I was 12 years old and confused – the pressure had been building for a long time. Every woman was of interest to me, and in particular I asked myself the same question, time after time – what would it feel like to have my bottom smacked by her?
I had tried to ask my Mum about it all, but chickened out at the last minute each time. I had never been spanked, so being naughty seemed pointless – if by now I had never suffered a smacked bottom it seemed unlikely it would happen at all.
I was frustrated and becoming quite desperate. I questioned friends about punishments at home – only one of my mates admitted his mum had smacked his bum. She was a physically intimidating woman, and the thought of being spanked by her terrified me and excited me in about equal measure.
Still, where there’s a will there’s a way – I found that I could make a half decent job of smacking my own bum. The excitement of a woman doing it wasn’t there, of course, but the sting from my own smacks was real enough.
Back at home, I went through a short stage of trying to be difficult – I suppose I was attempting to get a reaction from Mum, maybe a threat that I could turn to my advantage. Of course, nothing happened.
I’m ashamed to say that I sat there sometimes wondering what it might feel like if Mum smacked my bare bottom. I imagined wriggling and kicking as the sting in my backside increased with every smack. I occasionally thought about teachers or friends’ mums in the same way – I felt less guilty that way.
My best friend’s mother, by contrast, was not one of my fantasy figures. She was a lovely woman but short. Petite, bubbly, friendly and a kind lady – but I just couldn’t imagine being spanked by her. She simply didn’t seem the type.
Nevertheless, one day I found myself alone with her in her kitchen one day as my mate ran upstairs for something. His mum asked me how school was and made general small talk. She was rabbiting away, when I interrupted her and said: “Can I ask you a question?” “Of course, Patrick.”
With a promise secured that the conversation was private, I asked her how I go about asking an embarrassing question. She gave me good simple advice. She said I should ask my mum to speak with her if something was bothering me. “Just tell her you’re confused or embarrassed but need to talk to someone you can trust. Any decent mum will help you out – that’s our job!” She did add that if mum couldn’t or wouldn’t help, I could come back and talk to her about it. At no point did I tell her the subject matter, though.
That evening I got Mum on her own. I told her about the conversation with my friend’s mum and the advice she had given me. I talked up my frustration and begged mum not to tell anyone. Mum agreed without hesitation to come and talk with me straight away – she looked quite concerned.
We went to my bedroom and she closed the door. I asked her to promise that she wouldn’t laugh or get angry with me. To my astonishment, she hugged me – quite unusual between us at the time. “I promise,” she said. “Now, just tell me what the problem is and we’ll talk it through.”
I sat down on my bed – Mum turned around my bedroom chair around and sat in it facing me. We were very close, almost touching. I looked down at her lap – this wasn’t easy. In the end, I told a white lie – I said that my friends and I had been talking, and it seemed that most of them had had their bottoms smacked across their mum’s knee. I told Mum I was curious about how it felt, and had worked myself up into a bit of a state over it. Without looking up at Mum’s face, I asked whether she would give me a few smacks.
I waited, my heart thumping in my chest. I couldn’t look at Mum – I just stared at those knees I so wanted to lie across.
Finally, she leaned forward and took one of my hands in hers. “Patrick, when I was a little younger than you my sister – your aunt – broke an ornament. My mum blamed me and sent me to my room. My sister wouldn’t admit to breaking the ornament because she knew Mum was cross. Mum came to my room and told me she would give me an hour to own up, and that if I didn’t, my punishment would be worse. I told her it wasn’t me, and I cried my eyes out because she didn’t believe me.
“An hour later she came back. She smacked my bottom, very hard, for telling lies.” I sat there, stunned by this story. My mum had been spanked by grandma! Mum continued: “I was smacked for nothing, and I felt very angry at both my sister and my mum. I cried myself to sleep. The next day I begged my mum to ask my sister to own up, but she never did. I felt hard done by.
“When I had you and your sister, I decided never to smack either of you unless I was absolutely sure you were guilty. Luckily, I only ever had to smack your sister once and I knew she was guilty, because you were out with Dad.”
My ears really pricked up now. My sister had been spanked – this was news to me! All I could manage was a watery smile and a nod. Mum smiled back. I was still processing the image of my sister being spanked when Mum said: “Would you like me smack you now or at bedtime?”
I snapped out of it – oh my God, she was offering to smack my bottom! I looked at her lap again and mumbled: “If I had really been naughty, would you smack me now or at bedtime?” “Well, I think I would prefer to wait until bedtime. I will explain why you’re being smacked, then you can go over my knee and try and take your punishment like a big boy. Then, in the morning, I expect you to wake up ready to say you’re sorry and make a fresh start. Is all that clear, Patrick?”
