Cold Walk Home

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 precocious boy just discovering his sexuality and spanking kink, and his mother. The idea of being trapped by a set of simple decisions which lead to a situation where boundaries are crossed interests me. In this story, John manipulates his mother's rules and even religion to lure her into solving a sexual need he doesn't even recognize he has.

Like many of my stories, I wish I was little Johnny. Also, like all my stories, it is not autobiographical nor do I wish my mother or any mother would behave as she does.

I hate the cold. In fact, the only time the cold damp gray midwest winter afternoons are anything but miserable is when I am walking home from school knowing I will be getting a spanking when I get home. The icy breeze seems to pass unimpeded through my thin uniform pants. Though my puffy coat does its best, it ends at my waist. The bitter cold stings my legs and especially my bottom. It won't be long before the stinging cold is replaced by a stinging burn. My shivering because of the cold momentary becomes a shivering in anticipation.

Like every day when I know a spanking awaits me after school, I was quiet, nervous, and inside myself all day. I was also trying to hide my hard little erection. Obviously with school and the usual social chit-chat, I am not focused on my spanking all the time. This almost makes it worse. When the distraction ends, I suddenly remember how I will be crying naked over my mom's lap in just hours. My mouth goes dry, stomach churns, cheeks blush, and penis grows. In the last class of the day, the hours until spanking turns into just an hour or so, and then maybe even just minutes. It is impossible not to squirm a little in my chair as I watch the clock tick those last minutes until the bell.

Spanking was always a threat. The school had a policy all the parents and children knew and signed. If the offense was bad enough, a child could be paddled. It was mostly an idle threat and if it wasn't, no one talked after it happened.

At home, my sister had been spanked more than I was when we were little. These were hand spankings to mostly get our attention and they ended when we were seven or so. My sister could really get under mom's skin. They had a battle of wills raging for a couple years. Things are better between them now.

I was never a behavior problem and that, it turned out, was the problem for me. My friends were spanked, my sister was spanked, and spanking was just part of the language. When I was spanked, mom was almost apologetic about it. The old adage "this will hurt me more than it will hurt you" was true. I felt loved while at the same time, like my naughty behavior hurt her.

Over the years, I had an uneasy feeling my actions could cause her pain. The feeling festered and each time I wasn't perfect, it ate away at me. I started to crave a purifying fire to burn away the icky parts leaving just the best of me. I didn't talk about it with my friends, but I imagined those I knew who were spanked felt clean and unburdened after their spankings. Certainly I was delusional. Church wasn't helping with all the talk of the refiner's fire burning away our sins, leaving just the pure gold of our souls.

To say I was a good kid was an understatement. My grades were stellar and even when I wasn't perfectly behaved, I was never caught. Still, I knew I could do better. I beat myself up for every question I got wrong even on ungraded homework assignments.

All the while, my sister struggled and my mother struggled to help her, and keep her in line. Finally, she crossed a line or maybe mom just was frustrated and had a moment of weakness. Still, my 10-year-old sister got a "real" spanking. I didn't see it but through the thin wall separating our bedrooms, I heard it. Muffled voices talking a little louder than normal then my sister protesting before the telltale sound of slaps before even louder protests from Katie. I sat transfixed through the whole thing, homework forgotten, barely breathing, and imagination in overdrive.

I owe Katie an eternal debt of gratitude showing mom that spankings worked but also for finding new ways to make mom mad. Mom learned how to spank and it became her go-to solution to her children's behavior problems. At that time, it was just that one child.

Then I discovered Jackass. Like any boy my age, these grown men were a fascination. They were funny, did crazy things, seemed to be friends, and appeared indestructible. They were taking insane risks and getting hurt in ways that terrified me. Through a couple internet searches, I started to learn about the cast and what I learned further fascinated and horrified me. Debilitating injuries, drug abuse, brain damage, and worse. But it was Johnny Knoxville who became my hero.

We shared a name but something else as well: we are smart. Knoxville is a genius, of course. Knoxville also is funny, devious, and loves practical jokes. As a child, he would change his grades on his report card to make it look like he was failing classes. Of course, he had excellent grades, but he thought it was super funny to rile his parents up.

And this gave me an idea. Being bad enough to deserve a spanking scared me. Pretending I had been bad meant I wasn't really bad, but could still get a spanking.

My sister was falling into the habit of not doing her homework. Sometimes she would be sent home with an assignment she didn't do. She needed to finish it AND have a parent sign it as well. Mom made a rule that if either of us didn't do our homework, we would get a spanking.

Of course, Katie tested this rule and got a spanking with a wood spoon. The sound of the wood cracking on her bare bottom accompanying her apologies easy passed through the wall. It was right after school and I hadn't even started on my homework. In fact, I had been changing out of my school uniform. In just my y-front tight white underwear, I stood nearly frozen listening to the whole spanking. As my sister's distress mounted, I gently rubbed my own bottom. Through the thin fabric, it felt so vulnerable. I imagined her naked bottom turning red. My penis was hard for reasons I didn't understand.

Even after the plan hatched, it took me weeks to be brave enough to put it into motion. This was probably good because too soon, and it would have been suspicious.

My math teacher is young, a woman, attractive, and I had a crush on her. She was also a new teacher, idealistic, optimistic, and she believed in clear, simple rules. Turns out, cheating to get better grades is difficult. Cheating the other way around is super easy.

The worksheets were passed out each day. One per student but there were always a few extra. One day, I took two. I was done with the one I handed in before school was even over. The class even. I took the other home but spent the time I should have been doing the worksheet writing in blue pen "John, please have a parent sign this completed homework which was originally due on" in the handwriting I hoped didn't look like mine. I left the date blank because I was scared to commit to my plan. After quickly doing the entire worksheet in pencil but super messy and with obvious mistakes, I hid the fake worksheet in my desk.

The worksheet sat there haunting me for days. It festered. Gnawed at me. Taunted me. It was my ticket to a spanking I wanted so badly. On Wednesday a week later, I got up early, got out the blue pen I used a week before, and wrote in Monday's date. I was so nervous, but I walked to the kitchen for breakfast with the worksheet in my hand.

"Mom, I need you to sign this," I said to the back of my mother as she stood at the sink.

"What is it?" she asked as she turned to wipe her hands on the towel. Mom has a part-time job she doesn't have to be at until later in the morning so she was still in her nightgown and thin bathrobe. She looked tired.

"I, um, I didn't turn in an assignment," I said. Interesting that I didn't really lie. "Miss Martin wants you to sign it."

Mom sighed. "You too?"

"I'm sorry, mom," said in my sorriest voice.

"Why didn't you turn it in?" she asked.

"I don't know. I forgot." It felt weird to lie. "I'm really sorry." I thought about adding that it wouldn't happen again but I didn't want her to think I didn't deserve to be spanked.

She picked up a pen off the counter and took the page from me. I had forged Miss Martin's note at the bottom so she had to scan down the page looking for where to sign. I see in her body language that leniency was disappearing.

As she signed the page, I said, "I'll try to do better."

"Haven't you been paying attention in class?" she asked.

I stayed silent for a long moment, "I try but..." and then just trailed off.

