Thank you for a wonderful site. I have been reading the various accounts that have been sent into Maman for some time now and felt I ought to send in my own, as a kind of ‘thank you’ for the pleasure I have had from reading so many free stories.
My particular fascination relates to my own circumstances when as a youngster in my early teens and is, I am sure, why my fetish grew into what it now in my adult life. This directly correlates to the stories where the attitude of the parent or person in authority (if a teacher) administering the spanking is completely nonplussed and matter-of-fact in their attitude towards it, as were my parents and in particular my mum.
This is where my fascination (and subsequent desire) for being spanked grew from. As a young adolescent schoolgirl, I remember having a fascination with spanking (or, as it was called in my schoolgirl days, a smacked bottom). I would avidly eavesdrop on adult conversations for any mention of it.
These were typically the sort of conversations my mum and her friends used to chat about over afternoon tea at our house. Even when my own mother sometimes mentioned to the other mums about my own trips across her knee as a younger girl, I would feel a weird tingle in my lower abdomen as I listened to the stories.
I know that my journey into being what is somewhat derogatorily known as a ‘spanko’ began aged about 13. It was the day I finally found the courage to ‘negotiate’ with my mum. I had just been grounded for two weeks for some misdemeanour, which in turn would mean I would not be able to meet my friends in town at the weekend as usual, nor attend the birthday party of Julie, one of those pals. I wanted Mum to consider giving me a smacked bottom, like I got when I was younger, in place of the already imposed sanction.
Although I recall being extremely embarrassed at virtually asking her for a smacked bottom, I remember Mum not being fazed at all or showing any embarrassment. She provisionally agreed to my offer, but added: “We’ll need to ask your dad about it too, Samantha. And mind, if he does agree, it’ll be done properly – you’ll be over my knee and it’ll be on your bare bottom.” Despite the added embarrassment of this reference to my bare bottom, I agreed.
So it was that later that afternoon, as Mum, Dad and myself sat eating our evening meal, Mum casually turned to my father and said: “Dad, Samantha asked me something this afternoon. If we would consider – instead of her being grounded for two weeks, which means she will miss Julie’s birthday party – swapping it for me giving her a smacked bottom. I’ve said that I’m OK with the idea, but we needed to ask you as well. What do you think?”
Dad smiled as he scratched his chin, pretending to think about it, then quite calmly commented: “Well, if you’re OK with smacking her bottom instead of her being grounded, Mum, I don’t mind – as long as you make sure she gets a good smacked bottom. However, I think that trading off being grounded for two weeks for just one sore bottom isn’t a fair trade-off. I think she ought to go over your knee at least once for each week.”
I felt my mouth open with dismay, but unfortunately for me, Mum said: “Do you know what? I actually agree with your Dad, Samantha. So that would be a smacked bottom for this week, which means you can go to Julie’s party on Saturday evening, and then another one some time next week. So that’s the deal – do you want to take it?”
All this open and matter-of-fact discussion about my bottom being smacked had a sort of mesmerising effect on me, but I nodded to acquiesce to the newly-brokered deal. Mum smiled. “Good – I’m glad that’s all sorted out.” Then she continued with serving our evening meal as if we’d just arranged what we might be having for dessert!
After we had eaten, we all settled down as usual in the sitting room to watch the television. Just before the evening news had finished, Mum looked over at me and as she caught my glance, crooked her finger beckoning me over to her.
As I went over to her she quietly said to me: “I think it’s time you and I went upstairs to your room, miss. I want you undressed and changed ready for bed and then you can go across my knee, as we agreed. When it’s done, you’re going straight to bed – so say goodnight to your Dad now.”
Blushing, I stood up and said aloud: “I’m going up to my bedroom. Night night, Dad.” He looked up at me and said: “Goodness! You’re early!” Before I could answer, Mum jumped in and casually announced: “Samantha and I are going up to her room because she’s going to get that smacked bottom she asked for, and she’s going to bed straight afterwards.”
I blushed again as Dad replied: “Well make sure it’s a good one, Mum! I hope Julie’s party is worth your sore bottom, young lady!” Mum replied: “Oh it will be, I assure you. Up we go, Samantha!”
She followed me upstairs and once we were both in my room, she said: “Right, Samantha. Don’t forget, you wanted this and and it was your idea. I want you completely undressed for bed and then you can put your pyjama top on – don’t bother with the bottoms as they’d be coming down anyway, and I don’t think you’ll want to put them back on once I’ve finished with you.”
Sheepishly, I stripped in front of Mum and put on my PJs top on. I felt hugely embarrassed and exposed as I stood there, naked from the waist down. Mum pulled my bedroom chair into the middle of the room and sat down. She bent down, and to my surprise she removed her right slipper, saying” “Just in case we need this.” Then she beckoned to me again. “OK, young lady, let’s get this done. I’m sure you remember what to do – over you go!” Almost as if in a trance, I went across Mum’s lap and was subsequently given the first smacked bottom I had ever actually asked for.
And what a smacked bottom it was! By the time Mum had finished (and yes, she did use the slipper too) I was a bawling mess of tears and snot, with a properly roasted bare bottom. As I was finally allowed off her lap, I lay down on my tummy on the bed, sobbing my heart out, still-bare bottom on fire. As Mum left the room, I heard her say quietly: “That seems much more effective than grounding – we’ll doing this a bit more often, I think, miss.” She closed my bedroom door and went back downstairs.
I cried for quite a while. However, as the tears gradually subsided and the heat in my bottom eased slightly, I found enormous pleasure in touching myself and reliving the embarrassment of the whole preamble to, and the reality of, my smacked bottom. As I masturbated, I even imagined it being done with my dad watching the proceedings.
Mum kept her word, and that turned out to be the first of many smacked bottoms she administered during my teenage years. Each one of them heightened the effect on me and my ‘need’ to be spanked. But I always go back to that first time as the ‘lightbulb moment’ in my fledgling steps into a now deep-rooted fetish.