You are reading what I feel will be the last post to this blog. One of my teachers once told me, you may think that the story you are writing will go on forever, but someday you will find that you want to close a chapter of your life and start a new one. This does not erase the story that went before, merely starts a new chapter, a new beginning. When the time comes to close a chapter and start a new one you will be ready and exited about that new chapter so do not fear it but embrace it. He was so right. And now I find myself ready to close a chapter of my life and start a new one. But first, some background.
I finally have an explanation to the mysterious behavior back in December with all the bare bottom warnings and the intense effort to fix my behavior. I actually had my answer in January and had been holding off disclosing it to the blogosphere, even though I was anonymous, until we were absolutely sure what was going on.
First off, it looks like my spanking days may finally be over once and for all. My wife has actually said so. She hopes that I will rise to the occasion and that spanking are no longer necessary. I hope she is right.
So like I said, I actually knew about this in January but have been holding off sharing it and I did decide to share one more story before I closed this chapter of my life and that was a story about an early childhood spanking I received from my mother.
You see in January, I began giving serious thought about the spankings of my childhood and how they paralleled with the spankings I was receiving as an adult from my wife. There was definitely a strong correlation between the two. The spankings I was getting from my wife, seemed similar to the spankings I got from my mother.
My wife and I began to have an honest discussion about spanking. About spanking me and of spanking children. About the spankings I received as a child and the spanking she received as a child. It was during that discussion that I became aware that it was my mother who was encouraging and coaching my wife to spank me, not Sarah. It was also my mother who made the suggestion that we are entering a stage in our marriage where she feels the spanking should stop.
We had a discussion about how spanking attitudes have changed and are no longer considered viable options for disciplining children. Oh sure I can make the I was spanked and turned out fine argument, but society does not agree. So my mother suggested it would not be appropriate for the spankings to continue with me. I did ask if that meant I could go back to boxers and she said, absolutely not. One has nothing to do with the other. Oh well.
So what is the big secret? Why all the drama? Well let's just say that next September when we hopefully welcome our own healthy new child into the world, that child we never know they pain of having his or her pants pulled down and getting spanked in front of another child.
So given that my wife and I are entering a new phase of our life. I have decided to end this blog and take on my new responsibilities as a father. I just hope that all the spankings I received until now have prepared me for this most important job.
I know many of my readers were hanging on for that fateful day when my wife would once and for all spank me in front of Sarah. I must admit I thought about writing a fictitious account of it as I imagined it would happen, but decided against it. Quite honestly, with all the doctor's appointments and preparing for the new arrival, I just don't have the time.
I will make one quick comment however. Seeing what my wife has to go through at the obstetrician did make me realize that my doctor's appointments are a piece of cake.
Thanks for being loyal readers and good bye. I will look for and try to respond to any comments that you may wish to share, but as for new posts? I think I am ready to close this chapter and if and when I write a new chapter, well, we shall see. I reserve the right to change my mind as nothing in this world is permanent, but for now. It looks like Chapter 1 is done.
Chapter Two...
Saturday, March 21, 2015
Sunday, March 1, 2015
Suffer the Children Part 2
This is part 2 of a story about a spanking I received when I was 7 years old. If you have not read part 1 I suggest you read part 1 first to decide if you are comfortable reading this part. As I am relating a story that happened to me as a child with enough detail to help readers understand how it may be impacting me as an adult. While there is no overt sexual content in this story, I realize some may be uncomfortable with these types of stories in an adult content blog.
One final note. My mother was clearly a strict disciplinarian, but please take into consideration that I am relating a story about a spanking I received from her and I want to be clear that this is not the only memory or image I have of her. She was a loving, caring mother who was always there for me. I was spanked until I was 12, but please don't take this to mean that I was spanked frequently, constantly and brutally. In fact the exact opposite is true. I was spanked but they were infrequent and hardly brutal. For me it was more the emotional pain and humiliation that made these spanking memorable and not the physical punishment. Also consider the fact that I came from a time when the spanking of children in a loving, non abusive way was common and the norm. I feel that all of the spankings I received as a child were well deserved and fairly administered. This one included.
So there was the situation. My mother rising from her chair, Jill standing in the doorway and me retreating backwards, shaking and trembling knowing what was coming.
The threat I had received earlier was ringing in my ears, "do it again and your pants are coming down." And like I said, my mother did not make empty threats. If she said my pants were coming down there was no doubt that my pants were coming down. I knew I was going to get spanked and that my shorts would be coming down. The only things I could hope for at this point was that either I would be allowed to keep my underpants up or that she would take me someplace private. Since those specific things were not included in the threat I figured they remained negotiable. I hoped for and was prepared to plea for the latter. A spanking in private would be much better than one right here in the kitchen in front of Jill and her mother.
