Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404
We were in the artisanal coffee shop downtown. Michael was staring intensely at a pastry tower, when his lower lip starting to tremble. “No, Michael,” I whispered, grabbing his arm so tightly I risked interrupting his circulatory system. “We are having a pleasant afternoon. We agreed on no more sweets because they make you too hyper.”
He didn’t listen. Instead, he decided to stomp and scream as he always does whenever he doesn’t get his own way. Especially when we’re surrounded by people who might judge my parenting skills—or lack thereof. And then, like clockwork, he did it. There was a faint, yet unmistakable, shhhht sound, followed by the specific, horrible squish that only a fully saturated, cotton adult diaper can produce.
“Michael, we’ve discussed this at length!”
The woman at the next table looked up, sniffing the air while grimacing. Michael, meanwhile, wasn’t hiding it. Oh no. That’s not his style. He turned towards me, showing off the front of his light-wash denim pants that were now a darker, more glistening shade of blue. His eyes wide and pitiful. He KNEW I’d be furious.
“Mama,” he whimpered. The sound was barely audible over the sudden, collective silence of the café. “I was a bad boy.” I sighed heavily, closed my eyes and counted to five, picturing myself screaming into a pillow. This was it. The climax of his completely unnecessary, public theatrical production.
“You certainly were, Michael,” I gritted out, pulling him towards the exit before the manager could hose us down. “Grab your jacket. We are leaving before I am charged with disturbing the peace.” The walk back to the car was miserable. Every movement Michael made resulted in a disheartening slosh, and he kept repeating his confession like a chant.
“I need my spanking, Mama. I deserve it.” We finally tumbled into the apartment, I didn’t reach for the wipes or the changing pad. Instead, I reached for my migraine medication. “Michael, look at me,” I commanded. He stood before me, head bowed, the picture of shame. “We have discussed this at length,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “You know how to use the toilet. You know how to use the words, ‘I’m feeling really needy/aroused/horny, could you maybe give me a good smack later?’ We have fantastic communication skills.” He just pouted. “But that’s not dramatic enough.”
“Dramatic enough?” I threw my hands up in exasperation. “We were just run out of a café filled with pretentious poets! What is more dramatic than a grown man soaking himself in a public setting? You always create an embarrasing incident just to circumvent a simple request!”
He grinned, a genuine adult smirk that told me everything. He found the sheer hoop-jumping required by his ritual deeply exciting. “A spanking, please, Mama?” he asked again, his voice dropping an octave, now sounding less like a ‘bad boy’ and more like a man who knew exactly what he wanted.
I sighed, pulling him closer and swatting his wet bottom sharply, right through the denim.
Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404
https://phonesexcandy.com/amber