Chapter Eight

Alice vanished beneath the goopy batch of swill with a wet, mighty splosh. The noise echoed against the musty basement walls then dissipated into silence.

For a while, the surface of the pool bubbled and frothed, as if at its very depths a submerged volcano were boiling over, further agitating the concoction of mushy food stuffs. Then something solid gradually emerged – a massive pair of lumps, no… buttocks! The heinous heinie bobbed up and down, covered with an oozing coat of pre-refrigerated vomit. It didn't stay above for long though. Soon, the twin mounds sank down once again into the lumpy liquid blend, and another strange object sprang up to the very top of the batter. Whatever it was, it looked curiously like a dead octopus, like a stringy mass of tentacles undulating and spreading itself out. This creature continued to rise, as if encountering for the first time the atmosphere of planet Earth. Slowly, it revealed its attachment to a vaguely humanoid head – Alice's head! And its hairy identity became all too clear.

The once poised and sophisticated cat burglar was clearly more blob than woman now. She found that she couldn't stop from coughing, couldn't stop choking or retching. She took several deep breaths, repeated the motions of inhaling then exhaling. But nothing could erase the impression of somehow having been violated. She bared her teeth in frustration. It wasn't pretty. It didn't feel pretty.

The mud pit had earlier disgraced her. Yet, at least, the sludge therein had merely touched her face, hair, hands and feet; her ski-suit had borne the bulk of the punishment.

But, there was no such luck now.

Due to the immense hole in the back of her pants, the swill managed to flow straight into her onesie. Large amounts of creamy oatmeal-yogurt mix slithered down her thighs, piling around her legs, smothering them, while a steady accretion of mayo chocolate pudding slunk up her back and along her belly, squirming into her bra and between her pert breasts. The clammy sensation made her skin crawl, made her nipples grow hard. Moreover, the massage jets built into the hot tub insisted on vibrating the spaces around the thief's pussy. Her moist cunt throbbed, baffled as to whether it ought to be repelled, pleasured, mortified, or maybe even all three.

It was at this point that, despite the gunk getting in her ears, she heard the approach of footsteps; too loud, too numerous to ascribe to a single person. She tensed as they came closer, and realized she had to hide. The vile vixen clutched the rim of the Jacuzzi and tried to pull herself out. However, having become clumsier in her movements, more desperate, she slipped. Falling backwards into the gunge, she ended up swallowing one nasty mouthful, followed by another for each time she gasped and gulped in revulsion.

"Glug-lug! Ugh! Bwaa! Blaaarggghh!"

A foul tangy flavor assaulted her refined palate. It was the kind of rancid zest nobody would ever be able to forget, no matter how often they'd wash out their own mouths with soap; a pungent taste potent enough to banish for all eternity the memory of good food and good wine. Of course, that was the least of her woes. For at that instant, her three male cohorts strode into the basement. They stood before the bedraggled ex-beauty, gawking wordlessly at her with their wide, astonished eyes. Alice likewise froze. Reality faltered. And by the time anyone had regained the ability to speak, a full minute had elapsed.

What most stunned the lady thief, though, wasn't the fact that she'd been caught in such a compromising state. Rather, it was that Beaupre, Unger, and Jernigan hardly had a scratch on them. Compared to her, they were paragons of cleanliness. They didn't even look tired!

"Alice? Is that you?" Beaupre questioned, narrowing his eyes as if to make sure that the messy creature in front of him was indeed his female colleague.

"What the heck happened to you?" Unger exclaimed. "You look like barf."

The woman blushed underneath the inch-thick layer of slop. Her chest tightened as her face went from hot to outright feverish. Her normally sultry tone of voice stammered and broke, replaced by an idiotic whine, too high, too girlish to command any respect. "Wh-why aren't you…? You're… you're supposed to be…? Didn't the traps…?!"

"Traps? Oh yeah! The traps! Uhm… Meh. They weren't a problem," Unger responded matter-of-factly. "You smarten up to them after a while. Gets pretty repetitive too."

