Errands

Disclaimer: This is a story of fantasy and is not only not intended to condone or approve of the behaviors contained herein, there is absolutely nothing about treating children as sexual objects that the author approves of, desires, or would dream of doing to an actual child. This work is written in the context of age based role play.

If you cannot understand this, have difficulty distinguishing fantasy from reality, or are in any way confused about what is appropriate and legal sexual expression, stop reading now.

Lastly, I am not a pedophile, don't approve of sexually assaulting children, and only use these themes in my writing because I empathize and identify with the victims of these stories; not the perpetrators. Some of us like to be embarrassed, ashamed, humiliated, spanked, and to be nervous, anxious, and afraid. Weird, right? To read more about why these stories were written, please see the "What This Blog is and is NOT -- READ THIS FIRST" post.

All that said, this story is about a dominant mommy and her little. The mommy character was sexually abused as a child and she relates a few stories as if she maybe enjoyed the experiences. In real life, child sexual assault victims have related or surrogate psychological damage manifesting in eating disorders, promiscuity, and others. Usually there is a control dynamic to their mental health as they struggle with being powerless at the time of their abuse. They also fight with the reality of being a victim who may also have been manipulated into complicity.

At any rate, I tried to capture this tension in the mommy character. It is really dark.

The Pattern

"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."

Preparing Myself

Soft scrotum tightly protecting two delicate precious testicles gently caress my thighs. Desperate erection so firm that it barely bobs as I walk. The weight of my genitals engorged with blood and with no clothing to support them. It is a sensation that almost never happens except when I am walking through the house to my spanking. 

Even if I know that she will spank me more than once, it is the first walk where it feels perfect. Cold bottom tingling in anticipation. A penis innocent even in its arousal. Later it will be coated with pre-cum, the wet tip cold, thighs spotted with slippery drops, and shaft and scrotum stained. It will look like an adult man's dirty needy organ ready to spray a sticky mess in or at least on any creature. Not so on that first walk. Hairless and pink, it is hard to believe that the cute little pee-pee could be capable of anything so vile.

The body of the owner has changed and admittedly the up angle isn't as dramatic as it was when I was younger. Otherwise, it is the same organ that drove my imagination, that made me take risks, and that tortured me all these years. As I walk though the house feeling the soft skin caress my thighs, I feel like the little boy in the cold empty house walking to my pretend disciplinarian. "I'll be good mommy! Please no spankees." echos in my head.

So long ago, I would walk home from school in the winter cold imagining that a spanking was waiting for me. I was at least ten when I started playing this game and I know it was a ritual for at least three years. In the world of my imagination, every scenario would play out on those cold walks.

Sometimes I would have a note from the teacher that I know would make my mother angry enough to spank me. Other times it was a test that I failed that she needed to sign. Other kids had to get their parents' signatures; I was never even close to suffering that embarrassment and I worked hard to be sure it stayed that way. Still, the fear that it could happen haunted me as did the fear of what the penalty might be.

My imagined spanking sometimes would happen right after I walked in the door. An angry mother just off the phone with a teacher standing in the foyer holding a wooden spoon waiting for me. I dreamed of not even getting my coat off before the spanking would start.

Other times I see myself pleading with her for leniency even as I took off my clothes down to the bare. And then shivering on the cold tile with my skinny pale bottom visible through the front door as she lectured me.

What if my sister was home? What if she had a friend? What if mom wasn't home yet and I would have to wait until she got home, or after dinner, or even later?

I would always end up completely naked even if my sister or some number of her friends were at the house. The fantasy incorporated the revolving door of her new best friend or friends. Each seemed cuter than the last.

Sent to my room to 'get ready' for my spanking, I would have to take off all my clothes. Then the walk through the open house to one of the rooms and their respective spanking implement. The kitchen with the ugly linoleum floor, the four straight back kitchen chairs, and all the wooden spoons. I fantasized endlessly imagining a precise sting of the spoon that bloomed slowly over my whole bottom to be as hot as charcoal in a summer grill. Even that ugly linoleum floor became a fetish item as I imagined myself staring at it as I was upended over mom's lap.

My parents bedroom could only mean the hairbrush. It was a frightening little club that rested on mom's dresser. I had never seen her brush her hair with it. Though she probably didn't mean it, the hairbrush was a silent warning to me to behave. In reality, it was her grandmother's and she would have sooner burned the house down that risk breaking it on the bottom of a naughty child.

If it was to be the bath brush, the room was to be the bathroom. The almost completely tiled acoustic nightmare of a room was bright even at night with the lights off. She would sit on the edge of the tub with my naked and sometimes wet body over her lap facing the mirror on the door. If I looked up, I could watch my own spanking and my face as it contorted. As we all know, the echo chamber and thin door hid nothing about what was happening in the room. Number one or number two, every strain, fart, splash, and tinkle was broadcast to anyone on the other side of the door and well down the hall. The spanking would be as loud as war and my cries of anguish and repentance would be read repeatedly back to me by my sister.

Of course, I might have to traverse the entire length of the house, past every room with a door and through every room without. Sister and guests would see me, spy on me, follow, point, laugh, but sometimes would comfort me afterwards by turning my sorrow into bliss.

Living room was that distant destination and it had the most options. The furniture allowed for everything from being bent over my mother's lap while sitting in eight different places, to being draped over the ottoman or bent over the back a couch or chair. And since the living room had no good spanking implements, it was an excellent setting not just for the traditional hand spanking but for the ritual of "fetching" whatever it was mom wanted to spank me with. The living room also afforded the best viewing accommodations in case my fantasy involved witnesses.

In each one act play that I performed in my head on the way home from school, there was a little boy that said one or both of my catchphrases: "Mommy, please, I don't want a spanking," "No, mommy, no ouchies, mommy." Always a selfish plea that mommy will spare me but never an admission of guilt, explanation, regret, empathy, or even acknowledgment that anything had been done wrong. Just a naughty little boy that proves he really should be spanked until he learns his lesson.

As further proof of this naughtiness, the entire walk home I would be struggling with an uncomfortable erection in tight underwear. Certainly if my dreams of a spanking were so exciting, I would undoubtedly have an erection if it really happened.

At that age, I was as beautiful as it turned out I would ever be. Later, I would be masculine and handsome, but when I was that young, I was a beautiful specimen except for my face that was an acne battlefield and teeth that seemed thrown at random into my mouth. Besides the hair on my head, I was nearly hairless. I was thin but looked a little bit muscular because every muscle was visible. Really, I was more like a living anatomy model designed to show muscles and tendons. Pale skin seemed almost see-through like if there was a bright light behind me, it could shine right through.

My penis when flaccid was cute and pink. When erect, I would point up so rigidly that I could look straight down at the slit. The tip would tint blue like an angry toddler holding its breath.

Those walks home in a dream pulled me away from the reality of the gray cold winter, my family's problems, the bullies at school, the girls that ignored me, and the turmoil of my pubescent confusion. It was a time where the hidden stress of being in junior high resolved itself. No longer would I fear the unknown but would actually experience it. Furthermore, I would be the center of attention and not ignored as my parents drifted toward their divorce.

The fantasies incorporated the reality that I really didn't know what was in store when I walked in the door. Many times the house would be empty. Parents at work and my sister either still in school or off with a friend. Other times, it would be an angry ugly place as my parents vacillated between the hot and cold war that they called a marriage. My sister and I hadn't yet realized that having our friends at the house was the secret to keeping our parents from fighting.

I was always relieved when no cars were in the driveway as I walked down the street. My erection would throb excitedly with the news of no adults in the house. If my sister wasn't home, it was solo play time when I would try to act out the script I had written on the way home. If I wasn't sure why the house was empty, the play would take place in my bedroom or the bathroom but when I knew the stage was empty, the whole house could be involved.

This was the beginning of my preparation ritual. After staging the house to be sure it looked like I was doing homework or some other worthy activity like practicing the piano, I would dash to my room. In the early days, it was almost enough just to be naked in my room. This quickly progressed to self-spanking and then the different positions for the spanking and the various improvised spanking implements.

Around this time, I would wake up in the morning humping my mattress through my flannel pajamas. It would feel good, then great, and then I would have to pee. Oblivious as I was to all things, I only slightly noticed that my jam-jams were sticky in the morning when I took them off and crunchy at night when I put them back on. Though those were my first orgasms, my first REAL orgasm was after after one of these walks home.