She sighed, "I spanked Katie for this. I'm going to be fair and spank you too. After school, go straight to your room, and wait for me."

"Yes, mom," I whispered.

Luckily the moment ended with a glance at the clock. The paper was handed back to me and I scurried out the door to walk to school where I was, of course, easily on time because I am always on time.

It was a cool fall day and like most fall days in the midwest, it was one of the nicest days of the year. I spent the day inside a fog of anxiety, worry, fear, and something that felt like excitement. I couldn't wait for school to be over, but I was afraid of what would happen when it was. This feeling of "can't wait" combined with fear of what's next would become something I would grow to love. The day ticked by slowly and too quickly. I vacillated between worrying I had made a horrible mistake and almost dancing in joyful anticipation.

Finally, I was walking home in a distracted daze. The walk only takes 10 minutes but it felt like an hour. It seemed every kid in the neighborhood was outside doing kid things. Only I was walking straight home. Only I was going home for spanking. Only I was going to be crying on such a beautiful day. I startled myself when I realized crying was a possibility and hoped my mom would spank me hard enough to make me really cry. 

I announced I was home as I walked in the door. If mom responded, I didn't hear her because of the screen door slamming. After taking off my shoes, I headed straight to my room instead of getting a snack like I normally do. The nervous part of me didn't know what to do next so I sat on the bed and waited. And waited. It was just minutes but they were minutes of stretched time. 

Mom knocked on the door and I jumped. My voice cracked when I said, "come in."

She walked in wearing grey sweats. This was her uniform on days when she was sad and she was sad often. Her and dad were divorcing and she seemed less happy about it than him. Neither Katie nor I know why they are splitting. We spend most of the time at the house with mom because dad travels so much for work. When we do see him, it is almost always a fun and busy time. Mom complains she has to do the parenting and he gets to do the entertaining. I am not so sure this is true.

For one, mom doesn't have to work but does just to get out of the house, she says. Dad has a good job, I guess. Sometimes he takes business calls when we are with him and he sure sounds like he is in charge of lot of stuff. He works for a bank. That is all I know.

Mom stays home when she isn't working at the library. Dad has friends, goes out, and when we are at his apartment, we are always finding stuff that isn't his. Woman stuff. Mom doesn't have boyfriends at least none Katie and I know about.

There are days when mom isn't sad. Sometimes she is happy but other days, it is like the sadness becomes anger. It is always a trick to determine what sort of day mom is having. We just have to leave her alone some days. It looked like it may be one of those days, and it made me sad to think I picked a bad day for my spanking.

As she closed the door behind her, "stand up," she said, "let me sit there." She pulled me in front of her and as she started working on my belt said, "I am very disappointed in you. This is the sort of behavior I expect from Katie. You should know better." My belt was loosened and she started to undo the button on my too small uniform pants. She was silent as she focused. Once it was open, the zipper came down easily and the lecture continued.

I don't remember specifics of the lecture because I was suddenly struck by a reality maybe I hadn't fully grasped before that moment: I was going to be at least partially naked for my spanking and mom was going to see not just my bottom but my penis and testicles too. 

One of the things to go right this first spanking was that I stayed soft at least until I was over mom's lap. This was probably because of how nervous and scared I was more than anything. Puberty was just getting busy with me. I am growing taller at the rate of a half inch a month if not more. Nothing fits. All my pants are inches too short. My baby fat is melting off or getting stretched taught. Though never a chubby kid, muscles are starting to pop out. And, of course, though my parts are growing, I still don't have any body hair. At the time, my understanding of sex was sketchy at best and masturbation was a weird thing I only understood in theory. Erections came and went mostly as annoyances. Still, it had been longer than I could remember since mom had seen me naked.

My pants were pulled down and there was a long moment where we both froze. Then, her hands were at my hips and fingers in the waistband. As she pulled them down, I felt myself blushing and heard myself softly whine, "no, mommy, please." Then my underwear was pulled down to just above my knees where my pants were stuck. Mom's face was inches from my penis. Cool air on my bottom caught me by surprise. I felt so vulnerable, powerless, and trapped. It was really happening and if I could blush more, I did.

Mom lectured me for a minute. I looked scared and sorry which really wasn't an act. At some point, she said I was going to get a hand spanking but if I brought home another homework assignment needing her signature, I was going to be spanked with a wood spoon or worse. I shivered when she said this and made a whiny noise.

Then I was shuffled to her right, and pulled over her lap. I wasn't sure if it was my dream or my nightmare coming true. Mom put her left hand over my shirt on my back and her right came to rest gently on my bottom. She started rubbing in a circle and and I started to worry this was going to be another "hurts me more than it will hurt you" type spanking. It was nice and I felt safe which was ironic since I was powerless and about to be, well, hurt. Mom wasn't going to damage me, but what was to follow wasn't the textbook definition of safe.

The spanking didn't hurt at first Her hand disappeared from my bottom for a brief second as I lay perfectly still. In that second, my fear of what could be next reached its apex but so did my need and desire. The first spank was a relief. It was finally here. I sighed in relief as the sound like a muffled clap broke the stifling silence. Her hand rested on my bottom after the spank like she was holding in the sting, heat, pain, and punishment. Then it was gone again, and I immediately was longing for its return.

She spanked slowly that first time. It was like she was methodically apply the spanks to her little boy, measuring each one, checking the effectiveness, delivering each like a dose of medicine. The sting never was too much. She never lost control, never let her anger take over, and never brought me to the point of distress where I cried real tears.

I felt the sting after ten spanks. After twenty, the sting still felt like something I could handle. After about forty, it was uncomfortable enough for me to make a little noise and move a little. It was then that I realized my penis was hard and my slight movement made it tingle.

It was electric, exciting, terrifying, and felt like I had suddenly spotted land while sailing for years. Something was on the horizon I needed desperately but was afraid to find. I froze as she spanked me about a dozen more times. Then it was over. No tears. No crying. No begging. No kicking. No wiggling. No being pinned down by an angry mommy as she blistered her little boy's bottom so he would learn his lesson. No promising to be good. It was over and mom's warm hand gently rubbed the sting from my bottom.

In retrospect, this was the second thing to go right. If the spanking had been super painful, that might have been the end of my spankings. It wasn't so the dream staying alive. I needed more. Immediately after that first spanking, I knew I needed more. 

And there was something else, a hard little something else.

"OK, all done," she said taking her hands off me. "Get up." Her voice was sad and defeated. This caused a conflict in me. I wanted more but only at my expense, not hers. Being naughty would get me more, but the reality of mom being disappointed in me hurt more.

I pushed myself up and struggled to my feet. My too short shirt covered the tip of my penis but not the base or my testicles. Even so, it was very clear my erect penis was pointing almost straight up. Mom didn't seem happy about this. She didn't seem happy about any of this. "Next time it will be a wood spoon spanking, understand?"

I nodded and whispered, "yes."

With a sigh, she stood up, and left. My bottom had already stopped stinging. Instead, a tingle was spreading and though mom left the door open when she walked out, I rushed to the mirror to inspect the damage. Holding my shirt up and looking back over my shoulder, a little pink was barely visible on the little butt in the mirror. It looked cute, pretty, and something else. More than just one something else, there was something about the butt in the mirror I liked, and would have liked to spend more time exploring except mom left my door open when she left and I didn't want to be discovered with my pants down. 

