Naughty boys, big and small

When I met and fell in love with my husband, as far as the bedroom department was concerned, I was a plain old ‘vanilla’. We had conventional but very enjoyable sex at least three or four times a week. It was great, and I was perfectly content.

My husband did have a certain kink, however. Early on in our marriage, he openly confessed that he had a ‘thing’ for a certain actress – let’s call her Jennifer, and you can draw your own conclusions!

One lazy Sunday morning, we had been laying in bed kissing and cuddling. I nipped to the loo for a freshen-up because sex was becoming very likely.

When I came back to bed, my young husband was lying face down, totally exposed. Although not a regular part of our sex play, I sat on the back of his legs and began giving him a back rub. I worked up and down from neck to thighs, with kisses and rubs. I whispered naughty things in his ear, what I was going to do when he rolled over…you get the picture.

The swine then started moaning and groaning and saying things like: “Oh, Jennifer! Oh, that’s so good! So much better than my wife!” He began grinding his hips into the bed and wiggling his bottom up at me.

His bare buttocks looked so sexy that I playfully smacked him on the behind – it was quite possibly the most natural thing for a young wife to do at the time.

He continued to hump the bed clothes, and began saying things like: “Oh yes, Jennifer! Smack my bottom like I’m a naughty boy!” I smacked him a few more times, laughing but scolding him for calling out another woman’s name during sex. He carried on with the groaning and grinding, asking ‘Jennifer’ to smack him again.

I wasn’t at all jealous, and although it was fun, I didn’t think it would lead to anything other than a one-off sex session. Well, how wrong can a girl be?

Suddenly, my husband groaned and finished, coming all over the bed clothes, the naughty boy. I was somewhat surprised and after cleaning up, I asked him what that had been all about.

Blushing a little, he explained he had long nurtured fantasies about being spanked like a naughty little boy. He found the thought of me in stockings and heels, telling him off and turning him over my knee extremely, exciting. He admitted that he hoped we might be able to include his fantasy in our sex life now and then.

So it was that later that afternoon, dressed as he wished, I put my husband across my knee and spanked him properly for the very first time. The result was the most amazing sex I had ever had. Exactly nine months later, we had a son, and I’m convinced that it was that particular session that made him.

Spanking became a regular part of our sex life, but I had no plans to use it for family discipline unless our son really pushed me. He did get a few play pats during those little moments which occur between mother and son – a sleepy toddler with a wriggly bottom, a play fight on the sofa, warm days in the paddling pool etc.

But the real smacked bottom action took place behind our bedroom door. I became a very good spanker, as my husband will acknowledge. My hand stings more than enough for him and although we have dabbled with hairbrush and slipper, my hand is definitely our ‘thing’. My husband fucks me better after a good old-fashioned spanking across my knee, that’s for sure.

However, a memory about my son is the main reason for me writing to Maman. He did well at school and was a perfectly normal young boy. He was generally well behaved and certainly never naughty enough for me to consider smacking his bottom as a punishment.

My husband and I, meanwhile, were naturally careful with our spanking games and never ‘played’ when our son might overhear or, worse still, catch us at it. Obviously, that was very frustrating at times for us.

One day, I happened to be talking to the mother of our son’s best friend as we both walked back from a local shop one day. She dropped quite a bombshell – she told me our two boys had been given a detention at school for misbehaving. Apparently, her son had been the ringleader, and to add to his woes he was already underperforming at school and had become lippy at home. As a result, she told me, she had reluctantly spanked him, and his behaviour had noticeably improved thereafter.

I wasn’t so innocent by then – I was a seasoned spanker myself, although my ‘naughty boy’ was somewhat bigger and older! However, I was shocked when she went on to tell me that following her own son’s spanking, my own boy had asked her to smack his bottom too. What’s more, apparently this wasn’t the first time he had made such a request.

Naturally, she had not acceded to his request, and told him to speak to his own mum or dad about it, if he felt he deserved a sore bottom. I was really taken about – he had never once mentioned spanking at home.

I mulled this information over for a day or two, all the while keeping an eye on our son – he seemed his usual self. One of the other mums I was friendly with lived nearby, and our sons both went to after-school club. I engineered an innocent call for a chat and after some smalltalk and gossip, I asked if she would mind telling me if she had ever spanked her son, and if so, had it worked? I explained with a little white lie that my usual forms of discipline at home were not having the desired effect. 

