After being married for a fair number of years, there are few secrets between a married couple. I was cruising the internet and found a video about middle-aged couples trying to spice things up in the bedroom.
I suppose, if I am being honest, that we had slipped into a bit of a rut – not that I had much to complain about. So I provoked a discussion, asking my wife if she had any fantasies or unfulfilled desires. I was surprised to learn that she liked the thought of a little spanking play, Fifty Shades of Grey and all that! So, we tried a roleplay game, which was OK but didn’t exactly set the world on fire. Actually, we collapsed in a heap, laughing at ourselves!
It was around this time we discovered Maman. My wife read many of the stories, and we discussed these accounts of spanking as if we were the parents.
I told my wife about the first spanking I ever received from my mother. This really fired her up, and she asked if we could recreate the scene, with her as Mummy! With all sorts of promises made about what she would do for me afterwards, we played the game. Although the spanking my wife gave me was nothing compared to the one I received as a child, she was turned on far more than I had known for some time.
We now recreate my childhood spanking more often than not, and my wife is very turned on by the game. Although I really do not get that turned on by the actual spanking itself, my wife goes to great lengths to make sure I am well catered for afterwards!
She can’t really explain why she gets so turned on by the act of role playing Mummy. The big plus for her is it’s something she can think about, a slow-burn thought process that gives her time to plan what she is going to say to me during our game. The pre-spanking telling off, the during and after scolding, all the while imagining me naked across her knee.
My wife wasn’t spanked herself as a child, nor had she ever much bothered about spanking in a sexual context. She considers it a method of the past for disciplining children. She only mentioned the subject as Fifty Shades was popular at the time with an article about the book in every magazine she picked up. So, strangely, in looking to spice things up, we found a game that suits us both.
The following is the story I told my wife of my childhood spanking. I did not enjoy it at the time, as you will read, but it has certainly spiced up our sex life…
It would be safe to say I didn’t like my sister, and I was a very mean little boy to her. We fought like cat and dog! Her name is Elaine, shortened to Ellie. I called her Smelly Ellie, or mostly just Smelly! This running battle between us eventually got us both in big trouble – especially me. Mum had been pushed to the limit, and a few days after Christmas we copped it, big time.
Smelly received a jigsaw puzzle for Christmas, kittens in a basket or some nonsense like that. She didn’t start the puzzle immediately, but began it somewhere between Christmas and New Year. I helped by being an annoying little shit! I took parts out and put them back in the box – that kind of thing. Smelly eventually lost her temper. She shoved me, and I fell. She laughed, so I got up and pushed her puzzle – which was only partly done – off the table. I laughed – and she cried.
The tears brought Mum and Dad came in. We both blamed each other, but we both got a telling off. Dad walked away after that, telling me to be nice to my sister. Ha – fat chance!
Mum sat my sister down on a chair and wiped her face because she had turned on the waterworks. Turning to me, Mum demanded I say sorry. I shook my head defiantly. Smelly started to turn the screw – she cried louder and pointed at the puzzle that was in a heap on the floor.
Mum snapped. Clearly, we had pushed her a step too far! She sharply told Smelly to be quiet – she was going to deal with this and didn’t need her help. Smelly stopped crying instantly. I was given another chance to say sorry, and again refused. Mum told me I was forbidden TV for a week. I protested loudly and earned another week of no TV and, due to my protesting, the added sanction of early to bed, every night for two weeks.
After the third chance to say sorry was refused, Mum’s patience totally ran out. I was told to look at her. “This is your last chance to say, Edward! If you don’t, I will double the time you’ll be spending without TV and going early to bed. What’s more, I will give you a sound spanking, right here and now! What’s it to be?”
This was new – neither of us had ever been spanked. I reminded Mum that Smelly shoved me first, and hard enough to knock me off my feet. This defence fell on deaf ears. “You’ve had enough chances, young man – now we’ll do it the old fashioned way!”
I don’t think Smelly could believe her luck. Mum took me by the arm, removed my shorts so quickly it must have been a world record, and turned me towards a chair right in front of Smelly. Mum sat, hauled a struggling little me across her knees, pulled my pants down and said: “I’ll stop when you are ready to say sorry to Ellie!”
