Even growing up in the 90s, spanking was far more common than you might think. Most of the kids I knew got their bottoms warmed when they pushed their parents too far.
Mom did nearly all the spanking in our family, mostly because dad was a big softy. I was given my first at an early age (around five, I believe) and while it wasn’t a common occurrence, I was certainly more than used to Mom taking my pants and briefs down, putting me across her knee and tanning my bare bottom until I couldn’t sit.
When I was very young, she just used her hand. I thought that was bad enough but there must have come a point when my young behind started to get a bit used to the amount of sting a mother’s hand could produce on its own, pants down or not.
When I was nine years old, I got into a series of problems at school – mostly fighting with other kids but some missed homework too. I ended up in the principal’s office quite a few times and on more than one occasion, Mom was called down to the school to help sort it out.
I have to say she was very patient. She tried to get explanations out of me, and let me off with several warnings, when in retrospect, I’d have had my own child’s pants down and their bottom on fire long before, had I been the parent!
However, eventually her patience ran out and I got the expected spanking. It hurt, of course, and I cried but I think Mom felt my sobbing was mostly crocodile tears. As I lay on the bed afterwards, holding my throbbing behind, she came back into my room unexpectedly. She was holding a paddle of the sort still commonly sold as novelties in souvenir shops. It bore the legend: “Heat for the seat.”
“You see this?” Mom demanded, waving the paddle in front of my face. “If you can’t learn how to behave, this is what you’re going to get. You’re old enough now to know better!”
Looking back, I can hardly believe my own stupidity but only a week or so after this warning, I talked back at Mom while she was disciplining me for a minor matter. “That’s it!” she exclaimed. “Go to your room and wait there for me. I’ll be up to punish you shortly.”
I knew that would probably mean a spanking but I had honestly forgotten about the paddle, and I felt my face draining of colour when Mom walked in with it in her hand.
“Bare your bottom – now!” This was new – I was used to Mom preparing me for the spanking herself. However, I did as I was told, turning away slightly in a rather fruitless attempt to hide my genitals as I pulled my underpants down.
Mom pulled my school desk chair out into the middle of the room. “Bend over that, please. Hands on the seat.” I was blushing and was scared all at the same time, however I had no choice but to comply – that much was made clear, despite her ‘please’.
“Push your bottom out more.” I did so and the next thing I knew, the paddle was brought down with an almighty ‘smack’ across my bare buttocks. I screamed and began to cry all at the same time.
“That seems to be having more of an effect, doesn’t it? Does that hurt more than my hand?” I could only nod and almost incoherently beg Mom not to give me any more. But her mind was made up – I felt a firm hand on the small of my back, then around a dozen more licks of the paddle landed on my bottom in quick succession. The friction on my bottom was just unbearable, and I cried like a toddler as I was given my punishment.
Finally, it was over, and so was the era of ‘little boy spankings’ across my mother’s lap. From then on, when I was naughty, it was ‘bend over’ and the paddle did all the talking necessary.
In retrospect, I’m grateful to my Mom for her guidance and discipline. Today, I also use a paddle on my own children’s bottoms, with equally satisfactory results.