Aunt Pamela And Leslie

When my Statistics class drew to an end, I raced out of the room while struggling to keep from crying. I'd never gotten anything less than an 'A' on a test. And my very first quiz in my Freshman year at University I'd bombed with a 'B'. I was devastated.

As I dashed down the hallway, I passed a bulletin board and a pink slip of paper caught my eye. It was half covered by a more recent announcement of a faculty luncheon. After lifting the luncheon announcement, I was able to better examine the pink half-sheet. It was an advertisement of sorts for a place called, "Aunt Pamela's Emporium". The font used on the ad was loopy and feminine in nature. Questions were written out on the sheet. "Are you homesick? Do you miss the encouragement of your mother? Do you need a hug? Do you need to be cuddled? Do you need to be scolded? Do you need to be punished? A visit to Aunt Pamela's Emporium may be just what you need." Along the bottom of the sheet, a phone number was listed multiple times, each number was cut so it could be torn-off. Not a single phone number had been removed from the sheet.

I bit my lower lip and tore the phone number from the sheet. I held it in my hand while I walked back to my dorm room. When I was finally alone in my room, I laid the small piece of paper with the number for Aunt Pamela's Emporium and my Stat's quiz on my desk. The handwritten 'B' glared at me and I knew I'd have to call Aunt Pamela.

My own mother had always been distant and rarely showed any signs of affection. She never once raised a hand to me and I couldn't recall ever being punished. I'd always been a good student, well-behaved, small-statured, polite and timid. I have never been the type of boy who needed to be punished, but I had often felt I deserved to be spanked or even worse. Aunt Pamela seemed like the woman I'd needed in my life for a very long time.

I picked up my phone a half dozen time to make the call, but I kept chickening out. After almost an hour, I let the call go through and heard Aunt Pamela's maternal, educated voice for the first time. She sounded very kind and understanding. Her voice was how I wished my mother had spoken to me while I was growing up. I knew I'd made the right decision calling her. But I was very worried about the cost, I was a college student and didn't have much to spend. When I mentioned this to Aunt Pamela, she told me not to worry about the cost, it would work itself out.

Aunt Pamela worked out of her home in a quiet residential area just 8 blocks from my dorm. During our conversation, she told me she'd had a recent cancellation and if I could make it to her home at 2:00 pm, we could have our first meeting. It was only 12:30 pm and I told her I could make it.

Aunt Pamela told me I needed to shower and arrive at her home looking nice. She wouldn't stand for a young man who didn't care about his hygiene or appearance. She warned me to be prompt or she may not let me into her home. She also told me to think about my reason for contacting her. She wanted me to be prepared to tell her why I felt I needed her in my life.

After hanging up the phone, I spent the next hour scrubbing, combing and generally cleaning myself. I even shaved my face, even though I didn't need to. I'd never been especially hairy and only shaved once a week. Even then it wasn't really needed. I put on my best khaki's, a button-up collared shirt, brown leather boat shoes, and a matching belt. I glanced in the mirror on my way out the door and thought I looked good, a little juvenile, but good.

The walk to Aunt Pamela's home went by quickly and I soon found myself standing on her doorstep. Glancing at my phone, I was glad to see I'd arrived 5 minutes early. I tapped on the door timidly and waited. Moments passed before I heard the sound of someone approaching from inside. The door came open and there stood the woman whose image should be displayed by the word 'mother' in the dictionary.

She was a full-figured, substantial woman. She had wide hips, enormous breasts, and thick thighs. Her heavily greying hair was neatly styled in a loose bun. Her face was wrinkled in all the expected places of a woman her age. She had dark blue eyes, a warm smile and perfectly applied, subtle make-up. She stood several inches taller than my 5'4". She wore a below-the-knee, light-blue dress with a white floral print. Her legs were encased in nylons and on her feet, she wore low, white heels. Around her neck was a string of pearls and she wore rings on two fingers, neither of which was a wedding band.

She held out her hand and said, "You must be Leslie." She reached out and offered her hand. I looked up into her eyes and timidly said, "Yes Ma'am." I then reached up and she took my hand without shaking it, she just held it. She briefly squeezed my small hand in hers and I felt her strength and my penis tingled in my pants.

