Well I just thought I would make a quick post to tell you two things.
1) I have not been spanked since I was spanked last time by my mother
2) It's a Girl. I am not going to tell you the exact weight, date or time, but mom and daughter are doing well and are home now.
Hopefully this will be my last post, but should I have another spanking incident, I will be sure to share it with everyone.
Tuesday, August 4, 2015
Thursday, June 11, 2015
Everything Old is New Again
Well, I had indicated that I reserved the right to post again and I am reluctantly exercising that right. I wish I wasn't as there was an incident that happened that drove me to write another post.
First off, let me remind everyone that my wife is about 7 months pregnant. Everything is going well with the pregnancy, but lets be honest. Even though this is a happy and welcome pregnancy, this does not mean that there isn't a lot of stress and tension. I realize my wife is the one who is physically being affected by all this, but I think it is unfair to the fathers to completely dismiss the emotional strain a pregnancy puts on them. I know it is easy for a father to walk away and emotionally distance himself if we wanted to, but for a caring husband and responsible father, there is a lot of stress on us too. I am constantly worried about my wife's health and the health of our baby, finances, logistics, etc. And there is a frenzy of activity and planning, discussions about the birthing experience, breastfeeding, family leave, car seats, cribs, high chairs, finding a pediatrician, the list seems almost endless. And everyone has an opinion on what is right and they are not reluctant to share their opinions with us. I am telling you, given all this its no wonder the species can reproduce at all.
So that said, my wife and I had a fight. I am not going to discuss what started it, what it was about, who was right or who was wrong. In my opinion, we were both right and we were both wrong. First off, I never touched her. This was a shouting match only, but I did storm out of the house and drove away to cool off. I did not return until later that evening, having missed a Lamaze class that we were supposed to attend that evening. Having cooled off and calmed down, I figured I was ready to try to have a rational discussion with her and hopefully she had also calmed down and was ready to talk again.
When I entered the house, my mother was sitting on the couch. I was a bit surprised, but greeted her and asked her why she was here.
"Well, I got a call from your wife wanting to know if you were at my house. She was worried about you in spite of the fact that you were an insensitive jerk to her." She replied.
"Hey look. I am sorry we had a fight, but she was just as rude to me." I said defensively.
"Your wife is pregnant. You need to be a little more understanding."
"I know she is pregnant, but that does not give her the right to be unreasonable."
She shook her head in disappointment, "Look, when a woman is pregnant her hormones are out of whack. It can cause her to be more emotional. You can't react to her like you normally would. I know this pregnancy puts stress on you, but you need to be the voice of reason."
I think a part of me knew she was right, but I still thought the stress on me was being marginalized so I shot back, "Look, I get it, she's pregnant, but I don't think you understand how much stress is on me."
Without hesitation she replied, "OK, so your wife, who is suffering a chemical imbalance doesn't get a pass for being a bit moody, but you want a pass because you are stressed?"
"No, I didn't say she doesn't have an excuse. I am just saying that this is affecting me too."
"I understand. If the two of you just have a shouting match, but then went to separate rooms to calm down I think it all would have worked out. The problem is you left her, without word of where you were going or when you would be back. You did not answer you cell phone when we called. That is not the behavior of someone who just needed some fresh air or needed some time to calm down. That was the behavior of someone who wanted to make his wife worry and wanted to hurt her. You were gone for 3 hours without any word."
When my mother put it that way, I did start to feel a little embarrassed. "Where is she now?" I finally thought to ask.
"She went to the Lamaze class without you. Your father is filling in for you. I am glad she decided to call me. She was pretty upset when I spoke with her."
I started to feel a little guilty so I meekly replied, "well, thanks."
She saw that I was staring at my feet so she stood up, placed her hand under my chin and lifted it to force me to look into her eyes. It was a strange feeling, like I had when I was 12 years old, but still, I never would have anticipated what happened next.
"You know," she began, "I had encouraged your wife to take you over her knee when you acted like a child. I think it really helped your marriage and your wife had seen a lot of improvement in you."
I gulped, this was the first time I ever heard my mother acknowledge that she knew my wife spanked me and that it was her suggestion. It was a bit of a shock, even though my wife admitted this to me previously.
She continued, "of course, with her pregnant now, I don't think it would be a good idea for her to try to spank you anymore. But," she paused, "your behavior tonight was so selfish and childish I think you need a reminder that a spanking is not out of the question if you behave in such a childish manner ever again."
My heart began pounding in my chest as I contemplated how my mother would propose my wife should spank me again. It would probably not be over her knee. Perhaps it would be laying on the bed or over the sofa. I thought that perhaps her swing would not be as forceful as they have been in the past. Of course, I would not try to fight her. I wasn't happy, but I would be passive to insure that neither she or the baby got hurt. I presumed my mother was here to gain my assurance that I would not resist. How wrong I was.
My mother turned and walked towards a table in the corner of the room. It was then that I saw the hairbrush and she began to pick it up. my heart nearly leaped out of my chest as I began to suspect what was about to happen. I looked in horror as my mother approached me with the brush, but I dared not open my mouth in protest as I was unsure exactly what she had in mind.
She began, "Your wife and father will be home in about an hour. When they get here, you will be standing in the corner with your freshly spanked bottom on display. Your father and I will leave and you and your wife can discuss how to ensure something like this does not happen again. "
Well, there is was, she was proposing spanking me herself. That was not going to happen. It was one thing to submit to my wife, but I was an adult and there was no way she was going to spank me.
Rather than complain or whine, I began calmly and rationally to try to show I was in control. "Mother, I appreciate your concern, but I am not a child anymore. My wife and I will deal with this ourselves and I will respect her wishes in this matter."
She replied, "Her wishes in this matter are clear. If you were to come home before her, I was to spank you and put you in the corner. That is why she gave me the brush. I am glad you decided to finally come home. I will admit, we were unsure of what we would have done if you did not come home at all. At least as far as that goes you made the right decision."
Again, I tried not to get emotional or excited, "I understand mother, but like I said, I will discuss this with her when she gets home. This is between her and I and does not concern you."
She replied as calmly as me, "Well, it does concern me as she was the one who called me all upset. Your father and I came over here right away to minimize the damage you had done. If you wanted this to be between you and her, then you should have stayed here and worked it out instead of running away like a child and refusing to answer your phone. You made it my concern when you abandoned your wife."
She paused letting the words sink in. I struggled for an intelligent response and when none came she continued.
"Now," she started again, "you are going to get your naughty backside spanked by me and you will stand in the corner until your wife gets home. After that, I hope the two of you can work out the issues you are having."
