Spank Mistress

By NAMB

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This story is intended for adults only. It contains depictions of forced nudity, spanking, and/or sexual activity of preteen and young teen children. This is fantasy, and the author in no way endorses or practices these things on real life. If you are not of legal age in your community to read or view such material, please leave now.
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Spank Mistress to my Cousin
(Inspired by Artwork by Ron)

When my Aunt Becky had her accident, she was bedridden for almost two months and needed help around the house. So my mother and she agreed to have me move in with her for the summer.

I had my grade school graduation and was shipped off by bus to my aunt’s house the following day.

Mom promised, “Sharon, I’ll make it up to you. We’ll hold a big party when you get back to celebrate your entering middle school.”

I was OK with the idea. Everybody and her sister was having a party in the days surrounding graduation. My party would stand out by lack of comparison.

Besides, it was a family emergency and I loved my aunt, and at least tolerated my 16-year-old cousin, Joerg.

Joerg would be helping out as well, but as my aunt explained, “He’s totally useless around the house. He can’t make a meal more complicated than a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and he probably doesn’t even know where the washing machine is. – Typical boy.”

So it was agreed that Joerg would do the heavy lifting like doing the lawn, taking out the trash and since he had the drivers’ license, playing chauffeur to take me to the market to do the shopping.

I inherited most of the “domestic” chores. This turned out to be a much more monumental task than I expected.

It started with the night I arrived. Since it was already late afternoon when I arrived, it was agreed that we’d bring in pizza. Joerg went to get it.

When Joerg returned he immediately took a couple of slices, threw them on a plate, grabbed a soda and went off into the living room to watch TV.

I made a couple of trays and took them up to my aunt’s room. I sat and had dinner with her as we munched on pizza and had a very nice conversation.

As we chatted, she said, “Mind Joerg. He’s a lazy sort. Won’t do anything unless you stick him with a cattle prod. Don’t let him slack off. He’ll try to shun work at every opportunity.”

I found out what she meant when I went down and found the kitchen a disaster area. Joerg had apparently finished the pizza and left the empty box and wrappings on the counter.

I went to the living room to address the issue with him. There were the paper plates, napkins and crusts sitting on the coffee table next to an empty can of soda, some of which seemed to have been spilled on the table. Joerg was nowhere to be seen.

Although I did not see him, I did hear him in the forms of explosions and laser fire coming from whatever video game he was playing down in the basement playroom.

“Joerg, come up here. I need to talk to you.”

“Later! I’m busy now,” came the response.

I turned off the switch to the light.

‘Hey!” came the complaint from the basement. “Put that back on.”

“Not until you come up here and talk with me.”

“You’re not my mom and you can’t tell me what to do.”

“I’m your cousin and I can make your life miserable for you or I can do nice things for you. It all depends on your attitude, mister.”

I was just angry enough that my words sounded more confident than I actually felt.

But I had won this battle. “I’m coming,” Joerg said with almost a snarl.

When he got to the top of the stairs I called him from the living room. “In here.”

“What?” he asked as he got in the room.

“What do you mean, ‘What?’ Look around you. What do you see?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Are you blind? Can’t you see the mess you left?”

“Oh that’s nothing. It’s just some left over stuff.”

“Well, clean it up!”

“My mom doesn’t make me clean it up.”

“As you so well pointed out, I am not your mom. If we’re going to get along, you’re going to have to pull at least your own weight around here.

I’ll willing to do the vacuuming, the dusting and the general tidying up. I’ll even do your laundry, provided you put it in the hamper. But the least you can do is if you make a mess, clean it up!”

“Sheesh, what a bitch!”

“What did you call me?”

“Nothing.”

“You sure use that word a lot. I’ll let it slide this time, but don’t ever call me that again and don’t ever use foul language around me.”

“Or what?”

“As I said, I can make your life miserable. Now clean up your mess!” I said stalking off to my room.

I calmed down and went to my aunt’s room to pick up the remains of her meal.

“I heard you two talking down there. Is there some sort of an issue?”

“Joerg is such a slob.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.

I warned you about that. You have to keep on that boy every minute or he’ll slack off.”

“How do you do it? How do you put up with him all the time?”

“You want to know a secret?”

I nodded.

“I spank him.”

All I could do was let my jaw drop and look at my aunt with wide eyes.

“Close your mouth dear, before you catch a fly,” she responded with a trite expression.

“You ... spank him? Even now? I mean, he’s 16. Isn’t he too big to be spanked.”

