What it’s really like

What a brilliant site! Well done, Maman – long may you continue. My own spanking history really begins in the first year of junior school. I would have been seven years old.

From my desk, I could see the road outside the school. I was mad about buses, the old Routemaster being my favourite. I was also near a radiator – always a plus – and for the cherry on top, I had a clear view of my teacher’s legs! We are talking about the late 60s here, so skirts were getting shorter!

I’m guessing that Mrs Slater was probably in her mid 30’s. I liked her very much – she spoke quietly, she was warm and friendly, and very tactile. If you had a problem or needed help with school work, you raised your hand and were called to her desk in turn.

Once beside her, it was easy to lean against Mrs Slater as you discussed the issue. More often that not she would slip her arm around the pupil. I once placed a hand on her knee as I leaned in to listen to an explanation. The thrill I experienced at that first sneaky feel of nylon stayed with me for years! I consider that moment the dawn of my sexual journey, my first sexual encounter.

Discipline – well, all teachers were allowed to smack children. If you were very naughty, the ultimate punishment was a note from the teacher to be handed to the headmaster. This pretty much sealed your fate – few pupils came out of that office without a cane stripe or two across their bottoms for their trouble.

Mrs Slater’s regular method of discipline was a spanking, delivered on the child’s knickers or underpants. She was not a prolific spanker, but if you fell foul of her, you knew about it!

She always administered these spankings at break or lunchtime – never in front of other pupils. After the spanking, the pupil was sat on their sore bottom on the ‘naughty chair’. You then placed your hands on your head and sat in silence while Mrs Slater marked work or had a sandwich and a cup of tea. 

I only remember a couple of my classmates being spanked by Mrs Slater. One boy told me she smacked much harder than either his mum or dad – I just couldn’t imagine that. 

We knew someone was in trouble when Mrs Slater announced that so and so should remain in their seat at the conclusion of the lesson. All eyes turned to the child named and shamed – we knew what they were going to get all right.

When we all returned from break, our classmate would already be back at their desk – distressed, watery eyes the only visible signs of what had happened to them. I suppose that the fact I never saw the smacked bottom being administered made me even more curious about corporal punishment.

One morning, Mrs Slater asked us all to draw ‘a mode of transport’. I, of course, set to work drawing my favourite Routemaster bus with enthusiasm. What a brilliant morning – drawing a bus and looking at Mrs Slater’s legs now and then!

After a while, I raised my hand and was called to Mrs Slater’s desk. I stood beside her, showed her my outline and asked to take some crayons from the box to begin colouring in.

Mrs Slater slipped her arm around me and pulled me in a bit closer. My bare legs below my shorts pressed against her leg. She slipped her hand down and I got a pat on my bum, but she left her hand there. I placed my hand just above her knee as I leaned heavily against her – it was another crafty feel, and a good long one. 

Mrs Slater told me that her own father was a bus driver and that my drawing was very good. She suggested I added a bus stop and a queue of people, gave me permission to collect some crayons and gave me a slight squeeze and another pat on my bottom before sending me on my way. What a treat! A good long feel of nylon and a pat on the bum! The squidgy feeling deep inside me felt so nice.

As I worked away colouring in my bus, a girl on the other side of the room had caught the eye of Mrs Slater. The subseqent warning sent a bolt of excitement through me.

“Jane, if I hear your voice once more, I shall invite you to stay behind at break time! I will be more than happy to deal with you. That goes for anyone else – and woe betide those that do stay!”

Whoa! My alarm bell rang. If I stayed in my seat at break time, would Mrs Slater spank me? I think this was the first time I ever considered being spanked in a sexual context. I’d seen cartoon drawings of children over parents’ or teacher’s laps, which meant prolonged contact with the spanker’s legs. That thought fired me up – although I’m not sure why, because at home I had never been spanked at all.

At break, the class was dismissed. All but myself and a girl clattered out of the room. Mrs Slater asked the girl why she stayed behind and she complained of a tummy ache. She was given a note to take to the school nurse.

Mrs Slater then turned her attention to me, asking why was I still there. I told her I wanted to finish my picture which was almost done. Mrs Slater came to my desk and again praised my picture. I had drawn her dad as the driver. Laughing, she said: “It looks just like him!”

