Christmas Tradition

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

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

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

Preparing Myself

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But first, the walk. 

My Perfect Spanking

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

The Game

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

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

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

One Boy's Journey -- Part 4

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

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

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

One Boy's Journey -- Part 3

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

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

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

One Boy's Journey -- Part 2

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

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

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

One Boy's Journey -- Part 1

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

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

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

The Pool Incident

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

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

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

Hot Day

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

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

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

Descent

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

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

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

Witnessed and Witnessed

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

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

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

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.

UDPATE -- Book! I Wrote a Book!

I've taken all of my published and unpublished short stories and compiled them into an ebook (and maybe even a paperback if I can figure that part of the direct publishing thing out). If you are into what I am into, this is the book for you. And it is long. Really long.

Check it out, well, you can't; Amazon took it down for violating probably all sorts of decency rules. They really should have taken it down because of all the spelling and grammar problems not to mention some of the really terrible writing in places. Alas, the problem of being a self-published author with no editor.

For those late to the party, all of my stories have something to do with spanking mixed with involuntary, inappropriate, or otherwise untimely sexual response. The boys (this is a book about boys and men who are treated like boys) all muster an erection during their spankings and usually ejaculate or orgasm as well. That is a big part of what is going on but there is plenty of embarrassment, crying, shame, ruined orgasms, and sex as well.

What now? I had taken many of the stories in this blog and turned them into teasers for the book which, by the way, totally wasn't selling at all. I expanded a few and fixed some problems in a couple of them. I had just recently completed an editing pass over the whole to repair some of the more embarrassing problems with grammar, homonyms, and really just terrible writing. I am going to put all of those back into the blog here.

Writing a book was an accomplishment for me. Writing is fun and I do plenty of it for work. I've long considered writing a mainstream work of fiction or nonfiction. In the end, it seems fairly masturbatory. Very few people can make a living writing books but everyone seems to think that they have something to say. If it isn't going to sell and will just make me look like a douche (I can just hear myself saying, "I'm an author," at dinner party; it makes me cringe just thinking about it) then I may as well write a book that I want to read and will enjoy writing.

In the end, that is really what this is all about. Writing about spanking is therapy for me. I not only get my writing fix but I also get to explore my fantasies, work through my myriad of issues, and create something that is purely my own. It is like gardening: no one gives a fuck about anyone's garden. The pleasure it gives the gardener is that it is their garden that they cultivated.

This is my garden. It isn't my life's work, how I will be remembered by my friends and family after I'm gone, or any of that. It is a thing I do that makes me happy. I'm a little proud of it and do wish that I was asked to speak at conferences, known as an expert, made money from royalty checks that just appear in my mailbox, and was asked to sign copies of my book. It would be nice.

What is also nice is getting up early most morning and writing a few paragraphs about spanking while making a little tent and wet spot in my pajamas.

It would also be nice hearing that someone else liked my stories. Let me know; it would make my day.

Spanked In the Family Room

It really is all my fault that I got in this predicament. Mom was always strict with me growing up. Strict but fair, of course, but when I was naughty, there were spankings. The spankings happened whenever and wherever and as soon as possible after the naughtiness occurred. All my relatives saw mom spank me stark naked in the living room, family room, kitchen, back yard, front yard, all through my childhood. 

When I hit puberty at about 11 or 12, I shaped up and got wise. There were fewer spankings and then it was like I forgot how to be bad. My little sisters got some spankings but not as many as I used to. 

I graduated from high school and went to college. Though I eventually graduated, I didn't do well. I drank too much and screwed around the whole time. It took me six years to get a worthless degree and I came home alone, broken and desperate for a place to live. Mom and dad took me in. Dad is super sweet, easy going, and massively successful. I know I disappointed him but he wasn't in my face about things. Mom, however, was less amused. 

The first couple months were just like college. I drank and played video games pretty much all the time. I wasn't a part of the family, didn't look for a job, and really wasn't going anywhere quickly. Mom gave me a couple months of rope and then started to pull me back in. 

At first, she just talked but when nothing changed, there were threats of being kicked out. That worked for a couple weeks and I at least looked like I was job searching. Then I went back to my video games and beer. 

I woke up at 3 PM one day to my mom packing up my room. She said I was being kicked out unless things changed immediately. I started begging to not be kicked out and pretty soon was basically begging for help. I didn't know how to change. I had all these bad habits that I needed to unlearn. We talked for a while and she said that I needed discipline and structure. I needed to learn that there were consequences to bad decisions and behavior. I just nodded my head and cried silent tears. 

"When you were a little boy, you needed to be spanked to behave. You would just keep on being bullheaded and stubborn until your bottom was blistered. I think you need the same punishments today the exact same way. What do you think about that? If you are going to live in this house, you need to pull your weight, be a part of the family, do your chores, and if you don't, you will be spanked like a naughty boy. Can you live like that?" she asked. 

I was in shock but I didn't see another option. "I guess so," I said hoping it was just a threat. 

"OK, then I expect to see this room cleaned up before dinner," she said. 

Of course, my room was a colossal mess and cleaning it up in a week was going to be tough. I don't think she knew that, actually. I got up, cleaned up, and started working on my room. I actually made some good progress but it clearly wasn't going to happen by dinner. I got lost in a graphic novel I had forgotten about and had found at the bottom of a pile of junk. Mom walked into my still messed up room and caught me reading the comic book. 