She glanced at the thin watch on her opposite wrist, "You're 3 minutes early. I do appreciate a young man who is prompt." She still held my hand in hers when she led me into her home. Her living room was decorated in the same manner as my grandmother's home had been. There were family photos on the walls, the furniture and decorations were not modern, but a classy, older style. She guided me to the sitting area of the room and took a seat in the middle of her couch. She had me sit close beside her, so close that our legs were touching. She wrapped her arm around my shoulders and boldly asked why I'd called her.

I stuttered and mumbled a response. I wasn't expecting her to get right to the point of our visit. For some reason, I expected us to get to know each other before we got down to business. Aunt Pamela pulled me closer against her and kissed the side of my forehead. She told me I didn't need to be nervous. She told me whatever we discussed would remain between the two of us. She went on to add that no one would ever know what the two of us did in her home. She kissed my forehead again and told me she could be trusted.

For whatever the reason, I believed her wholeheartedly. Her words got me talking and once I started, I couldn't stop. I told Aunt Pamela about my distant relationship with my mother and how I'd longed for us to be much closer. I went into detail about how lonely I was growing up. I told her how I'd always pushed myself to do well in school and how I'd hoped it would make my mother proud, but she never seemed to notice. I explained that I'd never had many friends. She listened to every word I said and asked questions when she didn't fully understand.

After I'd told her I'd never had a girlfriend, Aunt Pamela interrupted and asked if I'd ever had intercourse. I blushed deeply and whispered, "No, Ma'am." She squeezed me against her large, soft body and told me it was nothing to be ashamed of. Without pausing, she then asked how often I masturbated.

I wanted to crawl under a rock! I was so embarrassed! When I tried to tell her I didn't masturbate, she refused to believe it. She had me look her in the eye and asked if I was being honest. She told me she wouldn't stand for a liar. I was so humiliated! But I somehow forced myself to tell her I did it once or twice a day.

Aunt Pamela told me to be clear and use complete sentences. She asked what it was that I did once or twice a day. She held a single finger under my chin and forced me to maintain eye contact while answering her. My voice cracked and my penis became completely stiff while I said, "Aunt Pamela, I masturbate once or twice a day." It was extremely emotional to make that confession and I felt a few tears roll down my cheeks while looking into her maternal eyes.

She told me I was a good boy and that I should always be honest with her. I nodded my head I promised I would. Aunt Pamela held me against her for several moments. We were just sitting together with her arm wrapped around my shoulders. It was the most human contact I'd had in a very long time. The more I snuggled against her, the tighter she held me with her arm. If I had been a cat, I would have been purring.

After several moments, in that calm, understanding voice of hers, she said, "Leslie, Sweetheart, I want you to stand right in front of me on that rug." She motioned toward a round, floral patterned rug in the center of the room. "I want you to hold your hands behind your back, look right into my eyes and tell me why you've come to visit me today."

My legs felt like jelly when I rose off the couch. I took small steps to the center of the room before slowly turning to face Aunt Pamela. Lacing my fingers together behind my back, I fought against my embarrassment to look her in the eye. Biting my lip, I then told her about the quiz I'd taken in my Stats class. I told her I'd never gotten anything lower than an 'A' and the 'B' on that quiz was unacceptable. The longer I spoke, the more difficult it became not to cry. As I neared the end of my wretched tale, I was sobbing uncontrollably.

Aunt Pamela sat on the couch with her hands folded in her lap and her perfect posture listening to my confession. She waited until I regained some control over my emotions before speaking. Without sounding pleased or disappointed, she asked, "Leslie, do you believe you should have done better on the quiz?"

I whimpered the word 'yes' between sobs.

In that same neutral tone, she asked, "You didn't come to here for a hug or for me to tell you everything would be alright, did you?"

I whined, "No!"

She frowned for a split second before asking me to tell her why I'd come to visit her. Just as I began to speak, she cut me off and told me to look her in the eyes. I sobbed and gasped from breaths while raising my chin to look at her. Tears were rolling down my cheeks and my chest heaved with each breath I took. "I, I, I came for a spanking!"

