From quite a young age, I had this all-consuming desire for a woman I knew had punished her offspring with spankings to discipline me in the same way.
I’m not sure where this desire sprung from – almost certainly not from my own upbringing. My parents spanked me only very occasionally, when I was very young, and these were just quick slaps, not some big ritual or anything. Nevertheless, my curiosity and obsession with the act grew as I passed puberty.
Finally, I got the courage up to occasionally hint about the subject to a few older ladies whom I knew, but short of actually asking them – I was nervous as well as curious!
I finally hit the jackpot with Brenda. She was a work colleague but we got to know each other well enough for me to drop round to her place occasionally out of work hours for a coffee and chat.
I pursued the friendship largely because of Brendas attitude to discipline, after she made a casual remark about some local hooligans caught by the police. “If they were mine, they wouldn’t be sitting down for a week,” was her comment, I think.
On hearing that, I engaged Brenda in a conversation about discipline, telling her that I had been regularly spanked by my parents (even though this wasn’t true, as I’ve already mentioned). However, she nodded approvingly: “Damn right – your parents did the right thing by you, young man.”
Tat encounter made me determined to cultivate Brenda some more and, as I say, it got to my dropping around for the occasional social call.
It was on one such visit that I finally got up the courage to once more work the conversation around to child discipline.
“Did you have to discipline” I asked. “Pretty much,” Brenda replied firmly without batting an eyelid. “They kinda grew out of it by their mid teens, mind you. Not only did they not like the pain, but momma seeing their bottoms at that age was a big deterrent to bad behaviour, believe me!”
“What did they get?” “I kept a belt for them.”
I chose my next question with some care, speaking perhaps more slowly than usual. “So if I’d been your boy, and you’d punished me, I guess I would remember it for a long time – right?” Brenda looked at me somewhat quizzically but laughed and simply said: “Forever!”
There was then an awkward pause between us, then Brenda asked, in a quieter voice: “You wanna try?” I blushed to my boots but nodded. I felt giddy and no longer in control of the situation. Brenda said nothing, but instead went over to a chest of drawers, from which she withdrew the belt. I saw immediately that it was not a clothing accessory, but a proper punishment belt made especially for youngsters’ bottoms. It was quite thick and stiff, made of light tan leather, and just over a foot long.
Brenda took my hand and guided me a few steps so that I was standing at the side of her sofa.
“Bend over the arm of the sofa.” Brenda spoke softly but with absolute authority, and I was thrilled to the marrow as I obediently put myself in the punishment position.
Next, I felt the leather being measured across my Bottom, Brenda gave a little grunt and brought the belt down sharply about halfway down my buttocks. The searing heat was far more acute than I had expected, but I also found it stimulating, and I managed to keep quiet and still as Brenda gave me a dozen hard strokes.
“You can stand up now.”
The conversation afterward was a bit awkward and neither of us mentioned the belting I’d just been given. I thought maybe I’d overstepped the mark and threatened our friendship. However, as I took my leave after finishing my coffee, Brenda spanked me affectionately on my still-glowing seat and said: “If you ever need that little bottom whipping again, you come and see Momma, OK?” I blushed deeply for the second time that day but managed a tiny ‘thank you’ in response.
We kind of sat on the situation for a couple of months. Work was a bit more awkward after what Brenda had done to me, but I had this deep desire for more discipline from her. So it was that I called in again one Sunday morning.
This time, Brenda got to the point immediately. “You here for what I think you’re here for?” “Uh-huh.” “Right – you come along with me, young man.”
Once again, she took the punishment strap from the drawer but this time she linked her arm to mine and guided me upstairs to her bedroom. Once we were there, she drew a small chair out from one corner of the room to the centre.
“This is gonna hurt,” she said quietly. “Bend over there, right now.” I obeyed and waited for the whipping to begin. When it did, it immediately became obvious that Brenda was putting more force into the strokes this time. My butt was incredibly sore after only three or four swats with the leather. By the time we got to the end of the initial dozen, Brenda showed no sign of stopping and a few strokes later, I was amazed to hear myself crying like a little boy and begging my ‘Momma’ to stop.
Brenda ignored these pleas, however, and continued to thrash me for a good five minutes or so, until my bottom almost became numb from the beating. Finally, she put the strap down on the bed and drew me up, embracing me in a maternal fashion as I had a damn good cry . She shushed me quietly and rubbed my behind.
Sadly, a change in family circumstances led to Brenda moving to the other side of the country not too long afterwards. I often think about her, and wonder if she’s still spanking young men. One thing is for sure, Brenda Could Never Be Beaten.