"Well, it is time for dinner and clearly you didn't take me seriously," she said sounding both angry and disappointed. "Dinner is ready now. We can take care of your spanking after we eat," she added very matter-of-fact and walked out the door letting those words hang ominously in the room. 

It seemed like a bad idea to be late for dinner after that so I jumped up and surprised everyone by being not only at dinner, but on time even. Mom didn't keep my spanking a secret and announced to everyone's surprise that I would get a spanking after dinner was cleaned up (by me) in the family room. My little sister, Sarah, who is only 10 asked the question everyone was wondering, "can we watch?" 

"Of course, dear," mom said sweetly and with a big disarming smile. 

I nervously cleaned up dinner and then walked to the family room where everyone seemed to be watching TV. The second I walked in, mom clicked off the TV and curiously, no one complained. "OK, John-John, come here," she said pointing in front of her. "Take off your shirt," she said while reaching for my belt. I pulled off my t-shirt as she struggled with my belt and then button and zipper. I flashed back to when I was a little boy and she would pull down my pants before my spankings. 

Sure enough, my jeans came down and then her fingers were in the waistband of my underpants and they were pulled down to below my knees as well. The shock of almost immediately being naked in front of my mother, father, and two sisters shocked me. I whined, "Mom, no," and blushed all four of my cheeks. 

"Oh hush, if you are going to act like a little boy, you are going to treated like one. Now over my lap right now," she commanded. 

I was happy to hide my penis from everyone against my mother's thighs. My sisters were giggling pretty much continuously and I could only assume why. 

That spanking wasn't very bad which was itself a problem. Because it didn't hurt too much but was so embarrassing, I found myself almost enjoying the good feelings I got on my penis when I squirmed. The spanking didn't last long enough for me to be stimulated to orgasm but when I stood up, my little feller was rock hard. Mom was as surprised as anyone. 

"Well, that didn't used to happen when you were younger. I guess we will have to spank you harder and longer now," was all she said. My sisters were still giggling. 

The room got cleaned up, of course. And things went well for a while but then I started to slack off again. I still hadn't found a job. Then I forgot to do some chores, and I got another spanking. That time I had to take off my clothes and come to the kitchen for my spanking. We were the only ones home and she used the wooden spoon. I got an erection as soon as the spanking was announced and it never waned. It was so strange walking through the cool and quiet house completely naked with my erect penis pointing the way. I stopped outside the kitchen for a second staring down in disbelief directly at my upturned member. He seemed to stare right back at me. With a resigned sigh, I walked into the kitchen. Mother just smiled at me and my hungry, raging hard-on. 

She sat in a kitchen chair in the middle of the room and spanked with her hand at first. I couldn't believe how good my erection felt against her soft thighs covered only in thin sweat pants. Suddenly, I realized that I was going to cum and I panicked. Just before it happened, I stuttered an "oh no, no," and then felt myself lose control and start squirting. I was mortified but mom just kept on spanking. 

"I thought that might happen. Don't worry, I can throw these old sweat pants in the wash. No problem." Then she picked up the wooden spoon off the floor and set my bottom on fire. Again, I flashed back to a time when I was a little boy squirming in distress over mommy's lap. It was just like old times. Through my tears, I saw drops of my semen drip from between her thighs onto the tile floor. 

I cried in pain and embarrassment. Who wants to have an orgasm in front of their mother? Worse yet, she didn't just see it, she caused it even. I lost control over her lap. My erection was touching her when it happened. In fact, her sex was just inches from where I squirted. But the worst part was that it was a wonderful orgasm. The spanking just made it last longer and be so much more intense than my normal masturbation experiences. 

I was pretty upset by this turn of events. Mom made me stand in the corner after my spanking. My bottom burned for a while and then just tingled. My penis slowly drained and leaked onto my legs and feet. I was released from my time-out just before my sister's came home and I actually had to run to my room as they were walking in so I wasn't seen. 

The whole thing was so confusing to me. Suddenly I wanted another intense orgasm but I was still dreading the spanking. My masturbation fantasies started involving spanking. I would wonder what it would feel like to hump whatever mom was wearing. Dress, pants, apron, jeans, wool, cotton, nylon, silk, whatever. 

I was tempted to misbehave to get a spanking but I didn't think that was right. She's my mom, after all. I was a model son but eventually I screwed up. She was wearing the sweatpants again when she told me to get ready for my spanking. It was in the kitchen again but this time my sister--the older one--was home. She was so excited by my predicament that she waited at my bedroom door for me. She walked behind me to the kitchen basically skipping in glee. 

I was so embarrassed but still, I was eager to have my happy time over mom's lap. And it didn't disappoint. I knew as I went over her lap that I was going to have no trouble having an orgasm and that I was going to squirt a massive load into her lap. It went through my mind that I might even ruin the sweatpants if this happened often enough. 

It was wonderful when my orgasm happened after just a couple dozen spanks and then it was terrible as the realization of what I had just done replaced the anticipation of the thing and the pain replaced the awesome pleasure. Of course, it was even worse when it was over and I got to stand in the corner as mom explained the mess to Lydia. 

