Like other contributors, I was born with an inexplicable yearning to be spanked. However, my parents didn’t feel the need to spank either my sister or myself and schools no longer used corporal punishment by the time I attended – so my chances of experiencing a spanking were, shall we say, slim.
I did come across the odd spanking now and then in films, cartoons and on TV. But on the whole, unless you were an adult, finding spanking material as a young boy was hard in those pre-internet days. So my deep yearning to be turned over someone’s knee and have my bottom thoroughly smacked seemed all the more difficult to understand. I do remember sitting at school many times wondering what it must have been like to have the awful threat of the cane hanging over you.
Then, one day completely out of the blue, my mum made the most astonishing confession. I was helping her with the washing up at the time– this was one of the ways we children could earn pocket money. Needless to say, washing up or drying plates is a boring pastime for a young boy. Sadly, it also gave mum time to interrogate me about my school work, about which (to me) she seemed obsessed.
In order to turn the conversation away from school, I asked Mum about her favourite lessons when she was a girl. And with my burning desire to encourage any conversation relating to spanking, it was from there a natural step to ask her if she had ever been in trouble at school, what for and what happened? Well, I got way more than I bargained for.!
Without looking up from the washing up bowl, Mum said she had been slippered at school for swearing at a teacher. Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather. I was speechless, and my mouth hung open in genuine surprise. My mum swore at a teacher and had been slippered!
Apparently, when Mum got home she had to hand her own mother a letter telling her what had happened, crime and punishment, This letter needed signing and returning to the school.
Grandma had been furious with her. “She grabbed me and shook me until my teeth rattled,” Mum recalled. “Then she told me I was going to be spanked every night for a week for misbehaving.”
I was dumbstruck. I looked at Mum and the plate I had been drying hung in one hand, the tea towel I was using to dry hanging from the other hanging like a limp lettuce leaf.
Mum looked at me. “Are you going to dry that plate?” she asked. Well, I nearly dropped it! I wish I could express in words the feelings I experienced at that moment – I had goosebumps.
All I could say was: “And did she?”
Mum stopped and looked at me. “Did she what? Spank me?” I nodded – I could barely speak. “She most certainly did,” Mum answered, “and that first night she washed my mouth out with soap for swearing too. Then, as promised, she spanked me soundly every night for a week. I never swore again.” Mum turned her attention back to the washing up.
I found my voice. “Even though you were slippered at school?” Mum nodded. This didn’t seem possible – such a severe punishment for just swearing. Mouth soaped and spanked, and then a spanking each evening for a week! I could hardly get my head around such punishment, even more so that it was my lovely grandma who had dished it out.
I had so many questions but was so overcome by mum’s confession I could only manage to ask: “Was the slipper really bad?” Mum stopped washing for a second, as if thinking back. “No, that was six hard whacks which definitely hurt, but was over and done with. The worst part was walking home every night for the rest of the week, knowing I was going to get spanked again.”
I was gaining in confidence, “Did grandma use a slipper as well?” Mum’s answer sent a shiver of real excitement through me. “No, she spanked me for about five minutes with her hand every night on my bare bum before bed. The last night was the worst – she used a wooden spoon. I screamed the house down that night.
“I cried every time. The school slipper didn’t make me cry – but Mum’s hand and spoon did. I hated her for a while because I felt that the slippering at school was punishment enough, but I soon realised it was my own fault. I shouldn’t have sworn at the teacher. Mind you, I still think seven spankings was over the top. One would have been plenty – my mum had a hard hand and a strong arm.”
My mouth gaped open, I couldn’t get over what I had just heard. I pulled myself together and just said: “Seven!” I was incredulous. Mum’s next statement took my excitement up another notch. “If you don’t dry that plate, young man, I’ll be smacking your bottom as well!”
Oh, my giddy aunt – I was weak at the knees. I couldn’t take all this in. I was overloaded, my head was spinning. It was like a massive sugar rush – I was high on adrenalin. In my weakened state, my tongue loosened. “I bet you won’t! You’ve never smacked my bum, ever!” Mum retorted: “Well, there’s always a first time! Now, come on – get drying.”
After the washing up was done, instead of heading to the lounge to watch TV as usual, I took myself off to my bedroom. I was light-headed from all the talk of spanking. Mum had threatened me with one, and she had been slippered and spanked by Grandma. I shivered at the thought.
I desperately wished Mum would carry out her threat – I was literally gagging for a spanking I just couldn’t bear the tension any longer. I was fizzing inside. I wouldn’t have understood properly at the time but possibly I was experiencing being turned on and/or sexual frustration for the first time. I just sat in my room, going back over the conversation time and again.
The next evening, it was my sister’s turn to help with the washing and drying – we always took turns, the worst was Sunday lunchtime. Mum seemed to use every pan and dish in the world, washing up after took forever.
The following night was my turn again, I wanted to hear more of Mum’s childhood spankings but had no idea how to ask. Chat was limited – from memory we probably discussed my bloody school work! I cleared off to my room again afterwards.
