A Secret Fetish

When I was in my early teens, I developed a secret fetish - I discovered I enjoyed being turned over a knee, bare bottomed, and spanked severely! I had rarely been spanked at home, and usually never got caught in trouble at school, so I made it through elementary school without ever being spanked.

But in Jr. High school,.... all that changed.

It all started out as a generally bad day - overslept, missed the bus, got to school late, forgot my books and homework. Then, in PE class, I became the target of our class bully. My day had already been going badly, so I had no temper left to waste on that idiot. He pushed me, knocking me into the bleachers and onto the floor, and said several rude - and completely false - things about me and my mother. I was so angry I just lay there, glaring up at him until he started laughing and turned to walk away - and that's when I struck, scrambling to my feet and throwing myself onto his back, legs around his middle, fists flying, hitting him in the chest and face repeatedly. He toppled to the floor, face down, leaving me on his back, pinning him beneath me as I continued to pound on him for all I was worth.

I never even heard the PE teacher's whistle, or yells for me to stop; I was so fed up and mad that all I knew was I had the bully pinned and was beating him up for every miserable thing he'd ever done to me or anyone else. I finally stopped when the PE teacher physically pulled me off of the bully and held me aloft, waiting for me to calm down. After that, I remember a lot of yelling - mostly adults yelling in my face - and the long walk to the principle's office.

He kept me waiting outside his office for at least an hour, maybe more. I still have no clue what he was doing all that time - may be he thought the waiting would make me scared; I don't know. The PE teacher and school nurse came and went, entering and leaving the office while I sat and waited outside. I had almost decided to get up and walk off when the principle opened his door and called me inside. The bully was nowhere to be seen; hadn't been sent to the principle at all.

I entered the office - not scared in the least, because I was still angry. The principle glared at me, and launched into a long-winded lecture about school rules against fighting, and how totally out of character this behavior was for me, how it went against everything in my school records before this. For some reason, this only made me more angry, so by the time he finally asked me what had happened to set me off, I exploded in a rage, and gave him a run-down on how my day had been going, and told him exactly what I thought of him, the school, and their rules. I pointed out that the bully who had started the fight was nowhere to be seen, and called the principle a hypocritical a**hole for not calling him in, too. I rattled on, listing every event where the bully had done things and gotten away with it, and asked the principle where were the school rules when the bully was pounding some other kid's face to mush? I went on and on, over his objections, until he was red-faced and yelling, leaning across his desk, whacking it with a huge wooden paddle until the paddle broke in two. Splinters flew as silence fell, and the principle was breathing hard, eyes glowering at me beneath his shaggy brows.

He stood there several seconds, before he looked at the broken paddle in his hand, and tossed the remnants of it into the trash can beside his desk. "I didn't want to have to do this," he said, wheeling his chair around to the front of his desk, "But you've left me no choice." He sat in his chair, which had no arms on it, and grabbed hold of my arm above the elbow, pulling me beside him. "Drop your pants. Now. Or I'll do it for you."

I was in my gym shorts and jock strap. I was also still angry, and thus, defiant. "No way creep! Get your hands off me!" I tried to pull away, to break his grip on my arm, but he held on, and reached to yank down my shorts as he dragged me across his knees.

The next thing I knew, he was plastering my bare bottom with smack after smack, hard and fast, giving me no time to yelp or howl between spanks. I lost count of the number of licks, and began to feel scared - was he ever going to stop? I squirmed and struggled, but he only shifted his grip to pin me down more firmly, and spanked harder. After a while, I thought I could feel every callous on his hand as it struck my tender buttcheeks, leaving a reddening handprint in its wake. By then I was crying, scared and in pain - and yet, oddly enough, aroused as well. Never in my life had I felt anything like this before, the sharp stinging slap of hand to buttocks, followed by this growing burning sensation; it was totally alien - and it was the first time I'd ever gotten an erection while I'd been awake! It was confusing, scary, and exciting, all at once. And it hurt, a lot.

