Thursday, February 28, 2013

The Teasdale Family Tradition

Part Two

Rebekah Revealed

Image from
(Our story began here:

As Rebekah padded into the kitchen, she found it hard to resist her natural inclination to cover herself from the appreciative gaze of her parents, her brother, and sister. Still, resist it she did, because it was considered bad form. Rebekah was nothing if not a proud Teasdale girl!

“Happy birthday, pumpkin,” her dad said from in front of the stove, where he was frying bacon and eggs.

“Oh, don’t you look darling!” her effusive mother gushed. Seventeen-year-old Melie smiled at the sight of her birthday-suited sister, while fifteen-year-old Marc looked as though his eyes might pop out of his head. Rebekah blushed and smiled at the sight of the hand-woven placemat on one of the vacant chairs, and planted her naked backside there as expected.

“Well, here goes nothing!” she said with brio. The family laughed good-naturedly at her excellent attitude and willingness to indulge family tradition. Everyone knew it took a great deal of bravado; other than Rebekah herself, Mrs. Teasdale knew that best.

“Look over here, my dears,” she told her three children. They leaned in together for the picture (the first of many to be taken that day), which would of course be relegated to a private family album. In accordance with tradition, Mr. Teasdale would give it as a wedding gift to Rebekah’s groom when she married.

Mr. Teasdale, wearing his “Kiss the Cook” apron, served everyone breakfast. They chatted about the day to come and enjoyed scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, hand-squeezed orange juice and coffee. Afterwards, everyone except Rebekah pitched in to clean up (it was also considered bad form to expect the birthday girl to do any work on her special day).

“All right, everyone,” said Mrs. Teasdale brightly, “go get ready; our guests will be arriving soon.”

Everyone went to their respective rooms, while Rebekah took her mat with her to the living room, settled in on the couch, and turned on the mix of her favorite music that her dad had given her as an early gift. With the delightful strains of Debussy’s Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faune softly filling the room, Rebekah picked up her copy of Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca and read of her namesake’s exploits in delighted seclusion. It felt odd indeed to be naked in the living room--even completely alone--but already she was getting somewhat used to the idea.

*     *     *

When the doorbell rang, Rebekah was jolted from her reverie. (Literally. Debussy’s Reverie was actually playing at that moment.) She put her book down and rose to her feet. Determined not to “wimp out” on any detail of what was expected of her today, she boldly walked to the front door and opened it-- demurely hiding her body behind it as she did so. (The neighbors were not to be afforded a glimpse of this family-only special event!)

“Hi, baby doll,” said Rebekah’s big sister Madison, 20, trailed by her 21-year-old husband Geoffrey. It seemed the Goddess was allowing the birthday girl a chance to get past her biggest emotional hurdle right away!

“Hi, guys,” she said warmly, opening the door enough to let them in, but not allowing her nakedness to be broadcast to the neighborhood. Geoffrey whistled appreciatively.

“Wow! The family resemblance is unmistakable.”

“Geoff!” Madison mock-scolded her husband, punching him lightly on the arm. “That’s my little sister!”

“Not so little anymore,” he observed trenchantly. “And every bit as lovely as my bride. Happy birthday, sweet girl!” He winked at Rebekah, making her blush deeply and go somewhat weak in the knees. “Hi, Geoffrey,” she managed, “come on in.”

The family came into the living room; kisses and warm greetings were exchanged. Mr. Teasdale and Geoffrey fell into easy conversation about current events and politics, an interest they shared and conversed about as amiably--and heatedly--as old school friends. Geoffrey worked for a lobbying firm, and Mr. Teasdale was an old-school politico himself.

Geoffrey had been dating Madison when she’d turned 18. The girl and her family were maddeningly close-mouthed about the family extravaganza that kept his girlfriend busy all day on her birthday. Any frustration he may have felt then was more than completely compensated for, however, when Mr. Teasdale gave him that photo album. Leafing through that book of miracles (which included a classic shot of his naked bride being spanked over the lap of her attractive aunt) just prior to the wedding night had made that night all the more thrilling.

People kept coming, and there was much good-natured laughter among the guests each time Rebekah carefully opened the door to let another batch in. She soon became an expert on doing so without giving the neighbors a free show. To a person, each guest commented on how beautiful she was. As much as she may have been blushing due to embarrassment at her unprecedented exposure, her face flushed more with pleasure at the avalanche of compliments she received.

The house kept filling up. Two sets of grandparents, two aunts, one uncle. Four cousins, one an 18-year-old boy named Stephen excited to have birthday spanking privileges for the first time. Probably the most embarrassing encounter was with three younger cousins, two boys and a girl. The boys, ages eight and ten, found it impossible not to giggle and whisper, pointing with huge grins on their faces. Rebekah did her best to take it in stride; Aunt Marcie, on the other hand, put a stop to it. She came up behind them and swatted their little behinds at the same time, getting a startled, stereophonic “Ow!”in  response. Then she announced, loud enough for Rebekah to hear, that if her sons failed to “get it together” the birthday girl “[wouldn’t] be the only person receiving bare-bottom spankings today.” The boys’ faces went candy-apple red and they immediately desisted. They knew from experience that their mom wouldn’t hesitate to deliver on that promise in front of extended family if necessary.

According to the family custom, the young lady nearest the birthday girl in age (and thus next in line for her own very special party) was tasked with following the guest of honor around with her mat and putting it down wherever she chose to sit down. It was not unlike the Maid of Honor being responsible for a bride’s train, and Melie performed the duty with pride. Everyone enjoyed the delicious buffet that Mr. Teasdale had prepared, and his wife took many candid shots of her daughter posing with various family members. Then she made an announcement.

“Presents time! Let’s all gather in the living room.”

As everyone was finding a seat in the living room, Geoffrey came up behind Rebekah and spoke quietly in her ear.

“By my count, there are twelve adults here today. Twelve times 18 is is 216. Ouch!” He grinned and winked again, once more turning Rebekah’s knees to jelly.

“Actually it’s twelve times nineteen,” she replied with a blushing grin of her own. “You know, the whole ‘one to grow on’ thing?”

Right! That makes it...what?” He did a quick calculation in his head, but Rebekah’s cousin Stephen, smartphone calculator in hand, beat him to it.

“228!” he announced with a smile.

His dad, Rebekah’s Uncle Ted, whistled appreciatively.

“Two hundred and twenty-eight smacks to a bare behind! I know one young lady who’s gonna be sleeping on her tummy tonight.”

“So sit while you can, baby girl,” her father said, smiling and gesturing toward the big chair in the center of the room. The assembled family applauded as Melie laid down the mat and Rebekah took her place of honor. Mrs. Teasdale took  the “official” picture of her smiling, blushing eldest daughter. Rebekah had always been a little self-conscious about being the center of attention at birthday present time, but it had never been anything like this.

