An unfulfilled desire

My childhood memories of spanking are not happy ones – but not because of corporal punishment, rather the lack of it. My parents didn’t smack and until I started I assumed every child’s home life was the same.

I soon made friends with a boy called David, and when we played at his house the difference between his mum and mine was brought into sharp focus. My mum was not cold, but she didn’t exactly over do the hugging and kissing thing.

By contrast, David’s mum was very hands on, tactile and real fun. When she laughed it was loud, a real belly laugh, as opposed to my own mother who hardly ever laughed out loud. She tended to smile and shake her head, with perhaps a hint of a laugh. It was impossible to walk past David’s mum without either a rub on the top of your head, a quick hug or a pat to the bottom.

Quite where my interest in being spanked came from is anybody’s guess, but there it was. Six years old, never to my knowledge been smacked, and playing at David’s we were messing about in their kitchen.

We had been learning about dinosaurs at school, and David must have had this on his mind as he asked his mum if there were dinosaurs around when she was a little girl. His mum laughed, called him a ‘cheeky so and so’ and assured us she wasn’t that old.

David made some further comment as we made our way past his mum to go back outside to play. In a flash, she grabbed him, spun him around and put him across her knee. My friendscreamed with surprise and playfully kicked his legs. I stood transfixed, like a dribbling idiot, as the very thing I most wanted to happen to me happened to David, right in front of my eyes!

His mum was laughing too. She said: “I’m not too old to smack your bottom, mister!” She managed to land around four maybe five good firm smacks on David’s bum before he managed to wriggle away and landed on the floor at her feet.

His mother laughed, leaned forward and swiped at him a couple more times before he managed to get to his feet and run for the back door. “That’ll teach you, you cheeky thing!” she called after him.

It all happened so quickly, but the image of David’s mum smacking his bottom for those first four or five smacks is etched in my mind. The vision is one thing, the sound of a mum’s hand impacting firmly on a pair of tightly stretched shorts, well that’s something else! What a beautiful sound that was!

Of course, I desperately wanted the same treatment but his mum just chased us both out of the kitchen, clapping her hands. We spent the rest of the afternoon playing before I went home. Unsurprisingly, I developed quite the crush on David’s mum!

At home, I excitedly told mum the whole story. Thinking it was a dead cert that mum would do the same, I asked her if she too saw dinosaurs when she was little. I stood grinning, waiting for mum to pull me across her knee and smack my bum. Thirty years on, I’m still waiting.

Mum made some comment about age and dinosaurs but there was no smacked bottom fun for me. My disappointment crushed me, I just didn’t understand why after having, in my opinion, given mum an open invitation mum to smack me, she hadn’t. My disappointment turned to resentment. I felt left out of the fun. I suppose had I not been so keen to try a spanking, it wouldn’t have mattered a jot. But it did – it mattered very much.

Over time I got over it. Although I went to David’s many times after that, I never saw another spanking – although David assured me there were many. Although young, I remember questioning David about them. Did it sting? Was it on the bare? Did his mum always put him across her knee? The answers are a bit of a blur in my memory – the only real fact I remember is none were painful or for punishment. I felt jealous, and just could not understand why I couldn’t join in the fun.

That was all bad enough, but worse was to come. My mum had a friend who had twin boys. By now I was seven, the twins were six – exactly the same age I became aware of my spanking interest, thanks to David’s mum.

The mum and twins were at our house, visiting. A play fight of sorts started between the mum and one of her twin boys. She hugged him and growled. The TV was on, something on the programme must have sparked her playful, mini attack on the boy. He giggled and squirmed as you would, one thing led to another, and the second twin joined in. Perfectly natural.

The boys were overpowering their mum and there was some loud squealing and laughter filling the room. I watched from the arm chair – if I had ever played like that with my mum I didn’t remember.

My mum came in from the kitchen and the twins’ mother called for a little help. My mum tickled one of the twins to loosen his hold and he rolled away giggling. Their mum then overpowered the first twin and, whether it was deliberate or not, he ended up face down across her lap on our sofa. My heart began beating! 

With obvious joy, his mum laughed and said: “Now you’re in trouble!” She gave his clothed bottom a few pats. Natural fun between mum and son as far as I was concerned – exactly what I so wanted from my mum. What happened next hurt me beyond words and affected me for life.

The other twin begged my mum: “Do that to me! Do that to me!”, pointing at his brother. To my complete shock she did. Sitting down at the other end of the sofa, Mum spread her arms, inviting the little boy to lie across her knee. I watched in disbelief as she carefully positioned the young boy just how she wanted him. 

Once settled, the two boys screamed and howled with laughter as they were smacked in unison. These were obviously fun smacks, given over shorts, but there was the distinct and beautiful sound of two little bottoms being smacked in the room.

I was speechless, yet totally absorbed in the spectactular show being played out before my very eyes. Yet again, I was mere feet from an over the knee spanking, this time a double. I was both ecstatic and hurt at the same time. To watch my own mother playfully smack another little boy’s bottom across her knee cut like a knife. 

