When I was 11 years old, I got into trouble for talking during my math class. I didn’t get punished at home for this but the teacher had let my parents know that I was being disruptive.
So my parents sat me down and drummed into me the importance of being respectful of the teacher and my classmates. They also put a new stipulation in place. I was due to take a math test on the following Friday. If I did not get a grade B or better, I would get a spanking.
My parents didn’t spank me often but neither were such punishments that rare. Math was not an easy subject for me, which was probably the main reason why I struggled to stay quiet and learn. I sure as heck didn’t want a spanking to start my weekend off so for the next two days I studied my little butt off for that test.
Then the big day came. I felt confident when I began, but as I went through the questions, I began to wish I had paid better attention in class.
Unfortunately, at the end, my grade was a 78 – a stinking high C. My stomach sank seeing that grade, even though I studied hard. I hoped my parents would accept the percentage as proof that I had done my best.
Later, they sat me down and talked with me. They were proud of my studying and my effort but reluctantly ruled that the deal had been a mark of 80 or better – so I would be getting a spanking.
I took the walk to my bedroom with my parents. I tried giving them the ‘sad look’ and trying once more to convince them that a 78 was so darn close to that B. I think Mom would have caved but Dad stood firm.
I was instructed to lean over my bed and Dad took down my pants. In our house, spankings were given over your underwear unless it was really bad, when it was on the bare bottom. I closed my eyes and waited for the stinging swats. Dad gave them to me one after another, until he reached 12 swats on my now sore backside. He then told me it was over and gave me the biggest hug.
The spanking did its work. My quarter grade in math was higher than a B, as I worked my butt off for the rest of that time.