I discovered the Maman site by accident whilst searching online. A late night, a glass of wine, curious about the title…we’ve all done it! After reading some of the stories, I decided to relate the events of a traumatic, emotional incident between myself and my son.
I grew up through the 1980s – the prevailing thinking of the time being, give a naughty child a time out or send them to the naughty step. Spanking was on the retreat – or so I thought!
We have a son, Daniel (not his real name). He was – and still is – a quiet, polite, well-behaved young man. Many of the stories I have read on the Maman site seem to originate during the 60s and 70s – all a bit before my time, I’m afraid! Daniel is now approaching 21, and the event I am about to divulge happened seven years ago, so very recent by Maman standards.
My husband is away on business, while I work from home as a bookkeeper. The events of the weekend in question started with an overnight stay with friends for Daniel. A group of boys, camping in a large tent in a back garden.
I collected Daniel on Sunday, and he seemed his usual self. When we got home, Daniel went to his room to unpack his overnight bag while I had a set of books to finish before returning them to my client the next day.
As I entered my office, Daniel followed me in. Now, generally, we have an agreement – I prefer to work without interruption, so Daniel knows not to bother me unless it’s urgent. I set my mug of tea down on my desk and asked Daniel what he wanted. He didn’t reply, but just looked down at my desk.
We stayed like that for a moment, then I asked if something had happened during the camping trip. Now he looked awkward. He shuffled his feet and I could tell something was up.
Finally, I said: “Daniel, take a deep breath, let it out slowly and then say what you want to say.” We had tried this tactic when he was younger, and it seemed to work.
Well, talk about ‘knock me down with a feather’! It was a good job I was sitting, because my son did as I suggested – and rendered me speechless.
“Mum, would you please give me a spanking?”
I was stunned. “What?” was all I could manage. Daniel explained that one of the boys on the camping trip had shown the other boys his bare bottom, which bore the marks of a dose of corporal punishment his mother had given him.
Apparently, this had initiated a conversation where, one by one, the boys related stories of spankings they had received themselves.
Now, Daniel had never had so much as a single smack – a fact of which I was personally very proud. He told me he had been embarrassed in the circumstances, so he had lied and told the others that I had once smacked his bottom and sent him to bed. Apparently the boys had accepted his story, and now Daniel was worried that if they later found out he had never actually been spanked, they would laugh at him.
Every other boy, he told me, had admitted that at some time they had received a spanking from their mothers – Daniel was the only odd one out. Considering how recent these events were, I must admit to being surprised – it seemed the practice of smacking naughty children’s bottoms wasn’t quite as extinct as I had imagined.
Having recovered my composure, I asked Daniel why he wanted a spanking now. What was the point? He reasoned that he would at least know what it felt like, and he wouldn’t have to make up lies in the future. He appeared to feel very guilty that he had fabricated a story to impress his mates.
He shrugged and repeated his request. “Please Mum, could you?” He hesitated, then added: “At least you could spank me for telling lies?” I gently explained that I was very proud of the fact that I had never raised a hand to him, and that I wasn’t at all happy about his request.
Now, this is where things got emotional. Daniel stepped behind my desk and put his arms around me. An unforced hug? Normlly, that would have been tantamount to torture for my teenage boy! “Please, Mum?” he whispered. “I know you have work to do. I promise I won’t make a sound or disturb you after!”
I weakened. “Well, maybe a few smacks – so you know how it feels?” I asked, hoping I might get away with a few playful smacks. Daniel nodded and stepped back. “Yes please, Mum – but mostly for telling lies.”
I was in a bit of a daze. I heard myself saying out loud: “Well, if you’re sure?” “Please, Mum.”
I took a deep breath, then told Daniel to take off his jeans. While he was doing that, I fetched a more suitable chair from the kitchen. In retrospect, I was buying myself time. Placing the chair in front of Daniel, I sat and put my hands on my knees. I made direct eye contact with my and double-checked: “Sure?”
Daniel looked down and mumbled: “Telling lies is wrong, isn’t it, Mum?” “Yes, it most certainly is.” “I want to be able to look my friends in the eye and tell them my mum put me across her knee and smacked my bum – it’s what their mums would do.”
