I received three paddlings from the principal during my 5th grade year at school in Flippin, Arkansas. I was, in a way, getting in trouble on purpose to get it because besides enjoying the after effects and the excitement of the actual event, I think the principal was a replacement father figure since my dad had left my mom and my two brothers when I was 5.

This particular event was kind of funny because of the frustration it caused Mr Anderson, as you will soon see.

It was the Friday before Good Friday in 1956 and my mom had to be at the church at 4:00 pm to rehearse the upcoming play the next week. As a result, she had dressed me in one of my church dresses, yellow, which included a petticoat. She placed my recently cut hair into short pigtails with a yellow bow on each one. I also had on my new shiny black Mary Jane shoes with white ankle socks.

When I got to school, some of the kids kept teasing me because of my church attire. I kept explaining to them why I had it on but, as one probably remembers, some kids are assholes.

It was just after lunch and I remember the great care I took to avoid get any of the goulash on me since it would really show on the yellow fabric. I was at the three-head water fountain in the hall when a kid named Johnny came up behind me and said: “You look stupid in that dress, Emily.”

I guess that was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back because I turned around and said: “And Johnny, you look like an asshole in your clothes!”

As my luck would have it, Mrs Hutton, a second grade teacher, was just a few feet behind me and heard what I said.

“Emily Johnson,” she said sternly, “Come here this minute!”

As I approached her, she grabbed my left hand and took me straight to the office. As we went inside, I saw Mr Anderson talking to a secretary and, as he looked up, Mrs Hutton waved him over to her.

She then whispered in his ear, which changed his smile to a frown, which followed with: “I’ll take care of it. Thank you, Mrs Hutton.”

He looked at me and said: “Em, go have a seat in the waiting area and I will be right there.”

The waiting area, as mentioned in a previous account, was a small room that was between the school main office area and his private office. I went in there and waited for his arrival. I remember the feeling of both fear and excitement as to what I knew was coming my way.

After about 5 minutes, he walked in the waiting area and said to follow him as we went inside his office. He closed the door and then sat on the corner of his desk with one leg hanging off, looked at me intensely and asked for my version of what happened.

After hearing my story he replied: “Well, Emily, kids are often teasing other kids and that is just the way things go. But responding to teasing with vulgar language is not ever, ever, ever acceptable here at school or anywhere.”

Then he took a metal framed wood chair that was sitting in front of his desk and placed in front of the 6ft tall mirror that was in the middle of the wall to the right of his desk. He then said something like: “Blue talk results in warm backsides, just as the good book says.”

He placed his hand on my shoulder, walked me to the chair and lightly pushed as he said: “Bend over, place your hands flat on the seat and look forward. Do not look back at me or stand up before I tell you too. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“Yes sir, what?”

“Yes sir, Mr Anderson.”

“Good girl. Now we will begin.”

He pulled back the hem of my dress and then pulled back the petticoat and pressed it on my back with his left hand. I then felt the paddle rub against my white pantied bottom and out of the corner of my eye I saw the image of his arm swing back and return.

“Whack” was the sound and my backside felt like a bunch of ants stinging me at the same time. I breathed in and said: “Owie.”

Then came # 2 and 3 and 4 and 5, and while I was not trying to stand up, I do remember shifting my legs a bit and moving my bottom to the left and right as if that was helping somehow.

I was trying to tough it out by just saying: “Ow,” and breathing loudly.

Then came 6, 7 and 8, and Mr Anderson lifted his left hand for a moment and the petticoat shot back to its original position, which frustrated him.

He said something like: “This thing is annoying,” as he pulled the petticoat back over my back and pressed down again to hold it in place.

“We are about halfway done, Emily,” he said as he lined the paddle up again and delivered # 9, 10, 11 and 12. I had begun lightly crying now as my bottom was on fire and I could see my tears on the brown wood chair seat I was bent over.

Then he said: “And the last ones,” and then delivered 13, 14, 15 and 16. He stood there for a minute with his left hand holding me in place and asked if I was going to avoid using vulgar language.”

I replied: “Yes sir, Mr Anderson,” through my crying and then he released his left hand and said I could return to class.

I stopped by a rest room along the way to dry my face and compose myself a bit. I remember looking at the mirror in front of the sink and pondering that weird, fascinating feeling that was mixed in with the stinging pain.

After a few minutes I went back to the classroom and had to endure that feeling of: “Ha-ha, we know what happened to you.”

The stinging faded over the next hour but for some weird quirk of humanity, I found myself reliving what had just occurred. I would do this often and future spankings became even more exciting after I turned 12 that summer.

Em

When someone asks: ‘Do you think some of the administrators who handed out corporal punishments enjoyed it?’ my answer would be, ‘No for most of them but definitely yes for a select few.’

Why do I answer so? Because over my 70 years on this earth I have learned a great deal about human nature and some aspects of it are just plain strange at times. Most punishers do see the sexual nature to spankings, but do not act on it. For others, it is more of a power trip than a sexual one and it is both for some as well.

I myself began having sexual feelings connected to receiving it after I hit puberty at 11 even though I would not realize it was sexual until I was 17, almost 18. My submissive nature also added to the thrill of the moment.

As some of these things became apparent during the sexual revolution of the mid 1960s onward, rules were put in place that limited the number of swats (bad idea in my opinion) and introduced the need for a witness to make sure no weird stuff was happening behind closed doors.

These things were not in place in the 1950s where I attended school in Arkansas, and no doubt some were enjoying meting out punishments and taking their time doing it. I experienced this on several occasions although I never encountered anything beyond the spanking part.

The first few accounts I am posting on what I received at school are not necessarily in timeline order, but are accounts that stood out from the others in one way or another. Virtually every administrator had their own way and rarely strayed from it.

This one occurred when I was in the 6th grade in January of 1958. I had told another girl, who was always making fun of my being small for my age, that she had a face that was ‘uglier than President Eisenhower’s asshole.’

Her and a nearby friend went to the office and told one of the secretaries, and about 30 minutes before the lunch periods began the intercom came on in our room and the lady voice said: “Mrs Jones, please send Emily Johnson to the office at this time please.”

Mrs Jones replied: “She is on her way,” and motioned with her finger by pointing at me and then the door. As I left, I knew what was going to happen so I began getting my mind in that zone. Remember David’s tips on breathing and try to endure and make the best of it.

As I walked in, the lady at the first desk told me to go straight to the waiting room for Mr Anderson’s office. As I opened the door, I noticed a girl from the 7th grade, Patty, already sitting there.

As I sat down she asked: “Are you here for a paddling too?”

“Yeah,” I replied as I sighed.

“What did you do?” she asked.

“I said a bad word to Terri. And you?”

“I said a bad word in class when I couldn’t find my assignment.”

“Ha ha,” I laughed, “it was a bad day for bad words.”

“I guess so,” came her reply but she didn’t see any humor in the situation.

Mr Anderson never paddles boys and girls together, but he sometime will have 2 or 3 of the same gender at times and this would be one of those situations.

After about 3 minutes of silence, the door opened and Mr Anderson invited us in. We followed him inside and he pointed at the area right in front of his desk between two metal framed wood chairs and said to stand there with our hands behind our back.

Meanwhile, he went around and sat at his desk and looked at a piece of paper that stated what we had done. He looked at us and then at the paper again and said: “Patty and Emily, this is not the first time you have been in here for using bad language and this is getting monotonous. Well, I guess we will have to add a few swats for good measure.”

He then stood up and grabbed the chair to the right of Patty and placed it in front of the mirror. He then told me to stand where I was with my hands behind my back and I would be next.

He motioned for Patty to come to him and he placed his hand on her shoulder. He turned her toward the chair and said: “Bend over and place your hands flat on the edge of the chair seat. Look ahead or down but do not look back or get out of position until the punishment is over, ok?”

“Yes, sir,” came her faint reply.

“Yes sir, what, Patty?”

“Yes sir, Mr Anderson.”

“Fine. Now we can get started.”

He then grabbed the edge of her red polka dot patterned dress and pulled it back to reveal her white cotton panties, which she filled out pretty well. He placed his left hand on the middle of her back to make sure she didn’t try to get up. Her reddish brown hair was in a ponytail and she had the nice black and white saddle-back shoes that I wanted but my mom would not get me until I was in 8th grade because she said they were more for show than anything else. All I had was my blue Mary Jane buckle shoes that were so common then.

This was an interesting situation since I had never been paddled in Mr Anderson’s office with anyone else. I could see him tapping the paddle on her pantied bottom and I could see her face in the mirror. As he swung his arm back I could see her face tighten and, as the paddle struck its target, a semi-loud ‘whack’ was heard and she responded with “oww” and her shoulders flexed a bit.

The whacks were spaced about 5 seconds apart and on some he tapped the paddle before winding back and on others he just rubbed it left and right before delivering the whack. She maintained the “owws” for the first 5 and then she started crying and saying she was sorry.

Mr Anderson replied: “That’s good, Patty, but your punishment must continue,” and continued the swats until 10 were delivered. She maintained her composure for the most part and only intensified her crying a bit as the spanking progressed. She slightly jolted forward on each one and occasionally would look ahead at the mirror and then back down.

After the last one he asked her if she would continue to use bad language, to which she replied: “No sir, Mr Anderson.”

He answered: “Good, now go over to my desk and trade places with Emily. Emily, you come here, please.”

“Yes sir, Mr Anderson.”

As he had with Patty, he took my shoulder with his hand, turned me to face the chair and lightly pushed as he said: “Bend over, hands flat on the seat, legs together and no looking back, ok?”

“Yes sir, Mr Anderson.”

Then I felt that shiver in my back as I felt him lift the hem of my pink and white plaid dress and pull it on to my back and hold it in place with his left hand. Then I inhaled a bit as he began the initial tapping and, as before, I could see him in the mirror swinging his arm back and then coming back for the first one.

’Whap’ came the sound and I said nothing as I breathed out and took in another breath. I was going to show Patty how a 6th grade can take a paddling better than she could. Below is my best recollection of how I handled the situation:

Whap 2 – Breathed in and out.

Whap 3 – Breathed in and out.

Whap 4 – Said “ow” twice.

Whap 5 – Breathed in and out.

Whap 6 – Ditto.

Whap 7 – Breathing. By this time my bottom was heating up.

Whap 8 – Said “ahhhh” and “owww”.

Whap 10 – Breathing.

Then I felt his left hand lift slightly and he asked the same question he had asked Patty about continuing to use bad language.

Of course, I said: “No sir, Mr Anderson.”

He let me stand up and my dress fell back into place and was now covering a very warm behind. He then went on a quick recollection speech and then dismissed us to return to class.

As we left the office, I asked Patty if her bottom was burning like mine. She replied: “Yeah, and I have to go,” and she picked up her pace of walking as she headed to her home room class.

It was now my lunch time, so I went into the cafeteria and got my food and went and sat at a table that was away from the crowd. As I picked up the piece of fried chicken I couldn’t ignore the pulsing stinging on my backside. And that fascinating weird feeling was slowly taking over.

Em

So this is the story of my last ever smacking with Mum’s hand. Later, and only very occasionally, she’d use one of my Dad’s old Dunlop tennis shoes. But that’s another story or three.

I was brought up in a rather lovely old crumbly house in the Welsh Marches, and in 1970 I was five years old and the family had lived in the house since 1968. We’d stay there until the early 1980s.

I got the odd smacked bottom at home from I don’t know when, four years old maybe, but they were quick, sharp, informal and all over and done with in a flash. I barely remember them and they’re not very exciting or vivid. About the only one I remember well must have been the last one she did with her hand, or nearly the last one. I was about nine at the time, and I can’t even remember my crime; here’s what happened:

Mum was angry with me, but in a controlled and rather determined kind of way that was frightening. She called me over to the little passageway between the kitchen and the hall. There was an airing cupboard there, and a space for coats and wellies, walking sticks and umbrellas. It was a bit dark and gloomy and what light there was came from the open kitchen door and the hallway on the other side. Mum opened the airing cupboard door which made things even darker; it almost closed off the passage to the hall.

“Take your jeans down, my boy!” She said in a rather curt way that surprised me. There was no ‘please’ and her tone, as much as the words, said this was a command, not a request.

I said something like: “Why? I don’t understand.”

“You’ll see.” Was her answer and, although I think I knew why, I was still a bit confused and didn’t understand what was happening. I slowly undid my jeans and pushed them down to mid thigh, still very mystified and not sure why I’d been ordered to do this.

Then suddenly and with no warning she grabbed me around my waist, tipped me forward and yanked my underpants down!

I started to say something like: “What are you doing?!?”

A really sharp smack right across my bottom cut me off with a gasp! It hurt, and I struggled to get away, still in shock and pain when she smacked me again and again and again. I stopped struggling and tried to take my punishment in some kind of good grace. She hit me four or five more times, maybe more, but the pain was building. I’d stopped counting and shut my eyes tight, trying to ride it out.

“What’s going on?” Came a scared but curious little voice behind us.

I shot upright and twisted around to see my youngest sister, Sue, peering around the airing cupboard door, wide eyed at seeing big brother with his pants down and a red backside.

“Never you mind! Leave! Now!” Shouted Mum, perhaps as embarrassed as I was, but more likely angry with two of her kids now instead of one.

Sue’s little face vanished.

It was squirmy, knowing Sue had seen my humiliation, but her interruption seemed to throw Mum completely. She released me and stood upright, breathing heavily. It took all of two seconds for me to pull my pants and jeans up and we stood facing each other. My bottom was warm and tingling and throbbing and tender. I could feel the material of my pants pressing on it.

“Right,” said Mum, trying to take control of the situation again. “We’ll say no more about it, shall we?”

“I’m sorry, Mum.”

“I’m sorry too,” she said and gave me a hug. It was the closest I came to tears the whole time. 

Later, I’d always think of that spanking as a kind of transition. There was a hint of formality to it that previous smackings had lacked. I wonder how long it would have gone on if curious little Sue hadn’t interrupted things. Normally Mum smacked until you were in tears. I’m sure most people would have forgotten all about it after a week or two, but for me it lodged in the mind immediately. There was something exciting about it; being that scared, being ordered about so curtly by someone who was normally so kind and polite.

For whatever reason, I’ve never forgotten it. It was the first hint of my interest for spanking, although of course I didn’t realise that at the time.

Five

This memory is from 1972 when I was 11 years old. I was in my first year at secondary school. It was a comprehensive school for girls aged 11 to 14 and the teachers were a lot stricter than the ones at the mixed infants I had previously attended. I had an older sister already at the school and so I knew which teachers it was better to not get on the wrong side of. However, Miss Marshall, my English teacher, was also new to the school and was something of an unknown quantity. In the first few weeks she seemed to be not too fierce though, compared to some of the older teachers.

