"Your little soldier is all big and brave!" she says in her most patronizing tone. She is sitting on the "spanking chair" fully clothed and holding a thin teardrop Lexan paddle. It is a stinger. Mommy used to start my spankings with her hand. She gave it to me as a gift after she broke a nail one time. She starts with it now.
I am naked, nervous, and very erect. She probably assumes I masturbate all the time, but I haven't in a week. Since I knew there was a spanking coming today and since it is easier to wait for a spanking when horny, I just kept my hands off. My little soldier is very eager for action.
"He's so cute!" she squeals. "Just adorable and he even has a shiny helmet and everything." I've been leaking pre-cum for days but since I had been sitting on the spanking chair for the past half hour waiting for her to come over, I busied myself with making sure every drop of pre-cum I leaked was captured and spread around my penis' head.
Playing with myself is allowed, but since she will spank me until I cum, popping while I wait would be a super bad idea; it might take a long time to cum again. She likes to spank me until I am crying. If I don't make during the spanking, I get a little break, and then she spanks me again. The spankings start almost gentle, but then build in intensity until I am crying.
We aren't a couple, just friends. We met when we both worked at the same company. During a company sponsored social time, we were both in a group of people talking about our families. I was the only single person and she also had little to add. We had a bonding moment being bored listening to how everyone else's significant other or children was doing.
Julie was attentive enough and jovial even though she didn't share anything specific about her non-work life. I was curious and when we had a moment alone, I asked if she was single or what. Her answer was cagey but I must have looked honestly interested.
Turned out Julie was involved in a committed same-sex relationship. Her significant other was not yet out to her family or most people in the conservative town we lived and worked in. They were roommates as far as most people knew. She probably opened up to me because I had recently moved to this island of traditional family values from a city everyone associated with liberal ideas and debauchery.
Like everyone, she assumed because I moved from the city, I was probably one of "them". I wasn't and, in fact, I had moved from the city because as much as I wanted to hang out with the crazy people, I didn't fit in. When one lives in a place full of health food eating libertarians with gorgeous bodies and no hangups, being less attractive leads to a lonely life.
I am a small man in every respect. Not only short and skinny, but under-endowed as well. Every girlfriend eventually discovered what is inside my pants is a disappointment. I could get the job done but it wasn't enough when it seemed every other man in town was taller, built, and packing.
Had I stuck it out longer and maybe tried harder, the city life might have worked. A traditional girlfriend wasn't really happening, and I wasn't really looking for a traditional relationship. What seemed natural would be to connect at an emotional and sexual nature before revealing what I was really looking for. This, it turns out, is a terrible idea.
When the opportunity to move to the small town appeared, I took it not only because it was a good opportunity, but to escape. The damage to my self-esteem, however, was already done. Also, in my new home, the dating options were slim unless I was a member of one of the religious organizations in town. No one was going to date outside of their faith.
Julie and I got along well and over time opened up to each other about our struggles fitting into the small town life. After I swore her to secrecy, I shared how things had gone sour in my old life. When I brought up how I was searching for my soul mate without revealing my true kinky desires, Julie just shook her head and said, "oh you poor sweet silly man."
Julie's tastes were unconventional and complicated. Though a "mostly" lesbian, she had a fascination with men. Specifically, she thought their idea of sex was strange, foreign, and entirely infantile. All males were just children to her. Babies, boys, teens, men, or whatever, she thought they were simple creatures driven by appetites and satisfied with only the basest of basic needs being met.
At a mutual work friend's BBQ one afternoon, we discussed what this meant to her. She was ruthless is her assessment of how a man's penis made all his decisions. The only difference between a teen boy and a grown man was how layered his manipulation of those who could satisfying his sexual needs would be. Boys with weights, sports, cars, and guitars gave way to money, positions, power, and stuff. Though maybe a little simplistic, she wasn't wrong.
At some point, I said I had to agree and shared my struggles to compete with the big, beautiful, and well-endowed men in the city. I even shared how I liked being treated like a little boy by a dominant woman had won me no points in the competition.
