I’m 60 now, so what I am about to write happened a long while ago, but the memory is as strong today as it ever was.
I grew up through the 1960s, went to school from 1967 and left in the mid 70s. Smacked bottoms and/or legs were common at school. Some teachers were a bit smack happy, others less so.
I never received an over the knee spanking, I did, however, get smacked both at school and home. These smacks were frequent, but usually no more than a swipe or two to the back of the legs. It was common to be held by the arm and receive maybe four or five smacks, particularly at junior school. Most were on the bum, some on the legs. These smacks were usually for what would be considered minor offences these days. Some stung a bit, particularly those to bare legs, but none drew tears.
I often wondered what an over the knee spanking would feel like, and the urge grew stronger as I grew older. To be held firmly and be smacked on my bare bottom was a thought that was never far from my mind. Part of the curiosity was the posistion. The other part was just how much more it would sting. It was that combination of not being able to wriggle away or evade the smacks as you were held in place that bubbled away on the back burner of my young mind.
I would daydream about such matters looking at Mum at home, female teachers, friend’s mums – in fact any attractive woman was a potential fantasy in waiting. These thoughts never included men.
As I approached 10-11 years of age these thoughts became more sexualised. Most of my fantasies were now concentrated on one lady. She and her husband ran a newsagents on our estate in a small parade of shops. Because it was also a sweet shop, we called the couple Mr and Mrs Sweets – I have no idea what their actual name was.
They sold all the usual things, newspapers, magazines, sweets, cigarettes, and little nick nacks like string, stamps, sellotape, matches etc. It was a busy shop and everyone knew everyone.
Mr Sweets ran the newspapers, organised the paper rounds and worked the early shift. Mrs Sweets took over at lunchtime and ran the afternoon shift.
After school and at weekends, most of the kids on the estate descended on the shop to spend their pocket money. I was one of them from a very early age.
Behind the counter, on shelves that went right to the ceiling, were jars of old-fashioned sweets. We boys thought it hilarious to ask Mrs Sweets to get the step ladder to reach up high for a jar. Then, when she put it back, another boy would ask for the same or another jar from up high, and she would have to get the steps and go back up. She would pretend to tell us off as she went back up the steps. These threats were all spanking-related!
As I got to into double figures, it dawned on me that Mrs Sweets had nice legs. She always wore what I hoped to be black stockings. They were probably tights but hey, a boy can dream! She always wore a light blue top, black skirt, black stockings and low black heels. Standing on the steps gave us a good long look at her legs, and this fuelled my fantasies.
Part of her allure was her temperament. She called everyone love, handsome or cheeky. She encouraged playful conversation with all the customers. I fancied her more and more. The best part was her constant threats to sort us out, smack our bottoms, turn us over her knee and just about every other phrase that could imply a spanking. I even heard her make similar type of threats to older men. Nothing ever came of any of these threats – it was just her way.
By the time, I had got to secondary school, hand smackings had stopped and ounishment was either detention or the cane. I suffered a few detentions but avoided the cane. There was no appeal of the cane for me, nothing about it that I could fantasise over. It was simply something to avoid if at all possible. Those that were caned always had ‘that look’ about them. Mostly it was one or two strokes on each hand, depending on crime. I do not recall anyone ever being caned on the bottom.
I still got the odd swipe in passing at home but they slowly phased out. Threats were made but never carried out. It was all down to fantasies now.
From the age of 13, you were allowed to work as a paper boy. A few months before my birthday I put my name down on the list with Mr Sweets, to be considered if a position became vacant. Being a bit of a cheeky chappy, I tried to engage in conversation with Mrs Sweets as often as possible. I suppose I was learning the tricky art of flirting – me and every other boy on the estate!
One afternoon in the shop I was buying a comic when some boxes fell down. I helped pick them up, put all the contents back in the correct box and re-stacked them. Mrs Sweets was most grateful and after a little flirty conversation that had me all flustered she offered me a job behind the scenes. After school I could go in and help sort the stock, bring the boxes out to the shop front leaving Mrs Sweets to concentrate on the afternoon trade. Result! Up close and personal with my fantasy woman.
I felt very grown up and enjoyed working with Mrs Sweets. It gave me plenty of time to admire her lovely legs. We rarely saw her come out from behind the counter, she was taller than I had realised.
One afternoon I remember was for me the start of a very exciting period of my life. I was kneeling down, below counter level where she stood. I was refreshing the stock that you couldn’t see from the other side. She had asked me to do it, and at the time I was topping up matchboxes and notepads and pencils.