Before a spanking in front of Sarah, mom explained what was likely to happen while I stood naked waiting patiently. My penis bobbed in the air in anticipation all through the description. 

Then the first family party happened. It was a BBQ at a cousin's house and I wasn't the one spanked. A seven year old cousin was spanked but it wasn't a big drawn out event. Her mother escorted her firmly into the house, calmly pulled down her shorts and panties, tossed her over her knee, and gave her a bottom a couple quick smacks. It mostly just got her attention. The little girl cried a little but then was back playing again in a couple minutes. 

Unfortunately, my mom had been drinking a little and decided to tell everyone how my spankings were really turning my life around. Things had been turning around and I couldn't really deny that the spankings weren't helping. I had a job and I was working out. I looked better and clearly felt better about myself. 

Mom was explaining the whole thing about how I had to be naked while I waited for my spanking and how sometimes afterwards I would have to do some time-out. I was hoping she wouldn't describe everything but she was on stage so she talked about how my sisters would sometimes get to watch and, of course, to my utter horror, how I would be erect before my spankings, ejaculate during, and then be limp and sticky afterward. I was blushing furiously during all this and especially when we were both congratulated for how great everything seemed to be going. 

Eventually someone asked something about what would happen if I was bad at a party and mom replied that it wouldn't matter who was there because a child needs to know that they will be punished no matter who witnesses. My stomach sank and I felt a little sick. I could have been spanked just like my cousin just was but I was pretty sure it wouldn't be a couple little slaps on my bottom away from the rest of the party guests. 

Even more to my horror, everyone agreed with her. There was some talk about how if a child is naughty in front of guests, they should be punished right then even if it is embarrassing. They chose that time to act up and they should have to deal with the consequences of that choice. I quietly just sipped my beer and ate my food. The BBQ was fun but I sensed that I was the topic of every conversation. I was happy when we left. 

Things were going well but I still got spankings sometimes. Mom's black sweatpants were getting a real workout. I found that if I could hold off longer, that it felt even better and the spanking didn't hurt as much or at least it didn't seem to hurt for as long. But that was difficult to do. One time, I had to wait for longer than normal. Mom told me to get ready and then got a phone call. I just stood in the kitchen while she talked but my sisters enjoyed the opportunity to really inspect my hard penis. No one touched me but it had been a long time since I had ejaculated and I really wanted to. They were studying me and making comments while I just stood there flexing involuntarily making drops of pre-cum form at the tip and run down my shaft. 

Finally, she hung up, took her seat, and called me over. My sisters took positions right in front of her knees so that they could watch everything. As I stood to her right, mom took a look at my straining erection and said, "looks like it is ready to pop." I just nodded and shivered a little. 

She gestured over her lap and I realized that I wasn't even going to make it that far. Just the thought of taking the position--the anticipation of the soft fabric on my sensitive glands--was enough to send me over the edge. I couldn't move at all but just looked at her and said, "mommy," in the littlest little boy voice just as my orgasm hit and a big spurt of semen erupted from my twitching penis. It arced only a little landing on her lap before being followed by lesser spurts and then a pulsing flow that followed the path the pre-cum had taken earlier. 

As far as orgasms were concerned, it wasn't very good or very satisfying. My sisters were astonished, however, and my mother seemed pretty amused. "Well, I guess that is all taken care of then," she said smiling as I shivered. "You need to learn to control yourself better. Come on, over you go," she said as she pulled me off my suddenly rubbery legs and onto the mess I made on her thighs. 

That spanking hurt right from the beginning. I tried never to let that happen again. It also precipitated a couple changes as well. Mom thought I needed to learn self-control. She said that if I was ever going to be a man, I needed to be able to control myself and that until I could, I wouldn't be allowed to have any pubic hair. I was upset and we had a little fight about it. The eventual compromise was that I could keep some short hair above my genitals but that my penis and scrotum had to be shaved clean every day. I hate to admit it, but it was a constant reminder that I was being taught by my mother to be a man in every way. 

Mom also wanted me to ask for permission before I ejaculated. Always. If I needed to masturbate, I had to ask her for permission to do so. That sounded horrible but I had no idea how horrible until the first time I got up the courage to ask. Worse yet, she could say 'no' and I was supposed to try and hold it in until she allowed me to. I thought at first that this meant that during my spankings I had to beg her to let me squirt. I was right and wrong about that. 

About a week after the new rule was in place, I really wanted to masturbate. Truth be told, I real wanted to masturbate the day after, but I was afraid to cheat and I didn't want to seem like a pervert. Before this, I was basically jacking off at least once every day. After a couple days, I was going a little crazy and after a week, I was hard so much that it was starting to hurt. Worse yet, I had caught a glimpse of my youngest sister's naked bottom when her towel slipped after her shower.  It had made me super horny. 

In my overly aroused state, I decided to bite the bullet and ask for permission to masturbate. Mom was, of course, in the kitchen. I put on my robe over my pajamas and hid my erection reasonably well and sought her out. Unfortunately, my teenage sister, Lydia, was there too eating breakfast. 

"Mom," I whispered standing as close to her as possible. 

"Yes?" 

"Can I, um, masturbate this morning?" I whispered again. 

She paused for a second before saying, "Yes, I think that would be fine. One second." Then she wiped off her hands on the dish towel. "OK, let's go." 

