Spankings at my house were not rare and all of us – my younger sis and two younger brothers – were all spanked into our teens. This story is about one of the last spankings my youngest brother got, and the last spanking I saw at my house.
My boyfriend and I got married soon after I graduated from high school. I was not quite 18 and needed my folks’ permission, which they gave reluctantly, mainly out of fear that I would simply run away if they didn’t (probably true).
I had my first daughter at 19 and my second daughter at not quite 21. My hub and I were living in an apartment over my in-laws’ garage. He worked full time in their family lumber business, where I also worked part time, while I took classes at a local college. To say it was a crazy time would be an understatement and we never would have been able to do it without much help from family.
This incident took place when my younger girl was not quite a year old. I had my older girl in pre-school three days a week and my youngest stayed either with my mother-in-law or my mom while I went to my classes.
It was early in the school year, either late September or early October, when I came into the kitchen of my folks house via the garage door to find my youngest brother Kevin – who was 14 and had just started his freshman year of high school – with his nose in an empty corner and his hands at his sides.
My other brother, who would have been 16 or 17, was at the kitchen table doing homework (a requirement of my mother – homework at the kitchen table first thing after school, before anything else). He shrugged and gave me an ‘I dunno’ look and went back to his homework.
Right after that, my mom came into the kitchen. She told me my daughter was still napping and to sit down and she would make us some tea ‘right after I deal with your brother’. With that, she summoned him out of the corner and dispatched him upstairs to fetch the paddle.
Glumly, Kevin trudged up the stairs to the hall closet and returned in a few moments, sheepishly handing the paddle, a wooden ping-pong style item, to my mom, who was now seated in a kitchen chair.
“Get those down,” she said, pointing at my brother’s pants with the paddle. My brother’s face now flushed as he undid the drawstring of the sweatpants he was wearing, reached inside the waistband and slid down his pants and briefs in one motion. He stood there, head down, avoiding eye contact with everyone in the room.
My mom began her lecture. The crux of what he had done was this – every day since school started, she had been making him a lunch to take. And every day, he had been throwing them out because he thought it wasn’t ‘cool’ to bring lunch to high school.
A couple of weeks earlier, Mom had found my brother’s lunch on the sidewalk when she was walking to the post office. He claimed he had dropped it. Then, that morning when she was walking my daughter, she found a lunch bag near the stop where he caught the bus to school.
When he came home, she asked him how the lunch was and he lied and said: “Fine.” She showed him the bag she retrieved and then sent him to the corner.
Now, he was carefully lowering himself over her knee to pay the price for his deception. She brought the paddle down on his right cheek, making a loud whack that went through the kitchen. He grunted out the count of the swat, as we were required to do. After a moment or two, there was a second loud whack and another swat counted.
Down the swats came in a steady cadence, followed by the count and sometimes an involuntary grunt.
As I’ve related in other stories here, Mom always spanked in groups of 12 and on this day, my brother was across her lap for a full four dozen. When she was done, his pale bottom was a deep shade of red.
When she told him to get up, he hopped to his feet and rubbed his bottom, making his still erect penis bob up and down. He was banished to the corner, where his bare bottom remained on display while mom made tea and we drank it.
After she finished her tea, mom told me to put more water on and make another cup. She exited the kitchen, returning shortly with the leather tool belt we called ‘the strap’ in her hand. The belt was about 1.5in wide and permanently folded in half. Family lore had it that it was the belt my grandfather used on my dad and his sibings.
Mom called my brother out of the corner again. “I’m not through with you yet,” she said. “The paddle was for wasting food and wasting my time. This is for lying to me. Come over here and bend over.”
My brother, pants and underwear bunched around his knees, shuffled over to the chair.
Familiar with the routine, he bent over and grabbed the sides of the kitchen chair, giving us a full view of his bright red bottom. Mom stood behind him, drew back the strap and brought it down with a loud crack across the meat of his bottom. He let out a gasp and thrust forward before counting out the lick.
Eleven more followed, with about a three to five second pause between each, sometimes drawing an audible yelp or gasp from my brother.
When Mom was done, my brother’s behind was painted in a series of bright red horizontal stripes that experience told me would be with him for at least the next couple of days. He was sent back to the corner with his bottom on display while we drank our second cup of tea, and he was still there there when I collected my daughter and headed home.