I’ve been thinking about writing about my spanking history for some time. As today is particularly wet and horrible, it seems like the perfect opportunity to pass some time.
I am not going to write about any one particular memory but I am going to take you back to my earliest experiences and work forward (I’m 42 at the time of writing) as best as I can.
I’m one of four siblings, having an older brother and two younger sisters. I was brought up during the 80s and 90s in a loving but very strict home. Father worked very hard to make ends meet and put food on our plates. We were not rich – in fact, we were often only just above the breadline – but we never went without and we always seemed to be happy.
Father rarely spanked us – just the threat from him was usually enough. Our mother was the main disciplinarian. She worked hard to keep the house clean and tidy and care for us kids – a very loving mother, but also one who tolerated no nonsense. She kept us kids in check – and once her mind was made up that we had earned a sore bottom, there was no changing her mind.
I want to start with a spanking I got on my seventh birthday. This is my earliest clear memory, although I had been started on smacked bottoms well before that.
We were on holiday at the time, staying in a kind of lodge. I had been pushing my luck for quite some time with my back chat, probably thinking I would get away with it on my birthday. Well, I was very much mistaken.
We never called it spanking in our house – the threat was always a ‘smacked bum’ – and we knew that never meant just one smack, as some children got. On occasions we were threatened with a ‘good hiding’ if our misbehaviour continued, and sometimes the punishment would be given with no previous warning.
On this particular birthday, I ended up over my mother’s knee on the living room sofa, receiving a good dose of the wooden spoon on my bare bottom. Almost all spankings were given immediately and on the spot, so being one of four children there were many occasions when we were smacked in front of each other, and some when we were all spanked together.
One occasion I remember well was when we had borrowed an expensive electric toy from a neighbour . We had all being playing with it but the toy was on my bed this particular morning. I was expending some excess childish energy by jumping around and doing ‘roly polys’. As I flung myself over, my head cracked against something hard. To my horror it was the toy, which upon examination appeared broken beyond repair.
I could feel the blood rushing to my head and sheer panic beginning to set in. I knew that I would be in serious trouble if I owned up to the accident. After pondering my dilemma for a while, I eventually decided to show my mother the toy but sat that I had found it on the upstairs landing, already broken.
Mother was naturally furious that such an expensive toy had been broken and she called my brother and eldest sister down to join us to try to establish who had damaged it. I would have been 10, my brother John 12 and sister Katie eight. My other sister was too very young at the time, so was not on mother’s list of suspects.
I’m sure she didn’t necessarily buy my innocent little story, and Mother was certainly in no mood to mess about. She immediately demanded a confession from one of the three children standing before her. Naturally I was quick to protest my innocent – but, also naturally, both my other siblings denied any responsibility.
Mother looked grim. “Well, it was certainly one of you, wasn’t it? I’m going to count to three and if the person who did this is not stood in front of me with their hand up, you’re all in for it!’” The count to three seemed to go on for ages – we all looked worried and nervous as to what would happen next.
Finally, Mother said: “Right! Line up in order of your age.” That only meant one thing – a sore bottom for each child. Part of me wanted to own up and save my siblings from a hiding, but it felt like my lie had gone too far and I was too cowardly to face the consequences alone.
My mother sat down on the settee and beckoned my sister to come to her. I had witnessed many of Katie’s spankings, so this was nothing new to me. Mother pulled Katie firmly across her knee. I remember watching her nightie was pulled up to exposed her yellow knickers, which in turn were quickly pulled down to mid-thigh, exposing my sister’s small bare bottom.
Mother’s slipper was soon removed from her right foot and quickly put into action, turning my Katie’s bottom very pink and sore. It was not an overly long spanking but certainly long enough and hard enough to get Katie kicking, screaming and crying immediately. I watched on in horror, full of guilt and dread, butterflies in my belly.
Then it was my turn. By this point, I was already crying and protesting, shouting ‘it wasn’t me , it wasn’t me!’ Of course, my protests fell on deaf ears. In a trice I was over mother’s knee, my pyjama trousers were lowered to expose my buttocks and that slipper came smacking down on my bare bum. My slippering felt like it lasted forever. In reality, I supposer it was probably only a minute or so, but the punishment was nevertheless extremely effective, leaving me very red and sore.
I was pushed off Mother’s lap and told to stand and watch while John was given the same treatment. His slippering seemed longer and harder, presumably because he was older. Looking back, I can’t actually too many instances of John getting a smacked bum – he always seemed to be the ‘good boy’ – or maybe he hardly ever got caught! Nevertheless, I did feel sorry for him.