I looked at her in shock. "To your room, I suppose or did you just want to do it here?" she asked. 

By now, we had Lydia's attention but she didn't know what we were talking about. I decided that the lesser of all possible evils at this point was to at least move the conversation to my room so I said, "my room," and quickly led the way. 

It wasn't a long walk but my mind was racing as I tried to comprehend what was apparently about to happen. Once in my room with the door closed behind us, I quickly said, "I don't want you to watch. I just wanted permission." 

"I know this is embarrassing, dear, but I think it is for your own good. Just do what you normally would but don't squirt until I tell you that you can," she patiently explained. 

I wasn't happy but I was ferociously horny. It didn't look like I was going to win and losing seemed bad but I was having trouble doing the math as to exactly why. I nervously started to get undressed which involved removing my robe and my pajama bottoms. Then I walked over to my desk and got a couple tissues and then knelt on the floor with my knees spread. I am not sure why I like kneeling like this but sometimes it makes me feel like the position I would be in if I was having sex with a girl doggy-style. 

Mom was quiet as I held the tissues in my left hand and lightly started to stroke my now hairless erection with my right. "Oh," I said involuntarily. It wasn't going to take long and after just seconds I felt like I was about to pop. I looked at her pleadingly, "Can I, please?" I asked desperately. "Can you what?" she asked me calmly. 

In a panic, I blurted out, "Please, can I cum now?" 

"Not yet, dear," she said calmly. 

I loosened my grip and slowed my stroking almost to a stop. "Mom, please, I really need to," I pleaded. 

"You can do it, baby. Just hold back a little longer." 

"Mommy, please" I whined. 

"You wait until I give you permission or you will be getting a spanking. Now, you just hold it in," she commanded with authority. 

I closed my eyes and shivered. I was right on the edge and I had to stop stroking altogether. The seconds ticked by but the sensation continued to build even with just my hand holding myself. The tissues in my left hand tickled the head of my penis. 

It felt like minutes but was probably just 15 seconds or so. The perfect bottom of my sister after her shower this morning invaded my mind again. I looked up at my mother, "Mommy, can I cum now?" I whispered, "please, oh no, please, mommy, please." 

"OK, baby, go ahead," she said after a tantalizing pause. 

I stroked just once and started convulsing as I shot a week's worth of pent up cum into the tissues. It must have been quite the sight. I ended up hunched over sitting on my heels breathing like I had nearly downed. 

"Good boy," mom said pulling me back to reality. "See you at breakfast," she smiled, opened the door, and left me to enjoy my afterglow. 

I didn't masturbate nearly as often as I did before and I did cheat sometimes, but I always felt bad about it. Mom witnessed most of my orgasms. She wasn't cruel about making me wait but she made me take my time. Of course, this made my orgasms better and I got better at holding myself right at the edge. 

It was Thanksgiving that year that I wanted to write about. I had been really good for weeks but for some reason, I hadn't put a priority on Thanksgiving and the family. The party was at our house and everyone was coming over. The problem with being reliable and trustworthy most of the time is that people stop checking up on you. I had a short list of things that I needed to do but work had me distracted. In the end, I missed a couple things and one of them was important. Mom and dad--even dad--were disappointed and a little angry when they realized that I screwed up. 

I moved quickly before anyone arrived to make things right but just couldn't make it happen. The family arrived and I was still struggling to solve a couple problems at the store. I got home and everyone was there. I brought in the last minute groceries and was putting it all away when mom found me. "We've told everyone that you need a spanking and asked if it is OK if we do it while they are here," she said looking stern. My stomach dropped through a the floor. "Get this all put away, then go to your room and get ready. Come back here when you are naked." I sensed that there was no point is arguing so I just nodded but I think my eyes told how sad and sorry I was. 

I did the best I could to not make her more angry. The older girls were in my teenage sister's room when I walked by. The rest of the children were in the family room. Most people were in the den watching the game. I had to walk by everyone on my way to my room which meant that I would soon be walking back naked past them all. 

I know better than to stall but I had to pee so I did stop for that. I was totally hard and it was tricky to manage but it finally worked. Then, in my room, I took everything off and folded it up neatly. I didn't want to make her mad thinking that I was stalling but my penis was so hard and just begging to be touched. I knew that as soon as I left my room, it would be hands off for a long time. I cupped my testicles for a second feeling the smooth hairless skin of my scrotum pulled tight against the precious treasure. Even the skin between my legs was soft and hair free. With my legs spread a little, I allowed my fingers to graze back to my rectum. I wondered if anyone would see its wrinkles today and shivered at the thought. Finally, I gave my erecting a long, soft and slow stroke from the base to the head. It throbbed powerfully in my hand causing my knees to buckle. I took my hand away quickly for fear of triggering a mess that would be very difficult to explain. 

I was clearly aroused. I tried to calm myself, took a deep breath and started back toward the kitchen. The girls were, of course, waiting for me to pass their room. Which I did as quickly as possible. I heard a cousin say, "He has a hard-on," and my sister reply, "He always does before his spankings," and then something else which I missed. 

I don't think the adults saw me pass the den because the game had their attention at the moment but as I got near the family room, one of the little boys was coming toward me and saw me. "Why aren't you wearing clothes?" he asked. 

