Growing up, most of my spankings were given over my underwear. However, my dad didn’t shy away from spanking my bare butt every now and then.
One of the last bare bottom spankings he gave me happened when I was 12 years old. By that age, I was scared to death of my friends finding out that I still got spankings, and the idea that my dad would still consider administering one with my panties down was a complete nightmare to me – this was actually something I thought I had outgrown by then.
The night prior to this particular spanking, my mom had caught me in a lie and to top it off, even after she presented the evidence to me I still clung onto the lie, in the stupid hope that if I didn’t admit it, I might still come away unscathed.
That night, my mom tucked me into bed, and she was still very upset with me. “You can expect a sound spanking in the morning from your father,” were her last words before she switched off the bedroom light. I knew she wasn’t joking – tomorrow was a Sunday morning, Dad would be home and he would have plenty of time to discipline his errant daughter.
The next morning, there were butterflies in my stomach as I got up, dressed and went downstairs for breakfast. Dad soon joined Mom and I at the table, and he looked me straight in the eye.
“Kelsey, your mom told me what happened yesterday. Can you tell me why you kept lying, even though you were caught out fair and square?”
I mumbled back some lame excuse which didn’t impress him at all. He said bluntly: “What you need is a sore bottom, and you can come right upstairs with me to have it, just as soon as breakfast is over.” After that, I didn’t have much of an appetite and before I knew it, Mom was clearing away the dishes.
Dad rose from the table. “Right, Kelsey, let’s go upstairs and teach your bottom a lesson.” I reluctantly stood and he shepherded me up the stairs to my bedroom. Of course, I was scared but I thought I knew the drill – I would have to take my pants down, then expect several stinging slaps to my underwear-covered bottom.
When we got to my room, Dad gave me a brief but on-point scolding about lying to my parents. “Right, let’s get this over with, Kelsey,” he said. “Pull your lower clothes down and bend over the bed. This is going to hurt you very much indeed.” I obediently unbutton and unzipped my pants, easing them down to my knees, then bent over the bed. Then, to my horror, Dad said firmly: “Panties too, Kelsey.”
“No, Dad – please! Why does it have to be on the bare?” “Because I said so, to make sure you feel this properly and to make sure you listen to your parents in future. I reluctantly, slowly pulled down my panties and began to cry. “This is so embarrassing!” I gulped. “It’s only you and I here,” Dad replied, “and I’ve seen everything you’ve got down there. Remember, I’ve changed your diaper plenty of times!”
Well, of course, this was true but things are somewhat different by the time you’re 12. The fact that by bending over, I was showing Dad not only my bottom but also my genitals was really humiliating.
I bent back over the bed, grabbing a fistful of my bedspread with each hand, and waited for the first smack. Dad’s spankings always followed a pattern – two smacks to the lower part of my butt, one on each side and then two elsewhere on my backside, on both sides. This pattern was then repeated until my father decided I had learned my lesson.
After this, he would pause and then say something like: “Four more very hard ones, and we’re done.” I would close my tearful eyes tightly, steeling myself for four more super-hard spanks on my already sore behind. Don’t get me wrong – Dad was a serious spanker and all the swats beforehand stung, but these last ones always hurt so much that I would cry out involuntarily after receiving each one. This time was no exception.
Dad finally let me stand up, gave me a brief hug and left me to sort myself out. I was a mass of emotions and feelings. I was a bit angry at Dad for having done me bare-bottomed, and of course my butt hurt and stung incredibly. The spanking had also left me exhausted.
After Dad had gone, I didn’t even bother pulling my clothes up for quite some time – instead, I just flung myself face down on my bed, crying into my pillow and the cool morning air playing around my bare legs and bottom.