It was over and over too soon. The dreaded "won't be able to sit comfortably" or "have to sleep on their stomach" warnings I had heard didn't come true. The tingle disappeared minutes later. My penis stayed hard or got hard every time I thought about the spanking.

Immediately I started planning.

It is strange considering how things turned out that I would do exactly the same plan two more times. The only difference the second time was to pay more attention to mom's mood before giving her the fake assignment. It seemed really naughty to make her sad moods sadder, so when she seemed down on Wednesday, I waited until Thursday two weeks after the first spanking to give her the page to be signed.

My acting of the sorry version of myself was excellent. She signed it with a sigh. "I will spank you after school. Wood spoon this time. And naked too. I want you to go straight to your room and take off all your clothes, sit on the bed, and wait for me."

And that was all. She turned and left the room. I picked up the paper and left for school without another word. It was ominous, dark, and scary. It was so strange that I was upset I had mom mad when this had been my intention. What did I expect? If she was going to be angry enough to spank me, she was going to be angry, right?

Still, I was upset and almost started crying then.

Leading up to my second note home, the feverish need was worse than the first time. The wood spoons in the kitchen took on a new importance. I touched all of them, lifted each to feel its weight, slapped a few on the palm of my hand to feel the sting, and was shocked by how loud the crack was.

My penis seemed to be hard a lot and every time I was naked, I looked over my shoulder at my pale bottom. I tried to imagine it pink or red. Every tight pair of pants on a boy or skirt on a girl at school covered up butt cheeks like mine. All those bottoms could be spanked. Many, most, or even all of them were. Spankings were all around me even if I heard and saw none. My imagination was in overdrive and then I heard a rumor about a sleepover party on Friday night where the host girl was spanked by her mom.

A girl who was actually at the sleepover said two things happened: her mom swatted her on her butt one time over her pajamas when they were all in the kitchen getting snacks and being loud, but then later, she walked into the basement carrying a spanking paddle to warn everyone they would get the paddle if they didn't go to sleep. So, there was no real spanking. A rumor started about the host girl getting a spanking with that same paddle after everyone left Saturday morning. This turned into her getting the spanking Friday night and then in front of everyone. Then, of course, it was everyone at the party and suddenly none of it was believable. The whole things went from a little funny to completely unbelievably insane over the course of two class periods. It was ancient history when the last bell rang for every except me.

One fact which seemed believable was the existence of the spanking paddle in Missy's house. Why would there be a paddle if spankings didn't happen? Why would her mom threaten them with spanking from that same paddle? There was smoke, so there must have been a fire even if the fire might not have been Friday night or Saturday morning?

Missy is my age and not my sister. She is a small, normal looking--not super pretty but not weird either--girl with long curly strawberry blond hair. We aren't friends but have been in the same school together since kindergarten. She was always quiet and just one of those girls who didn't stand out for any reason.

Suddenly, I noticed her. More than noticed her, I couldn't take my eyes off her. I imagined her crying, naked, being spanked, and being paddled. Her plain face took on new interest as I imagined her crying uncontrollably. She always looked a little sad; it wasn't a big leap.

But it was her bottom that stuck in my mind. Under her skirt, panties covered her vulnerable flesh. Two perfect cheeks for the paddle to punish, to absorb her parents' wrath. It was right there. I found myself walking behind her on Tuesday between classes, my eyes drawn against my will back to her bottom.

At night in bed, I saw her over her mother's lap. The paddle swinging hard an impossible number of times against the defenseless girl's buttocks as she kicks and sobs. I wanted to be in the room, be swinging the paddle, but mostly, to feel the paddle on my own bottom.

Would I be as brave as her? Would I cry like her? What would my bottom feel like after it was over? Would I be crying before it started? What did she look like naked? How would her bottom feel in my hand? What was between her cheeks?

I walked to school in a daze that Thursday. My bottom tingled in anticipation and my penis strained inside my thin white underwear. It seemed my penis was hard all day. I saw Missy in the hall after my English class and wanted to tell her I was going to be spanked after school. I was compelled to tell her I was going to experience it too. She wasn't alone. My higher mind intervened, but for the first time in years, I spoke to her: "Hi, Missy," and that was all.

School lasted forever, but at last, I was walking home from school. Sometimes I walk to and from school with Katie, but she has friends in her grade she gets a ride from or walks with. I was alone with my thoughts and my thoughts were haunted with what was coming. Naked. Wood spoon. Spanking. My penis was hard and my stomach even hurt a little. I was nervous but wanted something I couldn't describe. I wanted it desperately.

Katie was tumbling out of a friend's minivan in front of our house when I came around the corner. I didn't know if she was home the last time but she certain would be this time. Mom was in the kitchen when I walked in. I took off my shoes and light coat before walking into the kitchen where Katie was snacking and mom was looking at a cookbook.

"Go to your room, John. I'll be right there," she said. "Wait, take this with you," she said pointing to one of the bigger wooden spoons, "and take your clothes off, too." I tried to look nervous.

"OK, mom," I said quietly. Katie looked amused rather than surprised.

I picked up the spoon which felt heavy and scary in my hand, and slipped out of the kitchen. Once in my room, I closed my bedroom door, tossed the piece of wood on the bed, and froze for a couple seconds. Completely naked? Was this what it was like to be naughty? Clothing was a privilege of the well-behaved. Naughty boys and girls were naked, exposed, and revealed just like their naughty behavior.

As I stripped off my clothes, I thought about how embarrassed I would really feel if I hadn't done my homework. Then I started to feel ashamed I had done my homework but had pretended not to. Suddenly, I felt naughty, really naughty. The wood spoon on the bed was going to punish me for lying and even though no one besides me knew I was lying, I was still lying.

Want the spanking or not, for unfinished homework or lying, either way, this spanking was deserved. I shivered in the cold room as I prepared to pulled down my threadbare underwear. This was it. The last bit of protection. With all the grace of a pile of rocks, I stepped out of my undies.

While I was bent over, I peeked back at the mirror behind me. Two pale butt cheeks stared back at me split by a cleft where my most private place remained just barely hidden from my view. Would mom be able to see it during the spanking? I felt my face get warm as I blushed thinking she would.

It wasn't that long ago that I had been curious what it looked like and gotten into all sorts of silly positions trying to get a good look. Finally, with the help of two mirrors, I was able to get a look at my crinkly pink little hole. I touched it and even tried to poke my finger in a little. The angle wasn't right and it was super tight. It felt weird but weird good. Getting into the position to see was making my legs cramp so I stopped playing.

My little penis was hard and pointed almost at my chin when I stood up. The little sack containing my two testicles was wrapped tight around them like it was holding them safe. I was nervous and had butterflies in my stomach, but my stomach hurt as well.

I think my penis is ugly when it is hard like this. All the veins stick out and the skin is stretched tight just below the tip. When everything is super droopy like after a shower, my sack is gross then. In between when I am soft and the skin is tight is when I like it the most. When it is at its most compact, it fits into my pants best. When everything is loose, sometimes it will slip out the legs holes of my underwear. When it gets hard, it sometimes gets stuck going from pointing down to pointing up which hurts or shows through my pants. Some girls were giggling at a boy in my English class because this happened to him. They said he had a boner.