Mum must have picked up on this change of behaviour. Normally, I would have been watching TV or possibly out playing football. With hindsight I do wonder at what point Mum realised I was showing an unhealthy interest in her childhood spankings. I wonder if she half expected me to ask her to satisfy my curiosity?
She came into my room, ostensibly to draw the curtains. Then she asked how come I was so quiet – but I think she knew why, or at least had a pretty good idea. I remember saying at some point that I found it hard to believe that grandma would spank her seven times, especially after a school slippering. I just saw her as my grandma – she had never even told me off as far as I can recall.
As Mum went to my window, I got brave and asked: “Is that why you don’t spank us?” “How do you mean?” Mum asked. “Because grandma did it to you a lot?”
This caused Mum to pause – maybe it was the moment she caught on to my interest? Drawing the curtains with a swoosh, she replied: “Oh, I suppose that’s something to do with it – that and the fact the world has moved on.
“I hated my mum sometimes because she spanked me very hard and often, for what I considered minor, petty things. If I treated you two that way, you’d spend more time across my knee than anywhere else!
“When you grow up and have children, you will realise as a parent you need to show children right from wrong. Sometimes being a parent is hard, and we have to make unpopular decisions. Even so, I would be very upset if I thought you hated me. I’ve always tried to be firm but fair, rather than just resorting to smacking your bottoms.”
I knelt up on my bed and said: “I would never hate you – but I would like to try getting a spanking from you, because I just want to know what it’s like. I have no idea what it feels like. I just want to know how it feels. Go on, Mum, please – just this once. Please, Mum?” I was virtually begging! Before she had the chance to say no, I added again: “I just want to know what it’s like. Go on – please, Mum.”
She come over to me and hugged me, rubbed my back and kissed my head. Then she asked quietly: “Are you sure you want to know?” I think she knew exactly what was going on by then.
“There must be something I’ve done to deserve one?” I said. “Oh, there’s no doubt about that!” Mum replied with a smile. “By my mother’s rules, you already have about 100 spankings in the bank!”
“Go on then, Mum – can I try a spanking. I’ll wash and wipe next time!” This offer apparently tipped the balance in my favour. “Washing and drying,” Mum repeated. I nodded expectantly. “Well now, that’s an offer I’m finding hard to refuse. Get yourself changed into pyjamas, before I come to my senses and change my mind!”
I almost passed out. “Do you mean it? Are you really going to spank me?” “Yes – as you asked so nicely and seem so keen to wash and wipe up! Now get changed, then go to my bedroom.”
I slipped off the bed as Mum went through the door. “Will you do it like grandma?” I asked. I was referring to the ‘over the knee’ position rather than the severity, but I think Mum misunderstood, as she replied: “No! Nothing like – just enough to sting a bit.” Then as an afterthought, she added, “Oh, and just this once. Understand?” I nodded.
As I changed, I had a hundred questions in my head. When Mum said just enough to sting a bit, what did that mean? How much would it hurt? How long would she spank me for? I changed in a daze.
It was time to find out what mum had in store, and I walked across the landing to her bedroom. I could hear her talking downstairs, then her voice became clearer, and from the bottom of the stairs I heard her call back to Dad: “I’ll be about 10 minutes, OK?” Mum was coming back.
I was a bit embarrassed that she must have told Dad what was going on. I didn’t much care that my sister would find out, but Dad knowing made me uneasy. However, hearing Mum coming up the stairs to spank me soon concentrated my mind back on the here and now.
I faced her as she came into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. I remember a feeling of vulnerability mixed with excitement. Even today, I still enjoy that feeling of anticipation.
“Ready?” she asked. I nodded. “Want to change your mind?” “No, Mum.” She brushed past me and walked around to her side of the bed. She pulled her cream dressing table stool forward, then turned to me and held her hand out.
“Right then, young man, let’s get this over with!” Mum took my hand and turning, with a step back, sat down. She slid my pyjama bottoms down in a jiffy, took my arm and said: “This is what it feels like to be spanked! Think yourself lucky it’s me, and not your grandma!”
With a gentle tug, a guiding arm and the immortal line, ‘Come on, then, over my knee you go’, I was placed carefully and deliberately across my mum’s knees. It sort of happened in slow motion, almost like an out of body experience, I was helpless – Mum had full control.
She adjusted me a little. My pyjama bottoms were now bunched just above and around my ankles. Mum’s warm hand slid up inside my pyjama top and around my waist, and she pulled me into her own body, not tight but firm. Strangely, I felt very safe – I had never expected that. I wriggled a bit to get comfortable, then hung limp, staring at the floor and Mum’s slippers.
“Straight to bed afterwards, you naughty boy – no TV for you tonight!” Mum said, patting my bare bottom very gently with her smacking hand. It felt so real! “Yes, Mum. Sorry, Mum.” I remember being so nervous, and I wasn’t even in trouble!
Then my first ever spanking began. At first I lay quite still, concentrating on the smack of Mum’s hand. The whole thing fascinated me. It didn’t really hurt straight away, and I had a moment or two to take in my surroundings, position and the feel of my mother’s thighs under my tummy. So far so good –I liked it!
