An early starter

I discovered the joys of spanking at the grand old age of four and a half. My grandparents lived a short walk from our home, taking us all by surprise one day my grandfather arrived home with a puppy. She was immediately named Pipsqueak due to her size, which was shortened to Pip within days.

I will never forget meeting Pip for the first time. However, it was a few weeks later, when Pip was a little bigger and able to play with me, that the fun really began.

Having had a busy afternoon, Pip settled on her bed beside my grandmother’s end of the sofa for a sleep. I knew not to disturb her. so waited as patiently as a four and a half year old boy can. After a while, I crawled commando style along the sofa, across my grandmother’s lap and peeked over the arm of the sofa at the sleeping puppy below. Pip stirred, wagged her tail and stood up. After a shake and a yawn, she stood on her back legs and began to wash my face and ears for me.

Then the real fun started. My grandmother leaned over and said playfully to the dog: “You bite his nose, Pip, and I’ll smack his bottom!” And she did! Simultaneously my face was licked and my bottom smacked, and although it was all in fun, I appreciated for the first time how nice a smacked bottom could feel. Pip stopped washing me and as I wiped my face, I wiggled my bottom, encouraging my grandmother to continue.

By the time she did stop, there was a wonderful, warm tingle inside my grey flannel shorts that I enjoyed very much. Then I did what all children do – ran to my mum, laughing and telling her excitedly than grandma had smacked my bum. Mum shook her head at my excitement and said something like it was probably no less than I deserved.

I do not recall any other spankings until I started school in the infants about a year later. My first teacher was a very normal, middle-aged woman called Mrs White. She was really quite a nice teacher.

Early on in the year, we were taken on a sort of field trip to a local pond. We had a basic lesson about ponds and their wildlife.

Then, one boy – whose name escapes me – ran a few steps, jumped in the air and roared like a lion at a group of ducks and other birds, which were being fed by a couple of older ladies. The ducks scattered and the ladies looked at the boy angrily.

Mrs White stepped in and justice was administered swiftly. As she sat on a park bench next to the old ladies, she pulled across her knees and spanked him hard on the seat of his shorts.

I can’t remember exactly, but I would estimate a dozen or so hard and fast smacks were administered. Then the boy was returned to his feet, told to apologise to the ladies and that was the end of the matter. I remember feeling not excited, exactly; more interested. The boy didn’t cry straight away but he did wipe the odd tear away on and off during the lesson. He seemed more embarrassed than hurt.

I managed to get through to junior school unscathed and unsmacked. But there one day, I got quite the surprise. My new teacher was a Mrs Reed, a lady who lived in my street. I knew her quite well and it made school fun for me. More good news was to come – it soon became clear to all that Mrs Reed quite enjoyed smacking children’s bottoms, and did so at every opportunity, both for discipline and for fun.

There was a distinction between the two spankings which I found fascinating. If you were in trouble and needed punishment, Mrs Reed crossed her legs and hoisted your bottom up in the air. However, if a smacking was being given in fun, you were simply placed across her level lap.

Every Friday afternoon we had spelling and arithmetic test. Afterwards, we swapped papers with the child next to us and marked each other’s answers. Those who got less than the full 20 questions right were told to line up at the front of the class. Then, one by one, we approach Mrs Reed and tell her our score. You would get a playful spank for each question you got wrong, so if you got 17 out of 20, for example, you would be smacked three times on your bottom.

As I say, it was all done in fun but not a single child in that class escaped at least one smack now and then. In a strange way, it bonded us as a group and Friday afternoon was always a favourite time of the week. Mrs Reed certainly enjoyed herself.

One memorable afternoon after a few of my classmates had received the odd smack or three, I approached Mrs Reed and took my turn. “And how many did you score, Christopher?” she asked, smiling at me. “None!” I replied, “I got 20 wrong!” Mrs Reed laughed as she took my paper. Some of my classmates whispered excitedly, speculating as to what would happen to me.

Actually, I had only got two wrong but Mrs Reed played along. She announced: “Christopher has actually only got two words wrong, but I think he can have his two smacks – plus 20 more for being cheeky!” There was much laughter and encouragement from my classmates.

For the first time I could remember, Mrs Reed crossed her legs for this ‘fun’ spanking. I was hauled up and over. My shorts were as tight as they could go, and I hung there looking to myside beaming at my classmates as Mrs Reed told them all this this was what happened to cheeky boys.

My first two smacks were for my spelling errors. Then Mrs Reed announced the start of the 20 for being cheeky. She took her time with these – the class counted along, and some of the smacks were pretty firm. I relaxed my arms and legs and enjoyed my big moment.