The Headmistress was also a new arrival so not much was known about her either.

English was one of my best subjects and I enjoyed Miss Marshall’s classes. On this day, though, we were all supposed to have written a poem for our homework and I had forgotten to do it. I only remembered when she told us to get our homework books out for her to collect. Even then, I didn’t think it would matter much that I hadn’t done it and expected she would just ask for it to be done later.

There were 28 of us in her class, and the desks were arranged in four rows of seven. My desk was in the middle of the back row.

Miss Marshall started at the end of the first row, collecting an exercise book and giving the homework a cursory glance to make sure it had been done, and then moving on to the next girl. She would read through and mark them all later.

She had collected three girls’ books when she reached the middle of the front row and a girl called Coleen admitted that she hadn’t done it. Miss Marshall then shocked her and the rest of the class by sending Coleen to the Headmistress. The girl went white with fear but did as she was told. I could see that she was shaking as she headed out of the classroom to make the trip along the corridor. I was terrified too as I had not even considered that there might be such dire consequences.

None of us in that class had been sent to the Headmistress before and did not know what awaited us but, in the comics and school stories we read, it usually meant severe, painful punishments involving slippers, straps or canes.

The thought of being sent to the Headmistress terrified me. I had never even had a smacked bottom before.

However, Coleen was much naughtier than me in general, which is why she was made to sit right at the front where the teacher could keep an eye on her, so I clung to the hope that she had already had a final warning and that I might not be treated so harshly.

Miss Marshall waited until Coleen had left the room before continuing to collect the books. Three more girls in the front row handed in their work but when she started on the second row, another girl admitted to having not done her homework. This girl, Juliet, was a very quiet, well behaved girl, even more than me, so when she too was sent to the Headmistress, my heart sank and I knew that I was not going to get away with it. Juliet was already crying before she left the room.

I knew that Coleen must already be in the Headmistress’s study, either being punished or being made aware of what her punishment would be. I had a vision of her being told to bend over the desk while the Headmistress flexed her cane.

When Juliet had gone, Miss Marshall continued collecting the books. She had reached the end of the second row and was just starting on the third when Coleen re-entered the classroom. To our surprise, she was not crying or clutching her bottom but looked greatly relieved. Miss Marshall looked as surprised as the rest of us and asked the girl what the Headmistress had done. Coleen told her that she had told her to make sure she did it tonight, handed it in first thing in the morning, and to make sure she did it on time in the future. Miss Marshall slammed down her pile of books on the desk in front of her.

“If you want a thing done properly, you have to do it yourself!” she exclaimed. Then she took hold of Coleen’s arm and marched her to the front of the classroom. Behind her desk there was a door which led to a store room full of books. She opened the door, turned on a light and ordered Coleen inside. Then she pulled open a drawer on her desk and took out an old and rather worn looking carpet slipper with a thick leather sole. She followed Coleen into the store room and closed the door behind her.

Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the store room door, even though we could not see what was happening behind it. I opened my exercise book and picked up my pen. I had no idea how long the teacher would be gone but I thought that if only I could have something in my book to show her, I might yet escape the fate of the girl in the store room.

I started to write. I didn’t know what I was writing; I had no time to think.

There was a loud Whack! from behind the door and this spurred me on. After 4 or 5 seconds there was another. Even through the wall it sounded loud and painful. I scribbled furiously. After the third whack, Juliet came back into the classroom looking relieved, just as Coleen had done. However, her expression changed when she saw, firstly that Miss Marshall was not there, secondly that Coleen’s seat was empty and then, when she heard the sound of Coleen’s bottom receiving its fourth smack with the slipper, Juliet stood rooted to the spot, just inside the door, unsure of what she should do.

I carried on scribbling as quickly as I could and Miss Marshall delivered another 2 resounding whacks to Coleen’s bottom. Shortly afterwards, Coleen and the teacher emerged from the store room and Coleen, looking very much the worse for wear, shuffled back to her seat, sniffling and rubbing her backside.

After briefly confirming that Juliet’s experience with the Headmistress had been the same as Coleen’s, Miss Marshall disappeared behind the door again with the unfortunate Juliet in tow.

I resumed my writing. Coleen’s punishment had taken less than a minute and Juliet’s would be the same, so my homework was not looking great. As I heard the slipper inexorably striking Juliet’s bottom, I was aware that time was running out and there was no way it was going to look finished.

Sure enough, when the sobbing girl rejoined the class and Miss Marshall, looking exhausted, put the slipper down on her desk, I was sure that my efforts would be in vain and that she would know exactly how I had tried to cheat my way out of a deserved spanking.

Miss Marshall returned to her task of collecting everyone’s homework and there were no further interruptions as she made her way along the third row. She reached the back row and I could not stop myself from trembling with fear as she got closer to the sight of my untidy, unfinished scribble.

As i have mentioned, my desk was in the middle of the back row and so there were only three girls to hand in their work before my potential show-time. I felt desperate to pee and I was sweating. Miss Marshall was now at Janice’s desk, the one next to mine.

“I haven’t done it Miss.”

Miss Marshall put down the pile of books on Janice’s desk and the two of them went to the store room. I had an extra minute in which to make my homework look finished. I focused on the writing as the rest of the class focused on Janice receiving her punishment.

When she came back, crying and dishevelled, Miss Marshall took my exercise book and glanced at my homework. It was nowhere near as neat or as well written as anything I had handed in before and she looked at me long and hard before closing the book and moving on to the next girl. I was sure she knew what I had been doing but could not prove it and so I was going to get away with it. For now, at least.

H

Once, during a lesson when the teacher was away sick and there appeared to be no cover, we were playing a game of dares. There was a flat roof just below the window of the classroom and some girl dared me to jump out the window and run along the roof below.

Unfortunately, I was stupid enough to do it, but before I could get back the substitute teacher arrived and I was caught and sent to the head. When I reached the dreaded office the head impressed on me, first how dangerous it was, and second how I could have damaged school property.

My heart sank as she told me that she should make an example of me and give me six of the best.She then took a cane out of the cupboard and told me to bend over the desk she had for the purpose. Terrified, I obeyed. She folded my skirt up and I felt the cane tap on my tight knickers. There was a slight pause and a swoosh as the cane came down, a momentary delay and then a searing pain in my bum cheeks which felt they had been branded with a hot iron. I didn’t make a noise because it hurt so much I couldn’t catch my breath but the second one produced a yell from me and by the time the third landed, the tears were flowing readily.

I clutched the edge of the desk tightly as number four landed and howled and stamped my feet. The head told me to keep still and then followed strokes five and six, by which time my poor bum felt like a furnace and I was completely out of control. By the time the head told me to stand up I was a sobbing, wriggling wreck.

She asked me if I had learned my lesson, and I replied: “Yes!” very hastily through my tears while clutching my suffering bottom.

The head then told me I could leave and go and wash my face, and return to class. I made my way painfully and slowly to the girls room and washed my face. When I looked at my bum, there were six awful marks across it.

 I returned to the class an absolute mess. I was sure an example. Thankfully I had a teacher who was sympathetic to a girl with a burning bum and who ignored my shuffling and sobbing.

Of course, afterwards I faced the usual barrage of questions like ‘did it hurt?’ and other idiocies.

When I got home, I got no sympathy from mother as she said I thoroughly deserved what I got. Looking back, I can only agree with her.

WW

The fascination with being spanked by Mr Anderson grew over the school break of 1957. Although I did receive a few from mom and Uncle Rob over the summer, they were not as intense and exciting as the ones from the principal. Maybe it was the fact he was not related, he was a bit of a surrogate father figure, and it occurred somewhere other than in a home. I don’t know for sure why it was the way it was, but I knew I that I thought about it often.

I rarely misbehaved from a non-event just to get it, but if I felt I was being picked on and by retaliating to the miscreant would result in one, then so be it. During the summer, as I went from 11 to 12, I became more and more concerned with my body, looks and height, which I suppose is very normal. When I would get up in the morning, I would look at myself in the bathroom mirror with only my underwear on and wonder why I had to be so short for my age. Today I am 5 ft exactly and during that summer I measured myself at 4 ft 11. I was thin, pale and short. My only good asset was my backside which provided good padding where I needed it. My chest had yet to catch up.

I was envious of the girls who had long legs and walked and conducted themselves confidently, and hoped that one day I would achieve those qualities to which I did not. And that summer had a lot of discussions among the adults regarding the ruckus down in not-too-far-away Little Rock, Arkansas regarding the forced desegregation of schools. So, after Labor Day, 1957, my seventh year in school started. This was to be a somewhat interesting year in that I was now in what was called then, Junior High. Unlike the schools in the big cities and counties, we did not go from one classroom to the next. Instead the different instructors came to us during the day, so we never left the classroom except for gym and lunch.

I avoided a trip to the office until the first week in November. We had just started getting dressed for PE class and my nemesis, Ginny, who had just come in to give something to her sister, looked at me and commented that I looked like I should be in 3rd grade instead of 7th because I was so small. Then she came by where I was putting on my shoes, flicked my shoulder length locks and said: “Is your hair real?” Well, that did it!

I had had taken enough of her crap, so I stood up and rammed my head into her gut knocking her to the floor. A commotion broke out and Mrs Harwood, the girl’s gym coach, came in quickly and separated us.

When she asked what this was all about, I gave my version of events to which she replied: “So you responded to taunting with violence? Now get dressed and we are going to the office.”

Soon I was on that ever more familiar pathway to the main office and soon I was waiting in the waiting room for the principal’s office.

I noticed a small placard on the wall that was a new addition. It said, ‘The one who spares his rod hates his child, but the one who loves his child is diligent in disciplining him.’ Or something to that effect, and I realized later it was from the bible but was worded a bit different than the way the pastor at church said it.  I also noticed a mirror affixed to the back of the door coming from the main office, so I stood up to see how I looked. My dark green dress with two white stripes at the bottom was a bit wrinkly. My green plastic headband pushed my medium blonde hair away from my face and my black Mary Jane shoes were a bit scruffy on the toe area. Then the door behind me opened and I was invited in to Mr Anderson’s office. As I went inside, this strange intense feeling that had been growing in me for the past two years was really strong at the moment. Why did I feel this way and was I normal or was there something wrong with me?

Just as I began standing in front of his desk, his black rotary phone rang, and he answered it and talked to someone for about a minute. Then he said: “Hey, I have to go, I have an issue I have to take care of. Okay, bye.” Then he looked up at me and said as he chuckled: “Well, Emily, this is your first visit this year, I would have thought it would have been sooner.”

Then he looked at the note he had written down and continued. “I know Ginny probably got under your skin a bit but responding with physical violence as a result of her conversation is not acceptable here. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir, Mr Anderson.”

“Well, let’s take care of business, shall we?” He then stood and came around the side of his desk, grabbed the chair to my right and moved it to the mirror. This time, instead of facing the mirror, he placed it sideways so that my head would be to the left side.

He took me by the shoulder, turned me toward the chair and said his usual: “Bend over please and grab the edges of the seat with your hands flat. Do not get out of position, okay Em?”

“Yes sir, Mr Anderson.” I glanced to my right at my image in the mirror and looked at myself as I bent over into position. I continued to look in the mirror as I bent over the chair and grasped the seat. This was an interesting perspective that I found fascinating.

Then he stated: “Let’s get started.”

I saw Mr Anderson approach from behind with the paddle in his right hand. I watched him take his left hand, grab the edge of my green dress and pull it over my back to get access to my panty covered behind. He pressed down with his left hand to keep my dress in place and then I saw the paddle as he began rubbing it on my behind.

I remember feeling both nervousness and excitement at the same time just as I heard him say: “Here we go,” and I saw the paddle go up in the air and come back down with a loud ‘whack!’

Instantly I turned my head to looking down and I gripped the seat harder as I exhaled and tried to absorb the huge wave of stinging that had just come upon me. I looked back through the open area of the chair between the seat and the back to see my scruffy knees just below the edge of my dress. I could see them shake a bit when the next swat found its target: ‘Whap!’

I also felt Mr Anderson’s cool left index finger and thumb touch my skin between where he was holding my dress in place and the edge of the waistband of my panties.  As with the last few spankings, I was determined not to cry.

The remainder went something like:  Whap 3 “owww” Whap 4 “ahhh” Whap 5 “ssssss” Whap 6 “ohhh” Whap 7 “sssss” Whap 8 “ouchie” Whap 9 “ooohh” Whap 10 “ssssss” Whap 11 “owwww” Whap 12 “sssssss” Whap 13 “ahhhhh” Whap 14 “ooohh” Whap 15 “sssssss” Whap 16 “ahhhhh” 

As before, I tried to shift my behind as much as I could to get the stinging even across my bottom. When he was done, he looked at me in the mirror looking at him and said that if I was going to resort in a physical sense to jokes and taunts, then he would do the same to my backside. He then lifted his left hand; I stood up and my dress fell back into place. He dismissed me and as I walked the way back to my classroom, the stinging and afterglow were all I could concentrate on. I even walked past my classroom for a bit before I realized what I had done.

Em

This is one of a few accounts of home spankings. These memories are a double sword for me. While I cannot say that I did not find them enjoyable at times, the fact that he was enjoying administering them, as we know now, kind of dampens the mood a bit in retrospect. Unlike the spankings at school, the ones at home were usually directly on the bottom.

Although I did not know it at the time, my uncle had a liking for giving spankings, which seems obvious now, but at the time no one imagined such. We found out about this interest when he died at 62 in 1982. His second wife found various magazines and personal notes about the subject as well as some badly filmed 8mm silent movies.

Funny, we thought he was going easy on us when compared to our friends’ parents who often used a belt or strap, and all along he was living his fantasy. One of these incidents I recall vividly will show that he had some weird ways when it came to spankings. This one involved me and my three older female cousins (his daughters), back when I was 9. Uncle Rob had ‘trained’ us on how to behave when being spanked. He did not allow legs and arms to thrash about and you could only cry lightly. If you did anything against his rules, then he would swat harder. So, you basically laid over his lap for 2 to 4 minutes while he lightly swatted your bottom.

In the last several years, friends have shared a few spankings clips and I swear that in some of them the storyline had to be written by him. It just goes to show how much art reflects reality and how common this was and still is. This incident is memorable because it was one of a handful of times that all 4 of us girls (me and my three cousins, Uncle Rob’s daughters, which included a set of twins) received it together. He also would spank his son and my two brothers, but almost never in the presence of us girls.