She thought about the numbers: twelve laps, 228 smacks to her tender behind! She gulped and accepted the first gift that was placed in her lap. There was no turning back now!

[End Part Two]

Copyright Ⓒ 2013 by Aunt Carla
All rights reserved

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Sterner Measures

Part Two
Image from time out!
(Our story began here:

Marta returned by way of the kitchen, where she fixed herself a drink at her leisure. This had hardly been the relaxing Friday night homecoming she’d been looking forward to, but she had to admit that properly punishing her naughty girl was making her feel better. She loved the girl more than life itself and didn’t begrudge her one moment’s pleasure; this was strictly about honoring the commitments they made to each other. Marta believed the punishment should fit the crime, and in her view Laurie had earned a bit more than a sore behind and a spell in the corner for this one.

Marta had changed out of her work clothes; she was now quite comfortable in a pair of shorts and a T shirt. She took a long swallow of her Scotch and soda and padded back into the living room with a box in her hand. There she was: the beautiful Little Miss Naughty, still standing vigil in the corner with her hands on her head. Marta smiled; perhaps this Friday evening wasn’t going to be a bust after all. She sat down on the couch, putting her drink on a coaster and the box on the coffee table.

“Okay, over here, little one.”

Laurie sighed-groaned in a mixture of relief and foreboding. Relief, because she could finally drop her hands from their uncomfortable position and escape the monochrome boredom of the corner. Foreboding, because of what she had been promised next. She tiptoed over to stand in front of Marta, still blushing because of her one-sided nudity and the way she’d carried on over her lover’s lap. Then her eyes fell on the dreaded box on the table, and she decided to make another plea for clemency.

“Please, Baby,” she begged. “I’m already so sore, I’m hardly gonna be able to sit all weekend. I’m sorry I used it alone; I promise I won’t do it again.”

“Well, you see, that’s the problem,” her disciplinarian replied coolly. “You already promised, and we saw how that turned out, didn’t we?”

Laurie crossed her arms across her chest and stamped her foot again in a mixture of nervousness and petulance. Marta simply beckoned her with one finger and patted her lap. As if robbed of volition, the girl crept over and lay across her lap again.

Marta patted her girlfriend’s voluptuous behind. “Still a nice, hot shade of pink. How lovely!”

“Ohh!” Laurie kicked her bare legs, embarrassed and frustrated. Marta laughed softly and opened the box, removing a medium-sized vibrating butt plug and some lubricant. She lubed it up and spread Laurie’s bottom cheeks with her left hand, then began the gradual process of inserting it with her right. Laurie’’s cheeks involuntarily tightened at this unwelcome intrusion. She was rewarded with a stinging smack to her sore backside (one that made her yelp) and an order to relax.

Eventually, Marta had the anal intruder buried to the hilt. She used the app on her phone to program it to kick on at medium speed for two minutes every half hour. Then she commanded Laurie to lie down on her back on the couch. The girl stood up and fixed her disciplinarian with a truly pitiful, imploring look, but Marta was resolute. Not even Laurie’s prettiest little pout could deter her from keeping her promise. Laurie sighed in resignation and lay on her back.

Marta pulled the vibrating dildo from the box and lubricated it thoroughly. Then she applied some more lubricant to Laurie’s vagina. The girl jumped a bit at the sudden cold in her most sensitive spot. Marta gradually worked the vibrator in until it too was thoroughly buried “in the zone;” she then programmed it to match the butt plug’s vibrating schedule. Laurie whimpered at the uncomfortable sensation of being completely “filled” front and back. Marta patted her girlfriend’s private parts twice and told her to sit up.

“Now, you remember how this works, right?”


Marta raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You wanna try that again, little girl?”

“, yes, Ma’am.”

“Better.” Marta went on to reiterate the diabolical details of Laurie’s promised punishment, one she took pride in having devised. Throughout the weekend, once every half hour, the vibrators in each orifice would kick on at medium speed for two minutes. Long enough to keep the girl enervated and aroused, but never long enough to send her over the edge. Marta would cancel the program at night so the girl could sleep. She would supervise her bathroom visits and shower with her to make sure she didn’t cheat. On Saturday night, when they were scheduled to go out to dinner with friends, she would keep Laurie plugged and back on a vibrating schedule (on the lowest setting). Even though the vibrators were inaudible on that speed, Marta was sure her lady would experience paroxyms of embarrassment at that gathering. She found herself smiling contentedly at the thought.

“Okay, I’m gonna call for a pizza while you go change into something more appropriate for a young lady being punished.”

Laurie groaned and stiffened. This declaration meant that her uniform for the weekend was to be her juvenile-looking drop-seat pajamas. Knowing strict Marta, she would be required to pay for the pizza in her embarrassing attire. She would probably keep her flap down all weekend as well (expect for their dinner engagement, of course, for which she’d be allowed to dress). Her hands went to her hips and she tried to affect a defiant attitude. In her current state of dress, it was quite unconvincing. Marta answered by way of overriding the butt plug’s program with a few deft clicks and turning it on at full power. Laurie gasped and practically levitated off the floor.

“OKAY! I’m going...please turn it off!”

Marta chuckled as her lady love fairly sprinted toward their bedroom to change. She did not turn off the plug; she just reset it to medium speed. She’d toggle it back to the every-half-hour setting once Laurie appeared in her pajamas. She looked forward to Laurie’s reactions to the intermittent vibes and her mounting frustration at the too-short duration of the vaginal dildo’s ministrations. Marta was not a vindictive woman, but she had been hurt by the person she loved most. Sterner measure were called for, and justice must be served!

She found a good pay-per-view movie to order and drained the last of her Scotch and soda. Her mind wandered to the thought of having Laurie service her with the Magic Wand before the night was over. Unexpectedly, the spanking she’d given, Laurie’s nakedness, and the dual-vibrator insertion process had put her very much in the mood.

Balance had been restored. This just might well be the start of quite a great weekend after all!


Copyright 2013 by Aunt Carla
All rights reserved

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Half His Age, Fully in Charge

(NOTE: I apologize for introducing a new story before finishing others. I have no choice but to obey the muse!) -- A.C.


Part One
Image from Time Out!

I come home from a long day's work. As I walk through the front door, I am delighted by what I see, smell, and hear. I see my husband--all six feet two inches and 175 pounds of him--standing at the far end of the foyer. His hands are folded neatly behind his back, and he's wearing nothing but the diabolical device I have kept him locked up in for more than a week. Until recently, he was used to daily releases, but I have made it clear that those days are quite over. I wear the key to his chastity device on a chain around my neck, and until further notice, his orgasms are fully dependent on my pleasure and my whim. When--or rather whether--they happen is entirely up to me.