Well, did I ever get a surprise! Firstly, yes, she spanked. She had smacked her son’s bottom when he was six, and did it very hard, hoping that one sound spanking would save many more later on. It had worked and her son rarely misbehaved for years afterwards.

However, she added that she had smacked her son playfully quite recently, over cheeky comments he’d made when his mates were round. After she (rather playfully) threatened to smack his bum in front of his friends, the other boys – and my son in particular – had dared her to carry out her threat.

So she sat down and he got a smacked bum, much to the amusement of his mates. The boy’s mother added that it was all very good natured and the children laughed themselves silly, including my son, who was one of the more vocal of the lads urging her to smack their friend much harder.

Then it was time for bombshell number two – apparently, my son had asked her for a spanking too. What the hell? I asked for more details. She said that after her son’s playful smacking, she shooed all the boys out into the garden, threatening them all with a smacked bottom if they didn’t move quickly. It was at this point that my son actually asked to be punished – he told her he had never been spanked, and wanted to find out what it was like. Much like the first mum, she had told him to ask his own parents.

This bit of news festered away in me, I must admit. I began to feel quite bothered that my son was asking every mother in town for a spanking. If he had come to me, I would have said ‘OK, no problem’ – especially given my (ahem!) considerable expertise in the subject.

I decided to talk to him and ask why he had been asking these other mums to smack him instead of me. I had no intention of being confrontational. I was hoping that he would say he would like a playful smacked bottom, out of curiosity. I would then carry out his wish with a few smacks and hey presto, all would be well in the world again – no need to be asking strangers for a spanking. However, that wasn’t quite how it worked out.

His dad took him to club the following Saturday morning, collecting his best mate en-route and then went on to a job. I would collect the boys at noon and my husband would be home by the evening – that seemed as good a time as any for our ‘little talk’. I collected the boys and dropped off my son’s friend.

Once we got home, I told my son to get changed, then join me in the lounge, because I wanted to ask him about something. When he came back down, I explained quietly and calmly that I wasn’t angry and he wasn’t in trouble, but it had been brought to my attention that he had asked two of his friends’ mums for a smacked bottom.

“I don’t know what’s behind this,” I said, “but I do wish you had come to me first and not some stranger. We could have talked this through, and if you really wanted a spanking, I would have given it to you.”

My son looked a bit guilty but didn’t speak, his eyes cast down at the floor. “Are you embarrassed about discussing this with me? He shrugged. “Do you have a bit of a crush on those other mums? Did you think it might be more exciting to be spanked by someone else’s mother?”

He blushed a bit but there was still no answer. His silence began to rile me. He seemed happy enough to ask those other women to put him over their knee. If he was confident enough to speak to them, why not his own mother? Did he think I wouldn’t, or couldn’t?

I tried again. “Did you just want a few playful smacks on your bottom, or did you want a proper spanking – something that will hurt enough to make you cry?” Nothing. “Do you feel guilty about something you’ve done naughty, and think a sore bottom will clear your consience?”

But all I got was shrugs or slight shakes of his head. I must admit I was irritated by this lack of communication – I was giving my boy every chance to express himself, and here I was being stonewalled.

One last throw of the dice – I took him by the hand and drew him closer to me. I slipped one hand around the back of his head and the other around his waist, and held him close.

Then I kissed his head and spoke as warmly and gently as I could. “I love you with all my heart. Whatever’s bothering you, you can tell Mum in confidence – I won’t laugh or be angry. All I’m trying to do is to find out why you feel the need to ask other mums rather than me to smack you – and I’m a little hurt by that.

“Look – if you are curious about having your bottom smacked, just nod.” It worked– he nodded. “There is no shame in that – it’s natural curiosity. If you would like me to smack your bottom now, just nod.” Another nod, and a sniff. Tears were forming.

I kissed his head again and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “Would you like me to smack your bottom, just for fun, to see what it’s like?” A shrug. “When you asked the other mums, what were you hoping they would do?” A gentle shake of the head was my answer.

His hand came up to his face. He wiped away a few tears, then leaned in heavily and had a proper cry, probably from relief that this was all out in the open.

I let him have a little weep. Then: “If you would like me to pretend you’ve been a naughty boy and smack your bottom hard, say ‘yes please, Mum’. He was about to speak but I quickly added: “I must warn you, though. I will smack you thoroughly and properly – and it may not be anywhere near as much fun as you imagine.”