I don't know how long the spanking lasted, it seemed like forever at the time, but I was bawling by the time he quit, and had the worst hard-on of my life. My a** felt like it was being used as a heat shield for NASA's shuttle re-entry, the burning worse than anything I had ever imagined before.

"Go stand in the corner, and pull your shorts up." The principle said as he hauled me up to my feet. "And be quiet - I have work to do."

My defiance spent, my anger gone, I obeyed, wincing in extreme pain as I pulled my shorts over my swelling red bum. I limped over to the corner of his office and stood, facing the wall, and tried to stifle my sobs - and figure out what to do about my killer *****! While I stood there, I could hear him talking on the phone. It took me a few seconds to realize he was speaking to one of my parents, and by then, I had missed most of the conversation, and he was hanging up the phone.

"Your parents have assured me that there will be no repeat of your behavior today. They said for you to plan on being grounded for the next three weeks, ... and to be prepared for a long talk, as well as another spanking when you get home. They also said that if you continue to misbehave, you can plan on getting a spanking every day for the three weeks you're to be grounded."

I gaped in surprise. I had NEVER been spanked by my parents - well, not since I was five - nor had I ever been grounded before.

The principle continued, ignoring my reaction. "I certainly hope that this is the end of the matter. I would hate to have you back in my office again,... over my knee for another spanking, followed by expulsion from school. If that happens, imagine how your parents will react - I imagine you'd be grounded for the rest of the year, with a daily spanking, at the very least."

I bristled at the unfairness, the idea of expelling me from school for what? Speaking my mind? Or fighting back against the school bully? But before I could open my mouth to say anything, the principle fixed me with a threatening glare.

"Is your bottom sore enough now, or do you need another trip across my knee to see you through the long bus ride home?"

I clamped my mouth shut tight, to keep from getting myself in worse trouble.

The principle watched me for several seconds, then nodded. "Good. Take this note and report to the library. You will sit in the library QUIETLY until time for you to take the bus home."

I accepted the slip of paper, and left the office, heading for the library - with a visit to the boy's bathroom along the way. I locked myself in a bathroom stall, and set to work easing the erection I had gotten from the spanking. As a result, I felt very confused by the time I got to the library; my buttcheeks still burned and hurt, but I had the endorphin rush from soothing my arousal, too. It was an awakening experience; one that shaped my sexual development somewhat. I handed the librarian the note, and took a seat - gingerly, with several audible gasps of discomfort - and waited for the final bell of the day. But the longer I sat in pain, the more aroused I began to feel, all over again. I soon discovered that if I squirmed while sitting on my sore backside, I got even more aroused. I began to both dread and anticipate the long, bumpy bus ride home.

By the time I got home, I was in mixed distress - and had totally forgotten that I was in for another spanking. I walked in the door, planning on hitting the bathroom to take care of the new erection, only to be met by BOTH my parents, each holding an implement of discipline - my mom, a slipper, my dad, his belt. For the second time that day, my pants were down, and my bottom was the target. Whap! went the slipper, Smack! went the belt, over and over, until my already-reddened bottom could take no more. When they were done, I remember being stood between them, and them giving me a lengthy lecture most of which I didn't hear over my own sobs and pain. I don't think either of them noticed the state of arousal I was in; and I know neither of them expected me to want another such encounter anytime soon.

After the lecture, I was sent to my room, grounded for the next three weeks. Alone at last, I dropped my pants - my posterior was so inflamed I couldn't stand the feeling of anything touching me back there - and did what I could about the painful hard-on I had gotten. Twice. In one day. While awake. In answer to painful smacks to my bare rear. It took some work, but I finally got myself calmed down enough to lay on my stomach across my bed.

After my parents went to bed, I got up and snuck into the bathroom to twist around and peer at the reflection of my abused bottom. Sure enough, there was the handprint from the principle, overlaid with slipper-sole marks and belt-weals. I tried touching to sooth my hide, but that only made me gasp and whimper - and begin to feel a little excited in front again. There was this lingering thrill, right in my "manhood", every time my burning, stinging bottom was touched. I didn't understand why, but being a curious boy - and enjoying the sensations that came with soothing an arousal - I began to play around, exploring the unaccustomed sensations.

