Naughty Spot Ch. 01

This story includes some dealing with bodily functions so those who find that subject offensive should read no further. All characters are over 18.

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When I returned home from being away at university, I was dismayed that my mother immediately reinstituted the disciplinary regime under which I and my siblings had grown up. Here I was in my early 20s and going to work every morning, but I would find myself being taken across my mother's lap to be spanked many times when I returned from work.

She would lecture me on keeping my room tidy and properly putting my clothes away. It seemed that she became more and more intrusive into very personal matters: for example, she soon made me stand in front of her and lower my panties for her to inspect the crotch for stains.

Even worse, if that is possible, was her practice of disciplining me in front of others who might be present. She seemed to delight in putting me through my paces when one of my aunts or female cousins was present. These women would smile as my mother lifted my skirt, lowered my panties, and took me across her lap for a spanking that would inevitably expose my most private places to the view of whoever was visiting.

The visitor would inevitably adopt a very condescending tone, saying "Susan seems to be quite grown up to need to be spanked with her panties down." This made me feel all the more oppressed. My mother began to expand the humiliation by making me unbutton my blouse and remove my bra in front of the visitor before I received my spanking.

When, for example, my Aunt Charlotte would ask why I was made to do this, my mother would appear delighted to respond, "Bras are for big girls, Charlotte, not little ones who need to be spanked." She would go on to tell my aunt that now I was being supervised in the bathroom "because Susan has forgotten at times to wipe her little hiney hole after she makes her doody."

It wasn't long before she imposed yet another embarrassing change in my life. First, she told me I could no longer use tampons for my period because she felt unmarried girls should wear maxipads. If she thought I had been especially naughty, she found in her drawer one of those old Kotex belts that women used to wear with tabbed sanitary napkins and I would be made to wear that contraption during my period. Those belts would rarely stay in place so that I would inevitably get period stains in my panties, which of course resulted in further punishment.

She also started to make me wait to be spanked as a way of increasing the impact of the eventual spanking. Now I was required to stand at one place in the front of the living room not far from where visitors would enter the house with my skirt pulled up above my waist and my panties pulled down to my knees. Mother marked the floor with a red circle and this was referred to as "Susan's naughty spot."

She seemed to delight in ordering me to report to my naughty spot and prepare to be disciplined by lifting my skirt and lowering my panties as I described. After she had finished spanking me, I now had to return to the naughty spot and stand there with both my bare now red bottom on display and everyone who came by also able to gaze on my genitals.

I realized I should be grateful that she must have been aware that it has become fashionable for young women to shave their pubic hair; otherwise, I am sure that she would have shaved mine so as to expose my bald pudendum.

Aunt Charlotte's daughter, Pamela, was 20, only two or three years younger than I was, but despite my aunt's almost obscene interest in seeing me punished, Pamela was not burdened with the kind of horridly embarrassing disciplinary regime under which I suffered. She would invariably visit when I was about to be spanked and she would giggle when she walked in and comment, "Oh, Susie must have been naughty because there she is on her naughty spot."

My mother would be pleased to see that Pamela embarrassed me, so she might add to my shame by explaining in detail why I was being spanked. She might have found that there were stains in my panties, for example. Pamela would raise her eyebrows in an exaggerated manner and respond that she was surprised that "Susie still didn't wipe her tushee properly."

My mother then would add that she had watched me do my business in the bathroom and that I had "made an especially big smelly doody" that morning.

"Maybe you should keep a watch on what Susie eats, Aunt Mary," Pamela would suggest in her answer.

"Oh, I'm starting do that," my mother would then reply, adding, "I've been trying to get Susie more regular so I've made sure she has her fruit juice and bean salad." She tended to grin at that in case Pamela or whoever else was getting the benefit of these intimate matters would soon be prompted to ask more insinuating questions.

Thus Pamela would learn that I had let out quite a few farts when my mother watched me during my bowel movement that morning.

