Chapter 1

I grew up on a stock farm in western Pennsylvania. My father had been an officer in the war and that never left him; he could be pretty strict. My mother (eight years younger than he was) had been a ‘war bride’. She was a true red-head and, could be a handful at times; I realized this even at a young age. My younger sister, Eve, took after my mother in most ways although, as ‘daddies’ girl’, she managed to avoid most of the corporal punishment handed out to myself and my mother at times.

I was probably eight years old when I realized that (in our family at least) there was no age limit for discipline. This was brought to my attention when I witnessed – by accident – my mother being given a very long and hard spanking, in what passed as the den. She was probably twenty-eight or nine at the time; for me the scene was both erotic and shocking. Seeing her over my father’s lap, kicking and wailing, dress up around her waist and her panties down around her ankles (until she kicked them off) gave me a preview of things to come in life.

My point of view was from her feet with her head on the other side of my fathers’ lap. I didn’t realize that she bruised easily. As I watched the spanking progress I watched her bare bottom go from a light pink to a very nasty deep red color. By the time my father helped her stand up, the lower part of both of her cheeks were one big and, nasty looking, bruise.

In the end she was left, bawling out of control, flexing and rubbing/clutching her cheeks. When she sat it was obvious that her bottom was sore as hell and, she didn’t sit well, or long, for a day after at least. Even at my age, I found the nudity and the spanking very arousing.

A few years later there was a pretty big fight over something she’d done. In the days following that argument (and my father’s lecturing her) he made what became known as the family paddle. The Saturday following that, we were sent to our rooms, our parents went to the barn.

I can remember my mother sitting at the kitchen table, waiting to be summoned to the barn. She wasn’t the happiest person in the world just then. She was upset and seemed very nervous.

Before we were told to go to our rooms, I saw my father come to the back door for her. He was carrying the new paddle. I’d seen them at school; some teachers had them in their rooms, the principal had one ... the school paddle with holes in it. This one had two rows of holes in it; they were well over half an inch in diameter. At the time I didn’t realize the reason for the holes; in a few years I’d find out – the hard way.

That trip to the barn lasted over half an hour. My one bedroom window faced the barn and I opened it to listen, out of curiosity. My sister joined me and we watched/listened to what was going on about two hundred feet away. Although we couldn’t hear any conversation; we clearly heard the slightly muffled sound of the paddle, making contact with my mother’s bare bottom. I counted twenty whacks and, there were a few loud cries of pain as the paddling went on. It was slow and deliberate.

My father was the first to return to the house. He hung the paddle on the basement door and went to do some work. Later, we watched my mother limp up the walkway to the house. She was walking slowly and carrying her white panties clutched in her one hand – we kids referred to how she was walking as the ‘robot walk’. Stiff and slow, like a robot on a TV show, the way you walked after a paddling. It was plain to see that she was crying and in pain. My mother went straight to their bedroom and flopped down across the bed to continue bawling for a while.

She did manage to make dinner – while moving around slowly and carefully. I vividly remember her sitting to join us at the table. She sat slowly, putting her hands down on the chair to support herself then, lowered herself until she was sitting with her full weight on her bottom. For a few moments her eyes were closed and she drew a few long trembling breaths before opening them; I noticed her wipe a few tears away. To me there was no doubt that the paddling had been painful as hell; I didn’t see her sit much for a few days.

This was in the 50’s and 60’s; women, wives, were punished. Spanking, paddling and the strap/belt was still used for corporal punishment in the home. This was the norm and, it wasn’t playing games or done for erotic reasons, the discipline was real. The pain was real as I’d find out the first time I got it with that paddle ... you thought twice about misbehaving again ... my mother never seemed to learn.

Although we lived in the country, my family was fairly cosmopolitan. Both parents had friends in Pittsburgh and they attended parties, dinners and other functions. I would find out (in the future) that my mother’s biggest problem was her excessive drinking and ... she could be a bad drunk; a very bad drunk. This, coupled with a lack of common sense, is what caused her to get most of her discipline. As a kid I did witness a little more of it; it was both scary and erotic as hell.

