Soccer Boundaries
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Crossing The Boundaries free porn video
WARNING: Transgendered characters (under 18), adult themes,
spanking.
CROSSING THE BOUNDARIES
Copyright Transfemme, 2003. All rights reserved.
1.
"All right, that's IT, young man!!"
Marion Hoskins was at the end of her tether. She'd had the
worst day in recorded history and the last thing she needed
was another screaming match with her son. The boy had been
testing the limits for over a month now, and she'd finally
decided it was time for some direct action. All she wanted
was a little old-fashioned respect, after all. Recognition
for the long days she put in at work; for her senior status
within the household. Sixty hours a week in the office from
hell and all she could look forward to was a mouthful of
Jessie's sneering contempt. Well, all that was about to
change. At the end of the day, she deserved better than
this. She was the one who brought home the bacon, for
Christ's sake!
"Get up to your room this instant," Marion growled,
scowling down at the boy from withering, arctic heights,
"You have ten minutes to get ready!"
Jessie's eye widened with dawning horror. Ten minutes' head
start could only mean one thing.
"No Momma, no, please!" Jess cried, knowing what she had in
store for him, "Anything but a SPANKING!!"
His posturing, adolescent pride evaporated immediately;
Jess had good reason to fear his mother's anger.
Instigating that argument on the way home had been a
tactical error. He knew from painful experience that she
wouldn't tolerate any of his snide backtalk. If only he'd
managed to keep his mouth shut. There were certain
boundaries that should never be crossed. The consequences
were too dire to contemplate.
Unfortunately, the time for negotiations had long passed.
Marion had already made her decision; nothing would alter
her verdict. And that was one thing Jess could count on.
"Get up to your room NOW!!" she snapped, leaning in close
to the boy and pointing towards the staircase.
A single vertical line appeared on her forehead, directly
between her eyebrows. Jessie's heart sank; he recognised
that particular signal. His mother wasn't simply angry -
she was down right furious. A chill of suspense played his
spine like a xylophone. Whimpering in protest, he turned
and fled for the staircase, his long, blond ponytail
flaring out in his wake.
Marion watched him hit the stairs at a full run. A tall,
handsomely constructed woman in her early thirties, she
stood with one hand on her hip, forcing her pulse to drop
back to its normal pace. Jess was long overdue for
discipline, but she wanted to be completely calm when she
entered his bedroom. The task ahead would require her full
concentration, and she intended to savour every squirming,
twitching moment to its fullest extent.
Where was that brush? The one with the teak wood finish, as
smooth and dark as baby grand. She usually kept it on the
mantle piece over the fireplace, where it would always be
within easy reach. Marion normally applied her open hand to
Jessie's naughty bottom, but today, she felt the
circumstances required a little something extra. A grim
smile touched her full, red lips.
I'm going to enjoy this, Marion thought, walking through to
the dining room.
2.
Jess bolted up the stairs in tears, his expensive Nike
sneakers pounding the steps two at a time. He was literally
overwhelmed with shame and fright; it had been more than
four months since his last spanking, and he knew this would
be far worse than a couple of glancing smacks on the tail.
His Mother was mad this time, REALLY mad. He should never
have started that stupid argument on the way home.
She's going to SPANK me!! Jess thought frantically, wiping
the moisture from his cheeks. He sprinted along the
upstairs passage way and headed for his bedroom door. He
couldn't afford to drag his heels. He had to prepare for
his punishment. If he wasn't finished by the time she
arrived, things would probably go a lot worse for him.
At thirteen years of age, there were very few things Jess
hated more than a spanking. He would gladly have eaten
spinach every night for a month if he could avoid going
over his Mother's knee. Of course, no such options were
available on this occasion. Nothing could temper her
judgment once she'd made up her mind. Hot tears filled his
eyes once more. He could already feel her wide, scarlet
handprint burning into his naked buttocks.
Running through the doorway, Jess paused a few feet from
his bed and stood looking around the room, his face a mask
of trepidation. How much was it going to hurt this time?
Was she going to use the brush, that hard, black heirloom
she kept on the mantelpiece over the fire? He'd only felt
its touch a handful of times, but he dreaded it more than
any other weapon in his mother's arsenal. The last time
she'd applied it to his tender young bottie-cheeks, he'd
had to eat standing up for nearly three days.
Sobbing in misery, Jess went over to his study desk and
started dragging the old, straight-backed chair into the
middle of the floor. He'd come to think of it as THE
SPANKING CHAIR, the site of a thousand bare-bottomed
torments. It was a constant reminder of his juvenile status
within the family hierarchy, the fact that Marion was his
mother and he would always be subject to her authority.
