Back in the days of USENET Pete was one of the most popular F/M authors around. It’s easy to see why. His tales are at times hot, lighthearted and sexy. His dominant women are wives,aunts and girlfriends who relish the dispensing of discipline to the (usually) deserving male. This story is no exception. It may have been published at some time in the past by CF Publications (www.cfpub.com) so if you want more Pete, check them out.
It was in the Summer of ’65, Charlie and Becky had just become formally engaged. His parents had thrown them a gala reception to celebrate the event, and to let all of the family meet Becky.
Becky had been standing next to Charlie, idly chatting with a couple of second cousins, when they were approached by a vivacious and lovely blonde. They had looked at each other appraisingly for a moment, because they looked so much alike, they could have been sisters. The same shoulder length, softly bobbed blonde hair… both about 5′ 6″ and 115 pounds, both with long trim legs and a nicely rounded figure.
“Hi!” The newcomer hailed warmly, “you must be Becky, I’m Jeanne, Charlie’s Aunt.”
“His Aunt? But you’re so… ” she had blurted, surprised because Jeanne could not have been much more than 30.
Jeanne laughed, “yeah, I was kind of a surprising accident. Charlie’s Mom was 18 when I was born. How do you like your new family-to-be?”
“Oh, they all seem very nice.” Becky said sincerely.
“Well, I hope you can handle Charlie – he can be a handful.”
“I know what you mean!” Becky laughed, wondering why Charlie was suddenly becoming very flustered.
“Yes,” Jeanne went on, “he stayed with me when he had a job on the Cape. We live in Marion, just over the bridge. I’ll never forget. The first week he was there, I heard this awful din in the kitchen and went in to find Charlie and my 12 year old brat Jenny having a food fight! I’m an old-fashioned style mother, so I just scooped up a handy wooden butter paddle, turned Jenny over my knee, yanked down her shorts and whaled the living daylights out of her bare bottom. I could tell Charlie was shocked, ’cause he just stood there with his jaw hanging down to his knees. By the time I’d finished with Jenny she was howling like a banshee, and when I let her up she just grabbed her bottom and scooted off to her room, still crying up a storm. I really hadn’t thought about it, but Charlie was just standing there looking guilty as hell, so I pointed to my lap and said, ‘your turn.’ He blushed a lot, but did shuffle over to where I was sitting, so I took his pants down, turned him over my knee and spanked his bare botty ’til it was blistered and he was howling every bit as loudly as Jenny had. Then, when he got into some more mischief a few days later, it just seemed like the most natural thing in the world to take him into my bedroom and wallop his bare bottom with my hairbrush. I must’ve spanked him 20 times or so that summer… and he deserved every single one of them! Didn’t you Charlie?”
“Yeah, well, I guess so,” Charlie muttered uncomfortably.
“Wait a minute!” Becky said, “Charlie worked on the Cape last summer.”
“Of course!” Jeanne replied, smiling broadly, “that’s when it happened.”
“You spanked Charlie last summer? On his bare bottom? When he was 21?” Becky queried in astonishment.
“Of course. And it really helped to keep him in line. if I were you, Becky, I’d go right out and get myself a good, sturdy hairbrush. Then, the first time Charlie pulled one of his boyishly charming capers, I’d let him have it – right where it hurts the most. Take it from me, Becky, Charlie really needs it!”
Becky paused to let all this sink in, then turned to her blushing fiance, smiling slyly. “Tell me, Charlie, what do you think? Do you think I should buy myself a good, sturdy hairbrush? And use it the way Aunt Jeanne did?”
“Of course not, Becky. I mean, you’re gonna be my wife, not my Aunt.” He did not sound convincing. This was becoming very interesting. Becky found herself envying Aunt Jeanne.
“What difference does that make?” she told him haughtily, “you are a terribly naughty boy sometimes and maybe a few good, sound spankings on your cute little fanny would help. Aunt Jeanne thinks so. Don’t you Aunt Jeanne?” Becky turned back to this interesting woman, who was grinning broadly at her nephew’s obvious discomfort.
“Absolutely! Don’t you feel those spankings I gave you last summer helped you to behave yourself Charlie? Don’t you?” Aunt Jeanne prodded.