"Mom said I needed to get a spanking and I always have to be naked for my spankings," I answered. I didn't know where to put my hands. I never do. I wanted to cover up but that isn't allowed so I just stood there having this uncomfortable conversation with my hands flat against my thighs. 

"Wow," he said thoughtfully. "My mom just pulls my pants down. Sometimes I even get to keep my underpants up." He stared right at my erection and it stared right back at him. "Your penis is big like my dad's," he pondered. I had no response to that. "Sometimes mine gets hard like that too." 

I was getting uncomfortable talking about my sexually aroused penis which was literally throbbing and oozing pre-cum at a little with a child that was staring at it at eye level. "Um, I have to go find mom or she is going to be even madder at me," I tried to excuse myself. 

"OK, see you later," he said and turned to go into the family room. I was suddenly aware that I had an audience of three teenage girls behind me. I walked past the family room of children playing unnoticed but just as I got out of eyesight I heard my cousin talking to someone in the room about his naked cousin in the hallway. This was not going well. 

Mom was busy with a couple other women in the kitchen when I got there. She didn't even notice me for a second but then turned to my aunt and said, "See, I told you he would have an erection." 

My aunt gave me a look over and said, "well, how about that. He looks more than erect, I'd say." She was right, of course. I had been leaking pre-cum and the head was sort of bluish. My testicles were a pulled tight inside my scrotum. Of course, I wasn't just erect but actually pointing up. I couldn't help but flex as she stared at me causing a drop of pre-cum to ooze out. 

"Yes, he will have an ejaculation during the spanking," my mother said. "But, I am busy for the moment so he is just going to have to wait." Handing me the big spoon I usually get spanked with, she said, "go wait in the family room, John. I'll be there in just a few minutes." 

I didn't know what to expect so this was no worse that anything else I suppose. I was hoping that we would go to my room or my parents' room but I didn't really think that was going to happen. I just took the spoon from her and said, "OK" before turning and walking out. 

In the hallway, I was suddenly face to face with the three teenage girls two of which seemed pretty shocked to see me. "I have to go wait in the family room," I offered. They parted, let me through, and then followed. 

"See, he's naked," I heard when I walked in. Apparently there had been some debate. The questions came fast and furious: "Are you getting a spanking?" "Were you bad?" "Is your mom going to spank you with that spoon?" "Why is your penis hard?" Most of the questions were easy to answer but I was still having trouble keeping up. Other kids were saying things like "I bet that is going to hurt" and others were speculating about whether I would cry or not and how red my bottom would get. Eventually, of course, everyone ended up focusing again on my mystifying erection. I was compared to their fathers' or brothers' or themselves. 

Eventually, one of my cousins admitted that I was a lot bigger than he was and pulled down his pants to prove it. He had a little pink boner that was cute but looked fragile. Another boy said his was different and quickly displayed his flaccid member. Cousin number one quickly said that he looked like that sometimes too. Then a little girl had her dress up and panties down saying that she didn't have one. It wasn't sexy but it was pretty funny for the moment. 

But then it hit me that I was sexually aroused as only an adult could be yet I was in a room of children because I was being treated like one. My raging erection was supposed to attract a mate. The oozing pre-cum would assist in penetration ensuring that my penis would sink deep into her fertile canal. My testicles were pulled up out of harm's way as they prepared to release their plentiful semen. I was the textbook page of working adult male anatomy, sex, and mating. My partner should be a nubile young woman with wide hips, thick lips, mature vulva, vagina, and breasts. Instead, I was playing I'll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours with a bunch of children that had no idea what the parts were for. 

Mom walked in and told everyone to get dressed unless they wanted to get spankings too. That got a reaction in a hurry. She walked over to couch, sat down, straightened her dress and apron, and waved me over. 

I walked over nervously. One day, I hoped to stand naked in a bedroom with a beautiful woman on the bed and be beckoned over to her. I could only hope that I would have as strong an erection when that happens. I approached my mother instead lewdly pointing my sex at her face. "OK, ready for your spanking?" she asked while staring right at the tip of my penis as it oozed a little more clear lubrication. 

"Yes, mom. I'm sorry," I said quietly handing her the big spoon. Empty handed, I was again unsure what to do with my hands and just opened and closed them at my sides. 

"You know the rules. Nothing is different just because your cousins are here. Ask permission before you squirt. No rubbing your bottom afterwards. No cleaning up your penis or face. And no clothes until I say, OK?" 

"I understand. I'll be good, I promise." I was fidgeting because I was so nervous, embarrassed, and excited. All those eyes on me just made me want to hide. At least now I had a big grown up man's erection. Pretty soon, I was going to be a crying little boy with a red bottom and a little sticky hairless penis again. It dawned on me as I was standing there that I was probably going to have a wonderful orgasm and that they were all going to see it. I might be able to delay it a little but I wouldn't be able to stop it and I didn't want to. I felt full. Something inside me was overflowing. Just standing there, more pre-cum oozed out. 

Mom was enjoying my predicament. She could tell that I just wanted lay over her lap and get started. The sooner we got the show on the road, the sooner I would get to have my little fun. I looked at her apron and thought about how it was going to look with a puddle of my sperm on it. 