Shifting the chair to its venerated position, Jess went
over to his built-in closet. He hesitated before the
folding door, his belly tensing up in apprehension. Now
came the part he loathed the most; the thing he despised
more than any other part of this ritual of disgrace.
It was time to get changed.
Stealing a glance at the clock (he estimated he had less
than six minutes to go), Jess began to undress, pulling off
his T-shirt and unbuckling the belt of his jeans. He bit
his lower lip, whimpering in consternation. Why did he have
to do this? It seemed so unfair, so terribly unjust. Even a
child should be allowed some measure of dignity, no matter
what he'd done to incur the maternal wrath.
Tossing his jeans and underpants into the laundry hamper,
Jess reached back to remove the band from his ponytail. And
at that moment, Jessie Hoskins no longer looked like a
thirteen year-old boy. He didn't look like any kind of boy
for that matter. With his long, curvaceous limbs and his
slightly protruding belly, he seemed small, dainty...
vulnerable.
Sniffling like a child lost in the rain, he folded the
closet doors back into themselves and surveyed the
interior. His soft, child-like features melted with dismay.
He'd known what was awaiting him, but a vast wave of
despair overpowered him nonetheless.
The closet was full of dresses.
And there it was: the ultimate humiliation. Marion always
insisted he dress up as a little girl whenever a spanking
was on the agenda. She had instituted this rule not long
after his fifth birthday, and had enforced it ever since,
brushing aside his protests with barely a second thought.
It was the most degrading thing he could imagine, a
betrayal of his budding, teenaged masculinity: being forced
to slip into a pair of girl's panties and a sun-frock prior
to having his bottom tanned.
3.
Five minutes.
Racing the clock, Jess pulled out a frilly pink dress and a
handful of dainty white underthings, laying them out
carefully on the bed. Despite his rising hysteria, there
was a ritual he had to follow when dressing up, a sequence
his Momma insisted on, even when he was preparing for a
spanking. Everything had to be kept clean, fresh and
utterly pristine. A single wrinkle on the frock could earn
him an extra five minutes over her lap, and he had no
desire to test her patience any further.
Running back to the closet, he fished about until he found
the glossy red shoes his Mother had bought him for his last
birthday. They were high-heeled pumps, the kind made for
teenaged girls making their first public debut - junior
prom, dinner dance at the Lions club or whatever. She'd
found them in a fashion boutique called Young Miss (Momma
was always buying things for him to try on, especially when
there was as sale downtown. Sometimes she even took him
shopping with her, dolled up in tight blond curls and
little pink miniskirts. These cross-dressed expeditions
were an ordeal of suspense; the risk of discovery was
overwhelming).
God, I hate this, Jess thought, scrambling back to the bed.
Placing the shoes on the floor, he stood looking down at
the garments spread out on the bedspread, making a mental
note of everything he needed: shoes, socks, underpants,
vest and dress. A place for everything, everything in its
place. Only four minutes left; no time to waste! Momma
would be here anytime now. He had to get dressed. Now.
(she's going to SPANK me)
Jess picked up the flimsy nylon panties, feeling a rich,
crimson blush saturate his complexion. Shimmering white
full briefs, they were covered with pale blue flowers and
edged with a dainty pink frill. The very sight of them set
his pulse racing. His tummy swirled with warm, fluid shame.
The thought of wearing a pair of girl's underpants had him
trembling with outrage. He was a boy, goddammit, a young
man poised on the brink of maturity. What right did she
have to humiliate him this way?
(hurry up!! she'll be here any second!!)
Closing his eyes in childish denial, Jess stepped into the
sheer, gossamer knickers, gliding them slowly up his legs.
The sleek material rustled against his flesh. He felt a
rush of fearful excitement - the touch of nylon always
preceded the agony of a spanking. His head began to swim
with conflicting emotions - embarrassment, guilt... and
pleasure. That was the strangest contradiction of all. Much
as he hated being paddled like a naughty schoolgirl, he
invariably experienced a thrill of wild exaltation when his
discipline was imminent.
(the singlet! quickly!)
Of course, it wasn't a singlet, not the sort any boy would
want to wear. It was a white floral vest, a perfect match
for the panties (except that it was made of cotton), right
down to the rosy trim around the edges. Gaping with
embarrassment, Jess pulled the vest on over his head.
Taking a few seconds to smooth out the creases, he tucked
it carefully into his panties, precisely as he'd been
taught since early childhood. Everything had to be perfect,
a single mistake would incur the severest penalties. He
turned to check himself in the mirror -
And Jess was no longer a boy.