Looking down, I could see the little slit at the top stretched open slightly. In the mirror though, the shaft, veins, and the gross loose skin right below the tip was clearly visible. It looked strong and almost angry. While I inspected him, he pulsed and flexed like a body builder.

Mom walked in without knocking and immediately looked a little surprised. "You haven't been playing with yourself, have you?" she asked.

I didn't really know what she was talking about but blurted out, "no, mom, I haven't!" Whatever she was talking about was not something I was supposed to be doing. Of course, I wasn't doing anything so denial was natural and honest.

My reaction was genuine. Her face, however, was skeptical. She seemed to drop the subject as she closed the door. Behind her, a shadow moved. Katie was nearby. She might not be able to see my spanking, but she was definitely going to hear it. For some reason, this didn't bother me. In fact, it seemed like it should be this way.

Mom sat down on the bed. I was close but she crooked her finger in the universal "come here" hand signal, so I took a step to get closer. 

"I can't believe you did this again," she started. I sort of heard her lecture me about how I need to do the homework even if I find it boring or silly, how disappointed she is, and such. She wasn't wearing her "sad clothes" today. Instead, she was in a pair of jeans and a sweater like everyone wears on cool fall days. Even though she is my mom, she looked pretty. Her long brown hair looked like she curled it.

"And so I am going to spank you harder this time. I have enough to worry about in this family; I don't need you slacking off on your studies," she said finishing her lecture. Without a word, she reached out to my left hip and pulled me slightly over her lap.

Denim touched my erection as I almost fell over her thighs. It was electric and I caught me breath. To her left, my hands tried to grip the beige rug while my toes dug in. To my right, I could see my legs in the mirror and if I strained a little, mom's jean covered left leg and fuzzy slipper socks. To my left, I could see under my bed. How many children found missing toys under their beds because of a spanking?

My philosophical musings were cut short by the cool wood of the spoon resting on my right butt cheek. She just tapped a couple times like she was trying to find the courage. Then it was gone.

Mom took it easy at least at first. The first spank broke the silence like a firecracker but didn't sting too bad. It was on my right cheek and felt like it was right in the middle top to bottom. Its pair landed a second later on my left. Neither stung terribly and felt myself relax a little. The second two were lower down closer to my thighs and still didn't sting unbearably. It was then that I realized each spank was going to punish only a small part of my bottom. If she swung hard, it might really hurt at just the one spot.

More spanks fell but she didn't seem to be hitting the same spot twice. Around my front, my penis pressed firmly into her right thigh. It felt really good. I heard a louder firecracker before I felt the sting. It was a little uncomfortable and I found myself involuntarily shift just before its pair landed on my other cheek. I said, "oh" with almost a tone of surprise.

Beneath me, the pleasant pressure became a maddening tingle. It was urgent and needy. It was a nice feeling before I wiggled but it got better after. A hard crack landed right over my butt crack and I jumped in surprise. It stung deep into me but also seemed to scratch an itch. As more spanks landed, I stopped dreading them. It stung, for sure, but there was also a warmth, a tingle, and need to have the impact drill deep into me. I arched my back almost like I wanted her to spank my secret place.

She did. A single spank over the crack punished the sensitive flesh hidden inside. The sting was intense and made me lurch forward and back across mom's lap like a saw cutting a piece of wood. The good feelings in my penis built even more. Each movement felt better and better. A ticklish tingling sensation started at the tip of my penis, spread down the shaft, and then up my belly and down my legs.

Then I got scared. It felt good but kept building. I panicked and said, "mommy, no, mommy, please, mommy, oh...," and then it felt super good. I was warm everywhere and a pressure in me was released. The muscle I clamp down with when I try to push out the last little bit of pee started to clamp down over and over all by itself. The wooden spoon bouncing off my bottom seemed to be driving me on. My hips moved back and forth almost all by themselves but in time with the wood cracking down on them. For the briefest of seconds I wondered if this good feeling was a secret children kept from their parents. Were kids naughty so they would get spankings?

Then it was over. The good warm tingly feelings were gone. It was replaced with the sound of hard wood spanking my soft bottom, an overwhelming sting, and a sudden need for this all to be over. But it wasn't. Mom kept spanking as my panic boiled over.

"Mommy, stop, please, mommy, too, ow, ow, ow, mommy, no please, I'll be good. I'm sorry, mommy. I'm sorry," and then I started to really cry. It was awful and wonderful at the same time. My bottom burned like fire but crying released something inside me.

My sudden shift from OK to sobbing must have scared mom too because she stopped right after the crying started. "Shhh, baby, it's OK. All over. All done. Shhh. Up you go."

I struggled to my feet with a little help from her. The world was distorted like I was underwater. My tear filled eyes quickly emptied as the tears poured down my face. My nose was running and my lips were wet. Down below, my penis was soft but the tip was cool like it was wet. Mom gasped and said, "oh my," quietly.

There was a pause where I don't think either of us knew what to do next. I wasn't going to get dressed without permission and rubbing the sting from my butt felt like it might be naughty. I didn't want to do anything that would get me more spanking. "Corner time" was something I had heard of. It sounded embarrassing to stand naked in the corner with a spanked bottom on display.

"It's OK baby. Totally natural," she said like I was supposed to know what she was talking about. "You can get dressed." Then she added to herself, "doesn't look too bad. Should wash out." She stood up, and gave me an awkward hug. "Now, after you get dressed, get your homework done and let me see it before dinner." I nodded into her shoulder.

After a squeeze, she released me, and left me alone in my room to be confused about what happened. I noticed the tip of my penis was a little wet, sort of shiny. I had no idea why. It was also soft and my sack was looser. In the mirror, my cheeks were a deeper pink than last time. I thought they were beautiful. All bottoms should be this color, I thought.

After putting on my "play clothes", I sat down at my desk without thinking. The hard wood on my punished bottom caused me to gasp in discomfort. Would I feel this at school tomorrow? Would I be the only one trying not to wince when they sat down because of spanking the night before. Or that morning!

Something made me think maybe I should still be naked while I did my homework. Like, if I was naughty for not doing my homework and was spanked naked, shouldn't I have to sit naked on my naughty bottom while I did the homework I failed to do? This seemed like a good punishment. Problem was, it was cold even in the house. I decided to compromise, stood up, and took off my pants and underwear.

My homework took me just a couple minutes to complete. This meant I had some time with just my thoughts sitting on my stinging bottom at my desk. I felt naughty and imagined I would be in trouble for being naked. In trouble? Well, maybe embarrassed if i was caught.

This got my imagination going and pretty soon I was thinking I wanted to be caught or just wanted to be naked. Like, the nakedness was part of the punishment. I should be naked waiting for my spanking and naked after so everyone could see my red bottom. I wished I could see my sister get spanked and wondered what her red bottom looked like afterwards. My penis was hard again for some reason. Since I didn't have anything else to do, I got up and inspected my bottom in the mirror. It was mostly pink but there were a couple spots where she must have spanked more times or extra hard which were red.

