I read with interest a recent Maman story where someone speculated whether some mothers may well have enjoyed smacking their children’s bottoms? I cannot imagine any mother would enjoy actually punishing their child – but for a little bit of fun, playfully messing around, I am sure my own mum did such little games. I shall come to those in due course. I was born in 1975, and the following events are mostly from the mid 1980s onwards.
I can pinpoint the exact moment my interest in spanking was sparked – up until which my main interest in women was their legs. There was always pairs of stockings hanging up to dry at home when I was a boy, and I would feel them and slide them up my arm – they felt so sexy!
At school, until the age of nine my teacher was a man, Mr Piper. He was a kind old soul, and never raised his voice in class, let alone his hand.
However, Mr Piper disappeared one day and we were introduced to our new teacher, Miss Webb. After a gentle start, she called the class to order, and we were warned that she would not tolerate any misbehaviour – we were there to learn!
Miss Webb added that an example would be made of the first child to talk in class or be late back from playtime. Specifically, they would be given a spanking in front of the whole class. It seemed to me that Miss Webb took great pleasure in issuing such a warning.
I was, like many of my classmates I suspect, scared out of my wits. I barely breathed until lunch time. When that finally came around, Miss Webb was the talk of the playground. No-one liked her, apparently. I was different – I was scared of our new teacher, but I also fancied her quite a bit. She had lovely legs!
Miss Webb was as good as her word. A girl named Susie was the unlucky recipient. She was mere seconds late back from lunch, and only because she had been to the toilet. But Miss Webb wouldn’t listen to her excuses and, as promised, made an example of the poor girl.
Susie was taken to the front of the class, where Miss Webb lifted her skirt to reveal her knickers. Susie was in tears even before Miss Webb sat down and placed the poor girl across her knee.
I should add that Susie was by no means a naughty child – indeed, she was a popular and generally quiet little girl. However, that day we learned that Susie also had a fair pair of lungs on her – she screamed for England as Miss Webb repeatedly and firmly smacked the seat of her knickers.
The spanking lasted about a minute, after which Susie was escorted back to her desk and told to pull herself together. If she didn’t, Miss Webb warned, she would be getting another smacked bottom. Apart from Susie’s muffled sobs, you could have heard a pin drop in that classroom.
To be fair to Miss Webb, I guess she had wanted to ‘set her stall out’ and Susie’s spanking certainly had the required effect – it was months before another child found themselves over the teacher’s knee.
That particular spanking was also hugely memorable for me. It was administered to one of the boys and was as sound a thrashing as I think a teacher could get away with, even back then. During the punishment the boy wet himself. This seemed to spur Miss Webb on – the smacking went on for what seemed like ages and was very uncomfortable viewing.
At one point I thought the boy in question was going to pass out from all the yelling, screaming and sobbing. His face was puce and covered in tears, snot and dribble. Children can be horrid about seeing their peers spanked but I sincerely believe that everyone in that classroom felt sorry for that boy – he certainly was not teased about the smacking, at least as far as I’m aware.
On the day of that initial smacking, I walked home with a small group of my classmates – including Susie. We asked her how much the punishment had hurt. Susie looked around cautiously, then lifted her skirt. The part of her bum cheeks which weren’t covered by her pants were still an angry pink, which contrasted beautifully with Susie’s white knickers.
Susie added: “I hate the old cow!” We all agreed, and I didn’t mention my secret admiration of Miss Webb’s shapely legs. She wasn’t a popular teacher but in retrospect she was a good one.
So that was the spark – I had my legs and stockings ‘thing’ but now spanking had entered my world. I’d heard of spanking, and now I’d seen one. The next step, in my head, was to get one – but ideally not from Miss Webb!
The next day, we were informed that there would spelling and ‘times table’ tests that week so that Miss Webb could assess us all. Our homework was to brush up on these subjects and prepare for the tests.
At home, I explained these instructions to Mum, who – bless her – sat me at the dining room table and thought of some words for me to practice my spelling. As we worked together, I told Mum all about Miss Webb smacking Susie’s bottom. Mum didn’t comment on the punishment, apart from telling me I’d best behave in class!
When I’d finished my spellings, I asked Mum if she had ever been naughty at school and been spanked. I could tell immediately that my question had touched a nerve. Reluctantly, she admitted that she had indeed had her bottom smacked for talking in class.
I grinned and asked her what it was like. Did it sting? Did she cry? All the normal questions. Mum tried to be serious – she told me off and said it wasn’t funny, but I could see she was trying hard not to laugh.