My heart was pounding in my chest and my mouth was getting dry, but again I tried to maintain my composure and calmly tried to reassert myself, "Sorry mother, I am not going to be spanked by you. I am not baby anymore."
"Nonsense!", she replied a little more forceful, "you act like a child, you get treated like a child. That is the way it has always been. It's not like you haven't been spanked before. It's not like you haven't been spanked by ME before. Now come here and take your spanking and don't make this any worse for yourself." she said as she pointed to the spot in front of where she was sitting.
I was confused. This was very different from my wife threatening to spank me. I must admit, what normally forces me into compliance with my wife is the fact that I don't want to lose her. Now I love my mother, but I did not feel the same kind of threat from her that I did for my wife.
I swallowed hard, took a deep breath and again calmly asserted myself. "I appreciate your concern and willingness to help and I thank you for helping us out during our disagreement, but like I said, what happens next is between me and my wife."
I thought that would be the end of it. I was calm and adult like and had made my point. Whatever, had happened in the past with my wife spanking me was between my wife and I. Oh, of course I realize now that it was my mother who had persuaded her to do it, but still. My mother lost her authority to spank me when I became an adult. If my wife wanted to spank me when she got home, I would reluctantly accept that, but my mother was not going to spank me.
She stood up and I held my head up defiantly. She looked at me and I could see the disappointment in her eyes. She moved slowly towards me. I had a reflex to cringe and back away, but I forced myself to hold my ground. When she got to within a foot from me and did not see me backing down I figured that would be the end of it.
At first, she spoke softly, "I don't think you fully understand the position you are in. Your wife has given me the authority to spank you. Regardless of that fact, I am your mother and I will be your mother until the day I die. You are never too old to be spanked. If you act like a child you will be spanked like a child. You thought you were too old to be spanked when you were 12. You were wrong then and you are wrong now."
I hated my mother at that moment, bringing up the last time she spanked me. It made me feel like such a child. I cringed at the thought. I continued to stand my ground but as the realization that she was not backing down began to sink in, I realized I had two choices, fight or flight. She was right, she was my mother, fight was not an option, but flight was. I decided to just walk away and lock myself in the bathroom and wait for my wife to come home.
"I need to use the bathroom." I said calmly hoping she would not realize my intentions.
She grabbed my arm as I started to move, "I don't think so." she said sternly. She gripped my arm strongly and I was unsure what to do next.
You see, unlike when my wife was ordering me around, I felt I had nothing to lose with my mother. If I refused to submit, what would the consequences be? This was not like when I was 12. I really was a child at 12 and had no choice but to ultimately submit to my mother's authority, but I was an adult now. If I refused, it was not like with my wife where I was afraid she would leave me. I loved my mother and wanted to be respectful but in the end, she held no real authority over me.
Then almost as if she could read minds she said, "Look, you need to understand that I am acting with full support of your wife. She is in no condition to spank you herself. You have been spanked before when you needed it and while we were hoping you had finally matured, you need to understand that you will be spanked again now and in the future should you regress to your childish ways. Your wife is pregnant with your child. A child who will need a responsible and caring father, not some selfish, irresponsible man who acts like a child when things don't go his way. Your wife has told me you have made a lot of progress in the last few years but clearly there is still room for improvement. I know this is very difficult for you, but I am your mother. I suggest you take your spanking and be in the corner with your pants down when your wife comes home. Storming out of the house and leaving you pregnant wife here alone, wondering what was happening was very irresponsible. Accepting your spanking for that will go a long way to show your remorse for that and get your marriage back on track."
As the words started to sink in, my heart started to pound in my chest and I started to shiver slightly as I slowly began to think about what I had done. I looked at my mother and felt so ashamed at what I had did. Already tears filled my eyes as I realized the potential damage I could have done to my marriage.
Again, as if my mother could read minds she added, "You are now bringing a child into this world. You must be there for that child no matter what." she paused for effect, "Just like your father and I were always there for you." she paused again, "Just like I am here for you now."
I finally looked down at the floor genuinely ashamed for what I did when I saw her reach for my belt. I was broken, and I did not resist. I swallowed hard and perhaps in attempt to console myself I could not help but ask, "Mom, did you spank Dad like this?"
She had my belt unbuckled and was in the process of unbuttoning my jeans when she took a deep breath and paused as if contemplating her response. She looked me in the eye and said, "Don't feel bad about this, but no. Your father was very mature and responsible. I never had to spank him myself. But, if he acted the way you did, you bet I would have. I would like you to be the kind of man your father is. You must accept this spanking and learn from it."
As she unzipped my jeans I began reflecting on what she said about my dad. I guess I was hoping to learn that she spanked him too. I respected my father and saw him as a real man and a positive role model. If I had learned that my mother had spanked him like my wife had spanked me, it might have helped ease the feeling of humiliation I was experiencing. But that was not the case.
As my mother opened the front of my jeans and my white briefs came into view I grabbed the waistband of my jeans and stepped back from her saying, "I am sorry mother, I just can't let you do this." and I started to zip them back up again.
I thought that would be the end of it. I was going to ask her politely to leave and I was going to wait for my wife to come home and the two of us would settle this as a couple.
At first she spoke very calmly, "Your wife will be back in about 30 minutes. We don't have much time. For your own good and the good of your marriage I am going to bare your bottom, spank you and put you in the corner. Are you going to accept the consequences of your action like a penitent young man or do I need to drag you over my lap like a naughty little boy?"
I stood there, my jeans zipped up, but my belt still unbuckled. I was trembling, shaking and feeling a cold icy chill come over me. My stomach was turning over and it was an overall surreal experience. It was strange and weird, yet at the same time a familiar scene. In many ways I felt like I was 12 again but still adamant that at my age I should not be spanked by my mother. Hell I wasn't even sure my wife should be spanking me, but she had a hold on me very different than my mother. I simply did not know what to do and I stood frozen with indecision.
Then it happened. It happened so fast I am not even sure exactly what happened. My mother lunged for me. I felt a burning in my ear as she twisted it cruelly forcing me to bend at the waist. She let go and I felt her hands back at my jeans and they were quickly unzipped and she was tugging them down. I tried to pull away, but she already had them to my knees. As I stepped backwards I lost my balance and fell on the couch. She quickly had my jeans at my ankles and partially turned them inside out across my feet.
She let go of my jeans and I quickly pulled my knees to my chest and tried to protect myself as she approached. "Mom, stop it!" I yelled. cowering on the couch. She again reached for my ear and I yelped in pain as she again twisted it and she forced me up from the couch again to avoid the pain. I stood crouched over in front of her. She let go of my ear and when my hands instinctively went to my ear she took the opportunity to deliver three quick sharp smacks to my bare thigh.
