Fart Face AKA My lisping sister "Fartfaith"

[EddieDavidson]

I haven't been on the site and doubtful missed. I shitcanned all my active stories here. No one really liked them. We'll try again.

[EddieDavidson]

Updated 9/10

I had just graduated high school last summer and I was already 19. The world should have been my oyster, but I lacked a plan and frankly employers didn't take me seriously because I looked so much more immature than I was.

I got teased about it sometimes, and I took it in stride. It was something you got used to. Except for Christmas with my family. You see, it usually began like this:

"Mom, do we HAVE to go to Grandma's for Christmas?"

"Of course we do, Faith. It's a Christmas tradition. We have this same conversation every year, and my answer is still the same, sweetie!"

My mother was as sweet as apple pie and she meant well, but I sometimes thought she had a secret fetish for my humiliation because Christmas was my least favorite time of the year.

"What's the matter, Fartfaith? Are you worried that Darla and Lilah are going to give you a wedgie?" My little brother reached back from his position in the car next to Mom and tickled me.

I cringed and fended him off. "Ugh, don't call me that!"

My little brother looked just like me in the face, which drove me bonkers. It was like I was looking in the mirror, and I could see my little pug nose, freckles, thick eyebrows, and dorky red hair, and I was reminded that I was a ginger's ginger. The kind of redhead that wasn't fiery and sexy. I was the kind that wore face paint and people asked if I was Ronald McDonald.

"Oh, Faith. Stop bickering with your brother. He's just trying to get your goat and being playful."

I pouted, but it didn't win me any sympathy. My mother was obliviously blissful with Christmas cheer and my little brother rubbed his eyes and made a boo-hoo face to mock me.

"Mom, why does Christian get to sit up front? He sat up front last year!"

"Honey, please don't complain all the way to your grandma's house. You sat up front with Mommy for many years before Christian hit his growth spurt. He can't help it if he is taller than you now."

"Yeah, short stack! I need my leg room!" Christian rubbed it in my face by luxuriating in the front seat while I was crammed into the hump seat with our luggage on either side of me blocking my access to the window seat.

"I am still the OLDER sister, so I should get the front seat," I countered. I was almost as flat-chested as my brother, and 4'7". I had a baby face and fat chipmunk cheeks, so people often thought I was a little girl even though I had recently graduated.

"Tell you what. Be the sweet angel I know you can be for Christmas, and if you can behave and be a good sport this year about everything at your grandma's house, I'll consider letting you ride up front on the way back."

"Be a good sport? Darla and Lilah are complete A-holes!"

My mom was quiet for a moment and then said firmly without raising her voice, "Faith, you know that I overlook your vulgarities at home, but your grandma is a stickler about cussing. Unless you want to dine on soap when you visit, I'd recommend that you take that potty mouth and toss it out the window with your sour attitude."

"You make it sound so simple. I just have to be good, and my reward is to sit up front where I belong in the first place," I pouted.

"Yes, it is simple. I am good, and I look for the good in people, Faith. Good things come to me because I seek them out. All you have to do is turn your frown upside down and make lemonade when you get handed those lemons, sweetie."

I imitated my mother's Georgia-peachy, backwoods, sanctimonious bullshit advice behind her back. I didn’t actually imitate it out loud. I mouthed the words angrily like a silly brat, if I am being perfectly honest.

And in all honestly, I'd have loved to have her beautiful accent that sounded like pure American honey from the deepest part of the old South.

I even annoyed myself when I heard a recording of my voice: nasal, lispy, high-pitched, and squeaky, with a tendency to trail upward at the end of every sentence.

She turned on the radio and began to sing along: "Oh, ho the mistletoe! Hung where you can see. Somebody waits for you... Kiss her once for me."

"Come on, you two sourpusses! Sing along with me," she sang, even though neither of us joined her. My mother was dashing through the snow in her own little wonderland of Christmas cookies and gingerbread houses with shiny red bows.

She carried on like that for almost thirty minutes before she realized neither of us had sung along. "Now, guys. Please don't embarrass me this year. Everyone in the family sings Christmas carols. It's a family tradition. You are both blessed with lovely singing voices and you will be the only ones standing on the sidelines not having a good time."

"I don't have a good singing voice, Mom. I have a speech impediment!"

"You have a lisptthtttthtththth," Christian drew out his imitation of me so much that his spit almost landed on me. "Sorry, but you sound like a little baby, Sis."

I was indignant, but he was right, of course. Not only was I a ginger half-pint, I sounded like Pee-wee Herman when he did a funny voice. And that, my friends, is why THIS happened every year, and where my fun Christmas story began.

We were almost to Grandma's house, and after a rousing solo performance that lasted an eternity, my mom finished the final verse of "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer."

Oh, how I envied that Grandma.

"I am staying in the car," I said as she parked in the driveway of my grandmother's house. It was big and white, with a picket fence going all the way around. The kind of postcard rural house out in the country, with a light snow on the ground, picture-perfect.

"Come on, honey. Don't be a rotten little potato bug. You'll freeze your cute little bun-buns off in the car if you wait out here," she assured me. "Let's get inside and say howdy to everyone! I bet they are already all in there having eggnog and a good old time!"

"Mom, it's like two and a half weeks until Christmas. Can't I just stay at a hotel or something until Christmas Day?"

I knew that was never going to work.

"Don't be absurd. This is family, and sure your cousins are going to razz you, dear. It's sort of become a Christmas tradition around here. It's just typical stuff girls do to one another. Now, don't worry. I bought you extra panties this year."

She pulled out a pair of smiley-face heart panties. "Look, I even wrote your name in cursive with little hearts and rainbows in marker that Santa stayed up all night writing just for little old you! Each one has a unique, uplifting message you can read to turn your frowns upside down!"

"You shouldn't have done that." I was mortified.

"These are top of the line! Look at these waistbands."

"Fartfaith will be uplifting in those panties and Darla and Lilah will be turning her upside down." My little brother was already chuckling. He was nice all year long, but at Christmas time everyone thought it was funny to bag on the little ginger girl.

"Faith, look at these waistbands. This is quality stuff! Very stretchy material and durable. They are Cutie-Patootie brand! That's OshKosh B'gosh's new line for girls!"

I growled under my breath. "I am not a little girl anymore!"

"I know you are a big girl, sweetie, but can't you be a big girl and put on your big-girl panties and be Mommy's sweet little girl inside Grandma's house?"

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. "You shouldn't have to buy me extra panties, Mom. Aunt Tammy should just make them be nice to me!" If a face could harumpf, mine just had.

"Oh honey, Darla and Lilah don't mean anything by their teasing and little pranks. It's cute. But if you want, yes, I'll go tell their mom to ask Darla and Lilah not to be so rough on you this year," she said as she checked her phone and replied on her phone. "Be right there," she said to herself as she concentrated on what she was typing.

"Faith Butterworth! You aren't out of the car yet? They are all waiting for us inside!" My mother was shocked that I was still inside the car. I knew it was ultimately futile to sit there and sulk, but even a few minutes more without my cousins was worth it.

"Your mommy is getting frosty butt cheeks, and the only cure is a nice warm fire to warm it back up inside your grandma's house! Now come on out of there or I'll ask Christian to carry you out of the backseat."

How humiliating. I could just imagine the look on my cousins' faces when my little brother carried me across the threshold kicking and screaming.

"No, please don't do that!" I started to scoot out of the car. "And on second thought, don't ask Aunt Tammy to say anything to my cousins."

I assumed it would just make Darla and Lilah want to paint a target on my ass even more than they already did. Aunt Tammy had laughed hysterically last year.

"Too late, Junebug! I already texted my sister to tell her girls to go easy on you, and she said she sure would! So come on! Grab your luggage! It's Christmas time, Faith!"

Fa-la-la-fuck-Christmas.

“They said they couldn’t wait to braid your hair into those cute little pig tails, again and paint your nails. You can frolic day and night to your heart’s content.”

