Unfortunately we know very little about this Artist. He signed his drawings with "GJC", but the name George Jackson Churchward was a pseudonym. His real name was Martin P.

        George Jackson Churchward grew up in England but lived in the Caribbean as an adult. He was in his early 50's when he died.

        This website, which was created exactly three years after GJC's passing away, is not only an in memoriam notice but also an attempt to preserve this Artist's work, which he freely shared with others on the Internet.

"A couple of nights later I heard the spanking of another child through the thin farmhouse wall, and, while I still had a lot of questions, the noises next door were enough to persuade me to be as good as I could possibly be! I managed to make it a few months before my questions about our foster mom's spanking were answered once and for all!"

"'Spankings' till then had been delivered by Mother. Sis and/or I would lean against her thigh and she would deliver a few swats by hand to our skirted behinds. If we shed a tear it was out of defiance rather than pain. Actually we believed we were quite good at taking our 'spankings'.

"Well things changed dramatically for both of us on that November morning when Father took over and real spankings were given with a 25" long wooden stick (shoehorn actually) with the culprit(s) bent over the foot end of the bed in the master bedroom with knickers at half mast and skirts flipped up. What a change!"

    "Many words could be used to describe Glory's personality: cute, funny, sweet, lovable - the kind of terms we often apply to little girls. However, Beatrice Benton isn't just any little girl; like every child, she's special in her own way. So, we might ask what makes Glory different from the other kids in the comic strip. Well, for starters, Bea is clever and inventive - especially in finding ways to annoy her parents, her teachers, and her next door neighbor Harry. Bea's intellect isn't apparent to everyone - her teacher, Miss Fingle, constantly laments the fact that she's never scored an "A" in maths - but she's still the smartest kid in Everdale, nonetheless...

   "On the other hand, Glory is also extremely mischievous. Don't get me wrong; she's never cruel, mean or dishonest, but she has a knack for getting into trouble at the drop of a hat. She simply can't help herself: no matter how good her intentions, Bea's plans always seem to end in disaster. As the title suggests, Beatrice is just plain naughty - so naughty, in fact, that she gets spanked two or three times week (which works out to about once every story in comics time). Sometimes, Glory is spanked by her doting but disapproving mother, Dora; occasionally by stern (but secretly soft-hearted) father, Manfred; but most often, by her next-door neighbour, the long-suffering Harry Doolin.

   "In case you're wondering, spanking is another time-honored convention of children's comics, often employed as the climax of a story. Traditionally, little girls are spanked on the panties - mainly because it looks cute - and a sore bottom is always signified by yellow stars twinkling around the posterior (as in the picture shown above). Don't worry, the situation isn't quite as one-sided as it first appears. Glory never takes an insult sitting down (so to speak), and no sooner is the punishment over than she's plotting revenge for the next story..."

Andrew, Prudence, ORDEAL BY SILENCE, 1961.
p. 45 A father pulls down his son's pants and spanks him with his belt.

Atwood, Margaret, CAT'S EYE, Doubleday, 1988.
pp. 51-2 A girl tells another of how she gets spanked.
p. 175 The girl tells of how her father had belted her bare bottom, and then bares her bottom to show her friends the marks.

Atwood, Margaret, Great Aunts in Carolyn Anthony, Family Portraits, Doubleday, 1989.
p. 15 Tells of her aunts being spanked as little girls by her grandmother.

Bawden, Nina. DEVIL BY THE SEA, Lancer Books, 1966.
p. 128 A father spanks his 9 year old daughter, he takes down her pants so as to use humiliation more than pain.

Bayer, William, PUNISH ME WITH KISSES, Pocket, 1980.
p. 86 A ten year old girl is spanked. When her father tells her that she had to be punished, she asks him to punish her with kisses.

Bouton, Ruthie, GAL: A TRUE LIFE, Harcourt, 1994
pp. 48-9 A girl must bring her father a switch. She asks that she keep her drawers on, but is refused, and given a long, hard switching.

Bradshaw, Emily, HEART'S JOURNEY, Dell, 1992
pp. 247: Harriet (heroine) remembers when her mother had spanked her as a child for reading her father's copy of Dante's INFERNO and admiring the lurid illustration of a near naked man.

Bronson, Anita, LUCY EMMETT: OR A LADY OF QUALITY, Fawcett, 1979
pp. 70-1: When Lucy is a young teenager, her father takes her into the barn, locks the door, and turns her over his knee. He then proceeds to lay-in some very hard hand spanks, landing squarely on her cute, rounded teenaged rear. She gets one slap for every year of her age. The pet of the family brought low.

Burger, Pixie, WOMAN OF TWO CONTINENTS, Bantam, 1982.
p. 7 A little girl misbehaves at lunch, her Nanny orders her to go to her room and lower her bloomers, then she spanks her with a hairbrush.

Cannell, Kathleen, JAM YESTERDAY, Morrow, 1945.
p. 44 The narrator gets spanked with a hairbrush for lying about going to school.
p. 131 Her little sister is spanked for throwing a tantrum

Card, Orson Scott, SEVENTH SON, Tor.
pp. 4-5 A little girl gets ten strokes on her bottom with a switch for lying.

Deveraux, Jude, MOUNTAIN LAUREL, Pocket, 1990
pp. 259-60: Laurel, the heroine's twelve year old sister, tells Maddie (the sister) that Ring Montgomery (hero) had put her over his knee and spanked her after she had done the simple little trick of putting urine into their food. She had thought at the time that they were real kidnappers and were intent on doing her harm. Ring's only intent after that was doing her pert bottom harm of one particular sort.

Forrester, J. S., INNOCENT DARK, Dell, 1982.
pp. 102 A girl finds her mother's diary, telling of a time when the mother was 10 and used lipstick. She was taken down to the cellar by her father who spanked her with his hand and his belt.
p. 116 A recollection of another spanking by her father.

Fosburgh, Liza, WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE, Pocket, 1983
p. 44 Woman spanks two children.
pp. 102-3 The children are spanked again.
pp. 106-7 The governess discusses the advantages of spanking children. She recalls, her own experiences being spanked with a belt.

Goudge, Elizabeth, TOWERS IN THE MIST, Pyramid, 1966.
p. 26 Twin girls have their nightgowns turned back and their bare behinds smacked by an older sister for making noise.

Grenville, Kate, LILIANE'S STORY, Penguin, 1986.
pp. 17-8 A little girl must hold her ankles while her father lifts her pinafore, takes down her bloomers and belts her bottom.

Hastings, Beverly, DON'T CRY, LITTLE GIRL, Pocket, 1987.
pp. 66-7 A little girl teaches a little boy to play doctor. When his mother catches them, she blames him. The mother sends her home and gives the boy a bare bottom spanking with a hairbrush.

Hill, Deborah, KINGSLAND, 1981.
pp. 118-9 A graphic description of a boy's punishment by his father with a razor strop.

Hintze, Naomi, GHOST CHILD, Fawcett, 1983.
p. 115 A little boy plays with paint, so his mother pulls down his pants and spanks him until her palm stings.
p. 212 This time a man spanks a boy.
p. 227 The first boy gets spanked by a man.

Hudson, Lois Phillips, THE BONES OF PLENTY, Atlantic Monthly - Little, Brown & Co.,1962.
pp. 175: On a North Dakota wheat farm in the 1930's depression, farmer George Custer spanks his preteen daughter, Lucy, with his razor strap. Her legs and bottom become a burning blaze. She is greatly humiliated by the experience and the young heroine hides under her bed with the dust balls. We are led to believe she has been getting spanked with greater frequency of late.

Luder, William Fay, ONE PEARL OF GREAT PRICE, Farnsworth Books, 1958
pp.278-9: Nathan and Ruth discuss spanking children and how a friend of theirs doesn't spank her children.
pp. 421: Nathan spanks Joanna, his young daughter, for going into the road to play.
pp. 467: He threatens Joanna with another spanking if she doesn't stop being naughty.
pp. 471-5: This is another discussion of child spanking, this time with some of their friends 

Marten, Jacqueline, BRYARLY, Pocket, 1981.
p. 201 A little girl is caught swimming with a boy in her underclothes. Her father switches her in front of him.
p. 212 The same girl uses a mouse to frighten her elderly aunt. This time her father spanks her over his knee.

Merkin, Daphne, ENCHANTMENT, Harcourt, 1986.
p. 102-4 Tells of the bare bottom spanking of a little boy by his mother. And of the little girl's getting turned on, including the universal spankophile childhood ritual of looking the word "spank" up in the dictionary.
p. 217 A mother spanks her son, pants down, at a public swimming pool.

O'Hara, Mary, FLICKA'S FRIEND, Putnam, 1982.
pp. 18-21 The author of My Friend Flicka recalls a spanking she got from her mother when she was 5.

Saul, John, WHERE THE WIND BLOWS, Dell, 1981.
p. 119 A little girl has to drop her pajama pants and take a spanking from her aunt.

Seton, Anya, THE WINTHROP WOMAN, Houghton Mifflin, 1958.
pp. 28-31 A little girl in a seventeenth century puritan family misbehaves and is ritualistically spanked on her bare bottom with a switch, in front of the assembled family, including aunts, uncles, and cousins.

Sommars, Colette, A DISTANT HEAVEN, Dell, 1979.
pp. 56-58 A father makes his daughter get a peach-tree switch. They go to her room, where he makes her bend over the end of the bed. He lifts her skirt, pulls down her drawers, and gives her fifteen strokes.

Spinner, Stephanie, ed. MOTHERLOVE, Dell, 1978.
Colette, p. 19 A mother lifts her young daughter's petticoat and chemise and gives her a half dozen good spanks.
Joyce Carol Oates, p. 181 A mother spanks her young daughter and then pulls down her panties to spank her harder.

Undset, Sigrid, THE LONGEST YEARS, Knopf, 1935.
pp. 198-9 A seven year old girl is birched by her father.

White, Edmund, A BOY'S OWN STORY, NAL, 1983.
pp. 67-8 The author's mother asks his father to spank him. The father takes him into the bedroom, takes down his pants, and spanks him with a belt. (p)

Wilbur-Cruce, Eva A., A BEAUTIFUL CRUEL COUNTRY, U. of Arizona Press, 1987.
p. 75 A girl takes a horse when she shouldn't, her mother spanks her with a hairbrush.
p. 83 An Indian woman slaps the bare bottoms of three little boys with a whiskbroom

   The bathroom was big- large white porcelain tub and toilet. There was linoleum on the floor, which had such a floor wax, musty, uriny smell when my nose was pressed to it, as I lay over mother's lap. White ceramic tiles covered the walls. There was a big wooden vanity, with a large white sink set in it, and a couple of cupboard doors below, and a big mirror above. The acoustics in that room were superb in that the sounds of hand or hairbrush impacting with my bare buttocks, my mother's stern lecturing, and my yelps and cries, would reverberate off the wall and mix together into such a caucophony of sound.  I know when I listened to one of my sibs 'get it' in the bathroom the sounds were incredible!
   To this day, bathrooms have a special place in my psyche. When I visit my parents I still walk into that room, a little trepidation in my heart!  And I have used my own main bathroom on many occasions when disciplining my own children.

    "Leave us alone, please, Pam, I am going to spank your sister. Close the door behind you," she said with quiet politeness and as casually as she would have said that she was going to check Tammy 's homework. There, as big as life, in Mom's hand was the hairbrush - not 'a' hairbrush or 'her' hairbrush, mind you, but the hairbrush! She wasn't even trying to hide it behind her or anything - she was carrying it right out in the open where everybody could see it - as big and as scary a thing as I had ever seen. I was beside myself - she said that she was going to spank my sister and she was carrying her hairbrush! WOW!  Tammy was really gonna get it!! I knew what she used that hairbrush for, though not from personal experience yet, and I knew that the appearance of that brush meant that my prediction of Tammy being spanked without her underwear on was going to come true, too!   Mom's tradition of always tugging down underpants before applying her hairbrush had already been established with David and Jenny, and there was no doubt that Tammy 's panties would be pulled down for her spanking today.

    So there were two hard and fast rules concerning that creek and me: Number one: No playing near the creek without permission, and Number two: No playing when the brush was high enough to attract the snakes that Mom believed only hid there so that they could bite little girls.
    Mom seemed to be convinced that any little girl bitten by a copperhead or rattlesnake would blow up like a balloon and then explode on the way to the hospital.   I didn't believe her - I believed that those snakes were too little to hurt me. I had dogs with bigger teeth than those snakes, and the dogs never bit me, right? Mom also seemed to believe that it was better for a little girl to have her bottom spanked than to be bitten by a copperhead - and I didn't agree with this either!
   One day when I was about seven years old, I managed to forget both rules. Honestly, I was old enough to remember both rules, but the siren song of the creek was stronger than the memories of the spanked bottom that breaking those rules had given me in the past. I never intended to play in the stream - it just sort of happened. I never meant to actually get in the water - it just sort of happened. I never meant to slip and fall down - it just sort of happened. I sure never planned to be seen playing in the creek by my mother in the house - but that just sort of happened too! 

    I was still trying to talk her out of it when she started the real spanking. In seconds I was blubbering like a .... well, like a seven-year-old girl on her mother's knee having her bare bottom spanked by a skilled, practiced, and determined woman! I was just burning up back there as her huge maternal hand landed on my tiny little bare bottom over and over again. My vigorous squirming didn't interfere a lick with the angry woman holding me tightly and spanking all over my bottom.
    My loud crying and promises to be a good girl were falling on the deaf ears of a woman who had, at that time, three daughters who were still in the spankable and frequently spanked age range. My tears, promises, and crying as well as the sight of my rapidly reddening little bare bottom meant nothing to the woman who could just as easily have been across the hall spanking a bare 9-year-old or up the hall spanking an eleven-year-old girl with her panties down. She's been cried on, begged to, and promised to far too many times by my older sisters for me to have any influence on the spanking that I was receiving.
    Fortunately for me, I had not yet experienced the use of a hairbrush for anything but brushing hair. My big brother knew that Mom kept a special hairbrush in her dresser for a different use, and my oldest sister had either just learned or was soon about to learn that hairbrushes are useful on both ends of a girl, but I was still hand-spanked at that time. But, with Mom's hand being bigger than my bottom and that darned towel lying on the floor, I was being given a good spanking and she really didn't need her brush to make an impression on me!
    Spank! Spank! Spank! She continued as I withered and sagged across her knees crying and barely even squirming as my spanking came to an end. I rested and she rested for a few moments as I drooped on her lap and gradually gained some control back over my crying and my breathing.

    Liz lifted her pleated tartan skirt just high enough for us to all see the still pinkish marks on her upper thighs. Wow! My first almost look at a luscious female derriere! Despite trying to be brave, Liz admitted she feared going home because the principal had promised to call her mother regarding her disrespectful outburst.
    Liz’s mother was one of those stern disciplinarian’s who you just did not trifle with. She had three daughters and ‘they would all be good or she would know the reason why’, a quote from Liz about her mom. Her mom treated us all very well, giving us cookies. hot chocolate, fruit, etc. but always on the promise that we would behave ourselves.
    I recall quite clearly how we tried to give Liz some comfort and sympathy. telling her we had all been grounded or sent to our rooms without supper. After all, when it’s over, its over. right? But the knowledge of what would really occur hung in the air like a dark cloud. We all thought we were too old to be turned over the knee and spanked. Then Liz said it out loud: Yes, mom still spanks me and my two younger sisters. 

    "I can't help but notice how much better behaved your girls are than my Jessie. Well, that is except when Jessie and Meghan seem to get into some trouble together. How is it that you maintain such marvelous behavior with your girls?"
    I remember thinking about that question for some time before answering. I was somewhat concerned that my disciplinary techniques might meet with some disapproval amoung my colleagues. But after some thought, I decided to press ahead.
    "Well, Sara, I believe the secret to having well-behaved children is to demonstrate a certain strictness and consistency when it comes to enforcing family rules."
    "Oh, Will, come on. Let's not beat around the bush here. Please, I'm coming to you for advice. I want your help. I don't need generalities and educational mumbo-jumbo from Child Psych I. Please, help me. Why do your girls toe the line most of the time?"
    Again, I hesitated and thought carefully before I spoke.
    "Sara, it's very simple. Each of the girls knows that, without any exception and without any chance of reprieve, misbehavior, disobedience, disrespect, or any one of the other childhood naughtinesses, will be answered with a good, sound, old-fashioned, over-the-knee, bare-bottomed spanking. On rare occassions I have spanked one of them on her panties, but I usually spank bare hand to bare bottom. Does that answer your question?" 

    The door opened, and Tammy's heart turned to stone when she saw her Daddy's face. The scowl was expected, but the sadness and disappointment she saw in her father's eyes broke the stone heart into a thousand tiny shards.
    Tammy remained frozen in place as her Daddy approached. Unable to move or speak, she watched as the big man came closer. Looming over her, Daddy glared down at his small daughter, hands on hips, and fighting to stay calm.
    "Well now, Tamara, just what do you have to say for yourself?"
    Tammy couldn't speak. Her tongue was frozen to the roof of her mouth, and she could hardly breathe. Her father's use of her full name was a terrifying confirmation of her doom. Finally, after an interval of an eon, she managed to squeak out an almost imperceptible reply.
    "Hello, Daddy....."
    "What did you say, young lady, I can't hear you. Speak UP! I want an explanation for your behavior today!"
    There was a silence as deep as an ocean trench. Tammy's hands crept down to the hem of her dress, and in an action born in the gene pool of all little girls in trouble, her fingers began to twist and wring the fabric. Her mind was crowded with a hundred simultaneous thoughts and emotions, which whirled round and round in her head. She could not have given a straight answer if asked her name.

    As Inga's best friend, I and my parents were often invited to dinner or to socialize in some other fashion. Our parents were great bridge players and good friends as well. I'll never forget one Christmas afternoon when we'd stopped by to exchange gifts. Inga seemed unusually subdued and her mother was not her usual happy self. It was difficult to tell whether Inga's father was in a bad mood or not. In spite of the jolly music playing on the hi-fi and the lights twinkling in their perfect Christmas tree, Inga's house didn't seem very festive.
    In my childish and tactless way, I asked Inga what the matter was in front of our parents and her brothers. To my surprise and chagrin, she burst into tears and ran from the livingroom. Behind his parents' backs, one of the boys pointed to the stockings hung at their mantlepiece. At first I was confused, shrugging and looking back at him. I didn't understand what he was trying to tell me. Whispering in my ear, he explained. "Inga got switches in her stocking." Sure enough, several slender twigs were sticking up out of her red stocking.
    I still must have looked blank, because he elaborated, tugging me into the hallway. "Her grades have fallen off. Papa is furious. He warned her if they did not improve before Christmas vacation, he would take steps. She expected to be punished but he never did anything. Until she saw her stocking this morning."
    I was horrified. "You mean he's going to spank her with those STICKS?!"
    Her brother nodded. "He already has used one this morning. Right after breakfast he took her to her room and gave her a good switching. There are three more in her stocking and he told her she'll get a switching a day until they are all gone." 
 

(1)  "Maude's Naughty Little Brother" (1900).  With her father away, Maude is seated at a small dinner table as she awaits the arrival of a gentleman caller for what she obviously hopes will be a quiet and romantic meal.  The man arrives, and he joins Maude at the table.  Unbeknownst to them, Maude's naughty little brother ties one end of a piece of rope to the man's coattails, and the other end to the tablecloth.  Hiding under the table, he eagerly awaits the results of his mischief.  To the surprise of all three of them, Maude's father returns home, and is outraged by the presence of the young man.  He hurls his valise at the scoundrel, who tries to make his escape out the door.  As he flees, he not only pulls the tablecloth and all the dinnerware off the table, but even overturns the table itself.  After chasing Maude's caller out the door, the father turns his attention to his son, who lost the benefit of his hiding place when the table was overturned.  Seizing the boy and bending him over, he gives him a vigorous spanking of about a dozen blows, as the youngster frantically struggles and attempts to escape.  If the above link's format won't play for you, try here or here.

