The Hot Seat

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The Hot Seat

That old chair was likely scrounged by my parents back in the poor early days of their marriage. Back then it probably served as part of an impromptu dining room set. The chair was solid, timeless, and apparently had some sort of foggy institutional past. I like to imagine it sitting outside a Principal's office in an old school, a place for kids to fret and squirm as they await their meeting with the principal, and with their fate.

Most of that original furniture disappeared unlamented from our home in my early youth. It was replaced by newer and better stuff as my parents gradually climbed the economic ladder. But that single chair remained, perhaps to serve as a reminder of my parent's humble early days.

Its original color was a somber governmental gray, but the paint on the seat had been erased by countless bottoms. As their oldest child, I barely remember when my mother repainted that chair to a more cheerful baby blue. After being repainted, it normally occupied a corner of my parent's bedroom, often with my mother's robe draped over it. Even freshly painted, that chair seemed out of place alongside my parent's nice bedroom set.

In later years, after her slim body lost its youthful flexibility, mother sat in it to pull on her shoes and stockings. But that wasn’t that old chair’s most important function!

Back then, many families kept some sort of paddle hanging in plain sight. The purpose of that paddle was very real, to reinforce parental authority. But often, in what served as whimsical humor back then, those paddles were decorated with “cute” expressions, such as “Mama's little Helper”, or “Heat to the Seat”. My family didn't have one of those paddles. Instead, we had that old chair. You see, perhaps on a whim, my mother had added large applique letters to our chair that read, “Hot Seat”.

By now dear reader, you have surely guessed. That solid old armless chair served as my family’s spanking chair. Spankings weren't frequent events in our house, but they all happened in my parent's bedroom, and all involved that chair. My brother and sister and I knew that chair all too well, and we knew it from a variety of angles.

When us kids were young, mom & dad shared spanking duties, and both were normally present for the “event”. In later years, my father worked as a traveling consultant, so mother took over most family discipline. Always though, the routine stayed the same. Spanking wasn't a spectator sport in our house, so they all happened in the parental bedroom with the door firmly shut. The routine was simple. Once we were big enough, mother always made us drag the “hot seat” to the center of the bedroom. And then we had to prepare ourselves. There was never any false modesty. My skirt and panties came right off. My brother got the same bare-bottom treatment.

Although she probably didn't think of it that way, mother had three basic punishments. First, and most common, was her basic “ass-tanning”. It was just a brisk and loud, but fairly brief, hand spanking that was confined almost entirely to our buttocks.

Her second option was what she called a “hard” spanking. To me, it didn't feel any harder than a normal “ass-tanning' but it was a longer spanking that covered more territory, including thighs and the back of our legs.

Finally, and rarely, mother would follow a hard spanking with a few very painful strokes of an old belt. For this, we were required to be naked, or nearly so. After our spanking, we had to bend over the back of that chair to present our bright red bottom for a dose of the belt. This only happened to me once and never to my little sister, but my brother managed to earn it twice that I know of.

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That one time I was punished with the belt happened only two weeks before my wedding, You might be horrified that I received such treatment whilst technically an adult, but the truth was that I deserved it, and more!

I loved Bob, my husband-to-be, just as I love him now. But I did something incredibly stupid and deceitful that could have screwed up my life. Shortly before my wedding, I kicked up my heels a bit too much one night and gave an ex-boyfriend a sort of “going-away present”. I never did figure out how mom learned what I did, but somehow she had the goods on me.

To be clear, mom knew that I was no virgin. And Bob certainly had first-hand knowledge of my lack of virginity! But mom was properly incensed that I had “cheated” on Bob. So she showed me some tough love!

I didn't know until later, but mom had figured out a way to get my brother and sister out of the house for a few hours. This was something new for her. Usually in our house spankings are private, but definitely not secret.