Jernigan nodded his head in agreement. "Affirmative. The traps demanded some logic, even a bit of psychology to detect. We fell for them at first. But once we learned the patterns, they no longer posed a significant threat. Honestly, I found them quite fun. A swell intellectual exercise."

"F-f-f-fun?! I-impossible! How?! You of all people! You! You stupid, dirty, slack-jawed Neanderthals! You can't be that smart. You can't be!" Alice protested, very evidently flustered. Her tough woman façade – this illusion of being capable, empowered, and independent – crumbled. To the others, she came off sounding instead like a bratty schoolgirl spoiled rotten.

Unger yawned. He was sick of this self-entitlement crap. "Neanderthals? For you maybe. Fuck, at least I'm not the dumb bitch stewing up to my neck in shit. Someone needs a frickin' mirror."

Alice couldn't believe her ears. "You… you dare?!" Something in her snapped. She immediately fished out her pistol, aimed it at the unshaven mercenary, and fired, expecting bullets. Instead, a trickle of icky pale fluid spewed from the barrel. It truly seemed as if fate had conspired to embarrass her, to further enrage her. She then chucked the useless squirt gun at her target, but missed the mark, only to hit Jernigan right in the neck. The tech expert clutched at his throat and wheezed. But this didn't satisfy the woman. She proceeded to scoop up a handful of slime with the intention of wiping away Unger's smirk, of giving him just a smidgen of what she'd suffered through. Before she could hurl it though, Beaupre intervened, gesturing with his hands for them all to cease these shenanigans.

The man in black sighed, and his three comrades hushed themselves. "Please. Consider the situation. With the microchip in our sights, the little Pruitt boy cornered, and his traps… more or less revealed to us, we are nearing victory. This is no place for in-fighting. Have I made myself clear?"

The robbers assented in unison, unable to disagree with his reasoning.

"Good. Now, what we require is another change in our strategy. We must divide our ranks once more to ensure that the child does not escape. I will monitor the exterior of the house. The rest of you, stay inside, seize the chip. Alice, I leave you responsible for the interior. Objections? None? I trust you'll succeed." And at that, Beaupre was gone. The two remaining men frowned, their downcast faces appearing more miserable than ever. They didn't like the direction things were taking. Somehow, their leader's departure from the main group simply didn't bode well.

"Whoop-dee-do. The guy's gonna ditch us once things fuck up," Unger muttered.

"The probability of that happening may be approximated at 87.952%," Jernigan chimed in.

"Ugh! What nonsense! Don't you dimwits ever learn to shut up?!" Alice grumbled, extending her arms to her less than enthusiastic comrades. "Well? What are you stalling for? Get me out of here!"

Unger and Jernigan begrudgingly complied. They each took a gooey appendage then hauled the monstrosity of a woman out of her filthy prison. As she dripped profusely, a puddle of nameless yuck forming all around her, the lady thief easily resembled the Wicked Witch of the West in the midst of melting. That is, if said witch were somehow turning into a human-sized tower of souring milk. The men tried to suppress their laughter. Alice snarled, pointing her finger at a hose line in the corner, the same tool that'd been used to convert the side-yard into a swamp. "Wash me!" she commanded.

This, too, the men complied with. Jernigan grabbed ahold of the nozzle while Unger operated the valves. Alice crossed her arms and tapped her foot irritably. "What's taking so long?! Darn you, move it!"

And before she knew it, she got her wish. A powerful torrent of water blasted her in the face, so strong that it threatened to knock her back into the gunge tub for a second helping. She leaned into the unrelenting stream with her hands as though to block it, but the flow could not be stemmed. She turned around, positioning her back to the spray. Yet, her actions only provided the hose with a different target. The water now shot at the woman's ass like a bidet in full throttle. She squealed. Her injured bum hadn't been prepared for a shower of this sort. Even worse, at the alarming rate that it filled into the hole in her pants, the water began inflating her onesie. She was being transformed into a giant balloon!

She hollered in outrage. "What are you doing?! Shut it off!"

