==><== #HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS ###A Christmas Spanking Text Adventure [[Introductions|YOU]] [[Skip|SET-UP 2]](set:$name="Lily")

I was thinking of Christmas one where 3 sisters and they are of all different ages come to visit their mother. The two older ones being their significant other. The oldest brings her Fiance and the middle sister brings her girlfriend to the Christmas gathering. you play as the youngest sisters that just turned 20 and in college. The mother has not been happy with how they've been acting during the holidays and none of them seem to get along with each other. So when they open their gifts they all get a hairbrush with their names on it. The mother tells them that she is going to spank them all one at a time in her room while the rest wait in the living room. The order that she goes is oldest to youngest including their partners and whoever turns it is she bares them in front of everyone and marches them to her room. where you hear a moment of silence and then you hear the smacks of the spanking from her room even with her door closed. The rest of them are waiting their turn so they must find a way to pass the time so they talk to each other. Some of it is arguing whose fault it was that they were all getting spanked. another time just remembering last time they got spanked or making jabs at others for other petty things . Playing as the youngest sister with no significant other and the very last to get spanked so you have a lot of time talking to other people waiting for her turn. When people start talking you can be a bart to them and mean or be nice to them. try to keep things civil while waiting or keep making petty remarks at people. even making fun of their bottoms saying all too big they won't feel anything. In the end they all remember if you jerk or are nice to them over that time. When it is your turn she bares you and marches to her room and when you get to her room you see a line of well beaten buns and then she grabs the hairbrush with your name on it and beats your buns. Then after that she offers everyone to stay the night with one last hand spanking before bed. No one dares say no or argues. When it comes to night time she goes from oldest to youngest again.While waiting you can hear the spanking from other rooms as she goes from room to room where you wait in your old room. When she gets to your room she either gives simple hand spanking like the rest if you've been nice to everyone or gives you a belt if you've been mean because your sister told mother how you've been a jerk to them and their partners while waiting for the first spanking. After that you sleep with a sore bottom at the end.

Outside, the skies are grey, and delicate flurries of snow are swirling in the cold December air. You watch through the window as the white flakes land on your mother's long driveway and disappear -- not sticking yet, but they will. Tonight, the weatherman promises a blizzard. //Guess we're gonna have a white Christmas after all,// you think. Then you turn back to the table, where your family is gathered and chatting excitedly. The dishware and silver clinks brightly as potatoes are passed and the holiday ham is sliced. Tonight is Christmas Eve. Inside, the air is warm and bright. There's a log burning on the fireplace in the living room, and the occasional //pop// can be heard through the din of conversation. Your mom has put out the same decorations from Christmas since you and your sisters were little kids: you spoon your peas from the same silver service tray as always, and the dinged-up aluminum Santa Claus on the sideboard winks at you cheerily. In the corner, a miniature christmas tree boasts gold tinsel and homemade ornaments. Your older sister made the angel when you were both in grade school, and it's pipe-cleaner halo is bent, it's rosey face fading from the years. "You're being very quiet," says a voice with mild surprise. You look up to see your Aunt Maylin looking at you, her eyes twinkling. You smile sheepishly. No one else at the table notices, since they're too distracted by their own animated conversation, the thread of which you've long since lost. "Is it good to be back?" she asks. You look over at the rest of your family. At the glittering lights decorating the sideboard. At the dish piled high in front of you with homecooked food you could only //dream// of in your dorm. Your mother even let you have some of the red wine Uncle Robert brought, although you're only twenty. //Just this once,// she'd said, and your sisters had grinned knowingly at you. Now you're on your second glass and starting to feel pleasantly warm. Everything is bright and fragrant and beautiful. "Of course," you say. The song is playing fainty in your mind, and the words sound sing-song: "//There's no place like home for the holidays.//" Your aunt beams. "Oh, that's //so// good to hear." You wonder if your sisters feel the same way... [[Continue|TITLE]]

