Like many of my friends growing up in the early 1970s, I was spanked for misbehaviour. It wasn’t a big deal. Mom would give me a few swats on the seat for minor infractions like talking back, and put me over her knee with my jeans or shorts down if the offence was more serious.
I was the only boy in an all-female household. My dad died when I was too young to remember him. My two sisters, Cathy and Jean, were six and eight years older than me – old enough to babysit for me as soon as I was about five. The girls made a game out of spanking me whenever Mom was away and left me in their care. It would start out with teasing, or maybe tickling and wrestling. Before long, I would find myself across a lap with my bare bottom getting petted and gently slapped.
We weren’t shy, having often seen each other without clothes, and it excited me to have them pull my pajamas down. I was the smallest, and either one of them could easily hold me still, all of us laughing and squealing. They would spank each other too, although not as often as me. I liked seeing Cathy take her sister’s panties off to spank her. She could really make Jeanie squirm.
Sometimes they would get carried away and swat me a little too hard. I would kick and fight to get loose, which always made them laugh. They never really hurt me, and I always smiled through my tears. It was fun for all of us, and I loved going to bed with my bottom warm and a little bit tender after a spanking. I guess I was a toy to them: their doll maybe, but I didn’t mind.
I don’t think Mom ever knew what we were up to when the girls babysat for me. As I got older the spankings stopped, but what Cathy and Jeanie didn’t know was how much I missed those games. At eight and nine I got in trouble often enough to deserve an occasional spanking, always from Mom. Mostly she used her hand, but once when I was caught shoplifting candy from the drugstore, she paddled me with a ruler. I learned my lesson and never did that again. The spanking really hurt, but I remember fantasising about it in bed, long into that night.
I was mostly well behaved at ten and eleven, although I remember that Mom paddled me with a table tennis bat a few times, and once with a kitchen spatula. Despite the pain, I liked the helpless feeling of being held down. It reminded me of what Carol and Jeanie had done to me when I was small. And I actually liked the way my seat tingled whenever I sat down afterward.
I never resented being punished when I deserved it. I knew that Mom just wanted me to learn right from wrong, and for me, having a really sore bottom did the job. She always cuddled me afterward, and it made me happy to know that I was forgiven for my poor behavior after paying the penalty.
When I turned 12, Mom replaced spankings with other types of punishment, like being grounded. I missed the physical contact, although I never said anything about it to her. But once I asked Jeanie if she remembered our spanking games when we were younger. She laughed and told me she’d be glad to smack me again if I wanted her to. I blushed with embarrassment. It was exactly what I wanted but I didn’t dare tell her so.
By that time I had learned how to draw, and was pretty good at it. I got that from Mom. She was an accomplished amateur artist, and several of her best paintings hung in our town library as well as on our walls at home. She even donated a few to the waiting room of our doctor’s office.
My specialty was figures, especially my own anatomy. I used to study my backside in a mirror to get the proportions right, and drew sketches of boys lying face down across some lap, bare bottomed—sometimes crying, but always with a trace of a smile on their faces. Before long, I had a small stack of pictures to feed my fantasy life.
There were pictures of boys being spanked in bedrooms, in back yards, and draped bottom-up over a big log in the woods behind our house. My favourite was of a wet boy being paddled bare beside a swimming pool, his Speedo briefs dangling from one of his ankles. I always thought of myself as the boy in the drawings, of course. The spankers in my drawings were always girls – not very old, but enough older than me to be definitely in control.
Needless to say I kept my art work well hidden, although one time I was interrupted when halfway through a sketch, another self-portrait at a poolside, and I left it face down on my desk. When I returned to my room sometime later, I discovered the drawing face up. Someone had discovered it.
I was really embarrassed. I kept expecting Cathy or Jeanie to tease me about it, although I knew they almost never came into my room. Mom often did though, to vacuum or pick up laundry, or to make my bed when I forgot to do it. But when a week or two passed and no-one said anything, I guessed that whoever had looked at my drawing had forgotten about it.
I was wrong. One night about a month later, Mom was away at a bridge party with some of her friends, and I was tired from an afternoon football practice and went to bed early. I was sleeping on my stomach and was gently aroused by someone touching my arms. As I awoke, I felt something being wrapped around my wrists behind my back, and before I could resist, I found myself tied and helpless. Carol and Jeanie were standing beside the bed and laughing.
I was 12, which made them 16 and 18 respectively, and plenty strong enough to handle me. I tried to get away from them, but they pinned me down until I stopped struggling. They forced me to sit up on the side of the bed and explained what was going to happen. They had tied me with a bathrobe sash, with the long end like a leash, and we were all going down to the living room for what would happen next.