Suddenly, the conversation changed. She was super interested. Her focus was like a laser as she interrogated me. I was completely sober, with all my inhibitions intact, but my penis became erect as we talked about my sex life. I spilled it all.
I laid out my dommy mommy desires, my little boy persona, the little girl clothing collection, and even how I like wearing panties I've ejaculated into. She asked leading questions and listened intently, her drink forgotten.
"I'm wearing panties now, even," I said to reinforce a point about how strong my kink is. She raised her eyebrows and smirked. "They are still clean," I said with a wink.
After a short pause, she said softly, "I could be your mommy sometimes." The erotic talk had me erect. This offer made me throb dangerously in my pants. I blushed and shivered. She did too.
"Really?" I asked far too eagerly.
She nodded and I shivered again. My erection strained against the cotton panties inside my pants.
"I, um, I'm, I'm, really close to, you know, making my panties very messy," I whispered.
She smiled. "That is very naughty. Little boys who make naughty messes in the panties get big spankings," she teased.
It wouldn't take much more. "No, mommy, please. I don't want spanking," I whined. We were at a picnic table in the shade. The party was winding down. Groups of neighbors or co-workers were still talking, but not mingling. Some children were playing croquet without following any of the rules. The light was fading. We were out of the way, alone, and ignored.
I made a big show of moving my right hand to my lap.
"Then don't you dare do cum-cums in your panties."
"Mommy, please, it needs to come out," I whined. My pants for this gathering were loose fitting, casual, and a dark khaki. They were thin and breathable which made complete sense for the weather. Through the paper thin material and the cotton of the panties, my fingers found my skinny stiff erection's frenulum. I lightly flicked it and gasp.
"Are you playing with yourself too? So, naughty. You stop right now. I should spank you right here." She smiled as her eyes sparkled.
"I can't, mommy. Please don't spank me. I can't help it. Oh no, mommy, I'm sorry," I plead softly.
I've had enough orgasms in public to know hiding it is not easy even when no one is watching. Julie stared at me and told me later how my eyes dilated and I blushed. I kept eye contact. I wanted to connect with her while it happened, let her know what was happening to me.
Like most of my public orgasms and even those at home before I leave the house in my cum-filled panties, I always try at the last second to stop. As the point when I can't stop approaches, it isn't the shame and embarrassment as much as the logistics surrounding my sticky mess making me doubt. Everything about what I am doing is perverted and deviant, but when my semen leaves my penis, it isn't just a grown man having dirty thoughts, it is a grown man having a sexual experience.
My fingers tickle me slowly over the edge as I hold my breath. I pull my pants away from my straining member and freeze. Every part of me stops moving except for what is inside the panties. My bottom hole, perineum, scrotum, and shaft all pulsate in unison forcing sperm laden semen through my urethra. The warm liquid immediately registers on my lower stomach. It feels wonderful all over but my penis tip is the center of my being. Even the friction of the thick liquid being forced through the tiny mouth is a pleasure I hope to never take for granted.
For such a thoroughly satisfying orgasm and what I was starting to fear was a copious ejaculation, it is over in just seconds. Like a teenager with his girlfriend in the back of a car having unprotected sex, the regret swept over me followed quickly by panic. Julie sensed the change and leaned into it.
"Did you make big squirts, baby?" she asked. Then adding before I could answer, "it looked like if felt nice. I hope it did because it earned you a spanking."
I was starting to panic. Logistics were important or I wasn't getting out of the backyard without everyone knowing what just happened. The shame overwhelmed me and I felt tears welling in my eyes.
"I, I, yes, but, I need, it will soak through my pants. I," and then I trailed off as I started to look for something, anything, that could save me. She had a napkin under her glass. "Can I have that?" I asked pointing.
She giggled, "sure," and handed it to my left hand. As quickly as I could with as a little motion as possible, I took the napkin and then reached down my pants as best I could, and placed the tiny square over my still leaking and twitching erection. I could only hope it would provide enough of a barrier to keep a dark wet spot from forming on my pants.
I got my hands back on the table as quickly as I could. "Such a naughty little boy," she tsk'd as I glanced around to see if anyone noticed. "Someone is going to be sleeping on their tummy tonight."
