Mom Aunt Clara & My Wandering Mind

Author's Note:

Please take note of this story's category and tags, in case the subject matter might not be to your liking. Also, note this is a follow-on chapter in a multi-part series. If you haven't already, please start your reading with

Chapter 1

, otherwise the story won't flow well and might be a bit confusing.

This is a work of fiction. The plot is fictional. The characters are fictional. In other words, it's

not real life

. Any resemblance to person(s) living or dead is purely coincidental. All fictional characters in this fictional story involved in fictional sexual activities are 18+ in their completely fictional lives. If you think you recognize a real-life someone in this story, you lead a more colorful life than the author. :-)

Lastly, and most importantly, I hope you enjoy the story!

-BizMe

# # # # #

Mom, Aunt Clara & My Wandering Mind: Part 5

# # # # #

My sleep that night was so blissful, I didn't want to wake. My dreams were so vivid and exciting that I fought hard to remain in the fantastical world that only a dream state can manufacture.

All of my dreams that night revolved around one common theme—

sex

. And not

just

sex, but

incestuous

sex with my mom and my aunt. Yes,

both

.

Missionary with Mom. Taking my aunt from behind. Going down on Mom and tasting her wonderful essence, then face-fucking my aunt so all she can do was make gurgling noises instead of constantly criticizing me.

I stayed hard most of the night and yet I slept like a log. Perhaps I slept

too

soundly because I was still out of it when I awoke some two hours after breakfast, and just in time to see Mom and Aunt Clara rushing toward me from the hallway with anger in their eyes like two enemy linebackers about to sack a vulnerable quarterback.

"I just

knew

you'd have to learn the hard way!" Aunt Clara cursed, yanking the sheet from my clutched fist. Only then did I realize I had been groping myself in my half-dazed state, my morning wood obscenely betraying my disobedience to the last directive I'd been given the night before—"Don't touch yourself."

"Downstairs this instant, young man," Mom ordered, pinching my ear and leading me with my neck bent sideways down the hall to the living room. Aunt Clara took a position in the middle of the couch and Mom let go.

"Assume the position, Andrew," Aunt Clara ordered, patting her own legs.

"Y-you? On... on you?" I stammered in fear, fully awakened though I still had sand in my eyes.

"Do you really want me to repeat myself, Andrew?" she asked rhetorically. "You were already at twenty

before

this morning's infraction. Now you're going to get thirty

at least

! Don't make this even worse for yourself," she said flatly, pulling her already short mini-skirt up her legs a couple more inches, revealing even more of the flawless skin on her upper thighs.

Her pink Valentino mini-skirt

, I thought, recognizing the rhinestones and multiple V logo appliqués from the earlier time I had explored her wardrobe while visiting their house in the country.

"Now!" Aunt Clara's sharp tone broke through my brain fog and I remembered what I was supposed to be doing.

I lowered myself across Aunt Clara's lap, awkwardly landing my still mostly erect dick on the bare skin of her leg.

Deftly, Aunt Clara reached under me and yanked my dick downward so that it was positioned between her legs, uncomfortably close to her sex.

I wiped my eyes, rubbing the sleep sand away as I wondered how much better or worse this day was going to be than the day before. Had I known it ahead of time, I might have run away in the night, because this day was about to start bad—

real

bad—before it ever got better.

CRACK!

Ths first blow landed and in an instant, I was fully alert.

"Shit!" I screeched involuntarily and nearly shot off of Aunt Clara's lap.

"Do not resist, Andrew!" she scolded. "Or we'll just keep starting over. Now count them off for me, if you can. Starting at one."

CRACK!

"Yow!" I howled and again out of pure reflex tried to bolt from Aunt Clara's grasp.

But there was no point. This was clearly not the first time she had a young man over her lap and she was expecting my reaction. Her left arm weighed heavy on the small of my back and immediately after administering the blow, she clutched my outer leg with her other hand to hold me in place.

"I didn't hear you count off, Andrew," she said snottily as if daring me to mouth off to her. "So, we start over again."

"No!" I begged to no avail.

CRACK!

"I... oh god...

One

," I whimpered.

CRACK!

"Agh!" I gasped. "T... t... two."

CRACK!

"Ah, ha, ha," I cried like a baby. "Th... three."

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

"Ohhh! Ohhh! I'm sorry!" I screamed.

"Count," Aunt Clara said flatly, ignoring my pathetic plea.