Once we had all been given a good hiding, Mother again called on the guilty party to confess. Of course, nobody did. For one thing we were all far too busy crying, nursing our sore bums, and of course we all feared confession would lead to another dose of that slipper, or worse.
Mother looked very angry. She said: “Right. Until one of you owns up, every night you’ll all be going straight to bed after supper.” She was as good as her word, and the following night after school we all found ourselves in bed by 5pm. This sanction continued for about a week until I finally confessed. I was still not brave enough to tell my mother, so I told my father what I had done.
Father obviously told Mother, who in turn told my brother and sister that I was the one responsible for their sore bottoms and a week of early bedtimes. Not surprisingly, my siblings gave me the cold shoulder for a very long time afterwards.
Surprisingly, though – and I’m still not sure why – I never received any additional punishment for my deception. However, I did have to go over to the neighbour’s house with my mother and tell their daughter that I had broken her toy. Mother also added that I had been given a ‘very well smacked bottom’ for my trouble, and it was hugely embarrassing for the neighbours – and the girl in particular – to know that I had been spanked.
Moving forward a couple years, spankings continued from time to time and seemed to peak for me between the ages of 11 and 14. I would say that out of all the siblings I was the naughtiest and probably got spanked the most, followed by my sister Katie. It was very rare for my littlest sister to be smacked (perhaps she was indulged more as the baby of the family) and by this time John’s spankings had pretty much ended.
Naturally, as I got older and more body-conscious, my spankings were not only painfully effective, but also far more embarrassing. I was a very headstrong child, very sure of myself, and my attitude showed it – so you can imagine the embarrassment when I was knocked down a peg or two by being spanked bare bottom in front of my siblings. I didn’t do anything particularly naughty – it was generally attitude problems and fighting with my Katie.
One day, when I was 13 and Katie now 11, we had a friend of the family come to stay for a few days. Katie’s bedroom was being used for our guest, which meant my sister would have to move into my room for a few days, with my sister sleeping on a matress on the floor.
Needless to say, as a boy of 13 I hated the idea, and I was going through a period of constantly falling out with Katie anyway – not just arguing but also physical fighting at times. Naturally, I had protested to Mother about Katie sleeping in my room. Needless to say, my objections were ignored and Katie took great delight in getting one over me, as she saw it.
On the day our guest was due to arrive, Katie came into my room carrying all her bedding and looking very smug. I instantly told her to ‘get out’ but she just pushed straight passed me with her stuff. That enraged me. I picked up my sister’s bedding, ran back across the landing with it and threw it back into her bedroom. We were shouting at each other and making a hell of a racket. Mother overheard and shouted up the stairs at us to ‘pack it in’.
Katie gathered her bedding back up and brought it back across the landing towards my bedroom door. In retaliation, I shoved the bedding in her hands in her hand in an attempt to push her away. Unfortunately, this resulted in the bedding making contact with an ornament in the window sill, which fell to the floor and shattered. Mother came running up the stairs to see what had happened and went ballistic when she saw the ornament, which had great sentimental value to her, in bits on the floor.
I was very quick to tell Mother that Katie had been the one who had broken the ornament, and at first I thought she believed me. We were both ordered downstairs to the living room, and once there Mother bent Katie over the back of the settee.
I should say at this point that by this age, I had begun to sexually enjoy seeing my sisters being spanked. I also enjoyed thoughts of being smacked myself and often fantasised and wanked over them, although the reality when I was punished was very different. Not only was the punishment naturally very painful, by now I felt extreme shame about having my private parts exposed, especially I was a late developed.
On this particular morning, I remember, Katie was wearing white cotton pyjamas with little pink flowers on them. Mother quickly took her trousers down to just below the crease of her buttocks and thighs, exposing her bare bottom which by now was filling out.
Mother retrieved the hairbrush which by now was reserved for her children’s misbehaviour and proceeded to thrash Katie thoroughly with it. The spanking was not that long, but the strokes were given rapidly and forcefully, her buttocks quickly turning a dark shade of red.
My enjoyment of this process was rudely interrupted when I heard Mother saying: “Your turn, Mark – bend over!” As I said, I had for some reason believed that Katie would be taking all the blame (and smacks!) so this crisis came like a bolt from the blue.
I protested in no uncertain terms and refused to bend over and take my punishment. Eventually, Mother said: “Fine. But I’m going to count to three, and if you’re not over that settee, when you’re father gets home I will tell him to take you out to the shed, strip you naked and thrash you within an inch of your life.”
