A sharp end to misbehaviour

My brother, who is just a year older than me, recently reminded me of the day we both received a sound spanking from our mum. Actually, he didn’t need to remind me – I’m not likely to forget that day, ever.

We both still have a good relationship with our mum, she was and still is a good mother, and what happened that day was probably due to the circumstances more than our level of naughtiness. I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky we only ever received that one spanking throughout our entire childhood.

Our parents were looking to move house. This particular day, Dad was missing – I can only assume he was working. There was nobody mum could leave us two boys with, so she had to drag us along to view three houses in one day. We were warned to behave before viewing the first house, but it was so boring! We shuffled from room to room and, boys being boys, we started to poke each other and mess about.

Again, next house and a firmer warning to behave. Same thing – boring! We carried on trying to trip each other up and nudging each other with our shoulders.

At the third house we visited, the garden was huge. There was a tree in the middle of the lawn in a flower bed and my brother and I chased each other round and round. We occasionally slipped over, we were laughing at each other as we fell, but not really doing anything wrong – not as far as we were concerned, anyway. 

Mum talked to the estate agent and the current owner as we ran from the group of adults around the tree and back. It probably was annoying to be fair, but not deliberately naughty – just two young boys full of energy. Walking back to the car, we both spread muddy footprints through the house – that went down well! 

When we got back to the car, Mum drove us all home in silence. I think my brother asked her a question but there was no reply. We didn’t realise the significance of this silence, and continued to dig each others ribs and giggle. In hindsight, Mum must have been fuming.

Once we were home, she slammed the front door closed, removed her coat and firmly took hold of me by the arm. “Get upstairs to your room! Shut the door and stay there! You do not come out or open the door until I come to get you. Now, get!” She propelled me towards the stairs.

Grabbing my brother and shouting at me to move, she followed me upstairs, shoving my brother in front of her. I ran to my bedroom door and Mum ordered sternly: “Inside – and stay there!” 

Mum then launched my brother towards the spare room. This housed assorted household items – an ironing board, a vacuum cleaner, a small desk with a laptop on it etc. Mum slammed the door behind them. There were stern words from inside – I only heard “NOW!” loud and clear. Mum came out, saw me with my door ajar and pointed at me. “Inside, and shut that door! Learn to do as you are told!” I did as instructed. Mum was heading to her bedroom – I never saw what happened after that.

So I stood behind my bedroom door, listening intently to what was happening. There was more movement and talking and a door slam. There was a brief silence before I heard the unmistakeable sound of a spanking begin. 

I had never been spanked, and I’m sure my brother hadn’t either. This was new – and worrying. I was almost certain to be next, and I didn’t fancy that very much.

In no time at all, I heard my brother’s cries of anguish as his bottom was made to smart. I could hear the effect the spanking was having on him – his voice was getting higher and he was making some very strange noises, like a high-pitched squealing. In virtually no time at all I heard him crying, loudly. This was my big, tough brother, who didn’t even cry when he fell off a wall at the seaside and needed stitches! And he wasn’t just crying – he was pleading, and crying out, desperately. I could just make out the words ‘sorry’ and ‘please stop’. Clearly, Mum took no notice of these requests.

Suddenly it was over – the spanking had stopped. I listened for the door and Mum’s foootsteps, because it was probably my turn now. But then the spanking resumed – and this time my brother’s protests went up a notch, and then another! He was screaming at the top of his lungs.

I was so scared I was trembling. What on earth was Mum doing to him in there? After what seemed like forever, the door opened and the sound of my brother wailing and blubbering incoherently filled the landing. I heard Mum order him into his bedroom (‘and stay there’) and his door slammed shut. I stepped back from my own door, wide eyed with fear, as I heard Mum approach.

My door opened. Mum didn’t speak – she simply took my arm and marched me to the spare room. I was pushed inside. I was already tearful and asking: “What did we do? What did we do?” The door was closed behind us.

Mum began to undo my jeans. All she said was: “You had enough warnings – you brought this on yourselves. You will never show me up in public like that again.”

My jeans were tugged down, my underpants followed and Mum pushed all my lower clothes down to my knees. Sitting on a chair, she pulled me without resistance across her lap, hauled me up and over further to get my bottom positioned correctly, then immediately began spanking me with her hand.

