tagBDSMA Visit to Auntie

A Visit to Auntie

byLaurelAspen©

Deep in the English countryside the little community of Southcombe is a place most tourists, too timid to abandon their satnav and leave the main road, drive past without noticing.

Which is very much their loss, for this is an exceptionally pretty town, unspoilt by chain stores and burger bars, whose fortunate residents possess the essentials of modern life - decent coffee, fast broadband - while quietly retaining some appealing local customs and old-fashioned values.

One such, an impending visit to Auntie, is of particular concern to Sharon Coles this morning. This tradition isn't advertised, nor even openly discussed; you'll find no reference to it in historical records or the local newspaper.

Quite simply husbands and boyfriends of women over 18 who can't or won't 'take them to task' themselves instead dispatch their significant others to Auntie, who willingly 'deals with' the miscreant minxes by proxy.

'Deals with': such a typically coy and evasive English euphemism. What we're talking about is corporal punishment, delivered via hand, hairbrush and, for very serious offences, the cane. No one hereabouts sees anything unusual in this time-honoured practice, nor knows when it started, but the women of Southcombe have been soundly spanked for generations.

An occasional smacked bottom is accepted, grudgingly but without rancour, by a pragmatic female population who think it best to resolve problems quickly and finitely. Spanking is a custom they've grown up with and, after all, Auntie is one of their own.

'Auntie' is an honorary post, typically passed on about once a decade; endorsed by popular consensus at an unminuted 'any other business' item concluding a Parish Council meeting. The current incumbent is Mrs Celia Brown, a full-figured woman in her mid-forties, invariably immaculately dressed. Never seen in trousers, usually a smartly tailored skirt and crisply ironed blouse, hair pulled sharply back from a carefully made-up face she radiates authority and discipline.

Young Phil Coles most certainly can spank his bride of just a few months, and often does so as a mutually enjoyable prelude to sex. However, after some discussion they've decided not to mix punishment with pleasure and consequently domestic discipline is delegated to Auntie. Since this is Sharon's second chastisement for overspending their slender household budget within a matter of weeks she's been warned to expect an uncomfortable encounter with a sturdy hairbrush.

"For goodness sake get a move on," calls her increasingly annoyed husband as Sharon dillies and dallies over her cosmetic preparations. "I told you specifically not to wear jeans; Auntie can't abide them and you'll get extra strokes." he warns. Sharon, already in a bad mood at the prospect of sitting gingerly for the rest of the day, ignores his sage advice.

"My bum looks good in these," she mutters sulkily as Phil drives the couple out of the village to a substantial detached house on the outskirts.

Auntie, perfectly presented and scary as ever, meets them on the doorstep. "Just in time, my girl," she glowers, passing a critically appraising eye over the truculent young newlywed. Whereas the older woman has not a hair out of place, spotlessly groomed right down to straight-as-a-die stocking seams, Sharon's sartorial choices clearly leave something to be desired.

"I thought your previous visit might have instilled the importance of smart appearance, but clearly not," glowers Celia. No longer quite so cocky, Sharon quails under the imposing older woman's basilisk stare. "Scuffed shoes, a lose thread on your sleeve - have you no pride in yourself?" Sharon prudently remains mute during this diatribe, eyes focussed firmly on the floor.

"Get into the front room with you this instant," commands Auntie imperiously. "Clearly anything I say goes in one ear and out of the other, so we'll get straight down to business." Seated on a substantial sofa Celia pulls the mortified and embarrassed young woman towards her, peremptorily instructing Sharon to place her hands on her head.

"You know," she intones slowly and coldly, "what the dress rules are and yet - be quiet girl." she silences Sharon's incipient protest, "you've wilfully chosen to break them." With practiced deftness she yanks the quaking girl's jeans and knickers down to her knees. "Consequently your entire spanking will be on the bare, with an additional penalty for insolence." Watching justice being done from the corner of the room, Phil feels a surge of sympathy for his beleaguered spouse. Auntie is always firm, that's the point of punishment, but supposed to be fair. However today she appears downright angry. Christ, if he finds her intimidating then poor Sharon, pinned face down across her lap, pale bare bottom prominent, must be petrified. As indeed she is, no initial hand spanking over knickers to warm the target, instead Auntie immediately commences a long hard chastisement, wielding the dreaded hairbrush with considerable relish and force.