As is usually the case, a spanking didn't sound like much fun now that my sexual energy was drained. Still, I knew enough to know talking my way out of the spanking was wrong, and I would regret it later. Still, a frightened look on my face betrayed my resolve eliciting a chuckle from Julie.
"Why don't you leave first. I'll leave in a few minutes and meet you at your house, OK?" she suggested breaking character. It took us a few minutes to trade addresses and discuss logistics. In the end, the plan worked pretty well. She got up first and walked over to some work friends. I tried to look a little uncomfortable--which I was--got up, picked up my glass, and headed for the kitchen. After leaving it there, I snuck out the front door and to my car.
For the entire walk, I was acutely aware of the sticky mess being pulled by gravity down my stomach. When it seemed I was alone and not being watched, I ventured a quick glance at my crotch. There was a dark spot but it wasn't glaringly obvious. The short drive home was uneventful, but once there, it was obvious the quickly placed napkin had failed. Luckily, I was in the privacy of my own garage and just a short walk through my own backyard to my house's back door.
The laundry room is right by the garage so after taking off my shoes, I pulled off my pants and socks, and put them in the correct bins of the clothing sorter. My t-shirt seemed out of place so I removed it as well.
The napkin clung valiantly to the pretty white panties with tiny yellow flowers. I pulled it off to reveal a translucent wet spot from the waist band down to where my soft penis rested in repose. It was a vulgar mess, a perverted testament to my deviant behavior at the party, in public, and mere feet from children. The little girls at the party likely were wearing panties just like I was wearing and had defiled.
Quickly, I walked to the side door I asked Julie to use, and unlocked it. Then after a quick and tricky potty break and a detour to pick up a fluffy hand towel, went to the guest bedroom, and waited impatiently.
The house, by the way, is a massive and old monstrosity. Though originally just a three story square Colonial Revival built on a corner lot, various owners over the years modernized much of the interior. The front door faced a beautiful tree lined street. The side street is less trafficked and goes nowhere. It is where my garage entrance is. Like these small towns of old, the big house on the corner was the original farm house. The rest of the houses around the block were all built on the subdivided parcels when the town's growth swallowed the farm. As such, my house was a castle on my block, and the blocks bordering it as well.
The kitchen was updated by the previous owners who did a nice job. before I moved in, I had the trim, banisters, and other woodwork repaired or replaced and stained dark brown, almost black. The walls are mostly white on the main floor.
The house was built around the staircase straight up from the foyer to the second floor where the landing stretched around all sides with a loft like area at the front and a door out to a small porch. The much smaller stairs to the third story are tucked into the left side between a child's bedroom (that I had turned into a sadly rarely used exercise room) and the master suite. Someone had combined two or maybe three rooms into a master suite with a massive bathroom and closet. The other two bedrooms on the second floor shared what was the original but very updated bathroom.
On the main floor, most of the original walls had been knocked down to create basically two room: kitchen, dining and family room combination, and a 'formal' living room. I made the formal decidedly less formal.
The third floor had been an attic. The ceiling was low and sloped but it was entirely finished. I turned it into an office.
On the second floor to the right of the stairs and at the front of the house was a room the previous owners had decorated for their teen son. They had painted it blue and I left it that color. Dresser, desk with straight back wood chair, twin bed, night stand, and the rest were as generic as possible. It was the furnishings one would think a teen boy's room would have. It was sterile and cold with way too much open floor space. In other words, it was the archetype boy's room.
Julie's arrival scared me. No door bell or knock, just the sound of the side door open and close. Then footsteps as she slowly followed my cryptic navigation instructions through my house.
She found the new occupant of the young man's room standing in a pair of semen soaked panties in the middle of the hardwood floor. Her eyes lit up as she took in the twin bed, blue walls, and sparse young-male style furniture. Nothing about the room belongs to any particular boy. Still, it was clearly not a little girls room.