I yelled out at the sting and again flopped back on the couch to escape. "Ow, Mom! That hurt!"
"Get up!" she shouted, as I started to hear the controlled anger in her voice. She was determined. I could clearly see that. I thought of making a run for the bathroom again, but my pants around my ankles made that impossible. "You are just making this worse for your self. Now stand up." She delivered three more smacks to the back of my thighs and I curled up on the couch.
"Mom, please stop!" She responded to my pleas with three more slaps. Tears started to flow down my eyes, not so much from the pain. The slaps stung, but they really didn't hurt that much. No, the tears were from a deep well of emotion made up of confusion, fear, humiliation and a feeling of inadequacy. What kind of man was I that found my self curled up on the couch, pants at my ankles begging my mom to stop hitting me?
"Mom, please don't spank me." I began through the tears. I felt her hand at my ear again, but I quickly got up to avoid the pain. She placed her hands on my underpants and I instinctively reach for her hands to stop her, but I did not pull away. 'Mom, please let me keep my underpants on." and with that plea she knew she had me. I was beginning to submit.
"Perhaps if you had obeyed me right away I might have considered it, but your childish behavior does not warrant any leniency." and with that she quickly pulled my briefs all the way down to my ankles. As she stared at my now bared body, she could not resist the temptation to further 'put me in my place' with a quick comment "You have nothing to hide. It is not like I have not see you like this before. With the exception that you have a little hair around it now, you don't look much different than when you were 12."
That hurt. How dare she belittle my genitals. What kind of mother would do that? But she had no sooner said it when I found myself falling across her knees. She clamped my legs with her leg and before I could even process what was happening the hairbrush came crashing down on my helpless backside.
It hurt. It hurt a lot! She was spanking me with all her strength. I was crying like I was 12 years old again. Of course some of that was from the pain, but most of the tears were from the overwhelming emotional confusion I was experiencing. I was an adult and my mother was spanking me like she did when I was 12. It was too much for me to process and I was an emotional wreck.
She spanked long and hard and I struggled and cried out and begged her to stop with every blow. She held me tight in place and I was surprised at how strong she was, even stronger than my wife. She continued to spank me until I found that I had lost all resistance and was reduced to a sobbing, crying mess before the spanking finally stopped.
I laid over her knees crying myself out and I was exhausted. I heard the door open and my wife and father came in. I shuddered at the thought at what I must look like as they came into the room.
I heard my wife's voice, "Well, it looks like he finally came home. He must have just gotten here if you just finished spanking him He is not in the corner yet."
"Well," my mother started, "it took a little convincing to get him over my knee. I have been letting him cry it out over my knee. Do you want him in the corner?"
"No," my wife replied, "when he is ready to face me he can get up."
I took a deep breath and tried to regain my composure. The sooner I faced my wife, the sooner the ordeal would be over. I choked out between sobs, "OK. I'm ready."
My mother unlocked my legs from hers and I felt her arm guiding me up off my lap. I wanted to reach for my pants and briefs, but instinctively knew I should leave them at my ankles until I received specific permission to pull them up.
As I stood and faced my wife my heart practically leaped out of my chest and I felt a wave of electricity shoot through my body. My father was standing right behind my wife and the look on his face showed so much disappointment I could not bear to look him in the eyes.
After all these years of being spanked by my wife, the childhood spanking I received from my mother and the fear of being spanked in front of Sarah, I never could have imagined how much shame and embarrassment I would feel when standing in front of my father with my pants and briefs at my ankles with my freshly spanked bottom on display. Being seen as weak and wimpy in front of another man was more painful than I would have thought.
I apologize to my wife as my mother and father get ready to leave my father walks up to me and as I look down down to my pants and briefs at my ankles my father just says to me. "You just better grow up and grow up fast! This childish crap had better stop. Your child needs a father who is a man and I hope to God for your sake this is the last time someone needs to beat your backside."
With that fresh tears started down my cheeks. That hurt more than the spanking, to know my father did not yet see me as a man.
After they left, my wife did make me stand in the corner with my nose to the wall. Eventually I heard her crying. I pleaded from the corner to let me come and comfort her. She agreed. I shuffled over to her, pants at my ankles and gave her a hug and kiss. We eventually went to be where she laid on her side and I gave her a deep back massage to relieve her aching back.
I promised never to storm out on her again. God help me. I want to be a man. My child deserves a good hearted man for a father and I will bust my ass to become one.
Again, I tried not to get emotional or excited, "I understand mother, but like I said, I will discuss this with her when she gets home. This is between her and I and does not concern you."
She replied as calmly as me, "Well, it does concern me as she was the one who called me all upset. Your father and I came over here right away to minimize the damage you had done. If you wanted this to be between you and her, then you should have stayed here and worked it out instead of running away like a child and refusing to answer your phone. You made it my concern when you abandoned your wife."
She paused letting the words sink in. I struggled for an intelligent response and when none came she continued.
"Now," she started again, "you are going to get your naughty backside spanked by me and you will stand in the corner until your wife gets home. After that, I hope the two of you can work out the issues you are having."
My heart was pounding in my chest and my mouth was getting dry, but again I tried to maintain my composure and calmly tried to reassert myself, "Sorry mother, I am not going to be spanked by you. I am not baby anymore."
"Nonsense!", she replied a little more forceful, "you act like a child, you get treated like a child. That is the way it has always been. It's not like you haven't been spanked before. It's not like you haven't been spanked by ME before. Now come here and take your spanking and don't make this any worse for yourself." she said as she pointed to the spot in front of where she was sitting.
I was confused. This was very different from my wife threatening to spank me. I must admit, what normally forces me into compliance with my wife is the fact that I don't want to lose her. Now I love my mother, but I did not feel the same kind of threat from her that I did for my wife.
I swallowed hard, took a deep breath and again calmly asserted myself. "I appreciate your concern and willingness to help and I thank you for helping us out during our disagreement, but like I said, what happens next is between me and my wife."
I thought that would be the end of it. I was calm and adult like and had made my point. Whatever, had happened in the past with my wife spanking me was between my wife and I. Oh, of course I realize now that it was my mother who had persuaded her to do it, but still. My mother lost her authority to spank me when I became an adult. If my wife wanted to spank me when she got home, I would reluctantly accept that, but my mother was not going to spank me.
She stood up and I held my head up defiantly. She looked at me and I could see the disappointment in her eyes. She moved slowly towards me. I had a reflex to cringe and back away, but I forced myself to hold my ground. When she got to within a foot from me and did not see me backing down I figured that would be the end of it.