This happened in August of 1954 just after I had turned 9. This was also the genesis year of my ‘liking’ spankings. Besides enjoying some of the after effects, I also was a keen observer of the others as they received theirs. He almost always started from the oldest and finished with me, so I had a lot of visuals in my head as I got mine. Mom had taken my two brothers and cousin Sam to Fayetteville to get some clothes for the upcoming school year. We girls had taken that trip the previous week.

It was late in the evening on a Friday. The sun was just starting to set and Trudy (12), Cathy (12), Donna (10), and me (9) were out near the hay barn. We had scooped a bunch of hay that was outside the door of the barn and stuffed it into a metal barrel that was used to burn trash. We really loaded that thing with hay to the point it was very heavy if you tried to move it. Then Cathy ran up to their house and was gone for a few minutes. Soon, she returned with a can of Cardinal Brand lighter fluid. She removed the red cap and proceeded to squirt the whole can into the hay filled barrel. Man did that stuff stink to me!! Then she took out a big box of Diamond ‘Strike Anywhere’ matches, removed one and struck it on the rough edge of the box and threw it in. The flames jumped up quickly and then she threw the remaining matches, box and all, into the barrel where they quickly flared up. We all laughed and giggled because it was so cool to watch a fire.

Maybe because the hay was really dry and very compacted in the barrel, this caused the fire to burn with a heat and intensity that I had never experienced. soon several embers began floating out the top which almost resembled fireflies gone berserk and we became concerned that the nearby grass was going to catch fire. Trudy ran to the nearby well and pumped some water into a steel bucket and returned to put it inside the barrel. Puffs of white smoke shot out the top and popping sounds emanated from the metal barrel as it reacted to the quick temperature change.

Trudy ran to get another bucket of water and, just as she put it on the fire, Uncle Rob came out on the back deck of his house and yelled: “What in the Sam hill do you think you girls are doing?”

Then he came running out to where we were, picked up a nearby metal barrel lid and sat it on top of the fire. Shortly after, the fire fizzled out and tons of smoke was seeping out the edges. He then looked at us very intensely and said: “You don’t play around with fire like that!! You could have set the field, barn and maybe the house on fire and then what would you think? Girls, go to the house, take a quick bath and get ready for a warming.”

We looked at each other with a look of ‘dang it’ and processed to do as we were told. We slowly shuffled up to the house and did as we were told. Trudy and Cathy took theirs baths first and then Donna and I did. Afterwards, we dried off, put on our panties and then waited in his bedroom for our spankings. None of us wore shirts at night during the summer as it was too hot.

Uncle Rob was a big man, standing about 6 ft 4, and weighed about 210. He was well built and a strong guy who worked out often with his collection of dumbbells. At the foot of his bed was a wooden chair with a high back on it. He had someone make it for him because he found regular chairs too short for his long legs. This chair was used mainly for him to sit in and give spankings, as I rarely saw him in it for any other reason.

When he came in about 5 minutes later, we were standing against the wall facing the chair. He sat down and we placed our hands behind our necks as we had been trained to do. He then reminded us why we were here and then called for Cathy first. She then went and stood to his right and he grabbed the waistband of her panties and pulled them down almost to her knees. Then his right hand went to her back and he lightly pushed her and she went across his lap and held on to the legs of the chair.

As I stated earlier, we were ‘trained’ on how to behave during spankings. If we didn’t follow his rules of no thrashing of arms or legs, keep your legs still and together and no loud crying, then the spanking would not be really hard. They lasted about 2 to 4 minutes each. After she was over his lap, he placed his left hand in the center of her back to keep her in place and then he placed his right hand on the center of her behind and rubbed back and forth slightly before giving her the first swat. She only said “ow” and slightly turned her head to the bed on her left. Uncle Rob then rubbed his hand in circles on her behind several times and then swatted again.

Again, she said “ow” and he repeated the steps again. Every now and then instead of rubbing in circles, he would move his hand from the center of your bottom down your legs to about halfway to the knees and then back up and over your bottom to the small of your back. He continued this for about 3 minutes until her behind was a light pink color and then let her up where she went back to the place where she had been standing prior and placed her hands behind her neck again.

Then he called Trudy over. Like Cathy, she did not really cry much during the spankings, but she did shake her head more and sometimes tried to look forward. Since there was nothing for me to do but watch, I became keenly interested at watching Uncle Rob’s big tanned hand striking Cathy’s pale white bottom. I would shift my eyes between his face and his hand, and I found it so fascinating. Also, she seemed to be going through the vowels on her verbal reaction to each swat. Ow, Eye, EEE, OOO, Oh. (You could almost sing Old MacDonald to it. Sorry I’m bad!).

He seemed to change his facial expression from a serious look to one that seemed to have a slight smile to it. As his hand swatted her backside you could see it compress and then pop back into place as it grew pinker and pinker. Her panties slid slowly down her legs until they rested around her ankles. Soon hers was over and she went and stood next to Cathy.

Next, he called for Donna who already had a crying look on her face as he pushed her over his lap and while she also said “ow” on the first few, she began lightly crying around the 5th one and kept that up for the duration. Uncle Rob went through his pattern of swat, rub several circles, swat, rub down your thighs and up to the small of the back, swat. He did this over and over again taking about 3 to5 seconds between them. As I mentioned in an earlier story, one of the strange things I noticed was the sound of the swats changed from one to the next. The pitch of the sound would fluctuate as his hand struck a slightly different area of the behind.

Finally, hers was done and quickly she was helped off his lap and was quickly standing next to me, hands behind the neck.

“Em,” he said, while using a beckoning finger which then pointed to his right side and I took my hands down from the back of my neck and went to where I was directed. He looked at me with a serious look as he pulled my panties down to my knees and then pushed me over his lap. As I went over I put my arms forward so they would not be caught on my sides after I was in position.

Like everyone before me, I grabbed the chair legs and gripped tightly. Before the first one hit, I could hear the sniffing and crying of those standing to my right. Then I felt his hand rest on my behind followed by the rubbing in circles. Then the feeling stopped and a second later the first swat struck my behind. I cried “owwwww” and tried to hold off from crying. The sting in my bottom was tempered as he rested his hand on it and began rubbing up and down on either side of it.  As strange as it may sound, this weird practice of his actually made the spankings more tolerable. As soon as your backside was sizzling, it was cooled a bit by the circular and up and down rubbing. I did start crying several swats in, but kept the volume low. I too began feeling my panties slide slowly down my legs until they were at my feet as well.

Finally, after about three minutes my spanking was over and I was helped off his lap and went back to stand with the others. He went through his speech about playing with fire and then told us to go to bed. Soon the four of us were in the king-sized bed in the second bedroom and we eventually began talking about the fire that got us in trouble. Meanwhile, the fires in our bottoms were still smoldering.

Em

The school year of 1956-1957 was a watershed in my development of this thing, now called a kink, where the inflicting of something that was supposed to be a punishment seemed to have this other fascinating and strange side to it. It was something that required answers to questions that could never be asked in 1950s Arkansas where fundamentalist Christianity was the norm and not the exception. Now with hindsight, a bit of science and a more open society, we now understand more about this phenomenon. Why did this affect me and my friend David, but not my cousin Cathy or brother Eli? Why did spankings give me a form of pleasure that others found to be just plain uncomfortable?  It is obviously a combination of genetics and environmental conditions.

I sincerely believe that had my uncle and school administrators delivered hard, bruising fewer swat spankings instead of the softer, more numerous kind, I may not have developed this ‘like’. I did receive a few hard swats back in the day and they were not something I recalled fondly. Also, my laid-back nature which led me to find guys who acted in an authoritative manner just added to my list of likes when it came to receiving corporal punishment. Spankings from my mom or female teachers did not excite me as much, so ones’ mindset has a lot to do with it.  This was my last spanking of my 6th grade year and it was definitely more ‘likable’ than the one received the previous month which I got with Cathy and Peggy Sue. I am not sure why, but maybe more nerves connected to the danger zone than before, LOL. And it was not just the physical sensations that made it ‘fun’, but it was also the visual things like watching the paddle whack its target, the facial expressions of those getting it, and Mr Anderson’s concentration on his task at hand. Then add the aural effects of the swats as well as the exhalations and sounds of the ones getting it made it an experience to remember.

 It was mid-May of 1957 and summer vacation was almost here. The days were warm and getting more humid as the month of June approached. I would like to say that I never/rarely misbehaved in order to receive a paddling, but there were times where the consequences of my actions did little to nothing in avoiding what the result of that misbehavior would be. And this would be one of those times.

The day just didn’t seem to want to be nice to me. First, I recall not wanting to get out of bed as I was still tired and yawny, and then once getting up I discovered that we had no running water. Apparently, the fuse on the water pump had went south overnight so my brother Eli had to go out to the hand pump on the well and pump some into a bucket so we could use it to wash our faces and brush our teeth.

Then I discovered the red dress I wanted to wear had not been washed from the previous week, so I picked out one that was white from the waist up except for a band on the sleeves and blue/white checkered below with two white stripes near the bottom edge. At least I had new panties as Uncle Rob had bought us girls several pairs in a bulk buy at some wholesale place in Little Rock the previous weekend. They had a slight frilly pattern near the leg holes but otherwise were quite plain. I then slipped on my thin white socks and my-oh-so-boring black Mary Jane shoes. Mom then came in the room and put my shoulder length hair into small pigtails and then told me to go eat breakfast. After scarfing down my eggs and biscuit, I went to wait for the morning bus that would ferry me, my two brothers and 4 cousins to school. 

The bus ride was unremarkable and soon we were at the place that would soon grant us a three-month reprieve in a couple of weeks. It was 10:30 am and time for recess. I ran out and found an unused tether-ball set and began playing with it. After a couple of minutes, I saw that pain-in-the ass 5th grader Rickey, who had hit in me the back of the head with a red kick-ball back in September, harassing a girl named Delores by tossing small dirt clods at her. For whatever reason that set me off and I quickly left the tether-ball area and went running fast towards him. When I got to him, I pushed him in the back and yelled: “Quit being such a turd!” He fell forward and scrapped his head on the hard dirt surface and immediately began calling for a teacher, Mrs Green, who was standing nearby.

As you can surmise, I was taken to the office and a report was made on what I had done. I then sat in the waiting area for 20 minutes and was then told to go to the lunchroom at 11:00 and then return at 11:30. As I left, four boys were coming into the office, one 5th grade (Rickey) and three 6th graders. As they went by, I wondered if they were in trouble as well. Unlike previous times, this time I was not worried and was looking forward to the encounter with Mr Anderson. I proceeded to quickly eat my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and drink my milk that still came in mini-glass bottles. I spent the remaining time wondering how this encounter was going to be.

At 11:30 I returned to the school office expecting to be the only one there, but I surprised when I saw three 13 year old girls from the 7th grade sitting in the waiting area. They were Alice, a leggy redhead about 5′ 2″ who always looked a little raggedy in her clothing as she obviously wore hand me downs like me, but mine were in good condition. Also, there were Carol and Connie who were identical twins whom I thought never got in trouble. Apparently all three were caught smoking a pipe that Carol and Connie had taken from their dad, and when caught kept denying it until two witnesses were brought forth to corroborate the incident.

Just as I sat down, I heard a swat from Mr Anderson’s office followed by a loud: “Uhh.” This was followed by 19 more, each one followed by a similar exclamation. The looks on Alice, Carol and Connie’s faces took on an expression that was a combination of worry and empathy to the one who was getting it just a few feet away. It sounded to me that he went a tad bit harder on the boys than he did us. We sat in the waiting area silently for another 3 minutes until Mr Anderson opened the big dark brown door and out came the 4 boys. Two had grins on their face, one had no expression and the last one, Rickey, looked like he was about to cry.

As soon as they had left the office area, Mr Anderson invited us girls in by saying: “Come on in, ladies, let’s see what you have done. Soon all 4 of us were standing in front of his desk as he did his customary review of our transgressions that was written on a piece of paper he held in his right hand. After a short spell where he pondered what our punishments would be, he decided that Alice, Carol and Connie would receive 20 swats and I would get 17. Why 17 for me? What an odd number I thought.

Then Mr Anderson stood up, removed the medium-sized, light brown paddle from the wall, told us to turn around so that we had our backs to his desk. As we turned, he walked around us and took one of the small chairs and placed it in front of the mirror and then called for Alice as he beckoned with his finger to come to him. With a worried expression on her face as she looked downwards, she approached him, and he placed his index finger under her chin to lift her gaze towards his as he told her that smoking was not allowed on school grounds and definitely not allowed for 7th graders. Just as he finished, he put his left hand on her shoulder and turned her around and told her: “Bend over, Alice, and place your hands firmly on the seat edge. Thank you. That’s a good girl.”

Then he grabbed the edge of her yellow and white dress with his left hand, pulled it back tightly and held it in place, which showed a bit of bare skin between the waist band of her panties and the dress. Her face tightened and she slightly shifted her legs as he tapped a few times and then rubbed the paddle against her panties. Then he delivered the first one which elicited an “ayeee” from her as he dress slightly billowed from the wind of the paddle.

She cried lightly after the first one but varied little for the next 19. Whap 2 – Ayeeoo!  Whap 3 – Ayeeii!  Whap 4 – Ahh oh!  Whap 5 – Ayeee!  Whap 6 – Ayiioo!  Whap 7 – Ayyeee!  Whap 8 – Please!

 Mr Anderson interjected a “Good girl” here.  

Whap 9 – Ayyeee!  Whap 10 – Ahhh  Whap 11 – Oh please!  Whap 12 – (exhales loudly)  Whap 13 – Owww!  Whap 14 – Ayeeeii  Whap 15 – Ahhh!  Whap 16 – Oh!  Whap 17 – Please!  Whap 18 – Ayeeee!

“Good girl, almost done.”

Whap 19 – Ayeeeoo!  Whap 20 – Ayeeii!  While she made her exclamations after each swat, it reminded me of the ‘E-I-E-I-O’ of the song ‘Old McDonald’ which made me secretly chuckle.

As I watched her face in the mirror, I noticed her face would relax a bit as he rubbed the paddle on her behind between the swats but she would tighten up and grit her teeth as she felt it lift off for its return swing. A few times she would push back when the paddle was in the rubbing mode and shift her bottom on it in order to bring a bit a relief from the burn. I understood that as I did the same thing to tone down the sting. She looked down most of the time, but occasionally would look forward into the mirror in front of her. Her short red ponytail jiggled after each swat. For the first time I began to feel some of the excitement in the nether regions before receiving it. After the last one he rubbed the paddle on her burning backside as he commented about her poor choice of behavior that day. After the small speech, he said “Go and stand back by the desk and face it.” As she went to where he told her, which was to my right, I saw her reach up under her dress and rub her behind with both her hands.