I had no idea what the future held.

Fast Forward to About Nineteen-Seventy Eight (or close to that)

At the age of twenty-eight, I had been in and out of some failed relationships; one had ended in marriage but didn’t last too long. I was living in a nice little house in the country and, operating a small but growing landscaping business. That was the year my father decided that he’d had enough of my mother’s drinking (it had become worse) and, literally, tossed her out. My sister had her own life and wasn’t interested in having her live with her; when asked, I agreed to allow her to live with me.

My mother – no work experience, no driver’s license, no job and, a small monthly payment from my father ... at the age of forty-six.

Knowing how things ‘could be’, we had a little talk before she moved in. Evelyn would have her own room, we would share some of the household chores, she would slow down on her drinking (a lot) and behave herself. Sort of, ‘my house – my rules’, in a way. Although she was my mother and I loved her dearly; I wasn’t going to put up with what my father had.

Evelyn was still attractive and took care of herself; she looked younger than her age. At five feet three inches and one hundred and twenty pounds; small breasted and compact, she was an attractive little package. She did always have a very nice ass and cute legs; even as a kid I was aware of that. Now, as an adult, even with no sexual interest in her, she was still attractive as hell. Evelyn was, after all, my mother.

It was summer, I was busy with work. Evelyn behaved herself (for the first few months) and, in other ways, misbehaved just a little – enough to make things interesting around the house. She looked pretty good in a bikini and, she had a few of them; she developed a habit of going from the shower to her room in a towel. That showed a decent amount of skin. She started wearing one of my old dress shirts around the house to lounge in; one missing a lot of buttons. At first she wore it with shorts or jogging pants then, one day, only with panties.

That had my attention for breakfast. The tail of the shirt covered her backside pretty well – except when she bent over or sat down – with the buttons missing, I was treated to a nice flash of smaller tight boobs when she bent forward.

I had no idea what was really going on and didn’t question it; I sat eating breakfast and enjoyed the show. The thought did cross my mind that she was trying to get my attention, in a sexual way but, I didn’t think so. She had always been kind of open about things at home; her actions now (I thought) were just her way of becoming comfortable around me.

It was a Saturday and we spent the day together, working around the house and in the yard. In the afternoon she decided to get some sun – that meant a change to a bikini. I didn’t mind that either; she was still a pretty sexy and attractive woman.

It was giving me no end of jack-off material. Yes, I wondered what would happen if...

As time passed, some other things changed. Kissing became on the mouth, instead of a mother/son quick peck on the cheek. Hugs became a little tighter and warmer ... a little longer too. There also seemed to be more touching and, in more intimate places. I tested this a few times; there was no resistance when my kiss lasted a little longer or, became a little ‘wet’. During a hug, if my hands found her little bottom and gave her cheeks a squeeze, she said nothing ... she did seem to tighten the hug more and push herself against me. No ‘grinding’ against me; just pushing a little harder. This all happened over time; along with her casual dress.

I had noticed that her drinking was picking up a little; nothing to cause problems but she was drinking more. When I questioned it she promised to watch it and not go overboard. I trusted her to keep her word.

Things came to a head something like a month later. Her drinking had increased, less and less of her chores were being done around the house or, nothing was being done unless I reminded her. She had started meeting some friends for a weekly card club; those days I’d find her asleep on the one small couch in the living room ... drunk and asleep.

I’d clean some things up, start dinner and let her sleep it off. Those times usually got an apology from her so, I let it slide. If she slept through dinner, she had to heat it up or get nothing ... I wasn’t waiting on her.

The afternoon everything exploded was one Friday that we knocked-off early at work. I arrived home at two o’clock to find Evelyn passed out cold in the living room. There was a bottle beside her, that she’d knocked over and a half full glass of booze. Vowing to have a talk with her; I cleaned up the mess, started cleaning up in the kitchen and let her sleep.

