Preparing Myself

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But first, the walk. 

Spanked Like I'm 12-years-old Again

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Inadequacies

It is the testicles that epitomize the optimism of the sadly inadequate man. Such a nice, full, and tight scrotum hugging two well-shaped testes unfortunately paired with a small penis. It isn’t their fault so little use will come to them. 

The optimistic testicles are really a curse. They chug along producing sperm that will go to waste and testosterone that will create the drive in their owner’s brain that will so rarely be fulfilled. Even when she allows him to experience marital relations, the act ends with a premature ejaculation, a frustrated spouse, and renewed shame in his inadequacies. 

“It’s OK,” she’ll say as she strokes the back of the nice gentle sweet man she married. As he softens and slips from her warmth, he hides his face from the woman he disappointed again. He just wants to slink away and disappear but even getting off of her will mean that she will see his face, his tiny but satisfied penis, and his proud testicles. 

He almost wishes she was angry; that she would make him pay for his inadequacies. The only sign of his attempted ravaging of her vagina is the semen leaking from her opening. His short member failed to even deposit his load far enough up her canal to prevent it from almost immediately leaking out. He knows he should provide her with oral satisfaction to make up for his short and apparently barely noticed rutting but the thought of tasting his own semen disgusts him in his post-orgasmic state. 

If only she would force him to do the right thing. He should be punished for being such a lame excuse of a husband, a man, and a lover. Certainly marital congress is appropriate for married couples but if he cannot satisfy his wife, he should be held accountable. He should be punished and taught to use what little he has to offer. Everyone is dealt a hand of cards but some just must make do and play their hand with skill. Skill can be taught. 

He wants to ask for what he deserves, what he needs, what will take away his guilt and shame. Premature ejaculators deserve blistered bottoms; it is the only way they will learn. Perhaps he could last longer if he knew that she would spank him well past tears if he failed her? 

She always needs to orgasm and he should always be prepared no matter what to provider her with help from his tongue to make that happen. No matter if her vagina is sparkling clean or befouled with semen, he must provide her with the satisfaction she deserves. Failure to comply eagerly and without delay should merit even more attention to his bottom. 

To be hung like a little boy means that one should be treated, taught, and punished like a little boy. With uncharacteristic courage, he gulps before beginning his poorly prepared but long overdue speech: “It isn’t OK. You deserve better. A man, you deserve a real man that can really make love to you. I’m sorry. I know I should, you know, help you finish with, you know…” he trails off pointing stupidly at his mouth. Staring at the stream of his seed exiting the woman he used for his own satisfaction, he continues: “But it is gross after I make in you. I think you should make me make you happy.” 

“And how should I do that?” she asks with a tone of voice he can’t quite place. 

“I think you should spank me until I behave,” whispers the man as he shrinks and softens like the flaccid member dangling impotently above the cause of all his troubles. 

She sighs but not one of despair but of weight being lifted. “Yes, I’ve thought so too. I waited until marriage to have sex and for the life of me, I don’t know why. All that carnal bliss I was promised, whatever…,” she declared with a wave of her hands. “Yes, get down there and make me feel like everyone told me I would. Every damn pastor, parent, teacher, youth group leader, even my fucking friends. So help me, never mind, I’m mad and you’re about find out exactly how mad I am.” 

Pointing at a drawer he assumed was where she kept socks or something, “Go get the hairbrush from that drawer. It is way in the back,” she barked. “I’ve  wanted to use this on your bottom for a long time. You’ve been lucky that I am so patient. God, all this time just waiting for you to mature. Ugh, what a waste.” 

As he walked across the room feeling a few drops of semen–the signs of his moment of selfish bliss–splash on his thighs, he heard his bride mumble, “thought I married a man but no, just a selfish little boy.” Grabbing tissues from her nightstand and cramming them to her crotch to stem the flow of her husband’s shame, she continued, “act like a little boy, will you? Fine, I’ll treat you like a little boy.” 

Carrying the heavy and solid hairbrush back to the beautiful woman perched on the edge of the bed, the little boy cried silent tears of resignation and relief. Finally, he will atone. Finally, he will be cleansed. Finally, he will begin the journey to become the husband she deserves.

Pathetic

Some guys are just so pathetic that, yeah, spankings are about the closest they will ever get to sex. That sunken chest, weak shoulders, pudgy tummy, legs that haven’t ever willingly taken the stairs instead of the elevator, and awful haircut. This poor boy will never breed much less enjoy sexual congress with an attractive woman. 