Then he beckoned Connie to come to him and she obediently approached him, and he gave her the same spiel about the inappropriateness of young girls smoking. She then looked up at him and begged him not to tell her dad about the stolen pipe as that would result in them getting spanked with a strap at home. After a quick pause, he assured her that her would not, but they still had to receive their punishment here.

She replied: “Yes sir, Mr Anderson, I know,” then he placed his right hand on her shoulder, walked her to the chair and gently pushed her over it as he told her: “Bend over, please, and hold the chair edges. Good girl.”

Carol and Connie came from a family that had more money than most in our area, but they were not rich. They were wearing similar, but not identical, pastel pink dresses that had a shiny sheen to them and the white/black saddle-back shoes with white socks that I coveted so much. Both sported white plastic headbands on their dark shoulder length brown hair. As he pulled the edge of Connie’s pink dress back, her facial expression took on one of worry and she seemed to silently say: “Oh,” with her mouth. Then, as Mr Anderson began rubbing the brown wood paddle on her bottom, I noticed for the first time how much it contrasted with her white panties. As his arm swung back, I began switching my eyes back and forth between the paddle in his hand and her face in the mirror. Just as he swung down, she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth and then it struck: “WHAP!” She let out an “Owww ohh owww” and began shifting her knees slightly, first the left one and then the right. She still had 19 more to go.

She also began whining lightly but seemed to take it well. No doubt this was much better than a strap.   Whap 2 – Oww!  Whap 3 – Ahh!  Whap 4 – Ow! oh!  Whap 5 – Ssssss!  Whap 6 – Ssssss!  Whap 7 – Ow! Ow! Ow!

“Good girl, Legs together please.”

Whap 8 – Ahhhh!  Whap 9 – Ow Ow!  Whap 10 – Sssss  Whap 11 – Ow! Oh my!  Whap 12 – Sorry!  Whap 13 – Ahhhh!  Whap 14 – Sssss!

“Good girl, almost done.”

Whap 15 – Ow Ow OW!  Whap 16 – Ssssss!  Whap 17 – Ahhhh!  Whap 18 – Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!  Whap 19 – Sssssss!  Whap 20 – Ow! Oh! Ow!   Mr Anderson spaced the swats about 3 to 4 seconds apart and did his usual rubbing the paddle on the pantied behind during the ‘break’. During her entire paddling she continued shifting her legs slightly, one then the other. The white plastic head band contrasted with her dark brown hair that was pushed back behind her ears and ended in an outward curl at the top of her shoulders. While she was getting it, my attention occasionally diverted to Alice, who was standing to my right and still rubbing her bottom. Then he reminded her again about smoking and then let her up and told her to go stand to the right of Alice. She too began rubbing her burning backside and the sounds of dual sniffing could be heard.  

He then approached Carol and escorted her to the chair and told her to bend over it as he gently guided her into position. Unlike Connie, Carol’s facial expression was almost blank at first and only slightly changed as he pulled her dress back over her back and then held it in place. Her panties were pastel pink like the dress she had on, so the contrast with the paddle was less than with Connie. As the first swat found its target, her face contorted into one of pain and said: “Ouch” in a slightly lower tone than Connie but did not cry, at least not yet. Whap 2 – Ouch!  Whap 3 – Ouch!  Whap 4 – Owie!  Whap 5 – Ouch Ouch!  Whap 6 – Ouch Ouch!

After the 6th one she began crying lightly. Whap 7 – Ouch!  Whap 8 – Oww!  Whap 9 – Ahhh!  Whap 10 – Ouch!  Whap 11 – Ssssss!  Whap 12 – Ouch Ouch Ouch!

Carol had been shifting her behind in small circles during the paddling, prompting Mr Anderson to tell her: “Carol, do not shift so much or I may miss and strike your legs which will be more painful.”

She replied: “Yes sir,” and he continued the spanking as he answered: “Good Girl.” Whap 13 – Owww!  Whap 14 – Owww!  Whap 15 – Ouch Ouch Ouch!  Whap 16 – Stings!  Whap 17 – Ouch Hurts!  Whap 18 – Ssssss!  Whap 19 – Owww!  Whap 20 – Ouch Ouch Ouch Ouch!  Carol continued shifting her bottom between the swats as he rubbed the paddle on it, but her movement was not as intense as before the warning. After the last one she stayed in position a bit longer than her sister and Mr Anderson rubbed the paddle on her panties as he reiterated the reason she had received this punishment. Then he let her up and told her to stand to the right of her sister and she too began rubbing her bottom. Then it was my turn!

“Emily,” he said had he approached me and placed his hand on my back just below my neck and pushed me slightly toward the chair. “You are here because of attacking Rickey who was doing something bad, but it was not your place to correct him. His backside was warmed well just a few minutes ago.” Then he pushed me slightly as I stood before the chair and said: “Bend over, Em, and hold the seat please,” which I found added more excitement to the session. I did as I was told but I did not like this particular chair because the chair back pressed into my stomach a bit. As usual, I shivered slightly as he pulled my blue and white checkered dress back and then held it in place.

I could feel his thumb on the bare skin just above the waistband of my panties. I looked in the mirror and he had an expression of seriousness as he began rubbing the paddle on my behind and then he seemed to sport a small grin as he swung back. “Whap” and instantly my behind was on fire. The first few swats are the most uncomfortable, but then they get better. I tried not to make much noise so I could concentrate on the paddle sounds as well as whatever noises he made. He said things like this in a low, hard to hear tone. Some of the words/sounds were just guesses but correct for the most part.

Whap 2 – “yep”  Whap 3 – “hmmmm”  Whap 4 – “yes”  Whap 5 –  “Good girl, Em!”  Whap 6 – “yeah”  Whap 7 – “uh huh”  Whap 8 – “yeah”  Whap 9 – “Yes, good girl.”

Whap 10 – “nice”  Whap 11 – “hmmmm, good girl”  Whap 12 – “Good girl, don’t wiggle your bottom so much.”   Whap 13 – “Yes, that’s a good girl Em.”  Whap 14 – “yes”  Whap 15 – “Good Girl, almost over”,  Whap 16 – “alright, last one!”  Whap 17 – Good girl Em, good girl.”

During the swats I too slightly shifted my behind as I pressed it against the paddle as he rubbed it between them. You could shift within reason, but his firm left hand kept you from getting out of position much. I could also feel my ponytail shifting a bit as I moved my head. I could also feel the portion of his hand that was on my back just above my panties shift slightly from swat to swat. Like Carol, he rubbed the paddle on my bottom as he did my transgression rewind. It was so strange that this stinging pain also felt good at the same time. Why was that? What was wrong with me? He then let me up and I went to join the other three.

Carol and Alice were still rubbing their behinds as Mr Anderson walked back to his desk and sat down. He then said: “In the future, just remember if you light up a cigarette or pipe around here, you will have your bottom lit up as well. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” we all replied almost in unison and then he dismissed us. None said a thing as we exited the office and went our separate ways. As I returned to my class and sat on the hard wood chairs of the classroom, I slightly shifted a bit as I worked out the sting. When I got home, three hours later, I went straight to our bathroom to look at my behind. It still had a slight pink glow to it that would disappear overnight, though the memory would remain forever.

Em

I met my wife, Alison, at university. It was the end of the first year for both of us, in the late 1980s.

It must have been a year we had been going out when I was invited to her parents’ house.

Alison had a younger sister, Laura, who was 15 or 16 years old and was a real handful for her parents. Alison had warned me there maybe some shouting but not to worry about it.

We had separate rooms as sleeping together then before marriage under her parents’ roof was not acceptable. Her sister shared with Alison and I slept in her sister’s room.

Her sister was indeed a handful, never doing what was asked, answering back, talking under her breath. I could see both parents were trying not to loose it while I was staying there.

We were having Sunday lunch, the full works. We sat down and there was still an atmosphere with nobody talking. We had just finished the main course when something was said or asked of Laura.

She then just said: “FOR FUCKS SAKE!”

The next thing, their mum stood up, grabbed Laura by the arm, and dragged her up and out of the dinning room, saying: “Right, I will teach you a lesson. Get up the stairs now.”

“But Mum, I am sorry!”

“You will be when I have finished dealing with you, young lady.”

Alison, her dad and myself looked at each other, and said nothing. We could hear her mum telling Laura to get into her mum’s bedroom.

Then: “Get those jeans off now!”

“But mum, no!”

“Get them off, now!”

There was silence while Laura, I assumed, was removing her jeans.

“Now take off your knickers.”

I was getting excited at the thought. Laura, like her sister, had a lovely figure.

“BUT, no, not on the bare, please mum, No!”

“Off now!”

More silence. Then, the sound of a smack, then a cry, more complaining. I counted 12 smacks, but not a hand on a bare bottom.

About 5 minutes later, their mum came downstairs. She apologised. She stated that a naughty girl had received a dozen on her bare bottom with the long handled bath brush. Laura was now in her nightie in her bed room, the room I had been staying in. We finished lunch, tidied up, I went up stairs to collect my things. I knocked at the door.

“Sorry, can I get my bag?”

“Come in.”

I opened the door. Laura was laid on the bed, in her short T-shirt nightie which only half covered her bottom. It was a mass of red round marks, on her bottom and backs of her legs. I had a good look; I do not think Laura knew what I could see. I picked up my bag and left.

We hen left her parents and sister and drove back. The conversation on the way back was about her sister being punished. Alison opened up about both being punished, usually hand spanked on the bare bottom, but as they got older the bath brush was used, usually across the knickers, but both had received it on the bare. Alison was caught smoking and had received 12 on the bare when she was 18 years old.

We have been married for 20 odd years, her parents have down sized so we stored several boxes of tools. I was sorting through these one day about 12 months ago, and came across the bath brush. I went inside and asked Alison if this was the very one. She blushed and said yes.

DS

This was the 3rd paddling I received during my 7th grade year. The previous year I received 9 but would ultimately only receive 7 for this year. Each time garnered a little more intense sensation than the last, but if only I could talk to someone about it. Why was I like this? Were there other girls that felt similar? It was so weird.

The March 1958 morning was just fine. I got up and washed my face and went to the kitchen to eat the eggs and potatoes mom had prepared. I then returned to my bedroom and put on a slightly faded yellow dress that had been my cousin Donna’s first, then handed down to younger sister Cathy, who then handed it to me. It was nothing fancy, yellow with a red line at the sleeves end and the edge of the dress. I put on some short white socks and my red canvas shoes and soon my brothers and my cousins next door were all on the bus.

About 40 minutes later, we disembarked and went our separate ways. The first 4 school periods were fine as was the lunch break. Then boredom during math class resulted in me earning another trip to Mr Anderson’s office. After getting off the bus that morning, I overheard a man working on the nearby highway yell the ‘F’ word and I thought it was funny.

For some reason I started daydreaming and I thought about the incident and was mumbling the word under my breath. A bit later I suddenly blurted the word out loud and Mrs Taylor heard me. She just gave me a dirty look and left the room.

The kids around me gasped and I said, “I’m sorry, I just said something a man working on the road outside said this morning.”

It didn’t matter, apparently, as I received a few dirty looks as well as a few laughs. About 5 minutes after she left, Mrs Taylor came back in the room and handed me a note. It read: ‘Report to the principal’s office at 3:15.’ I looked and nodded and mouthed: “I’m sorry,” but received just another stern look.

The school day was over at 3:00 pm and the buses left at 3:45, so that gave Mr Anderson time at the end of the day to take care of disciplinary issues. As the day end bell rang, I went to put my books in my locker and then to the restroom and looked in the mirror. My shoulder length blonde hair was pulled back into a short ponytail and I noticed a small zit on my chin. I straightened my dress and went outside to get a drink of water at the fountain and then headed to the office.

I went inside and straight to the waiting area and sat down on the bench on the left side of the room. Across from me was a 5th grade girl who was also named Emily, but everyone called her ‘Emma’. She had just had her 10th birthday party a week earlier. I looked at her and asked what she was in trouble for and she just shook her head and looked down. She had on a pretty triple blue shade dress that was pale blue from the waist up, medium blue at the beginning of the dress part and dark blue at the bottom of it. It was a bit shorter than mine as it only went to about 4 inches above her knee. She had on long white socks and black Mary Jane shoes. Her bright red hair was pulled up into a tight bun with two curls on either side.

Almost as soon as I had asked Emma what she had done wrong, I heard a muffled ‘Whap!’ from the office, followed by an “uhh.” 14 more followed with pretty much the same reaction. I glanced over at Emma who was looking to her right at the door with her mouth open and a look of, “Oh my God!”

After the swats there was about a minute pause and I could hear Mr Montgomery talking, but could not really understand what he was saying. Then he stopped and after a short pause came another swat ‘Whap!’ followed by a similar “uhh” sound. However, during the next 14, the “uhhs” slowly morphed into higher pitched “ows” and “ayes.” This kid was not handling it as well as the first one.

About a minute after the last one, the door opened and out walked two 4th grade boys, one of whom was still fastening his pants. They looked straight ahead as they exited the waiting room.

Then Mr Anderson looked out and said, “Come on in, girls.”

Emma and I walked inside and went to stand in front of his desk. He first looked at me and said: “Em, why did you say that bad word?”

I explained where I had heard it and it had just stuck in my mind. I added that I was lost in thought and just blurted out by accident.

He looked at me and replied, “Well, that is not acceptable, and I am accidentally going to paddle your young behind 15 times, ok?”

“Yes sir, Mr Anderson,” I said as I looked down.

The he turned his attention to 10-year-old Emma and said: “It was reported that you stole two candy bars from the teachers’ lounge and refused to admit to it until they interrogated you for 5 minutes, is that correct?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied. “But please don’t spank me,” she pleaded.

“Oh you will receive a spanking, there’s no doubt about that,” he said in a firm tone.

“Please, please don’t spank me, Mr Anderson,” she continued to plead.

He interrupted and declared: “Either you will receive one here or I will call your daddy and tell him, and he can deal with you.”

Her eyes grew large and she began shaking her head and replied: “Please, please don’t tell my daddy, please don’t. You can spank me. Please, you do it.”

“Ok then, 15 will come your way as well,” he retorted as he stood up and grabbed the medium paddle that hung on the wall behind him and walked over by the chair that was already in front of the mirror.