(2)  "Buster's Dog to the Rescue" (1904).  Buster Brown is in the kitchen with the cook, who has just finished baking some delicious treats, which she has placed in a basket.  She puts the basket on the top shelf of a closet, and adamantly warns Buster to keep his hands off the goodies.  As soon as she leaves the kitchen, of course, Buster sets a long step ladder in front of the closet, and begins to climb toward his objective.  In the midst of his ascent of the ladder, his mother enters the room and discovers him in that compromising position.  She takes him over to a chair, on which she seats herself.  Positioning him across her lap, she then proceeds to spank him about six or eight times.  After administering this punishment, she ties one end of a rope around the waist of the sobbing boy, and the other end to a table.  (Apparently, bits of rope were considered highly amusing by early film makers.  Unfortunately, it takes considerably more to amuse moviegoers these days.)  In any event, anchored to the table as he is, it seems that the basket of bakery goods now is beyond the reach of Buster, and indeed it is.  However, it is NOT beyond the reach of Buster's dog, Tige.  Buster sends Tige up the ladder, and the dog, holding the basket in his mouth, carries it down the ladder.  He brings the basket to Buster, and the dog and young master then share their ill-gotten gains.  If the above link's format won't play for you, try here or here.

To view both films, first click on "American Memory" at the Library of Congress website.  For (1), then enter "Maude's Naughty Little Brother" as the search term.  For (2), enter "Buster's Dog to the Rescue" as the search term, and then click on "Buster Brown series."  "Buster's Dog to the Rescue" is part 1 of the 5 short films you will find in the series.  For both (1) and (2), various viewing options are available; I got the best results using the MPEG format, and I recommend that you try that one first.

"Are you going to spank me?" the daughter asked. 

The father replied, "Since your mother was actually the one who told you not to do it, she's going to give you the spanking this time." 

"Good," she exclaimed, "because your spankings really hurt!" 

At that, her mother took her into the bedroom and spanked her.  After she was punished, the girl came out of the room rubbing her bottom and said, "Mom's spankings hurt too!"  Everyone at the table laughed at this, but since I was the only kid, I was really embarrassed and I thought the story might give my parents ideas about how they should punish me. 

One day, we were seven or eight, we tried how long young kittens could stay underwater (!). We got caught by our granny, who was a farmers’ lady of good old habits: those who are bad to animals are bad to people. Holding us by the ear, she walked us to the “bakery”, a small building apart from the old farm that contained the oven. At display was an interesting array of spoons and breadboards, of which she took a solid wooden spoon. I had to face the wall, but the little building was quite full so there was not so much room left, so my granny sat on a crutch within at most a meter. My niece was the younger, so she went first.

Being seven, I was both dying of fear and terribly excited. I heard Granny stripping off her summer shorts and positioning her over her knee. I imagined how she was lying there, bare buttocks in the air, ready for chastisement. And then I heard the whacks and howls of someone who was well spanked. She got six, and they were obviously well laid on. My niece was a tough girl, it had to hurt badly. I truly loved my niece, but I enjoyed assisting her getting a firm, hard spanking. She deserved it, didn’t she?
I resolved proudly not to cry, but within seconds I knew why she was howling.

"Even at that early age, I kinda knew that it wasn't real appropriate and although delivered in jest, I thought he wanted to keep spanking me if he had the chance."

"Over coffee and Marlboro Lights (I don't smoke that often but she does and I really needed a cigarette right now) she explained that Jeremy and Trevor had shoplifted some candy from the convenience store up the block. She explained to me how she wanted me to spank them and then she called them out of their room. She said "Kimmy's going to give each of you your spankings" and I don't think they believed it at first.

"I grabbed a dining room chair, turned it around and sat in it and had the boys come over to me. I had a little chat with them about what they did and they didn't deny it, but of course there was a bit of "it wasn't my fault" and that sort of thing. I finished smoking my cig, took down Trevor's (the 9 year old) pants and undies just as Megan told me to, turned him over my lap and spanked his bottom about a dozen times with my hand. He cried and kicked a little but didn't resist my spanking.

"Then came Jeremy's turn. He was already starting to cry and he got this pouty lip. It was so cute. Same procedure, I took down his pants and undies turned him over my lap and spanked him hard. (He had such a tiny little bottom my hand was able to almost cover the whole thing!)"

"After he was spanked the other children said I should be spanked as well!, and so did some of the adults, so I put myself over my uncle's lap, He then asked the other children and adults should I be birthday play spanked or or firmly spanked for punishment?. You guessed it all the other children and even some of the adults told him to spank her for punishment, he then gave me ten crisp spanks through my skirt which nearly made me cry.

"I recall that my uncle was the only male adult at this party, and I think that was the reason he was asked to spank the boy by his mom, as if she would have spanked him he would have lost "street cred" with his friends. I think looking back that she might have told him in fun or being serious to "punishment" spank her son much to the delight of his friends.

"It was not my birthday but it was very close, and the other children and adults knew he was my uncle, and I was peer pressured to volunteer to be spanked by the audience. To give my uncle credit just as I was about to go over his lap he did ask me was I sure I wanted to be spanked by him? But with the audience watching I put myself over his lap thinking I was to be fun spanked. As you guess I was a shock to find myself being "punishment" spanked by my uncle but the audience seemed to enjoy it, even at the end of eleven spanks I was nearly in tears.

"Both the boy and I had a struggle not to cry after being spanked by my uncle, but we were only ten years old."

"Most spankings were either with me over his knee or laying flat across his lap on my bed. My father is a big man, about 6'3" I think, and I'm short, so when I was over his knee, he had full control over me.

"Many of my spankings were on my bare bottom, some were on my panties and a few were given over my pants. He almost never spanked me really hard, but he did make them lengthy, so the end result was that I was crying like a baby when it was over.

"Most of the time, my father was cool and collected when he spanked me. He would definitely be angry, but his anger didn't translate into abusive spankings. I was never, ever abused in any way.

"Most spankings were preceeded by a lecture and I was almost always required to participate in the lecture. I would be given a chance to say my piece, but I was also required to acknowledge what I did wrong and acknowledge that I deserved punishment.

"Spanking was a very effective punishment for me. Really, I'm not kidding. My parents tried everything from scolding to two-week groundings, but spanking always got my attention and always got a response from me. I can be pretty hard-headed but my behind isn't hard at all! Seriously, I don't mean to make light of spanking. It's a very serious punishment for any child and should never be trivialized."

o Percentage who spanked their preschooler three or more times in past week: 26

o Proportion who spanked their preschooler during one-hour interview with researcher: 1 in 20

o Number of states that allow corporal punishment in school: 22

o Percentage of Catholic moms who spanked their preschooler in past week: 55

o Percentage of Protestant moms who spanked their preschooler in past week: 68

o Proportion of 13- and 14-year-olds who are still occasionally spanked: 1 in 2

o Number of spankings the average preschooler receives in a year: 150

Source: Family Relations (Vol. 44, No. 2).

"Of course, this produced a fresh outcry from us, now pathetic crying and pleading not to be smacked. But mum just ignored us. Instead she took Claire by the hand, sat down on the settee, and placed her youngest daughter over her knee, expertly turning up her skirt and pulling down her knickers.

"Claire was always done first when we were spanked together - I suppose mum thought it was more merciful for the younger child to get it over with. All I remember is watching my sister's chubby bottom (we were both stocky little girls) growing redder and redder as the "smacker" hit her time and again. The crying and yelling was unbelievably loud.

"Finally Claire was pulled off mum's knee and I was beckoned to the maternal lap. I was quickly reversed over it and my own skirt and panties adjusted to prepare me for the spanking.

"Again, I kicked up a hell of a fuss - it must have sounded like I was being killed. But mum was an expert bottom smacker and knew the difference between ordinary yelling and that really repentant crying that comes from a child who's been sufficiently punished. You could have fried eggs on my bare backside afterwards.

"We were both sent to bed in disgrace and listened to each other sobbing quietly. We were good girls for a long time afterwards - but it wasn't the first, or last, time that we were given a good smacked bottom by our mum."

My nine-year-old sister Suzie and I had adjoining rooms with a door that opened directly between them. It was a very hot humid summer night and we had the door open to give us a cross breeze.

We were both supposed to be asleep, but both of us were chattering away to each other, despite the fact that Mommy had earlier told us both to be quiet and go to sleep. When we heard her footsteps loudly tromping up the stairs, we knew we were both in trouble.

She went into Suzie’s room first and flicked on the light. Suzie let out a little whimper of fear as our mother strode to her bedside (plainly visible through the open doorway from where I was lying) and whisked off the covers.

Without a word, she picked up Suzie and turned her across her knee over the side of the bed, and tucked her thin summer nightie well up above her waist. Suzie had nothing on underneath on account of the heat, so without further ado, Mother proceeded to give Suzie a “good, sound spanking.”

"Mum then started to slap the legs of the girl. Two slaps on the right leg, then two on the left. On and on it went, until each leg had received ten slaps. The whole play area was counting. After each stinging blow, Sarah twisted and shook the offended thigh, but never took her hands down. When it was done, each leg had a reddened patch, with distinct finger-marks around the edges.

"Finally Sarah got her wish. She was ordered home. This did not seem to please her, however, as she continued to cry profusely. Sarah ran home, rubbing the backs of her thighs as she went. David held his mother's hand as they walked home."

    Ann's trademark is her use of lined notepaper for her drawings, the only kind of paper available to her as a little girl when she first began creating spanking images.

The wicked witch ran her long boney finger up and down Pamela’s legs and pinched her bottom cheeks.
“Now, if I catch you chewing on my house again, it’s going to be much worse little lady. I have a rock candy hairbrush that will blister your bottom good and hard. I will take you across my knee and the entire enchanted forest will hear your screams.”
Pamela’s eyes glazed over as she thought about this, and she rested there on the witch’s chocolate wafer table feeling peaceful and tired. There was a loud bang, and Pamela jumped almost out of her skin as the heavy picture book slipped off her bed and onto the floor.

She was being hauled down the hall to her room. The door was shut. Her father took her across his knee and lifted her party dress, and lowered her white cotton panties. She struggled and kicked but Daddy held onto her tightly. She struggled even more as Daddy brought down the hairbrush on her behind. He said he hated to have to do it, to take her from the party like this; to blister her behind, she was being such a naughty girl, on her birthday no less! She gasped and screamed and kicked her feet. She didn't care!
The spanking lasted a short time, but was hard and intense. Her bottom went from cool and white to an angry red. At first the pain was so intense she fought to get away, but later she found herself holding onto Daddy's leg, clinging to him, instead of pushing him away.
Daddy didn't stop till she was exhausted and crying across his knee. He waited till she was finished crying and then lifted her up in his arms and carried her into the bathroom, where he shut the door. On her way between the rooms, she saw the worried faces of friends in the hallway as she blurred past.
He ran the cold water and then wiped her face off with a cool cloth. He reached under her party dress and returned her panties to their upright position. He opened his arms, and she hugged him tightly.

How could she have been so stupid? Why did she venture to the other side of the playground and hang out with the older kids? Her timing stunk. Instead of the usual gossip and boy teasing, the older girls had decided that day to venture through a hole in the fence located behind the trees and explore the rock covered train tracks behind the school. Just as they were returning through the fence, a playground monitor spotted them. Six of them, she being the youngest, were sent straight to the principal's office. Gina was the only fifth grader in the group.
Ms Martinez knew her parents were strict and after handing her the note said she was confident her parents would handle this situation in the proper way. Again Gina blushed, since her parents and Ms Martinez had discussed the type of discipline Gina got at home on other occasions. It's not easy when your parents are friends with the principal.

  In those days, when you were going to get a grade lower than a "c," the school would send home a warning notice that you'd have to have signed by your parents and brought back. You then had six weeks to pull up the grade. 
  I gave the note to my father and he signed it and was quite angry. He couldn't understand how such a smart girl was about to get a "d."
  I got a severe lecture. Then my dad took off his belt. I was wearing a skirt at the time so he had no problem flipping it up and yanking down my panties for the spanking. 
  My dad applied about 12 good, hard licks with the belt. Half way through I was crying like a baby and by the time he was done my bottom was very red and sore. I had trouble sitting at my desk to do my homework, but I did try really hard and I managed to pull my grade up to a "c."

  I was daddy’s sweet little angel (the privilege of the youngest girl), and daddy was my biggest hero; the second lecture, now from my daddy, was maybe the worst part of all, so my sobbing was soon wholehearted and true. I was even glad to hear “come here, and lift your nightie”. In my family culture, traditional spankings are (were) rare, but as ultimate punishment always over “the bare”. Daddy planted his foot on a chair, and draped me over his raised knee. He took the paddle I still held, and he secured me firmly under his free arm. I still remember his grip, as a warm hug, the cool air over my naked seat, still unharmed, and my legs dangling in the air. 
  The first slap got immediately all my attention, stinging more badly than anything I could remember. The second slap hit the same place and intensified the smarting, the third slap hit the same place again and made it burn, at the next one, a red-hot saucer was pushed against my burning skin. Within few seconds, my bum felt severely sunburn, the paddle scorching my burning globes. I couldn’t believe it, really not. Dad could impossibly know how bad THIS was hurting. 
  There was the pain, and it hurt more than enough. There was also the moral punishment. I hung there like a rag doll, my head bungling down, my nightie crumpled up in my neck, crying and kicking on the rhythm of the slaps. It seemed to go on for hours, likely it wasn’t a full minute, but I was howling, kicking and crying like a baby. 

  I quickly changed into my pajamas and went to the bathroom returning to my room just as my father was coming down the hallway – in his hand was the hairbrush. Now I'd never been spanked with the hairbrush, but I'd heard my sister being spanked with it. My hands went instinctively to my bottom and promises to be good flowed from my mouth. My father just pointed to my room with the hairbrush “Get to your room this instant.” I think I started to cry at that point ….I know that I was crying by the time the lecture had finished. 
  Dad placed the hairbrush on the desk and then turned the chair around from desk. Sitting down he pulled me between his knees telling me that he loved me, but that he was going to spank me. With those words he slid his hands into the waistband of my pajamas taking them down until they slid over my hips and puddled around my ankles. As he was doing this he also turned me over his knee. With one hand tucked around my waist pulling me close to him and the other resting on my bottom the spanking started. He started in the middle of one check working his way half way down my thighs and then working his way up the other side. 
  After a couple of minutes he stopped, resting his hand on my now red bottom. At that point I clearly remember thinking “that wasn't too bad." He helped me up reminding me that I had been spanked for this before and that he wasn't finished yet. I was told to get the hairbrush from the desk. 
  Believe it or not I had completely forgotten about the brush. My crying started again. Quietly he lifted my head and looked directly into my eyes and told me “Now would not be a good time to be disobedient.” 
It must have only been a little more than a couple of meters to the desk and back, but the trip there felt long and on the way back to my father the brush felt very heavy in my hot hands. 
  It didn't take long before I was back over my father's lap. At first the brush felt cool as he gently rubbed the brush around my bottom in a circular motion. I remember promising good behavior, pleading for another chance. No luck. He raised the brush reminding me that deliberate naughtiness would be punished and with that he brought the brush down with a flick of his wrist. 
  To this day I can still remember the crack it made and the burning sting that came with it. My father was firm in his resolve and spanked my deserving bottom until I thought that I couldn't take anymore. He must have noticed something in my body language because with the two or three last smacks to the back of my previously un-spanked thighs, he stood me and set the brush down on my bed. 
  He hugged me tightly. By now I was sobbing and snot was running out of my nose. My hands rushed back trying to cool my hot throbbing bottom. He didn't seem to care. The hands that had just spanked me soothed the back of my hair. They continued down my back and eventually his hands reached out and brought my hands back to my sides. Gently pushing me back a step or two, he looked lovingly into my face 
  “Don't make me do that again” he said. Letting go of my hands he reached into his pocket and pulled out a hankie so I could blow my nose. 
  In our family if your behavior caused you to get a spanking you were expected to deal with it and move on. There were no cushions for your sore bottom. You were expected to join in on conversations, putting the spanking behind you. 

  The dining room was where most of my formal spankings took place. I didn't dare argue. I walked in behind dad who pulled out a chair. He sat down and motioned for me to bend over his knee. His hands went to the  waistband of my track pants and he pulled them down. He did the same to my underwear. It was just enough for my bottom to be bared. Then he raised his hand and brought it down with a resounding smack. 
  Did I cry?  You bet I cried! I also wriggled and forgot all about how grown up I was. Instead, I resorted to crying like dad's little girl getting her bottom spanked. Dad spanked me so hard and then suddenly it was finished. Even though it was over, I still laid over his lap while he lectured me. It was then that I became fully aware that my brother had watched the whole thing! 
  I would love to say that was my last spanking unfortunately it wasn't! 

  My name is Angela.  I come from a very strong Christian family. My sisters and I all grew up getting a good hard spanking when we deserved it. We weren’t allowed to run around and act wild, nor were we allowed to disobey and disrespect our parents. 
  My mom did most of the spanking in our family. When one of us would get a spanking she would send us to our room. This would allow her time to cool off so that she wouldn’t be out of control when she spanked. It would also allow us to think about what we did. She would then come into the room with the paddle. 
  She would then sit on the bed with us and tell us why we were going to get a spanking. She also would tell us that according to the bible and proverbs that it was her duty as a parent to correct us. She would then make us bend over her lap and she would give us our spanking. The number of swats depended on our age. In other words, when I was 9 years old I got 9 paddle swats. How hard depended on what we had done. The more horrible we had been the harder she spanked. 
  I personally think spanking in this manner works and I know I’ll spank my kids just like my mom spanked me and my sisters. In fact, I think the world would be a better place if more parents spanked this way. 

  I'd gotten an Easy Bake Oven for Christmas that year. I was told that I wasn't allowed to play with it unless an adult was there to supervise. I got tired of waiting for that to happen so I decided to play with it any way. 
  I had forgotten to put everything away when I got done and when my mom came home she saw the oven dishes laying on my bedroom floor. 
  She left the room and came back with the paddle. It had the thickness of a regular school paddle. She had gotten it because the last time she had used her other paddle on me it snapped in half after a single swat. 
She told me to lean across the bed. I wasn't too worried at first because I usually only got maybe four or five swats. Sometimes as many as twenty. This time the swats went way past twenty. 
  The spanking kept going on and on I didn't think that she would ever stop. I eventually stopped counting. My bottom felt blistered and sore for awhile after that spanking. It was the worst spanking I'd ever gotten in my life. 

  I certainly felt fear as she sat down on the edge of my bed and put me across her knee and the bed. My mother believed that the Lord commands a parent to discipline a willful child with a spanking, and that a spanking should hurt plenty. And she knew how to make sure that each time she gave me one it always did. But I was so angry at her by that point that I could barely think. And my rage pushed my fear somewhat towards the back of my mind. 
  I was trying so hard to bottle up my rage from view that I scarcely noticed as she raised my skirt and petticoat in back and pulled my panties down. I did notice, of course, the moment hard slaps from my mother's hand began on my bare bottom, and the all too familiar sensation she meant for me to feel back there began to quickly build in just the way she intended.
But this only made me angrier than ever. And I was so absorbed with bottling up my anger that after she had gotten to what would normally have been about halfway through the giving to me of my spanking, I realized that I hadn't begun to cry yet. This was even though my pain had passed the point where I would normally have been wailing hard. In that dark moment I formed in my heart a defiant, naughty intention to not give her the satisfaction of making me cry. 
  She continued longer than she usually did but although tears were spilling from my eyes still I didn't make a sound. Abruptly she shifted me off her lap and got up. (I didn't occur to me at the time that her hand must have begun to hurt too much for her to continue). In stubborn triumph I pulled my panties back on and turned to sit up on my bedside. I imagined to myself that my punishment was over and that I had just won a rare little victory over my mother's authority. But then, after I had wiped my watery eyes with my sleeve I realized she was opening my dresser drawers as if looking for something. A feeling of doubt and dread swept over me. 
  When she turned back towards me with my biggest hairbrush in her hand I knew I had been very very foolish not to cry. And I began to cry then and there. As she was put me back over her knee and slipped my panties back down once more, I tearfully promised to be good and begged her not to spank me again. By now my anger had vanished and all that remained within me was a very very strong wish not to receive a spanking from Mommy. 
  But of course a spanking from Mommy was exactly what I did get. And it was a very very sound one indeed. This time I responded just as any badly behaved child ought to respond while receiving a well deserved spanking. By the time my mother brought my chastisement to a close she had me crying just as hard as I could cry with a heart filled only with the wish to be just as much of a good girl as I could be and back in Mommy's good graces again. 