At first, she spoke softly, "I don't think you fully understand the position you are in. Your wife has given me the authority to spank you. Regardless of that fact, I am your mother and I will be your mother until the day I die. You are never too old to be spanked. If you act like a child you will be spanked like a child. You thought you were too old to be spanked when you were 12. You were wrong then and you are wrong now."
I hated my mother at that moment, bringing up the last time she spanked me. It made me feel like such a child. I cringed at the thought. I continued to stand my ground but as the realization that she was not backing down began to sink in, I realized I had two choices, fight or flight. She was right, she was my mother, fight was not an option, but flight was. I decided to just walk away and lock myself in the bathroom and wait for my wife to come home.
"I need to use the bathroom." I said calmly hoping she would not realize my intentions.
She grabbed my arm as I started to move, "I don't think so." she said sternly. She gripped my arm strongly and I was unsure what to do next.
You see, unlike when my wife was ordering me around, I felt I had nothing to lose with my mother. If I refused to submit, what would the consequences be? This was not like when I was 12. I really was a child at 12 and had no choice but to ultimately submit to my mother's authority, but I was an adult now. If I refused, it was not like with my wife where I was afraid she would leave me. I loved my mother and wanted to be respectful but in the end, she held no real authority over me.
Then almost as if she could read minds she said, "Look, you need to understand that I am acting with full support of your wife. She is in no condition to spank you herself. You have been spanked before when you needed it and while we were hoping you had finally matured, you need to understand that you will be spanked again now and in the future should you regress to your childish ways. Your wife is pregnant with your child. A child who will need a responsible and caring father, not some selfish, irresponsible man who acts like a child when things don't go his way. Your wife has told me you have made a lot of progress in the last few years but clearly there is still room for improvement. I know this is very difficult for you, but I am your mother. I suggest you take your spanking and be in the corner with your pants down when your wife comes home. Storming out of the house and leaving you pregnant wife here alone, wondering what was happening was very irresponsible. Accepting your spanking for that will go a long way to show your remorse for that and get your marriage back on track."
As the words started to sink in, my heart started to pound in my chest and I started to shiver slightly as I slowly began to think about what I had done. I looked at my mother and felt so ashamed at what I had did. Already tears filled my eyes as I realized the potential damage I could have done to my marriage.
Again, as if my mother could read minds she added, "You are now bringing a child into this world. You must be there for that child no matter what." she paused for effect, "Just like your father and I were always there for you." she paused again, "Just like I am here for you now."
I finally looked down at the floor genuinely ashamed for what I did when I saw her reach for my belt. I was broken, and I did not resist. I swallowed hard and perhaps in attempt to console myself I could not help but ask, "Mom, did you spank Dad like this?"
She had my belt unbuckled and was in the process of unbuttoning my jeans when she took a deep breath and paused as if contemplating her response. She looked me in the eye and said, "Don't feel bad about this, but no. Your father was very mature and responsible. I never had to spank him myself. But, if he acted the way you did, you bet I would have. I would like you to be the kind of man your father is. You must accept this spanking and learn from it."
As she unzipped my jeans I began reflecting on what she said about my dad. I guess I was hoping to learn that she spanked him too. I respected my father and saw him as a real man and a positive role model. If I had learned that my mother had spanked him like my wife had spanked me, it might have helped ease the feeling of humiliation I was experiencing. But that was not the case.
As my mother opened the front of my jeans and my white briefs came into view I grabbed the waistband of my jeans and stepped back from her saying, "I am sorry mother, I just can't let you do this." and I started to zip them back up again.
I thought that would be the end of it. I was going to ask her politely to leave and I was going to wait for my wife to come home and the two of us would settle this as a couple.
At first she spoke very calmly, "Your wife will be back in about 30 minutes. We don't have much time. For your own good and the good of your marriage I am going to bare your bottom, spank you and put you in the corner. Are you going to accept the consequences of your action like a penitent young man or do I need to drag you over my lap like a naughty little boy?"
I stood there, my jeans zipped up, but my belt still unbuckled. I was trembling, shaking and feeling a cold icy chill come over me. My stomach was turning over and it was an overall surreal experience. It was strange and weird, yet at the same time a familiar scene. In many ways I felt like I was 12 again but still adamant that at my age I should not be spanked by my mother. Hell I wasn't even sure my wife should be spanking me, but she had a hold on me very different than my mother. I simply did not know what to do and I stood frozen with indecision.
Then it happened. It happened so fast I am not even sure exactly what happened. My mother lunged for me. I felt a burning in my ear as she twisted it cruelly forcing me to bend at the waist. She let go and I felt her hands back at my jeans and they were quickly unzipped and she was tugging them down. I tried to pull away, but she already had them to my knees. As I stepped backwards I lost my balance and fell on the couch. She quickly had my jeans at my ankles and partially turned them inside out across my feet.
She let go of my jeans and I quickly pulled my knees to my chest and tried to protect myself as she approached. "Mom, stop it!" I yelled. cowering on the couch. She again reached for my ear and I yelped in pain as she again twisted it and she forced me up from the couch again to avoid the pain. I stood crouched over in front of her. She let go of my ear and when my hands instinctively went to my ear she took the opportunity to deliver three quick sharp smacks to my bare thigh.
I yelled out at the sting and again flopped back on the couch to escape. "Ow, Mom! That hurt!"
"Get up!" she shouted, as I started to hear the controlled anger in her voice. She was determined. I could clearly see that. I thought of making a run for the bathroom again, but my pants around my ankles made that impossible. "You are just making this worse for your self. Now stand up." She delivered three more smacks to the back of my thighs and I curled up on the couch.
"Mom, please stop!" She responded to my pleas with three more slaps. Tears started to flow down my eyes, not so much from the pain. The slaps stung, but they really didn't hurt that much. No, the tears were from a deep well of emotion made up of confusion, fear, humiliation and a feeling of inadequacy. What kind of man was I that found my self curled up on the couch, pants at my ankles begging my mom to stop hitting me?
"Mom, please don't spank me." I began through the tears. I felt her hand at my ear again, but I quickly got up to avoid the pain. She placed her hands on my underpants and I instinctively reach for her hands to stop her, but I did not pull away. 'Mom, please let me keep my underpants on." and with that plea she knew she had me. I was beginning to submit.
"Perhaps if you had obeyed me right away I might have considered it, but your childish behavior does not warrant any leniency." and with that she quickly pulled my briefs all the way down to my ankles. As she stared at my now bared body, she could not resist the temptation to further 'put me in my place' with a quick comment "You have nothing to hide. It is not like I have not see you like this before. With the exception that you have a little hair around it now, you don't look much different than when you were 12."
That hurt. How dare she belittle my genitals. What kind of mother would do that? But she had no sooner said it when I found myself falling across her knees. She clamped my legs with her leg and before I could even process what was happening the hairbrush came crashing down on my helpless backside.
