My Aunt’s Farm Turned Me into Her Submissive

That morning I walked toward my new job, toward my aunt Brígida’s farm and fields. I didn’t feel like working. I wanted to keep lazing around, living without direction and getting into one mess after another, but at the same time I couldn’t get her out of my head. I hadn’t stopped thinking about her all night.

I slept on my stomach because of the burning her whip had left me with the previous afternoon. The slightest brush of air against my skin made me grit my teeth, and every time the pain returned, she came back to my mind: her stern expression, her long rubber gloves, the coldness with which she had treated me. My aunt Brígida wasn’t a beautiful woman. She had a thick, voluptuous body, well into middle age, with enormous tits that hung heavily beneath her blouse and a broad, fleshy ass that stretched her skirt with every step. That night, however, she had become the only thing I wanted. I had jerked off to her three times lying on my back, biting my lip to keep from moaning, imagining her fat pussy swallowing my cock, her rubber gloves squeezing my balls, her harsh voice ordering me to come whenever she wanted. I didn’t understand those strange feelings toward her, though I would soon understand them completely.

My mother and the other women who worked for her would head into the fields at dawn. A seasonal vegetable had to be harvested before the rain finished ruining the soil. My aunt was in a terrible mood. Harvesting early meant selling it less ripe and at a lower price, and the mere thought of losing money enraged her.

She began shouting orders. She told the women to get between the rows and fill buckets with everything they pulled up. Then she fixed her eyes on me.

—You collect the full buckets they hand you and take them to the pile to wash them —she said, emphasizing every word—. I want the vegetables gleaming. Not a speck of dirt left on them. Is that clear?

I nodded. The instructions seemed simple enough, but it didn’t take long for me to discover that I wasn’t made for the work.

As the morning went on, the women didn’t stop filling buckets. The area was enormous, and I had to cross it again and again, carry, return, wash. After only a few trips I was exhausted and the work began piling up. They worked themselves to the bone without stopping while I slowed everything down, completely exposed, making it obvious how lazy I was.

My aunt Brígida approached with a firm stride. She wasn’t going to whip me—not yet. She returned with a bunch of herbs I didn’t recognize, though I would never forget their name: nettles. She yanked my pants down and shoved the bunch between my underwear and my skin, right over the marks from the day before.

The pain was immediate and fierce. My ass was raw, and those stalks stung and burned like hot coals. She calmly pulled my pants back up, leaving the nettles trapped against my skin.

—You’re going to learn to obey and work —she said without raising her voice—. Every time you laze around, the next day you’ll wear nettles in your ass. I guarantee you’ll prefer working yourself to death to feeling them again.

She was right. Every step was hell. The nettles fanned the burning from the lash marks, and a tear sprang to my eye, but she only reminded me that she expected effort and silence. I had no choice but to grit my teeth and really work for the first time in my life. I carried every last bucket they handed me without complaining.

At nightfall, the women went home. My mother hadn’t spoken a word to me all day. She was disappointed, sick of me, exhausted from carrying the shame of a son who did nothing but cause her trouble. She hardly looked at me as her son anymore.

***

I was getting ready to leave too, battered and worn out, when my aunt’s voice stopped me dead.

—You’re not going anywhere —she said, pointing to a long row of muddy rubber boots the women had left beside the shed—. You’re going to clean them one by one until they’re gleaming. I want them spotless tomorrow so the women can start their day.

It was humiliating. I was exhausted, and there was an endless line of boots that reeked of sweat and wet earth. I knelt with a rag and, for more than an hour, carefully scrubbed each one. When she returned and saw that I had obeyed, she made something resembling a smile.

—You’ll clean their boots every day. They’ll be pleased to find them clean every morning —she said. Then she took off her own boots and left them in front of me, caked in mud up to the shafts—. You’ll clean mine with your tongue. From today on, I’m your owner. And I want them gleaming, or I’ll have to teach you again with the whip.

She watched me intently as I, on my knees, ran my tongue over the mud on her boots. The taste was earthy and bitter, and she didn’t look away for a second, enjoying my humiliation. She had made it clear that I belonged to her now.