“Boys who get too big for their britches are not too big to be spanked. Yes, I do spank him and it does him a lot of good. He seems to shape up and behave – at least for a while.”

“Wow!”

“I think he’s overdue for one. Let me know if he gives you any more trouble.”

“I will, auntie.”

As I came down later with the remnants of my aunt’s dinner, not only was the living room cleaned up, but even the mess in the kitchen was cleaned up. My cousin must have really taken my words to heart.

I went immediately to Joerg’s room and stuck my head in. “Thanks for cleaning up the mess and the kitchen too. I really appreciate it.”

I got a grunt in response. I’ll accepted it as acknowledgement.

I could not leave without one final request, “The trash is almost full. Please check it before you go to bed and take it out.” That earned me another grunt.

So ended my first day at my aunt’s house.

-=o=-

I got up the following morning. My aunt was already up. The door to Joerg’s room was shut.

“Don’t expect to see his lordship before noon,” she advised.

I went downstairs to make breakfast. My attempt was hampered by the full trash bin. I felt the heat rising in my temper. Did I not ask Joerg to take out the trash last night?

“If you want a job done right, do it yourself,” I thought, but every step of the trip out to the can in the yard and back was punctuated with increasing anger. Trash duty was supposed to be his job.

I washed up made breakfast and brought it up to my aunt.

“I would have been here sooner, but I had to take out the trash,” I said not at all holding back my displeasure.

“That’s one!” my aunt said.

“One what?”

“One strike. We’ll do this like baseball. He gets three strikes and he’s out.”

“Out where?”

“Out of his luck. He’ll earn a spanking.”

“How are you going to give him a spanking? The doctor said that you’re only allowed out of bed to go to the bathroom or take a shower?”

“That’s why you’re here dear: to give me a hand. If my hand can’t spank him, then yours will.”

“You want me to spank Joerg?”

“As you pointed out, I can’t do it. He’s not going to spank himself, so that leaves just one person – YOU!”

“But I’m only 12, he’s 16. He’s not going to let me spank him.”

“It won’t be a matter of let you; I’ll see to it he has no choice in the matter. Let me deal with him. When he gets up, bring him to me.”

-=o=-

Joerg was actually up early, just before 11. He came, yawning down to the kitchen. “Any coffee?” he asked. No “hello,” no “good morning,” just his own selfish desire.

“Your mom wants to see you.”

He grunted a response and opened the refrigerator.

“Well, are you going to see her?”

Another grunt followed by, “There’s got to be something I can eat for breakfast.”

“If you got up at a reasonable hour, you would have had a hot one. I’m not a bad cook.

Now, are you going to see your mother? I have a feeling she wants to talk to you soon.”

“Nag, nag, nag. What a bi ...” He managed to catch himself in mid-syllable.

He grabbed a chicken drumstick and started munching on it. It went directly from the refrigerator, to his mouth to the trash ... an effective eating method if a bit uncivilized.

It was as he reached for the dish towel to wipe his mouth that I intercepted him with a paper towel. “Use this; it’s cleaner.”

I went with him to my aunt’s room.

She smiled and said, “Joerg, we need to talk. It is obvious that with my injury, things have changed around here.

I’m going to explain your role in these changes.”

“Is this private?” I asked. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No, Sharon, this concerns you as well. Besides I want you to hear what I have to say to my son so he can’t deny my saying it.”

Turning back to Joerg, she said, “You’re backsliding. For a while you seemed to have your act together and were actually making progress. Now it seems that you are taking advantage of my injury to fall back into your old ways. I’ll not stand for that, even if I were capable of standing at the moment.”

“I’m sorry, mom.”

“You better be or you’ll see just how sorry you’ll be.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean from now on Sharon is me in this household. What she says goes. I can’t be around to watch over you to make sure you don’t get into trouble, and I am in no position to discipline you when you do.

So from now on, if Sharon tells you to do something, you do it and you’ll do it without back talk or complaining. Do I make myself clear?”

“But mom ...”

“There is no but about it. We are in a time of family need and everyone needs to do his or her part. Your part is to help out around the house. Sharon’s part is to see to it that you do it. Do it for her as if you were doing it for me.”

“Yes, mom,” he muttered dejectedly.

“And there is more. We both know that from time to time you need some ‘motivation’ to get back on course.”

I looked at Joerg. His face was beginning to turn red. Both of our faces were turning red: his from embarrassment and mine from excitement.

“Mom, please! Not in front of her.”

“It’s too late for that. I’ve already told her that I spank you.”

“You can’t do that with her in the house. What if she sees me?”