It hurt. It hurt a lot! She was spanking me with all her strength. I was crying like I was 12 years old again. Of course some of that was from the pain, but most of the tears were from the overwhelming emotional confusion I was experiencing. I was an adult and my mother was spanking me like she did when I was 12. It was too much for me to process and I was an emotional wreck.
She spanked long and hard and I struggled and cried out and begged her to stop with every blow. She held me tight in place and I was surprised at how strong she was, even stronger than my wife. She continued to spank me until I found that I had lost all resistance and was reduced to a sobbing, crying mess before the spanking finally stopped.
I laid over her knees crying myself out and I was exhausted. I heard the door open and my wife and father came in. I shuddered at the thought at what I must look like as they came into the room.
I heard my wife's voice, "Well, it looks like he finally came home. He must have just gotten here if you just finished spanking him He is not in the corner yet."
"Well," my mother started, "it took a little convincing to get him over my knee. I have been letting him cry it out over my knee. Do you want him in the corner?"
"No," my wife replied, "when he is ready to face me he can get up."
I took a deep breath and tried to regain my composure. The sooner I faced my wife, the sooner the ordeal would be over. I choked out between sobs, "OK. I'm ready."
My mother unlocked my legs from hers and I felt her arm guiding me up off my lap. I wanted to reach for my pants and briefs, but instinctively knew I should leave them at my ankles until I received specific permission to pull them up.
As I stood and faced my wife my heart practically leaped out of my chest and I felt a wave of electricity shoot through my body. My father was standing right behind my wife and the look on his face showed so much disappointment I could not bear to look him in the eyes.
After all these years of being spanked by my wife, the childhood spanking I received from my mother and the fear of being spanked in front of Sarah, I never could have imagined how much shame and embarrassment I would feel when standing in front of my father with my pants and briefs at my ankles with my freshly spanked bottom on display. Being seen as weak and wimpy in front of another man was more painful than I would have thought.
I apologize to my wife as my mother and father get ready to leave my father walks up to me and as I look down down to my pants and briefs at my ankles my father just says to me. "You just better grow up and grow up fast! This childish crap had better stop. Your child needs a father who is a man and I hope to God for your sake this is the last time someone needs to beat your backside."
With that fresh tears started down my cheeks. That hurt more than the spanking, to know my father did not yet see me as a man.
After they left, my wife did make me stand in the corner with my nose to the wall. Eventually I heard her crying. I pleaded from the corner to let me come and comfort her. She agreed. I shuffled over to her, pants at my ankles and gave her a hug and kiss. We eventually went to be where she laid on her side and I gave her a deep back massage to relieve her aching back.
I promised never to storm out on her again. God help me. I want to be a man. My child deserves a good hearted man for a father and I will bust my ass to become one.
Saturday, March 21, 2015
Chapter Two.
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...
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...
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.
Sunday, February 15, 2015
Suffer the Children Part 1
So as I have been alluding to in my previous post as well as the comments section, I decided to relate a story of a spanking I received as a child. I will be relating this in two parts. If after the this part you feel this is not something you want to read, just skip this and the second part that will follow.
Kids are stupid. It doesn't make them bad or evil or unlovable, but the truth is the truth. Kids are stupid. How do I know? Well for starters I was a kid once and as I look back on my childhood I can't help but cringe at myself when I realize just how stupid I was. I was not a dumb kid in fact I was a relatively bright and smart and did well in school and all that, but that did not change the fact that I was just stupid. I could fill a book with all the stupid things that I have done but there was one particular stupid thing that I did that this story is about and that happened when I was 7 years old.
My mother and I were visiting one of her friends, a friend who had a 10 year old daughter. Now when you are 7 years old, you are not mature enough to consider the fact that your mother has a life outside of you. Yes, she is your mother and she will always do the best she can for you, but she is entitled to have a life apart from you. She is entitled to have adult friends and to want to spend time with them.
Now at 7 I did not appreciate my mother's right to have adults friends. Now that I am an adult and look back on it, I respect and appreciate the fact that my mother was able to have close friendships with other adults. I get that now, but as an adult you would think that my mother would have realized that just because she was friends with someone doesn't automatically mean that I am friends with that friend's child.
So here I was at the house of one of my mother's friends and I am expected to play with her 10 year old daughter. Not because we are friends, not because we have a common interest, but for no other reason except that she's the daughter of my mother's friend. So instead of playing together I sat there at the kitchen table with my mother and her friend bored out of my skull. After all, this was back in the days when we did not have all kinds of portable electronic devices to keep kids occupied. All there was was a single TV set and the daughter already had that tied up with one of her stupid programs.
Being a typical 7 year old, I of course kept asking the eternal question that all 7 year olds ask when they are bored, "When are we leaving?"
My mother, growing every more impatient just kept telling me to hush up and to go play with..., well let's see we need to give her a name for the story, let's call her Jill,
"The adults are talking, go and play with Jill!", not her exact words as it was a long time ago, but that was essentially the tone of what she was saying.
I walked from the kitchen to the living-room where Jill was watching TV, sat on the couch for all of 2 second then decided that I waited long enough and went back to the kitchen to repeat my inquisition.
"Can we go now?", I whined
"Stop it child!" my mother admonished and told me to stop being annoying.
Well, I am not stupid, or so I thought at the time, and realized that constantly asking to leave was not a strategy worth pursuing, so I resorted to batting her pocket book which was slung over the back of the kitchen chair. I kind of started swinging it like it was a tether ball. It would keep bouncing off the chair and swing back and I would push it again so it was push, thump, push, thump as the speed and frequency picked up as it continued to smack the back of my mothers chair.
She turned around, grabbed the bag and quickly told me to, "Knock it off! Stop being so annoying, go back and watch TV or play or something."
Well I shuffled off again back to the living-room where Jill was, but this time I didn't bother to sit down, but instead just walked right back into the kitchen. Bored out of my skull, I was desperate to leave and when you are 7 years old and absolutely bored, you make 'poor choices.'
Now, because for me this is such a strong part of my memory, I guess a few details are in order. It was summer, it was hot, I was 7 years old. It seems during this time the official summer uniform for a boy my age was a yellow tank top t-shirt with white trim, a pair of those really really short elastic gym shorts, green if I remember correctly, flip-flops and a pair of briefs. That was all I was wearing and it exposed a lot of skin. I remember it so vividly mostly because of this memory, but also because of pictures of me wearing that same outfit from vacation photos.
Jill was wearing a pair of cutoff jean shorts that were longer than my gym shorts, although not by much and a regular t-shirt. I don't remember her clothes as much, but pretty sure that's what she was wearing.
