Sirens and studs

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Wendy unlocked the door of her suburban house, stepped inside and stopped, stunned. From the back of the house came the unmistakable sound of someone being spanked.

That didn't make sense. Since she lived alone with her eighteen year-old son Andrew, and had done so since the divorce more than a year before, there couldn't be anyone being spanked, but there was.

Closing the door quietly and slipping her shoes off, Wendy walked quietly toward her bedroom. The whimpering and sobbing she heard between spanks were familiar. They were the sounds Andrew made when she spanked him. But if he was getting a spanking, as seemed to be the case, who was administering it?

Out of shock, but still somewhat dazed, she edged closer to the open bedroom door, then she was close enough to be able to peer between the door frame and the door. What she saw then almost sent her back into shock.

Andrew was getting a spanking all right, but he was giving it to himself. But more than that, there was the way he was dressed.

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