“Oh, she’ll do more than that. Until I’m back on my feet, she’ll be the one doing the spanking.”

“You can’t do that; she’s just a little girl.”

“She is a little girl with a lot more maturity than you have. As I said, as long as I’m down, she’s me. So you will submit to her discipline.”

“I won’t do it.”

My aunt then assumed another smile, only this one could be better characterized as an evil grin.

“Let’s play a short version of the game 20 questions.

“Who gives you the money to put gas I your car.”

“You do, mom.”

“And who pays the cable bill?”

“You do mom.”

“And internet access?”

“You, mom.”

“And your phone bill?”

“OK, mom, I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it.”

“You don’t have to like it, but I am glad that you get it.”

My aunt then explained the “three strikes and you’re out” rule then added, “That’s just for minor offenses. Big offenses like mouthing off or being disrespectful in any way will earn an instant spanking.

Consider yourself to be a lucky boy. Your cousin probably doesn’t hit as hard as I do.

Now get out of here and wait for Sharon downstairs. We women have things to discuss.”

Once he left, she told me, “I mean it. You’re in charge. Are you sure you’ll be up to it?”

“I’ll try.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll back you up to the extent that I can. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

I needed those words of encouragement.

“Now go downstairs before that son of mine gets lost on his way to the kitchen – I take that back. If there is any room in this house he can find, it’s the kitchen.”

As I left she asked a question to nobody in particular, “Why couldn’t I have well-behaved daughter like her?”

Joerg was sitting at the kitchen table when I got downstairs and seemed to be genuinely nervous. I decided to play good cop to his mom’s bad cop.

“Come on Joerg,” I said as mildly as I could. “We have a lot of things to do around the house. I’ll need your help and I’ll show you what to do. With the two of us working on it, we can get it done and still have time to ‘goof off’ or do whatever we want before dinner.

It was not an easy task. I had to be taught how to do everything. I started with making the bed. I demonstrated on my bed and then we went to his room. It was a complete mess. I decided to take it a step at a time and concentrate on getting the bed in order.

I had to stifle a giggle as I watched his clumsy attempts with the sheets and blankets. In the end, I had to lend him a hand and let him down gently, “With practice, you’ll get good at it and be able to do it in a couple of minutes. It won’t even seem like a chore.” That was true enough, at least for me.

Next, we tackled the laundry. I sent him to his room with the instructions, “Find every dirty piece of clothing you have laying around there, put them in the hamper and bring the hamper down to the laundry room.

He accomplished this task with astonishing speed.

“I’m going to teach you how to sort clothes. You can’t just put everything into the machine at once. This is one of the more boring parts of doing laundry. I’m going to suggest to your mom that in addition to the one hamper she already has, that she get a couple more. This way, when you take off your clothes, you can put them in the appropriate hamper and viola, your clothes are sorted before they even reach the wash room.

It's also a lot more efficient way to do wash. When the hamper gets full, you wash it and it’s a full load. You don’t find yourself with a partial load after you do the sorting. Also, it’s a lot less painful to do it a little bit at a time than all at once on laundry day.”

He even gave me a rare compliment, “Gee that’s a neat idea. You’re really smart.”

I could feel myself blush, “I got the idea from recycling: sort the glass from the plastic, from the paper and from the metals. We have separate bins for each.”

He got the hang out of which article to throw in which pile and I noticed that he was reluctant to handling any of his mother’s garments, in particular her “unmentionables.”

I laughed at him. “They’re just cloth. OK, maybe a bit of elastic. It’s the same stuff as in your clothing.”

Then I got serious, “I am not going to allow you to load the machine. It’s a secret art handed down from mother to daughter and those beings with Y chromosomes are never to find out.”

Even I had to laugh at that whopper.

“Actually, it is an art. You have to know what dials to set where. What water temperature to use. How much and what kind of detergent and what other additives to put in and when to put them in.

It varies from load to load. You just sort of have to know and even I might botch it because I am not familiar with this machine and you have different water than where I live.

The science behind a successful wash load has come a long way since women went down to the river to beat their clothes over a rock.”

I put the first load in, made enough settings to launch the space shuttle, mixed the proper ingredients like an alchemist, closed the lid, pressed the button and the machine came to life.

“That’s the fun part: the machine does all the work. It will be ready and beep at us when it’s done in about a half hour to 40 minutes.

While it’s doing that, we can take a break.”

We actually took a lunch break. Since meal preparation was a “domestic chore,” I accomplished it solo. I made a tuna salad and served it on toast.

