Spankings were very common in our house during the late 1970s and early 80s, and were always administered my mother. A large, heavy leather strap – similar to a razor strop – hung on display in our dark, Victorian-style hallway. It was kept specifically for thrashing me and my older brother.
Whenever we were due a spanking, we would be told to remove our pants and underpants completely, and we were then made to stand in the kitchen with both hands placed flat on the cupboard doors, leaning over with our now naked bottoms sticking out, and our feet apart.
We would have to wait in this position until Mum decided to retrieve the strap from the hallway and come in to punish us. I think my mother chose this position as it left us slightly off-balance and prevented us reaching back to protect our bottoms while they were being strapped.
I can vividly remember watching my mother thrash my brother’s bottom in this position, and seeing his boyish genitals bouncing up and down with each stroke. Our mother was a large woman and she delivered each stroke with full force. After about the third whack, my brother was crying hysterically, his tight little bottom reddening rapidly.
He twisted his hips after each stroke to try to avoid the next but he received around six to eight deliveries of the strap that day and ended up with beet-red buttocks and tears rolling down his face.
The worst spanking I received was when I was 14. I had a boyfriend called Gerry and we had taken to sneaking into my garage and petting heavily in the back of my dad’s old Holden Kingswood sedan.
On this particular afternoon, I sneaked the spare key from the hook and led my boyfriend to the car’s back seat. He climbed on top of me and we kissed, all the while rubbing our crotches together through our pants. Eventually it was too much to resist and we both slipped down our lower garments and Gerry began to fuck me. I wasn’t on birth control and he was too shy to buy condoms, so it was incredibly risky – but felt so good.
Gerry came pretty quickly, and I felt him begin to ejaculate inside me when all of the sudden I heard the car door open. It was Mum!
She gave Gerry an almighty slap across his bare arse and screamed at him like a harpy. He hastily drew up his pants and undies and exited hurriedly through the garage’s side door, with Mum’s threats of telling his parents ringing in his ears.
Meanwhile, I sat there, stunned and still bare-bottomed, on the back seat. Gerry’s sperm began leaking out of my vagina, staining the upholstery, and my misery was complete.
I have never seen my mother so angry before or since. She dragged me out of the car and sent me to the kitchen. “And don’t bother covering your bottom up,” she added. “I’ll need it bare for the next few minutes.”
Once I got to the kitchen, I was ordered to remove my lower clothing completely and bend over, this time with my hands holding the counter top and my legs well apart.
I was completely humiliated. I was still wet from the fucking and I was well aware that the position I was in gave Mum a clear view of my vulva, which by this age had fine wisps of black pubic hair adorning it.
Mum took her time about going for the strap. When she finally returned with it, she gave me a long and harsh lecture. I was too young to be ‘mucking about’ with boyfriends, she told me. “What if he got you pregnant?” she demanded. Of course, I had no answer to that.
My mother had an answer, though – nine hard strokes of the belt as I stood there, bent over, sobbing, exposed. I screamed as my poor old bum bounced under the impact and several times the leather caught my genitals as well as my bottom, and I think that was deliberate on Mum’s part.
I was then sent to my room for the rest of the day, while Mum rang Gerry’s parents. He too received a severe thrashing (the cane from his father) and we were never allowed to see each other again. Mum began to be far more controlling and wary of my contact with boys, and I had to resort to masturbation to appease my burgeoning sex drive.