I’m his mommy. He is eight.
In the early hours I heard him m***********.
My son is not allowed to m*********. He should come to me and ask me to play with his c***. I can tease his sweet little c***, squeeze his white bals and make him o*****.
He was m*********** slowly, making noises that suggested pleasure coming out of his c***. I went to the kitchen, filled a jug with iced water and took it to his bedroom.
In my son’s bedroom I keep an eighteen inch rattan naughty stick. In schools, sticks like my son’s stick made big boys cower, yelp and cry, clamping their hands under their armpits to try to relieve the pain. I soaked my hands in the iced water and I went into his bedroom.
You’re m***********, son. You know what I’m going to do.
I lifted his right hand off his c***.
Hold your hand out, darling. You know you have to ask me, or my boyfriend, when your c*** needs to be petted.
I whacked the palm of the hand twice, hard, making him squeal. Then with my ice cold left hand I held his p**** just behind the tip and I fingered it. The c*** erected, became thick and hard, and a wave of pleasure spread outward from it. Even though his hand was throbbing from the whacks, he gasped with pleasure and love.
My son climaxes slowly so it took a quarter of an hour of slow petting before he felt the shock of his dry o*****. He lost control for a few seconds and pissed on the bed. I kissed him on the balls and on the mouth, then I climbed into bed with him, put my hand on his c***, held the shaft and let him sleep.
