Uncle Charlie

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1985-2016 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

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Uncle Charlie

(***, M/F, Intense, incest/rape themes, sad)

A woman tells about her unusual relationship with a very special uncle. (Approximately 4,929 words. Originally published 1995-10.)

*** Author's Note ***
This is a very different story from others I've written. It started out one direction and finished in another, but the characters drove the story, not me. I'm not sure if it is erotic or not, but it kind of makes me sad. (Not horrible sad, just thoughtful sad.) I'm really curious what you readers think of it. Please let me know. Thanks.

P.S. It's also a rip-off of a famous movie. Ten points if you figure it out. At least one reader has!

Frank
The Flogmaster
***

I don't exactly remember how and when I began to think of Uncle Charlie in a sexual fashion. I guess I'd always thought of him in a romantic fashion. He'd always been a hero to me—so independent and worldly and mysterious, traveling the globe and suddenly showing up on our doorstep without a word to any of us. He'd bring us all presents and mother just loved it when he visited. She'd be smiling and whistling so much while makin dinner you'd think it was the President she was cookin' for. The times when Uncle Charlie was around were happy times for us all.

Now right off I want to get rid of any notion that Uncle Charlie was a relative. Nothing of sort. He and mother were close friends since childhood, you see, and when her brother died, well, Uncle Charlie just sort of took over. We'd always called him Uncle Charlie, like he was a part of the family, even before Uncle William passed on. I was named after him, so in a sense I suppose he's like a godfather or something to me.

He and Uncle William were close too, but nothing like my mother and him. It wasn't sexual—nothing like that, I'm certain. It was just they had so much in common, growin up together and all. I can remember many a night when I was little sneakin downstairs after dark and watching Uncle Charlie and mother talking and chattin and telling stories and laughing. She'd be in her rocker by the fireplace knittin, and Uncle Charlie would be up and acting out scenes from stories he was tellin. He was a good story-teller, Uncle Charlie.

Well, about my junior year in high school—I must have been six- or seventeen, still a virgin but blossomin into womanhood real stronglike—when Uncle Charlie came to visit. No warning, as usual. Just showed up. I came home from school and there's a brand new Lincoln with rental plates in the driveway and I knew without asking that it was Uncle Charlie.

I raced into the house shoutin and sure enough, it was him! I ran and hugged him for about an hour. I was frightfully excited. It had been almost two years since I'd seen him, and though he wrote us letters now and again, I'd kinda wondered if he wasn't plannin on visiting anymore. But now he looked at me and told me I was the prettiest teenage girl on the planet, and I felt like it too, with him beamin at me.

That night we had us a grand dinner. Mother thawed out steaks and Uncle Charlie barbecued them just perfect, crispy and steaming on the outside and pink and warm inside. Father even opened a bottle of wine from the cellar. After supper we had ice cream in the parlor and Uncle Charlie told us all kinds of stories about his travels and the silly customs they have in faraway places like Africa and the Philippines and Japan.

I practically had to be dragged off to bed that night I was so exhausted and I stayed up much too late. But it was a long time before I could sleep. I was too excited to sleep.

Uncle Charlie was sleeping in my bedroom while he visited so I was sharing with Sara. She had been asleep for hours but I lay awake and imagined all those faraway places, Uncle Charlie and me visitin them and waving and foreign princes and kings and the like, ridin on elephants and hunting tigers and getting lost in Paris.

I guess my thoughts weren't so pure even back then, because I remember, just before I feel asleep, thinking that Uncle Charlie was sleeping in _my_ bed, and thinkin that in a way that meant he was sleeping with me, if only indirectly.

I don't know what brought on such naughty thoughts, except I'd always felt a particular friendship and admiration for Uncle Charlie. Being named after him and all I suppose made me even more aware of our similarities. Even that night, though, it wasn't that I was really thinking of sleeping with him, as in sex, because I knew frightfully little of that subject, being a naive and innocent girl. It was only that I fantasized about someone just like him, who'd take me away from my miserable life, my horrible school and stupid friends, and my parents, who were so square you could pattern tile after them.

Well, Uncle Charlie had come to visit for a while and I was glad. Soon, however, something happened that changed our relationship forever.

The first even I really remember was several nights after he first arrived. I suppose there were other signs that I never noticed, little comments and whispers, perhaps a touch here or there, or a friendly kiss that was a little too friendly, if you know what I mean. But I didn't notice those things till later, and they could be just my imagination.

