Bailed out (f/F story)

At the start of the evening, Mary had felt so powerful. Her mother was out of town, spending a week or two on a vacation with her friends, so there was no one at home to lord over her – only her younger sister, Wendy, who did very little lording and a lot of sad tutting.

 

She looked at herself in the mirror before heading out: a tight shirt, a short skirt, and a thong that would ensure she would leave precious little to the imagination should she bend over. A perfect sight, she thought as she grinned to herself. Wendy looked disapprovingly at her as she left, but didn't say anything – she rarely did.

 

Technically speaking, it would be a few months until she was old enough to drink, but with a few friends, that was a small issue, and the party was soon very much on. She wasn't entirely sure when they piled into the car, desperately searching for some more liquor, but she knew the party was over when the police cruiser pulled up next to them. The uniformed officer staring down at them made her sober up quite fast.

 

The policeman picked up the stack of papers on his desk and patted them into place, glancing at them as if the answer to his dilemma could be found there.

 

“Now, usually, the policy in these cases is that we keep the offenders here, while we wait for a parent or other suitable guardian to appear,” he said as he looked at Mary over the rim of his glasses. “However, as it would be unfortunate to keep you here for weeks until your mother returns, and your sister has agreed to look after you, I see no reason why you can't go home with her.” He patted the stack of papers again, before staring at her as strictly as he could. “But I want to make sure that I never see you in here again, young lady. Do I make myself clear?”

 

Mary hung her head, trying her best to look like she regretted her mistakes. “Yes sir. I'm sorry,” she said, sounding almost on the verge of tears. The officer allowed her to leave, and she smiled. She had always been good at pretending to be sorry.

 

She would admit to feeling a twinge of embarrassment as she watched her friends being led away by their father and mother, while she herself followed her younger sister out – Wendy, the silent bookworm that was a head shorter than her.

 

 

When Wendy had paid the taxi, and the front door had closed behind them, she turned to her sister. “Would you care to explain yourself?”

 

But Mary was tired, and wanted nothing more than to sleep – apart from maybe a glass or two more of that Bacardi. “Knock it off, Wendy. I'm tired,” she said. “I'm heading to bed.”

 

Suddenly, Wendy grabbed her arm, stopping her dead in her tracks. “No, you're not,” she said. There was a cold steel in her voice that Mary hadn't heard before. And she dragged Mary into the living room.

 

“Come on, Wendy, this isn't funny,” the older sister said, feeling slightly unnerved at the way Wendy was acting. This really wasn't like her.

 

“I agree, it's not,” Wendy replied, staring ice-cold daggers at her older sister. “It's not funny that you go out and get piss-drunk with your friends while you're still under-age. It's not funny that you go out driving while still drunk.”

 

“I wasn't driving,” Mary mumbled.

 

“It's not funny that I have to get you at the bloody police station, because you're clearly not able to be on your own for a few hours. I mean, mum's been out of the country for less than twelve hours, and you have to be picked up by the police. You're acting like an out-of-control child,” she continued, her voice growing colder and harder with every word.

 

Mary shrugged. “I'm sorry, okay? Can I go now, your highness?”

 

Wendy shook her head. “No. You can't go, and you're not sorry. Not yet, at least.”

 

She didn't quite understand that last part, but Mary was tired. “Why don't you try stopping me, then.” And she turned to leave, but again, Wendy grabbed her arm, dragging her towards the couch.

 

“Let's see if we can make you a tiny bit sorrier, then,” she said as she sat down, pulling her older sister over her lap. Mary was shocked and disoriented at her sudden change of position, and had no idea what was going on – at least until Wendy's hand made a sudden and painful impact on her bottom.

 

“Hey! Stop that!” she yelled, but that first smack on her posterior was followed by another, and a whole lot more after that.

 

“Ow!” she gasped. In her position, the short skirt was too high to block the strokes, and her thong offered absolutely no protection whatsoever. “You can't spank me!”

 

“Indeed? Yet I seem to be doing it,” Wendy said drily, not pausing her assault on her sister's backside for a single second.

 

“Let me up this instant!” Mary yelled, but even she could tell her voice carried no conviction.

 

“Are you going to go drunk driving again?” Wendy asked calmly.

 

“Ow! No, of course not!” she replied.

 

Wendy smiled. “See? It's working already. Let's see what a few more minutes can accomplish.” And as she lifted her leg, trapping both of Mary's legs in hers to keep her from kicking, she continued her task with renewed vigour.

 

Mary howled like a banshee at the pain, every smack increasing the fire-hot sting in her rear. The tried to escape, she tried to jump off her lap, but Wendy held her almost effortlessly in place.

 

By the time the spanking ended, she was sobbing loudly, promising to never as much as glance at alcohol ever again.

 

Wendy gathered her sister in a hug, letting Mary cry into her shirt, curled up in her lap on the couch. “Let's get you tucked in,” she said, leading her to her bedroom.