This is my first story about a childhood in which I was punished frequently, but always lovingly and fairly.
This was a regular day when I was out playing. I was 11 years old and visiting my aunt. All I remember was playing with the neighbours until it got dark. I was only about three blocks away, but hadn’t told anyone where I was. Of course I didn’t think anything of it and did not realise that my aunt had been looking for me for over two hours.
Well, I walked in the door to my aunt’s apartment and saw her sitting on her couch in tears. She was still dressed in her nurse’s uniform. It was the old fashioned all white, with the white stockings and white shoes (this was 18 years ago!).
She looked up at me and suddenly, her sadness changed to anger. I got the standard lecture about irresponsibility and then was told that I would be spanked!
I had been spanked by my folks several times and knew that arguing would never do me any good. However, I vowed silently that I would not cry. I assumed the position over my aunt’s knee, noticing how much thinner than my mom she was.
I remember my shorts being pulled down and her starting to spank me on my underwear. I remember looking at her calves as I was spanked, wondering if my legs would ever be so shapely.
It was starting to hurt but I maintained my silence. However, my legs were starting to betray me and began kicking involuntarily. I didn’t notice that my flip-flops had flown off.
Finally, after about 30 spanks, she stopped. I felt that I had won. Sure, my butt burned – but I had not cried.
Then Aunt Joanne picked up my sandal and gave me the hardest swat yet, right on the back of my thigh. That one swat made me yelp and I began to lose my battle. She spanked me thoroughly with the sandal all over my bottom. My undies offered no protection and after a dozen of those, I was bawling like a baby.
I was then let up and told to get to my room. I remember running up to my room, shorts around my ankles and tears running down my face.