I’ve featured kfr’s stories before. He posted mainly to the SSS group back in the day and also had a collection at Laura’s Spanking Corner. Kfr wrote primarily in the F/m genre with a good deal of family domestic discipline material. This is a classic example, a story of a young man who is living with his strict Aunt Joan. Artwork by various artists including Barb, Benson, Paul Davies.
PAYING THE PIPER by Kfr
After his aunt Joan left the room, Danny flopped face down on his bed, trying in vain to quiet the choking sobs that welled up out of his throat. Tears flowed freely down his face as his right hand quested back to rub the source of his discomfort: the now cherry-red surface of his bottom. He had just spent the better part of the last ten minutes struggling across Aunt Joan’s knees, his pants around his ankles, as she very soundly and thoroughly spanked his teen-aged buns with her hairbrush.
From start to finish, it had been a classic session: the march to his room, his aunt holding him in one hand and her wicked hairbrush in the other; the lecture, which was brief and to the point; and then the spanking, swat after hard, stinging swat as he lay across her lap, unable to do anything about it.
He had started out draped across both knees, but his kicking and struggling soon forced his aunt, a strong and healthy woman, to stand him up and drape him across her left knee, while she placed her right leg across the backs of both of his legs. With kicking minimized, and escape impossible, the spanking continued, Danny’s right wrist pulled firmly up behind his back and held there, keeping him from attempting to interfere with the fiery caress of that gleaming piece of polished wood that tormented his bottom ceaselessly.
Her pausing now and then to scold him was a two-edged sword: it gave him a moment’s respite from the burning sting, but that was offset by the extra hard swats she used to punctuate her scolding, and then the redoubled effort as she resumed spanking in earnest.
As his bottom got hotter and redder, the hairbrush sought new territory to sting, finding it in the upper portion of his bare thighs. Aunt Joan knew how much her heavy hairbrush stung when applied to this area, and took satisfaction in the obvious increase in Danny’s crying and squirming when she laid the brush on good and hard.
Tears streamed down the youngster’s face as he sobbed softly, massaging the tender cheeks of his bottom, pants and shorts still tangled around his ankles as he lay on his bed in the late afternoon. The reason for his discomfort, he knew, could be found in his mirror. Distracted by the world in general, his adolescent mind had allowed itself to be spirited off by every diversion, resulting in a report card, which both dismayed and appalled his aunt. The memory flooded back.
“What’s wrong with you?” she demanded, waving the dismal report card in his face. “How do you expect to go anywhere in life with a performance like this?”
Fuming, she folded her arms across her chest, glaring at the chagrined boy as she waited for an answer. Danny had none, just red-faced embarrassment, lowering his gaze toward the floor, where his aunt’s shoe angrily tapped out a warning of things to come.
Tall, blonde and just about forty, Danny’s aunt had taken him in at the age of ten when his parents split up and went their separate ways. She was a better parent than either of his naturals, seeing to all of his needs and giving him the love he’d never had previously. She believed in discipline, and insisted on obedience. The consequence of non-compliance was swift and sure: a long, hard bare-bottomed spanking that delivered an unmistakable message…..get with the program. He was no stranger to his aunt’s hairbrush, usually feeling its kiss about once a month.
Now, Danny knew what was about to happen. As he stammered out a lame, “I’m sorry, Aunt Joan….”, she spun on her heel and walked purposefully into her bedroom, returning swiftly with her old fashioned hairbrush. Despite his familiarity with it, the sight of that flat wooden object in her hand struck fear into his heart. His pulse hammered in his head as adrenaline pumped into his bloodstream. Mouth dry, he licked his lips, eyes wide and staring at first the hairbrush and then his aunt’s determined brown eyes, which were usually warm and comforting, but now had a flinty aspect. Taking him by the arm, she led him unresisting to his room.
“You know what you’re in for, don’t you, Danny?” she asked rhetorically.
The sorrowful boy felt his eyes mist over as he looked up at the tall woman who was shepherding him toward a rendezvous with painful justice. Her face showed sympathy, but no mercy.
“Yes, ma’am.” He said quietly, likening the click of her heels on the hardwood hallway to a doomsday clock, counting off the remaining seconds. Her left hand had a firm grip on his right arm, and he watched in helpless fascination as she held the large and heavy oval wooden hairbrush up to inspect it as she walked. A shiver went through him, and he wanted suddenly to hang back, to plead for mercy, promise to do better, to do anything if she would just not spank him. It would only make matters worse, he knew; besides, there would be plenty of time later, as Aunt Joan’s strong right arm used the hairbrush, for begging and pleading aplenty.
She was seated on the corner of his bed, her skirt at about mid-thigh and the hairbrush held loosely in her right hand. Danny was giving her his full attention, no need to make her angry at this stage of the game. His knees quivered slightly, with his lower lip following suit as his aunt spoke.
“Life is full of consequences, Danny. Every time you make a decision, there is a price to pay, and a reward attached. Good decisions have good rewards, and bad decisions have punishments.” She stated, patting her left palm with the back of the hairbrush. Danny’s eyes widened in response, and he shifted from one foot to the other. Aunt Joan continued, “The decision you made, to not pay attention to your schoolwork, was a bad decision. Not only does it affect your present, but could seriously compromise your future. For that reason, I have to focus your attention on what you need to do from now on. You must pay better attention to your schoolwork, and to achieve that end, I’m going to help you.”
She waited, looking the boy straight in the eye to make certain he understood, then went on. “In just a minute, I’m going to take your pants down and turn you over my knee for a long, hard spanking on your bare bottom.”
