From: SFPo8@aol.com
Subject: Afterwards

Afterwards

Phillip lay across the bed, his pants still lowered, sobbing quietly.  His
burning bottom was testimony to the past ten minutes.

Slowly, he got up from the bed and shuffled over to the mirror. It was hard
to walk with trousers and underpants around his ankles, but he wasn't ready
to pull them up yet.  He wanted to see the results of the session over his
mother's lap he had just undergone.

Turning his back to the full-length mirror, he glanced over his shoulder. He
was not surprised to find that his bottom was glowing red, both cheeks
uniformly warmed, without a pale spot showing.  Even the fatty portion under
the edge of his bottom had been soundly spanked and now showed a solid
crimson color.  He reached his hand back tentatively and touched his
backside; the warmth was evident, but the touch of his hand was surprisingly
soothing.  

Hobbling back to the bed, he lay on his stomach and recalled the spanking.
 He remembered his mother's anger at finding the copy of Wild and Wicked in
his dresser drawer, hastily shut as she entered the room.  The magazine was
still open to the pages he had been examining, a photo of a naked woman,
lying on her back, thighs spread for the camera's close inspection.  The
magazine was a prized possession, acquired from an older boy at school for
$10.  At eleven years of age, Phillip had just begun to acquire an interest
in sex, and the magazine graphically revealed to him the details of mysteries
only guessed at.  Somehow, he knew he should not have such an item in his
possession; the cover clearly said "Sale to Minors Forbidden." Yet he could
not bring himself to get rid of it, nor to keep from perusing it  from time
to time, and over the weeks it had been his, he had gotten more careless
about keeping it well hidden, until this fateful day when his mother walked
in and saw him quickly shut the bureau drawer, a look of guilty surprise on
his face.  With a sense of horror, he had watched her pull open the drawer,
see its contents, yank out the magazine and fling it across the room while,
at almost the same moment, she grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him
towards her.

"You dirty little boy!" she shouted, losing control. "How dare you bring
something like this into my house?  What are you doing with such trash, such
filth, such .... I don't know what to call it. I am so ashamed of you.  I
thought we had taught you better.  Well, apparently there is one lesson you
need, and you're going to get that lesson right now.  You're going to find
out what happens to sneaking, dirty little boys who think it is all right to
ogle disgusting pictures like those.  You're going to get a good, sound
spanking from me, and, when your father gets home, I bet you'll get another
one from him!  Now, get those pants down, and fast!  Hurry up, or it will
only be worse."

Phillip remembered now, as he softly stroked his still-glowing buttocks, how
he had nervously fumbled with his belt and zipper and slid his trousers down,
 He had started to step out of them, but his mother's anger would not allow
any delay.  "Stop that fiddling around!" she shouted. "I said get those pants
down, and if you can't do it right, I'll do it for you.   She yanked him
across her knee and slipped her hand under the seat of his underpants,
jerking them down to him knees.  There was an instant when Phillip felt the
coolness of fresh air on his bottom, but only for an instant before he heard
the crack of his mother's hand against his skin.

He remembered hearing a sharp whack for what seemed a long time before
feeling the effect; it really must have been only a fraction of a second, but
it seemed much longer.  There was a distinct "smack," and then a moment
passed, and then he felt a sharp burning sensation in his left buttock. He
only had a fraction of a second to gasp out, "Owww!" before he heard the
second smack and felt an equal burning on his right buttock.  Another
"Smack!"  "Owww!"  The spanking was under way, and Phillip turned and twisted
under the steady series of spanks which seemed each time to bring a painful
message to a new portion of his backside.   

And soon there was no portion of his bottom which has not felt his mother's
hand, so that each additional spank fell upon a spot already slightly sore,
already growing pink.  What was at first only a slightly painful sensation
was becoming more and more acute.  As spank after spank continued to fall on
already painful flesh,  Phillip began to cry out in earnest, to plead, to
beg, to seek some way to end this experience.  Now his entire bottom was
afire, and he winced as each new slap struck pained flesh and made him jump.
 "Stop, please, mommy," he could not help but cry out.  "I'm sorry!  I'll be
good! Ouuch!  Please don't spank me so ... Owww!  ... so hard ... my bottom
... Ahrrr! ... hurts so much! I didn't mean ...Ouch!...I didn't know ... OWW!
... I'm really sorry ... OH, OWW, STOP! ... OWWWW!".   

"This is for your own good," his mother answered.  "I know this hurts now,
and it's going to hurt even more before I am finished.  But it will be a long
time before you forget what bad boys get.  It better be!  You'll think twice,
I hope, before you do anything else to deserve  a good, sound spanking on the
bare bottom."  

And then, something strange had happened, Phillip reflected.  As the spanking
continued, his bottom reddened and warmed, and the pain intensified,  but at
the same time the warmth spreading through his seat excited him in a new and
unusual way.  Reaching back now and touching his still-glowing bottom, he
remembered how it had felt, and how it had been a pleasant feeling, even
though it hurt so much. Now, remembering only the stimulating warmth of the
spanking, and feeling its results, he felt something else: a rising and
stiffening in front, where he was pressed against the bed.  He felt himself
becoming erect, and, as he did so, he continued to rub his behind and,
gently, move his body on the bedcovers.  Without fully realizing what he was
doing, he thrust his hips forward and back, stroking his buttocks, while
recalling the keen sensations of his mother's hand descending again and again
to deliver yet another smack to his bottom, a smack which, while it caused
him to jerk and cry out, also reassured him of her love and concern for him.

It was so confusing.  Lying there over his mother's knees, he had cried out
and protested as her hand had delivered a sound bottom-warming.  It hurt; he
had truly wanted it to stop.  But now, lying by himself in the same position,
rubbing his well-spanked bottom, he felt excited and aroused as he never had
before.  In reality the spanking had been a humiliating and painful
experience; in memory, it was a thrilling time shared with his mother in a
moment of intimate contact.  He had lain there, naked, helpless, and exposed,
at his mother's mercy, submitting to her will, and she had seen him so,
defenseless and submissive, his bared behind turning red under her energetic
efforts.  Nothing they had ever done together had been like that!  

In memory, the spanking now seemed a special, private moment of shared,
secret intimacy.  The memory flooded Phillip's mind as he, without thinking
about it, caressed his warmed behind and thrust against the bed with swifter
and more intense rhythm.  He did not know exactly what he was doing, or why,
but he sensed that something was about to happen, something unique, something
unstoppable, something . . .

The door opened.  His mother stood there, for a moment, and then her face
took on an expression of unmistakable horror.  "PHILLIP!" she shouted. "WHAT
DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?   You  incorrigible, nasty, filthy boy!   Very
well, if that spanking didn't teach you to behave, I think it is time for
sterner measures.  BRING ME THE HAIRBRUSH!"