Looking back at my younger days, I’m surprised I had any cheeks left considering all the spankings I received. (short pause) I hated them at the time, but my brother recently gave me an insight into perhaps why I turned out fetishising corporal punishment. We were talking about some of my spankings he witnessed and he appeared to be envious, because he had never been spanked.
I told him he should consider himself lucky, but he replied: “Really? Then why did you look happy when Mother or Father put you over their lap?” I was shocked and didn’t know what to say. “Mind you,” he added with a grin, “you didn’t look so happy by the time they’d finished with your bottom!”
This is all about the second and final spanking I got (alongside my cousin Johnny) from my Aunt Gracie – it happened during a weekend visit, and my aunt certainly saved the best for last!
Johnny and I got into trouble because we went into a bad area of town, after being specifically told not to do so. Auntie’s house was four large blocks up the hill from Jersey St, a commercial area that contained many business establishments, including a few that belonged to my family for many years.
Unfortunately, over the years it had started to deteriorate and crime increased. Before this happened, Johnny and I would often walk ‘down the hill’, take in the sights and get candy and ice cream from the store down there. Because she was worried about our safety, Auntie told us that we couldn’t go down there by ourselves any longer.
Naturally being the rebellious, spoilt youngsters that we were, we still disobeyed. We decided to take another trip ‘down the hill’ on a Sunday afternoon. Johnny’s oldest brother Joseph happened to be driving down there and saw us. He offered to take us home and told us to get in the car. We agreed because it was a major hike getting up that hill – and had just had our ice cream!
When we got back to the house, we tried to sneak off so Auntie wouldn’t see us come in – but we didn’t pull it off. Auntie asked where we had been and before we could answer for ourselves, Joseph remarked that he’d seen us ‘down the hill’ and drove us home.
The moment Auntie heard this, her face transformed. Her eyes widened, darkening with a stormy fury I’d never seen before. Her lips pressed into a thin, trembling line, and her nostrils flared as she drew in a sharp breath. Her whole body seemed to stiffen, and her hands clenched at her sides. When she spoke, her voice was low and tight, each word clipped and shaking with anger barely held in check. “You did what?” she demanded, her tone icy and trembling with outrage. Joseph looked shocked – to be fair to him, he had no idea we had been forbidden from going there. If he had, he would probably not have said anything, as he often covered for us when he knew we might get spanked.
The air in the room felt charged, as if a thunderstorm was about to break. Auntie’s glare pinned us in place, her jaw set so hard I thought her teeth might crack. Her cheeks flushed a deep red, and her eyes darted between Johnny and me, as if she was trying to decide which of us to deal with first. Her voice rose, trembling with emotion, as she ordered Johnny and I to get upstairs to his bedroom. “I’ll be up to deal with you boys in a minute,” she promised ominously, her words ringing with a cold finality that made my stomach drop. We ran upstairs and just waited on Johnny’s bed. We knew what was going to happen, all right, and we were scared little boys.
After a few minutes, Joseph came into the room. “Boys, I’m afraid you’re both going to get it. Mother will be in to see you in a moment.” He looked like he felt sorry for us, and no doubt he had his own memories of such discipline.
One thing we did know – we were both going to get a very sore bottom. We thought Aunt Gracie would come in with the spoon like last time – Johnny said I should go first this time, as he had been over his mother’s knee first last time out.
When Auntie entered the room, her anger was almost palpable. Her eyes were still blazing, her brow furrowed in a deep, furious line. She didn’t say a word at first, just stood in the doorway, breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling with each sharp inhale. The silence was suffocating. When she finally spoke, her voice was steely and cold, every syllable laced with disappointment and frustration. She ordered us to lie on our tummies, next to each other, across the foot of the bed. This was the first time I had been spanked lying down before, and at first I really didn’t know what to do. So I watched what Johnny was doing and did the same. He was propped up on his elbows, with his shoulders arched up. We were the same size, and so we were lying shoulder to shoulder.
Auntie took her position by our side. For a moment or two she just stood there, looking down at our bottoms, her face still set in a mask of stern anger. The suspense was horrible. Unlike last time, there was no sign of a spoon. (short pause) The room felt impossibly small, the air thick with tension and the faint scent of lavender from Auntie’s dress. I could hear the faint ticking of the clock on the wall, each second stretching out, amplifying the dread that coiled in my stomach.
Eventually, she said, her voice sharp and almost trembling with the force of her emotion: “Well, you two are really going to be the red bottom boys now!” There was a hard edge to her words, a mixture of exasperation and resolve. With that, she began and Johnny got his first smack. Then Auntie reached over and smacked my bottom. She continued with this pattern, alternating between her two boys.
