A loving upbringing

I grew up in one of the countries of Eastern Europe in the 80s and early 90s. Spanking had already declined here a bit, compared with the 60s and 70s, but it was still very prevalent and most children I knew had been spanked at some point or the other of their childhoods. We did not have such an old and rich spanking tradition as the Anglo-Saxon countries – the main implement was the belt and, mainly in summer, the switch.

Spanking was a very private affair. Spankings in public were pretty much unheard of, except maybe just one powerful whack from a parental hand on the child’s butt to contain a tantrum. I only learned about implements such as the hairbrush, paddle, cane, spoon and slipper as spanking implements when I was an adult, via spanking websites. Many spanking positions, including over the knee, were also virtually unknown. The kids either were held by their upper arm and slapped by hand or belt on their buttocks, or were ordered to lie flat, face down, on the bed and belted on their bottom.

Spankings in the school settings were prohibited, but the teachers sometimes used to give a misbehaving child a single powerful slap by hand on their butt, which usually happened during breaks when children were running around and sometimes engaged in a fight, or had accidentally bumped into a teacher.

After the Iron Curtain came down in the 90s, schools became very much more liberal, with very few hard and fast rules, and teachers were very tolerant. Those were wonderful times at school, which I recall with joy.

I was a very good, quiet, well-behaved and sensitive kid of very loving, tender, compassionate and considerate parents. They loved me beyond reason. I was always hugged and cuddled many times per day when I was home. I was always kissed goodnight and kissed awake in the morning for school by either parent. From my earliest childhood, my mother went to great lengths to ensure that all my childish needs were met, that all the temptations to get in trouble, get whiny or disobey were removed.

As she recalls, I began speaking in full sentences from the age of just a year old, and she always spoke a lot with me and always reasoned her directions and explained everything calmly and gently in advance. My dad was also a very warm person. I developed a very deep and close emotional relationship with my parents and did everything I could not to upset them. This was generally an easy task, because I never got in trouble, did well at school and the teachers loved me. I also attended a music school, played piano, wrote my own music by the age of seven or eight, and was considered a talented child.

In my (scarce) free time I had a great deal of freedom to play inside or outside, with friends or alone as I pleased. I frequently found out that one or another of my friends were grounded or not allowed to go somewhere or do something whereas I never had such a problem.

So, you might ask, how in the world would such a kid ever get spanked for anything? Well, I was not perfect either! Being eloquent and used to reasoning and discussions with parents from an early age, I sometimes crossed the line into back-talk. I was always polite and respectful to my parents, but could also be very stubborn and persistent at times.

My parents were extremely patient, especially my mother. She lectured me in a soft loving tone but sometimes I just did not want to listen. I never lied to my parents ever in life and always honestly said what and why I would not be doing etc. My mother taught me from early age that lying is not practiced in our family, and my parents never lied to each other either. When I was about six, Dad told me I should never be afraid to come to either parent and tell them if I had done something wrong or stupid or got into trouble; that they would always understand and not punish me.

They always kept their word on that, and in the few instances in life where I did get in some trouble at school or elsewhere, my parents always listened to me carefully and generally took my side. I am forever grateful to them that I always felt safe at home – it was my safe haven.

I only had about 10 spankings during my entire childhood, spread out between the ages of four and 10. Half of them were done by my mom, half by my dad. I usually forgave my mother on the same day, and Dad the next day. I sensed they were feeling awful for having spanked me. Dad once brought me an ice-cream shortly after a spanking, and mother did everything to make me quickly forget the unpleasant experience.

I actually never feared spankings in advance because I knew they would not hurt that much, and all I had to do to avoid them altogether was refrain from back-talking. My parents also gave me plenty of warnings – they never lost their patience unexpectedly.

Beside spankings, I was never punished in any other way, never made to stand in the corner, never humiliated or embarrased in front of anyone. I also have a much older brother who was almost an adult when I was growing up. He was naturally never spanked during my childhood, just told off by our parents now and then.

I remember my first spanking when I was four. We were arguing about a meal and mother opened the wardrobe and took out the belt. She whacked my buttocks lightly two or three times. It was a small, rather soft belt. It hurt a tiny bit – enough for this sensitive kid to understand that Mom was serious and I had better do as I was told. I began sobbing but was all fine again after a few minutes.

Another motherly spanking I remember happened about a year later. I remember lying face on the bed in my parents’ bedroom, and my mother giving me a moderate slap with the belt on my little bottom while lecturing me in a sad voice and asking why I wouldn’t listen, reluctant to give me even one further slap. I remember getting another slap which hurt a bit, crying silently and apologising.

It was over almost instantly. My mother left the room, and came back in about half an hour smiling like sunshine and all was forgiven and forgotten. It was all hugs and cuddles again. From the age of six, I did begin to refuse to take my spankings, not getting into position or moving. Mom never used force against me – she just came close, wrapped her hands around me briskly and slapped my bottom a few times from behind with the belt. She never used her hand, believing that hands are for loving.

