What On Earth Possessed You To Do That
It was only after chatting to a friend who encouraged me to
share this story that I decided to write this tale of woe, woe for my bottom!
I know that the following tale may seem a bit farfetched but
stranger things have happened.
It all kicked off one glorious summer day, I had travelled to
Johannesburg to watch the test match between Bill Lawries Australian team and
South Africa at the Wanderers cricket grounds.
My parents had for once allowed me to go to the match,
providing, my father said “as long as I don’t have to pay”
I had saved all my pay from my weekend job at the local and
only supermarket in the small mining town on the edge of the Kruger National
Park. I told my father I had it all sorted. My mother arranged with her friend
for me to stay at her place for the week. Being a major city meant getting
around as there were bus routes aplenty.
My mother’s friend showed me the room I was to sleep in
telling me I would have peace as her three sons were away camping with their
dad so it was just the two of us.
Looking back now, I realise that the Guthrie’s had a FLR as
Aunty Wilma as I called her was undoubtedly the head of the home, although we
kids never saw it, I am sure she spanked her husband Sandy.
As a youngster I had felt the wrath of this lovely lady’s hair
brush on many an occasion. Aunty Wilma always spanked us over her knee and
always over our underwear. However they moved away and I got older, I was going
to say I grew up but as many here know, little boys never grow up.
Aunty Wilma and I had a good relationship, cemented after the
very first spanking I received from her, I think I was about 10 at the time,
Tony, her eldest and I were playing a game of Kleilat.
Kleilat after the Afrikaans word for clay-Klei and switch-lat.
Basically the game involves two or more protagonists each armed with a switch
and a ready supply of clay, this clay forms the projectile which is launched
off the tip of the switch in the general direction of the protagonists. After some
practice one could become quite accurate in flinging these clay balls at each
other, the one yelping the loudest after being struck is the loser.
Anyway, as I said Tony and I were playing when Aunty Wilma
called us in for dinner, Tony immediately started walking for home telling me
to hurry as we would get into trouble if aunty Wilma had to call us again.
As Tony began walking
towards his home I launched a clay lump at him, it struck him on the right
temple flooring him. When he sat up a few seconds later the target area had
swollen to double it’s size and was now a big lump. Tony was in tears and I
began to worry about possible repercussions.
Arriving at Aunty Wilma’s back door we entered the house
through the kitchen where Aunty was dishing up our dinner. She took one look at
the crying Tony and knew what we had been up to. Calmly but with deadly menace
she began to scold the two of us, Mark and Paul her two youngest kids tried to disappear into the
upholstery.
After dinner I was sent to retrieve the kleilat while she
inspected the now massive lump on Tony’s temple. A short while later I returned
to find Tony upended over his moms knee howling as she punished him, looking at
me she said; “don’t go too far, you are also getting a hiding. A few minutes later
I too was upended over Aunty Wilma’s knee as she spanked my bottom until it too
matched the colour of Tony’s bottom, bright red!
Taking both of us into the sitting room we were directed to
lay over the sofa arm whereupon she switched our very sore bottoms, we each got
6 of the very best. This switching coming on top of a very hard hand and hair
brush spanking left us in no doubt that we had been very soundly punished.
We were both sent to bed after a bath and Aunty Wilma came and
spent time cuddling the pair of us, telling us how much she loved us, she
stayed with us until we both fell asleep. She then phoned my parents to tell
them I was sleeping over, she never told them she had to spank me. I was in
love! Getting cuddled after being punished was something alien to me, I was
left to cry alone following a spanking, convinced my parents hated me.
There is a saying from way back; “Sticks and stones may break
my bones but words can never hurt me.” Today I am convinced that saying has
it’s roots in the very flames of hell. Tell a child he is stupid often enough
and son he will come to believe it, tell him he is an inconvenience and a
burden and he will believe that too.
My mother always referred to me as “The Bloody Shit Brat”. I
believed her. During the next 6 years aunty Wilma spanked me often, I always
did something to deserve the punishment, she never ever sent me to bed
afterwards without cuddling me and telling me she loved me.
Back to the present, the test match was a cracker, two
Centuries in the South African innings, one by the Springbok wicket keeper,
Dennis Van De Merwe and a double century by Graeme Pollock.
Sunday was a rest day and seeing as there was no cricket I
stayed home, Aunty Wilma had to go see someone, she asked if I wanted to come
too but knowing she was seeing a friend I chose not to bored and stayed at
home.
