ADULT FANTASY STORY. MATERNAL SPANKINGS. ALL CHARACTERS FICTIONAL. IF YOU ARE NOT OVER 18, DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER. READING THIS STORY MEANS YOU ARE OVER 18.
Aunt Betsy III by Randy
"You see, Tommy, your troubles have more to do with your attitude than your teacher. And I have just the remedy for a boy who doesn't know how to work hard enough. It's just as well that Billy is here, especially since his mother and I see eye to eye on these matters. Young man, as soon as you get inside, I am going to give your bare bottom a very good lesson in paying attention. And I'm not going to stop until it's clear you've learned something. Do you understand? Then you'll be going right to bed for a nap. I'll get you up for dinner, of course, but then it's right back to bed after your bottom gets a second reminder of what happens to bad little boys who don't do their school work. You're going to have lots to think about before you fall asleep tonight, young man, do you hear me?
This set off a chorus of pleading and excuses which fell on deaf ears. When we got out of the car, Aunt Betsy took hold of Tommy's hand as if he were a small child and marched him across the front lawn. Without releasing him, she unlocked the door and strode in, pulling Tommy behind her and asking me to come in and close the door behind me.
With his voice taking on a new urgency, Tommy begged:
"Please mommy, don't spank me in front of Billy, please." But Aunt Betsy only replied in a calm, businesslike manner:
"You should have thought of that when you weren't doing your homework, young man. Your cousin might as well see what happens to bad boys in this house. And anyway, Billy needs a good reminder of what to expect if he's naughty from now on." Eyeing me directly, she added:
"I spoke with your mother just today, Billy, and we agreed you are long overdue for a good spanking yourself. From what your dorm master has told me about all the trouble you've been getting into at school, it's not going to wait until Thanksgiving. Now give me your hand as well. I want you to come upstairs with Tommy so you can see exactly how I handle bad little boys in this house."
With that, Aunt Betsy began to lead us to the stairs, only to struggle as Tommy began dragging and twisting on her arm. Almost immediately, she whirled around, let go of me, and in one, quick gesture, pulled Tommy's shorts and underpants inside out and halfway down his thighs. Bending over his back, she quickly applied a series of hard spanks to his bare bottom, each timed to go with a group of scolding remarks.
"SMACK Young man, SMACK you had SMACK better not SMACK give me any trouble SMACK unless you want me SMACK to get out SMACK your paddle. Now are you SMACK going to obey your mommy? SMACK Or are you going to earn SMACK yourself extra spanks and even a paddling? SMACK"
At the very first spank, Tommy cried he would stop resisting and repeated those cries with every spank. Seeing that she had made her point, Aunt Betsy released Tommy, took our hands again, and began climbing the stairs with the two of us behind her in tow. Tommy waddled along as best he could, his bare fanny twisting back and forth framed by the white tangle of underpants and shorts below. After those sharp spanks, his physical resistance had given way to the soft crying many children show who know they are about to be spanked no matter what they do or say. With Aunt Betsy leading me just as firmly by the hand, I realized I also had no choice in what was about to happen. And though I was going along only as a witness, I could not help feeling I too was about to get spanked. My mind flashed back to the many times I had waddled along, pants at half-mast just like Tommy, as my mother led me by the hand towards my bedroom or the living room sofa. By the time we reached the top of the stairs, it was all I could do to keep the growing tightness in my chest from turning into the same sort of soft crying I heard from Tommy.
Thinking back, I believe that I experienced a kind of sympathy reaction with Tommy when my aunt took me by the hand. No doubt, that was exactly what she wanted. As she led us both down the hall, the truth of Aunt Betsy's earlier warning hit home. She wanted me to see how she handled bad boys because she really was planning to handle me the same way in the near future. By the time we reached Tommy's room, my sympathy reaction had deepened and I began to sniffle along with my cousin's crying. At that moment, I understood I really was on the verge of a paddling, just like Tommy. My situation was different only in that my first spanking would come a little later, perhaps in a week or two, perhaps even that weekend. But the decision had already been made. As soon as my aunt decided the time was right, I was going to be bare bottom spanked over her knee too. Tommy's spanking was only a dress rehearsal for what I could expect from now on at Aunt Betsy's home.
