. Damn, how pathetic is that? I asked her to spank me. On the phone. With Mom listening. I had a moment of weakness, and she used it. I don't need a spanking. I don't want a spanking. I didn't mean it!!!

"Finn!" Sophie's voice sliced through his spiraling thoughts, bringing him back to the living room, back to the grey briefs, back to the open door where his friends were making coffee.

"S-S-s-sophie… P-p-p-please…" He was crying so badly he could barely form words. The tears were streaming, his nose was running, his whole face was a wet, red mess.

"No. We are not discussing this. We have talked enough."

"B-b-b-but…"

"No buts. Chop chop!"

"Ca-ca-ca-can we… do it… o-o-over my-y-y… undies… p-p-please?" The plea was pathetic, high-pitched, the sound of a child bargaining for mercy.

"No. That was my last word on the subject. Finn, I've already seen everything. You are just a boy, you know that. You know you need this spanking. What are you so ashamed of all of a sudden? Off. With. Them. NOW."

Slowly, with trembling fingers, Finn hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his new grey briefs. The soft elastic stretched slightly against his skin. But he couldn't push himself to make the next move, to slide them down and reveal himself completely.

"Finn…"

Ohhh, can't she just do it herself?! Why does she have to make me do it?!

"P-p-p-please…" He cried out loud, and in a bizarre, desperate reflex, he pulled the briefs up instead of down, hitching them higher on his hips as if that could save him.

"I know you'd like me to do it." Sophie's voice was calm, utterly in control. "But you are a big boy, and you will do it yourself. I'm counting to five. If you don't remove them by then, you will regret it." She crossed her arms, settling into the armchair. "One…"

"Ouuughh…" Finn groaned, a sound of pure despair.

"Two…"

"Noooo…" He grabbed the sides of the briefs in his fists and pushed them even higher, as if trying to climb inside them, to disappear into the fabric.

"Three…"

He knew there was no way out. He could only make things worse. And that was terrifying.

Damn it.

"Fou—" Before Sophie could finish spelling out four, Finn closed his eyes and pushed the underwear down with all his strength. The grey fabric slid over his hips, his thighs, his knees, and fell freely to his ankles.

"Four," Sophie completed calmly. "Finally."

He was standing naked in front of her, except for the hoodie and the white Nike socks he still had on. His bald, small, completely unaroused penis hung there, exposed to her clinical gaze—a tiny, insignificant thing, shriveled and hiding, as ashamed of itself as he was of the rest of his body. In the photos on his wall, it had looked the same. The view she had seen before, but somehow this felt infinitely worse. Before, in his fantasies, he had wanted to impress her, to be a young adult, to get along with her, to flirt with her. Now he was just waiting to be spanked. By her. And she was definitely not impressed.

"Take them completely off and give them to me."

He stepped out of the briefs, bending down—feeling the cool air on his bare backside, feeling how utterly exposed he was from every angle—and collected the crumpled fabric. He held them out to her like an offering, a complete capitulation.

She took them, folded them tidily, as if they had all the time in the world, and placed them on the couch next to his jeans. The domestic normalcy of the gesture made it so much worse.

Then she simply patted her lap. He knew what he had to do.

He surrendered. And got into position.

It felt strange to be in this position with her. It was mostly his mother who spanked him, on those rare, catastrophic occasions. Sophie was just a girl, not much older or taller than he was. Her lap felt different—narrower, less maternal. More humiliating somehow. He was acutely aware of how he must look from behind: a lanky, naked boy draped over a girl's knees, his pale bottom presented to the room, his tiny penis hanging down uselessly on the other side, hidden from view but present in his mind, a constant reminder of his childishness.

He felt her hand on his bare cheeks. A week ago, he would have given anything for her to touch him like this. But not in this scenario. Not like this. She just patted his bottom lightly, taking her time, almost contemplatively.

Just get it over with. Please. Just get it over with.

"I'll give you a minute," Sophie said, her voice soft but clear. "A minute to think about what you have done wrong in the last few days. Since the day I started working here. I want you to arrive at the conclusion of what led you here. To end up in this situation. Over my knee." Her hand continued its slow, gentle patting as she spoke. "Every single time you acted like a bad, uncultured little boy. Let it go through your mind. Because you will feel the consequences in the next minute. And it's better for you to understand very well why you are feeling them. That way you can remember and learn and not repeat all of those situations. So focus…"

Can't you just get it over with, bitch?!

"Do you remember…"

"Yes, Sophie…"

"Do you understand why you are getting a spanking?"

"Yes, Sophie…"

"Are you sure?"

"Ekhm… yes…" His voice was still thick with tears.

"Okay. Then say it out loud. Say: Sophie, I know I behaved badly. Please, spank me so that I can learn the consequences and be better in the future."

"Ekkhmm… Sophie…" God, this is pathetic. "Please… spank me… I have been a very bad little boy, you are right… I need that spanking, yes…"

He was too jittery to get the words exactly right, too broken to deliver the perfect script she wanted. But he got the meaning across in his own stumbling, sobbing way. Sophie seemed satisfied. She didn't wait another second.

SLAP!

The first strike landed, sharp and shocking. Before he could process it—

SLAP! Another. SLAP! And another. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! One after another, without break, without mercy, a relentless volley of stinging impacts.

Finn bit his lip, trying desperately not to scream, trying to withstand it like a man, like a young adult, like someone with dignity. But Sophie's hand was worse than his own mother's. Harder. Less forgiving. More professional. Each slap sent a shockwave through his entire body, and with each one, he became more aware of his own nakedness, his own smallness, his own complete and total powerlessness.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! OUUUUH! SLAP! AAAUUUUU!!! SLAP! SLAP! SOOOOOPPPPHHHHHIIIIIEEEEE!! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! NOOOOOOOO!!!!! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! I'M SORRY!!!! SLAP! SLAP!

He was kicking and squirming, trying desperately to escape, but Sophie's grip was iron. Her other arm locked across his back, pinning him in place. The slaps kept coming, each one landing with a sharp, meaty crack that echoed off the walls. His bottom was on fire, a spreading inferno of pain that consumed all thought, all pride, all resistance.

"Excuse me, Sophie?"

The voice cut through the chaos. The slaps stopped.

Finn hung there, gasping, his body trembling, his bottom throbbing. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't process what he was hearing.

"Yes, Luca?" Sophie's voice was perfectly calm, perfectly normal, as if she hadn't just been spanking a naked teenager.

"I just wanted to ask, would you like to have a coffee with milk or without?"

What. The. Fuck.

"Oh, that's so lovely of you," Sophie said, and Finn could hear her smiling. "I'll have a cappuccino, please!"

"Right, right, no problem."

SLAP! SLAP! AAAUUUUU!! The hand came down again, immediately, without transition. Sophie had returned to her task as if the interruption had been a commercial break. The pain resumed its relentless march across his already burning skin.

"One more thing!" Luca's voice again, floating in from the doorway. "Do you guys have vegan milk, maybe?"

"Yes, sure!" Sophie called out, her hand never stopping. SLAP! SLAP! OUI! "I think we don't even have anything else but vegan in the fridge! Just help yourself!"

Finn couldn't believe it. He couldn't process the surreal horror of the moment. They were having a conversation. About coffee. While she was spanking him. From the kitchen, he could hear the espresso machine hissing, the clink of cups—ordinary sounds that made his situation feel like a nightmare happening in parallel with reality. Every slap was echoing into that kitchen. Luca and Noah could hear every single one.

He twisted his head up, craning his neck to see if he was hallucinating, if this was some kind of fever dream.

He wasn't.

Luca was standing in the doorway of the living room. The doorway that Sophie had left wide open. He was leaning against the frame, a casual posture, a mug in one hand. And he was looking directly at Finn. At Finn's naked, reddening bottom, draped over Sophie's lap. At the scene of his utter degradation.

Behind Luca, barely visible, was the edge of Noah's shoulder—leaning in, trying to see better, not wanting to miss a single moment of this.

Their eyes met. Luca's smirk was slow, delicious, victorious. It was the smirk of someone who had just been handed the ultimate revenge. Every insult Finn had ever thrown at him—baby carrot, little shrimp, three centimeters—was now being paid back in full, with interest.

"Thank you, Sophie!" Luca called out, his eyes never leaving Finn's.

"NOOOOOOOO!!!!!" The scream tore from Finn's throat, raw and primal, directed at that smirking face in the doorway. This is it. This is the end. He's seen everything. The briefs. The spanking. The crying. Please, oh god please, not my tiny little dick.

"Get back into position," Sophie commanded, her hand shoving his head down. "I'm not done here."

SLAP! SLAP! OUUUUH! SLAP! AAAUUUUU!!! SLAP! SLAP! I'LL BE GOOD, I'LL BE GOOD!!! SLAP! SLAP! PLEASE, SOPHIE, I SWEAR!! STOP IT!!! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!

"I'm so sorry, Sophie, but one more question!" Luca's voice, impossibly, drifted in again over the sounds of Finn's screaming.

"No worries, Luca!" Sophie called out cheerfully, pausing her hand for just a moment. "What do you need?" Then SLAP! SLAP! OUI! She resumed as she spoke, multitasking.

"I wanted to ask about that little rascal on your knees." Luca's voice was casual, amused. "Should we make him coffee too?"

Little rascal. On your knees. He's describing me. This is my life now.

"For Finn?" Sophie's voice was thoughtful, as if considering a genuine hospitality question. SLAP! SLAP! "Oh, good that you asked me. No, no coffee for him." SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! "His bedtime is 7 PM today, so he'd better not drink any coffee. But you can make him hot chocolate." SLAP! SLAP! OUI! OUI! OUI!!!!!

"Alright, ma'am!" Luca's voice was bright, almost military in its mock respect.

The door didn't close. The smirk didn't leave. And the spanking continued, an endless, burning eternity of pain and shame, while in the kitchen, his friends made coffee and hot chocolate, listening to every sob, every slap, every broken scream.

Finn buried his face in the couch cushion and let the tears come. There was nothing left to save. No dignity to preserve. No lie to maintain. He was exactly what they all saw: a naked, crying little boy, getting his bare bottom spanked by his babysitter, while his friends watched from the doorway and his mother's hundred-euro bonus accumulated with every slap.

The spanking continued. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Each impact sent a fresh wave of fire across his already blazing bottom. Finn had stopped trying to be brave. He was just crying now, loud, ugly sobs that he couldn't control, his face pressed into the couch cushion, his legs kicking uselessly behind him.