  While waiting for an elevator to come, my mother reprimanded me in a calm tone for my attitude. This continued as we boarded the crowded elevator and began to go down. I should have realized I was in trouble and I should have expressed repentance for my wrong attitude. But I was just too full of my self centered sulkiness and instead I just ignored her as much as I dared. If I had apologized and promised to behave I think the scolding she gave me might have been all I would have received; but I didn't and it wasn't. 
  So I suppose while we were halfway to the street level and I was still indifferent to her lecture that she must have had enough and decided I needed to be spanked. She certainly informed me of her decision at that moment. When she had finished reviewing all the little ways I had been a bad girl during the whole shopping trip she concluded, "And when we get home I'm going to turn you over my knee, pull down your panties, and give you a good spanking."
  She probably said this in the same normal tone of voice she had been using up until then. But her voice as she spoke those terrible words suddenly seemed terribly loud to my ears. I looked at the elevator floor, blushing, my eyes tearing up, wishing I could disappear. I was certain that everyone in the elevator heard, that every head turned my way, and that every mind pictured me turned over my mother's knee with my panties pulled down getting my spanking. 

  For really, really bad behavior, they'd pull our pants down so they could swat our bare backsides to make it sting more. This hardly ever happened though, and I doubt I got spanked that way more than three or four times. 
  One spanking I did get on my bare behind came about when my mother found me exploring a barely framed new house being built down the street. 
  I was about 8, and knew very well I wasn't allowed to be there, particularly in late evening when I was supposed to be sticking close to home. When my mother found me I knew instantly I was in huge trouble, and when we got home I was hardly surprised when she took me straight to her bedroom. As much as I hoped she wouldn't go that far, I kind of figured I was in for a pantsdowner to boot. 
  Usually when we were taken to their room for a spanking, it meant we were in for something extra. Well, I was right. After she sat on the edge of the bed and put me over her lap, she tugged my pants down before letting me have it. After a half dozen or so hard swats I was let up and sent crying to my room.
I'm sure this spanking stung more than most, but I think I remember this so well because it was so unusual for us to get it with our pants down. 

  Once when I was eleven or twelve, three of us went over to another girl's doorstep to see if she could come out and play with us.
  When poor Mary came out her face was deeply flushed and her eyes were swollen and red from crying, although her face was dry and looked as if she had just washed it. She was not in a good mood and none of us wanted her to think we were making fun of her or anything like that. But when one of the other girls said, "We're all so sorry you got punished, Mary," in a very sympathetic way, that made Mary feel comfortable enough to complain to us about what had happened.
  At first she just said that her father had spanked her, and that she was very mad at him because it wasn't fair. Each of us told her that we got spanked too. We said this not because any of us particularly liked to talk about it, but because we all wanted to comfort her by saying that what had happened to her also happened to us too. The more we sympathized, the more Mary, in a tone of deep resentment towards her father, described in more detail what her father had just done. And as she did, one or more of us would chime in with something similar that our parents had done to punish us too, to let Mary know that we appreciated what she had gone through. I didn't enjoy revealing details of how I got spanked but I was quite interested in learning about how my friends' parents spanked them.
  I don't remember what Mary had done to get into trouble, only that she strongly believed she shouldn't have been spanked for it, and certainly not on her bare bottom, in the bathroom, hard, with her father's belt. I do remember saying that my father used his belt to spank me too sometimes and that it hurt something awful so I knew just how bad Mary's spanking must have been for her. But I didn't mention that my father never did this on my bare bottom - I didn't want to make Mary feel worse about what had just happened to her rather than better.
  After a while, Mary's mood had visibly brightened and she was more like her usual self. When she began talking about other things, no one said another word about spankings that afternoon. It is always a blessing to have friends who support you that way! 

  My mother told me on the phone that I had behaved in manner unbecoming of a well bred young Christian. She ordered me come straight home after school because I'd been a very, very bad girl who was going to get a well-deserved thrashing on her little bare bottom.
  A "thrashing" from my mother was like a spanking, only worse. It meant you got turned across her knee for a whipping with a flexible switch. It was the worst punishment in the world. And for the rest of the school day I could hear nothing the teacher said because I was so filled with miserable dread of what was later going to happen to me.
  After school, I walked home as slowly as I dared, with an achy knot of fear in my bosom. I began to cry when I saw my mother waiting for me on our porch, holding a green twig freshly cut from the willow bush in our yard.
  I pleaded for leniency as she marched me up the stairs, but to no avail. In my room I tried to tell her how horridly the mean boy had teased me, but she just ignored me and pulled me face down across her lap. Over my shoulder I implored her for a second chance while she turned up my dress and petticoat in back. And in the last moments as she tugged down my panties I even begged her to give me an ordinary spanking with her hand instead of a thrashing with that switch.
  But the rod was not spared. My mother whipped me very soundly that afternoon. It was one of my most painful experiences of my childhood. 
  Needless to say, I never punched anyone in the nose again!

  Mum was a firm believer in spankings and despite being the youngest and the only girl she certainly never went easy on me! If there was any cheek or naughtiness Mum would put me across her knee and spanked my bare bottom until it was pink and hot.
  Christmas in Melbourne tends to be really hot, so we usually celebrate at least some of it outdoors. One Christmas my brothers were home from university visiting with their partners. It was all adults, and as an 11 year old I was pretty bored with all the chit chat and wanted to go to my room to play with my new stuff.
I made several attempts to snek back into the house and every time Mum caught me she would tell me "Come on Sam, it's Christmas day. It's time for family." She would then march me back out to where everyone was sitting around in the garden.
  After the 3rd time she warned me in front of my brothers that I would get a sore bottom if I carried on with this behavior. This, of course, raised a cheer from my brothers who always thought I got away with way too much.
  I don't know what got into me, but I remember saying something along the lines of "Yeah, right. Whatever!" The silence that followed was deafening.
  Mum got up and came toward me. I took off running round the garden, which was a pretty dumb idea on my part, but at the time it was the only thing I could think of. Mum eventually cornered me. She grabbed me by the arm and walked me back towards where everyone was sitting, smacking my bottom as we walked. This was embarrassing in and of itself, but the horror of horrors for a little girl awaited me.
  My Mum sat down on a bench and in full view of everyone pulled me over her lap. I felt her hands pull down my shorts and then my undies so that my bottom was completely bare. She then gave me a stinging spanking in full view of everyone. When she finished, I clambered up rubbing my stinging bottom as my 4 brothers all sat with big grins on their faces. Dad didn't seem as amused. He looked a bit cross and I had the sensation that I was going to end the day after the visitors left by dangling over dads lap. But that, as they say, is another story!!! 

  He said something which I couldn't hear and then Connie bent over the side of her bed and put her face in her arms, weeping miserably. He sat down next to her and I plainly saw that my new friend was indeed about to get a spanking from her father. Now I knew I absolutely shouldn't be watching this and that I was wrong not to leave at once. But now I also felt more riveted than ever.
  Connie's father looked down at her and sighed deeply a couple times. He had looked stern when speaking to Connie, but now that her head was turned away he only looked sad. Clearly he really didn't want to spank her. But then he took a very deep breath and said, "Connie, darling, you must always tell Daddy the truth," and then gave the seat of her heavy pleated skirt a sharp little swat, firmly enough to be a real spank but not very hard. Connie cried louder, but she still cried an "I'm sorry" cry more than a "that hurts" cry.
  If my father had caught me telling him a lie he would have had me over his knee by now with my skirts turned up in back. And he would be giving the exposed seat of my thin little panties one slow, hard spank after another with his big, heavy hand while I bawled and kicked my legs in pain. Indeed, for telling my father a lie at that age, a "licking" with my father's belt would have been a real possibility.
  Connie's father bit his lip and reluctantly drew back his paddle and said, almost apologetically, "No more fibs from now on. Understood?" Again he swatted her, no harder than before. Through her thick woolen skirt and whatever she had on underneath I guessed that her father's paddle probably did hurt her, but just a tiny bit. If he had spanked her any less forcefully it could almost have been a game rather than a real punishment. But Connie was crying deep sobs of remorse and she wasn't faking.
  "Only the truth!" he said, and gave Connie another restrained little swat. A pause, then, "Daddy means it!" he added, and gave her one last swat, slightly harder than the others but still not terribly hard. Then he set aside the paddle, sat Connie on his knee and held her while she cried and told him she was sorry several more times. When she had mostly quieted down he asked her what she would do next time and she promised she would tell Daddy the truth and ask permission to do her homework later when she had a friend visiting instead of telling Daddy a fib. And she sounded as if she really meant what she said and wasn't merely reciting what she thought she was supposed to say because her father had just spanked her.

  One memory I do remember, which comes back to haunt me on odd occasions, was of when I was about eight years of age. My family were, and still remain, devout Catholics, and they sent me and my sister to a convent school that stood within the confines of the local Catholic Church. The nuns were very strict, and everyday punishment was usually a rap on the knuckles, a backhand across the head or a slap in the face. Being sent to the headmistress - Sister Winifride, the head of the convent, a very intimidating woman - often meant being lashed either on the hand or the bottom with various implements, from a shoe to a piece of rubber tubing from a bunsen burner, depending on the severity of the offence.
  One Friday, the class were tasked with writing an essay on a book we were reading at the time (the title escapes me now, but it wasn't anything well-known). This was under test conditions, in total silence.  No one ever talked - we didn't dare! The girl I was sharing my desk with had her head down on the desk as she wrote, and I didn't notice her and accidentally caught her with my elbow. I apologized, and fairly enough, the girl (Helen) told me to watch it.
  Sister Maria said, "What were you talking to Helen about?" I explained what happened - but she insisted I was lying and told me that my punishment would be a smacked bottom. I looked imploring at Helen to come to my rescue; but Sister Maria had already made up her mind that I was trying to copy Helen's work - even after Helen backed my story up! And to make matters worse, by trying to defend me, all poor Helen did was to earn herself a very sore bottom as well!
  "Come up here, both of you!" she barked. Her desk was on a raised platform at the other end of the class from the door.
Then she put me and Helen over her knee, and spanked us together on our bare bottoms in front of the class. It was only a hand spanking, but it was still painful enough - she was certainly very well-trained in meting corporal punishment out!
  When her hand got tired, she stopped, to my relief - but it wasn't over yet! She simply turned us around and used her other hand instead. I recall that Helen and I were both crying our eyes out and pleading with her to stop, but to no avail. Some of the other kids in the class were distressed by the incident as well.
  When it was over, she made me and Helen stand and face the blackboard behind her desk, with our hands on our heads and with our bottoms still exposed for the whole class to see, until the bell rang to signal school's end. Then, after the class had left we were sent up to Sister Winifride, who, with Sister Maria watching, beat the palms of Helen's hands and gave my bottom another good hiding with her wooden ruler - mercifully in the privacy of her office this time - before we were both told we could go home. We couldn't get out of there quick enough! When I inspected my bottom after I arrived home, it was cherry pink, with bright red lines and blue bruising in places from where the ruler hit its target. Imagine my embarrassment at having to explain this to my mother in front of my sister later that evening when she was bathing us - because as far as my parents were concerned, if we ever got spanked at school, we must have done something wrong!
  So in short, try to picture, if you will, the following little scenario; two young, very shy children of age eight, made to go through the terrifying experience of being spanked and also humiliated in public with a class of 30 distressed kids watching - and for what? A misunderstanding; a false accusation of a "serious offense" that never was... 

  After I had finished preparing for bed and came out of the bathroom, I went to my room. I never gave it a thought, but my sister wasn't in her bed yet, but my mom was in our room. I thought she was simply just putting away some laundry, which she probably was. As I pulled down the covers on my bed, my mom went over and closed the door and locked it. I simply cannot describe the feeling that came over me when I heard the words... "I think we have a little unfinished business to take care of Lisa Ann."
  There wasn't much of a lecture, and there wasn't much talking, even though my mom was actually speaking I don't remember a word she said. I do remember, however, her grabbing me very firmly by the wrist and leading me to the vanity bench where the spoon was resting. In an instant she had me over her lap with my night shirt up and my panties down. I resisted as best I could, but it was to no avail. With me pinned between her legs and my hands forced to the small of my back with her free hand, my mom spanked my bare bottom very soundly with that spoon that night. It stung drastically beyond words. She was able to overcome my struggles while my screams of mercy fell on deaf ears.
  The rest of the story is pretty much a blur. I don't know how long it lasted or how many times that spoon connected with my rear end. To me it seemed like an eternity, but in actuality it probably didn't last long at all. I do know it was thorough though, and I know that I cried myself to sleep that night like a blubbering baby.
  My mom did have a nice loving chat with me that next day which ended in some hugs and tears. I know she felt bad about having to spank me like that, but she explained why I deserved it. I know myself, especially now, that I did deserve it and I certainly learned from it. I know it had to be pretty hard for my mom to raise four kids pretty much on her own.

  I grew up as the middle child in a home with three sisters, fairly close in age.  We argued and bickered frequently over anything and everything.  One summer morning while watching cartoons, my older sister and I were arguing loudly.  Without warning, Mama came into the room with a switch and began to use it on the two of us. In trying to escape the sting of the lashes to my legs, I somehow struck her and knocked her glasses off her face. She immediately stopped the whipping and sent me to my room upstairs. From my room, I could hear my sister crying as Mama completed her punishment.  Then the house was quiet with the exception of the normal household activities. I composed myself and passed the next couple of hours playing alone in my room.
  Then I heard a car pull into the driveway, signaling that Daddy was home for lunch.  After a short time, I heard Daddy calling me to come downstairs.  I went down to join him and my mother at the dining room table where a fresh new switch was waiting instead of lunch.  I was lectured about arguing with my sisters and told I would not be allowed to get away with fighting punishment when Mama thought it was necessary. Daddy was insistent that he was going to be sure that the punishment Mama had started would be properly completed. 
  The doorway between the dining room and den was a large open archway.  My two sisters were in the den watching TV at the time, so they could hear and see everything happening. I was instructed by Daddy to stand in the door way with my hands holding onto the doorframe at the side of the large opening. I obeyed as Mama picked up the switch and striped the back of my bare legs. I squirmed and screamed loudly as I literally slid down the doorframe trying to avoid that whippy switch. Daddy firmly ordered me to stand up and remain still.  Mama put the switch down long enough to pull my shorts down to my ankles.  I pleaded for her not to do that.  Daddy told me to hush.  Mama completed the whipping on my panty covered rear-end and backs of my thighs.  I was sent back upstairs to my room to compose myself before joining my family for lunch.
 

   I earned my mother's displeasure while we were out shopping one afternoon, and she promised me "a spanking when we get home."  I remember being on my very best behavior after that, hoping she would change her mind or forget.  Mother calmly enjoyed my extra good behavior and addressed me in a pleasant tone for the rest of our errands, as if she truly had forgotten. This encouraged me to continue being extra good, which I am sure suited Mother just fine.
   I tried to think of something extra good to volunteer to do as soon as we got home. I hoped she would quietly let me do that instead of put me over her knee. Just as we approached home I cheerfully declared that I wanted to polish our best silverware now. Our best silverware really was made of silver and would tarnish and not look its best if not polished from time to time. Mother praised me for offering to do this extra chore without her needing to ask and she told me what a very good little girl I was.
  Once we arrived I dashed straight in and fetched our tray of special occasion silverware while she got out silver polish, a piece of oilcloth and a rag, and together we set up everything for me on our kitchen table. As we did, I hopefully acted eager to begin, angelic well-behaved little helper that I was!
  I almost imagined my plan had worked and that I truly would get to polish silver instead of get my bare behind polished. No sooner did I attempt to sit down and begin than Mother gently restrained me and stooped to my eye level to remind me again how pleased she was with me. She then declared, still smiling, "you may polish the silverware later, Margaret... after you've been spanked."  She uttered those terrible words with the same pleasant tone,  pronouncing her final four words a wee bit more slowly as if for emphasis.
  For me it felt as if our brightly lit kitchen had suddenly gone dark and ominous.  Before I'd had time to react to this abrupt change of affairs she added, "come with me," took me by my wrist and whisked me straight to my room.  There she placed me over her knee, pulled down my panties and spanked me - every bit as soundly as she had earlier promised me she would.  My goody-goody behavior of the previous half hour had bought me no leniency.
  And once I had finished crying and we had prayed together, I still had to go straight back to our kitchen, sit my poor little bottom down, and polish all that silverware!  I smiled and tried my best to still act as if offering to do this chore had had nothing to do with that spanking she had promised me when we got home.  But by then I realized she had seen right through me all along.
 

  My most minor misbehavior for which I ever got spanked might have been an incident at the end of fourth grade. I got into trouble with my father for absent mindedly singing the "One-Eyed One-Horned Flying Purple People Eater" song to myself while I was doing dishes.This song was a number one hit by Sheb Wooley and all my friends were singing it too.
  Earlier that day Daddy forbade me from singing that song ever again because he was tired of hearing it, and I promised him I wouldn't. But still it kept going through my mind over and over. And when he later caught me singing it to myself while setting our table for dinner he promised me if he heard that song one more time "a certain little girl is going to get her little panties warmed!"  I sincerely promised I wouldn't. I knew my father would surely keep his promise to me if I didn't keep my promise to him!
  But after dinner I was doing dishes and suddenly Daddy stormed into the kitchen. In an awful moment of dread I realized I had been singing out loud about the "Purple People Eater" again without realizing.  I stopped myself at once but I was too late.
  He pulled out a chair and pulled me over his lap, still wearing my Playtex dish gloves.  I tearfully told him I was sorry and I hadn't meant to disobey him and please not to spank me, but he didn't say a word.  He just turned up my dress and petticoat over my head in back.  And then I felt his big, heavy hand wallop my behind again and again until I was bawling across his lap - a very sorry little girl with very "warm panties," just as he had promised.
  After my father finished giving me my spanking he marched me upstairs to my room with me still crying and clutching my bottom. And he ordered me to ask God to forgive me for my willful disobedience, and not to come out and finish doing dishes until I had permission.
  My bottom cheeks both knew they had been spanked, and I kept rubbing them even after they stopped smarting and were merely hot.  I was rubbing  to make itchiness go away, especially where the edging along my panties' leg openings in back had faintly chafed my skin from the shearing force of my father's palm.
  Later, when I was permitted to come back downstairs I remember climbing sadly down still rubbing the seat of my dress with one hand, and feeling very subdued and chastened, and intending to be a good little girl as God intended and do my dishes and not stupidly make myself get into any more stupid trouble. I soon discovered Mommy had already washed them herself and dried and put them all away, even though that was my job. I believe this was her way of showing me, without her saying anything against my father, that she felt Daddy had been too severe with me.
 

The worst memory was when I was 8 and swore at my cousin.  We were at my aunt and uncle's summer house.  My Mom heard me and said out-loud "excuse me someone needs their pants pulled down for a reminder" I started to leave the room and she grabbed my arm and in front of everyone (my aunt,uncle and teenage daughter and my Dad) she pushed me over her thigh and yanked down my shorts and then my panties.  I started to squirm and pull away and my Dad told me to "be still or he would get the belt." My Mom said outloud, "I guess Sara wanted to let everyone know she needed a red bottom, and believe me she is going to get the warming of her life starting now.  I am sorry all of you have to witness this little girl getting a spanking but she has been acting out and needs some attention."  She then spanked me hard several times while I cried and kicked.  She then pulled me into the next room with my pants and shorts down to my knees crying and placed me over her knees.  The spanking lasted at least 5 minutes and she firmly swatted my bottom while I kicked and cried and then said I was sorrrrrry! Afterwards she pulled my pants up and told me to march into my bedroom for the afternoon and think about my red bottom. 

