Naughty Spot Ch. 02

You will enjoy this story much more if you bother to read the first chapter first. Everyone is 18 or over but as in the first chapter, there's quite a lot about all bodily functions, so you need to look for enjoyment elsewhere if that is not your cup of tea.

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After I got over the wrenching experience that happened to me when my Aunt Charlotte more or less drafted me to cane my cousin Pamela, her daughter, who had been the bane of my existence, I managed to have a heart-to-heart with the other tormentor who now seemed to have lost her fangs: my mother.

Backing up for a second, my mother had been disciplining me like a naughty child since I returned from university and went to work while living at home at the ripe age of 23. She not only spanked me for all kinds of offenses ranging from not keeping my room tidy to staining my panties but did everything, or so it seemed, to embarrass and even humiliate me.

My Aunt Charlotte, and especially her daughter, my cousin Pamela, who is only two years younger than I am, always seemed to be around when my mother ordered me to lift my skirt, pull down my panties, and stand on my "naughty spot" at the front of the living room where everyone entering the house would see me in all my glory. Charlotte and Pam both belittled me and would suggest ways for my mother to humiliate me, many of which she seemed happy to employ.

Much to my surprise, they both came by one day recently and in the first chapter I told the tale of how my aunt amazingly called on me to cane Pamela for behaving like such an awful bitch to me. Pam and I seemed to regain some affection for one another after the severe caning I administered to her in executing the precise directions of her mother caused some kind of exorcism of our enmity toward one another.

Soon thereafter I sat down with my mother in the living room, which was usually a place for her to spank me, not converse in the manner of ladies who lunch. But we did get our coffees and bring them in there where we sat down next to one another on the couch. I had never engaged in this kind of discussion with her.

She started by telling me how her mother had brought up Charlotte, her younger sister by five years, and her with plentiful application of their mother's spanking hand and her cane.

"You know how I used to discipline you and your sister and your brother," she began. "I don't think I knew any other way. When Charlotte called on you to punish Pamela, it was because I told her that she had been responsible for Pamela's totally beastly behavior toward you.

"I don't think you understood until then that Charlotte had been far nastier in how she raised Pamela than I was with you and your sister and brother," my mother went on, struggling to retain her dignity during this amazing and unprecedented conversation. "I guess neither of us had ever really recovered from how our mother treated us, but it all finally got to me when I saw how Pamela was teasing you so cruelly."

She took a deep breath. "That was when I called Charlotte and had her visit me when you were at work and told her that this was going to change," my mother went on. "I was surprised that she agreed with me and that was when we decided that you should be directed to punish Pamela. You saw yourself, I think, that Charlotte does have a capacity for casual cruelty that she demonstrated when she offhandedly responded to her daughter's plea for mercy by telling you to give her four more strokes across her already striped bottom."

I decided to confess to her what had gone through my mind. "You know that I'm aware that we share an interest, shall we say, in spanking novels," I ventured. She instantly comprehended that I had found some of her stash in her sweater drawer and nodded her agreement. "I for one was shocked," I said quietly, "when I saw that Charlotte was signaling Pam that if she didn't comply with her mother's orders, there was the prospect that Pam would be subjected to 'whipping in.'"

"I want you to know how grateful I am that you spanked us and that you have more recently spanked me since I returned from school and so rarely resorted to the cane." I said with some emphasis. "I was really taken aback when my aunt even hinted—and I didn't miss the hint at all—that she might have me whip my cousin in her most private place."

"It all came clear to me that Pam had been raised by a cruel mother, if you will forgive my saying so," I managed to declare as my mother kept nodding her assent. "At some point, I actually began to sympathize with Pam, who had been so horrid to me," I confessed.

My mother took a deep breath and said she now wanted to change our relationship. "I can't go back and my behavior did arise from how I grew up," she said with a sigh. "I know that doesn't do much for you but it's the best I can do. It is amazing—or maybe it isn't—that we both do get turned on by spanking. You saw that I did not cane the three of you often and recently I did not cane you at all."

