I grew up in a Jewish family in Brooklyn, New York, in the 1970s. A few houses away from us lived my aunt, my mother’s sister, and we were very close – almost like one family. Among other things, we owned just one car shared by both families.
Both my mother and aunt bore multiple children, as is common among the ultra-Orthodox. My mother had nine children, and my aunt seven. Spanking was a common punishment in both families and because we were so close, when it came to discipline both my mother and my aunt treated each other’s children as if they were their own.
The manner of punishment was almost the same in both families, but I always experienced a special humiliation – and a special thrill alongside it – when I got a spankings from my aunt. She was eight years younger than my mother, six inches taller, very athletic and beautiful.
I was the oldest child in my own family, so when my aunt was punishing me in my early teens, her own children were still young.
The ritual of punishment was always the same. My aunt would sit on a couch in her living room, or on the bed in her bedroom, and would call me to her right side. I had to loosen my belt and let my pants fall, roll my underpants down to my knees and lay over her lap with my legs dangling, my bottom in the air available for the slaps she duly landed there.
When she sat down to prepare for the spanking, my aunt’s would rise slightly. My penis, which in these situations would almost always be erect, would be pushed between her legs – which, if it were summer, would themselves be bare.
My aunt hardly ever used implements and would slap my bottom with her bare hand at a steady rate – a slap on the right cheek, a slap on the left, then a slap on the middle groove. In fact, slaps across my bottom cleavage appeared to be her favourite, and she often spanked me there two or three times in a row.
Then she would head down and spank my lower bottom – this is where a child feels the spanking most afterwards, of course, because it is where they sit down. Again, my aunt would spank two or three times on each side here before heading back up to the top of my buttocks, then back down again in the same pattern.
I never managed to count how many slaps I received, but it was dozens each time. Each slap in itself was not particularly powerful, but the build-up of friction on my bottom left it like a fiery red torch, which would take several hours to burn out.
By the time I was 13, I thought I was too old for this type of punishment. In Judaism, 13 is considered the threshold of adulthood, and among the ultra-Orthodox, boys of that age begin to wear a black hat, symbolising their new status as adult members of the community.
However, only two months after I turned 13, when I was at my aunt’s in my new outfit, I did something that made her decide again that I needed to be spanked. I tried to tell her about the change in my status, as I saw it – she was not impressed at all.
Humiliated, I had to take off my hat and my jacket, then approach her again and bare my bottom. I performed the whole ritual as before, but when the moment came to go over her knee, my anger and humiliation so overwhelmed me that I decided that this time I would no longer go down like a submissive sheep.
I stood there, naked from the waist down, and for the first time refused to cooperate and move to the humiliating position over her knee. My aunt pointed at her lap with her finger, but I ignored her.
My aunt was appalled. “Nick Brodt,” she yelled, “you had better get your bottom over my lap right now!” I didn’t answer. My aunt took hold of me and tried to put me in the required position herself. I resisted and pulled my body back.
She pulled me hard against her as I struggled to loosen her grip, taking care not to hurt her while doing so. After a one-minute battle, I surrendered. In terms of physical power, my aunt may not have been able to put me down when I was 13, but I had must at some point have decided that it was no longer worth resisting.
With my finally laid over her lap as usually, face down and bottom up, it was about two minutes until my panting aunt calmed down. Then she began her motherly work with vigour. With her left hand firmly on the small of my back, her right hand began to rise and fall on my bottom, over and over again, for perhaps twice as long as usual.
When she had finally finished, I got a rather unpleasant surprise. “For what you did today, you’re getting dessert with the belt,” my aunt told me.
Without another word, she pulled the black leather belt out of my pants. She then ordered me to stand up, did the same herself, then instructed me to bend over the couch. I got ten strokes across my bottom with my own belt, which I then had to put back in my pants, which added to the humiliation. My bottom was red and sore for more than 24 hours.
I learned my lesson, and never again tried to argue with my aunt when she decided I deserved punishment. I got spanked with her hand around three or four times, the last being when I was 14 and a half.
My brother Zevi, on the other hand, got his last spanking from my aunt at 17. Zevi was learning to drive but before he had passed his test, he took the family car out for a drive with friends.
When my aunt realised what had happened, she went crazy. I was 24 at the time and myself, my sister Ricky and brother Moyshi were all in the living room when Zevi returned. My aunt sat down on the couch and motioned the errant boy to come to her.
Zevi understood his predicament, and did not make my mistake. He unfastened his belt, pulled down his trousers and then his underwear, and lay submissively across my aunt’s lap. He was the youngest of us all and even at 17, he had no pubic hair. His privates and bottom were completely smooth, like a young child’s.
Ricky and Moyshi and I stood there watching anxiously, staring at Zevi’s boyish bottom. The three of us were all now past the age where we could expect a spanking, and yet memories of past years and transgressions flooded over us.
My aunt raised her hand high and slapped Zevi’s bottom. It became totally red within a couple of minutes but my aunt kept going. Zevi was spanked for about 10 minutes in all. At first he tried to take his punishment well and remained silent, but as the slaps continued he began to sob quietly.
When my aunt finally told him to get up, his rear end looked like he was wearing tight, bright red bathing trunks. His bottom and the upper third of his thighs were completely tanned. His face was also red, both from the crying and the embarrassment.
As far as I know, this was the last time anyone in our family was spanked by my aunt.