There was a snuffle and he shifted from one foot to another. Leaning against me again, he answered: “I want you to show me you care.” It seemed a strange answer, and a little hurtful too. “I shouldn’t have to spank you to show that I care about you.

“I love you unconditionally – but if have to smack your bottom hard to prove that, then you are going to very, very sorry. Because I care more than you could ever understand.”

Suddenly his tongue loosened. “Why haven’t you ever spanked me before?” “Well, because I’ve never thought you’d been naughty enough to need it!”

He was quietly tearful. I kissed the side of his head and gave him another squeeze. Holding him back at arm’s length I wiped a couple of tears from his cheeks and smiled. I suggested a compromise. “How about you have some time to think, and then if you still want your bum smacked, you can ask me and I will do it asking any more embarrassing questions?

His answer was straightforward. “I just want to know what a spanking feels like.” Oh boy.

My face turned a bit stern. “Well, if you’re absolutely set on having your bottom smacked, then I’m going to grant your wish.” I pulled him back in close and whispered in his ear. “But you had better be very sure, because this is going to hurt more than you realise.”

I got a nod, and realised I now had no choice but to spank my son. I released his hands and said: “Come on then, love, let’s get it over with.” I wiped his face with my fingers. “Take down your trousers and pants.”

As my boy followed my instructions, I pulled out a chair and sat myself down. I had used this very chair just a week earlier to spank my husband while our son was at club. We had made love on the sofa to my right afterwards, and it was wonderful.

Rightly or wrongly, I decided that this was going to be a lesson in tough love. My son wanted me to show I cared – well, he was going to get my care, and then some. 

He stood uncomfortably in front of me, pants round his ankles and shyly covering his willy with his hands. There was no evidence of enjoyment. I looked him in the eye. “Are we agreed, then? This is going to be a proper naughty boy’s spanking, not a fun thing?”

He nodded – but this time, I insisted he speak up. I ordered him to say: “Yes Mum – I want you to spank me.” He did, and a few tears began to flow quietly as he did so. I took no notice – my son was about to find out that his mother was in fact a very experienced and accomplished disciplinarian! This was not going to be fun for him at all, but he had been warned more than once, so he had no excuse.

I took his hand, opened my legs and turned him over one knee, trapping his bottom half with my other leg. I knew that he would shortly be kicking and struggling – he wasn’t used to being spanked – and I expected his pleas for me to stop to begin within less than a minute. Well, he would be finding out that it was Mum who decided when the spanking stopped. If you go around asking for a real smacked bottom, you don’t get to decide it’s over when the sting begins to become unbearable.

With this in mind, I reached over and held his right arm down against the small of his back, then tightened my hold. It was much the same as playing with my husband, only on a smaller scale.

I started spanking right away. No loving warm up, no mercy – just hard, fast smacks that had him sucking in lungfuls of air and twisting straight away. I had him well secured, he wasn’t going anywhere, and I spanked him soundly. As I had predicted, even before the first minute was up, my boy was begging and struggling, and pleading that he had had enough.

Yeah, that’s not how a spanking works, sunshine. He’d had his chance for a few fun smacks to test the water, and he had chosen to jump right in at the deep end. It was a big mistake, and his mother was giving him the lesson of a lifetime.

I smacked hard and concentrated on placing the smacks on the fleshy crown and lower part of each bottom cheek, right on his ‘sit spot’. I had the crease between bum and thigh positioned perfectly, the tenderest part of his bottom, and it quickly turned pink.  He howled, he kicked as best he could, he twisted and wriggled – but I held him firmly in place and ignored the fuss. 

I was in the groove now. I was giving him my love, I was showing him just how much I cared – and I cared a lot! I thought about him asking other mums for a spanking when he had a very experienced spanker right at home– he was certainly finding that out the hard way. I wasn’t angry with him, but felt that I did have a point to prove.

Long after he had started pleading for me to stop, long after the howling and kicking gave way to acceptance and pure sobbing, I carried on smacking his bottom. By now, I was used to spanking a grown man pretty soundly, so this little boy’s bottom was hardly a challenge. Time was irrelevant – I had no idea how long it had taken or was going to take, but my son had chosen a spanking. I’d stop when I was ready, and not before. Tough? Maybe – but he asked for it.

