Barb Spanking

Barb Spanking
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I married Jason in the mid 80s, and at the time his son Steven had just turned five years old. Jason’s ex had a big drug problem so he had had custody of the boy since they broke up, when Steven was just two.
I think it was this troubled background which caused Jason to go much easier on Steven than he might have done under any other circumstances, and when we first got married, it felt like I didn’t have the right to interfere or overrule my husband on such matters. I felt sorry for the kid too, which probably didn’t help.
The top and bottom of this was that Steven became an increasingly disruptive influence on our household and our relationship. I bit my lip and stood my ground for a couple of months, then on a phone call to my mom, I unloaded to her about the problems we were having.
“Well, it sounds to me like that little boy needs his bare bottom thoroughly spanking,” Mom said. That surprised me, to be honest – she was never the biggest spanker in the world and I could only remember one such occasion, when she put my little brother across her knee one time. I think I had gotten the odd whack when I was very young but I had been too little to really remember it.
I made some non-committal noises to Mom, but she had planted the seed of thought in my head. The next evening, we had just finished having a sandwich while watching TV (we had been out for a substantial lunch), and I asked my stepson to pick up his plate and bring it into the kitchen for me. He turned around to face me and with a look of defiance, he replied: “Ah, get it yourself.”
Something snapped inside me. I advanced on the boy, saying: “I have had enough of this behaviour. This ends now.” I dragged him over to the couch, where I quickly yanked down his elasticated shorts and briefs in one swift action. Now bare-bottomed and yelling in protest, I put the boy over my knee, lifted his shirt tail clear and with one arm firmly around his waist, I began to spank his bum.
The protests turned quickly to out-and-out crying as I used my hand on his behind, slapping his rear end briskly and hard. Steven’s bum began to redden quickly, but I didn’t stop until that little boy was a mess of tears and his backside and thighs were scarlet.
“Now, get to bed!” I shouted. “I don’t want to see your face down here until the morning, do you understand?” He ran screaming from the room, desperately trying to get his shorts and underpants back up at the same time. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen his private parts, as I bathed him, but he seemed hugely embarrassed by the experience.
For my own part, I felt pretty bad. Jason had a look of shock on his face at having witnessed the punishment, and we didn’t have a lot to say to each other for the rest of the night, but had he said anything, I was ready to defend my position and my actions.
To my relief, in the morning we not only had a chastened boy but actually a very kind and obedient one. Steven came straight up to me in the kitchen and hugged my legs, saying: “I’m sorry, Mommy.” It was the first time he had called me that, and I felt very close to him all of a sudden.
Before getting breakfast, I took him into the lounge and put him on my knee for a few minutes while I cuddled him and explained that I still loved him, but that if he was naughty in future, Mommy would spank.
After about a year, I acquired a hairbrush for spanking his bottom, and the extra sting that produced made sure Steven was always good for me, and we are still incredibly close even today.
All Maman stories are copyright, unauthorised reproduction may lead to legal action.
Maman is an adult website containing recollections of corporal punishment experienced during the contributors' childhoods. By proceeding, you are asserting that you are over the age of majority for the country in which you reside, and you further agree to the use of cookies on this website. Note that although this website contains only legal content, Maman is nevertheless a fetish site and should be considered Not Safe For Work (NSFW). Maman does not advocate corporal punishment for today's children. If you are a minor or likely to be upset by the subject matter, please do not proceed any further.

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Date Posted: 12:07:18 04/20/17 Thu

I live in a fairly small town in the midwest, and, sometimes, I feel like I'm the only gay person in town. The town has only one barber shop: Victor's Barber Shop on Main Street. The shop employs 3 barbers, in addition to the owner. I had once heard somewhere that many gay men were employed in the barber profession. However, all of the barbers at Victor's seemed straight as an arrow. Whenever I got my hair cut there, the barbers would be talking about their wives and kids.

