*Curiosity of a Smacked Bottom*

As a youngster, I grew up very confused.

Pressure had been building up in me for some time over my formative years.

Every woman appeared to be of interest to me, all be it for one reason.

The reason being, the thought of being spanked by the particular woman I had an interest in.

The big question would always arise in my mind.

That was

What would it feel like to be spanked by her?

Time and Time again I had asked my own mother about this.

At times she had threatened to give me a good spanking herself.

However, it appeared I would always chicken out at the last minute.

I had never been spanked before,

So being purposely naughty was out of the question.

For if I was ever to be spanked for being naughty, it would of happened by now.

Throughout the years I was becoming frustrated about my thoughts.

As well as this I was becoming quite desperate to experience what a spanking felt like.

I continuously questioned my friends about the smacked bottoms they received at home from their mothers.

Only one of my friends admitted that his own mother smacked his bottom when he was naughty.

My friend’s mother was a physically intimidating woman.

The thought of me being spanked by her terrified me.

However, these thoughts would not go away.

As I say these thoughts terrified me,

However, they also appealed to me.

It is true what some people say

That is

“Where there is a will, there is a way”

I found that I could make half a decent job of smacking my own bottom as and when I felt like it.

However, the realism of having a motherly figure administer the spanking was not there.

Naturally, the stings and sounds of these smackings I gave myself were real enough.

Back at home, I went through a stage of being difficult and playing up.

In reality, I was attempting to get a reaction from my own mother.

Maybe this reaction would be a threat that I could turn to my advantage.

However, to my regret, nothing ever happened.

Sometimes I sat there wondering what it would be like if my own mother did smack my bottom.

I would imagine being over her maternal lap, wriggling and kicking my legs as the stinging slaps landed.

More often than not I would think about a friend’s mother or a teacher in the same way.

One day I found myself alone in the Kitchen with my friend’s mother.

At the time, my friend, himself was doing some other activity in his bedroom.

His mother asked me how school was, and generally made small talk.

As we continued to converse I asked her something similar to the lines.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, you can Peter,” came her reply.

With the promise secured that the conversation was private, I asked her how I go about asking an embarrassing question.

She went on to give me some simple advice.

She said that I should ask my mother to speak to her if something was bothering me.

“Just tell her you are confused or embarrassed and that you need to talk to someone you can trust” She continued.

“Any decent mother would help you out.

After all that is our job.”

She added that is mother could not, or would not help, I could always come back and talk to her about what was troubling me.

That evening, I spoke to my mother when she was alone.

I told her about the conversation I had been having with my friend’s mother, and about the advice, she had given me.

I told Mother about my frustrations and begged her not to tell a living soul.

With a look of concern on her face, Mother agreed to these terms without any hesitation.

We went in my bedroom and mother closed the door behind her.

I asked her not to laugh or get angry with me.

To my astonishment, she hugged me, which was quite unusual at the time.

“I promise,” she said

“Now just tell me what the problem is, and we shall talk it through.”

I sat on my bed

Mother turned around my bedroom chair and sat facing me.

Approaching this subject was not going to be easy.

I told her that my friends and me had been talking.

I continued to tell her that most of them get their bottoms smacked over their mother’s knees.

I went on to tell my mother that I was curious as to what it felt like.

Then with much embarrassment, and without looking into my mother’s face, I asked her if she would give me a few smacks.

I waited for an answer, with my heart full of butterflies.

I could not keep eye contact with my mother.

I just stared at the knees that I so wanted to lay accross.

Finally she leaned forward and took one of my hands in hers.

“Peter, when I was younger my sister, your aunty, broke an ornament.

My mother, your grandmother, blamed me and sent me to my room.

My sister would not admit to breaking the ornament as she knew mother would be very angry.

My mother came to my room and told me that she would give me an hour to own up, or my punishment would be worse.

I told her it was not me and I cried my eyes out because she did not believe me.

An hour later she came back and smacked my bottom very hard for telling lies”.

I sat there stunned by this story.

My mother had been spanked by grandmother.

My Mother continued.

“I was smacked for nothing, and I felt very angry at my sister and my mother.

The next day I begged my mother to get my sister to own up.

However, she never did.

I felt very hard done by.

When I had you and your sister, I decided that I would never smack you unless you were guilty.

Luckily I only ever had to smack your sister once.

I knew she was guilty, because you were out with your father”.

My ears now pricked up.

My sister had been spanked by mother.

