When birthdays go wrong

As the kind people at Maman were kind enough to publish my first story, I have followed up with my second effort – to be honest, I didn’t realise there was a link between them until I started writing this instalment.

Both of my spankings – and there were only two – were administered by my mum to help me get over a disappointment. The first, as you may have read, was not receiving a letter from Santa’s elves on Christmas Eve. That wasn’t really much of a spanking – although it did sting a bit – but it made me very happy.

The second time I received a smacked bum was the day after my 14th birthday. At that age, we boys discussed boobs. All I can remember is my mates talking about which woman or teacher had the biggest. They never much bothered me – I preferred legs and laps!

Anyway, my parents arranged a birthday party for me, and during this the the subject of birthday spankings came up. My friend Steve and I had previously talked about this American ritual. I was dead keen on it and had a plan (perhaps more of a fantasy) in my head.

This was an idea I nicked from our judo class – the tunnel of spanks. Readers may have seen this done in various videos available online. The birthday boy or girl crawls through a line of spread legs, getting swatted on the bum as they go.

My plan was similar – I would lie over my mum’s knee (or any willing female lap), then 14 people could walk past and spank me once each. The last one (‘to grow on’) to be delivered by whoever’s lap I was laying across. I asked Steve to arrange this during the party. Part of my cunning plan included me complaining at the end that I hadn’t felt anything, in the hope that the person over whose knee I was laying could then remedy the situation with a few more smacks.

Well, to cut a long story short, my mates beat me up. During the party, they mobbed me, roughed me up and slapped me around – a birthday spanking it was not! My family laughed, and my friends thought it hysterical, but I was bitterly disappointed. However, I laughed along to disguise my disappointment, seeing as it was my birthday.

After the party, my dad and younger brother took our grandparents home. The last of my friends to leave was Steve. Mum overheard him apologising to me and after he had gone, she asked me why.

I explained the whole thing to her. I had been looking forward to a birthday spanking. Steve was supposed to talk to Mum and arrange for it to happen but apparently, my mates had decided that their idea was better than mine.  

Mum was sympathetic, put her arm around me and squeezed my shoulders. Trying to exploit the situation, I asked her if she would give me a birthday spanking anyway, to help make up for the disappointment. “Like Christmas Day a few years ago?” she asked. “You remember that?” “I’m hardly likely to forget smacking your bum on Christmas Day, am I?” she answered with a wry smile.

There was a moment of silence, then she added: “I seem to remember you rather enjoyed that smacked bottom on Christmas morning. There was a lot of wriggling around and promising to be a good boy, I seem to recall!”

Oh man, she had me rumbled! Just by the tone of her voice, I knew that she ‘knew’! I managed to mumble: “It was only a bit of fun!”

At heart, Mum was a good sport. “Perhaps I didn’t smack your bottom hard enough that day!” She gave me a playful shove towards the dining room. “Come on – let’s see if a well-smacked bum will cure your disappointment again.”

It had been three years since I had last lain over Mum’s lap, and with the imminent promise came a new worry – what if I got an erection? What would Mum say?

However, there was no time to dwell on that niggle – Mum sat down and patted her knee. “Come along! Jeans down, bottom up –you know the drill!”

A wave of excitement rushed over me. I pushed my jeans right down to my ankles, and smiled at my mum as I adjusted my underwear, milking the moment for all it was worth. “When you’re quite finished!” she said, with an amused look on her face.

I placed my hand on her knee. Leaning forward, my thighs pushed against her leg briefly, then over I went. I wriggled forward so my feet couldn’t touch the ground, but found that because I was older and taller, I could reach the floor with my fingers. I placed my hand around Mum’s ankle, guiltily enjoying the feel of her nylon stocking. My other hand gripped the chair leg.

I could not have been happier! I felt Mum’s hand in the small of my back, then she slipped down my underwear, put her left arm around my waist and pulled me tight against her own body.

Unlike last time, Mum didn’t ask whether I was ready. There was a light patting of her fingers on my bare bottom, then wham! I got 14 hard smacks that arrived at a brisk pace, followed by an extra hard one to finish.

There was some delay in my reactions – the first three or four smacks had already landed by the time I managed an ‘ouch!’ After that, the spanking was pretty much over before I had a chance to enjoy it. It was a bit of a shock – those 15 smacks had really stung. I had been expecting a friendly conversation and a few playful pats, with a couple of harder ones thrown in.

I straightened my legs and reared up. I remember gasping and holding my breath.”Stings more when I smack quickly, doesn’t it?” Mum said, stating the bleeding obvious. There was a hint of amusement in her voice. “Yes, Mum,” I answered truthfully.

“You were supposed to be giving me a fun birthday spanking!” I complained, looking back over my shoulder. “Well, I’m having fun!” sge laughed, patting my bum.

To tell the truth, I was too, even though my backside stung. Then she announced casually: “All right – I’ll start again. This time I’ll go slower.”

She kept to her word. She went slower – but, my life, she smacked hard! These 15 whacks really opened my eyes to the world of spanking. Fun smacks were just that – but hard smacks hurt!

I laughed and complained all at the same time. I repeatedly begged Mum not to smack so hard, but she carried on regardless. Added to the previous quickfire 15, this round of even harder smacks had me twisting and squirming. I don’t mind admitting I was pretty relieved when she stopped.

Looking back, I assume had worked out (correctly) that I enjoyed getting spanked – so she effectively gave me a proper one, albeit disguised as a birthday spanking.

“Right, young man – up you get! I want this room straight and tidy before dad gets home, or you’ll be back across my knee, 14 years old or not!” I knew she didn’t mean a word of it, but I scrambled to my feet and pulled my jeans up.

I helped Mum tidy the room with a tingle in my jeans. We chatted about the party as if nothing had happened between us. Yes, by punishment spanking standards, it was lightweight. But it was also a bit more than a fun birthday spanking!

I think mum enjoyed smacking me that day – she certainly put some effort into it. Looking back, I don’t think she was trying to make a point. After all, at that age, I was never really going to start getting smacked bottoms as a punishment.

Those were the only two times I was spanked as a child, although today my wife is a willing participant and I often find myself across her lap for a well smacked bottom.

Contributor: Bruce

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