Broken window, sore bottom

I didn’t receive many spankings as a child, certainly not compare with some of my friends. Even when I was given a sore bottom, my parents mostly let me keep my pants on, as the main point of these punishments were just to remind me to behave. All these I received during my younger years, so generally I don’t really recall what I did to earn those spankings.  

However, one day when I was in 8th grade and 13 years old, I was playing baseball on a long driveway below my house. We did not have a lot of kids in our immediate neighbourhood, so many of the other children were ones I would not normally hang with except for team activities. Anyway, when it was my turn to hit the ball from the pitcher, I hit it actually pretty good – except it went through a neighbour’s window. We all ran off in different directions, hoping we wouldn’t get caught.

A day or so later, the neighbour – who was a college instructor – called my parents. He said his window had been broken, and I was the one who broke it, according to another neighbour who saw what happened. I guess I stood out somewhat, with being one of the few girls taking part in the game. Of course, my parents told their neighbour that they would discuss the matter with me and get back to him.

When I got home from school, I was confronted by both of my parents, who asked whether I was the one who had broken the window. I initially denied it but they could tell from my red face that I was lying. They asked again, warning me that if I didnlt tell the truth, my punishment would be worse. So I admitted it, although I stressed it had been an accident.

My father turned to me. “Libby, if you had told us what happened, it would have saved your mom and me a lot of embarrassment, and we wouldn’t have needed to punish you so severely. However, since you didn’t – and because you initially told us a lie, I’m afraid I’ve no choice but to give you a sound spanking you’ll remember for a long time.”

By the end of that lecture I was naturally in tears. I was wearing a dress, since we did not wear slacks to school in the late 60s, and Dad ordered me to bend over his knee. My father was not a man to brook arguments, so I had no choice but to obey him.

My mother sat in the chair across from him to watch the spanking. Dad pulled up my dress and began to spank me across the seat of my panties, which really offered no protection. I still remember the heat building up in my bottom as it got redder and redder. I cried and kicked.

Then I made a big mistake. In my pain and anger, I cried out: “You are horrible parents!” That did it with Mom. She told my father: “Pull down her panties – if she’s going to be disrespectful on top of all this, she needs to feel the punishment sharply across her bare bottom.” To my utter shame, Dad pulled my underwear down to my knees and vigorously spanked my bare bottom. The friction on my buttocks was unbearable – I sobbed until I was unable to speak.

While the spanking was given, both my parents were scolding me and demanding I apologise. But I was stubborn, so Dad eventually asked Mom for her hairbrush, and gave me such a harsh paddling with it I couldn’t help but cry out that I was sorry. My buttocks and thighs were absolutely ablaze.

Finally, Dad let me go and Mom ushered me into a corner, tucking up the back of my dress to make sure my shame was on show. She had me stand there with my bottom simmering for everyone to see, although thankfully my siblings were not yet home. Mom continued to scold me. “I hope you never have to be given such a severe bare bottom spanking again, Libby,” she said. “This was for your own good.”

After a while, she said: “Right – wipe away those teas, pull up your panties and make yourself decent. You’re coming over with us to apologise to our neighbour.” I begged Mom not to make me do that, especially just after a spanking, but she said: “It’s either this or you can have another bare bottom warming in front of your brothers and sisters after dinner – it’s your choice, young lady!” Naturally, that was all I needed to hear.

The man and his college-age son came to the door, where I stammered out an apology, stressing it had been an accident. My parents offered to pay for the window; an offer which was accepted.

Then the man said: “I hope you didn’t punish Libby too harshly, seeing as this was an accident.” I felt myself going the colour of beetroot as my mother told him: “Well, as she didn’t immediately tell us about this, I’m afraid she’s had a good bare bottom spanking.” I saw a salacious grin flash across the son’s face as he no doubt imagined me, bare fanny like a little girl, getting a whipping across my daddy’s knee.

Nor did my punishment end there. It found it painful to sit for several days, and my parents gave me a lot more chores for a few weeks, even relieving my siblings of some of theirs.

This whole sorry episode really sticks in my mind. Even though kids in those days were spanked more than now, they were actually quite a rare event. However, I still found myself with a warm bottom occasionally, receiving my last one at the rather advanced aged of 18.

Contributor: Libby

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