"Please," I whine, "I don't want an ouchie cummie." The words make me cringe almost before they are out. I'm naked over her towel covered lap as she sits clothed on the bed with her legs out straight. A wooden spoon is making me hump her lap with each stinging impact. It stings but isn't overwhelming yet though I know that this spanking will end with the hairbrush and me crying like a naughty little boy because that is how it always happens.
"Not today, baby," she says softly and sweetly. "I'm not in the mood and I know it has been a long time since you made squirties. You know you can't last long enough if you are so horny."
She is right. I can't hide when I start to get horny. My need seems to ooze out of my pores. Hugs, kisses, errands, chores, favors, and flowers; basically telegrams I want sex. She really hates it when we spoon and my erect penis throbs against her bottom like it is trying to interrupt her sleep for a little sexy time.
And little it usually is. If I get my way, it will all be over in less than a minute and then she will be have to get up and clean up or risk getting a UTI. She is prone to those.
No, this is the pattern more often than not. She knows how long I can go between ejaculations before I get annoying, crazy, or just very naughty. She doesn't like it if I masturbate and she really hates if I have a wet dream. About once a week, this is how we deal with my annoying little problem.
"And you know the rule, baby: no cum-cums without crying, no tingles without tears.
"Now hurry up, baby. Make your naughty squirts," she encourages. Funny thing is that she starts spanking harder.
"Ow, ow, please, too ouchie," I complain.
"Nonsense! I am just spanking you with the small wooden spoon."
Each crack of the wood on my bottom feels like a wasp stinging me. I try to focus on my penis rubbing against the soft towel on her even softer thighs. Though my penis is aroused and erect, the fire on my bottom eclipses any good feelings. I hump her lap mechanically hoping biology will take over and expel my seed from my body into the towel.
It doesn't help in the least that her left hand holding the hairbrush rests against the small of my back. As stingy as the spoon is, the brush will be so much worse. A whining 'ooo' sound escapes my lips as I flash forward to when it will be employed as her righteous tool of purification. Hopefully I will have a satisfying mind warping orgasm before that happens.
She spanks me out of time with my rutting keeping me off rhythm. If my eyes are open, I am looking at my "cry blankie": a soft baby's swaddling blanket that protects the quilt on our bed from any drool, snot or tears that I might leak. Its baby girl design is almost as emasculating as the rubber duck theme of the fluffy terry cloth towel beneath my hard but pink little penis.
I close my eyes and try to imagine that we are mating but abandon that in favor of a vision of a hairy male with a weapon emerging from his crotch approaching a hairless nubile and nervous virgin girl.
"Is your pee-pee hard? I can barely feel it," she says breaking the spell of the vision in my head. I mew in protest making a sound that is soft and pathetic.
The humiliation triggers the girl in my fantasy to shift to a mature woman whose sex is enshrouded in thick pubic hair. The adonis shape morphs into a soft hairless specimen with an eager but insignificantly skinny erection. He is the picture of pubescent awkwardness and sexual confusion.
I moan in frustration at the humiliation my brain unleashes on me. The child's hard-on throbs and pulses as he positions himself above what I fear is his mother and then sinks effortlessly into her depths. Clearly she barely registers the intrusion as he nestles into her bosom. She hugs him maternally, not like a lover. He thrust once, twice, and on the third, freezes as his member pulses imperceptibly to her and dribbles out his vital essence.
"Uh huh, I'm trying. Ow, ooo, owie," I whine.
"Your little boom-boom is getting so red and I haven't even started using the hairbrush." She never wants me to forget about the hairbrush. I moan in impotent protest.
The man/boy in my fantasy lifts off his patient lover and her sex comes into a view again. The hairy forest protecting the entrance is matted down exposing her dark lips. "Now give mommy special kisses," she says as a rivulet of semen appears.
As he leans his face toward her sex, I finally feel a tingle just below the tip of my penis. An "oh" escapes my mouth and I redouble me rutting. Never when making love to my wife did I ever last this long. As if reading my mind, "you are lasting so long today," she says, "what a big boy you are becoming!"
From the initial tingle of sexual pleasure to orgasm is disappointingly brief. "Oh look at my big boy! Are you getting close?" she asks.
"Yes, I, um, ow, yes, I need to make squirties," I declare loudly.
"Good boy! Time for the hairbrush then." Though I couldn't see her face, I knew she was smiling.
There was just a slight pause as she switched to the hairbrush from the spoon. I tried to capitalize on the pause but it wasn't enough before the hard wood of the vicious little paddle set fire to my already stinging bottom.
"Is it coming out, baby?"
"Almost, oh, ow, owie, ow, oh, ugh, please, just a, ohhhh," I chanted. It happened but all I felt was the friction of the thick fluid force its way through my shaft and through the little slit. No tingling goodness; just fluid transfer from deep inside me out and onto my fluffy towel.
Only seconds later, my fight was gone and it was her will being done. Though I kicked and clawed at the bed, my bottom absorbed her rage. She didn't keep the assault up for long but she didn't have to either. I was broken. The only sounds were the sharp crack of the wood against my abused flesh and my crying.
"Alright, get up," she said before I even realized she had stopped spanking. I know better than to not move quickly. Penalty spanks are a real possibility.
I pushed myself up with my arms and sat back on my ankles. The proud little erection was long gone as was the tight scrotum holding my testicles. The air felt cold on my semen covered tummy. Through my tears, I could see a yellow duck on the pink towel obscured by the translucent film of smeared semen.
"Wash your towel and put on some clothes. Let's go get some dinner."
