No longer a game

Even after a number of years, I still feel embarrassed at this memory, but at least I am in good company here on these pages. It was the day I was caught not red-handed, but red-faced.

It was the day my mum came into my bedroom unexpectedly and found me standing in the corner, in self-exile, shorts and pants around my ankles and hands on my head. I cannot express the level of my embarrassment.

So how did this happen? A teacher had sent myself and another boy, Sean, to the ‘naughty wall’ to stand with our hands on our heads for persistent talking in class. We were to stand still, in total silence, for the rest of the lesson. Failure to comply would mean being sent to the headmaster with a note.

I didn’t understand why at the time, as I stood at the wall I got an erection. It felt nice! So, back at home, I stood myself in the corner of my bedroom, naked from the waist down, and waited for my penis to harden again.

I think I had worked out by now that it may have been the threat of further punishment – possibly a slippering or a spanking – that had brought on the erection. The cane was not used for children under 10 at my school, and this was a time when the cane was beginning to be phased out. Nevertheless, the headmaster or deputy headmistress still had the authority to use CP, although it was becoming a rare thing by then.

More likely, a visit to the head would have earned us a severe telling off and/or a lunchtime detention. This was a detested punishment, stopping us from going out to play football. I had heard, through the grapevine, that the deputy headmistress was more likely than not to give you a good slippering. That thought both fascinated and excited me.

But back to that truly awful moment when I was caught. Mum just came in without knocking, without warning, and caught me red-faced in my compromising position – I’m cringing at the memory even now. I spun round, and total shock turned to extreme embarrassment.

I scrabbled to pull up my shorts and pants but such was my panic that I couldn’t get my shorts up. I lost my balance and fell against the wall. I stammered: “Don’t look, and get out Mum! Get out!” But it was too late for tha –, she was never going to unsee the sight of her son standing, bare bottomed in the corner like that.

She closed the door and asked me whether Dad had told me to stand there. I just begged her to leave – I couldn’t face her. I flopped face down on my bed and begged Mum to leave me alone – but she just sat on my bed and waited.

I wanted to die. But I couldn’t cry. I just lay there wishing mum would leave. How did I not hear her coming? I always heard if someone came upstairs! I just couldn’t understand how I got caught.

After a few insightful questions, it was clear Mum wasn’t going to leave me. Without facing her, I told her that a boy had been sent to the ‘naughty wall’ in class and I wondered what it would be like.

Mum didn’t buy this hogwash for a minute. She knew there was more to it than that – the bare bottom part gave me away if nothing else. She pulled me by the shoulder until I rolled over to face her.

“Was it you that got sent to the naughty wall?” she asked. I hesitated, and Mum knew. “Well, was it?” “Yes, Mum.” “What for?” “Talking in class.”

A pause. “Well, you don’t stand facing the wall in school without your shorts on, I’m sure – so what’s that all about?” I tried to roll away again, but Mum stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. I didn’t answer – how could I answer?

“I’m waiting,” she said patiently. Finally, I replied: “I don’t know.”

“Did you get spanked at school?” Mum asked. I’d never heard her use that word, only the word ‘smack’ now and then. ‘Spanked’ sounded more official, serious even. “No!” I replied quickly. “So why were your shorts down?”

Oh God! I tried to turn away again, ut Mum stopped me. “If you don’t tell me why your shorts were down, I will drag you downstairs and you will stand in the kitchen without your shorts and underwear until you do!” 

Naturally, I was horrified at the prospect of me standing naked in the kitchen as my father and sister passed through. “No, Mum!” I implored. “Why were you standing in the corner without shorts and underwear? Answer me! Now!”

I had a funny feeling Mum already knew the answer, or suspected at least. I just couldn’t find words to answer. She could see I was struggling, and again waited patiently.

In the end, I said: “We were told that if we moved or spoke, we’d get sent to the headmaster.” “We? Who’s we?” Oh, crap. “Me and Sean.” 

“I’m going to ask you again ≠ did you get spanked at school?” “No Mum, never.” “Were you threatened with a spanking?” “No, Mum.” “Then why no shorts? Are you trying to imagine what it would feel like to stand in the corner after a spanking?”

Oh, double crap! She knew!

