One big mess

When I received my final – and worst – spanking from my mother, I was within a few weeks of turning 16. It ended up being for an act of pure stupidity on my part. I was going through a moody teenage boy phase, and my mom had just about had it with my attitude.

Mom had gone upstairs, seen the state of my room (which was a constant source of friction between us) and had told me in no uncertain terms to ‘get this pigsty cleaned up – now!’

When she came back up 45 minutes or so later to inspect my progress, she was holding in her hand the belt she had used to spank me throughout my childhood. Well, the room was still filthy – I think I had got wrapped up in a Stephen King novel, and kept telling myself I had more time before my mother returned, so I had literally not even started to clean up. 

Mom pulled me up by my arm so that I was presenting my backside to her, then gave me eight or nine good hard wallops on the seat of my pants with the belt.

Then she said: “Young man, you should consider yourself very lucky that I am instructing at yoga today and need to go get ready. When I get back home, I strongly suggest you have this room spotless, because I don’t care how old you are – if we have to do this again, Eric, it’s going to be on your naked little bottom!”

I was absolutely furious. Here I was, nearly 16, and my mother had just spanked me and even threatened to pull my pants down like I was a toddler needing correction.

Little did I know at that point that I had been fortunate to get away with what were really just a few ‘love taps’ compared with the bare bottom blistering I was very soon to receive. 

As mad as I was, though, I wasn’t completely stupid – I did clean my room up; very thoroughly, in fact. However, in a fit of adolescent pique, as my mom went back downstairs I went over and locked my bedroom door – this was a big no-no in our house.

It was actually just a gratifying little act of defiance that I didn’t expect Mom to ever find out about, as I had planned to unlock it again long before she ever came back up. However, I got so caught up in the urgency of cleaning my room that I somehow forgot all about unlocking that door.

I was rushing around, making last-minute touches, making sure everything was immaculate, when I heard Mom’s car pull in – and then she was immediately stomping up the stairs. Then, I heard the click as she tried to turn the doorknob. A second or two later, another click.

Then it was like she was yelling but at the same time clenching her jaw so tightly that her voice somehow came out sounding simultaneously furious and eerily calm. “Open this door…right…this…second!”

I scurried over to let her in and there she was in the doorway, still drenched in sweat and wearing her yoga leotard, belt in hand. She didn’t even give my nice clean room a glance.

“Pull your pants down now!” “Mom, I…” She was having none of it. “I’m going to count to five. If I get there, and I don’t see your bare little bottom, then we are going to do this outside on the front porch, in front of the whole neighbourhood!”

She began to count. I knew she meant every word she said and well before she got to five my pants and underwear were around my knees. Mom sat down on the bed and yanked me forward over her lap. I don’t think I’d been spanked in this babyish position since I was around nine years old.

For whatever reason, she dropped the belt on the bed and didn’t use it, but she did proceed to give me an absolutely ferocious hand spanking. Each smack to my bare bottom was given full strength and as fast as she could. Mom had one leg clamped over both of mine and my face was pushed down into my bedspread, so I really couldn’t move an inch.

All through this humiliation, my bedroom was wide open. Thankfully, my little sister Nicola – who had last been spanked when she was just nine, as she would happily remind me for years after this incident – didn’t have any of her friends around, as she often did.

Meanwhile, my mom kept bringing her hand down on the target again and again – looking back, I think a lot of her pent-up frustration at my general behaviour got resolved during this spanking! Meanwhile, all I could do was roll my hips back and forth, like I was performing some sort of ridiculous, bottomless hula dance for her.

All of this had happened so quickly that I hadn’t had time to prepare myself emotionally, and with a sudden intense wave of pain and humiliation I began to cry, apologising profusely, begging my mom to stop.

After a while the spanks began to fall slower and Mom began to question me while she completed the punishment. Had my little stunt been worth it? Wasn’t I embarrassed at my age to still need a spanking over my mommy’s knee? Of course, she got all the answers she expected, all the while still punctuating the conversation with huge full-handed smacks to my bared behind.

Hearing my own voice, in a child’s tear-soaked croak, as I struggled to answer her finally made me lose it completely – I began to openly sob like a naughty little boy, all concerns about acting my age or preserving my dignity flying out of the window.

I was so hysterical that even after my mother had departed, I didn’t pull my pants up right away but just lay there bare bottomed on my bed, weeping into a soaking-wet pillow.

It was then that my sister appeared at my door. Nic was obviously staring at my well-spanked bare bottom and began repeating ‘oh my gosh, oh my gosh’ in a quiet but excited voice, as if she and I were sharing some big naughty secret, which I guess we were in a way.

At the sound of her voice, I looked up at her grinning face at the door. “Get out!” I yelled, rolling away from her and desperately pulling my clothes back up. But even to my own ears, my voice lacked any sort of ‘big brother authority’ – it sounded more like a bullied kid pleading with his tormentor to leave him alone.

My sister just snorted with derision and, having had her fill of my reddened butt, walked off. After she had left I slipped quietly into the bathroom, where I dropped my pants and underwear again and gingerly examined Mom’s handiwork. There were two huge red splotches almost covering both buttocks and extending all the way down the back of my thighs. Along the edges, I could even make out the shape of Mom’s fingers.

But even worse than the state of my bottom was the face I saw looking back at me in the mirror – cheeks red and tear-streaked, nose running, with the corners of my lips pulled back into that terrible, quivering grimace that is the tell-tale sign of a miserable, soundly spanked child.

I quickly retreated to my room to put on my pyjamas and get under the covers. Even though it was only late afternoon, I stayed in bed for the rest of the day, crying softly, mentally replaying the spanking over and over again, and cursing my stupidity.  After hours of tossing and turning, trying to somehow get comfortable, I finally managed to fall asleep.

It didn’t seem like I had been asleep very long at all before Mom was calling me down to breakfast.  And there was Nic again with that knowing little smirk. I avoided my sister’s eyes as we ate, trying my best not to squirm too obviously in my seat.

After that day, I certainly got a lot better about keeping my room clean – and as long as I lived under my mom’s roof, I never locked my bedroom door again!

Contributor: Eric

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