I'm a 43 y/o woman from Western New York. Spanking was the main form of discipline in my house when I was growing up. I attended a Catholic school and was paddled there as well.
Spankings were very formal events that included corner time before and after, scoldings, implement fetching and counting of strokes. Most often I was spanked with a paddle (ping pong and school type), a wooden hairbrush or a leather strap. (that mostly when I was caught in a lie)
Most spankings took place in my parent's room where I was bent over a lap or grabbing on to a chair and after I had been told to pull down my pants or take off my skirt. I was spanked bare bottom almost exclusively and I can't remember a home spanking that was not with bottom bare.
Spankings would be followed with time in the corner with pants still down.  I received my last spanking at home at 15, my sophomore year in high school. I have a sister and two brothers, all younger, who were spanked like I was - and yes on occassion we were spanked in front of each other.

My name is Susan, I was raised in SE Michigan, the 3rd of 5 siblings.  Discipline in our house was extremely strict.  When we got on mom or dad's bad side, they took the belt to our bare butts, and it didn't matter how old the offender was.  After the spanking we were grounded to our room for as long as mom or dad felt was appropriate.  Despite all the punishments we got, we all loved our mom and dad and have a very close-knit family to this day.

I was never spanked as a child.  I had saw my sister get plenty of them and I decided at an early age to do anything to defer from getting one.  I am a sound believer in spankings.  I get them now from my hubby when I misbehave.  (I still try my damnest to keep from getting them.) When my daughter gets to the age that she knows when she is being told not to do something, she will get spanked if she misbehaves.  No, i don't believe in using your hand, b/c the hand is suppose to show love, not pain.

I'm Trish, 32, born and raised on a farm in Southern Illinois by my grandmother, my parents having abandoned me (it was the Viet Nam era and they were protesting everything, including raising a child, apparently).  Gramma spanked me with her hand, a willow switch, various kitchen utensils, and once in a long while, an old razor strap.  I was spanked for the "three D's", which were Disobedience, Dishonesty, and Disrespect.  I didn't always appreciate how fine a point it took to get me spanked, and I got it for a lot of little things...nonetheless I grew up pretty free of antagonisms or emotional hangups...
My parents protested to the point that they abandoned me to be raised by my grandmother, who I suppose you would say was from the "old school."  She was also known where we come from as a "spanking Methodist."
She raised me strictly and I was spanked fairly regularly for what I now consider some rather small things.  Especially if I embarrassed her socially.  I am tall and I got leggy early, and after that she spanked me over the sofa arm instead of across her lap.
When I was eleven or so, the spankings got to feeling tingly and good afterward.  This was a sexual feeling, I know now, but I didn't then.  It led to my desire to be spanked by guys, and I had several of these adventures growing up.

I was raised in the 40's and 50's by a stern, no non-sense Mother. She believed in whipping at the drop of a hat.  Her switching was given in this manner. I was sent to my room and had to remove my pants and underwear and wait for her to go and cut a switch, at least 4-5 feet in length. I'd look out my window and see her cutting a switch and walking back to house, stripping off leaves and limbs from it as she returned. I'd get a good scolding about what i'd done and what was going to happen to me. I'd be shaking and sobbing while she was telling me all this. She'd then grasp my left arm with her left hand, and have me turn around, with my bare bottom facing her. After a few light taps, she'd begin the switching with earnest.  She would stop about half-way through it, and ask if I was learning anything from this. I'd try to reply "Yes, Mam", and "please don't whip me anymore!"  She would then say "We will see about that."  I don't know how many licks i received, but i'd be willing to say at least 50-60. They were all given from top of my hips, to bare bottom buns and just above my knees.  I would have to put clothes back on, and go about my farm chores, since we lived with my grandparents. I think I averaged getting a switching at least once a month.

I was at summer camp when I was 11 years old and there was this really cute guy who taught us swimming and water safety. I always wanted his attention so i acted up and fooled off all the time. He asked me to talk with him after the lesson. He asked why i always acted like a brat. I just looked at him and stuck out my tounge. He told me that i was very cheeky and what i needed was a good spanking. My jaw dropped and i could feel myself getting all red in my cheeks. I told him that he wasn't allowed to spank any of the kids at the camp. He nodded in agreement. "You are right, and knowing you you would cause a problem for me if you could." The whole time he said this to me he was glaring at me. I felt weak at the knees. Then he said "if I could have my way there would be a few less spoiled girls at this camp if we were allowed to give you all what you really deserve." He seemed to really be mad at me. As he turned to walk away from me he said you had better behave or i am going to report you to your cabin counselor. I just stood there with a weird feeling in my gut. I think this was the start of my spanking intrest. I was obsessed with his words for the longest time after. And wondered about a million times what it would have been like to be over his knee getting that well deserved spanking.

When I was around three or four, I was spending the night at my grandparents' house as I often did. My grandmother put me to bed, but I wasn't tired yet, so I got out of bed and played with my toys on the floor. I don't know how long I played but I made a large mess. Without cleaning up, I eventually crawled into bed. When I awoke in the morning, the floor had been cleaned and I had forgotten all about my late-night playtime. Grandma came in, and I was bathed as was the norm for first thing in the am at Grandma's. But after the bath, she dressed me only in a T-shirt and carried me downstairs. I was puzzled but didn't question her until she sat down in a rolling kitchen chair and draped me over her knees. She wheeled us over to a drawer, where she withdrew a wooden spoon and proceeded to redden my bottom for getting out of bed and making a mess. The spanking seemed to go on forever, but afterwards, I was hugged, dressed and allowed to play outside. 

I find that spanking is a more effective form of discipline with girls. Girls tend to be more modest by nature and the humiliation of having their dresses lifted and panties exposed makes them think twice about committing an offense. I also find that spanking is an effective motivator to being a good student. My daughter objects to my belief that it is and thinks that her brother should be spanked as well. But I think only a girl should have to bare her bottom for a spanking and that it is improper for a young man of any age. A girl however is a different thing and must learn that at a young age. 

Nine year old Lucy stayed seated while her parents talked too quietly for her to hear. She never got spanked with her brothers. Their parents sometimes spanked their bare bottoms so it was decided long ago that they didn't need to get spanked together. She had seen her little brothers get a swat or two as a warning over the pants, but other than that she had only seen her brothers' butts when they were little and ran around naked. Their parents' rule was by the time you were five you were too old to run around naked. So once you turned five you got spanked for being in anything other than underwear. Then Mr. Parker went to the basement stairs and closed the door behind him.

Lucy watched fearfully as her mother went into her bedroom and came out with her wooden hairbrush. Mrs. Parker sat on a kitchen chair and beckoned her daughter over to her. Lucy approached slowly until she was within arm's reach and her mother swiftly turned her over her knee.

I called Sam over, and was pleased to see that she was crying already. She very quickly lay across my knee, probably keen to get it over, though clenching her buns tight together.

I sharply told her not to, she obeyed, and I began.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!!

It was almost a repeat performance, though I was intrigued to see how Sam's buns quivered furiously as they began to redden - much more than Kevins' - also how she began to scream and kick much sooner than Kevin had. I did suspect, though, that she was acting a little, in an effort to get me to stop but I have to admit that I was slightly more lenient than with Kevin, since she had had the extra punishment of waiting and anticipation. I still made those bare round bottie-cheeks bright red all over, though. 

Next, our dad pulled ten year old Kathy over his knee and spanked her underpants covered butt with the hairbrush. Since she is a girl, and is more sensitive than boys, he only gave her five whacks, and then, while she sobbed from those five hard whacks, he pulled her underpants down to her knees. Then, she cried hysterically as he gave her bare butt ten whacks, and then made her clean the room too with her underpants still at her knees. She obeyed.

My husband and I spank our kids when needed. We use a long plastic black shoe horn that’s a concaved curved 1” wide and 20” long. It stings like the devil when our kids are over our knees getting their cute little cotton covered buns set on fire. In our family the kids get one swat per age year on their underpants. If they do the same conduct within a month the swats double, but the second set is on the bare.

Both kids are crying their eyes out during their spankings, but when their Dad bares their butts they beg and bawl for it to stop. Even the double spankings only leave their buns dark red with a few marks that all fade by the next morning.

Late in the day, I went to fetch water at a nearby spring, and seven year old Mary came with me. We hadn't gone two hundred yards when Mrs. Jones caught up to us. She sternly told the girl, "I told you not to go with him!", and as she spoke she tore a willow branch from a nearby bush. She whacked the girl across her legs once; twice; a third time, causing immediate shrieks and squalls, and I watched, confused, and embarrassed. Then some impulse made me speak up: "No! Don't whip her. It wasn't her fault; I asked her along. I'm the one who needs spanking!" While I still had some momentum, I breathlessly went on, "I've been naughty. I threw the rock at the marmots, and I've done lots of other bad things and I deserve to be whipped like those men at the prison!" I hastily amended this, "Not that HARD, but with a leather strap and no clothes on." She had stopped her switching until I ran out of breath and words, and she said nothing but looked at me with a very strange expression. Then she turned back to her daughter and unleashed another half dozen swats with the switch. Crying girl and angry mother strode back down the trail, leaving me with a flood of emotions, a pounding heart, and some serious second thoughts about what I had just said. To this day, I can't remember if I got that bucket of water or not.

"Come off it Emily!" I said loudly over her shouting. "I heard you! You said that James's jacket smelled like the s word! Don't try to deny it!"

Emily's face went from shock to sick fear. Swearing was a spankable offense in the Hewit household. Emily had recently discovered that repeating certain words that her older brother's (Brad and Sean) sometimes used, would get her a lot of attention from said brothers. They thought it was hilarious when she said these words and would often ask her to say them (even though she didn't even know what they meant). However, she was caught last week, using these words whilst playing and was given a stern talking to about how she was never to use them again. My parents made it very clear that if they heard about her saying any naughty words again, she would be spanked. No exceptions.

My mom had heard enough. She grabbed up Emily and left James and I standing in the foyer to unpack our backpacks and start our homework. As we went to our room we could hear the SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! of a very sound spanking taking place in Emily's room.

Before they could speak, or react, their father had lifted Grace up, and pulled her skirt and panties down to her ankles, then threw her on the top of the kitchen table, face down. The strap cracked into Grace's twelve year old white buttocks, searing into the flesh, pushing it down, and separating her cheeks as the busy leather visited every inch of her buttocks, finally ending with a blazing trail of red on her thighs. Grace was lifted up, and stood up on her feet. Her face contorted in pain, her hands rubbing her bottom furiously, tears and snot dripping down her blouse, surprising the boys by showing her little mound.

Sobering somewhat, their father started to yell and swear at Grace, saying she was in charge, and it was her fault. The boys were petrified, and could not speak up. Grace was made to finish setting the table, and cooking dinner, with nothing covering her little backside which was now turning a deep blue color, with splotches of bright red everywhere.

"I am going to turn your heinie into hamburger, young man" Mom shoved down hard on my upper back, positioned her knee to block my legs from flying up protectively, and rested the paddle against my skivvies like she always did, to adjust her grip and aim. Oh God, the very touch of that slab of wood made my flesh crawl, and I gritted my teeth against the firestorm to follow.

Only it didn't come. There was nothing but thick silence ... and the applause of tiny hands coming from the adjacent dining room.

"Janie, you should go outdoors and not watch this." Mom's voice got a lot more, well, maternal.

"But I wanna see!" Sis gushed, and added hopping up and down to her happy ovation.

Mom was poised like a statue for a few seconds, hawk eyes transfixed on Sis, and then said "I want to see something too. Come here."

My sister flounced gaily into the room, delighted at the prospect of a front row seat for brother's latest disaster epic.

Mom rested the paddle on my back and let go of it, to free a hand so she could reach out and clutch Sis' tiny paws. She twisted them back and forth, examining them closely. "Janie, how did you get black permanent ink all over your fingers?"

My sister's hopping came to a screeching halt and a look of consternation flooded over her face.

Mom could add up the clues as fast as Dad could, when she wanted to. "Why you scheming, conniving little [outlawed synonym for poop], you tried to set your brother up by painting a mustache on yourself?"

Even teetering on the precipice of doom, I had to pause and admire. For a five-year-old, that was a pretty slick dirty trick.

Sis began her usual cats-in-heat squeal. "But it wasn't me, it wasn't, Bernie tied me up and made me sit there while he painted ink all over my fingers, and, and, and ..."

"And you forgot to mention it to me the minute he set you free?"

"Oh wait, wait, now I remember, it was gremlins, the ones that live in the basement, they put magic on me so I couldn't talk, then tied me up and painted ink all over my ... "

I was feeling very gentle hands pulling my pants back up, lifting me carefully off the arm of the sofa, and setting me on my feet. There was even a loving pat on my head tossed in for good measure. "I'm so sorry, Bernie," Mom said with genuine pain, "I almost made a terrible mistake. It seems I had the wrong person over the armrest with her dress pulled up to her neck."

"Can I watch?" I asked greedily, suppressing the urge to hop up and down and applaud.

"I think you should go outdoors for a few minutes, dear, I'll call when it's all right to come back in. And I think you can plan on an extra dessert tonight, since Janie won't be getting hers."

"Okay, Mom!" I was very agreeable as I belted for the kitchen door, went out into the backyard, circled around, and stood on tiptoe so I could peer through the dining room picture window, which gave just the right angle of view into the living room as Sis took my parking spot on the sofa arm, wearing the back of her dress up around her ears, screaming something about basement gremlins ...

I ducked as the paddle began its work and a huge fireball came blasting through the glass of the picture window, punctuated by a delightful sibling howl of pain and outrage and terror ...

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"EEEEEEEEE!"

Dad paused, as I lay draped over his lap in a boneless puddle with my tail end absolutely afire, and he did a fast count on his fingers. "Shucks. Was that last one twenty five or twenty six?"

"Ten." my sister piped from her seat on the little wooden rocking chair.

"No fair." I managed to gasp somehow in between waves of white-hot pain. "She can only count to ten."

Dad was still calculating. "Had to be twenty five. Math is my living. So ..."

I clenched my teeth again. I'd have clenched my buttock muscles too but there was nothing back there now but a radioactive crater.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

There, that would make thirty. Or three hundred. I sort of lost count myself because the agony was excruciating.

Dad paused again. "Well, I suppose all good things must come to an end, so ..." SMACK! SMACK! "Thirty two." He came to a halt at last, and waved the smoke away with a cough.

I could only manage a choked sob of relief because my throat was raw from screaming and crying.

"Aw, it's over?" Sis griped.

"We're playing Tarzan." Dickie hazarded. "We got the idea from the matinee at the theater last week."

"Makes sense." Sally said thoughtfully. "You need a Jane, then." she reached up and pulled her jumper right off and tossed it aside, then sat down in her panties to work her shoes and socks off.

She ditched the last shoe and sock and stood up, and ... well, nothing suggested romance. Skinned down like that, she was all arms and legs and ribs ... in fact, she looked a lot like us except for long red pigtails and bright yellow drawers. "What do I do, climb the rope or just go up the trunk?"

"Hmmm." Sally stepped forward and gave the rope a few experimental tugs, while Dickie and I both turned on Paul and hissed "Are you crazy? What do you want her up here with us for?"

"Wait and see." Paul grinned back.

"This is easier in the movies." Sally frowned, but took a little leap and was hanging from the rope. "Tarzan made an elevator for Jane that she could sit on."

Sally was about halfway up the rope when she stopped trying and hung there, panting so hard her cheeks puffed out. "Somebody give me a boost!"

I reached up on tip-toe, gripped her bright yellow pants by the waistband, and made a downward-sideways whipping motion like a magician pulling his cloak sharply away to reveal his trick. "Ta-DAH!"

[Sound Department: insert one Unholy Screech From Hell here]

Sally dangled there, wildly bellowing and kicking, her rosy nether cheeks exposed once again to the world. Okay, it was more like a private showing but revenge was sweet. Last year on top of the monkey bars, I managed to defrock her in front of a recess yard full of kids while trying to arrest a bad fall. The teacher had blistered my behind to a turn for it, unintentional though it was. Sally gave me a lot of outraged verbal static over the balance of the school year. Technically I got avenged – my Sis came up with a dirty trick that got her in huge trouble too – but to escape suspicion I was forced to be elsewhere and missed all the fun. But not this time.

She slowly - very slowly - shuffled forward. He waited patiently - I think he'd have waited an hour if needed, as long as there was some perceptible forward motion. Amelia arrived behind the chair.

"Bend over."

Slowly - even more slowly than she'd walked - Amelia went over the chair. As soon as she was in position, her mother lifted her skirt, exposing her knicker clad bottom. Her mother whispered something to her, and her whole body shuddered - and she put her legs together tightly. Her mother stepped behind her, blocking her from my view and pulled down her underwear, before stepping away. I now had a clear view of Amelia's bare bottom. Now, yes, I had seen it before - but surreptitiously. I'd never had this type of view.

Mr Connolly lined up the cane, and then brought it back - and swung it down. It was a good, firm stroke. Nothing like the massive swings I'd seen from some of the Masters at school, but they were highly experienced experts. Mr Connolly was a novice and I don't think he intended to hit as hard as they did either. But it was a firm stroke, and Amelia shrieked at it and straightened up. Her hands flew around to cover her bottom.

"Please, no more, Daddy!"

"Five more, actually - six more if you're not back over that chair by the time I count to three. One... two..."

She got back into position. He took aim again and the second stroke was a carbon copy of the first. And so was Amelia's reaction.

Her father roared, "ONE, TWO..."

She struggled back down. "I will not count again, Amelia. You stand up again and I start again right from the start. I don't want to give you more than six - but if you make me, I will do so."

Mrs Connolly placed her hands on her daughters shoulders. I could see the two red lines blossoming on Amelia's bottom - it was quivering. Her whole body was. Mr Connolly looked at his wife and nodded - silent communication but the meaning was clear. Mrs Connolly was going to hold Amelia down so she didn't earn extra strokes.

He brought the cane back up - and brought it down firmly. Amelia shrieked again. Within a second he brought it back up and down again - and then a third time, and finally a fourth. The last four strokes were delivered in rapid succession. Amelia's screaming became worse at each stroke. She was incoherent when she was allowed to stand.

"Dress yourself."

She couldn't obey her fathers instructions. Her mother pulled her knickers up and pulled her skirt down into position and then lead her by the hand over next to where I was standing, and turned her around so she was facing the chair. 

His wife spoke. "She's only 12..."

"If she's old enough to be doing things like this, she is old enough for the cane."

Susan came back into the room - and she fell to her knees.

"P...p...lease, D...d...addy. I'll n...n...n...ever do it again!"

"Get up, Susan. Please don't make this any harder than it has to be. Nathan - could you move the armchair into the centre of the room. Then stand over there."

I did as I was told. Lucy and Mrs Connolly helped Susan up and took her to the armchair. I'd been told to stand behind the chair - a few yards behind it. And I realised I was in a very similar position to that I had been in when I'd seen William flogged at school, and Amelia flogged in this room. And I was going to witness this as well. Pure justice in this case, I suppose.

Justice enough that Susan didn't complain - although maybe she was still young enough that she didn't really care.

"Susan," Mr Connolly spoke. "I am going to cane you for spying on Nathan while he was showering.  Now bend over the back of the chair."

She had to stand on her tip toes to do it. As soon as she was in position, her mother lifted her skirt out of the way, and I could see her knickers - pale blue with little yellow flowers. Her mother pulled them down to her knees and I was looking at a very small, very white bottom. It looked no different from the bottom of any twelve year old boys I had seen.

Her mother then moved around in front of her and placed her hands on her shoulders to hold her down. And Mr Connolly laid the cane across the centre of her bottom, brought it back and slashed it down. Not particularly hard - nowhere near as hard as he had caned Amelia a couple of weeks earlier - but enough to hurt certainly. And he brought the cane back immediately and straight back down. Four strokes, very fast, covering all of that tiny bottom - and then two more, softer, but still most definitely painful, on the upper part of her legs. Then he tucked the cane under his arm, bent down and pulled up her underpants, as her mother released her shoulders. Her hands fled around to her bottom, and her father wrapped his other arm - the one without a cane under it around her and held her close for a minute before letting her go into her mothers arms.

“There is only one cure for temper tantrums,” said father getting up. He lifted Janet out of her chair, sat down again and put Janet over his knee.

“Bare bum! Bare bum!” John intoned inside his head. “I always get it bare bum.”

