My Aunt’s Farm Turned Me into Her Submissive

That morning I walked toward my new job, toward my aunt Brígida’s farm and land. I didn’t feel like working. I wanted to keep loafing around, living aimlessly and getting myself into one mess after another, but at the same time I couldn’t get her out of my head. I had spent the whole night thinking about her.

I slept on my stomach because of the burning her whip had left me with the day before. The slightest brush of air over my skin made me clench my teeth, and every time the pain came back, there she was in my mind again: her stern expression, her long rubber gloves, the coldness with which she had treated me. My aunt Brígida was not a beautiful woman. She had a thick, voluptuous body and was well past her youth, but that night she had become the only thing I desired. I didn’t understand those strange feelings I had for 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 foul mood. Bringing the harvest forward meant selling it less ripe and at a worse price, and the mere thought of losing money enraged her.

She started shouting orders. She told the women to get into the furrows and fill buckets with whatever they pulled up. Then she fixed her eyes on me.

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

I nodded. They sounded like simple instructions, but I soon found out I was not made for work.

As the morning went on, the women kept filling bucket after bucket. The field was huge and I had to cross it again and again, carry them, go back, wash them. After only a few trips I was exhausted and the work piled up on me. They were breaking their backs without stopping while I slowed everything down, making it obvious how lazy I was.

My aunt Brígida came over with a determined stride. She wasn’t going to whip me, not yet. She came back with a bundle of herbs I couldn’t identify, though I would never forget their name: nettles. She yanked my trousers down and shoved the bundle between my underwear and my skin, right over the marks from the day before.

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

—You’re going to learn to obey and to work —she said, without raising her voice—. Every time you loaf, the next day you’ll wear nettles on your ass. I guarantee you’ll prefer breaking your back to feeling them again.

She was right. Every step was hell. The nettles reignited the burning from the lashes and a tear slipped out of my eye, but all she did was remind me that she expected effort and silence. I had no choice but to grit my teeth and actually work for the first time in my life. I carried every last bucket they handed me without complaint.

As evening fell, the women went home. My mother hadn’t spoken to me all day. She was disappointed, sick of me, exhausted from carrying the shame of a son who only brought her trouble. She hardly looked at me as her son anymore.

***

I was getting ready to leave too, aching all over, when my aunt’s voice stopped me cold.

—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 shine. Tomorrow I want them spotless so they can start their day.

It was humiliating. I was worn out and there was an endless line of boots that stank of sweat and wet earth. I knelt with a rag and, for more than an hour, scrubbed each one carefully. When she came back and checked that I had obeyed, she formed something like a smile.

—Every day you’ll clean their boots. They’ll be happy when they find them clean every morning —she said. Then she slipped off her own boots and set them in front of me, caked in mud up to the shaft—. You’ll clean mine with your tongue. From today I own you. And I want them shining, or I’ll have to teach you again with the whip.

She watched me closely while 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 single second, savoring my humiliation. She had made it clear that I now belonged to her.

***

The next day there was still a lot to harvest. When the women headed into the fields, I was left alone with her. I saw her grab a fresh bundle of nettles with her gloved hand and my blood ran cold.

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

It was useless. She pulled my trousers down and pressed the nettles back against my sore skin.

—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 with Carla and Nuria. Yesterday you were wasting time flirting every time you went to pick up their bucket. On my land you only speak to me.

I understood that it bothered her that I was getting close to the younger women. What I hadn’t imagined was the method she was going to use to shut me up.

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

I didn’t understand what she meant until she pulled down the panties she was wearing, the same ones as the day before. They were dirty, worn, with a pungent smell. She stuffed them into my mouth and sealed them with a strip of tape. Then she placed a cloth mask over it, so no one would notice what I had inside. The idea was as twisted as it was effective: I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t spit, and the taste churned my stomach.

—Every day you’ll eat panties until you behave properly —she declared—. Now, back to work. And silently.

I collected bucket after bucket without being able to exchange a word with anyone, hidden behind the mask, doing my job like an automaton.

***

On my aunt’s land there was always work to do, hard but profitable. Her iron hand made sure every woman earned her wages and that no one slacked off if they wanted to keep their place. Little by little, almost without noticing, I got used to the effort. My progress was so good that she stopped watching me so closely.

