Whipped When Wet

[This story deals with wetting and obviously, whipping, so if those bother you, read no further. All characters are over 18 years old.]

It might have had something to do with my having had more to drink that night than I should have. I had gone out with a group of colleagues, and we were having a lot of fun, plenty of laughs. But I was aware enough to ask my friend Dinah to give me a ride home. She chuckled because at my firm, I have a formidable reputation for dealing with whatever arises during any workday. I guess this was just another challenge.

The reason I'm even bothering to discuss what happened is that when I got home--I've continued to live at what is clearly my mother's house until I get it together to make my own living arrangements--I realized I needed to get to the bathroom really quickly.

My mother was still up, and she saw me walking as quickly as I could but unsteadily.

"Susan, why are you walking like that?" she snapped. "Did you drink too much?"

"Yes, I probably did, Mom," I answered, "but I need to go to the bathroom right now."

She could see that I was trying to move as fast as I could in my heels. I was almost at the point of holding my crotch but instead moved right along and reached the downstairs bath. I went in and closed the door.

I managed to yank my panties down as I sat down on the seat and realized I had gotten a bit ahead of myself and let go and started peeing before I had my panties out of the way. I cursed to myself but made sure they were down to my knees as I finished sitting and now peed right in the toilet. It was a long pee and I looked to see how badly I'd wet my undies.

A few big wet spots on the crotch and on the rear as I'd been pulling them down stood out. I figured I could deal with that--lay the panties out over the bathroom curtain rod upstairs. I finished and wiped myself. Then I pulled them back up, feeling a little wet when they touched my rear end. I adjusted my skirt and washed my hands.

My mother was waiting when I reached the living room.

"Did you forget to go before you left where you were?" she asked, speaking to me as she often did as if I were still in high school.

"No, Mom," I said quietly. "I was engaged in conversation and when I realized it was time for me to get going, I didn't feel an immediate need. Dinah drove me home and I knew I needed to go very soon just after she left me off."

"Did you wet yourself, Susan?" she continued.

"Yes, Mom," I replied honestly. "I have to tell you that as I was pulling my pants down, I did let go too soon so I did wet them a little bit."

"Let me see them," she demanded. This was going to get nasty, I started thinking.

I took my panties out of my handbag, and she scrutinized them, looking for evidence of my loss of control.

"Yes, Susan," she said coldly. "I see where you soiled your underpants. You really should be beyond that at your age."

"I'm sorry, Mom," I managed to respond in this awful conversation, "but these things happen. I'm going to be more careful in the future."

"You have a successful career, a nice boyfriend, and good friends, Susan," she went on. "You do need to grow up and stop acting like a child, weeing in your panties."

"Mom," I tried to keep my cool, "I was moving too quickly because I didn't want to lose control before I got to the bathroom. I respect what you've said, and I've learned that I need to remember to go when I first feel the need."

That seemed to end it, and I was grateful to get away and go up to get ready to go to bed. I was now exhausted, and my nerves were ragged from this little colloquy.

I knew I was not operating at full throttle, so I wanted to sleep it off. I managed to convince myself that I had done well, since what I really had been worried about hadn't happened. My mother still spanks me.

Yes, I've said it. She has told me that for as long as I live at home, she says that when I'm naughty, she will deal with it as she always has. She announces to me that I have been a naughty girl and I'm required to respond to her question about what happens to naughty girls. "They get spanked," is my required response.

I confess that once I started thinking about being spanked by my mother, which occupied my mind and kept me from getting asleep. Finally, I passed out--given my state, it actually was only a few minutes.

I slept very solidly and woke up at about the usual time realizing that I was wet. I hadn't put on any panties or pajamas, so I had apparently lost control in my sleep and wet the bed. I had done that growing up, but unlike most people, I seemed to have outgrown my lack of bladder control at night. I still had outbursts--so to speak--but I probably hadn't had an incident for several years. That still meant that I had wet the bed back when I was, say, 17 or 18.

When it had happened, my mother made me wear these thick panties that incontinent older woman wear, it was definitely shaming, and I convinced her after a couple of days that I could manage to stay dry without them. She had always spanked me when I had wet the bed or my pants growing up, which hadn't helped me deal with it but instead made me very fearful.

I was sure that I was not in my normal mindset when sleeping last night because of the booze, so I blamed that for my wetting. I cleaned myself up and stripped the bed sheets. I concluded that it was good that I still had a plastic mattress cover on my bed.