I guess I had stopped having my morning releases and was finding myself erect more and more. For days in a row, it seemed to be almost constant. One day, all the pieces came together: "the talk" with my dad that didn't make any sense, something I overheard the big kids talk about, health class the year before, etc. In the cold empty house kneeling on my bedroom floor with my pants and underwear pulled down just enough but still wearing my big puffy winter jacket, the lights off, the cold flat dreary light through the window, and a dirty dish rag I picked up in the laundry room as I raced through the house in my left hand, I lightly rubbed my angry erection for just seconds before it exploded onto the rag. It was nominally pleasurable but the relief was extraordinary.

There was a magical time just before I discovered masturbation when my libido raged but I had no idea what to do about it. At about the same time, the parents split and mom got a job. Suddenly, we were latchkey kids with a couple hours to ourselves after school.

On the days I was home alone, I would play out my spanking fantasies. Sometimes I would even end up outside in the playhouse in the backyard, on the front porch hidden behind the tree, or just in the cold garage. If I wasn't naked when I left the house, my pants were down shortly after I got outside. The freezing cold air of the midwest winter was a tantalizing sensation on my little genitals and vulnerable bottom cheeks. One time with my pants and underwear pulled down to my thighs, I stood on the front porch facing the street. It was foggy out and I thought no one could see me but then I heard cheering though I never saw who saw me.

Another time, I harvested icicles off the gutters until I found one that seemed like it would fit. I rushed inside with my prize and in the privacy of the bathroom, proceeded to insert it into my bottom. To this day, I can still feel the cold slippery phallus penetrate me surprisingly easily. It was scary, naughty, and exciting though the cold was so unpleasant.

The days my sister was home too became opportunities to explore each other with naked games like doctor and house. Sometimes I spanked her but more often she spanked me. I remember vividly the rough orange wool thread of the couch as I lay face down and naked for a spanking with a big piece of roughly paddle shape wood from the garage. She spanked me hard and I panicked under the sting.

Another time, I was sent to her room to wait for a spanking but mom came home before it happened. Sister ran into the room to tell me the bad news (that I already knew, actually) and as she ran into the room, she found me sitting naked and aroused on the edge of her bed. The look of desire and disappointment on her face when she saw my erection has forever haunted me.

We played the same silly games seemingly for years. Fondling, spanking, poking butts, and even kissing naughty places but nothing that would be considered sex. Still, I was learning about what men and women really did in bed. Mom bought us books but the one that was really informative was the one from her bedside table. There I learned that boys and girls masturbated. I tried to do it to my sister but we got nowhere. 

Feeling guilty and having just discovered masturbation, I offered to let her watch me do it. She said OK and we went into the bathroom where I laid down naked on the floor and rubbed my little erection for less than a minute before making a puddle of semen on my tummy. Immediately, I regretted what I had done.

Then there was the spanking play. We were getting to the age where it was pretty obvious our naked games were getting weird but she had an idea about giving me a spanking as part of some scenario. We went into a bedroom and closed the door. I undid my pants and pulled them down to just below my bottom before bending over the foot of the bed. She didn't spank me long or hard but I made a fuss like she was really spanking me. My wiggling and kicking stimulated me and pretty soon good feelings were starting in my penis. Just as my orgasm arrived, there was a knock on the bedroom door. I was up in a hurry and pulling up my pants even as my ejaculation continued.

It could have been so much worse but it was almost how close it was to being so bad that makes it haunting. When I turned around to face my concerned parent, my orgasm had just ended. Sticky semen was on my hand, the bedspread, and especially in my tight white y-front underwear. I was confused by all that but felt lucky to not have been seen with my pants down.

If it wasn't the nexus of my budding kink, it was certainly a shaping event. Shortly after that, my playtime with my sister did end. It was a natural end. We both had discovered what adult sex was and knew that it wasn't something we should experiment with together. Interestingly, we both flirted openly and aggressively with each other's friends and at one point, I had to intervene because I thought one of my friends was becoming creepy.

Those childhood experiences that happened and the ones that didn't created the ritual that became my sacred time of preparation. Spanking time had to be preceded by this private time when I would have no distractions except to anticipate what was to come. It is a time of anxiety but also eager anticipation. Even though my spankings are painful, embarrassing, and humiliating, they also almost always result in sexual satisfaction in the form of an orgasm.

The fact that spankings "almost" always have that little bit of pleasure tucked in near the end lends mystery and hope. Like Pavlov's dogs, I am conditioned to be ready for sex even as I prepare for my punishment. My penis even when flaccid is engorged and darker in color. My testicles encase tightly in my scrotum and pull up against my body and away from danger. When erect, I am turgid and look to be seconds from ejaculation.

After hours if not days of anticipation, my spanking ritual starts with private time in the bathroom. I have to be clean, groomed, and ready myself for my punishment. I don't know what would happen if I wasn't but I don't want to find out.

There will be no potty breaks so I have to take care of that first but then I always have to bathe. This is when I make sure that I am totally hairless from the waist down. I'm not very hairy anyway, but stubble and stray hairs are unacceptable.

Sometime while I am brushing my teeth or my hair is when the butterflies invade my stomach. It is like a light switch gets flipped and suddenly the spanking to come seems like a really bad idea.

In the mirror, a scared little boy looks back at me. His slightly chubby body is pale and soft. 

Even though I am into spanking, I get super anxious when I know it is going to happen. Spankings hurt and even though I need mine and find it arousing, I know that at least some of it will be agony. To get past this, I will try to focus on the good feelings I will experience when I have my naughty little orgasm while squirming on her lap.

It is silly because I could just pleasure myself at any time without negative consequence but I pretend that I am not allowed and that I am only allowed to have my little fun during my spanking.

My little orgasms are just the ultimate expression of my selfish nature. I don’t deserve that pleasure especially when I’m not giving her pleasure at the same time.

No, if I’m going to make my little squirts, I should have a bright red bottom and tears in my eyes when I do. Rather than being in one of her warm orifices, my penis is smashed between her thighs and my stomach. To stimulate myself, I have to push back toward the spoon, paddle or brush raining fire on my bottom.

In the hours leading up to my spanking, my erection haunts and mocks me. I have to hide it from co-workers, people at the gym (especially in the shower!), on the bus, and even from her. At the same time, I have butterflies in my stomach, stress sweat soiling my shirt, and a nervous stutter and laugh.

I stand in front of the mirror and inspect the naughty boy staring back at me. The body is of a man but the anxious look in his eyes reveals the terrified little boy inside. He isn’t fat but not muscular either. His tummy is full of butterflies and below that, a pink penis rests in repose like a frightened turtle. My testicles are retracted as well and look equally soft, vulnerable and frightened in their scrotum purse.

She will ignore my genitals during my punishment. Her focus will be on my bottom. I turn to inspect my plump bottom, the target of her wrath. It is also pale and only a little pink from the shower. Shortly the almost unblemished skin will be welted and an angry red. Indeed, it will absorb her anger as she transfers her disappointment into my helpless flesh.

I know the die has been cast, the spanking will happen. The butterflies churn in my tummy and I feel myself perspire. I don’t want to feel my bottom sting and burn. I don’t want to kick, whine, and cry. I don’t want to be reduced to a sobbing sorry little boy. In spite of all of that, I know from experience that my adult penis will be naughty even as I am being punished. It will just be like that fateful time when we were caught but so much more painful. I will finally receive the punishment I was due that day.

Actually, I will receive the punishment I was due each time I took a risk. Each unprotected sexual encounter. Each time in a car or park when I could have been caught. The girls that fell for my charm and let me do things. My selfish orgasms when she wasn't in the mood. All of those times when I prematurely orgasmed and didn't satisfy her.

It is all so shameful and embarrassing. She doesn't know some of the things I am most ashamed of even. The lowlight real of my risky sexual experiences plays in my head. To my horror whenever this happens, I find myself becoming aroused.

Looking down, I see my penis emerge, lengthen, thicken, and prepare for a sexual experience. Proof that this spanking is deserving proudly displays itself. In mere moments I will be standing before her with the erect penis of an eager lover. She will briefly inspect my straining member that has disappointed her so many times. Though throbbing in his need for release, his diminutive size would in other circumstances be an almost comical imitation of a man’s genitals. Instead, I will appear as a misguided pubescent boy who misunderstood his babysitter’s kind words as an overture.

My penis knows that relief is in sight even as I receive my due punishment. Skinny organ pressed between soft thighs and softer tummy receiving unintended stimulation even while the wood of the hairbrush cracks loud staccato on my unprotected bottom flesh. The tingles just below the tip a welcome distraction to the penis’ owner.