My mother grabbed me with one arm and with the other pulled the chair away from the table so I already knew her intention was to spank me right there in the kitchen. Since she was setting up a chair it also was clear she intended to sit and pull me over her lap. Even at 7 I found that a much more humiliating position than the standing position I was in when she administered the few slaps earlier. Over the knee was definitely a more humiliating spanking position and also usually meant a longer and more formal spanking than the 3 or 4 warning smacks I got earlier.
As much as I hated to be seeing begging and pleading for mercy in front of Jill, I figured I had no choice and the begging started almost immediately.
"No mommy, don't do it here, let's go someplace private."
My pleas yielded no response and she continued to sit down and pulled me so I was standing close to her. I offered little to no physical resistance. I may have been stupid, but even I was not that stupid. I was only 7, just a few years out of being a baby. She could have easily overpowered me so there was no point in fighting. No the only real option was begging for mercy.
Unfortunately, as I became more desperate the begging became more humiliating as I was forced to acknowledge my situation, "No mommy, please mommy no, don't spank me in front of Jill, can we go to the bathroom or something?"
Again, no response, and this was typical of my mother. She tended not to acknowledge my pleas. She had made her ruling and passed sentence. The trial was over. I realized even then as much as I do today, that my chance for clemency was after the first little mini-spanking. The warnings were clear and I knew the consequences. I had no right at that point to ask for any mercy after ignoring the many opportunities I was given to behave properly. Like I said, stupid.
As she stood me in front of her, she immediately began tugging down my shorts in response to the clear warning I had been given that my pants would be coming down if I batted her pocket book again. I failed to heed the warning so there I was pants being rapidly pulled down to my knees. I knew there was no point in pleading to not have my pants pulled down. That was specifically part of the warning I had received so I knew they would be coming down and that no amount of begging or pleading would help.
But, when she returned to the waistband of my briefs, I really began the pleas for mercy, "No mommy, please let me keep my underpants up!" Tears were already streaking down my cheeks and I was shaking uncontrollably with fear and humiliation. Her hands were at the waistband and so were mine as I pleading, "No mommy, please, don't pull my underpants down. Please mommy."
Much to my surprise, she left my underpants up and pulled me over her lap. I was only slightly relieved before her hand came down on my underpants. "OW! Mommy! STOP!" I kicked, screamed, cried and pleaded for mercy. It was a fairly stern spanking, but it was quick, perhaps a 12 or so spanks, I really did not count and if I did, I don't remember, but it was around 12 or so slaps. I do remember crying uncontrollably.
As soon as she let me up off her lap I reached down to pick up my shorts, but she quickly stopped me. She forced me to look at her and said, "Now, I want to be absolutely clear on this. If I have to spank you again your pants and underpants will be coming OFF! Am I clear."
I nodded my head yes, eager to pick up my shorts, but my mother wanted to make sure I understood her.
"I want you to repeat to me what I just said," she demanded.
I choked back a tear and between gasps of breath and sobs I managed to repeat her as best I could, "If..," sob, "you have to...," sniff, "sp.. sp.. spank me," sniff, "again," sob, "then", sniff, "my p..p..pants," sob, "and..", sniff, "underpants," sniff, "come off."
"OK, go sit in the other room until it is time to go."
I grabbed my shorts and yanked them back up and slowly walked to the living room and sat down. After a few minutes Jill came into the room and sat down on a chair away from where I was sitting. I actually expected her to start teasing me, but much to my relief she was silent. She seemed as uncomfortable with what happened as I did. Well almost as uncomfortable as I was the one who had his pants pulled down in front of a girl and that was something I would never forget and part of the reason I am terrified of being spanked in front of Sarah.
You see at the time, right or wrong, I thought of girls as weaker than boys. Boys played in mud, girls had tea parties. Boys played sports and girls played with dolls. Girls cried and boys had to suck it up. It was just they way we thought back then. So the thought that a girl got to see my underwear was bad, even though back then it was not specifically about tighty whities, because that is what all boys wore back then. It was simply that girls should not see boys in their underpants.
It was fine for boys to see girls panties, after all, a lot of times they wore dresses even when at the playground and we frequently got to see their panties all the time as they ran, jumped and played. So we just assumed that was what was expected. It was OK to see a girls panties, after all they were just girls and had to wear short little dresses. If we saw their panties that was no big deal, but boys wore pants, or at least shorts and girls should never be allowed to see their underpants. That was they way we thought.
So on top of that, the thought that my underpants might be pulled down in front of her was unthinkable. It was not about her seeing my penis per say. At that age I was still very naive and did not think about my parts in and of themselves. It was not that I was embarrassed to let a girl see my penis, because at that age, I still did not even realize that boys and girls were built differently down there. I know by today's enlightened standards that seems unbelievable, but it was a more innocent time and parents did not freely offer such details. So as far as I knew at the time, Jill had a penis too and that was not what made boys and girls different. No, at that age it was different.