And then, through the haze of pain and tears, he heard footsteps. Multiple footsteps. Entering the living room.

"Noah, just put the tray on the table," Luca's voice said, casual as anything. "Sophie, we made cappuccino for you and hot chocolate for the little one."

Finn's brain couldn't process it. They were here. In the room. Watching.

But Sophie didn't stop. SLAP! SLAP! She delivered two more sharp smacks, hard enough to make him yelp, and then finally—finally—her hand stilled.

"Okay," she said, her voice calm and satisfied. "I think that's enough for now."

She released the pressure on his back. For a moment, Finn just lay there, draped over her lap, his body heaving with sobs, his bottom throbbing with a pain so intense it seemed to have its own heartbeat.

"Come on, Finn. Up you get." Sophie's hands gripped his waist and helped him upright.

He stood on shaking legs, and the moment he was vertical, the pain intensified. His bottom burned, a living fire that made him want to scream again. Without thinking, without any conscious decision, his hands flew behind him, pressing against his blazing cheeks as if he could cool them.

And then he started hopping.

"Auuhh… auuhh… auuhh…" The sounds escaped him with every small jump, a pathetic, rhythmic chant of pain. He couldn't stop. His body moved on its own, bouncing from one foot to the other, trying to find any position that would ease the agony.

With every jump, everything in front bounced too. His small, shriveled penis—still tiny, still childlike, still utterly unimpressive—flopped up and down in front of her face. Up. Down. Up. Down. A ridiculous, humiliating pendulum.

"Auuuhh… auuuhh… auuuhh…"

Sophie watched him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a small sigh, she reached out and took hold of both his wrists, pulling his hands away from his bottom and holding them firmly at his sides.

"Calm down," she said quietly. "The hopping isn't helping. Just breathe."

He tried. He really tried. But his bottom was on fire and now his hands were trapped and he was standing completely naked in front of her, while her eyes were at the lever of his genitals. Two, three days ago he would have fought her, tried to cover, died of embarrassment. Now? What was the point? He would rather give up, let her do what needed to be done.

"Finn." Her voice was firm but not unkind. "Look at me. Do you understand why you were punished?"

He nodded, tears still streaming down his face, snot running from his nose. He must look like a complete disaster—a crying, naked, red-bottomed mess.

"I need you to say it, Finn. Use your words."

He knew exactly why. He had even decided himself that he needed a spanking, to be brought back on track. He swallowed hard, tried to compose himself, tried to form sentences through the sobs. "I… I was b-behaving like an… annoying little kid…" The words came out broken, hiccupping. "I didn't… listen to you… I disrespected you…" Another sob. "And I… I'll be better now… I promise…"

"Good," Sophie said, her voice softening just slightly. "And?"

He knew what she wanted. It was the worst part. The part that made everything else even more humiliating.

"Th-thank you, Sophie… for… for spanking me…" The words were barely audible, but they hung in the air like smoke.

From somewhere to his right, he heard it. A quiet snort. A suppressed laugh.

Luca.

The sound cut through the fog of pain and tears like a blade. Reality crashed back into him with brutal force. His head turned, almost mechanically, toward the sound.

And there they were.

Noah and Luca were sitting at the table. His table. They had mugs in their hands. They were comfortable. They were relaxed. They were watching.

And they were smirking.

Both of them. Luca's face was split by that same victorious grin from the doorway, but now it was fuller, richer, savoring the full scope of the scene. Noah's smirk was newer, fresher, his eyes wide with the delight of someone who couldn't believe his luck. Their gazes moved over him with slow, deliberate appreciation—from his tear-streaked face, lingering on the tiny, shriveled penis that hung there in full view, then down to his red, burning bottom. While stripping down and lying over Sophie's knee, he had hoped that his friends wouldn't sneak a peek at his undeveloped genitals. Well, now he could be sure—if they hadn't seen it back then, they were definitely seeing it now.

They've seen and heard everything. Every inch. Every detail. My little dick. My red ass. My crying face. And even watched my pathetic apology and even more pathetic gratitude. They are never going to let me live this down.

Sophie was still holding his hands. He couldn't cover himself. He was completely, utterly exposed to their hungry, mocking eyes.

"Sophie!" The word came out as a panicked squeak. "The boys are here!"

Sophie glanced over at the table. "Yeah," she said calmly. "They were supposed to make us drinks. That's what they did." She turned back to him, releasing his hands at last. "Now, approach them and we'll have a seat."

His hands flew down immediately, one covering his front, the other awkwardly shielding his bottom. But it was pointless. Completely pointless. They had already seen. They had seen everything. His little secret—the secret he had lied about, the secret he had hidden behind expensive CK boxers and Instagram cool—was now public property.

He looked at the pile of clothes on the couch. His jeans. His grey briefs. Salvation, just a few steps away.

He started toward them.

"No, Finn." Sophie's voice stopped him cold. "That's not going to happen."

He turned back to her, his eyes wide with fresh horror. "What?"

"You stay pantless until tomorrow." She said it like she was announcing the weather. "You are no exception to the other boys I babysit. That's a rule."

His mouth opened and closed. No words came out. Then: "What?! Sophie, but, but… we have guests! They'll see!"

"What will they see?" Her voice was calm, curious, as if she genuinely didn't understand.

"You know… m-m-me!"

"They see you now, don't they?" She gestured at his current position—hands desperately covering, body half-turned in a futile attempt at modesty. "I don't see anything dramatic happening."

"But… but… Sophie please… I don't want them to see!" His voice was climbing, desperate.

"But what?" She pressed, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"You-you… know…" He couldn't say it. He couldn't say the words.

"Your red bottom?" She offered helpfully. "Or your peepee?"

He just nodded, a jerky, miserable motion, tears fresh in his eyes.

Sophie sighed, the sigh of someone explaining something very basic to a very slow child. "Where is this modesty coming from all of a sudden? You were just running around pantless with the other kids I babysit. What's the difference now?" She gestured at the table. "We're at home, and these are only your friends. Be happy I didn't spank you at the shopping mall before, in front of the whole crowd. And believe me, you were close."

"Sophie, please… let me put my briefs back on…" He was begging now, openly begging.

Her expression shifted. The patience evaporated, replaced by something harder. "Are you disrespecting me again? I think you didn't learn your lesson after all."

Before he could react, her hand shot out, grabbed his shoulder, and spun him around with one quick, efficient motion. His hands flew instinctively to his back, trying to shield his already tortured bottom. He was completely off-balance, facing away from her, facing toward the table.

Toward Noah and Luca.

He had no chance against that girl. None.

SLAP!

The first smack landed on his already sore bottom, and he jumped forward with a high-pitched "OUUUIII!" His tiny penis bounced with the movement, right there, right in front of their faces.

Noah and Luca didn't look away. Their eyes were exactly where you would expect them to be. Fixed. Wide. Drinking it in.

SLAP! Another smack. "OUUUUIIII!" Another jump. Another bounce.

For one frozen second, his eyes met Luca's. Luca didn't blink. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his mug in a small, mock toast—to you, you pathetic little shrimp—and took a sip.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Three in quick succession, and Finn was hopping in place now, his hands completely useless, his front swinging back and forth, his little penis a pathetic shrimp to his utter degradation. And Luca and Noah watched every second of it, their smirks growing wider with each smack, with each bounce, with each fresh exposure of the secret Finn had tried so desperately to hide.

"Okay! Okay!" he screamed, the words ripping from him. "I'm sorry! Sophie! I'm sorry! I don't want briefs! I’ll stay naked! Just stop!"

The smacking stopped. Sophie's hand rested lightly on his blazing bottom, a threat and a promise.

"Good," she said quietly. "Now. Go sit with your friends. Drink your hot chocolate. And think about everything we discussed."

She released him. He stood there, trembling, his body on fire, his hands stroking his backside, not covering the front, knowing it didn't matter anymore. Knowing they had seen it all.

"Come on, Finn." Noah spoke up, his voice carrying that casual, slightly bored tone that adults use when a child is being difficult. "Listen to your babysitter and sit down with us. What was the point of making the drinks if you're just going to stand there?"

"Yeah, Finn." Luca's voice was smoother, more cutting, edged with that victorious smirk that hadn't left his face since the doorway. "It's too late to be embarrassed now. Should have been acting better before. You weren't embarrassed to behave like a little rascal then, so you shouldn't be embarrassed about the consequences."

Little rascal. He's using Sophie's words. He's talking to me like I'm a misbehaving toddler.

"Yeah, just sit down and stop making a fuss about nothing!" Noah added, rolling his eyes with exaggerated exasperation. "God, no wonder you're so tired of him, Sophie!"

"Yeah, even I'm getting tired of his whining," Luca agreed, shaking his head as if Finn were a tedious chore they'd all been saddled with.

Finn felt totally out of place. Completely unmoored. Even his friends—his friends—were talking about him as if he were their little brother, not their peer. As if he were a problem to be managed, a child to be scolded. The same boys who, just days ago, had been texting him about how lucky he was, how they'd kill to have a hot babysitter, how he should make a move—they were now sitting at his table, drinking coffee, and lecturing him.

They've seen everything. They've seen me naked. They've seen me spanked. They've seen me cry. And now they're talking to me like I'm beneath them. Because I am. In their eyes, I am.

Totally embarrassed to be lectured even by them, he moved quickly toward the table, not wanting to cause any more trouble. Every step sent fresh jolts of pain through his battered bottom, but he bit his lip and endured it. His hands hovered uselessly—one wanted to cover his front, the other wanted to soothe his burning backside, but he couldn't do both. He settled for keeping his front turned slightly away from them as he reached for the chair.

"Finn." Sophie's voice cut through the room, and he froze, his hand on the chair back. He turned to look at her, a fresh wave of dread washing over him. "Wait, don't sit down. I almost forgot. Your mother asked for a picture, remember?"

The blood drained from his face. The picture. The hundred-euro proof. She wants to send my mother a photo of my red bottom.

"Oh… yeah…" His voice was a weak, pathetic thing. "Maybe we can do that… later?"

"Later?" Sophie's eyebrow arched. "No, she wants fresh proof. Now." She pulled out her cellphone and pointed it directly at him. "Now, turn."

Finn sighed—a long, defeated exhalation that seemed to carry the last of his resistance with it. He turned around.

