Unlike the photo above, this is not a news flash. Mommy spanks, and it is a cure-all.
There is something primeval, from age immemorial, about a mother getting-after her child, no matter how old, expressing that infinite love with near-infinite hard-hand spanks on a receptive rear-end.
It is a panacea through pain, a remedy for whatever ails one, delivered via the rump, by the person who knows one best.
Whether it is administered with the bare hand, or her hairbrush, or yours,
whether it is given in her bedroom or yours,
over the kitchen table (perhaps with a wooden spoon, the favorite implement of ass destruction by my mother),
or on-the-fly anywhere else, you better believe that she will make it hurt, make it embarrassing, make it memorable.
No matter if it’s just a quick swat or two across the seat of your bloomers,
or a barn-burning blistering/bruising on the bare that goes on forever,
or something somewhere in-between, no matter your age, she knows you like no one else, knows how to get through to you, just how best to push you past crocodile tears to true contrition. Mommy spanks, Mommy spanks hard, and you are never too old to learn a lesson!