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Aching for love and discipline in a difficult time

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I answer to a Sir and a Ma'am who are life partners.  They live about a hour from me in a different state.  The pandemic and the lockdown have been very hard on us, in part because I live with a relative who is a health care worker and at high risk of getting covid, and they live with Sir's dad who is elderly and has health conditions that put him at high risk.  I realize that staying apart is the right thing to do right now, to make sure everyone stays safe and healthy.  Even still, I am badly missing the love, structure, and discipline I get from the couple who cares for me, and I know they miss me too.  I thought maybe if I wrote about it, some of the ache would go away.  (The story below is true, although it's written in sort of a romanticized way.)

Sir administers most of my punishment spankings.  When I've really screwed up, out comes the heavy wooden bath brush.  He orders me to stand at the foot of the bed, and says, "Drop 'em."  With my heart in my throat, I hook my thumbs under the waistband of my jeans and pull them down below the curve of my butt.  Then I drop my underwear.  Sometimes Ma'am is there too.  She's there to support both of us.  Her presence tells me that she stands with Sir in his decision to punish me, but she will be there to comfort me afterward as well.  It's very humbling to have to bare your bottom for an old-fashioned ass-whooping, particularly with both your caregivers there.  But Sir says the embarrassment and the shame are part of the punishment.  A boy should feel ashamed when his bad behavior earns him a spanking.  Even after, when everything's normal again, a boy who just got his butt beat should speak more softly than usual, say "Sir" and "Ma'am" more often, and feel a little shy looking the family in the eye for a while.

Once my pants are down I hitch up the tail of my shirt and bend over the bed's low footboard.  I take off my glasses so they don't fall off and get squashed if I thrash around, and I rest my weight on my elbows.  My hair falls in my eyes and I rest my forehead on my wrists.  I close my eyes and feel like crying.  I've never cried just from the physical pain of a spanking, but I have teared up knowing that I've disappointed those who love me.  After all, I know damn well I'm not lying here, head down and bare ass up, because my Sir is happy with me.  I was disobedient and difficult, and now Sir is going to punish me by unleashing holy hellfire on my trembling, upturned bottom.

Sir's not one for ceremony.  I don't get a long lecture or have to repeat certain words or anything.  He just gives me an order: "Count."   Then comes the CRACK that makes me gasp and rocks my body forward.  A searing burn the size of the bath brush head ignites on my right sit spot as I manage to choke out:


CRACK!  I'm knocked up on my toes for an instant as a second blaze lights up across my left sit spot.  



And that's it for my mental defenses.  I've taken precisely three swats, and already my brain is telling me that I am in Hell, my naked butt pressed against a door of white-hot brimstone, while the Devil himself kicks me with his enormous hooves from the other side.  I've heard that a punishment spanking only really starts the moment you're desperate for it to end.  If that's true, then this punishment has just begun! Anticipating where the next swat will land, I wriggle my butt left, trying to dodge.


That knocks a sick-sounding little yelp out of me as the brush connects with the exact same blazing oval that was already throbbing on my left sit spot.  Sir pretty much exclusively spanks sit spots.  It's a very tender place to take blistering whack after whack, and a naughty boy who gets his sit spots roasted is reminded of his lesson every time he sits down for the next week or so. 

I assume the next spank is going to land on my right cheek, so I squirm and roll rightward, trying to protect my poor, blazing bottom.


"Ohhhhh . . . " I moan.  That one landed on my so-sore left.  Sir will often spank one butt cheek again and again, making a punished boy's bottom jerk and twist and waggle until his lower half is doing a spirited version of the "spanking dance" that's all too familiar to boys and girls whose wise caregivers know that sometimes love has to hurt. 

"Count," Sir orders.  He's not sorry for me or my wiggling red butt.  The punishment he's handing down is heartily deserved, and he knows I know it.  If anything, he lets me off without a licking too often.  Spankings are a good, strong medicine for disobedient boys, and it's past time I was given a double dose.

I swallow past the dryness in my throat and manage to say, "Five?"

My "reward" for compliance is another mighty CRACK on my left sit spot. 