She wrote the phone number of the friend on a piece of paper
and with the normal admonishment for me to behave myself she left. I read a book for a while and then really got
bored. Rooting around in uncle Sandy’s garage I found a .22 bullet. Ah, I
thought, this will make a brilliant pendant for a chain. I had watched my older
brother Graham make one during his military service one weekend and while it
was not a 7.62 mm round it would do.
I remember Graham stressing that you had to carefully separate
the bullet and cartridge case so that the powder could be removed. I carefully
clamped the bullet in the vice and arming myself with a vice grips carefully
clamped the cartridge case, try as I might I could not remove the case, For
over an hour I tried to no avail, nothing it seemed would budge the case.
By this time I was so worked up and really angry, without
thinking I grabbed a nearby hammer and lashed out at the bullet still clamped
in the vice on the workbench. What followed is the result of a temper tantrum,
there was a loud bang and when I came round after the shock, there was the
bullet still clamped in the vice, of the cartridge case there was no sign.
I stood there in the workshop for a few minutes and with not
being able to find the casing of the bullet I decided to go outside and headed
for the swimming pool, I was hot and sweaty so I dived into the pool surfacing
on my back I slowly paddled just enough to keep myself afloat. Looking down at
my feet I spotted a thin trail of red, wondering what this was I stood upright
and looked at my chest, there was blood everywhere.
As the realization struck home to me so did the pain. I headed
for the poolside and climbed out grabbing a towel and pressed the towel to my
chest. The pain mounted and I knew I was in trouble, going into the house I phoned aunty Wilma, I cannot remember what I
said to her but she was outside the house within 5 minutes.
She bundled me into the car and rushed me to the nearest
hospital where I emerged an hour later with two stitches in my chest and the
remains of the cartridge case in a specimen bottle. The doctor who stitched me
up told Aunty Wilma that I was a very lucky child, the remains of the cartridge
case had lodged in the thick bone of my sternum, a half inch to the right, my
left and my heart would have been hit. Evidently the thickness of the sternum
prevented more damage from being done. To this day I carry the scar on my chest.
The only thing aunty Wilma said to me was that she would have
to contact my parents, she was adamant that they would have to decide what sort
of punishment to give me. I pleaded with her to not involve my parents.
“Mario”, she said, “I have to tell them. I cannot not tell
them, they are your parents, they have to know what happened.”
I pleaded saying, “if I was Tony, what would you do?”
“If you were Tony I would make sure you could not sit down for
a week, you would get the hiding of your life young man, however that is a moot
point, you are not Tony.”
“Aunty Wilma, you are my favourite aunty, you have punished me
before and besides didn’t you tell me that if I misbehaved that you would treat
me just like your own kids. I know I screwed up and I know I probably deserve a
thrashing for throwing a tantrum and being so stupid.”
We soon arrived back at Aunty Wilma’s house and I was sent to
wait in my bedroom while Aunty Wilma phoned my parents. I did not have long to
wait, about 5 minutes later the door opened and Aunty Wilma poked her head
around the corner telling me that she had phoned my parents and that the
incident had been reported to them.
I was to phone my parents as soon as I could, Aunty Wilma told
me to use the phone in her bedroom, a quick hug and kiss on the forehead and
Aunty said she would be waiting downstairs for me
My mother had shown no surprise when Aunty Wilma told her I
had nearly killed myself, calling me a stupid brat, Finally before ending the
conversation she said that Aunty Wilma would be punishing me.
I put the phone down and went through to the sitting room to
wait for Aunty Wilma, hearing me she called to me from the kitchen where I
found her making us lunch. We sat and ate together and then she told me I would
be staying with them for the rest of the holidays, including Christmas.
The realisation that once again I was being dumped struck home
and before I knew it, tears had rolled down my cheeks, Aunty Wilma took my hand
and pulled, I came towards her and allowed myself to be seated on her lap as
she pulled my head onto her bosom and allowed me to cry out my loss and pain.
How long we sat there I do not know, when I stirred and lifted
my head she urged me to kneel at her feet and gently grasping my head between
her hands she and I began to talk, we talked, mostly about me, she asked me
about my conversation with my mother and between my sobbing and tears she
expressed her love for me, not simply as her friends son but her love for me as
her son for that is how she felt.
During all this sharing I asked what she intended to do about
my punishment. Initially she wanted to hold off punishing me until the
following day as she felt I was too exhausted. Finally we agreed that I would
get punished after dinner that evening.
