Pretty early on in my life, I became aware that I liked women’s laps. I remember leaning against any female legs, hoping for that special moment that I might find myself drawn over a warm, maternal knee.
Early memories were just that – not for a spanking, just for the pleasure of lying over a woman’s lap. To hang there without touching the floor was my aim. The spanking thoughts started a little later on. I must say, it seems odd to me that so many young boys feel the need to experience a smacked bottom from a motherly figure. I often wonder why that is.
One Christmas Eve, Mum and Dad packed my brother and I off to bed. I was 11, my brother eight. Of course, I was super-excited because it was Christmas.
As I prepared for sleep, I heard a bit of a commotion on the landing. My brother was laughing, and I peeked out my bedroom door to see what was going on. Mum was standing at the top of the stairs with my brother. It seemed our parents had played a joke on him – they had written a letter (allegedly from Santa’s elves), addressed to my brother, which he had found on his bed.
Mum read the letter out loud, laughing as she did – I could hear her clearly. The gist of it was that my brother was on Santa’s naughty list! His crime – not going to bed on time on Christmas Eve. The letter added that unless his mum smacked his bottom and put him to bed immediately, there would be no presents delivered for him on Christmas morning.
Mum and my brother then disappeared from my view, into his bedroom. It sounded like they must have been having great fun because there was so much laughing.
I searched my own bed and around my room – but there was no letter for me. Eventually, I heard Mum go back downstairs, and I heard her call back towards my brother’s room: “That’ll make sure you get lot’s of presents!” Her remark indicated to me my brother had had his bum smacked. I don’t recall hearing any smacks, mind you – just lots of laughter and high-pitched shrieks.
I got into bed and waited. Nothing – I didn’t even get a letter. Even though it was Christmas Eve, my excitement evaporated. I woke early on Christmas morning, as children do, but even the joy of Christmas couldn’t completely clear the little cloud hanging over me.
My parents always dressed up for Christmas – both Mum and Dad wore a silly hat and jumper. This particular year stands out in my mind because mum wore a skirt, and I believe it was the very first time I had seen her wearing black stockings. Perhaps they were a Christmas treat for Dad! She also wore a Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer jumper – it had a huge red glittery nose.
We opened our presents. Everything I had asked for was there – I was a lucky little boy! There was a brief moment when I was kneeling on the floor. Mum was leaning towards my dad, and her leg brushed against me. I was that close to her lap, and I so much wanted to just lie across her knee and stay there. I wondered whether my brother had been in that very position the night before.
At that time, I particularly enjoyed colouring books, and among my presents were a new, 100-page bumper book and new colouring pencils. Dad was sitting on the floor, helping my brother set up a new toy he had received, so I decided to take my colouring set to my room and work in peace.
I sat at my desk, colouring, but my head was very much elsewhere. Mum came in to see how I was doing, and just having her in the room at that moment set me off. Tears welled up in my eyes.
Mum did what most mothers do naturally. Standing behind me, she slipped her arms around me to see what I was colouring. Her face was right beside mine, and at that very moment two big tears dropped on to the page below. Mum was instantly concerned. “Oh, Bruce! What’s wrong?”
There were more tears as I explained that I hadn’t had a letter. It took Mum a moment to catch on. “You mean the elves’ letter we made up for Tommy?” I nodded. Mum was mortified. She explained that she had thought I was too grown-up for a letter like that and that I would think it was childish! “That letter was just a bit of nonsense to get your brother to go to bed on Christmas Eve!” she said.
I wiped my face on my sleeve, and Mum squeezed me and kissed my cheek. “Come along, stop crying,” she encouraged me. “It’s Christmas Day! And your colouring book is getting wet!”
She left for a moment, then came back with a towel to wipe my face. “Mum,” I asked, “did you really smack Tommy’s bottom?” “Yes!” she laughed. “Just to make sure the elves could tell Santa he could bring Tommy’s presents. That letter worked, I can tell you – I got your brother into bed double-quick!”
She smiled, as if confiding in me – all I could do was nod. As Mum straightened up, she cupped my face with her hands and asked: “Am I forgiven?” I nodded. Still cupping my face, Mum asked one of those rhetorical questions. “You are a bit old for a letter from Santa, really, aren’t you?”
She hugged me, then whispered in my ear: “A big boy like you shouldn’t be crying on Christmas Day. With my face buried in my mums Christmas jumper and her arms around me, I told Mum that even though it was a silly game, I would have liked a letter and a smacked bum too – it sounded like fun.