She knows that my “little distraction” will have to be solved before I fully appreciate my spanking. After a thorough warming, she will slow her pace and force. She acquiesces to allow genitals to fulfill their primary yet misguided function. Permission is not granted; I am merely permitted to shame and soil myself on her lap.

The brief moment of sexual pleasure ends quickly as the momentarily forgotten inferno is reignited. Sensing my ejaculation, she will redouble her efforts.

It will end only minutes later but those minutes will feel like hours. Tears, cries for mercy, promises, kicking, wiggling, clenching, and the sound of the hairbrush doing its good and righteous work. During it all, my proud penis retreats to safety even as my precious wasted spend is smeared into a sticky film across my genitals and stomach.

And then silence except for my weeping. I am allowed mere seconds over her lap before being encouraged off. She will see me in my broken state: soft genitals sticky with my shame, unsteady knees, and a face streaked with tears scrunched from my crying. Fearing more spanking, I begin the work of cleaning her lap.

But first, the walk. 

My Perfect Spanking

I was asked (on Quora) what my perfect spanking or dream scenario is. The question is maybe a little icky coming from a stranger though perhaps more so coming from a friend. Anyway, here was my attempt at an answer.

The Naughty Chair

This is another post that is not going to be for everyone. Lots of dick pics and frankly, not very flattering ones at that. That is sort of the point, actually. As I write this, I still haven't pushed the Publish button and I not certain I will ever muster the courage to do so. I am not sure I am brave enough to post so many admittedly unflattering pictures of my most private parts.

The story is a mix of truth and fiction. The pictures are of me but staged in a re-enactment. I don't know why I feel it is necessary to mention except that I have been accused of "enhancing" reality to better match my fantasies.

Truth is it is always better in our heads no matter what we are recalling, writing about, or whatever. If we are the hero of the story, this is just how it is.

One last note: the pictures are from a couple different "photo shoots" as will be evident from my public hair. I wish I had the body of pre-pubescent boy complete with the body hair. Alas, I am not and have neither so I keep searching for what looks best on what I've got. 

Spanked Like I'm 12-years-old Again

This is an expansion of a post I did "elsewhere" but I liked writing about the idea. My post was a wee bit long for that site too. It fits better here. It isn't a story but the bullet points a bit further down are sort of steamy.

Adult spanking comes in many, many flavors. This creates the usual problem for those that like a kink where it isn't just about finding someone else that likes our kink but we have to find the person that likes our particular flavor of that kink. To use the ice cream analogy, we might all end up at Ben & Jerry's but we are all over the map when we get there.

Clearly I, Johnny Fessée, am into a really specific kind of sexual spanking that involves complex age-play role playing. This works for me because when we play, I get to be a little boy, get my bottom well-spanked, and still have a sexual release.

Understandably, many people are really uncomfortable with age play where one, both or more of the participants pretend to be a child. From the outside, this looks like a bunch of pedophiles that are doing the next best thing. That isn't it. At all. Sure, there are freaks out there but most of us that pretend to be young, very young, or with one of those people in their sex play have zero interest in children sexually.

Also, we weren't all molested or wish we had been molested. I get a little tired of the "broken" label when it comes to sexual tastes. It seems overly Freudian and simplistic--like a movie where the pro/antagonists origin story is a single life event that wounds or shapes them inextricably. Real life doesn't work that way. Our brains are shaped by repetition, consistency, environment, and so much more.

Sure, some of us came from horribly traumatic moments and dysfunctional relationships but for most of all of us, our wiring just is. If there is a perfect brain, it is only theoretical. This means we are all broken and if we are all broken, well, then it is just a matter of degree.

I can't speak for everyone that likes their age play a little on the taboo side but I believe we want to 'recapture' a simpler time, an innocence, a naïveté, and a time when we were healthy, beautiful, fit, and just discovering our sexuality. First, it is total fantasy because at the time, we were confused, scared, and sexually useless. Speaking as a male who is a pretty quick shot at my advanced age, when I was emerging from puberty, touching my erection could create a sticky mess in just seconds. I wanted sex so bad at that age but it would have lasted seconds. Mere seconds.

There is probably a "chasing the dragon" component for many of us. Either in real life or our deep fantasy universe, our first sexual experience was probably at a young age. It was an "extreme" experience regardless whether it was healthy, unhealthy, or traumatic. If it was delightful, we may be seeking to relive that first eye-opening experience. If it was less awesome or outright nasty, we may be looking to "process" what happened to us by recreating the experience in ways where we control it. 

Though it may seem counter-intuitive, recreating a difficult experience can be very therapeutic. We can take a time when we were powerless, afraid, and felt in danger but then put our adult self into the same or similar situation and come out victorious. It is incredibly empowering especially when coupled with a sexual experience.

For whatever the reason, we may want to really feel like we did so many years ago. But it is so difficult! It feels like if I could just turn off the adult part of my brain and not see my adult self when I look down or in a mirror, could I be there again? I wish.

But why 12? For many of us, this was a crossroads age. Though not really a child, we probably still acted like children. We were far from being adults as well though we would have moments when we could be fairly mature. Never lasted for long, of course. At the same time, our bodies had turned against us but were also giving us all sorts of new feelings as well. We would be pushing for our autonomy from our parents, getting into trouble, freaking out about our body image, and wanting like crazy to have a boyfriend or girlfriend while being utterly clueless about what we would do with a romantic partner. I remember when a girl said she would go out with me being like when a dog actually catches the car it is chasing; I had no idea what to do next and she broke up with me days later.

If you aren't into getting spanked, it can be hard to fathom why this was the ideal time because it means that our idealized mythologs could be the sort of people that did not deserve to be punished but who would have had a conflicted multilayered experience if it happened. We chose as our ideal personas, personas that would be crushed, humiliated, traumatized, and scarred by a spanking.

Of course, your reasons may be different than mine but so many of us who are obsessed with spanking love that age. Innocent yet sexual. Mature yet powerless. 

All of that said, to feel like you are a 12-year-old getting a spanking you need to be spanked like a 12-year-old. Everything about what is happening has to be like it was back then.

What made the 12-year-old me be the 12-year-old me was the innocence and the fear. It was super scary thinking about getting a spanking when I was 12. That fear, anticipation, nervous excitement, and embarrassment are what we need to recreate to capture that feeling. In addition, there was a helplessness or sense of inevitability to the spanking. We were in control before we were naughty but then it is like a light switch and we went from “good” to “bad”; the spanking flips the switch back and there is just no other way besides the ritual and results of a sound spanking.

In order to recreate that feeling, we need to address each of those feelings and mimic them as best we can:

• Anticipation: Don’t skimp on anticipation. As much fun as an impromptu spanking may be, you lose the feeling of waiting for it to happen with those. I like to have a good day or more to think about what is to come. Don’t put it out of your mind either. Find a way to think about it all the time.
• Embarrassment: This is tricky because the things that embarrassed us when we were 12 may not be the same things when we are adults. A 12yo will not be comfortable with being naked in front of anyone. Most adults are.
  
  I’ve tried a couple things here like shaving off all my pubic hair, not covering my erection, dressing like a little boy, cross-dressing, etc. but really it takes two-to-tango on this. Embarrassment is a feeling about yourself but humiliation is when someone else makes you feel embarrassed. Let your spanker know that you need to be humiliated and give them the list of “fair” targets. For me, penis size is awesome as is my arousal but also how my bottom jiggles when I’m spanked or even how I look fetching the next thing I’m going to be spanked with.
• Dress: I think a spanking should always be on the bare bottom of a naked person. That said, until the clothes come off, dress the part of a 12yo if you can. Street clothes might be more difficult but pajamas, nighty, underwear appropriate for a child, etc. all not only put you into that place and time but also are a little silly on adults which enhances the embarrassment factor.
• Place: Where you were spanked when you were 12 (or where you think you would have been spanked) is probably where you should be spanked now. It might be tempting to just use your bedroom but there is something to be said for that long walk through the house to the kitchen, living room, or study where you get your spankings and where maybe a sibling or guest might see. The bathroom is great because all the tile makes it that much louder. Regardless, make it a special place where either your spanker is waiting or you wait for your spanker. I don’t think it should be where you two normally bump uglies or whatever.
• Implement: This is also important. BDSM people have all manner of interesting devices but when you were 12, the implements are much more pedestrian, common household objects like wooden spoons, hairbrushes, belts, or maybe a paddle.
• Reason: If you are the sort of person that needs a reason why you getting a spanking, keep it also age appropriate. Spanking offenses are character issues, not criminal issues. You get a spanking for a bad grade, lying, being mean, talking back, or not eating your vegetables. Arson, not so much. If you need to manufacture a reason, blame it on ‘playing with yourself’ because that is embarrassing, childish, and we are all “guilty” of it.
• Arousal: Maybe not everyone went into a spanking when they were 12 with tingling in the nether regions but if that was you, make sure that you are ready for action before the spanking starts. Nervous excitement may need to be manufactured now that we are older and in a little more control of our parts. Get to the edge. If you’ve got a little corner time to do before your spanking, this is an excellent way to spend that time. A very naughty way to spend that time, I might add.
• Fear: As adults, we should have negotiated a little with our spanker about how much is too much. This means that we won’t be spanked beyond what we can handle and this is a good thing. The challenge then is to make sure we aren’t super sure we can handle what we ask for. Safewords exist for when your mouth writes checks your bottom can’t cash.
  