Today as an adult, I am of course very self-conscious about my penis size and the implications of it with a woman who may find me less of a man in comparison to others she may have seen. That was not the case as a child with Jill. No, it was just the fact that I was exposed to her when I knew it was wrong to let a girl see your private parts and that was as much a concern with her seeing my backside as it would be to let her see my penis. A very different feeling than from today where if and only if I had no choice, I would rather let a strange woman see my butt then my groin.
Now at 7, I knew it would be wrong to look at a girls private parts, so my previous statements about seeing girls panties did not extend to seeing there private parts, hence my naivete about believing they too had penises. Perhaps this is the reason my mother allowed me to keep my underpants up for the spanking. Allowing Jill to see my underpants took me down a notch to at least where I lost the privileged of not having my undies exposed by a short dress like a girl would, but short of having my private parts exposed which would have been wrong.
Nonetheless, it was enough to leave me in a state of shock and questioning what it really meant to be a boy. My mother had pulled down my pants in front of a girl. She allowed a girl to see my underpants. I did not think that was allowed. If that wasn't bad enough, she had threatened to pull down my underpants if I didn't stop misbehaving. Actually, her exact words were she would take them off. Not sure if she meant that verbatim at the time of just made a slip in her anger. Either way, I had learned my lesson. I was not about to find out what she meant and was not going to do anything to risk getting another spanking while I was there.
Jill was silent too. Perhaps she was as surprised as me that my mother pulled down my pants in front of her? Either way, the two of us sat quietly opposite each other in the living room mindlessly watching TV until my mother finally announced it was time to go. The thoughts of that event haunt me even today.
One final note. My mother was clearly a strict disciplinarian, but please take into consideration that I am relating a story about a spanking I received from her and I want to be clear that this is not the only memory or image I have of her. She was a loving, caring mother who was always there for me. I was spanked until I was 12, but please don't take this to mean that I was spanked frequently, constantly and brutally. In fact the exact opposite is true. I was spanked but they were infrequent and hardly brutal. For me it was more the emotional pain and humiliation that made these spanking memorable and not the physical punishment. Also consider the fact that I came from a time when the spanking of children in a loving, non abusive way was common and the norm. I feel that all of the spankings I received as a child were well deserved and fairly administered. This one included.
So there was the situation. My mother rising from her chair, Jill standing in the doorway and me retreating backwards, shaking and trembling knowing what was coming.
The threat I had received earlier was ringing in my ears, "do it again and your pants are coming down." And like I said, my mother did not make empty threats. If she said my pants were coming down there was no doubt that my pants were coming down. I knew I was going to get spanked and that my shorts would be coming down. The only things I could hope for at this point was that either I would be allowed to keep my underpants up or that she would take me someplace private. Since those specific things were not included in the threat I figured they remained negotiable. I hoped for and was prepared to plea for the latter. A spanking in private would be much better than one right here in the kitchen in front of Jill and her mother.
My mother grabbed me with one arm and with the other pulled the chair away from the table so I already knew her intention was to spank me right there in the kitchen. Since she was setting up a chair it also was clear she intended to sit and pull me over her lap. Even at 7 I found that a much more humiliating position than the standing position I was in when she administered the few slaps earlier. Over the knee was definitely a more humiliating spanking position and also usually meant a longer and more formal spanking than the 3 or 4 warning smacks I got earlier.
As much as I hated to be seeing begging and pleading for mercy in front of Jill, I figured I had no choice and the begging started almost immediately.
"No mommy, don't do it here, let's go someplace private."
My pleas yielded no response and she continued to sit down and pulled me so I was standing close to her. I offered little to no physical resistance. I may have been stupid, but even I was not that stupid. I was only 7, just a few years out of being a baby. She could have easily overpowered me so there was no point in fighting. No the only real option was begging for mercy.
Unfortunately, as I became more desperate the begging became more humiliating as I was forced to acknowledge my situation, "No mommy, please mommy no, don't spank me in front of Jill, can we go to the bathroom or something?"
Again, no response, and this was typical of my mother. She tended not to acknowledge my pleas. She had made her ruling and passed sentence. The trial was over. I realized even then as much as I do today, that my chance for clemency was after the first little mini-spanking. The warnings were clear and I knew the consequences. I had no right at that point to ask for any mercy after ignoring the many opportunities I was given to behave properly. Like I said, stupid.
As she stood me in front of her, she immediately began tugging down my shorts in response to the clear warning I had been given that my pants would be coming down if I batted her pocket book again. I failed to heed the warning so there I was pants being rapidly pulled down to my knees. I knew there was no point in pleading to not have my pants pulled down. That was specifically part of the warning I had received so I knew they would be coming down and that no amount of begging or pleading would help.