Your oldest sister is Victoria. //Tori.// She's sitting at the far end of the table from you, engaged in an emphatic conversation and gesturing with her fork. Tori has always been the sort of talker who states things matter-of-factly, as though there can be no disputing how right she is. Next to her is her fiance, Brandon -- a sweet, quiet sort of guy, handsome in a quirky way, with dark eyes and crooked smile. Tori, on the other hand, is a classical beauty. She has long, chestnut-brown hair and blue eyes; she has high cheekbones and a slender nose, the type of effortless pretty that she doesn't bother much about. Of the three of you, she takes most after your father. Or, perhaps more accurately, your //grandmother// on your father's side. In the photo album your mom keeps on the coffee table, there's a black-and-white pictures of her as a young woman on the beach. She's wearing a one-piece bathing suit and looking at the camera over her shoulder. The first thing anyone notices in the picture, whether they say it or not, is their grandmother's -- //ahem// -- //shapely// behind. You still remember the time you had a boy over and he started flipping through those pictures. When he got to the beach photo he stopped. "Holy s`***`," he exclaimed. "Look at her //ass//!" while you blushed helplessly and your sisters giggled. Tori **definitely** got that bottom. As the oldest (she's now almost 30), Tori had a lot of responsibilities when you were little. She was always the most mature, the most //grown-up// -- and she never let you forget it. Like most oldest siblings, Tori is thoughtful, competent...and bossy. Whenever you thought your mom was being overprotective, //particularly// when it came to going to graduation parties in your senior year of high school (//But mooom! I'm eighteen! Stop treating me like a kid!//), Tori always took your mom's side. //You still **act** like a kid, (print:$name),// she would say, and with that it would be settled, leaving you seething helplessly. But as much as you butt heads, you love Tori, and you know she loves you back. She drove you to and from all your afterschool activities, and she even let you control the radio from time to time. Good ol' Tori, you think fondly, taking another sip of your wine as you continue to silently scan the table. [[Continue|OLDER SIBLING 2]]

Skye is the middle daughter -- five years older than you, five years younger than Tori. She's sitting across from Tori, looking like she wants to interrupt her every couple of seconds, and she frequently does. Skye speaks quickly, and her voice is loud; your mom always says she has "strong lungs," maybe from her years on the swim team -- or years of getting words in edgewise. Next to her is her girlfriend, Olivia. Olivia is patient, which Skye is not. She has fair skin, long, jet-black hair and wears an amused smirk most of the time, usually done up in a dark, fashionable lipstick. She has her arm draped casually over the back of your sister's chair. Skye has (dyed) golden blonde hair cut short and parted in the middle. She has punky cartelidge piercings and a stud nose ring, but she draws the line at ear gages (//I don't wanna look **weird**//). She's strikingly pretty and very feminine, so she attracts significant attention from guys when she goes out to clubs and bars, which is pretty frequent. She enjoys nothing more than shooting them down before hugging up against Olivia and letting her give her hip a possessive squeeze. Ever since you were little, Skye has been a free spirit. She came out as gay without the slightest hint of shyness: the way she said it was like she always declared what TV show you'd be watching that night, as though //challenging// you to disagree. And none of you did. Even your old-fashioned mom was supportive from the get-go. But you and Skye have certainly had your disagreements in the past. Skye is almost as hard-headed as she is bright -- and she's //very// bright. As the middle child, she had a tendency to overcompensate; she was always rebelling against //something//. Out of the three of you, she probably wound up getting in trouble the most. There was the time she came home from a "study-session" smelling like weed. Or her first college report card, which showed she'd been to more parties than classes. Or the time she borrowed mom's car without asking and wound up rear ending a police car -- who could forget //that// one? (Certainly not the next door neighbors, who were kept up by the sound of Skye's punishment, which carried on into the wee hours of the morning...) Or that night after Keenan's graduation party?... As wild as she tends to be, Skye has a good head on her shoulders. Her girlfriend, Olivia, evens her out nicely -- all of Skye's rough edges seem smoother when Olivia is around. As you watch her, a swell of affection rises in your chest, and you take another sip of wine just as she catches you staring. She wrinkles her nose in a //What are **you** looking at?!// type of expression, and you quickly look away... [[Continue|MOTHER]]

