Aunt Blanche12

Louder and louder he yelled, yells becoming wails, wails becoming shrieks, tears flowing freely as the strident pace of Aunt Blanche’s forceful arm quickened. Kicking furiously, but pinned firmly to her knee, Billy screamed out his anguish and sorrow, “WAHH-wahh! NUH-nuh-nooo! PUH-puh-pleease! STU-stu-stop! WAHHH!” WHACK… SMACK… SMACK… SMACK… CRACK… 50, 75, 100… The blistering strokes were raining down, his bottom on fire from the searing pain. Bright blossoms of hairbrush welts were brining all over his bottom. From the very top of his bottom, all around the sides, and down to the tender tops of his thighs, the hairbrush danced with burning abandon. Billy shrieked, screamed, tears blinding him. Horrible WHACKS overlapped every inch of his searing, squirming cheeks from the crown, out, and all over. Again and again with a staccato rhythm Blanche hammered away at his fiery, red bottom. He bucked and pitched, but could not free himself. Edith watched with satisfaction, but also a measure of surprise. “Oh my!” She exclaimed repeatedly.