I was a kid. I didn't know anything about what my body was going through, I only knew that apparently, getting my a** beat meant getting aroused, which led to feeling REALLY good, despite having a beat a**. After a while, I was too tired to continue, and soaked a towel in cold water, folding it into a wet compress for my aching bottom. That led to a shocking sensation of its own. Eventually, I made it back to bed, and spent the rest of the night on my stomach with a wet towel laid across my buttcheeks.

I woke early - my rear was throbbing painfully despite the compress - and discovered I couldn't stand to bend my hips enough to get out of bed. I really needed to pee, too. I struggled to my feet, and limped to the bathroom, leaving the bathroom door open behind me while I peed. The towel fell away, leaving me exposed just in time for my mom to walk in and see the results of the whippings I had suffered.

She stood there and stared at my bum, covered with weals and marks, overlaid across a large, impressive hand print. I finished, and she suddenly turned and walked off.

Returning to my room, I picked clothing for school - not an easy task, given I was trying to find a pair of pants that wouldn't squeeze or rub my hurting hide. I gave up and settled on my loosest sweat pants, trying to pull them on without having to sit down, and a t-shirt I had gotten at camp the summer before. My battered old sneakers came next - slipped on, untied - and I was as ready for school as I was going to be. I went to the kitchen, where my mom was putting breakfast on the table while talking on the phone to someone. She ended her phone call when she saw me limp in, and handed me my plate.

"You're staying home today." She said. It was a statement of fact; not a suggestion, or a request. "I've already called the school and notified them. Eat up and get back to bed."

I blinked. I had never missed a day of school; except when I had been really sick, with a fever. I opened my mouth to protest, but the look she gave me made me think better of it. I ate my breakfast standing up, and limped back to my room. It's not that I liked school; but to miss a day without being sick? That wasn't allowed in my parents' house. Still, it was better than a painful ride sitting on the school bus. Better than having to face the taunting I'd get in PE class when the other boys saw the weals and prints on my bottom; better than facing the bully again. I kicked off my shoes, slipped out of my sweat pants, and laid face down on my bed again.

I could hear my parents talking in the kitchen - not well enough to make out what they were saying, just enough to know it was them and not the TV. I heard my dad leave for work, and my mom poked her head into my room.

"I have to go shopping for groceries. You stay in bed. Remember, you're grounded. No phone calls, no TV, no going outside. I'll be back before lunch."

"Yes'm." I nodded. She hadn't said no friends over, but then, they were all in school.

My mom left, and I was totally alone. At no point had ANYONE bothered to ask me what had happened; everyone was judging me based entirely on what someone else said, or on what they ASSUMED had happened. It was like I had no say in the matter. Like my point of view was meaningless. It wasn't fair.

I lay there, trying to make sense of my reactions, trying to make what was happening to me make sense. After maybe an hour, I fell asleep. As I slept, I had those really weird dreams, about girls with big boobs dancing around, and rubbing myself, and rainbows falling out of the sky. I woke up to feel something cold being slathered on my bare butt, someone's fingers slipping gently between my cheeks, rubbing something cold and wet into my weal-covered skin.

I jumped, and yelled in surprise, twisting around to see that it was my mom.

"Lie still." She paused, waiting for me to lay back down again. "The doctor said this should help ease the pain. He also said I should take your temperature,..." she presented a large thermometer - not an oral one - and coated it with the same cold salve she had been slathering on my bottom. "So be still." her fingers slid between my cheeks, gently but firmly spreading them so she could insert the large thermometer into my tender rear door. "Relax, it'll be less uncomfortable if you just relax."