The first smack landed with a sharp, stinging crack that seemed to echo in the room. I felt a jolt shoot through my body, a hot, electric pain that made me gasp. The anticipation between each smack was almost worse than the pain itself—my heart thudded in my chest, and I could feel my palms sweating as I gripped the bedspread. Auntie’s rhythm was relentless, moving from Johnny to me and back again, each blow delivered with a force that made my whole body tense up. I could hear Johnny’s breathing quicken, and I knew mine sounded just the same—ragged, anxious, and punctuated by the occasional whimper I tried to stifle.
To this day, I don’t know what she was spanking us with. The blows didn’t feel like her hand or even a spoon – but they were like an electric charge across our bottoms and hurt far more than anything I had had before. At one point, Auntie smacked my bottom from top to bottom and it really stung. Johnny’s smacks sounded exactly like mine but we were both too scared (and in too much pain) to crane our necks back and see what was being used. One thing is for sure – because she was standing over us, whatever she was using Auntie was able to put more force into every smack.
The pain built with every strike, a burning heat that spread across my skin and seemed to sink deeper with each new blow. My bottom felt impossibly tight and exposed, the position making every nerve ending come alive. I tried to distract myself by counting the fire engines and cars on the wallpaper, but the sharp, rhythmic smacks kept dragging me back to the present. My eyes stung with tears I tried not to let fall, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. The humiliation of lying there, side by side with Johnny, both of us helpless and vulnerable, made the whole ordeal feel even more intense.
It was the first time I had been spanked with my head higher than my bottom and I didn’t like being in this position at all. When over an adult’s knee, I could let my bottom go soft and submit to the punishment, which both showed that I was being a good boy and taking my medicine, and also meant that I reached ‘maximum burn’ quicker, after which my backside would simply go numb, no matter how many further smacks were applied.
With this arched position on the bed, my bottom cheeks remained taut and every spank hurt more than the last. The pain didn’t fade—it just kept building, a fiery ache that made me squirm and clench my fists. I could feel the heat radiating from my skin, and every time Auntie paused, I held my breath, dreading the next smack. The room felt small and airless, filled with the sound of smacks and our muffled cries. I wondered if it would ever end, or if Auntie would just keep going until we couldn’t take any more.
The ordeal seemed to stretch on forever. Each smack was a fresh wave of pain, and the rhythm of Auntie’s arm was merciless. My mind raced with a jumble of thoughts—regret for disobeying, fear of what would come next, and a desperate hope that she would finally stop. The shame of being punished in front of Johnny, of hearing his sniffles and feeling his body tense beside mine, made my cheeks burn almost as much as my bottom. I could feel the tears finally spill over, hot and silent, soaking into the bedspread beneath my face.
Mercifully, amazingly, she did eventually stop the spanking. She told us to get to bed and left the room, her face still flushed and her jaw tight, anger lingering in the air even after she was gone. I looked carefully to see whether I could see what she had been using as a spanker, but couldn’t – her dress had large pockets, and whatever it was was well hidden.
As the door clicked shut, Johnny and I lay there in stunned silence, the only sound our shaky breathing and the faint creak of the bedsprings. My bottom throbbed with a deep, pulsing ache, and every movement sent a fresh jolt of pain through me. I pressed my face into the pillow, trying to muffle my sobs, feeling a strange mix of relief and humiliation. The room felt different now—emptier, quieter, but still heavy with the memory of what had just happened.
After a while, Johnny rolled over and looked at me, his eyes red and watery. We didn’t say anything at first, just shared a look that said everything—pain, embarrassment, and a grudging sense of camaraderie. Eventually, he managed a weak, lopsided smile. “Well, I guess we won’t be going down the hill again anytime soon,” he whispered. I couldn’t help but let out a shaky laugh, the tension finally breaking.
That night, as I lay in bed, the sting in my backside slowly faded to a dull, persistent ache. I replayed the whole scene in my mind—the anger in Auntie’s eyes, the sharp crack of each smack, the helplessness of lying there side by side with Johnny. I felt a strange sense of closure, as if the punishment had drawn a line under our mischief, but also a lingering sense of vulnerability that stayed with me long after the pain had gone.
Even now, years later, I can still remember every detail—the way the sunlight slanted through the curtains, the rough texture of the bedspread beneath my fingers, the sound of Auntie’s voice trembling with emotion. It was a moment that left its mark, not just on my skin, but deep in my memory, shaping the way I understood discipline, family, and the complicated feelings that come with growing up.
