What on earth posessed you to do that

What On Earth Possessed You To Do That

It was only after chatting to a friend who encouraged me to share this story that I decided to write this tale of woe, woe for my bottom!

I know that the following tale may seem a bit farfetched but stranger things have happened.

It all kicked off one glorious summer day, I had travelled to Johannesburg to watch the test match between Bill Lawries Australian team and South Africa at the Wanderers cricket grounds.

My parents had for once allowed me to go to the match, providing, my father said “as long as I don’t have to pay”

I had saved all my pay from my weekend job at the local and only supermarket in the small mining town on the edge of the Kruger National Park. I told my father I had it all sorted. My mother arranged with her friend for me to stay at her place for the week. Being a major city meant getting around as there were bus routes aplenty.

My mother’s friend showed me the room I was to sleep in telling me I would have peace as her three sons were away camping with their dad so it was just the two of us.

Looking back now, I realise that the Guthrie’s had a FLR as Aunty Wilma as I called her was undoubtedly the head of the home, although we kids never saw it, I am sure she spanked her husband Sandy.

As a youngster I had felt the wrath of this lovely lady’s hair brush on many an occasion. Aunty Wilma always spanked us over her knee and always over our underwear. However they moved away and I got older, I was going to say I grew up but as many here know, little boys never grow up.

Aunty Wilma and I had a good relationship, cemented after the very first spanking I received from her, I think I was about 10 at the time, Tony, her eldest and I were playing a game of Kleilat. 

Kleilat after the Afrikaans word for clay-Klei and switch-lat. Basically the game involves two or more protagonists each armed with a switch and a ready supply of clay, this clay forms the projectile which is launched off the tip of the switch in the general direction of the protagonists. After some practice one could become quite accurate in flinging these clay balls at each other, the one yelping the loudest after being struck is the loser.

Anyway, as I said Tony and I were playing when Aunty Wilma called us in for dinner, Tony immediately started walking for home telling me to hurry as we would get into trouble if aunty Wilma had to call us again.

As  Tony began walking towards his home I launched a clay lump at him, it struck him on the right temple flooring him. When he sat up a few seconds later the target area had swollen to double it’s size and was now a big lump. Tony was in tears and I began to worry about possible repercussions.

Arriving at Aunty Wilma’s back door we entered the house through the kitchen where Aunty was dishing up our dinner. She took one look at the crying Tony and knew what we had been up to. Calmly but with deadly menace she began to scold the two of us, Mark and Paul her  two youngest kids tried to disappear into the upholstery.

After dinner I was sent to retrieve the kleilat while she inspected the now massive lump on Tony’s temple. A short while later I returned to find Tony upended over his moms knee howling as she punished him, looking at me she said; “don’t go too far, you are also getting a hiding. A few minutes later I too was upended over Aunty Wilma’s knee as she spanked my bottom until it too matched the colour of Tony’s bottom, bright red!

Taking both of us into the sitting room we were directed to lay over the sofa arm whereupon she switched our very sore bottoms, we each got 6 of the very best. This switching coming on top of a very hard hand and hair brush spanking left us in no doubt that we had been very soundly punished.

We were both sent to bed after a bath and Aunty Wilma came and spent time cuddling the pair of us, telling us how much she loved us, she stayed with us until we both fell asleep. She then phoned my parents to tell them I was sleeping over, she never told them she had to spank me. I was in love! Getting cuddled after being punished was something alien to me, I was left to cry alone following a spanking, convinced my parents hated me.

There is a saying from way back; “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me.” Today I am convinced that saying has it’s roots in the very flames of hell. Tell a child he is stupid often enough and son he will come to believe it, tell him he is an inconvenience and a burden and he will believe that too.

My mother always referred to me as “The Bloody Shit Brat”. I believed her. During the next 6 years aunty Wilma spanked me often, I always did something to deserve the punishment, she never ever sent me to bed afterwards without cuddling me and telling me she loved me.

Back to the present, the test match was a cracker, two Centuries in the South African innings, one by the Springbok wicket keeper, Dennis Van De Merwe and a double century by Graeme Pollock.

Sunday was a rest day and seeing as there was no cricket I stayed home, Aunty Wilma had to go see someone, she asked if I wanted to come too but knowing she was seeing a friend I chose not to bored and stayed at home.