"Four... F-five... S-s-six," I croaked.

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

I can't prove it, of course, but it seemed that Aunt Clara was trying to make a point. The first smack out the gate was harsh. It seemed like she'd wound up like a major league pitcher and thrown a hundred-mile-per-hour fastball at my ass. And every smack after that seemed strategically aimed at a part of my tender globes that had yet to receive any punishment yet.

"Please, Aunt Clara! Oh god! Please!"

"

Count

," she ordered firmly.

"Oh, ho, ho," I mewled.

"Okay, I guess we're starting ov..." she threatened and I immediately answered.

"Seven, Eight, Nine!" I yelled almost at the top of my lungs.

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

I was writhing on Aunt Clara's lap. Screaming in a high pitch tone that I thought I'd lost with puberty. For a split second, I wondered if a passerby might hear my agony and maybe they'd save me by calling the cops.

"Count!" Aunt Clara demanded.

"Ten. Eleven. Twelve... Thirsteen... Frorsteen... Fifs... Fisfteen," I somehow blathered out, quickly losing my ability to speak clearly.

Between my sobs, I realized I was drooling from my mouth and my eyes were so filled with tears that I could hardly see.

"Please, no more, Aunt Clara," I begged.

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

"Count!" This time Aunt Clara didn't hesitate in demanding my response.

I was howling in pain but somehow blubbered my counts. "Sist... Sesenteen... Eightee... Ni-teen... Twen-ee!"

My body slumped across Aunt Clara's lap as I gasped for breath, sobbing into the seat cushion of the couch and whimpering unintelligible muffled nonsense.

Unfortunately, I'd forgotten that those twenty spanks were merely the leftover corrections for the previous day and I still had an additional ten spanks coming for getting caught fondling myself. I immediately remembered them, however as soon as they were being administered, all of them, in rapid succession.

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

I was so taken by surprise that I couldn't even breathe for the duration of all ten spanks. It wasn't until the last one was delivered that I slumped again against the couch and screamed into the cushion, then wheezed in a huge breath of oxygen into my lungs and screamed again.

"Did you resist your corrections, Andrew?"

"Oh god," I cried, knowing full-well why she was asking and more importantly, what it meant. And I was still gasping for air and wanting desperately to rub my behind. "Oh god..."

"Answer me," she ordered.

"Y-yes, ma'am," I cried remorsefully.

"Did you hesitate when given a command?"

"Y-yes, ma'am."

"Who chooses the mode of correction, Andrew?"

"Y... you do, Aunt Clara."

"Not

you

?" she asked sarcastically.

"No, ma'am. You do."

"That's how I remembered it, too. And yet, you

did

just ask me to stop my chosen method of correction, didn't you?"

"Yes, ma'am... Y-yes."

"Thank you for answering directly, Andrew."

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

The last three blows were markedly less potent than the former and, somehow, I was able to stay mostly still as each landed. Not that they didn't still sting, of course, but I had no fight left in me. All I could do was whimper apologetically into the seat cushion.

After a very short few seconds, Aunt Clara ordered me to stand.

Snot was streaming from my nose and my eyes stung with my tears. Without being told, I walked across the living room and took my place facing the corner.

A moment later, Mom held a tissue to my nose. "Blow," she ordered, and I did, like a child.

She tossed the tissue into the trash and had me do it again, then wiped my face with a third, dry tissue.

"Th... thank you, Mom," I whispered.

She smiled sympathetically and tenderly caressed my forearm before disappearing behind me.

No sooner had I heard Mom take a seat on the couch next to Aunt Clara when there was a loud banging at the front door.

"Hello?! Mary?! Andy?!" a female voice yelled from the other side of our front door. "Mary?

Mary

!?" the voice persisted and amid my misery, I recognized the voice. It was our next-door neighbor, Miss Swenson.

I was still in too much shock and pain for it to even register fully what was surely about to happen.

Aunt Clara rose from the couch. "Well, I suppose it was bound to happen sometime," she groaned and headed to the front door.

"Clara! What about Andy?" Mom shrieked. "He can't just be standing there when you open the door!" Mom pleaded.

"She heard him screaming, Mary. She's going to want to know he's okay. She won't believe us if we only say he's okay without offering some proof. Do you want her to call the cops?"

Mom offered no more argument, probably unsure what else to say.

The door opened with the familiar creak as it always stuck to the doorframe at the top.