I made sure to take a shower and cleaned up for work in general before I came down to breakfast and somehow my mother always knew when I had wet the bed, even now.

"I can tell, Susan, that you must've wet last night," she said. "You still hadn't urinated out all that you had drunk. Am I right?"

"Yes, Mom," I admitted with great resignation. "As I said, I've learned, and it shan't happen again."

"I certainly hope it won't," she pontificated. "I have inspected those panties you were wearing, Susan, and they were shameful. Especially because you wear genuinely nice panties."

I wanted to thank her for the compliment but knew I should just keep my trap shut and take what was coming.

"As it stands, however," she continued, "you know that I always punish this kind of behavior. Since you are now in your mid-20's, you're too old to spank. Instead, Susan, you will be whipped."

"Whipped?" I reacted. "That sounds very grim, Mom. I'm sorry for what happened, but is this really necessary? I am a grown woman."

"Grown women don't pee their pants or wet their bed," Mom announced.

"Susan," she intoned, "stand up and lift your skirt for me. I'm not going to put this off or make a scene out of it and I hope you won't."

As if in a trance, I followed her order. I stood and picked up the hem of my skirt--I was wearing a nice navy suit with a crisp, blue-striped blouse--and was directed by my mother to bend over the chair where I had been sitting.

I felt absolutely ridiculous but also afraid when I felt her fingers grasp the waistband of my hicut pale blue undies and slowly pull them down until they were halfway down my thighs.

It's even embarrassing when your mother sees your privates, Sure, she saw them a million times when you were growing up, but now I'm a big girl and I don't want her to see what I look like between my legs. By the way, she never gave me any lecture or anything when I had an accident because my period arrived unexpectedly. I usually know when it's going to happen but not exactly when. If I'm thinking ahead, I at least put a liner in my pants, but I think she must've had a lot of accidents because she's never come down on me for having one of those.

She told me to keep my legs apart so that my panties didn't fall any further. This did give me something to focus on rather than the scary and horrible reality that I was about to be whipped.

To me, just hearing that word is scary. No, I don't pee my pants when I'm told I'm to be whipped, but I haven't been whipped often or for a long time.

Mom has several straps and was now brandishing one of them. It was small and light brown with a rough leather surface. I didn't remember being whipped with it but I knew it would hurt, more than a spanking.

She stood at one side behind me as I saw her looking back. Then she came closer, and delivered the first hard stroke, which stung like hell.

"Yow!" I exclaimed, and she paid no attention to my reaction. Luckily, I did not lose position, or she'd have had plenty to say, mainly that I'd earned extra strokes.

She kept firing at my poor behind. Each stroke--or kiss of the whip, to get poetic about it--hurt and I started moving my bottom, not from being aroused or anything but because...well, I just needed to.

"Keep your bottom still, Susan," she warned, "or this will last longer than I've intended." She knew how to use the strap to have it hit me across my bottom cheeks and the stroke would hit in the middle of the far cheek. This increased the hurt when it hit. She knew all this. Mom had been spanking my younger sister and I since we were little.

Deb was free of this regime since she had married and now had a daughter herself. Just little old me at the ripe age of 25 and still getting her panties lowered by her mom for a whipping.

Deb was nice enough not to tease me, since she knew about Mom's rules for living in her house. She had been spanked more than I had been, because she often came home late, and Mom figured she was allowing boys more liberties than Mom felt was proper. I decided that she reacted better than I had because somewhere inside, she may like being spanked. I even speculated that her husband, who was a very nice guy, did spank her, probably because she made it clear she liked it. I was sure that it preceded a great night of lovemaking.

Nevertheless, Mom kept applying her strap to my behind, and it was now hurting. I'm sure it was getting redder, too. I did expect that we might be close to the end, however. Mom was a spanker, yes, and she made use of the strap, but never more than that and never at ridiculous extremes in terms of number of strokes.

I heard some noise at the kitchen door and, oh God, Deb entered, to be greeted by a direct view of my red bottom facing them from the chair I was bent over.

"Oh, Mom," Deb exclaimed, "Susan must be getting spanked. Has she been naughty?"

I figured Deb was speaking like that because spanking still occurred in her house, although I didn't know if Deb spanked her husband, or he her.

"Yes, she has indeed been a naughty girl," my mother responded. "It's quite disturbing when a woman her age still wets the bed."

Now my face was as red as my bottom, and it wasn't from being bent over. I didn't dare respond because it would only make matters worse if that were possible. It was.

