I was looking something up online when the title of a story on this site popped up as a suggestion. I was somewhat taken aback but returned later to read a few stories. Reading these stories brought back horrible memories of the only spanking event in my childhood.
I decided to contribute what happened, as some readers may be interested to learn of its effects on our family that have lasted to this very day. I should add that I have no sexual interest in spanking and have changed all the names involved.
I grew up in a non-spanking household in the UK. Most people are probably familiar with the threat of wait ’til your father gets home’. In our house, my father often used a play on these words. His phrase was: “Let’s hope your mother doesn’t find out about this!” He always gave a little wink when he said it, and this was as close as we got to being told off by dad!
I was a proper daddy’s girl – I adored him. As a teenager, it was always Dad I asked when I wanted a favour, as he was so much easier to manipulate!
On the fateful day in question, my parents, myself and my brother Ian were visiting relatives – to be precise, my mum’s sister. My uncle and aunt had a son named John, whom I must confess to rather liking. John was a good looking boy, and I rather looked up to both him and my brother as they were both five years older.
It was a hot day, so I wore a pretty sun dress, while Ian was in T-shirt and shorts. We both had packed our swimwear because my uncle and aunt had quite a large paddling pool. So we were looking forward to the visit very much, and there was a happy mood in the car as we drove along.
Once we reached our destination, I was soon sitting at the table ‘like a good girl’ (as I had been told to do), enjoying a lovely, home-made banana milkshake.
All of a sudden, my aunt’s voice cut through the entire house. She was yelling at someone like I had never heard before, and the commotion was coming my way. I was sure I had done nothing wrong, so I sat still as my aunt stormed into the room, dragging John with her.
“You are a dirty, disgusting child!” she shrieked as she pushed John towards an armchair. My cousin was pushed roughly towards an lounge chair, then turned around and forced to bend over one of its arms.
My aunt picked up one of my uncle’s slippers and began to spank John on the seat of his swimming trunks. She slippered him hard and fast, repeating again and again: “You filthy, dirty, disgusting beast!” She spanked in time with the scolding. John twisted and squirmed wildly, but couldn’t escape the slipper’s stinging kisses on his bottom.
I sat there stock still, unsure whether to leave or stay, when suddenly my mum entered the room with my brother, and said to him in a raised, angry voice: “You deserve the same!”
Mum turned the nearest dining room chair around, sat down on it and pulled my Ian across her knee. This was the first time I had seen such a sight, and it was a real shock.
Immediately, Mum began spanking her son hard and fast on the damp seat of his swimming trunks. Ian squealed and reared up as mum’s spanking hand began to have an instant effect on his bottom. For his own part, Ian kept repeating: “I’m sorry, Mum – I’m sorry!” – but Mum took no notice of his apology.
She stopped for a second to get a firmer hold on her son, who was kicking furiously. She looked up briefly and watched her sister slippering her own son. Mum seemed to take this as something of a challenge, and began to increase the severity of the spanking she was handing out to Ian to match the chastisement being administered just across the room.
Meanwhile, my aunt wrestled to keep John in position. By now he crying loudly and begging for the slippering to stop. No such luck! After a brief struggle, his trunks were lowered to his knees, and the slippering continued, this time on his bare bottom. More or less at the same time, my mother bared my brother’s buttocks too. He managed to escape her grip momentarily but was soon hauled back over her knee and held in an anaconda-style grip. He begged Mum to stop as her hand went back to roasting his now bare bum.
As I say, the two mums seemed to be competing with each other, and at the same time the boys appeared to be competing with each other to see who could yell the loudest. They both pleaded desperately for their punishments to end, but those pleas fell on deaf ears.
I just sat there in silence, unable to move – I daren’t. The spankings were fast and furious, and after maybe a few minutes had passed the two boys began to struggle less and cry more.
The sound of two spankings being delivered similtaneously was frightening to my young ears. My aunt was still chanting the same words as she smacked John’s bottom. My own mother was silent but I could see her sideways on and her contorted face showed how hard she was smacking my brother.
Eventually both boys stopped protesting, wriggling and kicking and just cried loudly, almost hysterically. It was a horrible experience for me as a little girl, and the sights and sounds of that punishment stay with me to this day.
At one point it almost sounded like Ian was choking, but Mum paid no attention. My brother’s bare bum and thighs were tomato red. John’s bottom looked darker, possibly with bruising from the slipper.
