by James Sondance
Fern is not my girl friend. Nor I her boy friend. Both of us have others to fill
that role. Fern's loyal Bernie has been her companion for over a decade, while
my wife and I are contentedly celebrating gem-stone anniversaries.
Fern is my strict pretend-mama. I visit Fern and become her little boy. When I
displease her, she spanks. Fern says she likes to redden my 'toddyside' and
certainly does find frequent excuses to apply her palm. Always to a barebottom.
She takes my pants down or makes me strip completely, and warms my backside. But
Fern never lets me forget that she is Mother. She disregards my modesty but is
strict about her own. No matter how bare I am, she remains completely covered.
Her hands make free with me but I am not allowed a bold touch to Mother's
person. If I get carried away and return an impudent smack to her firm bottom,
she is outraged at my 'lack of respect,' with consequences you may imagine. Fern
keeps the visits under tight control. Which is just as well. As long as it stays
Mama/Little Boy, neither of us is taking anything from our consorts.
Fern lives in Wisconsin, 200 miles from my Iowa home. It is not too far togo.
The trip is short and a couple of irresponsible hours in Fern's spotless
apartment provide a relaxing respite from my usual lifestyle which is full of
responsibilities and difficult decisions. Between visits we correspond. Fern is
a good letter writer and sends me exciting accounts of her plans for punishment
at my next visit.
This past winter my wife and I spent a few weeks in Arizona so my wife could be
with her sick sister. There was not a whole lot for me to do and Fern's letters
were a welcome diversion. She said she'd be glad when I came home,included vivid
accounts of how I would be welcomed. "It embarrasses you to have to present a
bare bottom to your mama," she teased. Then suddenly a serious note crept into
the letters. "Don't you be looking at any Arizona girl," she wrote. "I insist on
being your only mama!" The next letter was more explicit. "If I hear of you
taking up with anyone down there, I will put you over my lap and give you the
worst licking you ever had." Later it was even more forceful. "Remember what I
told you. A good paddling across my lap if you disobey mother! Bring a paddle
the next time you come. That is an order!"
The authoritative tone was nothing new. I liked it that she thought enough of me
to be possessive. But could that be Fern who was threatening to take me over her
lap? And PADDLE me? Fern has a fat little tummy and not much lap. She invariably
puts me face down on her bed when she is going to punish; rarely over a
footstool or bent over the kitchen table. NEVER across her knees. And always
with her hand. Wise Fern depends on the way her hand feels to set limits to the
reprimands. She spanks hard and convincingly but at the same time it is
tolerable. At least the first one is. After getting several I feel truly
disciplined. Nonetheless, her spankings are bearable.I keep coming back for more
I finally decided her stern threats were meant to be teasing. But to be on the
safe side, I did purchase a little paddle, concealed it in the small bag I
always carry to her house. She could not say I had not minded her and if she did
not mention it, I surely would not.
Once back home, a visit to Fern was first priority. A guilty conscience made me
uneasy about my welcome and I wondered about that instead of planning the trip
properly and as a consequence and was thirty minutes late in arriving. Fern is
always prompt, and I usually return the courtesy. My lady looked lovely when she
came to the door but her greeting was abrupt. She locked the door behind me. Her
hands immediately went to my buckle and zipper."You were late," she said. "What
you need is a good spanking!" Fern pushed trousers and shorts to my knees,
ordered, "Go to the bedroom."
In the very feminine bedroom, I noticed that a large pillow had been placed at
the foot of Fern's bed. After the number of times I have been draped over that
bed to be disciplined, it would have been unrealistic to pretend I didn't know
why it was there. I let clothes fall to the floor, flopped crosswise on the bed
with the pillow under me in such a manner that a bare bottom was well up in the
air. At least she was going to do it on the bed, not over her lap, and nothing
had been said about a paddle. In a few minutes heels approached. I felt her
brush against my outstretched legs, and then mama's palm on my backside. I had
forgotten how it could sting but I knew I deserved to be punished. And after she
finished, a still warm hand reached up and touched me in an exciting place. I
got dressed then, received a welcome-home kiss, and joined her in the kitchen
for coffee. There was a glow between me and the chair. It kept me from
forgetting what the pretty lady sitting across from me was capable of doing. I
felt I was where I belonged.
No reason was given for the second spanking. Only a sudden order. "Take off
every stitch of clothes and go to my bedroom. Stand in the corner." Fern left me
there inspecting the wallpaper for quite some time. Then she came in. "Lie on
the bed." When I was over the pillow, "Why are you going to get a spanking?"
If that was an attempt to extract a confession, it did not work. "For being
naughty naughty, mama," was all I replied. Fern cracked my bottom again. Longer
and harder than the last time. Even though both spankings were real ones, they
were not hard enough to make me cry, and in truth I enjoyed lying on her clean
bed, being punished by Indignant Mama. She made me look in the mirror after that
one. Both cheeks were very colorful: Palm sized, bright red areas on the top of
each. "I don't have to look to know I've been spanked, mama," I assured her.
A half an hour later it was undress again, take the familiar position. Fern went
to the bathroom, brought a wet washcloth, and thoroughly wet all of my buttocks.
If there had been any question of the validity of previous lessons,that one
banished them. Her palm smacked every inch of the wet skin, found the tender
areas down low. She commented on how red I was getting and without looking I
knew that my entire rear would be red enough to satisfy my hostess.I was feeling
well punished. I dressed; we went back to the kitchen. Fern produced
strawberries and cream. "You mean I should eat them now while I'm still able to
sit down," I joked? I was hoping to hear that the spanking was over but Fern
Even though sitting was not completely comfortable, I enjoyed lingering over
coffee. Fern and I talked amiably like old friends. But when I rose to leave,
the tone changed. "Did you bring the paddle like I told you to?"
