You must be punished. For ducking school I think you deserve a good smacking across your backside. From there I could see into the lounge, through the half-open door. Dani was standing in the lounge, her head hung down, while my aunt was scolding her. Dani was slim, almost elfin. She had dark long hair at the time which reached half way down her back. She was dressed for school: a white blouse with a blue V-neck jumper, with blue pleated skirt that reached about half-way down her smooth thighs, and white ankle socks.
I was rooted to the spot. This moment was the time I became interested in spanking. Smack, smack, smack. By number five Dani was crying — I could hear her gulping sobs over the slaps. With this, she started to whimper and whine. By now I could see a rosy glow appearing beneath her white panties. By now she was crying steadily. With the twelfth smack my aunt stopped. However, she kept my cousin bent over while she sat down out of sight. I was unbelievably aroused by the sight of my cousin bent double. My eyes ran up her legs from her ankles, across her calves now quivering slightly from the release of tension to that deep crimson backside and her knickers damp with perspiration.
Embarrassed but highly aroused, I slipped out the back door, my life transformed forever. It is now 50 years ago that I visited an aunt with my mother. On arrival we were shown into the dining room and my aunt apologised for asking us to wait, as she had a job to finish upstairs. As we sat down we could hear my aunt sharply issuing instructions and the pleading voice of her youngest daughter who, apparently, was being instructed to drop her knickers, lift up her dress and petticoat and bend over the side of the bed. There then followed a series of six sharp cracks, well spaced out and each one followed by an increasingly louder wail and promises to be good etc.
I knew that there was a conservatory at the back of the house where three thin flexible canes hung on the wall, one for each of the three daughters. My aunt appeared in the dining room and apologised again for keeping us waiting. Do you want some more? Her eyes were glistening as tears continued to well up and there were tear-streaks on her cheeks.
Although such discipline was common among families in those days and I was well aware of similar events, this was the closest that I had been to such an event other than my own! I just looked at her with pitiful and teary eyes and started crying a lot harder now as I realised the end was nigh. I was told to put my hands on my head as my mum grabbed me by my arm and turned me around. I felt a strange sensation when the dangling strap brushed against my bare leg as mum placed her fingers inside the waistband of my panties and pulled them down to my knees.
I had a sensation of cool air against my already heated bottom. I was then pushed in my back and forced to lie across the end of bed. Suddenly the strap was gone and then I had funny feeling as I could sense mum swinging her arm and a loud crack filled the room and intense pain. I let out a squeal at this first crack and could barely believe that such pain was possible and it was being caused by my mum. I was still coming to terms with the pain and shock when the sense of movement, loud crack, more stinging pain and squeal was repeated.
At this stage I became unaware of actual details only the searing pain and the cracking sound of leather hitting bare bottom. By the time my dozen of the best was over I was a crying, limp doll laying submissively over the edge of the sofa blubbering out promises never to be naughty again. Mum then came around and pulled my panties up over my stinging backside and I felt a strange hot sensation on my bottom as the rather thick nylon enveloped my stinging buttocks followed by a numb feeling.
I was then left alone to cry some more which I did for such a long time. Two slaps on the right leg, then two on the left. On and on it went, until each leg had received ten slaps. The whole play area was counting. After each stinging blow, Sarah twisted and shook the offended thigh, but never took her hands down. When it was done, each leg had a reddened patch, with distinct finger-marks around the edges.
She was ordered home. This did not seem to please her, however, as she continued to cry profusely. Sarah ran home, rubbing the backs of her thighs as she went. David held his mother's hand as they walked home. Ann's Pictures. Ann's trademark is her use of lined notepaper for her drawings, the only kind of paper available to her as a little girl when she first began creating spanking images. Ann, early in her career as a spanking artist. Z's Mind Candy a collection of stories by zprymantis. I have a rock candy hairbrush that will blister your bottom good and hard. I will take you across my knee and the entire enchanted forest will hear your screams.
There was a loud bang, and Pamela jumped almost out of her skin as the heavy picture book slipped off her bed and onto the floor.
The Handprints Spanking Links Page
She was being hauled down the hall to her room. The door was shut. Her father took her across his knee and lifted her party dress, and lowered her white cotton panties. She struggled and kicked but Daddy held onto her tightly. She struggled even more as Daddy brought down the hairbrush on her behind. He said he hated to have to do it, to take her from the party like this; to blister her behind, she was being such a naughty girl, on her birthday no less!
She gasped and screamed and kicked her feet. She didn't care! The spanking lasted a short time, but was hard and intense. Her bottom went from cool and white to an angry red. At first the pain was so intense she fought to get away, but later she found herself holding onto Daddy's leg, clinging to him, instead of pushing him away. Daddy didn't stop till she was exhausted and crying across his knee. He waited till she was finished crying and then lifted her up in his arms and carried her into the bathroom, where he shut the door.