She told me she intended to put the picture on the wall and give me my first gold star. This was great – but I had an ulterior motive for staying behind.

“Come on,” she said, as she took my drawing. We went to the front of the class where my picture was fixed to the cork board with drawing pins. I was given a star and stuck that beside my name on the wall chart. Mrs Slater smiled and said, “well done.”

At seven years old, you don’t really think things through much, so I just simply asked: “Are you going to spank me for staying behind at break?” Mrs Slater laughed out loud. “Oh Paul, no – of course not, silly!” She guided me towards the door and told me to go outside for the rest of break. I so remember being quite disappointed! 

Mrs Slater probably wasn’t aware of it, but she had stoked the embers. The fire inside began to burn – I wanted my bum smacked! As it turned out, I had to wait another three years for that to happen.

I was now 10 and in the last year of juniors. Enter Pritpal [name changed – Ed], an Indian boy and new to our class. He was the first non-white boy I knew. 

We walked part of the way home together. One day he walked slower than normal. He asked me if I got spanked at home for not getting top grades? I told him I never got spanked.

It turned out that every day, his mum interrogated him about school. If we had any work marked and he got less than 100%, his mum soundly smacked his bottom. I must admit that this shocked but also excited me – and I wondered how I could turn this news to my advantage.

At home the very next weekend, I approached my Mum. Dad was out in the garden working, my sister next door playing with her friend. Perfect. My mum was sewing, sitting quietly, listening to the radio.

My plan was to ask her to spank me, like Pritpal’s mum, if I didn’t get good marks when we did spelling or arithmetic tests. However, it didn’t quite go the way I had hoped and planned. 

After a bit of beating around the bush, I opened the conversation by asking Mum if she had ever been spanked at school. It was the first time I had said the word ‘spanked’ out loud, and that alone excited me. Her eyes never left her sewing – she carried on as if we talked about spanking everyday. 

Mum told me all about one particular woman teacher she had who used a short leather strap on pupils’ hands. Mum said it stung like the devil and she was the only teacher mum hated. My sexual antenna twitched. She was a vicious, spiteful old woman who seemed to enjoy strapping children’s hands, according to Mum.

I explained that Mrs Slater was very fair and only smacked classmates after a good warning. I then went on to tell mum about Pritpal’s fear of a spanking at home if he didn’t get top marks in school. Before I could get around to asking mum if she would treat me the same way she stopped sewing and looked at me.

“When I was at school, if you were punished at school many parents gave you a good hiding at home for misbehaving in school. Luckily for me, I never had to worry about that, but I imagine it must be awful to walk home knowing you were in for another dose.” 

I was digesting this news when Mum said: “Have you thought what it would be like to be in Pritpal’s shoes – knowing that if you had a poor result in a test, you would be getting spanked when you got home?” She added: “You know, I hated my teacher for strapping my hands. It would break my heart to think you would hate me for smacking your bottom.”

It was the first time I ever heard my mum use the word ‘spanked’ – I found that even more exciting. I admitted: “It probably wouldn’t be very nice – I don’t really know, as I’ve never been spanked. But I promised I would never hate you if you did.”

I was about to ask her if she would spank me for poor school work when she stood up – I thought I’d blown it! Mum put her sewing to one side. “Come with me,” she said, as she walked away.

My heart started racing – what was Mum going to do? I followed her upstairs to my bedroom, she pushed the door open wide and looked inside. It was a mess as usual. There were clothes and shoes scattered about. My bed was unmade, dirty washing that should have been in the washing basket was on the chair; comics, toys and boxes lying just where I’d left them etc. In other words, a typical 10-year-old boy’s bedroom!

Then she spoke. “Paul, look at your room! Imagine if I was Pritpal’s mum. Do you think she would put up with this? By the sound of it, she’d give you a jolly good spanking and make you to clean it up.

“Then, next week, if your room looked like this again, you’d get another spanking, but longer. Then, the following week, another spanking – but longer still. How would you feel, if you knew that next weekend you were to get a second spanking because your room was untidy? That’s how Pritpal would feel walking home.”

My head was spinning! Was Mum suggesting that she give me a spanking right now? “Well?” she finally asked. “Sorry, Mum, I’ll tidy it up” was all I could manage. “Good. I’ll come back in half an hour see how you’re getting on.”

