That special visit to Aunt Sara's in the country

I was about thirteen when my mother thought I needed to spend some time on the farm with her older sister. They had both been raised on that farm and instilled with those family values and traditions. Alas when they grew up my mother left and my aunt remained, to this day. Hence I was going to sample the "Good life", au natural!

I always liked my aunt and thought it would be fun. She met me at the train station and loaded my stuff into the pick-up, then with a warm hello and a slap on my backside it was jump in the front and lets get going.

The ride back gave me a chance to catch up and hear what was expected of me, mostly I remembered I was to care for the chickens, keeping them fed and their coop clean. blah, blah blah. I probably should have paid better attention!

After a couple of days the as the novelty of real responsibility wore off it became obvious that life on a farm required hard work, responsibility to self and others and wasn't a career path I was about to choose. One day while cleaning the coop and hearing the chickens complaining I started imitating their sound through my minds eye, "Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, etc. and as fate would have it Auntie Sara overheard my outburst.

Well young man you obviously haven't grasped the degree upon which we depend upon each other here on the farm, and on these chickens for a substantial part of our income. When one part falls down we all suffer; a fact which until now has escaped you.

Inside, swat, it's time we had a talk, swat. I don't know the last time you were smacked on your backside by an angry farm woman but I can assure you it is a game changer; the warm sensation you feel is further heightened by the realization you are in for some serious "talk" and you will probably, no, definitely be on the receiving end.

As we steeped inside it was off with your shoes and sock young man, and follow me, swat! Upstairs, swat get moving. She stopped at her bedroom door, opened it and ushered me inside, swat. "I don't know where you learned such language young man but that's no way to talk, not to chickens, not to people, not to anything swat, swat, swat". "At your age I would have gotten my mouth washed out with soap for language like that, not to mention a good licking with the strap."

"Get over there in the corner, face the wall, and take off your shirt and pants, NOW."

"I think I know just what's missing in your education." Suddenly standing there in my undershorts, facing the wall my manhood shrunk, bravado, and self respect were at a new low. What came next confirmed my worst fears.

"I don't know if you remember the last time you were "SPANKED" young man, but I promise you will remember the one I'm about to give you." "Get over here, NOW". As I shuffled over, my knees wobbling, seeing Aunt Sara sitting there raising her dress above her knees and patting her lap, with a look that sent shivers down my spine she reached out, took hold of my hand and directed me to her right side. Without any ceremony she reached up to my waist, took hold of my undershorts and pulled them down. Here I was being draped bare ass over her knee and about to undergo a life changing "talking to", "country style". She shifted my weight slightly so that my bare ass presented just the target she wanted and began to light up my backside with the most painful spanking I ever could have even imagined. This was not your city boy loss of privileges, no TV, in your room bullshit; this was an angry country woman with hands like wooden paddles, and a leather strap that could be used to drive a team of mules. She started on one side on my bottom working slowly, ever so slowly, down one side then across and up the other side. pausing at the bottom to pull slightly upward on each cheek separately to spank that soft, tender sit spot where the heine meets the thigh. I just remember promising, begging, pleading, to devote my life to the betterment of chickens, peace on earth and good will toward men, higher grades, cleanliness, OOps that one must of struck a chord, because she paused and mentioned she would make sure I was cleaned out good before this spanking session was over. "This isn't just going to be some soap in your mouth young man for the way you spoke out there; no, this is going to be a good old fashioned warm soapy enema to clean you out but good."

"Did I just hear what I thought I heard"? "You heard me right", a good old fashioned warm soapy enema for you young man should teach you some respect". Spank, Spank, Spank.

When she finally paused and set me down in front of her my eyes were red, by backside purple, my manhood gone, just one little naughty boy who got exactly what he deserved from someone who cared enough to risk it all. I fell to my knees, buried my face in her ample bosom and sobbed uncontrollable as she stroked my back. When finally I could stand she spun me around, inspected her job, and admonished me to remember the lesson if I knew what was good for me. "Now in the corner and don't rub you butt till I say you can, and Ill be right back to give you that enema I promised."

If you think a thirteen year old is embarrassed being spanked to tears by an aunt he hasn't seen in two years, try to imagine, if you will, how it feels to have her give you an enema, several enemas, country style, LARGE!

She taught me many things that summer and to this day it was the best time of my life. Long after the pain disappeared the love remained.

Funny thing about aunts no shame in spanking boys bare ass cheeks and then administering a very large 3/4 qts very soapy enema to teach lesson and manners. no privacy, just spank,enema,empty, and repeat until satisfaction is achieved.

Well I think that is a WONDERFUL story of how kids need to be PUT back in their place. That is what it totally wrong with kids now a days . I mean they short people at schools , Make bomb threats , And do all kind of things I never would of thought of . An this country thinks a GOOD SPANKING AND ENEMA is child abuse . Then they have to deal with what kids TURN OUT TO BE . I mean where has things gone to . I sure got my share of spankings and enemas as a kid . An don't think it hurt me or made me a bad person .