And there they were. Noah and Luca. Sitting at the table, their faces inches away, their eyes fixed at the level of his genitals. Much closer than before. Much clearer. They could see everything now—every detail, every imperfection, every proof of his childishness. His tiny, shriveled penis hung there, exposed to their hungry, mocking gazes.

His hands flew down. It was stronger than him. An instinct older than reason. He covered himself, pressing his palms against his groin, hiding the evidence of his humiliation even though it was far too late.

Click! Click! The phone camera captured the moment—his red bottom, his desperate hands, his pathetic attempt at modesty.

"Alright," Sophie said, lowering the phone with a satisfied smile. "Now we can have a drink."

She approached the table and sat down with them, sliding gracefully into the chair next to Luca. Finn stood there for a moment, frozen, then slowly lowered himself onto his own chair. The moment his burning skin touched the wood, a sharp gasp escaped him, and he shifted uncomfortably, trying to find an angle that didn't send fresh agony through his backside.

"So, Sophie," Noah began, leaning forward with genuine curiosity, "are the other kids you babysit also as much to handle as Finn?"

Other kids. They're comparing me to other kids. I'm just one of her cases now.

"Ah, you know…" Sophie waved a hand dismissively. "At the moment, no, to be honest. He's a lot. But the other kids know me very well already, and Finn here is just a few days under my care. He will, at some point, behave better." She said it with such confidence, such certainty, as if his improvement were an inevitability she could simply manufacture. "I'm an experienced, educated babysitter, so I know how to handle this. Most of the boys try to impress and dominate at the beginning—that's nothing exceptional. So don't you worry!" She smiled warmly at them, including them in her professional wisdom.

Most of the boys. I'm not special. I'm not a unique case. I'm just another boy in her long line of boys who tried to impress her and failed.

"Oh yeah, when you say that, I can totally see that." Luca nodded sagely, as if he were an expert on child development. "I mean, we're already over that phase with Luca, but I can totally confirm your words. Little boys have much more problems with following rules and letting others tell them what to do—especially girls. Just look at politics, business—even grown men still won't accept a female leader."

Little boys. He's calling me a little boy. To my face. And Sophie is nodding.

"Exactly!" Sophie's eyes lit up with agreement. "Finn's mom absolutely hates that too, and doesn't want her son going in that direction. I'm totally with her on that."

Her son. Not Finn. Not me. Just 'her son.' A generic child with generic problems.

"But you don't have such problems with girls you babysit?" Noah asked, genuinely curious.

"No, not at all." Sophie shook her head firmly. "Girls are much different. They're more like… let's find a solution together so that both of us is happy, you know? Also, they're mostly smart. If they want something from me—more freedom or something—they would help with cooking, cleaning, you know, prove themselves. Boys just expect to get something."

Prove themselves. I never proved myself. I just expected. Expected her to see me as an adult. Expected my friends to envy me. Expected respect I hadn't earned.

"You see!" Luca slapped the table triumphantly. "Like with the grown-ups! I swear, women make much better politicians and are better bosses, just for the reason you mentioned!" He gestured at Finn, a sweeping motion that took in his nakedness, his redness, his complete defeat. "I hope you'll bring Finn on the right track. There's not much time left. Such backwardness."

Backwardness. I'm backward. I'm a project. A case study in toxic masculinity.

"I also hope we'll finally get over that toxic masculinity and chauvinism," Noah added, his voice taking on a lecturing tone. "My mom says it's always men with tiny dicks and no real self-confidence who act like that."

The words hit Finn like a physical blow. Tiny dicks. His hands, still resting in his lap, clenched into fists. He could feel their eyes on him—all of them. Sophie, Luca, Noah. All looking at him, at his lap, at the tiny thing hidden there that they had already seen, already judged, already categorized.

Tiny. They know. They've seen. They're thinking about it right now.

"Yeah, it is what it is." Sophie shrugged, completely oblivious to—or perhaps perfectly aware of—the effect her words were having. "I'm happy you both were so well raised to be young, healthy, and respectful males."

Young, healthy, respectful males. Unlike me. I'm the example of what not to be. The cautionary tale they're all gathered around.

"Do you babysit many girls?" Noah asked.

"Actually, mostly boys," Sophie said, and there was something in her tone—a slight weariness, a knowingness—that made Finn's stomach clench. "Girls don't need care as often as boys. Parents trust them better, you know? They're more responsible at younger ages. Most of the girls I babysit are, like, eight, nine years old max. After that, they don't really need a sitter anymore. They can be trusted at home alone, or they just… talk to you. Reason with you." She shrugged. "I've never had to spank a girl. Not once. It's always enough just to talk to them on the same level."

The words hung in the air like smoke. Eight, nine years old. That's when girls stop needing sitters. That's when they can be trusted. That's when they can be reasoned with.

Finn was fourteen and a half. He was sitting naked, with a burning red bottom, while a girl barely older than him explained to his friends that girls his age didn't need this kind of care anymore. That they had outgrown it years ago.

I'm older than the girls she babysits. I'm older than the ones who can be trusted alone. And I'm sitting here, naked, spanked, while she talks about me like I'm a case study in what goes wrong with boys.

"Well, anyways." Sophie clapped her hands lightly, shifting gears. "Enough about me and my job. How about you guys? What are your plans for the future?"

And just like that, the conversation flowed on without him. Luca talked about maybe studying business. Noah mentioned an apprenticeship he was considering. Sophie nodded along, asked follow-up questions, laughed at their jokes. They were sipping coffee, three young adults discussing their futures, comfortable and relaxed.

Finn sat among them, naked, red-bottomed, holding his cold hot chocolate, completely invisible.

They're not even pretending anymore. I'm not part of this conversation. I'm not part of their world. I'm just the kid who got spanked, the project, the case study. A nine-year-old they had to bring along to the adults' table.

He stared into his mug. The cartoon bear smiled up at him, oblivious.

At some point, the mugs were empty. The conversation wound down.

"Okay." Sophie stood up, brushing off her jeans. "You boys can go with Finn to his room now. Spend some time, but not more than thirty minutes. He needs to take a bath and go to bed. You know he's punished." She reached over and patted his arm—the arm covered by his grey hoodie, the only clothing he still wore. "His bedtime is 7 PM today."

Oh no. No, no, no. Not this. Not alone with them. Not now. I don't have any underwear. I'm completely naked under this hoodie. They'll see everything. They'll talk about everything. I will die in there.

"Alright, no problem, Sophie!" Noah answered cheerfully, pushing back his chair and standing.

"Yeah, if you need anything, just call us." Luca stood as well, stretching with casual ease.

Finn didn't move. He couldn't. His body was frozen, his mind screaming, his hands clutching the arms of the chair as if it could save him.

"Come on, sport." Luca's voice was cheerful, almost kind, as he walked around the table. His hand reached down, slid under Finn's hairless armpit, and hoisted him up with effortless strength. "Let's go to your room."

Finn's hands flew to his front. The instinct was automatic now—cover, hide, protect. But it was pointless. Luca had already seen. Noah had already seen. They had seen everything.

I want to scream. But scream what? Call for help? Who would help me? Sophie? She's the one who sent them. She's probably smiling right now, proud of her clever punishment. My mom? She's the one who authorized all of this. Who's left?

No one.

He brought all of this on himself. Every lie, every tantrum, every stupid, desperate attempt to prove he was something he wasn't. And now he was walking toward his bedroom, naked except for a hoodie, his bottom still burning, his friends' hands on his arms, about to face whatever humiliation they had planned for him in the privacy of his own room.

The door to his bedroom loomed ahead. He had never been more terrified of entering it.

"Oh, and Finn!" Sophie's voice stopped him just as his hand touched the doorknob. He turned, dread pooling in his stomach. "Please take the purchases from today with you." She held out the bag from the clothing store—the bag containing his new jeans and the whole arsenal of boys' briefs. The evidence of his infantilization, packaged neatly for transport.

Oh no. Not that. Anything but that.

"And also you left your trousers and underwear on the couch…" She pushed the pile into his other hand—the jeans he'd been wearing, the grey briefs that he wore after he almost wet himself in Sophie’s car. "Underwear obviously goes directly into the laundry box."

"Ekhm… yes, Sophie…" Finn mumbled, his arms full of the physical proof of his degradation. He couldn't look at her. He couldn't look at the boys. He just turned and pushed through the door into his room.

Noah and Luca followed, stepping through the doorway just behind him. The door clicked shut behind them.

Now they know how to close doors. The fucking morons. They couldn't have done that earlier when I was being spanked?

Finn crossed to the corner of his room and dumped the bag on the floor. It landed with a soft thump, the contents shifting inside. He threw the pile of trousers and underwear next to it—the jeans crumpled, the grey briefs a sad little heap of fabric.

Now. I have to act quickly. I have to take control before they do. I have to handle this myself.

He spun around to face them, pasting a grin on his face that felt like a mask made of glass—ready to shatter at any moment.

"So, guys, finally it's just the three of us!" His voice was too loud, too bright, the forced cheerfulness of someone trying to outrun a tidal wave. "This fucking bitch, I swear, she's retarded! I'm so sorry you had to witness her delusions."

The boys didn't respond. They just walked toward him, step by slow step, their faces unreadable.

Why aren't they saying anything? Why aren't they laughing? This is supposed to work. This always works.

"She got like crazy today," Finn continued, the words tumbling out faster now, desperate to fill the silence, to build a wall of normalcy. "Once my mom is back here, that whore will be gone. Maybe after we will let her suck all three of us!"

The boys kept coming. Closer. Closer. Finn took a step back and hit the wall. Hard. There was nowhere left to go.

"You know she will!" His voice was climbing, cracking at the edges. "It's just a stupid maid! I pay her! She'll do everything we want!... Hey, hey… guys… get the fuck away!"

He tried to fight. His fists came up, swinging wildly, but it was useless. Noah was bigger, stronger, and Luca had always been quick. Within seconds, Noah was behind him, gripping his wrists and yanking them behind his back with brutal efficiency. The pain shot through his shoulders, and he realized with sickening clarity that he couldn't move. He was completely trapped.

"Guys, what's gotten into you?! We're friends!" The word came out as a plea, high and desperate. "Let me go, Noah! Luca, tell him!"

Luca stepped closer, his face inches from Finn's. His eyes were cold, hard, nothing like the friend who had texted him envy just days ago.

"Now you ask me to help you?" Luca's voice was quiet, dangerous. "You tell me we're friends?"

