When Momma Taught Cindy A Lesson

When Momma Taught Cindy A Lesson

by Hittite


In the hot summer, Momma would sit on the back porch with her friends. We would play in the backyard with her friend’s children. Momma, watching from a distance would drink lemonade or soda and relax.

She and her friend would discuss all kinds of things as they sat on the wicker chairs, in the hot summer. They would brag about their kids’ grades, they would compare gossip about local people in town.


They would even sometimes broach politics and religion.

We would be lost in our fantasies of cops and robbers, pirates and sailors, and all kinds of

cartoon TV inspired fantasies. While we forgot that there watching eyes were up on the porch, they never forgot that we were there as they talked and relaxed in the heat.

As the loving mothers they were, their eyes, like eagles rolled in their sockets over to us. They wanted to make sure we were safe as we played in the summer heat, shaded by the back yard.

While their conversations were distracting them a bit, they were never unaware of where we were and what we were doing. It was the kind of thing that would anger us as teens like nothing else.

On this particular afternoon, Cindy who was my age, 9, and her younger brother Steve, were playing with me. My older brother was at summer camp, his first year as a boy scout.


Cindy had a certain quality to her. She was smart and friendly, like I was as a nine year old, but she had a dark part of her. Sometimes I noticed that when were playing she would get us into mischief. It was never anything dangerous, just things that would result in us getting in trouble.

When she got in trouble, often the rest of us neighborhood kids along with her, it gave her a mild, dark happiness.

Cindy never wanted to hurt anybody, but on some level she loved getting in trouble and getting punished. It gave her a thrill to break the rules, and furthermore, to get caught. In her mind, it was a kind of psychological cat and mouse she liked to play with her parents, and her teachers at school.

For example, when I first visited her at her house, she showed all of us how easy it was to climb out of her bedroom window, into the front yard below. Of course, her Mom saw us and announced:

“Cindy! Why are you leading the other kids in doing something I’ve told you a hundred times not to do!”

Cindy was sent to her room, as her mother fetched a wooden spoon from the kitchen.

Luckily it was Cindy who got spanked, not us, as we didn’t know she was leading us into breaking the rules.

Even still, all the kids who had been over to play were frozen with fear when we saw her mom smacking the wooden spoon against her hand as she walked back to the bedroom.

But as Cindy had walked to her bedroom, with a spanking impending, she had a smart-alecky smile on her face. After the whacks ended from down the hall, and the screaming sobs of Cindy ended as well, she rejoined the neighborhood kids, as if nothing had happened. She did, however, seem a bit happier, as if she had planned the whole thing from the beginning.


On that summer afternoon, as our mother’s eyes looked on, we played.

At church we had just learned about Noah’s Ark, and together we were pretending to be donkeys, sheep, and other animals that had gathered on the mythical ancient vessel that even parents believed actually existed.

It seemed Cindy had an addition to the game this time.

“I think Noah would want all the animals and people to be on the Ark so they didn’t get flooded. He cared about them, and for their safety he had to be very strict, with the flood coming.”

Cindy announced. Cindy’s brother rolled his eyes, as if he knew where this was going.

“I bet Noah would give a spanking to whomever wasn’t on the Ark quick enough.” Cindy announced with great enthusiasm, as if it was the most exciting thing.

“Let’s have a race from the one side of the yard, to the swingset, and whomever is last will get spanked for not being on the Ark!”

Of course, deep down, each of us though this plan was kind of silly. Why play a game that involved the loser getting spanked?

But none of us wanted to look like cowards. So, we raced across the yard.

As it happened, I was last.

Cindy was excited about this, as she announced, suddenly the self-proclaimed Noah “Alright, I have to spank you for not being on the Ark. It’s for your own safety! It’s because I care about you! You’ll thank me for this someday!”

Cindy continued to rattle on all the things she had been told before feeling the sting of her mother’s wooden spoon, or her father’s thick leather belt.

I stood somewhat confused. Cindy was much shorter than I was. Did she want me to go over her knee? Was this going to be a play spanking, or was it actually going to hurt?

“Bend over!” She announced with a triumphant smile.

But then, everything stopped as she and I were picked up from behind.