When I had come home that afternoon, mother cornered me in my room and then told me what she knew. Fortunately I didn't make things worse by trying to lie my way out of it. Then we had a long conversation about what it means to be married to a man. Mom was mad at me, but she also seemed determined not to waste this “teachable moment”. Finally, she told me to put on my pajamas and to wait in my room. She said that she needed time to calm down. After that, I should expect to “visit the hot seat.”

The next hour was the worst of my life! Obediently, I dressed for my appointment with the “hot seat”. Knowing that it would be on my bare bottom, I wore pajamas but nothing else. Waiting for my punishment was bad enough, but what about Bob? I cried, worried that Bob would learn what I had done. Would mother tell him?

It turns out that she didn't tell, and as far as I know he never learned. Since Bob and I weren't yet married, and since I hadn't actually had sexual intercourse with that ex-boyfriend, Mom finally agreed that I technically hadn't cheated on Bob. But that didn't save my bottom!

As it turned out, that was the last time I even came close to cheating on Bob. Mother had set out to teach me a lesson, and she succeeded!

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So there I was, nervously waiting in my bedroom.

My door suddenly opened, and mom beckoned. Meekly, I followed her to her bedroom. The “hot seat” was in it's usual place in a corner, but ominously it had my father's old belt draped across it. The sight of that belt told me more about my imminent punishment than I really cared to know at the time.

The revelation that I was about to be belted also caused physical effects; a nervous gut spasm and a sudden need. I crossed my legs and begged. Mom wisely waved me into her bathroom, ordering me to “make it quick”.

When I emerged from the bathroom, she pointed to the “hot seat” and then to the middle of the floor. Obediently, I dragged my soon-to-be pillory to the appointed spot. Naturally, the belt came along with it. If only I could make it disappear!

“OK young lady,” she said ominously, “off with those pajamas.” Normally mom only made me take off my PJ bottoms, but a strapping was a more serious punishment. Honestly I don't believe that the nudity was to humiliate me. You see, this was private, “just us girls”. She has seen me naked thousands of times! No, this was just mother's no-nonsense way of getting my clothes out of the picture so she could do what needed doing.

So I took off my pajamas, top and bottom, leaving me naked. It was a given that I wouldn't be wearing panties. But had I thought to wear a bra, mom probably would have let me keep it.

Whilst I was doffing my pajamas, mother settled herself onto the “hot seat”. That damn belt was still there, draped over the back of the chair. Automatically, I placed myself beside her right thigh.

“I'm sorry mother.”

“I'm sorry too sweetheart. But this is serious business! You're fortunate to learn this lesson now and not later when a trick like that could cause a divorce.”

Then she patted her lap, “OK, let's get your bottom ready for the belt”.

Although I saw no rush to have my bottom “ready for the belt,” I obeyed, putting myself across the maternal lap. The “hot seat” easily held our combined weight.

Mother either spanks or she scolds, but never both at the same time. She had already scolded me, so I knew what to expect. I wasn't disappointed!

As always, she started out by peppering the too-plump summits of my buttocks. Her strategy was almost always to attack hard and fast. Her goal was to quickly push me over that “emotional edge” and to put herself firmly in charge.

And that's just the way it happened. In mere seconds I was bawling, kicking, and thrashing as mother painted my buttocks a bright red. Unfortunately, she didn't stop at my buttocks.

She lowered her target area to my sit-spots, and then farther down to the backs of my thighs as I got louder and louder. When the command came to open my thighs to give her access to those tender inner surfaces, I thought about begging. But truthfully, I knew I deserved to be spanked there. It was hard for me to open my thighs, but with a groan I obeyed. I shrieked as she “pinked up” my inner thighs.

And then mother started back high on my buttocks and repeated the entire painful cycle!

By the time she was done, she had spanked the fight out of me. If the palm of her hand stung one tenth as bad as my bottom, the lady was in pain too!

Still limply draped over her lap, I cried my eyes out. Of course, I had no incentive to hurry that crying process because I knew that the worst was yet to come. Mother however, was ready to continue.