As she began to walk away, I said: “Mum – I won’t hate you, I promise. When you come back, are you going to spank me?” There – I’d said it out loud. “We’ll see,” Mum replied, as she turned to go downstairs. I suppose my untidy room must have been bugging her.

I was in a daze as I tidied my room. In half an hour, I could well be getting my first spanking. I couldn’t think straight, my head was jumbled. How would Mum do it? I was quite nervous but also excited. I developed what I think was my first proper erection, which in turn left a damp patch in my pants.

Finally, with my room tidied (at least, to a 10-year-old boy’s standard!) I waited. All sorts of wild thoughts filled my head, but Mum’s footsteps coming back up the stairs brought me back to reality. Would she spank me?

She stood in the doorway, and I helpfully pointed out what I’d done. I finished by reminding her that I wouldn’t hate her if she spanked me.

Mum stepped in, looked around and smiled. “So that’s what colour the carpet is!” she joked. “Looks better, doesn’t it?”

She pulled my bedroom chair out, and sat down on it. Then she pointed to my bed. “Sit down, Paul.” I sat opposite my mum and watched as she folded her arms and crossed her legs. She looked at me, then around the room.

“Do you think we could keep it looking like this without me resorting to spanking you every week?” “I promise to keep it tidy, Mum – I will.” “Good.”

There was a delay, then she looked at me directly. “And do you still think you deserve a spanking for letting it get into such a mess?” She was going to actually do it! Decades on, sitting here typing, I remember that thought rushing into my head.

I nodded shyly and looked down at Mum’s legs. I managed to speak. “I won’t hate you, Mum – honest.”

Finally, she said: “Come on, then – up you get!” This was it – this was really it! I stood and approached Mum’s lap. She turned me slightly to one side, then undid my jeans. “Push them down to your ankles,” she instructed. I obeyed, feeling cool air around bare legs as I did so. Then Mum looked me in the eye.

“Paul, I hope this will remind you that from now on, you are to keep this room looking just as it does now. I really do not want to repeat myself next weekend, understood?” “Yes Mum.” She held out a guiding arm, uncrossed her legs and straightened her skirt. “Come on, then– over you go!”

Now, bear in mind that I’m 10 and I’d never been spanked or actually seen a real spanking. My head was filled with all sorts of thoughts. Would it hurt? Would I cry? I thought briefly about that classmate who had told me Mrs Slater smacked bottoms harder than either his mum or dad.

As I leaned forward, I placed my hand on Mum’s leg and got a quick feel of nylon as she assisted me up and over her knee. I couldn’t touch the floor. Was this how Pritpal’s mum did it? Was this how Mrs Slater did it? So you couldn’t touch the floor? And so it went on, but all of this took seconds – just while Mum adjusted me into position. My head was in a whirl, and my mind raced with possibilities.

Then I had my first reality check and shock! Mum eased my underpants down – slowly, from side to side, until they were at my knees. It never occurred to me she would spank me on the bare bottom – I assumed it would be over pants, like at school.

As I hung there, genuinely surprised, I heard Mum ask if I was ready. With my bare bum raised and waiting, for the first time I felt that pre-spanking feeling of fear mixed with anticipation. I replied ‘yes Mum’, although in truth I wasn’t ready at all.

Then came the second shock. The smacks. I could not begin to tell you how many smacks I received or how long my spanking took. All I can say with certainty is that my mum sure as hell could smack hard!

To start with she smacked at a steady rate. I distinctly recall smiling and thinking it wasn’t so bad! Yes, the smacks stung and felt a bit uncomfortable, but I was almost enjoying myself. It was, after all, what I had been wishing for.

But slowly and surely, the warmth created by each smack built up to feel very uncomfortable indeed. I remember gasping for air, then holding my breath, and wincing at each smack. Being upside down for a while disorientates you, I did get to feel a nylon leg for a short time but my arms were soon waving as my head bobbed up and down.

My bum stung – it really stung, far more than I had imagined it would! The floor blurred. I didn’t exactly cry but came very close. Being upside down made my eyes water but hey, no excuses – Mum had me right on the verge of tears for real.

My mother spanked just as she did every other household task – steadily, methodically and making a proper job of it, never rushing to finish anything until she was satisfied it was done to the best of her ability.