4.
Jessica Seagrove stood scrutinising her reflection, her
sumptuous golden hair cascading down past her shoulders.
With the late morning sunlight streaming in through the bay
windows, she was a fragile, delicate nymph, her alabaster
skin gleaming like polished marble. Her figure was taking
on the lush contours of dawning womanhood: from her
slender, tapering legs to her wide, curving hips, she was
blossoming like some ripening, succulent fruit.
Illuminated by a subtle backglow, she stepped back to her
bed and picked up her brief, pastel sundress. Her heart
hammered against her ribs as she drew the frock on over her
head and settled it lightly into place. Jessie was scared:
she'd been unforgivably naughty on the way home from
school, and Mummy was going to smack her bottom. She swiped
her eyes with the heel of her palm, sobbing in open fear.
This was all Jess' fault; he was the one who'd started the
fight, the one who said all those terrible things. It just
wasn't right. She hadn't done anything. Couldn't Mummy see
that?
She sat down on the bed and pulled on her prim white girl-
socks. They were her favourites, the ones with the pretty
lace frill around the top. She loved wearing them whenever
Mummy took her out shopping, they made her feel sweet,
lovely and very, very feminine. Of course she didn't feel
that way now - she was getting ready for a spanking, and
the last thing on her mind was how nice her socks looked.
She cocked an ear towards the doorway, listening in rising
panic. Footsteps were ascending the staircase. Ominous,
determined footsteps.
Mummy was on her way up!!
Moaning with desperation, Jessie squeezed her feet into the
slick red pumps and tightened the straps about her ankles.
In a matter of seconds, her Mother would walk in through
the door and her spanking would begin. She would be turned
over Mummy's knee with her tender young bottom-tops on rude
display and her panties down to her knees. The image froze
her pulse in mid-beat. It was going to hurt. So much!
Why did Jess always get her into trouble? This wasn't the
first time she'd been punished for his errors. It was as if
he was doing it deliberately. Getting Mummy angry then
leaving her to face the consequences. And today it would
probably be a lot worse; today she'd almost certainly get
the hairbrush.
Those heavy, clocking footfalls were in the hallway now.
Nooooooooo, Jessie whispered to herself. She stood up and
ran a last minute check over her dress, hair and shoes. She
hadn't had time to tie a bow through her thick, blond
tresses; she could only hope her Mother wouldn't notice
this single, insignificant oversight. Not much chance of
that, though; Mummy's eyes were sharp. She never missed a
thing.
Jessie skittered over to stand before the SPANKING CHAIR
with her face downcast and her hands clasped protectively
over her bottom. She tried to shrink inside herself, look
as small and harmless as possible. It wouldn't do any good,
wouldn't lessen her sentence by even one stroke; she was
aware of that. But the hope of a twelfth-hour acquittal
tortured her nevertheless. She didn't want a spanking,
didn't deserve it!!
Mummy's footsteps were right outside the door now. Jessie
turned to face her, choking down her tears and all but
praying for divine intervention. Please not the brush, she
thought over and over, the words filling her mind in
gigantic neon letters, please not the brush, please not the
brush. She caught herself trembling with expectation,
knowing how hot and red and sore her peasch would be in a
matter of minutes.
Mummy appeared in the door.
She was carrying the brush.
5.
Jessie lapsed into a litany of desperate pleas as Marion
entered the room. She strode towards the spanking chair,
her face calm but etched with purpose. The antique ebony
hairbrush glinted menacingly in the sunlight. It was the
realisation of Jessie's worst nightmares, a sign that this
would be a long and extremely painful spanking indeed.
"No, Mummy, NO," Jessie wailed in a high, quavering voice,
"not the BRUSH, please not the brush, it HURTS too much,
PLEASE MUMMY don't SPANK me with the HAIRBRUSH -"
Marion ignored Jessie's fervent pleas, seating herself
comfortably on the chair and steeling herself for the task
ahead. She had to be firm, both with Jessie and herself. In
spite of the satisfaction she would undoubtedly feel,
corporal punishment was no easy matter for any woman. Jess
would shriek and struggle over her lap, kicking his feet
and screaming for mercy. No Mother enjoys seeing her child
in pain, and Marion was no exception. She would need all
her strength to see this through.
"Alright, that's enough!" Marion exclaimed, slicing through
Jessie's breathless entreaties with a stern, unforgiving
glance, "you worked very hard to earn this reward, young
lady, and you have no one to blame but yourself." Emphasis
on the words young lady; as far as Marion was concerned, if
Jessie insisted on behaving like a naughty little girl,
she'd be treated like one as well. Considering the
situation, it wasn't difficult to view her wayward son as a
rebellious young daughter. At the end of the day, he - she
- was a natural for the role.