On her way between the rooms, she saw the worried faces of friends in the hallway as she blurred past. He ran the cold water and then wiped her face off with a cool cloth. He reached under her party dress and returned her panties to their upright position. He opened his arms, and she hugged him tightly. How could she have been so stupid? Why did she venture to the other side of the playground and hang out with the older kids?
Her timing stunk. Instead of the usual gossip and boy teasing, the older girls had decided that day to venture through a hole in the fence located behind the trees and explore the rock covered train tracks behind the school. Just as they were returning through the fence, a playground monitor spotted them. Six of them, she being the youngest, were sent straight to the principal's office.
Gina was the only fifth grader in the group. Ms Martinez knew her parents were strict and after handing her the note said she was confident her parents would handle this situation in the proper way. Again Gina blushed, since her parents and Ms Martinez had discussed the type of discipline Gina got at home on other occasions.
It's not easy when your parents are friends with the principal. Memories of Childhood Spankings. In those days, when you were going to get a grade lower than a "c," the school would send home a warning notice that you'd have to have signed by your parents and brought back. You then had six weeks to pull up the grade. I gave the note to my father and he signed it and was quite angry. He couldn't understand how such a smart girl was about to get a "d. Then my dad took off his belt.
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I was wearing a skirt at the time so he had no problem flipping it up and yanking down my panties for the spanking. My dad applied about 12 good, hard licks with the belt. Half way through I was crying like a baby and by the time he was done my bottom was very red and sore. I had trouble sitting at my desk to do my homework, but I did try really hard and I managed to pull my grade up to a "c. Daddy planted his foot on a chair, and draped me over his raised knee. He took the paddle I still held, and he secured me firmly under his free arm. I still remember his grip, as a warm hug, the cool air over my naked seat, still unharmed, and my legs dangling in the air.
The first slap got immediately all my attention, stinging more badly than anything I could remember. The second slap hit the same place and intensified the smarting, the third slap hit the same place again and made it burn, at the next one, a red-hot saucer was pushed against my burning skin. Within few seconds, my bum felt severely sunburn, the paddle scorching my burning globes. Dad could impossibly know how bad THIS was hurting.
There was the pain, and it hurt more than enough. There was also the moral punishment. I hung there like a rag doll, my head bungling down, my nightie crumpled up in my neck, crying and kicking on the rhythm of the slaps. I quickly changed into my pajamas and went to the bathroom returning to my room just as my father was coming down the hallway — in his hand was the hairbrush. Now I'd never been spanked with the hairbrush, but I'd heard my sister being spanked with it.
My hands went instinctively to my bottom and promises to be good flowed from my mouth.
I know that I was crying by the time the lecture had finished. Dad placed the hairbrush on the desk and then turned the chair around from desk. Sitting down he pulled me between his knees telling me that he loved me, but that he was going to spank me. With those words he slid his hands into the waistband of my pajamas taking them down until they slid over my hips and puddled around my ankles.
As he was doing this he also turned me over his knee. With one hand tucked around my waist pulling me close to him and the other resting on my bottom the spanking started. He started in the middle of one check working his way half way down my thighs and then working his way up the other side. After a couple of minutes he stopped, resting his hand on my now red bottom.
I was told to get the hairbrush from the desk. Believe it or not I had completely forgotten about the brush. My crying started again. It didn't take long before I was back over my father's lap. At first the brush felt cool as he gently rubbed the brush around my bottom in a circular motion. I remember promising good behavior, pleading for another chance. No luck. He raised the brush reminding me that deliberate naughtiness would be punished and with that he brought the brush down with a flick of his wrist. To this day I can still remember the crack it made and the burning sting that came with it.
My father was firm in his resolve and spanked my deserving bottom until I thought that I couldn't take anymore. He must have noticed something in my body language because with the two or three last smacks to the back of my previously un-spanked thighs, he stood me and set the brush down on my bed. He hugged me tightly. By now I was sobbing and snot was running out of my nose. My hands rushed back trying to cool my hot throbbing bottom. He didn't seem to care. The hands that had just spanked me soothed the back of my hair.
They continued down my back and eventually his hands reached out and brought my hands back to my sides. Letting go of my hands he reached into his pocket and pulled out a hankie so I could blow my nose. In our family if your behavior caused you to get a spanking you were expected to deal with it and move on. There were no cushions for your sore bottom. You were expected to join in on conversations, putting the spanking behind you. The dining room was where most of my formal spankings took place. I didn't dare argue. I walked in behind dad who pulled out a chair. He sat down and motioned for me to bend over his knee.
He did the same to my underwear. It was just enough for my bottom to be bared. Then he raised his hand and brought it down with a resounding smack. Did I cry? You bet I cried! I also wriggled and forgot all about how grown up I was. Instead, I resorted to crying like dad's little girl getting her bottom spanked. Dad spanked me so hard and then suddenly it was finished. Even though it was over, I still laid over his lap while he lectured me. It was then that I became fully aware that my brother had watched the whole thing!