"Our experience," she continued, "had a more serious lasting impact on Charlotte, though, although on the surface she seems nicer than I do. But you saw how she has an inner reservoir that I can only describe as cruelty," my mother stated plainly.

"Susan," she said with a halt in her voice, showing her sensitivity which was so rare for her, "I'm so happy that you and I share so much, even if it is weird and maybe even perverse. I know that spanking turns you on, as do embarrassment and humiliation. It's the same for me. We like those books you found in my drawer."

She now sighed again. "Pamela, on the other hand, was jealous of you and had absorbed some of Charlotte's underlying cruelty. So she resolved her feelings toward her mother by behaving like a bitch on wheels to you and I regret having tolerated it for so long,"

"Would you like to take down my panties and punish me for all I've done or allowed others to do to you, darling?" she asked me point blank.

I made myself think about accepting this incredible offer and I knew I had to decline.

"For a time I really did have a heavy anger toward you, Mom," I said bluntly, "but when I saw how you had arranged for me to discipline Pamela, who had really gotten under my skin, it came through to me that you were doing your part to make things right."

"Now, in future, Mom," I added, "maybe we can add to each of our pleasure by engaging in some play of the kind we both enjoy—spanking each other and perhaps even some bathroom stuff," I suggested with a broad smile.

"Oh yes, Susan," she responded with alacrity, "that would be the best way for you to have a little of your own back from me and you have recognized that it even would do something nice for me, hard as that is to appreciate."

It was now just the right time for us to hug and I held her tight. I reached under her tan skirt and gently caressed her over her panties. I felt her thick protruding bush and pressed my fingers under the opening of her panties and into her quim, which was already quite wet. I had her lift her bottom and I easily slid her panties down and over her shoes.

She was wearing plain white cotton panties, which are amazingly my preference, partly because they felt good even when she had spanked my bottom raw. But now I ran my fingers down her slit between her legs, pushing two up into that sopping vagina and then pushing a finger on my other hand under her and gently insinuated it into her bum-hole.

It did not take long for me to bring her off. She spent aplenty as those old Victorian books like My Secret Life or The Pearl would have it. I took my fingers from her quim and tasted her delicious elixir along with the musty flavor on my finger that had penetrated her anal opening.

"Susan," she managed to ask when she had recovered from what must have been an overpowering orgasm—I wondered when anyone had brought her off lately since my father has been gone for ages. "Susan," she said again, "I have a feeling you need to pee and maybe do more in the bathroom." She grinned.

"You know that when you three were growing up," she went on to explain, "how I could always tell when you needed to make a doody."

I loved it that she still seemed to want to use that delightfully childish word for shit.

'I could smell your farts," she smiled, "so I knew that you would be ready to be a big girl on the toilet and have your bowel movement. And so you did."

We stood up and she leaned briefly on my shoulder. Then we walked to her generously-appointed bathroom and she lovingly lifted my skirt and lowered my panties.

"I'm so pleased, Susan," she confided, "that you don't shave your pussy. I adore having a nice bush and yours is charming."

"Sit on the toilet with your back to me," she asked, "so I can see you make your doody like when you were younger." And then she slipped her hand underneath my bottom and it was covering my quim. Somehow I managed to let my bladder send my pee down my short female urethra to pass the urinary sphincter and spray out on my mother's hand.

"Oh, you're peeing on my hand, Susan," she exclaimed. "This is so wonderfully pervy, isn't it?"

She poked her finger into my bottom-hole and she was all smiles because I knew that her finger had encountered my poo ready to emerge.

"Charlotte and I used to do that," she admitted. "We called it 'checking our oil'," she added.

I gave my rear channel a push with whatever inner muscles act to excrete. Not long after, and without much more straining, my mother was treated to watching a fairly thick, dark-colored turd that was easily 14 inches long slide out of my anal opening.

"Susan, you made the loveliest doody," she said, by way of a compliment, amazing as that may seem.

"But now I have to tell you something else," she said as she ran her finger across my bottom-hole and came up with a nice little dollop of my poo. She sniffed it and put it under my nose so I could grin and tell her that it was absolutely true that my own didn't stink.