"Wha –– ?! What was that?!" The men could scarcely hear anything over the roar of water.

"I said shut it off, you dunce! Shut it off!"

Unger fiddled with the faucet until the gush tapered off. When the impromptu bath finished, the cat burglar shivered, utterly drenched from head to toe. All the accumulated water inside her ski-suit spilled out through every available opening until the outfit itself reverted to a deflated state. Of course, this didn't mean she sparkled unblemished. The same crap-colored splotches that encrusted her visage still stained the fabric of her winter garb. In addition, much to the amusement of her two male associates, Alice's clothes started to shrivel up and shrink. The ruined onesie clung tighter to her fabulous body, emphasizing her breasts, legs, and pussy more so than ever before. The men could even discern the vague silhouette of the woman's camel-toe, the protruding outline of her cute, puffy nipples. And, while they chortled lustily, the fallen femme brushed back the wet tangle of hair that'd been plastered across her face, revealing an expression of unmatched vexation.

In no mood for banter, she stomped forward, swiped Jernigan's Glock, and ascended the basement stairwell. The men lagged behind her, blessed with a view of their lady superior's jiggling rear – a view made more appetizing by the near transparency of her soggy, half-torn panties.

Upon arriving at the foyer, Alice surveyed the area with shifty eyes. Peace suffused the air. No signs of the Pruitt boy betrayed themselves. She glanced over to her collaborators – Unger readied with his automatic rifle; Jernigan armed with a frying pan – and she whispered. "Here's the plan. You two search the living room. I'll check the kitchen. Engage with utmost prejudice. I want him dead."

Thus, the trio split up. The besmirched belle crept towards the kitchen door which had been left slightly ajar. Her suspicions were raised. She peeked in ever so carefully. Then, straightaway, something caught her attention.

Small build, plaid shirt, baggy jeans…. How fortunate, she imagined to herself. She'd finally located the wretched imp! Revenge preoccupied her thoughts. Alerting Unger and Jernigan wasn't an option she was willing to consider. No way. Not now. She yearned to make the kid sorry first for what he'd put her through, and she wanted to savor it alone, wanted to deliver the killing stroke herself. A few minutes – that's all she needed. So, without hesitation, Alice kicked the door and rushed inside, brandishing her gun.

"It's game over, kid. Welcome to payback!"

Unbeknownst to her, however, Alex had just moments ago set a pail above the partly open door. As soon as she barged in, the pail dropped from its roost and landed upside down over her head. Bong! The world quickly disappeared from the thief's line of vision. She couldn't see! She struggled to pry the irksome object off. But despite her best efforts, it refused to budge. There was something in the pail, something sticky. The contents seeped into her hair then trailed all the way down her scalp, neck, and forehead, ensnaring her. "What is this?! Gwarrrrgh! Why can't I get it off?!" she yelled in a panic, her cries muffled by galvanized steel. Was it some brand of rubber cement? Unthinkable! It couldn't be. Not with that… sugary scent. Then, suddenly, the truth dawned on her. "Honey?!"

"Bingo!" Alex remarked, clapping his hands. "Vengeance is sweet, isn't it? Had enough yet?"

Alice lost her temper. Abandoning logic, foaming at the mouth, she charged blindly at the Pruitt boy. "Raaaawrghh! I'm gonna' break every bone in your body!"

The kid grinned. "Wrong answer." And with impeccable marksmanship, he tossed two large pies at the evil woman, one for each of her wonderful tits – blueberry on the right, raspberry on the left. The pastries ruptured upon contact, further smearing the front of her outfit, while the aluminum pans hung on like the two oversized cups of a metallic bra. Yet, this didn't put an end to her offensive. The bucket-headed juggernaut advanced, primed to tackle her most hated enemy. Alex, though, remained undaunted. He had more tricks up his sleeve. He knew, for one, which portions of the floor had been earlier polished with olive oil and which areas were safe to cross; information which Alice wasn't privy to.

