My Aunt Casilda Taught Me Obedience in the Storage Shed

I grew up in a forgotten village in the north, one of those places where time seems to have stopped between the fog and the fields. Life there was so quiet it was boring: some people lived off the crops, others off the livestock, and the luckiest had a job at the factory on the outskirts. At home, we worked the land, though the truth is that we owed everything to my Aunt Casilda. Without her, my mother and I would not have survived the debt my father left behind the day he ran off.

People said my family was cursed when it came to men. First my uncle Anselmo died after a long illness, and all his land passed into the hands of his widow, my Aunt Casilda. A year later, my father abandoned us for another woman and the promise of a bigger city. My mother then began working for my aunt, growing vegetables on those fertile lands that had customers in every neighboring village. The business did well. My aunt saved us, and she never let us forget it.

I, on the other hand, was the spit image of my father. A lazy good-for-nothing, a shameless bastard who spent all day with his friends and ran from the countryside like it was the plague. I hated work and hated my Aunt Casilda even more. I made a point of staying away from her farm, even though my mother bent her back there from dawn till dusk.

My aunt was about sixty then, and she was a huge woman. In the village they called her “the mountain,” because of her weight and her size. Eating was one of her greatest pleasures, which was why she weighed well over a hundred kilos. But there was nothing clumsy about her: she moved with a baffling agility, working nonstop beside my mother. What truly defined her was her character. She had a hellish temper, always in a foul mood, shouting orders. She loathed the way she treated my mother, a meek, gullible woman whom my aunt berated every day for her weakness.

There were seven women working the land, counting her, which was why the village nicknamed them “the seven farmwomen.” My mother was second in command, a privilege she had as the owner’s little sister. The group also included Nuria, the youngest and prettiest of them all; her mother, Doña Remedios, the oldest; and Brígida, about whom there was a story few dared tell out loud. They said that years earlier she stole money from the till and that my aunt whipped her with a lash until her ass was marked. I never fully believed that tale, but my mother swore it was true, and that Brígida was still working there, faithful and silent, ever since that day.

***

The thing that set everything off happened during the village festival. That night I drank more than my body could handle, and between the alcohol and my friends’ stupidity we made an absurd decision that ended badly. I’m not going to describe what we did; even now I’m ashamed. I’ll only say that in the early morning a police car dropped me off at home in a deplorable state and with a theft and vandalism complaint hanging over my head.

My mother fell apart. Instead of apologizing, I started fighting with her and blamed her for everything, like the miserable bastard I was. While she was crying, the phone rang. It was my Aunt Casilda, waiting for her in the fields for some jobs. Her shouting could be heard through the receiver. My mother, sobbing, told her what had happened, and my aunt’s voice rose until it became thunder.

—Once again I’ll have to pay the consequences —she growled—. The fine, the damage, all of it... and you doing nothing. Over and over again.

There was a silence, and then she spoke in a calm that was more frightening than her shouting.

—This afternoon this nonsense ends. Tell your son to come see me. I’m going to sort it out the way I should have years ago.

For the first time, my mother did not defend me.

***

I didn’t want to go, but I had no choice: my aunt owned the business that kept us afloat. I imagined the usual scene. Her shouting, me bowing my head, nodding, and leaving without another word. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I got to the farm at the worst possible moment. My aunt was at the gate arguing with a man who owed her money, warning him she wouldn’t sell him another vegetable until he paid. The poor guy practically fled. Then she turned her head and saw me standing there, waiting. She fixed me with a look full of hate.

—I’ll come back another day, Aunt —I said, and turned to escape like that man had.

—Stay right there! —Her voice stopped me cold—. Today I’m fixing this at the root. I promise you you won’t be getting into trouble again.

I followed her across the muddy fields. I thought we were going to her house, but no. I walked behind her voluminous body, watching her work clothes: the short blue apron that left her thick arms and legs bare, and the rubber boots splashed with mud up to the knee. The recent rains had left the fields waterlogged. With every step the apron clung to her huge ass, outlining her panties beneath the fabric, and though I tried not to look, my eyes kept going to those gigantic buttocks swaying down the path.

We stopped in front of the shed where the tools were kept. She told me to go in. It was a wide warehouse, with shelves full of tools and junk piled in corners, and a clear space in the center. My aunt came in behind me, closed the door, and locked it from the inside. She put the keyring in the pocket of her apron.

Why is she locking it?

Fear rose up my throat. I always thought I was king of the world until the moment of truth arrived; then my legs shook like a kid’s.