When dinner was almost ready, I went in to check on her; she’d been sleeping soundly for almost three hours. I’d thought that, if she was up to it, we could have a nice quiet dinner – and a talk – on the back patio. When thinking about that and, before checking on her, I’d set two places on the table there.

It almost happened.

Evelyn had become very comfortable on the little couch. She was lying diagonally across it with her head resting on the one arm; her one foot was on the couch, the other on the floor. Legs spread wide, the skirt up around her backside, it was quite a picture. The white hip hugging bikini panties didn’t leave much to the imagination...

When I tried to wake her up, Evelyn stirred, moved a little and rolled over. I was presented with that great ass of hers; the material of the brief panties stretched tightly across both cheeks. It took some prodding but I finally had her semi-awake and sitting up; hung over and groggy she sat but didn’t bother pulling the skirt down. I sat down beside her, gave her a little kiss then started to talk to her.

Things started calm enough but went to hell fast. She was not in the best mood, didn’t like being awakened and really wasn’t in the mood to talk. I pressed and she lost her temper in a flash; I don’t remember the screaming conversation but I do remember the slap. I also remember the look of shock she gave me right after the hard slap; Evelyn had screwed up and she knew it. There was some stammering from her – the beginnings of an apology – it was cut short by my hard slap to her left cheek; snapping her head to the right. She sat staring at me for a minute as about a thousand thoughts rushed through my brain.

I knew what I should do and what I could do and seriously thought about doing it. The person sitting a few feet away (now filled with apprehension and shock) needed a wake-up call, something to get her attention. Still ... my house, my rules.

As I stood, I took her one wrist in my grasp and pulled Evelyn to her feet. There was only a small struggle; she was in no condition to resist much. The same was true as I towed her into the dining room, pulled out one of the armless chairs from the dining table and sat down. As I sat, I pulled her to my right side then, off balance ... Evelyn landed across my lap; wiggling, kicking, arms flailing! She did have the presence of mind to try and apologize for the slap. Gasping the apology ... wiggling around and, “Bob honey ... please ... no ... please don’t dear ... I’m sorry...

... we were both familiar with the position she was in.

While the wiggling was going on I’d taken her right wrist in my grasp then pulled it down to her side. With my arm across her back I tucked her into my lap, grabbed the hem of the skirt and pulled it up tucking it under my arm. Except for the scant panties, she was bare from waist to toe. During the struggle the panties had become bunched in the cleft between those cute cheeks; making everything a lot tighter.

As she apologized (in vain) I raised my right hand, took aim at the fullest part of those cute cheeks and brought it down hard! I had just crossed the line between son and ‘other’, Evelyn was going to be spanked.

It began pretty loud and became louder as the spanking went on. The struggling ceased quickly but not the squealing and cries of pain as I worked those little cheeks over. Evelyn bounced in my lap but; after a short while, it was only after a good hard smack to her bottom. She put most of her effort into stammering an apology and begging me to stop. I watched that little bottom turn pink, then red as I spanked away; covering every square inch, right down to the tops of her thighs. After a short break, to pull her panties down, the spanking went on until she gave a long wail of pain, arched her back hard then ... burst into tears. An explosion of emotion!

I continued, my mother wiggled and kicked a little – not much – enough to help the panties slip down her thighs then further, until they were hanging from one ankle. Most of her energy was going into howling in pain; along with some very long wet sobs. When the panties slipped off of her ankle, to land on carpet behind her, I stopped spanking – resting my hand on her red hot and glowing bottom. My poor mother slumped over my lap; breathing hard, sobbing like a little girl – snotting and drooling.

As I waited, as she began to calm a little and get her breath back, I watched her glowing bottom and rubbed it a little. There had been a few small bruises, some spotty discoloration that was darker. As I watched, they grew and became darker still until, there were three separate and distinct bruises. One large one, almost exactly in the center of her right cheek and, two matching ones, at the very bottom of each cheek. They grew more livid as I waited and watched.

A few minutes later, as she calmed down a little, I asked if I had her attention. Her answer was to take a few deep breaths then say, “Yes honey ... oh god yes ... please, no more! I’m very sorry ... please stop ... please...”