Even his genitals scream disappointment. His member is a good size but his erections don’t ever achieve suitable hardness. Even now, as he awaits his spanking, the tightness of his scrotum around his grape-sized testicles is a sure indication that he could ejaculate at any second and to any stimulus. Coitus would be a short and shame filled experience for him and utterly unsatisfying and unpleasant experience for her. 

At least he’s naked and she’s paying attention to him. She’s pretty–way too pretty for him–and his over-active, hopelessly aroused, and completely ignored genitals respond hopefully whenever they are uncovered. Today, again, he will be taught that he doesn’t measure up, that he is a disappointment, and that until he changes his ways, he isn’t worthy. 

Of course, it will end with his bottom bright red, burning, and stinging, his face a whining mess of snot and tears, and his ignored little erection squirting hopefully onto her disapproving thighs. He’ll enjoy that moment a little but she will make sure it doesn’t last and that he pays dearly for his indiscretion. 

After his spanking ends, he will be even more embarrassed. His soft, semen cover penis and her glistening thighs will reinforce how far from being a real man he is. With the fresh tears in his eyes and drying on his cheeks, and the stinging heat radiating from his freshly punished buttocks, he will do his best to clean his shame off the only woman that will give him any attention at all. 

In the day or days that follow, his embarrassment will fade and the promises he made as the hard wood impacted his soft butt cheeks will go unfulfilled. He will find his penis erect and his desire becoming overwhelming. Clumsy romantic overtures will be attempted followed by outright begging for intimacy. 

Her will is strong even as his is weak. Just as he senses that his efforts are in vain he will be confronted again with his pathetic fate. Told again of her disappointment and instructed to prepare himself to accept the full impact of disapproval, unhappiness, and even sexual frustration, he will grow nervous, scared, but also excited. As much as he wants to experience the pleasure of a vagina around his erect penis, he knows that he is lucky to slide across her thighs as she pours out her pain. When his impotent seed forces it way out, he will thank her again and profess his undying love.

Another Story About Winky

This is another attempt at adding pictures to a narrative. I apologize again for all the dick pics. 

The story is a work of fiction though my wife does spank me from time to time and when I ask for that sort of attention. Though a work of fantasy, I would love to be treated this way. I assure one and all that my wife loves me and we have a delightful, strong, and satisfying marriage in every way. Not sure why I feel it is necessary to write that but sometimes I think in this twisted world of sexual explicit material we visit, it is sometimes lost that we are normal people with normal interests, hobbies, jobs, careers, families, relationships, etc.

Something I should note, however, is that I almost believe that my sexual orientation is as a spankophile. It is what I want most and find most satisfying. Even before I knew what sex was, spanking interested me even to the point of obsession. As I grew older, I struggled to silence this part of me and just enjoy what 'normal' men were interested in: boobs, vaginas, shapely women, intercourse, blowjobs... It didn't work. I prayed for salvation even. Nothing. For decades, I lived with guilt and shame that spanking was what I wanted.

To be clear, I like all spanking. I like to spank and I like to be spanked. Gender doesn't matter. For me, spanking is sex and sex is spanking. A spanking can and perhaps should involve arousal, ejaculation, and orgasm. Admittedly this is not depicted in porn in the USA because of Meese Commission Report that won't allow BDSM and explicit sexuality in the same work.

This, then, is why I write about it. There is no porn for what I like. I have to grow my own, as it were.

All that to say, enjoy another of Winkie's adventures.

---

Simply put, "no squirties without spankees."

I should explain. Even though I'm all grown up, I still just have a little boy penis:

My wife says he is cute but not really big enough for sex. He's doesn't get big enough and when we used to have sex, I would pop too soon. It wasn't any fun for her so we don't do that anymore.

Of course, I want to still but she doesn't think I deserve to even have a hard penis much less orgasm and ejaculate. Her reasoning is that if she can't use my penis, neither should I.

As you can imagine, it didn't take long before she noticed me being hard, and then not. She also discovered that my pajamas would have crusty spots on the front from when I would have wet dreams or would just hump a pillow to make my "morning wood" go away.

She said that little boys that are naughty with their pee-pees should get spankees. Not spankings: spankees. She didn't want me to think that I was a big boy getting a big boy punishment. Nope, just a little boy getting a little spankee on his boom-boom for being a naughty little boy with his naughty little pee-pee.

