by Frank Martinet
Aunt Serena was a big woman. She wasn't fat, merely stocky, and built like an Amazon. She had a marvelously expansive chest, like some 1950s movie star, and hips as wide as the Nile. Her buttocks were huge, massive twin watermelons that little Tommy found fascinating. He was watching them now, noting how they jiggled when his aunt moved, and marveling at the undulating shapes of the mounds as the muscles alternatively compressed and relaxed.
He could see almost everything, of course, for the tan colored slacks she wore were practically tights across those splendid haunches. She had her back to him as she worked the ground beef, pork, spices, and other ingredients in a large bowl. She used her hands, squeezing and massaging everything together. Her strong buttocks bulged behind her as her shoulders tightened, and the huddling cheeks shuddered as she occasionally shifted her weight from side to side.
She had the loaf pan greased and ready, and carefully transferred the meat mixture into it, patting it down and then moving to the sink to rinse her hands. She topped the meat with ketchup and brown sugar and placed the pan in the hot oven. Tommy watched her bend, noting her wince.
"Is something the matter with your bottom, Auntie?" he teased.
The woman stood up, her face flushed with pink. She closed the oven door with more of a bang than was absolutely necessary. "That's none of your business," she snapped tartly.
"Come on, let me see," said the boy. Though small, he was thirteen now, and interested in such things.
"Absolutely not!"
Tommy shrugged as though unconcerned. "I could tell Uncle you haven't had enough," he said. "Or I could report you've had plenty."
The woman froze. She slowly turned. Her round face was more youthful than her thirty-five years. She was attractive, with bright blue eyes and a cute snub nose. She wrinkled it now, frowning at her nephew. She carefully swiped at the strand of brown hair that insisted on escaping her band and falling over her right eye.
"Tommy, you don't know what you're saying," she said cautiously, the way one might speak to a coiled rattlesnake.
"He'll believe me."
"This isn't a game. This isn't funny."
"I just need to see, so I know what to tell him," said the boy implacably.
Aunt Serena shook her head. "It's not proper for a nephew to see her aunt bare."
"Like you drinking all the cooking sherry?"
The woman flushed, her round cheeks as rosy as apples. She glared at Tommy. "You... wouldn't!"
"I want to see, Auntie."
With a combination of groan and sigh, the woman turned. She stood with her back to him for a long moment, as though contemplating the situation or working up the courage, and suddenly her hands were at her waist. Then the fawn fabric was peeling off, the sleek silk sliding down the wide thighs of creamy white. Down they fell to the backs of her knees.
Serena stood there with nothing between her skin and the air from the small of her back down to the crumbled pants. Panties were forbidden after a spanking, the better to focus her mind on her correction. The bare cheeks were suddenly there. Tommy gasped.
The first impression he had was one of horror, for the pale white skin was nothing like it. The tinge was closer to lavender, a deep vermillion hue that stretched across acres of naked flesh. Then Tommy realized there were a million shades to the coloring, some parts pale pink, and only the rounded crowns were the most seriously reddened. This led him to admiring the many curves: the inner turn of each cheek into the deep cleft between; the fullsome bulge that tucked neatly under, creasing at the junction with the thigh; and the bend of the outer hip, where the meat was curved like a drawn bow. Most intriguing of all was the rich flesh that disappeared into the diamond opening centered between thigh and buttock.
"There, are you happy?" grunted the woman crossly.
Tommy shook his head. "It's not nearly red enough, Auntie. You've hardly been spanked at all."
The woman's grimace deepened. She licked her lips slowly, choosing her words with care. "You mustn't tell your uncle, Tommy. You have no idea-"
"Oh, I have lots of ideas," contradicted the boy. He grinned. "Uncle won't need to know. If I take care of matters myself."
"What are you saying?"
"I'll need the hairbrush."
There was a loud intake of air. The silence after was profound. Even Tommy wasn't breathing for a few seconds, holding out hope that his plan was working. Then Aunt Serena crumpled, her face going slack.
"You... you want to..." She couldn't even finish the sentence.
"Yes. Very much, Auntie. You have the most beautiful bottom I've ever seen. I understand why Uncle spanks it so much. It deserves it, doesn't it?"
The woman's head hung down hopelessly. "Yes, it does," she muttered. She waddled toward the den, her slacks tumbling to her ankles. Her big bottom, as red as a sunset, wobbled like a mold of gelatin. A grinning Tommy followed.
In the den she opened a cabinet and took out the 'hairbrush'. It wasn't one. A real hairbrush wouldn't have a chance against a bottom like hers, Tommy thought. This was a small cheeseboard paddle. It was bigger than a man's hand, thick and solid, the bamboo smooth as glass and almost as shiny.
Silently, Aunt Serena handed the board over to her little nephew. Her face was hot with shame, and it grew hotter when the boy sat on the sofa and patted his lap. She went over quickly, not wanting him to see her exposed front. It was inevitable anyway. She might as well cooperate.