I swayed gently side to side as Mum’s firm hand smacked my bottom, first one cheek then the other. I let my arms hang loose, I even managed a smile, and looked around at the furniture, some shoes and a handbag, Mum’s ankles, the legs of the stool on which she was sat.
Slowly but surely as I looked, about the smacking began to build up the warmth in my bottom. As the warmth grew, I can remember my demeanour slowly changing with the increase in the sting.
Now I’m older and more experienced, I realise Mum was building me up slowly – not going hard from the start as she might were this a genuine punishment for a naughty boy. I suppose it’s why she warned dad she’d be 10 minutes, so she could build up and allow a few minutes for recovery and an after-spanking cuddle.
I don’t remember mum saying anything. But I do remember her arm tightening around my middle, and the part where the sting forced me to stop smiling and looking around and begin to pull faces. I couldn’t say at what point that was for sure, but I would estimate around the minute mark. I could just reach the stool leg with one hand, and gripped that as the funny faces began. Closing my eyes, sqeezing them tight then searching for something to hold with my other hand. It was starting to sting – quite a bit!
We all have certain memories that stick with us, for good or bad reasons. The memory of this spanking from my mum remains the strongest childhood memory, probably because I had yearned for the experience, and had been really quite obsessed about it.
There was no precise moment that I could point to and say, that’s where it started to sink in – but the moment I grabbed Mum’s ankle and the stool leg stands out. It was the moment where I was gritting my teeth and trying not to cry out, it was the moment where the sting had built to a point that I was beginning to endure, to hang in there. I didn’t want to cry out in case mum stopped.
It was a critical point where I learned that a spanking stung, because it was at that moment that Mum increased the intensity and tempo of the smacks. It was the point at which Mum really began to spank me properly.
I began squirming, rubbing my legs together, clenching my bottom, thrusting down on Mum’s lap then raising my bottom to meet her hand. No doubt she knew exactly what I was going through – my body language would have given her all the information she needed.
Suddenly, it was all becoming very uncomfortable. I gasped, I grunted, held my breath and opened my eyes wide then squeezed them shut. Every smack that landed increased the burning in my bottom just a degree more. I tried to take it all in, but the overwhelming sting now burning fiercely in my bottom took over – all senses were now concentrated on that.
I am not sure how long the whole spanking took, a wild guess would be three or four minutes, bearing in mind that Mum was taking it easy for the first minute at least. When she did turn up the heat, boy did it burn! I suspect she stopped when she did because my breathing had become very erratic. And although she couldn’t see them, I had tears in my eyes – I was on the cusp of crying. I sniffed, gasped and my nose ran.
I was about to surrender to the tears when I realised Mum had stopped. She pulled me up and supported me carefully as I found myself back on my feet. Not for long, though – Mum turned me, sat me on her lap and wrapped her arms around me. Then I did cry a bit, partly due to the sting, partly the relief. At long last, I had experienced a spanking! I snuffled and sniffed and repeated the words ‘thank you’ over and over.
I got a kiss on the side of my head, then on my cheek. “Let’s untangle those pyjama bottoms or you’ll be flat on your face before you know it!” Mum said. On inspection, the trousers had managed to turn themselves inside out, and were fully extended, only held on to my ankles by the elasticated bottoms. I had to pull them right off, turn then back outside in, and then redress. When your brain is all scrambled and your bottom is on fire, this is like a MENSA challenge!
Mum walked me to my room. I slipped into bed, although it was a bit early. She kissed me again. “Of course, you can come downstairs really when you want. But if you don’t want to, I understand. We can talk about this tomorrow if you like, OK?” I nodded. I don’t hate you, Mum – honest.” “I’m very glad to hear that. I love you very much,” she replied. Then she added: “And that, young man, is the last time we ever do that. Uunderstood?”I nodded my agreement, but I was still disappointed.
Although we weren’t really a ‘huggy kissy’ family, I raised my arms and hugged my mother tightly. “How’s your bum?” she whispered. I whispered back: “It stings!” Which was very, very true!
She put a finger on my nose. “Washing and wiping tomorrow!” Blast it, she’d remembered! She kissed my forehead, and left me to massage my tender bottom. I was relieved to have experienced a spanking. My bum stung about six or seven on a scale out of 10. I was happy.
Throughout my adolescence, I ached for another spanking. I came close to asking Mum again but never did. I even wrote her a letter begging her to spank me but threw it away – my teenage years were a real frustration.
The memory of that first spanking is as strong as ever. Girlfriends have come and gone over the years. Five women currently walk the earth who have turned me over their knee. One is mum, one is now my wife. There was another who seemed to enjoy it – the other two, I think, just went through the motions but I thank them all for indulging me.
So there you have it. Just another fella who for some bizarre, unfathomable reason yearned (and yearns still) to be spanked. Luckily, I had a mother who was understanding and gave me a great start.
My wife and I play games to keep things fresh, the most exciting of which I think is when she whispers in my ear she intends to put me across her knee when we get home. This can be said at any location – shop, friends, restaurant, you name it. The best part is the children are away from home a lot now, so we have all the time in the world to indulge!