I must have given her the answer with my face, or maybe my general demeanour. “So that’s what this is all about? You want to know what it feels like to be spanked and then stood in the corner? Yes?” She had me – she knew it, and so did I. All I could manage was a groan. I must have looked pathetic, and I felt about an inch high.

Mum inhaled and exhaled loudly, then stood. “Up!” she said. I slowly got to my feet. I couldn’t look at Mum. She took my arm and firmly pushed me towards my bedroom door. I offered no resistance or argument – it seemed pointless – but I was really nervous about what she had in store for me. Inwardly, I prayed: “Please God, don’t let her take me to the kitchen and stand me in the corner bare bummed for the world to see!”

Instead, I was taken to the spare room, which doubled as our home office. Mum sat me at the desk, put pencil and paper in front of me and said: “Write this down: ‘If I talk in class again, I will be spanked again.” I wrote the dreadful words down as my mother hovered over me. 

“Now, you fill every line of that paper – both sides – and when you are done, I’m going to put you across my knee and give you a spanking you will never forget. Then you will stand in the corner until I say you can move.”

I sat stunned at this news – surely she wouldn’t? She certainly sounded like she meant it. I just sat staring, my mouth open.

“Call me when you’re done. If I find you’re done and you haven’t called me straight away, I will spank you in the kitchen whether your sister sees you or not – so I suggest you get on with it.” Mum walked out, closing the door and leaving me alone.

She was perfectly serious – she was going to spank me. It was then I realised I was forming an erection again. This confirmed that it wasn’t standing in the corner but the threat of further punishment, namely a spanking, which caused the hard-on. I dutifully wrote my lines, dreading what would happen when I finished them. Thankfully at some stage my erection faded and it was gone when Mum returned.

I was more than half-way down the second side of paper when the door opened and she came back in. She made me jump – yet again, I didn’t hear her! “Are you done yet?” “Nearly, Mum.” 

She pulled out another chair for herself, then found another sheet of paper, in anticipation of what appeared to be a second set of lines. I wrote as neatly as I could, becoming more nervous as I got closer to the end of the paper. Mum sat on the chair, folded her arms and crossed her legs, and waited for me to finish. She glared at me but didn’t say a word.

As I wrote the last line, my heart was pounding, my hands were cold and my mouth bone dry. I was about to get that spanking!

I put my pencil down. “I’ve finished, Mum.” “Tear it up, and put it in the bin,” was the rather cold reply. I tore up my lines and took the bits over to the waste bin.

“Come here.” Mum pointed to the floor beside her. Whoa, jelly legs time! I tried to swallow but my mouth was too dry.

Mum reached for my shorts, they were unbuttoned and slipped down. As I now stood before her in just my socks, pants and T-shirt, Mum told me to look at her. That was hard.

“I’m going to spank you for talking in class. When I’m through, you will stand in that corner with you hands on your head and you will not speak or move until I say so. If you do, I will spank you again and you will write out the lines again. Understood?” I nodded.

Mum gave my underpants a sharp jerk and down they went to my knees. She then reached for my arm, “This is what happens from now on if you misbehave at school!”  I was turned, pulled and lifted in one movement, and for the first time in my life found myself face down and bare bottomed over my Mum’s knee. 

The spanking started immediately and it stung like hell! When Mum said she would give me a spanking I wouldn’t forget, she wasn’t messing about. She smacked me hard and fast, covering my lower bum cheeks and upper thighs with crisp, hard smacks that stung far more than I ever thought possible.

I twisted, I gasped, I held my breath and screwed up my face. I reached back and my hand was pinned down in my back. I had a last ‘fight or flight’ moment, then stretched my legs out dead straight. I briefly did the frog thing, before the fight was lost and I bawled like a baby. No amount of pleading or begging made a scrap of difference – Mum must have spanked me non-stop for five minutes, maybe more. My backside stung worse that I could ever have imagined.

Finally, she stood me up and half dragged, half pushed me to the corner. I was in a world of pain, and my legs didn’t seem capable of supporting my body. 

Mum took hold of my hands and put them firmly on my head. “Leave them there! If I catch you rubbing your bottom, I’ll spank you again, twice as hard and twice as long! Now, you can have a good, long think about what a spanking feels like and what will happen if I ever find out you have been misbehaving in class again!” 