Hard penis and a tingling bottom healing from my spanking washed away the memory of the pain. I wanted to be spanked again and sat down at my desk almost in despair. As I gathered up my homework to show mom, I started to plot my next spanking.

After school the next day, I found some books on my desk with a note from mom saying she would try to answer any questions after I read them. There was one about boy parts, one about how babies were made, and one from our denomination. I read them all before dinner since, of course, I had no homework; I had done it all in school.

My hard penis was called an erection. I learned it happened when I was sexually excited but also just because sometimes. My penis would get an erection so it would go into a girl's vagina during sex and make a baby. Sperm came out in sticky stuff called semen when I ejaculated during an orgasm. I could have an orgasm having sex, during sexy dreams called nocturnal emission, or when I played myself doing something called masturbation. According to the book from my denomination, masturbation lead to 'lust of the flesh' which was a sin. I wasn't supposed to masturbate but I also wasn't supposed to have sex before I was married.

It didn't take me long to connect the dots: I had had an orgasm during my spanking and ejaculated on my mom's lap. Was this a sin? Maybe I really was naughty after all.

The book about boy parts wasn't very interesting. The book about sex was VERY interesting. It was on my second reading when I caught something about how even though sex felt really good, some people liked it to hurt. The pain made them excited and would feel good even. The book mentioned pinching, biting, and slapping. I did the math and realized spanking was a kind of slapping. Interesting, I thought and then heard mom say dinner was ready.

Then things got weird. A couple days later, my math teacher asked me and only me a bunch of questions in class. It wasn't like I was being quizzed. It was more like we were having a conversation about math. She asked me a couple questions about how to solve a formula. No problem for me. Then she asked why the formula worked. No big deal. After that, things got more difficult. She asked how I would solve the problem without using the formula. We talked for almost the whole class like this. Something like that happened in my english class, history class, and even science but not as intense. I was having fun.

It was Friday so Katie and I went to my dad's for the weekend for the usual blur of activities he planned. Monday was pretty normal except that it was the other students treating me a little strangely rather than the teachers. I am not too close to the other kids so this didn't bother me. On Tuesday, something unusual happened which again, I assumed was normal at the time. As I walked into homeroom, my teacher told me I wasn't in trouble and nothing was wrong, but needed to go to the office.

They were super friendly at the office. A nice man was there who told me it was his job to do random testing of students and wanted to know if I would take some tests and talk with him. Sure, why not. For the next couple hours, I sat in the conference room and took some tests. Then we had lunch with two other people and sat around talking. It was sort of fun. They were super nice to me and thanked me for being so cooperative. It was nice.

It was Wednesday night when I had my first nocturnal emission. There is a girl in my grade who is also quiet. She has straight dark blonde hair and though not tall, is thin, and just a little awkward. She doesn't wear makeup. Her pale skin just doesn't seem to change color on her face. Even her lips don't stand out. She is sort of striking, but not really pretty or beautiful like some of the other girls. She just seems uncomfortable.

In my dream that night, she was naked and looked like a picture from the sex book mom bought. On one page were naked females of different ages and development levels. On the opposite page, naked males were displayed. I had studied both pages trying to figure out not only where I was, but where everyone in my school was, where my sister was, and what every girl and boy likely looked like without clothes on.

Cheri's body in my dream was right from that page's crude line drawing. She was just a plain barely anatomically correct female form. Her porcelain skin almost a white two dimensional outline of a body. In my dream she came to life and matured into a three dimensional creature with shapes and curves. Breasts, hips, pubic hair, thighs, and buttocks all became caricatures of the mature women in the last stage of development, but then beyond. Every sensual part of her was in view at the same time as she morphed from the mousy shy girl into a sexual creature who wanted me.

I woke up to the feeling of liquid leaving my erect penis. Though it felt good, it mostly felt like a release. In my barely awake state, the realization of what happened registered. I knew my pajamas were wet, but not soaked. Mostly though, I was very tired and just wanted to go back to sleep. So I did. In the morning, I found my pajama bottoms damp but not wet. Assuming neither my mother nor Katie would notice, I just wore them to breakfast and then hung them up in my closet to wear the next night.

Things at school changed again on Friday. I couldn't put my finger on why, but it was just weird. Specifically, the teachers seemed to know a secret. They treated me nice, but not like I was in the class or really one of the students. Then it was off to dad's for another activity packed weekend.

I had been plotting my next spanking, but after my wet dream, I had sort of lost interest for a couple days. By the end of the weekend, I was back to plotting. The math homework was working but I didn't want to just not do my homework again. I faked a failed quiz instead. This was trickier because I had to actually create a fake quiz and then answer questions I wrote incorrectly. Though it would have worked to just make a copy of an old quiz, all of them seemed too simple.

Monday and Tuesday were spent creating a pop quiz for me to fail by seven percentage points. Wednesday, I chickened out because mom looked a little blue and Katie was upset about her hair. When I walked into the kitchen Thursday morning, the mood was good, Katie wasn't there, and I was obsessed with getting a spanking again.

"Mom," I said sheepishly, "can you sign this, please?" While she turned to face me, I added, "I'm sorry."

She looked at me curiously and then down at the quiz. Immediately I was happy I had spent so much time forging the document. She studied it for far longer than I thought she would. I was getting nervous she would find some evidence it wasn't real, but she took the pen from my offering hand and signed the page.

"John, this means you will be getting a spanking after school, understand?" she asked.

"Yes, mom," I said softly. Butterflies roared in my stomach and my erection throbbed in my pants.

"Failing a quiz is very serious." She drilled holes in my face with her eyes. I gulped as she continued: "your bottom is going to be bright red by the time I am done with you."

"Yes, mommy," I whispered. Katie walked into the room a second later snapping the tension and breaking the spell.

The day was a blur as I debated if this was what I want or if I'd gone too far. It was all I could think about. Everything around me was about spanking. Every bottom I followed in the hall or sitting on a chair in front of me was a deserving target. Every face could be twisted in pain, covered in tears, and wailing apologies. Every adult's strong arm was a potential instrument of justice. Every downcast look was either nervousness about what was to come or shame about a spanking already received. Every look of discomfort was because of a sore bottom. The discussion at the table behind me about the hard grading of a test was code for how hard the spankings were going to be.

In my head, I was just another child who was going to be spanked after school. All over town, bottoms would be blistered, tears would be shed, and dinners would be eaten while stinging bottoms squirmed on hard wood chairs. After school, mommies would do the spanking but before bed, some very naughty little boys and girls would spend some time learning their lesson over their daddy's lap too.

I wouldn't be one who would "just wait until your father gets home," but I was one of those being told to sit still at dinner. What would it be like getting two spankings? The thought popped into my head in history class causing me to shiver.

Outside, the cold front the weather forecast warned us about was blowing in. We were told there would be some light snow. The light was flat outside as the sun vanished completely under the thick layer of grey clouds. The frigid air cut through my small parka as soon as I stepped out the door. The tip of my penis had been cool all day from what I now knew was pre-ejaculatory fluid leaking out. If it was pre, this meant I would ejaculate soon, right? Now that I knew what an ejaculation and orgasm were, I was excited to experience them.

