A Comedy of AR's (Book 2)

Chapter 8
CHAPTER 208 .......... Amnesia (Part Two) Confronting Mommy

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Chapter Description: 2 new pictures added 4/3/24 Images for this story can be found at the following web...... https://sites.google.com/view/comedy-ars-characters/home

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CHAPTER  208

I tried to hold her right hand with both of my hands as (inch by inch) she pulled down my zipper.  As far as ‘power’ and ‘control’ goes, a girl couldn’t get any more personal with boy than that … especially if the boy didn’t want it to happen.

 

“Get away from me!!” I screamed at her.

 

This was starting to become an unhappy experience … and very embarrassing.  This was my apartment.  I should be the one right now grabbing her arms and throwing her out my front door. 

 

I tried to put all my weight on my rear end but she was strong enough to tug left and right and finally drag my pants down to my ankles.  She was seriously trying to strip me naked and I was seriously trying to stop her.  Guess who had the odds to win that battle.

 

Then she punched both of my thighs very hard, so now, I didn’t even have enough strength to kick her.

 

I had never been beaten up by a girl before, and I didn’t want this to be the first time.  I thought that this must be what it feels like for girls when they get raped.

 

I tried to sit up and I took a swing, punching her left breast as hard as I could, but she acted like she never even felt it.  Then she slapped my face and I went back down with sour expression on my lips.  I was ready to cry.

 

It was very frustrating trying to defend myself against a girl when I only had the physical strength of a twelve-year-old boy.  She started to go to work on my cleats.  I might have been able to use my football cleats as a weapon if I had the strength to lift my legs.  That was her purpose, punching that turned my thighs into jello.

 

In a few seconds she unlaced my cleats and peeled off my socks too.  Then she grabbed the bottoms of my pant legs and yanked them past and off my bare feet.  Then she grabbed the front of my football jersey under my chin with her right hand and forced me to sit up again.

 

“Leave me alone!” I yelled at her as I tried to punch her arms.  But with her left hand she slapped the right side of my face and I parched my lips.  It hurt.  I was not enduring well, the pain and humiliation of a girl taking my clothes off against my will.

 

It was very awkward when the woman tried to pull off my jersey and shoulder pads which were tightly bound together.  She stood up on the mattress and grabbed the insides of my shoulder pads and yanked upward many times.  Each time she tugged, my whole body would be lifted up one or two inches above the mattress.

 

I know that I have enough trouble trying to get that contraption on, so when she finally had the whole thing sliding past my ears, it was very painful … I yelled my ‘ows’ several times, but she didn’t care.

 

I’m a grown man, and this girl had me down to my underpants.  While she still stood up on the bed, it gave me a split second to duck down and run toward the bedroom door.  It should not have surprised me that she made a leap toward the door and slammed it shut with her left foot.

 

I was now standing in front of a full length mirror that clearly showed a twelve-year-old boy who had little body definition.  I was just a skinny kid.

 

“Take ‘em off, Derrek,” the strong woman said, pointing to my underpants.”

 

I was weeping openly now.  “Please, Sammantha,” I cried.  “I’ll be your little boy.  I’ll be good.  I promise.”

 

The woman nodded.  “I bet you’ll even be more respectful after your spanking.”

 

The thought of the amount of pain she could inflict on me was alarming.  I was jumping on my toes now and begging.  “No!  Please don’t spank me.  Listen, my name is Derrek Hamlish.  I’m 28 years old and I deliver food for a living.  I’m a grown man and I shouldn’t be spanked.  I’m being reasonable now.  I’ll follow the roleplay rules that you set up and I’ll sleep in the boy’s room.  I’ll do whatever you say.  I’m sorry I said a bad word to you.”

 

“What word was that, Derrek?”

 

I lowered my head and murmured, “The ‘F’ word.”

 

“What’s the ‘F’ word, Derrek?”

 

(Geez, she was really twisting the knife.)

 

“I said the word ‘Fuck’.  I’m sorry.”

 

“No, no, Derrek.  Repeat your entire sentence.”

 

I couldn’t help crying again … and my body was shaking, and my lips were quivering, but I answered her.  “I said ‘Fuck you, Sammantha’.”

 

“And?”

 

“And the horse you rode in on.”

 

Sammantha put her hands on her hips and scolded me. “And don’t you think that when a little boy says that, it deserves a spanking?”

 

I couldn’t respond.  I just looked at the floor and cried.

 

Now she folded her arms across her chest.  “Derrek, I’m a psychologist.  I’ve been around boys long enough that I can always tell when they’re bull-shitting me.  So if you take off your underpants yourself, you’ll get a light spanking.  If I have to undress you you’ll get a hard spanking.  It’s your choice.”

 

Now I gave up and started crying profusely.  I knew I couldn’t win.  I was a humiliated grown man ready to get spanked as a little boy.  I felt so ridiculous slipping my thumbs into the waistband of my underpants.  I had to get spanked by my pretend mommy.  This wasn’t fair.  If I was stronger, I would spank her.  I took a few breaths, cried some more, and slid my cotton undies down my legs.  I tried not to look in the full length mirror.  My boner popped up and I stepped out of my last article of clothing.

 

The woman pointed at my errection and teased me to my annoyance, “Looks like you’re already getting excited for your  spanking.”

 

“Shut up,” I whined through my tears, while trying feebly to cover my boner.

 

“Derrek, don’t be a slob,” she told me.  “Pick up all your clothes and put them in the hamper.  Of course, leave your shoulder pads out.”