  I’m into erotic spankings but even so, in order to capture this fear (which is quite the aphrodisiac for me) I want to be spanked hard and fast after I have my little accident. I ask her every time before my spanking to spank me extra hard if I make naughty.
• Words: Put away your adult words for everything when you are talking about your spanking and when it is happening. I use proper, clinical, or child’s words for everything: penis, vagina, doo-dad, pee-pee, thingy, tickle, tingle, orgasm, ejaculation, semen, sperm, stickies, messy, naughty, no-no, boom-boom, buttocks, bottom, special hugs, intercourse, etc. Don’t use the adult words or anything that makes your parts adult or sexual. Call each other using nicknames, baby names, or familial titles like mommy, daddy, ...
  
  Especially tricky here is the word itself: spanking. Call it what it is. Don't say it is smacking, beating, whipping, whopping, or any other word that isn't just as humiliating and childish as a spanking. Remember: this is the punishment fit for a child.
  
• Helpless: Easily the most difficult to recreate is the helpless and hopeless feeling that what is going to happen is just going to happen and there is nothing we can do about it. For this, I like bargaining: try to get out of your spanking. Your spanker should know this is what you are going to do and to just not let you talk your way out of it. Through all of it, don’t argue like a lawyer, user your 12yo vocabulary and combine that with 12yo logic: why shouldn’t you get your spanking? “Because I don’t want a spanking,” or “it’s too ouchy.”
  
  It is tricky because some of us have very scripted spanking rituals that we want but if you can, give you spanker as much freedom as possible to improvise. Positions, implements, rooms, timing, … let them change things, give you extra spanks, or change the plan. Give up as much control as you can.
• Acting: When you were 12 and getting that spanking, you certainly didn’t take your spanking quietly, stoically, or like you deserved it. You complained, cried, wiggled, and let everyone know how you felt. Use your little words, don’t swear, but definitely wiggle like it might actually help. Don’t really fight because, you know, adults can do a whole lot more fighting than a kid but act like you are really getting a spanking.
• Innocence: When we were 12, we didn’t know how all the sex parts worked. You aren’t going to be able to fake that level of naiveté but you can sort of ignore what is happening to you. It is best if your spanker is in on this, but if you are producing lubrication, are erect, ejaculate, or orgasm don’t treat it like a proper sexual experience or expression: these are signs of your naughtiness that should be commented on, belittled, tsk-tsk’d, and absolutely not hidden or left unnoticed. Someone was especially naughty during their spanking and your spanker should make you feel that way with words and maybe actions.
• Crying: Look, spankings really hurt or are supposed to really hurt. You probably cried when your were 12 and you need to want to cry now. Crying is hard because it is less physical and more emotional pain. Still, it won’t happen if you don’t let it happen or want it to happen.

That’s all I can come up with. Good luck!

The Game

Disclaimer: This is a story of fantasy and is not only not intended to condone or approve of the behaviors contained herein, there is absolutely nothing about treating children as sexual objects that the author approves of, desires, or would dream of doing to an actual child. This work is written in the context of age based role play.

If you cannot understand this, have difficulty distinguishing fantasy from reality, or are in any way confused about what is appropriate and legal sexual expression, stop reading now.

Lastly, I am not a pedophile, don't approve of sexually assaulting children, and only use these themes in my writing because I empathize and identify with the victims of these stories; not the perpetrators. Some of us like to be embarrassed, ashamed, humiliated, spanked, and to be nervous, anxious, and afraid. Weird, right? To read more about why these stories were written, please see the "What This Blog is and is NOT -- READ THIS FIRST" post.

Caught Playing With Myself

I was just so horny that it made me stupid. It isn't that I am not allowed to masturbate but she gets so jealous when she finds out. It seems that she wants to be my only sexual outlet and though she knows that boys need relief sometimes, she would prefer we had sex instead.

What she doesn't understand is that I might really need it and then if I ask her and she says no or not now or whatever, I still have a hard little problem. It isn't like I can be rejected and then slink off to do my business. I don't think she likes that at all. Sometimes relief is better than taking the risk.

The problem is that if she wants some lovin' from me but I'm not ready, willing, and able, that is bad too. Ideally, she would like me ready for sex all the times she wants sex but for me to just calm down when she isn't in the mood.

The scene played out in my head all day making my penis hard and head foggy. I had seen a picture of a male transvestite trying to stroke his penis. S/he was hairless with small breasts and hips that flared like a woman's. The pale penis and testicles were flaccid, soft, and small like a boys. This beautiful creature invaded my thoughts. I imagined gently sucking on that delicate penis/clitoris. Something about the feminine beauty and the male genitals had me confused and aroused.

I found myself home and alone with an erection that was almost painful. At first, I went to the bathroom for a quickie but once my pants were down, I got braver. I undressed and decided that I should be more comfortable so I left my clothes in the bathroom and got naked into bed. I found the lube in the nightstand and got some tissues ready for cleanup purposes.

At some point, I had missed the telltale sounds of my wife coming home. She realized something was amiss and was standing right at our bedroom door as I made my naked entrance, got comfortable, lubed up my member, and prepared myself for a little self relief.

Admittedly there is no way to announce that you are watching someone masturbate that is anything besides jarring. Still, she was upset because to her, it looked like I was taking more care to make love to myself than I usually do to make love to her. Also, as I got started, I was very much enjoying myself. In fact, for all my preparations, I wasn't going to last a minute.

She walked in and I, of course, froze. I spoke first and said, as one could imagine, the stupidest thing possible: "Oh, I didn't know you were home." Like, why would that matter?

Worse yet, my penis just pulsed in my hand. I wasn't ready to pop yet, but the lack of more stimulation was annoying to the little fella.

I will spare you the lecture she gave me which didn't really make much sense but when one is naked in bed with a luxuriously lubricated erection thinking about nuzzling the tender penis of a tranny, it is really not the right time to argue. The upshot was that she was mad, hurt, and offended. Her solution to all of this was to spank me.

This happens sometimes. Spankings hurt and she can really deliver the heat but I get sort of aroused by spanking. She knows that sometimes spankings can be a real turn-on for me but she knows that once my penis goes soft after I ejaculate, I am just the saddest sorriest and most contrite little boy ever.

Truth is that if I know I am going to be spanked after I orgasm, the fear of how much that spanking is going to hurt makes the orgasm just amazing. I am almost thankful for how bad it hurts because I know that I'll take the fear into my next spanking and it will fuel my next orgasm. It is a feedback loop of pleasure and pain. The more severe the spanking, the better my orgasm; it doesn't even matter which order anymore.

Getting caught masturbating, however, was new ground. I wasn't sure but I didn't think she was going to want me to enjoy my orgasm this time. She also knew I wasn't going to 'appreciate' my spanking unless that pesky hardness was gone. Clearly, I had a problem.

"Get up," she ordered as she dropped her purse. "I am going to give you such a spanking," she mused kicking off her shoes.

I struggled to my feet. It was tricky with one hand covered in lube. I ended up standing awkwardly with my erect penis bobbing lewdly as I tried to think of something to say. Nothing came and I just stood there stupidly.

She disappeared into the closet but was back in what seemed like seconds with the hairbrush in her hand. My penis bobbed approvingly for some reason. She just tsk-tsk'd annoyingly and sat down on the chair that 9 out of 10 times is where I get my spankings. She didn't say anything but just waved me over.

I shuffled over and expected to go right over her lap but when I got next to her, she said, "OK, you better finish up." I looked confused. "Go ahead, get it over with. Hurry up."

As aroused and scared as I was, I was also self-conscious. Nervously my lubed hand met my slippery already lubed up erection and started making the motions that I had been making since I was twelve. My knees buckled right away but I didn't want to look like I was enjoying myself too much. Still, it felt awesome and the tingles that feel so good just before I pop started in my belly.

