Mom Lets Me Spank Glendabylesliejones©
Ever since my dad was lost in a war several years ago, my Mom has often found herself taking me across her lap and lowering my panties for a spanking.
Since I'm 18, this has become more and more embarrassing for me since if Mom so that she decides to spank, that spanking follows immediately, even if others are around. I have been the one spanked even when I whispered to Mom that if she pulled down my pants, her friends or mine would all see my tampon string.
"You should have thought of that before you misbehaved," Mom is most likely to respond in such situations.
I admit that Mom has been fair with me and that she is not some awful parent who beats her daughter or acts like some horrid tyrant. Usually, when I'm across her lap and awaiting the first terrible spank, she will make me tell her why I am in this position.
I should mention that there are some almost automatic situations when I will get punished. If I bring home a school report card with a failing grade, I will get spanked. If the failure is in Conduct, Mom will be very annoyed and is likely to use her strap or even her cane. If I use a bad word, I will be spanked for it.
Mom has prescribed a ritual for me to follow when I am to be punished. When I gets home from school, I must change into a special uniform I have, which is a very shaming thing. The skirt is plaid, like Catholic school uniforms, and very short. The blouse is childish, plain white. You wear little Mary Jane socks and patent leather shoes. I of course suffer because I am not permitted to wear a bra under this uniform.
I have never been told that I have to wear any specific kind of panties when I am being punished but I don't dare to put on anything but plain white cotton ones. Mom does not like thongs or anything that she thinks is cheap. I realized that it made sense not to put on any fancy or sexy panties because it would just get her angrier.
Spankings are given just before dinner. I sit in a special wooden chair. Mom comes in, armed with the paddle, strap, or cane, or all of them. I never know what she is going to use until I get it!
She calls meto stand in front of her even if my friends, or my aunt or anyone is there. She tells me what my offense is and gives me time to explain. It's best to apologize for being naughty now, rather than argue with her about whether my offense really merited punishment. Then she points to her lap. If I m going to be caned, she points to the chair I was sitting in—I then have to move it to the centre and bend over the back.
When she points to her lap, I am expected to lift my skirt. When I lie down on her lap, she puts her fingers in the waistband of my panties and expects me to lift up my middle so she can pull my panties down. It is really humiliating for your mother to be lowering your panties herself for a spanking.
If I flail around or try to cover my bottom with my hands during a spanking, Mom will tell me that I will get extras. I never know how many I'm getting anyway and then after she stops, she will tell me that now I will get the extras. Mom spanks hard, right on my bottom cheeks or in the crease between bottom and thigh.
If Mom is caning me, she will tell me to count the strokes. This is really tricky because if I miss one or lose count, she will start all over from one. I used to get hysterical when that happens, partly because a caning hurts so horribly.
Recently, though, something different has happened at our house. One day at dinner, Mom mentioned that she had been asked by a slightly older woman she knew—a teacher even!—to take responsibility for disciplining her when she was naughty! It's hard to believe that a woman in her late 20s or 30s would do that but I was permitted to be in the room the first time Glenda arrived for punishment.
Mom explained to Glenda after introducing us that I would be allowed to see her get punished. "Oh Robin," Glenda began, but then she put her hand over her mouth and merely said in a soft voice, "whatever you say, Robin."
Usually Glenda gets caned because I suppose Mom feels that as an older person, she needs serious punishment for her misbehaviour. I don't always find out what Glenda did to earn her canings. Once I heard her tell Mom that she had snapped at another teacher when the latter asked her help.
The first time I saw Glenda get it, I was amazed at the whole thing. Glenda demurely stood and lifted her grey flannel skirt, exposing a pair of pale blue panties. She bent over the chair and Mom very ceremoniously slipped her fingers in the waistband of the panties and pulled them down to Glenda's knees. She then asked Glenda if she needed to use the bathroom.
Glenda managed to barely say "No, thank you, ma'am" in a very quiet tone and then her bare bottom was on full display! I could see the hair between her legs and even the way her vulva sort of pooched out between her legs. Mom told her to begin counting the strokes and she drew her thin cane back and began the punishment.
Counting as instructed, Glenda lost count and started to cry. Mom told her that since it was the first time, she would not start the caning all over again and Glenda stopped with the tears. But I did notice that on the sixth stroke, Glenda must have let out just a tiny amount of pee because I saw it ooze out from her front and hit her panty crotch which was now obviously wet.
"Glenda," Mom said sternly, "you were given an opportunity to use the bathroom before your punishment began. Any further loss of control and you will earn another immediate punishment."