The cool wet spot while I was in the warmth of the school was freezing cold in the winter air. The wind blew up my coat, into my sleeves, around my ankles, and straight through my thin khaki pants and threadbare underwear. I could feel gooseflesh everywhere including my bottom. Mom would heat up my cold skin soon enough.

Naked. I was going to be naked minutes after walking in the door. The house would be chilly even. My teeth chattered as I hurried through the cold. I almost felt naked already. The discomfort of the cold drove me on. This was no daydreaming walk home pondering my fate. The only thing keeping me from walking faster was the cold seemingly freezing my joints and tightening my muscles. Even when I could see our house, turned up the short driveway, and climbed the steps, I was hurrying. Only at the front door did I pause for a deep breath before opening the door and walking inside.

I had no idea if Katie was home or not. She usually got a ride with a friend and sometimes they made last minute plans to stop on the way home or drive straight. Mom, however, was waiting for me in the foyer. I froze.

"Everything off. Now," she commanded. "And then straight to your room." I must have looked shocked. "Yes, you heard me. Naked, young man. And no touching your little doodad. You are in big trouble."

The fear that I was in over my head washed over me again. I started to unzip my coat but my hands were numb and I hadn't taken my mittens off. Suddenly, she was there undressing me. Coat unzipped. Mittens off. Hat off. Coat off. Shoes. Shirt. Pants button. Zipper. Pants and underwear down in one motion. Then pants and socks off one leg at a time. Gathering up my clothes, she pushed them in my arms, and pointed toward my bedroom just as the door behind me opened and a burst of cold air washed over my back and bottom as Katie rushed in.

I was in shock by all this but started to move. As I passed mom, a single spank echoed off the tile and wood room. If Katie said something, I didn't hear it as I started to run down the hall. The soft skin of my scrotum felt so vulnerable against my thighs as I ran scared through the house.

On my made bed four items were carefully placed. They took my breath away. On a bright red terrycloth towel lay a sturdy wood spoon, wood hairbrush, and a paddle. All were clearly brand new. My bottom tingled even as my penis flexed. Each item was clearly designed to redden a naughty bottom and produce a flood of tears.

Mom stepped in through the still open door to find me frozen in what she must have thought was horror staring at the collection she had assembled. "I see you have noticed your new toys," she said. There was something in her voice but it wasn't sadness, malice, anger, or disappointment. She seemed to be almost happy.

I was still holding my clothes she took off of me in the foyer. Mom took control and took them from me and tossed them at my desk chair. Then she spun around and sat on the bed, took my hand, and pulled me to her. Her legs were spread wide and she pulled me in close between her knees. She put a hand firmly on each of my hips as if to hold me in place. If she bent over slightly, she could have kissed the tip of my penis.

Instead she looked up at me. "John, I know you've lied to me at least three times. Little boys who tell lies get spankings and so I am going to give you a spanking with the naughty paddle.

"Before that, we have to take care of another little problem." She looked down at my straining erection before saying to it, "this little fella is a little problem, aren't you," she said in a voice mommies reserve for when they speak to their babies.

"So, first, we are going to have a little spankee over my lap so you can make your naughty squirties. After I spank it all out of you, we will have a little corner time so you can calm down, and then we need to have a talk before the naughty paddle, OK?"

My mouth was too dry to say anything intelligible so I nodded and mumbled.

"Now, I've talked with some mothers whose sons have the same little problem you do. They taught me some rules. First, you need to stay still. Don't get all wiggly. Next, if you think the squirts are ready to come out, you need to tell mommy. You might have some yummy feelings in your pee-pee but I assure you, your bottom is going to be on fire too. Understand?"

I just nodded. Butterflies churned in my stomach as excitement and terror mixed. My erection throbbed and a little drop of clear liquid formed on the tip. As I started to cry for some reason, I whispered, "thank you, mommy. I'm sorry I'm naughty."

"It's OK, baby. We will have you all sorted out in just a few minutes.

"Step over here and let me cover up my lap. Stickies go on this towel ONLY, understand? I don't want to find stained pajamas with hidden in your closet again. If you need to make, you can make your mess on this towel while you get your bottom blistered. From now on, you tell mommy when you need to make squirties, and mommy will spank them all out of your little pee-pee for you."

I blushed and shivered remembering the dream. 

Mom made a big show of carefully placing the towel over her lap. She was wearing brown corduroy pants and a heavy sweater. She was dressed for the weather and the temperature in the house. My skin was still cold from the walk home.

"Over you go, baby," she said as she firmly guided me over her lap. It was different this time. This time, I knew what was going to happen. What the goal was.

It felt so good when the towel kissed my penis. I could help but moan. Mom tsk-tsk'd above me. "Hold still, baby, Be a good boy."

The wood spoon tapped my right cheek, disappeared, and then it felt like a bee stung my cold cheek. Then another and another. Little stinging circles materialized as the wood bounced off my butt cheeks. After maybe a dozen of these, I whined a little 'ow' but remained still. After another dozen, the sting was becoming uncomfortable and after another dozen, I couldn't help it and twisted a little to get out of the way of an intended spank.

The towel under my penis caressed my skinny little erection. The pressure between my tummy and mommy's firm thighs hugged my most important body part. I moaned loud and deep. The spoon spanked harder and faster.

It was heaven in front and hell behind. Every twitch was electric pleasure. Every spank, a hornet sting. Both grew and blended. I lifted my hips arching my back and presenting my bottom to the spoon. Spanks above my most secret spot seemed to pass through me igniting and exciting parts inside and out.

"oh, ooo, oh, mommy, mommy, oh, mommy, I think, oh, oh, mommy, please," I said.

"Is your pee-pee making its little squirts, baby?" mommy asked like she was talking to a baby.

I honestly didn't know but I nodded and grunted, "I, mommy, oh, think, oh, oh, mommy, somethings happen...," before I couldn't speak. A tingle started at the tip of my erection, spread down the shaft, and across my tummy and legs. A muscle pulsed between my legs, the spanking stopped stinging, my bottom went warm, and thick liquid caused wonderful friction as it was forced through my erection. It felt wonderful.

Then, as fast as it started, it was over. The sting returned to my bottom and I felt the spanking change. The spoon was gone and a harder larger, and decidedly more painful object was punishing my vulnerable bottom. Spank after spank connected with my cheeks right where my bottom met my thighs. The sting was quickly a burning inferno. In spite of my exhaustion, I made fists with my hands and waved them in the air. My legs kicked and I wiggled and squirmed under the onslaught. When I opened my eyes, everything was blurry through my tears and I heard myself crying.

"Just a little more, baby," mommy said in response to my impassioned begging for mercy, and promises to be a good boy.

It was suddenly over and though I was limp over her lap, mommy quickly pulled me to my feet where I wobbled precariously. Through my tears, I caught a glimpse of the red towel with a smear of thick white fluid where my penis had been. Mommy quickly folded the towel over before taking it off her lap with her left hand. Then she was up, took my left hand in her right, and walked me out of my room, pulled down the hall, and to a corner by the bathroom, where she bent over and unfolded the soiled towel sticky stain up on the hardwood floor. Guided me gently face first into the corner she instructed, "feet spread on either side of the towel. Hands on your head. No rubbing your bottom," and then foot steps as she walked back toward my bedroom.