***

My aunt grabbed a sack from one of the shelves and dragged a chair into the middle of the room. She sat down and started putting on a pair of long rubber gloves, the filthy kind used for dirty work. Her arms were so fleshy the rubber went on with difficulty, squeaking, and she tugged them up to her elbows. I watched her without understanding what she meant to do. Then she lifted her apron to her waist, revealing those enormous thighs, white and covered in stretch marks, and planted her gloved hands on her knees. In the shadow between her legs I caught sight of the bulge of her white cotton panties, taut, sinking into folds of flesh.

—Take your pants down and lie across my knees. I’m going to teach you how to behave.

I understood she meant to whip me like a child. I turned toward the door in a reflex, even though I knew it was locked. My aunt rose like a bull. Her body lunged onto me and I felt her hand sliding into the waistband of my pants, feeling around behind me. She grabbed my testicles from behind and squeezed with brutal force, crushing my balls between her gloved fingers as if she wanted to burst them. The pain doubled me over. I would have done anything if she’d only loosened her grip.

She led me to the chair without letting go, and laid me face down across her knees. From the sack she pulled out a thick dog collar and fastened it around my neck. Then she tied my wrists behind my back with a rope, with the ease of someone who had done it many times, and hooked my bound hands to the collar ring. I was immobilized, head hanging downward and ass in the air. All I could see were her mud-caked boots.

She swung one leg over me like a pair of scissors and put her gloved hand into the sack. Out came a wooden hairbrush.

The first blow sounded like a gunshot. The wood smashed against my skin and a lash of pain shot through me.

—Let me go! —I shouted, unable to move a millimeter.

She stopped for a moment. I thought she had given up, but she only stood up to pull off her panties from under the apron, sliding them down those legs until they came off over her boots. They were wide white panties, and from where I was I could see the yellowish stain of the crotch, darkened by the day’s sweat, with a fresh damp ring still there. A thick, sharp smell, of a sweaty cunt on a sixty-year-old working woman, hit me all at once. She placed me back over her knees and brought them up to my face.

—If you can’t take punishment in silence like a man, you’ll be a cunt-sucker.

She shoved them into my mouth by force, pushing with two gloved fingers until I nearly choked. They were soaked with warm dampness, dirty from a whole day’s work, and the taste—salty, sour, with a sweet undernote of cunt and stale sweat—turned my stomach. I tried to spit them out and she squeezed my jaws from the outside, forcing me to suck them like they were a tit. With that disgusting gag jammed between my teeth, she resumed the beating with the brush, over and over, until the pain lost all shape. Every blow made me clamp my tongue against the cloth, and every squeeze filled my mouth with more of her juice. I was sucking her cunt without meaning to, swallowing the taste of the woman who had humiliated me my whole life.

***

I tried to spit the gag out with my tongue. She noticed. She sat me up a little on her knees and shoved the cloth deeper into my throat with her gloved fingers, then sealed my lips with her hand so I couldn’t spit it out. All I could manage was a muffled groan while the brush kept falling. And then, hanging upside down, with the taste of her cunt on my tongue and my ass on fire, I felt the betrayal of my own body: my cock started getting hard against my aunt’s enormous thigh. It swelled slowly, trapped between the flesh of her legs, and each stroke made it a little stiffer. I prayed she wouldn’t notice. She did.

—Well, well. The little brat gets hard while his aunt beats him. —She laughed, a deep, guttural laugh—. So that’s what you were missing at home, huh, you little bastard? A woman teaching you with her hand.

She drove her gloved palm under my belly, squeezed, and pinched my hard cock over the lowered pants. I writhed like a fish on a hook, and she laughed louder, still bringing the brush down with her other hand.

Humiliation and helplessness, that was all I felt. And pleasure too, filthy pleasure I couldn’t even bring myself to be ashamed of out loud. When she had left my ass raw, she dropped the brush and stood up. I thought it was finally over. She went back into the sack and pulled out a short black whip made of several braided leather strands. I remembered Brígida’s story and understood it was true.

She bent me over the seat of the chair, my stomach pressed against the wood, and wedged my head between her thighs, standing beside me. She squeezed them shut hard, crushing my face until I could barely breathe. I turned my head, searching for any gap to get air, and as I did my nose sank straight into her bare cunt, that hairy, swollen cunt, soaked with sweat and something else, slicker, thicker, that was seeping from inside. She was wet. The fucking bitch was getting wet from what she was doing to me.

—I can promise you you’ll never disobey again. I should have broken your ass with a whip long ago, but better late than never.

She lifted my bound hands with one hand and with the other brought the whip down on my already bruised skin. That afternoon I found out what hell was. The leather bit into my flesh, and I cried like never before, unable to speak, swallowing that filthy taste. Every lash made me gasp, and every gasp shoved the smell of her flooded cunt into my mouth and nose. With my tongue sticking out through the gag, without meaning to, without being able to stop myself, I licked the spit off her cunt at the edge of her thighs. She shuddered and squeezed her thighs harder against my head, rubbing herself against my face without stopping the whipping. I cried until I had no tears left, with my cock hard as a rock and my mouth dripping with her wetness.

