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JUST ONE sample of the luscious letters included in EVERY regularly released issue of Woman to Woman Spanking, our forum by/for strictly old-fashioned Fem-spanks-Fem fans!

Dear Barbara & Michael... My first year at college was a fiasco until one day that I can honestly say changed my life. I'm a reasonably successful businesswoman today, but I may not have been if it wasn't for an old-fashioned, eye-opening spanking my aunt administered to my undisciplined derriere!

Coming from a suburban area of Washington State, my parents insisted I attend parochial grammar and high schools. "Better education," they said, which was true, but it wasn't much fun, either. Neither of the schools used physical punishment, mind you, but they did have strict standards for dress, deportment, grooming, and so on. Transgressions resulted in detentions, informing your parents (with implications that a spanking might be the best remedy!) and extra assignments.

The result was that when the time came to choose a college, I focused on one sufficiently distant and appealing to make up for lost time. Which is exactly what I did. My grades, all A's, allowed me to pick and enter UCLA. My parents weren't all that happy with it, but UCLA is a good school and they decided that at 18, it was time for me to get out on my own and grow up.

As I suspected, being on my own was fantastic! I moved into a dorm, had a room-mate, who could've been my sister our backgrounds were so similar, and began my college career with abandon.

There were parties on our floor, in the dorm, on-campus, or off-campus almost every night. At first, we remained studious and studied during the week, only attending weekend festivities, but after about a month, we'd treat our hard-studying selves to a mid-week party or two.

By the end of the first semester, I had found a surfer boyfriend and pretty much gotten the lay of the land. My courses were easy. The professors didn't care about attendance. I figured going to class was pointless except when exams or assignments were due, so my boyfriend and I, along with my room-mate and her surfer boyfriend, spent our days at the beach and our nights partying. I was enjoying every moment of my new-found freedom!

Of course, my parents had no idea what was going on. I aced all my tests, papers, and assignments. My grades did drop to B's--- the nasty professors did care enough about attendance to knock me down a grade since I never attended their boring lectures! ---but my parents figured I was just adjusting to college pressure. I didn't correct them.

Everything was going smoothly until my aunt called the dorm one night when I was out partying. There weren't phones in the rooms, only pay phones out in the halls, and a prissy girl I didn't much care for answered. She didn't say much to my aunt, but she mentioned "partying as usual" in such a way that Aunt Ellen got suspicious. Suspicious enough to call back several times over the next few days and discover I was always out somewhere.

Aunt Ellen didn't say anything to my parents. She's a fantastic lady and has always been more of a friend and big sister to me than a relative. She's successful, confident and very shrewd, which is why she decided to find out exactly what I was up to although she already had a pretty good idea.

It only took a call to my staff advisor, who referred her to two professors, to get all the incriminating information. She mentioned their saying, "wasting her college experience, squandered potential" and some other scholarly portents of doom when she arrived, unexpectedly, at my dorm door about two weeks later, just as I was leaving for the beach.

To make a long story short, she gave me more than enough rope to hang myself - swearing I was knuckling down, studying away, burning the midnight oil, and all that - before she laid out the facts she'd accumulated.

What could I say? Even then, I wasn't insane enough to try to deny them. By the way, Aunt Ellen's a lawyer, real-estate, so spinning yarns has never been easy with her.

Aunt Ellen then proceeded to explain, in a sisterly way, why my education was so important, what I was wasting, why I should attend classes, etc. During her talk, she asked me questions, patiently listened to my feeble excuses, and finally announced that I was acting very immaturely and she understood why. It was hard for a previously sheltered girl like me to resist the exciting temptations all around me.

As I sat across from her, still in the one piece bathing suit and robe I was planning to wear to the beach, I nodded my head at the comforting understanding my aunt seemed to convey. For a minute, I thought I'd gotten away with it, would have to promise to do better, maybe attend classes twice a week, and that would be it. I knew she'd never tell my parents if I played along.

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I still swear she read my mind! Her last sentence summed up my thoughts as if I'd said them out loud. And since she'd phrased it as a question, I could only look at her with my mouth open, shocked, and unable to fib my way out of it.

Aunt Ellen just nodded, said "drastic measures" were called for, and explained she'd be calling my advisor and professors weekly from now on. Then she said that wasn't all. I needed something more immediate to cure my immature recklessness and she was going to give it to me right here and now.