“Well, yeah, I suppose so. But it’s not the same!” Charlie almost wailed.
“Humbug!” Becky told him firmly. “I think it would be a nice gesture if you bought me the right kind of hairbrush. You should know what you need. You can give it to me for our engagement. Then, I’ll give you a nice spanking with it. That sounds fair. There!” She turned back to Aunt Jeanne, “it’s all settled.”
“Sounds like you’re really in for it, Charlie!” Aunt Jeanne laughed. “But don’t look so glum. Come on, admit it. You really didn’t mind all those spankings I gave you, did you?”
“Hey! They hurt! A lot!” He protested. Not, Becky noticed, answering the question.
“Of course they did!” Exclaimed Aunt Jeanne, “they were supposed to. But I did kind of notice that you seemed to get, well, kind of excited, too. Didn’t you?”
“HELL NO!” Charlie protested hotly.
Becky looked at him appraisingly. “Methinks he protesteth too much,” she thought. She made a mental note to have a private chat with Aunt Jeanne later, and went on to mingle with her other new-found relatives. That evening, Jeanne and Becky took a leisurely stroll through the woods.
“I am serious, Becky,” Jeanne said. “Charlie did get kinda turned on by the spankings. It’s not something a man can hide very well. And I got the feeling that, on several occasions, he was really trying to get me to spank him. I was only too happy to oblige. I thought it was fun! You really ought to pursue it. I think some shared kinky secrets are good for a marriage.”
“Do you spank George?” Becky asked her sweetly.
“Heavens NO!” Jeanne laughed, “but ve haf other vays… ”
“Like what?” Becky pursued.
“Well… promise not to tell anyone?” Becky nodded. “OK, well, er, I uh sit on him.”
“Sit on him?” Becky repeated, not terribly impressed.
“Well,” Jeanne giggled, “it’s on his face. But, back to Charlie. I’ll bet you 5 bucks he buys you a hairbrush.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. I wish it would be that easy. No, I’m afraid I’m going to have to push it.”
“Then it’s a bet?”
“You’re on!” Becky told her, and shook Jeanne’s hand.
The next afternoon, of course, Becky found a gaily wrapped package on her pillow. “Happy Engagement! All my love, Charlie,” the card proclaimed. Inside was a very expensive, very solid, wooden hairbrush. She smacked it smartly against her palm. It stung! She put it in her handbag. Before dinner she surreptitiously slipped Jeanne $5. Jeanne winked knowingly. After dinner, Charlie and Becky strolled down to the secluded boathouse… a favorite necking spot of theirs.
“Thanks for the engagement gift,” she told him slyly as they sat side by side on the long padded bench.
“Oh, er uh sure. Well, you’re welcome.” He stammered.
“Are you ready for my gift?”
“Uh, gee Becky, you mean now?” He blurted.
“No time like the present. A stitch in time. Never put off ’til tomorrow. Come on, Charlie, you’ve got nothing to lose but your pants.” Not giving him time to argue, she bent toward him and quickly undid his belt and opened his fly, her fingers flicking over the telltale bulge thus revealed. “OK, Charlie, get up.”
Although it was dark in the boathouse, she could tell he was blushing like crazy. She firmly pulled down his slacks, then reached up and yanked down his shorts. Embarrassed, he kind of hunched over to shield himself. While he was off balance, she gave his elbow a quick tug and he toppled forward over her lap. Once over, he seemed to resign himself to his fate, and made no attempt to escape. “So far, so good,” she thought to herself as she lightly patted the two plump mounds of pale flesh that peeped up at me so enticingly in the moonlight. Charlie squirmed a bit at this, and she could feel his “thing” pressing between her naked thighs. “Keep your eye on the ball,” she told herself. Then told Charlie, “hand me my handbag, please, Honey.” He groped in the dark, then wordlessly handed it back. She removed her brand new hairbrush, then moved its bristled side testingly over his quaking cheeks. He shivered, either in torment or delight, she couldn’t tell which.