The night in question, however, was not my imagination. Uncle Charlie was flirting with me, and I knew it, though no one else seemed to notice.

That day had been a horrible one at school for me. Mara Jacobson and I had been caught cheatin. Well, not exactly. You see Mara had wanted me to cheat on this big exam we had coming up in chemistry. I'd said no but she kept insistin. She'd snagged a copy of the test answers somehow, and was trying to get me to copy them. We were arguing in the rest room and I guess we forgot to check in case someone else was in there. Mrs. Peabody, whom everyone naturally calls Mrs. Busybody was in a stall and heard us talking and took us right to the principal's office.

He didn't suspend us, thank God, since we really hadn't done anything yet. He wanted to know how we got the test but Mara wouldn't tell him. So he sent us home for the rest of the day. He called our parents and had them pick us up. To my horror Mother had Uncle Charlie pick me up. I didn't want to look at him I was so ashamed. But he just laughed and told me to relax.

"Don't worry about it, Charlie," he said to me. "Your father's a fair man. He'll probably just give ya a lickin'. Nothing you can't live through." I sank further into my seat at that point, even more embarrassed.

Dinner that night was horrible. My mother was furious. She banged plates and glasses with such force it frightened everyone. She finally exploded, wagging her serving spoon at me. "Young lady you should be ashamed of yourself! Your father ought to take you out to the garage and whip you within a inch of your life!"

My father was more forgiving. "She's too old to be spanked," he said in my defense.

"Nonsense," said my hero from the corner stepping forward from behind me. I blushed at his involvement. But he warn't no rescuer. "A girl ain't never too old to be spanked," he said boldly, bending down to look at me and winking.

He suddenly pulled me from my chair where I was so miserably crouched, sat down in my place, and flung me face-down across his lap. He snapped his fingers at Jonathan, my younger brother, to bring him a book from the bookshelf. "That large one, yes, that's the one."

Jonathan brought Uncle Charlie the book and he promptly gave my bottom a good swat with it. It didn't hurt a bit but it gave a loud "thrump" and sounded ominous. It was hideous. I was stretched across Uncle Charlie's lap with my butt up in the air and my parents and brother and sister watchin and I was mortified beyond expression. Worst of all was that it was Uncle Charlie doing it. I wished I could just die and be done with it. My face burned with shame as Uncle Charlie laughed and in a joking fashion lectured my parents on discipline.

He gave me a couple more wallops as he spoke, my humiliation growing with each spank. "Even good little girls sometimes make mistakes and need a little correction," he was saying. Wump! "A good spanking will do wonders for a young lady's disposition." Wump! Wump!

As I lay across his lap I glanced at my parents and saw they were smiling. Both thought this little performance by Uncle Charlie was another one of his little jokes, a prank. But somehow I knew it wasn't. I couldn't put my finger on it, but he was serious.

"Look at little Charlie now," he was saying, lifting me back to my feet. "I'm sure she's very sorry. Aren't you Charlie?" I nodded the best I could, my face burning with shame and tears running down my cheeks. I couldn't stand to let Uncle Charlie see me this way anymore so I turned and ran to my room and locked the door.

It was only hours later that I heard a knock and it was my father. It was time for Uncle Charlie to go to bed, he said. I needed to go to my sister's room. I unlocked the door. "It was just a silly joke, honey," he said. "Uncle Charlie didn't mean to embarrass you." He mentioned something about them not plannin to whip me but I ignored him and went to bed without saying a word.

I don't know what Uncle Charlie said to my parents after I left, but no one mentioned the incident again. I was never punished further. Perhaps they decided that being humiliated like that was enough. I don't know. Neither of them ever mentioned it again.

Uncle Charlie mentioned it though.

It was about a week later. It was early afternoon and I was home from school early because I'd had a dental check-up that afternoon. I always like to schedule them close enough to the end of the day that there is no point in going back.

Mother was out with her club the way she does every Thursday, and my brother and sister were still in school. Dad was at the office. But Uncle Charlie was home. We chatted for a while. Somehow he talked me into going down to the wine cellar with him. I don't remember why we did it—it seems strange now, but at the time it didn't seem that way at all.

It was dark and creepy down there and I was fumbling for the light switch—it's on the opposite wall from the stairs—when suddenly Uncle Charlie pushed me against the wall face first. His hand squeezed my bottom and I was too terrified to move.

"I think you've been a naughty girl, Charlie," he says in a harsh voice. I've never seen him in any other mood than a joking one, and this scares me more than anything. "I don't think you really got what you deserved the other day. Cheating's a pretty serious offense, don't you think?"