I would love to say that was my last spanking unfortunately it wasn't! My name is Angela. I come from a very strong Christian family. My sisters and I all grew up getting a good hard spanking when we deserved it. My mom did most of the spanking in our family. When one of us would get a spanking she would send us to our room.
It would also allow us to think about what we did. She would then come into the room with the paddle. She would then sit on the bed with us and tell us why we were going to get a spanking. She also would tell us that according to the bible and proverbs that it was her duty as a parent to correct us. She would then make us bend over her lap and she would give us our spanking. The number of swats depended on our age. In other words, when I was 9 years old I got 9 paddle swats. How hard depended on what we had done.
The more horrible we had been the harder she spanked. In fact, I think the world would be a better place if more parents spanked this way. I'd gotten an Easy Bake Oven for Christmas that year. I was told that I wasn't allowed to play with it unless an adult was there to supervise.
I got tired of waiting for that to happen so I decided to play with it any way. I had forgotten to put everything away when I got done and when my mom came home she saw the oven dishes laying on my bedroom floor. She left the room and came back with the paddle. It had the thickness of a regular school paddle. She had gotten it because the last time she had used her other paddle on me it snapped in half after a single swat.
She told me to lean across the bed. I wasn't too worried at first because I usually only got maybe four or five swats. Sometimes as many as twenty. This time the swats went way past twenty. The spanking kept going on and on I didn't think that she would ever stop. I eventually stopped counting. My bottom felt blistered and sore for awhile after that spanking.
It was the worst spanking I'd ever gotten in my life. I certainly felt fear as she sat down on the edge of my bed and put me across her knee and the bed. My mother believed that the Lord commands a parent to discipline a willful child with a spanking, and that a spanking should hurt plenty. And she knew how to make sure that each time she gave me one it always did.
But I was so angry at her by that point that I could barely think. And my rage pushed my fear somewhat towards the back of my mind. I was trying so hard to bottle up my rage from view that I scarcely noticed as she raised my skirt and petticoat in back and pulled my panties down. I did notice, of course, the moment hard slaps from my mother's hand began on my bare bottom, and the all too familiar sensation she meant for me to feel back there began to quickly build in just the way she intended.
But this only made me angrier than ever. And I was so absorbed with bottling up my anger that after she had gotten to what would normally have been about halfway through the giving to me of my spanking, I realized that I hadn't begun to cry yet. This was even though my pain had passed the point where I would normally have been wailing hard. In that dark moment I formed in my heart a defiant, naughty intention to not give her the satisfaction of making me cry. She continued longer than she usually did but although tears were spilling from my eyes still I didn't make a sound.
Abruptly she shifted me off her lap and got up. I didn't occur to me at the time that her hand must have begun to hurt too much for her to continue. In stubborn triumph I pulled my panties back on and turned to sit up on my bedside. I imagined to myself that my punishment was over and that I had just won a rare little victory over my mother's authority. But then, after I had wiped my watery eyes with my sleeve I realized she was opening my dresser drawers as if looking for something. A feeling of doubt and dread swept over me. When she turned back towards me with my biggest hairbrush in her hand I knew I had been very very foolish not to cry.
And I began to cry then and there. As she was put me back over her knee and slipped my panties back down once more, I tearfully promised to be good and begged her not to spank me again. By now my anger had vanished and all that remained within me was a very very strong wish not to receive a spanking from Mommy.
But of course a spanking from Mommy was exactly what I did get. And it was a very very sound one indeed. This time I responded just as any badly behaved child ought to respond while receiving a well deserved spanking. By the time my mother brought my chastisement to a close she had me crying just as hard as I could cry with a heart filled only with the wish to be just as much of a good girl as I could be and back in Mommy's good graces again.
While waiting for an elevator to come, my mother reprimanded me in a calm tone for my attitude. This continued as we boarded the crowded elevator and began to go down. I should have realized I was in trouble and I should have expressed repentance for my wrong attitude. But I was just too full of my self centered sulkiness and instead I just ignored her as much as I dared.
If I had apologized and promised to behave I think the scolding she gave me might have been all I would have received; but I didn't and it wasn't. So I suppose while we were halfway to the street level and I was still indifferent to her lecture that she must have had enough and decided I needed to be spanked. She certainly informed me of her decision at that moment.
When she had finished reviewing all the little ways I had been a bad girl during the whole shopping trip she concluded, "And when we get home I'm going to turn you over my knee, pull down your panties, and give you a good spanking. But her voice as she spoke those terrible words suddenly seemed terribly loud to my ears. I looked at the elevator floor, blushing, my eyes tearing up, wishing I could disappear.
I was certain that everyone in the elevator heard, that every head turned my way, and that every mind pictured me turned over my mother's knee with my panties pulled down getting my spanking. For really, really bad behavior, they'd pull our pants down so they could swat our bare backsides to make it sting more. This hardly ever happened though, and I doubt I got spanked that way more than three or four times. One spanking I did get on my bare behind came about when my mother found me exploring a barely framed new house being built down the street.
