Miss Amelia's Punishment Letter (Finale)

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(Our story began here: http://auntcarlascorner.blogspot.com/2013/02/miss-amelias-punishment-letter.html)

Blushing furiously, I stretched myself across Aunt Carla's lap. I immediately felt about six years old, as I always do in this position. The too-tight panties stretched out, trying to accommodate my rear end (it's not all that small, as some of you may have noticed!). Aunt Carla proceeded to make me feel even more juvenile by patting said part of my anatomy while she spoke.

"Now, Miss Amelia Belle Chance. Tell Auntie why you're being punished."

God, I hate this part! But not being in exactly in an ideal position to argue, I answered. Without thinking.

"Because I..."

SWAT!!

"OW!"

I knew immediately what that smack was for; I didn't have to be told.

"Sorry, Auntie. I am being punished because I acted unprofessionally and in a way that could have harmed your future business."

"Ah, much better," she said. "I do hope that shall be the last time I have to remind you to speak in full sentences when you are being punished, Little Miss Amelia."

Oh, no. Auntie's infamous diminutives. It was going to be a long, unpleasant afternoon. 

"Yes, Ma'am," I replied dutifully. "You won't have to remind me again."

"Good. As the seriousness of your offense disentitles you to a warm-up spanking, we shall begin with the hairbrush and then proceed to the wooden spoon."

I groaned out loud; I just couldn't help it! If you've ever felt the difference between a hairbrush spanking with the benefit of a warm-up and without it, you understand my consternation. That evil hairbrush has made me do an untold number of impromptu 'lap dances' over the years. My eyes filled with tears as Aunt Carla took the waistband of my panties in her hands and swept them down.

"Lift up, dear," she instructed. This was never a welcome command, as it meant she intended to spend a good deal of time on my super-sensitive sit spots and upper thighs. Reluctantly, I obeyed, and felt the meager cover to my backside disappear. The feeling of the cool evening air on my bottom and thighs made me shiver, even as my perpetually-blushing face felt like a frying pan.

"And now, Little Amelia," my disciplinarian/aunt/employer said as she picked up the instrument of my butt's imminent destruction, "it is time for Aunt Carla to exact her 'pound of flesh'!"

That didn't sound very promising to me, and my tummy flipped over as I felt her arm swipe down, brush firmly in hand.

The hard wood connected with my bare bottom, and I heard the "crack!" before the pain message reached my brain. But reach it it did, and it resulted in a lusty howl from me!

"YEEOWWW!!!"

"Yes, I know a certain young receptionist who shall be wishing hers was a 'standing up' sort of job tomorrow!" Aunt Carla observed, swinging the brush and making painful contact a second and third time in rapid succession.

"OW! Oh! Yes, MA'AM!" I cried.

Aunt Carla is very good at her job, as many of you are painfully aware. She continued swatting me all over my naked rear end, and I continued my increasingly desperate vocal responses. When she zeroed in on my sit spots and below with that nasty brush, I leaped up an octave and a considerable number of decibels.

"You have such a lovely backside, my dear," said my aunt, never slowing her swing. "Just like your mother's when she was your age. It's a shame it's so seldom spanked."

So seldom spanked?! I go over Auntie's knee about once a month; in whose estimation does that qualify as 'seldom spanked' for a 22-year-old woman? Well, in Aunt Carla's, of course. But at that moment, I was ill-disposed to carry on a conversation about frequency of punishments or comparative anatomy. Instead, my reply went something like this:

"OW! Y-Yes OH! MA'AM! Aiiieee!!!"

And on it went, until my entire backside felt like a patch of black asphalt on a hot day in August. I think I was still kicking admirably for awhile after she stopped spanking to give us both a rest.

"Are you learning a valuable lesson about unprofessional behavior, little Amelia Belle?" she asked me.

"Oh yes, MA'AM!" I assured her in my most earnest voice. "I SWEAR I won't do anything like that again!"

Aunt Carla chuckled. "No, I really don't you shall, my darling. Especially not after the wooden spoon has had a talk with your naughty tail."

"OH!" I tensed up, fearing the next painful onslaught. How could I possibly absorb it? Aunt Carla uses the spoon as a precision instrument, focusing on particularly sensitive areas and giving lots of repeated swats to the same spot - it's just awful! And that's precisely what I suffered for the next few minutes. Aunt Carla never leaves any marks other than a shiny, all-around redness, but boy, does she make it sting! I was soon kicking like a track and field star and flopping around like a fish on dry land, but my capable aunt managed to hold me on her knee until the job was done. 

When it was over, I actually had a sore throat from all my yelling (what Aunt Carla refers to as 'caterwauling'). My face was tear-stained, my hair was a tangled mess, and my butt must have looked like a lobster. In fact, I know it did, from what Aunt Carla told me while I was slowly recovering some of my self-possession over her lap.

"Goodness, child, that is quite possibly the reddest behind I have ever seen. And quite uniform in color, from the top of your bottom to halfway down your thighs, if I do say so myself. Now sit up and give Auntie a hug."

I did, wincing as that lobster-red behind made contact with her lap. At that moment, I couldn't even imagine sitting at work the next day; I was just really happy to still have a job! Aunt Carla took some tissues and cleaned up my face, just as she used to when I was a little girl.

"Very well, my love," she told me tenderly. "Your bottom has well and truly paid for your crime, but you still owe me some corner time. Off you go!"

I stood up rather stiffly, and realized to my embarrassment that I had kicked my panties off and across the room during my spanking. Wearing nothing but the ill-fitting camisole, I walked over to the corner of Auntie's studio and put my hands on my head. She kept me there until she was ready to close up, about 25 minutes in all. When she told me I could go and get dressed, it filled me with such childlike joy that I had to make a pit stop to hug her again, extra-tight.

"Thanks again for not firing me, Aunt Carla," I said earnestly.

"Of course, my dear. Just keep this episode in mind the next time you're tempted to behave unprofessionally at the Studio. Next time I won't be so easy on you!"

Few people would classify the world-class spanking and corner time I'd just endured as 'easy', but that's my dear favorite aunt for you! Sitting all day at work the next day was a horror, but by the following day, the worst of the 'after-burn' was gone. I am going to make good on my promise, and be the greatest, most professional employee Aunt Carla would possibly hope to have. My very backside depends on it.

- Miss Amelia Chance

Copyright © 2011 by Aunt Carla All rights reserved