She wrote the phone number of the friend on a piece of paper and with the normal admonishment for me to behave myself she left.  I read a book for a while and then really got bored. Rooting around in uncle Sandy’s garage I found a .22 bullet. Ah, I thought, this will make a brilliant pendant for a chain. I had watched my older brother Graham make one during his military service one weekend and while it was not a 7.62 mm round it would do.

I remember Graham stressing that you had to carefully separate the bullet and cartridge case so that the powder could be removed. I carefully clamped the bullet in the vice and arming myself with a vice grips carefully clamped the cartridge case, try as I might I could not remove the case, For over an hour I tried to no avail, nothing it seemed would budge the case.

By this time I was so worked up and really angry, without thinking I grabbed a nearby hammer and lashed out at the bullet still clamped in the vice on the workbench. What followed is the result of a temper tantrum, there was a loud bang and when I came round after the shock, there was the bullet still clamped in the vice, of the cartridge case there was no sign.

I stood there in the workshop for a few minutes and with not being able to find the casing of the bullet I decided to go outside and headed for the swimming pool, I was hot and sweaty so I dived into the pool surfacing on my back I slowly paddled just enough to keep myself afloat. Looking down at my feet I spotted a thin trail of red, wondering what this was I stood upright and looked at my chest, there was blood everywhere.

As the realization struck home to me so did the pain. I headed for the poolside and climbed out grabbing a towel and pressed the towel to my chest. The pain mounted and I knew I was in trouble, going into the house I  phoned aunty Wilma, I cannot remember what I said to her but she was outside the house within 5 minutes.

She bundled me into the car and rushed me to the nearest hospital where I emerged an hour later with two stitches in my chest and the remains of the cartridge case in a specimen bottle. The doctor who stitched me up told Aunty Wilma that I was a very lucky child, the remains of the cartridge case had lodged in the thick bone of my sternum, a half inch to the right, my left and my heart would have been hit. Evidently the thickness of the sternum prevented more damage from being done. To this day I carry the scar on my chest.

The only thing aunty Wilma said to me was that she would have to contact my parents, she was adamant that they would have to decide what sort of punishment to give me. I pleaded with her to not involve my parents.

“Mario”, she said, “I have to tell them. I cannot not tell them, they are your parents, they have to know what happened.”

I pleaded saying, “if I was Tony, what would you do?”

“If you were Tony I would make sure you could not sit down for a week, you would get the hiding of your life young man, however that is a moot point, you are not Tony.”

“Aunty Wilma, you are my favourite aunty, you have punished me before and besides didn’t you tell me that if I misbehaved that you would treat me just like your own kids. I know I screwed up and I know I probably deserve a thrashing for throwing a tantrum and being so stupid.”

We soon arrived back at Aunty Wilma’s house and I was sent to wait in my bedroom while Aunty Wilma phoned my parents. I did not have long to wait, about 5 minutes later the door opened and Aunty Wilma poked her head around the corner telling me that she had phoned my parents and that the incident had been reported to them.

I was to phone my parents as soon as I could, Aunty Wilma told me to use the phone in her bedroom, a quick hug and kiss on the forehead and Aunty said she would be waiting downstairs for me

My mother had shown no surprise when Aunty Wilma told her I had nearly killed myself, calling me a stupid brat, Finally before ending the conversation she said that Aunty Wilma would be punishing me.

I put the phone down and went through to the sitting room to wait for Aunty Wilma, hearing me she called to me from the kitchen where I found her making us lunch. We sat and ate together and then she told me I would be staying with them for the rest of the holidays, including Christmas.

The realisation that once again I was being dumped struck home and before I knew it, tears had rolled down my cheeks, Aunty Wilma took my hand and pulled, I came towards her and allowed myself to be seated on her lap as she pulled my head onto her bosom and allowed me to cry out my loss and pain.

How long we sat there I do not know, when I stirred and lifted my head she urged me to kneel at her feet and gently grasping my head between her hands she and I began to talk, we talked, mostly about me, she asked me about my conversation with my mother and between my sobbing and tears she expressed her love for me, not simply as her friends son but her love for me as her son for that is how she felt.

During all this sharing I asked what she intended to do about my punishment. Initially she wanted to hold off punishing me until the following day as she felt I was too exhausted. Finally we agreed that I would get punished after dinner that evening.

I now know the expression “the condemned man ate a hearty dinner”, even though I faced a hard punishment, I still ate a very hearty dinner, Aunty Wilma looking on in amazement.