One time, when I went to get a haircut, all the barbers were busy with other customers, except for the owner, Victor, who had never cut my hair before. So, rather than wait until my regular barber was free, I decided to let Victor cut my hair. Victor was in his 40s, about 20 years older than me. He looked as straight as they come. He was not slim, but he wasn't overweight either. He was just built very "solid". I asked Victor about his family, but he said he was a bachelor. Something told me that Victor had been in the military. Perhaps it was because he kept his hair cut really short at a time when most men were letting their hair grow out. Or maybe it was because of his "no-nonsense" attitude. Don't get me wrong. Victor was friendly, but just not all that "chatty". During our conversation, Victor confirmed my suspicion when he revealed that he had spent a fair amount of time in the Army, but, eventually, he decided not to make a career of it. He told me that, after he left the Army, he decided to open up his own barber shop.

After Victor had finished cutting my hair, he asked me if I wanted a shave. Although I usually shave myself, I told Victor to go ahead with the shave. I was kind of intrigued by him, and I thought the shave would give me a little more time to talk with him and learn more about him. Victor had to sharpen his straight razor first. I was facing the mirror on the wall, and, in its reflection, I saw Victor lift up and stretch out the dark brown razor strap that was attached to the side of my chair. Then he ran the straight razor back and forth across the stiff leather of the strap. I told Victor that I had always wondered what those straps were used for. Victor said "That's one use for a razor strap". And I asked Victor, "There are other uses?" And he replied, somewhat hesitantly, "Well, yes, but I thought you'd know about that". Victor was acting kind of strange. I told him to go on. Then, he continued, "Until safety razors became popular, the razor strap was a standard item in most homes. In addition to sharpening their straight razors, razor straps were also used by most fathers to discipline their sons. My own father used a razor strap on me when I had done something wrong". I told Victor that the few times my dad punished me when I was growing up, he used his belt on me, and I didn't think anything could hurt worse than that. Then Victor replied, "Take it from me. A razor strap hurts a lot worse than a belt! They don't even feel the same. When you get punished with a belt, you feel the weight of the belt striking your ass, but when you get punished with a razor strap, you don't feel any weight hitting you. You just suddenly feel this terrible burning pain." Then Victor said, "I can't believe you've missed out on one of life's memorable (if not pleasant) experiences". I told Victor I can't imagine that a belt and a razor strap would feel all that different.

Then Victor lowered his voice so no one else could hear our conversation. "If you're really curious about it, I'll be glad to demonstrate the difference for you. Obviously, I can't do it here in the shop. It would freak out all the customers, but if you come over to my house this evening, I'll be glad to give you a demonstration. I keep a razor strap at home." I took Victor up on his invitation. Somehow, during my conversation with him, I got the suspicion that he might be gay. And I thought that meeting him in private at his place might lead to something interesting.

I arrived at Victor's house about 8 pm. After he invited me in, we both sat down on the couch for a while and talked. Victor suggested to me that, since it was a hot summer evening and we weren't in "mixed company", we'd both be more comfortable if we took off our shirts. So we both removed our shirts and then continued our conversation. After a few minutes, I suddenly realized that Victor's arm was wrapped around my shoulders. I didn't even notice when he did that. I was pretty sure now that Victor was gay, and I "got hard" thinking about where this might lead.

After a while, Victor asked, "Are you ready for that demonstration I promised you?" I said "Yes." Then he said, "I have a few things I want to explain to you first. When you were punished as a kid, your dad was so much bigger and stronger than you that you couldn't escape from the punishment. So, in order to create a similar experience, I'm going to tie you down on my bed so you can't escape from the punishment I'm going to give you. Is that okay with you?" I said "Yes". Victor continued, "When your dad punished you, you had to take the entire whipping no matter how much it hurt. So I'm not going to stop your punishment either until it's completed. Is that okay with you?" And, once again, I said "Yes". Then, he continued, "Lastly, I want to emphasize that the razor strap is going to hurt like hell. So please don't blame me for the pain. Just remember, YOU were the one who wanted to have this experience." I replied, "I promise I won't blame you."

