Burning issues

I was born in the early 70s in the UK and had a happy and memorable childhood with the usual mix of good times, outings, going to friends’ houses and holidays etc.

I was, most of the time, a quiet and good child but on the occasions I misbehaved or played up badly, my Mum usually gave me a good spanking, which was always given on the bare bottom with her hand.

This form of punishment happened between about six and 12 years of age. I do have to say that I was never spanked unjustly and I was never slapped or swatted in public, but also this type of punishment was always conducted in private and was done in a loving way.

One of my most memorable and interesting spanking occurrences happened when I was nearly 12 (one of my last!), on a warm and sunny afternoon.

One of the things I liked doing on sunny days was to make mini bonfires with scraps of old newspaper and twigs, using my magnifying glass to light them. My parents weren’t keen on this idea at the best of times but forbade me doing so that day because a) it had been very dry weather for over a week and b) there was a strong breeze which could create a potential fire hazard to surrounding dry material and trees.

Anyway, my Dad went out for the rest of the day and my Mum popped over the road to chat with one of our neighbours for an hour, which left me alone – and not being able to resist the temptation of lighting a mini bonfire.

Doing the forbidden, I made and lit a small bonfire at the back of the garden, having a bit of trouble keeping burning paper embers from blowing away but all the while watching fascinated by the smoke and the crackling of twigs burning orange and yellow colours.

Suddenly I heard a loud knocking on the kitchen window. My heart jumped a mile – my Mum had caught me out, oh no! I hastily stamped on the burning remains of the fire and slowly returned to the house, my head down, waiting to face the inevitable.

I was immediately asked in a rather ‘Mother-knowing-you’re-guilty’ voice why I was so disobedient (for which I had no answer) and was lectured on the dangers of playing with fire in these conditions and that I should have known better etc. I felt quite ashamed, stupid and wishing helplessly that I could turn back time to half an hour before. I was then told to go up to my bedroom to receive my impending punishment.

When my Mum came upstairs, she explained that I needed a good spanking to help me be less disobedient and not repeat the same offence in future. She told me to remove my jeans, which I did, and as she sat on the side of my bed, she made me lean over her lap in the all-too-familiar ‘over-the-knee’ position.

Once comfortably in position, totally resigning myself to the forthcoming spanking, my Mum lowered my underpants to my knees and raised her right leg slightly, thus baring my pale, upturned bottom.

About half a minute later (which seemed much longer) my Mum started smacking my bare bottom, slapping one cheek then the other in precise rhythmical fashion, every slap producing a sharp crack-like sound, and all the time I felt my bottom going from warm to mildly hot as the stinging slaps continued.

After about 40 or so relatively hard smacks, my bottom was definitely feeling the heat but from then on, each new smack didn’t sting as much as the first 10 or so, probably because my bottom was used to the consistent level of pain after so many smacks.

At this point, I felt frustrated and bad that I had disobeyed my Mum and in a strange way (and maybe with the tiniest hint of masochism) I wanted my punishment to be done full justice, so during the last 12 to 20 smacks, I shifted my bottom up and down so that every time my Mum brought her hand down to spank me, I moved my bottom up to meet it. This had the effect of making my bottom an even easier target, plus increasing the hardness of each smack.

When my punishment was over, my Mum comforted me and gently explained why she spanked me and that she did it because she loved me etc. Now I felt very calm and redeemed ,and after my Mum left the room I couldn’t resist taking a look at my sore, traffic-light-red bottom in the mirror.

From then on I was careful not to play with fire again, as it seemed that the fire would end up over my bottom!

Contributor: David

Leave a comment

All Maman stories are copyright, unauthorised reproduction may lead to legal action.