Growing up, I was mostly looked after by my grandmother, as my parents worked long hours and were often out of the city (or indeed the country) for extended periods. As this was the case, my grandmother lived in our house and was mine and my siblings’ guardian at these times.
She was fairly old-fashioned in her ways – and certainly in her beliefs when it came to corporal punishment. She would often spank us for the slightest transgressions when we were young children – things like not listening, rudeness, not saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, unruliness etc. This was to teach us respect for others, and to be polite and courteous.
We also received sore bottoms for doing wrong to others and for any reports of misbehaviour from school – the spankings for these offences were to teach us to behave in general.
When we were young, these spankings were delivered over her knee, either with her hand or a wooden spoon. They were always given on the bare bum, and we got anything between 10 and 20 smacks on each cheek.
As we got older, her methods of discipline changed. From around eight or nine, you would no longer be put over her knee but have to bend over a convenient object such as a bed, stool, ottoman or the arm of the sofa. This would be for the slipper, again always on the bare bum and usually around 20 smacks per cheek. I was somewhat prepared for this change, when it came, as I had witnessed my elder siblings being punished in this way, as well as some of my cousins when they stayed with us.
The change I really dreaded, though, was getting a dose of the cane from my grandmother. As with the other forms of corporal punishment, I had witnessed many of my older siblings and cousins getting whacked, so I knew what to expect.
Although I dreaded the prospect of receiving a caning myself, I loved seeing it done – especially when it was one of my female cousins who had to bend over. This was my first real exposure to the female private parts, and as I was beginning to hit puberty, I would do my best to get as good a look as possible. I would often have to relieve myself later on, replaying in my head what I witnessed earlier, with the girl’s ‘bits’ on display. I was particularly fascinated with the way their bum holes tightened and relaxed between the strokes.
Inevitably, the day finally arrived when I received my first caning from my grandmother. I was 11 years old, and the punishment was for getting a bad report from our neighbour and friend of grandmother’s who happened to teach at the school I attended. She was only too happy to tell my grandmother that I’d played up in school, and indeed she had reported my older siblings in the same manner in the past.
My grandmother thanked her for her report and showed her to the door. I was already nervous but when my grandmother came back into the living room with one of the canes in her hand, my stomach sank.
She lectured me about my wrongdoing, then told me to ‘get ready and get in position’. When she said this, she expected you to bare your bottom for her – if she just told you to bend over, then she would do the baring herself.
I dropped my trousers and pants to my ankles, as I’d done for years before for the slipper, then turned away and bent over the sofa, with my hips over the arm and my body draped across the seat.
Grandmother told me (in case I hadn’t guessed!) that I was now old quite enough to be getting caned and that she would be giving it just as I’d seen my siblings and cousins get done. She then surprised me by going to say that she’d given the cane many times during her days of teaching and at Sunday school. That got my mind racing about just how many children’s bottoms she had beaten like this – but it wasn’t long before I was concentrating on something else!
She lined the cane up against my bare bum, then without warning raised it and brought it back down – hard. It was like nothing I had felt before – the sting and burn was so intense. I had already been sobbing from shame and fear but this made my cry out loud.
Somehow I managed to keep in the punishment position, as I knew from experience that moving was a grave offence in her eyes and would result in a more severe dose. I received a further 11 strokes, making a total of 12 – her usual number. I was crying my eyes out but managed to blurt out an apology before being allowed to go to my room.
I cried on the bed for a good while before I could muster the courage to look at my bottom, but finally I looked in the mirror and saw 12 raised crimson marks across my buttocks. This was a sight to which I would eventually become very accustomed.
After she had punished you, it wasn’t unusual for grandmother to demand to inspect your bottom later to check she’d made a good job of your punishment. So that evening, I was required to drop my pyjama trousers so she could inspect my bare bottom again. Thankfully, she appeared to be more than happy with her work, so I was spared a further dose – at least for that time.
Contributor: Nick