Owee, owwee, oweee! A date with Mr. Hairbrush…


    This is sex for me now. Me: wiggling, kicking and most of all, humping frantically trying to get the stimulation I need to squirt my impotent seed onto her lap. Her: diligently spanking my reddening bottom with that nasty hairbrush, timing the spanks to keep my humping irregular, keeping me distracted, making me work for my release.

    Eventually, she will let me slip over the edge and have my little orgasm but then she will redouble her efforts and spank away my pleasure leaving me crying, sobbing, and broken. I last longer over her lap than I ever did inside her. I think that is the point, actually.


    This was my nightmare and my dream when I was a young teen boy. I wanted to be spanked though I was never naughty enough to deserve one. Sometimes I would act out a little trying to bait my mother but she never bit. Sometimes she hinted that I needed a spanking but then I would be too afraid to step into the trap.

    I would play spanking games with anyone my age that would play but it wasn’t enough. We just wouldn’t spank hard enough or long enough. I would be achingly erect the whole time. 

    A couple times while getting a play spanking, my penis would start to tingle. It was good but scary and the spanking always ended before “something” happened.

    No, I needed to be held down by mommy on her lap, hard penis pressed between her soft thighs and my soft tummy, spanked long and hard; long enough for that “something” to happen. I needed mommy to make it happen, keep me from chickening out, help me grow up, spank me to my first orgasm, and to many more.

    I dream about what would have been if my first orgasm had been while being spanked my mommy. That scary first time with its conflicting feelings: the sting of her hand on my bottom competing with the tingle just below the tip of my penis, that moment when it feels “too good”, the terror of something coming out that I can’t stop, and then the pleasurable involuntary convulsions of muscles as my squirts are pumped out. At last, release from the tension and obsession that entrapped me leaving me in tears of gratitude, relief, and, of course, pain.

    None of it was a surprise to mommy. She saw my erection, felt it press against her, saw and heard my arousal building, watched and felt me lewdly humping her lap, and wasn’t the least bit surprised when the warm sticky fluid squirted on her thighs. She knew what was happening and encouraged it.

    I dream about a world where mommy would spank me instead of letting me masturbate. A weekly scheduled spanking but also daily inspections of my genitals to be sure that I don’t need a midweek “tune up”. Mommy’s constant attention to my penis, testicles, and bottom. Gentle touching, stroking, and even probing to determine if it is time for a spanking and my associated sticky release.

    Boxers instead of briefs so that persistent erections can spotted and spanked away whenever and wherever they appear. A small paddle tucked into her purse “just in case” a tent in my khakis won’t go away while we are at the mall, church, or visiting family or friends. Just knowing it is there, that relief is just a family bathroom away, that mommy is ready, watching, and caring about her little boy, makes the erection inevitable, its presence obvious, and my need overwhelming. 

    My life lived between painful but satisfying ejaculations over her lap.


    Dear NSPoSB,

             Look, I hate the term “spanko”, but it is widely used to describe a person with very specific experiences. If your partner has a spanking fetish, it’s been with them their entire lives. They probably looked up “spanking” in the dictionary by the time they got to 3rd grade. Then they probably looked it up many times after that, without really understanding why. They might have reread those scenes in the Little House books that featured spankings, or else watched with rapt attention if there was a spanking in a movie. Then, one day, they probably typed “spanking” into whatever search engine was popular at the time (I wonder, did anyone ever ask Jeeves about spanking? Surely they did).

             It can be hard talking about the spanking bug. Here are some things you should know.

    1.     It’s almost impossible to talk about.        

    I don’t think that I am the only spanko who blushes just to hear the words “spank”, “discipline”, “punish”—or anything related. And forget about saying them aloud. Somehow we learn early on as children that we cannot talk about our weird fascination with spanking, and then it becomes a secret that we carry with us for decades. The longer we carry it with us, the harder it is to speak. I didn’t tell a soul until I was 17, and I still can’t talk about it aloud. I can’t even type it if I think that it will be read by someone I know. It’s difficult to communicate what we want and unfair to you. I’m sorry.

