I grew up in the 60s and 70s in rural Idaho. If the country was trending toward more progressive parenting where spanking was frowned upon, it hadn’t reached our neck of the woods. I got my share of spankings at home and paddlings at school. All of us kids did.
I dreaded being marched out to the barn by dad or being called to the principal’s office. When I learned of other kids having to endure similar fates, I should have felt sorry them, but whatever empathy I could muster was overshadowed by curiosity and a strange admixture of excitement and pleasure.
I usually heard the gossip via the student grapevine. News that the principal had paddled Bill or Mrs Smith had taken a hairbrush to her daughters’ bare bottoms spread like wildfire, even in the pre-internet era.
Hearsay was fun, but of course it was no substitute for seeing or hearing a spanking first-hand. Unfortunately, except for occasionally overhearing mom or dad blister my sister’s bottom, the latter was a rare occurrence.
However, when I was about 10, I was fortunate enough to hear my 12 year-old cousin get a good spanking. My aunt and uncle and their two daughters, Sophie, 12, and nine-year-old Jennifer, were visiting. I remember my cousins as being good girls, but Sophie had a tendency to be sassy, especially with her mom.
On this particularly day, she stepped way over the line at our house when she talked back to my dad. My uncle was livid when he learned of his daughter’s rudeness. He sent Sophie to the guest room that she and her sister were staying in, then had a private conversation with my dad. Shortly thereafter, my uncle – armed with my dad’s spanking belt – went to have a little father-daughter discussion with the naughty girl!
I quietly moved to my bedroom, which was adjacent to the guest room. I couldn’t make out all the words being said, but it was clear that my uncle was scolding Sophie and she was apologising profusely, promising to be good and pleading not to be spanked.
I can tell you, she put up one heck of a fuss when her father told her to pull down her jeans and panties and bend over the bed. “Oh please, Daddy, not on the bare!” she pleaded. Annoyed, he commanded: “I’m not going to tell you again. Get them down – all the way to your knees – and bend over.”
The crack of the belt landing on my cousin’s bare bottom came through loud and clear, as did her crying and hollering, which became more frantic as the spanking continued. Crack! Crack! Crack! “Stop, daddy! Please stop! I can’t stand it anymore!” Her father merely barked: “Move your hands – now!”
Crack! Crack! Crack! The final strokes landed like a torrent of hellfire on the young girl’s buttocks. A few minutes later, my uncle marched Sophie into the living room and made her apologise to my parents for her bad behaviour. She was still crying and holding onto the seat of her pants as she choked out an apology.
That evening at dinner, I couldn’t help but notice how uncomfortable Sophie looked sitting on a hard wooden dining room chair. My dad had spanked me with that belt enough times to give me a good idea of what she was experiencing. It’s incredibly painful to sit on a red hot, throbbing bottom for an extended period of time.
Eventually, Sophie told her parents that she wasn’t very hungry and asked to be excused – but they insisted that she remain at the table until everyone had finished eating. I purposely ate slowly so that I could enjoy her pained expressions for as long as possible. So much for compassion! As I saw her squirming in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position, my attention shifted to her plump bottom, and I momentarily lapsed into a daydream of what it must have been like to have been a fly on the wall…
Sophie tugging down her tight jeans… panties too… bent over, hands on bed, bottom jutting out… fully exposed buttocks… glimpses of ‘lady bits’… the belt lapping at naked flesh… flaming red stripes and raised welts… cries for mercy… a sobbing, contrite girl as her daddy turned that lilywhite bottom a fiery red…
I was only snapped back to reality when my mom nudged me and said: “It’s time to finish your dinner, young man!”
Needless to say, I still have fond reminiscences of that day. I wonder how Sophie remembers it in retrospect. Someday I’ll have to ask her – if I can find a delicate way to broach the subject!
Contributor: Kevin