I don't answer and he shakes me, his left hand on my collar, his right still holding my ass. "Don't you?" he says again and I sputter and nod my head.

"I think you need a good spanking, Charlie. A real one. One you'll actually learn from." Before I could respond I suddenly felt a tremendous whack across my buttocks and realized he was paddling me. Somehow he'd got his hands on a thick wooden board and it hurt. He spanked me again and then again and again. The blows were quick but there weren't many—about a dozen. It was over in seconds. I was too confused to think about the pain at first. Just as I was realizing that it was actually hurtin it stopped.

I pulled away from him then, my hands moving to cover my ass. My bottom hurt, and I was suddenly aware that I was crying. Tears blurred my vision as I tried to see Uncle Charlie's face in the darkness.

He flicked on the light, the brightness blinding me for a second. I was afraid he was going to do something else but he turned and left, leaving me alone in the cellar. I knelt down on the steps and cried, not because of the pain, but because I didn't know what else to do. Something strange was happening and I didn't understand any of it.

Things were normal for the next couple of days. At least I thought so. Uncle Charlie never said a word to me about the paddling and I certainly didn't bring up the subject. On Saturday evening, however, I was surprised to find my parents dressing to go out.

"We're going to dinner and the theater," my mother said kissing me on the cheek. "Uncle Charlie bought us the tickets, wasn't that nice of him? Don't wait up for us. We'll probably be late."

"Oh, but mother, I can't babysit Jonathan tonight. I've got tons of plans."

"You don't have to anyway. Your sister is spending the night at Mary's and Jonathan is over at the Olsen's. You and Uncle Charlie are on your own. There are pot pies in the freezer and I baked an apple pie this morning. You two help yourselves."

Uncle Charlie stepped forward from somewhere and smiled at my mother. "Don't worry about us, dear. Charlie and I will get along just fine." He winked at me and I suddenly felt afraid. What did he want? What did this new Uncle Charlie want?

My parents left and I felt suddenly very alone. I looked at Uncle Charlie. "I'm supposed to meet Sue Ellen at the mall at six-thirty," I said. "I'd better get dressed."

"You're not meeting Sue Ellen, Charlie."

"What do you mean?"

My uncle looked at me and smiled. "I called her and told her your parents were making you babysit. You couldn't make it."

"You what?" Suddenly I was furious with Uncle Charlie. I was so angry I was speechless. He only smiled and looked smug. Finally I regained my composure. "You did this. You plotted to get everyone away so we could be alone. Why?"

"Because I think you still need some education, Charlie. You are becoming an adult. A very beautiful adult, I might add." As he said this he approached me and I wanted to scream. "Do you know how beautiful you are, Charlie?"

His face was very close to mine but he made no move to kiss me. I didn't know what to think. I was terrified, terrified of him, terrified of me, terrified of everything. I wanted to run and hide and I wished none of this was happening.

He took me to the cellar. I was already dreading the place. I don't know why I obeyed him and went down there. He was carrying the paddle and I knew what that meant. Perhaps I was too afraid to run. Perhaps I didn't want to run. Perhaps I was curious what would happen if I didn't run. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Who knows why? The point is: I didn't run.

At his urging I went down into the cellar. He turned on the light this time. He made me stand near the far wall with my back to him.

"You have much to learn, Charlie. Much to be punished for. Your education is only beginning. Now," he said with a deep, commanding voice, "Pull down your panties."

I was wearing a short skirt and a knit top, very casual. I couldn't move. He stepped forward and I felt the flat paddle press against my buttocks. He put his lips near my left ear and whispered. "Take off your panties, Charlie. Now."

It was actually difficult to resist. I felt an incredible urge to simply reach down and pull off my underwear. I was frightened of him but I couldn't move. He smacked me hard with the paddle. This time I was expecting it. I wasn't confused by shock. This time I could feel the sharp sting that slowly faded leaving my buttocks warm and tingling. The loud smack of the blow echoed throughout the cellar and I felt myself blushing and tears rushing to my eyes.

"Take off your panties, Charlie," he whispered again. I shook my head. This time he gave me two smacks, the second one beginning to really sting. He asked me again and I began to cry, shaking my head.

"Please, Uncle Charlie," I begged. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you need it," he whispered. "Now do what I say." Again I shook my head and he smacked me four times this time. I was growing really frightened after the fourth, because this was wearing me down. But I still refused.