Whether father picked up the vibrations from John’s brain or had already made up his mind, he had pulled up Janet’s dress and tugged down her knickers before she realised what was happening. A flurry of hard spanks descended on her bottom. Janet’s hysterical sobbing turned into proper crying as for the first time in her life she felt a spanking.

John maintained a “goodness what a wicked child” face, but felt the utmost satisfaction at seeing his sister get spanked – all the more so since she was totally innocent.

Set on her feet, Janet pulled up her knickers.

“Up to your room and stay there,” ordered father.

She was sitting in the middle of her bed pajama clad when he walked in. She saw the paddlebrush in his hand and started crying, "Please don't give me a spankin' with the brush, daddy! Please! I'm sorry!"

"You're not getting a spanking with the paddlebrush, Lindsey Rachel. I am going to spank you with my hand today. If you ever show your behind like you did today again, I will give you a bare bottomed spanking with this paddlebrush, do you hear me?," Daddy said.

"Yes, sir," 6 yr old Lindsey said.

"Ok, good.," Dad said as he sat down on her bed, "Get across my lap."

Lindsey obeyed and draped herself across her Daddy's lap. He lowered her pj's and bared her bottom. His one hand covered both her bottom cheeks. He rubbed it a couple of times before he lifted it to spank her about 20 solid times.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," a crying Lindsey said when her spankin' was over.

He rubbed the bottom he'd just spanked and said, "I'm sorry that I had to give you a spanking today, sweetie. I love you. You are to stay in your room until tomorrow, not leaving unless you have to go to the bathroom."

"Ok, daddy."

Daddy pulled up her pj bottoms, gave her a kiss and left with the paddlebrush in hand.

Daddy found 11 yr old Whitney writing in her journal at her desk when he walked in her room. He sat down on the edge of her bed and called her over to him. She stood in front of him in a gown. He beckoned her over his lap and she went obediently.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," Whitney said in tears, "I didn't mean to be bad."

"I accept your apology," Daddy said as he lifted his 11 yr old daughter's gown to bare her bottom, "and you're forgiven.," He said rubbing her bare bottom with his hand., "I'm spanking you because you did not obey me when I said for all of you to stick together. If you're in that position again, you take the phone and call me immediately. I'm going to give you 20 handspanks and 10 with the paddlebrush."

He then made his promise true. He spanked her bare bottom 20 times with his hand, slow and deliberate. Ten times each side, alternating. She was crying out loud from the 4th one. He picked up the paddlebrush and said, "I want you to count out loud each spank from this brush. Ready?"

SPANK! "one."
SPANK! "two."
SPANK! "three."
SPANK! "four."
SPANK! "five."
SPANK! "six."
SPANK! "seven."
SPANK! "eight."
SPANK! "nine."
SPANK! "ten."

Whitney was a bawling, crying mess over her Daddy's lap.

"Shhhh, shhhh," Daddy said, rubbing her flaming behind, "It's ok. It's all over."

"I'm soooo sorryyyyyyyyyy.," Whitney cried.

Daddy held his daughter tight for a few minutes and said, "You have to stay in your room until tomorrow, sweets."

"Yes, sir," Whit replied rubbing her bottom, crying with understanding.

He patted her bottom, gave her a kiss on the back of the head.

Sarah stood up, but looked down at the ground. The woman asked her daughter what David had done to deserve a spanking.

Sarah muttered something about how irritating he had been. The woman was not impressed, and David was put down. Sarah was promptly ordered to put her hands on her head. She began to cry, tears flowed freely down her face, and she pleaded to go home. But her hands went straight onto her head. Sarahs white knickers were clearly displayed, as her short dress rode up.

Mum then started to slap the legs of the girl. Two slaps on the right leg, then two on the left. On and on it went, until each leg had received ten slaps. The whole play area was counting. After each stinging blow, Sarah twisted and shook the offended thigh, but never took her hands down. When it was done, each leg had a reddened patch, with distinct finger-marks around the edges.

Finally Sarah got her wish. She was ordered home. This did not seem to please her, however, as she continued to cry profusely. Sarah ran home, rubbing the backs of her thighs as she went. David held his mothers hand as they walked home.

Come on, uncross your legs, I can't get over your knee like that".

He stared, and complied. She gently lowered herself across his knee. Her small round bottom was just wonderful to behold. He found himself resting his hand on it, feeling its warmness. He lifted his hand.

"Hang on", she said, "a girl's bottom should always be bare for a smacking, especially if the boy doing it is going to get pleasure out of it."

They tiptoed closer to the horsebox. With the lower half of the door closed it was clear that, unless they climbed up, they would not be able to see inside. Tempting though it was to risk it, good sense prevailed. They stood to one side of the horse box, ready to beat a hasty retreat, they hoped unobserved, when anyone emerged. Their hearts were beating wildly as they listened and imagined what the scene must look like.

'Right Sofia, you can be first, over my knee.'

'But someone might hear Daddy.'

'You should have thought of that before you did it.'

There was a sound of movement. Then Sofia's voice again.

'Hey Daddy, not my knickers too.'

'Shut up and stay still.'

Then there was a loud retort. It was the unmistakable sound of a hand crashing down onto a bottom.

'Ouch, that hurt.'

'Of course it hurt. It's meant to. And if you're so worried about people knowing what's happening to you I suggest you stay silent.'

There was another loud slap and another, though more muted, squeal of pain from Sofia. There were four more smacks before Mr Rushley spoke again.

'Your turn Caroline. Over my knee.'

Caroline clearly didn't think it worth protesting about having her knickers pulled down. She said nothing. But the boys heard her voice immediately after the first smack.

'Owwww, Daddy, please, I promise I'll be good.'

He didn't reply, unless you call another loud slap a reply.

'Please, please Daddy, I'll never be naughty again.'

The begging had no effect. She got her full quota of six smacks.

The drawing room door was open as he passed it and he caught a glimpse of a domestic scene which he immediately understood. Lucinda Grey was draped across her father's knee, with her jeans and knickers down, kicking uselessly with both feet. Rupert clearly saw her slim round bottom for a second. It was already pink and, just as he passed, he saw her father's hand descending once again and heard the familiar loud slapping noise as it connected with her firm flesh.

Just before the dining room door closed behind them, Rupert heard Lucinda's voice. She wasn't actually crying, but she was begging.

"Please Daddy, I promise I'll be good". And then another slap.

Rupert understood Mrs Grey's embarrassment. He quickly delivered his message and pleaded an urgent need to get to the village. But, once outside, he slipped behind a hedge in the hope of seeing Lucinda come out. He was not to be disappointed. After about five minutes he saw the front door open again and Lucinda emerged. She was wearing a white T shirt and tight blue jeans. He noticed one hand stroking the bottom which he had just seen free of the jeans. He stared at her for a few minutes as she walked towards the shed where he knew her bicycle to be kept. He suddenly realised that, undeveloped though she was, she was extraordinarily attractive, in a tom boyish sort of way. She was tall and slim. Her short blonde hair was styled with a delightful fringe. Her complexion was incredibly clear and face was wonderfully pretty. That was the moment he realised he was in love.

Lindsey stood in front of her Daddy in the guest room. He was sitting on the edge of the bed and pulled her across his lap, pulled her shorts and panties down to display her pudgy, white, 6 yr old bottom. She was crying before the first spank hit her bared bottom.

Daddy gave her a really hard spanking with the wooden spoon on her bare bottom. About 25 in all before she was lying like a limp noodle, sobbing her eyes out over his lap. He scooped her up and cradled her, kissing her head.

"I'm sorry I had to give you such a hard spanking, Linds. I love you so much."

"I'm sorry, too, Daddy. I won't get baby Jake up again. I promise!"

"It's ok, Linds," Daddy said into her hair while rubbing her burning bottom, "It's all over now. Shhhh."

"Now go on up to your room.," Daddy said while pulling her panties and shorts back up., "You are grounded there until supper tonight. I love you."

"I love you too, Daddy.," Linds replied as she trotted off to her room rubbing her burning bottom through her shorts.

"That's it! That IS it!," Dad said as soon as he hung up the phone, "You are BOTH getting spankings when we get home. Since you both are intent on arguing through my phone call, I'm going to give you spankings side by side. With the belt! When we get home, I want you both to go to the guest room and take off your pants, put a pillow over the edge of the bed, and lie across it. I will bare both your bottoms when I come in with the belt. Then I am going to blister both your behinds together so the next time I tell you to cut it out, you will, without hesitation. Am I clear?," Dad said.

Will, knowing there was no use in arguing when Dad said he was spankin' you said, "Yes, sir."

Whitney, who'd never had a bare bottom spanking with the belt started crying immediately saying, "Please, don't give me a spankin' with the belt, Daddy! Please, I'll be good! I promise! Please don't daddy!"

"I'm sorry, hon, you should've listened to me when I asked you to stop the first time. You'd been warned. And now you're going to get a spanking with the belt.," Dad answered.

When they got home, Dad went upstairs to check on the sick ones, while Will and Whitney headed to the guest room. About five minutes later, Dad came in the guest room, belt in hand, to find his 11 yr old twins exactly the way he told them to be. Bottoms up with underwear and panties each lying over a pillow.

Whitney was crying when Daddy walked in the room and she saw the belt in his hand she completely broke down and said, "Please dont Daddy!"

He ignored her and walked over to both of them and lowered Whit's panties first and then Will's underwear. He decided he'd alternate licks between the both of them and wasted no time in doing so. He raised the belt and brought it down on Whit's bared bottom first.

SPANK! "OOOHHHHH that hurts!"

Will's turn.
SPANK!

Whit's turn.
SPANK! Dad landed the belt right below the first one, overlapping it just a little bit. "OOWWWWIIIEEEEEEEEE!"

Will's turn.
SPANK! Dad landed the belt right on top of the first one. "Ow!"

Whit's turn.
SPANK! the belt landed above the first one, overlapping it a little.
"DADDDYYYYY!!! NOOOO MORRREEEEEE!!"

Will's turn.
SPANK! Dad landed the belt right on top of the first two. "OWWW," Will said, legs beginning to scissor and toes digging in the floor, tears forming.

Whit's turn.
SPANK! Dad landed the belt on top of the first one. "THAT HURTSSSSSSSSSS!" her legs scissoring and her hands trying to reach back to protect her bottom. Dad let her rub for a second while he gave Will another lick.

Will's turn.
SPANK! the 4th one landed on top of the first 3. "OUCH! OOHHHH!," Will said legs completely scissored, Dad getting exactly the result he wanted!

"Whitney Danielle, I want your hands completely out of the way, and you may not bring them back again, or I will start your spanking all over, understand?," Dad said raising the belt again and instead of delivering one lick, he delivered two in a row, to her sit spot, the part where her bottom meets thigh.

"OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW," Whitney was completely broken and sobbing, trying her best not to put her hands back on her blazing bottom, "PLEASEEEE NO MORRREEEEEE DADDIIEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Will's turn.
SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! the 5th, 6th, and 7th landed a little below the first 4, on his sit spot and Will was fully crying and begging for his spankin' to be over, "I"M SORRRRRYYYYYYYYYY DADDDDIIIEEEEEEEEE!!!"

"You've got 3 more each, Whitney, I'll give you two now, then give Will his last three and then I will give you your last one, Whit.," Dad said as he picked up the belt again.

Whit's turn.
SPANK! SPANK! Right on top of the sit spot. She couldn't do anything but cry into the bed it just hurt so much!

Will's turn.
SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! Will was also sobbing into the bed, completely limp like a noodle.

Whit's turn.
SPANK!

At the end of their spankings, Dad pulled up their underwear and panties and said, "I hope you've learned your lesson you two. You can get your pants on and go to your room when you're ready. I'm sorry I had to give you spankings and I love you both very much." And with a kiss to the back of each of their heads and one last look at their blazing behinds, he left the room.

When they came out about 10 mins later, Will and Whitney gave dad a hug and said they were sorry for acting the way they did in the car and promised never to do it again.

"I'm sorry, Whit, didn't mean to get you a spankin'," Will told his sister.

"I'm sorry, too, Will. I didn't mean to get you a spankin' either," Whit replied.

They both slept on their tummies that night.

At school on the following day Laura and Katy confided to the boys that they had, indeed, both been spanked. In both cases, their fathers had pulled their skirts up and their knickers down and applied the backs of hairbrushes to their bottoms. Both assured the boys, however, that it had all been worth it, and at least they hadn't been grounded, which would have been "really gross."

He turned back around to face them. "I cannot permit this behavior. I am certain one of you did it and that whoever it was is lying to escape punishment. It won't work. If the one of you who broke the vase does not come forward, I shall punish you all in turn. Do I make myself clear?"

The children said nothing. Margaret looked confused. Jane had a hard, bitter look on her face, and Timothy was blushing.

Their father pulled out the chair from his desk and sat facing them. "You've had your chance. Jane, come here, please."

Jane stood proudly. Her lip quivered but she betrayed no other reaction. She went to her father and bent across his lap. Margaret looked on, wide-eyed with horror, as he spanked Jane's bottom hard. Jane got up, tears running down her cheeks, and sat back on the couch. She struggled to keep from crying.

Timothy was already crying. Their father said, "Now Tim, come here." As he stood up and went to his father, Timothy blubbered, "Oh, please, Father!" But their father said nothing. He put Timothy over his knee and gave him a vigorous spanking. Timothy went and sat back down, bawling loudly.

Margaret was crying now, too. "It's not fair, I didn't do it!"

"If you didn't do it, Margaret, you must tell me who did. Otherwise you must take the same punishment as the others."

"I - I can't!"

He reached out and caught her arm, pulling her to him and flinging her easily over his knee. She, too, received several ringing slaps on the rear. 

When he had finished with her she went over to the couch and kicked her brother Timothy. "You beast!" she said through the tears.

Jane then punched her brother's arm. "How could you?" she shouted.

Their father said, "What's this?"

Margaret said, "Timothy did it! He broke the vase and hid it at the bottom of the wastebasket! We saw him!" 

"Timothy, come here and bend right over the back of the couch."

The back of the couch came to just a little above Timothy's waist. By standing on tip-toe, he could bend over it, leaning his arms on the seat and with his head against the cushions. He was bent almost double with his bottom sticking up in the air. His bottom was red from the spanking he had received just a few minutes earlier.

His father raised his arm behind him, then brought the belt cracking forward against Timothy's bottom. Timothy gasped and began to cry again. His father beat him steadily, leaving dark red stripes against his bottom, often striking the backs of his legs as well.

Margaret turned her head away, unwilling to look. But Jane's eyes were bright and she stared eagerly at the flogging. She breathed in unison with her father, almost grunting with effort as he did. When it was over she gave a shuddering sigh of pleasure. She had almost forgotten the spanking her father had given her. In any case, it was well worth it for the spectacle she had been given to watch. She began to imagine the whipping she would give her dolly when she found herself alone.

The next thing you know, Lindsey, his pain in the butt little sister said "Andy's gettin' a spankin'! Andy's gettin' a spankin'!," in a sing-song teasing voice.

In one fell swoop, Dad had Lindsey over his lap, her pants and panties down and spankin' her bare bottom with his hand for all to see saying, "You may not tease your brothers or sisters when they are going to get a spanking or when they have gotten a spanked, young lady! DO (spank!) YOU (spank!) UNDERSTAND (spank!) ME(spank!)?"

"Now you apologize to your brother for teasing him and you will do his clearing and your part tonight too little girl! I am very disappointed in your behavior. Go straight to bed when you're finished, do I make yourself clear?," Dad told her in a no non-sense way.

"I uh I uh I'm soh oh ry," Lindsey said to Andy still sobbing and then to Dad she said, "I uh 'm so oh ryyyyyyyy daddyyyyyyyy"

"It's ok Linds," Andy told her and went to his room.

"I love you Linds," Dad told her while he held her on his lap rubbing her bottom, "but you are not allowed to act the way you did tonight, do you understsand me?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, getting her emotions under control a little more.

"Good. I don't ever want you to do that again or try to watch any of your brother's or sister's getting a spanking like you did the other night. I don't like to spank any of you, but I will when there is disobedience. And if you try to watch, then what happens to you when you get caught?" dad asked her.

"Uh I uh get a spankin'."

"Yes you do young lady. In front of everyone too didn't you?"

"Yes, sir," she said sheepishly, "I'm really sorry daddy."

"Ok, Linds, you're forgiven. Go ahead and get busy with clean-up. I've got to go give Andy a spanking. I love you baby girl.," Dad said as he let her down off his lap with a kiss to the back of her head.

Terri just sat there when mommy and daddy stared at her.

"Naughty little girls get punished so that they will be good little girls." he said authoritatively.  He got up and took Terri by the hand and led her back to his chair.  After sitting down, he continued.  "Naughty little girls get spanked."

He pulled his cousin over his lap and held her fast with one hand.  He raised her dress, exposing her panties, and tucked it under his arm.  Then he slipped his other hand under the waistband of her panties and pulled them down.  "A proper spanking must be on the bare bottom."  He declared as he raised his arm and

SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!

Terri started to protest.

SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!

Terri started to cry.

SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!

Terri switched to bawling.

SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!  SPANK!

Timmy stopped spanking her and led her to the corner.  Susie got into the sprit of things by pinning up Terri dress so her hot red bottom was showing.

Mike yelled: "ELIZABETH NATHALIE FORDHAM!  Come here immediately."

Jerod bellowed: "KATHERINE MEAGAN HATCH!  COME HERE INSTANTLY!"  Then, in a surprisingly softer voice, "Sid, please come here."

Confronted, the girls quickly confessed their most naughty deed.  Sid kept his mouth tightly closed for telling his father that he had been unjust and untrusting would not be a good thing to do, especially in front of others.  He did enjoy the proceedings, however, unlike his sister and her friend as he was vindicated.

As he watched both girls were stripped (just like he had been at that age) to their birthday suits.  There were tears in their eyes already.  They were then thoroughly lectured about how extremely naughty they had been and how they were going to pay a heavy price.  It was only then that they were pulled over the parental laps.  Sid positioned himself to get the best view of his sister's bottom.  He knew that she often got away with things that he had been soundly spanked for years earlier.  Today he was most angry with her for causing his own unjustified whipping.  It was very rare that he was permitted to watch as his father's hand came crashing down on that target leaving a bright red hand print.  As spank after spank landed, the hand prints blurred into a general redness covering her little behind.

Of course, the tears flowed like Niagara; the crying was loud.  Sid almost tried to stop his father for he had always protected his little sister but the pain still causing his own ass to throb kept him still.  Then it was over.  Both fathers held their little precious yet very naughty girls as they cried.  Sid, for the first time, began to understand what his father meant by 'this hurts me more than you' that he said when he had been spanked.  Both girls were told that they would be raking the lawn until it was clear of leaves.  Still naked they were required to apologize to Sid.

It was after dinner on Friday that Katy knocked on Sid's door.  When she came in, she immediately, said: "Sidney, I was a very naughty girl to cause you to get a strapping.  I'm very, very sorry.  Please give me the spanking I deserve."

Sid was sitting on his bed and indicated that she should come over to him.  "I'm sorry too, little sister."  He paused as he did not really want to do this but his father had explained how it would help Katy.  "Yes, you were very naughty and have earned a spanking."  Katy stood very still, looking at the floor.  Sid, following how their father had done this, slowly undressed his little sister.  Normally she would have run away, but she had made up her mind that she would take what was coming to her.  He removed her blouse and then her jeans.  As this happened she lost her slippers leaving her in just panties.  She was dreading this the most – her brother removing her panties. She was surprised when he just eased her over his lap with them up.  This was all as he had discussed with their father.

"You've been a very naughty little girl, Katherine." he said in a voice not very familiar.  She felt his left-hand grip her waist to hold her in place.  Next, rather than starting to spank her, his right hand grabbed the waistband of her panties and pulled them down.  Only then did she get the first spank.  It was not so hard.  Sid was comparing the soft sound of his spank had made with what he had heard when their father had spanked her; how little the color of her little bottom had changed in response.  The next spank was much harder.  This sounded and looked a lot better.