"Oh, Aunt Mary, that really is so unladylike," Pam would exclaim. "Have you ever thought that maybe you should put Susie in those cute little girly panties with bunnies or ducks on them? A woman I met at the yoga class was telling us that she has been having her daughters, who are living at home like Susie does and are about her age, wear those panties and if they are naughty, she said she puts them in plastic panties, you know, the kind children wear over their diapers. She said that the girls hate them because they make noise crinkling so everyone knows they are wearing them but it does get them to wipe so they don't stain their undies."

Hearing that, my mother would turn to me, while I had to stand on my naughty spot and be the recipient of all this embarrassment, and say, "See, Susan, how tolerant I have been in not making you wear those panties that Pamela has mentioned."

This would let Pamela respond by carefully spelling out to my mother the location of the children's wear store where these horrible panties could be purchased.

"You might go there and bring Susie, Aunt Mary," she would oh so helpfully suggest, "so they can be sure you get the right size. The woman in my class says you should get them a size smaller so that they will be quite tight."

Even my mother had her limits in listening to Pamela's teasing. One day Pamela came by with her mother and started asking my mother about my most recent offenses and punishments.

"Does Susie have heavy periods, Aunt Mary?" Pamela blurted out without seeming to show any concern for the usual reticence women still show about their menstrual habits.

My Aunt Charlotte took umbrage at her daughter's effrontery—at least this one time she did.

"Pamela, you really should not talk that way," she scolded, and apparently she was sufficiently embarrassed by Pamela's behavior to ask my mother if she wouldn't mind if Charlotte disciplined Pamela right then and there.

"Mother, please don't embarrass me that way," Pam whined, but my mother was actually interested in seeing how her sister would punish my cousin, whose conduct even my mother was starting to find annoying, so she quickly assured her sister that Charlotte was welcome to discipline Pamela right then if she felt it would "make her think before she made remarks like that."

"Yes, indeed, Mary," Charlotte answered, now fired up, "I do think that Susie needn't be the only young madam who needs disciplining and I may just start spanking Pamela far more often."

"You stand right there, Pamela," her mother ordered in a very sharp voice pointing to my naughty spot no less, "and I want that skirt right up above your waist and you make sure it stays up there." Then she reached over when Pamela had reluctantly complied with the embarrassing order and very efficiently put her thumbs in the waistband of my cousin's pale lavender panties and yanked them right down below her knees.

"So you stay right there with your panties down, Pamela, until I get back from going inside to talk about this with your Aunt Mary," Charlotte said angrily. She then went off into my mother's bedroom with my mother, ostensibly to discuss exactly what punishment Pamela was to receive.

To say that this took some wind out of my nasty cousin's sails is to put it mildly. Her mother had even made her put her hands on her head so her whole pubic area was on display as I sat on the couch.

I couldn't resist staring at Pamela's neat little slit that was entirely visible because she was shaved in front. Pamela apparently did get punished by her mother but this was the first time that Aunt Charlotte had been sufficiently provoked to decide to impose some embarrassing punishment on the spot, so to speak.

"Susie, I'm sorry for being so mean to you," Pamela said, with almost a tearful look on her face. "Mom does punish me but she's not usually like your mom in doing it in front of anyone else."

I decided to press my advantage since I so rarely had any.

"Pam," I said with the most sincerity I could muster, "I really am sorry that you are getting punished, even though you have been quite awful to me. I never dreamed that your mother had the same tendencies toward embarrassing you as mine does. But I did want to ask you if she made you shave down there?"

Pamela cringed but realized she should try to behave nicely to me right now since I likely would witness her forthcoming humiliation.

"Yes, Susan," she said, using my proper name for a change, "she actually shaves me herself and then rubs this stingy ointment on my mons and right along my puss."

I almost did a double-take as I heard about a punishment practice that was even more horrible than the ones I had to endure.

Pam was somehow holding back the tears but now she was looking for sympathy and I was delighted to hear about all of her travails at the instance of my Aunt Charlotte.

"She says it's to soothe me but it itches and it even burns when I pee because she makes sure she rubs it on...oh God, Susan...on my peehole and yes, even on my clit!" she cried.

Just then, before I might hear even more revelations about how my seemingly demure aunt could become a vengeful dominatrix, Aunt Charlotte and my mother emerged from my mother's bedroom and Aunt Charlotte was holding a thin tan cane that I recalled my mother had used on my bottom once when she was very infuriated with me.