As was the usual pattern, the oldest went first so he pointed at me and said: “Em, come here,” and when I approached him he squeezed my cheeks slightly and told me that: “Foul sounding language leads to a foul feeling bottom.” Then he moved his hand to my shoulder and turned me around and pushed rather firmly and said, “Bend over, Em, hands on the seat, feet together, head down and bottom out and do not look back.”

I grabbed the edges of the chair seat and looked up into the mirror. I could see the paddle in his right hand and then he took his left hand and pulled my dress back. The bummer thing about this old dress I had on was it had no belt or elastic at the waist which resulted in him pulling the dress further back than usual. I could feel the edge of the dress on my neck and then I felt his entire left-hand rest on the bare area of my lower back. Man, it was cold!!  Does he not have any circulation?

I shivered a bit as he began the tapping and rubbing that preceded each swat. Then after several taps he said, “Here we go.”

I could see his right-hand swing back in almost slow motion and then swing forward. ‘WHAP!’ came the first one instantly electrifying my small behind. I tiptoed slightly and began shifting my backside in small circles as he pressed the paddle against it for the next one. I was quiet for the first three and then began my usual responses.

WHAP 2 –

WHAP 3 –

WHAP 4 – Ow!!

WHAP 5 – Ahh!

WHAP 6 – Eee!

WHAP 7 – Ouch!

WHAP 8 – Ooh!

After the eighth one he pressed a bit harder on my back and said: “Ok, Em, please do not shift your behind so much, ok?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

The swats continued.

WHAP 9 – Ow!

WHAP 10 – Burns!

WHAP 11 – Hot!

WHAP 12 – Ahh!

“Try not to move, ok? Good girl.”

That was a hard thing not to do. Shifting my behind between swats helped even out the sting.

WHAP 13 – Ssss

WHAP 14 – Ahh!

WHAP 15 – Ssss

After the last one, his left hand kept me in position as he did his little: “Bad words are bad,” speech and continued rubbing the paddle against my bottom, which I appreciated. Then, after asking if I would say that word again, he let me up and told me to go stand back in front of his desk. As I stood up, my dress at first stayed stuck to my back until I pulled back into place. I walked back to the desk just as he called for Emma who had a sad crinkled up expression on her face. I began rubbing my burning bottom.

I looked at Emma as she approached him and when he grabbed her cheeks with his left hand to tell her that stealing was wrong, her face contorted under the pressure of his fingers and when he asked her if she knew that was wrong, her “Yes, sir,” it sounded like “Yesss shir.”

Then he turned her around and bent her over the chair and told her the same thing he had told me, but added: “Head down and bottom up and out, ok?”

“Yes sir,” she said as she began lightly crying. When he pulled her blue dress over her back, I understood why she did not want her dad to spank her. Her pale white legs had several belt marks just below her bottom and no doubt that was quite red as well.

I looked in the mirror and saw her grit her teeth as he began rubbing the paddle on her panties and when the first swat hit she went “ohh ow! ow!” as she continued the low volume crying. She knew, like we all did, that making a scene just earned you more swats. During the next 14 she not only wiggled her behind between swats but was constantly tip-toeing on her back Mary Janes.

WHAP 2 – Ow ha ha!

WHAP 3 – Eech

WHAP 4 – Ow ow ow!!

“Don’t move much Emma. Good girl,” he reminded her.

WHAP 5 – Ow ow ow!

WHAP 6 – Eech ow!

WHAP 7 – ssssssss!

WHAP 8 – Ow ow ow ow!

“Over half way, try to keep still. Good girl.”

WHAP 9 – Ow please ow ow!

WHAP 10 – Ow ow ow ow!

After the tenth swat he removed his left hand from her back to cover his mouth while he coughed. She took the opportunity to stand up, turn around and tell him she was sorry and she would never steal again. He looked at her and replied, “That’s great Emma, but you still have five to go and I am adding one more for standing up.”

She cried: “No please,” as he grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her back around and bent her back over the chair. He appeared a bit upset, and he pulled back her dress hard and seemed to push harder on her back to keep her in position. He rubbed the paddle for like 15 seconds before he resumed her spanking.

WHAP 11 – Owww ow ow!

WHAP 12 – Ahh eeech eech!

WHAP 13 – oww oww oww

WHAP 14 – Ow ow ow !

WHAP 15 – ow aha ha!

WHAP 16 – ow ow ow ow ow!

I thought I shifted a lot, but between her tip toeing and her behind wiggling, it was a miracle that he did not whack her on the legs.

The last one sounded a bit louder and he too kept her in position as he preached his sermon to her about stealing and then let her up and told her to go stand to my right. She too began rubbing her bottom as I also continued to do while he gave his exit speech about following the rules and behaving as good girls.

As soon as we entered the hallway she turned left, and I went to my right. I went by the rest room to examine the damage and then headed out to the bus that would be leaving shortly. I boarded the bus and, just as I got on, I saw Emma take a third-row seat. She did not look up and immediately began gazing out the window to her right. I sat down about four rows behind her and wondered what was going through her mind as her behind continued to smoulder.

I too began gazing out the window and, as the bus bumped and swayed on the way home, my burning behind was now sending another signal to my nether region. I cracked a small smile as I looked at the countryside rushing by just outside the window like the feelings that were rushing across my derriere.

Em

My mother had a habit when my sister or I were misbehaving of asking us whether we wanted to go over her knee with our pants down. Naturally we didn’t and would stop doing whatever was annoying her immediately. I cannot remember a time before this question was regularly asked, so often that Rebecca and I would use it to impersonate her when she was out of earshot amidst fits of giggles. In spite of the frequency with which we received this threat, both of us survived with our bottoms intact until we were 12 years old. Rebecca was a year older than me and her first spanking happened almost exactly a year before mine and for the same reason. We were both at the same school then, I was in the first year and Beccy in the second. It was December and the school had sent out its end of term reports. I remember that Beccy was nervous as we were walking home from school together because she knew that her report was going to displease our parents. Specifically, she knew that her report expressed concerns about the amount of days she had missed through illness, whereas in fact, she had been playing truant and forging sick notes and as far as my mother knew she had been in school every day.

As I have mentioned, neither of us had ever been spanked before. Another of Mum’s habits when we were annoying her was to send us to our room with the promise that she would be up to warm our bottoms later. We would sit on our beds, nervously waiting for the sound of her footsteps on the stairs and when we heard them we would huddle together in fear, wondering if this was the day when she would keep her promise. Then she would come into the room, tell us our tea was ready and to come downstairs and she would not mention our promised spanking, and of course, neither of us was imprudent enough to remind her.

We arrived home and my sister was reluctant to go in. We always came and went through the back door and so the first room we entered was the kitchen. When we came in we found Mum waiting there with Rebecca’s school report in one hand and a slipper in the other. We had never seen this slipper before. It was not one of Dad’s and didn’t look like it was designed as comfortable footwear. I felt a thrill go through me when I saw it and knew that it was going to be used on my sister’s bum.

Mum waved the report in Rebecca’s face and gave her a long, rapid discourse on what she thought of her and the report. Eventually she asked Beccy if she had any homework to do and when she nodded, Mum told her she had better go to her room and do it while she could still sit down. My sister went upstairs. I said that I had homework to do and started to follow her, hoping to find out how she felt about her imminent spanking, but Mum stopped me.

“You can do it at the kitchen table. I want your sister to spend some time on her own so she can think about her behaviour.”

As I was doing my homework and Mum was preparing tea, I asked her if she was really going to slipper Beccy.

“Yes.”

“Cool, can I watch?”

“No”

As always, Dad arrived home from work at 6.0’clock and Mum had tea ready to serve up. I had done my homework and put my books away so the table was clear, except for Rebecca’s report and the slipper. I was sent upstairs to fetch my sister while Mum served tea. At the table, Mum spent the meal reading out damning passages from the report, and then showing them to Dad as if he might think she was making them up. Dad said nothing and concentrated on eating his tea. Beccy had no appetite and hardly ate anything and I was the same, too excited at the prospect of my sister’s punishment to eat anything. I had a knot in my stomach which I would one day discover to be the same feeling I would get when it was I who was to be punished.

When Dad had finished eating. Mum asked Rebecca if she was going to eat any more and she shook her head. Mum pushed her chair back from the table and got up. Dad did the same. Mum picked up the slipper and the report and said: “Right, Rebecca, let’s go upstairs.”

Beccy got up looking like she was about to burst into tears and led the way to our bedroom with her head down staring at the stairs. I asked my Mum again if I could please come and watch but she told me ‘no’ and to finish my tea.

The three of them trooped up the stairs leaving me alone with my almost full plate. When they were out of sight I whistled to the dog who was not allowed in the kitchen at mealtimes and was delighted to get a treat of all the meat and potatoes from my plate. I quickly swallowed the vegetables that I didn’t think he would eat and sneaked up the stairs as far as I dared. I didn’t dare go as far as the landing in case the bedroom door opened and I was seen. The thought that I might also get a spanking for disobeying my Mother when she was in this mood was enough to make me very careful.

I stood about three steps from the top listening intently and for quite a while I could hear nothing. My parents were not given to shouting even when they were angry.

At last I heard a loud ‘Whack’ and an ”Oooww” from my sister. She responded to each ‘Whack’ equally vocally, but getting progressively louder. The smacks were spaced about 10 seconds apart and I assumed my Mum was making some point in between each one. I didn’t know whether it was Mum or Dad doing the smacking at the time, although after 15 smacks (I have always kept count whenever I have witnessed or received a spanking) there was a long pause and I thought it was over and I had better make myself scarce, when suddenly it started up again, only now both the whacking sounds and my sister’s howls were louder. I (rightly, I later discovered) guessed that during this break in proceedings, Mum had handed over both the slipper and my sister to Dad and she was now getting a much harder spanking. Dad did not leave such long gaps between smacks, only two or three seconds, and in a short while Rebecca had another 35 whacks with the slipper, making 50 in total. I didn’t know whether this round figure was a sentence that my parents had pronounced or if it just happened to add up to that without them counting, but I think it probably was decided beforehand because later, whenever they had occasion to spank either of us again, it was always a round figure. My parents were modern and embraced the metric system, opting for multiples of ten, whereas the school preferred the imperial half dozen or dozen for serious misbehaviour.

As soon as I heard the bedroom door open I slid down the banister. I didn’t want them to hear me running and if I tiptoed they would almost certainly see me. I then resumed my seat at the kitchen table. When my parents came in I asked if I could go and see Rebecca but was told ‘no’, she was not to see anyone until bedtime. I was desperate to see her bottom while the marks were still fresh but thought it unwise to argue with Mum while she still had the slipper in her hand.

I had never wished so fervently for bedtime to come around and couldn’t wait to talk to Rebecca and hear all about it, but frustratingly, she didn’t want to talk about it and wouldn’t even show me her bum. I couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t want to. If I had just had my first spanking I was sure I would want to share all the details with someone, however painful the experience had been, but she remained laying face down on her bed and held tightly to the covers so that I couldn’t sneak a peek at her bottom. Later, as I lay awake reliving the sounds of her punishment, Rebecca fell asleep and started to snore softly. I crept out of my bed and went to hers and lifted the covers but she was wearing pyjamas and I couldn’t see her bum. I had a torch which I used for reading under the covers when I was supposed to be sleeping and I shone this on her and took hold of the waistband of her pyjama bottoms and started to slide them down. However, her bottom was still so tender after her slippering that she immediately awoke when the material scraped against her skin and she pushed me away and threatened to bash me if I came near her again, so I didn’t get to see what a freshly spanked bottom looked like until a year later, in the mirror.

H

I have greatly enjoyed reading the recollections here, especially from folks in the US, so I thought I would share my own.

I am a 40-year-old woman who lives in Buffalo, NY, where I grew up. I am the oldest of four. I have a sister two years younger and brothers five and eight years younger.

Though spankings were less in fashion during my childhood, my parents were definitely firm believers in their effectiveness and all four of us were spanked into our early to mid-teens. Dad spanked, but mom was the primary disciplinarian in the household. She had been a classroom teacher for several years until the older of my brothers was born and then she became a stay at home mom. Spankings were not an everyday event at our house, but they were not rare either. I would say I earned one a month on average in my peak years from 10 to 14, then a handful after that until my last at 16 1/2.

Spankings were never given in fury or anger, but were very measured and controlled, and mom had a very set procedure that turned a spanking into an ordeal. Usually we would be dispatched to my parents’ bedroom to stand in an empty corner for 15 minutes or so until she came upstairs. This was to give her time to get her emotions under control and ensure we were not being spanked in anger.

Once she came into the room, she would call us out of the corner and send us to fetch whatever she was going to spank us with. I was never spanked with a hand. She favored the wooden spoon when we were younger and a wooden hairbrush or ping pong paddle when were older. If a lie was involved we could also count on an additional spanking with an old leather tool belt that we called The Strap.

She would sit at her vanity bench and tell us to pull down our pants. All our spankings were given on bare bottom after a lecture while we stood at her side. As I got older, the embarrassment of standing there with my pants and panties at my knees was excruciating, almost as bad as the spanking I was about to receive.

After the lecture we would be instructed to go over her knee and the spanking would commence, again not rushed or in a flurry, but in a series of even, measured swats that we were expected to count our loud. She usually spanked in groups of 12 swats and a typical spanking when I was in my teens could run 36 or 48 swats, enough to turn my bottom a deep shade of red. After the spanking was over, we would be sent back to the corner with bare bottom showing, usually for 30 minutes or so before we were allowed to pull up our pants and go on about our business.

Though the spankings were both uncomfortable and embarrassing, the upside was that once it was over, it was over and it as very rare that there were groundings or other restrictions attached to them.

Most spankings were given in my folks’ room, door left open so everyone could hear. Occasionally when mom wanted to make a point or an example out of one of us, she would spank the unlucky party in the kitchen in front of the other siblings. I saw all of my sibs get it from time to time, and a few of mine were witnessed by them, including my last one, a hairbrush spanking on my bare behind when I was past 16. But that is a story for another time.

LC

This was August 1974 and we were going to spend a week in a chalet at the seaside in South West England. It was a long way for Dad to drive so we had to get up very early and Beccy and I had not slept much the night before through excitement. We had breakfast and got in the car. I remember it was very quiet at 6 o’clock with barely any traffic. Mum went back to the house about 3 times to check that she hadn’t left the gas on, or a window open etc, and we were all impatient to be on our way when she came out for the last time holding the slipper.

“Mustn’t forget this,” she said, putting it in the boot on top of all the other luggage.

