“I told you that you couldn’t go if you hadn’t cleaned your room,” Miriam reminded him, struggling to keep her voice even. You are such a BRAT ! GOD, do I wish you were still young enough to spank! You sure SOUND like you’re ten fucking years old!
Stuart was continuing his tirade against his mom: “You ALWAYS do this! You ALWAYS break your word! You NEVER let me do anything!”
“I am NOT breaking my word, Stuart.” A definite edge was creeping into Miriam Carol’s voice, one that her son would have been wise to heed.
“I AM SO SICK OF THIIIIIS!!” Stuart screamed at the top of his lungs, his eyes clenched shut, knees bent, fists balled up and held up even with his slender shoulders. The outraged martyr. The put-upon emperor.
Something inside of Miriam snapped.
For a moment her world went entirely red, the only sound the jack-hammering of her heart in her chest. “Well, I am sick of this, too.” she heard herself say.
She laughed out loud at that understatement. The fucking little emperor. I wiped your ass for you for all those years, and now you think I’m going to take this shit from you?!?
And soon after that thought followed a realization: I’m really about to say this out loud, she thought giddily.
“And you are going to get a spanking.”
And not even bothering to note the reaction on her son’s face, Miriam turned on her heel and walked towards her bedroom.
“MOOOOOM!” she heard him utter over her shoulder. There was shock in his voice, and a whiny indignance, but also, she thought fear. Good.
I can do this, she thought. I *need* to do this.
She took the long handled wooden hairbrush from the mirrored tray on her dresser into her hand and turned back towards her son.
She was a little startled to see that Stewart had followed her into her bedroom.
“It’s just that I really, really wanted to go to that party…” he began, the tone of his voice low and reasonable now.
“Pull your pants down,” Miriam ordered. “Right now.”
“MOOOOM!” Again the shocked indignation, his tone and expression trying mightily to communicate to her “Surely, mother, this façade has gone on long enough!” Trying now, Miriam thought, deperately to turn the conversation a bit more in a “we’re all adults here” direction.
“Look," he attempted. "Whatever, we both know I’m too old for that. I’m sorry, okay? I am. I get frustrated too, you know.”
For the second time in the last highly charged minute, Miriam found herself laughing out loud.
But the only response she made to her son was to look him in the eye and intone very slowly, her jaw clenched tightly: “Pull. Down. Your. Pants!”
Yeah, and what if he won’t? She thought as she regarded her fidgeting teenager.
“Mooommm,” he said again, and while the whiny sound of his voice was hardly pleasing to the ear, Miriam felt a thrill surge through her body at the naked fear she heard in her son’s voice, the helpless throaty trembling which she knew meant that his tears were close. This was the same boy who only moments before had so cavalierly discounted her authority, her rationality, hell, her very personhood!
Ever since he had turned thirteen and she had decided he was too old to spank, she realized now, she had watched that arrogance and sense of entitlement grow within him. It was slow at first (she had not been such a fool as to tell him that he had outgrown spankings!), but it had grown quickly and exponentially, once he had realized that groundings or loss of privileges were the worst consequences he could expect for bad behavior. And so, there had started to appear eye-rolling at simple instructions, or loud heavy sighs, then talking back, and then blatant disobedience. And screaming. Her own son felt like he had the privilege of screaming at her!
Many, many, times she had been tempted to reintroduce good old-fashioned spanking back into Stuart’s world. While she had originally abandoned it, though, out of respect for what she had assumed would be the increased sensitivity of a teenaged boy to the very intimate and emasculating nature of such a traditionally juvenile punishment, later on she began to consider the same possibility that had again just now run through her mind: What if he simply won’t?
After all, while he was no linebacker, he was almost as big as her now. What would she do if the situation devolved into a brawl with her own son? Could she risk that? And so she had quietly put the option completely off the table.
But now that she was in fact doing it, the correct steps seemed so obvious and natural, their conclusion so inevitable. This was her son, goddammit, and he would damn well do whatever she said. And as she began to really see in her head how it would all play out, a feeling of tremendous confidence came over her that she had made the right decision. She could feel herself struggling not to smile. This is so easy!
“Stuart, I’m going to count to ten. If I get to ten, and your pants are not pulled down, then you and I are going to go outside. And I will give you a spanking right there, on the front lawn of our house, in front of everybody.”
“Mom, look, I SWEAR, I’m sorry, okay? I promise—"
“One.”
“I promise I won’t…Mom!
“Two.”
“Please, Mom? I get it!”
“Three.”
“Mom, do you understand that NOBODY in my..”
“Four.”