Kate felt this one and made a small sound.  She knew that she would soon cry but she did not want to on the first spank. The next spank, the second real one, got to her and she yelled.  She yelled for the next dozen and was crying also.  Sid picked her up and held her tightly.  She hugged him back as she cried.  Her bottom hurt a lot; not as much as when her father spanked very hard, but she knew that she had been well spanked.  She was comforted by her brother telling her she was forgiven and that he loved her.  Eventually she stopped crying and ran off to bed.  The hurt that she had in her heart was now in her bottom and that was a lot better.

"I think it's only right that Tom watch this, just as you liked to watch him get spanked. Now take off your pants."

Erin started to cry softly as she unzipped her jeans and stepped out of them.

"Now your underpants," I said sternly.

She stepped out of those too and stood blushing, her hand cupped between her legs.

"Are you just going to leave those on the floor?" I asked.

She cried as she picked up her pants, folded them neatly and put them on the arm of the couch, then picked up her underwear and put them on top of her pants.

"Tom, have a seat," I said, indicating the chair opposite the couch. He sat down, leaning forward eagerly.

I sat on the couch and told Erin to lie across my lap. She did so. At twelve, she was just starting to be pubescent, and her bottom was full and round. I gave it a gentle pat, then took the hairbrush in my right hand.

"You have a lot to be sorry for, Erin, and I hope you'll apologize properly to Tom. But right now you're going to get the spanking you earned and probably should have got several times over the past few years. I hope you're ready. This might take a while."

And then I brought down the hairbrush across her buttocks. She gasped and started. I began at about half-strength, which with the hairbrush was still painful enough to reduce her to tears and squirming immediately. As I continued, alternating from one side to the other and across both, I gradually increased the force. Occasionally I would aim for the upper thighs. By the time I had finished I was spanking her harder than her mother would have been able, her bottom and upper thighs were a dusky red, and she was hoarse with bawling.

Tom was having the time of his life. All that was missing for him was the popcorn.

'Your friend Gillian suffered additional wrath for that transgression.’
‘She doesn’t mind.’
‘Oh I think she did.’
Uncle James beamed a satisfactory smile. He was remembering, with exquisite pleasure, the upturned bottom of young Gillian Jones. Jeans and pants lowered to her knees she had suffered around fifty strokes of Mrs Wilmer’s strap to her bare behind. And he had witnessed it all.
‘Your Mrs Wilmer is an exceptional lady. When she straps a behind it certainly knows it has had a thrashing. I reckon Miss Jones is still howling.’

"He pushed me down a bank Mommy, For no reason mommy, it wasn't my fault, honest"
"Billy again huh?"
"Yes mommy, umm you not mad about my uniform being all muddy?"
"I'm not Happy about it Darling, but I'm not mad about it. Playing with the Stove I am Mad about though, you could have accidentally cause a fire, or worse Burnt yourself. That's what I have told you before not to go play near it. I what else did I say would happen if you did?"
"I..I.. would be punished?"
"And how did I say you would be punished?"
"I would be spanked" Sophie replies with a frown.

"That's right, how let's get you across my lap"

With that she help guide her still wet daughter across her lap and then adjusts her into position. She then no nonsensically starts to bring the hairbrush with reasonable force onto Sophie's upturn posterior, concentrating on the lower buttock, sitspots, and upper thighs. SMACK SMACK SMACK "Young SMACK lady SMACK you SMACK need SMACK to SMACK learn SMACK to SMACK control SMACK yourself SMACK SMACK SMACK"

"I will Owww mommy *gasp* I promise, whaaaaahhhaaa"

Ten year old Margo silently stared at her plate. She had no idea what he might have in mind.

"After supper," her father continued, "you will be punished with a belt, just as your brother was a few days ago. We will not have that kind of behavior in this house, and you need to learn that lesson tonight."

Then, almost as an afterthought, he said, "Since you displayed your brother's bare bottom to all your friends, I'm going to let your brothers have a full view of your bare bottom as it turns from pink to red."

Margo shuddered. "But that's not fair," she pleaded. "You never let me watch them get punished."

"None of your three brothers have ever done anything as nasty as you have this afternoon," her father replied. "Now get up and wash the dishes. When you are done, go into the living room and prepare for your whipping."

Margo, looking as if she was about to cry, turned to her mother for help, but her mother sat there nodding her agreement with her husband's words. Margo knew there was no hope to alleviate the sentence.

She dragged out the dish washing process as long as possible. Then she mustered up as much courage as she could and slowly went to the living room. There, sitting in a hard chair, was her father waiting for her, and sitting in a row on the couch, as if anticipating the curtain rise on a school play, were her three brothers.

Her father instructed her to come to where he was sitting and stand beside him. She did so and soon was lying over his lap with the bottom of her skirt pulled up to her shoulders. Her father then pulled down her underpants so that her bare bottom was in full view of her brothers and ready for the biting strokes of his belt.

The first lash stung so much that she screamed. By the third stroke she was sobbing bitterly. But the blows continued unabated. Never had she felt such pain. She completely forgot that her brothers were watching (Bill with a big smile on his face) because the stinging pain of the belt was so intense.

At the end of this ordeal she was sent up to her room to complete her homework and go to bed. But she was sobbing so much that she couldn't look at the books.

"But I have something to show you," she said with a conspiratorial wink.

Kyle gulped.

"Come on, let's go outside."

They hid behind the Dumpster and Annie turned around and raised her skirt, bending over at the waist. Kyle's jaw dropped at the sight of her red satin panties. He bit the knuckle of his fist to keep from panting. "Wow," he whispered.

"Well?" she said impatiently. "Take them down!"

"Huh?"

"What, do you think I came out here to show you my undies?"

Confused, he tugged them down and took a step back at what he saw. Her bottom was nearly as red as the dress and the panties and criss-crossed with welts.

"What happened?"

"I got in trouble over the dress," she said, her eyes glinting with mischief and pride. She was a tomboy, all right. He and his male friends had always bragged that they never cried and had bravely shown one another any marks they were unfortunate enough to be sporting, but he had never seen a girl's bottom after being spanked.

Fifty yards from the cottage he was musing on the strange hold she had over him. And, still fifty yards from the cottage, he heard the echoing sounds which worryingly suggested chickens coming home to roost. Someone was getting a walloping and if Andy Styles was not mistaken that someone, judged by the howls and pleas, was Gillian Jones.
He tentatively opened the kitchen door to the cottage and, stepping inside, hastily closed it. The sound was now unmistakeable. In a room upstairs a strap was being heavily laid across a particular part of Gillian Jones. He heard the thwack and he heard the screams. And he heard the pleading. But it made no difference. Someone, and it must be Connie Wilmer, was wielding a strap across the behind of his young companion. Andy stood in the kitchen doorway, absolutely transfixed. The sound of the strap thwacking down grew louder and the pleas for forgiveness took on a more urgent cry.
‘Please Mrs Wilmer, no more. Please. My bum, my bum. Aagh.’
It made no difference. Andy Styles reckoned he had heard that strap whack down onto flesh at least ten times as he approached the cottage and, once inside, he had heard it do its work another twenty times. And now as the anguished sounds enclosed his ears he could almost be in the room. By the time the wielding of that strap stopped he calculated that his young companion had received around fifty whacks to her backside. And, although he could not see, he had little doubt that the small, boyish, pants which usually covered her rear would be dangling around her knees. When Connie Wilmer whacked behinds she relished in an exposed target. Andy Styles felt a quickening of his heart and a sickening feeling in his stomach. If Gillian Jones, for whatever reason, was getting whacked his own re-introduction to a bare bottom strapping from Mrs Wilmer could not be far behind. Fearful of such an eventuality he left the cottage, quietly closing the door, and desperately tried to pretend that he had neither heard nor imagined anything that had taken place. He walked around the surrounding countryside for at least half an hour, twice stopping for a nervous pee, but in the evening gloom eventually and reluctantly returned to the cottage. When he did so, Gillian Jones was calmly sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of warming soup. She was in her pyjamas and clearly ready for an early bed. Her eyes were slightly red but other than that her demeanour indicated little of what had taken place no more than half an hour before.

Jer followed her to the barn, where she showed him a pitchfork, and the manure pile, and told him to clean out the stalls, and to sweep out the barn, while she finished some business with her daughters. Jer got to work, and was mostly through cleaning the stalls, when he heard a cracking noise followed by a cry. This was repeated several times. Jer's sense of curiosity was raised, and he quiety walked back to he cabin, and stole a peek into a window which was off of the front porch. He saw three little girls standing naked from the waist down, facing their mother, who had her back to the window. They were all holding onto their bottoms as if they might fall off. The mother told them to just go up to their loft and go to bed, as she was angry with them all. Jer watched as they turned, and the three little red butts climbed a ladder to their loft. 

I heard the door opposite mine which lead to Amelia's room open and then shut. I strained to listen. I could hear Mrs Connolly's voice quietly talking to Amelia but couldn't make out the words. I could hear Amelia's much louder voice though.

"PLEASE, MUMMY, PLEASE DON'T SPANK ME! I'LL BE GOOD. PLEASE DON'T HIT ME! PLEASE!"

And then I heard the sound of smacking. Remorseless and heavy. It sounded too heavy to be a hand and a shiver went through me as I wondered what it was. Amelia's shrieking and screaming drowned it out. I was quite stunned at her lack of courage. It sounded like she was being killed. Mrs Connolly was kindhearted and that must have been hard to take, but it didn't seem to stop her doing her duty. And then there was no longer screaming, but sobbing. And the door opened, and shut. And a second later my door opened.

I was wearing the clothes I'd changed into after I'd got drenched on the tower. And I froze rigid as I saw what she had in her hand.

It was a hairbrush. And I feared the hairbrush like nothing on this earth.

"Stand up, Hermione, and come here."

Once again, Mrs Weasley stood and walked over to where a child was standing waiting for a spanking. Once again she turned the chair around, and sat down in it and once again, her fingers deftly undid the fastenings of a child's jeans. Unlike Harry, Hermione did not protest, or complain or in any way resist. For obvious reasons, this wasn't quite as embarrassing for her as it had been for Harry. Mrs Weasley pulled the jeans down, and then pulled down Hermione's knickers and with practiced ease, tipped Hermione forward and across her lap. Mrs Weasley had far less experience of spanking girls than boys, but that really didn't matter, because she saw no reason whatsoever to treat them differently in this regard. She planted one hand in the small of Hermione's back, and with the other took aim across the young girls bottom. And she raised her hand and brought it back down as hard as she could, her palm and fingers curved slightly to match the contours of her target area. Hermione gave a gasp at the first spank, and was crying by the sixth - though not as loudly or as obviously as Harry had. At about the twelfth, Mrs Weasley began focusing her attention on one buttock at a time in turn, and Hermione squirmed, but made no real struggle. The last five spanks were a copy of how she had finished with Harry - fingers spread, and curved and with force, to cover as much of the target area as possible. And then it was over. And she placed Hermione on her feet, and went and got a cool wet cloth. Unlike Harry, Hermione didn't move to cover her nakedness as quickly, and showing her great intelligence, when the cloth was passed to her, she didn't initially apply it's soothing coolness to her face. But then she did, and adjusted her clothing, and looked at Mrs Weasley, and said in a very polite good-natured voice.

It’s worth saying that my father must not have been the only one for have given permission for Graham and Roger to punish with spanking. I distinctly remember them spanking a girl called Rosemary who was about 10 on her bottom. She was mucking around during a game and she was taken into the corner, told off in no uncertain terms, her gingham dress tucked up into her vest and her panties pulled down to her ankles by Roger. I could see out the corner of my eyes her standing there a gap of nakedness between her white socks and sandals and the blue gingham of the top of her dress. She was then given a good hiding on her bare bottom, a sound that could be heard above the noise of playing children. The game stopped and we all heard Roger say ‘Any more fuss from you young lady and Ill tell your Father! He told her to pull her panties up, her dress down and red faced she went back to join the circle of boys and girls.

"This is not a laughing matter, girls. You are not so innocent. Jill at ten you know better that to tease the boys and run around so noisily."

"Yes, mother; I'm sorry."

"You could benefit from a spanking also, young lady."

"No, mother, please...."

Her protests were not any more effective than those of the boys and the Salesman reached out and dropped her jeans and Supergirl panties before pulling her over his lap. This was more than sufficient entertainment to get the boys to stop crying so that they could watch closely. After five whacks, Jill was bawling and probably could not hear the injunctions to be good when she got another five.

Helen, the littlest one, was crying even before her jeans and Wonder Woman panties were lowered. A half dozen had her bawling like her big cousin.

The demonstration complete, the [Fuller Brush] salesman lined the red-bottomed miscreants up along the staircase and ordered them to study the wall until told different. "As you can see, ma'am, it is quite effective and very reasonably priced."

"I'll take it." Mary said reaching into the closet for her purse. "Make that two; my sister needs one also."

With that his hand comes down firmly on the seat of her shorts. Mary's head snaps up and she wails . . . "NOOO . . . OWWWW . . . noooo . . . don't . . .it hurts!" It was a firm spank, but no more. It was the shock and embarrassment that pulled such a strident wail out of the little girl's mouth. "Whap . . . whap . . . WHAP!!" "Patrick would never spank me . . . he couldn't stay mad at me long enough . . .ooowwwwww . . . oww . . . sniff . . . OWWWWW!!!!" "Whap . . . WHAP . . . WHAP . . . WHAP . . . WHHAPP!" "NOOOOOOO!!!!!!! Owwwww . . . you're just . . . ooohhhh, owwww . . . stop . . . please stop!!"

Andy spanked her a couple of minutes over her shorts, trying to block out as much of Mary's pleas as he could. It hurt him to spank her, but it hurt him even worse to know that the little girl over his knee was so angry. She'd lost so much. Andy hoped, in some strange way that this spanking could give her something back . . . a sense that someone truly cared about her.

Mary Catherine's legs began to kick and she squirmed furiously, desperately trying to get off Andy's lap. "WHAP!" A particularly firm spank landed on Mary's tiny short-covered bottom and then Andy stopped a moment, repositioning Mary Catherine across his knee and reached to tug her shorts down. "NOOOOOOOO . . . oh please no!" Mary cried desperately. "I'll be good, I'll never be a brat again . . . please don't pull down my . . ." Her pleading turned into a high pitched wail as she felt her panties being pulled down to mid thigh. The small panties covered with Winnie the Pooh's with his head stuck in the honey jar joined her navy blue shorts, exposing her small rounded cheeks to the warm sunlight and slight breeze. The way she was crying and carrying on, you would've thought she was being spanked within an inch of her life, but in reality the small cheeks were barely more than pink at the moment. 

 Mary's eyes grow wide as he walks around his desk to Mary, smacking the ruler against his hand. "I'm going to run a quick errand Mary Catherine. I want you in the corner while I'm gone. When I come back I want to hear a different story or we'll be getting to the bottom of things in a more hands-on way. That clear young lady?" She nods gasping. He steers her into the corner and walks out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Her lip is quivering slightly as she stands in the corner. "This is SO unfair!" she thinks. "I'm about to get a spanking when I didn't even DO anything!" The minutes tick by and all too soon the Dean returns and gets her to stand in front of his desk. "Anything you'd like to add to your story Mary Catherine?" She shakes her head, her eyes, closed, pushing against her tooth. He sighs, "Fine, come over here young lady and lets get this over with."

She walks to his side of the desk and he moves his chair back patting his lap. "Ok Mary, over my knee." Mary awkwardly lies across his lap, closing her eyes. She groans as she feels him pull up the hem of her skirt and tuck it into her waistband. She feels the ruler resting across her regulation white briefs. He taps her bottom gently . . .

"Last chance to change your mind Mary." She shakes her head . . . it's bad enough to be spanked for something she didn't do, she wasn't about to lie and say she did it as well. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She hears the ruler being placed on his desk and feels his finger at the base of her spine as it hooks into the waistband of her panties. "I'm sorry this is necessary Mary Catherine." She turns red, gasping as her panties are lowered to her knees. Silent tears start to fall down her face. It's SOOOOO embarrassing that he means to spank her on the bare. 
 

"Hi my name is Paul Summers and I've been lurking on some amazing websites for about a year now, reading the great stories, and have finally decided to try my hand at writing a story! I'd like to express my sincere thanks to all the prolific authors who have given me so much inspiration. Among others, I'd like to specifically thank HandPrince for being my much-appreciated mentor and editor, Haley Brimley for his volumes of wonderful stories, Mary Catherine Whitney for her series, so touching that I fell in love with Mary, Vdolorosso for his sweeter than sweet Gummiebear series, Lee Warner for his pictures that should be hanging in the Louvre,  and  lastly, but definitely not least, the master, Lurking Dragon.

"?/f   Almost all of my titles will show this. No, it's not to confuse people! Rather, I found it sometimes anticlimactic knowing exactly how many people were going to get spanked, and by whom. This way, everything remains a mystery! Though I will explicitly write "no spk" if the story contains no spankings at all (but those will most likely be important in plot development)."

   About his fictional Winters family, Paul Summers writes:

 "There were some things Katie Winter knew that she was never allowed to do. And there were some things that she was definitely allowed and encouraged to do. The former included playing with matches and giving daddy a haircut while he slept, whereas the latter comprised of cleaning her room and eating lots of veggies. It was along the line where her parents hadn't strictly forbidden her to do something and yet the action was most likely not going to be well-received that Katie danced. She was a daredevil. Well, who wouldn't be if they were smack dab in the middle of a family with four kids? 

"Katie is the younger middle daughter of David and Emily Winter. David works as a fifth grade teacher while Emily stays at home caring for the family, sometimes selling her artwork. The good thing about living in a small Nebraskan town is that friendly neighbors can easily help build a house (though small), effectively eliminating much of housing costs. Even so, the Winters can barely make ends meet with their large family of three other children: Abby, 13, Tammy, 10, and Ashley, 5. With (only) eight years under her belt, Katie can neither make her opinions recognized by her older sisters nor boss the younger one into listening to her. Getting into trouble is her specialty. Maybe it's Katie's way of getting her busy parents to notice her. Or maybe she's just a natural troublemaker. In any case, her parents are rather unpleased, to say the least, with her behavior recently. 

"Both David and Emily are strict, but fair disciplinarians. Their biggest pet peeve is wild children running around, ignoring their parents and being disrespectful to others (as too many children nowadays are). That's the reason why David and Emily resolved, the day that they tied the knot, to raise respectful children with a sense of morality and kindness. Despite the sometimes-frustrating rules, all of the children love their parents dearly, and the family spends a lot of quality time together.  Sometimes though, as of all children, mistakes are made, and discipline is required.

"Punishments are simple in most cases. For the first offense, the parent reasons with the child and explains exactly what is wrong. The second time, a warning is issued as well as corner time or grounding. The third time is more serious. David and Emily are believers in corporal punishment, namely spanking, for serious offenses. They do not at all abuse the children though; their limits are clear and even if some of the spankings may hurt (quite a bit), there is no permanent damage and no loss of love. After a spanking, everything is forgiven and peace returns. Also, there's a rule in the Winter household that if the child can control her hands and not block, she would earn less spanks..."

                "I noticed all the cutain were drawn shut and the red foot stool was pulled out and her boyfriend was holding a switch. She looked down at me and said "your first, bend over the stool." I started to cry and beg her not to. She just yelled and and told me to "bend over the stool NOW! Stop your crying you haven't been touched yet." Knowing what was coming I couldn't stop the tears but did as I was told. The whipping began over and over I was swatted by the switch all the while she ask me "what did you get into?" then it tuned into "what else?" before and after each swats. After about 30 or so swats it was my sisters turn. I was told not to go anywhere after I was allowed to get up. Still bawling I had to witness my sister get her dose."

        Irwin Hyman, professor of school psychology at Temple University in Philadelphia and author of several books on the effect of spanking on children echoes Riak's warnings.  "There are definite sexual implications for a male teacher to paddle a girl," he says. "The nerve endings that go to the genitalia also go to the buttocks."  Hyman says spanking by parents also has negative emotional consequences for girls. "The intention of spanking is to cause pain and the causing of pain to girls and then saying 'I love you' is not healthy."

          "I had good, loving, Catholic parents, who believed in spanking as a form of discipline. I loved my parents, and did not consider them to be abusive. Spankings were given about once a year, between the ages of three and ten. They were always given with the hand, sometimes, but not always, on the bare bottom; they usually consisted of ten to twenty hard smacks. I was told that they were doing this because they loved me, and they wanted me to grow up to be a decent person...