"But… but… the hell, Luca, of course we are!" Finn's voice was climbing, cracking with fear. "I would do everything for you! Stop it, this isn't funny!"

"Not funny?" Luca's eyebrow arched. "You think it was funny to make fun of me today in the changing rooms before PE? You think that was being friends?"

The changing rooms. Oh god. The changing rooms.

"Oh, come on, Luca, you're not a pussy!" The words were automatic, a reflex, but they died in his throat as he saw Luca's expression harden. "Don't be so sensitive, you know I was just joking! I would never do you any harm! That wasn't serious!"

"Well." Luca's eyes dropped deliberately, traveling down Finn's body until they fixed on his groin. On the tiny, shriveled thing that hung there, completely exposed. "I am definitely serious now."

No. No, no, no.

"To think you called me a shrimp." Luca's hand reached out. "A baby carrot…" His fingers closed around Finn's penis.

"NO! LUCA! STOP! DON'T!! DON'T LOOK!!" Finn thrashed against Noah's grip, but it was iron. He couldn't move. He could only stand there, pinned against the wall, while Luca held his most private part between thumb and forefinger.

Luca's hands were big—bigger than Finn's, bigger than they had any right to be. And Finn's member, already small, already childlike, almost disappeared between them. A tiny, pale thing drowning in the grip of his tormentor.

"You are not even allowed to wear underwear." Luca's voice was conversational, almost bored. "Everyone can look as much as they want. Heck, Noah, we could take him for a walk now. Show him off to the neighborhood."

"LUCA, PLEASE!" Finn was sobbing now, the tears streaming, his whole body shaking.

Luca ignored him completely. He was studying the organ in his fingers with the detached curiosity of a scientist examining a specimen. Turning it slightly. Squeezing gently. Watching it shrink further under his gaze.

"So funny." He held it up, pinched between two fingers, and Finn could see what he meant—it was barely visible, just a tiny nub of flesh disappearing into Luca's grip. "It's so small it just drowns between two of my fingers."

"LUCA!!! STOP LOOKING!!!"

"Why should I?" Luca's eyes lifted to meet Finn's, and there was nothing there but cold, victorious amusement. "Are you ashamed of something? Ashamed of having a peepee like a seven-year-old? Ashamed that you can't even see it between my two fingers? Ashamed that it's teeny tiny even though you're almost fifteen fucking years old?"

"STOOOOOOOP TAAAAALKING!!!!" The scream was primal, ripped from somewhere deep, but it did nothing. Nothing at all.

"Stop screaming, you little fuck." Luca released his grip on Finn's penis and bent down. When he straightened, he was holding something—the grey briefs from the floor. The ones Finn had worn. The ones that had been around his ankles when he pissed himself on the roadside.

Before Finn could process what was happening, Luca shoved them deep into his mouth. The fabric was rough, tasted of sweat and shame, and it filled his mouth completely, cutting off any sound except a muffled, desperate "MMMMMHHhhhhmmmmmMM"

"There," Luca said, stepping back to admire his work. "That's what you get for being disobedient."

Disobedient. He's using Sophie's words. He's become her. They've all become her.

"Noah." Luca's voice was casual, businesslike. "Turn that little baby around."

Noah spun him effortlessly. Finn's back was to them now, his burning, welted bottom on full display. He could feel their eyes on it, studying the damage Sophie had done.

"What do you think about his butt, Noah?" Luca asked.

Noah whistled softly. "Quite red. Nicely spanked." He reached out and poked one of the welts, and Finn flinched, a muffled yelp escaping around the fabric in his mouth. "But I think… not red enough. Not spanked enough for his sins."

"Like you read my mind, my friend." Luca's voice was warm with approval. "Let's bring him to the couch."

"MMMMHHHHMMMMM!!!!!!" Finn tried to scream, to protest, to fight, but it was useless. Noah's grip was unbreakable, the briefs in his mouth absorbed every sound, and his bare feet stumbled across the floor as they dragged him toward his own bed.

They threw him face-down on the mattress. Before he could even think of moving, Noah's weight landed on his back, crushing him into the duvet, pinning his arms uselessly at his sides. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He could only lie there, face buried in the familiar smell of his own pillow, while his friends loomed over him.

"It was so much fun to watch you get spanked by your babysitter, Finn." Luca's voice came from somewhere behind him. "To think you're almost fifteen…" A pause. "Well, anyways. You were crying like a baby. Did that hurt?"

Finn nodded into the pillow, a tiny, desperate motion.

"Then wait for our turn." Luca's voice dropped, became something colder. "Now you'll know what pain is. For betraying us. For lying to us. And for calling me names in the locker room—you are getting a belt."

Belt. No. No, no, no. Not a belt. Please, not a belt.

Finn heard it—the soft slide of leather through belt loops. He started kicking, thrashing, trying desperately to free himself, to make noise, to do anything. But Noah's weight was immovable, and the briefs in his mouth turned his screams into pathetic, muffled whimpers.

Then Luca's hand was in his hair. Yanking his head up by the beautiful, carefully styled Edgar cut he was so proud of. The one he spent twenty minutes on every morning. Luca's grip was brutal, impersonal, and Finn felt strands tearing from his scalp.

"Smell it." Luca pressed the leather against his nose. The smell was sharp, distinct—animal hide and metal. "Can you smell it?"

Finn couldn't answer. The briefs filled his mouth, absorbing his tears, his snot, his shame.

"Your ass will smell it."

The grip released. Finn's head fell back into the pillow. He heard footsteps circling behind him, felt the weight of Luca's gaze on his already tortured bottom.

"Yeah," Luca murmured, almost to himself. "Definitely not red enough."

SMACK!

"MMMMHHHHMMMMM!!!!!!"

The pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced. His mother's hand was bad. Sophie's hand was worse. But this—this was a belt. A strip of leather folding around his already burning flesh, igniting new fires, sending shockwaves through his entire body. It was a different category of pain entirely. Adult pain. Punishment pain.

SMACK! SMACK!

"MMMMHHHHMMMMM!!!!!! MMMMHHHHMMMMM!!!!!!"

Finn was thrashing now, his body beyond his control, pure animal instinct trying to escape the fire. He felt like he was going to vomit. The briefs in his mouth absorbed the bile that rose in his throat, and he gagged, choked, almost drowned on his own saliva and shame.

"Stop panicking." Luca's voice was calm, almost bored. "That was only three light slaps. That was for calling me a shrimp." A pause. "Now you'll get for calling me a baby carrot."

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Three more. Each one a separate sun igniting on his skin. The tears were flowing now, a waterfall soaking into the duvet, his nose running, his whole face a sticky, wet mess. He had never cried like this. Never. Not even as a real baby.

"You learned your lesson?"

Finn nodded frantically into the pillow, nodding and nodding and nodding, desperate to make him stop.

"Good." Luca's voice was satisfied. "Now. Next one. For pantsing me."

SMACK!

And then another for telling that Luca's got a little pee-pee. SMACK! For telling he is a little boy who can run naked. SMACK! For telling that he has nothing they haven't seen in kindergarten. SMACK! For telling he has three centimeters. SMACK!

Then, finally, silence.

"Alright." Luca's voice was breathless, almost cheerful. "I'm done with you. For now."

Finally. I survived. Finally. Oh my god, that was the worst thing in my life. It's over. It's finally over.

"Noah." Luca's voice cut through the haze of pain. "Let's switch. It's your turn now. You can use my belt if you want."

NO! NO! NO! They can't be serious!

"MMMMMHHhhhhmmmmmMM!!!" Finn tried to protest, tried to scream, but the sound was pathetic, muffled, meaningless.

"Oh, shut up." Noah’s voice was dismissive. "Thanks, man. It's an honor."

They shifted positions—a sickening, casual rearrangement of bodies. Finn felt Noah's weight lift, felt Luca's weight settle onto his back in its place. Then Noah was behind him, belt in hand.

SMACK!

The sound was sharp, brutal. Finn couldn't tell if Noah was worse, or if his bottom simply couldn't take any more—but that single slap sent him to realms of pain he hadn't known existed. The longest, loudest moan of his life escaped around the briefs, a guttural, animal sound of pure agony.

"I told you to shut up." Noah's voice was amused. "That was just a warm-up. I haven't even decided what I'm spanking you for yet."

SMACK!

"MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!!"

"Another warm-up." Noah chuckled. "Hehehe."

Funny. Very funny. I'm dying here, and he thinks it's funny.

Then Noah got down to business. For lying. SMACK! For betraying. SMACK! For fooling them. SMACK! For being a little brat. SMACK! And in the end, just because. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"Okay." Noah's voice was satisfied. "That's it." He stepped back, admiring his work. "But Luca, don't let him go yet. Let him calm down a bit first."

"You're right." Luca's weight remained on his back, pinning him to the bed.

It felt terrible. Humiliating beyond words. He wanted to get free so badly—to jump, to stroke his own bottom, to wipe his nose, to take that wretched underwear out of his mouth. Saliva was leaking from the corners of his lips, dripping onto the pillow. He must look like a complete disaster. A drooling, crying, naked mess with a bright red bottom and a mouth full of his own soiled briefs.

"Meanwhile," Noah's voice came from across the room, casual as a summer breeze, "let's see what he purchased today."

Finn's eyes, the only part of him that could still move, tracked Noah's progress across the room. He watched as his former friend—his tormentor now—approached the corner where the bag lay. The bag from the clothing store. The bag containing his new jeans and all those packs of boys' briefs. The physical evidence of his infantilization, packaged neatly and delivered straight into the hands of his enemies.

Noah reached down and picked it up. The bag rustled as he brought it back toward the bed, the sound impossibly loud in the tense silence of the room.

No. No, no, no. Not that. Please, not that. That's private. That's mine. That's the last shred of dignity I have left, and they're about to—

"What the hell?" Noah's voice cut through his thoughts as he peered inside the bag.

"MMMMMHHhhhhmmmmmMM!!!" Finn tried to protest, tried to scream, but the briefs stuffed in his mouth absorbed every sound, turning his panic into pathetic, muffled whimpers.

SMACK!

"Shut up." Luca's hand landed on his already tortured bottom, a sharp reminder of who was in control. Finn shuddered, the pain blooming fresh across his welted skin.

Noah reached into the bag and pulled out the first pair. Navy briefs, plain and simple, the kind a mother buys for a child who can't be trusted with grown-up choices. He held them up, examined them with theatrical curiosity, and tossed them onto the floor. Another pair followed—white ones, crisp and new, fluttering down to join their companion.

