1948: Aunt Jane’s Rules


Things could be difficult when four women had to share a house. And it was all the more difficult then when it was Aunt Jane’s house and she got to make all the rules.

Like so many women of her generation, Jane had never married. Amy sometimes conjured up a long lost love for her. A dashing captain who never returned from Flanders. May be there was such a man, but if Jane ever had such a past she kept it firmly to herself.

Jane was the last of the Edwardians, or so she styled herself. She had even had a governess back in the day, or so she said. And in her day, girls knew their place.

Girls. There was the other thing. A woman was someone who came in to do the washing and cleaning. A lady, such as she, kept a house. All other female persons were definitely only girls. Even Amy’s mother, Mary, who was almost 37.

Mary had brought Amy to live with her Aunt Jane in late 1946. The war was over and it was obvious even to Mary that her husband was never coming home. The house had gone in 1940 and since then Mary and Amy had shared an ever-changing set of temporary digs.

The other ‘girl’ in the house was Tommy. Tommy, whom Jane insisted on calling Thomasina, the name her parents saddled her with, was another of Jane’s nieces, Mary’s first cousin. But at least Tommy was used to Aunt Jane’s ways, having lived with her since 1936, when she was 16.

In the war Tommy had served with the WRNS. The post war housing shortage had brought her back to Jane. She always said that the navy was not half as tough as living with Aunt Jane.

It was the first week of 1948 and 19-year-old Amy was learning that she was not to old for a spanking.

Amy had been brought up on spankings. With her father away and the world falling about their ears, mother had had no time for ‘nonsense’ as she called it. But things had eased off in that department until they came to Jane’s. Thereafter life had taken on a distinct edge and some days Amy could not even bear to look at a chair.

“Amy Louise Jones, you come with me this instant,” Her mother had set her jaw in that way that said she meant business.

“Ouch kid, your tail is toast,” Tommy grimaced sympathetically as slouched in the armchair. But despite her jocular manner, she unconsciously sat up straighter, no doubt Mary’s scolding tone putting her in mind of Aunt Jane.

Amy sighed and walked with leaden steps to the kitchen where her mother was waiting. She hated the kitchen at times such as these. At least in the old days mother had taken her to her room.

“Mummy I…”

“Yes.” Mary’s tone brooked no stories.

“Nothing.” Amy knew that anything she said would only make things worse.

“Get over my knee,” Mother growled.

Amy was tipped over mother’s lap as Mary sat on the kitchen chair. The skirts of her dress raised and her underwear exiled south in very short order. At least mother used her slipper, Great Aunt Jane had other techniques.

Amy could see her mother’s feet, tipped as she was with her nose inches from the tiled kitchen floor. Her mother’s thighs felt hard against her belly and she watched as her mother’s hand reached down and pulled off her right leather-soled house shoe. Butterflies took flight from somewhere in her stomach.

There was the inevitable scolding, although Amy never listened, it was always the same. She just waited for the sting to replace the tickling chill on her upturned bottom.

When it came it always hurt worse than she remembered. The splat of the impact could be heard all over the house. But after a volley of swats beyond count in just the opening seconds of the spanking, Amy was more focused on the sting.

She gritted her teeth determined not to cry, although once during a spanking supervised by Aunt Jane, Jane had said: “a spanking cannot be said to have begun until a girl is contrite. And contrition means tears.” That had been after the cider incident. Amy remembered that her mother had been in wholehearted agreement with Jane’s maxim.

The spanking continued unrestrained, with Mary not relenting a jot in her pace or application. For Amy this meant that the sting quickly became a burn and a sob escaped her throat.

“Feeling it now my girl, you won’t sit down for a week,” Mary scolded.

It was Mary’s favourite expression during a spanking. Amy would have laughed under other circumstances. The slipper never had such dire consequences. She would be tender for a day or two at most. If Jane was dishing it out then that was something else, but at present it was the here and now that mattered and Amy had had enough.

“Ooh please mummy,” Amy began to sob.

“Alright you silly girl, a little more and we are done.”

Amy was thoroughly crying by the time her mother set her on her feet and she did a stiff legged dance and gripped her thighs to prevent them straying to her bottom for a forbidden rub.

Mary waited for a moment and then pointed at the corner of the kitchen. Amy hated corner time, it was almost worse than the spanking. She begged silently with her sad eyes, but her mother’s were uncompromising and in silent submission, Amy walked slowly to the corner and hiked up the hem of her fallen skirts and slip.

She could expect to be there until suppertime at least, then she might be allowed to partake if she were lucky. At least it wasn’t a day that Great Aunt Jane’s charwoman came.

A little while Tommy wandered into the kitchen. Amy had long since stopped crying and was now standing with her hands clasped in the small of her back in the corner. She glanced sideways at Tommy, the blush on her cheek almost a rival for the vivid hue of her exposed bottom. Tommy shrugged, tough break kid, she thought.

