Forged by Desire

by Greg Babcock

  “For … right … guidance,” clarified Lorna. “Guidance that can only come from a firm application of the old ancestral hairbrush … right on a bare bum! Only way that some guys can survive.”

  “Only way that some guys can actually thrive,” noted Portia. “Only way some guys really do thrive. I’ve seen that happen too. Not nearly often enough, y’know. But, I have seen it happen.”

  This whole conversation had, obviously, long-since set my head to spinning! Obviously! As you might imagine, I’d always had an interest in the subject. A more than passing interest. Otherwise, I’d not be writing this tome. I’d not acknowledged that “interest” – even to myself – but, my mother had applied “the ol’ ancestral hairbrush” to my “bare bum”! On many an occasion! And I’d always accepted the discipline – willfully! It would never occur to me to question her authority. To question her right to spank me!

  The last time that I “got it” – that I remember, anyway – was when I was in the eleventh grade. And I was dating a girl in the ninth grade. Mother maintained that she was too young for me. (I think I was 16 – and Sue was 14, at the time. Didn’t seem like that big a difference. In fact, it didn’t seem like any difference at all. And the disparity would do nothing but become less and less – as the years would roll by.) In any case, on this one memorable evening, I’d finally lost my cool – and told Mother to “Butt out … it’s my damn life!” The obscenity – using the word “damn” – got me into as much trouble with her (almost, anyway) as the rebellious “Butt out”!

  “Melinda,” she hollered, to my sister, “go and get me the hairbrush! I’ve heard quite enough from this insubordinate wretch!”

  Whenever Mother referred to me as a “wretch” – no matter what the modifier might have been – I knew that I was in a heap of trouble.

  “Oh, Mother,” I’d protested. “Sue’s not too young. She’s very grown up! And you don’t have any right to … “

  “As long as you’re living under my roof” she’d snarled, “you’ll obey me. You’ll submit to my rules. And … right now … you’re going to submit to a good hard spanking!”

  Of course, you know that I was anything but heartbroken at the prospect of winding up across her lap – with my slacks and briefs down around my thighs! I probably knew it too. Hell, I definitely knew it. But, God help me if I’d ever admit to it! Especially, when I was a high school kid. Even sitting on the train up from Kentucky, I’d not been willing to confront the possibility that – returning to live under my mother’s celebrated “roof” – could portend a bare-bottomed paddling or two! Probably it would not! But, I refused to acknowledge the “tingle” that I was getting – at the mere thought of Mother paddling my ass, once again! My bare ass, once again! No matter how remote the possibility might actually have been, it was a definite turn-on. I just refused to admit it.

  It had been so long since anyone had spanked me. Well, after Pop passed away, no one but Mother had ever tanned me – although, at one point, I’d thought that my Aunt Betty was going to take a ruler to me. (Long story. I was barely 16 – and Aunt Betty was very beautiful. And built like the proverbial brick shithouse! I almost found myself admitting to being thrilled at the thought of her taking down my pants and drivvies – and using that piece of wood on my bare ass! Almost admitted it! But, the situation/opportunity evaporated! She gave me a withering look – and set the freaking ruler down on the desk. Then, she walked out of the room – leaving me to grapple with all kinds of feelings, with which I didn’t want to have to contend. Damn!)

  In any case, dear sister Melinda – dutifully – had fetched Mother’s monster of a hairbrush from her bedroom, upstairs. With all due dispatch! Darling child – she knew that she’d be privy to be a witness at the lowering of the kid’s pants and drawers – and the application of that slab of wood to the kid’s uncovered rear end! It certainly had not been the first time. (I’m not absolutely, positively, sure that it was the last! But, it was one of the last. The final one in my tortured memory, anyway.)