Frolic. That wasn’t as fun as it may sound, at least not for me. There was no getting away from it though. I’d be frolicking whether I wanted to do it or not. You’ll find out once I get to the part about about what happened I dragged my silly girlish bag through the snow, and fell on my ass on some slippery ice.

“Oopsie! Someone had a little accident. You okay, honey?” My mom asked sweetly, but I didn’t answer her with a anything other than an angry stare like this was her fault for dragging me out to spend Christmas with most of her relatives at my grandmother’s house.

“Don’t worry! Thankfully, you landed on your fat ass! Sis!” Christian offered me a hand up. I tried getting up on my own, but I needed his help to steady myself. I was so livid while I dusted the snow off my butt and sulked.

"Ugh, why can't I have new luggage like Christian does?" I asked as I watched my little brother easily pull his full-sized suitcase out of the trunk. It was going to be so embarrassing to stand next to him in family photos because last year our height difference was only mildly noticeable, but this year everyone was going to say something about it.

"How come Christian gets a polycarbonate, black full-sized adult suitcase and all I have is this Polly Pocket carry-on?" I looked down at my pathetic, pink, flimsy bag. It screamed, "Kick my ass, please!"

I could manage my polly pocket luggage just fine in the snow. I probably would have fallen over if I tried to lug his big old suitcase in the snow. That still didn’t stop me from wanting it, and bitching that I didn't' have one even better than my brother did.

"Your father said he could take his old suitcase, so it's a hand-me-down! You said you hate hand-me-downs," my mom assured me as she walked me to the front porch.

"I said I hate hand-me-downs from my LITTLE brother," I said a little too loud, because my mother opened the door and everyone inside heard me.

Uncle Eddie, Aunt Morgan, and their sons Hunter and Tanner laughed when they heard me. Grandma dashed over to hug me, and Aunt Tammy and her daughters Darla and Lilah were lurking somewhere nearby, I was sure. They were probably sharpening their knives or something.

"Oh, there is my darling daughter Charity!" Grandma hugged my mom deeply. She was a hugger, and so was my mom. "Oh, and look at this darling boy growing like a weed! Christian, you must be beating the girls away with a wooden spoon! You look so handsome! Do you have a hug for your old grandma?"

"You aren't old, Grandma!" Christian hugged her warmly.

"You don't need to put butter on toast with looks and muscles like yours, but I sure do love the flattery!" Grandma Betty felt his arms with awe, like he was some kind of muscle man. He wasn't that big; he was just bigger than me.

She really was a looker. Betty could have easily been mistaken for my mother's older sister because they were both tall with Nordic features, beautiful blonde hair, big smiles, big tits, and big butts. I definitely didn't get my genetics from my mother's side of the family.

In fact, Aunt Tammy, Lilah, Darla, and Aunt Morgan all rocked the blonde locks and full figures, like a bunch of Viking Barbie dolls.

"Oh, and who is this little cherub? I got your nose! Yes I do, yes I do!" She pretended to steal my nose the way she had every year since as long as I could remember. "Now, if you want it back, you've got to give me the biggest, strongest hug you can give! Are you ready? See if you can get your arms all the way around my big fat butt this time and give me a bear hug!"

She squeezed me tightly before I could even try. You know the most humiliating part? I really couldn't touch my fingertips behind her back when she picked me up off the ground and squeezed me to her humongous, full-sized chest.

"Oh, and look at these precious pokeys!" she announced as she poked two fingers into my upraised nipples through my shirt. It was cold outside, and I was anxious. She sounded so happy for me as she made everyone in the room aware that I had sprouted tits this year. They weren't much, but they weren't the bee-stings that I had last year.

"You see, Faith? I told you that your boobies would start to come in. You just needed a little patience, and a little what?" My mom asked me, and I felt even more humiliated than I already was. She waited with bated breath for me to say my own name.

"Faith," I answered flatly.

"Yes! Goody-gumdrops! That's why I picked that name just especially for my little girl." My mother bounced up and down with joy, and her braless tits bounced up while her big butt bounced down at the same time.

I wanted to remind her that I wasn't a little girl, but it would have just made me seem like I was being a jerk to my mom while she was happy. The less I spoke, the better, because as soon as people heard my lisp, they were going to comment on it.

"Faith thought everyone was going to be meanie-butts to her, but you see how supportive everyone really is?"

"Yeah, we all think it's wonderful you are joining the itty-bitty-titty club, and soon you are going to be members of the big-old-booty club!" Darla came walking out of the kitchen sporting a big smile and a tray of hot chocolate for everyone.

"Thank you, Darla! You are a saint for doing that without being told," my Aunt Morgan offered sweetly as she accepted a delicious cup of steaming hot cocoa on a saucer.

"Of course! That's what Christmas is all about, doing for others!"

"That's a wonderful sentiment, Darla! Speaking of doing for others, are you and Faith planning another ventriloquist dummy show like you put on last Christmas Eve?"

Oh God, kill me.

Darla glanced at me, and for just a moment that no one else noticed, that sweet facade disappeared and terrified the shit out of me.

"I haven't had a chance to catch up with Faith and work out this year's routine, Aunt Morgan. I am sure Faith won't disappoint you this year!"

"Faith didn't disappoint at all last year! It was so cute how you worked her mouth like she was a real dolly on strings, and threw your voice! I am so glad Eddie got it all on tape!"

"Oh, I wouldn't have missed that one. I knew it was going to be epic the minute you put her up on your knee and started doing that sweet little baby voice of hers."

"Herro! My name is Faithy-Waithy and I have a poopy nappy!" Darla imitated the ridiculously over-the-top, lispy baby talk she had made me say last year by sticking her finger straight up my butt and wiggling every time she wanted me to move my lips.

I couldn't believe no one else had noticed where her hand was under the silly skirt with ruffled panties in the back that they had made me wear.

"Oh, I packed the whole kit and kaboodle this year, y'all. Faith's wide-brimmed straw bonnet with the matching satin hair bows, that puffed-sleeve blouse, a stiff twill pinafore over three layers of crinoline, and those eyelet bloomers with the button-down drop-seat in back!"

"Oh my!" Grandma elbowed me as if I should be delighted. "You are going to look just like Shirley Temple! And you know what the best thing about button-down drop-seats are?"

I didn't even know what a drop-seat was.

"You won't have to take your whole flared dress off to go poopy! You can just unbutton the back and do your business!"

Everyone laughed hysterically. They weren't being mean to me. They genuinely thought that was funny, and to be honest, if my grandma hadn't been talking about me, then I might have laughed at the sweet, homey way she acted like that was going to be fun for me.

"Well, if I recall, you used to put us in those bloomers and I had to ask politely to be unbuttoned because I couldn't reach the little button doohickeys!" Aunt Morgan reminded her mother. She was the eldest of my mother's sisters, and she not only had a big smile, massive tits, and a bubble butt, she also had big hair like she stepped right out of a fashion magazine from the 1980s.

"You see, Faith? You aren't the only one who wears cute clothes!" My mom made it sound like I actually wanted to wear them.

"Hey, Faith." Lilah walked in carrying a tray of freshly baked cookies that admittedly smelled wonderful. "Have you been here hiding the whole time, short stack?" She acted like I was a garden gnome or something, and everyone chuckled along with her. "I'll trade you a cookie for a sneak peek of you in that outfit!"

"Now hold on one minute," my mom warned her. I smiled, folded my arms, and assumed my mother was going to lay down the law this year.

"You haven't even heard all of the other cute outfits I brought this year! Even Faith hasn’t seen all of these lovely Christmas clothes!”

“I hope you brought extra undies,” Lilah shouted. Everyone knew why.

“Oh, we did! Look at all these cute panties! Since y’all will be sharing a room again, I wrote her name in the waistband of all of her panties so everyone knows who has what!”

“Oh, how adorkable!” Darla laughed.

My mom just kept right on gleefully showing off silly Christmas sweaters, and Santa hats, dresses, and outfits that were often too small even for me.

There was literally no one smaller than me in the family for me to “Hand down” my clothes, so I ended up keeping stuff I wore way back in grade school.