That was enough for me – and over the settee I went. My trousers and pants were lowered to just below my buttocks, which saved my modesty but didn’t spare me the embarrassment of being a 13-year-old boy getting the hairbrush on his bare bottom. Mum spanked me very well indeed, and once it was over we were immediately sent to bed without any supper. As our guest arrived and my sister and I both tried to get to sleep with burning bottoms, it’s fair to say we didn’t say another word to each other that entire night.
I remember vividly the very last spanking I witnessed. This was given to Katie, who by that time had just turned 13. This spanking has stuck in my head ever since for a few reasons.
I’m not sure what my Katie had really done to earn the smacking – I do know she had been pushing her luck for a few days and Mother was pretty much at her wit’s end with her.
I was sat in the living room, watching TV – I believe it was a weekend afternoon. The living room had a wide opening that led to the dining area, and I heard Mother and Katie arguing back there, with a lot of back chat coming from sister.
Before I knew it, Mother had grabbed Katie and pushed her across the big pine wooden dining table. It had been some time since I had seen Katie being punished so I looked on with some interest.
My sister was wearing a loose-fitting denim skirt that came down to just above her knees. Mother yanked this up, revealing a pair of white knickers. These were summarily taken right down to Katie’s ankles. I was the only other person in the house and witnessing this from a distance of only four or five metres.
Out came the hairbrush and my sister howled as the blows from the brush turned her backside scarlet. She was squirming, struggling and promising Mother the world in terms of future behaviour, all to no avail. I was shocked at both the force and rapidity of the spanking mother was giving Katie, but something else sears this event into my memory.
This was the first time I had seen my sister’s vagina, certainly in such an exposed state. I had never before appreciated how much girls show from behind when they are being spanked. In a way, this made me feel ashamed too, as I was very much a late developer. Realising that my little sister had overtaken me in this department made me feel uneasy, and I was determined to keep my deficiency (as I saw it) a secret.
Despite enjoying the spectacle, I was actually quite sorry for Katie once Mother had finished with her. It was one hell of a hiding, like nothing I had witnessed before. Needless to say, Katie’s attitude quickly improved from that day on, though I didn’t make things any easier by teasing her about her smacked bottom and telling her exactly what I had seen as she bent over that table. That view of my sister’s privates played into my fantasies, and I attempted to get her into more trouble so I could see her spanked again. However, it never happened – or if it did, Katie wasn’t spanked in front of me.
Not long after that, when I was nearly 15, Katie got her revenge, so to speak. By this time it had been around six months since I had last had my bottom smacked and I guess I was at the point where I assumed I was too old for corporal punishment.
My relationship with Katie had not really improved, and we were constantly arguing and fighting. One day, my sister had been annoying me all day and we had been bickering no end. Mother was outside, doing something in the garden, when a fight broke out her two middle children.
I can’t honestly now remember what it was about, but I do remember that Katie slapped me. It wasn’t hard, but it angered me. My immediate response was to hit her back, which I did – on the arm. I shouted: “Don’t slap me again or you’ll get another like that!”
At that, Katie ran out into the garden to tell Mother and to show her the mark on her arm. Mother came in and asked me why had I hit my sister. I thought I could worm my way out of this tight corner – and even if not, the consequences would not be that bad either way as I was nearly 15.
So I lied and denied hitting Katie. I said she was just trying to get me in trouble and had knocked her arm on a kitchen unit, causing the mark.
Mother looked very stern. “Mark, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt this time – but I tell you this: next time you hit your little sister, I’m going to pull down your trousers and pants, put you over my knee and thrash you within an inch of your life with the hairbrush. Do you understand me?”
Hearing such words spoken, with such intimate detail and in front of my sister, was mortifying. However, I had little choice but to bow my head and obediently, quietly answer ‘yes’. I made myself scarce.
Now, I must emphasise that I knew that if Mother went through with such a threat, it would be horrendous – she always stuck to her word, and never messed about when it came to spanking naughty children. However, in one sense Mother’s words had hugely excited me.
Around three weeks afterwards, the unthinkable happened – and I got my last ever spanking from Mother.
It was the school holidays – probably half term, and we had just finished our evening meal. All us kids were on a rota for mealtime chores – one would lay the table, one would clear away the dishes and the other two would wash and dry them. These arrangements alternated daily.
