A Moorland Spanking

“Disgraceful,” she chuckled, “a young man like you should have better things to do with his time. If you were one of mine I’d smack your bottom.” The smile evaporated and her eyebrows lifted enquiringly.

You are welcome to contact the author Dave Chum.

Mary Bird came through the door just as I ordered my third pint.

“Join me in a glass of cider, Mary?”

“That I will, and how long have you been on the apple juice today?”

“Since ten-thirty, when they first opened up.”

“Disgraceful,” she chuckled, “a young man like you should have better things to do with his time. If you were one of mine I’d smack your bottom.” The smile evaporated and her eyebrows lifted enquiringly.

“You’re right, Mary. I ought to be dragged across a good woman’s lap and spanked senseless.”

Her powerful right hand encircled the glass. “And what constitutes a good woman may I ask?”

“One a little older, maybe a lot older? And a hand large enough to consume a twenty-five-year-old male buttock within its grasp.”

“For two pins I would take you home and smack your bottom, lad?”

“Would you do it for a second pint, Mary?”

Mary pinched my bum as I turned to leave the bar. I say pinch, but it was more of a grope. Her hand is large and sinewy following years of working the farm. And when she locked onto my left orb, her fingertips reaching into my crack, it felt like a blacksmiths vice had hold of my flesh.

“Good day at the market,” enquired George as we took our place at the table with the rest of the regulars.

“All the meat got sold which can’t be bad,” answered Mary.

The conversations continued with Mary repeatedly gesturing one way or another with her open right palm. She sensed my excited stare directed at her hand, exchanging knowing smiles on the odd occasion when she caught me looking. I pushed my butt out behind gesturing my submission to that hand. A sideways glance from Mary and another smile signaled her approval.

“A second glass of cider, Mary?”

“Yes, Harry, and I will.”

The rest of the table made no sense of the conversation, but as Mary passed the bar on her way to the Ladies Room she left me in no doubt.

“You can get yourself to my farm house when that pint’s drunk,” she whispered, “I want your bare bum on my lap for the mother of all smacked bottoms.”

I was in no fit state to drive and so was obliged to ride in Mary’s Land Rover over the bleak snow covered moor towards her farm. I was to stay the night, and be spanked a number of times before the setting sun was to reappear over the snow covered hills. Leaving the road and taking the track towards her farm took us further from any third party. We were alone and free to do as we please when the farmhouse came into view.

“You can get your kit off in the Tack Room next to the barn, but put your boots back on, it’s a might muddy in the yard this time of year.”

“You want me naked apart from my boots?”

“You don’t expect me to spank you with your pants on do you lad? Anyways I’ve a chore for you before I red you up.”

Mary handed me an axe as I joined her in the yard, her eyes fixed unashamedly on my penis rendered limp by the cold despite the stirring in my loins caused by my nudity. I led the way behind the barn to the wood pile knowing her stare was fixed on my springy tight boyish buttocks. I split a dozen logs under her gaze before taking them to the farmhouse.

“And see you walk slowly ahead, lad. It’s not every day an old girl is treated to the delights of young active bare male buttocks.”

Mary followed me all the way, watching me ease my boots off in the hall, and carry the pile of wood to the inglenook.

“You get that fire blazing while I fetch more cider, and I want you in that corner with your hands on your head. See your bottom is towards the fire.

I stand here alongside the other trophies in the room, a foxes head, and long dead stuffed otters and salmon. Noises behind signal Mary’s return and what sounds like a chair being dragged across the stone floor sends a shiver down my spine.

“Time I smacked your bum lad, come park yourself on my lap.”

No sooner do I mount Mary’s thighs before her large hand explores my curves, pinching, stroking, and kneading my flesh. Instinctively my thighs part allowing access to penis and testis. The room is warming up and so am I, sprawled across a large soft comfy lap that seems like a bed.

“Downing the cider when you could have been working, boy. Of course you deserve to be spanked!”

SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!!…………………………………

My heart skips a beat at the initial onslaught. Mary has no need for leather or wood with her weathered palm. Slow and rhythmic, hard and true. Her hand follows a wide arc before homing in on each buttock, smacking my flesh, and following through to leave it wobbling like a jelly…………. A strawberry jelly.

She pushes me a little further over her lap to concentrate on the under-swell of my arse cheeks where they join my thighs. Her hand now drops vertically to bounce off a butt rendered more taught by the spanking. At some point the surface of my reddened flesh becomes anaesthetised by Mary’s spanking hand, and the exquisite hurt with each slap melts away. Clenched buttocks relax and shudder more when they are smacked, filling the farmhouse with ever louder sounds of a bare female palm on bare male bottom spanking.