I could hardly believe what was happening, but heard myself saying: “Come on, then.” I sat back, took Daniel by the arm and guided him across my lap. I waited for a few seconds for us both to get comfortable before pulling his underwear down to his knees.
My emotions were all over the place – I was about to spank my little boy for the first time. As Daniel lay perfectly still and silent, I looked down at his bare bottom – it felt like I was about to kill Bambi!
Nevertheless, I placed my hand in the small of his back, raised the other, and smacked him once. It was a bit half-hearted and Daniel didn’t even flinch. By now I felt quite emotional and a big part of me wanted to stop. With great reluctance, I smacked his other bum cheek. Again, there was no reaction from Daniel at all. I smacked a bit harder to see if I could at least get a wiggle or an ‘ouch’ out of him. Nothing – not even a twitch.
I was conflicted. I had tears in my eyes – but something told me my son expected more. I took a deep breath and delivered a good, hard smack. This time I heard him draw a short breath and he flinched. “Ah, now we’re getting somewhere!” I thought to myself. I now had a measure of how hard to smack.
After a few more of those, Daniel’s bottom began to turn pink and he began to display signs of distress. He wriggled, stretched out a leg and held his breath. He began to twist, so I slipped my arm around his waist and carried on. My hand was stinging by now but, judging by his reaction, so did my son’s bum!
Daniel reached back in an instinctive attempt to protect the target. I held his arm in place carried on. The spanking became easier to administer the longer it went on – maybe it was my maternal instinct kicking in.
After nearly three minutes of smacking by my office clock, Daniel went limp and whimpered quietly. The wriggling and struggling slowed, then stopped altogether. My hand hurt a lot by now, but my boy’s bottom was very dark pink, bordering on red. After maybe 30 seconds more, I pulled his underwear back up and patted his bottom gently to indicate that the punishment was over. I wiped tears from my face and vowed never to spank him again.
I helped Daniel to his feet and he rubbed his bottom with both hands, occasionally briefly raising them to his eyes to brush away the tears my hand had caused. He looked me in the face and said in a wondering voice: “You’re crying too!” I just nodded and hugged him tightly. Then he said: “Thank you for spanking me, Mum – I deserved that. I’ll be quiet now, I promise.”
Daniel had one more surprise in store for me. Having been thoroughly spanked, he shuffled into a corner of the room, took down his pants again and stood there with his hands on his head. I assumed the other boys had mentioned this when relating what happened to naughty boys in their own homes. I was still on the chair, shocked by what had happened. A request to be spanked, and a hug and a thank you – and now he stood in the corner.
I had a seminal motherly moment. I had given birth to him, bathed him, fed him, nurtured and kissed him goodnight. And now, I had turned him over my knee and smacked his bottom. I supposed it was all part of being a mum.
With Daniel’s bare, pink, well-smacked bottom just a few feet away, it was nigh-on impossible for me to work. As promised, he was silent and didn’t move a muscle. My tea, now cold, sat where I had left it before the spanking. Finally, after about 10n minutes, I told Daniel he could leave the corner.
He pulled his pants up, then came to me and whispered: “Thank you, Mum. I learned my lesson – no more telling lies.” He picked his jeans up and off he went, still rubbing his bottom as he did so.
I sat there stunned for quite some time. My work, when I finally got down to it, took three times longer to complete than it should have done – I jut couldn’t concentrate!
When my husband got home, I told him – somewhat tearfully – about the whole incident. “You did the right thing,” he assured me. “Daniel is lucky to have such a good mother!”
I never had reason or request to repeat the exercise, although I have occasionally teased Daniel with the threat of another smacked bottom. You should see him blush now when I mention it!
Some years after the spanking, Daniel did confide in me that it was just what he needed at the time. He added: “I was never sure whether you might do it again, so it worked as a deterrent. I never much fancied another trip across your knee – you’re very good at spanking!”
I’d call that high praise indeed, especially for a mother who had never smacked a bottom before – or since.