         "I did grow up to be a decent person. I'm a daughter that any parent would be proud of. I'm a virgin. I always got A's for conduct in school. I never smoked, drank, or took drugs. I'm very well educated. I was extremely successful at university, and have an excellent job now. I am well liked, and am considered to be reliable, kind, sensitive, and caring. I give to charities.  I'm active in the Church. I do voluntary work. Obviously I turned out well. I must be a proof of the benefits of spanking.

        "The problem is - nobody can know the harm it did to me, because I shall never speak of it in public. It is my shameful, dark secret. My well-meaning, loving, Christian parents, sexually abused me, without ANY idea of what they were doing...

       "At a young age, as a result of these "non-abusive" spankings, I began to have an unhealthy fascination with the subject. After the spankings, I fantasized about them. How could I have known that I shouldn't? I felt vaguely troubled and embarrassed when the subject of spanking was brought up in public, but in private, I loved fantasizing about it. I would read autobiographies and novels that had chapters about children getting spanked.

        "If you think that spanking isn't sexual, just type the word into some internet search engine, and see the proportion of pornographic sites to parenting sites. Please don't think that just because YOU'RE not aroused, that it doesn't matter. You don't know what you might be doing to your child. How could my parents have known that their intelligent, well-disciplined, much-loved daughter would end up a sexual pervert? I can forgive them, especially because they didn't know, but your children may not be able to forgive you. I won't have children, because with my sexual deviation I cannot marry. But if I did have children, I would much, much rather have them grow up to be sexually normal and pure, than have them instantly obedient to my parental authority....

        "Please, please don't spank your child."

        "It took years for me to recognize that the embarrassment and humiliation of being spanked were burned into my soul – and the brand was one of being sexually violated. This was so strongly imprinted so early on in my life that I can only achieve orgasm through a vivid fantasy of being stripped, held down, and variously punished...

        "There is only one way to explain the development of such a perversion. It derives from being spanked frequently, probably from a young age, naked from the waist down, while being told, “You deserve what you get, and more, for being such a bad girl.” I can’t imagine my children doing anything that would justify hitting or shaming them. How could my mother stay aloof from it all and not answer her child’s cries for help?How could my father justify the violence and be so cold and calculating while beating me?

         "The long-term consequence of spanking is a life-long struggle with depression, dissociation, and self-injury. Nothing can elicit a greater fear in me, ironically, accompanied by sexual excitement, than the sight of a belt being un-buckled. It makes me feel physically ill and sends me into a state of panic.  Just viewing a belt stops my breathing, turns my insides into knots, triggers my muscles to contract, and the skin on my neck, lower back, buttocks, legs and genitals to crawl. Yet the abuse remains necessary as part of my sexual fantasies. I feel fortunate that I have never acted out these fantasies as an adult but I certainly have an understanding of those that do so...

        "We must fight against the perpetuation of these tortures of children! The generation-to-generation heritage of these appalling behaviours must be curtailed. The chain must be broken. The only way to heal the world is to respect and honour all people – and children are people too."

       In the past, spanking was more common. Surveys show that over 90 percent of parents spanked their children in the 1930's.

        “I think that it was normal then,” said Brianna, 9, of Ishpeming, “but now parents understand that it doesn't (always) work.”

        Karen, 13, of Marquette, thinks forms of discipline such as grounding and taking away privileges such as computer or TV time are more effective than spanking.    “I would definitely not spank my child,” she said. “I think it is wrong and there are definitely other ways to have the same impact as  spanking them

          "A new study out of England suggests that parents are likely hitting their children 40 per cent harder than they  think they are...

           "Prof. Wolpert said his research suggests that people's inability to actually gauge how hard they are whacking others means that parents who try to spank no harder than they remember being spanked may well over-hit."

          "'Well, I don’t see what all the fuss is about. I was spanked, and I’m fine. We all know that sometimes spanking is necessary for solving problems with kids. And since it’s both necessary and harmless, it should be allowed and even encouraged.'...

           "Behavior that is based on fear can last only until the child is old enough not to fear defying the parent. Punishment builds anger and resentment within the child that will inevitably be expressed at a future time (angry teenagers do not fall from the sky). In contrast, behavior that is based on mutual love and trust will last through all the years of a child’s life, and through the entire length of the parent-child relationship. There is little that is more rewarding for a parent than the enjoyment of an enduring, loving and close tie with their child over many years...

           "Spanking, like all other forms of punishment, such as time-out and consequences, can only bring about temporary and superficially "good" behavior based on threats and fear. As John Holt reminded us years ago, "'When we make a child afraid, we stop learning dead in its tracks.'"

            "Scripture has revealed another interpretation of Biblical Discipline to me. Jesus has already taken physical punishment for our sins, our Savior. We need the power of the Holy Spirit to help us. He loves us and we can go to Him every time we are in need of help. He will cleanse us with the wisdom of His words, The Word Of God...

            "Please continue reading my letter and the scripture reference in your own Bible to verify the words I write. I have a strong desire to raise a healthy, God loving child. I have read many books about children and discipline. At one time, I too was convinced God wanted me to spank my daughter, but now I believe differently.

            "When your child is alone with his or her toys, what do they talk about? Do they say to their little bunny, “God loves you, and so does mommy.”? “Do they repeat a line of scripture “Jesus is knocking at my door.”?    Or do they play parent and say “Mommy is going to spank you three times on your bottom ok, I need to spank harder to  make you understand.” What kind of fruit are you receiving from your efforts of discipline? Does your child make you smile with their words? How do they treat other children? Do they tend to hit anyone or themselves? Are you teaching them about the love and compassion of Jesus or that you control their every move with your spanking?...

            "What if Jesus walked into your home, followed the sounds of crying, and saw you spanking your child? Do you think he would be accepting of this act or take the stick away? I think he would take the stick away, pick your child up out of your lap, and send you to your room!...

            "We must build a network of loud Christian voices that are against the practice of spanking. Use the voice of Christians who are well known in their community that hold a place as leaders, pastors, and priest who can be trusted. We need to involve the media to spread the truth to many people at one time. There is another interpretation of the word “Rod” not spoken of in the Christian community. We need to publicly expose the pro-spanking leaders false teachings and hold them accountable.   They have taught many good, loving parents how to “apply a stick to child’s’ backside”. This practice is ridiculous and needs to stop! Christian leaders are the people to put an end to this spanking issue!!"

          * Depends on having you or another authority present.
          * Teaches children to lie and sneak around behind your back in order to avoid punishment.
          * Teaches children what not to do, but not what to do.
          * Inhibits rather than promotes the learning process. Children can't learn while dealing with fear and humiliation.
          * Can actually encourage undesired behavior if misbehaving is being used to get parental attention.
          * May involve physical force (hitting, slapping, spanking) that can escalate into even more violence.
          * Leads to children using force to solve disagreements.
          * May lead to children seeking revenge.
          * Often does not work with foster children, who may have been subjected to much more severe abuse than a foster parent would consider using.

"And what happens when a child is spanked? This area of the body which they've been taught is private is suddenly touched forcefully by an adult. And the child is told it's OK. All of a sudden, things are rather confusing.

"Carry it one step further and you have adults pulling down children's pants to spank bare buttocks. First of all, having your pants suddenly yanked down isn't much different than having your clothes torn off by a rapist. Parents commit these symbolic rapes routinely. To be treated in such an intrusive manner is to feel profoundly disrespected.

"And then this protected, private part of the body is not only being exposed, but also brutally stimulated. Some adults think that humiliation should be part of this so-called learning process. They may have the child perform accompanying rituals such as having to go and get the belt or paddle to be used on them, to pull down their own pants or to count the blows aloud.

"When this occurs, obviously the adult has gone beyond punishment. Indeed, I believe they've crossed the line into pleasure -- their own pleasure -- the sadistic thrill of exerting power over a weaker being."

    "Since children are sexual beings and since the buttocks are a sexual region of the body, we should question the propriety of slapping children’s buttocks. We generally understand that fondling or caressing a child’s buttocks is a sexual offense (even if the child does not understand it to be so). We also know that slapping an adult’s buttocks is a sexual offense (even if the offender does not get sexual pleasure from doing so).

    "The question, then, is why slapping a child’s buttocks is not considered a sexual offense. Is it because spanking, unlike fondling, is physically painful and used to punish misbehavior? No, or painfully spanking a misbehaving adult would not be a sexual offense. Is it because children are less likely to be sexual targets than adults, less likely to feel violated, and therefore protected less strictly? No, or fondling an adult would be a far more serious crime than fondling a child. A more plausible explanation for this breach of logic is simply that the majority of people are unable or unwilling to believe there could be anything indecent about a practice as old, common and accepted as the spanking of children—something which nearly everyone has received, given or witnessed at least once. And since spankings typically come from esteemed or even beloved authority figures, many people are loath to question this behavior...

    "Even without sexual motives on the part of the punisher, spanking can interfere with a child’s normal sexual and psychological development. Because the buttocks are so close to the genitals and so multiply linked to sexual nerve centers, slapping them can trigger powerful and involuntary sensations of sexual pleasure. This can happen even in very young children, and even in spite of great, clearly upsetting pain.

    "I had a group of friends who would spank me, and me them, in play situations, most of which were of the “playing house” variety. I would sustain erections during such play and on a few occasions this lead to mutual masturbation and fondling. From there, despite ample “real” spankings from Mom, I progressed to self-spanking purely for sexual gratification, a practice that persisted to adulthood. On several occasions during my adolescence, I entrapped children younger than I (including family) into accepting a spanking from me under the pretence of punishment. I can tell you that the mere word “spanking” itself, repeated in my head, or when accompanied by other phrases such as “bare bum”, “pull down your pants”, etc., could cause a state of arousal. As a pre-teen and young teen I developed a fascination with watching the buttocks of boys in change rooms, showers, gym class and the like, and would silently wonder if the owner was spanked."

     "When a female's buttocks are struck, blood rushes to the vulva. There is a sexual component to something that is supposed to be about "discipline" and making the child "mind." I wish those parents who spank would become aware of the sexual-abuse aspect of it. Maybe that would make them think twice about resorting to this form of punishment.

     "It is particularly humiliating for a female child to be spanked by an adult male. There is a profound feeling of violation at having one's genitals struck by this man who is supposed to protect you. It can prompt a female to either seek out abusive males later in life, or develop a lasting fear of/ aversion to the male gender.

     "The way that my body reacted to the spankings was to tense up. The upper part of my legs and my buttock area became very hard -- frozen. Through the years I dissociated from the sexual part of my body, and was out of touch with my body in general. The profound physical effects of spanking as well as the sexual humiliation aspect of it impacted my body's ability to orgasm. It took years and lots of body therapy to begin to heal that.

     "I could not orgasm with a partner or alone until age 31. I was only able to finally achieve that goal after getting help from a cranial-sacral therapist, who also helped me work through emotional issues of anger relating to my father. Only after that intensive work, did my muscular and nervous systems reintegrate enough to allow the relaxation necessary for orgasm. I am certain that the vast majority of women who have orgasm problems were spanked."

    "At that time I was attending a small country school where the music teacher gave "birthday spankings" to students--a swat for each year of age, then "one to grow on." I attended that school through two birthdays, and somehow he never found out about my birthdays--I think because my step-monster certainly did not send cupcakes in as the other children's mothers did, and I did not tell my classmates about my birthday because of not wanting the teacher to find out..."

    "As an adult I enjoy a healthy sex life with my husband. I orgasm easily...but generally in order to orgasm I have to fantasize that I am being spanked."

        "We've received several letters concerning our response to a mother's inquiry about punishing her 11 and 12-year-old sons and her 14-year-old daughter by spanking them on their bare bottoms.

        "In our response, published in this column, we made recommendations from current medical literature concerning discipline and punishment. We were "looking at the forest and missed the trees."

        "The matter of spanking an older child on the bare bottom was not addressed. As our readers have correctly pointed out to us, this raises the issue of sexual abuse.

        "Spanking a bare-bottomed adolescent girl or boy (many cases of sexual abuse involve boys) is definitely not appropriate and may very easily be interpreted by the child, by child protection agencies and by the courts as sex abuse. Parents who use this form of discipline place their children and themselves at risk of being reported to Child Protective Services, an agency that is mandated by law to investigate reports of "suspicion of abuse or neglect."

        "Whether well-intentioned or not, for all concerned, spanking on the bare bottom should be avoided."

     "The findings are the result of a review of more than 100 international studies on physical punishment by parents and caregivers, from a coalition of more than 140 organizations, including the Canadian Pediatric Society.

     "'Canadians need to move beyond the debate about whether it's good for kids to experience physical punishment to the conclusion that it is useless as a disciplinary measure. In fact, it is worse than useless,' said Ron Ensom, a researcher at the Children's Hospital of Eastern Ontario and co-author of the study." 

"The spankings were painful and when I was very young the pain was the only concern I had. Around the age of nine, however, I began to feel increasingly uncomfortable with the whole spanking ritual my mom put me through. Having my pants pulled down was becoming more and more embarrassing, but that wasn't the worst part. What I was dreading most was being held over my mom's, often bare, thighs. I was becoming keenly aware of my genitals against my mom's leg. I can't think of a more embarrassing or humiliating situation for a twelve year old boy than to be spanked with his pants down against his mother's unclothed lap, trying to resist getting an erection and failing.

"I'm sure that my mother was aware of the sexual nature of these punishments. Why she did what she did, I don't know. I have never talked to her about my feelings on this subject."

Being spanked was dreaded; only dying seemed a worse event. But oddly by age 7 or 8 I realized there was some strange pleasure for me in the awareness of someone else being spanked. I was spanked for trivial matters, but escaped getting spanked for more serious ones. I had my bathing suit pulled down and was spanked in our back yard, and I was convinced that every one of the neighbors was privy to this incredible humiliation. Spankings were unpredictable and generally a function of my father's mood. To limit the number of spankings I had to be very good all time and lucky.

At 8 I started playing a game with a male cousin where we took turns giving each other playful spankings. I was incredibly thrilled and looked forward eagerly to our time together. At age 10 I talked another playmate into mutually baring our butts... During our younger years my parents made a special effort to employ a particular baby sitter for the sole reason that she would take a hairbrush to our backsides if we misbehaved in any way. She never pulled down our pajama bottoms.

By age 12 I was looking for any way to be the spanker and not the spankee. I convinced one young boy that he had to submit to a bare butt spanking to join our "club". I was constantly whacking younger neighbor kids on their tushes, occasionally pulling down their pants and underwear if we could not be observed. I volunteered to baby sit for free (nothing is ever free). I could always manage the kids into a little trouble and the next thing they knew they were over my knee with their pj's coming down. No kid is ever going to report that the baby sitter needed to spank him and if one did I would merely point out that my own parents insisted on a spanking baby sitter.

On my second day of school I witnessed my first school spanking. A girl one row over had thrown one of those big pencils at another kid trying to get their attention. Mrs. Clifford, about 50 years of age, called her to the front and moved her chair behind a portable chalkboard to block the view from the class.

She said something like, "we don't throw things that could hurt others" and then told her to bend over. This was followed by about 10 or 12 whacks and the girl crying loudly.

I can still remember how tense I got and I could feel my heart pounding. I had never seen anything like this in my life and I have never forgotten it.

About two days later a boy who sat across from me was called up for talking. Again she scooted her chair behind the chalkboard and when he got up there I heard some unintelligible discussion followed by a "no" from the boy. A few more seconds went by, and then I heard the "bend over" followed by about the same number of whacks as the previous incident. He didn't cry as much, but when he returned to his seat you could see he was in distress. 
...
 It was about two months into the school year when I got my first one. I was arguing with a girl nearby and she stuck her big pencil in my face, so I grabbed it and broke it. Mrs. Clifford called me to the front and I felt my heart begin to pound.

As I walked up there I heard her scoot her chair behind the chalkboard, and when I approached her I saw the paddle in her hand. It was one of those that used to have a string and rubber ball attached. She looked at me with a serious look and told me I had no right to break her pencil, then she told me to unbutton and pull down my pants. I asked her why I had to do that, and she said the girls get it on their underwear, and so do the boys. I was still in shock I guess, because she unbuttoned them herself and pushed them down and pushed me over her lap. This was the most helpless feeling I had ever experienced. When the whacks came, my little fanny lit up and I tried not to cry, but I did cry a bit. After I got up I quickly pulled my pants back up and buttoned them.

I remember as I walked back to my desk I could see every kid looking at me as I made my way back. It's been 41 years since that day, and I can still remember it in slow motion. I received another 10 or so paddlings that year, and I remember them all. 
...
I saw she had a small, light bruise on her upper leg where her bathing suit began. She told me she got it from a spanking she got three days before. I asked her was it by hand or by a paddle, and she said it was by hand from her dad. What she said next really made me think about spanking even more. For some reason I asked if she got it on her underwear or on her pants, and she told me she got it totally naked!

"What?" I asked. "You're kidding, right?"

She said she wasn't kidding, and that when she or her sister got a spanking, that they had to take their clothes off before being spanked. He would make them bend over his lap as he spanked them with his hand. She also said that didn't get a specified number of whacks, but it was based on time. Her dad had one of those oven timers, and after she got undressed, he would set it in 2 to 10 minute increments, and then spank her until the timer went off.

I can't tell you how just hearing that warped my young mind. There wasn't a day that went by afterwards that I didn't think about spanking. In some of my fantasies, I wanted to be there as a spectator. In others, I wanted to be spanked myself alongside her. 
...
 Paddling is an act that is performed on an area that is unquestionably an erogenous zone. I can't emphasize how much it has affected me. The slightest references to it could set me off. I remember in the 7th grade being aroused just looking up "spanking" in the dictionary. I remember another book had a fanciful Mother Goose picture that had a drawing of the Old Woman in the Shoe spanking her kids, and I found that exciting.

It's time now to remove corporal punishment from the schools and move into the 21st century. Ignorance is no longer an excuse. One just has to type "spanking" in one of the various search engines on the net to see how sexually charged this practice is and how many adults my age have been affected just like I was. I have no doubt that there are principals, teachers and coaches who are getting a kick out of spanking kids.

I just want to really emphasize that spanking really disturbed me during my youth. I literally became a recluse for a couple of years. All I saw in my mind was butts and paddles. I spent a lot of the summertimes in my room fantasizing about either getting paddled or giving it. I knew something was not right, but who could I turn to? I could not confide in my parents, and I could not ask my friends for fear of becoming the laughingstock of my neighborhood. 

"If taken literally, the Old Testament condones having slaves and stoning women who have sex outside of marriage. But if you look at the life of Jesus, it's pretty hard to imagine him hitting children," said Crowell, a father of two who, along with 645 others, has signed Lawrence's online petition to ban the Rod.

In addition to her petition to ban the Rod, Lawrence, who homeschools her children, has so far obtained over 1600 supporters to sign her online petition calling for a complete ban on the sale any implement marketed for the express purpose corporal punishment of children in the United States.

"We're a very violent, hitting society, a very child-unfriendly society," said Lawrence, who has adorned the front door of her snow-cocooned Colonial house with stickers that say "Kids Safe Zone." 

    * What is the earliest age at which a child (infant) may be spanked?
    * What is the oldest age at which a spanking may be appropriate?
    * Should a spanking be applied to the bare bottom or clothed (diapered) bottom?
    * Should spanking be done only in private, or immediately upon commission of the punishable offense?
    * Should the spanker use the hand so as to get "instant feedback," or never use the hand, but rather a "neutral" object, e.g., a pastry spatula, hair brush, belt?
    * Should spanking leave marks? If so, how long should the marks last, and should the marks on a fair-skinned child be assessed differently than the marks on a dark-skinned child?
    * Should a spanking be prolonged until the child cries?
    * Should a child be spanked for crying?
    * Should girls be spanked differently than boys?
    * Should boyfriends of single moms be authorized to spank cranky infants?
    * Should stepdads have free rein to spank disobedient teenage stepdaughters? 

   "My parents had spanked my sister and I previously, but those punishments had been spontaneously delivered, over clothing, and scarcely memorable. The "new style" involved ritual and suffering. It involved waiting, marching outside out to the base of the yard in full view of neighbors, pulling down pants and underwear, and leaning against a tree with the bottom out for a highly memorable spanking or switching. These were events that make me blush to this day to recall."

