The Story Of A Boy And His Bottom
I was probably six or seven when I knowingly found myself profoundly attracted to the idea of children having their pants pulled down for bare bottom spankings across the parental lap. The notion of a child's buttocks commanding such intimate and exclusive attention truly fascinated me. As it happened, I was never actually punished in this manner, but it wasn't for lack of deserving to be spanked. My mother had nursed her own spanking desires as a young girl. She consciously suppressed them, and when she eventually discovered my boyhood preoccupation with ritualistic bottom warming (my stories and drawings weren't always as carefully tucked away as they might've been), I think she had real qualms about spanking me.
Both my mother and my oldest sister had no problem threatening me with spankings. Each of them left me imagining having my bottom bared and smacked over-the-knee. But instead of getting even a single disciplinary spanking that might've significantly dampened my enthusiasm for the act, I was constantly 'taken to the edge' and 'teased' with the prospect - nothing more. Oh sure, I did get the occasional whack on the seat of my pants, but an honest-to-goodness spanking simply wasn't destined to be part of my childhood experience.
When I was ten, I once traded mock bare bottom paddlings in a classmate's basement. He had a Ping-Pong table, and one afternoon we took turns lying bare-bottomed over the other person's lap for an extremely mild spanking with one of the paddles. I'm not sure why we shied away from inflicting any discomfort. Somehow, playing out the parental spanking ritual was all that mattered to us. I certainly have a vivid recollection of seeing my friend's bare bumcheeks exquisitely framed and positioned on my lap. You'll never convince me that the most ardent proponents of parental spanking don't have a vested interest in retaining the right to redden a naked backside in the 'time-honoured' fashion. There's no mystery to anyone's passion for spanking, be it dominant, submissive, or both.
By the time I was 13, I was spanking myself. Bathrooms and bedrooms were the settings of choice. If at all possible, I wanted to be able to see and admire my bottom at all stages of the proceedings. This became rather involved when I wanted to approximate the experience of being over someone's lap. I loved the look of my smooth, well-rounded behind, and my visual appetite wasn't always so easily satisfied. The more that mirrors could be positioned to suit my naughty needs, the happier I was.
The hot, stinging redness of a soundly spanked bottom has always been an incomparable turn-on for me! My parents' bedroom afforded the most reliable arrangement for mirrors to let me feast on the sight of my jiggling buttocks and upper thighs turning the colour of strawberry ice cream from being vigorously paddled and/or strapped. And once I'd exhausted my bottom's capacity to be stung, now came my reward for being such a wicked, wicked boy!
A supply of skin lotion was a must (and still is) if a spanking session were to be thoroughly satisfying. My rosy red bottom and thighs were always framed by my clothing in order to highlight their bareness. Mmmm, and the stinging can be so incredibly delicious! Very early on in my spanking/masturbation career, I realized how heavenly it was to drink in the sight of my spank-reddened buttocks and thighs while my left hand generously applied the cool, creamy lotion over every inch of the punished curves and crevices.
Meantime, of course, my right hand was rubbing skin cream all up and down my stiffened, pulsating penis. Believe me, you'll never hear me complain about having been circumcised. My cock is in love with spanking!!! It would sometimes get to where I could deliberately back off from an orgasm just to prolong the fabulous sensations - but never for long! The pay-off was just too tempting! :)
All through my teens and my twenties, I was continually plagued by post-masturbation guilt. Spanking books and magazines were routinely thrown out, often after having been torn in half. The shelf life of a given item of spanking erotica in my possession was distinctly brief. With or without an actual spanking, I'd read the stories and letters, look at the pictures, masturbate - and promptly condemn myself for being so deviant and perverse. Spanking was supposed to be a parental punishment. What right did I have to derive pleasure from it?!
But the thing was, I'd throw out the material evidence of my wickedness in a grand gesture of repentance - and within a few hours, I was once again hungering for more descriptions and pictures of naughty bottoms being spanked. If I couldn't salvage the discarded book or magazine, I'd buy another one. I have managed to maintain a modest collection of spanking erotica over the years, but nothing like what I would've had if I hadn't been so torn by feelings of sinfulness.
I was married for a while, and I'm willing to credit my ex-wife with helping to revamp my attitude as a spanking addict. She didn't want me throwing out any more erotica. It wasn't exactly her passion, but she believed I had a right to like what I liked. And over time, she grew to enjoy pulling down my pants and taking me over her lap for paddlings that, while being playful and stimulating, were never as hard as those I administered to myself.
I've subsequently had numerous sessions with spanking mistresses. With the encouragement of my latest maternal disciplinarian, I tried to masturbate in front of her after she'd spanked me. For one reason or another, it didn't work. The arrangement of mirrors wasn't ideal, and it quickly became a self-conscious exercise in futility. I'd genuinely wanted to 'perform' for this woman who spanks me so wonderfully, but it was like I was watching myself trying so desperately to ejaculate; the mental block was ultimately too big to overcome. She didn't want me to feel badly about it, but I did. Masturbating has always been a very private habit for me - even when I've done it outdoors and in my workplace - and I felt like I'd failed both of us.
Seeing and/or feeling my bare bottom remains one of the key elements of my masturbation routine. If I'm sitting at my computer and my penis lets me know that it's 'available for duty' (meaning that I've either got a quality spanking image or a particularly arousing body of spanking text on the screen, and jerking off would be kind of a nice thing to do right about then), I get a tee-shirt to hang on the appropriate drawer of my desk, I pull down my pants, and I sit on my cushioned chair with the palm of my left hand pressed against the middle of my bumcheeks. Oh, I forgot; I've also carefully placed a jar of skin lotion next to my mouse. Get the picture? :)
Self-condemnation isn't part of my spanking/masturbation habit anymore. It was for many years, but the fact is that spanking is as much a part of me as my name or my blood type. The best times are when it feels so absolutely delightful that I find myself laughing after I've come. :) Masturbation works best for me when I sort of spread out the indulgences. I squirt more when I've been saving it up for a while! ;-)