Mrs Sweets came and stood right beside me, I was inches away from her leg. I took some matchboxes and by just moving my arm an inch to one side I brushed against her leg. It was like an electric shock, I had never felt such excitement. It was my first real sexual encounter of note.
One time I happened to be that side of the counter kneeling down when Mrs Sweets went up the ladder. I do not recall seeing anything as exciting as a stocking top but I saw a lot more leg than normal. Such a thrill!
As the days and weeks went by our relationship strenghthened, I was getting better with the flirting and cheekier with it. The next huge moment happened when she squeezed past me, behind the counter. There was limited room but we could pass. “Shift it!” she said playfully, and gave me a light pat on the bum. Man alive, that little pat was such a turn on!
I realised that if I was standing in the way, I was more likely to get a pat. Not a hard smack, just a pat in passing. I loved this and tried to get myself ‘in the way’ as often as possible. In the store room-cum-office it almost became the norm for her to pat my bum in passing. Sometimes she would say ’move it!’, other times nothing at all – I just got a pat.
I wanted to encourage this fun behaviour but wasn’t sophisticated enough to know how. After the shop closed one day I was taking empty boxes out the back and checking what stock was low in the sort of stock room. It was a small room with boxes and files and a desk where Mr Sweets numbered up the newspapers for the paperboys.
Mrs Sweets had been messing around with the last of the days customers and there had been some playful chit-chat with an older man. They both laughed as Mrs Sweets threatened him with a smack which, she warned, was no more than he deserved. This was not out of the ordinary.
When she came back into the stock room, she gave me a firmer smack than normal and asked, half laughing: “Right, where are we with this lot?” I was counting and checking off boxes of crisps that had been delivered.
I couldn’t help myself. I asked her why she always threatening to smack her customers. We had a brief conversation where she explained it was just a bit of light-hearted fun and kept the customers happy.
I had to ask, and I remember being mega-excited: “Have you ever actually smacked any of the boys that come in the shop?”
Her answer was so exciting: “Not yet! But if I ever do, I know who’ll be first on the list!” I went weak at the knees. “Who?” “You!” she said, pointing at me with a stern look on her face, that broke into a smile. Oh brother!
Now I was all caught up in the heat of the moment. Mrs Sweets had been my fantasy figure for a long while and just being around her was a turn on. I just got a little bit of bravado up and said: “Go on, then, I dare you! You are always saying it – I dare you!”
She bustled about and replied: “If I did, and by golly I’d like to, you’d be running off to your parents and I’d lose regular customers and a good worker. I’m very pleased with how you help out back here and in the shop. It would be a shame to lose you.”
I told her I wouldn’t tell my parents. I was shaking with excitement but my hopes were dashed. I don’t think I had ever been so disappointed. I almost cried in desperation. She moved some things around and told me she would be having a word with my mum about me, but it was all bluster. Empty threats.
We finished up the stock count, closed the shop and I cycled off home, my head filled with disappointment. If only! So close, and yet so far away.
At bedtime I was going through a stage of reading under the covers by torchlight. It was fun, and felt a little naughty. Mum normally came in to say goodnight when Dad walked the dog. She would then make a pot of tea when he returned.
The usual routine was as follows. “Are you reading by torchlight under there, Luke?” “No Mum, I’m fast asleep!” I’d giggle, turn off the torch and settle down.
I think that particular evening, I must have been driven by the huge let down from Mrs Sweets earlier, so when Mum asked the usual questions, I popped my head up and replied: “Yes mum!” grinning.
I continued: “If you were Mrs Sweets, you’d put me over your knee!” I sort of surprised myself really because this was not planned, just off the bat. It was a massive moment in my life, and just the result of my disappointment and desperation to be spanked by my employer. I hadn’t thought about being spanked by Mum for a long time – it was Mrs Sweets every time.
Mum came closer. “What do you mean? Has Mrs Sweets done that to you?” she asked with a funny look on her face. “No Mum, but she’s always telling all the boys and some of the older men she ought to smack their bums or put them over her knee.” I finished hopefully: “Are you going to put me over your knee for reading under the covers, Mum?”
“No of course not” I threw my covers off and sat on the side of my bed, “Go on, Mum – you caught me red-handed reading under the covers.” I smiled at her, willing her to say yes.