"Oh, Clara!" Miss Swenson said in surprise. "I heard horrible noises coming from..." She gasped as she suddenly choked on her words, unable to continue. It was painfully obvious that she'd spotted me standing naked in the corner, with a bright red bottom.

"Please, come in, Kari," Aunt Clara politely offered.

"Um... okay," Miss Swenson stammered and I heard her footsteps as she entered our living room, a couple of clicks from her shoes, then soft shuffling after she'd slipped them off and left them at the door.

It certainly wasn't the first time she'd been in our house. But it was the first time she had done so and found me standing naked in the corner with a bright red bottom on display.

"Was... was that

Andy

I heard screaming?" she asked, astonished.

"It was," Aunt Clara confirmed. "Mary, would you like to explain to Kari what is happening here? And why she doesn't need to be alarmed by it?"

"I... me?" Mom questioned, obviously caught a little off-guard. "Uh, sure," she eventually agreed. "So..."

"Oh my god, his ass is

really

red!" Miss Swenson blurted before Mom had a chance to explain anything. "Was that with your bare hand? Or did you use a brush or something?"

"Good eye, Kari," Aunt Clara gloated. "It was indeed a hairbrush."

Oh my god! No wonder the spanks hurt so bad!

I suddenly realized.

"What... what did he do? To deserve that?" Miss Swenson asked curiously.

"Mary?" Aunt Clara deferred.

"Well, you see, Kari, it's like this... So... Well... Okay, so..."

"Mary," Miss Swenson interrupted. "It's okay. I've seen a spanked behind before. Not on someone as old as Andy, but... it's okay. I'm sure you have a good reason."

Mom let out an audible sigh of relief. "Oh, god, Kari. We do. So, you know how Andy has issues with absentmindedness, right?"

"Of course," Miss Swenson quickly said as surely as if Mom had asked her if she knew that I had two eyes and a nose.

"And you know Clara is a licensed psychotherapist, right? Specializing in young men Andy's age and sometimes with issues like his?"

There was a short pause of silence during which I imagined Miss Swenson simply nodded.

"Well, we're implementing a new regimen... a therapy... that will hopefully help him."

"Interesting... go on," Miss Swenson said wistfully. "And it clearly involves spanking... on his bare ass..."

"Right... among other things... I mean... it's not just spanking..." I could tell Mom immediately regretted opening that pandora's box.

"What other things?" Miss Swenson asked almost instantly.

I felt a tingle in my dick at the thought of the 'other things' and had a glancing thought, wondering when they might happen again.

"Therapies," Aunt Clara quickly interjected. "Surveys, assessments, observed tests. That sort of thing."

"And... that's going to help him?"

"It's a drastic measure, but, yes, that's the expectation. By introducing both positive reinforcement and rewards and negative corrections when the subject commits an unwanted behavior, we expect he will quickly begin to self-correct, eventually needing to be externally motivated less and less."

"So... like Pavlov's dogs... almost?" Miss Swenson offered a meager attempt at understanding the logic employed and how it might actually work. "Causing behaviors with positive reinforcement?"

"That's very astute," Aunt Clara said approvingly. "Though not quite the same. We use both positive reinforcement and sometimes, as you can see, negative repercussions, too. Pavlov's dogs merely learned association. To my knowledge, they were never spanked for ignoring their dinner bell," she laughed and I wondered if her double-entendre with the word 'spanked' was intentional.

My sobs had waned to occasional whimpers as I stood quietly in the corner, trying to bury my face into the junction where one wall of sheetrock met the other.

"Well, more power to you, if you think it will help him... Oh, I hope it does." Miss Swenson said sweetly.

"I hope so, too," Mom agreed.

"So... may I ask? What did he do?" Miss Swenson asked quietly.

"Well, for one thing, he isn't allowed to say 'um' anymore. He gets one correction every time he does."

"Oh my god, he says that all the time!" Miss Swenson said loudly.

"Not anymore he won't," Mom said confidently, her initial fear of Miss Swenson's reaction subsiding. "If he makes us repeat something, that's another correction."

"That, too? I have to repeat things to him non-stop. Oh, Andy," she called sympathetically in my direction. "No wonder your bottom is so red."

I wriggled further into the corner, wishing I could melt into the drywall and disappear.

"What else? Is there more?" Miss Swenson asked, seemingly getting more excited to hear more and both Mom and Aunt Clara seemed quite willing to oblige her.

Soon, the three women were all sitting on the couch together, chatting like they were at a tea party.