It had been long enough for my refractory period to end, yet my penis was still flaccid. "Are you proud of your little show at the party? Mommy was having a nice time and then little Johnny had to have an accident. Oh, and it looks like you had a big accident today too. Mommy might have to buy more diapers if baby is going to make in his panties."
Buttons were being pushed. My penis stirred as the game restarted.
She glided over to the desk, pulled out the chair, and spun it around so it faced me. Julie is taller than I am but not statuesque by any means. Nor is she particularly thin or shapely. In fact, she is sort of solid in an athletic sort of way. At work, she makes a big deal about all the hiking and walking she does.
Her party attire was a shapeless sundress and floppy hat. It was all feminine but not at all sexy. As she threw her hat on the desk, I realized she was dressed like a mom and shivered. My penis flexed and I winced as the sticky goop pulled at my skin.
Waving me over, she sat on the chair. When I got within arms reach, she grabbed my hand and pulled me close between her spread knees. "Let's see if we can get these off without making more of a mess," she mused. Fingers in the waistband and then she slowly pulled them to mid-thigh. I stared over her head at the wall as I was bared. "Oh my, you are a very naughty little boy. Just look at how much you squirted into your panties today."
I willed myself to look down and was surprised to see my four inch penis mostly erect but also covered in drying and dried semen. In the gusset of the panties was big smear of still wet semen. My testicles were clearly also coated as was my tummy.
"So gross," she said as she continued to lower them to the floor. I stepped out of them and watched as she placed them to her left.
"Go get a wet washcloth so mommy can clean you up," she commanded. I willed my legs to move. On the walk to the bathroom, I realized I was going to be doing a lot of errands.
The water warmed up quickly thanks to a new system some previous owner had installed, and with warm damp washcloth in hand, I walked back into the bedroom to find Julie by the bed. The hand towel I had carelessly tossed on the bed was laid out near the edge. "Come sit here, baby," she said taking the wash cloth. "Good boy. Lay back. And now lift up your legs so mommy can clean your naughty bits."
It was horrifying but also exhilarating to be positioned like a baby during a diaper change. The wash cloth on my erection felt wonderful. Her movements were clinical and efficient. Just a couple strokes with the cloth on my penis, wipe over my tummy, then a gentle cleaning of my scrotum, and finally back to front wipes from my little crinkly hole over my perineum. More time was spent on my crinkly hole than probably necessary but I did not complain.
"OK, baby is all clean. Can't spank a dirty bottom, can we?" she almost sang. "Up you go," as she pulled me to my feet. "Go put the washcloth in the hamper for me, baby."
I scurried out of the room down to the master bedroom where my hamper was. And then I scurried back to the spare room. My freshly cleaned genitals and bottom so much more comfortable than the sticky semen from the panties.
Julie was sitting on the chair when I got back, the hand towel across her lap. This was clearly where she planned to sit while spanking me. I must have made a face.
"I know, baby. Spankings are scary and ouchie. But mommies need to spank their little boys when they are naughty or they won't grow up to be good boys. You want to be a good boy, right?" I nodded. "OK, the sooner we get started, the sooner it will all be over," she said leaning forward and taking my hand. She gently pulled me to her right and then over her lap. As my penis came to rest on her lap, I realized the panties were almost directly below my face and I was staring at the smear of my sticky mess in the gusset.
A firm hand on my bottom and a gentle hand on my lower back. Her right hand disappeared for just a second before a mommy started spanking her little boy. A sound like clapping echoed around the room as she did her best to teach a lesson. I gasped as the sting built. To my right, woman's feet in sandals. Above them, the hem of a sundress obscured the legs of a mature woman. A mother. A mommy. A mommy spanking a little boy.
"Mommy, ow, I'll be good. I promise. Ow. Please, mommy," I chanted in my highest little boy voice. It was an act. The spanking didn't hurt enough or didn't hurt enough yet. She knew this.
"Oh please, we are just getting started," she retorted. I wiggled and squirmed while I complained. My penis against her thighs tingled and hummed.
Suddenly, she stopped. "Good enough for a warmup," she seemed to say to herself. "Up you go," as I was encouraged to my feet.
"You need a good spanking with the wood spoon," she said point at my face.