"Are you ready for a big spanking?" she asked. I nodded. "Don't be afraid to cry." I nodded again as my cock flexed another drop of pre-cum that started to run down the shaft. It was like my penis was crying already. 

"OK, over you go, naughty boy," she said while guiding me over. She was sitting against the back of the couch so when I was over her lap, my face was on the arm rest on one side and my shins were on the other. 

The canvas of her apron was a new sensation. It felt cool, coarse and unforgiving. Still, it was stimulating and I had to concentrate to not squirt the second my penis touched it. The wood of the spoon tapped my right cheek twice and then was gone. The room was silent just before the first crack of the wood on my backside. I involuntarily jumped and said an obligatory "ow". I felt like I was on stage and supposed to act like a naughty boy getting a spanking. I twitched involuntarily at the second spank on my left cheek. My glands moved slightly spreading the slick lubricant oozing from the little slit in an attempt to make ready the object of my passion--my mommy's lap--for my vain coupling. Nerve endings fired and I realized I would have to be still or I would lose control. 

I was still for the next couple spanks. My jiggling bottom absorbed the impact of the little stinging bites. I could tell she was painting her naughty target top to bottom and side to side. It would take a couple passes before it would really start to hurt. For the moment, it wasn't so much painful as embarrassing to feel my bottom bounce and jiggle. 

"That's right, John-John, hold still while I spank away your naughty. You are going to be a good little boy soon," mom cooed. I answered with one of the words and sounds I only make when I am getting a spanking. They are combinations of 'ow' and 'oh' and 'no' whined in a high voice. Even though I was being still, my penis was twitching and throbbing as it enjoyed the pressure between my stomach and mom's thighs. 

The good feelings in my penis were drawing my attention. It felt like the impact of the spoon was adding to the pressure inside me. It wanted out and I wanted to feel it come out. This was the man part of me; the part of me that everyone looked at when I was naked. It was the part that made the older women wonder what it was like to make love to me, the younger women a little afraid of what I would do to them, and the little girls just know that they should instinctively be attracted to it. 

It was ready to perform. A woman was present and her sex was near. My young, healthy, virile, and ready penis had done an admirable job of supplying copious lubricant. My testicles had worked overtime generating sperm. Seminal fluid had been produced to overflowing. 

"Can I squirt, please?" I whined in a little boy voice. 

"Not yet, baby," mommy answered. 

"Oooo, why not?" I asked like an insolent little boy. 

"Your bottom isn't red enough yet." 

"Please, mommy, I need to," I pushed. The man inside me was begging his mommy to let him orgasm. Real men don't ask their mommies for permission. The need grew. I wanted so bad to feel the thick liquid squirt out the little slit. I craved the involuntary contractions of that muscle between my testicles and bottom hole that would contract hard over and over again to force my semen out. 

Everyone was looking at a naughty little boy getting spanked by his mommy but what I wanted them to see was how my penis could ejaculate like a man. I was desirable as a mate. Every woman in the room of every age should want to be with me and every one of those little boys should know that they couldn't perform as well as me. 

"Mommy, please, I need to squirt," I whined again. 

"Hush, baby, and don't you dare. You hold it back," she commanded. "You want to make mommy proud, right? You want to make me happy. Show mommy that you can be a good boy and wait." 

"Yes, mommy, ow, mommy, I want to, ow, oh please, mommy, it wants to come out so bad, mommy," I chanted. She just spanked harder. 

"Just a little more, baby, you can make it," she encouraged. "It is almost time. You can do it!" 

I reared up in anticipation opening up a little and I thought maybe giving some kid a little view of my little bottom hole. I realized that if I spread my legs, those behind me would be able to see the pulsing muscle between my legs when it finally happened. I tried to ease my legs apart as I further arched my back. This caused my penis to be drawn over mommy's thighs and even just that small movement was enough to bring me right to the edge. 

I clenched my teeth and clawed at the couch pillows. "Please, mommy, please, ow, please, mommy, need squirt, mommyyyyy," I chanted like a little boy. I pushed up even more trying to reduce the sensations against my penis. I need to hold on for mommy. She wasn't ready yet. I needed to make her proud. I pushed my bottom up into the spoon. 

This might not have been the longest she had made me wait but it felt like it. The spanking was starting to sting pretty bad too. "Ow, oh, mommy, please, I'll be good, I'll be good, please, mommy, can I squirt mommy? I promise I'll be good. Please, I need to squirt. I don't think I can stop it. It's coming! Mommy, please!" I was getting desperate from both the want and the need. 

"OK, baby," she said soothingly, "make your little mess. Let it all out." 

I wanted everyone to see the cum shoot powerfully out of my penis. I wanted to scar the children, impress the young men, and make the women wonder what it would feel like if my cock exploded like that while pressed to the hilt inside their vaginal sheath and splashing like a fire-hose against their cervical barrier. In that moment, I was a strong, grown man fulfilling my biological destiny. 

My penis barely had to move to create enough stimulation to push myself over the edge. I felt mom's left hand gently rub my upper back as she encouraged me on: "that's a good little boy. Let it all out for mommy. What a big boy you are making a squirt on mommy's lap. Pump it all out." She sounded like she was soothing a baby. 

