Then the brush began to come down, right on my utterly too-thin-to-help panties, and I began to scream. For the first time in my life, I got a true bottom tanning. The brush continued to talk well past the point that I myself could even verbalise. My mom was spanking me well past the point of crying; she was going for hysterical. She was trying to make sure I never sat comfortably again, or so it seemed at the time. I had been working up to the description of how my dad used to “discipline” my brothers and me when we were kids. Every relationship I’d ever been in, some version of this conversation would crop up. I would have to explain the deep wound I carry from my father (and to some degree, my mother) without painting him as a monster, and especially without using the “A” word. After all, I wasn’t an abused kid. I knew what “abusive fathers” looked like — from TV and books, anyway — and my dad didn’t act like that. My dad was clean and sober, stern but loving, the very model of a Baptist preacher. He never raised a hand to my mother, and he certainly, it seemed obvious to me, did not beat his kids. We walked with bowed heads to the bench and sat down. “She’s going to spank us,” said Kristie. “Yup, definitely,” Denise answered. I sat there not knowing what to expect. I had been wanting this spanking for weeks, but now that it might actually happen – and even take place in a public park – I was feeling a twinge in my stomach.

In truth, the seed of that violence germinates in me as well. Anyone who has known me with any level of intimacy can tell you the difficulty I’ve had with managing and modulating my emotions. Every time I feel silenced or shut down, the trapped panic sets in — the panic of a girl whose feelings were never allowed a fair hearing. Every time I feel anger rising in my chest, I relive the white-hot nightmare my father inflicted on me, and it’s that heat that scorches anyone near me. Every day, as a parent, as a friend, as a lover, I struggle to avoid becoming the raging beast of my father or the cold spectre of my mother. Every day, I try to live in open-hearted empathy. Some days, I fail. Others, I succeed. When Denise’s spanking was over and she returned to the spot where she had been standing, Kate looked at me and said: “Your turn, young man.” I was standing about 10ft away, but the walk to that bench felt like one of those dreams in which you are walking toward a destination but never get any closer to it. My head was spinning – I felt scared, embarrassed, and exhilarated, all at the same time. I was so chuffed to see my first story published on Maman, I thought I’d strike while the iron was hot and the memories fresh – so here is what happened next! My mum has a regular line she uses: “You were such a cheeky, funny, handsome, naughty little boy – how did it go so wrong?” Thanks, Mum!Tom stayed for tea. I sat uncomfortably. Mum caught my eye on and off and smiled knowingly. Dad came home and asked me how my day had been. I told him it had been the best birthday ever – which was true. In the end, it was abuse. It can be justified if the child lives a functional life, but I don’t think the extreme fear and trauma I got really helped me. It also ruined my relationship with my father for decades afterward. Danny, we need to talk." she said in her quiet voice. "Not now, at the commercial, and for the last time, CALL ME DAN!!!" was my polite response to her. When the commercial came on, she resumed. "Dan, we need to talk." I could feel the swats to my rear. I had my underpants for cover though. I was determined not to let her get the best of me. I just lay still and let her spank me. After a few minutes, however my rear was starting to feel a little warm. I didn't like the feeling at all and started to squirm. A few minutes later the swats stopped. 'That wasn't bad. I can handle this' I thought. I moved to get up, but was pushed down again. I could hear the firm voice of my aunt.

M-Mommy!" The older of the two, Ashley, shouted as she jumped up. She didn't even have time to think up a good story. Little Rebecca was too scared to say even that much. I also remember Mom looking at my butt. I caught a glance in her mirror and my left thigh had a pretty clear bruise. Before I thought much else, her hands were suddenly whisking down my yellow undies to join my jeans, and my right cheek was also clearly showing the results of the punishment. 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.Bikini Brittany is queen of the stepmom OnlyFans genre. She loves to sext and chat via video, and she enjoys sharing her gorgeous body in daily pics and videos. One of her favorite things to do is making custom content that is personalized for her fans.