    2.    It’s not a sex thing. Except when it is.

    When we tell you we like spanking, you’re probably thinking foreplay. That’s not what we mean. For many of us, spanking is a drive that runs parallel to our sex drive. The spankings that we want can be entirely non-sexual. Many of us look for spankings that are disciplinary or therapeutic in nature. A good spanking is a cure for many things: stress, grouchiness, attitude, sass.

    But spanking and sex aren’t entirely unrelated, either. If we don’t have spankings in our lives, our sex drive plummets. Spankings outside the bedroom can have a very real effect on what happens inside the bedroom, even without a single sexual spanking. Personally, I’d rather live my life without sex than without spanking.

    3.    Spank harder than you think.

    There are a lot of people who are into spanking a little bit—like a couple of smacks on the ass during sex—but spankos want a real spanking. That’s a lot more involved than what normal people want when they say they like being spanked. Spankos want to you take them to a straight-backed armless chair, tip them over your knee, and spank their behind red. And they probably want you to scold them while you do.

    Obviously, this differs depending on the individual. But in general, I know mostly spankos who would much rather get spanked a little too hard than be left feeling unsatisfied. A good way to do this is to start spanking with your hand, not too hard, maybe over their clothes, and progress to spanking their bare behind. Maybe you use a hairbrush or other implement as the spanking reaches its climax.

    Lots of spankos would love to cry from a spanking. Some of us just can’t no matter how painful it is. Some of us (ahem, me) cry from two swats with a paddle. You’ll just have to make your partner tell you their limits. Consider using a safeword if they want to be able to resist the spanking without stopping it.

    NSPoSB, there are so many things that your partner is trying to imply when they say, “I’m into spanking.” I know that I haven’t covered all of them, but I hope it’s a start. Dig deeper into what they mean. Ask them specific questions. Make them answer in writing: it will probably get you more detailed answers. And know that you are doing your partner a huge service by participating in this deeply-rooted need that they have.




    Very well written. I tried my hand at this sort of post many times including this long post on my blog. I appreciate that you kept this short. Brevity is such a gift.

    I like that it isn’t sexual except when it is. I have the opposite sort of reaction where the spanking is totally sexually at first, then after my sexual tension is “resolved”, I need the spanking to be all punishment. It is like my sexual response is heightened knowing that I will be spanked to tears after I am spanked to orgasm.

    Of course, what I like isn’t better or worse that what anyone else wants but goes to your point that when a person says that they are into spanking, that is the start of the conversation, not the end.


    Adolescence is not always easy (poor thing!) So cute though!


    I wrote a story about this picture:https://goodboyspankings.blogspot.com/2020/08/mommy-wanted-girl.html

    The young masculine form in pretty feminine articles being spanked by such a stern maternal figure who looks so certain that she is in the right just intrigued me. The easy answer is that she is upset to find the boy wearing her pretty things. I took a different angle...


    …yes, this is my hairbrush, and no, i’m not going to use it on my hair…


    Take off your pants and underwear, then lie down over my knees and I’ll show you what I’m holding my hairbrush for.


    Summer spankings from mom were always so awkward once I was a teen and was erect as I was pulled across her lap. 


    Bare penis against bare thighs is very intimate but at least I won’t make a stain on her dress during my spanking.


    It was then that feeling she had achieved her purpose, Mrs. Longstrict  mercifully put the paddle down and stood looking at his discolored rear end. His buns and top of tights were hot and swollen scarlet. He was still shook by hiccup crying and his handsome face was contorted in an agonizing grimace covered with tears and snot. She waited few minutes that he calmed down, then she made him rise from her lap.




    He should be given time to cry while still on her lap.