Even though I am made to count every awful spank, I soon lose all sense of time passing.  It is as if I have always kicked and writhed as blazing smacks rained down on my helpless bare behind.  Even my frantic desire for the spanking to stop fades into a kind of fiery Now, and I have no awareness of what an undignified spectacle I'm making of myself.   When I think about it later, I will be embarrassed.   I will cringe and think I must have seemed like a naughty toddler--complete, in my humiliated imagination, with his onesie snaps undone and his Pull-Ups down around his ankles---throwing a tantrum as his Daddy spanks his round baby rump.  Worse, it will occur to me that I must have put more on display than my naked rear as I kicked and writhed.  While Sir and I have a sexual relationship, Ma'am and I do not.  We live in enough intimacy that we have seen one another's bodies, but I still would have preferred not to have my bare privates exposed to her in such a mortifying way.  Of course, my Sir would tell me that it's quite easy for me avoid the embarrassment of a bare-bottom paddling.   All I have to do is follow my rules.  

Sir had warned me that I was going to get fifty swats, but he must have sensed that I was losing my grip around halfway through.  After a certain point, a lot of subs can be taken past pain into a state of euphoria, which is definitionally not a punishment.  Once I manage to spit out a dry-lipped "Twenty-five," Sir sets the bath brush aside.

"I think we're done for today," he says.

I collapse gasping onto the bed.  I'd been holding my breath and hadn't noticed.  My arms and legs feel as if they're made of rubber, and the deep burning of my punished behind throbs with the pounding of my heart.  "Thank you, Sir.  Thank you!"  Sweat has dampened my hair and I can feel drops of it on my temples.

I have to struggle to get up.  I did so much "dancing" while Sir blistered my bottom that my jeans and underwear are all tangled up around my feet.   I feel more like a mortified, naughty baby than ever as my caregivers help me stand and sort my twisted pants and shorts out.  Once I'm no longer half naked, I hold my arms out for hugs.  I always want comfort and forgiveness after a punishment, and this one has left me shaking as well as smarting.  I bury my face in Ma'am's shoulder as she hugs me.  I tell her I love her and that I'm sorry.  I do the same with Sir, who I love even more than usual at that moment for not making me take the full fifty swats.  I cannot later recall precisely what they said to me, but I do know that I felt forgiven and loved.

They leave me alone for a while after that to calm down and rest.  I curl up on my side on the bed, and soon begin to feel warm and sleepy.  I know my caregivers only set limits and impose punishments on me because I need them to.  My legal age means nothing--I am just a little boy, in need of guidance like other little boys.  Sometimes the kindest, most loving thing my caregivers can do for me is tell me "No" and soundly spank my butt.  A sore bottom is no fun, but but it can let a little boy know that loving grownups are firmly in charge of him and that he is protected and secure.   As I drowsily rub my smacked behind, the tender ache reassures me, and soon I am napping in peace.

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This is just lovely I can tell how much they love and care for you ❤️ 

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They do, and I miss themmmmm!!  So sad today.  Thank you for reading and commenting.  I talked to Sir on the phone today.  I’m afraid I was a brat.  I wasn’t quite as bad as a kid begging to come home from summer camp, but that’s the idea.  Sir told me yes, he loves me.  Yes, he misses me too. No, we cannot see each other right now.  Not safe.  Reasons.  Silly Little boy is being a Silly Little.  I would like to cry and pitch a fit until he whacks me across the bottom and sends me to bed early, but it cannot be.  Maybe I will write more here.  I am sad.  :’(. ::naughty Little cries in a corner.::

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"my naked butt pressed against a door of white-hot brimstone, while the Devil himself kicks me with his enormous hooves from the other side."


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I'm sorry to hear you're feeling sad right now and it's okay, don't fight it. It's normal you experience these emotions as these are strange times, especially in situations like you're in, where you can't meet the people you need so much. It is like it is, you can't change it right now. And know that this too shall pass, the lock down will end, and you will be able to meet them, etc. For now just be gentle and kind to yourself and know that we're all in this together! Hang in there! ❤️:hearts:❤️


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