I’ll be making daily posts from now until December 25th for the Advent season in cooperation with an effort inspired by the wonderful “el tercer ojo“.
In the Fall of my junior year in college, my girlfriend at the time, Angela, asked me one of those pivotal relationship questions. It was late November and we were about to have our long Thanksgiving weekend. If she hadn’t asked the question, the default would have been we went our separate ways to visit our families and get back together as soon as possible on Friday or Saturday, with the excuse of having to study for end of semester exams.
But instead she asked, “Would you mind coming with me to my mom’s?”
She was so cute and she had such big brown eyes it was hard to say no to her. She knew this, of course, but would never have admitted to being aware of it in any way. But there was something about the way she cocked her head to the side, causing her shoulder-length brunette hair to drift slightly to one side. And she moved in closer to me as if she wanted to kiss me, but not having an answer to her question was somehow preventing her from doing that. I really didn’t want to go to my parent’s house either, but this was going to be hard to explain.
She rubbed my chest, which I love, and said, “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’m just feeling a bit fragile lately. I’m a bit homesick and also I’ve been meaning to go visit my mom since Dad passed away.”
Okay, so yes, it wasn’t ever really a question I could say ‘no’ too. But she had to go through the formality of asking. It was the polite thing.
The drive to her mom’s place was fun. We stopped along the way at a convenience store and picked up some junk food to eat and store in the car. Her mom was a great cook, but we were still kid-like enough to simply buy and eat junk food because we could. There was a wonderfully naughty feeling to doing that.
The trouble started when we got to her mom’s house. There was quite a bit of tension in the air when I met her mom and her two older brothers – Matt and John. Most of the tension seemed to be coming from her mom. Her brothers seemed okay with me and seemed to want to express some relatedness or comradery, but held themselves back out of almost a fear for their petite but intense mother. At about 5′ 4″, she was an inch or two shorter than Angela and almost a foot shorter than her sons. They hovered around her almost like body guards. They seemed to be in their early to mid-twenties and had athletic builds. I’m 5′ 10″ and was what I referred to as ‘more of a lover than a fighter’ so I was glad they seemed to like me.
I spent that Thanksgiving afternoon watching college football on TV with the two brothers. TV gave us a great excuse not to feel any pressure to talk to one another. Angela helped her mother in the kitchen as she prepared the dinner. I couldn’t overhear what they were saying as well as I’d wanted to, but I thought I caught some questions about who this ‘Quai’ person was. It occurred to me at that moment that the tension might have been because I was Black and they were White, but I would learn later that they had extended family which included people of color. I also heard their voices rise and get tense somewhat over what seemed to be the subject of smoking. I knew Angela didn’t smoke, but then I noticed on the bar between the kitchen and then den, her mom had a carton of cigarettes. I then recalled a conversation with Angela last year, where she told me her father had died of lung cancer. So I put two and two together…
By the time dinner was served, Angela and her mom must have come to truce for the sake of being social. They were both pleasant and we had a delicious meal, mostly free of tension. The only time I felt any discomfort was when her mom and brothers began relating stories about the spankings and strappings they had got over the years, growing up in this house. I didn’t know this about Angela. I suppose she was either embarrassed or took it as a matter of course that others grew up getting spanked. I laughed along and tried not too look to interested or uncomfortable.
After dinner, we all sat in the den, talking and watching more games. Within an hour or so, we all started doing the thing where we fall asleep randomly in whatever positions we were in. I was sitting on the sofa with an arm around Angela as I started to drift off. I was awakened as she slipped from my arms to stand up very slowly and quietly. I looked around me and noticed that Matt had gone off somewhere, John was asleep, and so was Angela’s mom. Angela tip-toed over to the bar, where the cigarette carton lay. She picked it up, slipped it into her sweater and walked up the stairs. She came back down without the carton, like nothing happened an sat back down beside me.
I never questioned her about it, not wanting to get involved in any family conflict. I knew better than that.
Later as the evening went on, we “kids” all got more comfortable with each other. Angela and I and Matt and John were all hanging out on their mom’s front porch, starting to loosen up and laugh more, talking about things we could relate too. Angela’s mom came out of her front door looking very intense. All three siblings kind of froze, familiar with what that signaled.
“Matt, John. Get hold of your sister,” she said.
The two tall men approached Angela as if they couldn’t help themselves and began pulling her up by her arms from where she was sitting next to me. She didn’t resist, but she did look wide-eyed, frightened.
“Miss Angela’s taken it upon herself to help me stop smoking. She stole my new carton of cigarettes,” her mom explained.
“Mom! You can’t do this to me. I had to… What happened to Dad,” Angela pleaded.