It was really difficult for me at first especially because my little 'spankees' were really hard and sometimes made me cry. One time, we were just spooning in bed and my penis got hard against her bottom. I tried to be really still so she wouldn't notice but I was wearing flannel pajamas and, well, I couldn't hide what happened next.

I apologized right away. Before it happened even, I said, "oh no, I'm sorry," and I even sounded like a little boy. Then it was happening and it was so fast too. Just squirt, squirt, squirt and all done. I rolled away and it was just like a flashback to when I was a little boy.

Before I even knew what masturbation or sex was, I would wake up humping my mattress in the morning. My penis would be tingling and then I would feel really good. Then, I would lay still for a few minutes waking up more before almost always realizing how bad I had to pee. I would usually run to the potty.

One day, it felt different and even better at the end. When I rolled out of bed, my pajama bottoms were a little bit wet. I figured a little pee had escaped. Next day, the same thing. After a while, it didn't even bother me that my bottoms were a little bit sticky in the morning and crusty at night. Boys are like that: totally oblivious to the obvious.

Funny thing was, that was in winter when I would wear my red flannel pajamas. When it was warm, I wore the thin lightblue bottoms only. They weren't as soft so it wasn't as nice to rub the bed in the morning and when I got up, I realized there was an obvious wet spot that I couldn't hide from the rest of the family.

That was the end of humping the bed and I figured out masturbation pretty quick after that. That is until the following fall when the red flannel pajamas came back out.

At first, it was how good they felt in the morning against my morning hard penis that surprised me. Then one day, I did my bed humping again, and it just felt right and wonderful. Then I was getting hard putting them on before bed. I was even humping the bed both before I fell asleep and when I woke up in the morning. The wet spot would be covered mostly by my pajama top and the dark red plaid nicely hid the evidence of my masturbatory activities. Most days, I would wear my pajamas to breakfast or longer with the cool wet spot tickling my tummy as it slowly dried. Though I could smell my acrid semen, I figured no one else could or could identify what it was they smelled. I was washing my pajamas a lot because they would get crusty and not feel as good. A soft warm pair fresh from the dryer was amazing and I couldn't wait after putting them on to get into bed and take care of business.

And speaking of 'business', I wouldn't masturbate any other way. Considering that I was ejaculating twice a day most of the time, I didn't really need to. When I did get the urge during the day, it became fun to wait until bedtime. My parents loved that I wouldn't argue about going to bed on time.

Then I was getting a hard-on just seeing flannel pajamas. At a department store one time, I walked by a pajama display and was instantly erect. I didn't make a scene but I knew enough to know that what was happening in my pants was something I didn't want to advertise to my mommy or anyone else in the store. Of course, even fully erect, my hard little penis wasn't really going to show through my jeans.

If I was alone in the house, I would sometimes put on my pajamas and then find something to hump until I squirted. It felt naughty and that made it even better. I made rules like that I couldn't change until I was dry or that I couldn't close the drapes while I did my humping. It made it all riskier, naughtier, and more exciting.

It never took very long but there would be a moment when I would know that I could still stop but that in just a few seconds, I wouldn't be able to and the inevitable would happen. As bad as it looked to be humping the couch cushions, the arm of the chair, or even just the fluffy shag rug, I knew that in a couple seconds, I was going to be very obviously convulsing in orgasm and that would look really bad. Anyone that looked in the window or came home would see one exceedingly naughty little boy doing something very naughty indeed. I would glance at the window not sure if I did or did not want to see someone looking in before collapsing into my orgasm.

Of course, the risk was higher when others were home and the risk seemed to make it better. Any time I could be wearing my pajamas around the house like on a weekend morning or while watching TV late in the evening, I would be in my comfy flannel pajamas. When I thought I had the room to myself, I would get busy.

The most risky time was when I was watching TV with my older sister one night. During a commercial, she ran to the bathroom and I immediately rolled over on the couch and started humping a throw pillow. My penis was quickly erect and tingling in no time but I was very worried she was coming back so I stopped and got back sitting but with my hard little penis slightly tenting the front of my pajamas.

During the show and with her sitting a chair just three feet to my right, I marveled that my hardness was hidden by the folds of my trusty red flannel pajama bottoms and the matching button down top. Even when it pulsed and throbbed, the flannel just barely moved but gently tickled the tip. The teasing kept me aroused and wanting.