 

At this point, I didn’t have much choice.  I was so embarrassed, I didn’t think my erection would ever go down.  It bobbed up and down as I moved about the bedroom gathering up my garments.

 

I was thinking that I’d rather just put them back on than throw them in the hamper.  Tossing them in the basket signaled to me that I wasn’t going to be wearing any clothes for awhile.  I’m sure that was Sammantha’s purpose.

 

Now I had to turn around and face the woman with my boner pointing right at her.  She didn’t grab me right away, but rather just stood there gazing at me, building up the tension.  Instinctively, I reached behind me and rubbed my butt, as if the spanking was already happening.

 

Tears were forming in my eyes again as she sat down.  Then she did that demeaning gesture where she has her right hand palm up and curls her index finger several times in the ‘come here’ command.

 

I couldn’t believe this was happening to me.  I remember waking up this morning (as a grown man) and going out on my route, delivering groceries and fast food to whomever needed such a convenience.  It was a Saturday and I think it may have been summertime.

 

I even remember my last delivery around noon, dropping off a pizza to some girl named Sally Sukkemsilli.  I thought that was a weird name.  Turned out to be a kid around twelve or thirteen years old.  She did give me a three dollar tip which was good.  But I know for a fact that that delivery actually happened.  I was not dreaming it.

 

I left her driveway and stopped at the next intersection for a red light.  When it changed to green, I stepped on the gas pedal.  But instead of driving through the intersection, I found myself walking off a football field with a concussion and a major headache.

 

So how the fuck could I go from being a grown man delivering a pizza … to a twelve-year-old little boy standing totally stark naked before some woman who was claiming to be my fake mommy? 

 

I don’t care who she was.  She had no right to give me a spanking … and that’s when I drew up enough courage to tell her so.

 

“Sammantha, you have no right to give me a spanking.”

 

“Oh really?  And what do you think should be done with a little boy who said what you said to me?”

 

I fumbled for an answer.  “Well, I don’t know, but I don’t think it should be a spanking.  This is my bedroom and my apartment … and I did say that I was sorry.  But I still think you should just leave.  You staying here is like stealing.  I should call the police and tell them you’re assaulting me.  If I was my real age of 28, you wouldn’t be doing this.  I don’t WANT to be a little boy!”

 

Sammantha wiggled her index finger at me again.  “Come closer to me, Derrek.”

 

I nervously took another step forward till my erection was right in front of her.  My entire body was trembling.

 

“I’ll tell you what, Derrek.  I want you think about some ways by which a boy could be punished other than getting a spanking.”

 

I tepidly replied, “Well, I shouldn’t be a boy right now and I shouldn’t be punished … not by you, anyway.”

 

“Do you want me to respect you, Derrek?”

 

“Yes,” I replied with a murmur.

 

“Then that’s a feeling we share, Derrek.  I have a real bug-a-boo when people disrespect me … partly because I occupy the body of a female, which I often resent.  I made a vow to myself many years ago, that I would never let any male, regardless of age, disrespect me.  That’s a bad thing for you, Derrek.”

 

She continued, “So then … after your spanking … I want you to tell me all about your alternative punishment ideas.”

 

I opened my mouth and said, “Huh?”

 

Quickly, the woman used her left hand to grab my left arm … and then used her right arm to scoop up both my legs and place me over her lap.  A second ago, I thought she was going to let me off the hook.

 

I kicked and squealed, “No!  Please no!”

 

Then I could sense her reaching underneath and fumbling around with my penis and scrotum.  It tickled me for a moment, but I didn’t think that was her intention.

 

Her hand then grabbed my erect shaft and bent it downward till she could lock it between her knees.  That shut off all avenues of possible escape … not that I had any to begin with.

 

I don’t like the fact that she teased me into thinking that I might be able to substitute a spanking for a less painful punishment.  This woman was downright cruel.

 

“OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!

 

Seriously, was that supposed to be her ‘light’ spanking.  Her first strike made my right buttock burn.  The second made my left buttock burn and I wailed again.  These felt like white-hot strikes … like sitting on a hot stove.

 

Don’t people understand that a child’s buttocks are much more sensitive than an adult’s?  I can’t believe how seriously painful and traumatizing it is to have my twelve-year-old buttocks burned like this.  Adults might find it a sexual turn-on.  But as a child, I found it not just painful, but emotionally devastating.

 

I was a non-person.  My feelings didn’t count.  My spanking felt like it went on for ten minutes but I know it was probably just one minute.  I was completely humiliated and a blubbering mess.  Sammantha took my hand and stood me up … then guided me into the little boy’s room … over to a corner.

 

“You’ll take a time out here, Derrek.  Do not leave the corner till I tell you.  As you found out, respect is very important to me.”

 

I cried out, “I hate you so much!”

 

Sammantha placed a hand on my shoulder.  “Let’s try that again, Derrek.  I want you to say ‘I hate you so much, Mom’.”

 

“No!” I protested.

 

“Derrek, when I want to get a point across for a behavior that doesn’t require a spanking, I used the tickle-pinch method.  First, I tickle your tummy.”

 

“Hee-hee, stop it!  Ah- ha ha hee hee, stop it!  Ahhhhhhhh he he!  Okay stop, please!”

 

“Then I give you a little pinch somewhere.  Hmm, let’s try the loose skin by the side of your bicep … and just give it a twist.”

 

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggggghhhhhhhhhh!!!”

 

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