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.