Naughty Spot Ch. 01

I didn't especially like The Story of O. It didn't scare me because fortunately, my mother was not into punishing me in the wildly perverse ways that when I read about them in that book, upset my stomach much more than my brain. I still don't get off on leather and metal or the exotic rubber and other such clothing that are found in that sick classic.

What I did learn from some of those novels, though, was all about "whipping in"—when the cane, usually, was applied to the tenderest part of the female anatomy. I felt that while the whipping of the vagina was something that in the books was frequently the practice of coldly cruel blonde Austrian or German dommes, the scene which endured in my mind the longest was the one where an almost off-handedly and deliciously sadistic French schoolteacher crisply ordered a pupil—a well-developed girl of 19 of whose attractiveness the teacher, quite chic herself, was jealous—to hold her labia apart while the teacher flicked the cane vertically up between the girl's legs into her widely-exposed quim.

It was obviously horribly painful but the combination of the chic Frenchwoman and the casually severe nature of her using this punishment, probably for some rather minor offense like the girl's passing a note to her classmate, that would find me lying in bed desperately rubbing my quim to a quick and powerful orgasm.

But my mind was focused on Pamela's already striped bottom, with four stripes, to be precise. I knew I was expected to apply another crisscross stroke in the opposite diagonal direction to complete the gate with a fifth stroke. I drew the cane back and targeted the stroke to lay that nasty stroke on Pam's bottom.

She screamed and Aunt Charlotte then made me appreciate that she was far more severe in her disciplining than even my mother. What a family. I now realized how Pam had come by her tendency to humiliate me so effectively. I kicked myself figuratively for not picking up on how my cousin came by her casual and insensitive nastiness.

"Susan, I'm so sorry at how badly Pamela has been behaving during this punishment," my aunt said rather plainly. "You are doing exactly what I have asked you to do and she knows that if I wanted to, I might punish her more severely. She deserves some further castigation, nevertheless, for this childish screaming.

"So," she went on, as I wondered what was going to emerge in her mildly-phrased but diabolically strict tones, "please continue to cane her three more times as a penalty for this wretched noise she has been making."

"Ma, please," Pamela said plaintively, hoping against hope that Aunt Charlotte would show her daughter even the slightest mercy, "pleeeze, not three, I can't take three!!"

My aunt's casual cruelty revealed itself to me then as she calmly and in a voice that showed absolutely no concern, merely uttered the word Pamela must have known would squash any hopes my cousin had that she would be spared: "Very well, Susan, give her...four more."

Pam definitely knew this would be the result of her pleading because she whimpered and remained in position. I decided to give her the strokes quickly, figuring that there is a tradition that extra strokes are administered with speed. Rapidly, I struck her red-striped cheeks with the relentless cane four times in quick succession, trying to aim horizontally between the strokes I already had given.

Of course, because of the crisscrosses, I knew that these would hurt in every spot where the new stroke inevitably crossed the earlier lines. Pam was sobbing but I think she was pleased that the caning had come to an end—at least I hoped it had and I wasn't the one whose ass was being pummeled!

"Pamela," Aunt Charlotte now spoke slowly but distinctly, "you may stand up but keep your panties down and your skirt up and go over and stand facing us in that lovely naughty spot that your cousin has so often occupied."

Then she turned to me and said, "Susan, I'm very sorry that both Pamela and I have behaved so thoughtlessly and even cruelly to you since you returned from university. I was very pleased by how you accepted my request that you discipline Pamela and that you behaved the way I would hope any well-brought-up young woman would when asked to perform what can be a mentally challenging disciplinary assignment."

"I know that Mary has been quite strict with you, especially when you returned to work here after university," she went on, "but I am very proud of you as my niece." Then she leaned forward and kissed me sweetly on my lips.

There was more. I had almost forgotten during the caning, with its vicious four-stroke coda so casually awarded by my aunt, and in the reveries of punishment literature that being placed in the role of disciplinarian had caused to burst out in my mind.

My mother now absented herself for a moment and returned with an old-fashioned wooden child's potty, one that I and my siblings had used when she was toilet-training us. Suddenly I remembered that the glycerin suppository was still residing in my cousin Pamela's rectum. By now, I rapidly concluded, it doubtlessly had melted and now she was standing there with panties down hoping against hope that she didn't disgrace herself by releasing some huge smelly turd that the suppository had stimulated her bowels to need to excrete.