"Wow, man," Noah commented, his voice dripping with mock surprise, "looks like you were running out of underwear."

He reached into the bag again. This time, when his hand emerged, it was holding something familiar. Something terrible. The baby-blue briefs.

Oh no. Please, no. Don't look at them. Don't examine them. Don't—

"I thought you started switching to boxers?" Noah's voice was genuinely confused, as if he were trying to solve a puzzle. "And now you bought yourself thousand pairs of briefs?"

He reached into the bag again. Pulled out another pair. And then he burst out laughing.

"Hahahaha! THAT IS GOLD! Luca, you won't believe this!!"

He threw something across the room. Luca caught it one-handed, still keeping Finn pinned beneath him, and unfolded it.

It was the black pair with neon video game controllers. The ones Ahmed had chosen.

"No way!!!" Luca held them up, studying the childish graphics with exaggerated fascination. "I would never fit in these. What is that?!"

He looked down at Finn, his eyes glittering with cruel amusement. "I'm going to ask you a question now, so let's take that undies out of your mouth. You scream once—just once—and I'm going to put them back in and spank you with the belt again. UNDERSTOOD?"

Finn nodded frantically, tears streaming down his face, snot running from his nose, the very picture of complete submission.

Luca hooked his fingers into the soggy fabric stuffed in Finn's mouth and pulled. The briefs came out with a wet, obscene sound, soaked through with saliva and shame. "Meeeh, disgusting!" Luca tossed them onto the floor with a grimace.

Finn gasped, sucking in air, finally able to breathe properly. The relief was overwhelming—and immediately replaced by a fresh wave of humiliation as he realized how pathetic he must look, drooling and gasping like a landed fish.

"Please," he croaked, his voice raw and desperate, "please give me something to clean my face!"

"Alrighty, you little rascal." Luca's voice was almost cheerful. Still sitting on Finn's back, still holding him pinned in place, he reached down and grabbed Finn's feet. With one swift motion, he pulled off Finn's white Nike socks—the pristine, expensive socks that were part of his cool-guy uniform—and used one to roughly wipe Finn's face. The other he pressed into Finn's hand. "Here, here. Clean your nose."

The socks were soft against his skin, but the gesture was pure degradation. Being wiped like a toddler by the friend he had mocked, while wearing nothing but a hoodie, pinned to his own bed.

Disgusting fuck. I hate him. I hate him so much. I'll get him for this. I swear I'll get him.

"So, Finn." Luca's voice dropped, becoming serious. "Today in school. Remember? You said you grabbed a pair of underwear too small. And that an underwear like that would fit a shrimp like me, not you."

Where's the question, you idiot? Just get to the point.

"Question is—do you really think they would fit me better than you?"

"Ekhm… No." The admission was barely audible.

"So why did you say that before?"

"I… don't know… Luca, please stop…" Finn's voice was breaking, the tears threatening to start again.

"Why wouldn't you just, be a man, and admit to us that you like wearing briefs because you have a fucking small peepee?" Luca's voice was cold, relentless. "Instead of insulting me, your friend? Is that how adults behave?"

Fucking asshole. You are going to pay for this. Next time I'm going to make even more fun of you. The whole school is going to laugh at you. I'll make sure everyone knows what a—

"Ekhm…. No…."

"No?" Luca's eyebrow arched. "Good that you see that now. So, I want you to officially admit it. So that we can move on."

"Luca… I'm so sorry, I really am! I regret everything!"

"Sophie was right." Luca shook his head slowly, a parody of disappointment. "There is so much work to do with you… You were supposed to admit something?"

"Luca, please!! I said I'm sorry! Don't make me!"

"Alright." Luca's voice was dangerously calm. "I won't. In that case, I'm just going to spank you again, so that you understand. You didn't get any spanks for that yet." He looked up. "Noah, give me back my belt."

"NO, NO, NO!!! DON'T! I'll say it!! I admit!!" The words tumbled out in a desperate rush, faster than Finn had ever spoken in his life. "You are right, Luca!! Yes, I like wearing the briefs and yes, my peepee is small, that's all truth, you are right, I am so sorry, please don't spank me!!"

The sentence was a blur, a single breathless plea for mercy, a fight against time itself. He wouldn't survive another spanking. He knew it with absolute certainty. His body couldn't take any more.

"Very good." Luca's voice was satisfied, almost warm. "If you lie about it any other time… you know what."

I know. I know exactly what. And I'll never forget it.

Noah approached them with the bag and sat on the bed next to them, the mattress shifting under his weight. "Let's continue," he said, as if they were discussing a movie they were watching.

"Can you get off me, please?" Finn's voice was small, defeated.

"Yes." Luca's eyes narrowed. "But don't you dare do anything stupid. You know you have no chance against us."

"I won't…"

Luca lifted his weight, and Finn scrambled to pull himself up, his back sliding against the wall until he was in a semi-sitting position, squeezed between Luca on one side and Noah on the other. His hands flew down immediately, covering his genitals, trying to hide at least that much.

"Ey, ey, ey." Luca's voice was gentle, almost kind, as he reached out and moved Finn's hands away. "None of that. You were bragging in school about how Sophie called it big. About how your flaccid dick is bigger than mine erected." He gestured at Finn's exposed lap. "You can now proudly show it."

Uncovered, exposed, Finn looked down at his own genitals. They were completely shriveled—his penis tiny, thin, trying desperately to hide from the world, from the mocking eyes, from the cruel fingers that had held it just minutes ago. A child's penis on a child's body, confirmation of everything they had said, everything they believed.

For just a second, Luca's expression softened—not into kindness, but into something almost sad. "You know, I actually looked up to you. Thought you were cool." He shook his head. "What a joke."

Fucking idiot. It's not that small. It's just cold and stressed. That fucking shrimp is trying to make me feel bad, but he'll pay. They'll both pay.

"Look at that." Noah reached into the bag and pulled out another pair. "It's Batman!"

"Oh, I remember." Luca's voice was nostalgic, almost dreamy. "I had Batman briefs once. Brings back memories." He paused. "Of me being six."

Both of them laughed—a warm, genuine sound that made Finn's stomach turn.

"He's bought even a pair with dinos." Noah was digging through the bag now, pulling out pair after pair. "I think I'm going to collapse. You should make an ad on Instagram for your underwear! That's so ridiculous—you pose all the time being so cool, and underneath you just wear dino undies?" He shook his head in wonder. "Social media is a fucking lie. You are the best evidence."

Luca took the briefs from Noah and studied them, holding them up to the light as if they were rare artifacts. "I can't wait for you to wear these to school," he said softly.

Finn sat squeezed between them, a naked, red-bottomed joke, his entire wardrobe of shame spread out on the floor for everyone to see.

"Luca." Noah's voice was urgent, excited. "I think this is the best one."

"Show me!"

"I can't. I swear, it's gold that we came here today." Noah was laughing so hard he could barely speak. "What a luck."

"Take them out!"

"Please guess how they look!" Noah was doubled over, tears of mirth streaming down his face.

"I don't know, with baggers? What's worse than dinos, man, show me!" Luca started trying to grab the bag from Noah, who was holding it away. In his eagerness, Luca lunged across Finn, his knee driving directly into Finn's exposed genitals.

"Ouuui!" The sound was high-pitched, pained, torn from somewhere deep. The agony was immediate and overwhelming—a sharp, sickening pressure that made him want to vomit.

Neither boy paid any attention. Luca finally grabbed the bag and returned to his place, settling back onto the bed as if nothing had happened. He reached inside and pulled out the next pair.

The white ones. With the little yellow banana printed on the front.

"Hahahaha!" Luca's laugh was a delighted crow. "Ohhhhhhh, that's so sweet!"

"Told you!" Noah was practically crying with laughter.

"This is my favorite pair!" Luca held them up, examining the little banana with theatrical appreciation. "No wonder you bought them, Finn! They're very original and fit your style!"

"He was inspired by his own banana," Noah added, gasping for air. "I wonder which one is smaller!"

"Good question!" Luca's eyes lit up with evil inspiration. "Let's compare!"

"No, no, no, NO!" Finn screamed, his hands flying down to cover himself, to protect the last shred of his dignity.

"You really want another spanking, right?"

The words landed like a physical blow. Finn's hands fell away. He closed his eyes, unable to watch, unable to bear it.

Luca positioned the briefs next to Finn's penis, folding them carefully so that the printed banana lined up with the real thing.

"Oh my god, Noah!" Luca's voice was awed.

"I see!" Noah leaned in close. "They're pretty much the same size! Both small! I can tell why he bought them!"

"Not small," Luca corrected, his voice dripping with mockery. "He said it was big today, remember?"

"Oh, right." Noah nodded sagely. "His banana is just as big as the printed banana. Very, very big."

"Oh man." Luca sighed dramatically. "Such a pity you're not allowed to wear pants until tomorrow. I would love to see how good they fit you." He paused, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "But I guess I can wait. It'll happen anyways. Unless you cause more trouble and Sophie sends you to school pantless… Do you think she could do that?" He laughed at his own joke. "Hahaha!"

"Very funny…" Finn's voice was a whisper, completely broken.

"Look, Noah." Luca had turned away, his attention caught by something something else in the bag. "There's a picture."

What picture? Finn's eyes snapped open.

"Ohhhh, you printed that out!" Noah's voice was delighted. "How sweet!"

The Growth Chart picture. The one Sophie had taken yesterday. The one she had printed today, with Ahmed standing right there watching. Finn had completely forgotten about it in the chaos of the evening.

For a horrible, suspended moment, he watched as Luca picked up the glossy photo and carried it to the wall. The wall. His infamous Wall of Shame, covered in naked childhood pictures that his mother had lovingly curated.

"For your wall!" Noah exclaimed, following Luca. "You still keep that Growth Chart tradition!"

Both boys stood before the corkboard, studying the progression of Finn's humiliation. The photos they remembered from previous visits—from three years ago, when they had last been in this room—were still there. But there were new ones now. Additions. Continuations.

Finn watched in frozen horror as Luca pinned the fresh picture to the corkboard, right next to the others. The collection was now complete: at 5, 7, 8, and 9, completely naked against the height chart. At 10 and 12, wearing boxers in the first, briefs in the second. And now, at 14, wearing the camouflage briefs he had borrowed from Vlad. A ten-year-old's underwear, immortalized forever.