Rests for her arm accompany more “feel time” and increased stiffening between us. “Stand up, Harry. It seems my breeches are getting in the way of your penis and my thighs.”

We stand to attention, my manhood and I, and Mary floors her breeches. Somehow I expected large oversize knickers, but I”m treated to snug fitting white cotton panties with two half moon fleshy orbs peeping out of leg elastic. As powerful and full as her hips and legs appear, they are smooth and as flawless as any country girl. The temptation is too much, and I press my lips against her outstretched thighs repeatedly as I go over her knee again. Mary reaches between my thighs to caress what now hangs between her freshly-kissed thighs before getting on with the business in hand.

“Looks like we are in for a long night, lad. But you will be reminded of your misdeeds throughout. That you can be sure.”

SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!!………………………..

You are welcome to contact the author Dave Chum.

How To Get The Spanking You Want
  • Several months ago my girlfriend and I were in the local supermarket; as usual, she was wearing long trousers and I was wearing shorts. I complained that she was taking too long to choose what to buy and she smacked my bottom for being impatient. A woman neighbour, whom we know by sight but have never talked to, saw it and smiled at her in approval. Last week I was in the supermarket again, on my own this time. The neighbour was there too, this time she spoke to me. She said, “Oh, you’ve got long trousers on today, you usually wear shorts.” I replied that I do usually wear shorts but I find them a little too cold in February. “Does your wife know you’re wearing long trousers?” she asked. I said that we are not married, she is my girlfriend, and yes, she does know. “That’s good,” she replied, “I thought you might get your bottom smacked for not wearing your shorts!”

    • Just something I forgot to mention in my last comment. When I got home I told my girlfriend about the neighbour in the supermarket and she was amused. She approves of my wearing shorts because they make me look boyish, but she does not insist on it, so there was no question of her punishing me for not wearing them. However, a little later I made a sarcastic remark, which provoked an immediate reaction from her: “Naughty boy, I’ll SMACK YOUR BOTTOM!” She proceeded to give me a number of very firm swats on the seat of my trousers with the flat of her hand saying “Any more smart alec remarks and I’ll use my hairbrush on your bare bottom!” Needless to say, I was very careful in my choice of words for the rest of the day.

  • Further to my comment of May 6 where I said my girlfriend still smacks my bottom: I usually wear shorts, outdoors in warm weather and at home most of the time. My girlfriend says I have cute knees and shorts suit me. She does not hesitate to smack my bottom when I am cheeky. This is usually on the seat of my shorts, but sometimes she takes them and my underpants down and smacks my bare bottom hard for being a naughty boy. When I have been given a well-smacked bottom, I always behave very politely towards her!

  • The traditional expression “smack your bottom” is used quite often in the UK as an alternative to “spank”. The most memorable time I heard it was when I was going for a walk with a girlfriend I had recently started dating. It was a warm day and I was wearing a pair of shorts. I made a sarcastic remark, thinking she would say something sarcastic in reply. Instead, I suddenly felt the palm of her hand impacting the seat of my shorts several times in quick succession: SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Cheeky boys in short trousers deserve to have their bottoms smacked,” she said. That was several years ago, but she still smacks my bottom when I am cheeky!

  • In a firm where I used to work there was a woman in the human resources department who was forever using phrases such as “I’ll smack your bottom!; You deserve a well-smacked bottom!” One day when I arrived late she said “You should have your bottom smacked!” I often wondered what she was like at home. I had the impression that if her husband disobeyed her he was liable to find himself across her knee having his bottom soundly spanked. A very happy marriage, no doubt!

  • A very good story. An ex-girlfriend of mine liked to use the phrase “smacked bottom” and I always found it exciting. “Don’t do that!” she would say smacking my bottom. It often had the opposite effect to the one she intended though. Instead of stopping whatever it was that had displeased her, I would carry on doing it to provoke her into smacking my bottom further.

  • Farm women are the best spankers. My wife and I were both naked the first time she took me over her knee, fresh from the shower on our wedding night. Both my wife and mother-in-law are bigger, stronger and more dominant than me, as they are used to farm life. Even at 85 my mother-in-law has no trouble stripping me and turning me over her knee whenever she thinks I need it. My wife won’t make love to me without first turning me over her knee. She calls it five-play instead of foreplay.

    • Dear Markiee:
      When was the first time your mother-in-law spanked you? What were the mitigating circumstances?

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