– Mackenzie Rosman, Scotty Leavenworth –
– 7TH Heaven –
(M/fm nc severe – mf sp)
rated R for
vivid depictions of sensuality between minors
NOT INVOLVING ADULTS
– based on an idea by Danny Asman –
Ruthie Camden couldn’t believe her luck.
She remembered that all of her older siblings had been picturing adolescence as the death of childhood, the period where everything fell apart no matter how hard you tried to keep it together, the moment in your life when you have no one to turn to, no waypoints, no references, no nothing. Well, a few days after turning thirteen Ruthie had realised just how much Simon, Lucy, Mary and Matt had been wrong. She was not a teenager yet, but an adolescent in the true sense of word, and she had been enjoying it immensely.
Peter Petrowski was the main reason. They were alike in age, and they met in school. He looked like an ordinary 13-year-old, but ordinarily cool. Dressed like a skater, with blond hair sticking up from his head as though they had been stalagmites -- “A very attractive lad”, she had said, much to Lucy’s amusement; no one really expected a thirteen year old to express such judgements.
But there were many things that Ruthie’s relatives did not know about her. They did not know about her most intimate secrets, such as fantasising a romantic date with Peter. In her naive little girl thoughts she pictured herself and Peter dining under a smooth candlelight. Then they would walk hand in hand by the river – there was no river in Port Washington, but that was a minor detail – ending up on the Camdens’ doorstep, where she would hesitantly wait for him to make a move. And then he would promise her a life of never-ending love, and then he would approach to start a memorable kiss...
... and then Reverend Eric Camden, Ruthie’s father, would probably step in with his usual (lack of) delicacy, ruining the whole thing. And more: if only he suspected that Peter and Ruthie were doing something more than just talking, he would take out his belt and wallop their fannies pretty good.
This was usually a very effective way, if abrupt, for Ruthie to wake up from her daydreaming. She knew full well that her dad would not allow her do to half the things she dreamt of, and she was sure she’d be feeling the back of his hand – or worse – on her poor bottom if she ever stepped out of line. She’d also seen her father’s approach on Lucy, she knew how it worked. Reverend Camden would not scream it out to the world, but he was a firm believer in the old “spare the rod” stuff. He had been raising five children with a heavy hand, so to speak, and would surely do the same with the twins now that their family was even larger. Ruthie had lost count of all the times she found herself laying down on her father’s knees, her panty-covered or naked bottom being soundly thrashed, his deep, low, calm voice enumerating the sins she was being “relieved of” (the words “brutally beaten for” were very rarely used in the Camden household).
Sighing heavily, Ruthie shook her head and got up from her bed. Another day is starting off, and I’d better not be late for school.
There was this thing that Peter Petrowski just would not stop doing. Smoking. Ruthie had been taught that smoking is wrong because it’s dangerous for blah blah blah, and although Peter’s mother surely did not agree on her 13-year-old doing that, he seemed to be quite careless about it. He dared to show off in public with a lit cigarette between his lips, and this regardless carelessness made Ruthie very fond of him. On the other hand, she did not appreciate the fact itself. No matter how much she blamed her parents for repeating it over and over, she still thought that smoking could be bad and she personally did not like it at all.
On that morning, when she saw Peter approaching her outside the school, she saw he had yet another cigarette lit.
“Again?” she said disgustedly.
“Come on, it’s almost finished,” he said.
She coughed and waved her hand to get rid of the smoke. “You’re spoiling your lungs, you know that?”
“Yeah, I know that!” he mimicked, smiling broadly. Then he kissed her, just like that. She was still angry for the cigarette and everything, but the touch of his lips on her cheek had the power of wiping it all away.
“Am I still coming this afternoon?” he asked.
“Yeah, you are. And don’t forget the glue: if I don’t have at least a B in this damn science project I’ll be doomed at home.”
“Didn’t you just say damn?”
She smiled, and playfully punched him in the ribs. “Yes I did, and you won’t tell my dad or I’ll make you regret it.”
He smiled back, caressing her hair with a hand. “That’s my girl. Oh, I was so lucky to meet you, Ruthie.”
She couldn’t see it, but sure as hell her own face had become red as a pepper. She loved to be talked like that.
“Well,” she said hesitantly. “See you at four, then.”
“Of course. It’s going to be a date you won’t forget.” He whispered, and planted a small kiss, just a little touch, on her lips. It was the first time. She was completely aghast.