But there were more surprises to come that day.

Charlotte held out the cane while Pamela's face fell as she realized that it would soon be applied to her hindquarters.

"Bend over the end of the couch, Pamela," Aunt Charlotte intoned in a voice I had not previously heard her use, "and I want you to spread those naughty cheeks wide, young lady, so that I can see that cute little cheeseburger you have between your legs."

Pamela must have at least been glad that we could not see her face as she moved speedily into the excruciatingly shameful position she had been told to assume.

I of course couldn't take my eyes off her pale white bottom cheeks as she dutifully spread her rather prominent buttocks. Aunt Charlotte really had pinpointed her demeaning comment accurately: Pam's quimmy hung down between her cheeks looking for all the world like a pink cheeseburger. I now felt like I was a character in a porn novel!

But more amazement was to follow.

While my mother expressed what clearly was her pleasure at seeing Pam put through her paces by maintaining a tight smile on her face, Aunt Charlotte looked at me and said, "Susan, you are older than Pamela and I know that your mother has not been loath to punish you right here in front of us and others, too. I think that Pamela will gain immensely in learning some better manners if you—as the one she has behaved so disgracefully toward—were to be the one to administer her punishment."

I somehow kept my composure as my thoughts raced through my mind: I was going to get to spank or cane Pamela, or both!

"Yes, Aunt Charlotte," I respectfully responded to being so addressed by my aunt.

"Susan, take this cane," she said calmly as she handed the dreaded punitive implement to me. "Once I have taken care of a preliminary matter, I would like you to cane Pamela on her naughty bottom until I tell you to stop."

Pamela understood all too well what the "preliminary matter" involved, and it obviously worried her far more than even my being selected to be her disciplinarian.

"Oh no, mother," she exclaimed, "that's too much! Please, let Susan punish me, but don't put the other thing in, pleeeeze don't, I'll be good, I won't be nasty to Susan ever again!"

I kept being amazed by how stern Aunt Charlotte turned out to be.

"You know, Pamela, that I firmly believe that naughty girls need to be medicated as well as castigated," she explained as if speaking to a very disobedient and rather dull child, which was exactly how she was treating my cousin.

As Pamela now began to moan because of the impending shame she knew was inevitably arriving, my aunt reached into her purse and took out a small capsule that was in a sealed packet. While she tore the edge to take out what looked like a large reddish pill that looked like a big cough drop, Aunt Charlotte informed my mother and me that she found it was salutory for her to insert a glycerin suppository in my cousin Pamela's anus! She then ordered my cousin to bend over and hold her bottom cheeks apart.

Once Pamela had assumed tis humiliating posture, Aunt Charlotte now removed a small tube that contained Vaseline from her purse, pressed it to release a small dab on her fingertip, and then bent down to first insert the finger with the lubricant into Pamela's cute little anal rosette. Having greased Pam's bottom-hole, my aunt took the glycerin suppository and pressed it deep into Pam's opening with the same finger, pushing it in as far as she could.

"Now don't you dare try to push that out of your hiney, Pamela," she sternly directed my quietly sobbing cousin. "And stop that sniveling, sweetie," she added, "because you haven't even been smacked yet."

Now she turned to me and said rather peremptorily, "I assume you are able to cane her for me, my dear, aren't you?"

"Yes, Aunt Charlotte," I answered as blandly as I could, making sure not to display any glee or even pleasure in being chosen to punish my tormentor.

"Well, then, go ahead and start laying that cane on her naughty bottom, Susan," she said, "no time like the present."

I moved behind Pamela and extended the cane, placing it on her bottom to confirm my target and then drew it back and fired with care so that the cane struck right across the middle of her bottom. I had to hold my breath so I didn't cringe at the quiet but deadly swish-thwip noise the cane made as it hit home.

Pamela definitely felt it because she screamed out "Ow!!"

"I don't want to hear any noise out of you, Pamela," Aunt Charlotte intoned now. "I've really had it with your naughtiness today."

I was operating on autopilot, fearful that if I let myself think about this incredible scene, I might lose control in any one of several embarrassing ways.