Unsurprisingly, the oil worked its magic. Alice slipped, dove onto her belly, and found herself gliding across the lubricated tiles. Flapping her arms, shrieking, she had no control whatsoever of where she was going. The kid dodged her with ease then snuck off, but the lady thief sustained her disastrous trajectory. In no time flat, she rammed right into the Pruitts' refrigerator. Clang!

The pail on her head rattled. The ruckus from the collision reverberated inside her skull like the incessant toll of Christmas bells, leaving her jaws chattering and her eyes spinning wildly in their sockets. Worse, her boobs smarted badly, squished as they were against both the floor and the two pie plates. She gritted her teeth, tried to drag herself off the ground, tried to focus.

Groping along the kitchenette, the villainess set her trembling fingers on the oven. She firmly grasped the handle and tugged, thinking it would support her weight. Instead, the oven door came crashing down. Gong! The double whammy scrambled her already disoriented senses. And sheer anger alone kept her from fainting. Luckily, her next attempt proved more successful than the last. She rose, scaling up the adjacent dinner table, hugging onto one of its legs, koala-style. She then propped her ass against the table's side, careful not to harm the mistreated meat on those shapely buns.

With balance restored, she set about removing the pail. "Aaaarrrggghhh! Just you wait, you little maggot! You're doomed when I get out of this! Doomed!"

The woman pulled and pulled, feeling all throughout as though her head were being ripped off. She couldn't tell how much more of this slapstick she could endure before going insane. Then, with one last frenzied jerk, Alice finally extracted the pail.

No declarations of triumph were made; no jubilant ego-tripping ovations spoken. Rather, a rough tearing sound, like that of countless strings being plucked at once, or (better yet) like that of countless hairs being simultaneously wrenched from their roots, accompanied the act. "Eeeeeeeooooooowww! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! H-hu-hu-hurts!" The wicked woman screamed until she grew hoarse. And although she once believed profanities to be absolutely beneath someone as elegant and as intelligent as herself, she now spouted the basest repertoire of cuss words conceivable. So intensely did the pain flare across her scalp. It even dared rival the soreness which plagued her big reddened butt.

The full extent of the damage eluded her at this moment, however. Changing her position, she bowed her aching head, hunched her stiff shoulders, and planted her palms down on the tabletop, her broken nails digging into the wood in a bid to steady her tired self. That's when she saw "it". The beastly image greeted Alice the way a frightful spectre or hallucination might haunt a troubled sleeper.

At first, she failed to recognize the shaven, muck-splattered creature floating before her. She blinked, and the apparition with its clueless expression did the exact same, flawlessly aping her every move. Shortly thereafter, the cruel realization hit home. She was staring at her own reflection!

"No! No! No! Noooooooooooo! Not my hair! My precious hair!"

Chaos reigned over the dome of her noggin. The mirror Alex had left there on the table showed every surreal detail. The woman's short brunette hair had been reduced to some uneven patches of stubble and some ugly, weed-like tufts which jutted out here and there in total disarray. Most prominent of all, though, were the very large, very visible bald spots that dominated her pate. The pride and joy of her femininity had been wrecked beyond repair! Years of meticulous care… wasted!

Alice almost wept. She lamented the loss of her fashionable coiffure, blaming everything squarely on the accursed brat. It'd take forever, she just knew it, before she'd be able to mingle in high society without resorting to some silly toupée. He'd condemned her to this. And, to top it all off, the kid had arranged one more insult for her – a note taped on the far edge of the mirror. It read in bold letters, "you're welcome!" Naturally, the conquered cat burglar recoiled from the sight. She backed away from the mirror, away from the support offered by the table. And in doing so, she'd committed another blunder: she'd forgotten all about the carpet of oil underneath! In an instant, Alice's foot slid. The humiliated babe collapsed onto her back with so much force that the whole kitchen quaked.

Cupboards flung open overhead, raining down trays, ladles, pots and pans and other cooking implements upon the thief. She released a prissy yelp, only to have a plastic funnel pop right into her mouth, quieting her gorgeous lips.