Danny’s heart thumped so loud he imagined he could hear it, as his aunt pronounced sentence. It was not a surprise, but it still produced a reaction of shock and excitement. Aunt Joan was still talking.
“You know I believe firmly in spanking you when you deserve it, so you’re no stranger to this hairbrush,” she said, brandishing it before him, “but this afternoon, and once a week for the next marking period, you’re going to get a spanking that will really get your attention.” She paused again, watching her nephew’s face for signs of comprehension. Danny swallowed hard, his eyes fairly brimming at the gloomy prospect she had just described.
“When you show me some positive results in your grades, I’ll relax the discipline somewhat, but not until I see real improvement, understand?” Joan finished, holding Danny’s gaze and then setting the hairbrush down next to her.
“Y-yes.” Danny managed to whisper, now really intimidated and embarrassed.
Motioning him to her, his aunt quickly unfastened his pants, letting them drop to the floor, and then skinned down his briefs past his knees, noting with a slight smile how he blushed uncontrollably as she bared his bottom.
“Over my knee.” She ordered simply, helping him to lay across her lap, and getting him firmly settled in place. With no further ado, she picked up the hairbrush and put it to work, smacking the target soundly and briskly. His yelps, brave attempts to bear his discomfort, soon changed to more strident howls and pleas for her to stop, and then collapsed into wailing sobs and promises of good behavior as the hairbrush did its work. It was much harder and much longer than any spanking she had given him thus far, and well before it was over, Danny had pretty much made up his mind to buckle down in school, beginning the very next day.
Some of the fire in his hindquarters was beginning to abate, but the deep warmth and tenderness would last, remembered every time he sat down for the next twenty-four hours or so. That was not the worst of it, though. When his aunt had left the room, she had notified him that he had one half-hour to think over his behavior, and then she would return to repeat the spanking. A sob welled up in his throat as he realized that in about fifteen minutes he would be right back across Aunt Joan’s lap, having his very tender bare bottom spanked all over again.
“Oh, Danny boy.” He moaned, laying his head down. “You’ve done it this time.”
His uncovered bottom had just begun to cool off when he heard the sound of doom: Aunt Joan’s heels clicking on the hardwood floor of the hallway, and coming closer with every step. His head was turned away from the door, but he knew when she entered, as her footsteps were quieted by the rug. Heart pounding, he lay there, petrified by what lay ahead.
“No use playing possum, Danny. I know you’re awake, so just stop pretending.” His aunt said, more amused than angry.
Slowly, Danny turned over and looked at her. She stood with her hands on her hips, the hairbrush in her right hand, silhouetted against the light from the hallway. He couldn’t see her face, but imagined the look it displayed; one of tired resignation, determined and firm, but loving.
“Let’s go, young man.” She ordered. “You’ve got another spanking coming to you, so come get over my knee.”
Sitting on the bed once more, she looked over her shoulder as Danny got up and shambled over to her, not even bothering to pull up his pants, or even step out of them. As he approached, she said,
“I think it might be a good idea if you got into your birthday suit for this spanking.”
Danny looked surprised, and hesitated. His aunt met his sorrowful gaze, noting his tear streaked face and how his eyes gleamed dully with liquid about to flow. She explained easily,
“The first spanking was to focus your attention on the problem, and this spanking is punishment for your actions. I think you’ll remember it more vividly if you get undressed; every stitch of clothing, so you go over my knee like the naughty little boy you’ve behaved like.”
Blushing furiously, Danny’s mouth opened and closed a time or two, and then with tears of frustration trickling down his cheeks, he obeyed his aunt, slowly taking off all his clothes until he stood naked before her. She made him wait for a long moment or two, watching his discomfort increase, then gave the order he was dreading: moving her legs apart, she motioned to him to turn across her left knee.
“Turn over, young man.” She said sternly, her face resolute.
Danny cracked. The prospect of having his bare bottom blistered again just broke his resolve to be brave.
“P-please, Aunt Joan!” he blubbered, now crying unashamedly, feeling like the lost little boy she had so easily turned him into, “I promise I’ll do better, really, I will! Please don’t spank me again, please!”
Taking the crying boy by his left arm, Joan pulled him gently but firmly down across her left knee, once more draping her right leg over his to place his bare bottom in the perfect position for an extended and very sound spanking.
The marvelous color which Joan’s heavy hairbrush had produced on Danny’s backside just a short while ago quickly returned, deepening in intensity and vibrancy as the glossy oval wooden back smacked bare skin again and again. This time, Aunt Joan did no scolding. The whole point of this spanking was punishment, and she dedicated herself to stinging her nephew’s upturned bare bottom until she was certain he would remember it for a long time. She wanted to be sure that every time he sat down in school for the next couple of days he would recall this episode: being turned across her knee in his birthday suit to have his bare bottom blistered, but good.
For Danny’s part, he wailed like a child, bawling and pleading as the brush stung him over and over again.
By the time his aunt left him to nurse his battered behind, Danny felt about six years old. She had kissed him gently, with words of love before leaving him to re-assemble his shattered ego. As the searing fire in his rump faded, to be replaced by a pervading warmth and throbbing ache, he realized how lucky he was to have someone who cared about him deeply enough to punish him and set his feet back on the right path.
He matured considerably that afternoon, taking on a new attitude. Oh, he’d feel the hairbrush plenty more times, as boys are boys and just can’t seem to stay out of one sort of trouble or another. Still, it was a turning point for him. Many years hence, he’d recall the loving discipline his aunt provided, and grow to wish for those days to return.