Train lines

I am the son of a mother who believed whole heartedly in smacking naughty children’s bottoms. Although painful, I am glad that she punished me in this way as it acted as a superb deterrent and made sure my behaviour was moderated.

I first received spankings when I reached the age of four. At this age, she would smack me with her hand on my bare bottom, over her knee. I would receive three to six swats, depending on how naughty I had been.

Later, as I got older, she would make me bend over the table or the bed and punished me with the slipper over my underpants. But there is one spanking I received which most sticks in my mind because it was unlike all the other hidings I had ever received.

There was a railway line that ran at the end of our road. I was always warned never to play on it because of the danger and that doing so would lead to a punishment I had never before experienced.

It was when I was caught breaking this rule one day that I found out just what this mystery punishment actually was. A railway policeman had caught me and had marched me straight home. Needless to say, Mother was very angry and when the policeman left (after she had thanked him), she ordered me into the dining room.

“Are you gonna spank me, mummy?” I asked fearfully. “Oh yes,” she replied. “Now, you just wait here.”

I stood there rubbing my behind in anticipation of what I believed would be my inevitable encounter with mum’s slipper. I wondered how many strokes I would get – this was really serious. But what what actually happened shocked and horrified me like nothing else.

When mum returned, she was carrying a bamboo cane. I had never had the cane at school. The slipper – apart from mum’s hand – was the only punishment object I had known. And this cane looked as if it could do much more damage to my slim young bottom than the slipper ever could.

“Now, I warned you not to play on that line,” she scolded. “You have deliberately disobeyed me and now you are going to pay the price. As you are so fond of train lines. I am going to provide you with some of your own by giving you two good hard strokes with this cane.”

Horrified as I was, I took some comfort in the fact that it was only going to be two strokes. I wondered what she meant by giving me some train lines of my own.

“Right – bare that naughty bottom of yours and bend over.” “Oh no, mum! I’m 11 – I’m too old to be caned bare!” “Oh no you’re not, my lad! Do as you are told – or I will cane your legs as well as your bum.”

That was enough to make me comply. With shame, I lowered my shorts and my pants and bent over the table as mum instructed. I was aware of her raising the cane and then whoosh…crack!

The cane landed just above the middle of my bottom. At first I felt nothing, but the burning sensation which came a second later was so intense, I actually gasped. I held tightly on to the table and braced myself for the next stroke. This time it was across the centre of my bottom. It was only two strokes, but those two whacks hurt a lot more than six good hard smacks with the slipper. I was in tears, crying like a baby. “Now go to bed,” said mum coldly.

As I got ready for bed, I viewed my caned bottom in the mirror. Two parallel red marks – I knew then what Mum had meant by train lines!

Contributor: Jason

Leave a comment

You cannot copy content of this page