So anyway, I walked back into the kitchen and the whole process started all over again. "Can we go now?"
"Enough, if you don't stop annoying us you are going to 'get it'" of course I should have known what 'get it' meant. After all I was only 7 years old. This was back in the days that when you are 7 years old there are not too many ways to 'get it'. At that time and date it really only meant a spanking. So of course, I stopped asking, but then went back to my game of pocket book tether ball.
Well, Jill must have sensed something was about to happen because she walked into the room and opened the refrigerator to get herself something to drink. There I was with the pocket book again, push, thump against the back of the chair. Then, without any further warning it happened.
Calmly I heard my mother say to her friend, "Excuse me a second." She stood up and I jumped back from the chair. I should not have been surprised. After all, the warning were numerous and clear. Any rational person would have adjusted their behavior, but of course I was a child and was stupid. I was motivated not by any rational decision, but my emotional desire to leave.
My heart quickly began beating faster. I glanced quickly at Jill who was standing a mere 2 feet away then back to my mother. I quickly though to myself, 'she wouldn't spank me here with Jill in the room. Would she?'
My answer was quick and swift. She grabbed my arm and lifted me up ever so slightly so that I was stretched on my toes and she deliver 3 or 4 quick sharp smacks to the seat of my shorts. I yelped at the blows, but they were quick and I really did not get the opportunity to cry or scream. It was over so quick. I was more humiliated by the display than I was hurt by the pain.
I already wanted to crawl under a rock at the humiliation of being spanked in front of Jill, even if it was a quick show, but the real humiliation came when my mother grabbed my other arm, bent over slightly and strongly warned, "Now, the next time your pants will be coming down!"
She let me go and I quietly walked back to the living-room and sat on the couch. A few minutes later Jill walked in and sat down on the couch next to me. I shuddered at the sudden proximity given what she had just witnessed and I shifted a little nervously, but otherwise remained on the couch.
She was speaking quietly and softly, but obviously she had been intrigued by the show and could not help but start asking questions.
"Sorry that happened to you. Do you get spanked a lot?"
Well, I did not know what a lot meant. I certainly got my fair share of spankings but they were by no means 'a lot' so I quietly nodded no.
"Did it hurt?"
Well, it didn't so I quietly nodded no. Then the tough question came. I almost knew it was coming.
"Do you really think your mother would pull your pants down if you did it again?"
I knew my mother. I knew if I did it again my pants would absolutely come down. She doesn't make empty threats like that, but I just shrugged my shoulders in the 'I don't know gesture.'
"Has she ever pulled your pants down for a spanking before?"
Of course I could have just told her to leave me alone and stop asking me questions, but I didn't. I also didn't answer. She correctly took that as a yes.
"I bet she pulls your pants down when she spanks you at home. You are lucky she did not pull your pants down this time."
To that, for some reason I did nod yes. More to the fact that I was grateful she did not pull my pants down, but I guess I also acknowledged that she frequently did pull my pants down. In fact my mother pulled my pants down for spankings most of the time, although at 7 it was not like I had years of spanking history to go by. Looking back however, I was spanked until I was 12 and for most of those I had my pants pulled down. This was actually one of the few where I got to keep them up.
"Don't worry," Jill reassured me, "lots of kids get spanked, its no big deal."
I wasn't sure if that made me feel better or not. Was she admitting that she got spanked? Did she consider herself a little kid? Was that really meant to make me feel better or worse? Who knows?
With that she went back to watching TV and I sat there on the couch sulking and being bored out of my mind again.
Like I said in the beginning, kids are stupid, so about 15 minutes later I walk back into the kitchen. I stood there quietly listening trying to decide if the conversation was winding down. Then it started again like nothing ever happened.
"Can we go now?"
My mother turns to me, a little angry, "I suggest you just go sit back in the living room before you do something you will regret."
She resumes her conversation. I stand there for a few seconds then to this day I still don't understand what I was thinking. I whack the pocket book again and then thump! It hits the back of the chair. At that moment Jill appears in the doorway to the kitchen as my mother rises from her chair.
Like I said. Kids are stupid.
To be continued...Maybe.
Kids are stupid. It doesn't make them bad or evil or unlovable, but the truth is the truth. Kids are stupid. How do I know? Well for starters I was a kid once and as I look back on my childhood I can't help but cringe at myself when I realize just how stupid I was. I was not a dumb kid in fact I was a relatively bright and smart and did well in school and all that, but that did not change the fact that I was just stupid. I could fill a book with all the stupid things that I have done but there was one particular stupid thing that I did that this story is about and that happened when I was 7 years old.
My mother and I were visiting one of her friends, a friend who had a 10 year old daughter. Now when you are 7 years old, you are not mature enough to consider the fact that your mother has a life outside of you. Yes, she is your mother and she will always do the best she can for you, but she is entitled to have a life apart from you. She is entitled to have adult friends and to want to spend time with them.
Now at 7 I did not appreciate my mother's right to have adults friends. Now that I am an adult and look back on it, I respect and appreciate the fact that my mother was able to have close friendships with other adults. I get that now, but as an adult you would think that my mother would have realized that just because she was friends with someone doesn't automatically mean that I am friends with that friend's child.
So here I was at the house of one of my mother's friends and I am expected to play with her 10 year old daughter. Not because we are friends, not because we have a common interest, but for no other reason except that she's the daughter of my mother's friend. So instead of playing together I sat there at the kitchen table with my mother and her friend bored out of my skull. After all, this was back in the days when we did not have all kinds of portable electronic devices to keep kids occupied. All there was was a single TV set and the daughter already had that tied up with one of her stupid programs.
Being a typical 7 year old, I of course kept asking the eternal question that all 7 year olds ask when they are bored, "When are we leaving?"
My mother, growing every more impatient just kept telling me to hush up and to go play with..., well let's see we need to give her a name for the story, let's call her Jill,
"The adults are talking, go and play with Jill!", not her exact words as it was a long time ago, but that was essentially the tone of what she was saying.
I walked from the kitchen to the living-room where Jill was watching TV, sat on the couch for all of 2 second then decided that I waited long enough and went back to the kitchen to repeat my inquisition.
"Can we go now?", I whined
"Stop it child!" my mother admonished and told me to stop being annoying.
Well, I am not stupid, or so I thought at the time, and realized that constantly asking to leave was not a strategy worth pursuing, so I resorted to batting her pocket book which was slung over the back of the kitchen chair. I kind of started swinging it like it was a tether ball. It would keep bouncing off the chair and swing back and I would push it again so it was push, thump, push, thump as the speed and frequency picked up as it continued to smack the back of my mothers chair.
