Thursday, October 9, 2008

Visiting "Momma"

This is an oldie - something I wrote about 10 years ago. This is about a visit with a woman who was sort of a surrogate mother for me for awhile. This is a true story, with a touch of embellishment thrown in here and there for better reading. I never called this woman "Momma" in real life, but it made for a better telling of the story.

I stand in the middle of the yard, my head back, looking up at the stars. You just don't see stars like this in the city. The sky is dark and clear, not that hazy darkness like I have grown up seeing in the city. The stars shine brightly. I can actually see the different colors in them. Some are white, some are yellow, and some even look orange. I've never seen an orange star before. I think about how it takes millions of years for the light of those stars to reach us. And I wonder if someone somewhere is standing in a yard millions of light years away, looking up at their sky, seeing the light from our sun as a small speck of light.

My thoughts are interrupted by Momma's voice calling me to come inside. She is not the mother who gave birth to me, or the mother who raised me. But she is the mother who loves me as her own. I smile to myself, "In a minute, Momma," I call back. I could never have said that to my real mother, and I say it now not to be defiant, but just because I can and know that she will still love me. I take one last sweeping look at the sky, and head inside.

I know why she is calling me in. It is the reason I am here with her this weekend instead of at my home in the city. I am going to be spanked. I am strangely comforted by this thought, although I am a little scared as well. I don't like it when Momma has to spank me. But she does it because she loves me. She loves me enough to blister my bottom when I need it, even though it hurts her to do it.

I'm going to get a few spankings this weekend. Like Momma says, I am used to being a rule breaker instead of a rule follower. The last time I visited her, she told me to call her when I got home so she would know I got there safely. I forgot to call and she worried about me. That's what the spanking I'm about to get is for. She is going to send a message to my brain, by way of my butt, to remember to do what I'm told.

Momma and I go into her bedroom, where she is going to spank me. She sits on the bed and I stand facing her as she lectures me about not calling. She tells me she asked me to call because she cares, and that she was worried when I didn't because she didn't know if something had happened to me. This is the second time hearing this particular lecture. The first was when she called me that night to make sure I was okay. But now, when I am about to feel the sting of her paddle on my bare bottom, the message sinks in a little more clearly. In a minute, it will become clearer still.

When the lecture is over, she stops and looks at me. "I don't spank jeans, Jessie," she says. The knot that has been growing in my stomach during the lecture grows even more as I unbutton and unzip my jeans. I push them and my panties over my hips and down almost to my knees, and I lie over the bed beside her, my toes on the floor.

This is not my first spanking of the day, and my bottom is already a little tender. Since Momma and I don't live too close together, I get all the spankings I've earned since the last visit all in one weekend. My bottom is more tender with each spanking, and it makes each successive one just that much more effective. I guess that's good. I have a pretty tough bottom, and the effects of just one spanking wear off pretty quickly for me. But when I get several in just a couple of days, well, then it lasts longer, and I remember the lessons every time I sit down for awhile.

I make myself as comfortable as I can lying there on the bed, but I won't be comfortable for long. Momma's paddle comes down across my bottom, and I jump. I am always surprised by how much that thin little paddle stings. It comes down again and again, sometimes alternating between one cheek and the other, sometimes several swats in a row landing in the same spot. I start to squirm as the sting builds up into a fire. I squeeze my hands into fists, gripping the blanket to keep myself from trying to reach for my bottom.

Momma continues her lecture as she spanks me. "You will call me when you are told to. You will not worry me like that again." She accents each syllable of this question with a particularly hard smack of the paddle.

"Yes, Ma'am," I gasp.

She continues the smack per syllable rhythm on my bottom as she tells me one more time how worried she was and that she is spanking me because she cares.

She stops spanking me for a moment. I am surprised to find that the fire continues to build in my backside even though she's not spanking me. "Why am I spanking you?" she asks me.

"Because I didn't call when I was supposed to and I worried you," I answer.


"Because you care about me."

"That's right." She continues the spanking, delivering one stinging smack after another to my bottom. I didn't think the fire could get any hotter, but it is. It hurts more and more with every smack. Tears begin to well up in my eyes, and I finally let them go. I am not crying so much from the pain in my bottom as I am from the emotion. I have had spankings that were far worse than this and not shed a tear. But with Momma, I don't have to prove how tough I am or how much I can take. There is genuine emotion in this for both of us, and that is what allows me to cry now. Momma keeps spanking me for another minute or so, to make sure she drives the point home.

And then it is over. I like here for a moment and just cry, my face buried in the blanket. Momma reaches over and rubs my shoulder. "You're my good girl, Jessie," she says to me. "I don't like spanking you, but you need it. And I won't hesitate to do it every time you need it. Understand?"

I look at her and nod, still too filled with emotion and tears to speak. She motions for me move closer. I do, and she holds me in her arms as my tears begin to dry. I feel so safe with her arms around me. So loved. And even though I'm a 28 year old woman lying here in Momma's arms, I feel all of about 8. And in a way, I guess I am. I'm growing up again, but this time with the strict but loving discipline I wanted all along.


Anonymous said...

This post took my breath away. Nice piece of writing.

Jess said...

Thank you so much!

slowsong said...

A lovely memory - I love the letting go into punishment and then the lovely warm acceptance when it's over

Anonymous said...

What a great story! Very powerful, thanks for sharing!!

slowsong said...
A lovely memory - I love the letting go into punishment and then the lovely warm acceptance when it's over

I couldn't agree more!!