"Yes I did, Fern."
"Bring it to me." I fished it out of the suitcase, handed it to her.
"Go back to the bedroom and take your pants down!"
It was what I had been afraid of! Reluctant feet carried me back into the
bedroom. I apprehensively unbuckled and unzipped. Trousers and undershorts to
the floor. Before I could hurriedly take position over the pillow, Fern came in,
carrying both the paddle and a straight chair from the kitchen! She put the
chair down in the middle of the room, sat upon it, pulled her skirt up and said,
"Over my lap." I obeyed and for the first time in my life found myself in the
traditional 'over mother's knee'.
It was completely dismaying. Altogether different than on her inviting
bed. Infinitely worse than being casually placed on a piece of furniture. A
spanking no longer seemed like fun. My head was down near the floor. I could not
see anything going on in the room. Fern's shoes and ankles occupied my entire
field of vision. I felt so helpless. My hands were busy supporting me; I could
not even reach back and protect the target area with fingers. Without any doubt
Fern was inspecting me right now, deciding where to begin. I had a mental
picture of her holding the paddle and looking determined. I could envision
myself too and it was a humiliating sight.Pants down, across mother's knee, red
bottom prominently displayed, about to get still another licking. How
undignified. I was sure I looked like a naughty little boy and was mortally
afraid I would soon sound like on. Right then and there I began to regret the
Arizona indiscretion. Fern knew about it somehow and she was about to do what
she'd said she would. It was not going to be any on-the-bed game either. She was
genuinely displeased. And I was going to get a horrible licking. Why hadn't I
Fern interrupted my thoughts. "Who spanked you in Arizona?"
No use lying. She'd know if I was fibbing. "Carol did."
"She lives in Phoenix. She gave me several spankings."
"I THOUGHT I FORBADE YOU TO SEE ANY WOMAN DOWN THERE! WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO
LEARN TO MIND?"
"I'm sorry, mama. I won't do it again."
"You're sorry? You deliberately disobey me, then say you're sorry. What did I
tell you would happen?"
"You said you'd spank me, mama. But you already have. Three times."
"Those weren't real spankings. This one will be. You are going to learn I really
am your mother and when I tell you something, you listen!"
In the next few long minutes I learned how effective a paddle can be in making a
sinner regret his error. Fern crashed it down on my bare skin a half dozen
times. It felt like a hive of bees. I yelped. She stopped. "How does it seem now
to have been naughty and disobedient?"
"It doesn't seem so smart, mama." Another flurry of punishing cracks.Another
pause. "Are you going to try anything like that again?"
"Mama, no! I never never will do anything like that again."
Fern laid a couple of dozen more on my poor toddyside, halted again "Are you
getting the idea that you have to mind when I tell you not to do something?"
"Ouch, ouch, mama. Yes I am. I'll mind you. "I'm going to mind my mama."Another
series. My bottom was on fire. "Hold still," Fern said. "Kind of a shock to find
you can get a real spanking as well as games?"
"Yes it is, mama. I should have known. Owwww. Please stop now, mama? I've
learned a lesson."
"I want to be sure you get the message," Fern said and began a steady,
hard,dreadful licking. I repeated the litany she had heard so many times
before,but this time meant every word. "Mama, OW. Oh my poor toddyside. I'm
sorry I did it. I'll never, never do anything like that again. Mommie,
please.Ouch. I'll be a good boy. OW. Ow. Ow. I'm going to mind. I'll never
disobey you again, I'll be your good boy. Ouch. Mommie, mommie!" Along with
these useless protests, my bottom weaved back and forth as if trying to avoid
the next stroke of the dreadful paddle. Legs kicked on their own accord. All I
could think of was the awful way my bottom was being set on fire. Needing all my
energy to suppress disgraceful tears. I finally stopped protesting. Fern calmly
continued spanking me and the only sound in the room was the urgent spick,
spack, spick of the paddle. I thought she would never stop and high resolve
became a partner to remorse.
At long last the paddling ceased. I did not try to get up. If the punishment was
over, Mother would tell me so.
"You think you will remember what happens to naughty boys?"
"I won't ever forget it, mama."
"You've learned a lesson?"
"I've learned that when you tell me something I have to mind. And I'm going to,
mama!" I was still on her lap. Fern could start in again.
"That's correct, Jimmie. And if you don't, I can do this again any time.I'll
keep the paddle right here..... You may get up and dress."
Fern watched unremorsefully while I resumed my clothing. But then she gave me a
motherly kiss. "I don't like to spank my little boy like that but from now on
I'll put you over my knees and paddle your bottom every time you need it!"
"I won't need it, mama."
A little later I was in the car. My bottom burned horribly. I could not find a
comfortable way to sit. But sober thoughts kept my mind occupied.Games-playing
Fern had surprised me. She'd proved she knew exactly how to make me mind. She'd
said she would do it again and I did not doubt it. From now on I would regard
her with apprehension as well as affection. That was the proper stance for a
little boy with his mama! I would never know when mother would decide to put me
over her lap and give me as real a spanking as any naughty boy ever got.
It was a surprisingly comforting thought. Fern had told me she really was my
mother! I had Someone who thought enough of me to make me behave. I was
cherished! I had assured her she would not have to do it again, but both of us
knew that was not true. From now on Fern was going to put me over sturdy thighs
as often as my own mother should have. I would learn to mind her, would adore my
mama all the more, and add a big measure of real respect.