I am an avid reader of your website and a keen spanker of well-deserving, consenting adults. However, in my childhood I was usually the one deserving chastisement, and was often given a smacked backside.
One of my most memorable smackings came when I was about 10. At home, I tended to get my father’s belt by this age but I also spent a lot of time with my maternal grandparents (Granny Anne and Grandy John). Granny Anne would hand out random slaps and smacks, stinging my thighs or arm for a few moments, but Grandy John went in for more formal, over-the-knee smackings.
On this occasion, Grandy John overheard me swearing after I tripped over in their garden and cut my knee open. He dispatched me to Granny Anne to get it cleaned with a stinking mixture of gentian violet and witch hazel, but I was also instructed to go to the sitting room once my grandmother had finished with me.
With my knee freshly bandaged – it was quite a deep cut – I dashed off back downstairs, assuming that Grandy was simply going to scold me for not being careful enough while playing. To my horror, instead he grabbed me by the wrist and yanked me across his lap, my shorts and pants coming down quickly afterwards.
By this age I was already aware of my interest in spanking girls, but conversely I was beginning to find being smacked more and more upsetting and unpleasant – it felt somehow against the natural order.
Grandy wasn’t expecting a fight, so didn’t hold onto me too hard, and I was able to squirm off of his lap. I didn’t want to be smacked! It felt wrong.
My grandfather’s initial surprise was quickly succeeded by anger, and I found myself dragged back up and over his lap again. Grandy’s smackings always hurt but I was quite used to them and would usually recover from them quickly – not this time! He absolutely tanned me, his hand painting white-hot pain across my bottom.
I must have been across his knee for five solid minutes, being burned with slow, hard smacks. When he landed the final smack, he thundered: “Never let me hear you swearing again, son.”
After this, I began to fight back against smackings a lot more, and they began to taper off quite quickly (though I still found myself caned at school fairly frequently).
I recently realised that I’m now around the same age Grandy John would have been when he gave me that memorable, thorough smacking, and I had a little fun with a friend re-enacting it. This time, I played the role of Grandy while she dressed up like my ‘little boy’ self, swore and took the smacking. It was far more enjoyable to give than it was to get!
Thank you again for collecting and sharing all the writings that you do. Perhaps unexpectedly, given by childhood hatred for being smacked, I very much enjoy reading authentic childhood stories from others.