Angela’s mom set her jaw and continued, “So Miss Angela’s going to find herself getting the belt. Take her upstairs.”
The brothers started forcibly escorting Angela into the house as she objected, “No no!”
Not knowing what to do, I considered whether I should go in and try to talk them out of what they had planned or simply call the police. I tried to follow them inside the door, but her mom stopped me.
“This isn’t your concern,” she said, putting a hand out towards me.
“Wait!” Angela called out. “It is his concern. We’re actually married.”
All four of us looked at Angela. I tried very hard not to look surprised at this sudden change in our status. Her brothers let go of her arms. Her mom squinted in suspicion.
“Well okay,” she said, “if you’re married then he should be the one to punish you.”
Then all of our wide eyes were focused on mom.
“You’re getting a whipping either way. Either Quai does it or I’m going to do it,” she continued. “It’s up to you. What’s it going to be?”
Angela swallowed hard and looked over at me. I don’t know what went into her calculation, but it didn’t take her long to walk towards me and put her arms around my waist. I returned the embrace. She didn’t say anything, but looked determinedly at her mom, took me by the hand and lead me up to her old bedroom. As she shut the door behind us, I heard the footsteps of the rest of the family on their way up as well.
“What’s happening here?” I asked. “Am I supposed to actually belt you now?”
“Well yeah, you have to Quai,” she said. “If you don’t, she’s going to have my brothers drag me down to the den where I’ll have to pull down my pants and bend over the back of the sofa for my mom to whip me. Can you imagine how embarrassing that would be?”
“Of course I would never want you to have to go through that. It’s just that…” I couldn’t find the words.
“And my mom. She whips so hard and for so long. That’s why my brothers are afraid of her. When Dad was alive, he could hold ’em down while she whipped. She never stopped til they were crying,” she continued. “I can’t go through another of her whippings. I just can’t. You’ve got to do it! Please.”
“Okay okay…” I said, pulling her to me for a hug. “How many strokes are they expecting to hear?”
Angela closed her eyes and unconsciously rubbed her bottom while biting her lower lip. God, she was cute.
“I always lost count after about 80 licks,” she said. “By that point, I was too busy trying to get through it.”
“So around 80?” I asked.
“You’d better make it at least 100. I just said 80 was when I lost count. Time-wise, I remember being about half-way through it,” she said. “She won’t expect you to be as severe as her, so around 100 should do it.”
I began taking off my belt and as I slipped it through its loops, her eyes widened again as the reality of the situation dawned on her. She gulped and turned to walk to the foot of her old bed. She unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down to mid-thigh. I’d seen her beautiful bottom bare many times by this point, but she left her panties on. This made me realize that in her world, this was just how it was done. It was what was expected. She bent over the foot board, pressing her hands down on the bed.
I doubled the belt and approached her. Taking aim at her vulnerable, upturned bottom, I did what I had to do. I began whipping her with the belt. The first few strokes were too tentative, but she didn’t say anything. She just looked up over her shoulder at me and nodded. I then began spanking her much harder with the belt. I tried to keep my rhythm even and spread the strokes out over her panty-clad bottom. Each stroke made her come up on her toes and yelp. After twelve strokes or so, the yelps got longer and turned into moans. The skin exposed by the bikini cut panties began getting redder and redder as belt-wide lines crossed over themselves.
Angela gripped the bedspread as if she were holding on to a life jacket. As the belting continued she began to move her hips from side to side uncontrollably. I didn’t want the belt to wrap around to her hips of front even, so I moved closer to her and grabbed her around the waist to steady her hips. I continued belting her. As stroke followed stroke, I held her struggling body in place. After sixty strokes, she was definitely crying, pounding the bed.
Without thinking about it she started repeating, “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again!”
Her saying that along with the crying was a big temptation for me to stop, but I didn’t want to risk the family deciding to pick up where I left off. So I continued spanking her with the belt, keeping up the severe and steady strokes. I understood now why she lost count usually after about 80. In my mind as I counted past 85, I realized that although she was still crying, she wasn’t struggling as much and wasn’t calling for mercy. She had apparently reached a point of accepting that she was in the middle of a whipping and there was nothing to be done about it but take it.
After I’d give her the 100th stroke, I pulled my belt back on and helped her stand up. She was woozy and dazed. I helped her pull her pants up. As the pants moved up over her bottom, she winced and let out a high-pitched moan as if to say, ‘no more pain there please’. I brushed tears from her flushed face and held her close to me. Angela melted into me and squeezed me very tight as if I had rescued her from a burning building.
Outside, we heard the footsteps of the family going back down the stairs.