I remember it so well. Carol sat in the middle of the sofa and spread a towel across her knees, making it clear what they were going to do. I tried to resist but it was two against one and I couldn’t use my arms and hands. The two of them wrestled me face down across Carol’s lap, kicking and squirming in my helplessness, and the next thing I knew they had my pyjama pants and briefs off.
“Well, little brother,” Carol said, “you still have the same cute bottom as when you were small,but it’s a bigger target now.” I thrashed around, trying to roll off her lap, but Jeanie sat on my legs, laughing, and I didn’t have a chance.
“You may as well relax,” she said. “We know from the drawing you did that you want us to spank you. You do, don’t you? That was my lap you were lying over in the picture, wasn’t it?”
I begged to be let go, but they were both having too much fun. With her left hand on the leash end of the sash, Carol hauled my tied wrists high up behind my back to keep me still. They began to spank me in tandem, taking turns to slap both sides of my upturned bottom with their hands. They giggled and teased, pinching and rubbing my butt between each spank—exquisite torture.
I gave up struggling and tried to lie quietly, hoping they would soon tire of the game. But instead they escalated it with a merciless paddling, each holding a table tennis bat. After more than five minutes I was pretty sore, but there was nothing I could do to stop them.
Jeanie stopped spanking and left it all to Carol, who wasn’t gentle. With new insights from seeing my face in my drawing of the spanked swimmer, she was testing the limits of what I could endure, and just how much I might be enjoying what she was doing to me. “Do you miss it?” she asked, punctuated by an especially hard swat. “Getting spanked regularly, I mean.”
Another nasty smack. “You always seemed to like it when you were little. You never complained. I know it must have hurt sometimes, because you cried a bit, but even then you laughed.” She put down the paddle and gave me a flurry of solid hand spanks that made me twist and writhe in her grasp. “But I bet this was how you liked it the best,” she said. “I know I did, touching your round little bottom as it bounced up and down under my hand. Just like now.”
The embarrassment was far worse than the spanking. I was five years old again, my sisters’ plaything once more and unable to do anything about it. My face was hot with shame, and I couldn’t answer her. Then Jeanie said: “I want to spank you some more. Are you OK with that?” “I don’t seem to have much choice,” I managed to say.
Carol laughed. “Tell you what – let’s make it just like when you were five. Promise to cooperate and we’ll untie you so you can climb across her lap by yourself, just like you always did back then. Would you like that?”
That was my chance. Once my arms were free, I didn’t think they could control me anymore. I pretended to think it over so it wouldn’t seem like I gave in too easily, and finally told them I would cooperate. I was planning to break and run as soon as my hands were loose.
“Now remember,” Carol said, “you promised.” I nodded. “Say it,” she said, and I did. She loosened the sash and took it off my wrists. I was free. I was about to stand up and run away from them, but I suddenly felt ashamed. They had made spanking a fun game for me when we were all younger, and played lots of other games with me besides. Overall, my sisters had been very good to me all my short life, and I owed them a lot. My present predicament was my own fault for leaving that picture on my desk where they could find it.
Carol stood up and Jeanie got off my legs where she had been pinning them down. As I knelt there I realized that they were staring at me below my waist. I tried to cover my growing erection, but it was too late. “Wow!” Jeanie said. “That never happened when you were five!” “Our little brother is growing up,” Carol said. “He must like spankings even more that we thought!”
I must have been blushing furiously. I wanted to run off to my bedroom and lock the door, but Jeanie said ‘my turn’ and sat down in Carol’s place. I didn’t have any choice. I had promised. I stretched out across Jeanie’s lap and buried my face in the sofa cushion. I gave myself over to her busy hands for a long, hard and satisfying bottom warming that guaranteed lots of good memories and a happy night’s sleep.
As I passed into my teenage years, my addiction to spanking continued, and I would ask Carol and Jeanie to take my pants down once in a while. When they felt in the mood, they offered to do it without me asking. When Carol went off to university Jeanie kept me satisfied, and when everyone was home for holidays, the two of them would team up just like the old days when we were all much more innocent. How we ever hid it from Mom, I’ll never know – but we did.
I have now been married for several decades to a wonderful woman who let me know early on in our relationship that she would enjoy keeping me happy in all the ways that were important to me– and she has. We raised two great kids and never spanked them, but I’ve always been grateful for the happiness that my sisters’ spankings brought me in my younger years.
Contributor: Jason