This story comes from Jean-Jacques and recounts his final spanking at the hands of his mother and his aunt.
I do hope you enjoy and please keep in mind that English is not Jean-Jacques first language, so I have edited the story to make it more readable for everyone.
Jean-Jacques also introduced me to the French spanking artist Zertes and we feel this piece captures the spirit of what happened to our young hero that summer afternoon.
This happened when I was 16 years old.
In France, the national day is July 14, Bastille Day. I spent the evening with a few classmates and drunk too much, far too much.
On my way back to home, I was walking very unsteadily, falling down more than once, and finally vomiting on the stairs.
My father was at work. My aunt Henriette, was staying with us for a few days. Henriette and my mother cleaned me up and sent me to bed.
I slept very soundly, you imagine, and woke up with a pounding headache. My mother gave me some aspirin and left me alone in the dark quiet bedroom for some hours.
Later she came into my bedroom and opened the windows and shutters wide. Aunt Henriette was with her. I later learned that my father was so angry my mother ordered him to remain outside during the chastisement!
Mother asked me to lay face down on the bed. I obeyed, not at all proud of myself. Aunt Henriette and my mother pulled the bed sheet and blanket to my feet, then lowered my underpants (I did not wear pyjamas this night, I had been in no fit state to struggled into them) and bared my buttocks and upper thighs.
Then, she bent over the bed and began a really hard spanking as I had not received for a long time.
She spanked methodically, one cheek then the other, using all her strength. After two dozen or so smacks, I think her hand head begun to hurt and she took a break.
With a smile, Aunt Henriette asked, “Catherine, do you have a martinet?”
“Yes I have one. You continue the spanking, I am going to look for it.”
The martinet was used, from time to time, when I was a child, and only on my calves and thighs, never on my buttocks. But my two elder brothers did have tasted it on the bare skin of their bottoms.
While mother was looking for the implement, Aunt Henriette smacked me a dozen times with her little dry hand.
My aunt was 55, unmarried, and I suppose that she did like to take care of young boys, especially washing them when they were too young to do a good job of it without supervision.
She had never spanked me before, but I do not think it was the first spanking she had ever given.
Mother returned with the martinet and whipped me until I was crying and begging forgiveness, promising that I would never again drink like the previous night
After the spanking, the two ladies left my bedroom, leaving me laying face down and still bare below the waist. I didn’t move, because my underwear or bed sheet would burn my scorched buttocks if I dragged them over it.
Later that evening, I heard somebody ringing the bell and my mother speaking with them. It was my classmates, asking to go out for a walk with me. My mother answered loudly enough that I could hear.
“Non. Jean-Jacques is in bed, with buttocks as red as tomatoes. He got the most beautiful spanking of his life. You can tell anyone.”
Days passed, then weeks, and my classmates seemed to forget this story. I started again going to the beach and play volleyball with them. I didn't die, I met a girlfriend, and I understood the lesson and did not get that drunk again
So, I was a little bit surprised when my girlfriend asked me, one day, “Jean-Jacques, is it true that you were spanked just this summer?”
“Yes,” I answered with a blush.
My girlfriend didn't laugh at me, but, after a smile, she gave me a sweet kiss.
Another lovely Zertes piece that gets to the heart of things, although Jean-Jacques wasn't in hospital he may have felt like he needed a nurse's attention after his mother and aunt were done with his bottom.