Tommy had had it worse, both at Aunt Jane’s hands and in the navy. At the training camp she had first served in, hardly a week had gone by that one of the girls hadn’t been up before CPO for a dozen licks of the stick. And she could lay on hard. Tommy had been up before her twice.

Then there had been that time in Aden when she dropped a loaded rifle and it had discharged, she shuddered, even Aunt Jane would have been impressed.

Mary looked up and saw that Amy had taken her nose off the wall and began to tap the table impatiently until Amy turned her head back. Then she turned her attention to Tommy.

“Are you off out tonight?” Mary asked.

“Yes but it is hardly worth it. I mean to say I am 28 and I have to be in by 10. It really is too much.”

Mary shrugged. Things were no different for her.

“Aunt Jane’s rules.”


It was almost 10.45 when Tommy reached the garden gate. It wasn’t Jane’s custom to wait up as Tommy was supposed to be on her honour to be back in time, but she may not have been long in bed. She touched an empty milk bottle in the dark and it toppled nosily onto the flagstones.

“Sugar.” Swearing had long been spanked out of her.

She listened but there was nothing.

The key in lock was loud enough, but it wouldn’t budge. Then she realised that the door was bolted from the inside. This was both good and bad. Good because Aunt Jane would never have bolted the door if she knew Tommy was still out, but bad because getting in would now be a challenge.

She crept around to the back door and tried again. It was unlocked.

“Good old Mary,” Tommy whispered to herself.

The door always jammed a little, so Tommy winced as she had to jar it open. This time she locked it firmly behind her and listened for any sound. Still nothing. Made it, she thought.

The stairs were a nightmare. Every other step creaked enough to wake the dead. It took Tommy an age to creep upstairs. She hadn’t meant to be late, otherwise she would have secreted her nightgown downstairs to change into and then she could have pretended to have got up for a glass of water if caught.

The door to her room was ajar. Any wider and Jane might have noticed that she hadn’t got home yet, Tommy thought, I’ll have to watch that.

There was a sound behind her and the light caught her like a stalag searchlight.

“It would be easier if you put the light on,” Aunt Jane said imperiously as she stood silhouetted in the doorframe to her room.

“Aunt Jane I…”

“Goodnight Thomasina. We will talk about this tomorrow.”


The next morning Tommy awoke with a sense of dread. CO blues they called it in the WRNS, an unrelenting nausea when up on a charge. She let out a great long breath and after washing and dressing, made her way down to breakfast.

“She caught you then?” Mary poured Tommy a cup of tea.

“Has she said something?” Tommy struggled to keep the panic down to a dull roar.

“No, but it is written all over your face.”

“Oh. You don’t think she will…?”

Mary pulled a face as if to say ‘do you really want me to answer that.’

“Good morning Mary. Good morning Thomasina.” Aunt Jane glided in, pausing only to examine a houseplant to ensure that it still met her exacting standards.

“Good morning Aunt Jane.” Both women spoke in unison.

“Thomasina Nixon-Brown, I will see you in the withdrawing room directly after breakfast.”

“Yes Aunt.” Tommy tried to make it sound like a brisk response to her old commanding officer, but it came out of her mouth as if she were a sullen teenager.

Mary threw an old fashioned look at Tommy over the top of the teapot.

“I did my best,” she whispered. “I told her you were in bed last night and when she locked the front door I left the back open.”

“I know, thanks but… ooh bother.” Tommy stamped her foot in frustration.

Breakfast was over far too quickly for Tommy and she didn’t eat a thing. Then taking a deep breath she stood up and marched to the drawing room where Aunt Jane was waiting.

“You needn’t close the door.” Aunt Jane said as Tommy entered the room. “I want to set an example today.”

Tommy swallowed. Not just because what had been said, but because Aunt Jane was holding a cane.

“I know I deserve a spanking auntie, but I was only a little late.” Tommy eyed the long thin stick with horror.

It was too much like the one she had encountered in Aden.

“I trust you are not going to be defiant Thomasina.”

“No aunty.”

“Then please prepare for your correction.”

“Yes aunty.”

Tommy’s hands went to the waistband of her skirt and she fumbled with the button for a few moments.

“Quickly girl,” Jane snapped.

“Yes aunty.”

Tommy made a fair impression of a quick-change artist as she shed first the skirt, then the slip and her not-so-brief briefs.

She never failed to feel a flush of embarrassment standing half naked in front of anyone and it was so much worse when you are about to be caned.

“Kneel on that and place your hands flat on the floor on the other side,” Jane said as she kicked the pouf into the middle of the carpet. “I want your dainty derriere where I can chastise it.”