Mum then checked my spellings – and found that I had misspelt a couple of words. She corrected these – and I took my chance. With a cheeky grin on my face, I asked Mum whether she was going to smack my bottom for my mistakes. She made a bit of a joke of it, but replied that she certainly ought to.
That was my green flag – I pestered mum to smack me and I eventually wore her down. Exasperated by my pleading, she finally said: “Oh, come on then!”
Mum turned herself around and as she got comfortable, I slipped my shorts down before she could say anything. I remember grinning like an idiot, pleased with my persuasive powers, and I virtually hurled myself across her knees before being instructed to do so. Talk about dead keen! As I hung there, I looked back at Mum’s legs and I remember I could just see my feet.
I was just taking the opportunity to feel mum’s stockinged leg when mum brought me back to reality with a question – she ordered me to spell out loud one of the words I had got wrong. Of course, I deliberately messed that up. “Dear oh dear, Sam,” Mum sighed – then for the first time ever I felt my mother’s hand smack my upturned bottom. Bliss!
Mum then spelled out the words herself, giving me another smack for each letter, and ordering me to repeat after her. I giggled and Mum laughed as I spelt words incorrectly on purpose and shesmacked my bottom for my trouble. It was wonderful fun.
I was enjoying myself so much that I hardly noticed the warm, stinging sensation in my bottom. These smacks were administered over tightly stretched underpants. Eventually mum lifted me to my feet and scolded me for not taking the spelling seriously. She tried hard not to laugh but failed due to my own huge grin.
The funny thing was that in the spelling test later that week, I came top of the class – go figure. What was even better was that Mum jokingly threatened to spank me regularly as a result!
After this fun introduction to the world of spanking, I played tricks on Mum any chance I could, with the aim always to get put over her knee. The trouble was, she knew what I was up to, so I certainly didn’t get all the spankings I tried to initiate.
Even so, Mum often played along with the game. I’m convinced that she enjoyed watching me kick and wriggle across her knee as she playfully spanked me.
The hardest spanking Mum ever gave me – and the closest to a proper punishment – was administered after much goading from me. Finally, I pulled one of her stockings over my head and walked past her as quietly and innocently as I could.
She suddenly noticed what I was doing. “If you ladder that stocking, I’ll have your guts for garters!” she warned. After I refused to remove the stocking, Mum lunged after me and caught me pretty easily. I curled up in to a defensive ball and giggled while Mum removed the stocking, taking care not to poke her finger through the material.
Once it was removed, she turned to me sternly, and said: “Right, Samuel John Thomas, you are for it!” “Ooh, I’m scared!” I teased. “Watcha gonna do, send me to my room.”
What mum actually intended was to smack my bottom – firmly. I was frogmarched to the dining room where she sat down, holding me by my wrists. After a pretty good scolding, which actually felt quite real, I was relieved of my shorts and put across her lap.
Then, to my surprise, I felt Mum pull my underpants up tight so that most, if not all, of my bottom cheeks were exposed.
Mum being to smack me, and from the get-go it was clear that these were harder than normal. Nevertheless, I still goaded her by inquiring whether she had started yet.
Mum replied: “Samuel, this spanking is only going to end when you admit that it stings and you’re ready to say sorry.”
She was as good as her word. I toughed it out for as long as I could, but before long the friction of the smacking became too much to bear and I yelled out that I was sorry. I was, too. I think Mum had decided that I should learn that she could spank me properly for discipline if I was really a naughty boy, and make my bottom sting for a good while afterwards.
After that, I was careful not to dare Mum to smack harder. Nevertheless, although that spanking had hurt at the time, lying on my bed later I enjoyed the delicious warmth as it made its way from my back to my front – I was beginning to appreciate spankings in a whole different way!
The games continued, and indeed Mum occasionally initiated them. For example, she would come into my bedroom with the vacuum cleaner and tut at the state of the room. She smacked me thoroughly, then told me that if my floor wasn’t cleared within minutes for her to clean, I would be put across her knee again. Looking back, I think this was a definite indication that my mum did indeed enjoy these spanking games.
Despite all the threats, I never actually received a ‘proper’ punishment spanking, not even at school. Sadly, the smackings from Mum dried up around the age of 14 – I guess she had decided I was too old to be put across her knee, or perhaps she noticed a bulge in my pants and thought better of it for the future.
Nevertheless, more fun was soon to come – which I’ll tell you about some other time.