"I was of course responsible in making Charlotte see that she needed to ask you to punish Pamela," my mother confessed.

"I figured your fine hand had a part in that," I answered rather quickly.

"Well, I spoke with Charlotte afterward," she went on. "And I told her that she also needed to be disciplined, and disciplined rather strongly, for her unpleasant attitude she had expressed toward you, but also for the way she allowed Pamela to behave, which was atrocious.

"But," she managed to conclude, after a long pause, "I told her that she was mostly responsible for how Pamela had acted toward you and that I wanted her to ask you to punish her, Charlotte—in front of Pamela and in front of me," my mother declared. "Now in a perfect world, Pamela would discipline her, but that just isn't likely to happen and I think we will clear a lot of air by proceeding this way."

"Will she agree? Or did she agree?" I asked.

"You know the answer," my mother said with her best smile. "I never would have told you had she not consented."

"I told Pamela that you would be the disciplinarian," she said with firmness. "I said that I knew she had major issues with her mother but that that was something they would have to work out after this was resolved."

"So they are on their way over here now," my mother announced. "Charlotte will submit to whatever humiliation or embarrassment or castigation you may determine she merits."

"What about Pam?" I asked.

"Pamela will observe and if you should decide to involve her, she will do what you say," my mother added, "and be assured she does not resent your having been the one who punished her and punished her quite seriously, which she richly deserved, and even she conceded that to me."

I stopped myself for a moment to consider that I was now going to get the chance to punish my aunt, who had definitely deserved it by the way she had belittled me but who had not been as nasty to me as Pamela had been.

But Pamela had been punished, by me, and at Charlotte's direction. The punishment had turned out to be even more than I might have given her had I decided on its specifics, but it was over.

I was happy that I was still dressed from work. I really looked the part of a successful female corporate executive, with my gray suit, charming chenille blouse, gold stickpin, sheer hose, and burgundy pumps. My hair was nicely cut, my brunette tresses framing my face. Nice gold hoops in my ears and a smile on my face.

The doorbell rang and my aunt and my cousin entered. I let my mother welcome them and then have them join me in the living room. My mother went and brought in a large tray with tea and cakes for everyone and we chatted lightly like some normal family.

It was my mother who took the lead, as I knew she would and I knew she must.

"Charlotte," she began, "we both know that not only did you tolerate and even encourage your daughter's abysmal behavior toward Susan, but you yourself were only a tiny degree less offensive in how you conducted yourself. Since it is now time for us all to be totally frank with one another, let me say that I bear some responsibility myself because I allowed this to go on for far too long."

My mother stopped and looked at my aunt. "Well?" she said.

"Yes, Mary," Charlotte replied. "I was severely at fault and I feel responsible for even forcing Susan to punish my daughter more than even Pamela may have merited."

Retaking the floor, my mother said, after we had all enjoyed some of her very tasty cakes and Darjeeling, "There's no time like the present. Charlotte, we're going to start with you going over and standing in what was Susan's naughty spot."

As if in a trance, my aunt stood up and slowly walked over to where my mother pointed. She knew without being told that she was expected to lift her skirt—a smart dark brown suede—above her waist but it was thick and not very flexible.

"Unzip it and take it off, Charlotte," my mother advised, or rather, ordered.

My aunt responded by unzipping her skirt and then taking off her blouse and slipping off a white slip she had on. Now she stood at the naughty spot in a lilac bra and matching panties, full cut.

Slowly, she moved her hands to the waist of the undies and slid them down. Now I was staring at her sandy-blond bush, which complemented, I thought, my mother's darker fur.

I rose and sat myself in a large armless chair that my mother had used to spank me ever since I had returned from school last year.

I beckoned her to walk the several steps from the naughty spot to me. Then I motioned to her to lie across my skirted lap and we adjusted her position so she rested as comfortably as was possible on my lap.

My mother merely waved at me and said, "Susan, she is now in your hands."

I started speaking to my aunt, who was unusually quiet and seemed to be caught up in some conflicting emotions.

"Aunt Charlotte," I began, "as my mother has said, you were very unfeeling to me. And even when you more or less invited or ordered me to discipline Pam, you seemed quite cruel. I feel like I've made my peace with Pam and I hope she feels reconciled with me."