“Man, this is delicious,” he complimented. It might have been even a more gracious comment had he not had his mouth full of sandwich at the time. I decided to put “Teach Joerg table manners” on my to do list.

“It’s just plain tuna fish,” I explained.

“It never tasted like this,” he replied.

Well, I did “spike” it with a couple of things to enhance the flavor.

The washing machine dinged, and I asked him, “Do you want to put the clothes in the dryer or do you want to do the dishes?” Give the boy a choice. Let him think he’s making a decision. It’s a trick I learned from an older cousin while babysitting with her.

He opted to put the clothes in the dryer. I stayed and cleaned up the small mess lunch created.

When I got down to the laundry room I was dismayed. The dryer was humming along, but so was the washing machine! In a panic mode, I pushed the button to stop it. The settings were all wrong, the water temperature was too hot and he used bleach. How much I do not know, but I could smell it.

I have to admit, I lost it. “I TOLD you not to load the washer. Look at this? I don’t know how much damage you’ve done.”

I aborted the wash and took the wet clothes out – a very sloppy job. I drained the tank and then set it up for a cold water rinse. I threw the clothes back in and hoped that my efforts would minimize the damage.

In the end very little was lost. There were some panties whose colors would never be the same, but they were now pastel so, they were not a total loss. One of his mother’s slips came out kind of shriveled and I lost a blouse. It wasn’t an expensive blouse, but it was a favorite.

I calmed down. “That was a bone-head play, champ. DON’T touch the washing machine ever again. OK?”

He looked at his toes and muttered, “OK.”

On the one hand, I felt sorry for my cousin. He was trying and I’m treating him like a little boy. On the other hand, I felt good doing it.

The only other incident was with the vacuuming. I had asked him to carry it down the stairs for me. I probably could have done it, but I decided to play up to his male ego telling him how strong he was. I was true. He is a lot stronger than I am.

Unfortunately, he slipped on the last step. Fortunately, he landed safely on his feet. Unfortunately, so did the vacuum cleaner. He caught the full weight of one of the wheels on his toe.

I knew it must have hurt. But he proceeded to rattle off every 4-letter expletive in various combinations known to the English language followed by several other languages including, possibly, ancient Sanskrit.

Later that day, before dinner we reported to his mother’s room for the evaluation.

My aunt didn’t even consult him. He was instructed to remain silent. As his supervisor, she came directly to me for comment on his performance.

I tried to give him glowing scores and for the most part, he deserved them. However, I did mention the episode with the washing machine and his prolific performance of profanity. I might have let him get away with a choice word – even the big one – but he went on too long.

“Well that’s strikes two and three,” she said. She made the over-the-shoulder-with-thumb-extended “you’re out” baseball gesture.

I tried to defend him. “It really wasn’t his fault with the washing machine. He thought he was helping.”

“You did tell him not to load the machine.”

“Yes.”

“Then his mistake was not ruining the wash but disobeying your order. It’s a strike any way you look at it.”

“Joerg, you know what this means.”

“Yes, mama.”

“We can’t do it in your room like we normally do, so we’ll have to do it in here. Go fetch the chair.”

While he was gone, she explained, “I don’t think he ever uses that chair for anything else except to throw dirty clothes on it. It’s *THE* chair and it’s like its sole purpose is for me to sit on as I spank him. Today it will be your throne as you spank him.”

Joerg arrived with the chair.

“Put it over there so I can get a good view,” she directed. She smiled as a thought suddenly struck her. “Why Joerg, I’ve never watched you get a spanking; I’ve always been the one giving you the spanking. This will be a new experience for me.”

Then she said the words that stopped my heart. “Joerg, take your clothes off.”

My head snapped around to look at her, shock evident in my face.

She interpreted it immediately, “Dear, in this house, all spankings are given bare-bottomed. There is no other way.”

I watched in disbelief as my cousin disrobed. As he pulled down his underpants, I checked out his “package.” I had seen boys before, but they were little: the oldest was probably about 7. I’ve had a friend describe to me a “big boy” penis she had allegedly seen. I wish I had time to enjoy the sight and take in his embarrassment, but my mind was racing to get ahead of itself for the task I was expected to perform.

The idea of spanking him had loomed, like a fog, sitting there in my mind ever since my aunt told me that I could spank him. Now I came the realization that not only was I allowed to spank him, it was my duty to spank him. My aunt would be disappointed if I did not carry out my duty.

He stood there before me: naked. I looked at him, he looked at me. I was in so much shock that it took me a moment to realize that I had to sit in the chair to get things going.

