A dose of the spoon

As with many of your contributors, I too have had a life-long fascination with spanking. My earliest memories are from five years of age.

My parents did not themselves use spanking as a punishment, although there were some idle threats over the years. Nevertheless, I always sought out the words, images and experiences of others to fuel my imagination.

When I was 12, I started a conversation with my mother about her experiences as a child. On this memorable occasion, I was in my pyjamas eating cereal at the kitchen table when I asked her if she had ever been spanked as a child.

“Oh yes!” she replied. “Spanking was my mother’s preferred method of discipline. Sadly, it has gone out of fashion now. Why do you ask?” I tried to be nonchalant. “Just curious. I was never spanked, so I guess I wondered about it.”

Mom turned away from the sink, where she had been washing dishes, and gave me a hard look. “Curious, eh?” She was quiet for a few moments, observing me while I ate my cereal, but my heart was thumping. Was it fear? Anticipation?

I looked up at her and saw a little smile cross her face. “You know, the other night at the dinner table you were very rude to me. Your smart mouth got the better of you again.” “I know,” I replied, blushing at the memory. “I said I was sorry.” 

“If I had said what you said to my mom, you know what she would have done?” I was not sure I liked where this was heading. Mom turned around, opened a drawer and pulled out a wooden spoon. “She would have reached for the wooden spoon, just like this one.”

For a moment I lost the power of speech. Mom stepped forward and with an iron grip took hold of my upper arm. In a moment I was off the chair. “Since you’re so curious – let’s see how you like it.” She turned me around and landed three or four quick, hard swats to my behind. I had only had thin summer pajamas on and let me tell you, those swats stung!

I wriggled away and tried to beg off. “Come on, Mom, that hurts.” She laughed then and told me not to be such a wuss. “You wanted to know what it was like in my day, and you were a little naughty the other night weren’t you?” 

“But I said I was sorry” She laughed again and said: “Well, maybe you could be a little sorrier. Come on, it’s just for fun.” She then pulled me into her side with her arm wrapped around my middle. I was sort of bent over, I think. She then let loose another volley of about six whacks to both sides of my backside. I was hopping from foot to foot and yelping with each one. They really stung. 

“So, are you sorry for mouthing off at me? “Yes,” I said, and boy did I mean it. To my consternation, Mom replied: “OK – just few more and I think you will have learned your lesson.” I was about to shout ‘no’ but didn’t get the chance before my mother gave me another six swats. 

If anyone thinks that the spoon is not a fearsome spanking implement, let me tell you how wrong you are. When Mom finally released me from her grip, I was hopping from foot and foot and trying to rub the sting away. I can’t recall for certain, but I think my eyes had started to water. 

Mom had a satisfied smirk on her face as she put the spoon back in the drawer, remarking as she did: “I think every boy needs to know what a good spanking feels like at least once – and now you know!”

She came up to me with a smile and hugged me. “Are you OK?” I nodded. “OK, go on up and get dressed.” She kissed me on the head and gave me a hearty slap to my behind to send me on my way.

I went up to the bathroom and looked at my butt in the mirror. There were oval marks all over a nice red glow. I liked the look of it and it felt good as I rubbed it better. I had some nice marks that lasted a few days, but no real damage done. 

This was not the kind of spanking that had fuelled my fantasies. Those were always classic over-the-knee spankings with the hand. But this wasn’t a fantasy. I really had been spanked and I had a new respect for both my mom and that spoon.

A few times after that, if I was mouthy she would give me a ‘look’ and move towards that drawer in the kitchen. I would always quickly apologise and depart the scene. I did not want another meeting with that spoon!

Contributor: Ken

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