“Sunday bonnet and three yards of grosgrain ribbon, that darling satin top under a box-pleated twill pinafore that stands straight out on its own. It's gonna look darling, I just know it. Ruffled batiste bloomers with the little pearl buttons across the back flap, and lace-trimmed bobby socks to go right into her delightful little black-and-white saddle shoes! And look, they’ve got taps on the bottoms, so Faith can do her little dances and shake her heiney for us!"

I had no idea what the fuck any of that was. All I knew for sure was thatI gritted my teeth. I had no intention of tap dancing while everyone laughed at my innate, natural lack of rhythm or coordination while shaking my ass with Christmas bells attached to my skirt.

"Oh! That sounds adorable!" Lilah towered over me. She had gotten even bigger somehow than she was last year. She had bigger titties than even her mother, and an ass to boot. "You think you can eat this whole cookie and not get any crumbles on the ground?" She patronized me and patted my head while holding a cookie out for me.

I reached for it without answering, and she pulled it away lightning-fast. She and Darla loved playing keep-away with me. "Nuh, uh, uh! Let me hear a please and thank you, Miss Lilah!"

Everyone glanced at me like they were hoping I would say it.

"I am not calling you Miss Lilah! We are the same age!"

"HAHAHAH!" The room broke out into a tremendous cacophony of laughter at my expense. My lisp had brought the house down once again.

"She sure told you off, didn't she, Lilah?" her mom chuckled, but it was obvious to me, anyway, that she was patronizing me.

"Honey, it is polite to say please and thank you, and it wouldn't hurt if you start off on the right foot with your cousins if you want them to be nicer to you." My mom patted me on the bottom lightly.

"Please may I have a cookie?" I tried hard to suppress my annoying lisp, but the tittering giggles told me that I hadn't.

"What? I can't hear you." Lilah bent down much lower and pointed to her ear while holding the fresh chocolate chip cookie in another well out of my reach.

I was about to just call her Miss Lilah to satisfy my cousin's need to embarrass me as I literally still stood at the front door holding the same ratty, plastic Polly Pocket suitcase that I bring every year.

"Did you say, please may I have a wedgie, Miss Lilah?" My cousin spoke so sweetly that I almost didn't realize what was coming next until it was too late. Her hand slipped into the back of my corduroy pants and I felt her big fingernails diving around my butt for the waistband of my panties.

Lilah could have taken her time about it. There was no way I could outrun her. She had enough arm reach that she could have caught me before I got a few feet away. I certainly couldn't fight back, and I wasn't the aggressive type even if I finally got the long-awaited growth spurt my mom promised me would blossom one day if I had faith.

"Come here, little dork! You know I couldn't let you in by the hair of your chinny-chin-chin," she picked me all the way up by my panties and bounced me each time she said chin.

"Owie! Please don't, Lilah!"

"See, now why can't you say please all the time, not just when you've got a wedgie in your tiny little butt crack! Huh?"

If you thought anyone would tell her to put me down or say this was inappropriate, then you thought wrong. This was my mom's side of the family and they chalked it up to good-natured teasing, and to my cousin that might have been what it was.

To me, it was being a yo-yo!

"Look at this, you got on your Pokemon panties!"

"Actually, it's Digimon," I blushed. I couldn't help myself sometimes when someone got something I was passionate about wrong.

"You are such a cute little dork! Do you know that?" She booped my nose with her other hand and then pushed the cookie into my mouth. "Let’s play Dorkymon. Store that hot cookie in those chipmunk cheeks of yours!"

"Looks like butt cheeks," Hunter laughed. Hunter and Tanner were good old boys in the making. Crew cuts, camo T-shirts with Steve Austin's face on them, denim jeans, cowboy boots. Rough-and-tumble types, and they absolutely loved my brother.

The worst part was they were my size last year, but now they had grown even taller than me by a few inches. They weren't as tall as my brother, but they were catching up.

"These cute little cheeks were made for storing nuts," Lilah explained as she squeezed my cheeks tightly and squished the cookie I was trying to chew. "THESE cheeks were made for farting!"

And there it was. My bare ass.

She didn't unzip. She didn't unbutton. She just yanked my pants down and presented my ass cheeks with my Digimon panties rolled tightly up my ass crack. "Presenting Fartfaith!"

Yes, my name is Fart-face, but since I lisp it sounds like Fart-faith, and so that name is literally sometimes written on Christmas presents by family members that ship gifts to us. It's written on Christmas cards.

"Oh my God, Fartfaith!" Tanner pointed at my backside, and I turned eight shades of red, hoping he wasn't about to say what I thought he was going to say. "I can see Fartfaith's poopy hole sticking out under her panties!"

He and Hunter found my butt to be absolutely hilarious. They always did. Talking about it, watching it jiggle, counting the freckles on my butt cheeks, theorizing about the sound my farts make, and how I go poop,

According to my Grandma, “Boys will be boys”, as if that explains it.

It wasn’t like they were interested in me sexually. To them, I was a cousin and they called me a “munchkin” or a “buttmunchkin”. They didn’t look at my butt with sexual curiosity, at least I didn’t think they did.

In case you are wondering, I am neither an extrovert nor a nudist. I don’t run around naked at home and my brother never yanks my pants down or gives me wedgies at home.

Christmas is an entirely different situation and part of why I was so reluctant to be there, but here I was and I had barely walked in the door before I had my bottom fully exposed while family members sat fully clothed and laughed.

My grandma calls it “Frolicking in the living room”. It’s like a game, except I always lose.

My whole family had seen me naked plenty of times, and it was just funny to them to see me get my bathing suit untied while I was at the pool, or my pants yanked down, or my panties ripped. However I ended up naked, they saw it as good, old-fashioned comedy.

Lilah kept bouncing me by dropping me like I was a yo-yo on a string and then pulling me up with the elastic of my panties, so that my arms and legs flopped around like I was made of jelly. I struggled, don't get me wrong. It was pointless, but I did it anyway. I kicked my legs and tried to grab at my jeans, but Lilah had been doing things like this to me since we were very little and she knew exactly how to keep me flying like a marionette while pointing my ass at the rest of my family so they could laugh about how cute it was. At least until my panties ripped completely off.

I could feel them tearing, and I knew that Lilah could sense I was about to fall as well. "Lilah! Let me down, right now! My panties are going to rip..."

"As you wish, Fartfaith!"

She didn't have to put me down. Gravity did that for me. I landed face-down and ass-up on my grandmother's old, well-worn, polished wooden floor.

I didn't have to look up to know that Lilah was still clutching my torn panties like a trophy. "Now, this here is a teeny-tiny, little-bitty poopy hole, Tanner." Darla reached under me and lifted me up, holding my legs with her other hand so that I couldn't kick her. She brought me closer to the couch where Hunter and Tanner sat with their parents, like I was a scared, wet cat that she didn't want to let get too close to her.

"Would you just look at that adorable little bubble butt!" Aunt Morgan might have been asking her husband on her right or her sons on her left. "I wish I had a pucker that small!"

The more they laughed and talked about my ass like it was a Faberge egg they'd like to mount in a display cabinet to marvel at how small my butthole was, the redder I became. I was so mortified that it was hard to maintain my composure because the humiliation was just overwhelming.

I felt a woman's finger reach between my butt cheeks and tap-tap on my butthole like I was a melon and she wanted to see if I was ripe. "I bet Fartfaith could sit on a piece of coal so tightly that it'd be a diamond by the end of supper!" Aunt Morgan observed as if she were impressed with me.

This was the first time that Aunt Morgan had referred to me by my nickname, and it kind of stung. My grandma, aunts, uncle, and mom hadn't ever called me Fartfaith, even though they laughed about it or wrote it on Christmas cards.

At least they wrote my real name on the five-dollar check they slipped inside.

"Oh, would you look at me and my potty mouth. I am sorry, Faith. It's just that your cousins all call you Fartfaith, and it sort of slipped. I hope you don't mind?"