I nodded, my head now in a whirl. I was so excited – and very grateful to my friend’s mother for her advice. Mum stood up. “That’s settled, then. At bedtime, you and I will have a conversation, young man – and you will be going to bed with a very sore bottom!” She turned the chair back – the promise of a spanking at bedtime was both hugely exciting but felt very real.
I played the game somewhat. “Just remember, Mum, I haven’t really been naughty!” Mum smiled but managed to say in a stern voice: “Keep telling those lies, Patrick, and your punishment will be much worse!” She was obviously drawing on her own childhood punishment for the ‘script’.
That must have been one of the longest afternoons and evenings of my life. Bedtime seemed to take forever to come around. My sister had gone to her room and Dad was watching an old film, when Mum caught my eye and indicated with a sideways nod towards the door. It was time!
I was more nervous than I expected. Even though I wasn’t really in trouble, it felt quite real. I mumbled goodnight to my Dad as I wandered past, Mum followed me out of the room and turned towards the kitchen as I headed for the stairs. “Five minutes, Patrick!” Those words cut through – I was so nervous, I seriously considered asking if we could ‘stop the game’.
I had just done my ablutions and changed into my pyjamas when Mum came into my room, closing the door behind her. A stern look once again on her face, she said: “This is your last chance, Patrick. Did you break that ornament?” She had her hands on her hips and looked quite scary – I genuinely felt like a guilty, naughty little boy and my stomach flipped. “No, Mum, please – it wasn’t me!” Mum now looked very serious. “Very well, Patrick – as you are going to continue to lie to me, you leave me with no choice.”
She once more turned the chair around to face me and took me firmly by the wrist. “This is what happens to naughty boys who tell lies…” She pulled me towards her and over her knee I went.
It’s amazing what emotions rush through your head at such a moment moment. As Mum pulled my pyjama bottoms down, I repeated that I had not broken the ornament. As Mum bared my behind, I honestly felt in that moment that it was a real scenario – she made it feel very real.
As I looked down on my bedroom carpet, I heard her say: “If you had admitted you broke the ornament, you would have got 10 smacks – but as you are continuing to tell lies, you will get 20!”
I felt fear rise in my chest – 20 smacks seemed a lot. After all, this was supposed to be just a few smacks just so I could experience a maternal spanking. This all felt very real, but I didn’t – maybe, somehow, couldn’t – protest. I just lay still, hanging over my Mum’s knee, awaiting my fate.
Then I felt my mother’s hand across my bare bottom for the first time in my life. The 20 smacks landed slowly, well spread out but each one hard enough to make my bottom really sting. The last smack was the hardest, and I jolted under its force. So that was what all the fuss was about!
When Mum had finished, she wriggled my pyjama bottoms back up over my well-smacked bottom and put me back on my feet.
“Patrick, you are to go straight to bed! You have been very naughty, and I will expect a full apology in the morning. Consider yourself lucky that I haven’t fetched one of your father’s slippers and given you another 20!” “Sorry, Mum,” I whispered in a a feeble voice, and slipped into bed. Mum returned my bedroom chair to its rightful place and left.
I lay there, trying to take in what had just happened. I didn’t cry. I didn’t masturbate. I just lay still, appreciating the warm tingle in my bottom.
It had been quite a day. I had learned that my mum had been spanked by Grandma. I’d found out that Mum had smacked my sister’s bottom. But best of all, I’d been spanked by Mum myself.
The next morning, Mum came into my bedroom quite early. As soon as I saw her, unexpectedly, the tears started – I just couldn’t help it. Mum hugged me so hard I thought I’d need to go to hospital. She asked me if the experience was what I had expected. Through my tears, I said it had felt real – like I really had told lies and had been spanked for it.
Mum kissed me. “It felt real to me too. I’m sure you guessed, but I used my own childhood memory to get it done. I think that if I hadn’t, it would have just been a few meaningless pats on your bum.”
She held me at arm’s length and I saw pride and love in her eyes. “Now,” she said, “downstairs for breakfast in 10 minutes – or I’ll spank that bottom of yours again, and this time it’ll be in front of your dad and your sister!” I knew she was kidding, of course, but nevertheless I was down in five!
My curiosity had been satisfied, my bottom had been well smacked and I felt as if a boil had been lanced. I wanted to ask Mum about my sister’s spanking, but when I broached the subject, my mother put me firmly in my place. “I’ll gladly tell you all about it – providing, of course, that you don’t mind me telling your sister I had to bare your bottom last night for a smacking too!”
Needless to say, I backed down instantly – and to this day, I have no idea why mum spanked my sister.