And, strangely, I started missing her. Missing her severity, her attention fixed on me. Doing my work well distanced me from her, and that left me with a strange emptiness. I was so bored, day after day, that I ended up finding a way to entertain myself that none of those women would have liked.

I discovered that they changed and washed in a wooden shed at the back of the property. One morning I crept over without making a sound and, through the gaps between the planks, I saw them naked. The first was Nuria. She was young, pretty, with a firm body, and while I spied on her I couldn’t resist sliding my hand into my trousers. She almost caught me, but I got away in time. The next was Carla, and I repeated the same ritual. I had found my pastime: whenever one of them went in to cool off, there I was, crouched behind the wood. 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 another huge mess.

It was Nuria who caught me pressed against the boards. She screamed at the top of her lungs, calling me a pervert, while covering her breasts with her hands. Everyone came running, startled. I denied it, sowed doubt, lied brazenly, and for a moment I thought I would get away with it, because my aunt didn’t know whom to believe. Then Carla stepped in. She confirmed Nuria’s version and revealed that I had also been spying on her for days, and that she had stayed quiet out of shame and fear of losing her job.

There was no doubt left. My aunt Brígida’s face was pure fury; my mother’s, pure shame. Once again I had humiliated her, this time in front of her coworkers. The other women looked at her as if blaming her for raising such a son. My mother walked away with her head down, crying, rejected by the very women she worked side by side with.

***

The punishment took only one day to arrive. It was a strange day: no one spoke to me, no one came near me or my mother. My aunt avoided talking to me, though for a different reason: she was waiting for the right moment, the end of the day. When everyone went off to rest, I was still there.

—You’re coming with me to the storeroom —she ordered in a low voice—. You’re going to get the punishment you deserve.

We went into the large storeroom where the tools were kept. That was where I had first met the real Aunt Brígida, and I had the sensation of reliving that day. She locked the door and slipped the rubber gloves onto her voluminous arms.

—I warned you —she said slowly—. If you disobeyed me again, it would be much harsher. You’ve put us all in a bad light. Carla and Nuria are ashamed, your mother is being blamed, and they look at me with resentment for indulging you. Today you learn how to behave. I told you we would see what broke first, your ass or the whip.

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

She slung a thick chain over a ceiling beam so both ends hung down. She closed handcuffs around my wrists and hooked them up high, leaving me on tiptoe, arms stretched out. Then she tied my ankles with a rope. Within minutes I was completely immobilized. Where had she gotten the handcuffs? There was still so much more I had to discover about her.

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

—Shut your mouth —she snapped, and came closer—. Do you think you can fool me with your lies?

She shoved the filthy panties back into my mouth and sealed them with tape.

—You’ve decided to be an ass-eater for the rest of your life. So be it.

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

The first lash stole my breath. I learned the true meaning of the word hell. Every blow was worse than the last. The braided leather smashed against my bare buttocks and left a burning welt. I would have howled, but gagged I couldn’t make a single sound. Resigned, unable to move, I took lash after lash while tears streamed down my face.

When she finished with my ass, the leather moved to my back. I thought she had made a mistake, but several more blows followed. Then she went down to my thighs and whipped every inch of skin. Everything hurt: my ass, my back, my legs. She unloaded all her rage on me, and I knew this time it would take days to recover.

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

She paused so every word could sink in.

—I’ll mark you every week. How much is up to you. You can work while a little sore, or you can do it with your body screaming at every step. Next week we’ll see what you chose. You’re going to hate this whip, I guarantee it.

She was deadly serious. She freed me from the chains and ropes, and when I was about to flee with swollen eyes, her voice stopped me again.

—Not so fast.

She was holding an object she had bought after the shed incident: a small wire cage. I didn’t understand what it was for until she fit it over my sex and locked it with a tiny key.

—No more masturbating —she said, pocketing the key—. 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.

The device was completely effective. Now not even my own body belonged to me.

***

My aunt Brígida had achieved exactly what she wanted: she had made me fear her. I had underestimated her, had thought 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 very differently.

She could be strict and cruel, yes, but she was also fair. She had spent weeks watching my mother and me drift apart until we became strangers, and that was not 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 was going to achieve it. She had a plan for me, for my mother, and for everyone, and the days that followed would make me discover the most sadistic, and at the same time most precise, side of the only woman capable of taming me.