"No, mommy, I'll be good," whined the little boy.
"Oh hush. Go fetch mommy a nice big wood spoon."
Of course, there is a big wood spoon in my bedroom. I retrieved it from my closet before making a big show of going downstairs to the kitchen. All the drapes are open and even some windows. The naked boy scurries through the house with a vicious looking wood spoon in his hand. Pink bottom already spanked, erect penis bobbing lewdly.
In his bedroom, his mommy waits impatiently for her naughty boy to return. "Here," he says insolently clumsily handing the spanking implement to her.
"That is enough of that bad attitude, little boy. You just earned a paddling after I am done with the spoon."
The little boy is more vocal during this spanking. Though she only spanks for a few minutes, his eyes begin to water and drip onto the panties. The sting builds but is not overwhelming. He twists, wiggles, tenses, and relaxes. Through it all, his penis hums, prostate purrs, and testicles churn. The naked little boy protests even as as his body responds to the rhythmic percussion, woman's hand on his back, and female genitals nearby. Her soft thighs beneath him could just as well be on either side of his body as he impregnates her.
She stops. "OK, put this back in the kitchen and bring me the paddle."
His penis is an angry red and the tip is blue. The towel has a slight wet spot where pre-cum has seeped out. At first, he runs out the room and down the stairs and to the kitchen, but then he seems to realize the more he hurries, the sooner the spanking resumes. He puts the spoon into the jar on the counter with the others. It is conspicuously larger, less used, and sturdier.
The climb up the stairs starts in the open space by the front door. A mirror on the wall reflects the worried boy as he comes out of the kitchen. He is thin, skinny even. His dark hair is disheveled, clean shaven face flush, but his body is pale and hairless. From his groin, a delicate appendage protrudes irrationally proud. It is also skinny and though at its fullest length, girth, and veiny glory, only 10cm long. Its owner prefers to use metric for this measure since four inches seems smaller. Beneath the phallus, a purse containing two precious testes is drawn up close to the body and out of danger. As if to communicate its readiness to perform, the erect penis flexes producing a single drop of clear lubricant at its tip where it defies gravity and remains in place above the tiny mouth.
The boy twists so his back is to the mirror and glances over his boney shoulder. His pink buttocks catch his gaze. "All this spanking, and they aren't even red," he thinks. His lack of bravery shames him as he bows his head and mounts the stairs.
The paddle is in the master bedroom's closest. It is right out of a highway tourist trap gift shop. Unlike the fraternity paddles or near weapons of the S&M crowd, this paddle is intended for a child's bottom. Long enough to spank two cheeks at once, wide enough punish the whole cheek, but not so heavy as to bruise delicate behinds. It feels right when held by the handle. It feels like the sort of implement one could swing hard.
And it is an antique. Well worn before it was bought be the current owner, its surface shows so much use, the pithy saying are unreadable. The walk to the boy's room with the instrument which raised a chorus of crying over the decades is as slow as he thinks he can get away with. The paddle seems to gain weight with each step as does his certainty it will bring him to tears. Spank after spank will sting his cheeks, reddening them, punishing them, punishing him, and there will be no escape as the righteous work is done. A slippery drop lands on his thigh as his penis flexed again.
Mommy looked impatient but was standing by the bed. The hand towel was laying over a pillow which had been placed by the side of the bed. She reached for the paddle which I reluctantly handed to her.
"Stand here, baby. You can put your naughty on the pillow. The towel will protect it!" she said.
I moved into place. The bed would have been too low but with the pillow, the shaft of my penis pressed against the side, and the head poked over the top. If felt warm, soft, and wonderful.
"Hold still, baby, even if you start to cry." I shivered in nervous anticipation.
As it turned out, the large surface area of the paddle, its light wood, and likely my arousal all conspired to dampen the effect of the paddle on my cheeks. Though it cracked loudly, the sting didn't match the volume. I rocked forward with each spank which caused my erection's most sensitive part to rub gently on the soft towel. The tingle was urgent, needy even.
