I am convinced that spanking fetishism is genetic, or at least partially so. My sister Marianne and I are both spankos – we discovered our joint interest when we were teenagers, when she asked me outright whether I ‘liked’ it. Indeed, she was the one to highlight the potential genetic link to me.
Marianne and her husband met on (the Usenet newsgroup) alt.sexuality.spanking in the 90s, and I know they’re in a domestic discipline relationship. I don’t want further details – she is my sister, after all! Nevertheless, it’s interesting to me that we both turned out this way.
Our mother (long deceased now, bless her) was, in our opinion, almost certainly ‘one of us’. She constantly told us stories of her own childhood punishments, and if we got in trouble at school she’d extract every detail from us.
She also smacked us very, very frequently. Our father was a gentle giant and largely not involved in our discipline – I think he only smacked me once, and Marianne not at all. Our mother was a different story.
If we’d ‘earned’ a smacked bottom (‘earned’ being very subjective, as they’d often be given on the flimsiest of pretexts), Mum would send us to our bedroom. If both of us were in trouble, we’d both be sent to her and Dad’s bedroom instead. We’d have to wait a few minutes before Mum appeared to administer our punishment. Usually she had nothing in her hands, but occasionally she’d have an implement – a belt, a slipper or occasionally something else she’d picked up on a whim.
Mum would sit on the edge of our bed, and pull us by the wrist over her lap. We didn’t struggle – there was no point – and then she’d bare our bottoms. For me, this generally involved pulling down my shorts and underpants. Marianne would get the back of her skirt or dress lifted up and her knickers would be taken down.
Mum always rested her palm on our bare bottoms for a long moment before beginning – I can vividly remember the sensation of her warm palm resting against my buttocks.
The smackings she subsequently administer weren’t brutal, but they would hurt. Usually we’d receive around 20 relatively hard smacks. Mum would deliver a new smack every 10 seconds or so, spreading the blows evenly across our bottoms. After we had been punished, our backsides would be pink and stinging, but the colour would fade within an hour. Unlike some mothers, ours didn’t scold us while we were over her knee – she just smacked, driving the lesson home with her hand or her implement.
I realised from a very early age that I enjoyed being spanked. Something about the sensation of my mother’s thighs pressed into my tummy, my bare bottom in the air, the burning and stinging, and the knowledge that I couldn’t escape was intoxicating. I didn’t usually provoke spankings – I didn’t need to. From the ages of about three to 13, my bottom was smacked at least once a week. Sometimes Marianne and I would end up getting smacked two or three times in a single day.
We both strongly suspect that Mum was a repressed spanko and took out her fetish on us. I don’t resent the smacked bottoms she gave us, though I do wish she’d had somewhere else to explore herself than on her children. I do happily remember the feeling of my burning bottom as I squirmed over her lap, though!