I spent a week with my Aunt Peggy in Jersey because my mother needed a break from me.
As a child, I struggled with bedwetting and wore diapers at night, occasionally having accidents during the day as well.
During my stay, my traditional Aunt Peggy, who was in her late 60s, took me to the zoo. Aunt Peggy always dressed impeccably, often in a floral dress with a matching hat and a small handbag. As we explored the zoo, she repeatedly asked if I needed to use the restroom, and each time I said ‘no’.
Just before lunch, we watched the sea lions show. I must have gotten too excited because by the end of the show, my pants were wet!
Aunt Peggy was livid that I had wet myself after insisting I didn’t need the toilet. She took me to the restroom to clean up and put on clean underpants and a diaper. While doing so, she pulled out a small fly swatter from her bag. It was made of thin plastic with a mesh pattern and a short handle. She gave me three hard smacks on my bottom, making me cry a little.
The restroom was dimly lit, with a cold, sterile atmosphere. The strong smell of disinfectant and the sound of dripping water echoed off the tiled walls. My heart raced as I saw the fly swatter in her hand. The anticipation was almost unbearable.
The first smack landed with a sharp sting, and I gasped in pain. The second and third smacks followed quickly, each one intensifying the burning sensation. Tears welled up in my eyes and streamed down my cheeks. I felt a mix of shame, fear, and helplessness.
Aunt Peggy’s face was stern, her lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t say a word as she delivered the punishment, but her disappointment was clear. The physical pain was intense, but the emotional impact was even more profound. I felt small and vulnerable, standing there in the cold restroom, my bottom stinging and my heart heavy.
We went home a couple of hours later, and on the way, Aunt Peggy told me I would receive a proper spanking for wetting my pants and lying about needing the toilet.
Sure enough, as soon as we got home, she took me to my room, removed her rubber slip-on slipper, and put me over her knee. I received a thorough spanking.
The bedroom was decorated in a vintage style, with floral wallpaper and a wooden bed. The air was thick with tension as Aunt Peggy sat on the edge of the bed and removed her rubber slip-on slipper. The slipper was worn, with a slightly frayed edge, but it was sturdy and solid.
She pulled me over her knee, and I felt a rush of fear and anticipation. The first smack landed with a loud crack, sending a sharp sting through my bottom. I yelped in pain, but Aunt Peggy didn’t pause. The second and third smacks followed quickly, each one intensifying the burning sensation.
Tears streamed down my face as the spanking continued. Each smack was delivered with precision and force, leaving no doubt that Aunt Peggy was determined to teach me a lesson. The physical pain was overwhelming, but the emotional impact was even more profound. I felt small, vulnerable, and utterly helpless.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the spanking ended. My bottom was throbbing, and my heart was heavy with shame and regret. Aunt Peggy’s face was stern, her lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t say a word as she helped me off her knee and diapered me again.
I was put down for a nap and made to wear diapers for the rest of the weekend. The memory of that spanking stayed with me for a long time, a reminder of the consequences of my actions and Aunt Peggy’s strict discipline.