I sat down and he assumed the position. I noted that his head was on my left side and his feet were on my right side: perfect position for a right-handed spanker. I was aware of his penis nestled between my thighs. It must have been embarrassing for him and I did not feel comfortable about it either, but it was probably the safest place for it to be.

I asked my aunt, “How many do I give him?”

“That depends on how hard you hit. Let me observe a couple of warm-up spanks and I’ll tell you what I think is appropriate.”

I had not spanked anyone or anything since I was about 8 years old. At that time, it was a thing: a doll of mine who always “acted up.” She was a bad girl and got spanked a couple of times.

I once babysat with another cousin (on my father’s side) where she threatened to give one of her charges a spanking but it never materialized.

I don’t know who was more apprehensive about what was to happen: me or my cousin. At least he had been through this before whereas for me, it was a new experience. I tried to imagine him as my misbehaving doll, but my mind would not allow me to do it.

Here was a real boy-butt over my lap and I was expected to spank it. Being in charge of him all day gave me some measure of confidence. I did feel comfortable being in a position of superiority to him. It was the act of spanking itself that daunted me. I knew I had to get over my fear and that after I landed my first spank, it would be a landmark event from which there would be no turning back.

I took a deep breath to calm myself and raised my arm. I’ve been raising my arm ever since kindergarten when needing a bathroom break. Yet it never felt this heavy. I swung down basically with only the force that gravity provided and made contact with his left cheek.

I did it! I was now officially a spanker! I knew I could do this and with that first “love tap” of a spank, my confidence soared and what I dreaded as a chore was now a joy to accomplish.

I raised my arm again. This time it felt much lighter and swung it down this time with some authority. I felt my palm meet his flesh and felt it reverberate under the blow. I was able to look down as I pulled back up to witness my hand print developing there.

Again I bore down, this time deliberately aiming my strike to the other cheek. This time he tensed up after contact. He loosened up as I rose up again. He tensed up again at the next hit and this became a pattern: hit, tense, raise, relax, bear down, hit, tense ... for all the spanks to come.

My aunt never did give me a number and I did not have the wit to count. I could see that my aunt was “counting” for me. I depended on her to tell me when I had given him enough.

I continued spanking until his cheeks were pink. Now, instead of leaving a pink handprint, I was leaving a white one surrounded by pink. It filled in again like water into a footprint when walking on muddy ground.

Even though my contact with his rear end was brief, I could feel his skin getting hotter. At some point during the spanking, it must have gotten painful for him as I could hear him sucking in air through his teeth.

I don’t know how long I spanked him or how many spanks I delivered, but my aunt gave me the nod to indicate that he had enough.

I pulled back for one last blow and delivered it softly with love. I let my palm lie there on his skin and then slowly rubbed it tenderly for about a minute. Then I told him to get up.

He got off my lap slowly and stood with hand on his rear end making no attempt to hide his frontal nudity. He was not sobbing, but there were tears in his eyes.

Then, in an inspirational flash, I said to him as I pointed. “Hands on head and face in the corner.”

As he retreated, I asked my aunt, “Would you like some tea?”

“That’s a splendid idea,” she replied.

By the time I had prepared the tea, my cousin’s corner time was complete. I dismissed him and my aunt and I sat, sipping our tea and chatting.

“So how was it dear?”

“It was scary at first, but then I got to like it.”

“The first time is always the hardest.”

“I think you’re right. I feel a lot more confident about it.”

When I got downstairs, I could hear him with his game. I called him up firmly, “Joerg, get up here now!”

He stopped his game immediately and stood there before me with bowed head and hands folded submissively in front of him.

Then I did something he didn’t expect. I wrapped my arms around his neck and gave him a kiss on his cheek. I whispered to him, “I love you, my big cousin. I don’t want to have to spank you, so be a good boy for me, please.”

“I will.”

For the most part for the rest of the summer, he was the perfect little boy and we did a lot of things together and both of us had a fun time. I think we both enjoyed the role reversal with me being the “Big Sister” and him being the “Kid Brother.”

I had to spank my cousin two more times that summer. My aunt was right. A good spanking did put him back on track but only for a week or two.

My aunt recovered and was able to resume her maternal duties about a week before I left.

As she kissed me good-bye at the bus station she said, “You’re a wonderful girl, Sharon. I really appreciate all your help this summer, keeping me company, helping me with the house and especially with Joerg.

I have no doubt that your will have no problem keeping an unruly boy or an unruly husband in line,” she said with a wink, and then added, “They are never too old to spank.”

I had a lot to think about on the bus ride home.

(End of File)