I was about to say that I REALLY fucking minded, but it wouldn't have mattered, because it would have been like renaming Lake Ontario to Lake America or something and expecting people to call it that. They've been saying Lake Ontario for so long, they aren't going to stop just because someone tells them to do it.

"Fartfaith doesn't mind at all, do you, little farty-butt?" I felt the palm of Lilah's hand grab and squeeze my butt cheek tightly. The implication she was making was that she was about to play the bongos on my ass if I didn't agree with her.

"I don't mind, Aunt Morgan. Everybody else does!"

"Oh goodness, thank you, Fartfaith. I was afraid it would sound unseemly for a lady my age to say it, but it's what everybody calls you."

"I was called Peanut until I was twenty, and even now when I go back to Bramwell in West Virginia, some still do. I'll never live that nickname down." Uncle Eddie spat his tobacco into a coffee can and spoke directly to my bare ass while I was being held on display in the air by my two cousins. They had started passing me back and forth to one another like I was a toy they were playing with.

"Can you put me down now, please? I think everyone has seen my asshole and had a good laugh, Darla!"

Oh God. What had I just done? No one would bat an eye about my cousins giving me a yo-yo wedgie until my panties ripped and then showing my ass to everyone.

They even had a word for it. My grandma called it frolicking.

"Now, I don't mind you girls frolicking in the living room, but I don't abide vulgarities, and you know that, little miss Faith."

At least my grandmother hadn't started calling me Fartfaith.

"It's Fartfaith, Grandma," Lilah corrected her on my behalf.

"Mind that I don't wash your mouth out, too. I tolerate Faith's nickname because y'all find it so funny and y'all say it so often, I sometimes do too, but I'd rather you say toot, poot, or sitting on a bullfrog."

Yeah, Sitting-on-a-bullfrog Faith really rolled off the tongue, and so much for relying on my grandmother's dignified Southern manners to prevent her from calling me Fartfaith, too.

"Now, set the girl down so she can take me seriously, because I am not chewing my cabbage twice, ladies," Grandma said firmly while my cousins placed me firmly upright on the floor. I'd managed to lose my shoes in the struggle and stood in my socks with my pants around my ankles.

"Faith Butterworth. You know the rules in this house aren't bent or tampered with for you just because you are cuter than a bug in a rug. I don't tolerate girls with potty mouths. You know that, right?"

I bent over and started to pull my pants back up.

"Don't mind those britches right now. You may as well leave them down. You've done shown your new girly hairs to everyone."

Oh God, my grandmother just announced to the room that I had a full patch of pubes. I was a late bloomer, and one frequent source of amusement to my cousins was how smooth and hairless my pussy had been.

“Ha-ha, they aint as red as her hair! The carpet don’t match the dray-apes, dray-apes, Buttmunchkin!” Hunter pointed at my pussy and announced to the room that most of my pubes were as black as night.

“Oh yeah, Buttmunchkin, I forgot about that one,” My little brother high fived Hunter in solidarity.

My first nickname used to be “Munchkin”. It was given to me by my Uncle Roy over Christmas because of my stature, obviously. “Buttmunchkin” was an invention of Hunter and Tanner to annoy the crap out of me.

That became “Bubble Buttmunchkin” and “Bubble, Bubble Butt Munchkin” one year because despite my size and weight, my butt is one of four of my body parts that approaches full size. I guess I inherited THAT from my mother’s side of the family.

My Chipmunk cheeks are the second body part. They are just two big for my face, and perfect for squishing into a kissy face. So, one day my nickname morphed into “Chipmunchkin” and for a time “Chocolate ChipMunchkin.”

The adults in the family laughed when they heard some “clever” new variation of munchkin but none of them addressed me by the nickname and when we went into town no one called me that. It was just for family gatherings to rib me about how awkward, annoying, weird, dorky or short I was.

I admit, that I am all of those things and I sometimes just can’t help it. My mom thinks I can just turn it all off and become a sparkling majorette cheerleader performing ballet and sports. I should add that I am super weak and out of shape and a total klutz.

I’ve spilled more trays, dishes, cups than anyone in the family combined and that’s how I became “Klutzmunchkin” whenever I slipped and fell on my ass or accidentally stepped in cow manure.

I thought I’d never live those terrible monikers down. I was wrong. I did. Almost no one calls me that besides Hunter, Tanner and Christian.

One fine winter day, my cousin Darla sat on my face and farted right in my mouth. She called me a fart face and made me say that was my name.

She and Lila heard it as “Fartfaith” because of my lips, and because they were compressing the cheeks on my face and making me sing bubble guppy for them.

That one stuck and it stuck so well, that now even the adults in the family called me that.

I tried to cover my pussy with my hands, but there wasn’t much that I could do to prevent being roasted for my unkempt, bush. I never trimmed my pubic hair because I wanted more hair to cover up the third body part that is way too big for my body: My clit.

I could feel everyone staring at my pussy, and even though it was futile to cover it up with my hands I kept trying to have a little modesty about my body.

"You got a little grass on your field, Faith. Go on and take those hands down. You aint hiding nothing we haven’t seen before plenty of times. Girls don’t really need modesty around family. Every summer your grandpa would take the whole family out to the lake and go skinny dipping. Do you know what stopped the laughing and staring?”

“Growing up and becoming mature?” I asked sarcastically. My grandma ignored my response.

“Turn around and take your hands down, Faith. Go on and give everyone a good long look so they can see that short and curlies are no different than what ya got growing up top. Everyone in this room has the same little patch. Let em get an eyeful, and stop acting like your little fannyfluff is so precious aint nobody fit enough to look upon it. Then they won't crane their necks trying to see that your peach fuzz finally blossomed into a lady patch.”

Grandma had an endless number of euphemisms for things she found distasteful or didn’t want to say in mixed company, and unfortunately a few of those almost made me laugh.

Grandma pointed her finger and directed me to turn around. I shuffled with my pants down in a semicircle until I was facing Uncle Eddie, Aunt Morgan, Hunter, and Tanner, and on a nice tea chair sat Aunt Tammy with a cup of cocoa in her hand.

"WHOA! IT LOOKS SO DIFFERENT NOW!" Hunter thought it was fantastic that I had a fuzzy bush. "Like a Brillo pad."

"You still got that little pecker dangling between your lady flappers," Tanner joked, and only my brother, him, and Hunter found that one funny enough to laugh at it.

"Tanner Davidson. You watch your mouth, or you'll be right there standing next to Faith with your pickle swinging in the breeze."

Now would be a good time to mention my grandmother's old-fashioned double standard based on years of traditional beliefs that women are held to one standard and men are held to another. In her ideal world, women didn't have careers; their only ambition was to wash dishes, hang laundry, and shoot out babies they could raise.

"So, can I call it a pickle?" Tanner asked his grandma seriously, while I literally stood a few feet away with my clit popped out like a tiny dick. Yes, the only thing BIG about me was that clit, and it was super sensitive.

"Ladies do NOT have pickles." Grandma craned her neck to get a better look at my pussy to think about what he was asking. "Well, I guess that would be sort of a gherkin, then, wouldn't it?"

Hilarious. Fucking hilarious.

"Charity Butterworth," Grandma called my mom's name like a teacher who was about to assign a detention.

"Yes, Ma'am?" Mom responded by sitting up straight in her chair and brightly addressing her mother.

"You haven't been washing Faith's mouth out with soap, and look at the dirty things that are coming out of it."

"I am sorry, Ma'am. I am not a disciplinarian. Henry was, and since the divorce he really doesn't have that much visitation."

"That chicken ain't gonna fly with me, Charity. I raised you and your sisters to talk like ladies. I'll still stick a bar of soap down your throat if I ever hear you saying that bad word Faith did!"

"Yes, I know that, Ma'am. I respect you for doing what you had to with us, because Lord knows we didn't always make it easy."

"You know you are doing Faith a disservice not feeding her a little soap when she talks nasty, and paddling her behind when she acts nasty, don't you?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Mom replied crisply.

"Her behind might be small, but I've seen her take a licking when she's frolicking around with her pants down around the living room just fine."

