Crying before a smacking

When I was a child, I was a bit of a softy. If I was to be spanked, I would be in tears before the punishment was administered.

I lived in the north of England and was brought up at home by my mother until just before I was about to go to school, about five years old.

While I was that small I was well behaved, so got only a few mild smackings (we never used the word spanking) but only on the seat of my short trousers. I am told I gritted my teeth and refused to cry and then would sulk afterwards.

When my mother went back to work I was taken to my aunt’s to be looked after, along with my two female cousins , one a little older than me and one about 18 months younger.

I loved my aunt and she was very warm and loving and treated me as if I were the son she never had. But she believed in firm discipline. My mother had told her about my behaviour when I was punished and she had told my mother that unless I was made to see who was ‘in charge’, I would get ever more defiant as I got older – and that the only way to ensure I learned my lesson was to have my trousers and underpants taken down and my bare bottom given a long, hard smacking until I cried.

It was about two months after my mother went back to work and my auntie had been looking after me that her patience finally ran out. I had started well but as time went on I got to be cheeky and badly behaved. I was playing tricks on my cousins, teasing them and generally making life a misery for them. I was refusing to do as I was told and lots of things that boys do to push against the boundaries and see just how far the can go.

Big mistake.

Looking back, I realise my aunt had really indulged me for a long time – until one day I pushed too far. My cousins were in the room and saw everything.

She grabbed me by the arm and told me she had had enough, and it was time I got my bottom smacked.

Everything happened so quickly, I was just frozen. She pulled down my short trousers, then my white Y-front pants right down to my ankles, and hauled me over her lap. My cousins were already giggling at the sight of the little monster who had been teasing and tormenting them with his little bare bottom exposed for all to see.

Then auntie started to smack, hard and fast. I began to bawl and wriggle but she held me firmly and just carried on smacking. I was crying so much I couldn’t even beg for her to stop. It seemed to go on for ever and my bottom felt like I was sitting on a fire.

When she eventually stopped, she turned me round and sat me on her knee, at which I jumped and yelled more as it really hurt even more with my own small weight on my burning flesh.

She said that she would do the same every time I misbehaved and what’s more, she would do it right there and then, regardless of where we were or who was watching. I can tell you she was as good as her word!

From then on, she only had to begin taking down my trousers and I would begin to plead and beg, saying: “Please don’t take my pants down!” She always did and I was always in tears before my underpants reached my ankles, let alone before the first smack landed.

I was subsequently smacked in front of my cousins, visitors and, on a couple of occasions, in a busy department store in Manchester.

What was worse was my aunt told my mother what she had done and how effective it had been, so that on the rare occasions my mum punished me I always got it on my bare bottom from then on.

From that time, I was much better behaved and as a result began to get on well with my cousins and had a much happier childhood.

Contributor: Jamie

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