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Spanking Stories - Mrs Clark

Mark E DeSade

The story you are about to read is true -- only the names have been changed to protect the guilty.

I'm constantly amazed by the things that happen to Me in this Lifestyle.

Some time ago, I ran into the mom of My childhood best friend, Steve. I'll call Her Mrs. Clark.
Now, Mrs. Darlene Clark was not just any mom, mind you. This was the mid 1970s. The mini-skirt phase had long since passed and Woodstock was just a memory. This was a time of sexual promiscuity and freedom. During this time, She was a strikingly good looking, thirtysomething mother with long, flowing red hair and a body that could reduce a grown man to tears (and very probably did on some occasions - in more ways than one!). She was every kid on the block's fantasy and, much to Her son Steve's chagrin, She knew it. Mrs. Clark was a hot redhead, with deep-set, exquisite green eyes which complemented Her sexy, European-chiseled features that always said to you, "I know something about you that you don't." To say that She was classy was the understatement of the year. She didn't just walk into a room - she owned the room! She walked with an air of confidence like few I'd ever seen then - or since. She owned every room She was ever in and every male knew She was completely unattainable. And twenty five years ago, I had the biggest crush on Her. I remember the first time We met. Somehow the conversation turned to My schooling (I went to private school) and She asked what they did when kids misbehaved. I was startled. Downright dumbfounded.

"The teachers spank, don't they?," She said. "With a paddle."
I remember Her clear as a bell saying that. She knew. She just knew. It has stuck in My mind ever since. Mrs. Clark made it a point of catching eyes with Me as She uttered the line, waiting for My response which for some strange reason never came. Even back then, We Both knew that spanking was very special and dear to Us.

I'd make it a point to spend every spare moment of those summer days of '74 over at the Clark's. She took a genuine liking to Me, partly out of the fact I was Her son's best friend, and because She was, genuinely, a nice person - and realized that I was somehow "different" from the other boys who gawked at Her hourglass figure.

I remember Steve telling Me one day that She had E.S.P. (extrasensory perception). This partially explained how She knew just what to say to Me to get Me going at those certain instances. She'd always say things that left Me hanging and wondering at night as I lay there trying to get to sleep. Things related to discipline. She'd always say something like, "I bet your mom would spank you good for that!" I always sensed there was more to Mrs. Clark than met the eye.
And there was indeed more about Mrs. Darlene Clark. More I always wanted to know. But could never find out until now.

Sure, She was a proponent of spanking. And yes this excited Me. I liked to think that She was greatly responsible for My interest in the Disciplinary Arts. And, indeed, She was, as I owe Her a great homage (along with My third grade teacher, the one with the paddle).

I remember asking Steve one day how he got spanked.
"With a shoe," he said, matter-of-factly.
I inquired further.
"Ummm what do you mean? What kind of shoe? How?"
"Ones with heels. Man, they hurt."
Turns out Mrs. Clark had an arsenal of heeled shoes and slippers that She regularly used on old Steve's bottom, but, according to My pal, She was always looking and experimenting with an array of house shoes and elegant sandals alike that She could get Her hands on.

Once, about a year into knowing Her, She invited Me to go with She and Steve to a garage sale. I tagged along just to go and get out of the house. Once there, Mrs. Clark slowly approached a large cardboard box filled with shoes. Why someone of Her social status and grace would look at - not to mention pick up and touch - a complete stranger's soiled shoes, somehow escaped Me at the time (but She obviously had Her own special agenda - poor Steve's bum). She seemed thoroughly entranced with them. I knew what She was doing. She was looking for a shoe to spank with. I watched Her tap a few of the heels against the palm of Her hand and then throw them back in the bin, a sour disposition stretching across Her lovely face. Another shoe would come out and get the same discretionary stare. Steve and I exchanged glances. He was beet red and grinned sheepishly. Mrs. Clark left that day with a pair of sandals with what looked like wood soles and heels, I think they called them something like "Dr. Scholl's Exercise Sandals." How ironic, I thought. I cringed and said a little prayer for My poor chum.

Then it happened one day. I was walking up to their yellow house on Gem Lane and stopped just short of the front porch when I heard a distinctive sound coming from close to the living room window. It was a definite THWACK, THWACK, THWACKing noise. I looked and the curtains were partially drawn. I moved close as I dared and took a peek. I couldn't hear what Mrs. Clark was scolding Her son about, but Her face had a sternness about it I had never seen -- but nevertheless which was very much in control. Steve was over Her lap, bare bottom high in the air, pants and skivvies at his ankles, as She sat pausing reflectively -- taking little breaks between spanking him. My eyes got bigger. Big as silver dollars in fact. I noticed that one of Mrs. Clark's shoes was still on Her dainty little foot, the other in Her elegant hand, Her long, red, well-manicured fingernails holding it firmly.

What transpired next was a quick series of six crisp, stinging whacks to Steve's poor behind - three on each cheek. Then I counted twelve the next time, six on each side. She alternated this method while scolding him harshly (I wish I could've heard what She was saying - I would've given anything!). Through each barrage of swats with the shoe, Steve laid painfully still. Oh, he wiggled a bit here and there, but he took the punishment like a man. Obviously She had transmitted a very special decorum of maintaining his composure - even while under great duress - to him early in life. Mrs. Clark tossed Her hair to one side in a very sexy manner and reached for the coffee table where Her cigarette sat burning in an ashtray. She took a long, slow, fulfilling drag, exhaled and thought a moment and then continued My poor buddy's chastisement. The scene was - and still is - indelibly etched in My mind as one of the most excruciating spankings I have ever witnessed.