I gasped as a COLD slick hard LARGE glass thing poked into my bottom, forcing its way deep into my back door, delivering its CHILL to a place that was used to being warm. I couldn't help squirming a lot; and I felt that beginning thrill in front again. I tried to breathe, but it came out in a shrill squeak, an unaccustomed feeling of fullness in my tenderest nether regions. I had NEVER been poked like that, not THERE, not EVER!

"Stay still, silly! The more you squirm, the more uncomfortable it's going to be." my mom clucked, shaking her head. "You know, when you go out for sports, you'll have to see a doctor, who will poke his finger in there and feel around to make sure you're ok. I can tell you this, a finger is going to be a lot bigger than this thermometer is." She poked it in a little deeper.

I gagged, as the sensation overwhelmed me. She had hit something, some point inside me, and it made the thrill in front escalate into a full-on *****. The sensation of fullness in my rear was now unbearable, but the well-greased thermometer resisted being pushed out, as my mom was holding it firmly in place. I whimpered and moaned softly.

"Just a little longer, you big baby. It has to be inside you for a full three minutes." She was watching her wrist watch. "It isn't as though this hurts. You're just not used to it, that's all. Be a good boy and hold still."

I whimpered very softly, trembling as I tried to hold still. Three minutes was an eternity and a half away.

Every so often, she would give the thermometer a little twist, shifting her grip on it, and I would moan between clenched teeth, my face buried in my pillow.

Then it was over, the pressure was gone, and the hard glass thing was pulled out of my tender back door. The ***** in front, however, remained, and now, without the distraction of the rear invasion, it was screaming for attention.

"There! See, no pain. That wasn't so bad, now was it?" mom was smiling at me as she wiped the thermometer clean and read it.

I wanted to yell, and say things about how she needed to try it if she didn't think it was so bad; but she was my mom,.. and she had a hand resting lightly on my very sore bottom. So I bit back the words, and buried my face in the pillow again, trying to ignore the ***** and the urges that came with it.

"Hmmmm,... I don't like the looks of that." I heard her say, a note of concern in her voice. "Wait here." She walked out, thermometer in hand, and I could faintly hear her talking on the phone in the kitchen. After a few minutes, she got quiet, and came back, shaking out the thermometer before plunging it into a glass of ice water. "The doctor said to let the thermometer chill down for a bit, and try taking your temperature back there again."

I moaned and whimpered into my pillow, clenching my cheeks together in dread.

"This time, he said not to use any salve on it - just slip it in wet from the ice bath." her voice had a cheery, matter-of-fact tone to it that made me cringe. "He said to be sure it was as cold as possible, so we would get a truer reading on your temperature."

Before I could stop myself, I heard my own voice say, "Then why not put it in the freezer?" I meant it to be sarcastic, not a real suggestion, but it had come out wrong.

"Good idea!" Mom picked up the glass of ice water with the thermometer in it, and marched off to the kitchen before I could stop her.

I thumped my head into my pillow repeatedly while she was gone. When she came back, I twisted so my bottom was turned away from her, and tried to talk her out of poking that frozen instrument of torture back into my rear nether region. "Mom, I thought thermometers for for fevers. I'm not sick; my butt just hurts from getting beat so bad yesterday. I don't have a fever! Just let me soak my bottom in cold water for a while, and I'll be fine!"

She looked at me - ***** and all - and burst out laughing. As I blushed down to my toes, she managed to stop laughing. "No, silly. You may be more hurt than you know; and a thermometer back there will tell if there's some hidden injury - like, say, a broken or cracked bone in your hips or pelvis - because a broken or injured bone often causes a local fever-like reaction." She sat on the edge of my bed, patting her lap with the hand that wasn't holding the glass of ice water with the thermometer in it. "No, lay across my lap so I can do this easier."

"Mom, my whole a** burns. That thing's not gonna be able to tell anything different from that." I pleaded.

"Now." Her tone had turned serious. I crawled across her lap and laid over her knees, waiting for the inevitable, cringing.