I didn't get all that many enemas as a kid, but I was, quite frequently, on the blistering end of a thick belt. I don't believe in the end that my life suffered from the corporal punishment. Today if you touch your kids, they threaten to call the police, and you could go to prison for it. So they feel entitled. They can do whatever they want. What will we be as a society when these arrogant little monsters reach maturity?

Great story. Sad that today, parents have to fear giving even a "healthful" enema to a child much less a punishment enema. But given all of the abusive and perverted treatment of minors out there - i can understand why. No wonder we long for simpler times.

Today if you touch your kids, they threaten to call the police, and you could go to prison for it. So they feel entitled. They can do whatever they want. What will we be as a society when these arrogant little monsters reach maturity?

If anyone calls the police nowadays it would be schools who do so for minor infractions of just about anything. Police proceed to handcuff youngsters and lead them off to squad cars and the station. So don't say there are never consequences for actions or that kids are so entitled. In fact, I'd be scared as can be to be a kid in school in the US today. Cops in school, metal detectors, lock-downs, handcuffs and arrests ... such things were unheard of, unthinkable in my time.

Nor do these things seem to be needed in other countries either ... so I doubt it has much to do with not whacking kids around anymore or beating them up with belts and switches ...

That is a awesome story

@OTK4fun A great recollection - thanks for sharing! Would you tell us more about what the punishment enema part was like?

Had an aunt whose family owned a farm – my mother's sister – and I used to visit quite often. One summer, when my dad was away, both mom and I visited for a week. It was to be a great adventure, or so I thought at the time.

About 2 days if, my cousins and I went to the orchard on the farm and started eating every apple and pear we could consume. For them, it was nothing, for me it was agony several hours later as my stomach started doing backflips. By the late evening i was in real difficulty.

My aunt and mom were in her kitchen talking and i was in the next room trying to concentrate on a tv show. They were clearly discussing my adventure in the orchard, and what to do next.

Mom wanted to try some laxative, but my aunt said, “That's foolish. Just give him a good soapsuds enema. That's all he needs, except, of course, if you want to tan his hide for eating all that stuff.. My kids are used to things out here, but Jackie is different, the food is different in the city, and getting backed up can be painful.”

“Well, I don't know,” she responded. “perhaps a good enema is what he needs. He doesn't get them very often at home, so I'm not sure how he will react to the suggestion..”

“Again,” she answered, “That's foolish. Just give him the enema. The bag and hose is in the bathroom closet, and there is a bar of Ivory to swish in the bag, just like mom used to do to us.”

Mom nodded, went into the bathroom. Soon, the sound of water running, and ivory soap filled the air. One of my cousins quickly said, “Oops, someone is about to get an enema.” Both looked over at me. I turned beet red.

“Jackie, come in here to the bathroom, please,” yelled mom from the other room. Sheepishly, I stood, held my stomach and walked toward the bathroom, knowing I was headed for doom. As I walked in, the bog red bag and hose was in the sink, filled to the brim and some soapsuds on the side.

“We are going to get rid of your stomach ache, Jackie,” she intoned. “Right now. Take on your pants and shorts and come over here.” She was sitting on the closed toilet. “You have had enemas before so you know what they are, come on on over here, NOW!” I walked to where she sat. “Over my knees, please.”

I got that enema, every drop of it, and I sat on the toilet for what seemed like hours. After, I felt better, that is until she sat down again after closing the cover, and told me to get back over her knees. A long hand spanking followed, and my butt felt on fire. “Don't do stupid things again, Jacking. Now, you know better. Put on your pants and go back to TV.”

I did as I was told and went back to the TV room, to the laughter of my cousins, who had their short-lived moments, since they were quickly called by my aunt for the same treatment, less the spanking.

We came home several days later, before my father returned, and i was sitting on the couch when mom came in and sat beside me.

“Well, how did you like the trip, Jackie?” she asked.

“Great time mom, but, er, well, ah, could you maybe..” MY voice trailed off.

“What is it son?” she asked,

“Well, er, could you maybe give me another spanking?" As I said it, I drew close to her. She put her army around me drawing me in close, and kissing me on the top of my head.

“I sure don't know where that came from, but of course, if that is what you want. A spanking it is.” That is another story for the future.

The story by jackinbx reminds me of when my cousin and I were about 10 years old at the cottage and we ate a bunch of green apples from an abandoned apple orchard nearby. Later that day we both developed bad stomach aches but rather than giving us enemas my aunt gave us both a purgative dose of Epsom Salts dissolved in warm water and in just over an hour we were both pooping out violent watery diarrhea with chunks of apple in it until we were completely emptied out.

My parents had friends that owned a farm and they shipped us out there every summer - supposedly it was “good for us” but I suspect more of a “mental health break” for them! We did crazy things there - rode cows, taking the bale loader ride up to the hay loft, somersaulting from the hayloft to a bed hay, driving the pickups and tractors (approx age 12). The farm owners thought nothing of what were potentially dangerous activities for kids. …. We also worked our butts off during baling season - tossing and stacking 50 lb bales of hay, then heading to the lake to cool off and wash off all the junk we picked up in the fields.

Our parents friends were no nonsense - and I did have a couple of minor run-ins with them for not eating my vegetables etc. But nothing like what some others here experienced.