From there, the mishaps further escalated. Alice's eyes bulged, positively horrified, for incoming was the pièce de résistance. A tall gurgling stockpot, perturbed during the barrage, whirled drunkenly on its place on the stove. Alice held her breath, hoping against hope to be spared. Then… catastrophe! The stockpot toppled over to its side, causing its warm cache of baked beans to come cascading down. And, as the beans poured out, the funnel was there to capture every last ounce of them.

There was no stopping it. Like a stampede of angry bulls racing off a cliff, the beans forced their way down her throat and into her stomach. She could feel her insides swelling, expanding, until her guts were full to bursting. There was just so much! Grunting and groaning, Alice attempted to wriggle away, but it was hopeless. Each time she exerted herself in this direction or that, the absence of any friction between herself and the floor impeded all progress. Her actions merely caused the most hysterical squeaking as her curvy ass flopped numerous times against the ground. She couldn't remove the funnel either, or else she'd risk receiving a faceful of the thick, pasty beans instead. By the end of it, despite having struggled to the very last, the woman had consumed (against her will) over an entire gallon of the stuff.

Frantically, she tore off the funnel then, surprising herself, unleashed the mightiest burp ever imaginable. It was a most unladylike display, and loud enough to alert Unger and Jernigan who were all the way on the other side of the house; the men immediately rushed to the source of the disturbance. Though, upon seeing their lady superior, bald, beaten, a slight paunch to her once perfectly flat tummy, they erupted again into uproarious guffaws. Of course, they aided Alice to her feet. But now, no number of threats could possibly shut them up.

"Grrrrr…. Are you deaf?! Quit laughing! Quit it! Now tell me. Where is he?! Where?!"

"Hoohoohahahihihi! Well, kid's not in the living room," Unger replied, tears in his mocking eyes.

"Yes. Hehehe... All clear," Jernigan concurred in between bouts of chuckling.

"Liars! I won't believe it," Alice hissed. "The brat was just here! He couldn't have gone far…. You dolts must've let him pass you by! How absolutely incompetent, both of you… ooh! Uh… urk?!" As she reproached her cohorts, however, a sharp twinge in her abdomen interrupted her. The thief doubled over. Her stomach churned. It seemed that her innards, so used to the disciplined diet which she so strictly imposed upon herself, could not properly process that last intake of high calorie, super gassy goodness. She felt as if, at any moment now, she would release the beast. Mind and body were already at total war, the former fighting to preserve even the tiniest shred of dignity, the latter begging for relief.

Alice needed to end this siege fast (or at least find a toilet far away from these alleged allies of hers). So, clutching her stomach and squeezing together her ass cheeks as tight as they could go, she hobbled out of the kitchen then into the living room alone. There, she had a veritable tantrum. The woman struck chairs, flipped tables, and overturned whatever else obstructed her path.

Again, again, and again – nothing! She'd begun to get jittery. Skipping in place from one foot to another, the pressure building up inside her bowels, Alice wondered impatiently where the kid had gone. It simply couldn't be that Unger and Jernigan were telling the truth. She'd never admit it. To revoke her judgment, to retract it by returning there empty-handed, would be the closest thing to conceding that those buffoons were smarter than her, better than her…. No! She couldn't bring herself to. Not in a hundred million years! And yet, what was with all this doubt, this lingering uncertainty? The cat burglar shivered. Her guts rumbled like distant thunderclouds. It was in that small window of opportunity that an unseen force suddenly hammered down on her unguarded big toe.

Whaaam! *Prrrrft!*

"Gaaah! Oh! N-noooo… nghh!" As the attack curtailed the woman's defenses, a tiny spurt of flatulence had managed to slip from out of her puckered bunghole. Instinctively, Alice clamped her big arse shut. She reasserted control. Though, for how much longer, she didn't know. What she did know was that the most recent blow to her person had originated nearby – under the sofa!