Those were her words for my cousins spanking my ass when they pantsed me in the living room.

"You can't just tell a girl to be good and expect her to do right. They have to learn it the hard way, and that's all there is to it. You do the deed, you face the consequences. I thought I'd have to buy soap by the case when you were her age and feed it to you and your sisters every night, but you learned, and quick, that Granny means business. I say what I mean, and mean what I say. You aren't a disciplinarian? The moment you put this girl into the world, you became one. Now, go and fetch a bar of soap from the kitchen."

Mom looked terrified as she dashed into the kitchen and left me standing with my pussy and ass on display. "You can cross your wrists behind your back, Faith. You are gonna have thirty minutes to think about never saying that filth in my house again. You hear?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

I should also mention that when Grandma was talking to you like this, even Uncle Eddie called her Ma'am, and he might have been even older than she was.

"Here ya go, Mama." Mom held out a bar of white soap. I'd tasted it before, and the worst part was the suds starting to run down your chin and your eyes starting to water.

"Why are you handing this to me? Am I her mama now?"

"ME? Oh... um... I am sorry, sweetie." Mom approached me with the soap in her hand.

"Now, hold on. Why are you apologizing to her? She's the one who said the bad word. Did you do something wrong?"

"I know how unpleasant this will be for her."

"Unpleasant, yes. Life can be unpleasant when you have a consequence. Best you teach that to her now, before she finds out with something much worse, like getting pregnant too early because she didn't learn how to please a man without giving him that gherkin she's got sprouting upraised between her thighs!"

I don't know if there was a word for humiliation that properly expressed how I felt when Grandma pointed out that my clit was standing at attention. When I got nervous and blood started pumping, I got what some would call a boner, and it actually hurt in a good way.

If it stayed at attention and I didn't rub one out, I got a sensation similar to being edged to the point of frustration, stuck in between an orgasm that never came.

My cousins knew about it, but they still covered their mouths and laughed at it.

"You've been on the other end of the bar of soap, Charity. Did I ever apologize to you or tell you that I was sorry?"

"No, Ma'am." Mom cringed.

"That's because I wasn't sorry. I knew I was doing you right by teaching you a little lesson. It won't kill her to swallow some suds. You never could chop the head off a chicken, neither."

Mom dried her eyes, and I could tell she really didn't want to put soap in my mouth. "Open up, Faith."

I opened my mouth wide enough that she could push the soap about halfway in.

"Go on and touch her tonsils with the tip." Grandma evaluated how my mother disciplined. "A girl has to learn to suppress that gag one way or the other if she's ever going to find a good husband."

I'd heard Grandma say that last part before, but it had just dawned on me that it was her polite way of saying suppressing your gag reflex so you could give better head.

In case you haven't guessed, Mom had never spanked me or put soap in my mouth, and my dad had only done it when we visited Grandma.

Mom reluctantly pushed it into my mouth so hard that it made me gag and choke. She watched me for a moment. "Now go on into the kitchen and stand in the corner. We'll come get you in thirty minutes. Mind you keep your wrists crossed."

"Mrmrmrtfth?" I pointed to my corduroys. I hadn't really said words because I knew she'd never understand me, and it was obvious I was asking if I could pull them up. I'd never had to take my pants down for soap in the mouth before.

Mom collected herself, breathed in, and very politely and rationally told me, "You said a dirty word when you had your pants down. You'll stand there with them down. Go on now, before I give you more time."

She said what Grandma might say, but she obviously didn't mean it.

I had to shuffle my feet to walk with my pants around my ankles. I was sure I looked pathetic. No one talked until I entered the kitchen.

Grandma's house was older than she was. It had been passed down for generations. There was a wood-burning stove in a corner and a hand pump at the sink that they must have used before they got running water.

Imagine solid old wood that still smelled like wood, white porcelain, and a well-worn, storied kitchen table. There were black-and-white pictures on the wall of family members I'd never known and a few books on a shelf.

A simple, unvarnished wooden sign, made of a single block of untreated wood, rested above the kitchen door, and you saw it every time you left. It had one word etched into it with a crude wood tool and stained darker than the rest: "FAITH", with no explanation or other words around it.

It was pretty obvious why my mom chose that name for me after seeing it every day while she was growing up. "The Corner," as it was called, was a place of shame. There was nothing in that corner but dusty cobwebs, and no sign to tell you it was where you stood when you were in trouble.

Somehow it was a little darker than every other place in the kitchen, but it was also positioned so everyone could see your ass while they ate. I could already taste that soap rolling down my throat, and reflexively I started to gag. I cheated and pushed the soap a little out of my mouth.

No one was in the kitchen. It felt a little silly to have to stand there with my pants around my ankles. You had to press your nose and toes to the corner and keep your wrists crossed behind your back. I'd also had to put my palms behind my head before.

It wasn't like I spent a lot of time in the corner, but I usually ended up there at least once or twice every Christmas. At least this time it wasn't during a big Christmas party.

I felt silly, like I was putting on a show for nobody by dutifully standing straight and keeping my nose to the wall. If you moved, the time reset, but there was no one to check.

I did it anyway.

Thirty minutes was a metric fuck-ton of time when you were in the corner. It passed so slowly that you thought time was going backward.

The worst part? My clit was still engorged and all I could think about was horny it made me, and how agonizing it would be if the swelling won’t go away when it starts to throb.


more?

[EddieDavidson]

The worst part about wedgies, besides the total humiliation, crushing my asshole and pussy until my panties rip, and the feeling of powerlessness and vulnerability, was that it could make me wet.

It could make me really fucking wet and horny. I start to pout and get fidgety when my pussy starts to get slippery and if it happens involuntary around other people they usually think I am just being a dork.

I didn't want to make the connection between getting a wedgie and getting wet, because I didn't want to admit it to myself. It wasn't that I LIKED getting wedgied.

I'd imagine it was like a guy who gets forcibly jerked off while he is handcuffed. He is going to get hard and cum, even if he doesn't like the person doing it to him or want to cum.

I usually didn't spring a hot, messy, sticky leak inside my vagina and begin soaking my panties immediately, thankfully. It was quiet times when I was alone after the endorphins and adrenaline started to fade. Once the humiliation and danger of it continuing were over, that was when the sensation of the pressure of my panties eating into my clit during the yo-yo session in the living room began.

I was so tempted to start rubbing myself to completion. I glanced over my shoulder as I stood in the dark kitchen alone, pants around my ankles. I could hear the sound of raucous laughter in the living room from behind the kitchen door.

It wasn't necessarily me they were laughing at. My mom's side of the family loved life and loved to laugh. They all had such beautiful big smiles that it seemed like they did it all the time.

They were probably in the living room laughing at me anyway.

I couldn't think about that. What I wanted to do was to end the tingles and temptations that were beckoning me to take a chance and roll the dice by playing with myself. I'd never get a chance to rub one out if I shared a room with Darla and Lilah, because they would be there.

Logically, it was a dumb idea. It was too risky and I knew that. Anyone could come walking through that kitchen door at any moment and...

Oh shit, that felt good.

That was the spot.

Yeah, no one knew how to trigger my pleasure centers like me. I had tons of practice jilling off at home. I wasn't exactly popular with guys, for obvious reasons: no tits, braces, zits, freckles, clownishly red hair, squeaky voice, annoying habits. You get the idea.

So on Friday and Saturday nights, I spent a little time getting to third base with myself by fingerbanging my tight little pussy until I got so close to orgasm that I could imagine that rushing sensation and explosive pleasure coming if I just rubbed myself the right way.

The longer I could hold out and consistently do little circles on my G-spot with the tip of my finger while mashing my clit like I hated it with my thumb, the bigger the orgasm was going to be.

The craving to just finish myself off quickly was always competing with the desire to prolong that pleasure for as long as possible. The tension started to build, and I got close enough to the edge of orgasm to start fantasizing in my little world of kinky, dirty thoughts that existed only in my mind and my locked journal.

Oh yes, I wrote them down.