Dad’s spankings were a lot more angry and I felt I had to preserve my dignity somehow. I defended myself, screamed like I was being killed and Mother often had to intervene. She used to apologise on my behalf, tell Dad I was going to be a good boy and silently usher him out of the room. I still kept wailing for a while, though!

As a child I sometimes wondered why I made such a drama of my spankings. They were never long and didn’t hurt that much. The most I ever received during a particular spanking were five whacks, but it was more usually just two or three. Now, as an adult, I think it was because I was disgusted to be touched in anger (in the case of my dad) or irritation (in the case of my mom) and I was probably too proud to be punished altogether.

I do not remember the exact reason for any one of my spankings. I might probably have deserved them, light as they were, but I felt and still feel that I did not deserve the anger that came with them. Now, though, I regret not submitting voluntarily to those few spankings, especially the ones my mother gave me. It would have greatly deescalated the situation and, knowing my mom, she would probably have changed her mind and not spanked me altogether. She pursued an overall strategy of non-escalation of conflict.

Once, when I was about seven or eight, I recall holding her hands, with the belt in them, and begging her not to spank me. I promised to obey, and she instantly put the belt away and all was good again. She never tried to ‘teach me a lesson’ – just to extract obedience. She was a merciful and compassionate mother, God bless her heart! From her, I learned a much more valuable lesson for life about the generosity of the parental heart than anything I would have learned from a spanking.

I remember another interesting moment when, again about six or seven, I hid most of the belts in the wardrobe. I childishly figured that since the belt was the only implement I was ever spanked with, if my parents never found one they would just forget about the practice! Subsequently, I remember Mom trying to find a belt for dad to wear in his new pants, and wondering where in the world all the belts had gone.

She eventually found them a few years later, hidden between the wardrobe and the wall. I happened to be in the room when the discovery took place – Mom looked at me with amusement in her face and asked: “We didn’t spank you that hard, did we?” I had to agree, but did not say anything.

As unpleasant and saddening as these spankings were for me, my childish mind somehow managed to clearly distinguish the emotional side of them from the actual physical sensations of the whacks, which sometimes hurt a fair bit but also were strangely pleasant, to the point of wanting to experience them again and again. Now, as an adult, I know about adrenalin, endorphins, oxytocin and the erotic sensors in the buttocks, but back then it was a mystery.

I began fantasising about spankings from the age of five and always wondered what it would be like to receive one from my mommy on my bare bottom. I kept asking myself how could I achieve that. Provoking one was out of the question – I really didn’t want to upset my mom – but asking for a ‘fun spanking’ outright seemed weird and unnatural.

So this is what I did. One winter morning, when I was about eight, I was staying in bed because I was sick with my throat. Mom told me to put on a warmer T-shirt and I kept refusing for some reason. She was concerned that I would cool off too much for my condition. She finally threatened, somewhat softly, to take the belt to me if I didn’t obey. I still refused, and she hurried away to the kitchen because she was cooking something there, and did not continue arguing with me.

My irritation subsiding, I decided to use the opportunity. Some 10 minutes passed. I got up, took the belt from the wardrobe, put it on the bed, jumped into bed myself, face down, hugging a pillow and bared my bottom. Then I called mom. She came in, saw the sight and instantly understood what was going on. No words were spoken. She took the belt, folded it in half and whacked my bottom about five times in rather rapid succession. A pleasant tingle spread across my buttocks with each blow.

Then she put the belt back onto the bed, bent over me and gently kissed my head, before hurrying back to the kitchen. I remember shouting back: “Mommy, am I done?” She ran back again, looked at my bottom and said: “How could I spank such a good bottom any more?” I was still face down but I sensed a smile in her voice. Away she went and that was it – I felt very happy. I had just received a bare bottom spanking from my mommy, by belt. And it did not hurt. And she was not cross at me. I could not be happier.

I didn’t touch my bottom – I was trying to preserve the tingle as long as possible. Actually, even after real punishment spankings I never rubbed my bottom – I was too proud for that. I just used to sit on the bedside, feeling the tingle, and it used to disappear completely in about half an hour.

Anyway, now I pulled my underpants back up, rose and carried that belt into my own wardrobe like a trophy. It stayed there throughout my childhood and I remember wearing it in my shorts in the summer when I was 10. I did get that belt on two or three more occasions for disobedience, and of course I cried. But I never hid that one away from my parents. Spankings stopped at age 10, threats of spanking around 12. I think my parents realised that by spanking me for punishment at that age they were hurting my soul 10 times more than my butt.

I have maintained a very warm, mutually loving and caring relationship with my parents all through my life. They are both old now, but in relatively good health.

Contributor: Anton

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