The second I was on my feet, she led me around to the back of that chair. I badly wanted to bawl and rub my bottom, but mother wouldn't allow it. At least, she didn't allow the rubbing. She pulled my hands away from my bottom as she urged me over the back of the chair. Then she placed my hands on the edges of the seat and told me to hang on tight.

She held my back down firmly with one hand, while she used the other to lash my bottom with that belt. I danced and kicked, horrified at how much it hurt. At one point, me and the chair almost tipped over together! I have no idea how many whacks I got with that belt, but I figured out later that she had given me lots of strokes rather than extra-hard strokes that would have left me striped for weeks. It didn't matter to me at the time, I simply screamed myself hoarse.

And then it was over.

Still naked and still bawling, mother helped me back to my bedroom, and laid me face-down on my bed. Then I discovered that she had improvised ice packs while I had been waiting for my punishment. She spent the next thirty minutes tenderly cooling my bottom down with those ice packs to reduce any bruising or swelling.

As she worked, she spoke soothingly to me. So soothing in fact, that I drifted off to sleep. I didn't know anything until the next morning when I awoke to find myself naked in bed with just a single sheet over me. The discovery of my tender bottom quickly brought back memories of last night's spanking.

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It seemed that mother had been thinking ahead, thinking about something that should already have occurred to me! How would I explain my spanked bottom to Bob?

Right after breakfast she got me alone to discuss that issue with me. First, she assured me that she had applied my punishment very carefully. She promised that all marks would be gone well before my wedding, and would have been gone even without the ice packs. She explained that the ice treatment had been to add a “safety margin”.

Now I was worried! “Err mom,” I said, “It's not quite that easy. Bob and I have been intimate for some time now. He will see my bottom several times between now and our wedding.”

“No problem!” she grinned. “Just explain to him that you want your wedding night to be extra special. Insist on chastity starting today to build up passion for your big night. That will give your bottom plenty of time to heal. Surely you can keep your pants on for two weeks!”

Well, since she put it that way, it didn't seem too hard.

The next two weeks were full of sweetly memorable pent-up sexual tension, but Bob and I did somehow manage to “keep our pants on” until our first delightful night in that honeymoon suite.

Although that incident could have stopped our marriage in its tracks, thanks to mom and the “hot seat” everything was smoothed out, and I learned an invaluable lesson in the process. Our marriage has been a delight.

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But that was then and this is now.

Most people someday must face the issues involved with their parent's aging process. It was worse for me, because I was the one sibling that still lived here in our home town. My brother and sister were both concerned and seemingly willing to help, but I was the person “on the spot”.

It was a tough time, a hurried, stressful time! Daddy got the first touches of dementia. We had to quickly break down housekeeping for our parents, sell their house, and use the money to put them into an assisted living apartment. There they could live independently with dignity whilst professional help was instantly available as needed. They had two more good years together, and then he was gone. Shortly later, as so often happens, she followed.

It had been my plan to keep that chair, to bring it home with me, to put it in my own bedroom, to drape my own robe across it. But we never had children, and the doctor told us we never would.

It so happened, that the chair stayed right where it belonged! The nice couple who bought my parent's house were pregnant with their first child. When they heard the story of the “hot seat”, they begged me to sell them the chair. I couldn’t bear to sell that priceless treasure! So, with tears in my eyes, I gave it to them. I’ve stayed in touch. They now have three children, with the oldest ready to start college. That chair is a cherished and sometimes busy part of their family, but forever gone from mine.

I feel good about that...sort of.

You see, I have mixed emotions. While it’s nice to see it being used for it’s proper purpose, there is a selfish, secret, fetishy part of me that wishes it were in my own bedroom. Yes, Bob and I have a wonderful sex life, but I blame myself that I never “came clean” with him about my fondest desire. So the lack of spanking in my life is my own fault, a huge missed opportunity.

Do you suppose having my family’s old “hot seat” in our bedroom would have given him the idea?

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