She sat on a bench in the school park – or, rather: she fell down, and luckily there was a bench beneath her. A date you won’t forget. Date... Those words would be hammering in her head all day long.
And they did. Ruthie could think of nothing else in class, on the way back, at home while doing homework. She wouldn’t talk to Simon and no one else, which was really something since she always was the talkative, bossy know-it-all kind around the house – something Annie and Eric were trying to adjust the old fashioned way.
Four p.m. finally came, but it was always too late for Ruthie. She had been spending more than a hour in the bathroom, with Lucy knocking furiously outside the door to get in and use the toilet (and probably ending up using the garden bushes instead, but Ruthie did not care). Ruthie had chosen white. It suited her, it was perfect, they said. And Peter liked it, too, so it was really the best. A tight white shirt with short sleeves and pairing trousers, baggy but not too much, just the fair. The usual underwear, but no bra... Oh, come on! What does he care if I wear a bra or not? He’s not even going to look at me.
But Peter looked at her from the first time he stepped into the house. The presence of Annie, opening the door aside Ruthie, had him look forward and smile and be polite, and generally act like he was at ease with his everyday school friend Ruth Camden. Truth is he was not at all: a quick glance had been enough to see the splendid artwork of a girl that was standing before his very eyes. He, too, couldn’t believe his luck.
On the other hand, Ruthie, whose mother couldn’t check her eyes, was taking an eyeful of his boy friend. Oh yes, very lucky indeed. There was something in Peter’s face that just drew her crazy, although she couldn’t quite realise what it was. Maybe the way his eyes would curve from the nose upwards, ending up in two small half-moon valley fading slowly into the forehead, making them look like the eyes of a puppy; or maybe the chin, pointy but strangely attractive; but then again, it could be the vivacious, bright smile and the not-too-perfect teeth. She knew he would not like any of these details in another boy, but she loved all of them all together on Peter.
And he was quite athletic, too... Come on, stop your sick thinking.
“Hello, Peter,” Annie greeted him gently.
“Mrs. Camden, Ruthie. Nice to be here.”
“Please come in. You guys have a lot of work to go through, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am. I can assure you that.”
Only Ruthie could catch the tiny smirk in his left eye. Was that addressed to her? What did that mean?
“Good,” said Annie, who had not noticed anything. “You’d better be starting then.”
Annie accompanied them up Ruthie’s room, where they were left making preparations for the science project. But as soon as Annie closed the door and her footsteps walked down the corridor, both kids stopped working and looked at each other.
“What’s up?” said Ruthie.
At first Peter remained silent. He just kept staring at her in the eyes, not a move, not a sound, not a thing. She looked embarrassed, but deep down the thing flattered her. “So?”
“You look... beautiful,” he said, unable to find another word.
“Thanks,” she replied, shyly.
“I mean it.”
Ruthie played absentmindedly with a piece of hard paper, cutting it in irregular shapes with scissors. She really found it hard to concentrate on the science project – on anything else, actually – with Peter looking at her that way.
“I want to be sincere with you,” he said, sounding like a grownup and not like the thirteen-year old he was, which made Ruthie smile. “I don’t care about no project. I came here for you. I want us to be together.”
Again she fumbled with the paper and the scissors, then replied hesitantly: “I thought we were.”
“I mean, really together. I mean like boyfriend and girlfriend.”
She knew perfectly well what he meant. She meant the same, but she was way too shy to communicate such a feeling; most of the times she couldn’t even bring herself to think such thoughts, let alone say them aloud, let alone say them aloud to Peter. Every time she thought about him a shiver would run down her spine, ultimately pervading her whole body and the utmost parts of her privacy. It was something irresistible, but unspeakable of.
Finally she found the courage to put the paper and the scissors down and raise her eyes to level them with his. She too squared his body from head to toe: he wore a nice short-sleeved plain yellow shirt and dark blue shorts ending a little below mid-thigh. His blond hair was untidy as it could be, and the slightly tanned tone of his skin made him a breathtaking sight.
“I’m not sure...” she said, that being the understatement of the century. “I’m afraid we might be running too much.”
“Yes, we are,” said he, approaching her. He took her hands in his, sweetly. “And there is nothing better. Is there?”
Silence fell between them. The room was becoming hotter as the time passed, the air filled with an undefined and yet palpable magic. Their chemistry was touchable, their alignment almost complete. Almost.