Aunt Pamela let me sob for several moments. She sat there and watched me cry. When I'd regained my emotions to a point, she told me she'd get me a tissue in a moment. But before she did, she wanted to let me know that when she punished a boy, she did it with purpose. It wouldn't be a light, playful spanking. It was going to hurt. I would cry and I may scream. I would have difficulty sitting for a least a day afterward.

I stood before her sobbing and knowing I deserved to be spanked. I struggled to look at her, but a look of disappointment had appeared on her face. The same look I should have gotten from my mother for every grade I'd ever earned below an 'A'.

After giving me another minute to cry, Aunt Pamela spoke again. She explained that she only punished boys in her basement. She went on to say that boys were only allowed in her basement when they were completely naked. And once the basement door closed, there was no turning back. I would receive whatever punishment she felt was appropriate.

My emotions had taken over again and I was all out bawling. While I stood there crying, Aunt Pamela stood up and retrieved a box of tissues from the next room. I hadn't taken a single step for the center of that rug even after she returned. She offered me a tissue and I accepted. While I wiped my tears and blew my nose, she began to unbutton my shirt. I shivered and looked up into her eyes.

In a gentle tone she said, "Leslie, Honey, you know you deserve this. You obviously didn't study very hard. We both know you should've gotten an 'A'. I'm going to give you the spanking you deserve. Do you understand me, young man?"

I nodded my head while Aunt Pamela slid my shirt off of my shoulders. She folded it neatly and laid it on the arm of the couch. She guided me to the couch and after we'd both sat down, she took my legs in her lap and removed my shoes and socks. She folded my socks and slipped them into my shoes.

As I stood back up in front of her, I realized I was about to become naked! She reached out and began to remove my belt. I whimpered softly and my hips squirmed away from her. Aunt Pamela looked up into my eyes with a stern look on her face. She asked what I was doing. I stuttered and tried to tell her no one had ever seen me naked before, except for the doctor. I was worried about her seeing me naked!

She pulled my belt off through the loops of my khaki's. She then unbuttoned my pants and lowered the zipper. While she worked, she told me she'd seen many young men naked before. She asked if I was worried about her seeing how small my penis was. I bit my lip and nodded my head. She looked up into my eyes while informing me that she already knew my penis was teeny-tiny. While she spoke those belittling words, she pulled my underpants away from my petite erection and then lowered them to my ankles with my khaki's. My hands shot down and protected my skinny, little hard-on from her gaze. I shivered with shame while sobbing once again and stepped out of the last of my clothes.

Aunt Pamela folded my pants and underwear and placed them on top of my shirt. Without even trying to get a look at my naked body, she rose up off the couch and took my hand. This left me with only one hand to keep my modesty protected. Tears rolled down my cheeks while she led me to a staircase leading to her basement. I followed her obediently, never once even considering leaving this woman's home. I deserved whatever punishment she felt was appropriate.

As we stepped into the large room that was her basement, Aunt Pamela closed the heavy door behind us. The sound of that door closing sealed my fate. I would be properly punished for the first time in my life. While cupping my little erection in one hand, I looked up at Aunt Pamela and apologized for doing poorly on my quiz.

Her face was still masked with disappointment. "I'm sure you are sorry, Leslie. But saying you're sorry doesn't forgive you for your unacceptable grade." She reached out and cupped my chin in her free hand. "Angel, I'm going to give you the spanking you deserve. This afternoon you'll get a punishment to make up for all the times your mother should have taken you over her knee. It will be a spanking you won't forget for a very long time."

Tears rolled down my cheeks and my chest heaved while I struggled to breathe between sobs. Hearing her mention my mother while I stood naked beside her was unnerving. I could no longer look at her and shifted my attention to the room I'd been brought to.

The basement was windowless but brightly lit. The walls were painted a very soft blue and the ceiling was left painted white. The floor was covered with white carpeting except for a large round area in the very center of the room which was covered with an equally white linoleum. In the center of that circle of linoleum sat a scary looking piece of furniture that Aunt Pamela explained was her spanking bench. A large, comfortable looking chair with a light blue floral print sat just outside of the linoleum. The only other thing in the room was a large wooden cabinet mounted on one wall.