"I thought you wouldn't want more embarrassing pictures out in the open," Noah said slowly, "since you're almost fifteen now." He turned, his gaze dropping to Finn's exposed lap. "But… okay. I guess I understand why your mom continues and you don't protest."

Mom, I hate you. I will never, ever forgive you for this corkboard.

"Funny." Luca was pointing at the photos, tracing the progression with his finger. "Nakie, nakie, nakie, nakie, boxers, briefs, and now super childish briefs." He turned to look at Finn, his eyes glittering. "With that development, the next one will be naked again. Though, I don't see why not—you grew in height, but I don't see any changes in THAT department." He gestured at Finn's lap. "Do you think it'll stay like that forever? Should we do a chart for that too? Just to observe?"

"LUCA!" The scream was torn from Finn's throat, raw and desperate.

Noah was doubled over, laughter shaking his entire body.

"Wait until Monday." Luca's voice was calm, almost kind. "When the whole school finds out about this."

"No! Please!" Finn was on his knees now, scrambling off the bed, falling to the floor before Luca. "Guys, please!! YOU CAN'T!!!"

"Of course we can." Luca's voice was ice. "You made fun of me in front of everyone in the locker room."

"LUCA, I SAID I'M SORRY!!" Finn grabbed Luca's hand, clutching it like a lifeline. "I should never have done that!! PLEASE DON'T TELL ANYONE! WE'RE FRIENDS!"

"You should have thought of that earlier." Luca looked down at him, his expression unreadable. "Only little kids don't think about consequences." He paused, letting the words sink in. "Oh, but you are a little kid, right? Judging by your—"

Finn fell forward, his knees hitting the hard floor, his hands still gripping Luca's. "LUCA, I'LL DO ANYTHING! YOU CAN'T! PLEEEEEEEEAAAAASSEEEEE!!!!!"

He was begging. On his knees. Naked. Begging his former friend for mercy.

Noah watched, his expression thoughtful. Luca looked down at the pathetic creature before him.

"Ohhh." Luca's voice was soft, almost wondering. "You're begging. Noah?" He looked over his shoulder. "What's your opinion? Should we have some mercy? Should we not tell the whole school—just our classmates?"

"NOOOOOO LUCA!!!"

Noah laughed, a cruel, delighted sound.

"LUCA, I WILL DO ANYTHING! PLEASE! YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!"

"I have an idea," Noah said slowly. "An idea of what you can do."

Finn looked up, hope and terror warring in his eyes. Luca turned, curious.

"When I look at that wall…" Noah gestured at the corkboard. "Beautiful pictures. But there's one more continuation missing."

"What… what do you mean, Noah?" Finn's voice was a whisper.

"The bathtub pictures." Noah pointed. "The last one was taken when you were eight, do I see right?"

All three of them looked at the photos. Finn at 4, in the bath, brandishing a rubber duck. Finn at 6, playfully soaped up. Finn at 8, on his knees, covered in bubbles, with that unmistakable little erection pointing skyward.

Mom. I hate you. I hate you so much.

"I want you to ask Sophie to do a continuation of that too." Noah's voice was calm, reasonable. "And you pose exactly like that one. Like you were at eight." He paused, letting it sink in. "When you do that, we won't tell the entire school about any of this. You're safe. For now."

"But… but… Noah, are you crazy?!" Finn's voice was climbing, desperate. "How the hell am I supposed to ask her to take a naked picture of me?!"

"The hell do I know?" Noah shrugged. "Apparently, according to you, she was admiring your big dick. So she can photograph it too."

"Noah, I can't just—"

"Then don't." Noah's voice was final. "Your choice. You have time until Tuesday. We'll come and check. If there's no new picture on that wall—no problem. We'll just reveal your secret to everyone."

Mom. I will never, ever, ever forgive you for this fucking corkboard.

"Great idea, Noah." Luca stood up, stretching. "Now, I think we've seen enough. Should we go?"

"Yeah." Noah patted Finn's arm as he passed—a casual, almost friendly gesture that made Finn's skin crawl. "Have fun with your challenge. See you after the weekend."

Luca stopped at the door. He turned back, a thoughtful expression on his face, and extended his hand. Finn stood up, still naked, still broken, reached up and shook it automatically.

Luca's eyes never left Finn's face. But his free hand darted out, quick as a striking snake, and flicked Finn's small, exposed penis.

"Just checking if it was real," Luca said with a wide, satisfied grin. "Yep. Definitely real. Definitely tiny."

The boys left the room, their giggles echoing down the hallway.

Finn stayed in his room, alone in the silence, staring at the closed door.

His bottom throbbed—a deep, burning pulse that seemed to have its own heartbeat, its own memory of every slap, every belt stroke, every cruel laugh. His face was wet with tears and snot and saliva, drying into sticky trails on his cheeks. His whole body was a map of shame, every inch of skin marked by the events of this endless, horrible day.

On the wall behind him, the photos smiled down—his five-year-old naked self, his eight-year-old erection, his twelve-year-old embarrassed grin—all of them waiting for their newest addition. The one Noah had demanded. The bathtub picture. The recreation of his eight-year-old self, posed on his knees, covered in soap, with that same pointing erection.

I can't. I won't. But if I don't…

He heard voices from the hallway—his friends saying goodbye to Sophie. Their laughter, casual and warm, as if they hadn't just spent twenty minutes torturing him. The front door opened and closed. Then silence.

Footsteps approached his room.

Sophie appeared in the doorway.

Finn's hands clapped automatically over his groin. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, still naked except for the grey hoodie, still red-bottomed. The gesture was absurd—she had seen everything, touched everything, spanked everything—but his body didn't care about logic. It only cared about hiding.

"Finn." Sophie's voice was calm, not unkind, but firm. "I know you're sad, but punishment is punishment. Please take a shower, brush your teeth, and go straight to bed."

Bed. At 7 PM. Like a toddler. Like a child who can't be trusted to stay awake.

But he knew better than to protest this time. His body still remembered the sting of her hand, the crack of Luca's belt, the fire that had consumed his bottom. He just nodded, a jerky, miserable motion, and looked down at his feet.

Sophie left, pulling the door mostly closed behind her.

Finn sat for a moment, listening to her footsteps fade. Then, slowly, painfully, he pushed himself off the bed and shuffled to his dresser. Every step sent fresh jolts through his battered backside, and he walked with a wide-legged, awkward gait, like a cowboy who had spent too long in the saddle.

He opened the drawer where his pajamas lived. Inside, folded neatly, were his old clothes—the ones Sophie hadn't thrown away, the ones that had survived his underwear massacre. He pulled out a worn-out t-shirt, soft from years of washing, that he sometimes used as a pajama top. And underneath it, his fingers brushed against a random pair of briefs—navy blue, simple, unremarkable.

He closed the drawer and headed for the bathroom, the clothes clutched to his chest like a shield.

The bathroom light was harsh, unforgiving, the kind of light that showed every flaw, every imperfection, every secret.

Finn looked at himself in the mirror and barely recognized the person staring back.

His face was a disaster—red and blotchy, eyes swollen from crying, lips puffy and chapped. His beautiful Edgar cut, the hairstyle he spent twenty minutes on every morning, the crown jewel of his Instagram persona, was destroyed. The sharp fringe was matted and wild, sticking up in odd directions, tangled from where Luca had yanked it during the spanking. He looked less like a young trendsetter and more like a mad scientist. Einstein cut, he thought bitterly. Einstein after a nervous breakdown.

And below the neck? His grey hoodie—the only clothing he still wore—hung down to his thighs, but below that, there was nothing. Just pale, bare legs and bare feet. His bottom, still visible in the mirror's reflection when he half-turned, was a roadmap of red welts and pink patches.

He looked down at the clothes in his hands. The soft, worn t-shirt. And the navy blue briefs.

Wait.

The word hit him like a slap.

She said no underwear. She said I stay pantless until tomorrow. I'm not allowed to wear these. I can't.

He stared at the briefs, the fabric innocent and soft in his grip, and felt a fresh wave of humiliation wash over him. He had grabbed them automatically—out of habit, out of years of bedtime routine, out of some deep, unconscious need to cover himself, to hide, to be normal. His body had reached for underwear the way his lungs reached for air.

Okay. No underwear. She wins. I'll go to bed like a little boy. Because that's what I am, apparently. That's what everyone sees.

He looked at his face in the mirror again—the swollen eyes, the matted hair, the blotchy, tear-stained cheeks—and something shifted inside him. A spark. A flicker of the old defiance, the old arrogance, the old belief that he was better than this, better than her.

No. I'll just put them on. She can't be serious about the pantless rule, can she? I won't run around without underpants like some little stupid boy! No little girl is going to tell me what to wear. What the hell, Finn, what happened to you?! You are a man. She has no power over you. She should shut the fuck up. You won't let some stupid teenage girl give you a punishment like that and follow her words blindly!

The words echoed in his head, bold and righteous, and for a moment—just a moment—he believed them. He was fourteen and a half. He was a young adult. He was an Instagram trendsetter with thousands of followers. He was not a child who needed his underwear controlled by a babysitter only three years older than him.

He turned his back to the mirror, craning his neck to see his bottom better.

Auuuuu. The movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his already tortured flesh. The reflection showed him everything: the angry red marks where Sophie's hand had landed, the darker stripes where Luca's belt had folded across his skin, the general puffiness and heat of a backside that had been punished more in one day than in the entire previous year.

The defiance drained out of him as quickly as it had come, replaced by the cold, heavy weight of reality. He looked down at the briefs in his hand. They seemed to mock him now—a symbol of the normalcy he couldn't have, the dignity he couldn't claim, the simple act of covering himself that had been taken away.

Ough… maybe I'd better listen to Sophie. I won't survive another spanking. Not from her, not from them. Damn. Fucking whore.

He turned the briefs over one last time, then placed them on the counter.

Okay, whatever. No one's here. It's just us. It's not like she hasn't seen my peepee before… ough, I mean… penis. Why am I calling it a peepee? That's what she calls it. That's what they all call it. My penis. My small, pathetic, useless—

Stop. Just stop.

Yeah. Very good. She's not so smart. She sent me to bed this early, so I don't care about not wearing underwear. I'll go directly to bed. No one will see. Nothing will happen. Very good. I'll give her that. Good punishment, well done, Sophie!