He paddled me eight times. I was gasping when he finally stopped, my breathing harsh, my buttocks starting to throb. "Please," I begged, but he wouldn't budge.

"Will you obey?" he said gruffly. I hesitated, but only for a moment. I shook my head. That got me sixteen. They were hard and loud and I was sobbing and trembling when he finished. I had tried to cover my bottom with my hands at some point but he only moved my hands aside and continued the paddling.

When he asked me again I collapsed and obeyed. I felt horrible, like I'd betrayed myself, but I couldn't help it. I was too frightened and the paddle unnerved me so much it was all I could do.

I slipped my panties down and stepped out of them, my buttocks feeling amazingly warm as I did so. I was crying helplessly. He had me stand upright and lift my skirt up, exposing my buttocks. I could feel the cool air against my flesh and it felt wonderful. The air moved against my naked sex, too, and that both thrilled and frightened me. I didn't know what to think any more.

"Good, Charlie. Excellent. You are becoming a very obedient girl." I shook my head in rebellion but he appeared not to notice. "Now listen, Charlie. I am going to spank you. I am going to spank your bare bottom, which is the only proper way to spank naughty little girls. You are going to keep that skirt lifted high, do you understand? If you drop that skirt and cover up that gorgeous ass of yours I'm going to start the spanking over, do you understand? I'm only going to give you twenty-five, for now, and if you obey that is all you'll receive. You've already earned yourself a considerable amount of extra pain because of your refusal to obey. Don't make it any harder on yourself. Do you understand all this?"

I nodded helplessly, my heart pounding. I felt paralyzed, like I had no control over my body. The words "for now" echoed in my brain. My buttocks were sore and throbbed a little. But my sex, my sex was the worst part of my torment. My sex was exposed and vulnerable, and somehow this whole thing with Uncle Charlie seemed to excite it. I could feel myself growing damp there. Even the spanking hadn't dimmed my passion.

But now the paddling was against my naked flesh. I almost screamed when the first blow landed. It really stung, so fiercely I could hardly breath. I trembled and struggled to keep in position, to not let go of my skirt. Thoughts of running were banished from my head. All I could think about was holding that skirt in position, of not letting it go. That skirt became my life, my whole objective, my being.

As the paddle walloped me I felt myself relaxing a little, if that is the right word. My resistance faded. I felt there was nothing I could do but take the punishment, so that's what I did. I stopped my futile struggling and bore my punishment like a woman, like a lady. I blinked back my tears and though my mouth opened involuntarily at the hard spanks I refused to cry out loud. I didn't want to give him any satisfaction that he had tamed me, mastered me. He could hurt me, true. He _was_ hurting me. But he couldn't conquer me, couldn't subdue me.

The spanking seemed to last for a long time, blow after blow after blow. It really wasn't that long but I had to struggle so hard every second to maintain my composure, to keep from turning my buttocks away from him. I desperately wanted to drop my skirt and cover my bottom with my hands, to protect my burning ass at all costs. But somehow I found the will to resist that impulse.

Finally it was over. "Keep your skirt up," he said, and I almost groaned out loud. What did he want now?

He knelt beside me, his face close to my buttocks. I didn't know what to think. Then his hands touched my thighs, and I knew what he wanted. I was frightened, but calm. He slid his hands up to my buttocks, cupping and caressing them. They were tender and sore and I winced involuntarily. He shushed me and continued to caress my ass, fingering the gentle curves with his fingers.

I stood frozen, my sex growing wet with desire, my heart pounding so loud it seemed odd he couldn't hear it. I was too frightened to move but I knew I couldn't do what he wanted. There was no way I could that. It was impossible. I just didn't think of Uncle Charlie in that manner.

It was then I realized he was kneeling in front of me, his lips inches from naked sex. I pulled back but he had his hands around me, grasping my ass. He squeezed my buttocks hard when I tried to back off and I was forced to stop.

Uncle Charlie made me spread my legs wider, so he could get a good look at me. I was crying again, this time out of fear. But he did not touch my sex—he only looked at it. I was horrified and embarrassed. After all, no man had looked at me there before, in that way. But I was also aroused, and he seemed amused at my wetness. He said I was like an active volcano, or some such nonsense, ready to go off at any moment.

He stood up and I tensed, fearing the worst. Yet I was confused. At the worst I thought he meant to rape me, but though the concept terrified me, just the thought caused a tiny trickle of moisture to drip down the inside of my right thigh.