Within a minute Sharon's bottom is reddening and the unfortunate girl, despite a private vow to take her spanking stoically, is already in considerable pain, jerking and wriggling across Celia's knees as her bottom is smacked hot and sore. After what seems the longest five minutes of Sharon's life Phil is on the point of intervening when Auntie mercifully halts proceedings. However the respite is a short one.

"Think I've finished with you, girl?" she enquires nastily. 'Well - I - haven't - because - there's - extra - for - your- untidy -clothes." For added effect Celia punctuates each of these words with a sharp slaps of the hairbrush across Sharon's tender thighs until after dozen the wretched girl dissolves into tears.

"Right," concludes Auntie, now apparently with a more pressing task to fulfil, pulling Sharon wet-eyed to her feet, "get out of my sight." Within seconds she and her husband are shepherded out of the front door. Not another word is spoken before Celia turns haughtily on her vertiginous heels and stomps back onto the house.

Phil is about to drive off when there's a knock on the window and Auntie's husband, Edward - who's been watching the dramatic tableau unfold from the other side of the drive - appears. Phil looks surprised, supposing Edward to be away, working in foreign climes.

"Thought you were abroad?"

"Thankfully not. That contract's over; a new job in the City means I'll be around a lot more henceforth. Look, sorry to interrupt, I can see Sharon needs to get home for some TLC, but could we have a quick word?"

They could indeed. Phil steps from the car and the two commence a brief but meaningful conversation. '

"I see," confides Edward, nodding sagely. "Confirms the rumours I've heard. My apologies, old chap. This isn't how the arrangement is meant to proceed. Leave it to me to resolve, please. Perhaps we could meet in the Pig and Whistle later this week and I'll bring you up to date over a pint?"

Not long afterwards a flustered Mrs Brown stands, uncharacteristically cowed, in the self-same lounge where Sharon recently suffered her painful humiliation. She hadn't been expecting her husband's return and was consequently caught using her vibrator to satisfy an urgent need - Sharon's punishment apparently being the catalyst.

"I've just met the Coles, lovely couple," says Edward, a distinct hint of steel in his tone. "He reckoned you were a bit harsh on his wife just now. Seems you've been using these chastisements for your own gratification. I know I've not been here much this last couple of years and you might justifiably feel neglected, but don't be taking your frustration out on these innocent lasses. Phil's complaint isn't the first and if we're to maintain the integrity of our local tradition your unacceptable behaviour has to stop."

Knowing better than to attempt self-justification, Celia is under no illusion as to just how much trouble she's in.

"And another thing", Edward continues crossly, "young Sharon's not the only person to overspend on her credit card, is she?

"The purpose of my working away was to pay off the mortgage, not for you to fritter the funds on shoes. You need a bloody good hiding to bring you back into line woman, right here and right now. Perhaps I should fetch Sharon to witness it?"

"Oh Edward, I'm truly sorry, I deserve to be punished, but please don't humiliate me. No one must know; it would destroy my authority." Celia sounds frantic.

"So social status is what you care most about? No remorse for the cruel way you disciplined Sharon?" growls her husband. "Well madam, I am about to take you down a peg or three." Grasping Celia's wrist he pulls her curvaceous form hard against him and despite the circumstances she's thrilled to the core by his masculinity, his assumption of power.

"Skirt and knickers off now," commands Edward. Fumbling, completely unlike her usual cool and poised self, Celia struggles to obey. Clumsy in her haste a zip momentarily sticks, panties catch on a slender heel. Eventually she stands trembling before him, hands incongruously shielding her shaven sex, silently craving clemency. He appraises her icily, correctly interprets her mute request, and dismisses it.

"Get across my knee," he growls, and once in the desired position clamps her wrists with one hand and pins her legs with one of his. A prudent precaution, for the unfortunate Celia soon surrenders her role as domineering aunt and is rapidly reduced to the status of a wailing teenager, bucking and writhing under the pitiless impact of her husband's palm on her defenceless buttocks. He spanks Celia hard, ignoring pleas for mercy and promises to reform, until the fight goes out of her and she slumps defeated across his knee, yelping pitifully at each successive smack to her blazing, tenderised rear.