Cindy’s mother and Momma both lifted us in the air to get out attention, and then sat us down again.

Momma, the calmest, spoke first.

“What are you kids doing?”

I froze, kind of nervous, knowing that I could possibly be getting in big trouble, very soon. I stuttered for words.

But it seemed that Cindy did not.

“We had a race, and whoever lost would get a spanking for not being on the Ark.”

Cindy’s mother looked as if she were about to start yelling from frustration. My Momma held up her hand to silence her.

“Cindy, spanking is something that Mommies and Daddies do their children to help them grow and learn right from wrong. You can’t spank other kids, Cindy. What made you think that?”

“Anybody can spank anybody who breaks a rule …” She began spouting as if full of anger.

Momma sighed.

“I think all the kids here need a good spanking to remind them that Mommies and Daddies can spank, but kids can never spank other kids.”

I froze, once again.

“I’ll go get my wooden spoon!” Screamed Cindy’s mother in a fit of rage, as if triumphant.

“No, Judy.” Said Momma. “I’m the Momma here, and I’ll give out the spankings. Just like if my boys are at your place, you can do the same. We’re spanking so they know who is allowed to spank, and who isn’t.”

Cindy’s mother sighed, but followed the logic.

Momma spoke with calm.

“Alright, I want you kids to line up from tallest to shortest. I’m going to spank each of you, because I’m the Momma in this house, and only I and the Daddy can spank. Understood?”

We all nodded with disapproval and dread.

I was tallest, so I soon found myself across Momma’s lap. The cotton dress over top of her thighs was warm, having been heated in the summer heat. I felt almost relaxed as I lay there.

I felt her pull my overalls down.

It wasn’t a very hard spanking. Her hand slapped me just enough to give my bottom a bright red tinge, and make me cry out a few times. Oddly enough, when I stood up I didn’t even have tears in my eyes.

Cindy was next, however.

As I pulled up my overalls, and went to go sit on the porch, I saw that Momma did not give Cindy the same leniency. Cindy’s mother looked on in approval, as the maternal arms threw their weight into endless firm, stinging slaps on a nine year old bottom.

“You will never … hit another child in my yard … again. Only grown ups can spank kids. Never will you ever … ever … Ever … try to do my job for me. I am the Momma … You are a kid … You will obey … I will spank! Only I will!”

Momma threw her arms into it as if she were ready to give herself a heart attack.

Cindy screamed and cried as her bottom continued to receive a pounding from my Mother’s firm arm. Swat after swat landed on Cindy’s bottom.

“I learned my lesson Mrs. Peterson! I’ll never do it again! Never! Never! Never!”

Momma enjoyed it, on some level. I think she had caught wind of the “bad girl” tones in Cindy’s character. She was hoping to spank them right out, as she had longed to do for a long time.

When finally Cindy stood up, she hardly had the satisfied look she had after other spankings. She looked as if she had been defeated. Her will had been broken, by a Momma who had much experience, still taking a belt to my teenaged older brother from time to time.


Her little brother got a mild spanking, kind of like the one she gave me. It hurt, but it was not a cathartic torture session, as Momma had handed Cindy.

The “bad girl” tones may have left Cindy for that evening, but they were still there until I left my home town when I graduated high school. Cindy was the only girl I’d ever heard of who had opted to be paddled by the principal instead of sent to detention when she had too many tardy slips.

Being the only girl in the senior class to face Mr. Rector’s famous paddle made her a bit of celebrity.

Oddly, though, on some level I liked the bad girl tone in Cindy. I liked how her face was grim, yet delighted when spanking became a topic of conversation. I wonder where Cindy is now. I wonder if she still likes the thrill of getting in trouble, and feel pain on her rear end.

I wonder if she has admitted to herself that she loves spanking and punishment, or if she is still denying it and trying to pretend that her sexuality is normal, like I did for so long.

About hittitespanks

Young writer. Spanko since earliest memories. Stories. Dreams. Fantasies. Freedom.
This entry was posted in F/f, F/m, Hand Spanking, Non-Family, Parental Discipline, Wooden Spoon. Bookmark the permalink.

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