Permit me to set the scene. Some years ago, my mother became acquainted with a lady who had recently taken up residence across the road. Both ladies had just welcomed new infants into their homes—myself and Tony, respectively. For the sake of decorum, I shall refer to my mother as Mrs West and her friend as Mrs Green. The reason for this formality will soon become apparent.
Mrs Green was, in many respects, a second mother to me, just as my own mother was to Tony. Our childhoods were idyllic, spent exploring the meadows nearby and moving freely between each other’s homes as though we belonged to both. I felt as much at home at Tony’s house as I did in my own.
Discipline, as far as I can recall, was entirely absent from my early years. I harboured no particular fascination with corporal punishment, unlike some who have recounted such interests in their own reminiscences.
My mother was a source of endless amusement—more akin to an elder sister than a stern matron. She granted me considerable freedom, and our relationship was close and affectionate. I rarely, if ever, misbehaved, for my devotion to her was profound. Perhaps, on rare occasions, she might have tapped my hand or leg, but I cannot recall a single instance. My father, self-employed and industrious, was often away, though he was a good man.
Mrs Green, too, was gentle and warm-hearted. I never once heard her raise her voice. Her smile was radiant, and her patience seemed inexhaustible. If Tony had ever been chastised by her, I am certain I would have known; it seemed most improbable. His father worked regular hours at a nearby factory.
What follows is the account of a day that altered the course of my young life—a moment of true significance.
Mrs Green had recently added a conservatory to the rear of her home, connected to the dining room by elegant glass doors. Tony and I were present when my mother came to admire the new addition.
The two ladies stood together in the empty conservatory, deep in conversation, as Tony and I descended from his room. Tony slid the door closed, and, with mischievous delight, we began making faces at our mothers—thumbs to noses, fingers waggling, and, finally, turning to wiggle our backs at them. We must have resembled a pair of monkeys at the zoo!
We continued our antics for a short while, our mothers—arms folded—watching us with amusement. They were not truly locked in or out; they simply enjoyed the spectacle of their sons’ foolishness. After exhausting our repertoire of silly faces, we turned once more to wiggle our backs, and Tony, overcome with laughter, lost his balance and tumbled against me.
At that moment, Mrs Green leaned closer to my mother and whispered something. My mother smiled and nodded, then quietly exited through the side door, making her way back to the dining room via the kitchen, closing the door behind her.
Simultaneously, Mrs Green stepped through the sliding door and closed it, leaving Tony and me caught between the two mothers—a most effective ambush! I found myself nearest to Mrs Green, with Tony slightly behind, my own mother now blocking his escape.
Here, the reason for the formal names became clear. Mrs Green addressed my mother: “Mrs West, would you kindly secure that impudent young man?” She gestured towards Tony, and, as she spoke, she took hold of my ear, declaring, “I have this one, Mrs West!”
My mother promptly caught Tony by the arm, then by the ear as well. We were not the least bit frightened; indeed, we were both in fits of laughter. The mothers wore knowing smiles—this was all in good fun. I called out in mock protest, “Oh! She’s got my ear, Mother!” Little did I know what Mrs Green had proposed to my mother after our little performance.
Tony’s mother then suggested, “Mrs West, would you care to take a seat and attend to him, while I see to this one?” “With pleasure, Mrs Green,” my mother replied. They were clearly in perfect accord.
With practiced ease, both mothers kept hold of their respective charges by the ear, turned a dining chair to face the other, and sat down. In a trice, Mrs Green had me across her lap, her arm firmly around my waist. I felt no anxiety; rather, I found the position oddly comforting—a first, memorable moment. It was all innocent fun among friends. As I lay across Mrs Green’s lap, I watched my mother take her seat.
The second pivotal moment arrived as my mother crossed her legs before pulling the still-laughing Tony over her knee. She positioned him expertly, as though this were a daily occurrence—a mother preparing to discipline her cheeky son. Yet, it was my own mother, not a stranger, and I was utterly captivated.
Tony squirmed a little, but my mother held him fast, a broad smile on her face. It was then I realised I envied my friend; I was spellbound by the scene before me. Something about the way my mother crossed her legs held my attention, though I was too young to understand why.
My mother’s manoeuvre raised Tony’s bottom high, his feet dangling above the floor. He flailed his arms and kicked his legs as though swimming away.
My mother delivered a few gentle pats to Tony’s trousered seat. “Now,” she asked, “what do you suppose is about to happen to you two rascals?” Smiling, Tony replied, “We are going to be spanked, Mrs West!” “Indeed you are, young man,” my mother replied. “You both have it coming!”