After only ten spanks with the paddle, I knew I was going to orgasm soon. "Mommy, mommy, stickies, mommy, I, they, going to come out again," I said in my best little boy voice.
"Don't you dare," she said but kept spanking. "I will blister your bottom with the hairbrush if you make another naughty today."
"No, mommy, please. Not the hairbrush," I protested.
"Then keep your stickies inside. I can't believe you. Getting a spanking and still ready to make another sticky mess. So naughty," she seemed to be speaking to herself.
I had a real problem. As much as I tried to stay still, my erection was still getting stimulation. Keeping my ejaculation from happening was not going to work. With new desperation, "mommy, please, it needs to come out. I can't help it mommy. It's going to happen. Please, mommy." To be honest, I wasn't sure what I was asking.
She stopped immediately and threw the paddle on the bed.
"Stand up this instant," she said pulling me by the elbow away from the towel I so desperately wanted to caress. She spun me around to face her then bent over and with two hands, carefully picked up the soiled panties touching only the clean waistband of the sides. She moved it directly beneath my throbbing erection and commanded me, "OK, make your squirts onto your panties. Go ahead."
As God as my witness, I tried, I really did. I willed my penis to deposit my ejaculate onto the still wet gusset of my panties. I whined in frustration and humped the air. Nothing happened. I was close but not that close.
"Mommy can you, um, touch it. Just a little. Please."
"Oh, you disgusting little boy. No, your mommy is not going to help you ejaculate."
"Can I, mommy? It just needs a little tickle."
"Ugh, no, gross. I am not going to have my little boy masturbating in front me." Pretending to think for a minute, she moved to the bed and gingerly placed the panties on the towel covered pillow. Then she guided me back into position. "You are getting this paddling. And if you squirt, you will get the hairbrush too, understand?"
"Yes, mommy," I squeaked.
She tried to position the panties so if I squirted, it would likely be on the back of the panties. My testicles immediate stuck to the now paste-like smear in the gusset. The sensitive parts of my penis rested again the soft fabric which hugged my pale cheeks just an hour ago. It felt wonderful immediately.
Wood tapped my bottom and then a crack that made me jump. I caressed the cotton beneath my erection. It caressed me back. An "ooo" sound escaped my mouth. Each spank stung but pushed me against the pillow. After only five spanks, my orgasm was within reach. "Mommy, it's happening, mommy. Oh, oh, mommy, please, oh, oh, oh," and on and on.
My hands which had been trying to grip the comforter clenched as I arched my back to bring the sensitive tip more contact. My orgasm announced by moaning and groaning. Julie huffed and threw the paddle on the bed as I thrust forward and up. We both watched the semen erupt onto the back inside of the panties.
The sting and burn of my bottom wasn't so much forgotten as transformed. For a moment, I wasn't a failed man or a naughty boy. I was my pulsating penis majestically delivering my very genetic material into the world.
And then it was over. I was a little boy in a little boy's room squirting sticky semen onto a pair of little girl's panties while his mother who had been spanking him watched. It was naughty. I was very naughty.
"All done, Johnny?" mommy asked with irritation and annoyance in voice. The orgasm hadn't completely run its course, the good feelings were still pouring over me. Still, there was a right answer.
"Yes, mommy. I'm sorry. I couldn't help it," I whispered.
"You've earned a dose of the hairbrush. Go get it." Then she crossed her arms. The conversation was over.
On the wobbliest of legs, I stepped away from the bed being careful to leave the much more soiled panties in place. I walked in a daze to the master bedroom, to the closest, and opened the drawer containing the sacred object, an object I feared like no other. My hand shook as I picked it up.
This was stupid. I could stop this. My bottom was sore already. More spanking wasn't necessary. Two fabulous orgasms and a new friend. It had been a great day. Stop. End. Thank Julie for her time, patience, and attention. Then walk away.
I stopped in the bedroom and took a couple breaths. No, this has to happen. I have to see it through. It will be terrible medicine, but medicine all the same. As I started to walk, a lone drop of semen dripped from my soft penis and splattered on my left foot.