Again, one of her hands spread my cheeks, and the other guided the frozen thermometer into my quivering back door. I tried to gasp, I tried to inhale, but couldn't as the absolute COLD!!!!!!!!!!! sank into my otherwise warm, soft, recesses. I bucked, reflexively, as she slid it deeper in, until it pressed firmly against the same *****-triggering point as before.

"Hold still!" she chided, looking at her watch. "Three minutes, and I'll remove it. But HOLD STILL." One hand held the end of the thermometer, the other pressed my back down across her lap, pinning me gently but firmly. I knew she could feel my erection against her thigh, even through her jeans. "Boys are such babies, I swear!"

I swallowed, gulping air, wishing I was being spanked instead of suffering an icy probing. "Mom,..." I squeaked, "Uh, I need to go pee; now."

"No you don't. That isn't pee you need to get rid of; and it can wait another two minutes." She sighed. "Look, let me get this done right, and you won't have to suffer through it again, ok? Unless you LIKE having an icicle up your butt..."

My whimper was answer enough, as I lay trembling in an effort to hold still.

An eternity passed. My alarm clock ticked slowly, seeming to conspire to make my suffering take as long as possible.

"One more minute." Mom murmured.

I tried vainly to think of anything - anything other than the icy torture or my aching *****. I was sure Mom had lost count somewhere, and just wasn't telling me; by now I could have walked to school and back!

"There!" She gave a gentle tug, and the thermometer popped out, its chill torment finally removed.

I gasped and gulped, finally able to breathe again, and started to get up.

"Not so fast - I'm not done with you yet." Mom wiped the thermometer, read it, slipped it back into the glass of ice water, and picked up the salve again, taking a generous dollop on her fingers. "Lie still." She slid her fingers between my cheeks, and began slathering the salve on, especially where my tender back door was. Fingertips gently massaged sensitive skin, then before I understood what was happening, a salve-coated finger slid into the tight opening, poking and probing, then another finger slowly joined it, gently rubbing inside, making it open wider in response. A third finger teased the opening, before plunging roughly in, and all three fingers suddenly joined in delivering deep, powerful thrusts, their tips bumping firmly against the spot inside that made me get an instant *****. Meanwhile, her free hand held the small of my back firmly pinned against her thighs, as she leaned over and whispered, "This is what naughty boys get,... bent over, spanked, and then..." she thrust deeply, harder than before, tearing a squeal from my throat, as her thrusting became faster, deeper, more penetrating. Harder. Unforgiving. After several repeated thrusts and frightened squeals of near-pain from me, she slowed down the tempo; still as hard and deep. "So,... are you a naughty boy," she emphasized each word with a slow, hard, deep thrust of her fingers, "Or are you going to be a good little boy, who doesn't get into any trouble, and doesn't get BENT... OVER... SPANKED... and " Here she suddenly sped up the tempo, spreading her fingers slightly with each thrust, making the already-too-tight fit even tighter, and creating something of a painful friction burn inside me, "GANG-RAPED IN JAIL!!!" She continued thrusting like that, listening to the cries that tore from my throat for several seconds, her tempo speeding up painfully until a part of me recognized the tempo as a match for the stroking I usually gave my boners to calm them down.

"Good! Good!! I'll be good!!!" I cried, squirming helplessly against her thighs, inside my back door screaming as my ***** howled for relief. Tears streamed down my face, as I continued crying out with every thrust. I imagined steam rising from my tender back door as her fingers continued to probe painfully.

With a suddenness that left me gagging, she stopped, her fingers inserted at their deepest, holding firm inside me. "Good boy, because I'd hate to think of my little boy locked up in a cell somewhere, with a gang of strange men taking turns, bending him over for their pleasure." She held me like that a little longer, until a pain-filled whimper escaped my lips, then she slowly, gently, removed her fingers, got another dollop of salve, and slid salve and all back inside me. "Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes'm!" came my tiny whimpered response.