"We've got to be leaving soon," your uncle says as he examines his watch. He rolls down his sleeve and looks to your mother. "Mirabelle, this has been wonderful. Thank you for such a lovely evening." The rest of the family chimes in with their own thanks and praise, which your mother emphatically waves away. Aunt Maylin picks up the empty wine bottle and gives it a shake before saying dryly, "Does anyone need a //ride//?" "(print:$name) drank most of that," Tori teases. "No I -- //hic!// -- didn't!" You feel your face flush. Everyone laughs good naturedly, and Uncle Robert pats you on the back. "Good thing you're staying the night, then, huh? Who else is staying here with you, 'Belle?" "Just my three daughters," your mother replies. "Uhm -- //and// our dates," Skye says, pulling Olivia's shoulder closer. Uncle Robert's eyebrows wiggle. "Is that so?" He grins at his sister playfully. "Three guest rooms, six people -- then who's sleeping on the couch?" Everyone laughs. "It's only five," Tori says, glancing at you. "(print:$name) didn't bring a date." She looks over at Brandon with her chin raised. "And if anyone is splitting up, it isn't us." "And why is //that//?" Skye exclaims. The temperature in the room shifts -- only by a fraction, but enough that you can feel the chill. Your mother becomes tense. "Because Brandon and I are //engaged//," Tori says in her best know-it-all tone. "See?" She holds out her ring and waggles her finger. "I've got rings too, bitch," Skye says, showing off her own hand with a //What now?// type look. A gasp cuts through the room. "Skye!" your mother exclaims. "//Language//!" "Oh, what//ever//," Skye says, kicking back in her chair. "Tori said the //f// word like five minutes ago and no one got mad." Olivia puts a placating hand on Skye's shoulder, but your sister pays her no mind. "You see what I have to deal with?" Tori says, gesturing wildly. "Every time! It's //absurd//. They still act like they're in high school!" "Who's //they//?" Olivia says with a slight quirk of her eyebrow. "//Everyone//," Skye answers with a sneer. "Tori thinks she's just //so much more// grown up than everyone else." Brandon's already flushed face is getting rosier by the second. You take a sip of your wine silently, knowing full well that Tori meant Skye and //you//. The uncles and aunts are making their way to the door. They wave cheerily and give your mother goodbye kisses, but the argument only gathers steam. "I think it's stupid that //Tori// pretends like she's the only grown-up," Skye continues, directing her ire at your mom, now. "It's bad enough you made me sit at the freaking //kid's table// for Thanksgiving. If //I'm// going to be treated like a kid, //all// of us should be." Then, she cuts her eyes at you. "And how is (print:$name) allowed to drink? Mom, you got mad at me for drinking //last year//!" "That was because you got so drunk you puked on the front porch," Tori shoots back. "//I did not!//" Skye exclaims, indignant. "That was probably //(print:$name)// -- oh, but I guess that's //fine//, huh? (print:$name) is the //baby//, after all!" "Hey!" you exclaim. "Leave me out of this!" Your mother only buries her face in her hands. As the argument unfolds, you feel a gust of cold air as your aunts and uncles leave, and the door slams with a heavy rattle. Your sisters are yelling at each other now from across the table as Brandon and Olivia exchange wary glances. You're about to cut in and tell them both off when your mother stands up at the end of the table and //slams// her hands down hard enough to make the silverware jump. "//E-NOUGH!//" Silence falls over the room. Skye shifts angrily in her seat, looking like she's chewing on another insult at the tip of her tongue. Tori huffs and smooths down a stray hair. You sit back in your chair and fold your arms. Brandon and Olivia sit with their mouths tightly pursed. You mother glares from daughter to daughter, finally resting her eyes on you. Then she sighs, closes her eyes, and presses tightly against the bridge of her nose. "The three of you -- go to your rooms." She continues to massage her nose, which is what she does whenever she gets (or is given) a headache. "Christmas Eve is over. Time for bed." "But --" "What about --" "Olivia and Brandon, you too," your mother interrupts. "No one is sleeping on the couch." Tori and Skye soften slightly -- but your mother still looks furious. "Go. //Now.// I have dishes to wash." "We can help you with the dishes, mom," Tori says eagerly, stacking her plates. "//No.//" You mother's reply is firm. "//All night// I've dealt with the three of you //bickering//." You and Tori and Skye look at each other with open mouths, ready to object, but your mother raises a silencing hand. "I don't want your //help// -- I want //peace and quiet// in my house. On //Christmas Eve//." She says this last part bitterly. An accusation. Again, the three of you look to each other. No one seems ready to take the blame. "Fine," Skye says, standing abruptly. "Let's go, Olivia. I'll show you my room." As she leaves, she sends a burning glance in Tori's direction. Tori's eyes flash to your mom and, deciding that she isn't watching, she sticks out her tongue. "Mom! Did you //see// that!" "//GO. TO. BED.//" your mother declares, hitting the table again. "I've had //enough//. If you don't stop bickering, they'll be //no presents// tomorrow. All three of you deserve coal, anyhow," she adds in a murmur. Tori huffs again, then stands and pulls Brandon by his arm out of the room. Moments later you hear them on the stairs. Now the dining room is quiet again. You sigh, looking into your empty wine glass. This //always// seems to happen around the holidays. //And I guess tomorrow we'll get another long lecture from mom,// you think with a another heavy sigh. Your mother leaves the room, and soon you hear the clink of silverware and dishes in the sink. //Guess Christmas Eve is over//, you think. Then you head up the stairs, alone, to your childhood bedroom. [[Continue|BEGIN]]