We eventually got going and headed South, but it was a long and boring drive and Rebecca and I were tired and soon became irritable. We had not been out for more than an hour before we were pushing each other around and squabbling. Mum had to keep turning round in her seat and telling us to behave. Dad said nothing and just kept driving. He was never very talkative. This went on for another hour or so and we were already doing the ‘Are we nearly there yet?’ routine when we were not even halfway there!

Mum had just told us to pack it in for the millionth time when Dad indicated left and pulled off the road into a large lay-by where there was a caravan cafe selling tea and bacon rolls etc. I thought that he was stopping for a cuppa and a break from driving but he got out of the car, went round the back and opened the boot. When he closed it again I saw through the back window that he was holding the slipper. My heart jumped. This was a public place. There were at least half a dozen other cars in the lay-by and families sitting at the picnic benches with their tea.

Dad opened the passenger side rear door where Beccy was sitting and hauled her out of the car. She struggled and protested but to no avail and in a few seconds Dad had pushed her, face down over the boot of the car so that her face and mine were only separated by the glass of the back window. I could see the shock and despair on her face from mere inches away, and behind her I could see that Dad was fumbling with her clothing. I couldn’t see exactly what he was doing but could tell he was yanking her trousers down. I had never seen my sister being spanked before. It had always been in private.

I would have preferred to be watching from an angle where I could see her bum rather than her face but it was certainly an interesting perspective seeing the expression on her face change at every whack. I was fascinated. The only thing preventing me from enjoying it hugely was the certainty that it was going to be me next. I could see that most of the other people in the lay-by were watching and their expressions ranged from disgust to approval and in some cases, delighted grins. I imagine that some of the ones who looked like they approved had been similarly vexed by their children on their long drives South and thought their own kids might decide to behave for the rest of the journey when they saw the potential consequences of their behaviour.

Rebecca got the usual ten whacks and was left hopping around clutching her bum while Dad hauled me out of the driver’s side and placed me in the same position. I too was wearing trousers. They were denim jeans but they didn’t button up, they had an elasticated waistband and so they came down with the minimum of fuss, as did my knickers. Dad gave me the same, ten hard whacks on my bare bottom. In terms of pain it was no worse than any previous whackings he had given me, but the humiliation of being watched by a lot of grinning judgemental strangers made it seem much worse. Also, Beccy had not got back in the car so she got to see my bottom being turned red and I had still never seen hers getting spanked, which seemed most unfair. After my whacking, Mum decided that she would quite like a cup of tea so we had to stay at the scene of our humiliation for another 15 minutes or so, sitting on our throbbing bottoms at a picnic table, being ogled and laughed at by several kids of around our own age.

H

This memory comes from the same holiday as the previous one and describes the hardest and longest spanking I ever received.

We arrived at the chalet before noon and spent a while unpacking and sorting out where everything was to go in the chalet. Rebecca and I had been quiet and well behaved on the remainder of the journey with our bottoms tender and throbbing. When the accommodation was all sorted we had lunch and then got changed for the beach.

It was a glorious summer’s day, really hot and I wore a bikini to go down to the sea. The briefs were quite small and did not quite cover the evidence that I had been recently spanked, so I was keen to get straight in to the water where no one would see the marks on my bottom. Barney, our dog, came with me. It was his first ever visit to the seaside and he was wildly excited, chasing seagulls off the sand and into the sea, digging holes and having a thoroughly good time. The sea water was very soothing on my bum and in a short while it was as if my spanking was a distant memory. I began to really enjoy the holiday and forget all about the humiliation of my public punishment. I had a really nice day and knew I was going to really enjoy it here.

The next day, I was awake early and went straight out to the beach with Barney before breakfast. We ran around on the sand and I threw him sticks to fetch for about an hour. It wasn’t quite warm enough yet to get in the sea but I could tell it was going to be another scorcher. Well, I was right about that!

I should point out at this point that Rebecca was not sharing my enthusiasm. She was very hormonal around that time and her moods were very unpredictable. Although she had been excited the day before, she had also recently acquired a boyfriend back home and didn’t want to be apart from him.

After her spanking in the lay-by, she had gone into a sulk that the sun and sea failed to lift and after breakfast on this second morning she took herself off into the town to buy postcards so that she could write to her beau and tell him how much she missed him.

So it was just me and Barney back on the beach after breakfast and again I was in my bikini. We had been out for about another hour playing in and out of the sea when we came across a group of boys playing football. Normally I would have asked to join in but I only had flip flops on which were no good for kicking a ball with. However, Barney took it upon himself to join in their game and chase the ball wherever it went, which delighted the boys.

I went over to get him, thinking that one of the boys was quite good looking and this would be an opportunity to get myself a little romance as Rebecca seemed to be enjoying hers and I wondered what all the fuss was about. I started chatting to this boy, apologising for Barney and asking where he came from in my clumsy, inexperienced way and we seemed to be getting on quite well when one of the other boys came up to me and said: “Hey, you’re that girl that got slippered in the lay-by!”

I was so embarrassed; I could tell that my face had turned bright red. The boy, and his friends started laughing at me and one of them said: “Let’s see your bum then” and grabbed my bikini bottoms and yanked them down.

I spun around and punched him hard on the nose. Immediately blood started pouring from his nose. He looked shocked, then he started to cry and ran away. I pulled up my bikini briefs and clenched my fists, daring any of them to try anything, but they all backed off and I turned round, called Barney and ran back to the chalet.

I didn’t want to tell Mum and Dad what had happened, I was so ashamed, and I tried to stay out of sight so that they wouldn’t see that anything was the matter and ask me about it. Then I looked out of the window and I saw the boy with the bloody nose and a woman, who I assumed to be his mother, heading our way. She was asking the boys who were still hanging around something and they pointed to our chalet. I knew that this woman was on her way to tell my parents that I had beaten up her son. I panicked. The boy’s T-shirt was soaked in blood and I didn’t think I was going to convince anyone that I had not over reacted.

Without further ado, I grabbed the slipper from where it lay next to the sofa and ran out of the chalet.

“Hey,” shouted Dad, getting up and following me, but I was away across the sand and before he could catch me I had reached the water’s edge and hurled the slipper as far as I could into the sea. Dad reached me seconds later and would likely have run in after it had he not been fully clothed and wearing his good shoes. He grabbed hold of me with a face like thunder, not comprehending what could have led me to do such a thing, then he took hold of my arm and dragged me back towards the chalet.

On the way, the boy and his mother met us and she started on a rant about how I had beaten her precious child. He looked much smaller than I had thought when I hit him and I could see that Dad was not going to take my side. Dad sat down on the sand, legs stretched out in front of him and pulled me down across his lap. He yanked down my bikini bottoms and brought his hand down hard on my bare bottom. He repeated this three more times, then decided that for this spanking he needed to roll his sleeves up. The four smacks I had were quite hard and stung my bum, but were not as bad as the slipper. The thing that hurt the most was that that horrible boy and his horrible mother were watching. When Dad’s sleeves were rolled up the spanking resumed, hard and fast and I had counted another six when I heard Barney barking excitedly. I thought, good dog, he’s trying to protect me and then I heard Dad say: “Good dog,” and he reached over me to pick up the soaking wet slipper that my faithful friend had retrieved from the sea.

My bottom was already sore before the first whack with the wet leather. It was a lot sorer after the 30th.

When it was over and I was sent inside, I tearfully explained what the boy had done to make me hit him and Dad was actually quite sympathetic but it was too late by then to prevent the spanking.

That was not the last time I got the slipper from my Dad but it was certainly the longest and hardest. However, the boy I had been chatting to before the brat came over was very sorry for me about what had happened and we became quite friendly during the rest of the week and as he was the biggest boy amongst that group, none of them dared to tease me again. Or maybe it was because they had seen what a good right hook I had!

H

Our school uniform was a grey pleated skirt, white shirt, white socks, blue and red striped tie, grey blazer and a stupid straw hat with a red ribbon round it. It was not a posh school but it had pretensions. We all hated those hats. It did not mean a spanking to turn up without it occasionally but you had better not make a habit of it! Rebecca and I had to wear it every day because we lived quite near the school so if we turned up incorrectly attired we would be sent home to change.

In the summer term, after Easter until the summer holidays we were allowed to wear a blue and white checked cotton dress instead of the full uniform, if we chose. However, the hat was not optional and we had to wear it all year round. The hats became the subject of a doomed protest in 1973 when going on strike was all the rage. Some 3rd year girls attempted to bring all the girls out on strike until the hats were abolished. A lot of girls, me and Beccy included, stayed out on the netball court when the bell for the end of lunch went, all willing to join the strike and see the end of the silly hats.

The Headmistress and a posse of teachers came out to see what was happening, took away the ringleaders to be caned and the strike was effectively quelled, and we went back to our classes without any more trouble. In the excitement, though, the ringleader, a girl called Claire, had stamped on and destroyed her hat, encouraging a few excitable girls (but not me, thankfully) to do the same. My sister was one of these. Miss Percival, the Headmistress, told everyone before we went back to class that anyone turning up the next day without a hat would be seen in her office. There were about 7 or 8 girls with trashed hats feeling very sheepish indeed.

I wanted to tell Mum all about it when I got home, but Rebecca promised me a great deal of pain if I told on her. When we got home, Rebecca pleaded with Mum to take her to the shop and get a new hat. She said it had blown off in the wind and been run over by a car. Mum said she would go and get her one tomorrow and that she was sure the teachers would understand if she told them what had happened, but Beccy was almost in tears, insisting that she would be in trouble and that we had a warning in assembly about wearing the correct uniform. She was very convincing; even I almost believed her. Eventually Mum was persuaded and I was left to peel potatoes for tea, as Mum’s routine had been interrupted, while they headed off to the school uniform shop in town.

The shop that stocked uniforms for all the local schools also stocked essential supplies for teachers, such as exercise books, stationery, pens, etc. They also stocked other items as I am sure you can imagine what I am about to describe.

Obviously, I don’t know exactly what happened at the shop, I wasn’t there and Rebecca was reluctant to talk about it, but when they came back half an hour later, Beccy was wearing a new hat and Mum was carrying a cane. They walked straight past me in the kitchen without a word, and straight up the stairs to my bedroom.

As usual, I sneaked up behind them to near the top of the stairs to listen and I had only just got there when I heard the first stroke. There had been no preamble or lecture. I presume that all the talking had already been done. There had been barely time for Mum to get Beccy in position and bare her bum before she started the caning. She gave my sister ten strokes and, judging by the screaming, they must have been pretty hard. I was not allowed to see my sister until bedtime and she never came down to tea. I asked Mum why she had caned Beccy and she told me what I already knew, that she had deliberately destroyed her hat and lied about it and that buying brand new things to replace things that had been deliberately damaged was not something she took lightly.

What I did find out, through my investigations, was that my sister was relieved that she would not be seeing the Headmistress and would have a new hat, but suspicions were aroused and eventually confirmed when several other mums and their daughters turned up at the shop to replace ‘accidentally’ damaged hats. They soon got to the bottom of it, and to the bottoms of their daughters, as Mum said she was not the only mum to buy a cane that afternoon.

H

Of all the spankings I received, getting paddled on the bus was the one place I really hated getting it. First, you had a big audience and, second, the swats were fewer but harder. I suppose this was the case because the driver had a schedule to maintain.

It was the first week in October 1956, 6th grade. It was a very warm day and I had showered, put my hair in a ponytail (which seemed to have an invisible sign on it that said ‘pull me’ to boys) and put on a pale blue sun dress and blue canvas shoes. After eating breakfast, I went outside to congregate with my two brothers and four cousins from next door to wait for Mr Tanner (an appropriate name) and the bus to pick us up. My house was the 3rd pickup, which was great because you got your pick of the seats. However, it also meant you had about 45 minutes to go before arriving at school.

The big yellow school bus soon appeared and we all got on. I went to my usual seat which was 4th from the back on the left side and sat down. My cousin Cathy sat with me and the rest were nearby. We went down county road 7014 and soon were on county highway 178. About 25 minutes later, we stopped to pick up Eli Jeffries whom everyone called EJ. He was a 5th grader who was also a little pain in the ass, literally, as was a few others boys in his class.

We had just picked him up and he came and sat in the seat behind me. About two minutes later he began reaching over the seat and pulling my ponytail. I sat there very still waiting for him to strike again and when he did I tried to grab his hand which caused some commotion.

Mr Tanner, who was known for his strict rules of conduct on the bus, looked back and said: “You in the back, settle down or I may have to bust some tail. I haven’t done it in a few weeks and I am itching to do it again.”

Can you imagine some school employee saying that today? He would be fired so quickly that his head would spin.

So we had now just turned on to county road 980 and again EJ reached over the back of my seat in an attempt to pull my hair. This time I caught his hand and sank my teeth into it.

He yelled: “Oh crap, you witch, that hurts!” followed by the laughter of several kids.

Then Mr Tanner said: “Emily and EJ, come up here and sit in the front seat.”

The front seat was the seat that was the front one of the row to the right of the driver. No one sat there because you had to be really well behaved or he would see anything you did. As we walked up to the front seat you could hear snickers and giggles from the other students who knew what was about to happen. Mr Tanner slowly pulled off to the side of the road and came to a stop just after we sat down in the seat. He then stood up and asked what happened back there.

I said: “EJ was pulling my hair so I bit his hand when he tried doing it again.”

Mr Tanner looked at me and then at EJ’s hand where he observed my teeth imprints on his right hand. He then decided that we both were at fault and both would receive 6 swats. Although it is fewer swats than I got from Mr Anderson, his swats were harder and really burned.

He called EJ up first. “Turn around and face the back of the bus and bend over and grab your ankles.”

EJ sighed and turned around and did as he was told. Mr Tanner took the paddle stored in a small compartment under his seat and took his place next to him. Mr Tanner swung back and came down on his behind with a loud ‘WHAP!

EJ let out an “ahhhh” and then gritted his teeth.

Five more hard swats followed with EJ yelling “ahhhh” followed by a loud exhale. Then he was told to go back to his seat. Now this is where I find school spankings unfair. Unlike the ones in school where boys usually had to get it on their underwear, this did not happen on bus spankings. But that was not the case for girls.

When he called my name I went to where EJ had stood and faced the back of the bus. When he told me to bend over and grab my ankles I did as I was told and then I felt Mr Tanner lift the edge of my dress to get a clean shot at my pantied bottom. Unlike Mr Anderson, who would pull the dress edge back over your back, Mr Tanner just lifted enough to get to the target area.

