Cup Cake x Rumble by KrishnaKarnak

(Cup Cake / Rumble)

unf, F/m, hoof, otk, non-consensual

 

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Rumble seemed to know the game was up. He sat in the middle of the hall, prodding his front hooves together, eying his babysitter with a calculating look. Cup Cake’s own overlarge frame blocked access to his bedroom and its locked-door haven. Not today! He opened his mouth and let the contraband fall to the floor in defeat. Cup Cake gestured wildly at the pack of cigarettes, mouthing wordlessly. Eventually, she spoke.

 

“B-Bring those over to me! Right NOW!”

 

“No way!” Rumble protested, grumpy faced and defiant. “I need to sell those!”

 

“Sell, indeed!” she said, aghast, as she rushed over and scooped them up. “Just what Ponyville needs, a cavalcade of cigarette choking children! We’re going to nip this in the bud right now, before you get my own innocent little foals addicted!”

 

“Overreacting, much?!” Rumble snapped, chasing after her as she took the smokes to the bathroom. “They're still babies! I don't even smoke them, what's the big deal?!”

 

Cup ignored this and began grinding them in her hooves, dropping them into the toilet. She flushed them with an angry glare at the swirling water.

 

“I was gonna get a new bike out of those!”

 

Cup closed her eyes and breathed slowly, shaking her head. He was only 12 years old, yet Rumble was a very resourceful pegasus when it came to getting what he wanted. He could rally up the other foals to his causes, or apparently sell off smokes to anxious, older students to get him the funds for new things. He even thought he had her figured out, having rapidly dropped the best behaviour schtick and had begun acting up and disobedient because he felt invincible around a babysitter. Especially since he looked down on her for her profession as a baker… even if she was Ponyville’s finest, thank-you-very-much.

 

“Grr, you're so stupid!” he roared in frustration.

 

She wasn't taking it.

 

Cup Cake took him by the ear and pulled him out of the bathroom. She reminded him of the multiple warnings that if he kept up his behaviour, he'd be sorry. He smirked smugly at the time, not believing the threat. Hindsight is a bitch.

 

In the living room, she wrestled him straight across her knee as she sat down in the middle of the couch. He buzzed his powerful wings to try and take flight, but she clamped them in place with one pudgy foreleg. Rumble spluttered out a panicked, half-assed apology that earned a sarcastic 'mmmhmm’ from his babysitter before she readjusted him, pinning his charcoal gray tail to his back. She had him right-to-left, his rump on her right side, head on her left, and his overflowing attitude spilling all over the room.

 

“Bet you didn’t think I would dare do this, huh? Trust me, I know how to deal with bad little boys like you,” Cup explained to him, stroking her hoof across his backside in preparation. “You ought to be happy I’m not telling your mother about the cigarette cartel you’ve been running!”

 

“Stop iiit! I ain’t a little kid!” Rumble shouted at her, pushing his hooves against her legs, to pry himself off her lap. “You can’t spank meee! You… you aren’t allowed!”

 

“Is that so?” she asked in mock astonishment. “We’ll see what you say when you’re red faced and snotty, mister,” she said, her hoof poised.

 

Slap!

 

“Ooow!” Rumble cried out after she laid the first stinging smacketh down, right across his right cheek.

 

“Oooh, you've needed this for a good long while, I bet!” Slap! “You're going to learn that you aren’t too old to have a good old fashioned spanking,” she continued with another firm swat. “You’ve tried very, very hard to earn this, so you’re going to have a very, very sore bottom.”

 

Rumble groaned in embarrassment at being spoken to like a foal, hooves covering his face, his back legs kicking out after another couple spanks. She felt rather than heard the panic set in the more she spanked him. He squirmed and whined with five more swats. Cup eyed a nice pinkish patch form, painting up one bluish gray cheek and down the other. The naughty pegasus’ breathing increased a degree and she knew the painful slaps had started taking real effect. He kicked his legs again, gripping at the couch cushions with his right hoof, his left reaching back in vain to try and block his backside. Cup’s forehoof was too large for him to comfortably get around.

 

“P-pleaseee, Mrs. Cake! I’ll be good, c’mooon!” Rumble begged, choking back a hiccup.

 

“Getting somewhere with your behaviour, are we?” Cup Cake asked with a bite of sarcasm. “Then let’s take this seriously, young colt!”

 

Cup Cake spanked quickly and smartly, making his rump bounce and flex, alternating sides as she went. Rumble’s kicking hooves pounded the couch and he cried out properly for the first time, his voice broken.

 

“Eeeeeeeooo-ooow! I’m sorry! Stop it, stop it, p-please!” His voice spluttered as he sobbed.

 

“Get up,” Cup instructed after some time, having stopped to study his pinkened fanny critically. “Go fetch the blue hairbrush from your mother’s room. The WOOD one, not the plastic one! You’ll be remembering an aching rear every time you even SMELL cigarette smoke by the time we’re done here! Go, shoo!”

 

He reacted obediently, though not very swiftly. A smack to send him on his way earned more hasty cooperation. Cup watched the naughty little athlete speed off with quick flaps of his wings. She folded her forehooves across her chest and waited, tapping a hoof on the floor. Upon his return, she rubbed the back of the brush deliberately while looking down at him.

 

“You’re going to have a good, loud howl, Rumble, and you deserve every bit of it.” She had placed the brush in her mouth to take off her clean, yellow apron, to toss it to the floor. She meant business. “Now, get back across my knee.”

 

It was in that moment, as a sniffling Rumble climbed back over her lap, that she felt a flicker of pity. Maybe he believed being so obedient now would spare his poor fanny the worst of it? Maybe, we’ll see, Cup thought to herself, watching the sweaty little tush quiver in anticipation. She clamped her left hoof tight over his back, aiming the hairbrush for a good hard whack across the middle of the left cheek.

 

“C-can we talk about this instead?” he pleaded, glancing back, snot freely running down his snout, tears splashing down onto the floor. “Pleaseee, don't use the h-hairbrush!”

 

His hooves found her tail and wrapped around it, as though he were sheltering behind a teddy bear. He continued to look pleadingly at her, legs giving a feeble few kicks in silent protest.

 

“Bad little boys get sore bottoms, Rumble,” Cup reminded him, resilient, and swung the brush high.