Back in the 1990s, my Father worked for an Anglo-American company. He got friendly with one of his work colleagues over there and invited he and his family to our house in the UK for a holiday. It was great for me because they had children, and one boy was the same age as me. We became best buddies.
I also really clicked with the children’s mother, Val. She called me ‘honey’ in a deep, alluring American accent and was quite tactile with me. It helped that she was easy on the eye, and she played a big part in my burgeoning teenage fantasies.
The following year the invitation was reciprocated and we went to the US to stay with them.
I had a burning desire to have my bottom smacked. I had never been spanked by my parents. I had intended to ask for a ‘birthday spanking’ for the previous three or four years but chickened out at the last moment. I regretted my reticence for weeks after every birthday.
My ‘thing’ had always been the excitement of an over-the-knee spanking. I found the thought of being helpless, unable to move or wriggle away, terribly exciting. However, by 14 I had accepted that the chances of being turned over my mother’s knee were long gone, and it was something I was never going to experience.
Like many boys, I loved cars. Val’s husband had a classic Mustang and had promised me a ride in it when we got over there. I was very excited about this.
We arrived and had a ‘settle down’ day. Their house was bigger than ours but for me, the exciting parts were the basement and the garage. The garage was huge – they owned a truck and a modern, regular everyday car as well as the Mustang.
Few houses in the UK have a basement, so it was such a novelty for me. I loved the fact that their basement was used for a games room and storage and laundry. There was a spare TV and a sofa for anyone who wanted to watch an alternative programme.
The weekend came around and some relatives of the American family turned up for the day. There were a couple more boys around my age. They all seemed to be more interested in basketball than soccer or rugby. The boys played ‘hoops’, as they called it, behind the garage every chance they could.
On the Sunday morning, Val’s husband asked me if I’d like to join him to go to a ‘coffee meet’ in the Mustang. The other kids my age were not bothered about such things and so we set off, just me and him. That Mustang sounded so sweet – I felt like a movie star.
I had a great time at the car ‘meet ‘n’ greet’ and several of the other car owners let me sit in their vehicles. I was a bit of fun for all the guys because although I was from England, I respected and knew a bit about some of the cars they appreciated. One guy gave me a magazine all about Mustangs. I thanked him about 100 times, and I still have that magazine today. We stayed all morning and I loved it – and I still had the ride back to the house to look forward to.
When we arrived back at the family’s house, I helped dust the Mustang down and put it away. I was on such a high – nothing could spoil my day, right? Wrong!
It turned out that while we’d been away from the house, the children from the visiting family had discovered a spanking paddle in the basement. Apparently they had been given permission to look through some old boxes for some reason and had found the paddle.
They had managed to persuade Val to line them all up in the basement and give them a few swats. By all accounts, it had been a real laugh. Of course it was all for fun, but apparently some of the swats Val had given had one or two of the boys hopping about holding their paddled bottoms.
I thought the boys were just bigging themselves up, maybe trying to impress each other or me. One boy said he was only pretending it had stung. Interestingly, it was only the boys that had volunteered for these spankings. None of the girls had joined in, but they did watch – which might explain some of the over-reacting from the boys!
But boy, did this news ever take the shine off my day! I was pissed off. I tried to be cool and convince myself it wasn’t as much fun as a ride in the Mustang, but inside I was screaming with frustration. I would have killed to have been there and to join in. OK, it wasn’t an over-the-knee spanking, but a paddling for fun had been missed.
Mealtime came and went and after a while, everyone drifted away to various parts of the house. The girls went to a bedroom to play girl stuff. My Father and his friend who had taken me to the coffee meeting disappeared into his home office to talk, probably work-related. Val and my mother loaded the dishwasher and tidied the kitchen and talked for a bit, until my mother went off to call my grandparents back home in the UK. The boys all cleared off behind the garage to play hoops again – I didn’t fancy that, so I settled down to look through my prized magazine.
Val finished doing things in the kitchen and came through to where I was sitting. She asked me all about my trip to the meeting and what I thought of the Mustang. I liked Val a lot – she was very homely and friendly towards me. “You’re not much into hoops huh?” She said looking at my magazine. I explained that I liked football – but English, not American!
Suddenly, I got the courage up to ask about the paddling incident, to see if she would tell me what happened. I asked her if it was true, or were the boys just winding me up? Val laughed: “They all asked for a few licks and got just that. It was just a bit of fun – I’d forgotten about that old paddle!”
I asked what a ‘lick’ was. “Um, would you say smack? Or spank?” When she said the word ‘spank’, I felt something stir in my underpants. I told her I would have loved to have joined in – it was a shame it happened when I was out.
“Do you think you might paddle the boys again before we fly back?” “Oh, I doubt it, honey – it was a one-off moment that sort of just happened.” I nodded, but felt disappointed and it must have shown on my face.
“Why do you ask? Did you want to try? The paddle’s probably still on the table in the basement.” I said ‘yes please’ as enthusiastically as possible! Val laughed and said: “Come on, then!”
All the way down to the basement, my excitement grew. In my fantasy I had only ever wanted a spanking, but a paddling would be just as exciting. In my head, I kept thinking: “I’m being taken to the basement for a paddling!” This thought still plays a part in my fantasies to this day.
At the far end of the basement was a table – and still lying there, where it had been left ,was the paddle. I was buzzing with hormones. It was the first time I’d seen a real paddle that had been used on children’s bottoms. It was about 20in long, including the handle and maybe 3in wide.
Val picked up the paddle and patted her hand with it. “Right then, you naughty boy, you’ve earned yourself a paddling!” She smiled widely and added: “Assume the position, young man!” She tapped the paddle on the table.
