A brush with real discipline

My maternal grandmother (whom I called ‘Nana’) had seven children – five boys and two girls, with my mom being the youngest.

Nana had spanked all her boys many times over the years, but had never hit my aunt or my mom.  When she babysat me, Nana would remind me that she spanked little boys when they were bad. 

She never threatened me directly with a sore bottom, but frequently told me allegorical stories about a fictional little girl called Nancy, who was always doing things that would cause her own nana to spank her.

However, I never got the impression that grandma would actually ever spank me. She told me on many occasions that I was her favourite grandchild and ‘her boy’. The depth of that affection was demonstrated by the fact that I had done some seriously naughty things in her presence, including even locking her in the basement on one occasion.

Nevertheless, there came a weekend, when I was 10 years old, when she was watching me and I was acting up and being extremely disrespectful. Eventually, Nana told me that when my parents got home, she would tell them how naughty I had been.

Then she told me: “Get ready for bed, Eddie – I’m tired of dealing with you today.” Even for her to say something like this was proof of how upset with me she was.

I went off to take my evening bath. As I was soaking in the tub, it occurred to me that if Nana kept her promise to tell my parents, I would be in for a very sore bottom. I tried to figure a way out of this, and eventually had what I thought was a brilliant idea. If I asked Nana to spank me herself, she probably wouldn’t do it, but because I had asked for the spanking, she would believe I was contrite and not tell mom and dad after all.

Even if Nana did decide to punish me herself, it was likely to be an easier time than over mom or dad’ s knee – she was just a little old lady, after all. I felt pretty pleased with myself – I was sure I had all the bases covered, and was going to get out of this.

I got out of the bath, dried myself off, put on the T-shirt and briefs I wore to bed, then went into Nana’s bedroom. She was lying on her bed, reading her Bible, as she was very religious.

She didn’t seem too happy to see me, but said: “Eddie-boy, are you ready for bed?” I walked right up to her and in my best ‘little boy’ voice, I said: “Nana… I’m so sorry I was bad. You should…spank me.” I was hoping to project the perfect image of an angelic, remorseful little boy, and I waited for her to hug me and tell me all was forgiven.

I waited in vain. Nana instead rose from her bed, and just said: “Very well, if that’s what you want.” She took all her pillows and positioned them all in a vertical pile in the middle of the bed. To say I was confused would be a major understatement.

Nana gently took my hand, put me on the bed, then had me straddle the pile of pillows like I was riding a pony. Again very gently, she pushed my shoulders down, causing my the seat of my briefs to rise up, legs apart with the pillows between them.

I watched in horror as Nana walked slowly over to her dresser and retrieved her wooden clothes brush, which I had seen there for many years. The brush part was about the size of a ping-pong paddle, with a long handle.

Nana put the brush close to my face so I could get a good look at it – it looked thick and heavy, and the back was very worn, as if it had been used many, many times. Of course it had – on little boys’ bottoms!

Then Nana looked me straight in the eye and just said: “Spare the rod and spoil the child.” With that, she took her place at my perfectly-positioned backside and began to swing that brush like a golf club. She didn’t have to swing it too hard or far – with its weight and design, a moderate swat generated a great deal of force.

Nana smacked the dead centre of my butt, and I jolted forward each time I was hit – I was a fairly typical young boy, and there was no extra padding back there. Because the brush was so large, each swat basically covered my whole bottom – both cheeks and my butt crack.

Very slowly and deliberately, Nana spanked the backside of me. Each smack caused me to bounce up and down, and I hugged the pillows very tightly, because it hurt so much. As a comparison, each individual smack felt as bad as the result of an entire spanking from Mom or Dad. I stopped counting after 10 smacks, but the punishment itself went on for much longer.

She finally stopped and placed her hand on my behind, leaving it there for about a minute. Nana’s soft hand on my bottom somehow created a ‘heart to heart’ connection between us, although because of the throbbing back there it felt almost as if I was getting my pulse taken! I guess she put her hand on my bottom to feel how hot she had made it, and must have decided I was warm enough.

Unlike my parental spankings, where I would jump up in agony the moment the punishment was over, I stayed put, having a little cry. Nana left me there for a while, and went into the kitchen to cook something else other than my behind.

As I lay there with my sore bottom in the air, a number of thoughts flashed through my mind. If Nana spanked that hard when I had admitted my sin and asked for it, how bad would it be if she decided herself to give me a warm bottom? She was such a small little lady – how could she paddle so hard and so long? She must have known I was trying to fool her when I asked for a spanking, and decided to teach me a lesson.

The most important thought, though, was this: “Nana must have wanted to do this for a long time, because of all the times I was bad, not just today. I need to stop being a bad boy.”

Finally, Nana came back in the room and gently told me it was time for bed. I rolled off the pillows on to my side and she gently pulled me up and walked me to my bed. Once there, I was allowed to lie on my tummy and she put the bedclothes over me. “Goodnight, Eddie,” Nana said softly. “I hope you will be a good boy for me now.”

I lay there sometime unable to sleep because my bottom was still buzzing. Then I remembered how Mom had once told me that the longer and harder someone spanks you, the more they love you. Well, Nana had told me hundreds of times how much she loved me and on that day, I guess, she proved it.

My butt was still very sore even the next day, so I didn’t do too much running around or playing. Instead, I helped Nana around the house while we waited for my parents to collect me, and I was incredibly respectful and polite to her.

When my parents returned, Nana told them sternly, right in front of me: “I had to spank Eddie last night because he was a very bad boy.” It sounded like she was still upset by the experience and she didn’t say anything at all about me being sorry for what I had done. My parents made approving noises and Mom looked quite angry with me – I was really scared she would give me a second dose herself, and I think she was certainly considering it.

However, the next day, when she made me take my morning bath, Mom made sure I undressed in front of her while she was filling the tub. Naturally at that age, modesty made me turn my back to her, so she got a great view of my bare bottom, which she told me later was black and blue from my encounter with Nan’s brush. Unlike when my aunt had spanked me for smoking, this time Mom didn’t feel the need to do it again.

Shortly after this, at a family get-together, Nana mentioned to my two uncles that she had spanked me, and they knew exactly what it had entailed. They explained it in great detail to my Mom, as she was too young to remember seeing it happen at home. Nana added that my bottom was so red that my briefs had actually looked pink after she had finished with me.

One of my uncles asked me: “Where did she do it?” “In her bedroom,” I replied. “Did you have to lay on those pillows, and did she use the brush?” I nodded, a bit embarrassed by now. “Well, congratulations, Eddie,” my uncle replied. “You are now a member of the ‘Big Boy Paddled Club’!”

At the time of this spanking, Nana was 67 years old, and it had been 35 years since she had last had a child in that position. It was if the years had rolled away and that tiny, compassionate and caring lady had given me the most severe paddling she had ever given to a child.

I learned my lesson, that’s for sure, and never needed any further physical correction from that day forward, from Nana or anyone else. The severity of the spanking had almost been a rite of passage – I now felt like a young man, not a little boy. When, some time later, a friend asked me: “Who spanks harder – mom or dad?”, I replied without hesitation: “Grandma!”

Nana left that brush on her dresser for years after my introduction to it. And every time I saw it there, I remembered every second of my bottom getting ‘done’.  

Contributor: Eddie

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