Smacked bum for a late riser

I want to contextualise this story first. I was eight years old when it happened. I’m a transgender man, meaning that I have a typically female reproductive system etc but I identify as a man, live as a man and am for all intents and purposes male. At the time this story happened, I was still living as a girl called Ellie.

I was a fairly well-behaved child. I was shy and quiet, my head typically stuck in a book. Like every child, though, I had my moments of naughtiness. When I was growing up, proper spankings were going out of fashion and most of my friends only got a single swat now and then. The same was true for me – I got the odd swat or two, but no real spankings.

When I was eight, I spent two weeks with my Auntie Beth while my baby sister was arriving. I was quite excited to stay with her because I wasn’t allowed to have sleepovers at home, so the idea of a fortnight-long sleepover was massively exciting.

The first few days passed without incident, just lots of fun. Auntie Beth lived further from my school than I did, so we had to get up earlier than I was used to – and this is where the problem arose.

At first, Auntie Beth would get me out of bed with jokes and laughter, prodding me out. She started to get cross after a few days, and on the Friday of the first week, she delivered a single, light swat to my pyjama-clad bottom.

I was startled and angry that she’d smacked me, and stomped furiously out of bed to get dressed. Before I could get far, though, Auntie Beth grabbed my shoulders and spun me around. “Ellie,” she said, “if you huff like that again or don’t get out of bed on time, I’ll give you a proper smacked bottom, believe you me!”

The weekend passed well enough. I don’t remember everything we got up to, but I remember telling my parents on a phone call that I was having the best time ever. Then Monday morning rolled around.

“Ellie, out of bed – now.” I didn’t stir. “Ellie, you need to get up.” Still no movement. “Ellie, I’m going to count to three and if you’re not up, you’re getting a smacked bum.” I still didn’t move. I was comfortable, my mind in the hazy space between sleep and awake, and I didn’t want to get up yet.

The next thing I knew, the warm duvet had been yanked off of me and my legs had been lifted by the ankles. I was awake now! I wriggled irritably, trying to get out of Auntie Beth’s grasp. She sat on the bed and dragged me by the ankles over her lap. I tried desperately to squirm away, dragging myself with my hands, but Auntie Beth grabbed my pyjama shirt with one hand to hold me still before dragging my pyjama bottoms down with the other.

The first five smacks were frantic, slamming down across my bare bottom with devastating force. I screeched and redoubled my efforts to get away, but was totally unable to get away. Auntie Beth rested her hand against my bottom for a moment. The smacks stung so much more than a single swat on my clothed bottom did – a deep, aching burn settled after just five smacks.

“Are you going to be a good girl and get up on time tomorrow?” “Bog off!” I’d picked the phrase up from a children’s television show I loved, and in my anger at the situation I’d found myself in, it just slipped out.

It was evidently not what Auntie Beth expected to hear. The smacks started up again, different to the first five – they were slow and hard, smacking across every inch of my bottom and upper thighs. My screeching and protesting very quickly gave way to repentant sobbing, and after 25 or so smacks I was limp and sorry, my bottom stinging and burning unbearably.

“Are you going to be a good girl tomorrow, Ellie?””Yes! Yes, I’m sorry!” I cried, flinging a hand back to soothe my stinging bottom. Auntie Beth switched suddenly from strict to her usual gentle, comforting self, scooping me up and cuddling me close.

“I never want to have to do that again, Ellie. That hurt me far, far more than it hurt you.” At the time, I didn’t know what a cliché that was, but I didn’t dare verbally disagree!

My parents were furious when they found out about my smacked bottom, both with myself and with Auntie Beth. When they brought me home, I was forbidden from watching television for two weeks, given a single smack and put on the naughty step for a solid hour. They impressed upon me very strongly that I absolutely had to get up on time.

I wasn’t supposed to find out how cross they were with Auntie Beth for smacking my bare bottom, but their quiet argument with her turned into a shouting match and I couldn’t help overhearing. “It worked for us!” Auntie Beth protested at some point in the argument.

That’s my single spanking story. It’s not very dramatic or exciting compared to many on this site, but it’s 100% true. I can still vividly remember the sense of panic as I tried to crawl away, and how warm my bottom was afterwards.

Contributor: William

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