  By the time my sister had gotten back downstairs with that mother of all hairbrushes, I’d already been, fastidiously, positioned across Mother’s lap – my ass properly exposed! If Mother had ever heard of the term “warm up”, it was never associated with applying that slab of lumber to my uncovered rear end! Never was such a proposition ever given any sort of consideration. She started out full-bore! Without fail! She always started out laying that wooden plank on me – with all the mustard she could muster. (Now, I know that she’d spanked Melinda from time to time. I’d, of course, never been allowed to watch – but a brush [or even a hand] landing on a bare ass is not quiet. And, just from the sounds – the frequency and severity – I could tell that Mother had never started any of my sister’s punishments as severely as she could spank! Of course, Melinda was a good bit younger than me – so who the hell knows?)

  Suffice to say that – within the first half-dozen times of that darling hairbrush landing on my naked ass – said naked ass was already a symphony in deep-crimson! In throbbing deep-crimson! In starting-to-get-lumpy deep-crimson! She just continued to tattoo my poor butt – with whack after whack after whack after whack after whack! A real rat-tat-tat attack – that left me gasping for air, during (I’m guessing) the first 18 or 20 ruthless spanks! From then on, I was – in order – weeping, crying, bawling and then out and out screaming! It was at the height of those maternal paddlings – when the troubling attraction, having a woman bare my ass and tan it, wound up losing all attraction for me!

  Ahhhhhhh, but after it was done! Once the paddling was finished! After the long, hard, terribly-severe, spanking was completed – and the ungodly agony had, at long last, begun to subside (as it always did, within 10 or 15 minutes) I always took great comfort in the warm, cozy, aftermath! The blessed heat – and the wondrous soreness – would take over! That condition was something else – altogether! The soreness – as opposed to unbridled pain! And the warmth – once the raging forest fire had banked itself a little bitty! Ah, the wonderful, welcome, warmth! The glorious, marvelous, warmth! Fortunately, that lasted for hours! Six or eight hours, sometimes – depending on how thorough the “licking” had been! And, if I was lucky, the soreness would usually hang on – for, maybe, a day-and-a-half! Two days, sometimes! It was a kick to have a “problem” sitting down for awhile. Each time, the sensitivity back there would serve as a gentle reminder of the spanking that had been! I can’t tell you the calm – the peaceful – state of mind that the aftermath from some of the more spectacular spankings I’d taken had produced! I wouldn’t own up to the Shangri La to which I’d been sent! But, it was a positive nirvana!

  Of course, I’d never acknowledge any of this! Not even to my-own-self! I mean, what kind of “man” would want to be spanked? Would enjoy being spanked? I mean, that’s just nuts! Couldn’t possibly happen! I mean, I’d have to be crazy! Right?

  As you can imagine, all this talk – between the “girls” in the core room – was having an almost-debilitating effect on me. I swear that the room had even begun to tip a little bit. It wasn’t spinning! Not yet, anyway. But, it sure was missing a helluva chance!

  I’d gotten all caught up in the above-described “interlude” and – difficult though it may be for you to believe – I’d kind of lost track as to where the conversation with my half-dozen fellow employees was actually headed. Finally, it got through to me that Lorna was talking to me! Asking a question, actually:

  “Nelson? What do you think of all this? Do you believe that a fellow ever outgrows his need to wind up across a woman’s lap? That he reaches a point … gets to an age … where he’s really to old to be spanked? Be spanked right on his bare bum? Do you think that a fellow should … ? Well, what do you think?”

  “I … uh … I dunno. I’ve never really thought much about that.”

  “Come, come Nelson,” Portia admonished. “Don’t be lying to us, now. I’m sure that you can just imagine what would happen to y
ou if you told us a big fat lie.”

  “That’s right,” added Greta. “Your face … it’s all flushed! There must be a reason.”

  “So, tell us,” prodded Lorna. “What do you think about such things? Have you gotten your own bum spanked lately?”

  MAN! It was really getting hairy in there! And not unlike a sauna. And my face had already flushed! Now, I was beginning to sweat! Perspiration began to pour out of me! Obviously, none of this had gone unnoticed!

  “Well?” joined in Portia – in a half-holler. “HAVE you? Have YOU gotten YOUR fanny spanked of late? I know what you’d said before … that no one had tanned your fanny. Not lately. I guess it depends on what you mean by ‘lately’. I also wonder if you’re aware of what the penalty around here would be … if you were to lie to us.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Greta. “Especially about something as important as this.”