When I had licked half a boot, she noticed the bulge showing in my pants. My cock had become hard as a stone without asking permission, and she saw it instantly. She let out a brief, dry laugh.

—Look at you, panty-eater. You get hard eating the mud off my boots —she said, driving the muddy toe into my crotch and pressing the sole against my stiff prick—. Keep licking. And if you come in your pants, tomorrow I’ll make you lick that too.

I ran my tongue over every fold of the leather, the seams, the heel. She moved her foot calmly, rubbing the dirty sole against my cock, gauging how much I could take without coming. The mud stuck to my teeth and scraped my palate, but I kept licking with my cheeks burning, my eyes full of tears and my cock ready to burst. When I finished the second boot, my face was smeared with dirt and a thick drop of pre-cum was trickling inside my pants.

—Good boy —she said, planting the clean sole against my forehead before pulling it away—. Tomorrow you’d better bring a bigger appetite.

***

There was still plenty to harvest the following day. When the women went into the fields, I was left alone with her. I saw her seize another bunch of nettles with her gloved hand, and my blood ran cold.

—No, please, Auntie, I’ll work harder today —I begged.

It did no good. She pulled my pants down and pressed the nettles against my sore skin again.

—Today you work hard and in silence —she said—. I don’t want to see you chatting with the women. Above all, not a word to Carla or Nuria. Yesterday you wasted time flirting whenever you went to collect their buckets. On my land, you only speak to me.

I understood that she was annoyed by my approaching the younger women. What I didn’t imagine was the method she would use to silence me.

—From now on, you work mute —she added—. Panty-eaters don’t talk. They only suck panties.

I didn’t understand what she meant until she lifted her skirt to her waist and pulled her panties down to her ankles. Her pussy was barely a handspan from my face: a fat, dark pussy, with a thick tuft of black hair and fleshy lips glistening with moisture. The smell hit me full in the face, dense and sour, the scent of a mature woman who hadn’t washed in two days. They were the same panties she had worn the day before. She held them by the waistband and showed me the crotch: a broad, yellowish, caked-on stain, with a whitish crust in the center and a brown ring at the back.

—Open —she said.

I opened my mouth instinctively, and she stuffed the fabric inside with her fingers, folding it so that the stain pressed against my tongue. The taste filled my mouth all at once: rancid sweat, dried discharge, urine, and an acidic note that made me gag. She sealed my lips with a strip of tape, winding it twice around my head. Then she put a cloth mask over it so no one would notice what I was carrying in my mouth.

—Every day you’ll eat panties until you learn to behave properly —she declared—. The more you suck, the more flavor you get out of them. Now get to work. And be quiet.

I collected bucket after bucket without being able to exchange a word with anyone, hidden behind the mask, doing my job like an automaton. Every time I swallowed, I took a little more of the taste of her pussy with it. By noon, the fabric was soaked inside, and my cock was hard inside my pants, ashamed of myself and burning at the same time.

***

There was always work on my aunt’s land, hard but profitable. Her iron hand ensured that every woman earned her wages and that no one loafed if they wanted to keep their job. Little by little, almost without realizing it, I got used to the hard work. My progress was so good that she stopped watching me so closely.

And, strangely enough, I began to miss her. I missed her strictness, the way her attention remained fixed on me. Doing my work well kept me away from her, and that left me with a strange emptiness. I was so bored, day after day, that I eventually found a way to entertain myself that none of those women would have liked.

I discovered that they changed clothes and washed in a wooden shed at the back of the property. One morning I approached without making a sound and, through the gaps between the planks, watched them naked. Nuria was the first. She was young and pretty, with a firm body, small, pert tits with pink nipples, and a tight, shaved pussy showing between her slender thighs. I watched her soap her breasts with both hands, pinch her nipples without realizing it, and slide the sponge between her buttocks. I pulled my cock out of my pants and jerked it quickly, my mouth open against the wood, biting my tongue so I wouldn’t pant. I came in three strokes against the plank, splashing the wall with hot milk. She nearly discovered me, but I ran away in time, my pants stained and my hands sticky.

