I’d grown up dreaming of having my pants taken down and my bare bottom soundly spanked across the lap of female authority. From at least the age of six, it became my greatest ambition in life.
You are welcome to contact the author Rennie Gade.
Of all the Spanking Ladies I’ve been involved with since my marriage’s demise in the early 90s, the woman I called Mummy Em was most like a mother to me. A self-described maternal disciplinarian in her early forties, she was short and dark-haired with a pretty face. The extra weight she was carrying didn’t exactly help her looks, but it gave her a truly inviting lap that very soon became my place of worship, I kid you not.
Mummy Em had a husband and a daughter. I don’t know that I ever met them, but it didn’t seem like we were keeping any big secrets from them, either. A different story with the neighbours, however; more than once, I had to be reminded to be a little quieter getting my bottom paddled.
I’d grown up dreaming of having my pants taken down and my bare bottom soundly spanked across the lap of female authority. From at least the age of six, it became my greatest ambition in life. There I was, living in the heyday of child spanking, and yet all I ever got was the very occasional smack on the seat of my pants. I knew there were proper bottom warmings being given out, and I’d admired my bare bum enough in the mirror to be convinced I was getting a raw deal.
At the age of ten, I traded pants-down paddlings one afternoon with a classmate in his basement. And by the time I was 13, I’d begun spanking myself. Mummy Em’s wasn’t the first maternal-style lap I’d ever lain across, but it was definitely the most accommodating, both physically and emotionally.
Over the course of four years, I paid a visit to her every three or four months. Always in the afternoon; I was ready by then, primed for punishment. She welcomed me inside, we did the cash transaction, and then we sat and chatted. Never about anything too far removed from my reason for being there. Just a friendly getting reacquainted, and finally my admission of the naughtiness that somehow kept renewing its hold on me. It just seemed as though bare bottom spankings were the only hope we had of ever enabling goodness to triumph over wickedness.
For quite a while, we used the living room couch for my spankings. Just as soon as I was stood in front of Mummy Em while she unbuckled, unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, I actively took on the role of a naughty boy. Maybe 12 or 13 years old, somewhere in there. And a bit of a chatterbox when it came to admitting that a good spanking was just what I deserved. And shame on me!
Originally, my underpants came down as well while I was still on my feet. I’d been religiously committed to that routine. The simple act of my pants being pulled down spoke volumes about my primal longing to submit my bare bottom for over-the-knee correction. I have no idea where such a passion came from, but there was absolutely no denying it.
Religious zeal notwithstanding, the routine did eventually change. My jeans came down as always while I was still upright, but I was now across Mummy Em’s lap for some introductory smacks before she tugged my underpants down. And every time, she had to give the crotch an extra little tug just to make sure every shameful inch of my saucy backside was laid bare for her maternal ministrations.
More than once, Mummy Em moved to a new neighbourhood. And her last move made her bedroom a better (more private) place for spanking me. God, she had the most amazing bed! Enormous! She’d sit on the side to pull down my jeans, then relocate to the middle of the headboard with pillows behind her back. Lying across her lap on that bed was nothing short of Paradise.
My favourite spanking implement was a simple wooden spatula Mummy Em had gotten from a discount store. I’d be getting spanked, and it got to where I could recognise what we called ‘The Smacker’ from its delicious sting. Sharper than just about anything else she used on me. To me, a spanking’s sting is like a narcotic. Once I’ve felt it, I just want more and more.
Truth to tell, my bum is more like a girl’s than a boy’s; round and smooth and jiggly like two water-filled balloons. The rapport I built with Mummy Em had as much to do with her enjoyment of spanking me as it did with mine. We kept in touch between sessions by e-mail, and I’d send her spanking photos from online galleries to whet both our appetites for the next time.
Spanking my bare bottom over her knee is all this woman ever did, but if you’re devoted to something with your heart & soul, what more do you need? She spanked, paddled and strapped me in a manner as faithful to my boyhood fantasies as I ever could’ve imagined. And every single bottom warming was concluded with a rapturous otk application of skin lotion. I’d been to heaven and lived to tell about it.
Mummy Em’s family eventually intruded on our relationship. We were overdue for a session and were trying to arrange it online, and she was literally there one day and gone the next. Disappeared. Non-responsive. Months became years. She finally surprised me with an email one day, but she couldn’t or wouldn’t say exactly what had happened. And the subject of spanking me never came up. Our reconnection came and went, and that was that.
You are welcome to contact the author Rennie Gade.