After the Boxing Day spanking I described in a previous post, I saw my mother in a different light. She had reduced me to tears in a few minutes, and really the spanking was only a demonstration of what ‘hopping from foot to foot’ meant! Mum used my use of the word ‘bugger’ as a pretext but she wasn’t really punishing me for that. That gave me food for thought – what was she capable of if really pushed?
My birthday came and went. I was now 12. Birthday spankings were unheard of back then (the early seventies), at least in the UK. We had my favourite dinner at the time, followed by a trifle, cake, candles and a present.
I do remember plotting and fantasising. I was now on a mission to get spanked again. My Aunt Jean, in theory, should have been easiest to manipulate. After all, she had been threatening to spank me forever. I was very excited by the prospect – Aunt Jean would no doubt make it a fun event, so I targeted her.
Call me devious or cunning, but the name of the game was spanking. I’d had a taster, and although it stung like merry hell, I wanted more! I wasn’t the type to be deliberately naughty at school. I managed to avoid punishment at school – I fantasised about my English teacher, but that’s all.
I planned to be cheeky to Aunt Jean, wait for the inevitable threat of a smacked bottom, then dare her to follow through with it. My problem was finding the opportunity. Still, as we all know, where there’s a will, there’s a way! I cycled to my aunt’s house at the weekend. I told her I just happened to be nearby and needed the toilet. I thought that story rather clever.
I used the loo, had a drink and tried to be cheeky. Nothing! Not a single threat. I cycled home, terribly disappointed. Had Aunt Jean guessed that I was developing a fetish? Had I made it too obvious? My obsession with getting my bottom smacked was becoming all-consuming. I was becoming so desperate, I even considered asking Mum to spank me for some contrived crime.
Now in later life, the psychology of all this fascinates me. After all, I wouldn’t deliberately burn myself, because it hurts. I wouldn’t hold a wasp until it stung me, either. Yet I am – and was – perfectly happy to be spanked, which also hurts a great deal!
Then, one day, I had a stroke of luck. Mum and Dad were going out and they felt I needed someone to sit with me. Enter Aunt Jean! Secretly I was furious that they felt I couldn’t stay home alone. After all, I was now 12 and considered myself a big boy. I didn’t need a babysitter. Still, the idea of the sitter being Aunt Jean brightened my mood. She was usually fun, and surely the threat of a smacked bottom had to crop up at some time?
I waited patiently. My bedtime came and went. Suddenly, Aunt Jean realised how late it was and said: “Hey, come on, young man – bedtime! You have school tomorrow!” I ignored the instruction and after a couple more warnings, the threat finally came. “Lee – bed, or else!” “Or else what?” I replied cheekily. I wasn’t afraid – Aunt Jean was always fun and all the threats she had made in the past had been light-hearted. I saw no danger.
However, this particular night, she was dead serious. “Your mum told me not to take any of your nonsense. Last warning – in bed in five minutes, or you’ll be sorry!” Even now, I was still confident there was a playful spanking threat coming. I felt that fuzzy feeling growing inside.
Much like my mum had given me on Boxing Day, it was a fair warning. I had that rush. I was close to being spanked again, this time by Aunt Jean. What fun! I held my ground. Looking back, it was a foolish decision but much like Boxing Day, I couldn’t help myself.
After five minutes, Aunt Jean stood up and approached me. Taking me by the arm, she dragged me from my chair, saying: “Let’s go!” She didn’t say another word, rather like my mother. I was nervous of course, but excited too. The only thing that bothered me as she led me to my room was that I had always expected any spanking from Aunt Jean to be fun. I smiled all the way to my room – I was going to get smacked on my bottom!
Aunt Jean pushed me into my bedroom first and followed closely behind. “Your mother will hear of your behaviour, young man, and I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes when she deals with you!”
Now alarm bells rang – it sounded as if Mum had told her sister about the events of Boxing Day. Aunt Jean didn’t say she would tell both my parents of my behaviour – she specified my mum. I couldn’t believe Mum would have told her sister! What if dad found out she had broken her promise never to hit me? Had the sisters spoken about this?
I didn’t get any time to process this information, however. Aunt Jean sat on my bed and yanked me across her knee. The spanking started before I had any time to prepare. I lay half on the bed, feet tapping on the floor. Luckily she smacked over my pyjama bottoms. Fast and furious would describe her style – within seconds I was wriggling. There was no time to absorb or catch my breath. My overriding memory was of screwing my bedspread up in my little hands and squeezing the life out of it.
Thankfully it was a short spanking. Aunt Jean dragged me to my feet. My bottom stung like crazy, and I was just thankful my punishment was over. Well, how wrong can you be?
“Apologise for your behaviour, young man!” Aunt Jean demanded. She held me by both wrists, I assume to stop me from rubbing my sore bottom. I whispered back. “Sorry, Aunt Jean –I’ll go to bed right now!” “Not just yet, you won’t!” she shot back, sounding cross.
In a flash, my pyjama bottoms were down around my knees and a second later I was once more across my Aunt’s lap. It was embarrassing for her to see my private parts at that age – thankfully there was no embarrassing erection on display this time.
Fast and furious spanking on a bare, already freshly-smacked bottom is hell. All I could do was squeeze my eyes tightly shut, roll the bedspread into a ball and try to hold my breath for as long as possible. Aunt Jean smacked my bare bottom for about the same length of time as the previous spanking.
I didn’t cry, although my eyes were wet from shutting them so tightly. I think the previous spanking from my mum had been more emotional, but this one really stung. I hadn’t liked it one bit – I was red both in face and buttocks! Looking back, I think I was in shock – I had never thought Aunt Jean would spank me so severely. She said: “I shall tell your mother why I spanked you – now, get in that bed and go to sleep! And don’t you ever ‘dare’ me again, Lee!”
I slunk into bed and lay face down. Aunt Jean turned out the light and left me with both a sore bottom and a troubled mind. Would Mum spank me for this too? After a while, the inevitable happened – I began to recover from the spanking and the warmth spreading across my hindquarters gave me an erection.
When I heard my parents return, I faced away from my bedroom door. I heard Mum or Dad look in on me but I kept still and pretended to be asleep. My bum stung like the devil in my warm bed.
In the morning, my bottom fully recovered, I ventured downstairs. Both my parents were their usual selves. There was no mention of Aunt Jean’s spanking – and in fact there never was. I later assumed that as Dad had been present, she had thought it best not to mention my punishment.