After allowing a few moments for the stroke to sink in, I watched as the distinctive red line appeared on Pamela's white bottom and drew the cane back and applied another stroke a bit above the first one and this time, Pamela let out a slightly quieter "Ow!"

"That's right, Susan," Aunt Charlotte informed me, "you give her nice strong strokes on that hiney of hers. I've seen for too long how she has taunted you and I'm at fault for not taking this step long ago."

Despite her own behavior that had shamed me for quite some time, I wanted to hug my aunt for what she was saying. Instead, I concentrated and this time aimed the cane below the first stroke, near the sensitive crease between Pamela's bottom and thighs.

I carefully aimed the cane and the stroke landed just as I had intended and Pamela did let out a real scream.

"That's just what she needs, Susan," Charlotte said. "Now give her some crisscrosses," she added.

My aunt was telling me to punish Pamela by placing strokes across the three horizontal ones. This is known in the punishment world as "gating" because it will leave a pattern on the recipient's buttocks that looks like a gate with the crisscross diagonal strokes and the diamond-like bruising that occurs where these strokes cross the earlier ones. Those marks last far longer than the stroke lines themselves and needless to say, this is almost as painful a caning practice as there exists.

I again placed the cane near Pamela's bottom so I would strike where I had been told to locate the strokes. I fired the thin, supple cane to strike diagonally and it landed again just where I intended and Pamela again let out a piercing scream.

"Pamela," my aunt said in a very harsh tone, "you better keep quiet for the next strokes or you know where I will have her give you something to scream about."

Perhaps because I was so inured to being disciplined by my mother, going back quite a few years, I instantly understood what my aunt was referring to indirectly but absolutely distinctly to her daughter. I momentarily wondered if she had actually punished Pam in the horrible scary way she was making reference to, and told myself that it was highly likely that she had truly done so.

I had to keep from letting my knees shake from the sheer fear that her even mentioning this possibility conjured up in my fearful mind. Even my mother had never employed this incredibly severe punishment in her regular discipline sessions to which I was subjected.

In fact, my mother did not seem to like the cane. She preferred to use her hand on my bottom, possibly because she found it more intimate, because she did humiliate me, something she was oh so good at doing, by running her fingers between my legs to gauge whether the spanking was turning me on. My pussy usually betrayed me by becoming wet from sexual excitement aroused by her having such total access to my most intimate parts.

"This appears to get you all hot and bothered, Susan," she would say as I felt totally abased at her realizing that her disciplining me by castigating my bottom turned me on. I tend to think that this is a far more common reaction to being spanked, especially when you are sexually active and still being spanked at my age.

My mother would softly rub my slit and even insinuate a finger into my sopping vagina or, alternatively, into my bottom-hole. She would probe my anal opening if she wanted to shame me with extra enthusiasm, because she might remove her finger and rub the finger, only slightly but inevitably soiled by traces of my last bowel movement, on my nose. Even your own shit does smell when it is placed on your nose like that.

But in case you haven't grasped what my aunt was not very delicately but in a diabolically clear fashion referring to a significantly more severe punishment that she could subject Pamela to receiving, it was what disciplinarians call "whipping in". This is when the punisher—the caner, of course—places the cane down between the recipient's spread legs and snaps it straight up into the victim's—which is certainly the right term—open quim, yes, right into her vagina, her cunt.

There are many terms in the literature for this egregiously cruel punishment. Yes, in case you hadn't figured it out yet, I've reacted to being spanked and disciplined in several embarrassing ways, by finding myself seeking out spanking novels. It now of course is so easy to find these works online and I learned that my mother had been reading them for a long time, which didn't shock me. We don't think women get off on these kinds of writing, but Fifty Shades of Grey was hardly the first such book intended primarily for women.

I knew that my mother had been spanked by her parents growing up, as had Charlotte, who was her younger sister by five years. As a girl, I even discovered The Story of O in her bottom drawer, under her sweaters. You might understandably think that my mother is a true sicko, but even though she has made my life much unhappier than it needs to be, I still love her and can understand how she gets pleasure from this kind of reading.