Dinner over Aunty Wilma sent me to wait in her bedroom, telling me to wait in the corner dressed only in my underwear with my hands on my head.

“Yes Ma’am” I replied as I went through to her bedroom via my room where I got undressed and then dressed in my underwear I stood in the corner, waiting for my punishment.

I heard the sound of her heels on the linoleum flooring, shivers ran up and down my spine as this incredibly erotic sound sent chills through me. The door opened and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Aunty Wilma fetch her hair brush off the dresser and heard her move the stool out into the middle of the room about 4 foot from the end of the bed. By now the suspense had gripped me and to my horror I suffered the most humiliating erection I have ever had.

To my shame, the more I tried to will the erection to disappear it seemed the harder my erection became. “Please Aunty Don’t call me now, give me time to get rid of this hard on,”  I begged silently.

“Mario, come here to me darling.” I turned around and conscious of my erection covered my groin with my hands and walked the five or six yards towards the stool on which Aunty Wilma sat.

As I walked towards her I noticed a rather large strap lying on the bed, I shuddered as I realised I would also be feeling it’s bite along with the bite of Aunty Wilma’s hair brush.

I stood where aunty directed me, reaching up she again cupped my chin in her hands forcing me to look at her face instead of the floor and her bustline.

“You know I love you!” were her words.

Tears came to mine as I responded.

“I have to do this Bug”, she said.

“Yes aunty I know.” Somehow through my tears, I managed to articulate my words into a sentence she could understand.

“Come on then, let’s get this over so we can be friends again.”

This said she gently drew me over her right knee, swinging her left leg over the back of mine, trapping me in place.

“Bug give me you right hand please” I did as I was told and now I had been totally immobilised.

There was no warning as the first stroke struck home right in the centre of my butt with a loud SPLAT. A few seconds later a white hot band of fire erupted as every nerve ending in the impact zone screamed out in agony. With the first stroke out of the way, the rest of the spanking was over within 5 minutes.

The second, third and fourth stroke also struck in the same place, I yelled and twisted trying to move that particular spot out of harm’s way. Trapped as I was, I was going nowhere. Finally, I yelled out “please Aunty, please spank somewhere else!”

Taking pity she did just that, target shifted and SPLAT, SLAP, SPLAT SLAP. Again all on the same spot. The accumulated heat and pain from multiple strokes all striking the same place quickly had me bawling and that’s how I stayed the whole spanking, howling, shrieking and snot flying everywhere.

How long I lay  over Aunties lap after she stopped using that dreadful brush I have no idea. I became aware of my surroundings as Aunty Wilma allowed me to stand, my hands flew to cradle my ruined bottom as I performed that age old dance naughty boys have performed for centuries.

Aunty Wilma got up from the stool and laid out three pillows near the edge of the bed. Gripping my arm she directed me to lay over the edge of the bed my tummy lying on top of the pillows, my head lying flat on the cover. This meant my swollen butt was nicely elevated. Aunty Wilma told me to put my hands under my tummy and make sure they stayed there, threatening to repeat the whole punishment if I disobeyed her.

She stepped back and gently allowed the belt to slide over my bottom before lifting her arm and with force brought the strap crashing down across the width of my bottom. That first stroke unleashed a swathe of agony across my butt, I could not believe it could hurt so much.

Aunty Wilma allowed nearly a full minute between strokes. The second stroke was slightly lower but still across both cheeks, maybe an inch of two lower, not more. All in all it took nearly 10 minutes for those four strokes I was already in spank land after the second one.

The strapping was horrendous, brief but still horrendous, that wide leather belt ripped into my butt with a ferocity I have never experienced before, even today after all these years, those four strokes still remain fresh in my mind.

Finally it was over, it was nearly half an hour before I calmed down enough to understand that at last my punishment was over. Totally exhausted Aunty Wilma helped me get into bed where I lay on my stomach as she sat beside me holding my hand until I fell asleep.

Note, my parents never mentioned the incident to me ever again, Aunty Wilma remained my favourite aunty although it was about 6 years before she spanked me again.         

Out of it

Out of it for a while. Due to a health issue I will be off line for a while. I am going into hospital later this month. Rest assured I will be back. Amongst other things I hope to add to "Mrs. Cameron and Timothy"
Master Mario, that naughty little boy, has a new Top, on several occasions she has blistered my bottom in the last months. Hopefully she will have me over her knee the week after next.
She is beautiful, strict and loving, a mommy to stand in for my mom, she has promised to teach me the error of my ways. I think I'm in love

Mario

Success I got spanked again. Yippee.

