|
|
|
|
|
| Turn over my knee. The order came simply, as she guided me across her ample lap. It was softer and more comfortable than I remembered, her firm thighs forming a more than adequate platform for the task ahead. She began with five crisp spanks, alternating cheeks. For just a moment I was speechless at the sting of it, which was much more intense than I recalled. Five more spanks, even harder, found my tongue, and I yelped my dismay. As she spanked, mom added comments, like From now on...(smack, smack) I expect you to (smack, whack, crack, smack) behave like you've been told to (smack, whack, smack) or so help me (whack, smack, whack, smack, SMACK) you'll get this hairbrush (whack, whack, whack) on your naughty....(smack) bare...(whack) bottom....(SMACK) every....(smack) single...(whap) day (whack) until you can't....(smack) sit....(whack) down |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| These little punctuated commentaries were generally followed by a prolonged series of brisk and sharp spanks, the hairbrush seeking out and finding the tenderest spots, its recurrent visitation prompting wails of lament and remorse from me, to no avail. After several dozen spanks, I was vainly attempting to protect my bottom with my free hand, which annoyed my mother as she fought to hold it away from my smarting bottom. At the same time, she was losing her seat on the bed. Finally, irritated that she couldn't do a proper job, she stood me up, getting to her feet herself. Dragging me by the arm, she hauled me stumbling and hopping, hobbled by my pants out into the living room, where she spun the straight-backed chair out from under the desk. Sitting down, she pushed up her sleeves, then hiked up her skirt and opened her legs, guiding me between them and turning me down across her left knee. Throwing her right calf across my lower legs, she pulled my right wrist up behind my back, thus positioning me so I couldn't escape or interfere with the remainder of the spanking. |
|
|
|
|
|