She proceeded to slather salve around inside me, then gently slid her fingers out, pausing to feel the desperate trembling of my burning rear entry. "Such a tight, tender little boy. Don't make me repeat this discussion, understand? And no talking to your father or anyone else about it, either. That would be something a bad little boy would do,... and you don't want to be a bad boy, now do you?" She felt me clinch up in fear under her touch, and lightly patted the hand print across my bottom. "No, you're a good boy, now. Aren't you?"

"Yes'm!" I whimpered, not entirely sure that what had just happened had actually happened, despite the sensations I was feeling.

She sighed, and let me up. "Go clean yourself up, then right back to bed with you. I have to make a call."

I almost ran to the bathroom - with my legs spread farther apart than normal. I got my ***** calmed down - it was a lot harder to take care of, with the throbbing, burning sensations inside my rear - and came out in time to hear part of her phone conversation.

"So, they don't know if the other boy is going to recover?" She listened, then, "No, no. He's a good boy, he would never do something like that on purpose; it was an accident. He's just a child;..." Silence again. "There are witnesses that the other boy started it, by knocking him into the bleachers and taunting him." She paused, longer. "I know; I just can't imagine him doing such a thing on purpose; he doesn't even seem to know what's happened. I don't think they told him at school, no. He's never done anything remotely like this before; he's always been such a good boy,..."

I shuddered at that last. Yes, I am a good boy! I'm a good boy!! I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to block out what my own mother had done to me. I'm a good boy! My back door stung and quivered painfully at the memory.

"No, my understanding is that the other boy is larger and two years older, held back a couple of times. Something of a bully, it seems. No, my son's small for his age, hardly an even fight. He's never even been in a fight before - no, never!......"

I slipped back to my room, and crept onto my bed again, flopping down on my belly. I'm a good boy!!! I closed my eyes, trying to remember what happened in the fight. As I lay there, replaying the events of the day, I began to see something. The bully hadn't even swung to hit me, not after I jumped on his back and started hitting, he had just taken it, and toppled face down to the gym floor. I had kept hitting as hard as I could, until the PE teacher had pulled me off. I didn't see the bully get up, and he hadn't been sent to the principle's office, either. I'm a good boy!!! I swallowed hard, cringing. Had I actually hurt him? Was that what happened? Was that why the principle had been so angry, so severe? And my parents - who hadn't even spanked me since I was five - was that why they had greeted me at the door and proceeded to wear my bare bottom out? My mother - was this why she had done that to me? I'm a good boy!!!!!!!!!! I reached back, trying to soothe my bottom and back door, shivering.

I heard my mother hang up the phone, and listened. She went to the kitchen, and I soon heard sounds of her cooking. It was about time for lunch. I gulped, and decided maybe I better pull on some pjs; just so my bottom didn't present such an open target. I got up, and dug out a pair of pajama pants, gingerly pulling them up to cover my anatomy.

"Lunch is ready; come to the table."

I entered the kitchen. A bowl of soup and a plate with a grilled cheese sandwich on it was at my place on the table. Mom was sitting, a cup of coffee in her hand, looking out the window. "We need to talk. Sit down, hon."

I eased into my chair, wincing and blinking back tears, looking at my soup.

"Do you know what happened, to the boy you were fighting with? Do you remember what happened?"

I swallowed hard, and picked up my spoon. "He shoved me into the bleachers, I fell down and hit the floor. He stood over me, saying.... Saying nasty things about you, and me,.... I got really angry. Really angry. He thought I was scared, and started laughing at me, and turned away. I got up, and jumped on his back, wrapping my legs around his middle, and started swinging, hitting him in the chest and face." I stirred my soup. "He toppled over, face down, and I kept hitting him, hard, harder than I ever hit anything before; to make him pay for all the bad things he'd ever done to me or anyone else." I stopped stirring my soup. "I wanted him to learn not to hurt other people anymore. I wanted him to know what it felt like. I wanted to make him stop." I picked up my sandwich in my other hand. "The PE teacher lifted me off of him, and held me off the ground until I quit trying to hit him anymore. Then he yelled in my face a lot, and sent me to the principle's office." I took a bite of the sandwich, chewed, and swallowed. "I waited outside the office most of the rest of the day. The bully never arrived. The PE teacher and school nurse went in and out of the office. I got called inside." I took a spoonful of soup, and ate it.