It happened all of a sudden. In one quick motion Peter reached for Ruthie and kissed her lips as he had done outside school, but more firmly. She was taken aback at first, but had enjoyed it immensely and stared back at him in delight.
“I love you,” he said, pronouncing the three words that can drive through a girl’s heart at any time.
And they did: it was really too much for her to sustain. “I love you too,” she said, sealing that afternoon’s fate.
A moment later they were embracing in the middle of the room, kneeling on the carpet, their arms circling their upper bodies, their mouths entwined in a passionate french kiss. Ruthie knew what such a thing was from her siblings, and Peter... well, he must’ve learned somewhere; he kisses like a god.
It seemed to go on forever, but it was more likely one minute. When they stopped to catch some air, they couldn’t avoid each other’s stare. She was so very embarrassed, but was obviously enjoying every second; he, on the other hand, looked more sure of himself, so sure he actually seemed ready to take a next step, and that was exactly what he did.
Still caressing on Ruthie’s hair, he let his hand dwell on her arm, tracing it up and down, caressing it slowly but steadily. She did not react. She was motionless, all she could do was be still and let him do that. He trusted him completely, she knew he would never hurt her or do anything she did not want.
Peter planted small, quick kisses on her mouth, his warm, soft breath reaching her nostrils. All the while he kept touching her arms, but after some seconds his hand trailed another way. He let it wander on her belly, and still she would not object. A bit higher, then, and his fingers found their first beloved target. Ruthie’s small breast protruded out of her chest like tiny hills. He let his hand wander there for a while, and all he got back was the girl’s intense breathing, getting harder now, and the shivers running underneath her skin. He could tell she was scared as hell, but he could also tell she was ready. He was sure.
Heck, she wasn’t the first thirteen-year old that he... well, she just wasn’t the first. But she was special. He could say that was love.
With a slow, delicate motion he had Ruthie lie on her back on the carpet, then climbed over her, pointing his hands on the floor to support his own weight. Still he kept kissing, but his hand travelled south, again over her belly, and even lower, where the latest remains or Ruthie’s childish fat faded in her sweet underbelly. Peter felt a hot sensation as he let his hand massage Ruthie’s trousers, and the girl’s breathing intensified even more. Now he just needed one more touch, and it’d all be perfect...
“Will you let me do it?” he asked.
She was lost. She did not nod or shake her head, she just laid still and let him take the initiative. And so Peter stopped the kissing and got to his knees. She did not open her eyes, she did not look: her trust in him was total. Peter unzipped his own shorts, and in one quick motion peeled them off and threw them aside. He wore small, way too small pale blue slips underneath, that made him look at least a couple of years younger than he was. His rather strong musculature emerged from underneath the bronzed skin. Then he started doing the same to Ruthie, grabbing the waist of her white trousers and pulling them down.
He was gifted an amazing sight, that of white, flowered-covered white cotton panties, also tight, wet with sweat, covering the girl’s olive-coloured skin. He let the trousers down until her knees. Ruthie was in delight, moving slightly from side to side, breathing hard, her navel exposed, one last piece of tissue in the way. With an experienced hand, Peter let his fingers dangle all over Ruthie’s underwear, trailing the waistband, circling them, then slowly touching their bottom end, where the tissues converged forming a sweet “V”.
Peter could not resist. He spun her around, and got the beautiful sight of her plump, round, chubby bottom. He had been told Ruthie was spanked often and soundly... who could ever want to spank such a beautiful bottom? But on the other hand, who could resist the temptation? The panties covered it for the most part, but the lowest portions of her nates, right where the bottom fades into the thighs, were exposed. The tissue was wrinkled all over, some parts attached to the sweaty skin, some parts free. It was magic, it was pure bliss.
He inserted two fingers in the waistband of her panties, feeling the touch with the hot skin, and then started to pull down slowly, receiving a low moan from his friend below. Her panties were halfway down now, and he could see the small crevice in Ruthie’s butt. He too was in heaven. Nothing could stop that moment. Absolutely nothing. He felt a pleasant reaction inside his way-too-tight briefs, and nothing in the world could stop him from doing what he always dreamed to do. Nothing. Not even God himself.
But sometimes God is busy, and he sends a messenger. It came in the form of Reverend Eric Camden, who stormed in the room without knocking, smiling broadly, planting his eyes on Peter and Ruthie, surely expecting to see them busy on their school work, maybe even willing to help like a caring father.