I saw that Glenda's face was now totally crimson with shame and she tried to keep her legs together for the rest of the caning. Somehow she managed not to disgrace herself and when the caning stopped, Mom was very generous in urging her to go off to use the bathroom.
Not too long after Glenda started reporting to Mom on a weekly basis for discipline, Mom took me aside after dinner when Glenda was expected and told me that she was going to allow me to punish Glenda this time. I did a real double-take, being very surprised to be allowed to punish a woman who could be my mother or certainly a teacher, which Glenda is, although not at our school.
"Glenda has gotten herself into a lot of trouble by being naughty," Mom told me. "She has almost been suspended by her principal for saying very unladylike things to another teacher and a parent. I want to take her down a few pegs and your punishing her will help me do that."
As it turns out, I didn't need much instruction. Glenda reported as usual and I always made sure to be there because it was amazing to see a "lady"—someone more Mom's age—I didn't know she was actually younger!—over Mom's lap for a spanking.
Mom stood up when Glenda lifted her skirt and quietly told her that this week would be different because Glenda had behaved so badly. "I am going to have Elizabeth take over spanking you this week," Mom said calmly, expecting a reaction.
"Oh Robin, that will be so awful," Glenda began, then realizing that insulting me was not a really great idea from her standpoint.
"Elizabeth has seen me disciplining you for some time and I think her punishing you will do you some good tonight," Mom went on.
With that, I moved and sat down on Mom's spanking chair and knowingly tapped my lap as a signal for Glenda to get over mine. Glenda hesitated for an instant, looked at Mom and saw her face begin to scowl and quickly, the early-thirtyish teacher clambered over my skirted lap.
I was a bit dressed up that day for school, having worn tights, which worked out perfectly for this purpose. I patted Glenda's ample bottom and she lifted it with a sigh. I put my fingers right into the waistband of her panties and lowered them—they were pink today—below her knees.
Now her bottom was on full display before me and I placed my hand between her legs to remind her to keep them a bit apart for me. She was humiliated by this because she knew I could now see all of her private charms between her legs, including her hairy quim and cute little brown bumhole.
I began to spank, covering her cheeks with spanks as the bottom gradually reddened. I started spanking her in her creased area above her thighs and she pouted and started to mutter. I stopped spanking and told her calmly that if she kept complaining, I would spank her between her legs.
She calmed down quickly and I kept spanking her until she grew very crimson on the bumcheeks. She began moving around now, either to avoid the strokes or because she was trying to get off on the spanking.
Mom noticed this and told her to stand up. With her panties still lowered, she had to walk over and bend over the caning chair. Mom, however, did not begin to cane her. Instead, she went over to the closet and brought me something that looked like a wooden handle with leather strips. It was French and called a martinet, Mom said, and it was a special kind of punishment implement that I would now use on Glenda.
I took the handle and snapped the tails on Glenda's already red bottom. She let out a scream that tailed into a cry and I had to remind her to get back into position or I would have to repeat the stroke. She calmed down and I kept using it on her sore bottom until I hit low on one stroke and the tails must have caught her between her legs and her legs just snapped apart and she fell down, exposing her whole intimate area to us.
It must have been too much because she began to cry and we saw that she had lost control of her bladder and peed all over. Mom told her to stand and gave her some paper towels to clean up the floor. I could smell the fresh smell of hot pee and Mom told her she would have to mop it clean later. But the punishment ended, even after she had peed like that.
The next week Mom humiliated her some more by placing a wooden child's potty out on the floor next to the caning chair. She asked Glenda if she needed to use the bathroom and when Glenda, this time cautious, answered that she did, Mom pointed to the potty and told her she could squat on that and do her business.
Glenda was taken aback by that but she slowly squatted, drew her skirt up so it wouldn't get wet, lowered her panties to just below her knees, and sat on the potty. I could actually see the pee spurt out of her tiny peehole in between her legs. Then she took a sheet of tissue from her handbag and wiped herself. I realized this was even more humiliating because there was a white string hanging from her quim and now I knew that this lady was having her period.
When she rose from the potty, Mom pointed to the string, at which Glenda's face reddened more than her bottom would later. "Take out your tampon, Glenda," Mom said, "and put it in the potty." Glenda thought about arguing but then reached down and drew on the string. A rather soggy dark-red tampon emerged and was quickly placed in the potty.
Mom made her go without protection for the punishment and caned her rather hard—18 strokes, or three sixers. As she straightened from the last severe cut, I saw a drop of dark menstrual blood on the floor below her and she somehow kept her composure as Mom handed her a large maxipad to put in her panties.
This was merely the start of an experience I had with my mother disciplining a lady in her thirties along with me for quite some time.