I am now quite an elderly gentleman. However, my thoughts often stray back to the late 1960s, when I was in my early 20s. Like most children of that time, I had been brought up with spankings from both my parents, usually over their knee by hand or some kind of implement. These were effective and kept me in line, and I often ended up with a very sore bottom, which lasted for quite some time afterwards.
By the time I was 22, I had become acquainted with and quite close to Jenny, a single mother about three years older than me. Jenny was a sweet girl but not particularly bright, and I often helped her at home with sorting out her bills and other general finance. I was happy to be of some help.
Jenny had two children – at the time, Becky was six years old and her little brother Thomas was three. Jenny was, of course, at school during the day while Thomas attended a pre-school held at a local church hall. This gave Jenny some respite from the children. Although not particularly naughty, they were naturally energetic and playful, which sometimes overwhelmed their mother.
One weekend I was at Jenny’s house, discussing her finances with her, when a pivotal moment came. Thomas was having a nap but Becky was bored with all the grown-up talk and became very disruptive. Despite Jenny shouting at her, it made little impression on the girl.
This was when I casually said to Jenny: “You know, you should really give her a spanking”. Jenny looked confused. “I’m not sure I’d be able to do that,” she said doubtfully. I replied: “Well, I know from experience that some time over her mum’s knee would do her the world of good.”
Jenny seemed to be persuaded by my argument, but she was still vague as to how to go about it. “Will you spank her for me, Barry, and show me exactly what you mean?” she asked.
I didn’t need any further bidding. I took Becky by the arm, stood her in front of me and put my hands up her skirt. Within seconds, her little knickers were down by her feet. Picking the child up, I placed her across my lap and held her tightly around the waist with one hand, while with the other I lifted Becky’s skirt, revealing a slim white bottom.
Becky was screaming and shouting by now but I took no notice of this, simply looking across at Jenny to make sure she was watching. I then began to firmly smack the girl’s bottom with my hand. Becky squealed and wriggled as I continued with the rapid smacks to both cheeks, quickly reddening her seat.
The more Becky squealed and wriggled, the harder I smacked her bottom and eventually the little girl began to cry. I turned to Jenny: “She may be crying – but now is not the time to stop the spanking. You need to carry on until you can tell from the crying that you’ve broken their will.” The sound of the continuing smacks being applied to Becky’s little bottom resounded around the room, accompanied now by the sound of real, repentant crying.
Becky’s bottom was by now glowing red over both little cheeks. She lay limply over my knee now, head down and arms draped in front of her. All resistance had disappeared. Finally, I stopped the smacking and stood Becky up. I pulled her knickers back up over her now very sore bum and passed her to Mum, who gave her a cuddle as she cried into her bosom.
After the spanking, Jenny made a quick meal for us all, and afterwards a now quite angelic Becky was put to bed.
It was almost time for me to leave, but Jenny sat down next to me on the couch. She cuddled close a little bit, then said: “You know, it was amazing watching you spank Becky like that – it made me so damp! Not because I wanted to see my own child spanked, but I’ve often wondered what it would be like to be properly spanked.”
“Were you never spanked when you were a little girl?” I asked. Jenny shook her head.
Then: “Barry, would you come round tomorrow while they’re both at school, and spank me exactly like you did Becky? Don’t stop ’till I’m crying.”
Obviously, a horny 20-something didn’t need much second bidding, but I did feel a warning was in order, especially as she had never been spanked before. I said: “If I do this, you’ll have to tell me when to stop, as I don’t want to hurt you.”
Jenny simply replied: “I want it to hurt! I need to be properly spanked and cry proper tears, with a really sore bottom.”
The next day, I managed to get away off work and rolled up at Jenny’s house. She was dressed in a top and skirt – unusual, as she normally wore a T-shirt and jeans, but I guess she wanted to set the scene.
Without any further conversation, I stood her in front of me and began to prepare her for her spanking in exactly the same way as I had done with Becky, reaching up her skirt and feeling for the waistband of her knickers, which I took down carefully before helping her over my knee.
Then I pulled Jenny’s skirt up over her back, revealing a very beautiful plum-shaped bottom, as creamy white as her little girl’s had been the day before. One thing was different – I parted Jenny’s legs a little and examined her vagina. Sure enough, she was already quite wet.
I raised my hand and began to spank her. Before long she was wriggling and soon she was crying as freely as her daughter had. At one point she was weeping so bitterly that I paused and asked her whether she wanted me to stop. “No, please,” she begged, “spank me! Don’t stop!” Accordingly, I tightened my grip on her waist and set about spanking her now much harder than Becky the day before.
Jenny was a mess of tears by the end, with the most wonderful glowing red bottom. I felt her up again and her womanhood was now slimy wet with arousal. From there, it wasn’t a large step to drop my own trousers and pants, slip on a Durex and do the business.
After that, Jenny started spanking both the children when they needed it, and I was glad to have introduced her to family discipline in such a memorable way.