I have two sons, Michael and Hadley, and as a mum I found that spankings were often the best cure for naughtiness. This story concerns the first time I smacked Michael – he was six at the time and Hadley four.
It had been a long day and both boys had been put to bed. However, Michael repeatedly called down for a glass of water, wanting a wee-wee etc. Then he began to get out of bed all together.
After going upstairs and putting him back in his bed about three times, I finally lost my patience. I more or less threw him back under the covers and brought my face close to his. “Listen to me,” I hissed, “if Mummy has to come up again, there will be serious trouble and tears!” I left the door just slightly ajar (we never closed the boys’ bedroom doors entirely when they were little, so they could have a little of the landing light to reassure them.
After a few minutes, though, I heard suspicious sounds from the room above and floorboards creaking. I decided I’d had enough, and it was time – for the first time – to see what a smacked bottom would do.
On my way to deliver the spanking, I briefly looked in on Hadley. He was asleep, so I proceeded to Michael’s room. He was back in bed by the time I got there but I knew he had been out – toys had been moved in the far corner of the room. “You naughty boy!” I said, “what did Mummy would say would happen?”
It was only when I asked the question that I realised I hadn’t actually told him – duh! Anyway, he would soon find out.
I didn’t turn the light on, but instead opened the door just enough to give me enough light to work by. I hauled my eldest out of his bed, then sat down on it myself and yanked down his pyjama bottoms. I was determined to make it really hurt and teach him a good lesson.
Although he had never had a smacking before, Michael sensed he was in deep trouble and began to cry quietly. Just as quietly, I lectured him about his disobedience and told him that Mummy was going to give him a spanking. He was a sorry sight, tears rolling down his face, ‘jamas at his ankles.
I decided the time for words had passed and went on to the task in hand. I gently but firmly put my child across my knee, as my own mother had done several times with me, and I began to smack his little bare bottom briskly. The soft crying turned to screams.
Between smacks, I could hear that Hadley had woken up (unsurprisingly, given the racket his brother was making next door as he got his bum tanned) but I carried on with the punishment. It felt a very motherly and intimate moment for me, and I was surprised – and somewhat ashamed – to feel a tingle between my legs.
Finally I decided Michael had had sufficient and I hauled his pyjamas back up over a now crimson bottom, put him back him bed and ordered him to stay there unless he wanted the slipper next time.
Leaving Michael to cry it out, I went in to see Hadley. He was sitting up in bed, looking a bit scared. I sat down on his bed and lifted him out into a cuddle on my knee.
“Did you hear Michael being punished?” I’m not sure he really understood that word at his age – instead, he just replied. “I heard him crying.”
Enjoying the feel of his warm body against mine, I gently explained what a smacked bottom was, how it was done etc. “Does it hurt?” he asked. I nodded solemnly: “Yes, it’s meant to hurt. It’s to help children learn to be good, you see.”
“Are you gonna smack me?” There were tears in his eyes at this moment. “No darling, only naughty boys need a smack-bottom and you’ve been good for Mummy today, haven’t you?” He nodded and I hugged him tight. “You keep it that way, and Mummy will never have to put you over her knee, all right?” I kissed him and left him to drift back to sleep. Then I went to my bedroom for a few minutes to, let’s say, deal with myself. It had been an emotional evening.
Of course, Hadley also eventually found out (at about the same age as his brother) what a smacked bottom feels like. I didn’t have to spank either of them often, but when I did, I always made sure to make a good job of it.