“Okay, okay!” Stuart cried out as tears began to squeeze out of the corner of his eyes in twin rivulets which cut down the sides of his bright red cheeks.
“Five.”
“Moooommmm.” A young child’s tear-soaked croak.
“Six.”
Stuart reached for his belt.
“Seven.”
The teenager furiously unfastened his belt while the steady rhythm of his mother’s counting, about one number per second, never faltered.
“Eight.”
With his belt now unfastened and dangling open at either side of him, Stuart quickly unclasped his blue school pants and tugged down the zipper on his fly.
“Nine.”
He opened up his slacks and then quickly jerked them down, exposing his white briefs.
“Ten.” And then:
“Fine, we’re going outside.”
She grabbed his elbow in a vise lock and yanked him out through her bedroom door.
“But mom! My pants are down!” Stuart wailed.
“Bad little boys get spanked on their naked little bottoms. And I don’t see your bare bottom,” Miriam told her son, making the observation sound almost casual, while never breaking her brisk stride towards the front door, with now only about twelve feet left to go .
“But you just said take down my pants!”
“And I still don’t see a bad boy’s bare bottom. And I finished counting a while ago.”
With the hand not holding her crying son’s arm. Miriam Carol reached out for her door knob, while still a couple of steps away. She could see lightning calculations going on across Stuart’s face—if he were to pull his underpants down now, would it just be for the whole neighborhood to see him dragged by his mother out the front door, bare-bottomed and screaming? But if he didn’t, she would take him out anyway, and Stuart no longer had any illusions that his underpants were not coming down, one way or the other. She paused for a brief second in the foyer, and that was enough for Stuart to make up his mind. With his free hand, he yanked his underpants down to his knees as he wailed, “Please, mom! They’re down! They’re down!”
Miriam turned loose of Stuart’s wrist and looked at her sobbing son.
Now that this disobedient, moody, surly, obnoxious, and arrogant teenaged boy, who had for years now been talking back, arguing, whining, sighing, eye-rolling, screaming (oooh!), and all-in-all sassing her half to death, had been reduced to the weeping, bare-bottomed child standing before her, gazing up at her with drowning, pleading eyes, she felt a wave of love for him she had not felt since he was a small child. She softened her voice a little and brushed his thick brown hair out of his face.
“Look at me, Stuart. By all rights, I ought to take you outside like I promised. But I’ll make you a deal, okay? If you do exactly as I say and take your spanking like a good boy, then after we’re done, you can stand in the corner with your pants pulled down until…” She looked at her watch. “Eight o’clock as your punishment. That’s two hours that you’ll be showing off your spanked little fanny, and I think that should help you to remember to obey me the first time. Then I’ll put you to bed, and we’ll be done. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Stuart whispered hoarsely, and then, like a dam finally giving way, the sides of his mouth trembled, contorted down into almost a grimace, and abruptly dissolved into those of a wildly sobbing child.
“Whaaanh hanh haannh haanh! Waaaanh haaanha haaaanh haaanhh! AannnnnnnhHaaaaaannnnnnnnhh! Unh huh huh huuunnh!”
Miriam ignored the outburst, her almost gentle tone never wavering.
“Bend over,” She ordered. “All the way.”
Immediately, Stuart was arched over and struggling to touch his toes, his large white bottom thrust upwards towards her face like a pale moon he was offering for her viewing pleasure.
Miriam Carol shook her head and smiled as she regarded at her sobbing teenaged son obediently bending over for a spanking. She patted her palm with the hairbrush. Why in the hell have I not been doing this?! She smiled to herself. She raised the hairbrush and brought it whistling down on Stuart’s left cheek.
CRACK!
“Owwww! Whanh hanh!”
Whoooosh! Right cheek. CRRAACK!
“If you are going to (CRACK!) ACT like a little baby, then I am going to (SMACK! CRACK!) TREAT you like a little baby!” Miriam scolded.
WHAAPP!
“OOOOWWW!
SMACK!
“OWOW! HUNH hunh hunh!”
Her arm cocking back again, aiming at his upper thighs. SMAAACK! “Ohhhhh!” A few rapid fire smacks at the center of Stuart’s gluteal cleft. WHAPWHAPWHAAP!
“Unnnnhhh!!”
A little lower. SMACKSMACCCCKKSMACK!!
“Ooooohh!” Stuart straightened up a little.
“Stuarrrrt.” A low warning sound from Miriam, and he was immediately bending over again, struggling to touch his toes, and this new plaything, this big bare bottom, was again offering itself to her, it’s whiteness now broken by streaks of angry pink.