Mum held me back at arm’s length for a moment, her hands on the sides of my shoulders, and gave me a quizzical look – I’m guessing she had me worked out right there!
Then, bless her, she came up with a plan to save the day. “Maybe your letter got lost in the post? The elves’ rules are that if a letter has gone missing, as long as the boy in question has his bottom smacked before lunchtime on Christmas Day, he can keep his presents. If not, they must all be returned to the North Pole!”
I looked at her and offered up a weak smile. I asked her if I would be getting a smacked bum, the same as Tommy – because I wanted to keep my pressies! Mum played along. “Don’t be so silly! You’re bigger and older than your brother – so I’m afraid your bottom will have to be smacked much, much harder!”
I have to say, at that precise moment I went weak at the knees. For me, this was just as exciting as opening presents! I desperately wanted to be put across my mother’s lap.
Then, suddenly my wish came true. Mum down on the chair of my homework desk, and pulled me by the waistband of my trousers. All the time, she tutted and shook her head in mock reproof. “I can’t believe I’m having to smack your bottom on Christmas Day, young man! However, if you want to keep all those lovely presents, it seems I have no choice!”
She loosened my trousers, slipped them down and placed me across her knee. Joy of joys – I was over my mum’s lap! I put my hand on her ankle and dropped my head. I loved being there – I was deliriously happy. I got such a buzz from just being in this intimate position.
Mum started to smack the seat of my underpants. They were only playful pats, bur even these caused a slight tingling sensation after a few had found their target.
Meanwhile, I played the well-spanked boy – I wiggled around and promised to be good. Then I said to Mum: “Please make sure you smack me properly, so I can keep my presents.” “I promise,” Mum replied.
The spanking, such as it was, stopped for a moment, and I heard Mum say: “Hmm…I’m not sure this is going to be enough for you to keep those presents.” I couldn’t my mother at that moment but from the sound of her voice, I’m sure she was smiling. I played my part enthusiastically, the spanked boy over mummy’s knee, pleading for her to let me up – and I was so glad she didn’t.
I suppose Mum could hardly have failed to notice I was enjoying the spanking. Maybe she was enjoying it too? In any case, she was about to make my day.
Mum said: “I’m sorry, Bruce, but I have no option but to do this. Christmas day or no, these are going to have to come down!” I suddenly felt Mum’s thumbs against my bare bottom as she wiggled my pants down, side to side, until they were at my knees.
Now my bare bottom was exposed. I didn’t move a muscle – it was the best Christmas present ever! I hung there like a doll and closed my eyes.
Then I began to feel my Mum’s hand spanking my bare bottom. The smacks were lightweight but collectively, they began to build into a gentle, warm tingle in my behind.
Mum strung it out – she smacked slowly and quite gently. Towards the end, some of the smacks began to sting rather more and Mum finished with a short salvo of quicker smacks that gave me an idea of what a real spanking from her might feel like.
Sadly, like all good things, it came to an end. As I lay there still, she said: “Well, I think that should about do it – what do you think?” It was so tempting to say ‘no’ but I replied with a promise to behave.
“Well, I certainly hope you do – I won’t hesitate to put you back across my knee if you are naughty, especially after all those promises to be a good boy!” For good measure, I got a couple more smacks. They were not hard in any sense, but they added to the warmth in my rear end.
Mum rubbed my bare bottom affectionately for a moment. “That should be more than enough for you to keep your presents – they needn’t be returned to the North Pole after all!”
She finished me off with a final sharp smack. It was quite a good one, and made my jump. I lay still, absorbing the sting. What a wonderful Christmas morning – I could have lain there all day.
Two more gentle pats, and a quick rub. “Up you get, young man!” I reluctantly dismounted. Back on my feet, I was re-dressed and hugged half to death.
“Do you want to stay here colouring, or would you rather come to the kitchen with me and help me prepare lunch?” Naturally, I chose the kitchen – I wanted to be with my mum.
For a moment, Mum cocked her head to one side and gave me something of a knowing look. “I hope you didn’t enjoy that, young man?” she scolded. I shook my head vigorously, but struggled to keep a straight face. “Hmm!” was her only, rather thoughtful, response.
I had spent a few unforgettable minutes across my mum’s knee on Christmas Day – and the thrill has stayed with me forever.
Contributor: Bruce