    It is very comforting being allowed to cry-down while over her lap but I think it is more effective to be stood up almost immediately. The rubbery legs, distorted face, urge to rub away the sting, and immodesty of having genitals on display really puts a cherry on top of the whole experience. Rubbing, by the way, is strictly prohibited as is wiping away tears or covering the naughty parts. Nope, freshly punished and utterly in distress with hands at the sides or on the head with fingers interlaced for those with control issues. He should have to recover without the comfort of her touch, cold, alone, and on display. There will be time for cuddles and comfort once he’s calmed down.


    I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness. I want a man lying over me. His will, his pleasure, his desire, his life, his work, his sexuality the touchstone, the command. I will be dominated. I will be pursued, fucked, possessed by the will of a man at his time and bidding.


    Hear you. Though autonomous, empowered, capable, and free, you want this, need this, choose this, and are this. It is a statement of your power and identity that you can submit to the right person. Either for a time or for as part of a lifestyle, it is your strength in submission that makes you beautiful, desirable, and sexy.

    Best to you and I hope you find the man of your dreams that makes you the woman of his.


    That look of skeptical confidence terrifies me. She could be measuring me up trying to decide if this is about to be a mistake. I can answer the question for her: yes, she chose the wrong lover today. Unlike her natural hair, I keep my pubic hair shaved completely hoping against hope that lack of undergrowth hiding my length will give me a little more to work with.

    She isn't buying it. Compared to her maturity, I appear as a nervous teenager. Even without stimulation, my bald skinny erection throbs at the possibility that he may penetrate her warmth.

    I should just call it off. Leave her disappointed but not despoiled. Surely she suspects I won’t have the staying power to satisfy her. Not only that, the eager little boy before her won’t have the skill or patience to provide her with the necessary foreplay, romance, and love making.

    The look will change to compassion, sympathy, and maternal understanding. She will concede to feeling sorry for the man-boy before her, spread her legs, and allow me premature entrée.

    It will end like it did that first time in high school and nearly every time since then: clumsy poking at her sex with my inexperienced penis as my hips buck instinctively, me clinging to her in a tight embrace of desperation, the awful realization that the edge is past before penetration was achieved, the convulsions of pleasure mixed with panic, the brief orgasm before the shame washes over me again, and, of course, my ejaculation pouring onto her lush pubic hair.

    Then the apology, the tears, the overwhelming shame, and the need to hide. She will change from lover to mother. I will cling to her like a child and she will abandon her sexual needs to fulfill her maternal instinct. My penis will soften quickly and then remain nestled against her semen coated sex.

    There is no right answer. My charm persuaded her to give me a chance as a lover. It was a lie. I looked stylish, intelligent, clever. It was a man costume on a selfish little boy.

    This little boy doesn’t deserve the understanding of the woman he disappointed, he deserves her wrath. One day I will find “her”: the woman that studies me with those confident skeptical eyes who won’t feel sorry for me after I fail her, who will take me to task, who will demand satisfaction, and who will make little Johnny perform like a man.

    His seconds of fumbling foreplay will not be forgiven. His rutting while clinging to her body will not be seen as cute or even complimentary (”so beautiful I couldn’t help myself”) but for what it is: selfish. And, of course, I will not be forgiven for leaving her sticky and frustrated; I will taken to task.

    She will treat me like a child even as she makes me a responsible man. Spanking me to tears before my face is forced between her thighs to deliver on the implicit promises made. Then I will find the motherly love I both crave and deserve. I will cling to her because she corrects rather than comforts. She will teach me painful lessons. She will make me a man.


    …a summer of fun!…

    original caption by this time i want you to


    My wife let me wear some pretty panties during my last spanking and it was awesome. I felt super embarrassed asking if I could but she thought I looked “cute” and seemed amused. It was really sweet of her to be so understanding. I was also surprised how little protection they provided.

