In flagrante

I’ve already told you about the first time my stepmom spanked me (certainly not the first time I was spanked, but definitely a whole different level), so perhaps you’d like to hear about the last time she and I had one of those meetings in the living room.

To my stepmom, who by this time was really my mom, turning any certain age didn’t mean you would no longer benefit from a well-spanked backside. And so through high school I still had regular (too regular, in my mind) trips across her lap, and always with the same results.

When I graduated, I attended a local community college and thus still lived at home. And while my bottom saw less of the brush, I still felt it (and frequently saw my by then eight-year-old sisters feel it much more often) However, gradually these punishments for me faded away and a few months after I turned 19, they had seemed to stop altogether. For nearly a year, not once did I stand in that living, bare-bottomed, displayed, trembling, staring at the brush and being lectured.

By now I was 20, finishing my sophomore year, and preparing to transfer and move out. My then boyfriend and I went out to celebrate.

We had a few drinks, came back and fooled around a bit. Unfortunately, when Mom got home she found me tipsy on the couch, with my boyfriend. He was more sober but his hand very much where it didn’t belong – inside my shirt. Thankfully, it wasn’t up my skirt when we were discovered, as it had been minutes earlier.

Mom was naturally livid. She separated us to opposite ends of the couch with just a look, then walked out of the room. I knew where she was going, but I tried so hard to convince myself I was wrong – right up until she returned with a chair and the brush. 

She correctly deduced that my boyfriend had seen my body undressed before, and therefore had no problem with having me raise my skirt while she lowered my underwear, right in front of him.

The lecture was as harsh and cruel as ever, and directed at both of us. Then, already a mess of tears, I went across her knee and Mom let the brush do the rest of the talking. The spanking was brisk, hard and seemingly never-ending. She rained hellfire down on my posterior, making sure I wouldn’t sit or wear anything tight for days to come. 

When it finally ended (it felt like hours, but my boyfriend assured me later that it was less than 10 minutes, I was more or less pushed off her lap in floods of tears.

Then Mom turned to my partner and crime and said simply: “If you want to see and touch those places on her, you better buy a ring and hire a minister.”

So he did! And when he saw the brush I mentioned she gave me as a present in my last story, he laughed and agreed it was probably a good thing to have.

Contributor: Erica

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