When I was a kid, my sister Kendall (3 years younger than I am) was ALWAYS trying to get me in trouble. Ever since she was a toddler, she had the habit of pointing to me whenever SHE made a mess or broke something and saying, "Sissy did it!" In those cases, my parents could usually figure out that it was her and not me who was responsible, but as we got older, she came up with more and more devious ways of trying to incriminate me.

I particularly remember one incident. It was late summer, I was about 12 and Kendall was 9. We were having a family dinner with my aunt and grandparents, and I was kind of grumpy because it was still light outside and I wanted to be hanging out with my friends across the street instead of listening to boring grown-up talk about politics and world affairs. I kept asking my Dad if I could leave the table, and he kept telling me no, that I had to finish my meatloaf (which I hated) with everyone else. Kendall was making "ha ha!" faces at me secretly across the table, and sticking her tongue out, and at one point she said to my dad, "Anissa doesn't want to be here with you guys, but *I* do!" and smiling her sweetest dimpled smile. That finally pissed me off, and since Kendall was sitting right across the table from me, I swung my leg up and kicked her as hard as I could under the table...but instead of getting satisfaction from her scream of pain...MY AUNT DEBORAH screamed in pain instead! UH OH!!! I had accidentally kicked Aunt Deborah, who was sitting next to Kendall!

When my dad figured out what had happened, his face went more stern than I had ever seen it before, and he stood up from the table.

"Anissa. My bedroom...NOW!"

I was too terrified to move, so he actually came around the table, grabbed my arm, and yanked me up. I started crying, but he was unfazed and practically dragged me to my parents room. I knew I was in big trouble, because when we were just getting "grounded" or "time outs" we got sent to OUR rooms, but to get taken to THEIR room meant a spanking. I hadn't been spanked in almost a year, and so I hoped for maybe just a lecture. Dad closed the door and started to pull his belt from his pants. Oh no...not just a lecture. I had never actually been spanked with a belt before, although when we were bad he would sometimes threaten it.

"Bend over and put your hands on the bed, Anissa."

"Please, Daddy, I didn't mean it, I was trying to kick Kendall..."

"You shouldn't be kicking ANYONE, now bend over!"

Trembling, I bent over. I felt Dad's hands around my waist, pulling down my cords and panties. Spankings were always done bare bottom in our house. I was sobbing by this point, and embarrassed for him to be seeing my bottom.

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

6 strokes and I was screaming.

"Don't you EVER misbehave like that again, Anissa Willard, do you understand me? Or this whipping will seem like a picnic compared to what you'll get!"

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

6 more strokes.

"That's 12 strokes for a 12-year-old girl who should know better. I hope I never have to blister your behind again, you are getting too old for this, but mark my words I'll do it as many more times as I have to. Now put your panties on and stand in the corner. You have 30 minutes of corner time, and then bed. I hope you have learned your lesson."

He walked out of the room. I was mortified that my family had undoubtedly heard the belt whacks and my screams. Before I put my panties back on, I inspected my bottom in the full length mirror, bending over the way I'd been bent over the bed. My hiney was striped red. You can bet that I made sure that was the last spanking I ever got.