I savored the fantasies that turned me on. I wanted to record them so that I could read them again when I got inspired. I'd even considered submitting them on forums, but I didn't want to share my deepest, darkest desires with anyone.

Oh God, I was close. Hot anime stories. I got off to hot anime stories. Oh God, I admitted it, yes. I kept a dirty copy of Futari Ecchi in comic book form that I had pasted into a copy of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. That was a good book, too, but I needed a place that I knew my mom and little brother would never look. They abhorred stuff like that.

Futari Ecchi was about a married couple who wanted to get so good at sex for each other that they went out and did...

Yeah... oh, that was what I needed. Yes, I was about to...

"Hey, Sis!"

My whole body froze, and my spine almost jumped out of my body on its own. I had lost track of time. Christian wasn't saying anything, and he wasn't the subtle type. If he caught me masturbating at Grandma's house, that'd be the topper to my introduction to the family this year. I'd be in deep doo-doo.

The worst part was my pussy was still throbbing like it was begging and whimpering for me to give it the fantastic orgasm that it wanted. I slowly brought my hands back over my hips to my lower back and glanced over my shoulder at him to see if he was standing in stunned silence.

Nope, he was snapping a picture of me with my pants down and my ass out.

"Dffrmtt, Christian," I mumbled. I had completely forgotten that the soap had been in my mouth the entire time, and I looked rabid.

"Just snapping a shot for posteriority," he said with confidence.

"It's posterity! Posteriority isn't even a word, dummy..." I spat my soap out, because now the haze of my indecent thoughts cleared and brought me back to the reality of what soap actually tasted like. "Hey, erase those pics."

"Nah," he shrugged.

"Don't show them to anyone," I huffed and started to turn back to the corner.

"Too late, texted to the rest of the family," he said.

I could feel the familiar buzz of my phone in my back pocket around my ankles. I had just received a text message.

"They wanted me to confirm you were really still standing here. Now, why were your hands in front of you and not crossed behind you?"

"I had an itch, okay," I lied. I am a terrible liar, and I get even more mousy and anxious when I have to do it. My stomach growls and I get an upset tummy from the fear of being caught in a lie. My butthole starts to quiver from the jittery paranoia that I'll be exposed.

I couldn't exactly confess to my brother that I was going to town on myself and ask him politely to give me two more minutes to answer the call of my vagina to come and just take it over the edge we'd been circling for who knows how long.

"Yeah, sure. Let me sniff your fingers." He walked over to me as if I'd give him my hands to vindicate myself.

"No! That's disgusting!" I pulled my hands back and stared him down. I wasn't lying about that. "Now, tell me what you came in here for."

"Mom wants you to come upstairs and talk to her," he said.

"Yeah, and I walk out of here and find out you tricked me into leaving early only to get me in more hot water? Yeah, no thanks." I turned around to face the corner and put the soap back in my mouth. I wished I hadn't. It tasted yucky. "She'd have come in here and talked to me if she wanted to speak with me."

"It's been over thirty minutes, Faith. Do what you want and stay in here. Mom told me to come and get you because she needs to talk to you."

I had to believe my little brother, and I wanted to get my pants back up as quickly as possible.

"What are you doing, silly?" Christian chuckled when I bent over to finally yank my pants back up. "Mom said you had to waddle as you are."

"She wouldn't have said that."

"Fine, pull them up, but you better say that I TOLD you to do that. I'd be curious if she'd make you come right back and eat a bar of soap before dinner, or punish you some other way."

"Mom doesn't punish us," I blurted out. I am sure I sounded like a bratty know-it-all, but it was just how I talked. I suddenly remembered Grandma scolding my mom and making her be the one to tell me to get a bar of soap and stand in the spot.

"Fine." I waddled out of the kitchen, taking baby steps with my pants all the way around my ankles.

The only people in the living room were my Uncle Eddie, Grandma, Aunt Tammy, and Aunt Morgan. They abruptly stopped drinking their coffee or hot cocoa and quieted. I assumed they would tell me to pull my pants up if my little brother was playing an annoying trick on me.

He was great and my best friend all year long, but at Christmas time he started getting mischievous and playing pranks on me just like the others did. I assumed when they simply returned to their light conversation that I was expected to go upstairs with my pants down.

They had already seen me bottomless, so it wasn't all that shocking to them. If anything, I could process my feelings as recycled humiliation that didn't sting as badly as the first time.

"Come on, slowpoke."

"You don't have to walk me upstairs, Christian," I scowled as I struggled to lift my feet and take each step one step at a time.

Suddenly the door burst open, and a cold draft of winter chill ran straight up my butt crack, because the stairs were across the room from the front door.

"Ho, Ho, Ho, Merry Christmas!" Uncle Jack burst into the living room with his hands raised. Grandma lived out in the country and never locked her front door. "I've got presents for everyone!" He and his wife Aunt Staci had an armful of wrapped gifts with them.

I heard them politely laugh as they looked up at the crack of my bubble butt. They weren't surprised at all. They usually didn't stay over during Christmas, because they also visited Aunt Staci's family.

"The Dork's butt saw its shadow! That means two more weeks of dorkiness!" his son Bradley shouted flamboyantly. He was a pipsqueak like me, pimple-faced and chubby with glasses. He was just a little taller, and just as annoying as I was.

You might think there is some sort of solidarity between dorks because we all share the same humiliations. You'd be wrong. Bradley was just a teensy-tiny bit higher than me in the social food chain, and he took every opportunity to rub my nose in it.

"Heya, Bradley!" Christian waved politely and tapped me on the shoulder. "You know Mom's stance on hospitality around Christmas! Don't be rude. Turn around and say hello, Sis!"

I sighed and slowly spun around as Uncle Jack and his family came inside and took their winter coats off. "What did you do this time, Faith?"

I was thankful he didn't call me Fartfaith.

"Her name is Fartfaith, Dad! Get it right," Bradley said with a smirk and a laugh caught in his throat that almost made him choke.

"Go on and answer your Uncle Jack, dear." Grandma was already walking over to hug them.

"I said a naughty word, Uncle Jack." I looked down.

"I bet you won't say it anymore," Jack chuckled. I felt he was looking right at my pubic hair and engorged clit. It felt like everyone was looking at how sticky it was and knew what I had been doing in the kitchen. If Grandma did, she'd have tanned my hide good.

If vulgar speech was a felony, then getting caught playing with yourself was a capital offense. Everyone would know what you did, and Grandma would shame you for being perverted and self-indulgent during the holidays. She often had double standards for guys over girls, but on this one she was an equal opportunist.

I'd never seen her punish someone older, but I assumed that was because they knew how to not get caught or they were having sex together with their spouses.

"Look at her body," Aunt Staci observed, glaring at me like she could tell from one look at my glistening pussy that I had been finger-fucking myself into a state of bliss until my butthead of a brother interrupted.

Now I was stuck with a runny pussy that hadn't realized playtime was over, and the frustrating tension of a ruined orgasm with no relief.

It got boring and frustrating during Christmas, and playing with myself was the only way to get a little relief. Needless to say, if someone was keeping score of who got caught the most, I'd be at the top of the scoreboard.

"Four-eyed Fartfaith, big dork nerd,
Got caught rubbing the hole that makes her turd!
Now her pants are down, and she can't say a word!"

Did I mention that over the years, my cousins had become gifted songwriters of rhyming schoolyard taunts to tease me with specifically? That was one of the all-time classics, and it always infuriated me.

"Actually, I have never played with my... rose hole, and I wasn't even caught doing that deed, and YOU wear glasses, Bradley! So why call me four-eyes?"

I knew exactly why. If I had someone dorkier than me, and I was wedgied into my school locker every day like Bradley, then I'd probably be a cruel bitch to them just to take it out on someone else.

In my experience, there are two kinds of dorks: the dork who knows they are the dork, and the kind who doesn't. The dork who accepts what they are and how the world sees them doesn't fight, threaten, or run. It's always going to be worse.

I tried just not ever wearing panties during the holidays, and it only led to much more pantsing, and they found other ways to give me a wedgie. On top of that, Grandma thought I was going through a show-off phase because I wasn't wearing any panties, and she thought I wanted everyone to see my beaver and rose hole.