Before I realized it was happening, Mom handed the strap to Deb and said loudly, "Deborah, I'd like you to give Susan a few hard ones, so she understands she has to grow up."

Deb seemed reluctant to accept the proffered strap, but my mother said, "Since you're in my house, Deborah, if you don't do as I said, your panties can still come down, too."

This must've been enough to faze my sister's slim ability to try to avoid whipping me, too. Deb picked up the strap and began firing away. Deb was shorter than I was, and thus it was natural for her to hit my bottom lower down. The most painful place to be spanked or whipped, in case you aren't up on this, is where your bottom meets your thighs. For me, it hurts more than the definitely painful strokes when someone by mistake or intent gives you a nasty stroke on your thighs.

Deb got me yelping because she kept striking in that spot. Given her excellent aim, I decided that she probably spanked her husband; I still couldn't determine if she got spanked in return. But after six, she looked at Mom and handed her back the strap. I was hoping that that might end it.

"Thank you, Deborah," Mom exuded. "I'm sure Susan appreciates your participating in her punishment." Then she grinned and added, "One of these days, your daughter will be old enough to give Susan a few strokes."

I winced, but Deb responded, "Not yet, Mom." I'm sure Deb was thinking that she didn't like the idea of her daughter ever being spanked or a spanker.

Mom told me to stand but extended my shame by sending me to stand facing the corner, with my skirt still up and my panties at my knees. I was ordered not to speak unless spoken to, and to keep my face in the corner.

"Can I ask, Mom, what my sister did to earn this punishment?" Deb asked as I cringed.

"Your sister came in late last night, definitely inebriated--she had been driven home--and she ran to the bathroom but managed to wet herself before she could pull down her panties," my mother related, as I kept suffering in silence.

"Well, Mom," Deb replied, "that's definitely embarrassing for Susan, but did that mean she deserved the strap?"

"Yes, Deborah," my loquacious Mom answered, delighted to embarrass me even more, "Susan then went to sleep and managed to wet the bed. I had thought she had outgrown that, but apparently, she hasn't."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Deb said, and it seemed sincere. My sister really didn't want to help discipline me, I still thought. And she probably was thinking how wonderful it was that was married and had gotten the hell out of this house.

"I must say that I was unpleasantly surprised when Susan first wet her panties and then her bed," my mother maintained her intent to keep my face red. "If she continues to be unable to control herself, I might have to get out the special panties I used to have her wear."

"Maybe we should leave Susan alone for a while," Deb said, clearly trying to change the subject.

"I don't appreciate your suggesting that I'm being unduly harsh, Deborah," my mother said.

Uh oh, I thought. Deb is looking for trouble. But I couldn't help her now.

"I'm just saying that I feel bad for Susan, since I'm not sure she can always keep from losing control at night, even though I know she surely wants to, because being punished like this can't be fun."

I was happy that Deb was standing up for me but felt she had miscalculated her defense.

"Deborah, I don't intend to discuss this further with you," my mother announced. "You happened to arrive when Susan was being whipped, so it was unavoidable that you see her being disciplined, but I thought you would keep your thoughts to yourself, especially after I asked you to help me, and you did deliver some strokes."

"I'm sorry, Mom," Deb said sincerely, "but I guess I was shocked by what I saw and may have been in a bit of a trance."

"You are out of line, Deborah," my mother spoke deliberately, "and I'm afraid you have earned yourself a spanking."

"Oh, Mom," Deb wailed, "please don't! I didn't mean to question you."

"But you did," my mother insisted. "Get up and drop those slacks and bend over that chair."

Deb knew how futile it would be to continue on when my mother gave that order, so she complied.

I was not particularly happy at not being able to see Deb spanked, but I realized I would at least hear the whole event as it occurred.

Mom sat herself on a firm kitchen chair and told Deb to get across her lap. Deb apparently went across Mom's lap. I could hear a rustle as Mom lowered Deb's panties.

Then I heard the spanking start as Mom fired away at Deb's smaller bottom. It didn't take long for her to start groaning and then almost screaming as Mom spanked on and on like a pendulum. Deb must have gotten seventy spanks.

She was making a noise, close to a scream. Mom told her to get up and keep her trousers and panties down. I was ordered to pull up my undies and let my skirt down. Then Mom told me to join her at the table. She then sent Deb to the corner.

"Susan, you may leave for work now," Mom said. "You see that your sister can still be spanked when she comes here and challenges me as she did."

"Thank you, Mom," I said quietly, and decided I should not try to speak to Deb at this moment. It would only get me into trouble with my mother yet again.