That device was quite simply the best investment of my life; it makes the man absolute putty in my hands. I may be almost half his age, but I am very much in charge of this relationship.

I smell the delicious aroma of dinner warming in the oven; a quick survey of the house and the mild whiff of pine scent tells me he’s cleaned thoroughly. I smile. I told him he might be allowed a release tonight if he followed my instructions to the letter and went over my lap for a long, hard spanking. Clearly, my behavior modification plan is working well. I decide to test his resolve in a somewhat devilish way.

“Well done, little boy. You’ve proved you can follow directions; you are well on your way toward receiving a reward this evening.”

“Oh, thank you, Ma’am!”

“I have several things to carry in from the car. You don’t mind if I leave the front door open, do you?”

I see him go rigid, and his blush extends to the back of his neck. With great effort, he manages to croak out, “N-no, Ma’am.”

I chuckle and close the door. “Just testing you, darling; I want that backside all to myself tonight. But should you fail to please me, do not imagine I’ll hesitate one moment to spank it cherry red and put it on public display. The front porch ought to do nicely. With the light on, of course.” 

I remain silent for a moment to allow that mental picture to sink in. Then I breezily go on. 

“You may go make me a drink and bring it to me in the living room.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he says, huge relief evident in his voice. He turns, his face flaring delightfully, and gulps in the sight of me. I’m a 5’ 5” slim redhead with a creamy complexion dotted with a few freckles. I love the hungry way he looks at me these days. The fact that I am so much younger and smaller than he--yet completely in charge of him--thrills him beyond all measure, and I take full advantage of this. The fact that he’s been locked up for a week and a half--and has been servicing his young wife nearly every night--renders him obedient to my every whim. I hold the key to his...heart, so to speak.

Well aware of the intensity of his foot fetish, and fully enjoying my ability to mesmerize him, I kick off my shoes and wiggle my toes as he stares. Then I put my hands on my hips and fix him with a look. He scurries off to pour me a Scotch and soda on the rocks, and I laugh as I head for the living room.

I turn on the TV and sit in my favorite chair. I’m wearing a tight pair of black slacks and a fuchsia top that was just barely safe for work. My breasts are medium-sized, and they also bear the cream color and freckles of my Scotch-Irish heritage. I pull down on the blouse slightly to reveal even more of them, put my feet up on a hassock, and find a program to watch.

Moments later, my husband appears with my drink and gazes with undisguised longing at my chest. Before accepting the beverage, I pull the top down with exaggerated slowness; as I am braless today, both breasts are soon on display to him in all their glory. He literally gulps at the sight, and whimpers when I readjust my clothing.

I laugh, take the drink, and say, “Well done, little boy,” pushing the hassock away with my feet and pointing. He knows what I expect. In no time at all, I’m sitting comfortably, sipping my drink with my feet on a human footstool. I quietly giggle at the sight of this 50-year-old business executive--naked and stock-still on all fours--so desperate to please his wife. I watch a half hour of TV in this fashion. I then swing my legs off his back, and he goes rigid with expectation: could he be about to get what he’s been dying for for so long? I decide to ratchet things up a notch.

“Before we do anything else, we need to close up your back door, darling.” He whips his head around to face me, and a momentary flash of macho defiance crosses his features. He’s certainly no fan of that large, vibrating plug. It's been the main point of contention in the establishment of this new regimen, and 
I know it’s pure torment for him when he’s been locked up so long!

“Oh, I see. I guess you don’t want your reward after all. Very well; you’re still going over my knee, though.” I pat my lap meaningfully.

“No! I mean, uh, please, Ma’am. I’ll get the plug, Ma’am.”

“Hmm...I don’t know; you didn’t obey right away...” (I don’t really intend to be mean; I just enjoy teasing him!)

“Please...” His crestfallen expression is a heart-melter.

“Oh, alright, then; you may get your plug. Be quick about it!”

“Oh, yes Ma'am, thank you, Ma’am!”

“Off you go, little boy.” I swat his bare tail, and he scurries off as I giggle at the sight of his twin moons in retreat. They will soon bear a most delightful hot pink hue. This is going to be an enjoyable evening indeed.

[End Part One]

Copyright Ⓒ 2013 by Aunt Carla
All rights reserved

Monday, February 25, 2013

Sterner Measures

Part One

Image from timeout!

“You know you deserve this,” Marta declared as she made the wooden hairbrush dance all over her naked girlfriend’s oh-so-sore rear end. Laurie, the young lady over her lap, flailed wildly as the heat in her rear end grew inexorably beyond her tolerance point.

“You have zero self-control, little girl” Marta scolded as she spanked. “Looks like sterner measures are called for this time.”

Laurie, a beautiful, petite 21-year-old redhead, wailed at this unwelcome news. Not only was her bottom on fire; she knew exactly what those “sterner measures” would be, and she was none too pleased at the prospect! She kicked more wildly; not just because of the overwhelming sting in her tail, but because she was now anticipating a singularly unpleasant week as well.

It all could have been avoided so easily, if only she’d exercised a little self-control.

Marta had bought her a Hitachi Magic Wand for her birthday, something she’d given her with the proviso that it was only to be used by Marta on Laurie and vice-versa--no cheating allowed. Laurie had a powerful sex drive (just one of many things Marta loved about her), and it had been three days since they’d had the chance to make love. Marta had come home a few hours earlier than usual on this Friday evening to find her girlfriend as naked as the day she was born, lying on the couch and pleasuring herself with the vibrator with wild abandon. The sense of betrayal Marta felt made her wield the brush with even more intensity than usual.

“Ow! OW! OWW!!”

"Such a naughty girl."

Laurie kicked and screamed, bucked wildly at the mounting fire in her tail, and squirmed in a fruitless effort to avoid the wicked sting of the wooden hairbrush for even one second. Marta, considerably bigger and stronger than she, had no problem holding her naughty little one in place to receive the whole punishment she was due.

Once the girl’s buns and thigh-tops were an angry, uniform shade of red, Marta put down the hairbrush and wiped the perspiration from her brow. It had been an epic spanking she’d just given Laurie, but of course her punishment was far from over.

“Do you remember what I promised you would happen if you disregarded our agreement?” she demanded of the howling girl on her lap. Unfortunately, Laurie was incapable of coherent speech at this point; she was wailing and pounding her fists as if her spanking was still going on.