It was indeed a wonderful orgasm. She spanked me right over my bottom hole the whole time and though I sort of felt the sting, for the moment it almost felt good. I pulsated strongly and even felt my scrotum rock back and forth as that muscle inside me pushed burst after burst of semen through my shaft. I hoped that whoever was behind me could see the strong muscle flexing rhythmically.

The little slit of a hole struggled to let it all through and the friction as it forced its way out felt wonderful. I froze in place as my genitals executed their vital function and fireworks of pleasure exploded in my head. The unmistakable sound of a grown man groaning in sexual rapture escaped my throat as I closed my eyes and hugged the couch. 

Then it was over. The good feelings faded replaced in seconds by all the burning pain that the spoon had been delivering while I was so distracted by my now vanishing sexual arousal. All of that desire, need, and arousal was immediately replaced by the realization that I had just had an orgasm in front of a bunch of children. I couldn't believe that just seconds before, my need for ejaculation was so powerful that I was willing to selfishly satisfy myself publicly and in front of children and relatives. All that remained was shame and pain. 

And the pain was ferociously emasculating. I had no desire to remain stoic and collapsed on mom's lap, my legs snapped together, and I started kicking and wiggling. Mom's hand moved from my neck and upper back to my hip where she took a firm grip to hold me still and in place. I began to protest the spanking immediately: "No, ow, mommy, ow, ow, no,..." 

My bottom felt like giant blister and each spank of the spoon was a new bee sting. The bouncing and jiggling of my cheeks no longer provided subtle stimulation to my prostate, anus, and erect penis. Now it was just embarrassing to feel my hot bottom feel swollen and the object of everyone's attention.

Mom spanked one cheek at least ten times right down where my bottom meets my upper thighs and then did the same thing to my left cheek before spanking right over the crack way past when I lost count. I was reduced to ouchie sounds and crying. 

Then it was suddenly over and mom was pulling me to my knees. The whole thing was probably over in just minutes but it felt like much longer for me. Still, she was both in a hurry to work on dinner and getting my shame on full display--a chastised little boy crying his eyes out because of a spanked bottom--were priorities. I struggled to my knees and instinctively reached for my sore bottom only to be admonished and reminded of the no rubbing rule. 

Through the tears of my downcast gaze, I couldn't help but notice the puddle of milky liquid smeared on mom's apron. A child's voice said, "his pee-pee isn't big anymore," and another said something like "ewe, gross." I took a look and, yeah, I was a mess. My hairless penis had mostly retreated to its least aroused state. Only the head was still a little swollen. Globs of white semen clung to the little patch of short pubic hair mom let me keep on my lower stomach. Mostly it looked like white snot was covering my stomach up to my belly button and my penis, testicles, and even upper thighs. My penis was still oozing more out even. 

Mom quickly pulled off her apron and spread it out on the floor right in front of her. Then turned to me, "stand on my apron for your timeout. Hurry now before you drip." I struggled off the couch. "Oh, don't step in your puddle. Be careful," she warned. I ended up straddling my little puddle. 

Mom decided a word of explanation about the puddle was in order while her little boy regained his composure: "when boys are around pretty girls, sometimes they will squirt the white stuff out of their penis but naughty boys will do it when they are having a spanking like Johnny did. It is very naughty when that happens and then afterwards the penis gets small again." I blushed and sniffled at this explanation. A new tear even rolled down my cheek. I didn't want to be bad any more. 

"John, I want you to stay in timeout for 10 minutes and then put the apron in the laundry, wash off your spanking spoon, and come help me in the kitchen. No clothes until I tell you. Understand?" I nodded. "Use your words." 

"Yes, mom," I said in the voice of a little boy that had been crying. "I understand." 

"Is there anything else you would like to say?" she prodded. 

"Thank you for spanking me, mommy. I'm sorry I was naughty. I'll try to be good," I read from the script in my head. 

"Good boy. That was a big spanking. Did it hurt your little boom-boom?" she asked clearly prolonging my embarrassment. 

I paused, "mommy, it hurt so bad," I answered softly. "I felt like bees were stinging me." 

"I'm sorry, baby. Mommies sometimes have to teach their little boys hard lessons.

 "Did you have a good squirt at least?" she asked clearly enjoying my torture. 

"Yes," I whispered. 

"At least that felt good, didn't it?" 

"Yes, it felt really good, mommy," I said softly and then offered, "thank you for letting me squirt, mommy," again almost in a whisper. 

"You're welcome, baby," she said sweetly. 

"Lydia," mom said a little louder. I thought I saw her jump in my peripheral vision. 

"Yes, mom," she answered quickly. 

"Can you keep time for John-john? Ten minutes should be enough but if he is still dripping keep him a little longer." 

"OK," she answered. I realized that my sister and the other teenage girls were now going to have to stay and basically watch my penis for 10 minutes. 

Mom left the room and I noticed some other adult faces also disappear from the doorway as well. The family room slowly came back to life but it wasn't as if my little episode of sex and punishment hadn't happened. Pretty soon a game of house was being played where the children would get spanked if they were bad. The teenage girls gathered around me and the game was played like the four of us didn't even exist. The rules were hammered out: hand spankings only, ten spanks, mom and dad were picked, .... 