She should've guessed. It seemed so very obvious in hindsight. Thus, ignoring her pains, resisting with every fiber of her being the terrible urge to fart, the felonious female knelt down, got onto her belly, and crawled right into that dark, cramped space.

Dust bunnies populated the underside of the sofa, along with discarded paper clips and old bits of chewing gum. The Pruitts' superficial take on middle-class hygiene was all too apparent. But more than that, what really annoyed Alice was the angelic smile of her adversary as he lounged there in the shadows. "Hi," Alex greeted her, waving what looked like a monkey wrench. "I love the haircut. It's bold and brash. Really, really suits you. Wouldn't you agree, Ms Ribbons?"

This reminder of her newfound baldness stung her ego. Alice glared daggers at the boy, keen on a retort. "You… you think you've put me in my place, huh? That you've ruined me? Me?! Hah! Don't count on it. After this, I'll be purchasing my own personal French villa, regrowing all my hair, and hiring an expert dietician…. I'll undo everything you've done to me today! Just watch, kid. I'll bounce back. I'll be better than ever. But, you sure as heck won't. You won't even live long enough to say your pitiful farewells to your worthless family. Not to your mother, your father, your brother, or your sister!"

"Hmm. Nice speech. Do you have a secret team of script doctors writing this junk behind the scenes, or are you really this good at clichéd super-villain monologues? I'm impressed."

"Arghh! Eat shit and die!"

Possessed by the most savage impulses, the thief lunged forward. Her outstretched arm reached for the kid. Yet, Alex didn't bother to evade. Without even flinching, he sat on his haunches and beamed at the callous woman before him. Alice paused. Then it occurred to her. This was exactly like that humiliation she bore earlier at the airport! Something was holding her back, keeping her fingertips just a few inches away from her prey. But what? The answer astonished her. For while the interior of the sofa bottom was cavernous, the entrance proved to be far narrower, too narrow in fact to allow her sumptuous ass through. She had miscalculated! Her greatest asset had become a gigantic liability! Repeatedly, she reasoned with herself that it wasn't fair. She was so damned close! Still, the fun was just about getting started.

Alex accorded his prisoner no sympathy. He promptly handcuffed her wrists to the hind legs of the sofa, spreading her arms wide apart. Alice was petrified. The blood drained from her face. She didn't care to learn what this child had in store for her. And though she truly loathed it, she understood that she had to make recourse to more urgent measures. She had to call for reinforcements. "Unger! Jernig – urk! Mmph!"

Unfortunately, Alex pre-empted her there too. In a flash, he crammed a pair of his brother's soiled undies into the villainous vixen's inviting mouth. Alice gagged. It tasted like greasy Big Macs and rancid sweat.

"Bon appétit. Enjoy your skid marks," the boy scoffed.

He reckoned this would shatter his captive's spirit. However, he couldn't have been more mistaken. Alice's marred patrician features contorted into a scowl. Regardless of her ensnarement… or, more likely because of it, she continued to radiate a fiery defiance. Alex thought it bizarre, but every ploy he sent her way seemed only to push the stubborn woman further, to make her angrier and therefore less willing to surrender. She was an incredibly tough nut to crack. He had to raise the ante.

"Awwww… You don't look too happy. Is it the haircut? It's the haircut, isn't it? Well, cheer up, cue ball. I can fix it. No worries." At that, Alex produced a neon pink wig and a jar of wallpaper paste. He dumped the colorless solution on the woman's scalp, then affixed the wig there, pressing down firmly.

The next phase in Alice's makeover was underway. She shook her head with all the ferocity of a caged animal, but to no avail. The kitschy wig latched on as tenaciously as any bucket of glue or honey ever did. A fringe of blunt bangs now enveloped her brows. Artificial curls and ringlets dangled over her ears and over the nape of her neck, their plastic sheen glittering like so much fairy dust. It was a truly spectacular metamorphosis to behold. Like a Lalaloopsy doll being toyed with by some rambunctious youngster, she'd been forced to trade in her short and sleek hair-style for the "bold and brash" semi-baldness of so many punk-rock rejects. Then, that too was replaced with this ridiculously infantile princess cut.