She turned around, grabbed the bag and quickly told me to, "Knock it off! Stop being so annoying, go back and watch TV or play or something."
Well I shuffled off again back to the living-room where Jill was, but this time I didn't bother to sit down, but instead just walked right back into the kitchen. Bored out of my skull, I was desperate to leave and when you are 7 years old and absolutely bored, you make 'poor choices.'
Now, because for me this is such a strong part of my memory, I guess a few details are in order. It was summer, it was hot, I was 7 years old. It seems during this time the official summer uniform for a boy my age was a yellow tank top t-shirt with white trim, a pair of those really really short elastic gym shorts, green if I remember correctly, flip-flops and a pair of briefs. That was all I was wearing and it exposed a lot of skin. I remember it so vividly mostly because of this memory, but also because of pictures of me wearing that same outfit from vacation photos.
Jill was wearing a pair of cutoff jean shorts that were longer than my gym shorts, although not by much and a regular t-shirt. I don't remember her clothes as much, but pretty sure that's what she was wearing.
So anyway, I walked back into the kitchen and the whole process started all over again. "Can we go now?"
"Enough, if you don't stop annoying us you are going to 'get it'" of course I should have known what 'get it' meant. After all I was only 7 years old. This was back in the days that when you are 7 years old there are not too many ways to 'get it'. At that time and date it really only meant a spanking. So of course, I stopped asking, but then went back to my game of pocket book tether ball.
Well, Jill must have sensed something was about to happen because she walked into the room and opened the refrigerator to get herself something to drink. There I was with the pocket book again, push, thump against the back of the chair. Then, without any further warning it happened.
Calmly I heard my mother say to her friend, "Excuse me a second." She stood up and I jumped back from the chair. I should not have been surprised. After all, the warning were numerous and clear. Any rational person would have adjusted their behavior, but of course I was a child and was stupid. I was motivated not by any rational decision, but my emotional desire to leave.
My heart quickly began beating faster. I glanced quickly at Jill who was standing a mere 2 feet away then back to my mother. I quickly though to myself, 'she wouldn't spank me here with Jill in the room. Would she?'
My answer was quick and swift. She grabbed my arm and lifted me up ever so slightly so that I was stretched on my toes and she deliver 3 or 4 quick sharp smacks to the seat of my shorts. I yelped at the blows, but they were quick and I really did not get the opportunity to cry or scream. It was over so quick. I was more humiliated by the display than I was hurt by the pain.
I already wanted to crawl under a rock at the humiliation of being spanked in front of Jill, even if it was a quick show, but the real humiliation came when my mother grabbed my other arm, bent over slightly and strongly warned, "Now, the next time your pants will be coming down!"
She let me go and I quietly walked back to the living-room and sat on the couch. A few minutes later Jill walked in and sat down on the couch next to me. I shuddered at the sudden proximity given what she had just witnessed and I shifted a little nervously, but otherwise remained on the couch.
She was speaking quietly and softly, but obviously she had been intrigued by the show and could not help but start asking questions.
"Sorry that happened to you. Do you get spanked a lot?"
Well, I did not know what a lot meant. I certainly got my fair share of spankings but they were by no means 'a lot' so I quietly nodded no.
"Did it hurt?"
Well, it didn't so I quietly nodded no. Then the tough question came. I almost knew it was coming.
"Do you really think your mother would pull your pants down if you did it again?"
I knew my mother. I knew if I did it again my pants would absolutely come down. She doesn't make empty threats like that, but I just shrugged my shoulders in the 'I don't know gesture.'
"Has she ever pulled your pants down for a spanking before?"
Of course I could have just told her to leave me alone and stop asking me questions, but I didn't. I also didn't answer. She correctly took that as a yes.
"I bet she pulls your pants down when she spanks you at home. You are lucky she did not pull your pants down this time."
To that, for some reason I did nod yes. More to the fact that I was grateful she did not pull my pants down, but I guess I also acknowledged that she frequently did pull my pants down. In fact my mother pulled my pants down for spankings most of the time, although at 7 it was not like I had years of spanking history to go by. Looking back however, I was spanked until I was 12 and for most of those I had my pants pulled down. This was actually one of the few where I got to keep them up.
"Don't worry," Jill reassured me, "lots of kids get spanked, its no big deal."
I wasn't sure if that made me feel better or not. Was she admitting that she got spanked? Did she consider herself a little kid? Was that really meant to make me feel better or worse? Who knows?
With that she went back to watching TV and I sat there on the couch sulking and being bored out of my mind again.
Like I said in the beginning, kids are stupid, so about 15 minutes later I walk back into the kitchen. I stood there quietly listening trying to decide if the conversation was winding down. Then it started again like nothing ever happened.
"Can we go now?"
My mother turns to me, a little angry, "I suggest you just go sit back in the living room before you do something you will regret."
She resumes her conversation. I stand there for a few seconds then to this day I still don't understand what I was thinking. I whack the pocket book again and then thump! It hits the back of the chair. At that moment Jill appears in the doorway to the kitchen as my mother rises from her chair.
Like I said. Kids are stupid.
To be continued...Maybe.
Thursday, January 29, 2015
Laundry Day
Once again, I will start with an apology. No spankings or anal penetrations to report, so sorry for anyone who was hoping for any juicy news.
Now that being said, I know I am going to take a lot of heat for this post as so many people have made it clear that they feel I am being utterly ridiculous about my obsession over my underpants, but I am who I am and I feel the way I feel.
So what happened? In the grand scheme of things, absolutely nothing, but for me, something that left me feeling weird. It was Saturday and I was out and when I came home my wife and Sarah were in the living room chatting. I talked for a few minutes with them exchanging pleasantries, then excused my self as I was planning to take care of some chores outside the house. As I turned to leave I noticed that there was a laundry basket all nice and folded. It was a basket of whites. In other words, underwear, hers as well as mine. I was clearly able to spot my tighty whities in the basket, but that was because I knew they were there.
As I left I became very self conscious of the fact that my tighty whities were sitting in the laundry basket in the same room as Sarah. Did Sarah notice? Was she there when my wife folded them? Did Sarah help fold them?
I know many of you may feel I am being really stupid about this, but I felt a little weird and violated thinking that Sarah might have been handling my briefs. Now when she looks at me I feel she is imagining me in my briefs and laughing silently at me as she wonders why I am not wearing boxers.
Perhaps it is just my imagination. Perhaps my wife is playing mind games with me again. Who knows? Anyway, it left me feeling funny, but just glad I have been able to keep my pants up for the last few weeks. I have been on my behavior so no spankings or other punishments.