I struggled for a while but escape was impossible. I clearly remember the point where, having tried to reach back to cover my bottom with my hand, it was held firmly in the small of my back. All I could do was appeal to Mum that I had learned my lesson and my room would never be left untidy again. Believe me, from that day on I had the tidiest bedroom of any 10-year-old in the world!

Mum said something, but I cannot now recall her words. Nothing much mattered except the stinging pain in my bum! It took a few seconds for me to realise thar Mum had stopped smacking me. I lay still, blowing hard. My eyes were wet, my nose had started to run but my mouth was dry. I hadn’t called out, but I was under no illusion of how much spankings stung. Credit to Mum, it was a good one! I don’t recall any sexual feelings during the punishment – although they certainly came later, pardon the pun.

I felt a couple of gentle taps on my bottom. “Up you get – all done!” I wiped my face as Mum helped me up. As my feet touched the ground again, I got one last good feel of her leg, then quickly clasped my hands to my hot stinging bottom. I rubbed my cheeks vigorously and wiggled about a bit – I suppose it was a bit of a smacked bottom jig! Rubbing my bottom was my only thought.

Mum asked that time-honoured (though stupid) rhetorical question: “Now, Paul, does that sting enough to remind you to keep this room tidy from now on?” Duh – yeah!

She smiled at me, then directed her eyes downwards. “You might want to pull your pants back up now?” My mind was so concentrated on my sore bum, I’d forgotten Mum could see my willy. I looked down and immediate panic set in as I saw that I was hard.

I whipped my pants back up hurriedly. Then I apologised and promised Mum I’d learned my lesson – no more untidy room. To emphasise my contrition (and hide my embarrassment) I stepped in close, wrapped my arms around her and repeated several times that I didn’t hate her for smacking me. As I did so, my bare legs rubbed against her nylon-covered legs, fuelling the fire of my arousal.

Mum didn’t help at that point. She slipped her arms around me, pulled me in tight and patted and cupped my sore bottom. Yup, I came in my pants, for the first time ever! I think Mum knew what had happened but she didn’t react. She certainly would have found out when she next did the laundry, for sure. 

She released me, cupped my face and told me that she did not want to repeat the exercise next week, but if my room was untidy she wouldn’t hesitate to put me across her knee again. She stood up, adding: “Oh, and if I do have to spank you next week, Paul, remember it will be twice as long as it was today!” She put my chair back, gave me a final hug and kiss on the top of my head, then left me to it.

I stood in my room, my hands gently massaging my sore bum in my wet sticky pants. As I cleaned myself up and changed my pants, Mum’s parting threat rattled around in my head – all I had to do was leave my room untidy and I would be guaranteed a spanking next week.

Well – decisions, decisions! Yes, it was nice to begin with (and there was literally a very happy ending) but there was that very uncomfortable bit between, which stung badly. There was also the threat of ‘twice as long next week’ which was a worry.

In the end, I decided that I had enough ammunition to fill my fantasies for now, and vowed to keep my room tidy. The following week, Mum asked me if my room was clean and tidy. I confirmed it was, and she replied: “Good – I think you’ll find it’s a lot less painful to keep it that way!” Well, it was certainly less painful to keep my room tidy, though not as much fun!

The mess in my pants was never mentioned, by the way. It was embarrassing enough at the time so I was grateful that Mum didn’t raise the subject.

So I kept my room tidy, and never got spanked again until I met my wife, although of course now purely for bedroom pleasure.

We experimented, at my request, over the years. It turns out I really only enjoy being spanked if my wife wears stockings. When she wore leggings or jeans, I found little pleasure was to be had. We also tried slippers and hairbrushes but they just plain hurt! My wife’s hand does the job, and as long as I can get a feel of nylon that works for us. 

Mum is still around, and looks good for her age. Mrs Slater is no longer with us, but not forgotten – a brilliant teacher and a lovely woman. One of my regrets is that I never experienced a spanking from her – although, a bit like the one from Mum, I have no doubt it would have been a very painful experience.

Out of curiosity, I recently looked up Pritpal online. He went into medicine and is now a consultant – hardly a surprise! As for me, I’m recently retired but I was a bus driver for 35 years – though sadly not in a Routemaster!

Contributor: Paul

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