Realizing Laurie was unable to answer just yet, Marta helped the well-spanked girl to her feet. Once Laurie regained the vertical, her hands shot back to her scorched backside of their own accord. She began rubbing furiously and leaping in place, causing her small breasts to bounce up and down. Marta decided to let her make a spectacle of herself for several moments, taking grim satisfaction in the effectiveness with which she’d wielded the brush. Then she decided her girlfriend had rubbed long enough.

“Alright, enough of that," she said. "Hands on your head, and into the corner you go.” She pointed to the confluence of two living room walls beside the TV set and gave Laurie’s well-scorched behind a little swat. Laurie shrieked; red-faced and sobbing, she could do nothing but obey. She trotted over to the wall and was soon the picture of penitence: a naughty little girl in her birthday suit, nose in the corner with her red, swollen bottom on display. Marta smiled at the lovely, satisfying sight, and couldn’t resist picking up her digital single lens reflex and snapping a picture. Laurie heard the whir-click and whirled around in indignation. Fire flashed in her eyes; she dropped her hands and for a moment anger replaced her woeful self-pity.

“Hey!” she shouted. “Not fair!”

“This is for my private album, little girl,” Marta replied icily. “Of course, if you don’t turn around, get those hands back where they belong and clam up, I can always upload it to your Facebook page." She stepped over to her girlfriend and showed her the picture in the viewfinder. "It’s an excellent shot if I do say so myself; I’m sure your Facebook friends would be delighted to see what a well-punished brat you really are.”

Laurie's eyes widened comically at how the camera had captured her humbling posture in the corner and she let out a gasp. Marta was strict, but surely she wouldn’t really humiliate her like that! Would she? 

In a heartbeat, she discovered that she wasn’t willing to test the theory. 

Her face a brilliant shade of red, she turned to face the corner again, put her hands back on her head, and stood stood stock-still in silence. Marta couldn’t help but chuckle a little. She would, of course, never in a million years publicly humiliate the love of her life like that; the photo really was for her eyes only. Nonetheless, she found it amusing that, after a good spanking, even self-evidently empty threats could result in such instantaneous obedience.

“Stay there and don’t move a muscle. I’m going to get a couple of things for you; this is far from over, little one.”

Laurie couldn’t help but groan aloud and stamp her foot in frustration. She knew exactly what those “couple of things” were, and she had no desire to encounter them any sooner than she had to. For the first time, she found herself wishing corner time could last forever. She heard Marta striding purposefully from the room, and groaned again at the thought of her impending doom.

[End Part One]

Copyright Ⓒ 2013 by Aunt Carla
All rights reserved

Friday, February 22, 2013

The Winner!

Image from
Image from

Bare-Bottomed Corner Time, Served on the Porch...

Image from

...stiff discipline, that, with bottom well-scorched!


Image from

I'm so grateful my darling disciplinarian has made it quite clear that she considers my ample bottom "too beautiful to bruise." Absorbing punishment like this on a regular basis would be purely horrible!

The Teasdale Family Tradition

Part One

Image from

Rebekah Teasdale awoke that bright, early spring morning and immediately felt a thrill in the pit of her stomach. It was April 12--Rebekah’s 18th birthday--and time for her to take part in a very special and time-honored Teasdale family tradition.

Her face colored as she imagined the scene: her parents, brother and sister, and extended family all gathering for a special day-long party to mark her ascension to adulthood.

With Rebekah in her birthday suit.

The Teasdales had celebrated the 18th birthdays of the women of their clan in this manner for as long as anyone could remember. Grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins and in-laws would all gather at the young lady’s house for an all-day feast which the guest of honor was expected to attend as the Divine Feminine had made her. They would lavish gifts upon the young woman, enjoy a sumptuous meal together, and dole out over-the-knee birthday spankings with great enthusiasm. As rites of passage went, it was meaningful, celebratory and symbolic . Gifts were chosen carefully to mark the fact that the young lady was now indeed a fully-fledged adult of the clan. At the end of the party, she would dress in an ensemble chosen from her many gifts; this marked the fact that she was no longer a child and was henceforth deserving of adult modesty. Not until she married would another pair of eyes behold the beauty of her naked form.

As Rebekah showered, she imagined the attention she would receive throughout the day, and her special position as guest of honor. She dried herself fully and donned the jewelry that would be her only adornment throughout the day. A ruby ring on her left hand (a gift from her grandmother), the gold ring her father gave her the year before on the other. Diamond studs in each ear. A toe-ring on each foot, a band of silver on her right ankle. And (of course) her ever-present faux diamond ring adorning her navel.

She toweled off her shoulder-length jet-black hair and commenced the shaving of her sex that was customary for this day. Except for the jewelry she had obtained over her adolescence, she was to appear as she had entered the world--which meant being devoid of hair in key places on her body. 

Standing naked before the mirror, she was pleased with what she saw. Her breasts were of medium size, pert and firm. She had a deliciously flat belly and long, slender legs. She turned around to view the part of her anatomy that would be on the receiving end of so much attention that day, and blushed at the thought of being draped over a series of adult laps with that ample young bottom sticking up and just begging to be spanked. The thought that her spankers would include her now-adult sister Ruth and her young husband Geoffrey caused a not-unpleasurable frisson to go through her body. She had had a childhood crush on Ruth’s handsome suitor long before he became her fiance. The thought of being draped au naturel over the young man’s sturdy lap for 18 solid smacks to her backside gave her a thrill of the visceral kind.

Rebekah carefully dried and brushed her beautiful raven locks, brushed her teeth, and otherwise prepared for her day in the spotlight. With a lovely thrill in the pit of her belly, she walked out of the bathroom and down the stairs to join the family for breakfast. Her once-in-a-lifetime special day had begun!

[End Part One]

Copyright Ⓒ 2013 by Aunt Carla
All rights reserved

Thursday, February 21, 2013

In Front of the Whole Town, Part Three


(Our story began here:


Warden Maxwell didn’t believe in “warm-ups;” he spanked hard and fast right from the start. Nancy, whose experience with spanking was limited to a few playful birthday smacks over her clothes, was positively shocked at the sting of his hard hand on her bare behind. She had openly scoffed at the way Bobby had carried on when he was spanked, thinking him quite a baby. Now she quite understood why he’d behaved that way!

“Oh! Oh! OWW!!”


“Ow! PLEASE!! AHH!!”

Warden Maxwell smiled in grim satisfaction at the squirming, squawking young woman on his lap. By the time he was finished with her, he was quite sure she’d never steal again.

Nancy had convinced herself that, as humiliating as an appearance before the whole town with her big bottom bared may be, she would definitely not give them the satisfaction of seeing her lose her composure. That had clearly been an illusion. Not only did she lack the ability to prevent the steady stream of increasingly hysterical noises from her mouth; as the heat in her tail inexorably rose, she soon found herself unable to control her limbs as well. Her legs kicked admirably of their own accord, and her arms resembled those of a swimmer, albeit a wildly uncontrolled one.