It was at this time that she began to have an anxiety attack. After all, not only had she never spanked anyone before, she had never even been spanked herself! Still admiring Charlie’s delightfully animated derriere, she carefully reviewed Jeanne’s instructions… she almost regretted not taking her up on her “kind” offer of a free home demonstration. “Well,” she thought, “nothing ventured… ”
Becky slipped her left arm around Charlie’s naked waist, and saw his buttocks clench in apprehension. “Relax, Dear,” she told him, “it is just a spanking after all.” He sighed and she watched his buttocks unclench and resume their quiet quivering.
She took a firm grip on the brush, raised it high in the air, and brought it smartly down on the chubby crown of his right cheek. SMACK The noise was alarming! It scared her half to death. Charlie gasped and twisted, but quickly settled down, meekly proffering his bare behind for further attention. She breathed deeply, recovered her determination, and gave Charlie’s madly dancing derriere a crisp volley that had him grunting and squealing inanely while kicking his legs and squirming all over her lap.
She paused, now feeling in complete command. She ran her hand over his bobbing bottom, amazed at how warm it felt and noting the slight puffiness of each brush-shaped blister. And, they’d hardly begun! The brush continued to splat down, each whack sending a little shock wave through the rippling flesh. Poor Charlie jerked and jounced with every stroke. He kicked and waved his arms. His blazing bottom weaved and wriggled sinuously, but never strayed out of range of her flailing brush.
Charlie began to cry. Becky could see his tears spattering on the rough planks of the boathouse deck, and hear his great, wracking sobs of honest anguish. Had it not been for Jeanne’s meticulous coaching she surely would have stopped, but she recalled the exact words. “Don’t let him fool you, Becky. He’ll howl and wail and sob… even bawl like a baby before you’re halfway through. But, be firm. Give him at least 50 good ones… more if you feel like it. Otherwise it’s just not a spanking. And make sure you cover his whole botty… including the part next to his thighs… that’s where he’ll really feel it when he tries to sit down tomorrow.”
“Whoops!” Becky thought, and paused to inspect the tender undercurve of each blazing cheek. Hardly touched! The next volley smacked into the curved underside of his sit spot. That detail attended to, she moved back up to the fleshy crests, inch by smarting inch. she judged that she had passed the magical 50 mark, and paused again to assess the state of Charlie’s pulsing, throbbing bottom. “There, there, Honey,” she soothed as she pressed her palm first on one cheek and then on the other. They were hot! “Just a couple more for good measure,” she told him, ignoring his abject pleas for mercy. And SMACK! WHACK! She placed two final Homeric stingers at the apex of each flaming buttock.
She helped him up off her lap and then guided him so he perched mournfully on her right thigh. She pressed his teary face against her thinly veiled breasts and crooned comfortingly in his ear as her right hand descended to stroke and soothe his flaming flanks. As her hand wandered around down there, two things became perfectly clear. First, the manful erection he’d pressed against me at the spanking’s onset had totally vanished by its conclusion. Second, it was re-emerging in spectacular fashion now. Spanking appeared to excite Charlie before and after, but definitely not during! This was confirmed as with a combination sob/grunt, Charlie exploded all over her shirt. “Oh Charlie,” she giggled, “I really should spank you for that!”
That had been 20 years ago. 20 years of delightful domination for Becky, superb submission for Charlie. Becky tried to calculate just how many spanks Charlie’s bottom had received. “Let’s see,” she thought, “figure an average of at least one a week… that’s 20 times 52, or about 1,000 spankings at maybe 60 each. WOW! 60,000 SMACKS. And my hairbrush is still as good as new!” Not that that was the exclusive weapon, of course. Charlie had proven to be an adept scavenger… presenting her with a wide variety of implements for her disciplinary pleasure. The antique whalebone corset stay he had made into a whippy little switch… it just whispered sibilantly as it welted his bare fanny, making it perfect when she had to punish him when company or children were around (though she’d have to gag him with her panties because it made him squeal so loudly). The rattan cane he’d bought her on their last trip to England… and the funny looks they’d gotten from the Customs inspector. The kitschy “Fanny Whacker” he found in a souvenir store in North Carolina… that one leaves bruises, though. The leather strap he’d made himself, the martinet from Bermuda, the hard leather sandal… her eyes moved fondly to Charlie’s crimsoned, chubby cheeks.
“Charlie?” She called out softly.
“You can rub now.”