After it was obvious that he had ‘given up the fight’, flopped and exhausted over his mother’s knee, I paused briefly to examine his bottom. As you would expect, it was very dark pink, with shades of red and little speckles of red dots all over. The areas where I had concentrated my delivery glowed hot, and both buttocks twitched nervously.

Then I spanked again for about another minute. This restart caused a momentary flight reaction and then a fresh wave of gulps and sobbing started, with a few repeated whispers of ‘please, Mum, please stop!’ I decided to finish up – a flurry of fast smacks, followed by six of the hardest I could muster, bringing the proceedings to a close.

I examined my work. There was no skin damage, nothing but a cherry red behind with flecks of red dots and a pale patch at the centre of each cheek – a well-spanked bottom in anybody’s book.

I let go of his arm and he immediately touched his bottom with the back of his hand. He made no attempt to rise, and I left him lying across my knee for maybe half a minute. Then I helped him to his feet and pulled him close for a cuddle.

He cupped his bottom rather than put his arms around me, and we had another fresh wave of real tears – probably relief that the ordeal was over. I pointed out that I had warned him he wouldn’t enjoy the experience, but he wasn’t really capable of coherent speech at that point.

So I walked him, still naked from the waist down, to his bedroom. We had to go slowly, because he was a little unsteady on his feet. I shouldn’t smile but it was almost like he was drunk when he first stood up and tried to walk. His brain was scrambled and his bottom was scalding hot. It was a whole new experience for him, but exactly what he had requested – a real spanking. With his hands clasped to his glowing, bare bottom, he lay face down on his bed and cried unashamedly – huge, racking, deep sobs. I sat beside him and stroked his hair briefly.

Then I said: “I love you. And hopefully, now you know how much I care about you. When you’re ready, come downstairs and we’ll talk about what happened – whether you want to or not! And let me warn you, if there’s any attitude left in you, I can always spank it out, so you’d best leave it in your bedroom.”

We discussed the whole episode after dinner that evening. Right from why and when he began asking other mums to spank him, right up to that moment I finished his spanking. I made it clear I took no pleasure from doing what I did. He had been given enough chances to ask for a fun spanking, or to change his mind entirely.

He did bring up the fact that he had repeatedly pleaded with me to stop. I explained that as the ‘spankee’, you don’t get to ‘top from the bottom’ – it wasn’t a proper spanking if you can shout ‘stop’ when it stings a bit more than you like. He took my point, and I put my arms around him and told him I loved him. 

Our relationship changed from that moment onwards. My son became more open with me, and able to approach me and show his emotions without fear of embarrassment. We became much closer, and on the very rare occasion that he showed signs of ‘naughtiness’, I only had to stop and look at him in silence and he checked his behaviour immediately.

On his next birthday, I offered him a birthday spanking. He accepted, providing it was done for fun and not like the last one. And so, the morning of his birthday, I went into his bedroom, grabbed his ankles from under the covers and pulled him down the bed. I rolled him like a crocodile rolls its prey and sat on the bed with him half wrapped in his bedsheets. I had access to his bottom and I gave him his birthday spanking there and then. The room was full of laughter and muffled howls of protest. I just wished he had requested that sort of spanking in the first place, to be honest.

When he was older, we got talking one day and my son admitted that he had needed to know what a real spanking felt like but was too embarrassed to ask. If one of the other mothers had granted his request, he had planned to say ‘that didn’t hurt much’ or something like that to goad them smacking him a bit harder.

He admitted that he had had no idea that a spanking could hurt as much as the one I gave him. He had expected it to sting, but his bum had burned all that afternoon and was still hot and sore when he went to bed. Apparently, it still felt tender the following morning, and it was at least the day after that before his behind got back to normal.

He was never spanked again for punishment. In fact he wasn’t spanked at all, even for fun – until his 21st birthday. He had a new girlfriend at the time and I made him blush scarlet when I asked her: “Which one of us is going to give the naughty birthday boy his birthday spanking?”

My son curled up with embarrassment as I encouraged his girlfriend to do the honours. I pulled out a chair, sat her down and ‘invited’ my son across his girlfriend’s knees. I watched with amusement and encouraged her to spank harder as my son kept pleading: “Mum, shut up!” To her credit, she smacked him pretty well They are still together, and I often wonder if she spanks him regularly.

Even today, it still riles me a little that my son asked other women to spank him. That’s probably why I spank my husband so hard – I take it out on him! However, being taken between my legs afterwards makes up for it, I’m sure!

Contributor: Kimberly

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