MATERNAL DISCIPLINE (1): My strict Mom spanked me - I soaked her nylons with my hot seed.

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 MATERNAL DISCIPLINE:  PART I

 It was a double first for me.  My first spanking.  My first hands-free ejaculation.  Unforgettable and, sadly, unrepeatable.

  You can only have one first spanking.  That incredible, bare bottomed, wriggling under firm pin-down across your mother's lap.

 You can only experience your first hands-free ejaculation once.  The rest that follow are just not so sweetly intense.

 And it was spanking and masturbating that brought it all about.  Brought about my first true taste of paradise.

 My mother was a strict church goer.  Even her scarf and top coat smelled slightly of incense if you buried your face into them and snuffed up deeply.  Sometimes, her ox-blood, tight leather gloves had tiny spots of cold, slightly gelatinous candle grease on them.  She tended to grip her votive candle fiercely when deep in prayer.

 Sunday morning was my morning for...relaxation.  With my mother gone to the church and the pot roast in the oven I had an hour and a half of undisturbed peace.  An oasis of privacy.  I would read my girlie magazine slowly, letting the excitement build up to an intensity.  Brooding over the splayed nudes, I would select one or two girl-next-door types and build a story around her.   I would call her Beatrice or Chloe.  I would rescue Beatrice's dog from a river or pay for Chloe's train ride when she lost her purse.

 And they would be...grateful.

 Simple stuff, looking back.  Beatrice would reward me with her breasts.  I would kneel on my bed, naked, and straddle the magazine.  Masturbating furiously, I would 'talk' to Beatrice, wildly promising to give her huge sexual joy.  Crying out her name repeatedly, I would empty my hot load directly down onto her face and breasts.  Beatrice would thank me.  Yes.  Simple stuff.  Almost innocent.  Almost.

 With Chloe, it would be more sophisticated.  Gripping my cock firmly I would use it like a pencil - or a lipstick - to rake her nude body with the wet glans.  Whispering her name fiercely, I would rub my cock against her vagina, coming violently and almost immediately.  All simple stuff, looking back.

 It was a mistake, actually, when it happened.  I was buying my usual girlie magazine - tits and bums - when a friend of my mother came into the store.  Anxious to avoid her, I snatched at the first glossy magazine to meet my scrabbling fingertips and sleeved it inside a newspaper.  I got out of the store unchallenged by my mother's friend.

 Just before I went to sleep on Saturday night I risked taking a peep - just at the cover - of my magazine for 'Sunday morning'.  Would it be a 'legs' issue?  A 'lingerie' special.  What had my purblind fingers plucked down from the top shelf?

  A pang of disappointment stabbed me as I peeked quickly at the front cover.  The bowed head of a man.  He was shirtless.  Possibly naked - the picture did not show.  He was gazing down directly in front of him.  A mature, though still very attractive, brunette was pointing a finger at her nylon-stocking sheathed thighs.  Her tartan skirt was riding high showing a great deal of shiny thigh.  A bubble from her mouth said to the cowering man  'Over my knee, now!'

 The magazine was called 'Strict & Stern'.  I remember feeling flat and disappointed - and hurriedly shoving the magazine away under my mattress.  As I lay in the darkness waiting for the morning I even thought that I might have to dig deep into my reserves and unearth an old, tried and trusted favourite.  Beatrice's breasts - or Chloe's dark pubic bush.

 But as I lay in the dark I started to remember the pointing finger of the dominant, mature brunette.  I struggled to recall her dark, cruel eyes, her full lips, her mocking yet stern smile.  Yes.  The pointing finger.  Her thighs, gleaming beneath the stretch of her tight, shiny nylon stockings.  Those words. 'Over my knee, now!'  What had he done?  Would she use a paddle or a hair brush on his defenceless bare bottom.  God, that would sting.  Really sting.

 I slept fitfully that night, my brain clouded and confused with troubled dreams.  I awoke with a raging erection.

 My mother spoke to me through my bedroom door.  'It is high time you made the right decision and started to come to church with me,' she announced, forcing her fingers into her ox-blood leather gloves. She splayed her gloved fingers and examined them carefully.

 'OK, I know.'  I was desperate for her to go.

 'I seem to have no control over you anymore.'

 I let that one pass.

 'I've left the oven on medium.  Turn it down to low in an hour.  Don't let the pot roast spoil. Promise?'

 'OK, I will.'  My hardened cock was throbbing for release.

 Seconds later I heard the front door close.  I swivelled around and unearthed my copy of 'Strict & Stern' from beneath the mattress.  Again, there was a flicker of disappointment.  Why, I wondered. Because the brunette was clearly in her early forties - same age as my mother.  Good legs, yes.  But not young and innocent and girly like my imagined Beatrice or Chloe.  My eyes were drawn to her full lips and the stern expression on her face.  Then they rested on her lap.  Her thighs were exposed, supple and firm.  Pressed tightly together creating a perfect platform for punishment.  The man in the picture was being ordered to bend over her lap and receive...discipline.