My mother had given us enemas and definitely used suppositories in the past when she felt we were suffering from the slightest degree of constipation. She also used both kinds of anal insertions as punishments, too, of course. Usually we had pleaded to be permitted to expel the enema or to "make a doody" to adopt the childish term she forced us to use when she was punishing us.

It had been a long time since I had had such a suppository up my ass but I recalled the horrid feeling that I might lose control and excrete a big smelly piece of shit or worse, some soft mass that the diabolical insertion might have produced. My mother would ceremoniously lead us to the toilet when she felt we had held the enema or the suppository long enough.

She did not make it easy, however. This was always a punishment and we never allowed to lose sight of that. My sister and I had to keep our panties up when we were allowed to sit on the toilet. The only bit of consideration we received was that when she punished us and our brother, he was not given an enema or suppository when we were. We did get spanked in front of him and he was spanked in our presence but we were spared having a male eye witness our humiliation when we released our bowels in front of my mother.

Nor was he subjected to his two sisters seeing him so humbled. But in the same way that my mother would let her fingers tease my quim and my anus, I could see that she fondled his cock and his scrotal sac. As I said, we rarely were caned. I just don't think she liked the cane. Maybe she still resented getting caned by her mother. But I did see her snap her finger against my brother's erect member in a way that made him understand that if he angered her enough, she would cane him there.

I actually knew this was true because not long ago, he admitted it to me when we had had a chance to exchange our memories over some fine wine just before my parents arrived for my university graduation. He and I just let a lot of things out then.

Pam was now growing desperate. I understood immediately that the girl needed to use the toilet, only I knew that it would be the potty. Sure enough, Charlotte told her that she could sit on the potty, which necessitated Pam's squatting in a highly undignified way that as she moved over to sit, exposed her shaved quim once more to our view.

Just as she was about to sit down, way down, on the potty seat, though, Aunt Charlotte stopped her and made her pull up her panties and then sit on the potty. My aunt and my mother must have endured this little sadistic bit of torment when they were growing up. It is particularly effective as a method of mentally playing with a woman who is being punished.

She thinks she will be permitted to use the toilet. She may then be told she can pull her panties down. Just when she is on the verge of releasing her urinary sphincter, however, she is given the spirit-crushing order to pull her panties back up and she has to renew the steadily harder effort to hold it in.

Aunt Charlotte must have read the same naughty spanking text I had. From my vantage point, I was trying to guess whether Pam would excrete a large solid turd or a mess more akin to diarrhea when she finally was permitted to relieve the pressure created by the nasty little glycerin suppository. And I figured she probably had to pee pretty badly too by now.

Poor Pam was sitting on the wooden potty seat with those pale lavender panties covering her privates. She was quietly weeping now and I never would have believed an hour earlier that I could be feeling so sorry for her now. I hoped she didn't have awful feelings about me because I had been asked to cane her even though I was quite pleased to accept that privilege when Aunt Charlotte deigned to confer it on me.

My mother now called Charlotte over and whispered in her ear. I was amazed that my mother, who had been so beastly to me ever since I returned home from school, was likely now suggesting to her sister that she give her own daughter a break. Sure enough, as I saw the sweat breaking out on Pam's brow from her intense effort to keep her anal and urinary sphincters tightly shut, Charlotte told her to pull down her panties and expel whatever she had in her bladder and rectum.

Pamela was way past feeling any humiliation by now. She needed to let it out so she yanked the panties down and somehow got back on the potty and held her hands in front of her crotch so whatever came out would either go into the potty or hit her hands and not the floor in front of her or somewhere else as it surged out of her holes.

I heard the ping of her pee stream hit the bottom of the potty and I knew she would feel so clammy because the pee would come out so strong that it would ricochet back into her crotch. I also heard the sound of a rumbling emergence of doody from her anus. That also was moving fast enough so that it splattered back on her bottom.

I let her finish before I tendered some clean toilet tissue to her, along with a wet wipe for her to use on her bottom. She lifted herself off the potty and I couldn't resist using the other wipe in my hand to clean her brown-spattered cheeks. Her whole crotch and bottom were a mess, not even taking into account the angry red stripes and blotches that I had inflicted on her bum at the direction of her dear mother.

The mothers were now sitting across the room and I leaned over to whisper in Pam's ear: "I'm so sorry that I had to be so hard on your bottom, Pammie, but now maybe we can be better cousins to each other."

She smiled at me sadly and I helped her clean herself off, wiping her quim carefully and getting all the sprayed piss and fecal matter off her crotch and ass. I even pressed the soft wipe deep into her anal opening and she grinned at me and said I was nicer than she likely might have been to me.