"That's more like it," Edward says at length, "but don't think for a moment I've finished with you yet. A well-upholstered woman can withstand much more than just a simple spanking. You're going to be punished properly. Go and stand in the corner; rub your bottom if you like, it'll not do much good. You need a session with the tawse. Is it still hanging in the wardrobe?"

Eyes widening, Celia nods in the affirmative, face turning pale despite her cruelly blazing bottom. She shudders, imagining the forthcoming ordeal. It's been years, since she's had a dose of Edward's family heirloom - an old Scottish three-tailed tawse; emphatically not a pleasant memory.

"I don't think I can take it," she whimpers, as he fetches the implement of correction.

"You most certainly will, even if I have to hold you down, even if you make so much fuss I decide to start again from the beginning," Edward responds uncompromisingly, the dreaded leather strap dangling from his hand. He turns a chair around.

"Kneel on here and face the rear. Good, obedience suits you, knees apart a little, hold onto the back and push that bottom out."

He walks around to face Celia, hair awry, makeup smudged, beautiful and beguiling, and cups her face in his hand. "Your bare bottom is about to get a severe strapping, leaving it marked for several days. A salutary reminder to change your ways, or else."

She flinches as he swings the tawse experimentally through the air. Edward slides his free hand between her thighs, follows the sheer nylon upwards to bare flesh, pushes his fingers up firmly and discovers she's wet.

"Your body's betrayed you," he whispers, "always did get off on a good hiding, didn't you, Celia? Whether you're the spankee or the spanker. It's high time 'Auntie' learnt her lesson."

Tawse in his right hand, left hand holding the tip out horizontally, Edward measures his swing. Whoop! The first stroke falls heavily across her already overheated cheeks to be met by an anguished shriek. Edward moves to the other side of his kneeling wife, her red striped buttocks thrust into lewd prominence, carefully judges the distance and delivers the second stroke.

If anything Celia's reaction is even more extreme, he allows her a moment to regain self-composure then follows through with a backhand, the wicked punishment implement slashing wheals across her pale skin, burning bands of superheat. Celia cries out, begs her husband to stop; yet somehow manages to say in position, subconsciously thrusting her burning buttocks up to receive each successive stroke.

She takes a dozen in all - slowly, deliberatively applied - taking her to the very limit of her capacity to cope. At last Celia hears the strap fall to the floor, feels his hands caressing her sore posterior.

"You know what I need now?" she whispers, tearful and hoarse from crying out, "to show you've forgiven me, and ease the pain?"

"Of course," he replies, voice calm and kind, "something else you're going to take long and hard without complaint. You take charge of the girls, and I take charge of you" He finds her hot, liquid centre and slowly thrusts forward.

Meanwhile Phil chauffeurs his beloved carefully home as Sharon fixes her smudged makeup in the interior mirror. En route his thoughts wander, imagining Edward 'dealing with' Celia. He wouldn't mind being a fly on the wall to witness that encounter. Of course he worships Sharon's slender young body, but Celia's mature curves would be a sight truly worth seeing. Phil stiffens pleasurably at this fantasy until Sharon breaks his reverie, smiling conspiratorially.

"I'm sorry I was naughty, darling," she whispers seductively, "and I do sincerely promise to mend my ways. But," she adds assertively, "there's no way I am going to visit that woman again. From now on if I'm badly behaved I want my husband in charge of domestic discipline."

She raises a finger to silence any objection. "Don't worry, it won't spoil our fun, we'll simply have good girl spankings and bad girl spankings. Now, I'm going to show just how good a girl I can be."

She reaches across and gasps his crotch. "Ooh, big boy," Sharon grins, "I hope that's for me." Unzipping his trousers she carefully frees his erection and dips her head to take him deep into her hot little mouth.

On cloud nine Phil thinks he may subsequently have to spank Sharon for distracting him during driving, but not too hard...

Southcombe can be found midway between Brigadoon and Llareggub.

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by Anonymous

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by Anonymous02/10/19

Another glorious spanking romp...

I've enjoyed every one of your stories! This is another beauty.

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by Anonymous02/03/19

Know it well!

What a delightful story and an even better location! I loved this one - thank you so much for writing for and sharing with us

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