I was about 8, and knew very well I wasn't allowed to be there, particularly in late evening when I was supposed to be sticking close to home. When my mother found me I knew instantly I was in huge trouble, and when we got home I was hardly surprised when she took me straight to her bedroom. As much as I hoped she wouldn't go that far, I kind of figured I was in for a pantsdowner to boot. Usually when we were taken to their room for a spanking, it meant we were in for something extra.
Well, I was right. After she sat on the edge of the bed and put me over her lap, she tugged my pants down before letting me have it. After a half dozen or so hard swats I was let up and sent crying to my room. I'm sure this spanking stung more than most, but I think I remember this so well because it was so unusual for us to get it with our pants down. Once when I was eleven or twelve, three of us went over to another girl's doorstep to see if she could come out and play with us.
When poor Mary came out her face was deeply flushed and her eyes were swollen and red from crying, although her face was dry and looked as if she had just washed it. She was not in a good mood and none of us wanted her to think we were making fun of her or anything like that. But when one of the other girls said, "We're all so sorry you got punished, Mary," in a very sympathetic way, that made Mary feel comfortable enough to complain to us about what had happened.
At first she just said that her father had spanked her, and that she was very mad at him because it wasn't fair. Each of us told her that we got spanked too. We said this not because any of us particularly liked to talk about it, but because we all wanted to comfort her by saying that what had happened to her also happened to us too. The more we sympathized, the more Mary, in a tone of deep resentment towards her father, described in more detail what her father had just done.
And as she did, one or more of us would chime in with something similar that our parents had done to punish us too, to let Mary know that we appreciated what she had gone through. I didn't enjoy revealing details of how I got spanked but I was quite interested in learning about how my friends' parents spanked them. I don't remember what Mary had done to get into trouble, only that she strongly believed she shouldn't have been spanked for it, and certainly not on her bare bottom, in the bathroom, hard, with her father's belt.
I do remember saying that my father used his belt to spank me too sometimes and that it hurt something awful so I knew just how bad Mary's spanking must have been for her. But I didn't mention that my father never did this on my bare bottom - I didn't want to make Mary feel worse about what had just happened to her rather than better. After a while, Mary's mood had visibly brightened and she was more like her usual self. When she began talking about other things, no one said another word about spankings that afternoon.
It is always a blessing to have friends who support you that way! My mother told me on the phone that I had behaved in manner unbecoming of a well bred young Christian. She ordered me come straight home after school because I'd been a very, very bad girl who was going to get a well-deserved thrashing on her little bare bottom. A "thrashing" from my mother was like a spanking, only worse. It meant you got turned across her knee for a whipping with a flexible switch.
It was the worst punishment in the world. And for the rest of the school day I could hear nothing the teacher said because I was so filled with miserable dread of what was later going to happen to me. After school, I walked home as slowly as I dared, with an achy knot of fear in my bosom.
I began to cry when I saw my mother waiting for me on our porch, holding a green twig freshly cut from the willow bush in our yard. I pleaded for leniency as she marched me up the stairs, but to no avail. In my room I tried to tell her how horridly the mean boy had teased me, but she just ignored me and pulled me face down across her lap. Over my shoulder I implored her for a second chance while she turned up my dress and petticoat in back.
And in the last moments as she tugged down my panties I even begged her to give me an ordinary spanking with her hand instead of a thrashing with that switch. But the rod was not spared. My mother whipped me very soundly that afternoon. It was one of my most painful experiences of my childhood. Needless to say, I never punched anyone in the nose again! Mum was a firm believer in spankings and despite being the youngest and the only girl she certainly never went easy on me! If there was any cheek or naughtiness Mum would put me across her knee and spanked my bare bottom until it was pink and hot.
Christmas in Melbourne tends to be really hot, so we usually celebrate at least some of it outdoors.https://backforisansi.tk/map13.php
A Comparison of the Humorama Big Five Plus One Spanking Cartoonists - Part 1
One Christmas my brothers were home from university visiting with their partners. It was all adults, and as an 11 year old I was pretty bored with all the chit chat and wanted to go to my room to play with my new stuff. I made several attempts to snek back into the house and every time Mum caught me she would tell me "Come on Sam, it's Christmas day. It's time for family. After the 3rd time she warned me in front of my brothers that I would get a sore bottom if I carried on with this behavior.
This, of course, raised a cheer from my brothers who always thought I got away with way too much. I don't know what got into me, but I remember saying something along the lines of "Yeah, right. Mum got up and came toward me. I took off running round the garden, which was a pretty dumb idea on my part, but at the time it was the only thing I could think of. Mum eventually cornered me. She grabbed me by the arm and walked me back towards where everyone was sitting, smacking my bottom as we walked.
This was embarrassing in and of itself, but the horror of horrors for a little girl awaited me. My Mum sat down on a bench and in full view of everyone pulled me over her lap. I felt her hands pull down my shorts and then my undies so that my bottom was completely bare.