  “No,” I managed to blurt. “Not lately. Been a long time. Years!”

  “Hmmmm,” mused Lorna. “Seems to me that he’s probably due … overdue … for a good spanking. Undoubtedly overdue … for a good spanking!”

  “Well overdue,” added Millie. “On the other hand, if you knew his mother, you’d know that she’s not the kind of woman who’d let someone’s bottom go unpunished. Not for long, anyway.”

  “Are you sure,” pressed Lorna, “that your mother hasn’t taken your pants down … and spanked your bum?”

  “No.” I couldn’t believe how hoarse my voice had gotten. But, I was surprised – at the strength in it. I most assuredly didn’t feel very strong. “Mother hasn’t spanked me in … really … in years. Please believe that. I know better than to tell you ladies any lies. Especially about … about … about … uh … about … “

  “About getting your fanny tanned?” provided Portia. “I’m glad to see that you’re being honest with us. And I … for one … believe you. But, I also believe that if you’ve gone unspanked for this long a time … I believe that you’re probably in need of getting a good spanking! Probably badly in need of being spanked! Of being spanked … good!”

  “Probably?” guffawed Greta. “Probably, hell! He definitely needs a good spanking.”

  “So, where … and when … are we going to do it?” This was Beverly – who, until then, had contributed absolutely nothing to what could laughingly be called the conversation. It was the first time any of them had posited the possibility (hopefully, the probability) of them paddling me!

  “Well,” answered Greta, “there’s no time like the present.”

  You can’t imagine the fireworks that little statement set off in my alleged brain. (Well, maybe you can! I certainly could never have anticipated the bursting rockets – and the out and out dizziness – that this whole episode was producing.)

  “Here?” I rasped. “Here? Now? But … but … but, wouldn’t someone see? Those windows … y’know. People walk by all the time! Elmer … I see him going up and down the hallway, out there, all the time.”

  Elmer was the foreman of the machine shop – and had never been all that thrilled with me. I’d determined that he and Scotty didn’t like one another. So, while he was always courteous to me, I could tell that he merely tolerated me. And I was sure that – were I to be caught, in the core room, being spanked (whether my pants were up or down) – it would not bode well for my career in the foundry business. If Scotty didn’t see to my being dismissed, Elmer would certainly devote a goodly amount of time and/or effort to getting me terminated.

  Still, my knees were becoming more and more wobbly – as the movie projector in my mind began showing me variations on the central theme! The one currently under discussion! Enough of a shroud had fallen over me that I’d reached the point where I’d have sold my soul for a spanking! Right then! Right there! By any of those ladies! So what if anyone saw? Or found out? The hell with it! I was prepared to throw caution to the wind!

  “Look,” suggested Portia. “Lorna? Listen. If you were to kneel down, back there! Kneel … and put your back up against the far wall. Kneel there … behind the tables, here … and then go ahead and put Nelson across your lap, I don’t think that anyone would see. Certainly, no one’s going to hear.”

  She had that right. A foundry is a noisy place. As to the “seeing” part, I was rather skeptical. Still – the hell with it! Throw caution to the wind! Not only was I willing, I was eager! Eager as hell! I was hoping that I wasn’t quite as transparent as I probably was proving to be! That I was disguising the eagerness – somewhat, anyway!

  Portia must have been a smooth talker. For it took absolutely no time for her to convince Lorna that spanking me was exactly what ought to be done! Right then! The sooner the better. She got down off her stool/chair, and – as Portia had suggested – knelt down against the back wall, her elegant ass pressed down against her ankles.

  Then, she said, “Nelson? Come here! Take down your pants … and come here!”

  “Tell him to take down his under-shorts too,” recommended Millie.

  “You are wearing under-shorts … are you not?” pressed Greta. “Because, if you’re not, you’re in for a real butt-warming!”

  “YES!” I answered – more outraged than I probably should’ve been. “Of course I’m wearing under-shorts! What did you think?”

  “Well,” cautioned Portia, “around here, ya never know. I dare say. I’ve tanned more than a few guys … in any number of different places … who weren’t wearing drawers.”