"Now," Marion continued, testing the brush against the flat
of her palm, "I've put up with enough of your sullen moods
and disrespect, Jessica. It's high time you were taught a
lesson in common courtesy. I've tried to reason with you,
talk you through these temper tantrums. That was a complete
waste of time - naturally enough - and frankly, I'm sick to
death of your attitude. Well, if talking isn't having the
desired effect, there's always the alternative isn't there?
Let's see if a good, long SPANKING won't solve your little
communication problem."
On the pronouncement of this verdict, Jessica's nerve broke
completely.
"No, Mummy, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, really I
didn't, I take it all back, PLEASE don't be cross, PLEASE
don't SPANK me, I'll be good from now on, honestly I will?"
Marion listened to Jessie's quailing petitions, vaguely
amused by the radical change in his character. The
transformation hadn't been confined to the boy's
appearance; his whole personality seemed to have altered.
His strutting, boyish animosity had vanished the moment he
donned the sun-frock. Twenty minutes before, he'd been
screaming abuse at the top of his lungs, now he was begging
her forgiveness with tears in his eyes. He was even calling
her 'Mummy', something he never did under any circumstances.
It was amazing what an hour or two of 'Jessica-time' could
do for her boy's normally belligerent temperament -
particularly when a hot, throbbing bottom was on the cards.
Which brought her back to the issue at hand. Punishment
should never be tempered by remorse, no matter how sincere.
Jessie had been inexcusably rude on the drive home, and
Marion was determined to see that justice was done in this
case. Leaning forward on the chair, she transfixed her
simpering boy-daughter with an impaling glance.
"Stop that crying RIGHT NOW!!" Marion instructed,
brandishing the brush in her right hand, "You're going over
my knee whether you like it or not, young lady. You DESERVE
a spanking, and that is PRECISELY what you're going to get.
Now -" she paused, slapping the brush into her hand to
reinforce her point, "I want you to come over here, bend
over and lift up your skirt."
Jessica gasped, stamping her feet in childish refusal. It
was time to BARE her BOTTOM! She hated this almost as much
as Jess hated dressing up in girls' underwear; it was so
juvenile, so embarrassing, so utterly degrading.
"No, Mummy, no, noooooooo!!" she begged in keening, frantic
tones, "don't make me take them down, spank me over my
panties, please Mummy, you don't know how awful it is for
me, please don't -"
"You GET those PANTIES down NOW!!"
Groaning in utter humiliation, Jessica doubled over from
the hips, flipping her dress over her back like a can-can
dancer. Her virginal white underpants were immediately
thrust into view; her plush, yielding cheeks literally
bulging through the gossamer material. Reaching back, she
hooked her thumbs through the elastic trim, pausing
momentarily before peeling the sleek nylon briefs down her
thighs.
Marion nodded to herself in evident satisfaction as her
daughter's soft, creamy buttocks were revealed. Jessie had
a delicious little bottom, no question of that (which was
probably why she enjoyed spanking it so much). Leaning
slightly forward, Marion laid a loud, stinging slap on each
of the girl's buxom cheeks. Lush, round, and deeply
dimpled, they quivered with each resounding smack. Jessie
cried out in surprise, her buns twitching from side to
side.
"No Mummy, no, please don't, I'm sorry, noooo..."
Marion smiled ruefully, as if expecting nothing better.
Well, time to get started. Couldn't spend the whole night
admiring the view, so to speak. She had a job to do - one
she found much to her liking, truth be told. No point
waiting any longer. Business before pleasure, as her dear
departed father had been fond of saying.
"All right, my girl," Marion said, taking Jessie by the
right hand, "let's get you over my knee."
"Mummy, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" Jessica wailed as she was
led over her Mother's lap. Marion guided the helpless,
sobbing girl into place, settling her bottom into the
central position. Her pale, unprotected cheeks clenched and
primped with anticipation. Heart literally hammering
against her ribcage, Jessie whispered her final, tearful
pleas, knowing her spanking was only moments away now.
"I'm sorry Mummy I didn't mean it really I didn't please
don't..."
Marion raised the brush, tensing the muscles along her
right arm.
"Okay - hold still and stop that wriggling," she warned,
"you've had this coming for weeks now, and this is one
lesson you won't forget in a hurry!!"
The brush streaked down, faster than the eye could follow.
Jessica screamed.
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