"The principle did a lot of yakking, then I got angrier, and told him off - asked him why the bully wasn't there, too, and why they never did anything about the bullies, and told him what I thought of him. He was yelling, and broke his paddle on his desk. Then, he came 'round the front of his desk with his chair, and ripped my shorts off, yanked me across his knees, and began beating me." I ate a couple more bites of sandwich and spoonfuls of soup, never looking up. "Then he made me stand in the corner, and called you and dad. After that, he sent me to the library to sit until time to ride the bus home."

The silence stretched out, broken only by the sounds of spoon in bowl, and chewing. Mom sipped her coffee in silence, nodding her head. "So, no one told you." She sighed, watching as I ate my lunch. "The boy you fought - the bully? He's in the hospital. You were so angry, you hit him so hard, you damaged his insides. You didn't know it; but it happened." She finished her coffee, and put the cup in the sink. Looking out the kitchen window, she continued. "The principle spanked you way too much, and way harder than he should have; you shouldn't have been able to stand, let alone walk after what he did to you. Even he was surprised, and frightened, when you did. He knew what he'd done to you, that's why he didn't send you to the school nurse. He didn't want to be accused of child abuse. He also didn't let on that he had beat you so hard when he spoke to your father and me on the phone. So, when you got home, we didn't know how badly you'd been beaten, and we made it worse."

I finished my soup and sandwich, putting my spoon down. "Is he going to die?"

Mom glanced over at me. "No one knows." She took a deep breath. "You should be in the hospital too, except now, if we take you, they'll charge us with child abuse, and take you away. The principle broke bones in your rear; your pelvic bones,... your tailbones. People have tailbones, you know. They're just small, and hidden by their butts." She leaned on the counter top, looking wistfully out the window. "The principle is trying to make us put you in another school. He says you've scared everyone so badly, you'd be a distraction, just by being there. Plus, the boy's friends and family might try to hurt you if you went back." She stood in silence for a minute, then shook her head. "You've always been such a well-behaved boy, never gotten into trouble before now."

I am a good boy!!!!!! I cringed, and tried to ignore the memory.

"If he dies, we're moving away. Your father and I discussed it this morning."

I didn't know what to say to that.

"Anyway, you're staying home until your butt heals - bones and all. You'd better get back to bed now. Get some rest, let yourself heal up."

"What about my schoolwork?" I asked.

She turned and looked at me, pointing to my bookbag beside the front door. "You've got your books, I'll teach you until you're well, or we move, or you get put in another school. but right now, you scoot off to bed."

I winced as I stood up, "Mom, if I shouldn't be able to walk, or stand, then why can I?"

"Because you're young, and don't know how badly you're hurt yet. now, off to bed!"

I obeyed, and lay on my belly, falling asleep before my dad got home from work.

The next few days went by in a blur, a policeman stopped by and spoke with me, and there were phone calls night and day, until mom got upset and unplugged every phone in the house. One day, my dad came home early, and he and mom went outside and spoke in the back yard, where I couldn't hear. He didn't go back to work. Instead, we packed everything up in boxes, and dad drove off with the car filled with everything we owned. Two days later, he was back, and mom put me and our few remaining belongings into the car, and we left. By then, I could sit without too much pain, but even so, mom gave me some medicine that made me really groggy, and the next day or so went by in a cloud of fog.

I didn't go back to school that year. Near the end of summer, mom had me take a bunch of tests, then took me to enroll in another school. Things went fine for a while - until my new teachers learned about what had happened at the last school; and started to treat me like a criminal. By then, I had locked those memories away, along with the memory of what my mother did to me; and when those new teachers threw it in my face, I started acting like the person they thought I was. I spent more and more time in the principle's office, across a knee, getting spanked - and in the bathroom afterwards, tending my post-spanking boners. Finally, the day came when I got a spanking, and got sent home early, suspended.