Carla was next. Carla was a different matter: older than Nuria, with a big, round ass and heavy tits that bounced when she bent over. She spread her legs to wash her pussy, and I watched her fingers sink between her lips, separating them to rinse inside. I pulled it out again. That time I held out longer; I wanted to watch her until the end, and I came just as she turned around to soap her ass. A thick jet stained my fingers and the inside of my pants. I had found my pastime: every time either of them went in to freshen up, I was there, crouched behind the wood, my cock out. I was selective. Only those two. I would never have spied on my mother or the veteran, Mrs. Remedios.

Until they caught me, and I got myself into an enormous mess all over again.

It was Nuria who caught me pressed against the planks, my cock in my hand and on the verge of coming. She screamed with all her strength, calling me a pervert, while covering her breasts with her hands and clamping her legs shut. They all came running, frightened. I put my cock away as best I could and denied it, sowed doubt, lied shamelessly, and for a moment I thought I would get away with it, because my aunt didn’t know whom to believe. Then Carla intervened. She confirmed Nuria’s story and revealed that I had been spying on her too for days, that she had kept quiet out of shame and fear of losing her job.

There was no longer any doubt. My aunt Brígida’s face was pure fury; my mother’s, pure shame. Once again I had made a fool of her, this time in front of her coworkers. The other women looked at her as though blaming her for raising such a son. My mother left with her head bowed, crying, rejected by the very women she worked shoulder to shoulder with.

***

The punishment arrived only a day later. It was a strange day: nobody spoke to me, and nobody went near me or my mother. My aunt avoided speaking to me, though for a different reason: she was waiting for the right moment, the end of the workday. When everyone else went to rest, I was still there.

—You’re coming with me to the storage room —she ordered in a deep voice—. You’re going to receive the punishment you deserve.

We entered the large storeroom where the tools and equipment were kept. That was where I had first met the real Aunt Brígida, and I felt as though I were reliving that day. She locked the door and pulled on rubber gloves over her thick arms.

—I warned you —she said slowly—. If you disobeyed me again, I would be much harsher. You’ve made us all look bad. Carla and Nuria are humiliated, your mother is being blamed, and the others resent me for indulging you. Today you learn how to behave. I told you we’d find out what breaks first, your ass or the whip.

—I’m sorry, Aunt Brígida, it won’t happen again —I stammered, but it was already too late.

—Take off your clothes. All of them.

I obeyed. I removed my shirt, pants, and underwear with trembling hands. She looked me up and down without the slightest pity, her eyes fixed on my cock, which hung limp and shrunken with fear.

—What a pathetic little dick you have —she said, grabbing it with her gloved hand and shaking it contemptuously—. And this is what frightened those poor girls. It’s embarrassing to look at.

She squeezed my balls between her rubber-clad fingers until my knees buckled, then released me abruptly. She passed a thick chain over a ceiling beam so that both ends hung down. She locked cuffs around my wrists and hooked them above me, leaving me on tiptoe, arms stretched up and my naked body completely exposed to her will. Then she tied my ankles with rope, spreading my legs wide so my ass and balls were within easy reach. Within minutes I was completely immobilized. Where had she gotten the handcuffs? I still had a great deal to discover about her.

—Auntie, there’s no need, I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll behave —I insisted.

—Shut your mouth —she snapped, stepping closer—. Do you think you can deceive me with your lies?

She lifted her skirt, pulled her panties down over her thick thighs, and slipped them off her feet. These were even worse than the ones from the day before: the crotch was soaked and sticky, with thick strands of discharge hanging from the fabric. She rubbed them all over my face before stuffing them into my mouth, folded into a dense wad that filled my palate. The tape sealed my lips with two turns.

—You’ve decided to be a panty-eater for the rest of your life. So be it. Swallow everything that fabric releases, every last drop.

The taste of her pussy dissolved in my mouth within seconds, salty and bitter, and I had no choice but to swallow the saliva mixed with her discharge. My stomach churned, but my cock began hardening again, hanging between my spread thighs.