I was left alone with my sniffling in the empty hallway. My bottom felt swollen and hot; surprising considering how cold it was just minutes before. A wetness on my tummy which I realized also coated my penis started to cool. My scrotum was loose for the first time in what felt like days. The two testicles hung rested bumped against my thighs as I fidgeted. And my penis was small, soft, and pointing down. I realized with horror that semen was still dripping from my tip as a thick drop fell onto the towel.

Through the quiet, I could hear Katie's breathing at her bedroom door. Certainly she was spying on her big brother. I shivered thinking about how I had been loudly crying at the end, how I stumbled as mom pulled me to the timeout corner, and how she could see my red bottom. She probably saw my privates too.

This was what I wanted. All of it. The embarrassment, the crying, the ouchie bottom, and being treated like I was naughty. And the other thing, the thing I sensed was there, but didn't know what it was for sure. My penis flexed its approval.

The punishment paddle loomed in my mind. My bottom didn't really hurt anymore but was starting to tingle maddeningly. As nice as it was, I was starting to miss the sting of the spanking. I suspected I wouldn't have to wait long to feel it again.

Time while in the corner was very hard to measure. Just when I was starting to wonder how long mom would leave me there, her footsteps announced her return.

"OK, John, you can come out now. Pick up your messy towel and come with me."

Bending over, I got a good look--and smell--of the mess I made on the towel. It looked gross. I folded it over like she did, picked it up, and followed her to the kitchen. "Sit down," she said waving at my usual seat. She put the "punishment" paddle down on the table and sat down herself as I sat down with the towel on my lap.

After a long pause where she seemed to collect her thoughts, she started. "After the second homework assignment, I called your math teacher, Ms Martin, to ask how you were doing. She told me you have not only turned everything in but have the highest grade in the class.

"She was confused at first, but then she had an idea. She said she had to do a little research and said she would call me back.

"And she did a couple hours later saying her suspicions were confirmed. She said every single one of your teachers said the same thing: you were doing great but weren't really engaged. She said they all agreed to see if they could get me to open up. She called me back a couple days later really excited said we need to get you tested as soon as possible.

"After the test came back, the principle called me. You did really well. Too well actually. Too well for your school, anyway. They just don't have the resources or the expertise. We all agreed you would stay though the end of the semester. We haven't found where you will go to school after Christmas break, but it will be very different."

Mom paused, and looked at me very seriously. "Honey, you are very smart. I am not sure you know just how smart you are. How does this make you feel, baby?"

I was in shock. Speachless. "I, I, um, don't know," I stuttered. "Good, I think."

"Yeah, this is a lot. It is a lot for me too. I am happy. Your dad is too. Just, it is a lot. It isn't a surprise you are smart, we knew that. We couldn't have guessed how smart you are."

"Anyway," she said seeming to remember she was telling me a story, "Ms Martin called me back to say congratulations and how much she is going to miss having you in class.

"I said, 'can I ask you something you can't share with anyone?' and she agreed. I told her how you seemed to be faking missing assignments to get punished. She thought maybe this was you trying to get my attention. I said that we spank in this house for missing assignments and about what happened at your last spanking.

"Ms Martin did a little research and when she called me back, she said this, spanking, is something really common in kids like you. She gave a bunch of reasons using psychology words I didn't really understand, but she said, it is healthy and like a game for you and that if I was comfortable with it, I should be a part of the game.

"I wasn't sure about what she said, but then you gave me the fake test this morning." She studied my face. I kept eye contact and just nodded my head few times. Mom seemed to relax.

"I was talking to some mothers at church almost a year ago, and one said she was having trouble spanking her son because when he had a, um, hard little problem, he didn't seem to appreciate his spanking like he used to. Danny's mom said he would be brave until he after he did is dirty business.

"Anyway, I called Mrs Anderson, Dan's mom, and we talked a little today. She told me about using a towel and where to buy the best hairbrushes and paddles, and even invited me to a coffee outing with some other mom's this week!"

To my horror (or delight?), I felt my penis getting hard in my lap. I even looked down to confirm it was really happening. I was greeted by my little slit staring up at me.

"And here we are. My genius little boy. I am so proud of you and so sorry your father I didn't notice you were so gifted sooner. We were just too wrapped up in our divorce things to notice.

"But I notice you know. And I noticed you didn't tell me the truth. What do you think we should do about that?"

It was a leading question. I could defend myself and probably get out of it, or I could seal my own fate. She gave me the choice. My penis throbbed like it was nodding 'yes'.

"I'm sorry, mommy, I should get a spanking for, for not telling you the truth," I mumbled.

Mom nodded, "I think so too, baby. We need to have complete honesty between us." She paused, "I think we should wait until after dinner. Give your little boom-boom a little time to heal." 

My penis throbbed again. I nodded to mom and softly said just, "OK."

A small look of panic crossed her face, "oh no, I just realized I didn't go to the store today like I planned. Ugh, I was planning on stopping at the grocery store after I bought the hairbrush. Totally forgot. Mind was someplace else," she said with a laugh.

"Oh well, we have things to celebrate. My son is officially amazing (and maybe a little naughty). Let's go out for pizza, OK?"

I smiled and nodded. Even blurted out a "yeah".

"Here, hand me your special towel. We will just leave them here on the table for when we get back," she said exuberantly taking my still folded towel and placing it hurriedly on the table. "Go get dressed and I'll tell Katie."

The walk back through the cold house was surreal. It was all surreal. To get out of the house, we all walked through the kitchen. My paddle and towel full of semen were just sitting on the table like this was normal. Katie couldn't take her eyes off the objects.

Given the near winter solstice short days, it was dark when we left the house. At least the world wasn't gray after dark but it was still cold and windy. The car took forever to warm. The cold seat against my tender buttocks was a wonderful shock.

Katie was told the news about how I was going to have to change schools over dinner. She was shocked. Mom also told her I was going to be getting spankings more often. This seemed less of a shock, but the better news, for sure.

Though I never really got the image of the paddle waiting on the kitchen table out of my head, I started to get anxious as the pizza disappeared. When the bill came, it felt like my fate was sealed, a spanking was coming. Put down the card, wait for it to be run, sign the check, get our coats, walk to the car, drive home, go inside, and then it would happen. There were just a few steps.

I excused myself to the bathroom cause I did have to pee, but I also needed a moment to myself. Excited and nervous. Nervous and excited. The little boy's face in the mirror looking back at me looked on the verge of panic. The spanking earlier was still fresh in my mind. The tingling of my penis, the sting of my bottom, the moans of pleasure, and tears of pain. It was so wonderful and terrible, so exciting and terrifying. It was inevitably going to happen again.

They were putting on their coats when I got back to the table. My penis was mostly hard in my hand while I peed. My hands were slippery with pre-ejaculate when I was done. As I walked through the restaurant, my penis was a rigid tent pole straining against my underwear. I hoped no one noticed. Just being like that was embarrassing.