Aunt Pamela sat on the chair and told me to cross the room and open the cabinet. Using both hands to hide my little penis, I took small steps until I stood in front of the cabinet. I glanced back at Aunt Pamela before opening the doors. I began bawling once again when I learned what the cabinet contained. Hanging neatly on the insides of both doors and all along the back of the cabinet were instruments of punishment.

There were paddles, crops, canes, floggers, and straps. All of them in a variety of sizes and designs. I'd fantasized about being punished with all of them. But as I stood there looking at them in real life, the reality of what was about to occur settled in on me. While my teary eyes took in the contents of that cabinet, my hands fell away from my erection. When I turned to face Aunt Pamela, I didn't cover myself. I was going to be punished, that was the only thought on my mind.

While I stood there looking at all the terrifying contents of the cabinet, I never thought about running from the room. Aunt Pamela had warned me that once I entered the room, there was no turning back. Aunt Pamela was so easy to talk to. She insisted upon honestly and I knew, no matter how embarrassing it may be, I would never lie to her. I needed her in my life and I deserved the punishment I was about to receive. I no longer cared if she saw my nudity. In all honesty, I hoped she'd take pity on me after learning how underendowed I was.

Her eyes wandered up and down over my naked body several times. She learned how little body hair I had. She saw my pale, pasty skin and my tiny, pink penis. After studying my skinny, nearly hairless body for several moments before she finally spoke. She told me to choose a leather strap to be punished with. She explained that a strap would be the appropriate tool for the poor grade I'd earned on my quiz.

My eyes were blurry with tears when I turned back to the cabinet. There were four, black leather straps hanging on the inside of one door. They were arranged in order of length. I figured the longest, widest strap would be the most painful. But the thin, split short strap also looked dangerous. Without thinking too much more about it, I reached up and took one of the middle two. It was as long as my forearm and about as wide as four of my fingers. It was split in half, almost to the handle. I carried the strap across the room and handed it to Aunt Pamela.

She held it on her lap and told me I'd chosen well. She said it was the perfect strap to teach me the lesson I needed. Rising up, she took me to the strange bench. The bench had a padded area for my upper body to rest on. There were padded armrests which sat lower and on either side of the area for my body. In the back, there were rests for my knees and skins. The leg rests could be spread apart and were already positioned so my knees would be several inches apart. When in position, I'd be in a position on my elbows and knees. There were Velcro straps in various locations on the bench to ensure I couldn't avoid my punishment.

Aunt Pamela looped her arm around my naked hips while we stood side-by-side looking at that bench. Between sobs, I asked, "Do you really need to tie me down? I'll hold still. I promise."

She pulled me against her large, soft body and reminded me that my punishment was going to hurt. And in her experience, naughty boys could never hold still during a proper thrashing. She went on to tell me being restrained was the last thing I should be worrying about.

With tears rolling down my cheeks, I followed Aunt Pamela's instructions. I knelt on the bench and she secured my legs in place with a strap just above my ankle and another just below my knee. Bending forward, she secured the straps above my wrists and below my elbows. Lastly, she wrapped the straps around my thighs, lower back and just below my armpits. None of the straps were uncomfortably tight. But I was fully aware that I would not be able to avoid that terrifying strap.

When I was adequately secured onto her punishment bench, she knelt down near my face. I was unable to avoid glancing down her dress at her cavernous cleavage. It was the first opportunity I had to do so, and she caught me peeking. As I glanced away and blushed deeply, Aunt Pamela undid the topmost button on her dress exposing even more of her heavenly cleavage. She laid a finger under my chin and guided my eyes back to her chest. With my innocent eyes fixed on the magical place between her gigantic breasts, she slowly undid the next button which allowed me to see the sturdy, utilitarian bra she chose to support her ample chest. My little penis became completely erect and I was transfixed on Aunt Pamela's magnificent chest.

With a warm smile, she stroked my hair and asked what percentage I got on my quiz. Her question brought me back to reality and I bit my lip while fighting back tears. I told her I'd gotten an 84%. She then asked what percentage I should have gotten. I told her no less than 98%. She smiled and told me she wasn't very good at math, but she believed that was a 14% difference. She kissed my forehead and told me I'd be getting 14 strokes from her strap, one for each percent. My sobs turned back into all-out-bawling once again, and she hadn't even struck me yet.