I tried so hard to not look like I was enjoying myself but that made it just build slower. The slow build was amazing and the tingles spread down my legs and across my bottom. I knew that just seconds after I had my little fun, that delicious tingle across my bottom was going to replaced by just blinding pain. The thought propelled my orgasm forward and almost without warning, I exploded. Neither of us had really thought that part through and I sprayed all over the skirt covering her lap before catching the last little bit in my already sticky hand.

She didn't look at all happy. "What a mess. Oh well, you get to lay in it. Come on, get over."

My knees buckled as I climbed over being careful to not make more of a mess. I carefully protected my right hand and navigated clumsily with my left. My post orgasm weakness didn't help me be any more coordinated.

I was only over her lap for a second before the hard wood of the hairbrush tapped gently on my right cheek. With a sigh the wood disappeared and with no warm up, she was in full swing. The pleasure of the moment before disappeared entirely and was replaced by first a ferocious sting and then a bonfire. She spanked hard, fast, and covered every bit of the pale skin of my bottom methodically. I knew she wouldn't be done until it was all bright red.

For my part, I was as brave as I could be. I tried not to kick but I kicked. I tried not to complain but I protested like a little boy. I didn't bother trying not to cry. The tears poured out of my eyes like the semen had from my penis just seconds before.

She stopped when her anger was spent. I was done kicking and my words were just wailing. I was truly sorry. I had been a naughty little boy but I had been spanked clean.

One Boy's Journey -- Part 8

Disclaimer: This is a story of fantasy and is not only not intended to condone or approve of the behaviors contained herein, there is absolutely nothing about treating children as sexual objects that the author approves of, desires, or would dream of doing to an actual child. This work is written in the context of age based role play.

If you cannot understand this, have difficulty distinguishing fantasy from reality, or are in any way confused about what is appropriate and legal sexual expression, stop reading now.

Lastly, I am not a pedophile, don't approve of sexually assaulting children, and only use these themes in my writing because I empathize and identify with the victims of these stories; not the perpetrators. Some of us like to be embarrassed, ashamed, humiliated, spanked, and to be nervous, anxious, and afraid. Weird, right? To read more about why these stories were written, please see the "What This Blog is and is NOT -- READ THIS FIRST" post.

One Boy's Journey -- Part 7

Disclaimer: This is a story of fantasy and is not only not intended to condone or approve of the behaviors contained herein, there is absolutely nothing about treating children as sexual objects that the author approves of, desires, or would dream of doing to an actual child. This work is written in the context of age based role play.

If you cannot understand this, have difficulty distinguishing fantasy from reality, or are in any way confused about what is appropriate and legal sexual expression, stop reading now.

Lastly, I am not a pedophile, don't approve of sexually assaulting children, and only use these themes in my writing because I empathize and identify with the victims of these stories; not the perpetrators. Some of us like to be embarrassed, ashamed, humiliated, spanked, and to be nervous, anxious, and afraid. Weird, right? To read more about why these stories were written, please see the "What This Blog is and is NOT -- READ THIS FIRST" post.

One Boy's Journey -- Part 4

Disclaimer: This is a story of fantasy and is not only not intended to condone or approve of the behaviors contained herein, there is absolutely nothing about treating children as sexual objects that the author approves of, desires, or would dream of doing to an actual child. This work is written in the context of age based role play.

If you cannot understand this, have difficulty distinguishing fantasy from reality, or are in any way confused about what is appropriate and legal sexual expression, stop reading now.

Lastly, I am not a pedophile, don't approve of sexually assaulting children, and only use these themes in my writing because I empathize and identify with the victims of these stories; not the perpetrators. Some of us like to be embarrassed, ashamed, humiliated, spanked, and to be nervous, anxious, and afraid. Weird, right? To read more about why these stories were written, please see the "What This Blog is and is NOT -- READ THIS FIRST" post.

One Boy's Journey -- Part 3

Disclaimer: This is a story of fantasy and is not only not intended to condone or approve of the behaviors contained herein, there is absolutely nothing about treating children as sexual objects that the author approves of, desires, or would dream of doing to an actual child. This work is written in the context of age based role play.

If you cannot understand this, have difficulty distinguishing fantasy from reality, or are in any way confused about what is appropriate and legal sexual expression, stop reading now.

Lastly, I am not a pedophile, don't approve of sexually assaulting children, and only use these themes in my writing because I empathize and identify with the victims of these stories; not the perpetrators. Some of us like to be embarrassed, ashamed, humiliated, spanked, and to be nervous, anxious, and afraid. Weird, right? To read more about why these stories were written, please see the "What This Blog is and is NOT -- READ THIS FIRST" post.

Dress Up

It seemed like a fun game. A little dress-up and pretend. Sure there were rules and the penalty was a spanking if he was “naughty”, but she was paying attention to him and his penis was thinking for him. 

At first, it was just a little weird. She looked pretty and was so excited about finding him clothes and making him looking “pretty”. He didn’t know why he was even playing the game but the more she paid attention to him, the more he was pulled into the game.

It started modest but as the game progressed, he found himself dressed in skimpier, tighter, and sexier clothes by the older woman. She was thrilled with each outfit, each adjustment, and she kept touching him gently, tenderly, and sensually. 

She was searching for the perfect outfit, she told him. He tried on pants, shorts, and then dresses and skirts. The skirts became shorter and then he was standing before her only in a pair of silk panties. His hard penis strained against the fronts as she praised him for looking so pretty. He felt pretty, sexy, and aroused but also nervous. Where was this going? What did she have in mind? He realized that he had no idea how the game ended.

The outfit was frilly but also tight with stockings, delicate shoes, and a locket. The panties didn’t match and worse still, there were none that would match. She decided that he didn’t really need the panties. He was shy but she insisted that he take them off. His privates finally bared, he fidgeted wanting to cover up but not sure if that was allowed. “Oh, perfect!” she exclaimed, “let’s go get some ice cream at that restaurant you like so much.” 

He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t leaving the house dressed as a girl and certain not naked from the waist down. He looked shocked and immediately forgot how he promised to do everything his mommy asked of him. Thinking it was a joke, he suddenly laughed. She didn’t laugh back. “I’ll just put some other clothes on,” he said tentatively. 

She just shook her head, “no, like this. It’ll be fine. Lots of little girls play dress up. You will fit right in. No one will even look twice at you,” she said with not even the slightest hint of humor. 

“I don’t want to,” he whined. 

It was the excuse she had been waiting for. Seemingly from nowhere the brush appeared in her hand as she patted her lap. “Time for spanking, I think,” she declared. “That will teach you to obey me.” 

Sure, he knew this was a possibility but suddenly he realized this was what she intended all along. Maybe he could get out of it but she wouldn’t play with him again. And she was bigger and stronger, too. Even as he nervously weighed his few options, he knew she was going to spank him.

My New Mommy

I walked in the door and as soon as we could, I was up against the wall getting spanked through my pants with the thinnest and stingiest paddle. I used to wear jeans but they were too thick. This was just a warm-up spanking so that we could do the real thing as soon as the scene began. Her real spankings were always on the bare and always were very hard. It is essential to have a little warm-up or I just can't take too much. 

Once that was over, we could get down to why I was visiting my 'mommy'. "OK, baby, take off your clothes and tell mommy why you are getting a big spanking tonight," she commanded. I'm white and in my late forties. She is black and in her early twenties. Though I pay this nice young lady to pretend to be my mommy sometimes, she has admitted to enjoying our little games and has confessed that she has masturbated or booty-called her boyfriend after our sessions. Lately she has worn more provocative clothing when I come over and taken to shedding clothing as the night goes on claiming that it she is hot, constricted, or worried about something getting ruined. I've seen her in just a bra and panties but never anything less.

Tonight she was dressed in a simple loose and flowing lilac dress that reached almost to her knees. She was clearly not wearing a bra but there was nothing immodest about it and, in fact, she looked modest, chaste and even motherly. Her large but youthfully gravity-defying breasts swayed gently beneath the thin fabric. The dress hugged her young but full lines smoothly. She is not a small woman but not overweight either. Her very dark skin under the light lilac was beautiful and smooth and she wore her hair in a severe business bun. 

I peeled off my shirt and pulled down my pants and underwear revealing my hairless body and hard little penis to her. I left my pants around my ankles for the moment while I explained, "I was playing with a neighbor girl. We were playing mommy and daddy." The story I was about to tell hadn't really happened but was based on something that had happened decades ago. 

"Wait," she interrupted. "Is this neighbor girl younger than you?" 