I stayed hard and thoroughly distracted hoping she would have to pee again. Luckily, she was drinking a huge glass of iced tea and nature called at another commercial break. I needed my relief but I froze momentarily in fearful indecision. Deciding a little stimulation was better than none, I rolled into position on my throw pillow lover and with my legs spread wide and hands holding tightly to the back of the couch, I ground my hard little penis into the soft pillow.

From behind, there could be no doubt what I was doing and I knew how wrong it was. My parents and our church very clearly and loudly taught that sex was only between a husband and a wife. Though no one talked about masturbation, I assumed that it was sex and since I wasn't married, this was just as bad. In other words, it wasn't like my sister was going to walk into the room and laugh if she caught me doing this; I was going to be in big trouble.

That fear of getting caught and the repercussions if I did almost caused me to get caught. The fear excited me but also distracted me. The excitement drove me on but the fear delayed the inevitable. I twisted around almost instinctively to check for witnesses when I knew I could still stop. The doorway was clear but I heard the toilet flush. I knew I had only seconds before being discovered so I was giving up but it was like my penis knew it was now-or-never. I rolled back to sitting on the couch but felt my orgasm slowly and inevitably building as I did so. I willed it not to happen but my will was no match for my libido. I fluffed my pajama top to be better cover my throbbing erection.

It was one of the slowest and longest orgasms of my life or at least seemed to be. I froze in place feeling the tingling at the tip of penis spread down my legs and up my stomach and even my nipples tingled. I kept from shaking best I could and tried to keep my face relaxed. She was going to be in the room at any second but it wasn't until she was in the room when my penis finally start spurting. I gasped and quickly looked up to see if she noticed what was happening to me. Apparently it looked like I was startled and she jokingly apologized for sneaking up on me. "Oh, it's OK," I said in a strained voice as semen filled my pajama bottoms.

After my penis softened, I surreptitiously inspected the mess when I was sure she wasn't looking. Probably because I was sitting when it happened, there was a surprisingly small wet spot on my bottoms and even that was easily covered by my long pajama top. I didn't dare look inside but I could feel a puddle of semen on my stomach. Some of it was starting to flow to the right. I thought maybe if I re-positioned, I could keep it more contained but when I propped myself up, it all started to flow down toward my soft penis and sagging testicles. Next thing I knew, I felt warm fluid flow around my scrotum and collect at the top of my thighs which I kept tightly together.

The smell of semen filled the air and for one of the first times, I associated the acrid odor with my own emissions. The excitement, fear, shame, and a thoroughly amazing orgasm was imprinted on my mind. I was never as close to being caught again after that and it wasn't until after my wife made the rule that I even had another orgasm where I wasn't stimulating myself while it happened.

If I didn't have a fetish for flannel pajamas before that night, I did afterwards. All the components came to be associated with the red flannel. I got a pair that year on Christmas morning and my reaction was genuine joy but also an embarrassing and difficult to hide hard-on.

Over the years, I started to feel a little ashamed that I was squirting into my pajamas all the time. The wet spot on my pajamas would stick to my penis and when I moved to get out of bed or just rollover, it would get all over my stomach. Worse yet, my mommy was so moved by how much I loved my Christmas present of red flannel pajamas that she got me a new pair every year and still does. Now I just get an erection whenever I open a present from my mom.

Even today, my favorite pajamas are red flannel:

As I rolled away from my wife that night, I was transported back to when I was just a little masturbating boy having his own semen smear all over his tummy before going to sleep. I didn't get to go to sleep yet that night though. No, I had to get up, clean myself up, rinse off the mess I made in my pajamas, and then fetch the hairbrush. My spankee that night was super hard. I went to sleep on my tummy. With horror, I woke up the next morning hard as a diamond and gently humping the bed. My sore bottom convinced me to stop that right away.

Since that spankee, I've been very careful because 'unauthorized emissions', as she calls them, receive the harshest punishment. She almost never gives me permission to make my squirties but if I ask first and show her my hard little problem, she doesn't seem to spank as hard or maybe it is because at least part of my spanking happens before the squirts come out.

Most of the time, I can just think about something else and my hard little guy will get soft again. Then I'll have a day that is difficult. Sexy thoughts will invade my thinking and make me get an erection. Of course, I know that my bottom will get a spankee but that doesn't help me get control. Quite the opposite.