I now know the expression “the condemned man ate a hearty
dinner”, even though I faced a hard punishment, I still ate a very hearty
dinner, Aunty Wilma looking on in amazement.
Dinner over Aunty Wilma sent me to wait in her bedroom,
telling me to wait in the corner dressed only in my underwear with my hands on
my head.
“Yes Ma’am” I replied as I went through to her bedroom via my
room where I got undressed and then dressed in my underwear I stood in the
corner, waiting for my punishment.
I heard the sound of her heels on the linoleum flooring,
shivers ran up and down my spine as this incredibly erotic sound sent chills
through me. The door opened and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Aunty Wilma fetch
her hair brush off the dresser and heard her move the stool out into the middle
of the room about 4 foot from the end of the bed. By now the suspense had
gripped me and to my horror I suffered the most humiliating erection I have
ever had.
To my shame, the more I tried to will the erection to
disappear it seemed the harder my erection became. “Please Aunty Don’t call me
now, give me time to get rid of this hard on,”
I begged silently.
“Mario, come here to me darling.” I turned around and
conscious of my erection covered my groin with my hands and walked the five or
six yards towards the stool on which Aunty Wilma sat.
As I walked towards her I noticed a rather large strap lying
on the bed, I shuddered as I realised I would also be feeling it’s bite along
with the bite of Aunty Wilma’s hair brush.
I stood where aunty directed me, reaching up she again cupped
my chin in her hands forcing me to look at her face instead of the floor and
her bustline.
“You know I love you!” were her words.
Tears came to mine as I responded.
“I have to do this Bug”, she said.
“Yes aunty I know.” Somehow through my tears, I managed to
articulate my words into a sentence she could understand.
“Come on then, let’s get this over so we can be friends
again.”
This said she gently drew me over her right knee, swinging her
left leg over the back of mine, trapping me in place.
“Bug give me you right hand please” I did as I was told and
now I had been totally immobilised.
There was no warning as the first stroke struck home right in
the centre of my butt with a loud SPLAT. A few seconds later a white hot band
of fire erupted as every nerve ending in the impact zone screamed out in agony.
With the first stroke out of the way, the rest of the spanking was over within
5 minutes.
The second, third and fourth stroke also struck in the same
place, I yelled and twisted trying to move that particular spot out of harm’s
way. Trapped as I was, I was going nowhere. Finally, I yelled out “please
Aunty, please spank somewhere else!”
Taking pity she did just that, target shifted and SPLAT, SLAP,
SPLAT SLAP. Again all on the same spot. The accumulated heat and pain from
multiple strokes all striking the same place quickly had me bawling and that’s
how I stayed the whole spanking, howling, shrieking and snot flying everywhere.
How long I lay over
Aunties lap after she stopped using that dreadful brush I have no idea. I
became aware of my surroundings as Aunty Wilma allowed me to stand, my hands
flew to cradle my ruined bottom as I performed that age old dance naughty boys
have performed for centuries.
Aunty Wilma got up from the stool and laid out three pillows
near the edge of the bed. Gripping my arm she directed me to lay over the edge
of the bed my tummy lying on top of the pillows, my head lying flat on the
cover. This meant my swollen butt was nicely elevated. Aunty Wilma told me to
put my hands under my tummy and make sure they stayed there, threatening to
repeat the whole punishment if I disobeyed her.
She stepped back and gently allowed the belt to slide over my
bottom before lifting her arm and with force brought the strap crashing down
across the width of my bottom. That first stroke unleashed a swathe of agony
across my butt, I could not believe it could hurt so much.
Aunty Wilma allowed nearly a full minute between strokes. The
second stroke was slightly lower but still across both cheeks, maybe an inch of
two lower, not more. All in all it took nearly 10 minutes for those four
strokes I was already in spank land after the second one.
The strapping was horrendous, brief but still horrendous, that
wide leather belt ripped into my butt with a ferocity I have never experienced
before, even today after all these years, those four strokes still remain fresh
in my mind.
Finally it was over, it was nearly half an hour before I
calmed down enough to understand that at last my punishment was over. Totally
exhausted Aunty Wilma helped me get into bed where I lay on my stomach as she
sat beside me holding my hand until I fell asleep.
Note, my parents never mentioned the incident to me ever
again, Aunty Wilma remained my favourite aunty although it was about 6 years
before she spanked me again.
