Dad’s Sunday ritual

I grew up in a loving but strict household. As a child, whenever I misbehaved, I would receive a bare bottom spanking from my father with either his hand, the hairbrush or the wooden spoon.

There was always a fair bit of ritual to my punishments – even a spur-of-the-moment spanking in the kitchen would involve him pulling down my pants and underwear, grabbing me under his arm and spanking my bare bottom hard.

Usually, though, he would send me to my room to wait for him when he was going to punish me. I would be told to stand in the corner or bend over the end of the bed with my panties down and wait for him to come. I would wait with dread, wondering what implement he was going to use.

Dad would always start with a lecture, which was very embarrassing because I would be standing in front of him with my pants down and everything on show. Then he would sit on the bed, pull me over his knee and give me a long, hard spanking. Afterwards I would be sent to the corner – with my well-spanked bare bum still on show – and told to think about my behaviour.

These spankings were fairly routine and although they hurt a lot, I always knew that my father’s discipline came from a place of love and I had huge respect for him.

However, when I turned 12 I became more rebellious, and really started to get more out of line with what my father expected of me. I remember well the summer evening that I came home an hour after I had been told to be home. I knew that I would be in trouble, but I was having such fun with my friends that I decided it would be worth the spanking.

As expected, I was met by a very disappointed-looking father, who told to go to my room and wait for him. Dad eventually came in with the wooden spoon, put me over his knee, pulled down my panties and spanked my bottom hard.

When he finished, he told me to go and sit at my bedroom desk. Wondering what was going on, I started to pull up my pants to go and sit at my desk – but Dad told me I was to sit there with my pants down.

He then put a black notebook and pen in front of me, then I was ordered to open the book at the first page and to record my spanking. Dad told me I was to write down the date, what behaviour had led to my punishment and what that punishment was.

I was made to redo it a couple of times because Dad wanted all of the detail. Naturally, it was completely humiliating for me to have to write all this down, but I guess that was the point of it. Dad wanted to extend my punishment and make me realise the extent of my misbehaviour and the consequences of not doing as I was told.

After I had finished, my father explained to me that from now on he would be conducting a weekly review of my behaviour on Sunday mornings, starting the following week.

From then on, every Sunday morning before church, I would have to report to my father in his office in the basement. I would have to bring the diary so that he could see all of the punishments that I had received during the week.

Each review started with a spanking – this was followed by 20 minutes standing in the corner. Then my father would call me out of the corner to stand in front of his desk, still bare-bottomed. He would open up the book and go through each time that I had been spanked during the week and discuss the punishment with me.

I would be told that he expected better of me and he hoped that I would be a ‘better girl’ next week. Finally, he would bend me over his desk and I would receive a stroke of the strap for each spanking I had received during the week.

Then I would be sent back to the corner until it was time to go to church. I think Dad liked the idea that I was sitting in church on a very sore bottom, and that I would have time to think about it and hopefully decide to be behave better the following week. So many of my Sunday mornings were spent sitting on a hot painful bum and trying not to squirm for fear of another punishment when I got home!

Contributor: Kate

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