I was spanked quite often in front of company – ‘misbehave in front of company and you’ll get spanked in front of company’ was the general rule in our house during the 50s when I grew up.
But this one time was by far the most embarrassing punishment I ever received that was witnessed by others. My mother was a member of a bridge club of eight women that met every Wednesday in alternating homes.
When they congregated at our home, one very hot, humid night in Kansas City, I was 12 and was ordered, as usual, to stay upstairs and be quiet. I needed a glass of ice water real bad and risked going downstairs to get one. It was necessary to pass through the room where they had their card tables set up wearing only underpants and my pyjama bottoms.
When I peeked in and asked permission to get the ice water, I was rebuffed and told to drink from the bathroom faucet. I said that water was too warm and I wanted some water from the fridge. My mom was always very strict about talking back, so she called me to her and slapped my face, then sent me to the corner to wait until their current game was completed.
I went immediately, without question, knowing from past experience it only made my punishment worse. Corner time always preceded an inevitable spanking. My mom and her friends continued their bridge game, all the while discussing how they each spanked their naughty children for talking back. I’m in the corner sweating from the oppressive heat and the coming spanking and listening to how some of their kids got it much worse than I ever did.
This continued for about the next 20 minutes. I heard how many spanks each of their kids would get, what was the preferred implement and whether they bared their bottoms or not, and in what position they were placed. My mom usually preserved a little of my modesty by pulling my BVDs (underpants) up between my cheeks once she had me over her knees in front of company, so I wasn’t too worried about being exposed completely.
It never occurred to me that my mom was inspired by their conversation to show off her spanking capabilities. After the game, she slid back in her chair and called me to her. I went meekly, begging her to forgive me and not spank me in front of everybody. She grabbed my pyjamas at my thighs and yanked them to my ankles. Then she scolded me thoroughly for about five minutes.
She grabbed my arm and yanked me over her knees. Thankfully, she hooked her fingers under the seam of my underpants and pulled them all the way up tight between my cheeks. Holding on, she began one of the fastest barrages of full-armed spanks she ever delivered to my clenching, squirming bottom. When I reached back for some respite, she spanked my thighs just as soundly. She would always say that me covering my bottom must mean I would rather get it on my thighs.
My sweaty bottom definitely magnified the stinging to become completely unbearable. A normal spanking from my mom meant 40 hard spanks – the severity was determined by what she used. She used anything that was flat or flexible. Being caught in a lie about misbehaviour would double the 40 strokes, but with time in the corner between applications. I rarely got more than 80 spanks in all. This time she didn’t stop at 40, and kept up the furious volley of spanks till I lost count. It seemed like well over 100.
I was stood up, bawling, and told to go get her favourite wooden spoon. Hobbled by my pyjama pants, I had to shuffle out to the kitchen with my underpants still between my sore cheeks, which I was cupping carefully in my hands. When I returned, the women where all commenting on how good a spanking my mom had administered. She said that was just the beginning.
I was sent to the corner again, to hold the wooden spoon in both hands, while they got more refreshments. I stood there sobbing the whole time. When they all returned, I was again ordered front and centre. I was told to remove my pyjama bottoms, despite my protests.
Then my mom, slapping away my protective hands, reached and pulled my BVDs to my ankles and put me over her left thigh with her right leg clamping me solidly. My head was practically on the floor. Then mom started in with a flurry of spanks all around my bottom and upper thighs, I forgot all about the seven women watching and kicked and twisted as much as possible, exposing myself completely, I’m sure, because of all the spanks that managed to connect with my inner thighs and the sensitive area between my cheeks.
My BVDs flew off somewhere as I kicked wildly. Mom slowed down to a steady, and harder, pace and made certain that I was completely red. Scolding accompanied this stage, along with promises from me to never talk back again.
I was allowed to stand and was handed my BVDs by one of the women. I just held them cupped in front of my genitals, as I was made to apologise to the women for disturbing them. I humbly and gladly exited when allowed, hearing their comments all the way upstairs about how well I was spanked.