...your eyes landing on your mom. When she was younger, your mother was the type of girl to turn heads and cause traffic accidents. Even now, her high cheeks and fine features are lovely to look at -- even the crow's feet at the edges of her eyes. She wears simple clothes nowadays, even on special occasions: right now, she's got on a comfortable white blouse and a blue skirt. She wears her hair in a tight french braid, and it's streaked with grey. She has a round, almost heart-shaped face with a strong chin. Her eyes are just as sharp as ever, and a single glance is enough to stop you in your tracks. Which is exactly what she does //right now.// She points at you warningly, then lowers the finger to the glass of wine still in your hand. You freeze, warmth creeping into your cheeks. When she's sure you're looking at her, she mouths the words slowly: //Do NOT get drunk.// You can't help but grin sheepishly. She looks at you sternly...then her face breaks into a warm smile. Your mom may have been stricter than other moms -- but at least all of that is in the past. You haven't been spanked since you moved out, and you //certainly// don't miss it. You're finally starting to feel like an //adult//; even your siblings treat you like one...most of the time. (color:blue)[♫//...Noooo place like hooooome for the hol-i-days...//♫] [[Continue|SET-UP 2]]

(color:blue)[//Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house...//] You pad upstairs to your bedroom and change into your pajamas: a pair of flannel bottoms and a white tee-shirt. (if:$gender is 0)[Your mom always said you should wear a nightgown, but you told her it made you feel like a 19th century lady -- you were always a tomboy, even more than Skye. ]As you climb beneath the covers, you listen closely. Outside, all sound is dampened by the falling snow. But next door, you can hear plenty of (color:blue)[//stirring//]. Skye's room is to your right, and Tori's is on the left. You can hear whispering, even though you can't make out the words. //Oh god, these walls are so thin,// you think, pulling the covers up to your neck. //I hope I don't hear...**that**!// You try to keep the image of Tori's //Oh!// face out of your mind, but once you accidentally picture it you can't make it go away. //Oh my god, can you imagine it? Brandon definitely lets her take charge -- eeewww! Stopthinkingstopthinkingstopthinking!// Luckily, neither of your sisters seems to be in //that// kind of mood. You hear a few hissing whispers, some playful giggling, and then the low, indistinct rumbling of pillow talk. If there's anything else, you're blissfully unaware, because you've already drifted off to sleep. [[Continue|HAIRBRUSHES]]