Pamela was clearly quite shaken by how this had proceeded because I suspect my aunt had not come clean with her about what was going to happen. She looked to be in a daze.

"I'm going to discipline you now, and this is for how you treated me and a little for how you behaved when I was punishing Pamela," I declared. "Now Pamela may have her own issues with you and that is something that perhaps you may address after we settle the score."

Charlotte was starting to whimper a bit but she managed to rouse herself to tell me how she felt.

"I'm ashamed of how I treated you, Susan," she said with a tightness in her throat. "You were my niece and had never hurt me and I was inconsiderate at best and cruel at worst. I also bear a huge burden that needs to be put paid with regard to my own daughter, whom I harmed and virtually encouraged to harm you."

"I'm going to spank you now, Charlotte," I announced. Then I started spanking her, alternating cheeks on her alabaster bottom and was surprised at how soon her bottom became rosy and then deep red. She was breathing hard and I decided to reach down and feel her between her legs.

"You are wet, Aunt Charlotte," I said, "so this must agree with you."

She suppressed a grin and managed to say, with a halting voice, "Susan, you've seen that we all get turned on by this. We're all pervy."

I spanked her more and she began to whimper and then cry. My mother watched in fascination. I couldn't imagine when she had last seen her sister either spanked or crying.

I reached into my purse and took out a carved ginger root. "Aunt Charlotte," I said as a woman Episcopal minister might begin a sermon, "I'm going to fig you now. This ginger stick is going in your anus."

I thought she might protest but she was resigned to whatever I had in store for her. .

I slipped the ginger fig into her little deeply-set anal opening. It was time to embarrass my indomitable aunt some.

"Charlotte," I asked as if it were the most obvious conversational opening in the world, "when did you last have a bowel movement and when did you pee?"

My aunt's face blanched and in a small voice, she said she had "made her doody" early that morning after her usual coffee. "I peed before we left to come over here," she added.

"And do you still get your period?" I inquired, as if I were taking a medical history.

"Yes, Miss Susan, I do," she said. "Actually, it could start any time."

"Are you prepared for it?" I pressed on.

"Yes," she said calmly, "I have tampons and maxipads in my handbag."

I had her stand up with her panties at her knees and take what was a Super Tampax and an Always maxi with wings out of the handbag and put them on the low table.

Then I told her to lie on the table on her back.

"Susan," she said, "Miss Susan, I mean. The fig is working and I feel doody pressing on it ready to come out."

"You'll have to hold it in now," I said as if I could not be bothered with such a trifling matter.

Pamela still was sitting there, her gaze on her mother, and in a trance.

I pushed Charlotte's legs up so that they were hanging back over her head in the infamous diaper position. She was now totally exposed as her vulva and anus were totally exposed so that my mother, Pamela, and I were staring at my aunt's intimate charms.

I was amused at the ginger stick extended from her anal rosette. I slowly removed it and it emerged with a fart-like pop that made Charlotte's face as red as her backside.

I now extracted a small graphite rod from my handbag. I started applying it to the lowest part of Aunt Charlotte's bottom and then moved it up so that it snapped across her open gash of her vulva.

"Have you had sex recently?" I asked her.

She finally was beginning to understand that I was going to embarrass her at the best.

"I fucked with my husband two nights ago," she said rather plainly.

"How often do you fuck?" I followed up.

"About once a week," she said just as openly. Then she spoke again: "I also have a lover. Last Monday he made love to me anally."

I saw Pam's jaw drop. This clearly was something she had had no knowledge of.

"How often have you been fucked in your ass?" I persisted.

"Probably almost 50 times," she stated, without apology.

"Are you on the pill?" I asked.

"Of course," she answered. "So I still get my period every month when I stop taking it. I don't need another kid."

Pam started to cry. Instantly, I had a really awful attitude about my aunt, just for what she was implying about how she regarded her daughter.

I let my feelings rise. I took the rod and snapped it across her bottom just below her anus and above her hairy quim. I hit on what is sometimes called her taint.