***

When she finally opened her thighs, I breathed like a shipwreck survivor. My face was soaked, shining, smelling of my aunt’s cunt from forehead to chin. She grabbed me by the hair with the rubber glove and yanked me upward, bringing her face close to mine. She lowered her eyes to my groin and saw the cock standing there, outlined beneath the fabric of my underpants, pointing like a stake.

—Look at what my nephew’s got. I knew you were a filthy little thing, son. —She squeezed my cock over my underpants, wrapped it in her whole gloved hand, and slowly milked it, measuring it—. A nice hard cock for his aunt. I’m going to tame this too, don’t you worry.

—From now on you obey me in everything. You follow my orders and behave like a man. If you disobey me, you know what’s waiting for you.

She dragged me by the hair to a corner and put me on my knees, face to the wall.

—You stay here until I say so. If you move, I’m coming back with the whip.

She went out and locked the door. She left me there, tied up, with my pants down and my ass ruined, my cock still hard and throbbing between my legs, unable to touch it. Time crawled. My knees burned against the concrete floor, but the worst thing was that filthy gag. With my tongue, pushing little by little, I managed to spit it out. I shouldn’t have done it.

She came back an hour later. She checked that I was still obedient in the corner and prepared to untie me. When she bent over, she saw the panties on the floor.

—Why are these lying here? Didn’t I tell you that if you didn’t behave like a man, you’d be a cunt-sucker? Well, that’ll be your name from today on.

—It’s just... they tasted awful and I spit them out —I stammered, not knowing I was making things worse.

I had just told her her panties stank, and that offended her even more.

—Well, well, the little cunt-sucker is disgusted by dirty panties. Then you really won’t like them now.

She crouched behind me. Curiosity got the better of me and I turned my head: she had lifted the apron to her waist, legs spread in a squat, and was rubbing the panties all over her sex and ass with broad, unhurried movements. I saw her hairy cunt, fat, with dark, hanging lips, opened apart by her own hand’s fingers. She pushed the cloth between the lips of her cunt and rubbed inside, soaking it well, until she pulled it out dripping with a whitish, thick juice. Then she ran the panties through the cleft of her ass, rubbing them up and down against the brown hole, leaving one side brown and the other transparent. My cock went hard again instantly, like an idiot.

—Don’t you dare turn around!

Two brutal slaps snapped my face back toward the corner. Then she ordered me to open my mouth and shoved the gag back in, now much worse, soaked with her fluids, loaded with a taste of cunt and ass mixed together that nearly made me vomit. She sealed it with duct tape. This time there was no way to spit it out. With every breath through my nose I got her whole smell, and with every swallow of saliva the taste of what was between her legs slipped down my throat.

—There you have it, cunt-sucker. Suck it well; it’s going to last you all afternoon.

At that moment I understood something. My aunt wasn’t doing all that just to teach me a lesson: she enjoyed it. Exercising power, punishing, humiliating, marking a man with her taste and her smell... it was a pleasure for her. You could hear it in her husky voice, see it in the gleam of her eyes, in the dampness running down her thick thighs even after she’d wiped herself clean. She had gone far too long without satisfying that thirst, and I had awakened her darkest side.

***

What she failed to see was that, while I was becoming her victim, something else was born in me that I also didn’t understand. On my knees, gagged with the dampness of her cunt between my teeth, my ass on fire and my hard cock dripping spit, I began to feel a strange mix of fear and desire for my Aunt Casilda. I had fallen in love with her cruelty, with her fat thighs crushing my face, with her dirty panties and the bitter taste of her sex. I needed someone to rule my life with an iron hand, someone to tie me up, whip me, force me to eat her cunt until she came all over my mouth. And that person was her.

She came back two hours later. My knees were bleeding against the concrete. She crouched down, ripped off the tape in one yank that took hairs from my face with it, and pulled the panties out of my mouth. My chin was shining with saliva and her now-dried fluids.

—Tomorrow you start working on the farm. No more loafing around. You’ll obey me without talking back. And if I see you aren’t working hard, I’ll be back with the whip. We’ll see what breaks first, the leather or your ass.

She tucked the soaked panties into the pocket of her apron, looked at my cock, still hard, one last time, smiled with contempt, and untied the ropes.

My days of delinquency were over. The next morning I showed up at my aunt’s fields to learn the trade, my ass still purple and the taste of her cunt stuck to my palate as if it were never going away. But that was only the beginning. I got to know the seven farmwomen for real, and I got myself into far more serious and pleasurable trouble, which I’ll keep telling you about.