(set:$name=(prompt:"You are the youngest daughter. What is your name?", "ENTER NAME"))The dining room table had to be extended to fit everyone. Tomorrow, Christmas day, it will just be your sisters and your mom, plus (if:$gender is 0)[Olivia and Brandon]. But tonight, everyone has showed up for Christmas Eve dinner: aunts and uncles, grandma and grandpa, your mother, your sisters...and you. Out of the three (if:$gender is 0)[daughters], you're the youngest -- the baby of the family. Living on campus is the furthest you've ever been from home, although you're more than used to it by now. In fact, more and more, it's the //breaks// when you go home to mom's house that feel strange. Your family has always been close. When your dad left, all three of you chose to live with mom. The choice was easy: you've //always// been close to your mother, and she's always been there for you. You didn't have to think twice. And living with your mom //always// felt like the right choice... Even though she //is// pretty strict. Mom has always been //old-fashioned//. Other (if:$gender is 0)[girls] your age would get grounded and have phone privileges taken away -- but not you. If you and your sisters misbehaved, there was only one punishment good enough for your mom: a good hard (color:red)[//spanking//]. You got your fair share of spankings, all the way through high school. Perhaps if you'd lived with your dad you wouldn't have had as much trouble sitting down in your Calculus classes...but that was all in the past. Truth be told, though, you always felt like mom was //hardest// on you. But your sisters always tell you differently... [[Continue|OLDER SIBLING 1]]

