Home For A Holiday Spanking

Taken across my mother's lap at the age of 28 and spanked with panties down in front of the family gathered for our Christmas dinner was not what I'd expected when I accepted the invitation to go home for the holidays.

This was almost twenty years ago and I had recently been divorced from my first husband. It wasn't that surprising that my marriage had come unstuck: my first husband was the classic fun guy in college who turns out to be sort of a jerk in real life. As I grew into my twenties, in contrast, I gained both confidence and stature in my work.

Nevertheless, it's not the best situation to make your first visit home in five years following what is regarded as the crack-up of your marriage—however happy I was to be out of it. The aunts whisper and the cousins point you out: "Did you hear about her?"

It mattered little to my family in rural upstate New York that I had earned a Ph.D. with distinction from one of our finer universities and that I had a fabulous job with a prestigious foundation doing exactly what I had hoped to do. To them, I was single…again. All of my honors—scholastic and athletic, and my bright career prospects stood for naught against small-town America's worship at the marriage altar.

When I arrived with my smart valise from Loewe in tow, my mother barely smiled and offered me a frosty kiss on my cheek. She silently showed me to a spare bedroom, not the one I had enjoyed when living there. "Susie has your old room, Leslie, since she has her husband with her," was her almost needless explanation.

My sister, almost three years younger, finally had the chance to lord it over me. Her husband, Eric, indeed was present and accounted for, and smiled constantly, which was expected since their first child, an adorable four-month-old infant named Denise, was usually to be found at the center of everyone's attention, gurgling away.

To make matters worse, my maiden Aunt Joan appeared from Chicago with her fiancé. Then my brother Steve, several years my senior, drove down from the airport with his California girl wife in tow, the classically blond Gloria.

Not that I felt frumpy. I had been working out a lot and was really in good shape, had a nice haircut and was wearing my suits and separates from all the trendiest shops in Manhattan. I didn't expect to be engaged in anything romantic that weekend but I still was wearing my favorite lingerie sets from Harvey Nichols, which always made me feel better.

Well, I needed every bit of self-confidence before it all ended with my driving back to the city Sunday afternoon. I did hit it off with Steve's wife Gloria, who was much brighter than her looks suggested. And my Aunt Joan was in a delicious mood, always ready with a succinct pun or pungent line to stir up the conversation.

Christmas Eve began with a festive punchbowl and singing and a lot of good spirit. In my case, I quickly imbibed more than I needed. Susie had been getting on my nerves and I was delighted to find that Gloria was a kindred soul in her skepticism about the idea that she and Steve needed to start a family immediately in the style of my sister.

I drank more and more punch and finally, as I felt increasingly giddy, looked slyly at Susie, reveling in her domesticity. "Well, Leslie, I never thought I'd see the day when I had my own happy family and you were back on your own," she oozed in her always desperate effort to go one up on me, the super-achiever.

"Suze, I'm happy for you, since I don't for the life of me know what on earth else you would be able to do with yourself," I half-heartedly riposted to her insulting opener.

She seemed about to burst into tears and turned to my mother, seated as always in her favorite straight chair, and exclaimed that I was still putting her down after all these years and that I had some nerve since she was a mother with a real family.

"Yes," I snapped, "and you're also the same bitch you always were," I added with a curl of my lip.

Suddenly my mother sprang from her torpor and with sizzling visage, stared at me in her coldest gaze and asked, "Did I hear the word you just said correctly, young lady?"

Not realizing where this was heading, and probably one and one-half sheets to the wind anyway, I chuckled and responded that Susie was still acting like my jealous younger sister.

My mother remained stone-faced and patted her lap. "Get over here, Leslie, right now," she intoned in a steely voice. "I don't care how old you are or how much you've achieved. You will not speak that way in my house."

I found myself standing in front of her as I saw Susie somehow stifling her giggles across the way.

"Leslie, I'm sorry that this has happened on this of all evenings, but you have earned yourself a spanking. Prepare yourself," were the words I had dreaded all during my adolescence.

I couldn't believe this was happening but as I felt tears coming which I fought to repress, I slowly lifted my stylish pin-striped skirt, exposing my pale blue hicut panties and matching garter belt, and bent across her tweed-skirted lap. "Please, Mom, does this have to happen now in front of everyone?" I pleaded in a last-ditch try to ward off this horror show.

"You girls should know that I will always insist on enforcing my rules when you are in my house," my mother replied, coldly. To make matters worse, she added that I might have behaved better had my former husband been more forceful in requiring my language to be proper.

I knew that everyone was staring at my panties. But worse was coming. Mother then tapped the seat of my undies and put her thumbs in the waistband. "Oh, no, please…not that!" I cried.

But as I repressed my sobs still more, I felt her slipping my pretty panties right down my thighs to hang at my knees.

The next humiliation did bring on tears. "Now spread your legs for me, Leslie, you know how I want you here for your spanking."

I slowly moved my legs apart, as far as my panties at my knees would permit. I knew now that they could all see between my legs—my little rear pucker, protruding pudendum, and the plentiful hair between my legs and right through them.

Then she began to spank my bare cheeks, as she always had, with ferocity. My mother had a strong arm and I felt every spank. By the fifth I was groaning and exclaiming and then, worst of all, kicking my legs so everyone now could see my most intimate area between them. I also knew that my embarrassment would be complete because I felt the wetness that this excitement had brought on.

The spanking was interminable and also hurt a lot. I was tough, as befitted an athlete who had led several teams to championships but she had me begging for mercy. Even worse, the spanks on my behind stimulated me elsewhere and I hope no one saw the dew glistening on those not-so-hidden places between my legs.

I also had to concentrate on another urgent need. All that drinking was having another effect on me. I realized that if I didn't focus totally on controlling my now bulging bladder, I would disgrace myself in front of everyone.

She must've given me more than fifty spanks before stopping. "I hope you have learned your lesson, young lady," she concluded, but then added the final fillip to this awful event: "Now get up, leave your pants down and skirt up, and stand in that corner until I tell you to replace your clothing."

Totally crushed, I hobbled to the corner and stood there with my crimson buttocks on display as I made sure my skirt stayed high over my waist. My crisp garters and hose belied my treatment as a naughty child who had been spanked for acting up at a holiday occasion. Somehow I resisted the urge to let this whole scene descend to Grand Guignol—in my mind, at least—which would likely happen were I to fail to retain my pee.

Now, as I think back on that evening, from the vantage point of my happy second marriage to a strong man who wants me to take charge of things and of my success in my career, much less the dominance I exercise over several men and women who crave my commanding presence, I wonder how I fell back into the childish posture I did.

My mother passed away some years ago and my sister had more children and aged accordingly. I'm in my late 40s and in my prime, I like to think. But on that Christmas Eve, it was all for naught as I was again a young woman being put in her place by a stern mother applying the corrective hand to what she saw still as my naughty bottom.