I was generally a very biddable and obedient boy for my parents – but no child is perfect and my mother in particular wasn’t slow to warm my bottom if she felt it was called for.
One such smacked bottom has remained in my memory ever since, and I think it greatly contributed to my developing a spanking fetish, which has stayed with me into adulthood.
It was at the time I was beginning to feel the effects of hormonal changes.
I was at a friend’s house, and his father had an impressive stash of grown up magazines, all hidden in a cardboard box in his wardrobe. My friend had discovered where the magazines were kept and one day, when he and I were alone in the house, he showed me the hoard and we spent a long time looking at them.
I was naturally fascinated by this early anatomy lesson.
We had to stop before too long because my friend’s mother was due back, but when my friend went to the bathroom, I quickly slid one magazine into a bag I had with me. I didn’t tell my friend I’d taken it – my hormones were surging and I thought that my friend’s father wouldn’t miss just one.
The next day, back at home, I retrieved the magazine from my bag. I didn’t think anyone else was around, so I looked through the pictures. All was good until my mother walked through the door, which in my eagerness to to view the grown up material I had forgotten to lock.
Looking back, I don’t know which of us was more embarrassed. Certainly, I was mortified at my mother seeing me, and it was undoubtedly a shock for her to walk in on her little boy . One thing’s for sure, though – she was mad as hell!
“You dirty, naughty boy! What on earth do you think you are doing?”
You are going to get a jolly good smacked bottoms for this – right now!” She grabbed the magazine. “And this is going in the trash. Wait there!”
It was quite a chilly autumn day but I had a sick feeling in my stomach as I reflected that the latter would be warm enough before too very long.
Sure enough, my mother came back a few minutes later and she was holding the slipper she kept for disciplining me and my sister. She sat down on the bed and beckoned me to come over to her. As soon as I got close enough, she took me by the wrist and pulled me down over her knee. By now, both my sister and I were old enough that we were usually told to bend over for a slippering, but I guess my mother wanted to make me feel like a little boy.
“I will not have filth like that in this house – and you are far too young to be reading such things like that. It isn’t healthy or natural, and I won’t stand for it!”
With that, she began to slipper me thoroughly. It had been almost a year since I had been last spanked, and I had forgotten just how painful my mother could make such an experience. My bottom was ablaze after only a few swats, and there were many more which followed. I cried unashamedly.
When she thought I’d had enough, she pulled me to my feet and put me in the corner , and to complete my shame my sister saw me as she passed my doorway, although mercifully my mother didn’t tell her why she had spanked me.
That wasn’t exactly the end of the trouble. When I saw my friend next, he asked whether I had taken a magazine. I initially denied it but eventually confessed. I didn’t tell him about my spanking, but he told me his father had assumed he was the culprit and had given him a belting for his trouble.
I then finally told my friend about my own slippering.
As I say, this whole episode was pretty pivotal in the forming of my spanking fetish, which I struggled with for a long time in my life but eventually made peace with in my mind. I began to seek out the services of professionals to roleplay with me, always resulting in either a hand spanking or a slippering.