There was some banter between the two mums as they smacked away at the two wriggling bottoms, but I can only remember one sentence – and I’ll never forget it, either. My mum, in reply to something her friend said, answered: “Only too happy to help!” It seems she was happy enough to smack another boy’s bottom, but not mine.

There was to be a final twist of the knife, something that I can never forget – or, if I’m honest, forgive.

The twins wriggled about, and the one across his mum’s knee escaped her grip momentarily. He then demanded to swap places! My mum released the twin across her knees, opened her arms again and welcomed the other boy, with a beaming smile, up and across her knees.

The other boy went to his mum but settled across her lap facing his brother, so his mum was effectively smacking with the ‘wrong’ hand. The boys laughed their socks off looking at each other, as the two mums began to smack the fresh bottoms presented to them. The room filled with the sound of two young bottoms being smacked again, amid much shrieking and laughter. 

I sat watching, aching for my turn, but there wasn’t the slightest hint that I was to join in. I was a mere spectator as I watched the twins being smacked by the two mothers. It seemed to me that my mum was going a bit harder on the second twin. Certainly, her smacks were louder – but that may have been because mum was using her correct hand. His bottom was placed a little higher, too.

After a while, the twins’ mother asked the boys whether they had had enough. “No!” they chorused! The boy across my mum’s lap added: “Do it more! Do it more!”

Both mothers looked across at each other. The twins’ mum shrugged, nodded at my mum, and they resumed smacking the boys. I sat sinking deeper into a sadness from which I have never really escaped.

The boy across my own mother’s knee shuffled forward, his head on the sofa facing me. He bore the expression of a very content little boy. As the smacks from my mum progressed, I imagine his little bottom must have been turning a light pink under his shorts. Mine was probably bright green with envy!

Both boys quietened down after a while, and lay still. The mothers looked at each other now and then, slowing their smacks down accordingly, and the boy facing me looked like he was beginning to feel the benefit of my mother’s hand in a very real way. This all went on for some time, with not hard but steady smacks, and the boys became quiet and subdued. Meanwhile, my jealousy and frustration grew stronger by the minute.

The smacks slowly eased off until they became no more than the occasional little tap with the women’s fingers. My mum’s hand rested on her boy’s upturned bottom, and she gave him a gentle pat every now and then. He lay there facing me with his eyes closed, almost as if he was asleep.

The two mothers looked at each other again, and there seemed to be some unspoken communication between them. They stopped and left the twins lying across their knees until the boys stirred. The twins sat up. Their mum gave the boy she had been smacking a squeeze and pulled him close. The two boys then settled and sat watching TV quietly, sandwiched between their mother and mine, and I imagine sitting on warm, tingling bottoms.

I remember my mother sitting with her arm around the boy she’d smacked, discussing whatever it was on the TV. She glanced over at me and smiled but nothing was said. I desperately wanted her to ask me if I wanted a turn!

After the other familoy left, I went to my room and sulked, trying to work out what I had done that had stopped my mum from playing like that with me. Tears were shed.

Giving mum the benefit of the doubt, 30 years on, maybe she thought I was too old for the treatment, or that I might feel embarrassed or out of place if she called me over for a turn? Perhaps she thought I simply wasn’t interested? Possibly, if I had approached and asked for a turn, I may have got what I most wanted. However, I fear the most likely outcome would have been rejection – a public humiliation from which I would never have recovered.

David’s mum smacked him for fun. The evidence would suggest that the twins’ mother did the same. Why not mine? She had clearly enjoyed herself, as I had witnessed with my own eyes, as she welcomed each of the twins with open arms across her knees, and smiled as she gave each a spanking. To watch my own mother smack two boys right in front of me was so hurtful, yet exciting at the same time. If only it could have been me!

I never found the answer to my question. I was an angry young man for most of my teens, disappointed about the lack of smacked bottoms I craved so badly.

I have a reasonable relationship with my mum these days. As you might imagine, the subject of spanking has never come up. I’m not sure Mum ever realised my desire, though I thought I’d been pretty clear when I told her about David’s spanking at the hands of his mum that day. I have never mentioned my disappointment – I can’t see the point after all these years. Mum keeps in touch with her friend but I don’t think she has seen the twins for years.

I was in my late 20s before I experienced a smacked bottom for the first time. I met a slightly older woman via a friend on a blind date. She was lovely, we got along well and after a few dates and some vanilla sex, I asked her if she would mind smacking my bum. She had no qualms about that, and she still doesn’t! 

I eventually told her the story above. Her reaction was simple: “Then we need to make up for lost time!” 

For more than half my life, my desire to be spanked tortured me and brought me nothing but unhappiness. But latterly, that same desire has brought me much happiness and pleasure – and some extremely sore bottoms!

Contributor: Ollie

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