I had a strict upbringing in a religious household, and I was generally a good, pious girl who aimed to please my parents. I loved getting praised for my schoolwork, the chores I was assigned around the house or for helping out with church activities. The downside of this, however, was that it made me very competitive and even ruthless.
One day, our Sunday school class was assigned a project. We were each asked to paint a picture of Noah’s Ark and were told that after church, the art would be exhibited for the adults in the congregation to admire.
Well, despite being eight years old, I knew art was not my forte and although I tried my absolute hardest, my picture was very average and I was disappointed even before I saw my friend’s.
Chloe had really excelled herself, and I recall vividly the visceral feelings of jealousy and envy when she beamed with pride after being told how absolutely wonderful her painting was. I think it was worse because she was my friend – but at that moment I hated her.
I don’t actually remember what it was exactly that I did to her painting. Memory is a funny thing, and it was a long time ago, but I know I did sabotage it somehow. Perhaps I took scissors to it, spilled water on it or painted over it – I honestly just don’t remember.
However, I do recall Chloe crying bitterly and some of the other children telling our teacher, Miss Bednar, what I had done. Miss Bednar angrily ordered me to go and stand in the corner whilst she comforted a distraught and inconsolable Chloe.
It soon became apparent that the adults concerned had been informed about the incident. Both Chloe’s parents and my father came into the room and examined the damaged artwork. From the corner, I tried to look over my shoulder to see what was happening, and was immediately reprimanded and ordered to face the wall.
Obviously, by now I knew I was in big trouble, and I felt both ashamed of what I had done – and nervous about the fate awaiting me when I got home!
After a few moments, the parents all left the room, and Miss Bednar ordered me to come to the front of the class. Well, while I had fully anticipated a good spanking when I got home, I truly hadn’t expected to be punished in class. I later learned that the adults agreed that an example should be made of me in front of the other children.
Miss Bednar had spanked children before in class, but this felt much more serious than those other times, possibly because of Chloe’s hysteria.
So there and then, and in front of probably 30 other children of varying ages, I was put over Miss Bednar’s knee, had my skirt lifted up and received probably a dozen slaps across the seat of my panties.
I’m not going to lie, it was almost certainly the lightest spanking I had ever received, not least because it wasn’t on the bare bottom as I was used to, and anyway there weren’t that many slaps. However, the punishment did hurt and I cried, partly from the pain but mostly from the shame and humiliation of having my bottom warmed in front of the other kids. This wasn’t supposed to happen to a good girl like me!
Even after I had been duly spanked, Chloe still gave me a hateful look. When the service in the main church was over, my mother came in, gave Chloe a hug and promised her that I would be getting a very sore bottom when I got home. Only then did I see my friend begin to look a little happier and I could see the possibility of eventual forgiveness.
However, long before that happened, I was taken to my bedroom by Dad and this time my little bottom was bared and I got the worst spanking I can ever remember. It taught me an important lesson and from then on, whenever I felt my jealousy rising in me, I would think about that painful picture of me over both Dad and Miss Bednar’s laps, and restrain myself.