A different perspective

I have written up ‘my story’ and hope you approve. There is a preamble introduction that sets the scene if you like,

In the late 1970s, the world was a very different place. At the time, I worked in a large office, and corporate culture in the office was also very different to modern England.

There were two girls there I liked very much. One was fun, and seemed quite keen on me. The other had an air of strictness about her, a ‘school teacher’ type way about her that turned me on enormously. She was the same height as me without heels. This bothered me a bit – I think most fellas would understand that, especially back in those days. It was also part of her appeal; in heels, she looked stunning.

The office banter was adult, fun and sometimes near the knuckle but everyone gave as good as they got. The taller girl seemed just a little out of reach, the other girl would have been the easier route to take. That schoolmarm manner, coupled with her height, was the difference, especially with my sexual preferences.

Joking aside, it was more ‘normal’ for a man to threaten a woman with a smack back then than the other way around. It was hardly mainstream to admit as a young man you liked the thought of being turned over a woman’s knee! Funnily enough, it was the older women that were most likely to threaten a smack; these comments were often aimed at the younger men in the office. 

As I am sure you can imagine, the taller, slightly aloof girl filled my fantasies – but in reality, finding an opportunity to get a date proved tricky.

At a Christmas party, full of Dutch courage, I made a crude joke about our slight height difference and to cut a long story short, with a couple of vodkas inside her, I persuaded my tall, sexy collegue to accept a dance. It was a start.

She wasn’t, it turned out, bothered by our height difference and we secretly dated a while before ‘coming out publicly’ in the office. You should have heard the banter – boy, did I get some stick! Interestingly, she started wearing higher heels around that time and showed a little more leg. I was called ‘lucky bastard’ – and that was one of the more printable epithets!

After a period that I felt safe to discuss such matters, I took her away for a mucky weekend in Weston-Super-Mare. We sat in a wooden shelter that looked out to sea, and had a kiss and a cuddle and a fumble!

And so to the big moment. Bearing in mind, if this went wrong I would almost certainly lose my girlfriend and also possibly my job, it was a real heart in the mouth moment.

I confessed to her that I fantasised about spanking but had never tried it. I had never had a real spanking in my life – only a few slaps to the legs as a youngster. I elaborated that I didn’t want to spank her; I wanted her to treat me like the proverbial naughty schoolboy, turn me over her knee and smack my bare bottom soundly. I added she had ‘that way’ about her that turned me on so much.

I waited. She looked out to sea for what seemed like forever. Her answer stunned me. “Do you intend to marry me?” Well, that wasn’t quite the answer I had expected. I replied, in all honesty, that it had been my intention eventually. I certainly doubted I would find anyone that I fancied more. Again, a wait – she was killing me!

Finally, she replied: “After we are married, and not before, I will spank you as often as you like, how you like. Is that quite clear?”

“Lets get married this afternoon!” I begged, joking. She didn’t bat an eyelid – just repeated her demand. Well, we were married six weeks later!

She was as good as her word. On our honeymoon, I received my first over-the-knee, bare bottom spanking. Fuck me, it hurt! It was my own fault – trying to be all tough, thinking ‘it’s only a hand spanking, how bad can it be?’ 

Anyway, I had asked for a sound spanking and I got one. Even though I asked her to stop, she carried on until she was convinced I had received a properly well-smacked bottom. She then said: ”You got exactly what you asked for, and in my opinion it was well-deserved!” Even today, hearing her say things like that to me is such a turn-on.

Well, you live and learn. I asked if we could ‘tone it down a touch’, and eventually we found the level that was both exciting and enjoyable; and just painful enough. 

With all this background in mind, here is why I am writing to Maman. We have two children, both of whom are now grown up and flown the nest. Our daughter was mostly well behaved as a girl, and responded positively to a stern lecture. Our son was similarly generally well behaved, bar one incident.

Having been grounded for the weekend for a build-up of small offences, he thought it would be a good idea to sneak out of his bedroom window. Under his window, on a stand, was a water butt. He obviously hung from the window sill and dropped the short distance to the water butt, which promptly toppled, pulled the connecting hose out of the downpipe and made a hell of a racket as son, waterbutt and half the downpipe landed in a very wet heap outside our dining room window.

Out we rushed, and once we had established that no bones were broken, I began to pick up the water butt and bits of broken pipe. My wife took our soggy, slightly dazed and winded son by the arm inside. She had given no indication of her intent, but with the door left open I suddenly heard the unmistakable sound of a spanking being given.

I watched from the doorway, and I am embarrassed and ashamed to say that I rather enjoyed the spectacle. Watching a spanking being delivered was a first for me; I had only ever been on the receiving end. It gave me a totally different perpective on the application of a bare bottom spanking.