This was precisely the sort of display the assembled crowd had hoped to see, and no one in Nancy’s large audience was more appreciative than Bobby. He had felt thoroughly humiliated by Nancy’s open mockery of him when he’d thrashed wildly over Ms. Peabody’s lap; he was thoroughly delighted by this turn of events. Turnabout was fair play.

“Are we having fun yet, little girl?”  he called out loudly from the front row. His rhetorical question was met with a chorus of laughter that made Nancy’s upper cheeks burn even more brightly than those down below. Bobby had unknowingly timed his comment to coincide precisely with the moment when the searing burn in her bottom had driven concern about her dignity to the back burner, so to speak. Now the realization of the public show she was putting on came rushing into her consciousness and mingled with the unbearable sting in her tail. In supreme frustration, she kicked wildly and pounded the air with her fists, giving her admirers even more to enjoy. How would she ever be able to face these people again?!

The warden had soon peppered the girl’s entire bottom and upper thighs with searing spanks, and the entire area glowed red. He glanced at his assistant, and saw her tapping her watch with her finger. With two astonishing wallops to the center of Nancy’s red behind, he brought her  spanking to a close. She continued writhing and kicking on his lap, unaware that she was no longer being spanked. He held her firmly as she boo-hooed, her tears falling to the platform. Adding a second dose with the leather paddle after the five-minute hand spanking was Warden Maxwell’s prerogative, and he was not a cruel man. He felt that the girl had been properly chastised, and that allowing her to begin her hour-long penance on the platform now was appropriate.

“Up you get, young lady.”

Nancy hiccuped and sobbed as she stood shakily to her feet. She saw the satisfied expressions on the faces of the crowd through tear-filled eyes, and realized in that moment that she would never steal again as long as she lived. Her hands shot to her blazing backside and she leapt up and down, trying desperately to  rub away some of the sting. This served only to elicit chuckles from her admiring crowd. After a few moments, Warden Maxwell addressed her.

“Are you through stealing from the good people of Middleburg, young lady?”

“Oh, yes, Sir!” Nancy replied earnestly as she continued rubbing, earning some more laughter. During the coming weeks, Nancy would be on the receiving end of considerable good-natured teasing about how she’d carried on over the Warden’s lap, but people would not be cruel. In Middleburg, it was understood that once justice had been served, the offender was considered a member in good standing of the community again. The citizens also knew that, if they didn’t mind their Ps and Qs, it could just as easily be their blazing bare bottoms on display.

“Turn around, put your hands on your head and stand still,” Warden Maxwell commanded. Nancy whimpered, loath to stop rubbing and even less willing to display her well-chastised naked bottom to the crowd.

Now, unless you require a dose of the paddle.”

That got Nancy’s attention. She couldn’t imagine her bottom absorbing any more punishment, especially not with a paddle. Her hands shot up to her head as she turned and stood motionless with her bright red bare behind on display. This brought a few appreciative whistles and comments about a such a well-punished young lady so well-endowed in the rear. Nancy’s face blazed bright-red with embarrassment at the commentary.

“Mr. Chamberlain,” the Warden addressed the storeowner in the front row, “are you satisfied that justice has been served?”

“Yes Warden Maxwell, I am. That fine behind is welcome back in my store any time.” More laughter followed Mr. Chamberlain’s witticism.

“Excellent. Miss Charles, your one-hour display period begins now.” Warden Maxwell set a timer and placed it on his chair.

And so began what was easily the longest hour of Nancy Ellen Charles’ life. It was against the law for anyone to take pictures or videos of people being publicly punished, so Nancy didn’t need to fear any digital reproductions of her humiliation showing up anywhere. It was more than enough to know that the entire town was free to feast their eyes on her big, swollen red backside for an hour!

The timer ticked out the endless seconds of her public penance. Nancy, her four cheeks perpetually blushing, was forever cured of her shoplifting problem.


Copyright Ⓒ 2013 by Aunt Carla
All rights reserved

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Cheekiness Personified

Part One

(Note: The Aunt Carla's Disciplinary Studio series is an homage to Seegee's Spank Shop series.)

Amelia sat at the reception desk, sipping a cup of coffee and looking through Aunt Carla's appointments for the day. She saw that there was a mother and daughter coming together for discipline this morning, and it made her smile. She knew that being spanked by a professional disciplinarian hadn't been their idea; they had been sent by their husband/stepfather, a gentleman who called himself 'Aristotle'.

Amelia noted the ladies' ages - 50 and 25 respectively - and grinned. It was always fun to see a naughty young lady just a few years her senior brought down a notch or two, and no one did that better than her Auntie! Amelia knew that from first-hand experience. Whenever she failed to discharge her responsibilities to her aunt's satisfaction, she would end her work day kicking and struggling over Aunt Carla's knee as well.

She wondered how long it had been since the wife of 'Aristotle' had gone over someone's knee for discipline. The sight of a middle-aged woman (or man) placed over Aunt Carla's knee for old-fashioned correction was always a hoot! Not that Amelia always got to see it happen, of course. If Auntie's clients were 'good' (meaning they did not 'fight' their punishments), they got to serve their bare-bottom corner time in Auntie's studio. If they did put up too much resistance, well, Amelia had seen many a 40-or 50-year-old man or lady sobbing through their corner time in the reception area, in full view of herself and any clients who happened to be waiting for their own appointments over Auntie's knee. Occasionally, Amelia had been fortunate enough to be called into the studio on a pressing errand when an unfortunate client was still dangling over Auntie's lap; it was those times that most tested her ability to keep her professional demeanor intact. When it was a gentleman or lady her parents' age, it took every bit of her well-learned politesse to keep from bursting out laughing. On more than one such occasion, a warning glance from her Aunt had saved her bottom from the singularly unpleasant fate that might have befallen it had she given in to her natural inclination.

Amelia's reverie was interrupted by the sound of the bell tinkling as two people entered the establishment. Looking up, she saw a good-looking middle-aged woman walk in, followed by a beautiful young woman who was obviously the older woman's daughter.

"Miss Janice and Miss Sophie, I presume?" she said warmly with a smile.

"Um... yes, that's us," the older woman replied, taking in the reception area with a nervous smile. Her daughter, who was wearing a scowl that spoiled her otherwise perfect beauty, stood slouching with her hands in the pocket of her jeans. So this was Sophie, Amelia thought. The young lady whose stepfather had described as 'the personification of cheekiness'. From this her first impression of the young lady, Amelia considered that an apt description.

"Aunt Carla will be with you in just a few minutes," Amelia said, holding out a clipboard to each woman. "Be seated and fill out these forms, then bring them back to me when you're finished."

