Stepmom Spanking

Stepmom 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.
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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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Mom spanked by Daughter Published: Aug 16, 2020
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My name is Elle and my Mom an arrogant blonde who was beautiful when young, did not want me between her feet and gave me many punishments especially spanking.
Last night I surprised this bitch cow with her lover, who is my dad's best friend !!!!
The old slut wants to buy my silence.....ok but only on condition of having my revenge with interests, every day after breakfast 15 minutes of spanking on the beautiful big ass of my mother, this blonde big cow !
After the first day this Slut began to feel pleasure and to ask me more daily sessions, I did not repeat it...... we're both happy !!!!
Very nice spanking outfit.I love the otk positioning and the spanking hand.well done.Thanks

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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 at 16 1/2, but Judi was still getting them as a high school senior. Judi is actually my uncle’s niece. My aunt and uncle took her in when she was 8 or 9 and formally adopted her when she was 10 (long story). She grew up in that house and thinks of my aunt and uncle as her parents. The oldest of my aunt and uncle’s biological kids are twins, Jackson and Jordan, two years younger than Judi, followed closely by Julia, a year younger, and Jason, a year younger than Julia. My aunt and uncle later added another boy, Jeremiah, who is about 5 years younger than Jason.
Like my mom, my aunt was a first-response spanker. Though she tended to let more things slide than my mom did, probably because of the sheer number of kids there, spankings were not rare there, and, unlike my house, were always done in the open in front of whatever family happened to be there. With the exception of the youngest boy, I’d seen each of my cousins on the receiving end at least once, bent over getting the paddle applied to their bare bottoms. My aunt also believed in ‘while you are a guest here, I expect you to follow the rules’ and I had found myself in that bent-over position a handful of times when I stayed there over the years.
When this recollection took place, I was 18, already married, and living with my husband in a studio apartment over my in-laws’ garage. My mom called me on a Friday and asked if I wanted to spend the weekend at her house. My husband was in the Reserves and was away on some training exercise. At first, I thought she wanted to offer me some company so I wouldn’t be all by myself, and while that may have been in true in part, I came to find out she was watching three of my cousins that weekend, in addition to my youngest brother, so perhaps she may also have been looking for reinforcements.
The twins, who were around 15, were on a travel hockey team and my aunt and uncle were chaperones at some tournament taking place over the border in Canada. My dad was there too, because the older of my younger brothers was on a team in a different age division. My sister was on a sleepover, so that left my brother Patrick, who was 10, Julia, who was 14, Jason, who was 13, and Jeremiah, who was 8, for my mother to corral.
The evening started out well. Though I was not of legal age, mom let me drink while I was there, and I was enjoying some sparkling wine. Mom was making pasta with meatballs, a favourite of the kids. My little brother seemed to be enjoying having Jeremiah around, maybe because it meant he was not the youngest for a change.
That left Julia and Jason. Julia was in the midst of her young teen girl ennui and everything in her body language, tone and expression said she wanted to be anywhere else but where she was. I tried to engage her, but the monosyllabic responses I was getting caused me to throw in the towel. Jason was always moody and sullen, even on a good day, and his mood that night was apparently compounded because he was missing out on some outing with his school buddies. His face was planted into the screen of the Gameboy he brought with him and he barely acknowledged anyone else’s existence.
My mom called everyone down for dinner around 5. And while Patrick and Jeremiah were eager eaters and answered the bell the first time, it took some additional cajoling to get Julia and Jason to the kitchen table. Julia was playing the ‘I’m not hungry’ card and asked to be excused. Mom was being unusually patient, but shot down the request with a terse: “No. If you don’t want to eat, fine, but you can stay here until we have.” That engendered a huff and some mumbles that, again, mom let pass, although I could sense her growing agitation.
Perhaps as a passive aggressive way to get herself away from the table, Julia started fussing with Jason, whom she was seated next to. First, she said she wanted the Gameboy after dinner. That started an argument over what their mom had said about sharing it. My mom refereed that one, and the table fell silent for a few moments.
Then Julia piped up that Jason was kicking her under the table. Jason said he wasn’t. Then Julia told Jason to move over and stop crowding her, punctuating the request with an elbow to Jason’s ribs. Mom intervened again, telling them both to knock it off and settle down.
The snipping and sniping kept up in muted tones for a few more minutes before erupting again when Julia shrieked: “STOP KICKING ME!” and thrust another elbow into Jason. He, in turn, slapped her forearm and she made the move to slap him back. Their voices were raised and there were several words used by both that definitely were not table appropriate.
I can’t say for sure exactly what happened next, but in the scrum that ensued, someone’s hand made contact with the glass milk pitcher on the table, tipping it over onto a porcelain salad bowl. The collision broke the handle of the pitcher, put a significant chip in the bowl, sent salad flying and sent a gusher of milk spilling across the table. Mom jumped up and shooed everyone away from the table in case there was any broken glass. Then, very calmly, she took command of the clean-up, dispatching me for paper towels, clearing away broken dishes and inspecting floor and table for any stray shards. Satisfied, she turned her attention to Julia and Jason, who were standing a few feet away against a wall.
To say their demeanors had changed would be mass understatement. The petulance and sullenness had been replaced by shock and fear. Julia, especially, was trembling and there were tears in her eyes. Mom pointed at her.
“I want you to go upstairs to the closet in the hall and bring down the paddle that’s in there,” she said.
Julia dissolved into sobs and began begging forgiveness.
“It’s too late for that, young lady. I warned you both and now there are going to be consequences.”
She turned to Jason and told him to take one of the kitchen chairs and place it in the middle of the room. Julia returned moments with the paddle, a firm plywood ping-pong paddle that had the rubber removed from one side which had then been sanded and varnished. Julia shakily handed over the paddle to mom.
Mom sat in the chair and had Julia and Jason stand side by side. By this time, the other boys and I had returned to the table and were about 6 feet from where Julia and Jason stood. My mother waved the paddle at both.
“I warned you both. Get those down,” she said, pointing at the sweatpants both were wearing. Now, just as in my house, every spanking at my aunt’s house was given on a bare bottom. Being told to take down pants meant both pants and underwear. It was implicit.
Jason made a sour look, but knew protest was futile and made short work of hiking down sweatpants and boxer briefs to his knees in one motion. Julia, meantime, had dissolved into a fresh set of tears. She gingerly lowered her sweatpants to mid-thigh but stood almost paralyzed in her blue cotton panties with yellow butterflies.
“Quit stalling,” mom snapped, eliciting more crying.
Finally, Julia nervously and slowly shucked down her panties so they joined her pants. Instinctively, she covered her front side with her hands, but mom rebuked her.
Jason and Julia stood to mom’s right, hands at side and heads down, avoiding eye contact.
“Look at me,” mom snapped. “Get your heads up so I can look you in the eye.”
With that, the pre-spanking lecture began in earnest, an event that always seemed longer to me when I was a feature player and not just a spectator. My own experience with mom’s lengthy and elaborate spanking routine had found this part to be the worst of the whole ordeal, even beyond the physical discomfort of the pending spanking. The pre-spanking lecture while you stood there exposed was the ultimate in embarrassment, especially on those o
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