She then gave me a stinging spanking in full view of everyone. When she finished, I clambered up rubbing my stinging bottom as my 4 brothers all sat with big grins on their faces. Dad didn't seem as amused. He looked a bit cross and I had the sensation that I was going to end the day after the visitors left by dangling over dads lap. But that, as they say, is another story!!!
He said something which I couldn't hear and then Connie bent over the side of her bed and put her face in her arms, weeping miserably. He sat down next to her and I plainly saw that my new friend was indeed about to get a spanking from her father. Now I knew I absolutely shouldn't be watching this and that I was wrong not to leave at once. But now I also felt more riveted than ever. Connie's father looked down at her and sighed deeply a couple times. He had looked stern when speaking to Connie, but now that her head was turned away he only looked sad.
Clearly he really didn't want to spank her. But then he took a very deep breath and said, "Connie, darling, you must always tell Daddy the truth," and then gave the seat of her heavy pleated skirt a sharp little swat, firmly enough to be a real spank but not very hard. Connie cried louder, but she still cried an "I'm sorry" cry more than a "that hurts" cry.
If my father had caught me telling him a lie he would have had me over his knee by now with my skirts turned up in back. And he would be giving the exposed seat of my thin little panties one slow, hard spank after another with his big, heavy hand while I bawled and kicked my legs in pain. Indeed, for telling my father a lie at that age, a "licking" with my father's belt would have been a real possibility.
Connie's father bit his lip and reluctantly drew back his paddle and said, almost apologetically, "No more fibs from now on. Through her thick woolen skirt and whatever she had on underneath I guessed that her father's paddle probably did hurt her, but just a tiny bit. If he had spanked her any less forcefully it could almost have been a game rather than a real punishment. But Connie was crying deep sobs of remorse and she wasn't faking. A pause, then, "Daddy means it! Then he set aside the paddle, sat Connie on his knee and held her while she cried and told him she was sorry several more times.
When she had mostly quieted down he asked her what she would do next time and she promised she would tell Daddy the truth and ask permission to do her homework later when she had a friend visiting instead of telling Daddy a fib. And she sounded as if she really meant what she said and wasn't merely reciting what she thought she was supposed to say because her father had just spanked her. One memory I do remember, which comes back to haunt me on odd occasions, was of when I was about eight years of age.
My family were, and still remain, devout Catholics, and they sent me and my sister to a convent school that stood within the confines of the local Catholic Church. The nuns were very strict, and everyday punishment was usually a rap on the knuckles, a backhand across the head or a slap in the face. Being sent to the headmistress - Sister Winifride, the head of the convent, a very intimidating woman - often meant being lashed either on the hand or the bottom with various implements, from a shoe to a piece of rubber tubing from a bunsen burner, depending on the severity of the offence.
One Friday, the class were tasked with writing an essay on a book we were reading at the time the title escapes me now, but it wasn't anything well-known. This was under test conditions, in total silence. No one ever talked - we didn't dare! The girl I was sharing my desk with had her head down on the desk as she wrote, and I didn't notice her and accidentally caught her with my elbow.
I apologized, and fairly enough, the girl Helen told me to watch it. Sister Maria said, "What were you talking to Helen about? I looked imploring at Helen to come to my rescue; but Sister Maria had already made up her mind that I was trying to copy Helen's work - even after Helen backed my story up! And to make matters worse, by trying to defend me, all poor Helen did was to earn herself a very sore bottom as well! Her desk was on a raised platform at the other end of the class from the door.
Then she put me and Helen over her knee, and spanked us together on our bare bottoms in front of the class. It was only a hand spanking, but it was still painful enough - she was certainly very well-trained in meting corporal punishment out! When her hand got tired, she stopped, to my relief - but it wasn't over yet! She simply turned us around and used her other hand instead.
I recall that Helen and I were both crying our eyes out and pleading with her to stop, but to no avail. Some of the other kids in the class were distressed by the incident as well. When it was over, she made me and Helen stand and face the blackboard behind her desk, with our hands on our heads and with our bottoms still exposed for the whole class to see, until the bell rang to signal school's end.
Then, after the class had left we were sent up to Sister Winifride, who, with Sister Maria watching, beat the palms of Helen's hands and gave my bottom another good hiding with her wooden ruler - mercifully in the privacy of her office this time - before we were both told we could go home. We couldn't get out of there quick enough! When I inspected my bottom after I arrived home, it was cherry pink, with bright red lines and blue bruising in places from where the ruler hit its target.
Imagine my embarrassment at having to explain this to my mother in front of my sister later that evening when she was bathing us - because as far as my parents were concerned, if we ever got spanked at school, we must have done something wrong! So in short, try to picture, if you will, the following little scenario; two young, very shy children of age eight, made to go through the terrifying experience of being spanked and also humiliated in public with a class of 30 distressed kids watching - and for what?
A misunderstanding; a false accusation of a "serious offense" that never was After I had finished preparing for bed and came out of the bathroom, I went to my room. I never gave it a thought, but my sister wasn't in her bed yet, but my mom was in our room. I thought she was simply just putting away some laundry, which she probably was. As I pulled down the covers on my bed, my mom went over and closed the door and locked it.