Mum looked pretty serious: “You tell me if Mrs Sweets ever tries to do that, all right?” “She’s only mucking about mum, she says it all the time. She’s never done it to anyone.” I thought it best to keep quiet about the little pats to my bottom as she squeezed past now and then!
“Go on mum, put me over you knee for reading under the covers. It’s only pretend – you’re not really cross with me, are you?” It was a last, desperate plea. “Why are you so keen to get your bum smacked?” Mum asked, hands on hips.
I answered honestly. “It sounds like fun – Mrs Sweets is always saying it to people. All the older men laugh when she says it to them.”
“I see. Well, it can be fun I suppose, but normally it’s a way of keeping you still, so you can’t escape while your being punished. You’re a bit old for that now – it’s mostly used for toddlers. Still, I could make an exception in your case, as you insist on reading under the covers!”
This caught my attention – I latched on to the part about escaping. “So if you put me over your knee are you saying that I can’t get away?” This was turning me on, and the proof was rising inside my pyjama bottoms. Things had taken a very interesting turn! “Yes – if you have a wriggling toddler, it’s a way of keeping them in place so you can smack them.”
“I can’t remember that far back – did you do that to me when I was a toddler?” “Possibly. I may have just given you a tap or two when you were two or three. I can’t actually remember myself, to be honest.” “Can you do it now, Mum? Go on – I want to see if I can escape!” I was dead keen and very up for the challenge.
Mum smiled: “Really? All right – let’s see if you can escape!” “Bet I can!” I said,excitedly. This had changed the dynamic for me. Suddenly, I was more interested in the challenge of escape than the actual spanking part. “Wanna bet?” Mum asked, folding her arms. “Yeah, bet I can escape, easy peasy!” I had seen over the knee spankings in comics – it didn’t look that difficult to wriggle away.
“I bet you triple pocket money you can’t! If you escape before the end of your spanking, you get triple pocket money. If you can’t, you do all the washing up and drying all weekend – every meal, Saturday and Sunday without a single complaint!”
Of course, all I heard was ‘triple pocket money’! Plus, the excitement of a spanking from Mum. “Agreed?” she asked. “Yeah!” Mum held out her little finger: “Pinky promises cannot be broken.” I took the bet, we shook pinky fingers.
“Right, then – stand up!” I stood, like a lamb to the slaughter! Mum took my hand and sat down on the end of my bed. She opened her legs, pulled me to her and tipped me over her knee. I felt her reach for my hand which she pinned down on my back and then I felt her other leg wrap around me. She tightened her hold and said: “Any time you’re ready to escape, feel free. Meanwhile, I’ll just give you that spanking for reading under the covers!”
The smacks started, landing steadily on my pyjama covered bum, and they were pretty firm. “I’m so looking forward to not doing any washing up this weekend!” I heard Mum say.
Meanwhile I could barely move a muscle. I had one movable arm. I tried to twist, because that seemed to be my best option, but it was hopeless. As I struggled in vain, I began to laugh. Escape was impossible, we had only been going a few seconds but Mum had me so tightly restricted I could only wave my one arm.
“Feel free to escape, remember, triple pocket money if you do!” Bloody hell, she was teasing me now!
All the while this hopeless struggle went on, I was being spanked. Mum was spanking steadily and she had my bum tingling within a minute, and showed no sign of letting up. “Thought you would have escaped by now, especially with all that washing up waiting for you this weekend!” she gloated.
Mum knew damn well that I wasn’t going anywhere! I could lift my body up a touch, but not far. My arm was useless so that just held on to the bedspread. I was laughing because I knew I was properly stuck. Meanwhile, I began to feel the effect of Mum’s hand on my bottom. I pulled a few faces, grimaced and closed my eyes tightly after a couple of firmer smacks. That stung! As for escape, no chance.
“A whole weekend and no washing up, oh what a lovely weekend that will be!” Mum teased as she smacked my behind., “Plus I have the bonus of giving you a spanking – must be my lucky day!” She knew she had me beat before we even started!
My spanking continued and although not a punishment it was beginning to get pretty warm under my pyjama bottoms. Also, I still had my erection, which was starting to feel, well, nice!
Mum had won the bet, hands down. It wasn’t even a contest, it was a complete slaughter. Even though my bum was stinging I was still half laughing and shaking my head in defeat. I told mum, in between laughs and moments where I pulled a face,as a good smack landed: “I give up, Mum! You win!”