With both boys lying almost still, defeated, accepting their fate and sobbing openly, I too began to cry – although very quietly so as not to disturb mum in fear of getting similar treatment. I away wiped silent tears. I felt sorry for my poor brother – I couldn’t understand why Mum didn’t stop.
It seemed to me then that the boys’ two spankings lasted for an hour – although it was probably more like five to 10 minutes. However, that’s still a long time to spank a young boy. As an adult, I would think that about a minute’s spanking would be more than adequate for a parent to make their point, and for a young bottom to sting sufficiently. I can’t imagine spanking a child for that length of time under any circumstances.
Suddenly, my father appeared in the doorway. He called my mother’s name in a booming voice and both women stopped spanking their children and turned to look at him. They seemed surprised or shocked. Dad just said: “That’s quite enough. We’re going home, – now!” I had never heard my father raise his voice like that before in my whole life.
Mum released Ian straight away – he crumpled in a heap at her feet and made the most pitiful noise I ever heard. My aunt also stopped slippering John, who lay still over the chair. He was blubbering, mumbling incoherently, and writhing slowly with his hands clasped to his newly-slippered bottom.
At the time, I was just old enough to notice and understand the difference between boys and girls. However, it’s perhaps hardly surprising that under the circumstances, I took no notice of the glimpses of boys’ willies that otherwise might have piqued my interest. As for the boys themselves, neither was concerned by that point about who could see what.
I abandoned my milkshake and ran tearfully to Dad, who scooped me up in his arms. He glared at Mum and said in a deep, stern voice: “Get your things and bring Ian to the car.” The pained look on my brother’s face, as he got slowly to his feet, is something I will never forget.
Few words were spoken as the families separated. My poor brother limped in agony back to the car only to find the leather on the back seat was searing hot from being in the sun. He howled as he tried to sit down on his well-smacked bottom and thighs. Dad found a blanket in the boot of the car and we both sat on that.
Ian leaned against the side window of the car and cried all the way home. I felt so bad for him but couldn’t take my eyes off my mum. I just could not believe she could be so cruel.
That evening, I lay in bed and listened to my parents raise their voices at each other. I hated that, and the upset stays with me to this day. My brother never really forgave Mum for that spanking, and their relationship became more and more distant as he grew up. Ian rarely sees Mum these days, except for special family events.
So by now, you’re probably wondering what Ian and John did that was so heinous and merited such sound spankings. Well, my brother told me the next day that he and John had decided to have an impromptu contest to see which boy could pee the highest up the back wall of my aunt and uncle’s garage. My uncle had caught the boys in the act and was reprimanding them when the two mothers came across them and demanded to know what had been going on.
OK, so the boys had obviously done something wrong – and maybe they did even deserve a smacked bottom each – but those spankings were excessive, even in my adult opinion.
Eventually, I had a family of my own. I had cause – as most mothers do – to tap the back of a hand during the ‘terrible twos’, simply to prevent an accident. However, although sorely tempted on a couple of occasions, I never gave out a proper smacked bottom.
I should say that I am not against spanking in principle – I’m sure it has its place. But witnessing two such severe punishments as a young girl, and knowing how my brother’s feelings had changed towards Mum as a result, had some unseen effect on me. I would be devastated to learn that either of my children hated me because I had punished them beyond what might be deemed reasonable – not that I think for a minute I would ever have been so severe.
That fateful day almost caused a serious row between Mum and myself in more recent times, too. I asked her to babysit, and told her if the children misbehaved, she should report it to me when I got home and she was not – under any circumstances – to lay a hand on either of them.
After a caustic reply from Mum along the lines of ‘you let them get away with too much’, I reminded her that her own son had never forgiven her for that spanking she administered all those years ago. She turned a funny colour but bit her tongue – I think she realised Ian’s feelings towards her had been damaged since that terrible day.
A short while ago, she had a serious health scare. Ian and I needed to talk, and I asked him if he intended to make his peace with Mum. He promised to think it over – and that’s where we are today. I suspect the wound will never fully heal on his part.
To sum up, I still feel that a smacked bottom, under the right conditions, is an acceptable parental decision. When my own children misbehaved I always took some time to cool down, usually by sending the naughty one to their room. With ‘never smack when angry’ in mind, I would consider what, if any, punishment was appropriate.
I certainly considered putting my daughter in particular across my knee more than once – but ultimately backed down due to the story I have just related. Had I spanked her, it would have only been a short, sharp, shock.
But let’s face it – when you are very cross and perhaps the red mist descends, who knows what we are capable of? Taking things too far can have serious consequences – something our own family knows only too well.