"Yes," I whispered knowing that mommy was about to figure out how super naughty I was pretending to be. So far, the story was pretty accurate to what had actually happened. She was younger by a couple years but like most girls at that age, she was more mature. 

"How much younger?" she pressed. 

"She is in fourth grade." We pretend that I am in sixth and that she is not actually half my age but more than twice my age. The real story was more an eighth and sixth situation. 

"I do not like where this is going. What were you doing?" she asked sternly. This unfortunately made my penis bob a little. 

"We were pretending to make a baby," I said softly. She just made the 'go on' motion with her hand. "She had taken off her panties and pulled up her dress and I had pulled down my pants and underpants. I was laying on top of her rubbing my pee-pee against her tickle when her mom caught us." This was what I hoped had happened in real life but we didn't get nearly that far. 

Mommy thought for a second. "Did you put your pee-pee in her tickle?" she asked. 

"No," I paused, "we were just rubbing but..." I trailed off. She just looked at me sternly. "It went in accidentally just a little." Then quickly, "she didn't like that and told me to take it out but she was a little loud and her mommy heard, I think." 

"Did you make squirties on her tickle?" mommy asked angrily. Then, before I could answer added, "Or in her tickle, heaven forbid." 

"No!" I said quickly and then, "her mom caught us too quickly." I realized before she said anything what I had just done: clearly I had intended to squirt all over this little girl. 

"Oh my goodness," she said with disgust. "Did she know that you were going to do that?" 

I softly said, "probably." 

"Why 'probably'?" she pressed. 

I was quiet for a second and then offered, "well, we didn't really talk about it but I thought she would know what happens. She's seen me squirt before." Something about having pants around your ankles makes you just say way too much. Or maybe it was all the blood in my penis instead of my brain. 

"She has!", mommy said with a gasp. "When did that happen?" 

"Um, a couple days ago," I offered. She seemed to want more and, well, I was in pretty deep. "We were playing doctor and she was fixing my pee-pee. Cindy was touching me and asking if that was making me feel better and I said it was. Then it just happened and went all over my tummy. She thought it was neat and wasn't mad at all." I quickly explained like it mattered that talking a pre-teen into giving me a satisfying hand job that hadn't totally grossed her out was somehow going to make this better. It didn't. 

Reality check: all different girls and different times. Lots of doctor happened over the years. I ejaculated a couple times during the 'sex play' years and usually it freaked me out more than anything or anyone else. I realize now that what I was playing with was risky and that if things had gone a little further, well, I might have done something really awful. It is that sense that I was always lucky--never smart--that makes me feel so guilty that I crave this punishment. Each time I visit my new mommy, I share another facet of the truth. Indeed, this isn't what happened but what I wish had happened. This story and others like it continue to fuel my masturbation sessions (when I'm not fantasizing about spanking). 

"What did her mother do when she caught you?" mommy asked. 

"She was real mad. I got up and we both tried to cover up our parts but she knew what we were doing. She said that she would tell my mommy what I had done if I didn't and then she gave Cindy a spanking while I was still there. I didn't know what to do so I just pulled up my pants and watched Cindy get spanked. 

"Cindy's mom doesn't spank as hard as you," I added, "but Cindy was really crying." I thought maybe it would make it less bad if I compared my mommy's spanking ability favorably to Cindy's mother's. That naughtiness was probably not going to go unnoticed, however. By the way, I was never caught though it was close a couple times and I am sure one time the adult totally knew what was going on but didn't want the hassle of dealing with us, thought it was normal, or didn't care. 

"Well, you certainly have earned a real bottom blistering tonight. Let's get a look at you, little boy. Take those pants off and come over here," she said as she moved to the wooden chair that she puts in the middle of the room for spanking. I kicked off my pants and then thought it might go better for me if I put them neatly someplace but, well, nothing really worked. I tried. Then I walked stark naked across to the room to the woman that was going to make the next hour or two extremely painful and humiliating. 

She started right in talking to me like I was a little naughty boy. "Remember the rules: if you have to make pee-pees or poopies, just tell me and I'll take you to the potty. No making squirties without permission either. I will use the hairbrush on your bottom if you do. You have to be polite to me at all times or you will get the punishment paddle on that little bottom of yours. 

"Now, we are going to spank you a lot tonight for doing sexy things to the that innocent little girl and making her have to get a spanking. Then, since you want to make squirties so bad, I am going to spank it right out of you. We'll do that later after your bottom is super ouchy. That will make you learn that you need to be older before you start doing sexy things with girls." 

She patted her thigh like I think she would when it was time to go over her lap and I felt my penis involuntarily pulse probably pushing out a little more pre-cum. No matter how many times I get spanked, it always surprises me that I create so much pre-cum that clearly goes to waste. I walked to her feeling the wetness at the tip of my penis feel uncomfortably cool. 

"He is a cute little guy," she said taking me in hand. 

"Oh, be careful; he really wants to squirt bad. He keeps leaking the slippery stuff. That happens before the nice squirties come out," I said trying to sound like a naive little boy. 

"Oh yes, I see you are leaking. Poor baby," she cooed. Her cool hand felt electric on my erection though she avoided touching me where I would be most stimulated. Instead, she felt around the base and stroked the top like she was petting a kitten. With her other hand, she caressed and gently squeezed my scrotum that was holding my testicles nice and tight just like when I am about to cum. "It is like he is crying already. Soon you both will get to cry together. Won't that be nice?" she asked hypothetically. 

I groaned from the faint stimulation and frustration it produced. "That makes your little pee-pee feel good I bet." Then she leaned in close so that her face was just inches from my throbbing erection and taunted, "yeah, this wittle-wittle teenie weenie pee-pee thinks it is a big boy cock. Oh no your not, no your not." She pursed her lips and raised her voice like she was talking to a baby, "look how cute you are. All hard and ready to squirt but you are so little. Little pee-pees can't cum like big penises. Oh no they can't." 

He just bobbed inches in front of her mouth. I was just a few strokes from orgasm and wanted nothing more than to cover her face with my cum. My hands were clenched tight at my sides. 

Looking up at me, she said, "I think he is about ready to pop." I nodded and then she returned to speaking directly to my little guy, "is baby ready to make? Does little baby want to have his little squirty? Of course he does but we can't have that. Nope. This little guy is just going to have to wait." Then, dangerously, she did actually kiss my penis right on the tip but above my slit. "Bye bye for now. 

"OK, turn around and let's make sure you are all clean," she commanded switching gears abruptly. I turned and faced away from her. I knew what to do before she asked but waited anyway. "Bend over," she said annoyed that I hadn't already. Hoping I was squeaky clean, I bent over as far as I could and then felt her pry apart my cheeks even further. The cool air on my pucker was followed unexpectedly by one of her fingers that poked and prodded the area. Then it was gone and when it came back it was wet. She pushed right into me. "Relax," she commanded, "I know what I'm doing." 

It is really hard to relax when anyone unexpectedly intrudes but I figured that it would be OK if I stayed in character; this would be especially difficult for a twelve year old boy passing through puberty. I whined a soft and elongated 'no' in what I thought would be an appropriate high pitch. She just shushed me and probed deeper eventually finding what I knew was my prostate and giving it a nice massage. 

"I have to be sure you are clean inside and out. This will help fill you up and make your squirt bigger too. I know this isn't very nice but it will be nice to make a big squirt later, won't it?" I just mewed because my character would and because I knew there was likely a big penalty to pay for making a big mess. 

She spent less than a minute probing me, extracted her finger and sent me to fetch her a wet washcloth. It was curiously uncomfortable walking after having been diddled and it also was very apparent that her ministrations had created even more 'tears' from my hard penis which were now sprinkled all over my legs. 

She wiped off her finger while saying, "you can't trust little boys. They say they don't have to poop and they look all clean but really they are just too embarrassed to admit it. I had to check, of course." Then, she put the rag on the floor and stood up. "OK, bend over the chair. Let's heat up that bottom of yours," she said just a little too happily. 

We switched places while she fetched the paddle we use for the warm-up time. On the bare and swung with purpose, it was going to sting blindingly. After such a build up, the spanking started with little additional fanfare. She didn't ask if I was ready or even say anything more. As I leaned over the back and held the seat of the chair, I felt the paddle tap my left cheek twice, disappear, and then a gunshot of sound and pain exploded in the room. It was followed by countless more as I struggled to stay in position. It probably only lasted a minute or two but it felt like an eternity. I questioned every decision that brought me to be naked in her messy little living room. 