I looked at her in confusion. I really didn't know what she meant. She let the moment hang for emphasis, and then she looked me square in the eye and said, "I'm afraid you very much need a good, sound spanking, Donna. And you are going to get one."

If I was shocked before, I was numb now. She had to be kidding! I told her so, and then some: "no right, too old, not my mother, etc." I remember the expression on her face. It was firm and angry, but also sad, and stayed exactly the same throughout my protests and eventual chastisement.

After I finished rattling off everything I could think of, Aunt Ellen simply said, "I love you, Donna. I am not going to sit by while you make a mistake you'll regret for the rest of your life. I don't want to tell your parents, but I will if need be. I also know that this discussion alone will not suffice to curb your immature behavior. You are going to be spanked so you'll remember this discussion for more than five minutes after I leave. And that's all that there is to it."

Aunt Ellen wasn't trying to trap me, really, but she sure did. My parents were paying for my college education, not vacation. They'd scrimped and saved all these years for my education. They'd be crushed if they found out what I'd been up to. So would I, I realized. I could never look them in the eye again.

Aunt Ellen let me think it out before getting up to turn one of the two desk chairs around to face the room. She sat down, that same expression of angry sadness on her face, and said something like, "let's get this over with, Donna. Come here."

The enormity of what was about to happen was overwhelming. There was no way out, so, almost as if I was sleepwalking I stood and took a step towards where my aunt sat waiting. The rooms were small and the chair sat almost at the foot of the bed. When I stopped in front of her, confused as to what to do next, Aunt Ellen said "you're going to get your bare bottom spanked, Donna. Take off your robe and suit."

I hardly protested. What was the point? I made some noises and blushed to the roots of my hair as I tossed the robe aside and peeled down to my birthday suit, feeling utterly humiliated and miserable. I also felt guilty as sin and stared at the floor.

Aunt Ellen reached out and directed me to her right side and then over her knee. I've read since how one tends to feel cool breezes like never before when positioned bottom up, and believe me, that's true.

The spanking that followed was horrible. Aunt Ellen's hand felt like cement as it rose and fell, over and over, covering every inch of my backside time and time again.

She decided to teach me a lesson, and she did. From the first, stinging crack of her hand, I reverted to a naughty ten year old, kicking, crying, pleading, and promising sainthood. Her first spank landed square on the summit of my right cheek and stung like blazes. Her second followed quickly, right on the same spot and the sting was twofold. The same with the third, fourth, and fifth. All as hard as she could and in the same, sore spot. I remember pleading with her to "spank somewhere else" because I thought it'd be better than that one burning spot over and over again.

Of course, she did spank somewhere else but always in the same cadence. Five hard, stinging slaps would inflame one cauldron-hot spot before moving to ignite another the same way. By the time she'd delivered 25 spanks to five burning areas, I was sobbing my eyes out. She started on the right summit, then the left summit, then the tender lower swell of my right cheek, then left, then five scorchers across the crevice and both cheeks.

Aunt Ellen isn't much bigger than me, but somehow she managed to keep me off balance enough where I couldn't get off her knee. And believe me, I was trying as hard as I could to do just that! She had pinned my wrist when the first spank demanded I reach back to protect myself, so there wasn't much else I could do but sob and be spanked!

And I was! Aunt Ellen didn't stop at 25. Or 50. Or 75. I don't know how many times she slapped my burning buttocks, but I do know it was enough to turn them crimson and then some. Long before she stopped, I had lost all ability to count or think anything except that I was being soundly spanked and I wanted it to stop.

It did finally, but by that time, I was a mess. I'd cried a river of tears, my nose was running, I was near exhausted from kicking and sobbing, and I'd decided I'd do anything, ANYTHING to avoid a repeat of that ordeal.

I did go to class every day after that spanking. My grades went back up to A's. My parents congratulated themselves on being right about the pressure during my first semester and happily attended when I graduated with honors. They never knew about Aunt Ellen spanking me, checking up on me for a while, and assuring me she could and would administer an even more severe spanking if I didn't shape up!

Aunt Ellen? She's still my big sister and best friend. She's been a big help in my career. The day she spanked me and since. She doesn't know what that spanking did to me. And, no, she never had to spank me again. But, yes, I have fantasized about her doing so more times than I can remember.

Maybe I'll get up the nerve to tell her someday or see if she'd still think of spanking me again on her own? I'd like that, but only if Aunt Ellen wasn't quite as angry and determined to teach me a lesson as she was that first time. My bottom hurts just remembering that one! -- Donna, WA

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