As Taylor lay there, his body a map of conflicting sensations—the searing pain from his welted rear clashing with the lingering memory of Aunt MJ’s thighs clasping his stiffness, and now the almost overwhelming comfort he found at her breast—he was swept up in a whirlwind of emotion too intense to fully comprehend. Her eyes scanned over each welt and mark that her own hand had administered—a job done to her strict standards. He laid himself across MJ’s lap, his erection awkwardly pointing upwards—a tangible reminder of the complex layers entwined in this moment. The release was involuntary—a physical manifestation of his arousal and submission to Aunt MJ’s dominant touch. Each hammer strike settled his mind bit by bit, matching rhythm with heartbeat now steadying after the morning’s chaos. It was like witnessing a wild creature tamed by sheer will—a humbling and strangely exciting spectacle that ignited forbidden thoughts in Bella’s mind. It served as her throne of judgment, where verdicts and punishments were delivered swiftly, surely, and without leniency. “Aunt MJ,” Taylor’s voice trembled, his words