Mommy was sitting on the chair, towel covering her lap, and the panties with my fresh deposit of milky liquid on the floor to her left. She could sense how conflicted and scared I was. "Oh baby, it will be OK. Spankings are scary, huh? Especially without your brave little soldier.
"But mommy needs to give you a good spanking so you will be a good boy. She needs to spank away all your naughties. Make you a good boy again. Do you want to be a good boy?"
I nodded.
"OK, give mommy a kiss and say thank you," she said taking the hairbrush from my shaking hands.
I leaned over and kissed Julie's cheek. "Thank you, mommy," I whispered.
"'Thank you' for what, baby?"
"S-spanking. Thank you for spanking, mommy," I managed to say.
"You're welcome, baby. Don't be afraid to cry. Even big boys need to cry. Crying means the spanking is working.
"OK, over you go, baby," and with a pull of my hand, I was lead over her lap. For a moment, I had a good look--and smell--of the mess I made on the panties. Though a few little drops were near the waist band where I spurted, most of my emission formed a puddle almost straight down the crack. It was an impressive amount compared to the usual dribble in my toilet paper while standing in the bathroom. All semen on a pair of pre-teen little girl panties was perverted, the pretty innocent design obscured by my lustful sticky semen.
I was face to face with why I was being spanked. In that moment, it was real.
The hairbrush's hard back tapped my right cheek, disappeared, and then ignited a fire. I protested immediately with a loud 'ow' but even the monosyllable interjection was cut off by another spank. The pain was sharp, direct, unrelenting, and overwhelming. The tears came quickly as did the fight for control over the situation. It was a short fight I humiliatingly lost as I found myself truly crying tears of remorse, defeat, and pity. My flame engulfed bottom became my entire being, my entire world.
At first, it was the pain. Then as I struggled for control, the powerlessness broke me. What I wanted meant nothing. I had to submit to mommy and trust her to do what needed to be done. I was over her lap because I was naughty. Because I needed this. The tears poured from my eyes and wailing from my mouth. The naughty was exorcised from my body and soul.
Mommy told me later she only spanked for about a minute but it felt like hours to me. After she stopped, I lay limp over her lap for just a few seconds after the last spank fell. I could hear myself crying, weeping, really. Then a shift under me and I felt mommy pulling me up. The last working part of my brain knew to do what she wanted because I might be spanked more if I didn't.
She stood me up and then with a few moves and a "sit on mommy's lap," I was sitting on her towel covered lap hugging her and crying into her neck. She pet my hair, rubbed my back, and cooed, "all done, baby. No more spankees. all done." Her right hand left my hair and I felt it on my left cheek rubbing away the sting. Honestly, it didn't really help.
Later, I found it strange how I hugged and wept on the neck of a woman who not only was I not really in a romantic or sexual relationship with, but who had seconds before hurt me so thoroughly that I was weeping uncontrollably. I felt so close to her, so thankful for what she gave me even if there are few words which can describe it.
She held me tight and whispered the sweet things a mother would to her crying baby. I drank them in as my tears stopped and my head cleared. Finally, she patted my abused bottom cheek gently, and said, "OK, baby, all done. Let's get you dressed so you can go play."
The words confused me but my trust in mommy was infinite. She helped me to my feet, guided me to her left, and then reached for my panties. "Let's be careful putting these back on. We don't want to spill any of your precious stickies on my clean floor." Together we threaded my feet through the leg holes and gently pulled my panties up. The semen was cool against my bottom even as the elastic cut into my swollen flesh. "Perfect!" she exclaimed when they were on. "So pretty!"
Not that I wanted to sit down, but it wasn't an option until I changed or my semen dried. Pants also weren't a good idea. Even a dress or skirt was out of the question. In my mind, this was part of my punishment. It was a form of timeout. I felt the cooling semen between my cheeks. It would surely be drawn to the already overworked gusset.
Julie and I walked down the stairs and I saw her to the door. We thanked each other. I said, I couldn't wait to do it again. She smiled and said likewise. I closed the door and watched her drive away. Then, I went to the mirror and spent far too long transfixed by my bottom glowing through the panties.
Julie still becomes my mommy when necessary.