Yes it has happened , I got my bare bottom tanned again. Now aunty Andrea Before you get too happy, let me give you some background info first.
As you may know it has been about 18 months since I last went across Aunty Shan's knee,even longer since I had Aunty Nita's Mr Spank make his presence felt on my poor bare bottom. During this period of time I have become a genuine brat of epic proportions. There are two ladies who would love nothing more than to roast my buns, fortunately they live on the other side of the world. ( for me that is)
Both want me to visit, suffice it to say I cannot afford to visit either, Mommy Jools in Auckland and Mommy Luanne in Los Angeles.
I got chatting to a lady on Fetlife and while I am not really into bondage or SM I have met some lovely people there. Anyway I digress, Sue told me about a friend of hers who lives close to me and I messaged her. She replied and wanted to know what my wants and needs were. I explained the current situation and on Friday morning at 11am local time I knocked on the ladies door. We had a lovely time and I was soon in the bad boy position over a stern ladies lap.
I dont' know if I told you good folks about my mistress and Lover who was found dead one morning on the beach in her home town in South Africa. well Miss Scarlet looks very similar to my lover Elmarie.
The spanking was not particularly severe, in fact by Aunty Shan or Aunty Nita's standards it was very mild but so cathartic, Miss Scarlet or aunty Scarlet as she prefers me to call her was stern and very loving. I will be vsiting my new Aunty again and am going to ask her if she would consider Topping me.
I will be adding more tales of my being spanked by this beautiful mature goddess.

Mario

I posted my latest story recently on the Library of Spanking Fiction, thought that I would also share it on my blog.

This story is dedicated to my wonderful mom. She came into my life 27 years ago. Along with her husband, they have become surrogate parents to me, treating me like one of the family. They have laughed with me, cried with me, held me, and counselled me after the death of my natural parents and the trauma of rejection.

Once many years ago, I disobeyed the old man and ended up with a sore ass after he laid into me but mom has never punished me. It has been the one aspect of love never shown to me and I miss it. Until mom actually punishes me, I think that I will always question the depth of her love to me. Yes,  I am an adult but having never felt her love in the form of loving correction via a spanking I have always felt something is missing.

A Mother’s Love

Mom came into my life in 1986. I was 31 years of age and emotionally a wreck. Mom and dad were and still are my ministers. I thought all was well with the world. At least in my mind, all was well. Now today many years later I realise I was a wreck.

I think the first inkling of my emotional instability resulted from  problems between my wife and I; my wife wanted us to go for marriage counselling.

“Yeah right, nothing wrong with me but if that’s what you want then far be for me to stop you from going,” I said after a few days of nagging, correction and meaningful discussion.

 After my capitulation, bowing to the inevitable I took Ruth to the first session at mom’s house. In she went while I waited outside in the car.

I had hardly started reading my book, yes I came prepared, when mom’s youngest son came to the car and told me, “Mom wants you to come inside now, she is waiting to start.”

Now if there is one thing I have learned it is this: When a maternal figure tells you to do something, it is like an executive order. You carry out the instruction at once, or else!

I went inside and found the pair of them sat in the kitchen at the table. Mom looked up at me and told me to sit dawn, I meekly did as told and sat down. Obviously, this session was intended for the both of us, not just for my wife.

To cut a long story short, mom ended the session by asking me a question, “Malcolm Edward, when are you going to take my daughter out for a meal?”

I did not immediately grasp or really hear the question so mom repeated it several times before I wised up and gave her the answer she wanted. Again, I have learned that when a maternal figure calls you by your full name you had better beware because you are in deep trouble and that there is only one acceptable answer.

“Yes Ma’am, I will take her out for a meal.”

“When?” came the reply, I was not out of danger yet.

I will book a table for this weekend, I promise.”

The next words I heard kind of shocked me.

“I will book a table for this weekend, who?”

Man I was sharp, I picked up on that quickly, replying, “I will book a table for this weekend I promise Mom.”

Mom beamed and leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek, “keep your promise son. I love you.”

Mom has been mom ever since.