This was news to me.

All I could manage was a watery smile and a nod.

Mum smiled back.

I was still processing an image of my sister being spanked when mother said

“Would you like me to spank you now, or would you like me to spank you at bedtime?”.

I snapped out of it.

Oh my god,

She is offering to smack my bottom.

I looked at her lap again,

I mumbled.

“If I had been naughty for real, would you smack me now or at bedtime”?

“Well I think I would prefer to wait until bedtime”, Mother replied.

She continued.

“I would explain to you why you are having to have your bottom smacked,

Then I would place you across my knee.

I would also expect you to take your smacked bottom like a big boy.

Then I would expect you to wake up in the morning,

Tell me you are sorry for being naughty in the first place,

Then we can make a fresh start and continue with the day.

Is that clear Patrick?”

I nodded my head in a whirl.

I was apprehensive but also excited at the prospect of finally having my bottom smacked.

As well as this, I was very grateful for my mother’s advice.

Mum stood up.

“That settles it then.

At bedtime, you and I will be having a conversation young man.

and you will definitely be going to bed with a very sore bottom.

With this, she turned her chair back.

Being told I was to finally get my bottom smacked at bedtime felt very real.

I continued to play the game somewhat.

However, I did make a point of telling mother that I had not really been naughty.

Mum smiled back at me

Then said in a stern voice,

“Keep telling me those lies Patrick, and your smacked bottom will be alot worse for you”.

On reflection, it was fairly obvious Mother was drawing from her own childhood experiences for this script.

This day proved to be the longest afternoon and evening of my whole life so far.

Bedtime seemed to take forever to come around.

My sister had gone to her own bedroom and my father was watching a film.

When mother caught my eye and indicated with a sideways nod to the door.

I knew it was time.

I was now far more nervous than I expected to be.

Even though I knew I was not really in trouble,

I knew this was for real.

I mumbled a faint good night to father as I passed him.

Mother followed me out of the room and turned toward the kitchen as I headed for the stairs.

“I will be up in five minutes Patrick”, announced mother.

That announcement cut through and sent an icy shiver down my spine.

I was now actually so nervous that I considered asking my mother to cease the game.

I had just done my ablutions and changed into my pajamas when Mother came into the room.

Closing the door behind her, and with the sternest look I had ever seen on her face, she almost barked,

“This is your very last chance Patrick. Did you break that ornament?”

This was now starting to scare me,

I genuinely felt guilty, like a naughty little boy as my stomach flipped.

“No Mother, Please, it was not me,” came my weak reply.

“Very well Patrick,as you are going to continue to lie you leave me no alternative”.

With this, she turned the chair to face me and took me firmly by the wrist.

“This is what happens to naughty little boys who tell lies”.

She then pulled me towards her, and over her knee, I went.

Looking back the emotions that rushed through my head at this time were a source of amazement.

At this very moment, I felt this was for real, as my mother made it so.

As I feasted my eyes on the bedroom carpet, I heard my mother say,

“Had you admitted to breaking the ornament you would only be getting ten smacks,

However seeing as you persist in lying about what you have clearly done, you will now get twenty smacks.

I felt a dreadful fear rise in my chest.

Twenty smacks seemed a lot.

After all, this was supposed to only be a few smacks so that I could experience a maternal smacked bottom.

However I did not, or more to the point could not, or even dare to protest.

I just lay there, hanging over my mother’s lap, awaiting my fate.

Then I felt my mother’s hand, come down, across my bottom for the first time in my life.

Those twenty smacks landed slowly

well spread out,

With each one of them being more than hard enough to make my bottom sting.

The last smack was the hardest and made me jolt forward.

When mother had finished she lifted me back onto my feet.

“Patric, you are to go straight to bed,

You have been a very naughty boy, and I will expect a full apology first thing in the morning.

Consider yourself very lucky that I have not taken off my slipper and given you another twenty good smacks.

“Sorry Mummy”, I whimpered in a feeble voice.

With that, I slipped into bed.

Mother returned the chair to its rightful place, and without uttering another word left the room.

There I lay in my bed trying to take in what had happened.

Though my bottom was dreadfully sore, I did not cry.

I just lay there with a warm tingle in my bottom.

It had been quite a day.

First I had learned that my Grandmother had smacked my mother.

Then I had learned that my mother had smacked my sister.

And now I had learned just what a good smacked bottom felt like.

My curiosity had been satisfied