I remember looking at the floor and my blue canvas shoes when the first swat hit. ‘WHAP!’ came the sound and I gasped and tried to start my breathing exercises. Damn did that one smart like hell! Then about 2 seconds later came number two ‘WHAP’ and I gasped again and said “owwieee.” Then came the next 2 of equal force and loudness. I struggled to keep my hands around my lower legs as that paddle repeatedly found its destination.

I had began lightly crying by the 5th one and I must have been moving too much because I felt his non-paddle hand press down slightly on my lower back. “Last one,” he said as number 6 was finally delivered. He cleared his throat and then told me to back to my seat.

Again I could hear low volume snickers as I went past the ones sitting in front of me. As I sat back on the seat next to Cathy, she put her arm around me and said: “Are you ok?”

I said: “Not really,” through light tears as I shifted my behind on the black colored seat, trying to get a bit of relief from the pain and sting coursing through my behind.

She tried to inject humor in the situation by telling me that when every swat struck my behind, my dress billowed out like a parachute.

It was still stinging 20 minutes later when we arrived at school. Cathy looked at me and said: “EJ is an ass.”

I agreed wholeheartedly and then added: “And my ass is on fire.”

She again said: “I’m sorry,” in that dorky high voice of hers and then we went different directions to our respective classes. I hated that damned EJ for weeks after that.

Em

It’s funny how you can tell the amazement factor of how things were back in my era of the 1950s when you compare the ones my age to the young ones of today. The older remember many of the things I describe, while the younger often pass a judgment of backwards, perverted and evil. Actually, a small portion of that did occur, just as it does today, and yes folks got away with more things then but that does not make it a bad time or era.

Many are shocked when they hear of how often kids were spanked then and cannot understand how that was allowed to happen. Well, you must not only understand the culture of the region but also the era of that period. There was no internet, no computers, no air conditioning. Very few had television and if one had a phone, it had no dial and you had to pick it up and ask the operator to connect you to someone’s home.

Also, it was very rural and very conservative Christian. At least once every few months the pastor at the church would talk about how it was the parents and other adults’ responsibility to “deliver the rod” to misbehaving children and how that “rod of correction” was used by God to save the souls of kids from hell.  It was not uncommon to have parents spank their neighbors’ kids and no one complained.

Sometimes when we would hang around other kids from school or the area, we often would exchange spanking accounts and sometimes try to one up the other person. The sexual aspect of it was something a few of us found interesting although we did not know at the time it was sexual. We just knew that other feelings and thoughts circulated around such punishments and for many of it was an introduction to human sexuality.

And no doubt many adults enjoyed this kink as well and found ways to explore it through the administering of spankings to the younger ones. It went on for as long as it did because no one, and I mean no one, questioned those in authority. And it was not just male administrators who did this kind of thing, but some women as well. I recall at a large gathering at my mom’s brothers house (uncle Steven) where one lady there, and I do not remember who she was and her relation to my uncle, but she made a statement how she had to spank her little boy every few days and that his fanny was perpetually red. I remember asking my mom later what did ‘perpetually’ mean.

Someone once messaged me and asked of all the spankings I got, which was the most memorable? Well that would be hard since each one had unique factors to them, but I suppose the one that I thought about the most afterwards was one I got in 5th grade (1956) just a few days before summer vacation started. The timing was funny because I got one the following year at nearly the same time.

In the 5th grade my interest in spankings was just beginning to sprout. By this time, I was pretty tough and cried very little, if at all, to the ones I got in school, especially if I was getting it with others. It was a most interesting era of my life as new and unspeakable things were beginning to occur.

It was a very hot and humid mid-May day when I found myself receiving even more heat to add to the situation. If you have read my other accounts, you will know that, while I was quite petite, I was also very rambunctious and did not put up with people picking on me, especially if it was totally uninvited. I was walking back from afternoon recess and had just entered the building when a sixth grade boy shot me in the back with a small, tightly folded up piece of paper that used a long rubber band as the method of delivery.

Besides saying “s**t” when it hit me, I immediately turned around and kicked him right in the nuts with my fairly new shiny black Mary Jane shoes. As he crumbled to the hallway floor, he called me an a-hole and began hollering in pain. Of course, this got the attention of nearby Mrs Edwards who took me straight to the office. The lady working in there noted what I had done and, after looking down at a planner, told me to report to the principal’s office at 3:05 pm sharp.

School let out at 3:00 pm and the buses left at 3:45 so it always gave him time to warm some behinds before they departed for their destination. So I sighed and went back to my class where I would await the end of the day with a baited behind.

Soon the loud clanging of the 3 o’clock bell was heard throughout the school and I went straight to the office where the lady told me to go on in to the waiting room and sit down until Mr Anderson called for me. I went inside and sat down on the bench on the left side of the room. About two minutes later a seventh-grade girl, Sarabeth, came in and sat on the bench across from me. She was one familiar with Mr Anderson’s paddle because she was much like me in that she did not put up with people’s nonsense and, like Peggy Sue from an earlier posted story, she was Mr Anderson’s niece.

She was a member of the FFA (Future Farmers of America) class and since it was Friday, she was dressed in blue overalls and red canvas shoes. She had her bright red hair pulled back into a short ponytail with two silver hair barrettes in the front.

I asked her: “What are you here for?” and she replied: “I told a very irritating person to ‘eat s**t!’ and they told on me so here am. What are you here for?”

I told her about my incident in the hall and she just smiled and said, “good for you.” I laughed in response and continued to wait for the big brown door to open.

As I sat there looking at Sarabeth I noticed she had no shirt on under her overalls. This was very common on hot days like today, but I wondered what was going to happen when she had to shed them for the paddling. I soon would find out.

About two minutes later the sound of footsteps approaching the door became audible, followed by the turning of the handle and the opening of the door and there stood Mr Anderson, all 6 foot 4 of him. He looked at Sarabeth, then me and said, “Come on in girls and go stand in front of my desk.”

We slowly walked inside and soon were standing where we had been directed and he walked around to the front of his desk and sat down and read the report of our transgressions in a low undertone. Then he looked up at us and said: “Girls, this kind of behavior is serious and not tolerated here at school. Punishment must be administered to such actions. Sarabeth, you will receive 20 swats and Em, you will get 15. Ok? Well let’s get started.”

As he got up to get things ready, we both turned our back to the desk and watched him grab a wood framed metal chair and place it front of the mirror on the south wall. As was his custom, the oldest went first and he called his niece to him by saying, “Sara” followed by a beckoning finger.

She had been here a few times before and knew the drill. As she approached him she began undoing the shoulder clasps on her overalls and once done she let them fall on the floor and then stepped out of them. Then Mr Anderson placed a hand on her shoulder and he turned her around towards the chair and walked her to it. Then, pushing lightly, he said: “Bend over, Sara, and hold the seat tightly. Please keep your feet together and do not get up until so directed ok?”

“Yes uncle,” she replied.

Even though back in that time it was not uncommon to see girls our age without a shirt, especially in the summer, it was eye opening for me because it was the first time I had seen her without one. She was quite pale and had some nice size breasts for a 13-year-old which made me feel ‘without’ since I had none yet.

As he prepared to deliver the swats, I noticed how his olive complexioned left hand contrasted with the pale skin of her back and he rested it there to keep her from getting up. Then he took the paddle and began rubbing it against her white pantied behind and after a few seconds said: “Ok, here we go,” and swung the paddle back for the first swat.

I looked at Sarabeth’s face in the mirror and saw her look at the reflection showing the paddle beginning its down stroke. She gritted her teeth and then looked down as the seat heater made its contact. ‘WHAP!’ The sound filled the room and she replied with a “ayeee ayeee ayeee” followed by slightly bending her left leg and then her right.

Her skin was so pale that her white panties blended almost perfectly. It contrasted with her fiery red hair and red canvas shoes. Soon, something in between would be red as well.

After the first swat he began rubbing the paddle on her panties again as he prepared for #2. ‘WHAP!’ came the sound and again she let out several “ayeees” followed by flexing one leg then the other.

The next 18 were similar. He spaced them about three seconds apart.

WHAP 3 – Ayeee!

WHAP 4 – Ayeee, Ayeee, Ayeee!

WHAP 5 – Ayeee, Ouch!

WHAP 6 – Ayeee, Ayeee!

WHAP 7 – Breathes in heavily the an “Ayeee!”

Her leg flexing became more pronounced which prompted Mr Anderson to say: “Sara, quit flexing and moving so much, ok? Good girl.”

WHAP 8 – Ayeee!

WHAP 9 – OW, OW, OW!

WHAP 10 – Breathes in heavily while shaking her head

WHAP 11 – Ayeee, Ayeee!

Her leg flexing resumed again but not as much as before.

WHAP 12 – OW, OW! (breathes in through her teeth.)

WHAP 13 – OW! Ouch!! (Looks briefly at herself in the mirror and the back down at the chair seat.)

WHAP 14 – “Ahhhh! Ayeee!

WHAP 15 – Breathes in heavily again and pushes her bottom back against the paddle as he holds it in place against it.

WHAP 16 – Ayeee, OH!!! (Looks back at the mirror briefly)

Mr Anderson chimes in: “Sara were almost done, ok sweetie?”

Which she followed with a “Yes sir.”

WHAP 17 – Breathes in loudly and then exhales.

WHAP 18 – Ayeee, Ayeee, Ahhhh!

WHAP 19 – Looks back in the mirror and her face grimaces as the paddle swings back.

“Last one.”

WHAP 20 – Ayeee, ow! Ahh man!!!

While he was delivering her swats I could not help but look at her boobs that would jiggle a bit on each one, which I found fascinating. And you could see the paddle slightly flatten her behind under those tight panties and then it popped back into place quickly.

He kept her in place for almost a minute and he rubbed the paddle on her behind while he talked about the inappropriateness of vulgar language. When he let her up, you could see a light pink outline of his hand on her back. She turned around sniffing and picked up her overalls and stepped into them and fastened the clasps. He then told her to go and stand in front of the desk to my left.

As she walked toward me, Mr Anderson flexed his finger at yours truly and I began heading toward him. Once there, he grabbed my shoulder, like he had done with Sarabeth, and turned me around and walked me toward the chair. We paused for a pregnant pause at the chair and then he pushed me over it and told me to grasp the seat tightly.

I shivered as he pulled my yellow dress back over my back and then held it in place with his left hand. I too, looked in the mirror as I felt the paddle rubbing before the introductory swat and noticed that my left pigtail was slightly higher than my right one. What a strange thought at that moment, huh?

Then I saw the paddle swing back as he said, “here we go,” and I gritted my teeth as I waited for the burn to begin.

“WHAP!”

“Owwww!” I cried as I tightened and loosed my grip on the chair seat and watched as the next swing back commenced. My whole behind was undergoing acupuncture.

WHAP 2 – Ow, ow, ow, ow!

WHAP 3 – Gosh! Ow!! Ow!!

WHAP 4 – I breath in and out loudly

WHAP 5 – Ow, burns, ow!!

WHAP 6 – Ow, Ow, Ow!

When he rubbed the paddle against my behind before the next swat, I began moving it in small circles against the polished surface between which helped calm the sting somewhat.

WHAP 7 – OW!, ow, ow!

WHAP 8 – Breathed and out loudly

WHAP 9 – Stings! Ow! Ow! Ow!

WHAP 10 – Ouch! Ow!!! Oh!

WHAP 11 – Burns!, Hot!, Stings!

Mr Anderson chimes in: “Yes, Em, it’s supposed to burn and sting! Please do not shift so much. Good girl Em! Almost done.”

WHAP 12 – Ahhh! Ahhhh! Owww!

WHAP 13 – Breathed and out loudly while I glanced at my face in the mirror with its reddened eyes.

WHAP 14 – This one seemed harder and I really moved my behind against his paddle. He let me do it for about ten seconds and then said: “Ok Em, last one ok? Good girl.”

WHAP 15 – Like with Sarabeth, he kept me in place as he told me that violence to others will always result in violence to my behind.

Then he removed his left hand from my back and as I stood up my dress fell back into place. He grabbed my shoulder and turned me toward his desk and pushed as he told me to go stand by his desk next to Sarabeth. Once there I reached under my dress to rub my hot burning backside as he told us to stay out of trouble and then dismissed us.

I went straight to the restroom to wash my face and then headed straight to the waiting Bus #2 for my ride home. As I worked my way toward the rear of the bus I was sure some knew that my behind was burning and sitting down on the black leather seat calmed it a bit. It was still stinging 45 minutes later as the bus pulled in front of the entrance to my mom and uncle’s houses.

After getting inside I went to the bathroom and shed my dress and then lowered my panties to examine my very pink behind. I rubbed it a bit to lessen the sting and then went to my room to get ready for dinner which would be ready soon. Hopefully, more warm buns were not on the menu.

Em

Getting the cane at school was a hazard of school life. Even some of the generally well-behaved girls got it on occasions. I remember a really nice, studious girl called Pat. As far as I know, she was never in trouble like some of us were. She was quite a looker, even in her school uniform and her looks attracted the attention of some workmen at the school. Unfortunately, she made some rather ribald remark to them which was overheard by a bossy prefect who reported her to the head. So, although Pat never gotten into any trouble at school before, she found herself bending over the desk for three strokes of the cane across the backside. She was right upset about it and we thought it was a bit harsh, but that’s the way things were. And although we sympathised with her, some of us were maybe a little secretly pleased that even a good girl wasn’t exempt from getting her bum whacked.

WW

This is another account of one of the ones I received in the 6th grade. Besides being the grade in which I received the most from Mr Anderson, it was also the year that my ‘like’ of spankings that began when I was 9 was now fully realized at age 11 in grade 6. Plus, my time spent with my friend David over the summer was a great help in that he showed me how to breathe correctly when getting it and to avoid crying which he said I was a waste of energy and concentration.

This incident occurred on Thursday, April 11, 1957. I remembered it because it was my oldest brother Eli’s 13th birthday. It was a nice spring day especially in view of the previous 4 days of rain we had. This paddling would rank as the top in ones that really were memorable. It would include me (11), my cousin Donna, 12, and a girl named, I kid you not, Peggy Sue, 14, who was also Mr Anderson’s niece. During the next school year, she would at first love and later loathe the song by Buddy Holly that featured her name.

It was also memorable because of a dumb thing Donna didn’t do and the fact that this was the first time I was being paddled with Peggy Sue who was about as familiar with Mr Anderson’s board as I was. This was a day I would never forget.

That morning after having breakfast, I went back to my room to finish dressing. Mom then came in and brushed my dark blonde hair and then put on a red plastic headband to keep it out of my face and behind my ears. Then I put on a white and red checkered dress that was a hand-me-down from Donna, but it still looked ok. Soon the sound of the Bus honking would have us running down the dirt driveway where myself, two brothers and four cousins would soon be on board. Donna was wearing a new red dress with a white borderline near the hem. She had on a white plastic headband that had a chip out of it near the top.