The spankees do hurt but a spankee means that I get to squirt. It is all getting twisted together in my head. A red bottom means a happy penis. The more I need my little orgasm, the more the cost to my bottom seems like a small price to pay.

And that is how we get to today. My little guy needs his relief. He's hard all the time and I can't think of anything besides sexy things. It is starting to hurt even.

I went to the bathroom to think about what will happen next and took this picture:

This is as hard as he gets. Just a couple strokes and the squirts would happen. I want to so bad but that would be too naughty.

She's sitting in the family room. I've got my towel and the hairbrush. My bottom tingles in anticipation and my little guy is twitching.

I'm just going to leave him sticking out. She will think that is silly and cute but also naughty. My PJs will be off soon enough. I only get spankees completely naked. She will spank me in a couple different positions like standing up or on all fours. She will say that she is seeing if I will get soft. She knows I won't and even makes fun of how I twitch, throb, and hump the air while she spanks me.

After my bottom is warmed up and red, and my penis is still hard, one of a couple things will happen. She might just send me to potty to go make my squirties. Or she might just make me do it right in front of her. Either way, she will tell me to hurry up and if I do it in front of her, she will just 'tsk-tsk' when it happens and say how dirty and icky it is. If I'm in the potty, she will sometimes stand outside knocking and asking how it is going, if I'm done yet and telling me to hurry up.

If I am lucky and I am usually lucky, thank goodness, she will put the towel over her thighs and let me lay down over her lap. Then, she will spank me--but usually not too hard--until the squirts come out. I don't know why, but I like that best.

Still, it doesn't matter how the squirts come out because after they are out, I always get a super hard spanking with the hairbrush. It hurts really bad and sometimes I even will cry. It is all embarrassing but crying is the worst. I don't feel like a man at all. It is like it gets stripped right off me and I'm just a little boy again. My penis is soft, my bottom burns, my eyes leak tears, and I beg and plead for forgiveness and mercy.

When it is over, she will sometimes just hug me before I go clean up but other times she'll want me to give her an orgasm with my tongue. She will tap the brush threateningly against the open palm of her left hand as I get in position. I haven't failed yet so I don't know if the threat is real and hope to never find out.

Too Soon

Oh no, this is bad. This is real bad. I shouldn't have even been touching myself. I know it is risky to do that and then I heard her walking down the stairs and something about that was just too much for me to handle and I guess I lost control.

I have been waiting downstairs in the family room for the next part of my spanking. She had already given me a good long warm-up and then two harder spankings. One was with a big wooden paddle that stings a lot. I was bent over the edge of the bed and some pillows for that spanking. Then, after a little while, she used a big wooden spoon on my bottom while I was wrapped over an ottoman. Both of them were hard spankings. I was making all sorts of little boy 'ouchie' noises.

Those spankings were just warm-up for what was going to happen to me in the family room. My spanking time was going to end with her using the little hairbrush paddle while I humped and wiggled my way to a frustrating little orgasm over her lap. Of course, after that, it was going to be really painful but there is something that is so terrifyingly arousing about knowing that my spanking was going to really happen after those little squirts leave my penis.

Actually, it is exciting because what comes next is terrifying, terrible, and inevitable. The sting of that feared paddle makes my bottom jiggle, sting, and catch fire while I fight to have my few seconds of painful pleasure. Sometimes it is just a relief as my frustration oozes out of the little guy. Other times, it is like the pain and struggle heighten my orgasm. It builds as I fight for release and when it finally happens, it is explosive and momentarily blocks out the assault on my bottom. Of course, it is over in a blink of an eye as the burn building on my bottom suddenly invades my consciousness crushing out the pleasure, ruining my orgasm, and leaving me wrecked and writhing.

I had been sent down to wait in the family room after getting the spoon upstairs. The spoon is a precision instrument. Wherever it lands, bee stings emerge. I pulled out a bar stool to sit on while waiting. She likes to walk in and see me nervously sitting there with my hard penis poking up from my lap. The bee stings fading on my bottom woke up as I sat down on the stool. Pre-cum emerged from my excited little guy. The stings weren't terrible but more like reminders of what was coming up next.