I simply cannot describe the feeling that came over me when I heard the words I do remember, however, her grabbing me very firmly by the wrist and leading me to the vanity bench where the spoon was resting. In an instant she had me over her lap with my night shirt up and my panties down.
I resisted as best I could, but it was to no avail. With me pinned between her legs and my hands forced to the small of my back with her free hand, my mom spanked my bare bottom very soundly with that spoon that night. It stung drastically beyond words. She was able to overcome my struggles while my screams of mercy fell on deaf ears. The rest of the story is pretty much a blur. I don't know how long it lasted or how many times that spoon connected with my rear end.
To me it seemed like an eternity, but in actuality it probably didn't last long at all. I do know it was thorough though, and I know that I cried myself to sleep that night like a blubbering baby. My mom did have a nice loving chat with me that next day which ended in some hugs and tears. I know she felt bad about having to spank me like that, but she explained why I deserved it. I know myself, especially now, that I did deserve it and I certainly learned from it. I know it had to be pretty hard for my mom to raise four kids pretty much on her own.
I grew up as the middle child in a home with three sisters, fairly close in age. We argued and bickered frequently over anything and everything. One summer morning while watching cartoons, my older sister and I were arguing loudly. Without warning, Mama came into the room with a switch and began to use it on the two of us. In trying to escape the sting of the lashes to my legs, I somehow struck her and knocked her glasses off her face.
She immediately stopped the whipping and sent me to my room upstairs. From my room, I could hear my sister crying as Mama completed her punishment. Then the house was quiet with the exception of the normal household activities. I composed myself and passed the next couple of hours playing alone in my room. Then I heard a car pull into the driveway, signaling that Daddy was home for lunch.
After a short time, I heard Daddy calling me to come downstairs. I went down to join him and my mother at the dining room table where a fresh new switch was waiting instead of lunch.
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I was lectured about arguing with my sisters and told I would not be allowed to get away with fighting punishment when Mama thought it was necessary. Daddy was insistent that he was going to be sure that the punishment Mama had started would be properly completed. The doorway between the dining room and den was a large open archway. My two sisters were in the den watching TV at the time, so they could hear and see everything happening. I was instructed by Daddy to stand in the door way with my hands holding onto the doorframe at the side of the large opening.
I obeyed as Mama picked up the switch and striped the back of my bare legs. I squirmed and screamed loudly as I literally slid down the doorframe trying to avoid that whippy switch. Daddy firmly ordered me to stand up and remain still. Mama put the switch down long enough to pull my shorts down to my ankles. I pleaded for her not to do that. Daddy told me to hush. Mama completed the whipping on my panty covered rear-end and backs of my thighs. I was sent back upstairs to my room to compose myself before joining my family for lunch.
I earned my mother's displeasure while we were out shopping one afternoon, and she promised me "a spanking when we get home. Mother calmly enjoyed my extra good behavior and addressed me in a pleasant tone for the rest of our errands, as if she truly had forgotten. This encouraged me to continue being extra good, which I am sure suited Mother just fine. I tried to think of something extra good to volunteer to do as soon as we got home. I hoped she would quietly let me do that instead of put me over her knee. Just as we approached home I cheerfully declared that I wanted to polish our best silverware now.
Our best silverware really was made of silver and would tarnish and not look its best if not polished from time to time. Mother praised me for offering to do this extra chore without her needing to ask and she told me what a very good little girl I was. Once we arrived I dashed straight in and fetched our tray of special occasion silverware while she got out silver polish, a piece of oilcloth and a rag, and together we set up everything for me on our kitchen table.
As we did, I hopefully acted eager to begin, angelic well-behaved little helper that I was! I almost imagined my plan had worked and that I truly would get to polish silver instead of get my bare behind polished. No sooner did I attempt to sit down and begin than Mother gently restrained me and stooped to my eye level to remind me again how pleased she was with me.
She then declared, still smiling, "you may polish the silverware later, Margaret For me it felt as if our brightly lit kitchen had suddenly gone dark and ominous. Before I'd had time to react to this abrupt change of affairs she added, "come with me," took me by my wrist and whisked me straight to my room. There she placed me over her knee, pulled down my panties and spanked me - every bit as soundly as she had earlier promised me she would.
My goody-goody behavior of the previous half hour had bought me no leniency. And once I had finished crying and we had prayed together, I still had to go straight back to our kitchen, sit my poor little bottom down, and polish all that silverware! I smiled and tried my best to still act as if offering to do this chore had had nothing to do with that spanking she had promised me when we got home. But by then I realized she had seen right through me all along. My most minor misbehavior for which I ever got spanked might have been an incident at the end of fourth grade.