Alex congratulated himself on a job well-done. "Courtesy of the Pruitt Home's Salon & Spa! Mud baths, manicures, haircuts, and everything else in between. Do visit us again!"

He then scurried out from under the sofa, whereupon he was greeted by the thief's big, beautiful booty. This predictably gave him an idea. Rummaging through Alice's utility belt, the young rogue snatched her combat knife, and – with several quick motions – detached the lower half of her onesie from its upper half, effectively pantsing her.

"Mmmph! Mph! Nmm! Hmmph!"

Alice's eyes darted left and right. Dread surged through her. Her heartbeat raced. The cold draft sweeping over her legs told her that, muddy socks and charred panties aside, she'd been stripped naked from the waist down… by a damned ten year-old no less! She tugged at her handcuffs. Metal clinked on metal. But it was pointless. The whole universe had gone topsy-turvy. And what should've been a cakewalk had devolved into a garish hell-on-earth scenario. It felt so wrong, so absurd. She was an adult for god's sake! An adult! This twerp should've been at her mercy. Not the other way around!

Denial, though, did her no favors here. Alex ultimately settled upon the most diabolic of punishments, one that would leave its psychological mark and reinforce the shocking reversal of roles. He lifted his hand high over his head, then let it fly, vigorously smacking the burglar's right buttock with enough power to knock the wind out of her proverbial sails.

Whack! *Bbrrrraaaapp!*

"Errrmph! Urgh! Grrrmmph! Nnnuuuuuuuh!" Alice jolted.

Like a pig taken to the slaughter, she squealed as her sphincter loosened and a boisterous fart issued forth from her tormented tailpipe. She clenched her buns again. Yet, another slap ruined her concentration.

Whack! *Blaaaaaarrrrrrrrt!*

"Oof! Huuurrrrghh! Shtrrrphh! Shtrrrrrphhhh!"

"Hush!" Alex scolded. "I didn't want it to come to this. But I've seen your record, your inner ugliness, your every bad deed this past week. And I have to say… you're long overdue for a lesson in discipline. You yourself asked for this. So, suck it up, blubber butt! Suck it up and think about all you've done!"

"Urgh-ughhhh! Rrrrrnnghh!" Karmic justice descended upon the naughty girl, raining down in a flurry of swats. Each spank caused her plump, juicy posterior to jiggle. Each impact caused her to fart. The pent-up pressure in her gut exploded into an atonal concerto of anal audio. The kid pinched his nose to keep from sniffing the stench. For her part, though, Alice could only bask in the stupefying fumes. She struggled against her restraints, writhed in them, unable to comprehend the futility of it all.

"This is for stealing the Axus microchip!"

Whack! *Blrrrrrrp!*

Of course, it didn't help that the brat proceeded to enumerate her most recent sins, one by one.

"This is for kidnapping the neighbor's Labrador!"

Whack! *Phhhhrrrrrrrrt!*

Nor did it help that he seemed obsessed with flattening the seductive curve of her ass, with tattooing the stark outline of his open palm all across her defenseless derriere.

"This is for harming an elderly widow!"

Whack! *Floooorrrrrp!*

Her voluptuous rump roasted with a generous seasoning of shame sprinkled on top.

"This is for trespassing on private property!"

Whack! *Brrrrrrrraaaaaaaaap!*

And – wow! – was it overkill. The accumulated agony of pitchforks, rockets, and wasp stings returned to haunt the thief, compounded as these past humiliations were by the spankings she now received.

"This is for threatening to kill me! An innocent minor!"

Whack! *Blorrrrrpfffrrrrttt!*

Every muscle in her body soon went rigid, save for those around her rebellious rectal area. She bucked and quivered under the blows, involuntarily rolling her tush as if fucking the floor, as if edging towards a maddeningly turbulent orgasm.

"Oh yeah! And these are for all those other crimes I may have overlooked!"

Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!