The first time you find yourself across your Mum’s knee, it takes a while to adjust to the shock. The position, your bare bottom exposed in front of your no-doubt-gloating sister, not to mention the very painful smacks that are raining down on your buttocks.
I held out for a while, stubbonly thinking I could outlast Mum’s smacks, but that plan went out the window very quickly. She smacked hard and fast. There was no let-up and the sting burned like hellfire. I gritted my teeth, but it was no good. I struggled and twisted and turned in an attempt to escape my punishment, but I was held in a vice-like grip. All the while, my little bottom was getting hotter and hotter. The only thing to do was say sorry now, at least before I started to cry – which was inevitable if this carried on any longer. Crying in front of Smelly was unthinkable.
“I’m sorry!” I yelled. Mum simply carried on the spanking. “Say: ‘I’m sorry I broke your puzzle, Ellie’.” The burning was now almost unbearable and tears were imminent. I repeated the catechism I had been given but in the confusion I called my sister Smelly rather than her given name. Mum carried on smacking my now bright red bottom, saying she would only stop when I said the words properly.
Tears rolled down my cheeks as I finally managed to say the words correctly. I gulped back the sobs as best I could, squeezing my eyes shut in pain. Bloody hell, my bum stung! And Smelly was going to tease me forever for crying.
Mum finally stopped the smacks and pushed me to the floor. “Pick it all up! Every piece, and put it back in that box, now!” In front of both Smelly and Mum, I crawled around on the floor, desperately trying to stop crying, with a glowing bottom, picking up 500 pieces of a poxy, bloody kittens in a basket jigsaw!
When all the pieces (some of which had gone under the table) were finally safely back in the box, I emerged with the box, a red bottom and tear-stained face. What I saw next filled me with horror. While I had been under the table sniffing and grizzling, lost in a world of shame and pain, Mum had clearly been to the kitchen and retrieved some instrument that was now in her hand. It wasn’t a wooden spoon or a spatula, but some sort of large hybrid of the two.
“Put the box on the table and come here,” a very stern-looking Mum demanded. Smelly sat there watching, wide eyed. My punishment was confirmed: Absolutely no TV and early to bed for a month. No books except school books and no treats. Then Mum said: “If I find you breaking any of these rules, this, my lad, is just a taste of what you can expect as a punishment!”
Before I could speak, she pulled me back across her knee, gripped me so tightly I could hardly breathe and spanked me soundly with the wooden implement. The hand spanking had been bad – really painful – but this implement brought me to a pain level I never wish to experience again.
I screamed, yelled, begged and pleaded – but Mum just spanked me hard and without mercy – for how long, I couldn’t say. I was in no fit state to do anything when she finally dragged me to my bedroom. I crawled to my bed and cried my eyes out. “Just remember what I told you, Edward,” were here final words. ” If there’s a next time, God help your bottom!”
I buried my face in the bedclothes and sobbed uncontrollably. My bum hurt more than I thought possible – I just didn’t know what to do with myself. The only small crumb of comfort was that shortly afterwards, I heard the distinct sound of my sister also being spanked. She had been taken to her room to have her bottom smacked – at least Mum had realised it wasn’t entirely my fault.
I am fairly sure Smelly only got Mum’s hand, but as I had already learned, that was more than painful enough to deter any more misbehaviour in a child. Although my brain was having trouble concentrating, I would guess Smelly got spanked longer than me, so it would have been a very thorough smacked bottom. It did seemed unfair that I didn’t get to witness her bare bottom being tanned, as she had mine, but by now I was more than a little pre-occupied anyway trying to cope with the pulsating, throbbing heat in my own rear end.
The spankings all over, and with tears on both sides, that’s how we stayed until tea time.
My punishment was eventually reduced by one week for good behaviour, mostly down to a plea from Dad on my behalf. I was, however, warned: step out of line and a further two weeks would be added to my remaining week, plus I would find myself on the receiving end of the wooden paddle thing again. Dad told me: “That’s a win – take it and walk away.” I did!
Once was definitely enough. Never again did I do anything that might lead to another trip across Mum’s knee. The hand spanking was bad enough – as for the kitchen thing, I never, ever wanted to feel that again.
I still call my sister Smelly, and I still tease her a bit – but not so much. Next time I see her, I might ask her how she remembers the incident. Knowing her, she’ll just say: “I remember you cried like a baby when mum spanked you!”