Chapter Text
There is nothing out of the ordinary about a woman keeping a hairbrush in her handbag. As such, it would not have seemed unusual that Nanny Ashtoreth kept a small, flat-backed wooden brush tucked neatly inside her bag. However, unlike most women perusing the shop, Nanny Ashtoreth had no real purpose for a hairbrush seeing as she was a demon who miracled her hair into its curled and pinned perfection each day. One may think she carried the brush with her for the sake of appearances, then; to fully commit to the ruse of being a perfectly normal human nanny. This assumption would also be incorrect. She carried the hairbrush in her handbag for one reason, and one reason only: to spank a certain naughty angel whenever he got too annoying.
Said angel slunk nervously up next to her, eyes darting from side to side. As if anyone from either of their home offices gave a hoot that they were in the same shop. Nanny couldn’t help but roll her eyes.
He prattled on under his breath about his concerns over the Antichrist, rudely snapping at her input, arguing with every point she made, and being a downright cheeky little terror. Just as she was thinking she couldn’t take one more minute of his childish behavior, a wickedly clever idea popped into her head, and she discreetly snapped her fingers. Before her very eyes (yet completely unnoticed by anyone else in the shop), the angel began to shrink in size until he was only about 120 centimeters tall. The lines on his face smoothed, his pink flesh softened, and his white hair curled. His cheeks were rosy pink and his eyes were bright, shiny and large on his round little face. He was still Aziraphale, but now appeared as a much, much younger version of himself, clad in an outdated three piece suit that was adorably child-sized. He was a sweet cherub, and Nanny had to fight the irresistible urge to pinch one of his chubby cheeks.
Maybe not that sweet, however. “Are you sassing me, young man?” she interrupted his latest snide comment.
His brow furrowed and he balled his tiny fists. “What are you on about - oh!” he brought his hands to his mouth, cleared his throat, and spoke again. “Is that - is that my voice?”
The middle aged male tenor of his vocal chords had changed noticeably to a far higher pitch. He blinked several times, his beautiful long pale eyelashes catching the light, as he looked around and realized that his stature had changed dramatically, as well. He frowned.
“What have you done to me, you vile demon?” he hissed, the words sounding hilarious in his squeaky little voice.
“Whatever do you mean?” Nanny Ashtoreth asked, grinning all teeth, not even feigning innocence.
Aziraphale glared harder and stomped his foot. “Change me back at once!” he demanded, voice louder.
“Well, if you’re going to act like a little brat, then …”
“Right now!” he shouted, pink little cheeks puffed out in a cranky pout.
“Oh, no, I think not, you naughty little Cherub. First, you need a spanking!” She said it loudly, drawing several nosy eyes and eliciting a few hushed titters from around the shop, which, Aziraphale noticed, had grown alarmingly crowded. He blushed red at the attention.
Then, she grabbed the little Aziraphale by his ear and dragged him towards the ladies fitting room. He squawked, fussing and squirming in her tight grip the entire way. Much to Aziraphale’s dismay, she plopped right down on the sofa outside the fitting room, affording them absolutely no privacy whatsoever. Several people were already watching.
Aziraphale found he still felt like himself, but also rather childish, and couldn’t stop the tears welling in his eyes - both from nervous anticipation of having his bottom smacked and from the humiliation of having a whole shop full of people watch.
His bottom lip trembled. “Please, Nanny, I’m sorry. Can we just go home?”
She ignored him, reaching into her handbag and pulling out the hairbrush she kept there, holding it up almost as if she wanted the spectators to get a good look. Setting it on the cushion beside her, she began unbuttoning Aziraphale’s trousers. He immediately tried to wiggle away.
“Noooo! Not on the bare!”
She smacked him sharply on the seat of his trousers. “Be still! Naughty little boys are spanked with their trousers - ” she succeeded in unfastening and tugging them down to his knees and then immediately (to his horror) hooked her manicured nails into the waistband of his little briefs and slid them down to join. “- and pants pulled down!”
Aziraphale’s face burned and his ears rang. He was surely going to discorporate from shame standing there with his chubby little bare buttocks displayed to the entire shop.
Nanny pulled him quickly across her lap, and he fit perfectly at this size. He was so small that neither his feet nor hands could reach the floor, so he hung suspended over her tweed skirt, completely vulnerable, naked bottom pointed skyward.
He felt first her shifting and then the cool wood of the hairbrush resting against his right buttock.
“I’m very disappointed in your behavior, little boy,” she scolded as Aziraphale clenched his bottom in nervous anticipation of the imminent paddling.
The hairbrush was momentarily withdrawn from his bottom only for it to make sharp, stinging contact when it smacked back down. The first few spanks were erratic, used for emphasis amidst her lecturing. Aziraphale, however, didn’t hear a word as he was far too focused on the deep, burning agony each swat left to his tender cheeks. The brush felt enormous against his bottom at his current size, the oval back easily stinging nearly one half of his bottom with every smack.
Having unfortunately finished lecturing, Nanny found a punishing rhythm and expertly used that brush to scorch his backside. Almost immediately, he threw a hand back to try and block that evil brush, instinct demanding that he protect himself from the fiery agony being inflicted on his tender, private flesh.
Nanny was ready for this, and easily grabbed his tiny wrist, pinning that naughty hand out of the way in the small of his back. Now, Aziraphale could do nothing but kick his little legs in the air and cry, squealing all high pitched and desperate as his bottom was severely spanked.
This was absolute torture! There was no way it hurt this badly when Aziraphale was regular sized. It felt as though every nerve in his bare rump was lit up in anguish, and Nanny just kept spanking and spanking until Aziraphale thought she would never stop.
Of course, she did (after ages and ages!), standing him up on his feet with his cherry red bottom facing the group of patrons. Now, Aziraphale hardly remembered or cared that his trousers and pants had slid down to his ankles, as there was simply no room for modesty when one’s bottom was on fire. He did the dance of a well-spanked little boy, hands flying to rub at his scalded buttocks while he bent his knees and bounced from foot to foot, accomplishing nothing but giving the audience a good show of his jiggling, well-spanked little bottom.
Nanny wagged the hairbrush at him. “Are you going to behave yourself now, young man?”
“Oh, yes, Nanny! I promise!” he wailed, still rubbing at his buttocks.
“Pull up your pants then. We’ll just have to see what Mr. Crowley thinks about your behavior today after we get home. I suspect he’ll want to discuss it with you, as well.”
Aziraphale boo-hooed as he tugged up and fastened his pants, the fabric feeling far too tight and scratchy on his throbbing backside. Nanny put her hairbrush back in her bag and took him by his small hand, leading him out of the shop while he rubbed alternately at his teary eyes and sore bottom.
“How was that?” Miss Ashtoreth asked under her breath once they were walking down the sidewalk.
“Perfect,” he said, sniffling. “Exactly what I needed. The stress was really getting to me. Thank you. Didn’t expect the, ah, change in stature, but it was a nice touch.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” she grinned, pleased with herself.
“Er, did you mean it when you said … um … that is … is ‘Mr. Crowley’ really going to er … well, you know …?”
Her grin broadened. “We’ll just have to see, won't we? Naughty little Angel!”