Followed quickly by, “I have to pee ... Bob please ... I can’t hold it anymore!”

As she waited I undid the catch on the back of the skirt and then pulled down the zipper. There was no reason for the skirt anymore; it was just in the way.

When I did help Evelyn stand it was on some very shaky legs. She didn’t stop the skirt when it slipped below her hips to end up in a puddle around her ankles. That was the least of the things bothering her.

Her hands were busy and, there was no thought of any modesty. She stood trembling while pushing wet hair back out of her face, wiping tears, sniffing back snot and trying to rub the pain out of her cheeks. This while flexing her legs and moving from one foot to the other.

I reminded her why she was standing and told her to, “Go pee, use the powder room (about fifteen feet away) then, get your little ass right back here.” Then, watched her walk very carefully away. The wiggle in that backside was a little different now; more subdued. During the struggling and the spanking some of the buttons on her blouse had popped open. Enough of them that I was looking at her lacy, front-hook bra.

When she returned, to stand in front of me while still rubbing and shaking, I calmly explained that her discipline wasn’t over ... yet. Evelyn tried pleading with me but I didn’t care. Between her increased drinking, the attitude and the slap; along with simple chores not being done, I’d had enough.

As she rubbed her stinging bottom, wiped some tears and flexed, she pleaded right up to the point that I put her over my lap again, adjusted her position better then started spanking ... again.

She regained enough energy to resume wiggling and some kicking. I went back to work on both cheeks then moved down to the lowest part of her bottom to really light a fire down there.

When I’d decided that she’d been punished enough I stopped. Our roles had been reversed and, for the last part of the spanking, she had been bouncing on my semi-hard cock.

Once more, helping her to stand, I ordered, “Now ... get your little ass upstairs, to your room, and get in bed! I don’t want to hear a sound out of you or you’re going back over my knee!”

My mother turned, limped over to the stairs then, with agonizing slowness (clinging to the handrail) went upstairs as ordered. Looking over her blazing bottom – I had to believe that every little mincing step had to hurt.

I mixed myself a drink and ate dinner alone on the patio.

After eating I cleaned everything up but, left the one place set just in case Evelyn wanted to eat. I then went up to check on her; it had been a few hours and everything had been very quiet.

Evelyn was in her room; face down on the bed, legs spread and her blazing bottom on display. Even in the dim light it looked a lot worse than before. I sat on the bed and nudged her. With my help, in a few minutes, I had her in my arms ... moaning and gasping a little, her little backside still throbbing and burning, I held her for a few minutes then kissed her – hard and long. She was trembling a little, breathing hard and acting very contrite as she pushed herself against me and, hugged me tight. There were a few more kisses as I rubbed her back, rubbed my way down to her bottom then on to her thighs. There had been a gasping moan when I rubbed and squeezed her bottom, “Please honey ... don’t ... it hurts just to touch it. God ... I hope you don’t ever get that mad at me again.”

There was more moaning and, some pleading, as I explained that (although the worst was over for now) there would be a ‘reminder’ given tomorrow. “Dear,” I said, “I should take the time to make a paddle but ... for now, a second session over my knee should be sufficient to hold your attention.”

She hugged me close as a small shudder ran through her, it was accompanied by a breathless moan of anticipated pain.

Evelyn was hungry; I had no idea when she’d eaten last (probably some little things at the card club) the drinking and the struggling, the flailing around during the spanking, had sapped most of her energy. When I suggested some dinner she agreed to it.

I went down first, to warm things up for her. Evelyn appeared later, still walking cautiously – carefully, like she was walking on broken glass. She hadn’t bothered to button her blouse and had only slipped back into her panties. When I ushered her onto the patio she went through the ritual of sitting – slowly and very carefully; putting her hands down on the seat of the chair first then, lowering herself slowly until sitting. There were a few little gasps, as her bottom took the weight of her body, a few stray tears and, she sat very still once her sore ass was in the seat. As she ate I made another drink and joined her ... it was a mostly silent meal.