The haze of her own stink was set to suffocate her. That is, if she didn't blackout first from the kid's pummeling of her backside. The very ordeal tested the limits of her conceit. More swats ensued, increasing in speed and strength until they resembled the rounds of a fully-loaded machine gun. Would she stay conscious, would she retain that last shred of dignity she so treasured, or would she start sobbing like a blubbering baby bitch? Only one real choice presented itself. Certainly, she didn't get this far in her career for no reason. She was a professional! She braced her loins and grappled with her tear ducts, determined not to cry. It was the very least she could strive for. No sniffles. No boo-hoos.

Alex had to give her some credit. "Tough" didn't even begin to describe her unique brand of obstinacy. Nevertheless, he wasn't going to forfeit either. Employing both of his hands this time, he spanked his human whoopee cushion with added fervor, treating her twin summits no better than he would a couple of bongo drums.

Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!

"Graaaaawrrrrrrrrrr! Aaaaaarrrrrggghhh!"

Mustering as much resolve as she could, Alice weathered this new wave of lickings. It drained her energy, whittled her stamina. And, still, the desire for self-preservation prevailed. She winced. Teardrops welled in her misty eyes. She chewed hard on the unwashed pair of briefs. But she didn't cry!

Then, without any notice, the spanks tapered off until they reached an abrupt halt.

Alice rejoiced. Expelling one final poot, she moaned in relief and allowed her body to go limp. By now, her butt cheeks glowed bright scarlet. She was going to have trouble sitting down over the next few days. But she hadn't cried! She didn't yield! In fact, as far as she was concerned, it was Alex who'd capitulated to her indomitable willpower. The tenacity of her ass outlasted the firmness of his hand. It didn't even dawn on the woman how pathetic it was that she relied on the pettiest of reasons to vindicate her hubris, that she depended on the most ludicrous of rationales to maintain her delusions of superiority.

Juvenile as it was, Alice experienced a comforting euphoria at this "accomplishment". Her standards had strayed from her erstwhile perfectionism. And although she hadn't yet hit rock bottom, she was indeed plummeting towards a nadir from which there could be no rescue.

Identity crises of this caliber rarely led to happy endings.

Sure enough, she'd misinterpreted the boy's motives. He hadn't surrendered. That would be foolish given his current advantage. Rather, a much more compelling prank had engrossed his mischievous mind.

Fetching his dad's fishing gear, Alex assumed the appropriate angling stance. He drew back the rod then cast it forward with a flourish. The line flew over the stationary ceiling fan, traversed the span of the room, and docked at its destination, snagging Alice's purple panties by the waistband.

Alex snickered. The villainess remained oblivious, but she wouldn't be for too long. Eagerly, he reeled in his whopper of a catch. And the momentary lull receded. Alice croaked in sublime anguish as her panties were yanked all the way up her ass. She felt the expensive silk rubbing against her nether region, felt it crushing her cooch and cleaving her crack. Her jaw fell agape; her lower lip trembled. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs.

"Gaah-gaaaawwwwddd! Mmmmphh eeehhtth shtrrrrrpppphhh!"

Her sprightly nemesis, though, persisted. Heedless of her muffled pleas, he was going to make her remember this – a wedgie worthy of the history books! Thus, steering the rod and line as if they constituted two parts of an improvised crane, Alex maneuvered the woman's knickers onto the ceiling fan, inserted one of four rotor blades through the super-stretched leg-holes, then left the undies there to drape. Alice shuddered. While the seat of her panties had been hooked several meters above her bum, she had yet to free herself from her initial bondage to the Pruitts' sofa. The result was a delicate standstill between two separate forces, both pulling in opposite directions. It warped her bikini, distorted it into a veritable thong. She feared she was going to be split in half. Perhaps lengthwise, perhaps crosswise.

Now, Alex decided, was time to lay the finishing touches. Twisting a dial on the wall, he activated the ceiling fan at maximum velocity. He padded out the threshold, but not before he saluted his handiwork. "Bon voyage! Sayonara! Goodbye… and good riddance!"