He grabbed the briefs from the counter, turned, and quickly brought them back to the bedroom, shoving them into the drawer where they belonged. The navy pair disappeared among the others, unseen, unworn. His hand lingered on the drawer for a moment, as if saying goodbye to an old friend.

There. Done. No underwear. Just the way she wants it.

He turned away from the drawer, ready to go back to the bathroom—and then stopped.

Wait.

A new thought, wild and desperate and strangely intoxicating, bloomed in his mind like a toxic flower.

Fuck. She wants it. That's what it is. She wants to see it. Girls always want to see the penis. She probably admires it. That's why she punished me like that—it gives her a thousand opportunities to see my dick.

He stood there in the middle of his room, naked except for his hoodie, his bottom still throbbing, and let the fantasy take root.

I'm not a little boy, like some Vlad, so she must love seeing it. She probably wants to suck it. Until she chokes. That's her play to get me. Now I see it. All the rules, the punishments, the spanking—it's all just an excuse to get me naked, to have me over her lap, to have me right where she wants me. To look at my privates and admire them.

The thought was so comforting. He wasn't a pathetic little boy getting spanked; he was a desirable young adult being pursued by a girl who couldn't admit her feelings.

Yeah. That's it. That's why she's so strict. She's hiding it. But I know now. I see through her.

He smiled.

Back in the bathroom, he peeled off his grey hoodie and white socks, standing completely naked in the harsh light. He couldn't help but admire—or rather, inspect—his bottom in the mirror one more time, twisting and turning to see the full extent of the damage.

Ough… these motherfuckers… they gave it to me really bad. Fucking idiots. All of them. Sophie, Noah, Luca. I'll get them all for this. They'll kiss my ass, not hit it. Just wait. Just you wait.

He stepped into the tub and turned on the water, aiming the shower head at his chest first, letting it warm up. The steam began to fill the small bathroom, fogging the mirror, softening the edges of his reflection.

Then he turned, letting the hot water run down his back, across his tortured bottom.

"AUUUUUUU!" The scream tore from his throat, raw and involuntary. The hot water was agony—pure, searing agony—each droplet a tiny needle stabbing into his inflamed skin. He had forgotten, in his exhaustion, that heat makes everything worse. That his bottom was essentially one giant, open wound of sensitivity.

Shit. DAMN!

He fumbled with the faucet, turning the temperature down, down, down, until the water was barely warm, almost cool. The relief was immediate but not complete. His bottom still throbbed, but at least the water wasn't actively torturing him anymore.

He was standing there, trying to adjust the shower head to a better angle, when—

The bathroom door opened.

"Finn, what happened? I heard you scream!"

"Sophie!!!!" The scream that escaped him now was high-pitched, panicked, the sound of a prey animal caught in headlights. “Don’t look!!!” His hands flew to his groin—the instinct was stronger than reason, stronger than pain, stronger than anything—and in his panic, he dropped the shower head.

It hit the bottom of the tub with a loud, metallic CLANG, and then it was thrashing like a live thing, water spraying in every direction—against the walls, against the ceiling, against Sophie, who had just stepped fully into the bathroom.

"Aaaaa!" Sophie screamed, throwing her arms up to shield her face from the unexpected deluge. Water soaked her shirt, her hair, her jeans. "Finn!! What are you doing?! Stop that!!"

I'm going to die. She's going to kill me.

"Aaaaa!" Sophie screamed, throwing her arms up to shield her face from the unexpected deluge. Water soaked her shirt, her hair, her jeans—the thin white fabric of her tank top clinging to her skin like a second layer, turning transparent in an instant.

Finn's eyes went wide.

Oh my God. She's not wearing a bra. I can see—I can see everything.

The water had transformed the ordinary white tank top into something else entirely—a wet, translucent second skin that left nothing to the imagination. The outlines of her breasts were visible, soft and full, and at their centers, the darker circles of her nipples pressed against the damp fabric, unmistakable, undeniable. For a frozen moment, Finn forgot to breathe.. He forgot everything except the sudden, shocking intimacy of the sight before him.

His mouth opened. No words came out.

"Finn!! What are you doing?! Stop that!!"

I'm going to die. She's going to kill me. This is it. This is how I go—drowned by a shower head and murdered by my babysitter.

Finn's hands moved with desperate, clumsy speed. He grabbed the thrashing shower head and aimed it toward the wall, away from her, while his other hand—the one that had been covering his groin—remained clamped in place, as if his life depended on hiding that tiny, pathetic part of himself. The water pressure eased, the immediate crisis contained, but the damage was done.

"I'm so sorry, Sophie!" The words tumbled out in a frantic, breathless rush, his face a mask of pure, pleading terror. "I'm so sorry, really, believe me, please!"

"What. The. Hell." Sophie's voice was low, dangerous, each word a separate sentence. Water dripped from her chin, from the ends of her hair, from the soaked front of her shirt. "Finn, there is water everywhere, and I'm soaked!"

"I'll clean it up, Sophie, please!" His voice was climbing, cracking, the whine of a child who knows he's in trouble and is grasping at any lifeline. "That was an accident! Don't be mad!"

She's furious. She's going to spank me again, and I don't think I can survive another one.

"How did it even happen?" Her eyes narrowed, scanning the scene—the wet floor, the dripping walls, his pathetic, half-crouched posture.

"Well, I screamed because the water was too hot, and then you came in, and I tried to cover myself like that…" He gestured with his left hand—still clamped over his groin—trying to demonstrate. His right hand, still holding the shower head, moved to join the left, trying to show how he had been covering himself with both hands.

It was a very unfortunate result.

Because in his attempt to demonstrate, the shower head in his right hand turned. The stream of water, still pressurized, still cold, arced through the air and hit Sophie directly in the face.

Again.

"Damn it, Finn!"

Oh my God. I am so dead. So, so dead. They're going to find my body in this bathtub and write "death by stupidity" on the report.

Finn's eyes went wide—saucers of pure, undiluted horror. He fumbled with the shower head, spinning it away from her, pointing it at the far wall, at the ceiling, anywhere but at her furious, dripping face. And in his panic, he caught another glimpse of the wet tank top, the dark outlines beneath, and his face flushed even hotter.

"I am so, so sorry! That was an accident! I swear!"

But Sophie was not in the mood for more debate. Her patience, already stretched thin over the course of this endless, horrible day, had finally snapped.

"Give me that." Her voice was flat, cold, the voice of someone who has stopped negotiating and started acting.

She reached out and literally tore the shower head from his hand—not grabbed, not took, but tore, as if she were confiscating a weapon from a dangerous child. Finn froze, his mouth hanging open, no words coming out. Her face was furious—not the controlled, professional disappointment she usually wore, but something rawer, more human. She was genuinely, viscerally angry.

"Hands over your head. NOW."

The command was sharp, military, absolute.

Without thinking—without a single moment of hesitation or defiance—Finn's hands shot up. They crossed above his head, his fingers interlocking, his arms straight, the posture of a prisoner who knows exactly what happens if he resists. He had never moved so quickly in his life. His eyes were wide, his face pale, his whole body trembling.

She said hands over head and my body just… obeyed. Like I'm a trained dog. Like I'm a soldier and she's the general. What is wrong with me?

Sophie hung the shower head back in its place with a decisive click. She turned off the water. The sudden silence was deafening—no hissing, no splashing, just the drip-drip-drip of water from the ceiling and the ragged sound of Finn's breathing.

Then she moved.

With one quick, efficient motion, she grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. His back was to her now, his hands still locked above his head, his entire body exposed—his pale legs, his bruised bottom, the small, shriveled thing that hung between his thighs, hidden from her view now but not from his own horrified awareness.

And then he felt her hand.

SLAP!

"WHY THE HELL—" SLAP! "—YOU ALWAYS—" SLAP! "—MAKE SUCH A FUSS—" SLAP! "—OVER SOMEONE SEEING YOUR LITTLE PEEPEE—" SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! "—EVERY SINGLE TIME!" SLAP!

Finn was jumping and screaming, his bare feet slipping on the wet porcelain of the tub, his hands still locked above his head—he didn't dare lower them, didn't dare give her any excuse to add more. His bottom was already so sore, so beaten, so thoroughly punished that each new slap felt like a fresh burn on top of an old wound. The tears came almost immediately, hot and helpless, streaming down his cheeks.

I can't take any more. I can't. Please, please, please stop.

"Will you ever learn?!" SLAP! "Do you think you are something special?!" SLAP! "Better than other boys?!" SLAP! "Deserve special treatment?!" SLAP!

Her hand paused, hovering over his blazing skin, and Finn whimpered, waiting for the next blow.

"Well, let me tell you something."

She grabbed his shoulder again and spun him back around to face her. He was crying openly now, his vision blurred, his nose running, his whole face a mess of tears and snot and shame. He could barely see her through the haze, but he could feel her—her presence, her anger, her absolute, unshakeable authority.

"When I see you covering that little thing one more time," she said, her voice low and hard, "making a fuss over it, acting like you are somehow better than everyone else—I swear to God, I will confiscate all of your underwear and trousers for a whole week. And I swear I will send you to school pantless!"

Pantless. To school. In front of everyone. Luca and Noah would see. Lina would see. The whole school would see. They'd point and laugh and take pictures and I'd never, ever live it down.

She spun him back around again—he was a ragdoll in her hands, completely without resistance—and her hand came down once more.

SLAP! "UNTIL—" SLAP! "YOU—" SLAP! "LEARN—" SLAP! "UNDERSTOOD?!"

"YES!!! YES!!!! YES SOPHIE!!! PLEASE STOP!!!"

She turned him to face her again, gripping his shoulders, forcing him to look at her through his tears.

"Understood?!" Her voice was sharp, demanding. "Talk!"

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" The words were sobs, broken and desperate. "I won't cover! Ever again! I'm so sooooorrryyyy Sooooophie!"

"Why won't you cover?" Her eyes bored into his. "Full sentences! Or do you need another spanking?!"

Full sentences. She wants full sentences. While I'm standing here naked and crying and my ass is on fire. She wants a grammar lesson.

"No, no!!" The terror of another spanking overrode everything else. "I won't cover! Cuz—because—because I have nothing to hide!" The words tumbled out, a jumbled confession. "Like other little boys! Sooooophieeee! I am so sorry!!"

There. I said it. I have nothing to hide. Like other little boys. I admitted it. I'm just like all the other little boys she babysits. Nothing special. Nothing to cover. Nothing to be ashamed of—except everything.

