Being scolded for his lethargic attention to the rules of the house didn’t move him.
Being put over his Mommy’s knee and spanked with some rather swift, hard swats from her hand softened his indifference.
But by then his Mommy was furious and this nonchalant little boy was about to feel the sting which buzzes from leather.
Warning: This ain’t no Daddy/BabyGirl story. And it’s Adult, Baby!
Part Two – Go Get the Strap …
“Stand up,” she said with a tone which made clear her anger with him. “Let’s see that bottom.”
He stood up and she yanked his jeans down. Then, she draped him right back down over her knee again, yanking his underwear down as well. Apparently, words didn’t really sink into him and the protection of clothing prevented his bottom from delivering the message to his mind that she felt he needed. At this point, she had tried everything else. The time to talk was over and she hoped her frustration might reach him through his skin.
“You know this is for your own good, right?” she asked him.
“Yes, Mommy,” he said, still not knowing what was fully to come yet.
The bare bottom spanking began as she listed his infractions and made the declaration for him that he would start doing as he was told from now on. As she listed each infraction she delivered a stinging slap which echoed in the room. He kept repeating “Yes Mommy” as much as he could while bearing down on the pain.
“You’re gonna start doing the dishes, taking out the garbage, paying a little better attention to the things you are told to do,” she scolded, placing a series of striking palms to each of his cheeks.
His bottom was beginning to show the pinkish hue of her disappointment. She paused from the spanking, rubbing her hand across his skin, a bit of mental anguish for him.
“Do you wanna be a bad child?” she asked in a condescending tone.
“No, Mommy,” he replied, returning to his monotone of indifference.
“Do you wanna be a good child?” she asked, just as condescendingly.
“Yes, Mommy,” he said, as indifferent as when this all began.
She paused, collecting her thoughts as her anger swelled, but she was determined to not allow it to show in her demeanor. She looked across the room, searching for another way to get through to him. And she saw the solution.
“Stand up,” she said with maternal disgust as he did so.
She pointed to the table across the room.
“Go get the strap,” she said in a tone that made clear he was asking for it.
He walked over to get the leather strap, his pants at his ankles and his underwear yanked down, exposing his bottom which had grown sore, not just with each strike of her hand, but now with his own movements.
“I’m sorry, Mommy,” he said, handing her the strap.
“Oh, I know you’re sorry. You’re gonna be real sorry after what I’m about to do to you,” she said with a tone of cold hard reality.
“Why a strap, Mommy?” he asking, somewhat pleadingly.
“Because I told you – no bouncing balls in the house. You brought a disgusting nasty ball in the house. You didn’t do the dishes. You didn’t take out the garbage and you didn’t make up your bed,” she said with reserved anger for having to state it all yet again. “Should I keep the list going?”
“I think I learned my lesson, Mommy,” he said, trying to maintain his tone of indifference for the trepidation he felt inside.
“Oh I don’t think you have learned your lesson at all,” she said, realizing that she now held the power over him that she needed in order to make him listen. “And I think a good strap across that bottom of yours will really set it home for you.”
And that power had one name – fear.
“It’s for your own good. Do you understand?” she asked, still eyeing him up with disgust.
“Yes, Mommy,” he said as she draped him across her knee again.
She placed the strap across his bottom and held it there, the starting position of any good strapping.
“You’re getting ten and you’re gonna count ‘em,” she instructed.
“Yes, Mommy,” he said, feeling defeated.
“And for every single one of them, you’re gonna say Yes Mommy,” she added, further punctuating his defeat.
“Yes, Mommy,” he responded.
“Yes Mommy,” he said.
“Yes Mommy, what?” she asked, dumbfounded that he got her directions wrong and contemplating if it was deliberate on his part.
“Yes, Mommy … One?” he asked, uncertain if he got it right.
A second cracking strike connected with his right cheek.
“Two. Yes Mommy,” he said with hesitance as he took a moment to register the pain.
A third crack delivered its sting to his left cheek.
“Three. Yes Mommy,” he said with a tremble to his voice as he began to submit to the pain she was striking into him.
“Four. Yes Mommy,” he said after her next strike.
“Good,” she said, delivering the fifth crack.
“Five. Yes Mommy,” he said with further trembling in his tone.
Her sixth offering landed squarely across his bottom.
“Six. Yes Mommy,” he winced out as she began eyeing up the redness on his skin which replaced what was once pink.
The seventh, eighth, ninth and tenth strapping each took their toll, incrementally.
“Stand yourself up,” she said, tossing the strap to the floor.
He stood to his feet and, with shrunken shoulders holding up a lowered chin, he finally fully recognized his defeat.
She walked him over to the corner of the room and made him face it, his nose touching the wall only.
“You stay there and you think long and hard about how you’ve been screwing up lately. You understand?” she asked, lowering his underwear to his knees.
“Yes, Mommy,” he mumbled into the corner of the room.
“Good,” she said, walking away. You stay just like that.”
“Yes, Mommy,” he mumble again.
Mommy had won and there was no amount of face he could save.
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