I touched my pee-pee and, of course, it felt great. I like to gently fondle myself while waiting. I know I shouldn't and that accidents could happen but I like being so excited and right on the edge. My wife likes seeing my excitement and frustration when she walks in. Sitting on the bar stool makes me look even more like a little boy too. I have to sit up straight and probably because I am nervous, I always just keep my legs together. Of course, my testicles would be uncomfortably crushed between my thighs so I have to position my pink shaved scrotum on top of my legs. This makes my little penis look positively tiny as he just barely emerges from my lap. The head gets a bluish tint especially in this position as I sit rigid like a choir boy. Pre-cum squeezes out of the tiny slit and I can't help but get it on my fingers. I mean, I can't really stroke the shaft like this so I just play with the tip and the super sensitive spot on the underside right below the head that I can't seem to stop touching.

The funny thing is that sitting like this, it seems strange to even refer to the little guy by adult words like penis, erection, dick or cock. Even though he is erect, he is just a little pee-pee. I've read of people using words like dicklet or boy-clitty when talking about men with little penises. I don't think the guys attached to those little members are going to get their bottoms spanked like little boys. No, I have a pee-pee and though touching it feels good like a regular penis, little boys that get spankings just have little pee-pees. That's all. Maybe when I finally outgrow needing to get spankings I can graduate to a dicklet but for now, nope, just a little pee-pee poking up from my lap.

Steadily oozing pre-cum made my fingers all slippery. A little of that stuff goes a long way and more was coming out than was needed to lube me up. It is silly that my pee-pee wants to do big penis things.

She made me wait only a little while and I just absentmindedly played with myself the whole time. I was right near the edge which is nothing I haven't done before. Then I heard the footsteps in the hall and if she had come downstairs, everything would have have been fine. But she didn't. She walked into the kitchen first and I had just a little more time to play with my little guy and that extra little time combined with the knowledge that she was on her way right now was a little too much. I think she put something away in the kitchen and was coming back down the hall when I realized that my penis play had gone on too long. Suddenly, as she started down the steps, I started to squirt.

It didn't shoot all over because I'm not a shooter; I'm a drooler if anything. I snapped my hand away as if it would help stop the inevitable but semen just pulsed out and ran down my little guy. I watched in shock as I had a complete ejaculation in just seconds that made a huge mess all over my tight little scrotum.

The horror of the moment didn't detract from it being a thoroughly wonderful orgasm. In fact, perhaps the horror made it even better. The contractions made my bottom tingled where it had felt like bee stings before. Something about sitting with my legs tight together, back straight, prim and proper, made it feel different than normal too and different can be better sometimes.

Of course, unlike my wife's orgasms that seem to go on for minutes, mine was over before she even got down the stairs and the reality was setting in as she walked around the corner.

There was no point in hiding what happened and it didn't matter anyway. The spanking was going to happen. Though we both like me to squirm my way to my little squirts over her lap, she knows that if an accident happens before then that am I still supposed to get spanked with the dreaded little hairbrush paddle anyway.

"I'm sorry," I blurted before she even noticed what happened. "It was an accident. I couldn't help it," I added pointlessly.

"What?" she said before pausing as her eyes caught sight of my still twitching little guy squeezing out the last drops of semen. "Oh, well, I see. That is a surprise," she said a little taken aback. I was a real mess and she isn't one of those people that likes anything about semen. The sticky mess had flowed quickly down the underside of my pee-pee and over my tight scrotum before pooling up in a little puddle between my legs. I had to keep my legs tightly together or it would pour right onto the seat of the chair. I was happy that I was sitting on one of my towels.

"I'm sorry," I offered again. "It just happened," I added running out of things to say.

She paused for a second not sure what to do next. I could almost see her reading through the playbook looking for the correct response to this admittedly rare situation.

"Please," I whined. "Do I have to get a spanking now?" I asked leading her on. "I promise I didn't mean to make squirtees." I couldn't believe that I was staying in the game. I could probably get out of it. I mean, it was over, right? I had my little spanking and emptied all my sticky stuff all over myself. It had even felt good and I was embarrassed and humiliated just like always. My bottom was pretty worked over too. It was going to sting for hours more and I would even feel it tomorrow I'm sure. I think she would completely understand if we were done for the night.  What was I doing this for? 

I didn't know why, but I felt like I needed to push a little, "I don't need more spanking; it was just an accident. I'll be good. I promise it will never, ever happen again. I promise!" I said completely in character. My softening penis twitched and pulsed a little as it retreated.

She quickly seemed to remember the rule. Nodding she said, "no, baby, you still need a spanking. Get up, fetch the paddle and don't you dare make a mess." 

