The following story contains scenes of consensual BDSM activity between consenting adults. There is no sex, no titillation, no bumping of things best left unbumped. There is a description of a caring, loving relationship between two human beings, a deep emotional connection, and a cathartic release of pent up frustrations and negativity. If any of this offends you, please go in peace and perfect love
I walk in the door of the party, and you make a beeline for me, grabbing on and holding me tight, saying how much you have missed me, and how badly you need me tonight. I look down and see you small and sad, beat down by the world of big people. You believe that although you have not failed in any specific task, you have failed to excel, and so have let me down. We hold each other in the doorway for a moment, then into the small den where it is still quiet. I take you in my lap and hold you close, feeling your sobs, and then as you calm we talk, a private conversation carried on in whispers even though there are no others in the room. As I hold and reassure you, I realize that in your state you need more than words to comfort you, and so I send you for your blanket, stuffie and a sippy cup of water for you, and a bottle of water for me. When you have everything gathered up, I pick up my case we make out way upstairs. With each step you shed your outside identity and become my niece, the darling 10 year old girl I love and protect. We step into the small room off the stairs and into a fantasy, a room dedicated to us and our needs.
“Come here, girl,” I say, and in a flash you are before me, eyes downcast and fidgeting with your shirt tail as you regress to that pre-teen state. I wait, and finally you look up.
“Yes, Uncle Wes?” you ask, and even though you know, you still ask “what do you want?”
You are so cute and vulnerable standing there that my resolve almost wavers, but then I remember that what is about to happen isn’t because I am unhappy with you, it is because you brought me a problem that you cannot solve for yourself, and trust me to give you what you need. “You know the drill, young lady. On the spanking bench with you and quickly.” Your hands went to the snap of your pants and you paused, looking up at me. “Right down to the panties” I directed, “I only spank girl, not clothes.” Your feet are already bare, and in seconds you are stepping out of your jeans as they hit the floor, and stripping off your tee shirt in a single smooth, practiced motion. As you pull your bra around so you can unhook it more easily, I flip a large towel over the cool vinyl and give it a pat, and up you go, assuming the position with the ease and familiarity.
Once you are on the bench I lightly run my hands across your back, checking your skin, feeling for bump or scrapes, sliding down across your ass to check the backs of your thighs and calves, then back up. I fold the top of your plain white cotton panties under until they stop right at the top of your crack, and gather the sides in leaving your ass completely exposed but still protecting your little girl modesty. My hands make another circuit of your back, this time pressing more firmly, testing the muscles and searching for knots. “Is there anything new since your last spanking?” I asked. It didn’t matter of I used my hands on your bare ass or beat you from the tops of your shoulders to your ankles with a flogger, when you are in this head space they were always spankings.
“No Sir,” you said in your little girl voice, just what we talked about.”
“Okay,” I replied, as I finished my inspection, “Do you know understand you are here?” I knew in her little girl place she could not understand the real reason, but for now her child like explanation would do.
“Because even though I got my work done, I didn’t do my best,” you answered.
“That’s right, sweetie. I will never ask more from you that the best that you are able to do, but I also will never accept less.” I paused, then continued, “Settle yourself, it is time to begin.” I started on her buttocks, light swats with my hand alternating between sides until your ass began to pink, then working down your thighs and back up until you were glowing from your knees to your tailbone. I picked up a soft leather slapper and continued, ranging more widely, covering the backs of your claves with slaps before switching to first your outer thighs, and then the inner. Two more circuits and I changed again, this time to a light flogger finding my rhythm a working you over from head to toe. After 10 minutes of the light flogger I stepped up to a heavier version, and continued, watching the hue get deeper and richer with each strike. We had been going for a little over half an hour, when I looked to the sidelines and said “a sip of water?”
By now several of your friends had gathered to watch, and one of them held the sippy cup to your mouth for you to take a drink. You sucked the water greedily for a few seconds until I put my hand on your back and said “That’s enough, sweetie, it’s time to begin.” The endorphins were flowing through your system and you were flying.
“Yes Sir, how many?” you asked.
“Six” was my response.
“With what?” your voice tiny now.
“Six with the paddle or three with the cane, you choose,” I said. You laid there for a long moment, and I was just about to see if you had drifted when you answered “the paddle, Sir.”
I shrugged, not surprised, given an option you had never chosen a cane, and so I selected the implement and took my place. The paddle I used for this was a high density plastic cutting board. It has a handle that is a good fit for my hand, and packs quite a wallop. “What are the rules?” I asked.
“I am to count each swat, and thank you or it, then ask for the next, Sir.”
“That is correct. What happens if you continue to ask for swats after you have received six?”
“Sir, you will give me as many swats as I need to forgive myself, but the minimum is six, Sir.”
“That is correct.” I raised the paddle and swung it forward, landing squarely on her ass and holding the paddle tight against the smarting flesh.
She hissed in pain, then choked out “One sir, thank-you sir, and may I have another?”
I didn’t wait, just pulled the paddle back and landed another firm blow overlapping the first by about an inch.
Another hiss, and “Two sir, thank-you sir, and may I have another?”
Again the paddle rose and fell, her response changing to a pained grunt as I landed on more of the back of the thighs.
“Three sir, thank-you sir, may I have another?”
When number four landed it hit square on the left cheek, and left a white patch in its wake that quickly began to bruise, and she finally let loose a wail, it took a couple of seconds for her to count, “Four sir, thank-you sir, may I have another?” and as she said the final “Sir” the paddle landed again on the right cheek, eliciting another scream. It was almost a minute before she replied an a shaky voice “Five sir, thank-you sir, may I have another?”, and this sway landed in the middle, hitting hard enough to leave two thin, vertical bruises from the force of her ass cheeks colliding under the impact, and she let loose with a piercing scream. I moved towards the aftercare supplies, but then I heard her call out to me “Six Sir, thank-you Sir, may I have another?”
I gave her a moment to catch her breath, and then squatted in front of her. Her minimal make-up was ruined, tears and mascara running down her flushed face, and she was still sobbing. I looked into her eyes, and behind the tears I saw a look of quiet determination. She nodded at me and I stood up, and gripped the paddle, and swung again, landing low on the left cheek. When she screamed out “Seven Sir, thank-you Sir, may I have another?” I swung again hitting the opposite cheek, and this time she just screamed, deep wracking sobs shaking her small frame. I grabbed your blanket and lifted you down from the horse and sat down with you in my lap, and as I tucked Duckie, your favorite stuffie into your arms and wrapped the blanket around us you cried “Eight Sir, Thank you Sir… Eight Sir, Thank you Sir… Eight Sir, Thank you Sir.”
“We are finished,” I whispered into her ear, “and you are forgiven.” You quieted and I continued, “As I forgive you, you must forgive yourself. This is over, and will never be brought up again, but while you are forgiven, do not forget. If you forget you cannot learn, and if you have not learned then all this was a waste, the lesson lost.” I continued to hold you, stroking your hair and telling you what a good girl you are, and how proud of you I am, and other silly nonsense talk, really just comforting noise. Gradually you came back, first to your ten year old self, then gradually back to your full self, and eventually kissed my cheek and got up. I stood and hugged you, and thanked you for trusting me this way, but the moment passed and we were once again ourselves. I watched you dress, cherishing the memory, and at the same time I mourned the return to our mundane selves, my only comfort the knowledge that when you needed me again you would come and once again we would share the bond.