Sophie's scowl deepened. It was clear she wasn't being used to being told what to do, and the fact that Amelia was several years her junior probably made it go down that much harder.

"What do you need us to fill out forms for?" the girl demanded. That she was here under duress could not be more evident. Amelia took a deep breath and maintained her smile.

"I will gladly tell you, as soon as you amend that abominable attitude of yours."

Sophie's mouth hung open in shock, then it turned into a sneer. "Who do you think you are? You're younger than I am!"

The young receptionist's smile vanished. "I am Amelia Chance, or Miss Amelia to you," she said evenly. "I am Aunt Carla's receptionist and office manager, and yes, I'm a few years younger than you. But if you don't drop that tone, you'll find yourself over my knee long before Aunt Carla paddles your naughty behind!"

Sophie drew in breath and was about to let loose a volley in retort, but her mother intervened, taking her daughter by the arm and saying,

"Terribly sorry, Amel... uh, Miss Amelia. We're both just a little out of our element here, that's all."

"That's quite understandable, but we do not tolerate boorish behavior in this office," Amelia replied, staring down her adversary. Sophie maintained eye contact with the younger girl, wearing an expression that said, "If Mom weren't here to stop me..." Nonetheless, she went with her mother to where the chairs were and began filling out her information form, medical history, and legal release papers.

After a few minutes, Janice stood and brought the paperwork to Amelia for both of them, hardly trusting her daughter to remain civil. She had little doubt that the young receptionist was perfectly capable of carrying out her threat. Mature enough to know the better part of valor, she smiled meekly.

"Here's the lot," she said with what she hoped passed as a conciliatory smile. She knew her daughter's temper all too well, and wished to avoid a scene.

"Very good, then," Amelia said sweetly. "I'll buzz Aunt Carla and let her know you're ready to go in. Please have a seat; she may have a bit of paperwork to finish before she can see you."

"Thank you," said Janice, turning to retake her seat.

Amelia cleared her throat. "Now that you have signed in, you may consider yourself a client," she said. "As such, you will address me as 'Miss Amelia' or 'Ma'am.' Understood?"

Something flashed in the older woman's eyes, and for just a moment Amelia saw where Sophie had gotten the fire in her belly. But Janice recovered quickly, saying,

"Yes, Miss. Sorry, Miss."

"No harm done, just protocol, you know." As Amelia buzzed her aunt, Sophie let out a dismissive sound, slouching as far as humanly possible in her seat. Amelia smiled, knowing that Auntie was more than equal to the task of taking this young lady in hand.

"Aunt Carla, Janice and Sophie are ready when you are, Ma'am," she said into the phone.

"Very good, Amelia, you may send them in."

Amelia stood and regarded the two ladies. "Come with me, girls," she said, unable to resist the little dig. Sophie stood up with exaggerated slowness and refused to look the other girl in the eye.

"This is stupid," she murmured under her breath, but loudly enough to be heard.

As she spoke, the door to Aunt Carla's studio swung open. Aunt Carla looked over her bifocals at the ill-mannered girl, clearly having heard her and making no effort to mask her distaste. She then took in Janice, and shook her head at the thought of a mother allowing her daughter to behave so in public. Clearly, she had her work cut out for her today.

"Janice! Sophie! You'd better both come inside, and post haste!"

Turning a delightful shade of red, both women obeyed, under the triumphal smile of a certain young receptionist. Today, she was more than usually glad that the wall between the reception area and Aunt Carla's studio was thin!

*     *     *

Part Two

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"Be seated immediately!" Aunt Carla said with uncharacteristic harshness, indicating the settee across from her chair. The two women, clearly cowed by her commanding tone, obeyed.

"Little Miss Sophie." Aunt Carla sat down and fixed the young woman with a severe look. "I had my intercom turned on since you entered my establishment this morning, and I heard every bit of your petulant exchange with Miss Amelia. Needless to say, I am most repelled by such an abominable attitude in one who has been sent for correction.

"And you, Little Miss Janice! Seldom have I seen a mother stand silently by while her daughter carries on so. What have you to say for yourself?"

Janice was completely unprepared for how Aunt Carla's brief lecture made her feel. She turned a very deep shade of red, and looked out the window.

"The answer is not in the trees, young lady; it is in your own head!"

"Yes, Miss; sorry Miss," the middle-aged naughty one replied, automatically reverting to the way she had spoken to her strict teachers growing up.

"Well? I am waiting for an explanation!"

Janice became slightly teary-eyed. Indeed, she hadn't been spoken to like this since she was a child, and all the feelings of a naughty little girl caught out came flooding back to her.

"Please, Miss, it isn't her fault."

The voice was very quiet. Sophie was staring at her sandals.

"No?" Aunt Carla asked the young woman. "Whose fault is it then, young lady?"

"It-It's mine, Miss," the girl replied in a near-whisper, still staring at the floor, her face a bright shade of red.

"Well, that's a bit of progress. I am pleased to see that you are not completely incapable of taking responsibility for your own behavior. Why did you speak to my receptionist in such an atrocious way, little girl? Look me in the eye and tell me."

Sophie squirmed in her seat, but managed to lift her eyes to meet Aunt Carla's.

"Be-because... well, she's... she's younger than me."

"That's 'younger than I', child. So in your view, the relative age of an individual determines whether or not one treats her with a modicum of respect?"

"No, I mean... yes, well..." Sophie's voice trailed off, and she became fascinated with her sandals again.

Aunt Carla looked at both women and let them feel the weight of her stare for a full half a minute before speaking again.

"Well. Mr. Aristotle sent you both for discipline today, and clearly not a moment too soon! He described you, Little Miss Sophie, as 'cheekiness personified', and I am inclined to agree. But it is also a mother's duty, even when her children have become adults chronologically, to correct them when they behave abominably in public. 

"Mr. Aristotle tells me that you both have a pattern of refusing to take responsibility for your behavior, and mentioned an recent incident involving the carpet at your home. Which of you would like to tell me what happened?"

Both women looked singularly uncomfortable. It was clear they both knew what Aunt Carla was referencing. They looked at each other, and something passed between mother and daughter. It was Sophie who spoke.

"I... um, I spilled a glass of wine on the living room carpet," she said softly.

Aunt Carla peered over her bifocals and fixed her with a look. 

"Young lady, Miss Amelia already advised you that you are a client in an establishment for the discipline of adults. You shall address me as 'Miss Carla', 'Aunt Carla', 'Miss' or Ma'am.' Understood?"

"Yeah... I mean, y-yes, Miss Carla."

Aunt Carla smiled inwardly, while maintaining a mask of severity. The naughty young lady had just crossed a crucial threshold in the breaking-down process, and had no idea of it.