  “Yeah,” added Greta. “Seems to me that you usually required ‘em to wear ladies panties … from that time on.”

  “Of course! Of course I did,” affirmed Portia. “Of course.”

  “And you did inspections,” said Beverly. “Quite often, as I know it. Damn often.”

  “Might be a good idea for Nelson, here,” suggested Millie. “Whether he’s got his drivvies on or not. I can just see him in a particular pair … a very special pair … of my underpants.”

  MAN! If my head had been spinning before, it had graduated to the point where it had become an absolute pinwheel! To the point that – cooperative old me – I was trying to undo my belt from the stupid buckle. And – the epitome of physical coordination – I was having a spectacular lack of success!

  “Come over here,” ordered Lorna – from the floor. “Come over here! I can see that I’m going to have to undress you! Good Lord, Nelson! Can’t you do anything? Isn’t there one damn thing that you can do properly? Not one damn thing?”

  The reprimand, of course, blew right by me – in my then-myopic state. Like some kind of a zombie, I schlepped over – and stood in front of her. She – on the other hand – was most efficient! In a matter of six or eight seconds, my jeans and briefs were at mid-thigh! And my throbbing erection was – literally – staring at her, face-to-face! I was not, of course, surprised at the till-then-unheard of rigidity! I’d never been that hard! Not in my entire life! So, obviously, I knew that the “boner” was there! I’d just not figured on it waggling in Lorna’s face! Well, there was a lot I’d not figured on!

  She took the stiffened appendage in her left hand! Then, she ran her tongue around the pulsating head! My knees were just this side of giving out! I damn near collapsed! Then, she slapped it with her right open palm! That was another shocker! Something else to just about bring me to my knees! I gasped! The “shroud” evaporated! Especially when she slapped the ol’ member again! Then, a third time! I really don’t know how I ever survived that onslaught!

  “That’s what you get,” she snarled, “for having impure thoughts! I’m really surprised at you, Nelson. You’d always seemed like … like such a … such a … such a nice boy. To all of us.”

  The rest of the crew verbalized their agreement with the statement. There were a couple of them clucking their tongues – and a few “Tsk, tsks” in there. GAD! Was I that much of a disappointment to them. Or was this just a game? A scenario? One that these women had, obviously, played out before? At which they were undo
ubtedly familiar? At which they were, certainly, very good? Yet another whack at the old tallywhacker snapped me loose from the mental games in which I’d found myself ass-deep! That’ll bring you to reality – in the snap of the fingers! Or in still another slap at the rapidly deflating organ! Rapidly deflating!

  I guess the loss of rigidity had achieved Lorna’s purposes – for I heard her say, “All right, Nelson, now I want you to lay yourself across my lap! And … you listen to me, Boy … if you mess up my pants, there will really be hell to pay.”

  Mess up her pants? Lorna, as stated, always wore those kind of Marigold Yellow, cotton, slacks – which fitted her to-die-for ass like a glove (I guess you could say). Everyone else, in the core room, wore the Navy blue or black cotton slacks. Lorna’s pants always (how shall I say?) stood out! In all the right places! And, though it had not occurred to me, I had to admit that – if things kept going in the direction in which they were headed – there’d be a very definite risk of a seminal stain to those outstanding slacks! I’d have to do what I could to control my emotions. How much command I’d be able to exercise over the equipment, down there, would have to remain to be seen. So far, it hadn’t looked too promising.

  I draped myself across those yellow-cotton-clad thighs! She began to run the cool palm of her hand across the exposed nates! Instantly, I was back to being hard! In spades, as they say! And more quickly than I’d thought possible!

  Let me tell you something: I was still a virgin at that point. Yeah! A 22-year-old virgin! Listen, there weren’t a helluva lot of single women around Fort Campbell. And what few that seemed to inhabit the environs could afford to be (and were) very selective. I’d determined – right from the git-go – that I didn’t have a prayer with any of them. Consequently, I’d never even tried to “make the team” (as it were). Seldom left the base. Zero chance of my hooking up with any young lovely – in Kentucky.