Tommy felt delightfully crushed by the weight across his legs. The sofa supported most of his aunt's bulk, of course, but he was still pinned, as helpless as a butterfly to a specimen board. Before him was an absolute mountain of rich flesh. He couldn't believe his good fortune. The smooth skin was so colorful: a wide assortment of pinks, reds, scarlets, and purples. It was beautiful, he thought. The dangerous darker patches weren't random or haphazard, but carefully painted across the middle of each blubbery mound. The transition to lighter colors was a smooth gradient, expertly achieved by working the little paddle all over the extensive surface.
The young man gripped the bamboo board. He raised it. It was heavy, but not too heavy. It made him feel powerful. It was the literal symbol of male dominance. He was young, but he was a man. When he brought the paddle down it flattened the bulb of flesh before him, sending ripples through the meaty mound. The bang was loud, a high-pitched smack that echoed in the small room. Aunt Serena gave a grunt that almost sounded like a fart and made Tommy laugh with delight.
While his aunt squirmed, he administered his first-ever spanking. Of an adult, that is. Of a real bottom, he thought.
He'd spanked one of his girl cousins when he was nine and she was ten. Compared to Aunt Serena, Daphne was a scrawny thing, though her butt had a nice jut to it. He won the privilege as part of a bet. Though half-made in jest, he had taken the spanking seriously and made Daphne cry. A few years later, when she was twelve, he'd talked her into taking another spanking from him. She'd been wary and it had required a great deal of persuasion, including his concession to show her his cock after. She'd never seen the male anatomy, at least not up close and personal. He'd enjoyed that, too.
But that had been mere play. This was genuine punishment, not a game. The paddle Tommy wielded was much larger than a hairbrush, though probably proportionally the same compared to Daphne's little buns. The paddle only covered a tiny handful of his aunt's bodacious bottom, requiring numerous hearty smacks to redden all the real estate properly. Tommy set to it with a will, and soon had his aunt gasping and kicking her legs. It made Tommy feel proud. He was making her wiggle like this. He was making her eyes water and her mouth open in that hoarse groan.
The spanking was a long one. Unlike with little Daphne, Tommy had a cooperative captive now. His cousin hadn't minded a little bottom burning, but got fidgety when it started to really sting. Aunt Serena was made of tougher stuff. She was used to his uncle's hard hand and compared to the big man's spanks, Tommy's were like being spanked with a feather. Tommy was small and had to make up in volume what he couldn't do all at once. He figured six of his smacks was equal to one of his uncle's. The man's biceps were thicker than Tommy's legs. No wonder his aunt preferred her nephew, even if it was more shameful.
He spanked on and on, enjoying the delightful sound of the paddle on bum, his aunt's grunts and wiggling, and the marvelous jiggling flesh that was slowly growing crimson.
Finally, though, even he grew tired. His arm ached and the 'hairbrush' paddle seemed too flimsy to really punish his aunt the way she needed. He put the board down and rubbed her butt with his hand. The skin was as warm as a fever.
"This isn't going to do it," he said firmly. "You need the big paddle."
"Tommy, please! I'm on fire, I really am!"
"Do I need to call Uncle Mark?"
"No, no. You can't tell him. Please, you can't. I'll take it from you. Just keep it between us."
Hastily Serena got up. She returned the hairbrush paddle to the cabinet and returned with its much larger sibling. This board was two feet long and as thick as a school textbook. It was heavy. Tommy had to hold it with two hands and it felt like swinging an ax.
"How do you get it?" he asked.
She nodded to the low coffee table. "I lean against that," she said with a sigh, and demonstrated. With her palms flat on the glass surface, she was bent well over, leaving her ass high and exposed. The plump cheeks quivered as though eager for the stinging wood.
Tommy stepped behind the behind and raised the long paddle. It felt like baseball practice, though this time he was determined to hit a home run with every swing. He put all his weight into it, twisting his body so his shoulders did much of the work. The oak slammed into waiting buttocks with an explosion. He felt the tingle in his fingers and imagined how much more pronounced the sting would be for Aunt Serena.
"Ah!" she called out, twisting her hips and shaking her rump. "Yikes, that board is murder!"
"Good," said Tommy. I'm murdering your ass, he thought.
He swung again, and then again. The bottom coloring was noticeably darker, almost a burgundy, and he was just getting started. Instead of the extra effort to swing the big paddle draining him, he felt invigorated. He thought he could paddle his aunt all day. He would never tire of seeing that big butt bounce and the skin redden and his aunt whine and wiggle.
Of course, that was before he'd done the work. After ten he was panting, and by twenty he had to pause for a rest. He still wasn't hurting his aunt enough. Not compared to his uncle. She lived in terror of a single swat from him, but seemed to accept licks from Tommy with no more than a sigh of minor irritation. He slowly gave her another ten, and then he was done, too sore and exhausted to do more. At least with the paddle.
"Doesn't Uncle Mark have a cane?"
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