In case you haven't guessed, "rose hole" was one of the more acceptable ways to say asshole around Grandma and in polite company.

Dorks who put on airs and act like they aren't fair game to the cool kids and jocks try to punch back and get laid out. While I could yell and scream, I didn't try to get away. It was gonna be much, much worse for a resistant dork, because the bullies tended to make examples of them.

Bradley was a dork who didn't think he was a dork when he visited. I didn't know what he was like outside of Christmas. He might have been a nice guy, and like Christian, he slapped my butt or wedgied me just like the others did over the holidays.

"Hey, Bradley. Remember this one? 'Freckle-dork Fart-face, never been kissed...'" and by the second line Bradley joined right in with a rousing chorus of, "'Rubbed her fat nub till she blistered her wrist!'"

"I wasn't playing with myself!"

Everyone looked at me like they thought I was being overly dramatic and defensive. In retrospect, it probably just made me seem even more guilty to them.

"Grandma, may I be excused? My mom wants to speak with me," I asked as politely as I could while absent-mindedly covering my clit with my hands.

"I was wondering why you were hobbling around with your pants down. Did your mom tell you to stay that way until you got upstairs?"

"Yes, Ma'am," I answered in a submissive tone that was as free of snark as I could make it sound with my perpetual nasal drip, squeaky voice, and a lisp that made me sound like a bratty baby.

Grandma seemed impressed, as if she didn't think Mom would require me to keep my pants down. It was obvious to me that Grandma approved of the decision. I shivered, because there was one thing as sure as the fact that I was a dork that I knew to be true: Mom worshiped her mother and obeyed her without question when she visited. She and her sisters were very competitive with one another for Grandma's affection and approval.

"See ya, Bradley," Christian waved at him and then smacked my butt when I turned around and started to hobble away. "Don't be rude, Fartfaith. Say goodbye!"

I blushed and quietly seethed as I turned halfway around and gave a half-hearted goodbye.

"Four-eyed Fartfaith, nasty little nerd, finger in the place where she drops a turd! Caught with her pants down, just like we heard!" Bradley sang as he waved goodbye. It was his contribution to the myth that I was a pervert who couldn't keep her fingers out of her ass and pussy.

I didn't enjoy fingers in the butt, because usually they weren't my own and people just jabbed them up there.

"We have to get on the road, so we may not see you until we pass Mom's house on the way back. Give my best to your mother," Uncle Jack waved us away without even a trace of disapproval for Bradley's songs.

It was considered kinda normal around here, in case you didn't get that.

I heard Grandma trying to convince them to stay for supper while I completed my journey step by step up the stairs.

“You’ve never spanked me before, Christian. You act so different when we are here,” I complained when we were out of earshot.

“Spanking? That’s not spanking. That’s just a quick butt slap,” he did it again and made my butt cheek jiggle. “Everyone takes a poke at your bubble butt because it’s like Jell-O and it’s out so much. Why can everyone else do it and not me?”

“I’d rather not be poked or have my butt tickled or jiggled when I pass by,” I said.

“Well, I’d rather have a new iPhone for Christmas, instead of some corny toy because Grandma thinks I am a little kid. So, I don’t think it’s fair everyone else gets to call you Fartfaith and give you a little smack on the butt and I get left out of the fun.”

He smacked my butt a third time before I completed the next step just to test if I’d do more than groan.

My mom shares a room with Aunt Tammy just to the right of the stairs and She had the door open. I could hear her singing sweetly like a Georgia Peach, “I’d like to teach the world to sing, in perfect harmony…”

“You sure did take y’all’s time. I’ve gotta get my tail downstairs in a few minutes and help Mama with supper.” My mom pivoted, and when She saw me She held her hand over her mouth to suppress a laugh. “I know you just got those red hairs, sweetie, and you wanna show ‘em off, but you can’t just walk around with your cute butt hanging out like that.”

I was so aghast with indignation that I hesitated for a split second to explain that my brother had tricked me.

“Sorry, Mom! When I went to get Fartfaith, She didn’t want to leave the kitchen and I had to convince her you wanted to talk to her.”

“Why on earth would you want to stand in the corner, sweet pea?” She asked me sweetly. I was reaching down to pull my jeans up and didn’t get a word of explanation in before my little brother answered for me.

“I think She was playing with herself and wanted some privacy because She didn’t have her wrists crossed behind her back when I came in. I texted a picture of how I caught her standing with her hands around her crotch.” My brother acted out what I was doing with his butt stuck out and made it seem like I was going full throttle.

“Oh, I didn’t notice where your sister’s hands were. I was too busy laughing at her sweet little butt crack and thought you had just taken a picture because it was so cute. I forwarded that on to everybody at my work, and the rest of the family.”

Ugh, now even more people have a picture of my bare bottom to laugh at.

I was caught off guard, and I couldn’t pick my jaw off the ground to give my side of the story in time.

“So, by the time I got Faith to leave the kitchen, Uncle Jack and Aunt Staci arrived with Bradley, and I had to lightly tap Faith on the bottom to get her to turn around and acknowledge them after they said hello or She would have just kept walking.”

Technically that was true, and if I had said otherwise, Grandma probably would have confirmed my brother's version of the story.

“Well, that is quite rude, Faith!” My mom seemed perturbed. She never yelled or lost her composure. None of the women in the family ever did. “Did they ask why you had your fanny fluff out and your jeans around your knees?”

“They did,” Christian answered for me. “She told everyone that you made her walk around like that. Then She didn’t wave goodbye when Uncle Jack said He had to leave, and we may not see them until after Christmas.”

“Your Uncle Jack has to tell Mama He is leaving right away. He has to tell Mama He's leaving right at the front door after dropping off some early presents. He lets her talk him into staying for supper. If He doesn’t and stays for supper, then She’ll try to talk him into staying the night.”

That was kind of clever and devious.

Mom shook her head with a lilting little laugh. "Jack does that very same dance every single year, sugar.”

"Mom!" I squeaked. I finally got her attention, and I could see panic in Christian’s eyes because I was going to spill the beans on him. "Christian tricked me! He told me you ordered me to waddle upstairs with my pants down! And then He smacked my butt three times coming up the steps, and He said He's allowed to just because the cousins do!"

“That was a white lie. I knew if I told you Mom was mad at you that you’d actually stop trying to make excuses to finish whatever you were doing with your hands, and the reason I tapped you on the butt was to remind you to be polite and walk upstairs to get you up here before you had to go fix dinner. You obviously had something important to talk to her about.”

“Well, thank you. You are such a good helper,” She giggled breezily and kissed him on the top of the head.

“It was more than a tap! You made my butt jiggle!”

“Well, turn around and take your pants down and let me see,” My mom said.

“What?”

“If you’ve got welts on your behind, then I’ll have words with your brother. Everyone gives you little butt smacks. Why are you so worried if your brother does it? He doesn’t want to feel like Rudolph and not play the reindeer games everyone else plays.”

“She’s being stingy, Mom!” Christian agreed with delight all over his face. “Everyone else in the family gets to call her Fartfaith and give her a little wedgie. I'm the only one left out? It’s not fair that you let everybody else swat you and then get all bent out of shape when your own brother joins in. Am I not family?”

I was stunned that My mom took his side, and that He somehow made me into the villain.

“Well, that’s gonna change soon, sweetness.” She assured my little brother that I’d be nicer and more accommodating.

“Not likely! She even sneered when we were singing our little made-up songs about her and didn’t want me to even sing along with Bradley. You don't hear her complaining Bradley sang about how She can’t stop playing with herself.”

“Why don’t you excuse us for just a teensy-tiny smidge, Christian. I need to have a heart-to-heart with Faith about what happens when She insists on being the only sour jelly bean during Christmas celebrations.”

“Sure, Mom!” Christian was all too happy to leave quickly. He gave my bare butt a hard slap across one cheek as He dashed out, like He was testing Mom’s reaction.