On this particular day, it was mine and Katie’s turn to wash and dry. So of course the usual argument began about who would wash and who was drying – nobody wanted to do the latter, as it was seen as the worst job and the most time-consuming. I wanted to go out that evening, so washing up was my best option – however Katie beat me to it and began scrubbing the dishes in the sink. I asked if we could swap but she refused point blank, knowing full well I wanted to be somewhere else, so this was a way yet again of getting one over her brother.
At this point a real argument broke out. Katie splashed some water on me. “Do that again,” I threatened, “and see what happens to you!” To which Katie replied simply: “Well, you can’t hit me, because you know what Mum told you.” “I’m not scared of Mum!” I retorted.
This bickering continued for a few minutes, getting progressively worse, when suddenly Katie snatched the tea towel out of my hands to dry the draining area. I immediately pulled it away from her to regain it. Katie’s reaction was to push me into the sink unit, causing me to hurt my side. This triggered an immediate reaction within me, and without thinking I punched Katie in the arm. I have to be honest, it was rather hard.
Katie instantly screamed the place down as if I had half killed her, and I was trying to calm her down and apologise when Mother came rushing in. “Right!” she yelled at me, “you have had it, young man! What did I say would happen to you if you ever hit your sister again?”
Well, of course, I knew full well what she had told me – indeed, I’d had many a wank thinking about it – but I replied sullenly: “Don’t know”. Mother looked daggers at me. “I will ask you again, Mark – what did I say would happen?” “I…I can’t remember.”
At this point, Mother sat down in a rocking chair which she kept in the kitchen.
“Last chance, young man! What did I say would happen if you hit your sister again?” “You…you said you would smack me.” “Actually, I said I would pull down your trousers and pants, put you over my knee and thrash you within an inch of your life with the hairbrush! Didn’t I?” I nodded mutely.
Even now, part of me didn’t believe Mother would follow through on her threat – but I was brought back to earth with a bump when she then said: “Get them down!” Meaning my trousers and pants, obviously.
Upon hearing those word, my nerves went over the top and the butterflies in my stomach were going crazy. I protested and refused to lower my clothing. As I said, it had been a good while since I had last been spanked and I was extremely embarrassed at the prospect of Mother seeing my private parts at that age, let alone my sister who had gone nowhere. Katie had stopped her crying and had continued to wash the dishes in the same room.
Once again, I got the command: “Get them down!” Refusal having got me nowhere, I tied to cry, beg and apologise my way out of the situation, asking for another chance and promising never to hit Katie again.
I got no mercy, and in the end Mother put her hands on the waistband of my trousers and pulled them down herself. For a moment my underpants stayed where they were. But this false hope was dashed as she placed her fingers inside the waistband of my pants and yanked them down to my knees.
I was in total shock. There I was, a boy of almost 15, standing in front of his mother with his trousers and pants down. Within seconds I almost threw myself over Mother’s knee in order to hide my shame. I remember glancing across the kitchen floor and staring at a piece of coal that had fallen out of the bucket kept next to the Rayburn solid fuel cooker we had.
Then I heard my sister’s smug voice asking: “Shall I fetch the hairbrush for you, Mum?” “Yes please, Katie,” she replied. Once the implement had been retrieved, Mother proceeded to tan my arse like never before. I was absolutely howling with pain and my face was wet with very genuine tears. My legs kicked as she spanked and I was almost breathless with the pain.
The hairbrush went about its work efficiently and I remember screaming ‘oh God, oh God, oh God!’ To which Mothjer replied: “There’s no point calling him – he’s not going to save you!” All the while, my eyes were fixed on that piece of coal on the floor.
Every time I thought the hiding was going to end, it carried on. Then, suddenly, snap! The hairbrush broke at the handle. I remember feeling a wave of relief, thinking that would be the end of things.
Boy, was I wrong! The demise of her spanking brush seemed to anger Mother even further, and reaching down, she removed the hard-soled sandal from her right foot. Then she proceeded to thrash me into the next week.
When the spanking finally ended, she pushed me off her lap, informed me I was grounded and told me to get to bed. I had never been so relieved in all my life for a spanking to end. However, the shame was just as bad. I was a very sore and humbled boy and you won’t be surprised to hear that I slept on my stomach that night.
The following day, there was still a hostile atmosphere between Mother and I. I remember doing my best to behave and do extra chores in an attempt to get ungrounded. Needless to say, the ploy didn’t work and I was kept in for around a couple of weeks.
You also won’t be surprised to hear that Katie took every opportunity to tease me about my spanking, telling me in no uncertain terms exactly what she had seen that evening and taunting me: “You never know, Mark – you may even develop soon!”