Then Victor said, "I guess you're ready for your punishment. Take off your pants and shoes and lie face-down on the bed!" Victor's stern orders brought back memories of my dad's tone of voice when he was about to punish me with his belt. Victor tied me down securely on the bed with some rope. Then he said, "First, I'm going to give you 20 lashes with my belt." Victor unbuckled his belt and removed it from his pants. Then he doubled it over and began whipping my ass with it. I started crying after only 10 lashes, but Victor continued the punishment until all 20 lashes had been given. Then, after a short respite, Victor said, "Now, I'm going to punish you with the razor strap. You're going to get 20 lashes with it too." Starting with the very first stroke of the razor strap, I yelled at the top of my lungs. I wasn't prepared for the incredible burning sensation that overwhelmed me when that strap struck my butt. By the 6th lash, I was pleading with Victor to stop, but he would have none of that. He said, "I warned you beforehand that you would have to take the full punishment." Each stroke felt like a hot frying pan had been pressed against my butt. My ass felt like it was burning in the fires of Hell! I just screamed and screamed until the whipping was finally over with. I continued crying for a little while after the last stroke.

After I stopped crying, Victor released me from the ropes. I felt so weak after the whipping that I could barely stand up on my own. Victor helped me back to the couch. He took off his pants and sat down first in the middle of the couch. I had never seen a man with such a huge erection before! Victor told me to lie face-down on the couch and put my head in his lap. As I lay down, it was pretty obvious where he wanted me to put my mouth! Victor massaged my sore butt with his right hand while I "feasted" on his manhood. Victor later confided to me that the only time he got such huge erections was when he would punish a young guy like me with his razor strap, hear his horrible screams of agony, and then sadistically watch his desperate, but futile, efforts to escape from the strap.

Just before I left Victor's house, he said, "Now I think you have a pretty good idea what life was like when I was a kid. What do you think of the razor strap now?" I thought about it for a moment and then replied, "I'm only thankful that I didn't have your dad for a father when I was growing up!" We both got a little chuckle from that remark.

I made many more visits to Victor's house after that, sometimes for sex and sometimes just because we enjoyed each other's company. I told Victor that I thought of him almost like a 2nd father, albeit one I could have sex with. Victor liked that idea of being a 2nd father to me, and he took that honorary position very seriously. Just as my real dad had used his belt to keep me on the "straight and narrow" when I was a kid, so there would be times, while I was a young adult, that Victor would find it necessary to "apply" the razor strap to correct my behavior.

For the curious, this story is pure fiction.

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I grew up in the 1980s and 1990s, and while spanking was, I think, still in common practice in my neighborhood, it had already gotten a certain stigma attached to it, mainly from well-intentioned liberals who could not differentiate between abuse and discipline that came from a loving place. My folks were, and are, progressive liberals with strong social consciences, but they also are very old-fashioned in their beliefs on raising kids.
All of us, I am the oldest of four, with a younger sister and two younger brothers, were spanked into our mid-teens. To be clear, our parents were heavily involved in our lives and provided, sometimes at great sacrifice from them, all that we could ask, both materially and emotionally. We were always cared for and knew that we were loved. Equally, they were clear on expectations and consequences, and there was no ambiguity or inconsistency in either.
As I said, the stigma attached to parental spanking meant that it was not discussed in the open and never outside the family. I often felt like I was the only teen in the world who was still getting her bare bottom spanked, and that often felt very lonely and isolating. It was comforting, at least, that I had a set of cousins, the children of my mom’s sister, who also grew up in a spanking household and whose parents shared the same views on it as my parents did.

There were six kids in that house: My cousin, Judith, known as Judi, was a couple months older than me. We were, and are, extremely close and often shared our experiences and feelings on being spanked and were frequent consolers, each of the other. I got my last spanking
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