I was born in 1970 and grew up in Bolton, in the north west of the UK. We were a family of four – myself, Mum and Dad, and my elder sister, Sarah.
Back then, corporal punishment was quite normal, of course. My primary school had the slipper, though only for boys. By the time I attended my secondary school, it had abolished the use of CP, but had used the strap during Sarah’s time there.
At home, Mum and Dad didn’t really hit us – just the odd slap around the legs when we were young, really. I also remember Mum slapping Sarah’s face when she was about 16 and came home drunk.
My one real spanking came when I was 11 years old and Sarah was 19. She was home for the weekend from her polytechnic course, and Mum and Dad took the opportunity to go away for the weekend.
On the Friday night, Sarah and I were watching telly – some old film, I think – and there was a sudden spanking scene. I don’t know what film it was, but a man took a teenage girl over his lap, flipped up her skirt, and gave her five or six spanks on her behind. As a young spanking kinkster even then, I was enthralled, and felt myself blushing.
Sarah got up and turned the telly off, startling me out of my reverie. She grinned at me and said: “Maybe I should do that to you – get you to do your homework!”
We’d had a bit of a disagreement about me doing my homework earlier, and she had been very frustrated. I felt my throat go dry, and I blushed even more. “No – no, I don’t think you should,” I choked out, totally lost for words. Sarah just laughed, then said: “Hmm – I think I should. Get up, Helen!”
Looking back, I think that if I’d have refused, the moment would have been over and never discussed again. But I didn’t. Instead, I stood up and moved a little away from the sofa, allowing Sarah to sit down.
She crooked one finger at me in a stereotypical ‘schoolmarm’ fashion, and I found myself moving forwards of my body’s own accord – my brain still frozen, my throat tight, my breath hot.
My sister’s hand found mine, and I was pulled across her lap with my torso resting on the sofa, my bottom across her lap and my legs dangling down with my toes just touching the floor. I was still in my school uniform and I felt Sarah’s cool hands slip my skirt up. We weren’t shy around one another, having shared a room until she moved out and still doing so when she visited home – but this felt different and I wriggled with embarrassment.
It was more embarrassing still when she got hold of my knickers – not the school regulation ones, but normal white pants – and pulled them down to just below my bottom. I squealed with protest but made no move to get up.
Then it began. Even though at that point I had already fantasised about spanking a lot, I don’t think I had ever considered how much it would hurt.
The first spank from my sister across my bare bottom was like a thunderclap, and I could do nothing but gasp. Sarah didn’t pause at all – she just smacked away. I let out an indignant screech and tried to wriggle away after five or six spanks, but she didn’t stop. I was to be well spanked!
I howled. I begged. I even cried, fat tears landing on the sofa. When I tried to cover my bottom, Sarah grabbed my wrists. When I tried to get up, she pinned my legs down. I was stunned that we had gone from watching telly to this in just a few moments.
And then it was done. Sarah suddenly let me go, my bottom ablaze. She looked shocked and confused herself, and just said: “Right – go and do your homework.” I fled, rubbing my bottom, and sought sanctuary in our room. We had a small mirror in there and I managed to catch a reflection of my bottom in it – my buttocks were dark pink, and I noticed a distinct fingerprint on one cheek.
Sarah and I never spoke of the spanking again – until a few years back, when we were both very drunk.
She told me, laughing: “I could see how interested you were in smacked bottoms – I thought a proper one might sort you out!”
In my drunken state, I confessed to my fetishistic interest – and how many times I’d masturbated thinking about that spanking. My sister laughed again and told me to behave myself, or she’d tell my husband to give me a good smacked bottom. Little does she know that he already does – regularly!