    The first spanking was over the panties. I was bent over some pillows and she spanked me with a long wood paddle. Then I got sent to do a chore (laundry I think) wearing the panties. I felt embarrassed and it was delicious. Even my little turgidly erect penis was making me tent out the lacy material. My testicles kept trying to escape out the leg holes but since I was so aroused, my scrotum was helping to keep them packaged up and contained in the panties. The lacy tickled my glands and I was leaking pre-cum that was making a mess.

    I had the panties pulled down around my thighs for the second spanking as I leaned against the side of the bed. It was a breathtakingly hard spanking and I was shaking as I pulled my panties back up afterwards. It felt so silly to even keep them on at all; I am usually naked during my whole spanking time (unless I am sent out on an errand or we break for a dinner at a restaurant).

    The panties were making me feel especially naughty and embarrassed. The contrast between the feminine fabric, design, and shape around my clearly masculine genitals was jarring. It felt like I was being kept on display; the naughtiness of my inappropriate erection straining for release seemed even more prominent and emphasized than if I was completely naked.

    She spanked me over her lap last. I had the sticky panties in my hand for this spanking. She let me squirm and hump until I was begging for release. Of course, she denied me and warned me that if I disobeyed, she would spank me with the hairbrush until I was very sorry.

    I always am super naughty and begged her to not spank me with the hairbrush just this one time. Even before I started squirting, she switched to the hairbrush from the wood spoon. My little orgasm was cut short by the raining fire on my bottom. I love that feeling of trying so hard to squirt, so hard to keep it in, and when it finally escapes, trying so hard to enjoy it before the fire burns it out.

    As usual, my little deposit was squirted into my special towels. My only regret was that I hadn’t put the panties under my pee-pee, squirted in them, and then put them back on after my spanking was over. I am always disappointed that after being super naughty, the evidence is just washed out. I feel like I should have to wear my stickies while my red bottom burns, stings, tingles, and recovers.

    It is like when we have sex, she always has to deal with my stickies leaking out, getting on her panties, and reminding her of her selfish husband and his needy little penis. I feel like this is my opportunity to suffer this same indignity. I shouldn’t just wipe myself off; I should have to sit in my shame, feel it leak between my burning cheeks, and feel the stickies on my fingers when I pee.

    Next time...


    Sometimes these things simply have to be done straight away!


    Why not both? I love idea of being escorted to the “family” bathroom at the mall  or a changing room in the department store for a quick moment of correction but knowing that when we get home, she will finish the job with the complete and thorough spanking ritual.

    Though of course there is something just precious about the only semi-private sounds of a grown man being given an improvised spanking and his tear stain blushing face when he sees those that heard the ordeal, but that ominous warning of “when we get home” just hangs in the air for him and everyone to hear and ponder.

    Then, of course, the drive home, the hope that she will relent, the soul crushing instructions as they pull into the driveway of how he should prepare, and at last, the ritual of a long humiliating and painful “proper” spanking that leaves him crying real tears of sorrow and remorse.


    I’ve almost bought a paddle like that many times. Always chickened out. it is just so perfectly the right size to punish one cheek at a time. So much focused energy could create a breathtaking sting.

    A bath brush is almost the same size but just a little too big. The energy dissipates over too much area. Slightly smaller and with that innocent looking little hole, surely that is an instrument that would create ring of fire.

    The idea of a severe instrument she could use to spank me is fascinating to me but ultimately not necessary. She doesn’t need a powerful implement to make me wiggle, hump, dance, and cry. A wood spoon, mommy hairbrush, or even that bath brush that I don’t think hurts too bad will do the trick.

    See, when I am over her lap, I am a naughty little boy getting a spanking for something silly, stupid, and naughty. It won’t take much to make me the sorriest little boy ever.

    Who am I kidding? It isn’t like she needs something extra severe to spank me. She can make her little boy cry with so little. I’d like to be a big man but I’m not. No, I’ll just bring her a sturdy wooden spoon and she will get the job done.