The argument had something to do with the next day’s bake sale at the church. Apparently my aunt had volunteered Becky’s time and Becky didn’t want to go. Becky had called her mother some name. I thought the whole disagreement ridiculous but I think Becky did say "f*#!ing bitch." Becky was 19, working, and she and I both believed old enough to make her own decisions and do what she wanted, not what her mother wanted. Naturally my aunt was of a different opinion. It also became quickly apparent that my aunt’s intentions were to make sure my cousin got the message … As long as Becky was living under her parent’s roof she would comply with their wishes. And to further illustrate this point my aunt declared Becky was going to receive a spanking.
“Mother! Don’t you think I’m getting too old for this?”
Normally I think I would have agreed, but I was too fascinated with the idea of hearing Becky get spanked to sympathize. And while I wouldn’t be able to see anything, the idea of actually hearing a real disciplinary spanking sent shivers up and down my spine.
“You’ll be too old when you start acting like an adult and quit acting like a spoiled, whining child,” my aunt retaliated. “Now get those jeans off! Right now!”
I couldn’t see what was happening but my imagination was running ramped. Becky was a couple of inches shorter than me and maybe three shorter than my aunt. Where Aunt Beth was tall and slender, Becky was extremely voluptuous with large sagging breasts, a tiny waist, moderate hips but balanced with a large protruding backside. My mother said Becky and I got our physical endowment from my fraternal grandmother, my dad and Aunt Beth’s mother, but right then my focus was on what Becky must look like stripping off her jeans.
“And you can take those down right now also!” my aunt growled, meaning Becky had already removed her jeans and was now expected to discard her panties as well. A bare bottom spanking! My heart was pounding, pulse racing …
“Now get over here …”
“Over my knee …”
“This is ridiculous,” Becky complained. "I'm not a kid."
“Ridiculous? I’ll show you ridiculous!” my aunt seethed. "Get across my knee this instant!"
There was a momentary rustling sound and the creak of bedsprings.
The sound of skin slapping skin echoed though my ears amidst Becky’s weak protests. I stood silently just outside the window listening as my aunt spanked my cousin relentlessly. The smacks were very fast, a rapid-fire barrage, and it seemed to go on forever, probably closer to five or six minutes. Through it all Becky begged for mercy. Then the spanking sound stopped. I heard sniffling along with heavy breathing.
She must have let her up because the next thing I heard was: “Just stand right there, young lady!”
“Mother! No! Not the hairbrush!”
Then there was silence. I tried imagining I was in Becky’s bedroom, witnessing the entire exchange. I tried to imagine Becky standing by her own bed, naked from the waist down, her large enticing buttocks rising above the rest of her, deep crimson from the lengthy hand spanking she had just endured. Were there tears rolling down her cheeks? Was she rubbing her beaten buttocks? Just how red were her cheeks? I also imagined my aunt going to her room for a hairbrush, determined to spank Becky even further. The word abuse never entering my mind … Just hoping the spanking coming with the brush would be just as long as the hand spanking.
“Mother!” Becky screamed.
“Now we’ll see whose in charge in this house,” my aunt scoffed.
“Where did you get that paddle!”
Paddle! Immediately my thoughts switched, tossing out the hairbrush, envisioning a large wood paddle, the type used by fraternities, long, wide, maybe a half inch think. Gooseflesh covered my entire body as I waited in anticipation.
“Don’t move!” my aunt warned.
“Mother!” Becky sounded sincerely frightened, her voice cracking.
“You’ll get twenty-five and I don’t want to hear a …”
“Twenty-five!” Becky echoed. “With that!”
“Bend over, right now!”
“Put your hands on your knees and don't you dare move.”
There was a few seconds of silence.
“Do it now!”
Becky swore under her breath.
“Stick it out. I want that butt up where I can really spank it …”
I could imagine my cousin reluctantly assuming the position, bending over, raising her butt even more, offering an even larger target.
“Mother! Is this really necessary!”
“You know the answer to that, young lady. Now be still …”
The sound must have echoed off the walls as it did through my brain accompanied by a shrill scream from Becky. I must have jumped three inches off the ground.
I tried to imagine the large wood paddle making contact with Becky’s unprotected bottom. I wondered if she jumped like I did.
I couldn’t even begin to imagine what a paddle applied to one’s bare bottom might feel like, but I was imaging and intrigued all the same. I stood there, paralyzed, listening to very loud, ferocious crack as the paddle came down, wishing I could see what was actually going on, practically drooling trying to imagine just how red Becky’s buttocks must be, and keeping count of every stroke. By the time the count reached forty Becky was genuinely crying. She hardly yelled out or screamed, just cried harder with every resounding whack. My ears were burning, my face flushed, a strange sensation washing over me. When the last smack of the paddle was applied and I heard my aunt tell Becky to get dressed I made a bee line for my mother’s car.
Naturally I shared this experience with the only person I could, Kim. Kim knew my cousin having met her on three previous occasions as well as my aunt. When I told Kim about it all she could say was ‘Shit!’ We both laughed, me out of nervousness, Kim at my blushing intrigue. She teased me further.
“You wanted to see it … didn’t you! You wish you could have been inside the house, in the very room watching your aunt smack your cousin’s ass!” I could hardly deny it, blushing even more. Kim laughed. “You know you should ask your aunt to spank you …” Kim suggested with an evil grin.
“You’ll never know until you get one …”
The thought intrigued me but there was no way I would ever take Kim’s idea and turn it into reality. But one thing was certain, I wished I had been in that bedroom to actually see it.