Then it hit me: I was naughty and being caught being naughty was embarrassing. Spanking was embarrassing. I was supposed to be embarrassed. This was part of being spanked. Pants pulled down. Penis seen. Red bottom. Crying, tears and snot on my face. Kicking and squirming. Acting and sounding like a baby. The loudness of the spanks. It was all part of it. I should have been walking naked, erect, and crying through the restaurant.

The cold seat in the car again reminded me of how the cold would become an inferno so soon and so quickly after we got home. Mom said something to me I didn't hear. "John, John," I heard.

"Sorry, mom, I was thinking about something."

"John, after you take off your coat and boots, go get undress in your room and then wait for me in the spanking corner, OK?" she asked over Katie's snickering in delight.

"Yes, mommy," I answered. Why did I say mommy instead of mom?

I shot daggers out of my eyes at my gloating sister.

The car hadn't warmed up at all on the way home and we all dashed from the garage into the house. I made a big show of trying to hurry. Katie was right behind me as we walked through the kitchen and then down the hall to our bedrooms. "Johnny's gonna get a spanking," she softly sang behind me before giggling. I pretended to ignore her.

My spanking spoon and the hairbrush were still on the bed like clues from a crime scene. I couldn't take my eyes off them while I undressed. When my penis escaped my underwear, it was like it could get a breath of fresh air. It bobbed like an excited puppy. I paused at my closed door. It felt like the spanking would really start when I opened the door. I steeled my nerves, turned the handle, and faced the music.

On the way down the hall, I passed my sister's open door through which, of course, she was eagerly watching for me. I blushed and my penis throbbed. I wasn't sure but figured standing in my corner meant the towel should be used so I walked to the kitchen. It wasn't there. Quickly, I returned to the spanking corner hoping I wasn't in extra trouble for not following the rules. Mom wasn't there yet so I walked into the corner and waited.

Footsteps on the wood floor and then mom called me from down the hall, "John, come here, baby." she called trying to sound serious. She was standing at the door to the bathroom Katie and I shared. "Let's take care of your spanking in here."

Rounding the corner into the bathroom, I saw my red towel--still folded over--on the counter and hanging over the edge in front of the sink and the mirror. Mom took my elbow and led me right to it. "I want you to stand here. Put your hands on the counter, either side of the sink, good boy. Now you can just rest your little doodad on your soft fluffy towel. Isn't that nice, baby?" she asked.

I nodded because indeed it was. The tip of my penis was just barely above the counter edge and felt wonderful against the soft terry-cloth. I shivered when it touched. Mom noticed.

"Now hold still."

In the mirror, I could see her holding the paddle and taking aim. I could also the tip of my penis poking up just over the towel covered edge of the counter. The sound of hard wood smartly spanking my vulnerable bottom cheeks preceded the sting of the spank by millisecond. The towel tickling my sensitive erection as I jumped in surprise followed a few milliseconds after. None of it was going to take long. I could feel the tingle at the tip already. My bottom stung even after the first spank. Mom was aiming carefully which let me focus on the tingles which were spreading down the shaft. Spank after spank attempted to pull my attention away. I was speechless caught between pleasure and pain.

It was on me and I didn't know what to do so I did what seemed natural: "mommy, mommy, oh no, mommy, it's coming out, mommy!" We both froze and stared intently as the reddish-blue penis tip in the mirror suddenly spit a white blob of semen a few inches in the air an onto the towel. Then it throbbed and pulsed as more poured out the slit onto the towel.

"Uh oh, my little baby spit up. Bet you feel all better now though," she said like to a baby and then giggled at her own joke. I shivered and quivered through my orgasm. Mom spanked me two times which didn't hurt but the third one made me cry out. As fast as my orgasm hit, my ejaculation completed, and the tears started. The distress was immediate and sincere. I danced, kicked, squirmed, and mashed myself against the counter. I have no idea how fast my penis softened but it slipped below the counter leaving the sticky towel mashed against my tummy.

In the mirror, my face contorted, tears ran down my cheeks, and my nose began to run. I was a mess. Mom tried to use her left hand to steady my right hip as I danced to the rhythm of the paddle's beat. My bottom burned. It felt overwhelming and I needed to escape. Panic gripped me and then it was over. Mom put the paddle noisily on the counter, grabbed the edge of the towel with her left hand, my elbow with the right, and led me out the door, to the corner, and into place. The towel with my new deposit of semen was placed between my feet and sticky side up.

"Hands on your head. No rubbing. I'll be back in five minutes," and I was left alone crying in the corner.

It came over me like a wave. I was calm, comfortable, warm, and deeply loving my mom. The butterflies were gone and I just had a belly full of pizza. My soft little penis was dripping the remaining drops of that naughty sticky semen out of me. A warm tingly bottom declared I was a good boy again. I wanted to put on my flannel pajamas and go curl up in front of the fire place.

As if she read my mind, I heard a match being lit and what felt like seconds later, smelled the fire start. My bottom's throbbing soreness started to turn into a tingle. Though the tears had stopped quickly, I was still sniffling. The sticky wetness from my ejaculation on my tummy and penis was cool as it dried. A fullness in my penis let me know more drops of semen were yet to emerge. I looked down to see a long drop of milky white semen extending from soft little penis, the penis of a little boy, I thought. The urge to give my penis a squeeze to force out the rest was the only reason I wasn't completely content.

Mommy's footstep came toward me and I tried to stand up straight. "Have you calmed down? Ready to come out of timeout?" It was like she was talking to a toddler.

"Yes, mommy," I said.

"What did you learn today?" she asked. I suddenly realized a wrong answer might mean more spanking. 

"Not to tell lies," I said softly. It was the correct answer.

"That's right. Good boy.

"And no more playing with yourself. If you need to make your naughty squirts, just tell mommy. I promise I will spank them right out for you. Won't that be nice?"

"Yes, mommy, thank you." 

"That's my good boy. We can't have squirties without spanking, can we? No naughty little tingles without tears.

"Oops, you are still dripping on your towel," she said after a drop splashed into the little puddle on my towel.

"Must be some more in your little fella. Guess you need a little more time in your corner." I made a sound that wasn't a word but meant I didn't want to. "Next time, I will spank you longer. That will get it all out." I made another sound as I shivered thinking how the spankings after my orgasm stung and burned.

"Five more minutes," she said and walked away. I panicked thinking I could be standing in the corner all night. I thought maybe I could flex a muscle and make my penis squeeze out the rest. The next couple minutes were spent trying to find the right muscle to flex. Suddenly, I found one between my legs that made my penis jump a little when clamped down. After a couple good squeezes, another drop emerged, hung low, and then fell into the puddle. The tip of my penis was wet, but it felt empty. I relaxed finally.

Mommy's footsteps again and then, "all empty now, baby?" she asked.

"Yes, I squeezed out a big drip," I said proudly.

"What a good boy. OK, take your towel to the laundry room and rinse it out with cold water. Just put it in the dark basket; I need to do laundry tomorrow. You can put on your pajamas and slippers after you have washed your towel."

I got the message: naked until after my towel was clean. Also, I wasn't told to clean myself up. Was I supposed to stay covered in tears, snot, drool, and semen? It almost felt like this was my choice to make.

Standing over the laundry room sink watching my little sperms get washed down the drain, I imagined myself doing my chores naked. My soft little penis twitched.