When we were in the sewing room mom said she was glad I'd decided to accept the spanking, not because she wanted to spank me but because she thought I needed a spanking and I'd feel better, and be easier to live with afterwards. She asked if I agreed I needed a spanking, that I deserved a spanking, and I managed to nod and say yes.

She said it was good to know I agreed, "but you knew that, didn't I when you followed me upstairs?"

She said the next little while was not going to be very pleasant for me and the sooner we got started the sooner it would be over. "Let me give my big boy a hug first though." She put her arms out wide, I stepped into them and she gave me such a hug.

We hugged for quite a time knowing I guess, when we let go the next while was not going to be great. Finally she said softly, "alright then." She released me, put a hand on each shoulder as she stepped back a bit, looked at me and said, do you need to use the bathroom? I said, no. She said, are you sure? I could give you something to help if you like? A 'something' to help generally meant a suppository, or a small enema. I'm okay, I said. Mom looked at me and said, I don't want to take a chance. We need to do this right. Come with me.

We went across the hall to the bathroom. Mom fetched a Fleet enema from below the sink, told me to lower my pants and underwear and get ready.

Get ready meant holding onto the edge of the vanity and bending forward. I heard the box open, felt my cheeks being pulled aside and the tip touched.

"Take a deep breath," mom said. I did, and the nozzle slid in. "Ready?" she asked.

Before I could answer she started to firmly squeeze the bottle and I felt the cold enema solution surge in. It was a shock, it always was, and then it was all in and she slid it back out. Mom threw the enema bottle into the waste can and told me I could stand up.

"We'll give that a couple of minutes to work," she said. As I stood there, the chemical in the enema slowly starting to give me a powerful urge to be rid of it, mom again told me she was glad I'd decided to accept the spanking especially as I'd be getting the strap for the first time. She said she'd give it to me just as she got it. Once the spanking with the hairbrush was over I'd get off her knee and then, when we were both ready, I'd get the strap.

I don't know if it was intentional but mention of the strap was a good way to take my mind off the enema starting to churn in my bottom.

She asked if I had any questions. I was very curious about her getting the strap, just as I was about to get it, so when she asked I said, in wonder, much as I had that afternoon, "you got the strap?" It probably wasn't the question she was expecting, but she said, "oh yes, a number of times from your grandmother and when I was your age. I know what that strap is like."

"Is it? Does it?" I tried to ask stammering. She knew what I was asking and said, "yes, Chuck, it hurts. More than the brush. It is supposed to and it does.

That's why it works so well. That's why gran gave it to me and why I'm going to give it to you."

"Will you?" I started to ask and again she knew what I was wanting to know. "Yes. I have to, I'm sorry but there is no sense giving you the strap if I don't do it properly."

Then she asked brightly, "is the enema working?" i said it was and she said, "I expect it is. How about you get rid of it and then join me in my sewing room when you're ready. Okay?"

When I crossed the hall a short while later it was a trip I'd made many times. However, never had I made it so nervously, or so full of anticipation. I entered the room. Mom was sitting in what I thought of as the spanking chair, the brush on her lap. I looked around. No sign of the strap!

"Over here please," mom said pointing to the floor on the right side of the chair. I'd done this too often before, I knew the routine. I stood where told to and mom immediately reached up, opened my pants, pushed them downwards to my knees, said, "these too," and down went my shorts. She picked up the brush from her lap with her right hand and reached up with her left to grasp my left arm. "Over my lap please."

Down and over, my hands, finger tips, on the floor, my legs, constrained by my pants and underwear just below my knees dangled off the other side of the chair with my toes touching the floor. My first thought was that I was taller than the last time I was spanked. My feet then hadn't touched the floor.

My thought was brief. I felt the brush tap lightly on my bottom. Then, it stopped and rested lightly on my bare skin. Mother spoke.

"I'm sorry it's come to this, Chuck. For a long time you've been sullen, and rude and difficult. You have a lesson to learn, and tonight you're going to learn it. Are you ready?"

I always hated that question. It meant it was show time. I said, "I'm sorry."

"I'm sure you are, not half as sorry as you will be soon. I asked, are you ready for your spanking?" I managed to say yes. I expected it would start, but instead she asked another question, "Do you agree you deserve to be spanked?" I said, yes.

Again, it didn't start. She asked, "and you agree you need this?" I said, yes.

There was a pause, and she said, "Alight, I'm going to give you a good spanking, Chuck, and then I'm going to give you the strap. I'm going to strap you hard. I'm sorry, but I have to do this."

I felt the back of the brush rub cool and gentle on my bottom. Then it wasn't there. Mom said, "Hang on dear," and a moment later my bottom burst with the shock of the first spank.