45 minutes later we arrived at school and went our separate ways to our respective classes. After reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, we soon were taking out our math books (bummer) and getting ready for a quiz.

At 10:30 am it was time to go to PE class. I usually called it recess because that was what it was to me. After doing a series of jumping jacks and touch your toes exercises, you were released to do one of several activities. I chose to do softball and soon we had a game going with both teams mostly of boys who just loved chiding me with midget jokes and other petite person and height challenged comments.

My cousin Donna, who also had her PE class at the same time was nearby playing volleyball. A few minutes later as I was coming back from the outfield because it was our turn to bat, I saw Donna getting into a tussle with a fellow 7th grader named Mark. This guy was like Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, as he could be really nice and also a real turd.

As I approached them he grabbed Donna’s hair and pulled her to the ground and sat on top of her. I went straight into wrestling mode as I ran and tackled him to the ground which let Donna go free. As he began fighting me, Donna came up and kicked him in the ribs. Mark let out a cry of pain and rolled onto his back and began grabbing his chest where he had been kicked.

Soon one of the two PE teachers, Mrs Green, was at the scene in a flash and began asking what was going on. She helped Mark up and he began telling his account of the events. When she came to me, I told her I saw him pushing Donna and when I got to them he had her on the ground so I tackled him to get him off of her, then Donna kicked him to get him off of me.

To make a long story less long, we all were cited for fighting and told to go back to the gym and change back into our regular clothes and go sit in the lunchroom. When I got to the gym, Donna had already dressed, and she waited for me while I changed.

Then we both walked to the cafeteria and sat at the first table just inside the double doored entrance from the hall. I was expecting Mark to come in but he didn’t and we remained there for about 15 minutes. During this time Donna was telling me what started the argument between her and him as if she thought I might have believed her to be in the wrong, which I did not.

Then Mr Anderson’s secretary came in and told us to go to his waiting room. On the way there, Donna kept muttering: “Why today? I can’t believe this is happening today!”

When I asked her what she was talking about, she said: “Nothing, today I am just stupid, that’s all.”

“Why are you stupid today?”

“I just am,” she replied without offering any additional detail.

As we entered his waiting room, we saw another girl, Peggy Sue, was already in there. Peggy was a freshman and a very pretty girl. From 9th through the 12th grades, receiving a paddling was an option. If you did not want to be paddled, you could opt by volunteering for the Saturday cleanup crew where you would attend from 9 am to 2 pm helping to clean the facility. As mentioned earlier, Mr Anderson was her uncle.

After a minute or two I asked Peggy why she was here. She said she was caught smoking and when the teacher looked in her purse, she found a small bottle of ‘Southern Comfort’ (a liquor similar to whiskey) and there was no way she was wasting 5 hours of her Saturday cleaning things.

Then I explained why we were here to which she cupped her mouth and laughed for some reason. A minute or so later the door opened and we were invited to come on in. We soon were all standing in a familiar place in front of Mr Anderson’s desk as he reviewed our infractions and then read them to us to make sure we were all on the same page.

I was very interested in seeing what would happen today because I had never been paddled with someone three grades higher than me. Peggy had a great physique and looked every bit of a 1950s girl. Her hair was in a ponytail, she had on a pretty ‘poodle skirt’ which was pink, accompanied by a white button up shirt and saddleback shoes.

As was his custom, he started with the oldest first and worked his way down. He directed Peggy to the mirror area where a chair was already waiting and then turned her to his left and said: “Bend over and place your hands flat on the seat and let’s get started, shall we?”

“Yes sir,” she replied and then went over and whispered something in Mr Anderson’s ear.

“Very well then, we do not want to wrinkle your skirt by handling it too much.”

Apparently, she did not want to mess up her pretty skirt and I was shocked when she reached to her side, unbuttoned the clasp, took it off and then walked to his desk where she laid it on top. She was now clad only in a white button up shirt, panties, short white socks and saddle back shoes.

She then went back to the chair, bent over and waited for him to get started. For me and Donna, who were still standing in front of his desk, she was facing us which gave us a good view of what was about to happen. The chair he was using was not the regular sized metal-framed wood chair, but it looked like one from perhaps a 3rd grade class. This shorter chair made your head lie at a lower level once you were bent over into position. He pushed her shirt back a bit to keep it out of the way and then placed his left hand on her back to hold it there.

From my vantage point this was a sight to behold. Her well-formed behind seemed almost too big to fit into those tight panties she was wearing. I could see the heart shaped contour of her backside as Mr Anderson began tapping and rubbing the paddle to make sure his aim was true.

When the first swat hit she blinked her eyes hard and said a mild: “ow.” Like me, she did not make much of a scene as she received her punishment.

Whap 1 – ow!

Whap 2 – ow!

Whap 3 – ahh!

Whap 4 – ow!

Whap 5 – ssss

Whap 6 – ssss

Whap 7 – ahh!

Whap 8 – dang!

Whap 9 – ow!

Whap 10 – ssss

Whap 11 – ouch!

Whap 12 – ahh!

Whap 13 – ow!

Whap 14 – ssss

Whap 15 – dang!

Whap 16 – ouch!

As Mr Anderson delivered the swats, I could see her behind bouncing under the paddle as it compressed its target. She would blink hard on each one and shake her head from side to side making her foot-long ponytail almost dance to the rhythm of paddle sounds.

She would also somewhat shift her weight from one leg to the other causing the chair to move slightly a couple of times. Occasionally she would glance to her right at the mirror and then back at the ground. The last swat seemed louder which did elicit a more intense “ouch” from her.

After the last one he said, “No more smoking or boozing, understood?”

“Yes sir, “came the stressed sounding reply. He then allowed her to stand and she went back to the desk and, after quickly rubbing her behind, she grabbed the shirt and put it back on. He then dismissed her and she left the office.

I had noticed that Donna was acting strange and being evasive to any inquiries I presented to her trying to find out what her issue was. I was about to find out.

He then called her name and used his hand to point at her and then the chair. As she approached, he put his hand on her shoulder and turned her towards the chair while instructing her to bend over it and hold the seat.

As she did so the funniest expression came on her face as he began to pull back her red dress to get the spanking started. The expression was one of those ‘Oh my God!’ looks that people display when they are surprised or embarrassed. Just as he fully pulled back the dress, the secret was out. She had on no panties!! Mr Anderson, acting calm and collect as if he had seen this before asked, “Donna, why do you have no undergarments on?”

She glanced up at me with another funny look and then said: “My dad and aunt didn’t wash clothes the last two days and I was out of panties except for one that a big hole on one side. I’m sorry.”

“Well you do not need to apologize to me, but you may feel a bit more sting than usual, ok?”

“Yes sir,” came the strained reply.

“Ok, here we go.”

After a few introductory taps he delivered the first swat which definitely had a different tone than one striking panties. “Owwww ahhhh” she blurted followed by light crying,

Whap 1 – owwww ahhhh!

Whap 2 – owwww ahhhh!

Whap 3 – owwwwwwwww!

Whap 4 – ahhhhhh!

Whap 5 – sssss!

Whap 6 – owwwww!

Whap 7 – eeeeeeee!

Whap 8 – stings stings!

Whap 9 – slighty coughs

Whap 10 – owwwwww

Whap 11 – stings!

Whap 12 – owww!

Whap 13 – owwwww!

Whap 14 – burns!

Whap 15 – eeeeeee!

Whap 16 – aaaaah!

Just as with Peggy, I could also see her bottom bouncing under his paddle but even more so. She too shook her head making her shoulder length brown hair swish to the beat. Her last swat also seemed harder than the rest which made her last response sound almost like a laugh. He then let her up and dismissed her from the room. As she left she looked over her shoulder at me with a look of discomfort while still crying some.

Then it was yours truly’s turn. After watching the previous two, I was a bit excited at what was about to happen. I was slightly lost in thought as I heard: “Ok Em, over here,” followed by his beckoning finger instructing me to come to him.

As I drew near to him I looked at him directly and gave him a slight smile. He grabbed my left shoulder and turned me to the chair and pushed as he told me: “Bend over, please, and hold the seat. You know the drill.”

“Yes sir, Mr Anderson,” I answered and did as instructed. As I bent over into position the lower level of the chair did not seem that much different to me. It was much better than having to grab your ankles because you had something to rest your weight on.

I shivered as he pulled back the edge of my red/white checkered dress and began rubbing the paddle on my backside. For some reason he rubbed and tapped longer than usual as if he was having trouble getting my bottom in alignment with his instrument of delivering heat.

Then the first one struck, WHAP!, and as always it was the one that was the most uncomfortable because it was my behind’s wake up call for the day. It was now time to start my breathing routine and try to focus on the good parts. I would also try some of the words used by Peggy and Donna.

Whap 1 – ssssss!

Whap 2 – owww!

Whap 3 – dang!

Whap 4 – ahhhhh!

Whap 5 – owww!

Whap 6 – ssss

Whap 7 – ahhh!

Whap 8 – ouch!

Whap 9 – owww

Whap 10 – dang!

Whap 11 – stings!

Whap 12 – ayee!

Whap 13 – oh man!

Whap 14 – hot, hot!!

Whap 15 – ssssss!

Whap 16 – aye ya oh!

There was no doubt that the last swat was harder. During the paddling I did my usual shifting of my behind to equalize things and I would glance to my right to see if I could see an actual strike or two. When that last one hit struck, it did kind of snap me out of my thought pattern of the moment as I processed the additional stinging.

Then he lifted his left hand off my back and let me stand. He must have had things to do right after because he did not do his exit speech and simply told me to get back to class.

As I walked back I stopped by the ladies room and reached up under my dress to rub my very tingly bottom and then pulled my panties down to see the damage. It was bright pink and very warm. After a minute or so I washed my face and then went back to class. This would be a day I would always remember.

Em

My first taste of the slipper was in December 1973 and, just like my sister’s first slippering, was on school report day. It wasn’t as severe as Rebecca’s though as my report was not nearly as bad as that one.

I did like to fool around in class when I was at school but I knew which teachers I could do that with without risking a spanking, or a trip to see the Headmistress. The downside of that was that the teachers who didn’t spank you would be more likely to describe your misbehaviour in your school report.

My last report at the end of the 1st year contained a lot of comments from these teachers suggesting that I should be taking my education more seriously, but I had not got into any serious trouble and my mother’s reaction was that I had better buck my ideas up because if my next report didn’t show an improvement in my overall behaviour, I would find myself over her knee like my big sister had become accustomed to.

Of course, I didn’t think about it much when I started my 2nd year and continued to behave myself in the classes where I might get spanked, and fool around in the classes where I thought I was safe. December was, after all, quite a way ahead. As it grew nearer though, I started to worry a little about what my report would say and what my mother had promised.

When the day came that my form teacher told us our reports were all ready to be sent out, I began to panic. I asked various teachers what they had written about me and they all said the same thing; that I constantly fooled around and disrupted lessons and that I could do much better if I made the effort and was more disciplined. I knew that this report was exactly the report my Mum had warned me not to get and that I would be for it when she read it.

On the day I knew it was going to arrive, I watched from my bedroom window for the postman coming down the street. Mum shouted me that breakfast was ready but I stayed where I was. If I could get hold of the report before Mum saw it, I might be able to make it disappear. Mum shouted me again to come downstairs, just as the postman came into sight.

I came down some of the way, then sat on the stairs waiting for the post. Mum came out of the kitchen to shout again and saw me sitting there. She asked me what I was doing and I said something about trying to remember something I was supposed to take to school. I said I needed to be alone until it came to me. Unfortunately, the post arrived through the letterbox while we were talking so I had no chance to get to it first.

My next strategy was to eat my breakfast as quickly as possible and get out before Mum opened the brown envelope. In this, I was successful as there were several other letters that day and she had barely started reading the first one when I headed out. I then had a whole school day ahead, fairly certain that I was at last going to find out what a spanking felt like. My head was spinning. I couldn’t think about anything else. As usual, on my way to school, I called for my friend Sarah. We always walked to school together. She was my best friend and a lot of the fooling around I did in class was with her assistance. I rang the doorbell and her mother answered. As soon as the door was open I heard a loud ‘Whack’ from inside.

“Ah, Harriet, come in. Sarah will be a few minutes, I’m afraid.”

‘Whack’

‘Whack’

“Her father has just been reading her school report.”

‘Whack’

‘Whack’

“Have you had yours?”

I mumbled something about the postman not having been yet. Sarah’s mum knew that we did everything together and so must have had a good idea that my report would be as bad as her daughter’s. In fact, I was probably mentioned in Sarah’s report as being a bad influence on her. Hearing her getting a whacking just made me even more in dread of what I was going to get later.

“Come on through.”

I followed Sarah’s mother into their kitchen where I saw my friend pinned down over her father’s lap with her skirt up and her knickers down. Her bottom was bright red and she was crying.

Her father looked up when I came in and said: “Good morning, Harriet,” in his normal cheerful way, as if he wasn’t in the middle of punishing his daughter with a slipper.

After I had witnessed 16 smacks, Sarah was allowed up and out and we headed off to school. She told me she had got 25. I had missed the beginning. He had certainly not been gone easy on her. I had never seen a spanking before, only heard them, and I found it very exciting. Sarah was always very pale skinned and her bottom had been turned a very bright red, like a fire engine or a post box.

All day at school, I couldn’t concentrate on anything apart from my imminent spanking. Time seemed to drag really slowly. It was a strange feeling. I was scared and nervous, but also quite excited, but most of all I just wanted 4 o’clock to come so that I could go home and get it over with. The waiting was torture. Of course, as the time for the school bell got closer, my nerves were getting worse and when school was over and I was walking home, the knot in my stomach and the weakness in my bladder became more intense. I was reluctant to enter the house when I got home and when I eventually did, it was as I had feared. Mum met me with my report in her hand and the slipper was on the kitchen table. She reminded me of the promise she had made me on my last report day, and just as she had done with Rebecca a year earlier sent me upstairs to: “do anything you might need to do sitting down, while you still can.”

As I said before, it was an unsatisfactory report which my Mum considered worthy of a spanking, but it was not nearly as bad as Rebecca’s when she had been found to be regularly playing truant, so my punishment was not as severe as hers had been.

Still, 20 whacks with a slipper on a bare bottom (10 from each parent) was a pretty painful experience and I would not be sitting comfortably for a few days afterwards.

H