These thoughts were interrupted as we entered Tommy's room and Aunt Betsy sat me down in a chair near his bed. She then marched Tommy over to the dresser. Still holding Tommy's hand, she opened a drawer with her free hand and pulled out pair of light pink sleeper pyjamas before taking him over to the bed and sitting down. Tommy just stood there crying and begging his mother not to spank him even as she began to work the buttons of his shirt.
"Now hold still, Tommy Springer. Raise your arms so I can get this off ... that's my boy. If only you were as good at minding Mommy with your homework as when she's getting you ready for a spanking. Now keep those hands up high and don't give me any trouble while I get these shorts and underpants off. Bad boys like you certainly won't be wearing any underpants for a while, will they?"
With that she slipped his shorts and underpants down to his ankles and made him lift each leg so she could slide them off his feet. By now tears were streaming down his cheeks and he was crying openly like an eight year old. As I stared in dread and fascination, I realized that this was exactly how I must have looked just as my mother readied me for a spanking.
"And now let's get these socks off. I'd say you're fanny's long overdue, even more than Billy's." And looking directly at me, she gave Tommy's bare bottom a couple of additional sharp spanks as if to remind me of what I could expect.
Once Aunt Betsy had slipped off Tommy's socks, she again lifted each ankle and slid the sleepers over his feet before pulling the lower part all the way up to his waist. Next she placed each arm into the sleeves and drew the top around his torso before zipping up the sleeper in front. Bringing Tommy to her right, she pushed her dress up out of the way, so as not to wrinkle it, drew him across her lap and moved him forward until his head hung down near the floor and his legs waved helplessly in the air. Finally, she announced:
"And now, young man, it's time for Mommy to teach you a good lesson about doing well in school. Let's undo these buttons and bare that naughty tush of your's so we can start your spanking. I don't think we're going to take your temperature this time because your naughty bottom cannot wait another minute. Billy, pay close attention because you're going to get the same when you misbehave from now on. I have half a mind to put you in a pair of Tommy's extra jammies and give you some of the same medicine after I finish with him. What do you think about that?"
Without waiting for an answer, she turned and began spanking Tommy's white, round bottom which bounced and juddered with each blow. His crying immediately doubled in volume and pitch and he kicked his jammied feet furiously. Other than that, he made no effort to wriggle off his mother's lap. Apparently he knew better. On and on Aunt Betsy spanked, with a slow, deliberate pace just like Tommy had described. Within a few minutes, his plump bottom turned into a pair of pink mounds of dancing jello which danced with every smack. As I continued to watch, it soon changed to a reddish tone and then a bright red. After a few minutes, Tommy was reduced to a sobbing child. With his scarlet bottom showing through the flap of his toddler's pyjamas, he looked and sounded more like a fourth grader than someone in his early teens. Finally, after at least five minutes, Aunt Betsy stopped and asked:
"Tommy, are you learning a good lesson from Mommy?"
When he managed to stammer out a yes, Aunt Betsy replied:
"Good, then I'm sure you won't have any problem continuing this lesson since it seems to be working so well. Now tell me how sorry you are and ask for the rest of your spanking. And ask me the way you've been taught or we'll start all over. Billy might as well learn what bad boys have to say halfway through their spankings." Tommy managed to stop crying enough to stammer out his apology.
"I know I've been naughty, mommy and that I deserved this spanking. I promise I'll do better... I promise."
"What else, young man? Haven't you forgotten something?
"Yes, mommy... I know... I know... Please mommy, I'm ready for the rest of my spanking. Please... spank me now and don't stop... until... until I've learned a good lesson."
"That's a good boy, Tommy, that's what Mommy needs to hear. Now let's finish up the rest of your spanking and make sure you really have learned something this time. I don't want to have to spank you again after your next Math quiz. Do you understand me?"
And with a glance in my direction to make sure I had heard, she resumed her steady spanking rhythm which immediately brought forth an new round of sobbing and frantic kicking. Only after another five or six minutes did Aunt Betsy finally stop. For the next three minutes, she held Tommy over her lap until his crying subsided, all the while gently rubbing his scarlet bottom. Then she buttoned his flap, raised him up to sit on her lap, kissed him, told him how much she loved him and how his spankings were for his own good before standing up and tucking him into bed with a final kiss. Turning to me, she said:
"Billy, have you learned a lesson here too or should I put you over my lap now and give you some of the same? Lately you've been very close to receiving a spanking, young man, and I have half a mind to give you what you so obviously need right now." Fortunately, she seemed satisfied when I frantically agreed I had also learned a lesson.