Mrs Green then spoke: “Shall we begin, Mrs West?” “Quite ready, Mrs Green!” my mother responded with enthusiasm.
I remained still on Mrs Green’s lap, watching as my mother raised her hand and delivered the first proper smack to Tony’s shorts-clad bottom. I, too, wore shorts, both pairs stretched taut. The smacks were playful, not punitive—light taps that barely stung, at least at first!
Mrs Green smacked my bottom, alternating sides. Occasionally, a slightly firmer smack would land, making me jump, but I was quite at ease, enjoying the gentle warmth spreading through my shorts. I found the game delightful!
My mother continued to spank Tony at a steady rhythm, glancing over at me from time to time. She caught my eye and smiled—a look I shall never forget. She was clearly enjoying herself.
“Mrs Green, how long shall we continue? I propose at least an hour.” “Oh, at the very least!” Mrs Green replied, patting my bottom. “A sound spanking for an hour, then perhaps a break for tea and biscuits, and we can resume for the rest of the afternoon.” “Splendid idea, Mrs Green! Tea and biscuits will fortify us—no shirking now!”
And so it continued—a veritable comedy routine. The mothers teased us, threatened to pull down our shorts or fetch slippers, and made all manner of playful threats. It was all tremendous fun.
Then came another significant moment. Lying across Mrs Green’s lap, being playfully spanked, I drifted into a sort of reverie. It was a lovely sensation. I watched my mother spank Tony, who laughed and wriggled, and I found myself wishing I could experience the same from my own mother. I resolved to discover what it would be like.
For the time being, I wiggled a little myself, placed my hand on Mrs Green’s leg, and enjoyed the game. The mothers continued their banter, and I tuned back in to their lively exchange.
“Now, Mrs West, I do hope you are not being too lenient with that naughty boy?” “Not at all, Mrs Green. He shall need a cushion at dinner!” my mother replied.
I was in no real discomfort, but a pleasant warmth was building in my shorts. Though Mrs Green’s smacks were never harsh, she had been at it for some time, and I was beginning to feel quite thoroughly spanked.
The mothers paused for a moment to chat, discussing our bedtimes and agreeing that both boys should receive another spanking from their mothers at bedtime—this time, much firmer ! The plan was for synchronised spankings at precisely eight o’clock, each lasting five minutes before we were sent to bed.
My mother smiled at me, clearly relishing the playful teasing. She suggested opening the windows so each could hear the other’s cries from across the street. Mrs Green replied that there would be no need, as Tony’s cries would be audible even with the windows shut!
It was all in good fun—the mothers were thoroughly enjoying themselves. Tony continued to wriggle and kick, yelping and giggling after each smack. My mother laughed and told him he deserved every one.
Looking at me, she added, “Make sure that little rascal feels every smack, Mrs Green!” “Oh, I shall, Mrs West, never fear.” My mother threw back her head in laughter and clapped her hands as the game continued.
Another memorable moment followed. Mrs Green suggested a tea break, but what to do with the naughty boys? “I have an idea, Mrs Green!” my mother exclaimed. She stood Tony up, took him by the ear, and led him to the patio doors. Mrs Green, with me still across her lap, watched as my mother positioned Tony facing the dining room, hands on his head. “Well done, Mrs West—justice is being served!”
I was then made to stand beside Tony, both of us with hands on our heads, peering in through the window as our mothers teased us. They sat, sipping tea and waving biscuits, remarking on their deliciousness.
My bottom tingled and felt slightly numb, but it never truly hurt. I thoroughly enjoyed the entire experience, though I was left with questions.
I was eager to know what it felt like for Tony to be over my mother’s knee, her legs crossed. I also wondered about a firmer spanking, . I felt certain that if I asked my mother, she would oblige—she had enjoyed spanking Tony, and she rarely refused me anything.
After five minutes, Mrs Green allowed us back inside, where we were given drinks and biscuits. The mothers continued their playful act, promising a second round of spankings and the soundest of bottoms at bedtime. Of course, none of this came to pass—we received only cuddles, hugs, and more teasing. It was a marvellous afternoon.
When my mother and I returned home, I asked if she had enjoyed spanking Tony. She smiled and replied, “Very much! Does your bottom sting? Is Mrs Green a good smacker?”
I confessed that I had enjoyed the whole affair, admitting my bottom did sting a little, but I was still looking forward to the promised bedtime spanking. Mother playfully swatted my behind and called me a little devil.
That bedtime spanking never materialised, as mother was busy preparing father’s tea. But it was never truly intended. I felt cherished, content, and secure. I was also excited, for I had resolved to ask mother the next day to spank me just as she had done Tony