If it continues to remain quiet, I might consider taking the time to write about another memorable spanking from my past, but this one goes all the way back to when I was 7 years old, although I remember it like it was yesterday. Not sure if anyone really wants to hear it so I will have to think about it. What made it so memorable? Well it involved me, my mother one of my mother's friends and her 10 year old daughter. No I didn't do anything to or with the daughter, but she was there when something happened to me. Let's just say I was recalling it when I was contemplating the possibility of getting spanked in front of Sarah. I have been thinking about the incident, but have been reluctant to tell it. I will need to think about telling the story. I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable, but it may help to understand what events in my life may have led to me being the way I am.
Now that being said, I know I am going to take a lot of heat for this post as so many people have made it clear that they feel I am being utterly ridiculous about my obsession over my underpants, but I am who I am and I feel the way I feel.
So what happened? In the grand scheme of things, absolutely nothing, but for me, something that left me feeling weird. It was Saturday and I was out and when I came home my wife and Sarah were in the living room chatting. I talked for a few minutes with them exchanging pleasantries, then excused my self as I was planning to take care of some chores outside the house. As I turned to leave I noticed that there was a laundry basket all nice and folded. It was a basket of whites. In other words, underwear, hers as well as mine. I was clearly able to spot my tighty whities in the basket, but that was because I knew they were there.
As I left I became very self conscious of the fact that my tighty whities were sitting in the laundry basket in the same room as Sarah. Did Sarah notice? Was she there when my wife folded them? Did Sarah help fold them?
I know many of you may feel I am being really stupid about this, but I felt a little weird and violated thinking that Sarah might have been handling my briefs. Now when she looks at me I feel she is imagining me in my briefs and laughing silently at me as she wonders why I am not wearing boxers.
Perhaps it is just my imagination. Perhaps my wife is playing mind games with me again. Who knows? Anyway, it left me feeling funny, but just glad I have been able to keep my pants up for the last few weeks. I have been on my behavior so no spankings or other punishments.
If it continues to remain quiet, I might consider taking the time to write about another memorable spanking from my past, but this one goes all the way back to when I was 7 years old, although I remember it like it was yesterday. Not sure if anyone really wants to hear it so I will have to think about it. What made it so memorable? Well it involved me, my mother one of my mother's friends and her 10 year old daughter. No I didn't do anything to or with the daughter, but she was there when something happened to me. Let's just say I was recalling it when I was contemplating the possibility of getting spanked in front of Sarah. I have been thinking about the incident, but have been reluctant to tell it. I will need to think about telling the story. I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable, but it may help to understand what events in my life may have led to me being the way I am.
Sunday, January 18, 2015
Status Quo
Well, just thought I would write a quick post to let everyone know that after a surprising end and subsequent start to the year, things seem to be settling down.
The week of having my wife wash my bottom, followed by random inspections have stopped. Yes, it was a little embarrassing having to step out of the shower and report to my wife for inspection. It only took a few seconds where she would make me bend over slightly and she would spread my butt cheeks to insure I properly washed "back there" and then I was allowed to get dressed. I felt a little silly but that turned out to not be a big deal.
I have not been sick, so I don't know what would happen if I was. I would have to presume at this point that since we did not come to a consensus on how to resolve the alleged anomaly with my oral temperatures, she would again take my temperature rectally. If and when I get sick again, I guess I will find out.
So far, I have been on my best behavior and have not been spanked, I have not had to serve any bare bottom warnings or other "punishments." It is clear that I am still subject to spankings should my behavior warrant it. I have gone several weeks and even months in the past thinking that my spanking days were finally over only to suddenly find myself back over her knee, pants and briefs down. I would not be so arrogant to assume that my spanking days are over, but there has not been any escalation of frequency or severity. I am unfortunately sure that sooner or later I will slip up, but for now, so far so good.
There has also has not been any sign or indication of any additional humiliations that she plans to subject me to. While I realize this may disappoint some of my readers, I have not been given any enemas, forced to wear panties, diapers, I have not been "taken anal", dildo-ed or had a strap on shoved in to me. While I realize this may disappoint many of my followers, I am sorry, but hope you decide to stick with me anyway. I know there are plenty of blogs out there that cater to these interests as I have looked into them myself wondering if that was where my life was headed. I am happy to report that at this time, that does not appear to be the case.
So slowly, things seem to be returning to normal. Of course, I realize that that normal includes spankings, when warranted, rectal temperatures when sick and probably a resumption of supervised washing and inspections should my wife start to see any more stains on my underpants.
It looks like I have returned to the status quo. At least for now. Again, sorry to disappoint anyone who was hoping I would have something more humiliating to write about. If you at least check in every once and a while I promise to find the courage to write about any new humiliations that I may become subjected to.
Thanks for sticking with me during this crazy roller coaster ride.
The week of having my wife wash my bottom, followed by random inspections have stopped. Yes, it was a little embarrassing having to step out of the shower and report to my wife for inspection. It only took a few seconds where she would make me bend over slightly and she would spread my butt cheeks to insure I properly washed "back there" and then I was allowed to get dressed. I felt a little silly but that turned out to not be a big deal.
I have not been sick, so I don't know what would happen if I was. I would have to presume at this point that since we did not come to a consensus on how to resolve the alleged anomaly with my oral temperatures, she would again take my temperature rectally. If and when I get sick again, I guess I will find out.
So far, I have been on my best behavior and have not been spanked, I have not had to serve any bare bottom warnings or other "punishments." It is clear that I am still subject to spankings should my behavior warrant it. I have gone several weeks and even months in the past thinking that my spanking days were finally over only to suddenly find myself back over her knee, pants and briefs down. I would not be so arrogant to assume that my spanking days are over, but there has not been any escalation of frequency or severity. I am unfortunately sure that sooner or later I will slip up, but for now, so far so good.
There has also has not been any sign or indication of any additional humiliations that she plans to subject me to. While I realize this may disappoint some of my readers, I have not been given any enemas, forced to wear panties, diapers, I have not been "taken anal", dildo-ed or had a strap on shoved in to me. While I realize this may disappoint many of my followers, I am sorry, but hope you decide to stick with me anyway. I know there are plenty of blogs out there that cater to these interests as I have looked into them myself wondering if that was where my life was headed. I am happy to report that at this time, that does not appear to be the case.
So slowly, things seem to be returning to normal. Of course, I realize that that normal includes spankings, when warranted, rectal temperatures when sick and probably a resumption of supervised washing and inspections should my wife start to see any more stains on my underpants.
It looks like I have returned to the status quo. At least for now. Again, sorry to disappoint anyone who was hoping I would have something more humiliating to write about. If you at least check in every once and a while I promise to find the courage to write about any new humiliations that I may become subjected to.
Thanks for sticking with me during this crazy roller coaster ride.
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