"This same couch?!" I heard Miss Swenson chirp in surprise. "Right where I'm sitting?!"

"Yep," Mom confirmed.

"And he was naked?"

"As a jaybird," Aunt Clara gloated.

"Did he have an... erection?" Miss Swenson asked timidly.

"As a matter of fact, he did," Mom bragged. "A rather nice one, actually."

"Oh, my," Miss Swenson said breathily.

"I bet he has one right now," Aunt Clara said plainly. "Andrew, come here."

"Wh-what?" I asked.

"One," Mom said sternly.

Immediately, I turned to face the ladies, holding my hands over my crotch to hide myself from Miss Swenson.

"Hands to your side, Andy," Mom reminded me.

I moved them, revealing my man bits to my beautiful next-door neighbor, Miss Kari Swenson, a Scandinavian beauty with perfect alabaster skin, high cheekbones, and long silky blonde hair.

"Aw," Mom groaned disappointingly. "Sorry, Kari. He's not hard at all."

My face blushed, not nearly as red as my bottom, but noticeably flushed.

"Assume the position, Andrew," Aunt Clara commanded and I looked at her in shock.

Then I looked back at the three ladies in a row on the couch in front of me. Aunt Clara to the left, Mom to the far right, and Miss Swenson squished in the middle between them. I gulped and fought against the urge to question the directive. But I knew what would happen if I did.

I slowly stepped forward, looking to my stepmom for a last-ditched reprieve from my ongoing humiliation, but all I saw was a strange doting expression on her face like she was about to proudly show a shoebox full of childhood pictures of me or something.

Aunt Clara patted Miss Swenson's lap, indicating that where I needed to set myself down.

Hesitantly, but not so much that I would earn another correction, I lowered myself, the length of my lifeless penis landing softly against Miss Swenson's legs which I only then realized were wrapped in some kind of black leather, knee-length skirt. Her top was a sheer black long sleeve skin-tight top that readily showed a simple black bra beneath. The contrast between the blackness of her outfit and her ivory skin was alluring in a most sensual way.

Damn, why does Miss Swenson have to be hot!

I cursed as I felt a familiar tingle at the base of my penis and I hurried to lower myself before things down there escalated any further.

"Oh, my," Miss Swenson giggled in surprise at the proximity of a naked young man lying on her lap.

"He's earned one correction, Kari," Mom encouraged.

"You mean?

I

can spank him? You don't mind?"

"Andrew will need more than just his mother and I as caregivers," Aunt Clara said matter-of-factly. "In fact, I was hoping to take my sister shopping this weekend, but we can't leave him alone. He needs to be monitored twenty-four seven."

"Monitored?" Miss Swenson asked. "For what, exactly?"

"Well," Mom started to explain, clearly embarrassed at what she was about to say. "It seems that Andrew has a problem with... how do I say this..."

"He's constantly masturbating," Aunt Clara said curtly.

Suddenly it wasn't the prospect of a spanking that made me want to crawl into a hole and hide but the sheer embarrassment of being spoken of so crudely in front of a woman that I'd often fantasized over in some of those 'constant masturbations' I'd enjoyed.

"Oh, well, I kind of already knew that, actually," Miss Swenson admitted.

"You did? Really?" Mom asked in surprise.

I wondered about that, too. How could she possibly have known?

"Well, I've caught him peeking from his window more than once while I was out back, gardening or sunning. And sometimes, well, it's pretty obvious what he's doing."

Oh, god, I'm in so much trouble now

.

"Oh my," Mom whispered. "Kari, I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

"Andrew, do you have something you'd like to say to Miss Swenson in light of these allegations?" Aunt Clara interrogated.

"N-no, ma'am. I... It's true. I'm sor..." I caught myself before actually saying it and earning another correction. "I know it was wrong, Miss Swenson. I... I hope you'll forgive me." I tried to make sure I never said 'um' or 'sorry' during my pathetic attempt at an apology. The one thing I knew I couldn't do was try to deny it. I'd been caught and who knows how many times, I just never realized she knew until that moment.

"Well," Miss Swenson spoke before Aunt Clara or my stepmom could start laying into me for my unacceptable behavior. "I have to admit, it was flattering that a young man would find me attractive enough to wank to. And I didn't exactly discourage his behavior," she confessed.

"Still," Mom said still feeling ashamed of me. "I think he has earned some corrections for his offenses. How many times do you think he did that, Kari?"