Tommy eyed the padded leather cylinder as if it would bite and then did as she was told. The posture was revealing and much worse than Aden. Her back was arched down so that her head was near the floor and her bottom was extended upwards so that it pointed at the ceiling.

“Keep your legs together girl. We don’t need to see what you had for breakfast.” Tommy hated that phrase and cringed as Jane said it, but was all to glad to obey, although she felt a little more vulnerable and as if she might topple off.

Aunt Jane moved to stand behind, which was terrifying, as she could no longer see her.

“Please aunty, how many?” Tommy eyes darted in her head as she tried to work out where Jane was standing.

“You know my rules. I want to see some contrition before we began a decent count.”

“Not fair,” Tommy wailed. Even in Aden she had been given a set number of strokes.

“What did you say?” Jane snapped.

“Nothing auntie.”

“I should think not indeed. But what are you supposed to say?”

“Please Aunt Jane chastise me as I deserve.”

“Louder Thomasina, I want Amy and Mary to hear you.”

“Please Aunt Jane chastise me as I deserve.” A tear rolled down Tommy’s cheek and surprised her by not instantly boiling away on her flaming face.

The stroke cut hard before Tommy had even heard it.

“Bugger, bugger, bugger.” Tommy couldn’t help herself.

“We will cure that little lapse at bedtime with a hairbrush and a bar of soap.”


Jane watched the developing pink line rise into a satisfying ridge on Tommy’s bottom. Then she sliced in again.

“Guhh,” Tommy hissed.

Jane added three more slowly, ever vigilant for any curses or bad posture. At the last Tommy yelled and a hiccoughing sob broke followed by genuine tears.

“How many was it in Aden?” Jane asked adding two more.

Tommy took a while to answer. Then she choked out, “18.”

“I do so despise sinister numbers,” Aunt Jane said gently. “You have had only five, so one more and you can count out the last 18.”

“Yes aunty.” Tommy was weeping.

It was all that she could do to concentrate on the count, but somehow she made it to the last, broken though she was.

“Alright you can spend the morning in that corner. The door will remain open so I advise you not to move.”

“Yes aunty, thank you aunty,” Tommy sobbed.

She didn’t look up at Amy, who she saw out the corner of her eye hugging the doorframe watching.

“Let that be a lesson to you as well girl,” Jane said as she put the cane away.

“Yes Great Aunt Jane,” Amy said as she stared in awe at the stripes adorning her cousin’s bottom in the corner.

“Aunt Jane will suffice I think.”

“Yes Aunt Jane.”

“Send your mother to me and then find an errand to run.”

“Yes Aunt Jane.”

A few moments later, Mary entered the room. Her sobbing cousin in the corner took her attention, but she had seen it before.

“You sent for me Aunt Jane.”

Jane tapped the palm of her hand with a hairbrush. But surely Tommy had been caned, Mary thought with growing dread.

“I understand you conspired with our dirty-stop-out here.” It was not a question.

“I… yes aunt.”

“Prepare yourself, there are going to be two very sore bottoms in the corner this morning.”

“But Aunt the charwoman comes today.” Mary was in a panic. She had been spanked only twice since coming to Aunt Jane’s, but both had been private affairs, she wasn’t sure that Tommy even knew. Amy certainly didn’t.

“Mary Jones I intend to spank you so soundly that, how is it you put it when spanking Amy, ‘until you can’t sit down for a week,’ and I am very much better at carrying out my promises that you are.”

“As for our charwoman, well it won’t be anything she hasn’t seen before.”

“But what about Amy?” Mary wailed, backing away.

“One way or another Amy will have to learn that in this house no one is too old for a spanking.”


10 Responses to “1948: Aunt Jane’s Rules”

  1. 1 opsimath

    A nicely-spun yarn, Damian, just the thing to usher in the New Year for us. As always, your attention to detail is an example to all would-be erotic writers.

    Thank you – this one really pushed all my buttons!

  2. 2 Paul Little

    A very nice written story real old fashioned disipline! pity it does not happen now! naughty teenage girls could do with 1940s disipline in 2011! wonder if any mums/aunts do disipline like this in 2011? would be interested to know?

  3. 3 fatherjim

    Oh My Gawd! What a wonderful tale! If only women like great Aunt Jane still existed!
    The world would be a much better place! It already is just reading about it! Thanks!


  4. I really hope this isn’t the only chapter in this story. Very well done, DJ.

  5. 5 twonines

    Really excellent story.This is not the first time that the punishment of wartime servicewomen has been alluded to.Could you be prevailed upon to further develop this potentially rich vein,possibly an account of the protagonists in the Aden ”mutiny”or a return to Tommy’s escapades in WRNS

  6. 9 Charles Bombalier

    Excellent story…Hope you write more of these type of stories.Love to read when older girls are spanked also.

  1. 1 chross.blogt.ch - Chross Guide To The Spanking Internet

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