 My erection pulsed.  Discipline.  Suddenly the word exploded softly in my brain.  My mouth dried. My tongue thickened.  Discipline.

 My heart hammered as I flicked quickly through the pages.  All the women were mature, mostly dressed, but alluring.  All the men were naked.  Naked, bending and afraid.  As I flicked more slowly through the images I saw their suffering unfold.  Some were spanked - their bottoms blushed.  Hand spanked.  Across strict women's' laps.  Over the knee spankings.  I was building up a terrific surge in my swollen sac.  My semen was seething - and ready to splash.

 Some men were slippered.  Their bottoms were beaten in soft focus, almost cosy.  Maternal 'Mom' figures, heavily breasted, cradled them and swiped their bare bottoms with leather soled slippers. These men received gentle 'aftercare' and had cream or talc rubbed into their sore buttocks by 'Mommy'.

 Some suffered the hair brush.  There were intimate close-ups of their pain.  Red bottoms grew crimson as the relentless rain of pain pelted down - rapid and withering strokes of the hair brush.  I was spell bound.

 Towards the end of the 32 page magazine there was a 'Bamboo Special'.  A young man, not much older than me really, was being caned.  We were not told in the captions who he was or what he had done.  He was bending over a chair, gripping the seat with his hands.  He was truly suffering.  His tear-stained face tried to avoid the camera's steady gaze.  The lens recorded his pain and suffering. The woman was...beautiful.  I would never have thought to call a forty-three year old blonde beautiful. But she was.  Her blonde hair swept severely back and tied up tightly in a pony-tail.  The pony-tail seemed to swing as she swung the cane down across his blue and purple striped bottom.  Her breasts were - well, generous.  Plump and soft and...I wanted to drown in them.  I wanted to be ...yes...I want to be across her knee. Not lashed with the cane. No, not the cane. But I wanted the pony-tailed blonde to spank me.  Like an Auntie who had discovered me greedily eating her cookies without permission.  I want to be across the pony-tailed blonde's lap...and between spanks she would lower her plump breasts down and press them into my hot cheeks...

 'Just as I thought, young man, you have forgotten to turn the oven down...what the hell?'

 My mother walked into my bedroom.  She froze, astonished, in the doorway.  An ox-blood glove dropped silently to the floor.

 I was kneeling on my bed.  Naked.  Between my knees, 'Strict & Stern' lay wide open at page 23.  A ripe brunette was using a leather belt on a naked man.  The man was down across a desk.  The blur of his feet in the consecutive images showed that he was 'dancing' with pain every time she lashed him. My cock was long and stiff. Like a flesh-spear.  My mother uttered a very unholy word.

 She strode into my bedroom and snatched up 'Strict & Stern'.  'Poisonous, wicked trash!' she barked, flinging it away into a corner.  It landed face down.  The back cover showed a man being fiercely paddled by two matronly nudes.

  I was staring down at my bedclothes.  My face burned with embarrassment and hot shame.  I wished my throbbing cock would shrivel up and disappear.  It seemed to be impudently saluting her.  I winced as I saw her gazing down at it, her full, red lips pursed. Shrugging off her top coat and biting off her remaining tight ox-blood leather glove, she approached and slapped my face, hard, twice.  I blinked. The pain stung me...as did my sudden tears.

 'So this is how you spend your time while I am on my knees praying for you every Sunday?  Hmm? You're out of control, young man.  Completely out of control.''

 I dared not speak.  I dared not catch her eye.

 Pushing me roughly off the bed and forcing me to stand, naked, before her, she sat down.  Her bottom pressed into the mattress.   In the loud silence hanging between us, my erection nodded gently - inches from her wide mouth.

 'Kneel down, young man.'

 I obeyed.  I was forced to listen to her fiery tirade.  It was a stinging, humiliating scolding.  Words like  filthy,  ashamed,  bad boy  and  wickedness  whirled around me, biting into my consciousness and filling me with the dread realisation of my sinfulness.  Every few minutes she would bend down, cup and capture my chin - and slap my face hard.  I squeezed my eyes shut in pain and shame.  My tears wet her knuckles.

 Silence.  My mother rose up, stepped aside and kicked off her shiny black court shoes.  I saw her flex her toes in the tight, tan nylons clinging to her skin.  She unzipped her skirt and let it fall to her ankles in a puddle of plaid.  She stepped out of her abandoned skirt and kicked it away.

 I had never seen my mother like this.  Her breasts heaved proudly within her tight lemon woollen sweater.  Below, her exposed white cotton panties stretched across her dark pubic bush.  The tight white cotton cupped and moulded her mound.  Her thighs were firm and rounded and supple.  She was, suddenly, magnificent.  Mature, ripe perfection.  Like the dominants who dispensed discipline on every one of the 32 pages of 'Strict & Stern'.

 Before I could resist or protest I was across her lap, one hand pinning me down at my neck, the other placed lightly across my bare bottom.  I sensed rather than saw her arch her left leg up and slide it down over a spot just below my knees - effectively trapping and taming them.