“Honey, you can pull your pants up. I am not going to spank you. Okay? Turn around and sit here with me on the bed,” She patted an old beige comforter that smelled like mothballs.

“When your grandma told me not to say I was sorry to you, I said I wasn’t because She wanted to hear me say that, but I did feel sorry for you.”

Finally, My mom was going to express some sympathy for all the butt swipes, dirty songs, and pranks everyone plays on me.

“I am sorry, because I grew up with the fear of my mom’s soap, paddle, and lash. I’ve cut my own switch, and stood in the corner enough times to know that it’s very simple. If I don’t want a whooping, then just don’t ask for one by doing naughty things.”

She paused and looked at me lovingly. She reached up and combed my red hair with her fingers and said, “I liked you in pigtails. I want you to start wearing those again from now on. I’ll ask your cousins to braid it for you when we are done here.”

I didn’t want to bitch and complain about how everyone compared me to the Wendy’s mascot when I wore my hair that way. I never liked that style, but My mom did and She made me wear it that way over Christmas break because Grandma thought it was cute. Everybody called me “Wendy Junior with cheese” in addition to Fartfaith, Butt Muncher, and all the other nicknames they gave me.

I nodded my head in acceptance because I assumed She was going to apologize for punishing me over a silly word.

“I didn’t enforce my Mama’s rigorous discipline because I didn’t want to be a meanie butt. I thought I was doing you a favor by not holding you to any standard. It’s no wonder you end up with a sore behind every day over Christmas. You don’t practice these behaviors all year round. Then you come here over the break and you have a potty mouth, complain about everything, refuse to sing, and even told your brother off just for a playful little smack and calling you what everyone else calls you.”

I really didn’t see this coming, and I definitely didn't like where it was going.

“So, from now on I am going to be the one to discipline you.”

My mom waited for me to react. I thought that wasn’t actually that bad. My mom is a softie, and She’d definitely be easier on my behind than My grandmother was.

“I might have to put soap in your mouth, but I am not going to spank you.”

I tried to hide the smile emerging on my face, but I wasn’t very successful.

“Don’t get all giddy. I am going to come up with punishments that fit the crime and are more my style to teach with loving discipline.”

That still didn’t sound all that bad.

“I’ve been writing a few down as I think of them, like instead of soap, I would probably use a big peppermint stick. Peppermint is yucky, don’t you think?”

I tried to pretend that I wasn’t thrilled and nodded. I didn’t mind peppermint. It sounded a whole lot better than soap.

“I’ll have to experiment with what motivates you to actually behave and what isn’t going to serve as a consequence and also add positive reinforcement.”

“Oooh, like what?” I was a little too enthusiastic about it and My mom looked at me with disappointment.

“Don’t think because I am a big old softie and I love you bunches,” She leaned forward and squeezed my chipmunk cheeks just as hard as She could in a loving way. “Your grandma didn’t believe in positive reinforcement. She and I sat down and discussed this while you were in the corner. She doesn’t think girls should be rewarded for just doing what is expected of them, but She respects that I want to do this my way.”

I was downright giddy at the thought of some sort of bonus incentive.

“I haven’t worked it all out, but a good example will be if you behaved all week you will get your allowance. If you are a naughty girl, you won’t. If you are a VERY naughty girl, I’ll start docking your allowance for future weeks.”

“Wait, you don’t give me an allowance over the holidays,” I was confused by how she’d dock what I never had anyway.

“This is for when we get home, dear. The rules will stay the same as they are at Grandma’s house. Now, pick your jaw off the ground. Didn’t you hear me apologize for putting you in this situation and not being a good parent and building good girl habits? By spoiling you and letting you get away with no singing in the car, or complaining all the time, I only encouraged more of what nobody wants. Don’t you want to be a good girl, Faith?” She lovingly caressed my chin.

How could I say I didn’t want to be a good girl?

“Yes, of course I do, Mom. It’s just this is coming out of the blue.”

“Oh Buttercup, Mama’s been telling me for years that you annoy the heck out of everyone over Christmas break. She told me the only way I can get you to stop playing with yourself is to do some of the things that She did with us to discourage wandering fingers.”

I had a hard time imagining my well-put-together, sweet as peach pie mother ever being in trouble for doing anything wrong. According to her, it was all thanks to soap and paddles.

“It’s very humiliating to me when you get caught fingering yourself, or lying with your legs open under the faucet in the tub.”

I blushed.

“So, yes, the rules will be in effect 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, even on birthdays and Christmas with no exceptions, BUT,” She held up a finger and smiled like there was a silver lining. “You can get ALL the positive reinforcement and none of the consequences by doing one thing. Just don’t break the rules, Faith.”

[alberic]

"Just snapping a shot for posteriority," he said with confidence.

"It's posterity! Posterity isn't even a word, dummy..."

I actually laughed.

[SDS]

As you said Butt stuffs not everyone’s cup of tea but I really do like the cousin dynamic and everyone just accepting it's horse play as she's wedgied, stripped and humiliated.

[EddieDavidson]

I found a ton of wedgie stories and they speak a lot to three things/check boxes for me, especially the third one:

1. Growing up, pink bellies, wedgies, noogies, frogger punches, wedgies were a pass-time for my cousins (on me). So, despite it being a little over the top, it feels authentic.

2. No one really gave a shit about it when it happened to me. Granted, my mom wasn't a bliss ninny like Faith's mom, but if you asked her she'd say it's all in fun, not that she is trying to tough her daughter up to expect to be wedgied going forward the way some people might in the family. She's a dork and dorks get wedgies in wedgie stories.

3. The power exchange/normalcy of it. In some of the stories I read a wedgie was like soap in the mouth, spanking as a corporal punishment, not just a school yard prank. So, for instance the little sister mouths off and the mom looks up "You know what you have to do, Alyssa"
"Shoulder wedgie?"
"Uh-huh"
"Oh man," and the same embarrassment of being discomfort, yanking your own panties out in front of people.

I never quite capture that voice in my head though when I am writing. I have a chapter three almost ready but I have been wanting to do a more realistic story lately.

As to butt stuff, if I write any story, it's gonna have a butt in it. Spanked, slapped, thermometer stuck up it, something.

To me, there is a power dynamic involved of being able to do something/make someone else vulnerably trust you with their butt that fuels embarrassment and if it were cock or pussy, it would just be weird in this context.

[alberic]

As to butt stuff, if I write any story, it's gonna have a butt in it. Spanked, slapped, thermometer stuck up it, something.

For what it's worth, I like butt stuff in all forms. I particularly like using rimming as a tool of power play in my stories.

[mars357]

I think this might be my favourite story of yours!

Or certainly in the top three.

Loving the humiliation, the dynamic, the works. Farthfaith is believable and cute and a few details, such as her clit, really stand out, hehe ))

[KylePilot]

Hello Eddie,

I was dismayed to see your stories disappear off DeviantArt! I was looking forward to the conclusion of Wedgie Wendy as well as further chapters of the story where the grandma lets her grandson bully his mother and sister. Do you have any plans to repost those stories anywhere?

My fingers are crossed!

kyle

[EddieDavidson]

This is really encouraging. Yes, I have a third chapter almost complete. At first, I assumed I pick the wrong type of story since this is less pure ENF and more the kind of story that sits somewhere between. I sort of put this aside as I felt gutted.losing so much work on DA. I was mid-story and lots of positive feedback because this story crosses many interests.

I also have the next chapter of the one you mentioned but I havent edited it yet. I feel like for some I should finish first and then post so people aren't left hanging.

I was abruptly removed from Deviant Art without so much as even an explanation. I started a new one, GoDavidson but I haven't had a chance to catch up. I am going to be much slower about photos, which is a real shame as I had a ton of pictures I could have posted. I had 36+ disclaimers all over the place. I appealed and said not only do the AI's I use not create anything illegal, but that they have an AI in place to prevent its upload, so if there was an offense it was unintentional and I'd go slow in future.

Rather than allow me keep 3,000+ watchers and tell stories, they dumped the whole thing.