She saw it and smiled crookedly.

—Look at the pig. Gagged with my dirty panties, and he gets hard. Now I know what you are.

She grabbed the short whip I already knew. She positioned herself behind me and weighed it in her gloved hand. I was terrified. I knew that day would be different, that she was going to be especially cruel. I had gone too far. And yet something inside me wanted it, needed her harshness, even though I was certain I wouldn’t enjoy it that afternoon.

The first lash knocked the breath out of me. I learned the true meaning of the word hell. Each blow was worse than the last. The braided leather crashed against my bare buttocks, leaving a fiery burn. I would have howled, but gagged, I couldn’t make a single sound. Resigned and unable to move, I took lash after lash as tears streamed down my face and the panties pushed deeper inside me with every retch.

When she finished with my ass, the leather moved to my back. I thought she had made a mistake, but several more blows followed the first. Then she moved down to my thighs and whipped every inch of skin. She also delivered a couple of sharp blows between my legs, one of them striking my balls full on and leaving me breathless. Everything hurt: my ass, my back, my legs, my balls. She vented all her rage on me, and I knew that time I would take days to recover.

When she finally lowered the whip, she came up behind me, spread my burning buttocks with both gloved hands, and pushed her index finger all the way into my ass, without lubricant or warning. I screamed against the gag. Her finger turned inside me, curling and probing while she breathed against the nape of my neck.

—This ass is mine too from today on —she said—. I’ll break it in whenever I feel like it. And judging by how tightly you’re clenching, I can already see it’s going to cost you dearly.

She pulled her finger out as calmly as she had inserted it and showed it to me over her shoulder, dirty, before wiping it on my own cheek.

—Listen carefully to your new rules, panty-eater —she said, catching her breath—. Every Saturday afternoon we’ll come into this room. If you’ve obeyed, worked hard, and behaved yourself with the women, I may be merciful with the whip. If not, I’ll whip you harder and for longer every week. You choose.

She paused to let every word sink in.

—I’ll mark you every week. How much depends on you. You can work while somewhat sore, or you can do it with your body screaming at every step. Next week we’ll see what you’ve chosen. You’re going to hate this whip, I promise you.

She was completely serious. She freed me from the chains and ropes, and just as I was about to flee with my eyes swollen, her voice stopped me again.

—Not so fast.

She was holding something she had bought after the incident at the shed: a small wire cage, with a ring for the balls and a curved tube for the cock. I didn’t understand what it was for until she grabbed my prick, still half-hard from the humiliation, threaded my balls through the ring one by one, and stuffed my dick into the tube. My cock bent downward, shrunken and imprisoned. She locked it underneath with a tiny key and tugged at the device: it wouldn’t come off.

—No more masturbating —she said, tucking the key into her cleavage, between her two heavy tits—. Every time you get hard, the wire will squeeze it until you go soft. The next time you want to touch yourself, you’ll have to ask me for it. And I very much doubt I’ll give it to you.

She pinched the tip of my cock through the bars and drew a muffled whimper from me.

—And one more thing. From tonight on, you piss sitting down, like the women. If I find out you’ve splashed a single drop outside the bowl, I’ll tie you to the toilet with your tongue inside it. Understood?

I nodded with my head lowered, my cock already trying to swell inside the cage while the wire bit into it from every side. The device was completely effective. Now even my own body no longer belonged to me.

***

My aunt Brígida had achieved exactly what she wanted: she had made me fear her. I had underestimated her, believing her punishments would be a pleasurable game, and I had been completely wrong. I didn’t want to feel that whip again. From then on, I would have to behave in a very different way.

She could be strict and cruel, yes, but she was also fair. For weeks she had watched my mother and me grow apart until we became strangers to each other, and that wasn’t what she wanted on her land. She wanted a united family and a good atmosphere among the women, and she knew perfectly well how she would achieve it. She had a plan for me, for my mother, and for everyone, and the days that followed would show me the most sadistic—and at the same time most precise—side of the only woman capable of taming me.