This song was a number one hit by Sheb Wooley and all my friends were singing it too. Earlier that day Daddy forbade me from singing that song ever again because he was tired of hearing it, and I promised him I wouldn't. But still it kept going through my mind over and over. And when he later caught me singing it to myself while setting our table for dinner he promised me if he heard that song one more time "a certain little girl is going to get her little panties warmed! I knew my father would surely keep his promise to me if I didn't keep my promise to him!
But after dinner I was doing dishes and suddenly Daddy stormed into the kitchen. In an awful moment of dread I realized I had been singing out loud about the "Purple People Eater" again without realizing. I stopped myself at once but I was too late. He pulled out a chair and pulled me over his lap, still wearing my Playtex dish gloves. I tearfully told him I was sorry and I hadn't meant to disobey him and please not to spank me, but he didn't say a word. He just turned up my dress and petticoat over my head in back.
And then I felt his big, heavy hand wallop my behind again and again until I was bawling across his lap - a very sorry little girl with very "warm panties," just as he had promised. After my father finished giving me my spanking he marched me upstairs to my room with me still crying and clutching my bottom. And he ordered me to ask God to forgive me for my willful disobedience, and not to come out and finish doing dishes until I had permission. My bottom cheeks both knew they had been spanked, and I kept rubbing them even after they stopped smarting and were merely hot.
Later, when I was permitted to come back downstairs I remember climbing sadly down still rubbing the seat of my dress with one hand, and feeling very subdued and chastened, and intending to be a good little girl as God intended and do my dishes and not stupidly make myself get into any more stupid trouble.
I soon discovered Mommy had already washed them herself and dried and put them all away, even though that was my job. I believe this was her way of showing me, without her saying anything against my father, that she felt Daddy had been too severe with me. Childhood Spanking Memories. The worst memory was when I was 8 and swore at my cousin. We were at my aunt and uncle's summer house. My Mom heard me and said out-loud "excuse me someone needs their pants pulled down for a reminder" I started to leave the room and she grabbed my arm and in front of everyone my aunt,uncle and teenage daughter and my Dad she pushed me over her thigh and yanked down my shorts and then my panties.
I started to squirm and pull away and my Dad told me to "be still or he would get the belt. I am sorry all of you have to witness this little girl getting a spanking but she has been acting out and needs some attention. She then pulled me into the next room with my pants and shorts down to my knees crying and placed me over her knees. The spanking lasted at least 5 minutes and she firmly swatted my bottom while I kicked and cried and then said I was sorrrrrry! Afterwards she pulled my pants up and told me to march into my bedroom for the afternoon and think about my red bottom.
Spanking was the main form of discipline in my house when I was growing up.
I attended a Catholic school and was paddled there as well. Spankings were very formal events that included corner time before and after, scoldings, implement fetching and counting of strokes. Most often I was spanked with a paddle ping pong and school type , a wooden hairbrush or a leather strap. I was spanked bare bottom almost exclusively and I can't remember a home spanking that was not with bottom bare. Spankings would be followed with time in the corner with pants still down.
I received my last spanking at home at 15, my sophomore year in high school. I have a sister and two brothers, all younger, who were spanked like I was - and yes on occassion we were spanked in front of each other. Discipline in our house was extremely strict. When we got on mom or dad's bad side, they took the belt to our bare butts, and it didn't matter how old the offender was.
After the spanking we were grounded to our room for as long as mom or dad felt was appropriate. Despite all the punishments we got, we all loved our mom and dad and have a very close-knit family to this day. I was never spanked as a child. I had saw my sister get plenty of them and I decided at an early age to do anything to defer from getting one.
I am a sound believer in spankings. I get them now from my hubby when I misbehave. I still try my damnest to keep from getting them. When my daughter gets to the age that she knows when she is being told not to do something, she will get spanked if she misbehaves. I'm Trish, 32, born and raised on a farm in Southern Illinois by my grandmother, my parents having abandoned me it was the Viet Nam era and they were protesting everything, including raising a child, apparently. Gramma spanked me with her hand, a willow switch, various kitchen utensils, and once in a long while, an old razor strap.
I was spanked for the "three D's", which were Disobedience, Dishonesty, and Disrespect. I didn't always appreciate how fine a point it took to get me spanked, and I got it for a lot of little things My parents protested to the point that they abandoned me to be raised by my grandmother, who I suppose you would say was from the "old school. Especially if I embarrassed her socially. I am tall and I got leggy early, and after that she spanked me over the sofa arm instead of across her lap.
When I was eleven or so, the spankings got to feeling tingly and good afterward. This was a sexual feeling, I know now, but I didn't then. It led to my desire to be spanked by guys, and I had several of these adventures growing up. I was raised in the 40's and 50's by a stern, no non-sense Mother. She believed in whipping at the drop of a hat. Her switching was given in this manner. I was sent to my room and had to remove my pants and underwear and wait for her to go and cut a switch, at least feet in length. I'd look out my window and see her cutting a switch and walking back to house, stripping off leaves and limbs from it as she returned.