To ground me in the moment and the real (though pretend) reason for why I was there, she asked rhetorically, "Do you think this is a little bit of how Cindy was feeling today?" Then, not waiting for an answer, "I am going to make sure you regret taking that poor little girl's virginity. Even with that little tiny penis of yours, I am sure that you hurt that little girl." 

With a flourish, it was suddenly over and the only sound in the room was her heavy breathing from the exertion and my mewing little boy getting spanking ouchy noises: ow, sorry, no, .... She never lets me recover and quickly directed me to the first chore: load and start the dishwasher. It is strange that I pay her but I'm the one that cleans the apartment. Our little sessions end usually when we are either out of time or more commonly, when her apartment is clean. It was pretty messy so I was thinking my bottom was in for a rough night. 

I was back in position after the dishwasher for a repeat with the paddle. The sting hadn't lasted long from the first round. This is part of the pattern where she works the meaty parts of my bottom until there is a lingering burning sting and then she moves on to other implements and techniques. 

I cleaned the kitchen (oval warmup paddle) and then vacuumed the living room (leather tawse), made her bed (more with that stingy wicked tawse), and even dusted (the tawse again though I was begging for anything else). Then I got working on the bathroom. The bathroom cleaning was interrupted by sessions with a medium size wooden spoon. She uses it to spread out the sting to the places that a flat paddle and that evil piece of leather just can't get to like down and inside my crack. During every spanking, she talked to me about Cindy. I heard how she could have gotten pregnant, how she was hurt, and how she wouldn't be virgin on her wedding night. It was awful hearing what a terrible person I could have been. 

My bottom was already sore and swollen when the punishment paddle came out while I was working on the bathroom. Mommy asked me to be sure to scrub the toilet and I said I would but I didn't say 'mommy' in the sentence. It is a strict rule when I answer a command: I have to call her 'mommy' every single time. I didn't notice the mistake until I came out after doing that chore (and doing it quite well, if I may say so myself) and saw the punishment paddle out next to the spoon. 

It is a terrifying implement consisting of a heavy hard wood oval that can cover an entire butt cheek. To add to its effectiveness, holes are drilled through it. The first infraction calls for two swats on each cheek and though that is a chilling thought, each infraction adds two more to the count. One time I was so bad that I got the punishment treatment four times. I started crying before the last session and mommy rubbed my back and whispered sweet things to me before giving me eight quick and hard spanks on first my right cheek and then eight more on my left. It was over in less than thirty seconds but left me in ruins. 

Four spanks with the monster wouldn't be too bad but she was in good form and I wasn't recovering between spankings anymore. At the beginning, the sting dissipates during the chore and I go into the next spanking like it was the first. After a few trips over the back of the chair, I start to feel the sting during the entire choir. After a few more, I am positively dragging my feet. My bottom already was burning and the sight of the punishment paddle ripped the apologies from my throat.

"Mommy, no, I'm sorry, mommy. Please mommy not the punishment paddle. I'll be good, I promise. Please mommy, no punishment paddle," I pleaded. I do plenty of pleading during my spanking time anyway but this was more desperate. Perhaps it was the memory of the night with so many punishment extras that made me so scared. Or possibly it was just that my bottom had taken a real beating already. Either way, she wasn't moved and, in fact, looked very pleased with herself for getting such a reaction out of me. 

"I'm sorry too, baby, but you didn't call me 'mommy' and we just can't have that. I have to give you extra punishment spanks or you just won't learn," she patiently explained to the little boy standing before her. "I think this lack of respect for your mommy is the same lack of respect you had for Cindy today so we are going to have extra spanks with the punishment paddle tonight. I think six on each cheek will do it. A nice even dozen." 

And that is when I realized that my fantasy was coming true. What I really wanted to be was broken, controlled, and pushed beyond what I could handle. It was more than the pain. The game was getting real and though I could say the safe word, if I stayed in the game, I was going to go to a place that I craved but didn't understand. Something was happening and if I let it, the punishment was going to be real for the first time. 

"Come on, baby, let's have your regular spanking first and then we'll take care of your punishment spanks," she said patting the chair. 

I shuffled closer slowly and heard myself say, "I'm scared, mommy," in a voice of a little boy about to cry. She took a step toward me, took my hand, and pulled me the last couple steps to the spanking chair. Instead of helping me over it, she instead pulled me close and hugged me tight. Never before had she done this and I let myself melt into her maternal arms. At first my penis hung free between us but her firm but gentle right hand rested on my left bottom cheek and she pulled me close and then patted the abused flesh. I let myself be hugged by my mommy. Her breasts pushed against my naked chest and my mostly soft penis pressed against stomach. 

"Baby, mommy has to give you a big spanking now. Your boom-boom is going to hurt real bad. You can cry if you need to. Spankings are supposed to hurt and everybody cries sometimes. You were very naughty today. That little girl cried because of you, right? I think you should cry too." 

It was all folding in on me for some reason. I was finally paying for all the 'naked games' I played when I was younger but it was like the weight was being lifted off me. All I had to do was let it go and accept my punishment instead of fighting it. I sniffled into her neck and it was like the sound triggered a chain reaction. I felt my face contort as I started to cry. "There-there, baby," she said patting my bottom for just a few seconds before pushing me away and helping me over the back of the chair. 

The world was all watery from the tears in my eyes and with my head down it was worse because the tears had nowhere to go. I felt a wooden spoon tap my bottom and her left hand caress my middle back and then push down slightly as if to hold me in place. A sob escaped me a second before the spoon produced purifying fire. 

My ouchy noises were louder than ever and mixed with crying as she reignited the fire on my bottom. I gripped the chair and danced my feet but stayed in position. In fact, I was at peace staying right there and letting it happen to me. It needed to happen even though it burned and stung with mind-erasing intensity. 

Then there was a pause and a new larger and heavier tapping on my bottom replaced the stingy spoon. Her left hand pressed down harder on my back and the wood disappeared from my bottom. "Hold still, baby," she said before the punishment paddle crashed into my bottom. Twelve quick but very hard strokes were over in seconds leaving the only sound in the room that of a well-spanked child crying. I was suddenly in her arms again but only briefly before she led me to her couch where she sat me down on the rough fabric. I wasn't looking at her so I didn't see her take off her dress before she sat down to my left. 

She pulled my shoulders so that I was facing to my right away from her and then pulled me back so that I would be lying on my back on her lap. "Put your legs up on the couch darling and just lay back on mommy's lap," she encouraged. I did and then rolled a little to hug her only to feel a naked breast on my face. I almost forgot about the rough fabric of the cheap couch torturing my bottom as I twisted. "Here you go, sweetie. Nursing always made you feel better when you were a baby," she said guiding my mouth to her nipple. 

We were never sexually involved and this seemed pretty close to the line but I was afraid to disobey here so I put her dark nipple to my lips and started to gently suck. She gasped but held me tight with her left hand. She cooed, "its OK, baby. You were so brave. That was such a hard spanking. Mommy is very proud of her little boy." Her breathing betrayed her own arousal. 

I tried to nurse on her breast like a baby but curiosity got the best of me and I explored her nipple and areola with my lips, tongue and teeth. I was suckling on her for only seconds before I felt her right hand on my thigh, then scrotum and then on my still very soft penis. He was still slippery and covered with pre-cum even though not erect any more. She gently fondled me and whispering encouragement: "that's right, baby. Let mommy nurse her little boy." I felt her shiver. 

Her words were stuttering a little as she taunted me, "see baby, this is why you need to wait to have sex. You are just a little baby yourself." I was probably a combination of the stimulation of her nipple, the hardening penis in her hand, and the power of a grown man, but she was clearly enjoying herself. "Is nursing from mommy making you feel better?" she asked breathlessly. I nodded and moaned. "Of course it does. Nursing always makes little ones feel better even after big spanking on their botty. Oh, and now your pee-pee is getting hard again. Mommy knows how to make baby's pee-pee nice and hard. It is so slippery; just covered with tears like your face is too. You've both been crying a lot. 

"Mommy had to spank you for being so naughty today. We can't let you be a naughty boy. You have to be punished when you are bad and you were very bad today rubbing your penis on little Cindy's tickle. You aren't old enough to do that. You need to have a big penis with hair all around it before you have sexy time with girls. This little pee-pee isn't ready to satisfy even a little girl and certainly not a woman. No, not yet." 

She sighed again and said, "baby nurses so nice but I think that breast is all done." She twisted away from my mouth and used the hand that had been holding tight to pull me away. Then, taking her right hand off my now completely hard penis, she guided her right nipple to my mouth and sighed deeply as I started to suckle eagerly. "Good boy," she breathed returning her hand to my bobbing penis. With her left hand, she held me tight again. 