 The sensation of her firm, warm nylon-sheathed leg filled me with a ... dreadful delight.
 The sensation of being helpless, naked and defenceless filled me with a ... delightful dread.

 The scolding came first.  I burned as, head bowed, I was forced to listen, and accept, the searing torrent of angry contempt she poured down upon me.  As she grew angrier and more outraged, her hand at my bare bottom started to work feverishly, her fingers becoming fierce talons that squeezed and ravaged my soft swollen cheeks.  At moments of extreme verbal venom, she would dig her nails deeply into my captive right buttock and drag it apart then painfully away from its twin: causing the cleft between each cheek to yawn widely and seethe.

 The spanking commenced.  Crisp, quick and stinging to begin with, my mother settled into a staccato rhythm of twenty six spanks to the minute.  After seven minutes my bottom was ablaze.  The deep pink suffused the crown of each cheek deepened to a darker shade of crimson.  After twelve minutes, my blistered buttocks were ablaze.  I felt as though they were on fire.  I wriggled and squirmed, begged and pleaded, but the staccato rhythm suddenly quickened to a savage thirty four spanks to the minute.  A dry wail rose from deep within me and forced its way up my throat - and was torn out of my mouth.  I kicked and threshed but her nylon-sheathed leg imprisoned mine.  I heard her breathing hard, panting almost.  Soon she was gasping.  I was choking on my sobbing appeals for mercy. Suddenly, the spanking stopped.

 Panting, my mother slumped down over me, relaxing her grip at my neck, and palming my fiery cheeks soothingly, sweetly.  I inched my bottom up for her sweeping palm, luxuriating as her flesh comforted mine.  Her left leg slid away from mine, allowing me to dig my toes into the carpet and ease my hot bottom up into the sweet dominance of her caressing hand.

 'Such a bad, bad, boy!' my mother whispered softly.

 I felt my cock unfurl and straighten.  My wet glans nuzzled her soft thigh.  The nylon stocking grazed my sensitive flesh, causing an electric thrill to course through my entire body.  I arched myself up in an attempt to withdraw my hard cock from her thigh.  My mother spanked my bottom - once - but viciously.  I collapsed down across her knee, raking the snout of my erection into her.  The storm gathering in my sac broke.  A hot churn boiled up deep within me.

 'Such a naughty boy.  Such wickedness!'

 I squeezed my eyes shut.  Tightly.  I imagined the red nails at her finger tips disappearing against the red cheeks of my spanked bottom.  Imagined them as they imperiously drummed down into my punished flesh.

Then I came - suddenly and violently. It was a massive and sweet release. As I exploded, I squeezed my spanked cheeks together fiercely.

My mother sighed with mock exasperation.  'Mommy is going to have to take you in hand, you bad, bad boy.'

I sensed her rubbing my sticky semen between an inquisitive fingertip and thumb.  I burned with shame.

Shame as I remembered that I had cried out aloud as I lost control completely.  The hot stream of liquid release made me jerk my hips up frantically and slam them down violently.  I had skidded slightly across her wet thighs.

 'Oh, Mommy, I'm sorry...I'm so sorry...' I gasped, panting and gasping.

 I felt the hot wet surge soak into her nylon-sheathed thigh.  I was pumping.  Pumping her as though I was fucking her.  Pumping, automatically, into her.  I kicked my heels and clenched my fists - and gasped as the prolonged ejaculation drained me completely.

 'Oh Mommy...please forgive me...I am so very sorry...'

 'Disgusting!  Now you really going to get it, young man.  Mommy's going to make sure you get it hot and strong.'  There was a suppressed joy in her dark, chocolatey voice.  The joy of a secret orgasm.  It made me shiver suddenly...and filled my mind with a delicious dread.

 'No, Mommy, no...please...no more'...Frightened by the strange tone in her voice, I begged her not to beat my bare bottom any more.

 'First, you going to feel my hairbrush...'  Her voice was serene, the tone leisurely.  She savoured each word as if tasting sips of expensive wine.

 'I'm sorry Mommy...' I whispered frantically, squeezing my blazing cheeks defensively.

 She dipped her fingertip into my semen and traced a firm wet sticky line over the swell of my hot, spanked bottom.

 'Then your going to get the belt.    Yes...' she nodded judiciously as she whispered the word.

 The belt.  Oh God!  As I shivered my belly felt the prickle of her wet pubic bush.

 As if to herself, she murmured dangerously, 'Mommy owns your bottom now....  Mommy's in control.'

Despite my surge of blind fear, I felt my cock thicken and swell...

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   IF YOU ENJOYED THIS, GO TO PART 2 (posted 22.7.2019)

Hi guys! 
Do not forget to get hold of an Arabella Knight to read tonight...

There are many titles to choose from...all of them delicious BDSM erotic fiction confections to get your teeth into...enjoy!
Or, go directly to Penguin website 


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