I'd get a good scolding about what i'd done and what was going to happen to me. I'd be shaking and sobbing while she was telling me all this. She'd then grasp my left arm with her left hand, and have me turn around, with my bare bottom facing her. After a few light taps, she'd begin the switching with earnest. She would stop about half-way through it, and ask if I was learning anything from this. I'd try to reply "Yes, Mam", and "please don't whip me anymore! They were all given from top of my hips, to bare bottom buns and just above my knees. I would have to put clothes back on, and go about my farm chores, since we lived with my grandparents.
I think I averaged getting a switching at least once a month. I was at summer camp when I was 11 years old and there was this really cute guy who taught us swimming and water safety. I always wanted his attention so i acted up and fooled off all the time. He asked me to talk with him after the lesson. He asked why i always acted like a brat. I just looked at him and stuck out my tounge. He told me that i was very cheeky and what i needed was a good spanking.
My jaw dropped and i could feel myself getting all red in my cheeks. I told him that he wasn't allowed to spank any of the kids at the camp. He nodded in agreement.
Male spanks female spanking stories
I felt weak at the knees. Then he said "if I could have my way there would be a few less spoiled girls at this camp if we were allowed to give you all what you really deserve.
As he turned to walk away from me he said you had better behave or i am going to report you to your cabin counselor. I just stood there with a weird feeling in my gut. I think this was the start of my spanking intrest. I was obsessed with his words for the longest time after. And wondered about a million times what it would have been like to be over his knee getting that well deserved spanking.
When I was around three or four, I was spending the night at my grandparents' house as I often did. My grandmother put me to bed, but I wasn't tired yet, so I got out of bed and played with my toys on the floor. I don't know how long I played but I made a large mess. Without cleaning up, I eventually crawled into bed. When I awoke in the morning, the floor had been cleaned and I had forgotten all about my late-night playtime.
Grandma came in, and I was bathed as was the norm for first thing in the am at Grandma's. But after the bath, she dressed me only in a T-shirt and carried me downstairs. I was puzzled but didn't question her until she sat down in a rolling kitchen chair and draped me over her knees. She wheeled us over to a drawer, where she withdrew a wooden spoon and proceeded to redden my bottom for getting out of bed and making a mess. The spanking seemed to go on forever, but afterwards, I was hugged, dressed and allowed to play outside. I find that spanking is a more effective form of discipline with girls.
Girls tend to be more modest by nature and the humiliation of having their dresses lifted and panties exposed makes them think twice about committing an offense. I also find that spanking is an effective motivator to being a good student. My daughter objects to my belief that it is and thinks that her brother should be spanked as well.
But I think only a girl should have to bare her bottom for a spanking and that it is improper for a young man of any age. A girl however is a different thing and must learn that at a young age. Nine year old Lucy stayed seated while her parents talked too quietly for her to hear.
She never got spanked with her brothers. Their parents sometimes spanked their bare bottoms so it was decided long ago that they didn't need to get spanked together. She had seen her little brothers get a swat or two as a warning over the pants, but other than that she had only seen her brothers' butts when they were little and ran around naked. Their parents' rule was by the time you were five you were too old to run around naked. So once you turned five you got spanked for being in anything other than underwear. A Gamble Too Far College girl loves cards a bit too much and learns a lesson.
Race to the Bottom Athletic girls bet it all and one comes up short. A Game of Chance Risky bet costs a red head a lot Checkmate A bet is lost. Jennifer: Strip Poker A girl loses a game of strip poker. A Separate Life Can pain be holistic? Cyd thinks so. Beth does too.
Snowed In Steve plays strip monopoly with 3 girls during a blizzard. Strip Poker Strip Poker game with stepsisters does not go as planned. The Big Bet A bet with some sorority girls goes wrong. Kicking the Habit A bet over quitting drinking leads to a summer of nudity. One Pump Chump Enslaved to the strippers. Pool Shark A lost pool game leads to slavery to a sorority house. Behind the 8 Ball A bet on pool leads to a long week of servitude. Bowling for Clothes She plays a strip game in public - she wants to lose.
Winner Takes All: Round 01 Frank enters a high-stakes tournament. Sarah Looses a Bet Sarah made to work as a French maid. A Good Girl? A Xmas board game leads to unexpected sexual delights. Boy Story After dirty handjob, straight guy becomes gay hottub fantasy. Taking 9 for the Big 10 A woman loses a bet to her cousin, and has to pay in public.
Sandrine's Bet Ch. Sara's Comeuppance It's Sara's turn to get her kit off. Get Yer Kit Off You make a stupid bet, you live with the consequences. The Twin A misplaced bet leads to public humiliation. Rita finishes paying her bet. An unexpected event. Rita meets Lena. Love the next morning. A strip poker game. Rita's Bet Ch. Owing Fat Tony Gambler takes a bet to win his wife. Football Bet Wife loses bet and becomes a slut. The Barbeque Ch. Patriots v Giants - Superbowl Bet She loses the bet and loses again. Andy Becomes Mandy Andy loses a fixed game and is forced to dress as Mandy.