My wife had our son over one knee, a position I knew only too well – he was never going to escape from there. His bare bottom, facing me, was still white with just the beginning of a hint of pink. My wife wore a determind face, with an arm around his waist, and was smacking hard and fast. I was fascinated by her demeanour, delivery and concentration. No words were spoken.

Our son was learning the hard way that his mother was a very experienced spanker, and began to cry pretty soon into his punishment. I tried to reconcile whereabouts I would be feeling at that stage during one of my own spankings. I knew only too well how much my wife’s hand hurt, and I tried to calculate how long this spanking had taken so far.

Our son was at the point of scrabbling to get away, begging for Mum to stop and apologising profusely. His bottom took on a deep pink all over but my wife does like to concentrate on the sit spot, and boy did our son find that out! The lower part of his bum turned red; the deeper the red, the less he fought, until he gave up, accepted and sobbed so loudly I began to feel sorry for him.

A small detail I know, but I was transfixed by his mother’s white finger marks, appearing and disappearing almost instantly on the deepening red background. She really drove the message home.

We all know that a punishment spanking really only begins when the child is in full flow – tears, snot, dribble, the whole shooting match. At that pointm my wife slowed her spanking rate, when he had stopped struggling and was instead simply bawling. She just smacked over and over in the same spot – hard. I had been there many times.

Roughly ten smacks landed on one red cheek then she swapped to the other buttock. Our son cried himself hoarse and it became quite clear that he was learning a valuable lesson. After the best part of 10 minutes my wife stopped. She dragged her boy to his feet and held him by both forearms so he couldn’t rub his now scarlet bottom. She lectured him for a minute about the dangers of climbing out of the window, but in his agonised state I doubt he took much of it in.

She warned him sternly if he ever gave her reason to do this again, she would use a hairbrush or paddle and it would be ten times worse. Then he was taken to the kitchen, where my wife was working, and stood naked from the waist down in the corner, hands on his head, and the threat of a further spanking ringing in his ears if he so much as moved a muscle.We had never used corner time in our bedroom games so this was a new element to me; it separated a punishment from sex.

I could hardly think straight as I set about repairing the damaged water butt and pipework. What a sight and sound that had been!

During our evening meal, our son shifted about on his seat with a pained look on his face, and was made to wash the dishes afterwards. He was not allowed to rub his bum and stood at the sink squirming, rubbing his legs together. His face, still tear-stained and full of pain, was quite a picture. I can assure you that he never, ever stepped out of line again.

As for me, I was horny as hell when we got to bed. My wife made it quite clear she took no pleasure in spanking our son but felt the action justified. I agreed. 

Her main concern was she thought she should have asked me if I agreed a spanking was appropriate, but she was so cross that he might have seriously hurt himself that she was going to spank him whether I agreed or not. Again, I assured her that a spanking had been appropriate.

I asked her for a little ‘light relief’ as a spanking was out of the question with two young children within earshot. As she slid down and began to suck me off, I couldn’t help but recalling the image of our son, his bright red bottom glowing as my wife spanked him soundly. 

My wife didn’t want anything sexual in return. As we lay in the dark, she did say she hoped she would never have to carry out her threat to use the hairbrush. I assured her after that spanking it seemed unlikely either child would dare give her the opportunity – I was right.

Watching my wife spank our son was a real eye-opener. I realised it took a certain type of person to do that. I couldn’t have spanked him like that, or at least I would have stopped far earlier. My wife clearly had the stomach to administer a sound spanking. She seemed to have judged the punishment just right – it wasn’t a beating, but as sound a spanking as required to teach our son not to leave his room via the window ever again!

The next day, I took him to a DIY store to buy some replacement parts. I wanted him to be involved in the repairs his stupidity had caused. I asked if he had learned his lesson and he nodded. As we drove along, he broke the silence and said: “I promise I will never ever give Mum reason to do that again, Dad.” Lesson learned right there – some modern parents could learn a thing or two from that. He was quieter than usual for a week or two but was soon back to his normal self, although still very respectful around his mum!

I was tempted to ask him some questions about his spanking, but thought better of it. I was also tempted to ask my wife to use a hairbrush on me. However, I reconsidered the very next time she had me across her knee – her hand spankings hurt more than enough, a brush would just be excruciating and might prevent me drawing any sexual pleasure from the exercise. The fantasy of a hairbrush spanking across my wife’s knee will remain just that! 

Contributor: Eric

All Maman stories are copyright, unauthorised reproduction may lead to legal action.