In my last story, I related how I was given a sound spanking by my aunt for playing on the railway line. As I also told you in that account, my birth mother died only a few weeks later after I had been given that punishment.
Dad and I were subsequently suddenly on our own, and to be honest I think he was too devastated at the time to worry too much about disciplining me when it was needed. As a result, I became a bit wayward and though I didn’t get into any serious trouble, I more or less did as I liked with little or no comeback.
That all changed when I was nine and a half, and dad started going out with Sue, who was one of the secretaries at his workplace. You might think that a little boy who had lost his mum would be rebellious about someone else filling the role in the household, but Sue won me over from the very start – she was very pretty, great fun and very tactile with me, not being at all afraid to cuddle me close up to her boobs or rub my bottom through my shorts affectionately.
Eventually, she and Dad married and she moved into the house. I called her ‘Mum’ from the very start, and she treated me exactly as if I was her own little boy.
However, I did notice one distinct change in our relationship. Once Sue became my mother, she was often firmer and more serious with me, and on more than one occasion gave me a long telling-off for behaviour she deemed unacceptable. Then, after one particularly firm scolding, she ended with: “You’re not too big to have your bottom smacked, you know!” I blushed, and she sent me to my room to ‘think about’ what I’d done wrong.
Lying face down on my bed in contemplation a few minutes later, I was surprised to realise that I had an erection in my underpants. Somewhat instinctively, I rubbed the front of my trousers and imagined what it would be like if my new mum spanked me. Would it be over her knee? Would she bare my bottom, as my Aunt Pauline had done? What would be used to administer the chastisement?
Things returned to an equilibrium for a few weeks after that, but one evening, I came home way later than I should have. I had missed tea, and both Mum and Dad had been worried where I was. This time, after tearing me off a strip, Mum told me to go to my room, adding: “I’ll be up to deal with you in a minute.”
It was more like half an hour when I finally heard her footsteps approaching my door. It opened and to my dismay, I saw that my new mum was holding a cane, just like the one they used at my school (although I had never had it).
I tried opening my mouth to speak but no sound came out, and Mum said firmly: “I warned you that you weren’t too big to have your bottom smacked. So I think we’ll see what a dose of the cane will do, I think. Stand up, Iain!”
I tried to stand but my legs were jelly and my bottom seemed glued to the mattress of my bed. “I said stand up!” Mum said in a firmer voice still. “Or do you want me to add more strokes of the cane to the six of the best I’m about to give you?” With that incentive, I managed to stand, albeit unsteadily.
Mum sat down on the bed I had vacated and before I knew what was happening, her hands were on the waistband of my shorts, unbuttoning and unzipping me. My pants quickly followed them to my ankles and I blushed like a beetroot – for all our intimacy, it was the first time my new mum had seen my bare bottom, let alone my willy.
Baring of the bottom done, Mum stood up once more, picked up the cane again and took me by the wrist, leading me around to the foot of my bed. “Bend over there,” she instructed. I did so, putting my hands flat on the bed and praying the cane wouldn’t hurt too much.
Well, it did. Lots. Of all the implements designed to chastise a child’s bottom, the cane is undoubtedly the most clinical and effective. Each stroke imparted a deep burning across my buttocks, spreading out from the thin line left by the impact to seemingly every inch of my young bottom.
Mum was as good as her word, and I got six really hard ones. By about the third stroke, I was crying like a baby and the remainder of the punishment was something of a blur. I was vaguely aware of her putting down the cane, then she sat back down on the bed and drew me into her arms, where I had a really, really good cry.
I no longer cared that my bottom and penis were on full show, and Mum tenderly cupped my sore little bum as she comforted me. She sat me on her lap and pulled me close to her bosom. She was wearing just a fairly low-cut thin top as it was summer, and my face was close to her cleavage. I enjoyed the soft feel of her breast against my cheek as she cuddled me, and as I looked down her top, I could see her bare boobs, as she was wearing no bra.
Suddenly, I felt a playful tug on my penis, and I realised to my horror that I was hard again. “What’s all this?” Mum asked with an amused voice. I blushed from head to toe now, but she just held me closer to her beautiful soft bosom: “Shush. It’s all right – that’s completely natural.”
She held my little firm penis for a few moments in a firm hand, and if this was a fantasy I daresay she would have gone on to wank me. But naturally that didn’t happen. Instead, she stood me on my feet and said: “Come on – make yourself decent. I’ve kept your tea warm, so come down and have it as soon as you’re ready.”
As she left the room, Mum hung the cane on the coat peg of my bedroom door. “I think this can live here,” she said, “then it’ll remind you to be a good boy for me in the future, won’t it?”
After she had gone, I examined the cane for a while, marvelling at how such a light and insignificant implement could have hurt my bottom so much. I played with my hard-on for a few minutes, then pulled myself together and went down for my meal.
That was the first of many times that my new mum used the cane on me, but every beating was worth it for the closeness and intimacy that followed. That cane made me such a soft, devoted boy afterwards.
Of course, inevitably I developed something of a fetish for being beaten, and these days my wife is always keen to administer a good caning, especially before love-making.
Contributor: Iain