In my mother’s care

As with most of your contributors, my fascination with spanking began when I was a child. My parents had two sons, just a year apart. My brother was more active than me – he was much more interested in sports than in school. He was also quite mischievous and often rebellious. By contrast, I was better at academic work, more bookish and more naturally obedient.

Our mother was quite young (she was only 22 when I was born), quite beautiful, and had received an upbringing that included frequent spankings from her father. She often disciplined my brother in a similar way. He hated these spankings – he always shouted at my mother and this discipline had very little effect on him. I, the good student, was never spanked.

I must have been around nine when, the day after my brother got disciplined, I whined to my mother: “You never give me a spanking!” She looked at me with a strange look on her face, then replied: “Well, if you misbehave, you will get one too!”

A few weeks passed, then one day Mother took me to the doctor for an exam. We were returning home on the bus when suddenly she said: “You were very rude to the doctor.” I didn’t think I had been rude at all but said nothing. Then Mother added: “When we get home,” I will have to punish you.”

We got back to the flat. My brother was in school, so there was just the two of us. Mother took me to her room, locked the door, sat on the edge of the bed and pulled me across her lap. Then she began to spank me through my shorts.

After a few minutes of this, she put me on my feet again momentarily, then took down my shorts and put me over her knee again, this time spanking the seat of my underpants, which naturally stung rather more.

After a little more spanking, I felt her right hand go the waistband of my underwear and she lowered my pants to expose my bottom. She rolled up my shirt so I was completely bare, then spank, spank, spank!

I was confused and at the beginning and little scared, but I soon realised I was enjoying the warmth in my bottom. I don’t know how long the spanking lasted in all, but it was delicious. When Mother stopped, she took me in her arms and we both cried. I could see that her face cheeks were bright red, and I’m sure my nether cheeks were the same colour.

This spanking ritual happened a few times afterwards, and always when there was just the two of us in the flat. Mother would look at me with a half-serious, half-smiling face, and both of us would know what would come next. Not only did I never resist, I would walk into her room obediently in front of her and lock the door behing us myself.

Looking back, I think it’s clear that Mother took as much pleasure from smacking her obedient little boy’s bottom as I did receiving the ‘punishment’. There was a discipline aspect to it, I guess, but was more of a pretext – while officially she was spanking me to make me good, the truth was that she was doing it because she loved it. And I was very happy to be part of the game too.

As I got older, these spankings began to directly arouse my sexual desires – Mother noticed the resulting erections, and sadly she stopped.

Ever since then, I have always wanted to experience such a scenario again – the care, the words, the positioning, the undressing, my bottom, naked and offered, the spanks, gentler at the beginning, harder as it goes, the unspoken complicity, the shared pleasure.

Contributor: Steve

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