I walked in the door, and there was my mom, frowning at me. I'm a good boy!!!! Suddenly I remembered what she had done, how she had hurt and frightened me in the hopes of scaring me into behaving again. She reached out, and took hold of my left ear in a grip that promised no escape.

"Are you a bad boy? I think you are. Do you remember what happens to bad little boys?" She pulled on my ear, dragging me along with her to my room. "I think you need a reminder of just what happens to bad little boys,..." She sat on the edge of my bed, and pulled down my pants and underwear, dragging me across her knees and pinning me under one arm. Before I knew it, my reddened butt was getting another spanking - this one harder and faster than the principle at school ever dared to deliver. As I got excited, mom paused, and slipped her fingers into my back door, beginning to thrust, harder, deeper, and faster than I remembered. After a while, she was alternating several minutes of spanking with several minutes of tight-ended thrusting, and scolding me for being a bad boy, telling me about how bad little boys got sent to prison, beat, and gang-raped, all the while she was blistering my bum and leaving friction burns inside my rear entry. By the time she stopped, dad was in the driveway, and I had a ***** that could have killed a bull. She sent me to get cleaned up, and told my dad about how I was suspended - but not one word about how she had punished me for it.

I walked out of the bathroom, and into my third spanking of the day. Dad didn't use his belt this time; he just turned my naked body over his knee and proceeded to spank my posterior without hesitation. By the time he quit, I had a killer ***** again, and my a** burned so badly I had no hope of sitting down. Then, he told me I was grounded, and confined to my room until I returned to school in two weeks.

I spent the next two weeks getting a daily dose of my mom's deterrent - spanked and probed every day, while my dad was at work. Which meant I also had a daily hard-on that took longer and longer to calm down. After two weeks of repeating the I'm a good boy!!! chant, I had gotten to where I sort of looked forward to it, because of the way I would feel once I got to take care of my aching erection.

After two weeks solid of this, it was a shock to return to school. By the third day back, I was beginning to look for ways to get sent home again. That was when the principle decided I needed to see the school shrink. A week into that, I got really angry at something the shrink said about my mom, and yanked him across his desk so I could hit him. I was in 9th grade that year, and still rather small for my age. But I managed to scare the crap out of a grown man, in his own office.

I expected to be sent home, suspended again. Instead, when I got home, there was a social worker talking with my mom. I went to my room, expecting mom to come in and do her thing to me again, but the social worker came in and talked to me, trying to find out what was going on - why was I acting out? I told her about how the teachers at my new school had suddenly begun treating me like a criminal, until I had decided to act like one. How I had never caused any trouble before, except that once, at my old school, yet they had been treating me like a hardened gang member. How I had given up trying to act right, since even when I did, they acted like I was a monster.

Not a word about how my mom had been treating me, nor about how much I actually enjoyed being spanked now. None of that was her business.

Before she left, the social worker told my mom that I needed to be moved to yet another school - or put into a home school program. The thought of being home schooled - spending every day with my mom, being encouraged to behave myself - actually gave me a bit of a *****. I didn't say anything about that though, because mom thought of what she did to me as a punishment - and punishments weren't meant to be enjoyed.

Once the social worker left, mom did come into my room, and turn me over her knee, and proceed to wear my butt out. My dad got home during the spanking, and after he heard about what had happened with the social worker, he took turns with my mom, laying me over his knee and spanking until I got actual blisters from it. He told me I was getting too big to act this way, and too big for spankings, too. He didn't want me to be home schooled; he said I needed to be with boys my own age.

Late that night, my parents talked things over, and made their decision. The next morning, I was informed I would be shipped off to a military school for boys. I protested, but they had made up their minds. I had the remainder of the school year to attend school and live at home, but come summer, I was going to military school.
Xaoz Xaoz
22-25, M
Jan 17, 2013