She planted her left hand on the small of his back, forcing him to bend over even more, and began then rapidly whipping the heavy wooden brush down over and over again on his bottom and the back of his thighs without stopping. Stuart began sobbing and screaming, sounding for all the world to Miriam like he had when she had spanked him as a five year-old, as he bounced up and down on his bent knees against the onslaught, struggling against every impulse not to bring his hands up to cover himself.
She alternated cheeks: SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
Or focused machine-gun bursts at the same spot over and over:
CRACK!CRACKCRACKCRACK!CRACK!
Before moving on to his other buttock:
CRACKCRACK!CRACK!CRACK!CRACK!
Finally, Miriam, began to slow the pace. She saw that her new friend, the looming pale moon that her baby boy had been so eager to show his mama, was all but gone now. The surface of the naked bottom being pointed upwards at her now was dominated by two large, wine-colored splotches, interspersed with little nicks of red and purple.
“So,” Miriam asked her son. “What have we learned today?”
CRACK!
The sobbing boy struggled to answer. “Not to-to answer back and to oh-oh-obey yuh-you the f-first time!”
“And what else?”
Crrrrr-RAACCK!
“Unnnhh! A-a-an..And to clean my room!”
Miriam tapped the back of the hairbrush on Stuart’s scarlet behind,
“Hmmm. Is that it?”
WHAAPP!
“UUUNnnnnhh! Whanh hanh hah! No-no! Unh huh huhhuhnhuh. And not to yuh-yuh YELL at you hoohoooo!! Hunh hunh hunh hunh hunnnnnnnh!”
“Well, and what have we learned that you are not too old for today?”
“A-a-a spanking.”
“And how do you get spanked?”
“On my buh-buh bottom.
CRACK!
“What was that?”
“On my buh-bare ba-ba-BOTTOM!”
“That’s right. On your bare little bottom. And if I ever have to spank you again, you’d better pull your pants down when I tell you to, won’t you? Or I’m going to take you outside, pull your pants down myself, and bend you over my knee on our front step. And then you’ll end up doing your little spanking dance in Tracy Tyler’s yard with your big old red fanny out there for all the world to see. Won’t you?”
She laughed and ruffled the weeping boy’s dark curly hair.
“Y-yes, ma’am. Huhn huhn hunh huuuuuuunh!
“All right. Well, speaking of little fannies, let’s get yours over to the corner so you can start your time there, shall we?”
“Yes, ma’am ,” Stuart answered as he shuffled along to the gentle steering of her hand on his back.
“Put your nose right on the wall. I don’t want to see it move from there, understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” came the slightly muffled reply from the corner, followed by more quiet sobbing.
He cried off and on in the corner until his tears finally dried up after 30 minutes or so. Miriam watched him as she tidied up around the house, and thought to herself, Spanking is a miracle. Here was her son, who only hours before had been screaming at her, the epitome of an out-of-control teenaged monster, with attitude to spare. Now he was standing meekly in the corner like a chastised pre-schooler, with his bared and well-spanked bottom on full display to anyone who might happen to wander into their living room. Yet all he seemed concerned about was keeping his nose pressed tightly into the corner, just as his mommy had instructed him.
Miriam suspected that Stuart would be willing to do just about anything she said for a good while to come, at least until he started to feel safe from her spanking him again. And that was a safety she intended to make sure he did not feel any time soon. To think she had for so long been fighting so hard not to spank him, desperately searching for ways not to use this miracle! Well that would certainly not be the case any more!
And she suspected she would also get a lot of mileage out the mere threat of it. Whereas before when Stuart had friends over spending the night and the boys got rowdy, it might take her multiple warnings, pleading, cajoling and what-not to get them quiet enough for her to sleep, now she suspected simply knocking on Stuart’s bedroom door and asking him in a calm voice, when the giggling boys answered, if he needed her to spank him, would do the trick very nicely. Hell, after that he would probably send the boys home himself if they wouldn’t keep quiet!
Yep, she thought, I think Stuart is going to wake up tomorrow to a very different life than the one he’s been living.
And with that thought still making her smile, she called Stuart to come out of the corner. He waddled over to stand in front of her. As if dressing a small child, she reached down and pulled up first his underpants and then his pants, leaving those open and unsnapped. She kissed him on the cheek and told him to go upstairs, and that she would be up soon to put his pajamas on and put him to bed. He looked surprised at this but just nodded. Miriam really didn’t plan on starting to dress and undress Stuart like a child, but it somehow just seemed right for tonight, to mark this new beginning for both of them. She reached out to give her son a hug before sending him up. He began sobbing again as he put his arms around her and tightly hugged her, longer than he had in a long, long time.
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