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!"
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