I leaned forward against the wall for support, gulping back my tears. “Stand up straight! Don’t lean!” Mum was still behind me. I stood back, straightened and through blurred eyes looked at the blank wall. Every nerve ending in my burning bottom was begging for me to rub it better, but I dared not.

Mum said: “I’ll be back to check on you, so don’t you dare move a muscle!” I could hear her moving around in and out of rooms on the landing, I think I was facing the wall for at least 15 minutes and it felt much longer. That’s a very long time for a child to stand still, even more so with a well smacked bum.

Finally she returned. I hadn’t realised earlier, due to my scrambled brain, but Mum had deliberately left the office door wide open, I assume so she could keep an eye on me. I had no idea whether my sister or my dad had seen me, and I reached a new level of shame.

Mum took my arm again. “Come here!” She guided me back to the desk. “Sit!” I sat carefully – very carefully. Mum tapped the paper with her finger. “Write: ‘I deserved my spanking for talking in class'” I couldn’t concentrate. I squirmed on my chair and tried to unscramble my brain. “You had better be done in half an hour. If I come back and you are not done, you’ll be straight back across my knee! And I mean it!”

She left me in the office and once again left the door wide open. This meant my dad or sister might walk past and see me. I gulped back tears and started to write my lines, but my bottom burned and stung and the material on the chair made it feel ten times worse. It was horrible! 

Sure enough, surely afterwards – to compound my utter shame, embarrassment and misery – my sister walked past the door. I wanted to die. At least she didn’t get to see my spanked red bum – I was sitting on that.

Mum came back. She stood in the doorway. I looked up at her. She had her hands on her hips and looked stern. “Are those lines finished?” “Yes, Mum,” I whispered. “Tear them up.” I did as I was told. “Bedroom!” I walked stiffly past her and headed for my bedroom, as she followed.

Once there, she said: “Now you know what it feels like to stand in the corner after a spanking. If I ever find you doing that again, I will put you back across my knee – and next time, I will use my hairbrush. Now, get in that bed and stay there till the morning – and don’t you ever misbehave in class again, understood?” “Yes, Mum,” I mumbled as a fresh wave of tears began to flow.

I undressed and slunk into my bed. I cried, on and off, for some time. The only chink of light in my very long, dark tunnel was that after a while my erection returned and it felt comforting.

I wish I could say that the embarrassment of being caught was actually worse than the spanking. But that would be a lie. The spanking made my bottom sting all evening, and it still felt tender to the touch when I woke up the next morning. Bloody hell, Mum could smack hard! In short, the spanking was far worse than my acute shame and embarrassment.

The fact that my sister saw me sitting writing lines, with a tear-stained face, was also awful. She must have heard me being spanked too, I guess. To her credit, though, she never teased me or mentioned the incident. Maybe Mum had warned her not to, no doubt on pain of a smacked bottom of her own.

I never talked in class again, that’s for sure. I did stand myself in the corner a few times but I made bloody sure everyone was out of the house before I played that game.

In adult life, I have chosen to remain unmarried, and live alone. I have male and a couple of girl friends, and I see them socially within a group setting, socially. I do not have a sexual relationship with a regular partner.  

I have found a woman who advertises herself as a professional companion. Basically, you pay for her company if you want a someone to accompany you to an event. I eventually got up the courage to ask whether, if I took her for a nice meal and we had an evening out, she would give me a spanking. No other service – just a good hiding. To my delight, she agreed.

So maybe once a month I arrange to meet her. She comes to my place and gives me a very well-smacked bottom before we go out. Anticipating her arrival, with the promise of a spanking guaranteed, is very exciting. She always dresses very smartly, skirt or dress, with heels and stockings. 

She prefers to turn me over one knee and use the leg and arm lock position. Her skirt or dress is removed both to aid the position and so that it doesn’t get creased. This offers me the added thrill of laying across a stockinged thigh. My friend has become most proficient at giving a hand spanking, and I squirm uncomfortably on my well-spanked bottom in the taxi and at the restaurant.

So at last I can enjoy a spanking and face the wall without being disturbed and suffering the embarrassment I felt as a boy. That truly was a bloody awful day!

Contributor: Harry

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