But, when she returned to the waistband of my briefs, I really began the pleas for mercy, "No mommy, please let me keep my underpants up!" Tears were already streaking down my cheeks and I was shaking uncontrollably with fear and humiliation. Her hands were at the waistband and so were mine as I pleading, "No mommy, please, don't pull my underpants down. Please mommy."
Much to my surprise, she left my underpants up and pulled me over her lap. I was only slightly relieved before her hand came down on my underpants. "OW! Mommy! STOP!" I kicked, screamed, cried and pleaded for mercy. It was a fairly stern spanking, but it was quick, perhaps a 12 or so spanks, I really did not count and if I did, I don't remember, but it was around 12 or so slaps. I do remember crying uncontrollably.
As soon as she let me up off her lap I reached down to pick up my shorts, but she quickly stopped me. She forced me to look at her and said, "Now, I want to be absolutely clear on this. If I have to spank you again your pants and underpants will be coming OFF! Am I clear."
I nodded my head yes, eager to pick up my shorts, but my mother wanted to make sure I understood her.
"I want you to repeat to me what I just said," she demanded.
I choked back a tear and between gasps of breath and sobs I managed to repeat her as best I could, "If..," sob, "you have to...," sniff, "sp.. sp.. spank me," sniff, "again," sob, "then", sniff, "my p..p..pants," sob, "and..", sniff, "underpants," sniff, "come off."
"OK, go sit in the other room until it is time to go."
I grabbed my shorts and yanked them back up and slowly walked to the living room and sat down. After a few minutes Jill came into the room and sat down on a chair away from where I was sitting. I actually expected her to start teasing me, but much to my relief she was silent. She seemed as uncomfortable with what happened as I did. Well almost as uncomfortable as I was the one who had his pants pulled down in front of a girl and that was something I would never forget and part of the reason I am terrified of being spanked in front of Sarah.
You see at the time, right or wrong, I thought of girls as weaker than boys. Boys played in mud, girls had tea parties. Boys played sports and girls played with dolls. Girls cried and boys had to suck it up. It was just they way we thought back then. So the thought that a girl got to see my underwear was bad, even though back then it was not specifically about tighty whities, because that is what all boys wore back then. It was simply that girls should not see boys in their underpants.
It was fine for boys to see girls panties, after all, a lot of times they wore dresses even when at the playground and we frequently got to see their panties all the time as they ran, jumped and played. So we just assumed that was what was expected. It was OK to see a girls panties, after all they were just girls and had to wear short little dresses. If we saw their panties that was no big deal, but boys wore pants, or at least shorts and girls should never be allowed to see their underpants. That was they way we thought.
So on top of that, the thought that my underpants might be pulled down in front of her was unthinkable. It was not about her seeing my penis per say. At that age I was still very naive and did not think about my parts in and of themselves. It was not that I was embarrassed to let a girl see my penis, because at that age, I still did not even realize that boys and girls were built differently down there. I know by today's enlightened standards that seems unbelievable, but it was a more innocent time and parents did not freely offer such details. So as far as I knew at the time, Jill had a penis too and that was not what made boys and girls different. No, at that age it was different.
Today as an adult, I am of course very self-conscious about my penis size and the implications of it with a woman who may find me less of a man in comparison to others she may have seen. That was not the case as a child with Jill. No, it was just the fact that I was exposed to her when I knew it was wrong to let a girl see your private parts and that was as much a concern with her seeing my backside as it would be to let her see my penis. A very different feeling than from today where if and only if I had no choice, I would rather let a strange woman see my butt then my groin.
Now at 7, I knew it would be wrong to look at a girls private parts, so my previous statements about seeing girls panties did not extend to seeing there private parts, hence my naivete about believing they too had penises. Perhaps this is the reason my mother allowed me to keep my underpants up for the spanking. Allowing Jill to see my underpants took me down a notch to at least where I lost the privileged of not having my undies exposed by a short dress like a girl would, but short of having my private parts exposed which would have been wrong.
Nonetheless, it was enough to leave me in a state of shock and questioning what it really meant to be a boy. My mother had pulled down my pants in front of a girl. She allowed a girl to see my underpants. I did not think that was allowed. If that wasn't bad enough, she had threatened to pull down my underpants if I didn't stop misbehaving. Actually, her exact words were she would take them off. Not sure if she meant that verbatim at the time of just made a slip in her anger. Either way, I had learned my lesson. I was not about to find out what she meant and was not going to do anything to risk getting another spanking while I was there.
Jill was silent too. Perhaps she was as surprised as me that my mother pulled down my pants in front of her? Either way, the two of us sat quietly opposite each other in the living room mindlessly watching TV until my mother finally announced it was time to go. The thoughts of that event haunt me even today.
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