I did all the things children in that position – I pulled faces, sucked in lungfuls of air, pleaded for Mum to stop, and begged forgiveness and said sortry repeatedly. Eventually, the sting of my mother’s hand overcame all resistance and I just hung limply across her knees, suffering a very painful spanking. I sobbed my little heart out. It was, by any measure, a sound and thorough spanking that left my little bum burning like I’d sat on the hotplate. I couldn’t tell you if it lasted a minute or 10 – actually, I probably would have struggled to tell you my name at that moment!

Suddenly, Mum stopped. She stood me back on my feet to face her, but holding both my wrists – I suppose to stop me rubbing the heat out of my bottom. As I wriggled and squirmed, trying to make the sting go away, Mum ordered: “Look at me!”

She took both my wrists in one hand and held them tight. Turning she picked something up, and then brandished her hairbrush in my face. I was terrified.

“If I ever need to bring you in here again, you will get this for 10 minutes, without a second’s break! Not my hand – just this! Now, I’m going to give you a taste of what that will feel like. I’m going to spank you for half a minute with this brush – that’s nine and a half minutes short of what you will get if there is ever a next time!”

At that point, with a burning, stinging bum courtesy of Mum’s very effective hand spanking, I had no idea of what to expect. I was pulled in and turned over one knee, tipped forward and pinned by one wrist to my back. It all happened so quickly.

Mum then applied that hairbrush for the promised half minute, after which I’d virtually lost my voice due to my screaming. Words cannot do justice to the pain I felt from that hairbrush spanking. The last few smacks of the brush were accompanied by Mum’s words: “Don’t forget, 10 minutes, non-stop, if there is ever a next time!” Those last few smacks were delivered so hard I thought I’d pass out. Pain scale, 11! 

Mum released my wrist but I was in such a mess I hadn’t the strength to lift myself up from her knee. I just hung there for a while, blubbing my heart out and in a world of pain, snot, tears, dribble and blurred vision.

Finally, another hard smack on my bare bottom from Mum’s hand encouraged me to struggle to my feet. She unceremoniously hauled me up by my arms, reached down and dragged my underwear and jeans back up, turned me towards the door and pushed me forward. My jeans were not properly fastened so I had to hold them up to stop from tripping over – it was hell having them rub against my roasted bottom.

Mum opened my bedroom door and I was guided inside by the scruff of my neck. “Stay there until I say you can come out – unless you want to feel that hairbrush again?” I did not!

I couldn’t even make it to my bed, I dropped to the floor and sobbed for ages, clutching my scalded bottom cheeks gently in my hands. I could faintly hear my brother still crying in his room.

We both took a day or two to recover from our trip across Mum’s knee. My brother had suffered a longer trial with the brush, more like a minute, due to him being the elder. We agreed later in life that Mum must have been stressed about the house move and having us charging around probably embarrassed her in front of the estate agent and the woman who owned the last house.

We never disobeyed her again. After that, in disciplinary matters, we got one warning and we did as we were told without question. The thought of 10 minutes across Mum’s knee, being spanked that hard with that brush, filled us both with real fear.

Mum had us stand in the kitchen before diner that evening and gave fair warning never to act up in public again. We were then fed and watered and carried on with life. 

My brother who is just a year older than me recently reminded me of the day we both received a sound spanking from our mum. He didn’t need to remind me, I’m not likely to forget that day, ever.

We both still have a good relationship with our mum, she was and still is a good mum, and what happened that day was probably due to the circumstances more than our level of naughtiness. I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky we only ever received that one spanking throughout our entire childhood.

Ironically, with no erotic interest in spanking and with just that one experience, I met a girl who actually enjoys being spanked. As a little girl, she was smacked by her mum once or twice, which gave her no pleasure at all. However, when her dad smacked her, she got ‘that fuzzy feeling’ (as she puts it). So every now and then, when the mood takes her, she tells me it’s that time again. I smack her as instructed, she gets what she needs out of it and I am rewarded at a later date. Works for us!

It is through my now wife that I became aware of Maman. 

Contributor: Richard

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