by Crimson Kid

I call myself Tommy, or sometimes Tommy-Brat, but I don’t really consider myself a brat at all—just a boy who has a big-time crush on his beautiful 28-year-old stepmother and loves being kissed, comforted and cuddled by her.

Mom is by far her most affectionately loving after administering a very sound spanking to her misbehaving stepson, that’s just how it is. However, I must admit that I’m quite gratified by her strict prepunishment lecturing, telling her soon-to-be-spankee how “I’m going to take down your pants and briefs and give that naughty bottom of yours a long, blistering-hard workout with Miss Hard-Whacking Hairbrush, but first you’ll get a good taste of the razor strop on your bare buns before going over my knee.” I know that my legs are shaking and my face is pale with dread, but I also feel so excited thinking about being walloped by her; those flashing, resolute blue eyes of hers make me weak-kneed with anticipation.

Afterward, as I’m sobbing and whimpering, promising to behave myself in the future—and meaning it at the time—Mom sweeps me up into her arms, gives me gentle kisses, sits me upon her lap with my scorched buttcheeks overhanging her thighs and then softly massages soothing aloe cream onto my throbbing, burning rear end.

Eventually she’ll put me down for a nap, whereupon I fall into an exhausted sleep while in a prone position with my posterior still uncovered. When I awaken, my behind feels so wonderfully warm with a nice smarting tingle to it, which I enjoy until the mundane pattern of existence causes me to withdraw inside; I have a genius IQ, after all, so I find the everyday life of a thirteen-year-old boy—household chores, homework, watching television, playing football with friends— to be rather unfulfilling.

Ahhhh well, let’s see how things are looking…Peanut butter jar left open on the counter, grape jelly jar not only opened but knocked onto its side with jelly spilling onto the stovetop, peanut butter-smeared bread knife in the dog’s water dish, loaf of bread left unwrapped on the table—that should do it, perhaps it’s even overkill, the last time this took place resulted in a medium-level pants-down smacking with the wooden spoon but also a warning that “Next time your spanking for this kind of childish, careless sloppiness will be much worse, young man.” Now I’ll see if she meant it—to give her credit, she always has so far—while I eat this peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich up in my bedroom.

Ohhhh, Mom sounds extremely annoyed, I’d say. “Get your immature fanny down here right this minute, Thomas, I’m going to blister it to a red-hot fare-thee-well, young man!” Yes, ma’am, I’m on my way right now.

Damn, look at the sparks flying from those beautiful blue eyes, and she’s already retrieved her red maple flat-backed hairbrush and that devilishly flexible leather strop. “Plan on doing a whole lot of bawling right away and not much sitting for the next few days, I’m so disappointed in you, Thomas. How could you be so inconsiderate when I work so hard to keep our house nice and clean?”

Well, Thomas isn’t around to answer at the moment and I merely manage a shamed shrug, which seems to irritate her further. “No answer, hmmmm? Then we’ll just let my razor strop do the talking and your lazy bare bottom can learn a really good, long lesson from it before Miss Hard-Whacking Hairbrush takes her turn at instruction… Pants and undershorts down, you naughty boy, then bend over the couch arm and stick that sassy tushie up for a true thrashing!” I’m in near- ecstasy as I obey her with apparent reluctance, my naked buttocks upthrust and twitching as Mom raises her highly-pliable instrument of corporal correction to strike.

My lone experiment in directly experiencing one of my stepmother’s chastisements, or actually its first ten strokes with the razor strop, left me with the distinct impression that they are exceptionally painful and rather humbling to endure as well, so as usual I’m retreating inside to let Thomas take the actual seat-stinging retribution from Mom. Of course, he’s now disoriented and confused to find himself in a pants-down punitive position, but his puzzlement is quickly giving way to the physical sensation of being seriously hurt on his exposed hindquarters. This is hardly the first time that he’s regained awareness at the beginning of a bare-assed whipping, it happens to him at least twice a week, but his intellectual capacity is rather pedestrian so he’s never figured out why he spends so much time being emphatically disciplined by Mom.

Boy, is he ever kicking and wailing, his tears are already flowing freely and his strapping is barely underway! This is going to be a long leathering, that’s obvious, I’m guessing that he’ll get eighty to one hundred sizzling licks with that nasty, snapping strop followed by ten or twelve dozen extra-intensive swats with the sturdy punishment brush while bent bare-bottom-up over our stepmother’s knee; she’ll very probably end up putting him into a restraint position, as he doesn’t have much self-control while he’s being paddled with Miss Hard- Whacking Hairbrush, so that will undoubtedly result in an even more extended bare-assed walloping for him.

Well, I’ll be patient, the affectionate hugging and comforting afterward, even though I’ll also experience having a smarting-hot hind end (I do give it a few minutes to cool off marginally, while Thomas blubbers in place lying over Mom’s lap as she rubs his back), is more than worth the wait to me.

Damn, those sharp, resounding cracks which that twenty-inch length of licking leather makes as it connects repeatedly to the base of his naked buttcheeks are uncomfortably loud, and additionally their blazing impacts are making Thomas howl like a banshee.

Looking on the bright side, the noise will certainly keep me focused until it’s time to reemerge for my maternal kisses, embraces and caresses…

{The End}