She mocked me: “Oh, don’t give up yet, we’ve only got about half way through your spanking. There’s still plenty of time, darling! Come on, put some effort in, try and escape and if you do, I’ll give you quadruple pocket money!” I bet if I could have seen her face, Mum would have been grinning from ear to ear.
Halfway, she’d said! Oh crap! I struggled as best I could but as I wriggled in vain, Mum smacked me harder a couple of times, encouraging me: “That’s it! Come on! Try harder! Think of all that washing up!” If I tried to twist or roll or anything the smacks came a bit faster, and a little harder. It was turning into a fair old spanking.
I gave up. She had me beat, I flopped and did my best to endure the rest of my spanking as Mum continued with her gloating. At least if I lay still the smacks didn’t come quite so hard. The more I tried to escape, the harder Mum smacked.
I was learninvg that my mother could deliver a very effective spanking, and this was not even a real punishment. I had found out just what it felt like to be held firmly and be spanked. It wasn’t Mrs Sweets, but Mum had not disappointed. My bum stung – a lot.
After a while she stopped. “So, you give up, yes?” “Yes, Mum – you win.” My bottom was glowing by this point. “Now, remember, if you complain once, just once, over the weekend, I will bring you back in here. There will be no messing around, I will put you back across my knee just like this and spank you again – but on your bare bottom! Are we clear?” “Yes Mum,” I groaned.
To be honest I didn’t think she meant it, but as my bum was burning like a fire under my pyjamas, from a playful, if steady hand spanking – the real thing on the bare was a worrying thought. “Ouch!” Mum delivered a really hard smack I wasn’t expecting. “Up you get, Houdini!” How droll.
She released me. I dropped to my knees in front of her and my hands went automatically to my bum. Mum looked series again and said: “Mrs Sweets may well be messing around but if she ever tries to spank you, you come straight home and tell me or Dad, got it?”
“Yes Mum, but she was only joking.” “Well, I’m not! You tell me straight away, because I’m the only person who who has the authority to spank you, fun or otherwise. Now go to bed and don’t let me catch you reading with that torch – or else!”
She helped me to my feet, gave me a short hug, and a pat on the rear to send me on my way. Mum tucked me in, kissed my forehead and whispered, “Now, go to sleep and dream about all that washing up that waiting for next weekend!” And off she went.
I managed to hide my erection from her and dealt with that in the dark. No way was I putting that torch on!
Mrs Sweets continued with her playful remarks and I worked with her all through my teens. I adored her, and often fantasised about being turned over her knee for a good spanking. I knew what it felt like now, and so wanted one even more than before, from Mrs Sweets, but I knew in my heart it would never happen.
We did mess about, I still got the odd pat on my bum, and I was warned or threatened with an over her knee spanking almost daily. I never told Mum about it because I enjoyed it.
As for the weekend of washing up, I kept my promise and mum kept an eye on me, gloating non stop! She asked me several times if I had any complaint or had raised my eyebrows when it was time to wash up. She really rubbed it in when she called me out to the kitchen and demanded her single cup be washed up. She looked for any dissent, teasing me with: “That looked like a face being pulled there, Houdini! Do I need to put you back over my knee and give you another chance to escape?”
“No Mum!” was all I could manage! I got very good at washing up that weekend. It was tempting to ask Mum for another spell over her knee, but the fantasy didn’t sting like the reality.
That week I got my usual pocket money, with a note from Mum. “Could have been so much more! Shame you couldn’t escape!” Talk about rubbing it in!
So, there you have it. All because of Mrs Sweets and her constant threats, I eventually managed to experience an over the knee spanking. It really was impossible to escape. Over the years, I wondered how Mum knew about that position. After all, a toddler would just be laid across their mother’s lap to be smacked, not arm and leg locked!
I guess it’s not beyond the realms of possibility that Mum and Dad played around. Perhaps they enjoyed a bit of spanking in the bedroom? Certainly, I don’t think that position is generally used regularly to spank naughty children. Mum had it off pat, too. She knew exactly what position she was going to put me in, and she had me secured in a second. Without the protection of my pyjama bottoms I may well have cried – my bottom certainly stung for real that night.
I wasn’t spanked at all after that momentous day, at least for punishment. We did have the odd playfight where Mum smacked my bum a few times on the settee or on my bed. These were fun games, me being cheeky, daring Mum, normal boy stuff. The threat of a bare-bottomed spanking in the ‘escape’ position was threatened a few times, Mrs Sweets style, but that was all it was – just threats.
Anyway, cheers, Mrs Sweets – or should that be bottoms up?