"I think your pee-pee is ready to make squirties, isn't it?" she asked. I moaned the obvious answer. I was indeed enjoying her ministrations. "Mommy knows how to make her little boy feel better but because you were naughty, I can't let you squirt like this. Naughty boys only make squirties with spankees, right?" I groaned. "I know baby's botty is already very ouchy. More spankees are going to make it really sting but that will help you wiggle and squirt. Then you can clean up mommy's lap. That will be nice, won't it?" she asked knowing that I hate that part. I just groaned and tried to concentrate on her fingers softly gliding up and down my shaft. 

Then her hand was gone and she was pulling my mouth from her breast. The nipple popped out of my mouth and I moaned with disappointment. "Get up and bring mommy the hairbrush," she said with a little more joy than I was happy with. I got up slowly on shaky legs and immediately had a head rush and stumbled over to my spanking bag, crouched down and searched through it for the most conflicting spanking item. Something about this little brush makes for a blistering and blinding spanking but when my bottom is being spanked with it, I almost always have a fun little squirt and sometimes the squirt feels really good. 

When I turned around, my naked mommy was facing me but bent over in front of the spanking chair straightening out a towel on the floor. She stood up straight and my eyes stared straight at her crotch. Her pubic hair was trimmed but was long enough to still obscure what hid beneath. Still, her young frame was beautiful, feminine, and sensuous. She sat down primly and patted her thigh. Pointing at a bottle on the table right by me, she said, "bring over the slippery and make mommy's lap ready." 

I picked up the bottle, walked over, handed her the brush, and then froze staring at her naked lap. "Go ahead, sugar, make mommy's lap all slippery. It will feel good and make it easier for you to make squirties during your spanking." 

I knew all this, of course, but she was enjoying torturing me, I think. I knelt down, popped open the top and squirted the strawberry scented lube on first her right and then left thigh. I tried to gauge where about I would be making contact with her and focusing there. I didn't want to be inappropriate and put lube too close to her sex. Using my right hand, I spread the lube in a thin layer over her thighs. She took my hand in hers and brought it closer to her vagina. "Make sure you cover everywhere. I know how you wiggle when you get a spanking on my lap." I complied and even squirted a little more lube on her thighs. My fingers just grazed her pubic hair. 

"OK?" I asked. She nodded and asked, "are you ready to make?" 

I tried to look away but ended up just staring at the oily dark skin of her thighs and that mysterious tuft of black hair between them. I nodded shyly and whispered, “yes, mommy.” 

"Good boy," she cooed. "I'm going to give you a big spankee so that you make big squirties and when they are all out, it is going to be super ouchy. You are going to do some crying, I think but when it is over, I want you to clean up your messy like a good boy. Do a good job or I will put you right back over my lap. Understand?" 

In spite of the beautiful woman sitting naked in front of me, the promise of more punishment on my already very tender and abused bottom caused me very real concern. I remained in character but protested, "no, please, mommy, I just want to make stickies. No more ouchies. Please, mommy." My whining sounded childish and annoying in my own ears. 

She was patient but firm. "I know your boom-boom has had a lot of punishment today but mommy would be a bad mommy if she let her little boo-boo make squirts without a big ouchie spanking. You know little boys aren't allowed to make their squirties like big boys. You are just a naughty little boy." 

Her beautiful thighs had me mesmerized. I imaged what they would look like covered in my messy semen and what it was going to be like kneeling between them and licking it off. My penis pulsed excitedly. In spite of the impending torture awaiting my bottom, I nodded and whispered another breathless, "yes, mommy." 

"That's a good boy. It will all be over soon. 

"OK, over you go, baby." 

I was shaking with anticipation as I bent over her lap and slid effortlessly into place. She put her left around my waist and pulled me closer. I felt her left breast graze my back and the softness was electrifying. 

The wood of the hairbrush rested on my right cheek and I braced myself for what I knew was going to be a ferocious sting. I whined a last 'no' of protest as the hard wood tapped gently. 

I am terrible lover. My penis is a little shorter than average and on the thin side. I probably prematurely ejaculate three quarters of the time but sometimes I can go the distance and make my lovers happy. In spite of feeling like a hotdog in a hallway during vaginal intercourse, I still pop too quickly probably because of some biological drive to attempt procreation coupled with the sheer joy of finding a woman that will allow me to enter her. 

Anal sex is better because almost every woman is so tight. That is a rare treat for me and since I am so worried about hurting her, I seem to be able to hold out a little longer. 

Of course, if she is charitable enough to put my little guy in her mouth, it is an act of pure will to not immediately ejaculate. I always warn my lovers that if my penis is in their mouth, my semen will follow very soon after. One woman didn't believe me and laughed thinking that I was just being nice. To say she was surprised would be a gross understatement. It was our last date and clearly it ended poorly which upset me since I had been very honest. 

I say all this to make the point that I know what 'real' sex feels like; my mommy's thighs weren't the only lovers my penis had ever experienced. Still, they felt delicious, slippery and soft, but also uneven with the valley between them. I thought I could feel pubic hair on my shaft even but wasn't sure if that was just wishful thinking. My penis pulsed with anticipation and I tried to force myself not to start rutting right away. 

The wood disappeared and my need for stimulation overruled my stoic desire to prolong the moment. I dragged my raging erection across her skin and felt my bottom clench tight. The hairbrush crashed into my tensed muscles and I grunted in protest. The sting followed as did more spanks from the hard wood. I twisted and wiggled under the punishment. Soon, my bottom jiggled under each spank when I wasn't clenched tight and I was humping with abandoned trying to simultaneously escape the brush but also recapture the good feelings in the tip of my penis. 

My orgasm was upon me suddenly. I would love to say that it was mind-blowing fireworks but really it was more of a release. Like the ejaculation of a man being hanged, it was my body's last attempt at procreation. Semen sprayed from the tip of my penis onto the lap of my lover and I only registered the slightest tingling at the very tip as the thick liquid forced its way out. 

Sex was over and done. The good chemicals flooded my brain and mixed with the pain she was delivering. I went limp over her lap and felt my bottom cheeks jiggle and bounce with each strike. The hard wood lit a fire on my bottom that penetrated through my entire body. A boy was crying. All hope was lost. Fire consumed me. 

"OK, that's enough. Up you go," she said a second after the last gunshot of wood on swollen bottom cheek was heard. I was sobbing but knew better than to give her more opportunity to punish my naughty bottom. Struggling to my feet, I caught a glimpse of my sticky ejaculate stretch like glue between us for a fraction of a second. 

Crying still but quietly I stood on wobbly feet beside her and inspected the damage done to her beautiful thighs. Because she had pulled me close to her, I had indeed squirted my seed nearer to her crotch than normal. In fact, some of it was tangled in her pubic hair. Slowly and with ceremonious intention, she spread her legs revealing her young sex. Had I not spent myself seconds before, I would possibly had spontaneously ejaculated at the sight. Her dark skin shown through the sparse black pubic hair framing first deep dark red outer lips and then electric pink inner folds. Her clitoris poked out from under its protective hood like an erect penis. 

Her thighs were covered with semen and it was my final duty to lick them clean. Long ago I had admitted to her that this was something I hated but needed to do. Only once did I protest. I knew the penalty I was going to receive even for pausing not to mention ask for reprieve. Never again did I even pause. 

I was on my knees between her legs staring at her beautiful sex as much as I could as I started licking up the impossibly salty and tangy semen that thankfully also had just a hint of strawberry. With her hand on the back of my head she guided me in my task and forced me to complete it. As I felt the semen coating my soft, pale, and hairless genitals cool as it dried, she pulled me closer to her treasures and finally held me in place as she made me service her. 

It took less than a minute for her pleasure to be complete as well which surprised me because--like all of my skills with women--I am passable at best when it comes to cunnilingus. Perhaps it was the burning of my bottom or the threat of more that made me better that night. Perhaps she was excited by our game as well. Whatever the reason, I found myself with her clitoris between my lips as her muscles contracted under my chin and her still wet thighs covered in lube, semen and my saliva pressed hard against the side of my head as she groaned through her orgasm. 

She pulled me off of her when she had enough and I sat back staring at her beauty. I reached up to wipe my face but she stopped me. "No, baby, no cleaning up." Then, after a pregnant pause, "I want my boyfriend to see you." 

The doorbell rang and she said with a wink, "can you answer the door for mommy, please? You know how he doesn't like to wait."