You wake up to the sound of Skye drumming her open palms against your bedroom door. "//Get up get up get up -- it's CHRIIISTMAAAAAS!//" You blink awake blearily, grinning despite yourself. You glance out the window at a blue sky and a blanket of blindingly white snow. It's Christmas morning, and that means -- "//Presseeeeenntttss!//" Skye is giving Tori's door the same treatment, and your oldest sister snaps at her to go away. Unbothered, Skye bursts into your room, just like she has every year since you were both kids. She's wearing a cute set of sky-blue pajamas with white teddy bears and a grin from ear-to-ear. "Get up, sleepyhead!" she exclaims Olivia steps into the doorframe behind her, rubbing her eyes. Adorably, Olivia is wearing a matching set -- except her PJs are green and her teddy bears are pink. Skye's eyes gleam. "Did you hear //Santa// last night? He was on the roof!" You hear slippers shuffling on hardwood: Tori comes up behind, wearing a white slip under a maroon robe. "The one day of the year you don't sleep in, and I have to be in the room next door," she says. Skye sticks out her tongue. Brandon joins you all, revealing that he's //also// wearing a maroon robe. "Look at //you// two!" Olivia teases playfully. "Look at us? Look at //you//!" Tori teases back. "Yeah, yeah, let's all look ourselves downstairs," you say as you shamble out of your room. Everyone laughs, and you give them a winning (if groggy) smile. "Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals." Rejoinders echo through the halls as you all parade downstairs. Unsurprisingly, your mother is already up. She's sipping her coffee in a comfy armchair close to the fire, which she's already got burning brightly. She's wearing a blue bathrobe over her nightgown. Her hair is loose from her usual braid, and the wave strands glow like filaments when the sun catches them. She smiles tiredly at you all as you come in -- she was probably up late last night cleaning up. As you're watching, though, you swear you see her eyes //flash//... "Merry Christmas, mom," Tori says, ever the model of a good daughter. "//Preseeeeeents!//" Skye exclaims, practically diving headfirst into the pile beneath the tree. As usual, everyone has a stack. Brandon's slightly smaller stack is next to Tori's, and Olivia's is next to Skye's. The biggest boxes are usually clothes (most of which Skye will trade in for skimpier outfits), and the mid-sized boxes are the items from your list. Right away, you see a gift that must be the new journal you asked for -- it's the perfect shape and size. But this year, at the top of everyone's stack is an oddly shaped package in gold wrapping paper. Even Brandon and Olivia have one. Each one has a red bow... //That's weird...I swear I didn't see those there yesterday...// "What's this, mom?" you ask, picking up your own gold package. "A very //special// gift," she says, and her eyes flash again in a way that makes you suddenly nervous. "I want you to open those ones first." You, Tori, and Skye trade a look. Brandon, unsuspecting, takes his package and starts to unwrap it. Olivia manages to unsheath hers first. "Oh, uhm," she says, trying to mask her confusion as she holds up the gift. "I, uh....Th-Thanks?" Brandon unwraps his and blinks, looking even //more// confused. But you, Tori and Skye look at each other with sudden, horrified understanding. Skye's face is white as a sheet, and Tori looks like she just swallowed a frog. Each of you knows //exactly// what the mystery gift will be before you open it, but all three of you rush to unwrap it anyway, hoping beyond hope that you're wrong... ...No such luck. "Mom!" Skye exclaims. "You //cannot// be serious!" "Oh, I am," your mother replies calmly. "I am very, //very// serious." You let the wrapping paper fall to the floor as your stomach sinks. Your gift is the same as your sisters' and their partners: It's a heavy wooden hairbrush. With your name printed on the back. "M-Mom," Tori says, trying to sound like the reasonable oldest daughter she is. She's holding a dark wooden hairbrush that says //Tori// in gold font on the head. "Come //on// --" "Don't you tell me to //come on//, missy," your mother snaps, and Tori immediately shrinks down on her knees. Your mother stands, and for a moment you're a little (if:$gender is 0)[girl] again, your mother towering above you. "You know //exactly// what all of you earned last night, and today, you are going to //get it//." "I-I'm sorry," Brandon says politely, holding up a hairbrush that says BRANDON on the back. "I...I think I'm missing something." "Me too," Olivia agrees. The label on own hairbrush -- OLIVIA -- flashes in the light as she turns it. "What exactly...is this?" "Mom, please," Tori says, sounding less confident. "We're sorry we were fighting, just --" "Too late for that //now//," your mother says sternly. She turns to Olivia. "That, young lady, is a hairbrush. But as my daughters well-know, it's good for more than brushing hair." "Mom! //Please!//" "You //cannot// be serious..." Skye repeats, sounding less sure and more worried with every word as she inspects her own glinting name: //SKYE//. You turn your own hairbrush in your hand, stunned. You read the letters of your own name as though for the first time. "I was //very// disappointed by all of you yesterday." Your mother cuts her eyes at Tori, stopping her mid-word. "//All// of you. You're all old enough to know better. You acted like spoiled children, and you ruined a perfectly wonderful Christmas Eve dinner with your //bickering//." She stands to her full height and folds her arms. "That's why each one of you is getting a //(color:red)[spanking]// today." Olivia and Brandon meet eyes, looking stunned. Tori winces, and Skye moans: "//Noooooo...//" "And to make the message //really// sink in," your mother adds, "I'm going to use your new gifts. Each hairbrush has your name on it, because that brush is going to be used to spank your //bare bottom//." The words land like a one-two punch. Olivia sits back on her knees, eyes wide. Brandon does a double take. You and your sisters groan. "Mom, please," Tori says, a last-ditch attempt. "Th-This is //humiliating// --" "Good. Now you know how //I// feel when I can't have a nice holiday dinner with my daughters without a fight breaking out." Your mother tightens the rope of her bathrobe. "I'm going to my room to change. I want all of you waiting outside of my door with your hairbrushes in //five minutes//." She gives Tori a meaningful look. "We'll go from //oldest// --" Then shifts her gaze to you. "-- to //youngest//." "Mooooom!" Skye whines. She suddenly sounds like the girl you grew up with again -- although now she's in her twenties. Old enough to get tattoos. //Old enough to know better...// "But it's //Christmas!//" you protest. "It certainly is," your mother replies simply. You could swear the edge of her mouth turns up in a smirk...but perhaps it's just a trick of the light. And as she walks away, you can hear her whistling a Christmas carol you recognize immediately. //Chestnuts roasting on an open fire...// More than chestnuts are getting roasted today, you think grimly, trading another defeated look with your siblings. Brandon and Olivia are looking around desperately, expecting someone to say //Just kidding!// at any moment. But no one feels like kidding //now//. You look down again at your name on the brush. ==><== ###(print:$name.toUpperCase()) <== You swallow hard. Your words from last night bubble up in your mind, a Christmas carol playing softly on repeat. (color:blue)[♫//Oh, there's noooo place like home for the hol-i-days...//♫] #END OF DEMO (color:yellow)[**To see the full game, download it for $5 here or become a patron at patreon.com/wbvm. //HAPPY HOLIDAYS!//**]

==><== #[[[START GAME|SET-UP 1]]]<text|(live:5s)[(replace:?text)[(transition:"pulse")[[[START GAME|SET-UP 1]]]]]

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