I wasn’t spanked much when I was a kid, and my sisters even less. I always deserved it when it happened. My mother was the disciplinarian in our house, and the punishments were businesslike. She always took me to some private place, usually my bedroom, and made sure I understood why the spanking was necessary.
Next, she’d bare my bottom and bend me over the side of the bed. Ordinary misbehavior merited a hand spanking or paddling with a table tennis paddle, while more serious infractions of the rules meant getting it with a wooden ruler or her big kitchen spoon. An average spanking was usually 25 to 30 strokes, always hard enough to make me cry.
Once it was over, I was allowed to pull up my clothes but I had to stay in my room afterward, usually until the next mealtime. Before she left the room, Mom would always give me a hug and tell me how much she loved us. She would say she was sorry to have punished me, but hoped it would help me to be better behaved in the future. I guess it worked.
I was 11 when I discovered something amazing – kids weren’t the only people who received spankings. Adults sometimes did, too!
I woke up thirsty, some time after midnight, and I went to the bathroom for a drink. When I headed back to my room, I heard some noise coming from downstairs that sounded a whole lot like the noise a paddle makes. I wondered which one of my sisters was being punished.
Emily was only six and generally well behaved. Abby was the logical choice. She was two years older than me, and got paddled more often. I crept down the stairs, hoping to watch, and discovered that the sound was coming from Mom’s study. I knew that she usually locked the door when a spanking was in progress, but that night she must have forgotten.
I tried the knob and it turned. I let the door open a crack, just enough to give me a clear view of the armless settee under the window. Mom was sitting in the middle of it, not looking toward the door. She was using her favourite spanking tool, the big wooden spoon.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My dad was spread out across her lap. His pyjama bottoms were down around his knees. Mom always paddled us kids over the side of our beds, so this was something different. Another difference was the way my mom was spanking him. Instead of one smack right after the other, she would give him a really hard whack with the spoon and then rub his bottom. She’d wait a little, then swat him and pet him again. Dad groaned and shuddered.
He was facing the back of the little couch, and wasn’t turned in my direction. His wrists were held together in the middle of his back by strange-looking tan coloured handcuffs. They weren’t the plastic kind that we kids used when playing cops and robbers – it looked like they were made from heavy leather lined with sheepskin, with straps and buckles.
I didn’t dare move. I wondered what my dad could have done to deserve such punishment. I figured my mom had to handcuff him so he couldn’t get loose, because he was a lot stronger than her. Dad must have done something really bad!
Mom was smiling, even laughing a little as she found new places to spank. She slapped his thighs and the sides of his seat.
“Up!” she said sharply. Dad moaned softly and drew his knees up, making his bottom round and tight. Mom rubbed him there, all over, and dad squirmed and sighed. “Don’t move,” she said, and began to spoon him harder than before. Dad cried out softly but stayed in place.
Just then, Mom caught sight of me behind the door. She paused, startled to see me watching, but quickly resumed spanking again. Dad still didn’t know I was there.
Mom continued to spank with her right hand. She put her left index finger up to her lips, indicating that I should be quiet. Then she waved her hand to tell me to back away and shut the door. I did, and ran for the stairs to go to my room. I shut my door and jumped into bed and pulled the covers up tight, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. I was too confused by what I had just witnessed.
It was quite a while before I heard my parents come upstairs to bed. A minute or two later my door opened softly, and I could see my mom standing there in the glow from my nightlight. “Are you still awake?” she whispered. “Uh huh,” I answered.
She came in, shut the door behind her, and sat on the end of the bed. “You must be confused by what you saw,” she said. “I’ll try to explain it to you.” “What did dad do to get in so much trouble with you?” I said. “Nothing,” she said. “Quite the opposite. You see, Alan, adults sometimes play spanking games with each other. What you saw was fun for both of us.”
“That was a game? You were hitting him hard.” “He likes that. I know it’s difficult to understand, but spankings can feel different when you’re older than when you’re a kid.”
“You handcuffed him. Was that fun?” “Is it fun when your friends handcuff you?” “Yeah, ’cause that’s what cops do. We can always get out of them. There’s a little lever that opens them. Dad couldn’t get loose, could he?” “No. How can I explain this?” Mom stopped to think. “It’s exciting when you’re helpless and can’t get free by yourself. It makes you feel scared and shivery. It’s fun for me to be in control of him too. But he wouldn’t let me do it unless he trusted me.”
“I don’t get it,” I said. “When you’re older it will start to make sense. But there’s something else, too.” “What’s that?” “It was wrong for you to open that door. You should have known better than to spy on us.” “I’m sorry.” “Okay. But you have to be punished. Not tonight, though. We’ll save that for tomorrow.” “Are you going to spank me?” “That’s your usual punishment, isn’t it? And you must never, ever mention to your dad that you saw what we were doing tonight. That would embarrass him.” “I won’t.”
I thought for a minute, and she started to get up to go back to her room. “Can you put the handcuffs on me tomorrow?” I said quickly. “Maybe I’ll learn to like being spanked too.” Mom laughed aloud. “You’re a sassy kid, you know that?” She flipped back my covers. “But you’re special too. Roll over on your tummy.”
She leaned forward and bared my bottom. She gave me a dozen spanks – not very hard, just enough to sting a little – then pulled my pyjamas back up. I rolled over again and she tucked me in. “There,” she said. “You’ve been punished enough. We’ll forget about doing it tomorrow. Now, go to sleep.” “That was fun,” I whispered softly. “Next time it might not be,” Mom said with a more serious expression on her face.
It was a long time before I misbehaved and earned another spanking. When Mom took me up to my room for that time, I went to my dresser for my plastic handcuffs and handed them to her. She couldn’t help smiling at me. “That won’t save you,” she said as she yanked down my shorts and my red, yellow and blue Superman briefs. “Might make it hurt less,” I said.
It didn’t.
Contributor: Alan