My mother sadly died when I was only in my formative years – but within less than a year, my father found a new lady friend and she wound up moving in with us.
She quickly became part of our lives, and that included doing ‘motherly’ things such as cooking and cleaning – and child discipline.
My new stepmother’s favourite form of discipline was spanking, and she always insisted that my birth mother had spoiled me by not warming my bottom enough when I was a younger boy. Subsequently, I frequently found myself over her lap and my backside treated to either her her hand, hairbrush or a short strap made especially for spanking.
Needless to say, these spankings hurt but I was growing up fast and also had rather ambivalent feelings about such punishments. My stepmother had strong, wide thighs and an ample lap, either before or after a spanked bottom. “Eyes on my face!” would be her only comment on that.
One particular day, she was doing the laundry and told me to put my dirty clothes on my bed so she could come and collect everything.
She eventually came into my bedroom and went about the work for a second, then stopped what she was doing. “John,” she said, “I last did the laundry a week ago, so there should be seven pairs of undies here – why are there only five, young man?”
I blushed a little, twiddled my thumbs but eventually admitted there had been a couple of days in the week where I had not bothered changing into a clean pair of underpants.
My stepmother turned to me now with a face full of anger. “That is absolutely disgusting, young man! You are going to get your behind warmed for that right now. Come here to me!”
She sat on my bed, drew me towards her.
I was already crying by now but she had no intention of letting me off my punishment. However, she did draw me to her bosom and held my face against her breasts. She spoke softly: “Try to stop crying – Mommy is going to give you something to cry about now, but it’ll all be OK after you’ve been properly punished. You’ll be my good boy again.”
She released me from the hug and as I stepped away I looked down and blushed As usual, my stepmom said nothing about this directly.
She told me I would be given 20 spanks for each pair of missing underwear, then proceeded to slap my buttocks until I yelled for mercy. I was crying like a much younger child, and wriggling so badly that my stepmother eventually put one of her legs over both of mine to restrain me. She gave me perhaps the sorest bottom I had had up to that point as a child.
After the punishment had been administered, she stood me up and allowed me to cry into her, rubbing my still-bare behind comfortingly.
“Are you going to be a good boy for me now?” she asked. I managed to nod between my sobs, my face totally wet with tears. “Well, you better be, because next time we have this problem, it’ll be the hairbrush – understand?” Despite my crying, I managed to find my voice enough to assure her that there would be no ‘next time’.
