When I was growing up, it didn’t matter how old you were – if you lived under our parents’ roof, you were still subject to their rules and punishments. No exceptions.
Spankings were common, and the usual punishment was to be stripped naked, made to lie across the end of the end of the couch and present your bottom for punishment. The implement of choice was a wooden paddle, slightly larger than a ping-pong bat and about half an inch thick. It had a smooth, lacquered finish which imparted a memorable sting.
You were then given two swats per year of your age – which meant by the time I was 18 and received my last paddling, I got a whopping 36 smacks to my bare behind.
Obviously, it was bad enough being stark naked in front of the rest of the family who came to watch the chastisement (with some delight, I might add). However, as we got older, the inevitable ‘show’ the spankee would put on was as they were punished was in many ways worse than the pain of the paddling itself.
By now we were all a bit older and even those with the tenderest of bottoms was able to stand the first three smacks, delivered full force by our mother. However, from then on in, tears would fill our eyes and little yelps would be heard as the paddle worked its magic on our butts.
Pleading – which was pointless – would also begin at this point and probably last up to the 10 swat mark. After that, however, the stinging in our backsides would overpower all of our senses and the howls, violent sobbing, flailing of arms and kicking of legs would begin and continue until the punishment was over. When my brothers were spanked, their genitals would bob and jiggle around while us girls would be shaking our breasts to add to the entertainment.
By the time the spanking was done, we all had deep red butts and thighs that hurt so bad we thought we were going to die. We didn’t get much relief – we were made to stand against the wall, showing off our newly punished bottoms. The sting turned into throbbing pain and you once more became aware of the embarrassment of being naked in front of the whole family.
For most of the punishments, when we had done about a half hour against the wall, we could grab our clothes and run for our bedrooms to inspect the damage and sleep on our stomachs for the night, nursing a very hot and sore backside.
However, there were times that an extra punishment was deemed necessary to supplement the paddle. This was a dose of castor oil – an old-time discipline method handed down from my grandmother to my mother. It was feared much more than the paddle.
I remember one occasion when my two brothers, my sister and I were all punished together. After our spankings, we were told we would all be getting a dose of castor oil. Tears and begging began anew, but without result.
My mother would bring the bottle of castor oil and a large tablespoon into the living room where we had all been spanked. Then she would administer three tablespoons of the horrid tasting, thick oil to each of her children. Gagging down the oil was a punishment all on its own – but knowing what was coming next was even worse.
It would take several hours for the violent laxative effects of the castor oil to take effect. During the wait, it was pure psychological horror, knowing the inevitable end result of the medicine.
After about an hour, you would begin to feel the effects of it throughout your stomach. First came the grumbles, then the cramps, then a strange burning sensation – followed by an incredibly sudden and sometimes uncontrolled release, accompanied by violent cramps.
What made this punishment so memorable was that we children were only allowed to use one bathroom. That made a competition to use the toilet, which degenerated into a bunch of half-naked boys and girls plopping down on the toilet for a quick release – to be followed by someone else, and then a repeat of things all over again.
It probably took about two and a half hours before we were all able to return to our rooms and only make periodic additional trips to the bathroom. Of course, the embarrassment of it all was bad enough but the incredible pain of having to sit on the toilet on a freshly paddled butt made it even the worse.
Eventually our bowels would be cleared but the throbbing in our sore bottoms would last for at least a couple of days – all of which made for a powerful incentive to behave in future.