"So. Spilling a glass of wine is an accident, not an example of naughtiness. Something else followed, did it not?"

Sophie squirmed some more, wondering just how much her stepfather had shared with this woman. "Aunt" Carla probably knew all about the exchange that had followed, but Sophie was loath to confess it before she had to.

"You will discover, young lady, that Aunt Carla is not fond of repeating herself."

Sophie sighed. "I... said something..."

"I see. And do you expect me to guess?"

"No! I mean, you... you probably know anyway, so why do I have to say it?"

Aunt Carla's eyes narrowed. The girl's typical cheekiness was trying to reassert itself.

"You have to say it because I need to hear it from you, little girl."

"Oh, alright!" Sophie said in exasperation. "He and I got into a row about it, okay?"

"Yes. He asked you-respectfully - to be more careful, because cleaning the carpet costs money. How did you respond?"

Sophie seemed to shrink into herself, which was a good sign. Her body language suggested that she was about to surrender at last.

"I... I said I didn't care about the, uh, stupid carpet."

"Hmm... not quite the adjective you used, but it will do for now." Aunt Carla turned her attention to Janice. 

"I'm sure that after that, you insisted your daughter speak more respectfully to your husband, is that right, little Jan?"

Janice's face became a whole new shade of red as she murmured, "No."

"No, what?"

"Um, no, Miss."

"Any further omissions of the proper honorifics in this studio will result in even more severe chastisement than you already have coming, young lady!"

"Y-Yes, Miss. Sorry, Miss."

"Yes." Aunt Carla stood and took her time pouring herself a cup of coffee, letting them both stew for a moment. She sipped the steaming beverage and resumed her seat.

"So, how did you reply to the man to whom you owe a great debt of gratitude and all your respect?"

Janice's eyes filled with tears, but it was clear she realized the only way out of this interrogation was a confession.

"I said... I told him he cared more about the, uh, dumb carpet than his own stepdaughter."

Aunt Carla allowed herself the smallest of smiles. "Again, just like your daughter, you revise the adjective to put yourself in a better light. I can see from whence some of Little Miss Sophie's unfortunate traits derive. So, we have heedlessness and gross disrespect from Sophie, followed by a completely un-called-for reaction from you. And a little dishonesty from you both for good measure. Quite shameful, don't you agree?"

Janice studied the floor and gave the slightest of nods.

"So, is there any reason you both should not be properly chastised today, according to the wronged gentleman's wishes?" Aunt Carla asked. There was silence.

"Do you two young ladies agree or disagree that you are deserving of punishment? I shall not ask a third time!"

Aunt Carla's repeated use of diminutives for the two women, along with her strict verbal spanking, had the intended effect. Both sets of eyes were tear-filled, and their blushes were now a permanent part of their faces.

"I... I agree, Miss," Janice said softly, unable to meet the other woman's eyes.

"And you, little Sophie?"

There was still a war going on in the 25-year-old woman's mind, and it showed on her face. In spite of her incipient tears, she was still fighting being put in her place by this stranger. After a long and heavy silence, she finally replied.

"I... I guess... But are you serious about... spanking us? I mean, I'm 25, and my mom's..."

She caught herself before revealing her mother's age. Aunt Carla smiled inwardly again; this lovely young lady knew very well how to behave; it just hadn't been required of her lately!

"Yes, you are both past the age one normally associates with over-the-knee discipline," she said. "However, you have both proved Mr. Aristotle one hundred percent correct in thinking you desperately need it. Nonetheless, as a disciplinarian of naughty adults, I do not chastise anyone without their full, informed consent. So I ask you, little Miss Sophie, have you duly earned chastisement from me?" 

The inner war was over; Aunt Carla's strictness had carried the day. Sophie's tears spilled over, and she nodded her head, sobbing softly.

"I need to hear a 'Yes, Aunt Carla' from you, dear."

"Y-Yes, Aunt C-Carla!"

"Excellent. And you, little Jan? Have you the fortitude to pay for your misdeeds along with your daughter?"

Janice turned a whole new shade of red, but answered in a very quiet voice.

"Yes, Aunt Carla."

"Splendid. I take it you both have the garments I instructed Aristotle to procure for you?"

Janice picked up a suit bag. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Good. You shall both retire to the changing room over there and change into your Punishment Attire. Be quick about it!"

Both women stood up a bit shakily, and headed for the door opposite the one through which they had entered the studio. Aunt Carla smiled. She knew the most important elements in discipline - temporary reduction in status, verbal chastisement, admission of guilt, and agreement that punishment was deserved - had all been secured. In just a few moments, she would be administering the next important portion to both ladies: a good, old-fashioned, over-the-knee spanking for each. Mr. Aristotle was going to see a change in these two, and no mistake!

*     *     *

"You ladies have exactly 60 seconds!" Aunt Carla called in the direction of the changing room. The naughty mother/daughter pair had been in there quite long enough to be changed into their punishment attire by now. There was no doubt in Auntie's mind that this pair were going to need more than the usual first spanking.

She sat on the settee, her trusty hairbrush and wooden spoon on the counter beside her. The door to the changing room opened, and two sorry-looking little girls emerged wearing nothing but white camisoles and matching panties. Aunt Carla smiled to see that Mr. Aristotle had procured the necessary items of clothing precisely according to her instructions: both the camisoles and panties were a size too small, and the effect was clearly not lost on the naughty pair. Their tops stopped just above their navels and their considerable hindquarters were straining at the fabric of the scant panties. Auntie knew that the psychological effect of appearing for discipline wearing not only punishment clothing, but ill-fitting punishment clothing, was significant.

"Well, well!" she said. "What do I spy with my little eye? Two naughty little girls, ready to be soundly punished. Come and stand before me, ladies."

Aunt Carla stood and slapped the hairbrush meaningfully against her palm as the two approached her, their heads down and faces bright red.

"Hmm... whom shall I receive first?" she wondered aloud. "There is always the 'age before beauty' principle... but then again, you, Little Miss Janice, desperately need to see what a proper spanking looks like, as you have clearly been neglecting your motherly duty for years. Yes, I believe Little Miss Sophie shall be first. Over my knee, young lady!"

Sophie groaned audibly, none too happy to have 'first' honors in this case. Nonetheless, she draped herself over Aunt Carla's lap and hung there, feeling quite ridiculous.

"Little Jan," said Aunt Carla, "I think we'll have your hands on your head while you watch how a proper spanking is given."

Janice groaned too; it was incredibly humiliating to be dressed as she was in front of a stranger, and raising her hands above her head had the effect of baring even more of her belly. Her blush deepened as she obeyed the command.