"Very well." Sophie's voice softened, just slightly, from ice to cool water. She released his shoulders and took a step back, surveying the damage—the wet floor, the dripping walls, the soaked babysitter, the naked, crying boy. "Now take that shower finally. You've been here way too long already. And after that, you will come to me, and I'll give you some things to clean this bathroom. You will clean it all by yourself."

"Yes! Of course! I will!" Finn's voice was eager, desperate, the voice of a man offered a pardon moments before the execution.

He stood there, trembling, waiting for her to leave so he could collapse, so he could breathe, so he could try to process everything that had happened.

But Sophie didn't leave immediately.

Instead, she reached down and grabbed the hem of her soaked white tank top. In one casual, fluid motion—as if she were alone in her own bedroom, as if he weren't standing there naked and watching—she pulled the wet fabric over her head and off.

Finn's eyes went wide.

There she stood, in nothing but her wet jeans, her bare chest exposed for a brief, heart-stopping moment before she turned slightly, gathering the dripping shirt in her hands. Her breasts were pale, her nipples dark and pebbled from the cold water, and Finn saw everything—every curve, every detail, every part of her that he had dreamed about but never, ever thought he would actually see.

Oh my God. She's topless. Right in front of me. I'm looking at her—I'm looking at everything—and she—

"Don't you dare stare."

The words were quiet, almost casual, but they carried the weight of a guillotine blade.

Finn's eyes snapped up to the ceiling so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. His face, already flushed from crying, turned an even deeper shade of crimson. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat, in his temples, in the tips of his fingers.

I saw her. I saw everything. The boys will never believe me.

Sophie walked over to the laundry basket in the corner of the bathroom and dropped the wet tank top inside. She stood there for a moment, her back to him, her bare shoulders pale in the harsh light, before reaching for a towel hanging on the rack.

She dried herself off slowly, methodically, as if she had all the time in the world and he wasn't standing there naked and trembling just a few feet away. The towel moved across her arms, her shoulders, her back—and Finn saw everything in the reflection of the mirror.

Oh my God. I can see her. I can see everything.

The mirror, positioned perfectly above the sink, gave him an unobstructed view of her bare chest—the curve of her breasts, the dark circles of her areolas, the small peaks of her nipples as the towel brushed against them. He couldn't look away. He knew he should, knew he would be in even more trouble if she caught him, but his eyes were traitors, locked onto the reflection with the desperate hunger of a starving animal.

Then she hung the towel back on the rack. She turned.

And Finn turned too—within a microsecond, faster than he had ever moved in his life. His body spun toward the wall, his back to her, his face hidden, his heart hammering so loudly he was sure she could hear it. He was so scared of being caught peeking, so terrified of another spanking, another punishment, another humiliation, that he couldn't breathe.

She didn't see. She couldn't have seen. I turned in time. I'm safe.

He heard her moving slowly toward the door—the soft pad of her bare feet on the wet tile, the rustle of the towel wrapped around her. Then the door opened, and she was gone, and the door clicked shut behind her.

Finn stood there, frozen, his forehead pressed against the cool tile of the shower wall, his whole body shaking.

OH MY GOD I SAW EVERYTHING!

He turned the water colder—all the way to the blue mark, until the stream was almost icy—because he felt like he was going to faint, like his blood was boiling, like his heart was about to explode out of his chest.

Damn, what a day! I knew it! I knew she had a crush on me! She wants to see me naked so badly, and now she even showed me her breasts! Ha! Now I really see through her! Damn, it's forbidden for me to cover? Sure, she wants me to be exposed. She wants to admire me. That's why she made that rule—so she could look whenever she wanted.

The fantasy was back, stronger than ever, fueled by the image burned into his retinas. The pale skin. The dark nipples. The casual way she had undressed in front of him, as if his presence didn't matter, as if his gaze was nothing.

She wants me. She definitely wants me. Why else would she do that? Why else would she walk around topless in my bathroom?

He looked down at his penis.

It was pointing straight up—rigid, throbbing, completely out of control.

Damn! Go down! Not now! She could come back any second!

He turned the water even colder, letting the icy stream pound against his chest, his stomach, his groin. The cold was shocking, almost painful, but it didn't work this time. His thoughts were not giving him any relief. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her—the reflection, the towel, the bare breasts—and his body responded with a ferocity that terrified him.

She just showed me her breasts… ough… yes, Sophie…

He looked down at his throbbing penis, watched it twitch and pulse under the cold water, and something inside him snapped.

Do you want to see it? Do you like it? You want to touch it, don't you? That's why you're always looking. That's why you made me take off my briefs. That's why you spanked me—so you could have me naked over your lap.

His hand moved on its own, driven by something deeper than thought, something primal and desperate. He took his penis between his fingers and started moving it up and down—slowly at first, then faster, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

You want to spank me, Sophie? Topless? Yes, I have been a very bad little boy… yes… a very bad little boy with a little peepee… and you want to punish me… you want to touch me… you want to—

"OUUUUGHHH!"

The sound escaped him after the fifth stroke—a loud, guttural groan that echoed off the wet tile walls. His penis started throbbing uncontrollably, jerking in his hand, straining toward a release that wouldn't come. Another dry orgasm. But this one was as intense as never before—a wave of electric sensation that started in his groin and crashed over his entire body, leaving him shaking, gasping, barely able to stand.

Ough. That was loud. That was really loud. I hope she didn't hear anything. Oh God, please, please let her not have heard anything.

The fantasy evaporated, replaced by cold, crushing panic. He stood there, trembling, the water still running, his hand still loosely gripping his now-softening penis, and realized what he had just done.

I masturbated. In the shower. While Sophie was in the next room. While she could have walked in at any moment. While the door was still slightly ajar. What is wrong with me?

He yanked his hand away as if burned.

Okay. Quickly. Wash. Get out. Before she comes back. Before she sees.

Finn washed his body faster than he had ever washed anything in his life—scrubbing his arms, his legs, his chest, his bottom—wincing as the soap touched his still-tender skin. The icy cold water, which had been torture just minutes ago, was now a blessing. It calmed his bottom, soothed the burning welts, and—most importantly—brought his face back to a normal color, washing away the flush of arousal and replacing it with the pale pallor of fear.

He pulled the shower head down and aimed it directly at his penis, letting the cold water pound against it, willing it to shrink, to return to its original size, to not arouse any suspicion from Sophie.

Small. It needs to be small. It needs to look like nothing happened. Like I'm just a little boy taking a shower. Nothing to see here. Nothing at all.

He watched as his penis obeyed, shrinking back to its usual tiny, unimpressive self—the child's penis that had been the source of so much shame, so much mockery, so much humiliation.

Oh, the irony. Now I'm begging it to be small.

Once he decided his penis was small enough he turned off the water.

The sudden silence was deafening. No hissing, no splashing, just the drip-drip-drip of water from the shower head and the ragged sound of his own breathing.

He stepped out of the tub, his bare feet squeaking on the wet tile, and reached for a towel. The fabric was soft, almost comforting, as he pressed it against his face, his chest, his legs. He dried himself quickly, efficiently, not wanting to linger, not wanting to give his mind any more time to wander into dangerous territory. He dried his bottom—gently, carefully, because it was still so sore.

He stepped out of the tub, his bare feet squeaking on the wet tile, and reached for a towel. The fabric was soft, almost comforting, as he pressed it against his face, his chest, his legs. He dried himself quickly, efficiently, not wanting to linger, not wanting to give his mind any more time to wander into dangerous territory. He dried his bottom—gently, carefully, because it was still so sore, each touch a fresh reminder of the punishment he had endured.

He hung the towel back on the rack, the damp fabric settling into its familiar place. Then he reached for his pajama top—or rather, an old, worn-out t-shirt that had been washed so many times the fabric felt like butter against his skin. He pulled it over his head, and the soft cotton settled around his thighs, covering his torso but leaving everything below exposed.

Damn, that's cold. I guess I overdid it with the cold water. My whole body is freezing. But at least my bottom doesn't hurt as much.

He brushed his teeth methodically, the minty foam filling his mouth, and looked at himself in the mirror. The face staring back was definitely better now—less blotchy, less swollen—and his wet hair, slicked back from the shower, felt nice against his forehead. Almost sexy. The water droplets clung to the ends, catching the light, and he couldn't help but admire the reflection.

Underneath the t-shirt, his genitals were completely naked. The cold water had done its work—and then some.

I guess I really overdid it with the cold water, lol.

His penis had shrunk to almost nothing—a tiny nub barely visible, retreating into his body as if trying to hide from the world. His balls were drawn up tight against his body, almost flat, like a doll's. It was ridiculous. It was pathetic.

Whatever. She likes it. Otherwise she wouldn't want to see it this much. Damn, she loves it. So I don't care. She can make it big and suck it if she wants to. I know she does.

The fantasy was back, warm and comforting, wrapping around him like a blanket. He had seen her breasts. She had undressed in front of him. It wasn't a stretch—it was practically an invitation. She wanted him. She just couldn't admit it. Not yet. But he knew. He saw through her.

He spat the toothpaste into the sink, the white foam swirling down the drain, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he grabbed the towel from the rack and draped it over his shoulder, the fabric hanging there like a prop in a movie scene.

He looked himself up and down in the mirror again—the wet hair, the confident stance, the t-shirt that showed off his slim build, his naked penis right under, the towel slung casually over his shoulder like he didn't have a care in the world.

Damn. I'm so sexy.

He winked at his own reflection. Smiled. A slow, self-assured grin that he had practiced a hundred times for Instagram selfies.

Sophie won't know what hit her.

He threw the towel more securely over his shoulder, adjusted his posture, and walked toward the living room where Sophie was waiting. One hand rested on the towel, holding it in place; the other ran slowly, deliberately, through his beautiful, clean, wet hair—the Edgar cut restored to its former glory, the sharp fringe falling just so across his forehead.

With his eyes half-closed, his nose slightly in the air, and his chest puffed out with confidence, he announced:

"Sophie, I'm done with the shower. Can you give me the bathroom cleaning supplies, and I'll take care of that, like you said?"

He finished running his hand through his hair—one last, dramatic stroke—and opened his eyes.

Ahmed was sitting next to her.

Both of them were holding bottles of beer.

The world stopped.

"AHMED???!!!" Finn's voice was a raw, shocked bark, too loud in the quiet room.

(End of File)