An hour or so later, Steve came over to My house and came clean about the spanking his Mom had just administered.
"Really?," I said. A shit-eating grin spreading across My face. …

I was making copies of My screenplay to send out to a few producers this last week when, all of a sudden, who walks in but Mrs. Darlene Clark! She came in with a handful of things to copy and tossed Me a nice smile (not knowing who I was), then started using the copier next to Mine. At first, I wasn't sure if it was indeed Her. But as She began to deftly place each copy in Her folder, I noticed a familiar expression. Undeniably Mrs. Clark's. It was the same expression She'd had countless times before that I'd fantasized about.

"Mrs. Clark?," I asked.
She paused, staring at Me for a moment.
"Yes. …"
"It's Mark … remember Me … I was Steve's --"
She cut Me off mid-sentence.
"-- Best friend, yes of course I remember you. How are you, dear?"
She said this so matter-of-factly, so nonchalant -- as if She'd planned this all along and it was no big deal that We hadn't seen One another in over two decades, but had now met by happenstance.
I had so many things I wanted to say to Her, so many questions. My mind was racing at a hundred miles an hour. I had to say something. Anything. Just not nothing.
"I'm fine. … It's really good to see You after all these years."
Mrs. Clark looked at the copies of My screenplay and raised a curious brow.
"Hmmmm … 'The Sins of Christina Black,' is that a novel you're working on?"
"No," I said politely, "It's a screenplay."
"About? …"
My heart was racing fast as My mind now.
"It's about BDSM," I said, half-swallowing My tongue and waiting for what seemed an eternity for Her response. "It's actually the story of an insane, sadistic Dominatrix who is a serial killer in the S&M Scene."
Mrs. Clark's pretty green eyes lit up like the Disneyland fireworks at this. Time had indeed been kind to Her and Her once perfect skin was still taut and resilient enough to plug Revlon products with Cindy Crawford on any day.
Mrs. Clark looked at Me and flashed Her thirty-two tooth sterling-silver smile.
"BDSM?," She said. "I see."
"Would you like to have some coffee after We finish here?," I asked assertively, but politely.
"Yes, I'd like that, Mark."

Two hours later, in the darkened corner of the local Starbuck's, Mrs. Clark and I were still chatting away as if We had maintained Our friendship over all these years. It was strange. Strange because We were Both adults now. And the conversation was so steamy. We were talking about positions for punishment, OTK as opposed to bent over a chair, Our favorite spanking implements as well as the pros and cons of submissives who Top from below. We got into a very philosophical and highly-enriching discussion about the practical prismatics of discipline in and of itself (whether it really works or not. We decided that, in fact, it did). When to spank. When not to spank. Pre-punishment talks and posturing rituals … disciplinary rites in other countries, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. We talked about caning in England and I was fascinated to learn that She had been there in the sixties and experienced caning from both a Domme and submissive's point of view from a very well respected Governess quite proficient with the rod. We talked about poor Michael Faye (the Ohio teen who was caned in Singapore in '94) and laughed at his plight and the media circus which surrounded the event and had spanking in the news practically every day. We talked about Our own fascinations with spanking and how I was a Professional Disciplinarian who catered to women who preferred to remain anonymous, but yet who liked the idea of psychodrama role-play mixed in with their discipline. (She wasn't shocked, really, but did ask a lot of questions as She hadn't ever encountered a Professional Male Dominant before.) I mentioned that first time when She caught eyes with Me and mentioned the paddlings I received at school.

She smiled at Me knowingly.
Then I made a confession.
I told Her about seeing Steve's spanking so long ago on that sun-drenched afternoon in Southern California.
Said Mrs. Clark: "I'm happy it was -- and still is --a pleasant memory for you. And although I enjoy spanking and discipline in general, My punishments for My boys never transcended that line. They were solely disciplinary spankings - meant for true correctional purposes - I derived no pleasure from them whatsoever. BDSM and its practices and philosophies are never meant for children - in any way, shape or form."
I told Her that I wholeheartedly agreed, understood and echoed the same sentiment.
Then She told Me something that shocked Me a bit.
"I've been in the Lifestyle for nearly thirty five years as a Mistress. I gave My first spanking when I was still in My teens. My husband has been - and always will be -- My number one fan. He's also been My slave all these years and I have never been bored with him, ever."
I had always thought that She was just a very rigid Disciplinarian, very set in Her ways and that was just the way things were with Her. And spanking was just Her way of meting out punishment for punishment's sake.
After watching Her smoke a pack-and-a-half of Benson & Hedges Lights and down about three cups of good Colombian coffee (Juan Valdez would've been proud), We decided to exchange phone numbers and keep in touch.
"I'd love to hear more about your business sometime. It sounds fascinating," She said. "Perhaps I could even sit in on a session if it's permissible with one of Your clients"
Then We locked eyes again and as Her nose nuzzled into a blur, I found My lips softly caressing Hers and giving Her a warm hug. It felt good after all those years to finally consecrate Our friendship.
That was another of My fantasies come true.
The thing I've come to realize in this crazy, insane world is that you just never know what can happen next.
And you know what? I never did ask a single thing about Steve.
And I'm not going to, either.
I thought I would die from laughing as I drove away, pounding the steering wheel.
Hot shit.
My best friend's Mom!

Mark E. DeSade is a professional Disciplinarian who lives and practices in Los Angeles. His feature-length screenplay about BDSM titled "The Sins of Christina Black" has received rave reviews in its coverage from the William Morris Agency. email markedesade@aol.com

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