"Good, then let's leave Tommy alone so he can think some more about his lesson while he takes a nap until dinner."
By then, my mouth was completely dry, my heart was pounding and I felt dizzy. It was partly what I had just witnessed but even more the sense that I had narrowly escaped getting a spanking myself. As a result, I was all but frozen to the floor and completely unable to speak or move when Aunt Betsy asked me to leave. Fortunately, she wasn't cross when I didn't respond. Instead she came over, her face softening with concern, and remarked on how flushed I looked. Running her hand over my forehead, she told me I seemed hot and asked me if I felt sick. Again, I was unable to give much of an answer. Seeing my state of confusion, she steered me out of Tommy's room, closed the door, and took me down the hall before feeling my forehead again. Then she reached a decision and announced:
"Young man, we've better take your temperature. Come along with me."
With that, she escorted me into her bedroom at the other end of the hall, closed the door, and led me over near her bed before disappearing into the bathroom. After rummaging around for a while, she emerged carrying a jar of vaseline, a box of kleenex, and a special thermometer which I immediately recognized from my own mother's medicine cabinet. It seemed Aunt Betsy shared quite a few ideas with her sister. Under normal circumstances, I might have protested and asked for an adult thermometer. But after what I had just witnessed, I was still in quite a state, half-paralyzed and tongue-tied. As if foreseeing my reaction, Aunt Betsy explained:
"This is the best way to take children's temperatures, especially naughty children. Since I know your mother handles you the same way, you won't mind, will you Billy? When Tommy's earned a spanking, I often take his temperature first this way just to give him another reminder of how I treat bad little boys. Your mother and I discussed this along with other methods of punishment and we both agree any boy who still needs spankings is not too old for a rectal thermometer."
With that, Aunt Betsy sat down on the bed, placed the kleenex beside her, opened the jar of vaseline and stuck the thermometer into it before setting it aside. All the while she hummed cheerily to herself. It was clearly a fairly routine process here just as it was in my home. Then turning her attention to me, she smiled and drew me over until I stood directly before her. Soothing me with caresses to the face, she continued speaking in reassuring tones as she loosened my belt and took my pants down to mid thigh. Still in a half daze, I watched as she pulled her skirts up "so as not to wrinkle them" and gently steered me across her lap so that my upper and lower body extended out quite comfortably on the bed. More embarrassed than ever, I buried my face in the soft, down comforter and yielded to her motherly administrations.
"Now you just relax and lie quietly, Billy, and your Aunt Betsy will take good care of you. This will only take a few minutes."
Though embarrassed by my predicament, I also felt secure and loved, a little like I felt at home long after a spanking when the smarting had turned into a warm glow under the covers. I also wanted to please my aunt and yet get this whole thing over as fast as possible. Thus I lifted my hips the moment I felt her fingers at the waistband of my underpants. Noticing my cooperation, Aunt Betsy tousled my hair with her left hand and exclaimed:
"That's a good boy, Billy. That's good ... lift up so Aunt Betsy can get these underpants down."
After dragging my underpants down to my ankles, Aunt Betsy gave my bare fanny a few smacks and told me I was lucky I wasn't over her lap this time for a spanking. For my part, as I felt my bare torso against the soft, warm pillow of her thighs and the cool air on my bottom, it seemed as if I really was there for a spanking. And one part of me always wanted one, if only to end the waiting and suspense which had gripped me ever since I began visiting the Springer household for weekends. My attention quickly turned elsewhere as Aunt Betsy gently pried opened my bottom cheeks and began rubbing a dab of vaseline deeply between them. Using the tip of her little finger, she gradually probed all the way into my rectum, asking me again to relax so she could finish getting me ready. As her finger slid in and out, I was horrified to feel the onset of an erection which I was powerless to stop (despite biting my lip). By the time she slid the thermometer in and held it in place by cupping my bottom with a warm hand, I was quite stiff. Fortunately Aunt Betsy seemed not to notice and said nothing, preferring instead to hum to herself as she stroked my head with her left hand and rested her right hand on my fanny. When three minutes were up and she pulled the thermometer out, I was actually throbbing against her soft thigh, my red face buried in the comforter. After checking my temperature, Aunt Betsy declared me fever free. Then, changing to a more serious tone, she added:
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