The teens were whispering to each other and I couldn't make out what they were saying but it was obviously about me. Blood kept flowing away from my genitals and I felt myself morphing into an even smaller shape. As my penis got shorter, the remaining semen emerged from the tip. A big drop formed and slowly clung to me as it elongated before dripping into my puddle between my feet. It actually splashed little particulates onto my feet. Three drips and then I guess I was empty. 

The ten minutes was an eternity for me but at least the sting of the spanking was receding into just a merely maddening tingle. For the teens, they seemed disappointed when Lydia announced that the ten minutes was up. Most of the semen covering me had dried except at the tip which just felt cold. I thought there was still some inside. I just wanted to give my penis a tug and make it come out but I didn't want to violate the "no touching" rule. 

Both of the "parents" in the game were spanking "children" when I left. The game had started over clothes, then underwear, but quickly had progressed to on-the-bare. Everyone wanted to know what it was like to spank and be spanked. 

Luckily the utility room with the laundry basket is toward the kitchen so didn't have to go near the den. I delivered the apron and then reported to the kitchen where I washed my spanking spoon. Mom had a couple tasks for me--take out the garbage, wash a pot--but then wanted me to make sure no one in the den needed anything. 

It was no fun walking into the den and asking if I could get anyone anything. I hoped everyone was good but, of course, that didn't happen. My favorite uncle apologetically asked if would fetch him a beer. He didn't want to make me uncomfortable but it was a catch-22: if he got it himself, I would get in trouble but if he asked me to do it, I was uncomfortable. 

I said, "no problem," with a smile. It was like he understood my painful predicament. 

Mom let me put on a sweater for dinner but I was still naked from the waist down. I had to round up everyone wearing that strange costume. Apparently, this was so that if any pictures were taken at dinner, I wouldn't stand out (unless, of course, we were standing up). 

My naked bottom was still tender and the hard wood chair was uncomfortable. I was fidgeting in my seat trying to get comfortable. Mom finally got annoyed and from across the table said, “Johnny, stop fidgeting or you are getting another spanking after dinner.” I immediately stopped moving as everyone started laughing. I blushed in embarrassment and dropped my eyes to my lap where I watched my penis—still caked with dried cum—struggle to grow partially erect in hopeful anticipation. 

After dinner was cleaned up, we all were getting pie and I ended up sitting cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table back in the family room. Some of the kids were there and they started to ask me questions about my spankings. "Does mom always spank you with the spoon?" "Do you always cry?" and then offering their own stories. One of my teen cousins, Beth, said that sometimes her mom spanks her with a strap. As she described how she has to undress and then wait naked on the bed with a pillow under her hips until her mom comes in to strap her bottom with the big leather belt, I got a full erection. The glass top coffee table didn't hide this fact. It made me uncomfortable, but her smile made me feel slightly less bad. 

I softened back up as we cleaned up and then mom said that I could go get dressed so that we could go to a movie. 

I went to my room and for some reason closed the door only to be surprised at the sight of my teenage cousin, Beth, hiding just out of sight. Beth had heard mom as well and had raced me to the room. Though not an adult, at seventeen, she wasn't a child either. She knew we didn't have much time to be alone so she was quick with her intentions. "Lay down on the bed," she  directed completely out of the blue. I protested at first but she was seemed so determined. 

She quickly knelt beside me and took my penis in her right hand. I instantly grew completely erect. "When mom tells me to get ready for my strappings, I play with myself while I wait and stop just before she comes in. Then after she leaves, I play with myself until, you know, I cum." She took my testicles in her other hand while she gently stroked my penis. "One time, I didn't stop in time and I started to cum just as mom walked in. She didn't catch me; she just thought I was fidgeting and nervous about my spanking. But it was worse that time and I cried more than ever. After that, I was always super careful not to get too far. 

"I felt so bad for you when your mom kept spanking you after you squirted. I wanted to run over and make her stop hurting you. 

"But you looked so amazing when you came. I could see you pumping and everything. I promise that after mom straps me next time, I am going to be thinking about you when I play with myself," she whispered. She was cupping my testicles with her fingers tickling between my legs with her left hand as her right continued to gently stroke my shaft. I reached over to her and cupped one of her bottom cheeks in my hand, gave it a squeeze, and then arched my back and groaned. "Shhh," she admonished as the first hands that were not my own brought me to orgasm. The first spurt was pretty strong creating a line a semen a couple inches long up and to the left, but most of my second load of the day just gushed out in waves creating a little pool on my stomach just above the tip of my penis.  When I came back to earth, she was staring lustily at the mess we had created together. 

"Thank you," I said breathlessly. She just smiled as she carefully removed her hands. I reached for some tissues to clean up but she stopped me. 

"Wait; don't wipe it off. Can you just leave it? I want you to remember me later," she asked shyly. 

Reaching instead for my underwear that I hadn't worn in hours, I said, "Beth, I will never be able to forget you." The young girl ten years my junior smiled back like the most popular boy in school had asked her to prom. 

I stood up and gravity pulled the day's decidedly smaller semen puddle down off my stomach and into my little patch of pubic hair as I struggled to pull on my underwear. Beth watched in rapt attention as I did her bidding. Wet spots immediately appeared which seemed to please her. 

She hopped off the bed and walked quickly to the door as I found my pants. I looked up as she took a quick glance out the door, then smiled at me and waved as she made her escape. 

Suddenly the Christmas party seemed like it was going to be much more interesting this year.