"Very good!" said the disciplinarian. "Little Miss Sophie, why are you being punished?"

"Um... b-because I spilled wine..."

"No. As I told you before, that was merely an accident. What was the nature of your actual spanking offense?"

Sophie sighed, feeling her backside straining against the too-small panties. "I... um... uh..."

"It is a simple question, my dear, and you know the answer. Please do not waste any more of my time!"

Hanging in that most juvenile and undignified of positions, Sophie turned several shades of red.

"I... was disrespectful to my stepfather," she said breathlessly.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

As she spoke, Aunt Carla raised her right hand high.

"Tell me, little girl, when was the last time you received a real spanking?"

"Um... Uh, never, I guess."



"Never, what?" Aunt Carla demanded.

"Never, MISS!" Sophie said, her eyes filling with tears of humiliation.

"That's better. Never fear; we shall put your deprivation right, starting now."

Aunt Carla's hand came down with considerable force upon the young woman's behind.


"OW!!" Sophie cried out, quite surprised by the sting.

"No wonder your behavior is so abominable," Aunt Carla declared. "You've never once been properly punished! Let us try to make up for lost time, my dear."

And with that, Little Miss Sophie's first-ever spanking began in earnest. Aunt Carla brought her hand down powerfully over every inch of the girl's panty-covered backside, and was treated to a symphony of distress. The young lady began kicking her bare feet almost immediately, shocked that a spanking could hurt so much. In the back of her mind was a voice saying, "So this is why spanking works so well on kids. It stings like crazy!"

"OW!! OHHH!!" she bellowed.

"Oh my dear child," Aunt Carla said without slowing her swing, "we have barely begun!"

She grabbed the hand that reached back automatically to protect the rear end currently under attack, and pinned it to the small of the girl's back.

"No, no, no! You shall not be cheated out of one bit of this spanking's sting!" 

Aunt Carla's hand danced all over the poor young thing's backside, covering it from the top of her tailbone down to her upper thighs. Each time she connected with a bit of bare flesh, the girl screamed and bucked on her lap. Before long, every bit of visible flesh was a bright pink, and Aunt Carla paused to rest.

Sophie actually began to cry real tears once the spanking stopped. Certain that it was over, she surrendered to her feeling of vulnerability and naughtiness, giving those feelings full voice. Tears stained her cheek as Aunt Carla took the waistband of the young woman's panties in hand.

"NO!!" Sophie shrieked, suddenly aware that her spanking was not over after all.

"Hush, child," Aunt Carla chided. "These panties are coming down, and you are going to feel my hairbrush on your naughty behind."

Sophie kicked wildly in protest, but her disciplinarian just put one leg over both of hers, trapping them in place. As Sophie reached back to interfere with the baring of her virgin bottom, the older lady gave her several sharp slaps across her bare thighs. They stung so badly that the girl tried to reach beyond where she could, giving Aunt Carla the opportunity to yank her panties down to mid-thigh.

"NO!! Oh, GOD!"

Auntie chuckled. "Yes, it is something of a shock when one's panties come down for a spanking for the first time," she acknowledged. "Little Jan, take note of this. When your girl is naughty, you must steel yourself against her protests and remove every shield from the area to be disciplined."

As she spoke, Auntie picked up her heavy wooden hairbrush, and rubbed the bristle side all over the inflamed skin.

"Oh! PLEASE! God, STOP!" Sophie cried out, trying to kick but finding her legs quite immobilized.

"Nonsense, child. I wouldn't think of cheating you out of the full experience you have earned."

And with that, Sophie's hairbrush spanking began. If she thought the hand spanking was impossibly painful, this far surpassed it in an instant. She bellowed quite loudly indeed, crying out lustily as the hairbrush rose and fell over and over, covering every inch of her denuded bottom.

"Are you going to show people the proper respect from now on, little girl?" Aunt Carla demanded, continuing her hairbrush assault on Sophie's tender behind.

"YES!! OW! Oh, GOD!!"

"Yes, now that you're being taught, I quite believe you!"

Aunt Carla aimed for the girl's tender sit spot and was rewarded with a wild shriek. Down the naughty girl's thighs she proceeded with the brush, until Sophie's entire backside was a uniform crimson. She was sobbing, her nose was running, and tears fell from her face to the carpet. Aunt Carla put down the brush and rocked the girl on her lap.

"There, there; it's all over now," she cooed softly. Sophie continued to cry, and Aunt Carla reached over for a handful of tissues. She cleaned the girl's nose and eyes, waiting for her to recover from her first-ever spanking.

"Very good, darling, time to sit up."

Sophie obeyed, stiffly seating herself on Auntie's lap and wincing as her sore bottom made contact.

"I-I'm s-sorry, Auntie!!" she cried, throwing her arms around the woman's neck.

"I know, dear," Aunt Carla replied, stroking her hair gently. "You were very naughty, but now you've been punished and it's all behind you, except for your corner time." 

She looked over at the child's mother, whose eyes were virtually bugging out of her head. Seeing such a strict spanking administered at close range had been truly awesome - in the original sense of that word.

"And that," said Aunt Carla to the woman standing before her, "is how it is done."

Janice had tears in her eyes, seeing the effect the spanking had had on her daughter. Clearly, it was something Sophie had been unconsciously requesting for quite some time. But having seen it up close had thoroughly cowed her mother, as she realized that she was about to be subjected to the same painful, humiliating ordeal.

"All right, dear," Aunt Carla said tenderly to the 25-year-old little girl on her lap. "It's time to trade places with your mother."

Sophie immediately stood and went to the place Janice had been standing, and put her hands on her head without being told. Janice lay across Aunt Carla's lap, feeling thoroughly surprised by her own action. It was as if she had somehow been programmed to do this against her own better judgment. Even as she lay awkwardly across the woman's lap, everything inside her was screaming at her to retreat!

"Very well, Little Miss Janice," said Aunt Carla to the middle-aged woman lying over her knee like a naughty little girl. "Why are you being punished?"

*     *     *


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After mother and daughter had both been properly chastised, they suffered the ultimate indignity: serving bare-bottomed corner time in the reception area. This was a penalty Aunt Carla reserved for particularly recalcitrant clients, those who fought their punishments excessively, or seemed not to have their behaviors properly modified by spankings alone. Since Sophie had shown Miss Amelia such a poor attitude that went without a rebuke from her mother, the two ladies suffered this indignity side-by-side. Unfortunately for Miss Amelia, her delight in the downfall of her young adversary overwhelmed her good judgment, and she engaged in excessive schadenfreude at Sophie's humiliation. This led in turn to the events chronicled in Miss Amelia's Punishment Letter.  

Copyright © 2011 by Aunt Carla
All rights reserved