It was done. This was going to happen and I finally understood why it had to happen: I needed it. The part of the spanking where I bravely take the pain and become a big boy again instead of a little baby hadn't happened. I need that but I also need to pay for my ill timed orgasm. What made it such a good little orgasm was knowing that those few seconds of pleasure were going to followed by a hard and thorough spanking. If I get away with it this time, then I won't be afraid next time and it won't be as good. It has to happen, I have to be made an example of even to myself. This is an example of what happens when little boys squirt all over themselves. Even though I made the rules, I can't break them.

Still feeling the afterglow a little, I started to get up and felt the stickiness all over my scrotum drip between my legs. So that I wouldn't drip on the floor, I grabbed my towel and held it against my crotch like a diaper as I stood up. The position must have looked pretty silly because I thought I heard my wife snicker a little as she turned and walked to the spanking chair. The little paddle was just on the bar where I had put it earlier so I didn't have to go far to fetch it. It is still always so awful having to bring her the paddle she is going to spank me with.

I have to say that the little walk to the chair was so much worse this time. Usually I have an erect penis just dying for release. He would lead me over to her like he was pointing the way. The start of the spanking meant that a squirt was about to happen and like Pavlov's dogs, he would drool in anticipation.

There was nothing good to look forward to today. My penis was shrinking fast and my bottom seemed swollen and sore already. I didn't want this spanking at all. My legs slid together lubricated by the slippery semen that had dripped between them. It felt sort of gross and it dawned on me that I was going to feel this lubrication as I kicked my legs during my spanking too.

I didn't really start to cry but I was feeling so sorry for myself that I was sniffling a little as I handed her the little ouchie paddle. She just nodded to her lap. I wanted to beg her not to spank me but I knew what I was supposed to say--what I had to say. "Please spank my naughty bottom really hard so that I learn to be a good boy," I whispered.

"Really hard?" she asked teasing me a little.

I paused, "yes, please. I was very naughty and, um, I, ah, need a good spanking," I stated quietly.

"OK, climb on over so I can blister your bottom," she said like an executioner to the criminal.

Keeping the towel in place was a little tricky but I climbed over her lap and kept it in place enough to keep my mess to myself. I wiggled into place but froze when I felt the cool wood tap my right cheek lightly. It was gone and then, well, then I got a real spanking. It wasn't at all like when I would get a spanking that would cause me to twitch and rub my sensitive penis on the towel. No, this was just stinging fire that was instantly blinding.

I was kicking and wiggling right away and my ouchie noises were louder than ever. I was sort of aware that she was alternating spanks between cheeks and that she was making sure everything was uniformly covered and on fire. Mostly I was just aware that the spanking was mind-erasingly intense. It seemed to last forever but it was probably only minutes later when she stopped. "Are you going to be a good boy now?" she asked.

"Ow, ow, owie," was all I could say as I tried to catch my breath and gather my thoughts. The spanking started again and I bucked and kicked wildly. I heard my own voice say "yes, yes, I'll be good!" loudly.

She stopped spanking me. "Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes, ow, I won't..." and then I seemed to forget what I wouldn't do.

The spanking started again and she asked without stopping, "what won't you do again?"

I was falling apart. "I, ow, I won't, owie, no, owie, I won't make naughty squirties," I said hoping this was correct.

"OK," she said but kept spanking. "I hope you've learned your lesson, little boy. Now hold still for just a little more just to be sure."

The last little bit is just a blur but I remember it being hard and fast. I didn't stay still at all because I just couldn't. But then it really was over and her hand patting my bottom replaced the wood of the paddle.

"That's enough, for now," she teased. "Get up unless you want some more." I was off her lap in a flash. Of course, standing in front of her was no fun either. My brave erection was replaced by a soft little boy pee-pee and droopy testicles. Though the towel had absorbed most of my spillage, there was still some signs of my accident in the creases of my scrotum and between my legs. I was still shaking from the painful paddling. Tears were in my eyes and though I wasn't really crying, I felt like I looked, well, like a freshly spanked little boy. If I was smaller, I would have wanted to sit on her lap and hug her until she made me feel like everything was all better.

"Can, <sniff> can I have a hug," I asked softly. She nodded and I got on my knees, wrapped my arms around her, and buried my face in her neck. "Thank you for the spanking me," I said between sniffles. I wiped the tears in my eyes on her neck and hugged her tight.