From quite a young age, I had this all-consuming desire for a woman I knew had punished her offspring with spankings, to discipline me in the same way.
I’m not sure where this desire sprung from.
It was almost certainly not from my own upbringing.
My parents spanked me only very occasionally when I was very young.
These were just quick slaps, not some big ritual or anything.
Nevertheless, my curiosity and obsession with the act grew as the years went on.
Finally, I got the courage up to occasionally hint about the subject to a few older ladies whom I knew.
However, short of actually asking them
I was nervous as well as curious!
I finally hit the jackpot with Brenda.
She was a work colleague.
We got to know each other well enough for me to drop round to her place occasionally, out of work hours for a coffee and chat.
I pursued the friendship largely because I had discovered that Brenda had chastised her offspring growing up.
I knew this after she made a casual remark about some local hooligans caught by the police.
“If they were mine, they wouldn’t be sitting down for a week,” was her comment.
On hearing that, I engaged Brenda in a conversation about discipline.
I told her that I had been regularly spanked by my parents.
Even though this wasn’t true, as I’ve already mentioned.
However, she nodded approvingly:
“Damn right – your parents did the right thing by you, young man.”
Just being called ‘young man’ in that firm, quite deep voice of hers made me twitch.
However, that encounter made me determined to cultivate Brenda some more
As I say, it got to my dropping around for the occasional social call.
It was on one such visit that I finally got up the courage to, once more, work the conversation around to discipline.
“Did you have to chastise your boys often?” I asked.
“Pretty much,” Brenda replied firmly without batting an eyelid.
“Mind you, They kinda grew out of it.
Not only did they not like the pain, but momma seeing their
butt at that age is a big deterrent to bad behavior, believe me!”
“What did they get?” I enquired.
“I kept a belt for them.”
I chose my next question with some care, speaking perhaps more slowly than usual.
“So if I’d been your boy, and you’d punished me, I guess I would remember it for a long time – right?”
Brenda looked at me somewhat quizzically but laughed and simply said: “Forever!”
There was then an awkward pause between us,
Then Brenda asked, in a quieter voice: “You wanna try?”
I blushed to my boots but nodded.
I felt giddy and no longer in control of the situation.
Brenda said nothing but instead went over to a chest of drawers, from which she withdrew the belt.
I saw immediately that it was not a clothing accessory.
It was a proper punishment belt made especially for discipline purposes.
It was quite thick and stiff, made of light tan leather, and just over a foot long.
Brenda took my hand and guided me a few steps so that I was standing at the side of her sofa.
I felt a bit scared
“Bend over the arm of the sofa.”
Brenda spoke softly but with absolute authority.
I was thrilled to the marrow as I obediently put myself in the punishment position.
Next, I felt the leather being measured across my rear.
Brenda gave a little grunt and brought the belt down sharply about halfway down my buttocks.
The searing heat was far more acute than I had expected,
I managed to keep quiet and still as Brenda gave me a dozen hard strokes.
As quickly as it started, it was over.
“You can stand up now.” came the next command from Brenda.
The conversation afterward was a bit awkward, and neither of us mentioned the belting I’d just been given.
I thought maybe I’d overstepped the mark and threatened our friendship.
However, as I took my leave after finishing my coffee, Brenda spanked me affectionately on my still-glowing seat and said:
“If you ever need that little bottom whipping again, you come and see Momma, OK?”
I blushed deeply for the second time that day but managed a tiny ‘thank you in response.
We kind of sat on the situation for a couple of months.
Work was a bit more awkward after what Brenda had done to me,
However, I had this deep desire for more discipline from her.
So it was that I called in again one Sunday morning.
This time, Brenda got to the point immediately.
“You here for what I think you’re here for?”
“Uh-huh.” “Right – you come along with me, young man.”
Once again, she took the punishment strap from the drawer but this time she linked her arm to mine and guided me upstairs to her bedroom.
This time she drew a small chair out from one corner of the room to the center.
“This is gonna hurt,” she said quietly.
“Bend over there, right now.”
I obeyed and waited for the whipping to begin.
When it did, it immediately became obvious that Brenda was putting more force into the strokes this time.
My butt was incredibly sore after only three or four swats with the leather.
By the time we got to the end of the initial dozen, Brenda showed no sign of stopping
A few strokes later, I was amazed to hear myself crying and begging my ‘Momma’ to stop.
Brenda ignored these pleas, however, and continued to thrash me for a good five minutes or so, until I was almost becoming numb from the beating.
Finally, she put the strap down on the bed and drew me up, embracing me in a maternal fashion as I had a damn good cry . She shushed me quietly and rubbed my back.
Sadly, a change in family circumstances led to Brenda moving to the other side of the country not too long afterward.
I often think about her and wonder what she is doing.