I stepped up to it and bent forward – at a stretch, I could just reach the far side. I was on tiptoe and, as it was really warm weather, I was wearing only thin shorts! “Like this?” I asked. “Aha – spread your legs a little wider.” I then felt her hand run over my bottom briefly. She gave my shorts a little tug to pull them tight, then patted my behind a few times gently with her hand. “Perfect!” I heard her say.
“OK, cheeky boy, I’m going to wear a hole in those shorts! Now, stick that butt out and keep it there. If you let go of the table or cuss, I’ll add extra swats!” She sounded like she meant it too – what a scary thought!
“Count the swats out loud, young man – and don’t lose count, or we start over!” It occurred to me at that point that I had no idea how many swats I was going to get. No number had been mentioned that I could recall. Val didn’t waste any time. The paddle was tapped briefly against my bottom, and I held my breath and stared at the wall in front of me.
Whap! Shit! That stung – one swat, and it stung that much! And this woman was messing around – what the hell would it feel like if I really had misbehaved and she was serious? Perhaps the boys hadn’t been bigging it up after all!
I called ‘one!’ “One, ma’am!” I was corrected. “One, ma’am.” I repeated obediently. “Better,” Val said.
Whap! Fuck! That really hurt! Was Val really messing around or was she enjoying herself? “Two, ma’am.” I gripped the table so hard, my fingers turned white. Whap! Christ! I screwed my eyes shut tight. “Three, ma’am.”
“Stings pretty good doesn’t it honey?” Val asked. No shit, I thought. But I certainly wasn’t going to swear – not in my current position! “Yes ma’am,” I answered honestly.
A gentle tap, then what! Bloody hell, the hardest so far! “Four ma’am.” My fingers were starting to go numb from gripping the table so hard, and my bottom was just plain on fire.
Whap! Oooow! That one just plain hurt! “Five ma’am.” My voice crept up a note – how many was she giving me, for Christ’s sake? My head dropped further so my forehead was on the table. “Look up, face the wall, stick that butt out or I’ll add a swat, honey,” Val warned. I looked up and presented by bottom again, waiting nervously.
Whap! The hardest so far, it brought tears to my eyes, although I was fortunately not crying like a baby. “Six, ma’am.”
“Two more to go. I’ll lay these on a bit, honey, OK?” What? Lay them on! What the hell were the other six? Fun pats?
Whap whap! Two together in quick sucession. Jesus! “Seven and eight, ma’am,” I called, in a voice that had risen an octave and in volume too. Bloody hell fire, those two spanks stung like nothing I had ever felt before or since! They were real good swats – and, I might add, well delivered, dead centre of my burning bottom.
It was over, but for a few moments I stayed bent over that table. It never occured to me to ask Val to stop and the truth is that although she swung a mean paddle (I suspect she’d had some practice over the years as a mom), I had also found the spanking exciting and perversely enjoyable. Val managed to hit just the right note – hard enough to really sting without being enough to have me bawling my eyes out.
She put the paddle down on the table beside me and gave my bottom a brisk rub – followed by a firm and definitely unwelcome hand smack! “All done, honey!”
I stood up. Val was smiling at me. My hands went to my rear end. I straightened my legs and back, looked up at the ceiling and groaned. I had just experienced a very sound paddling, and it had burned like hell. “Stings pretty good, huh?” she repeated with a chuckle. “Yes ma’am,” I answered obediently, although I had no experience to measure it by. It certainly did sting pretty good, however – my bottom was numb, burning, stinging and as tender as hell.
Val put her arm around me and guided me back towards the stairs. She gave me a squeeze. “Did you enjoy that, honey?” I blushed. “I think so, ma’am – my bottom’s burning, but I think so!” She laughed and as we walked upstairs, added: “C’mon, it wasn’t that bad – I hardly touched you!”
Didn’t touch me, my arse! Literally. As I walked up the stairs behind her, it didn’t go unnoticed to this teenage boy that Val made a very nice shape to follow, and I gazed with interest at her generous, womanly bottom as I hobbled back up, one hand on the hand rail, the other rubbing my burning rear end. “Well, I sure enjoyed it!” Val said, looking back over her shoulder.
As we emerged into the kitchen area I asked her: “How many swats did the other boys get?” “Oh, I dunno. A couple got two and a one got three, I think. Mind you, they got real swats – not love taps like you!” She pushed my head playfully to one said, laughed and walked off.
I was speechless – two or three? How come I got eight? And ‘love taps’. My bottom told me very firmly that swats five and six were hard and the last two about as hard as she could manage. I am sure Val enjoyed paddling me.
She turned on the TV and sat down, looking for all the world like a regular mother. Only she and I knew that five minutes earlier she had paddled my bottom good and sore.
I went to my bedroom, took down my clothing and examined my buttocks. The paddle had created two small, very dark pink circles. The right cheek was darker in colour and had a fuzzy, pale centre, with a darker ring around that. Damn, it stung!
I collected my magazine and sat (carefully) in the lounge with Val until my own mother joined us again. Val looked over and smiled at me once or twice, probably knowing my bottom was stinging pretty good. I’m sure she had a lot of spanking experience, probably when her kids were a bit younger. Most women paddling a boy for the first time would have gone much easier to start with, but Val had the measure just right. Well, maybe she could have gone a little easier – I still had a mark on my behind three days later when we flew home.
I got an extra long hug from Val when we left. She whispered in my ear: “I’m gonna miss you the most.” I must say, the feeling was mutual – although I did miss the Mustang too.
The two families are still great friends, and we visit each other quite regularly. I have never mentioned anything about that day since to Val, although I’ve always wanted to ask if she was just messing about. I suspect I’ll never get a straight answer. As far as I know, nobody knew anything about that paddling except us two. I certainly didn’t mention it to anyone.
One thing’s for sure – it was a hell of a day!