Several years ago my mother passed away and sitting in my sister’s dining room on the day of the funeral, I discovered that my mother had finally rejected myself and my brother. I was gutted and for a long time I totally withdrew from my loved ones: my wife; my children, and my adopted family.

Finally, things came to a head and I got a phone call from mom, “Son you and I need to talk, Dad will be out visiting so it will only be the two of us.”

I really did not want this conversation to take place but mom was insistent and reluctantly I walked the three doors down the road to her house. Opening the kitchen door, I spotted mom making a cup of tea. On seeing me, she offered me a cup and we chatted as she brewed the tea.

Sitting down she asked me, “How are you feeling today?”

It was as if the sluice gates on the dam wall had opened. All my bitterness at the final rejection from the one person that should have loved me came gushing out in a vitriolic cacophony of hurt and anguish. I poured my heart out to this wonderful loving lady.

Mom did not hold back, she lovingly confirmed that not only did she love me but she was sure my mother loved me too. As mom said this to me I had this flash back to an episode when as an eleven year old I had disobeyed my mother and she punished me for the very first time that I could ever remember. All my previous punishments had been given by my older sister.

My next comment was out of my mouth before I even realised it, “Well I suppose then at one time she did love me, she punished me for being naughty.”

Looking into mom’s eyes I then said, “You have never punished me mom, even though I’m sure I’ve given you reason. Do you really love me?”

You could have heard a pin drop. Mom looked at me, the hurt visible in her eyes and very seriously said, “You are a wonderful son, don’t ever forget that. The day I feel you deserve a spanking, I promise you that you will get the hiding of a lifetime!

It took three years before that warning came true. I screwed up, big time and I got the spanking of my life from my mom.

This is what happened:

Due to the economic crisis in the country, I made some bad choices and as a result ended up in some difficulty, financially.

Things came to a head when my long-suffering wife felt she and the rest of the family had suffered enough so she decided, after much thought, to offer to take over running the finances. Well I lost it! Totally lost it and I threw a king-size tantrum!

Totally shocked, my wife left the house only to reappear about 10 minutes later with one very irate mom in tow. Between the pair of them,  they had obviously decided on a course of action as my wife disappeared upstairs reappearing a couple of minutes later brandishing the biggest hairbrush I have ever seen.

Handing the brush to mom she said, “Here you are, I have had this ready for some months now and I think it is time it was used.”

Turning to me she said, “I want you to go upstairs and change out of those clothes and put on the pair of swim shorts I’ve laid out on the bed. Then you are to come back downstairs. Now Go!” This was followed by a firm smack on my butt.

Mom sat down on the couch and looked at me saying, “Several years ago you accused me of not loving you because I had never punished you. I promised you that I would spank you if I felt you deserved it. Well my boy, that day has come. I’m going to give you the spanking of your life, then you will spend some time in the corner and after that, your darling wife will also punish you. If giving you a spanking shows you that we love you, then by the time we are finished you will know we love you Very much and every time you sit down for the next week you will feel the intensity of that love.”

Having said that,  mom drew me close to her left knee and keeping the pressure on my arm gently drew me over her lap having opened her legs in order for me to lay draped over her right knee while her left leg was laid over the back of my thighs trapping me in place. Mom wasted no more time. Just because she had never punished me did not mean she did not know how! She swung that brush like a pro! Her opening salvo of a dozen strokes had me squirming around like I had ants in my pants. The second dozen had me crying out in agony as the wicked brush landed half a dozen times on exactly the same spot before moving to the opposite cheek with the same result. The third salvo landed on the junction between thigh and bottom, right on the crease. A dozen stokes all on the one spot. I howled, cried, and pleaded but the fire kept burning.

Then mom began to scold me, punctuating each sentence with half a dozen strokes, given hard and relentlessly. “If you continue to behave like a child you will be treated like one.” Then another salvo of spanks rained fire on my ruined bottom.

“Now my son do you know mommy loves you?” Another volley scorched my defenceless bottom, now a deep blood red in colour with white blotches in places. I cried like a baby, no longer a man, a dad, with a family of my own, reduced to a little boy, howling as he lay over his mommy’s lap, his crimson bottom mute testimony to the effectiveness of a hairbrush wielded with precision.