Nothing could quite describe his expression as he saw just what they were busy with. As Ruthie realised and was horrified, and as Peter thought he was going to die there and then, Eric’s expression changed from happy to perplex, and from perplex to “where was I wrong with her?”, and from that to “what is this Nazi doing in my house?”, and from that to “this time I won’t forgive”, and from that to “she ain’t gonna sit down for a month, and neither will he”.
“Daaad...!” Ruthie let out a frilly shriek, then buried her face in her hands. Peter closed his eyes and wished he was somewhere else. Anywhere else would be perfect.
As for Eric, he did not scream. He did not lose his temper. He just entered the room, closed the door behind him, got rid of his coat and approached the children, who hadn’t moved a muscle ever since he entered – there was no point in trying to conceal what was there for the world to see.
Still speechless, Eric grabbed Peter by the ear and got him off his daughter. Then he did the same with Ruthie and got her to her feet. The little girl had started to whimper pitifully, one last brief hope of escaping her father’s wrath still present in her naive mind. As for Peter, he knew full well he was doomed. The Reverend’s only doubt was: “who shall I start with?”, but it was really no big deal.
He spun both kids around, grabbed them by the collar and led them to Ruthie’s bed, where he bent them over pushing on their backs. Only when the children were kneeling on the floor, their chests and arms lying flat on the bed, Eric could pass on to the next step. He removed his thick leather belt, and without thinking twice or saying anything he lashed it HARD on Peter’s bottom cheeks.
The boy’s plump bottom trembled under his briefs, and Peter resisted the urge to rub it. A red stripe appeared a second later, crossing it from cheek to cheek. Eric then raised the belt once again, and he striped a similar line on his youngest daughter’s derriere. Ruthie’s panties were still halfway down, and the belt hit right on the upper portions of her bottom, where the skin was unprotected. The child screamt too, but Eric was unmoved.
SPANK!! WHACK!! WHIP!! SMACK!!
He went on and on, alternating kids and cheeks. Peter’s left, Ruthie’s right; Peter’s both, Ruthie’s left. He was furious. He did not speak, though, and let the belt to all of the talking.
WHACK!! WHIP!! SMACK!! WHACK!! WHIP!! SMACK!! WHACK!! WHIP!! SMACK!!
They rained down again and again, like the finger of God, making the two children cry and beg for a mercy that would never come.
WHACK!! WHACK!! WHIP!! SMACK!! WHACK!! WHIP!! SMACK!! WHACK!! WHIP!! SMACK!!
Eric stopped at last, but only to remove the kids’ undergarments, thus exposing their bare backsides. Peter’s too-tight briefs were pulled down to mid-thigh, revealing a bottom red all over and full of welts that must have been really painful; the boy was sobbing and holding to the bed for dear life. Ruthie’s panties rested at her knees, and buttocks were also striped for good; the little child was sobbing uncontrollably into her pillow, but thought better of massaging her butt even with a hand.
The belting resumed.
WHACK!! WHACK!! WHACK!! WHIP!! SMACK!! WHACK!! WHIP!! SMACK!! WHACK!! WHIP!! SMACK!! WHACK!! WHIP!! SMACK!! WHACK!! WHIP!! SMACK!! WHACK!! WHIP!! SMACK!!
The Reverend’s anger smacked down on the kids’ bottoms, that grew redder and redder, and finally reached purple tones, under the leather’s implacable wrath.
SMACK!! WHACK!! WHIP!! SMACK!! SMACK!! WHACK!! WHIP!! SMACK!! WHACK!!
Eric Camden never counted the whacks: whenever the spankee’s bottom looked like it could take no more without bleeding, he delivered five more hearty wallops and he was done. This time he spanked both children way past that point, and when he was through – and stormed out of the room, still without speaking – he left four bruised buttocks, not to mention the sorriest children he had ever seen in his life. There was no time for talking, now. There would be time for that, and to make sure they had understood just why he had done that.
But there and then, Ruthie Camden and Peter Petrowski did not feel lucky at all.
– The End –
Based on an idea by Danny Asman. Written by Haley Brimley.
This account is entirely
fictitious. Any similarities to any person, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.
No harm, threat
All the facts herein portrayed are invented and absolutely do not resemble reality to the best of the author’s knowledge.
All the characters and the situations are exclusive property of Warner Bros., and so is the mark 7th Heaven.
The original content of this story is exclusive copyright of Haley Brimley. Contact for information.