Mrs Reed finished with a couple of faster, harder smacks that made everyone laugh, including me – I certainly felt those! She then left me dangling as she warned the rest of the children that this would happen to anyone else who was cheeky from now on. My bum stung a fair bit, but it was worth it.

I was returned to my feet and asked if I had learned my lesson. I confirmed that I had, and returned to my seat with lots of smiling faces following me. I played up to my audience – sitting and then standing up quickly again, pretending my bottom hurt too much to sit. Mrs Reed laughed, but then firmly told me to sit down before I found out just what it felt like to be unable to sit for real! I suppose this was said in jest, but just the threat fed my imagination for many years afterwards.

Towards the end of my junior school days, something changed in me – a darker side emerged. Fun spankings were just that, but I wanted to know what a real punishment felt like. To be honest, it became a bit of a ‘thing’ , eating away at me from the inside.

In my mind, the only person who could help was my mum – but she had never smacked me for any reason. After beating myself up for what seemed like quite a while, I decided to get in Mum’s good books, then explain myself. I helped around the house a bit and went to bed without being nagged.

Mum finally realised something was up when, without any encouragement, I had a clear-out and a massive tidy up in my bedroom. When asked what this was ‘all about’, I asked Mum if I could tell her something that only she could help me with.

I explained honestly that I had liked having my bum smacked by my grandmother and Mrs Reed. I asked Mum if she would smack me harder, because I needed to know what a ‘real’ spanking felt like.

In later life, Mum told me that the way I expressed myself that day was mature beyond my years, and that she felt very proud of me. At no point did she try to talk me out of it or make me feel silly or stupid – I am forever grateful for her attitude.

Much to my relief, Mum seemed to understand my plight and told me that she would give me the rest of the day to think it over. We agreed that she would spank me properly at bedtime, unless I asked her not to during the rest of the day. Naturally, I didn’t, even though I was a bundle of nerves.

I imagined how I might feel if Mum had told me off for some real offence and promised a bedtime spanking – that seemed to heighten my anticipation. Mum appeared perfectly relaxed and normal throughout the day. By contrast, I was becoming more and more anxious!

At bedtime, I waited in my room for Mum to come and smack me. I was kneeling on my bed, looking out of the window, when she knocked on the door and came in.

Then, for some reason I didn’t really understand, I began to cry – I couldn’t help it. Mum wrapped her arms around me and we stood like that for a while. I apologised and repeated that I just needed to know what a proper smacked bottom felt like. Mum seemed to understand – she just held me close, calming and soothing me.

Then I spoke softly into her jumper, like a much smaller child. “Mum, I deserve a spanking.” She took that as her cue. Mum sat on the end of my bed and drew me towards her, then took my jeans down to my knees.

My mum sat on the end corner of my bed, zig-zagging my jeans down to my knees and with a guiding hand settled me across her knees. My face was almost touching the carpet. I held Mum’s ankle and closed my eyes.

The next thing I felt was Mum pulling my underpants down and rolling my top back, then she placed her left hand on my bare back and began to spank me with the right. I was already tearful anyway, but I sobbed loudly as mum smacked my bare bottom for the first time. To begin with, I was crying far more than the smacks actually warranted – I guess it was just the emotional release I had needed. I remember saying ‘thank you’ over and again as I cried.

I think Mum understood what was happening, the spanking she delivered was perfect. She smacked firmly yet slowly. She didn’t rush, she didn’t say very much except to advise me that as my behaviour recently had been unacceptable she felt she had no choice but to put me across her knee and spank me like a little boy.

I must admit, I cried like a baby. My bare bum stung a lot but I felt so much better in myself. It was by no means a thrashing or a beating. It was a controlled, disciplinary spanking that a loving parent would give their child. I would go so far as to say it was therapeutic.

It was some time before Mum let me up. When she did, she lay me down on my bed, sat beside me and stroked my head. “Now then, Christopher,” she said, “that is the end of the matter – unless you feel you need to speak about it tomorrow. Now, go to sleep like a good boy.” She left me, still crying a little, on my bed.

The next day, I thanked Mum and said that I felt much better. I can’t remember her reply, but I think it was short and sweet, like ‘good’ or ‘I’m glad’. It was a quite a while ago! We didn’t discuss the subject again until some years later, when I was recovering from an accident and we spent several evenings talking about ‘the old days’.

That wasn’t the end of my spanking obsession, however. As a teenager, I fantasised about Mrs Reed calling in on me after school and spanking my bare bottom just for the hell of it.

That was the last time I was spanked, until I married. My wife, when requested, carries out much the same procedure as Mum did. I just feel the need for a slow, rhythmic spanking from a firm female hand. It’s the emotional release that I enjoy.

Contributor: Chris