But Uncle Charlie only picked up the paddle again and ordered me to turn around. I knew he meant to spank me again and offerin him my bare ass to paddle was the hardest thing I'd ever had to do in my entire life, but I managed it somehow. He gave me a single sharp spank full across both buttcheeks and then told me I could drop my skirt. It was over.

Neither of us spoke of that night. We both acted as if everything was normal between us. Actually, it was in a way. Uncle Charlie certainly was the perfect gentlemen as long as we weren't alone, a condition I made certain of as often as I could. In fact, more than a week went by before we were alone together again.

It was on Monday night. Daddy was out of town on business and Mom had to go to a PTA meeting. She took Jonathan with her, though he didn't want to go. Sara was supposed to be at the library with Mary.

We had about an hour there where we could be alone. I was in my sister's room with the door locked. Then he was there. I didn't know how he got the door open, but he did. Without a word I meekly followed him to the cellar.

I was terribly frightened, but I thought I knew what was to come. I could handle it. Besides, I was beginning to enjoy the thought of sex with Uncle Charlie, now that the idea had finally occurred to me. Even as I descended the cellar stairs my sex was growing damp and my bottom tingled as though it had already been spanked.

I wasn't wearing the skirt this time. Jeans and T-shirt. In seconds I was only wearing the T-shirt. He bent me over slightly, and though I was trembling, I endured fifty spanks on my bare behind. It was like nothing I had ever felt. It was a fabulously intense feeling that washed through me, a cleansing, purifying feeling, full of emotions so powerful they felt like they could change my entire outlook on life.

It hurt, don't let me kid you. I wept like a baby. I even danced a little, to alleviate some of the pain. But the whole time all I could think about was how illicit this adventure seemed, how naughty and dangerous. It excited me and even during the spanking my sex dripped moisture.

Afterwards he pushed me against the wall so that my raw bottom was pressing against the cold cement. I was weeping as I watched him unzip his pants. His hand came up and forced my head away at that point, so I never did see his cock.

But I felt it. It seemed huge, far too large to fit inside me. I became frightened, terrified that it wouldn't fit, that I was defective, too small. But then I felt the tip touch my thigh and it was like electricity shooting through me. His hand fingered my sex and guided his cock into me. I was crying, too afraid to resist. He plunged it into me, my sex seeming to expand to receive him. It felt like he was tearing me apart.

He pumped into me again and again, harder and harder. My sore bottom was smacking against the wall and I wanted to scream. Then I felt him spurting inside me and it was the strangest feeling I had ever felt. It was wonderful and yet I was so frightened I couldn't really enjoy it. It was over in a moment and he pulled out and his hand let go of my head.

I stood there half-naked before him, wondering what had happened. He just smiled and motioned for me to turn around. He gave me half-a-dozen swats with the paddle and then there was silence. I turned and he was gone. I was alone. Weeping, I put my jeans back on and went back upstairs. I had a great deal to think about.

Two days later Uncle Charlie left, and I didn't seem him again until I was in college, and that was only briefly over one Christmas break. We didn't really talk, at least not about the things we should have. We stared at each other but didn't say anything. I wanted to talk to him, but I couldn't bring it up.

I didn't see him again until years later, after I was married, during a period when my mother was very ill. Uncle Charlie just showed up at the hospital without warning, no one even knowing how he had found out. He spent a long time alone with my mom, and then he and I sat together in the hospital lobby for a few hours during her surgery. We didn't talk, but just looked at each other. It seemed he wanted to say something, but he didn't. We were both worried about my mom.

When the nurse told us she was out of surgery and everything had gone well, I remember throwing my arms around Uncle Charlie and hugging him like I was trying to choke him. I was sobbing with relief and he began to laugh, too. Suddenly I pulled back in shock. Uncle Charlie wasn't laughing any more, he was crying! He looked embarrassed, but he didn't stop.

I slowly realized he wasn't crying for mom, he was crying for us. Something had been ruined between us, something unrepairable. I cried to, unsure how to comfort him. I think I forgave him at that moment, but I never did say anything. We both went on as though nothing had happened, and neither of us ever spoke about it.

I never saw Uncle Charlie again until his funeral last year. He was only 54. I didn't realize until then how few real friends he had. There were very few of us there. I suddenly felt like I hadn't understood him at all. Everything I knew of him was caricature—part of one of his stories or some hero my imagination had conjured up.

That's when I began to cry.

I really miss Uncle Charlie. I wish I had known him better.

The End

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