“I’m sorry mommy! Sorry I doubted that you love me! Sorry for being a big brat and losing my temper…”

“Are you going to misbehave again?” Mom questioned me as the fire storm raged uncontrollably on my very sorry bottom due to the punishing brush striking flesh with monotonous regularity. Then suddenly there was no more noise; just silence, except for my sobbing and crying. During this lull in the battle I tried to scream out for mercy, pleading with mom to stop spanking me. However, because of the tears and crying nothing came out; certainly nothing that was understandable. Mom waited a few more seconds and when I still had not answered her last question, she repeated the question, only now she adjusted her aim and scorched my previously untouched thighs, causing me to levitate off her knee as every muscle in my body reacted to this attack.

“No no, please no more! I’ll be good mommy. Please mommy no more…”

Up until then it was the most humbling experience of my life. Here I was,  a middle-aged man, crying and pleading for the storm of fire to die down, all because I’d acted like a little boy and threw a tantrum.

Mom helped me stand, my hands immediately cradling my ruined bottom as I began to dance franticly trying to rub the burn away.

Turning to my wife, mom said, “Ruth, take this little boy and put him in the corner so he can think about what he has done and also think about the punishment he still has coming to him from you.

Ruth grabbed hold of my ear and walked, dragging me to the corner, where she made me stand, my nose pressing against the wall. Smacking my bottom hard, she admonished me to stop rubbing; telling me that mom had not gone to all the trouble of lighting the fire for me to try to extinguish the blaze. “Put those naughty hands on top of your head and don’t you dare rub your bottom any more or so help me I will send you to fetch that cane you have hidden next to your wardrobe and use that on your sorry ass.”

In abject terror at the threat of a caning on top of the punishment I had already received as well as the one still to come, my hands fairly flew to the top of my head where I quickly interlocked them together with such force my knuckles turned white.

The whole time I stood in the corner all I could visualise was the hairbrush impacting my bottom, now beginning to show the early stages of bruising. My roasted rump smarted something terrible. It felt like some sadist was pricking the sore cheeks with a very large needle. Of course, it did not help that the tops of my legs smarted also, serving as a constant reminder of my punishment for not answering mom’s very rhetorical questions quickly enough.

I thought of trying to wheedle my way out of the second spanking, the devil on one shoulder having a running battle with the angel on the other shoulder. Eventually, I resigned myself to accepting the fact that this spanking was long overdue.

Finally, in reality only about fifteen minutes later, I heard Ruth call my name, “Malcolm, seeing as you so wanted to rub your bottom I am going to allow you this once. You may rub as you come here to me.”

I turned and slowly walked towards my lovely wife sitting demurely on the couch. Knowing that she is right handed I stood next to her right knee still furiously rubbing my aching butt.

Ruth looked up at me and asked, “What do you say? Where are your manners little boy?”

I quickly realised that Ruth wanted me to thank her for allowing me to rub my butt and very quickly responded ensuring her of my heartfelt thanks and offering sincere apologies for my rudeness.

Ruth looked at me again, her visage stern and unyielding. “Enough,” was all she said and in mid rub I stopped and looking into her eyes, I leaned forwards and draped myself over her knee.

As I did so, I felt her hands at the waistband of my swim shorts as she dragged them to my knees.

“This mama likes to see where to spank that naughty bottom so the shorts are coming down.”

In the position I was in, I was not about to argue, so stoically I endured the final humiliation my actions caused.

Ruth picked up the brush, immediately lifting it high before bringing it crashing down on the bruised bottom laid out so defenceless before her. A few seconds later, it crashed down on the opposite side. I cried out aloud, already in distress as the pain quickly elevated and overran my defences. Only two strokes and already I was sobbing, pleading out for my wonderful loving wife to have mercy on me. I don’t remember much more than that, but later Ruth confirmed she had given me 24 strokes. The whole episode over her knee had lasted less than 2 minutes but had felt like an eternity.

Mom had stopped her.  I lay on Ruth’s lap until I came down from that magical place called spank-land fifteen minutes later. Emotionally drained and exhausted I cried myself to sleep, waking to find myself cuddled in Ruth’s arms.

I am not sure how long it was before I stood up. Ruth preserving what little dignity I had left dressed me before telling me I still had to thank mom for punishing me so soundly.

I turned around and fell into the most loving arms a little well spanked boy could ever wish for, his mommy. Yes, I call her mom but in that moment as mom hugged me, she was mommy.

Finally, I knew I had a mommy who loved me.   

Authors note: I want to thank the lovely Jools for her inspiration and editing, as well as the encouragement she has given me in writing this story