The Kitchen Utensil

Honesty is the Best Policy

I was naughty. I knew it. My mother knew it. My siblings knew it. I did something I wasn't supposed to do, and although I was going to get a spanking, I was in denial of the evidence pointing towards that inevitable outcome. I mean I figured a spanking was a possibility, since my mother invited me into her room and had me shut the door. But I mistakenly thought I could weasel my way out of it.

My mother was seated comfortably on her bed. "Do you want a spanking?" The interrogation began with a question that even at the time seemed a ridiculous thing to ask.

"No," I answered honestly. After all, as the title indicates, honesty is the best policy. Besides, spankings hurt and should be avoided whenever possible.

Then she asked, "were you playing with matches?"

"No," I answered dishonestly. In spite of my knowing honesty is the best policy, I felt with a fair amount of certainty that the previously mentioned spanking, which we had so recently established was unwanted, was awaiting me if I admitted I was playing with matches.

I erroneously believed this interrogation thing was a piece of cake. I was ready for the next question. I was not ready for the questioning to come to such an abrupt end. Instead of a question, she made a pronouncement.

"Well, first things first. Come over here and bare your bottom so I can spank you for lying about playing with matches," she said quietly enough, but to me it seemed she roared that I was to be spanked.

"Okay," I said, openly weeping. I came to the uncomfortable realization that her interrogation consisted of just those two questions. How did she see through my fib?

I guess with me being her youngest of seven children, she had grown pretty adept at recognizing when one of her children was lying. Well there's that, plus I'm sure that by the ripe old age of eleven, I hadn't developed much of a poker face.

She told me to do something, so being the mostly obedient child that I was, I did it. I lowered both my jeans and my underwear. I then crawled over her lap and presented my bare bottom to her for her to give me the spanking I had earned for the sin of lying. What I failed to pick up on was that this spanking, although well and truly deserved, was unfortunately only for lying.

I was no stranger to this position, over a maternal knee, and although she was only using her bare hand on my bare bottom, it was having the effect I imagine she was aiming for and her aim was precise. At some point I thought about playing with matches, and how dangerous it potentially was. If only that was why I was being spanked, then this whole ordeal would be nearly at an end.

My spanking finally came to a halt, and she had me stand up.

When I say that it came to a halt, I thought and was thankful that we were done. But then she rose to her feet and said, "now to address your playing with matches," and walked out of the room. What? I thought we just addressed everything that needed addressing. I thought that's why I was standing with my clothes around my ankles, and had a very sore bottom. It's why my face was streaked with tears and snot.

I quickly determined I was meant to follow her, so I had to pull up my little shorts, wincing as the elastic went over my freshly spanked bottom. I couldn't exactly follow her with my pants around my ankles, so they were next, but didn't hurt as much going up. Probably because they had a zipper and a snap. I then followed her, into the kitchen of all places.

What I didn't know at the time was that she had the idea to upgrade from a simple hand spanking to a paddling for the next round, undoubtedly to spare her palm.