When I was 10 years old, I stole a half pack of cigarettes from my mother. I walked to the yard of our neighbour, Miss Foley, and hid behind her garage. I took one of the cigs and lit it. I took one drag and inhaled. That was as far as I got – I started coughing loudly. Miss Foley, having heard me, came around the corner and saw me. I threw the cigarette on the ground but it was too late.
“Nice try” she said, “but I saw you.” I was terrified. I knew she would tell my mother.
However she said: “I’ll give you two choices. One, you and I can walk down to your house and tell your mother the whole thing.” I really didn’t want this – I did not want to face my mother when she found out that I had been smoking (not to mention that I had stolen them from her).
“Or,” Miss Foley went on, “you can let me punish you myself and your parents will never find out.” I knew right away what my answer would be but I was still curious, so I asked: “What would my punishment be from you?” “Oh, I’ll take you inside and give your butt a good reddening with my spoon,” she answered.
This was frightening to me, because while I had been spanked before it was only by hand on top of the pants and not very hard. But still, anything would be better than facing my mother.
“You can punish me,” I finally said. She looked surprised. “OK,” she said, “follow me.” She began to walk towards the house. I followed, trying to picture what was about to happen to my well-deserving rear end.
We walked in the kitchen door and she strode over to the counter and picked up a large wooden spoon. “Come on,” she said. And we walked to her bedroom.
Once inside, she said: “I am going to give you eight hard whacks with this spoon. Now, drop your pants.”
I was amazed. She wanted to do it pants down. I stood there staring. “If you don’t take them down I will do it for you and then it will be double,” she said.
I thought she was bluffing so I still just stood there. Bad move.
“OK”, she said, then she walked over to me undid my fly and brought down my pants and underwear to my ankles. “Now you are getting 16.”
I quickly brought my hands in front of my penis to cover it from her view. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before,” she said and with that, I brought my hands back to my sides. “Now bend over and put your elbows on the bed.” I did so very slowly.
“I should tell you,” she added, “that this will hurt. So be ready. Also, every time you stand up, cover your butt in any way or take your elbows off the bed, you will get two more added to your 16. Do you understand?” “Yes ma’am,” I said quietly.
“OK then,” she said and with that she raised her arm well over her head, swung the spoon and flicked her wrist just as the spoon connected to my butt.
It was unbelievable – I didn’t know how I was going to get through 16 of these. When the first stroke hit, I inhaled sharply. When the second one came, I yelped. By the third, I was crying loudly. By the fifth, I was just sobbing as she swung with that horrible flick of the wrist.
On the seventh whack, I couldn’t take anymore. I jumped up, grabbed my flaming butt with both hands, and jumped up and down.
Mrs Foley calmly said: “That is two more for standing up, and two more for covering your behind. I already gave you seven, so you have 13 left.” “Oh god,” I groaned. “I know it hurts but it will teach you your lesson. Now, back in place.”
I slowly got back into position. Then the painful strokes continued. They seemed harder than before – it was unbearable, I kept yelling and crying, then just sobbing. But she kept on going. First the right cheek, then the left.
Five strokes later, on number 10, I reached my hand back again. “That is two more,” she said, and continued, even harder now.
This time, I was able to stay in position for the rest of the spanking. I received a total of 22 very hard, very painful whacks to my bare butt.
It was probably about 15 minutes from when Mrs Foley took down my pants to when her spanking ended. When it was done, she said: “All right – all done.”
I very slowly stood up. I snuffled into the bathroom with my pants still around my ankles and still crying. I looked at my well-beaten rear end in the mirror – it was dark red and starting to form welts.
It was about three days before I could comfortably sit again and a week before the redness went away completely. But I can tell you that I never smoked again.