Beth F.

"Dear Roy,

"I want to begin by talking about your spanking approach so that we'll both be using the same language. In your book, you describe a process by which a parent performs a spanking on their child. 

• The first step is to use the right instrument; if a parent uses their hand, the child might become fearful of the parent's hand. 
• The second step is to spank promptly.
• The third step is to find a private place in which the parent can conduct the spanking. 
• The fourth step is for the parent to explain to the child why they are going to be spanked. 
• The fifth step is to get the child into a good spanking position (when my parents and other adults—such as your wife, Char—spanked me, the ritual involved removing the child's clothing); you recommend bending the child over a bed, or bending a smaller child over the parent's lap. 
• The sixth step is to hit the child on the buttocks with a stick or other spanking implement. 
• The seventh step is to continue spanking until the child yields a broken cry, which indicates a broken will. 
• The eighth step is reconciliation. You recommend that parents comfort the child until sufficient time has passed, and then ask the child to stop crying. You recommend that parents spank a child who displays a "wrong attitude" by continuing to cry too long after a spanking.

"The moment I found out I was going to get a Roy Lessin spanking, I felt physically ill. Because the Roy Lessin spanking is a ritual, the ordeal could take a long time. (When I refer to a spanking ritual, I'm referring to the steps you outline in your book.) This was hard for me because I had a child's sense of time. The dread bubbled up and consumed me, and stayed with me until the spanking ritual was over. My parents usually sent me to a private room, such as my own room, and there I would wait until one of my parents came. (My dad spanked me the most, so in my illustration let's assume my father is conducting the Roy Lessin spanking.) My father would explain the reason for the spanking. This was an excruciating process because I had to listen while knowing what was coming. Since I might face back-to-back Roy Lessin spankings, I had to be careful not to be disrespectful in my listening to my father. I had already developed irritable bowel syndrome (IBS), and would feel my guts cramp up with anxiety during his speech. Then he would ask me to take off my pants and underwear. I would feel deeply embarrassed because my father was not supposed to see me naked. (My family had a high standard for modesty.) My humiliation and fear would grow immeasurably as I leaned over the bed, my father's knee, or whatever was around. My private parts were helplessly exposed as my dad laid his hand on my back. Trying to pull away and defend myself would only mean that the spanking would be longer, or I'd get a back-to-back spanking. The stick, paddle inscribed with scripture verses, or belt would swish violently through the air before slapping painfully on my buttocks or thighs. I would scream in pain and anguish.

"Pulling up my pants was incredibly painful, and so was sitting on my father's lap. Because "there was no pain," I had to pretend my buttocks and thighs didn't hurt even though they did, while my father would wrap his arms around me and "comfort" me. I was not like the idealized children you describe in your book, not knowing the difference between the spanking implement and the parent. My father caused me that pain—not a stick! My father's arms scared me, and I feared my father like I've feared no other man.

"One aspect of receiving a Roy Lessin spanking is the sexual aspect. It's taken me years to even begin to allow myself to speak of this aspect. You see, as a child I had no idea what sex was. I just had this funny sensation that came and went during the Roy Lessin spanking ritual. To my great dismay, I learned that sexual stimulation can be cross-wired with the painful ritual of spankings. This cross-wiring was a real problem for me. Because I couldn't cope with the double message of love and pain, I avoided developing an intimate relationship with a man for a very long time. It took years for me to find a healthy sexuality outside the memories I have of the Roy Lessin spankings. I struggled with this double message as a child. I feel a deep sense of shame as I remember hitting and torturing my dolls and Barbies when no one was around. I needed some way to express the fear, pain, and sexual confusion I felt inside; yet my childish mind couldn't comprehend the significance of what I was doing.

"My parents were your "A" students. They followed your eight steps occasionally reducing the entire Roy Lessin spanking ritual to a few swats—not very often, though. My butt and thighs would sting for a long time after a Roy Lessin spanking ritual, so I'd go into the bathroom and use my mother's mirror to look at my behind. I remember seeing red stripes crisscrossing my buttocks and my thighs. At times, I had old marks underneath the new marks. My parents conducted several Roy Lessin spanking rituals a day when I was a young child. I remember a teacher at school asking me one day why I didn't just sit still. I couldn't tell her that it was because the marks on my butt hurt so bad sitting in the little wooden chair.

"[Y]ou tell parents that their children will be happy with your mode of discipline, or even prefer being spanked. I want to say that I didn't experience that joy. I built myself a cheerful, obedient shell. I lived in that shell, only peeking my head out when I felt safe, for 30 years. It took me another seven years to actually try taking the cheerful, obedient shell off—only to run back into it when something felt like the "old fears of my childhood." I have not been happy living in this shell, constantly pretending to be happy when I felt miserable inside. When I think of a happy child, I think of a child who feels free to express their ideas, thoughts, and emotions. I think that a parent's job is to teach a child how to express their emotions, not hit them with a stick until the child displays the emotion of the parent's choosing.

"You write about parents disciplining children for disobedience. It seems pretty simple. The parents set up some rules and the children follow them. When disobedience is based on a child doing or behaving just as the parent asks, following those rules becomes much harder. As your teachings played out in my growing-up years, I found that I violated more rules than I could keep track of. Not only that, one of the rules was to follow through without my mom or dad asking a second time. So perfection became the rule, and perfection was something I failed at miserably. Even in the cheerful, obedient shell, I was not completely safe. The life lesson I took away was that there is no such thing as second chances. I took this lesson to school, and found that I was afraid to try. Not that my parents didn't encourage me—it was just that if the encouragement didn't work, which it often didn't, they'd spank me for getting letters backwards, words wrong on spelling tests, and so forth. Basically, they spanked me for not trying hard enough. I haven't even mentioned the hundreds of other issues they spanked me for. I learned how to live helplessly. Not only did I face my own internal disappointment at not getting something correct, I faced a Roy Lessin spanking at home when I wore out my encouragement. I grew up thinking that I was mentally handicapped. Later, as a grown adult, I found out that I'm dyslexic—something a Roy Lessin spanking would never cure.

"For most of my life, I worried that I'd remembered all this wrong. About eleven years ago I called Char and asked her to listen to while I recalled a Roy Lessin spanking for her. I described to her in as much detail as I could remember the beatings I endured again and again. Char told me that my memories were exactly what you and she had taught my parents. I had not remembered wrong!

"Remember all those sermons at Outreach that you, Don Leetch, Dean Kerns, and a few others delivered? I still hear children screaming as their parents spanked them outside the church sanctuary during Sunday morning service during those sermons. I remember the screams of my siblings. I remember on a Friday night, someone was preaching and a dad took a baby outside for a spanking, and a neighbor called the police. We stopped the church service, and you went out with your bible to explain to the officer why it was fine for the parent to spank their baby. All of us inside prayed that the officer would understand and not take the baby away.

"I hope that by this point you begin to see how your simple, sweet words about raising children are actually harmful. Perhaps you're wondering if I want to have a dialogue with you, and talk about what you really meant by your early book. Perhaps you've adopted a policy of grace, and now recommend that parents spank less and not on bare skin? The truth is, I don't want to know. If I needed justification or reasoning for your teachings, I could use your book as a reference. What I'd like you to do is reconsider your position after carefully looking at how your teachings affected me."

"My brother and sister and I all have major psychic scars from the physical and emotional abuse our parents meted out. I'm on my second marriage (I had self-esteem too poor to allow me to pick someone the first time around who was good for me), my sister's on her third marriage, and my brother (who had the added burden of being gay in a homophobic family) has a hard time seeing himself as worthy of anyone's love.

"I remember being 7 years old and being on vacation at my maternal grandparents' home with my siblings and parents, and watching as my father slapped my infant brother's thighs, as my brother lay crying in an infant seat, and then said, "I'll give you something to cry about." What kind of person slaps a child, much less one younger than a year old?

"Years of abuse like that are why, when my first marriage ended and I had a chance to take back my birth surname, I decided to instead take the surname O'Moore, the birth name of my maternal grandmother, a sweet woman who had never hit me. I did not want to be associated by name with people who hit children—with the people who had hit me."

"My father rarely spanked us, but when he did it was brutal. We would be taken to the barn, which meant the belt. This happened to me about twice a year from ages 8-18. The procedure was the same. A trip to the barn with dad meant removing clothes, including underwear, and bending over an old saw horse. To this day I remember the humiliation as a teenager, bent over, naked in front of my dad. The beltings that he gave were beyond what any normal bottom could stand. The welts generally lasted 3-4 days.

"I can't shake the memory of seeing my little sister beaten. I wake up about one night per week from a nightmare about being a 9, 13, 17 or 18 year old girl again and being taken by my father to the barn.

"My advice to parents is this: NEVER listen to any pastor or minister who distorts the Word of God and makes it an excuse for tormenting your children."

"At home, I never noticed if my own parents took sexual pleasure in spanking me or not. I was usually much too preoccupied with my own emotions of fear and helplessness to notice what my parents' emotions were. My mom always used a wooden spoon, but I do recall Dad spanking me with a pointy hairbrush once when I threw a tantrum after losing my first game of checkers to my younger sister. It did seem that Dad enjoyed administering that spanking.

"It usually never seemed that my mom enjoyed spanking me. She says she only did it because at that time in her life, she supported a literal interpretation of the Bible. However, I do remember once likening spanking to the crucifixion of Christ after she had given me a beating. I expected her to get angry and spank me more at first, but then she would hopefully "see the error of her ways" and not spank anymore in the future. However, she sat me down on the toilet and began discussing my comment as though she found it highly intriguing. That only confused me more, and I began to wonder what her motivations for spanking me were.

"I still remain confused as to why my own parents (who otherwise seem to love me) thought it was an acceptable practice to hit me on the behind. Looking back on my childhood, I find many of my memories troubling. My parents now treat me with a lot more respect than they did when I was little. Although Mom apologized later for an especially hard spanking she had given me, for the most part, neither of my parents repudiates any of their violent actions. They haven't addressed the issue, and I am afraid to bring it up."

"My father would threaten me, beat me, threaten and beat me, whatever the combination, (the threats and actual beatings tend to blur together) for pleading with him not to beat my brother after I had told on my brother. I only wanted my brother to stop doing whatever it was he was doing to me...

"Sometimes... he would threaten to beat me if I didn't stop crying. You know how it goes, "Stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about." I was terribly afraid of my father. I would pretend to be asleep as my father stood in my bedroom doorway, staring at me. It was my way of life. I was always so embarrassed by my father making me pull down my pants to expose my bare buttocks so he could watch the snapping of the belt against my bare skin.

"Actually, even as a child, I thought that was part of my punishment - to be exposed and humiliated - to be shown how small and undeserving of respect I was and what could be/would be done to me, at will, if I didn't do whatever it was I was supposed to do. I eventually began to look at the welts he would leave by using the little round bathroom mirror.... Yes, I really learned my lesson. That snapping of his belt against my skin is a sound I will never forget. "Move your hands" are words I can never forget.

"The word 'belt' itself instills overwhelming embarrassment and shame to this very day. How humiliated I was! I believe my father truly enjoyed this act of power. I wouldn't be surprised if he came in his pants right in the middle of it. This embarrassment turned into shame and it is this shame that haunts me. I feel violated. I was violated...

"He stripped me of my clothes and with it my dignity and self worth. I don't know how to forgive him for that. He has, of course, never asked for my forgiveness...

"He used to laugh at me as I obediently brought his belt to him, while I was sobbing at what was about to happen. He used to chuckle and say, "Why are you crying? I haven't even touched you yet."...

"I can vividly remember standing in front of his belt rack desperately trying to figure out which belt he wanted me to bring to him, trying my best to please him. I was his faithful soldier, always putting his needs before my own. He has rarely shown any regard for my feelings.

"Oh, the threats. They were great. "Do you want me to blister your bottom? Do you want the belt? Do you want me to beat you? Do you want me to blister your tail? Do you want a beating?" I just never seemed to know how to avoid it. I just lived the only way I knew how and figured I must be bad and/or not too bright to keep making the same mistakes." 

"The school I attended, I am sure, used the cane as a source of sexual amusement as well as the sense of power achieved through humiliation and the actual act. Time after time the ritualistic behavior of the teachers involved was the real menace to my mental health. Not only was it sufficient to beat a seven-year-old to tears, extreme fright and panic but also to intensify the anxiety manyfold by delaying tactics and other methods of heightening the anxiety I went through. 

"A typical example of this was when I was caught one day sitting under a fir tree playing with some pine cones at the age of eight. It was an area that was "out of bounds." I was told the same day and then beaten 5 days later. On the consequent days I was reminded I was "in for it"; before breakfast, lunch and tea, and sometimes before assembly if I was standing in the wrong place.

"Enjoy your lunch," he would say, a dry smirk on his disgusting and evil face. "I'll be seeing you later." Then he would walk away calmly. How did that affect me? My stomach was in turmoil; I felt sick and very nervous; I would shake. I would also not be able to eat anything substantial, so I would lose weight and be ashen-faced and completely withdrawn. When the final day came, the teacher said nothing to me, he ignored me. I could have almost believed he may have thought that the intimidation was enough punishment on its own until, in the middle of lunch that day, he stood up just before pudding was served and asked to see me after lunch.

"I would know what to expect," he said and raised his eyebrows at me knowingly. The rest of the school (again around 300 ) became turbulent with noise as they all made a caning noise with their mouths. I went cold. I trembled uncontrollably. An overwhelming sense of fear came over me. I was in shock--the same symptoms of someone who has been in an accident. I thought I might pass out. I then had to wait another twenty minutes outside the study as the entire school shuffled past slowly watching the condemned, still shaking. When the teacher arrived I could hardly stand up, weak from a week's worth of extreme anxiety and feeling sick, little food and feeling very isolated and frightened and unable to resolve my own situation of horror. I begged him not to, but to no avail. The teacher lapped up every enjoyable detail of my angst and pain. He had no qualms or questions of morality, only his own private satisfaction. A dry and evil-looking smile ran across his face as he chose the cane he would use, taking his time so I could look at the row of seven or so implements he had racked in a modified snooker cabinet.

"He laid the cane out in front of me on his desk and sat down and he talked of the school discipline and how any person caught crossing him would be severely punished. He then stood up and picked up the cane that I was now transfixed by terror with. He walked around the desk slowly and then told me to bend over his armchair. I already had tears in my eyes and a condemned feeling of resignation. I bent down and felt his big hand grip my shoulder and push down on me.

"I felt the pain searing and tearing into me as the rushing noise stopped as abruptly as it had started. I knew I had another three to go, and I bit hard into my lip anticipating the next stroke, my eyes full of tears and tightly shut. The noise started again--the whooshing of the stick through the air was terrifying--and the crack as the cane smashed into my buttocks with tremendous force. The headmaster's massive hand continued to hold my shoulder firmly so I couldn’t move. His right arm drew the stick towards the ceiling, and the strike landed accurately and painfully across the line of the first stroke.

"I felt the tears welling up; I couldn’t control them. My face was now wet and contorted. I felt the wanting of protection from my parents, but I knew there was none. This was a punishment they condoned. I wanted to cuddle my dog. I wanted the peace of my bedroom at home twenty miles away. I wanted to be miles away. I wanted to be so far away that this man could never touch me again.

"The final stroke laid onto the second, as calculated and accurate as any sportsman who uses a utensil to propel a ball to a goal. The smarting wounds now stung bitterly and throbbed.

"'Now get out,' the teacher said coldly... 

"How can anyone say that this happened to build my character? Someone at the age of thirty-one that won't allow physical contact with any one. Someone who cannot trust anyone. Someone with no sense of self-security or happiness, one with little self-esteem or the ability to use one's own resources. Someone who will never forgive the regime that calamatised my life.

"For anybody who thinks this is a great thing to do to people, take a look at a child who is seven--really "look at them--and ask yourself if you think it is OK for a man who weighs around 250 pounds to beat that child with a stick.

"Everyone 6th grade and under had to be in bed by 8:00 pm. The principal, Mr. Montgomery, was a man in his early 40's, 6 ft plus and he would come by the living quarters to make sure everything was in order. At least once a week he would single someone out for an infraction and take him or her to his office for "some needed correction." The victim would always return sobbing and climb into bed and roll over to face the wall so no one could see their pain and embarrassment. When you asked what happened all they would say is they were spanked and that they were not to say anything else. Unfortunately for me and my friends Cathy and Stacy, our curiosity was cured in a most terrible way. One night about 8:20 were in our beds which were across the small walkway from one another. We were making burping noises at one another and giggling heartily. Suddenly Mr. Montgomery walked in and asked what was all the racket about. A girl in a nearby bed, probably fearing she would get in trouble, said "Rachel, Stacy and Cathy are burping on purpose and laughing." His face became contorted as he looked at us and said that this behavior was not acceptable and then asked us three to come to his office. We begged and pleaded for mercy and said we would not do it again, but it fell on deaf ears. He grabbed me with one arm and Cathy with the other and told Stacy to walk in front of him. We were taken to his office, which was located at the other end of the facility. We were three terrified 9 year olds and we continued to tell him that we were sorry, but we kept looking ahead as he lead us to his abode.

"He opened the door to his office, pushed us in and closed the door. He then began a long speech about how such bad behavior was not going to be tolerated and we were going to receive a reminder not to do it again. He walked over to us and told us to raise our arms up. He proceeded to remove our "sleeping smocks" which left us totally naked in the cold room. He then pulled his chair out from his desk, sat down and grabbed a paddle that was about a foot long. He told Cathy to come to him where he instructed her to bend over his knee. As she began to lean over, he put his free hand on her upper back and pushed her all the way over. He then placed the paddle on her buttocks and tapped it lightly a couple of times and then whacked her hard. I remember the screams she let out which sent shivers down my back. He would whack her and then let the paddle rest on her butt for about 5 seconds and then do it again. She would scream and try to move, but his left hand that was pressing on her back kept her firmly in place. After about 15 strikes he let her up and told her put her smock back on. He then motioned me to approach him where I received the same punishment. When he stuck me I felt as if my whole backside was burning. By the 5th or 6th hit, I was having a hard time breathing and was choking as I cried. What really make the event worse was his period of delay between smacks. What could have been done in 20 seconds or so was stretched into two to four minutes. When he was finished with me, he beckoned Stacy over who was given her beating. We then were told to get back in bed and he had better not catch us again participating in such behavior. I experienced this 3 more times in the 3rd grade, twice in the 4th, 3 in the 5th and the final 4 in the 6th. When I think about what would be the consequences today if it became known a teacher, and especially a male teacher, make girl's strip naked to receive a beating.

When I was in the sixth grade I was called down to his office for another of the many evening sessions along with three other girls, two of them fellow sixth graders and one a fourth grader. Again we were told of the evil behavior that we had exhibited and that we would receive 12 licks and then he told us to "get ready over the table." This meant completely disrobing by removing our smocks and bending over a long portable table. All of had been here before so we knew there was no point in arguing as that would only result in more whacks... As always he took his time as he would whack one and then step to the next one until he arrived back where he started. After he was finished we were instructed to remain in position for several minutes while we thought about what had led to this. He would then go over and sit at his desk while we waited for his permission to get dressed and return. 

"When we would receive spankings from him during the day because of something bad we had done during recess or lunch, we did not have to remove our entire school uniform, we only had to lower our underwear. He would give us a choice between 15 whacks on our bare butt or 40 on our panties. Of course no one I knew ever took the panty route which is no doubt is the way he wanted it. He would tell us to pull down our panties and bend over the table. He would then use his left hand to push our skirts back and to keep us down. He would remind us that if we got out of position it would add another 5 licks to the ordeal. The first time I had my first daytime spanking from him (all of the previous daytime beatings were done by the class teacher) was about a month after I entered the 5th grade. I was given my options and after I lowered my underwear to just below my buttocks and bent over the table. He approached and said, "I want these here" as he used the paddle to push my panties to my knees, "and next time remember or it's an extra 5.

"There isn't the slightest doubt in my mind that this man was a paedophile and his behavior was supported by this so-called "Christian" operation. How can anyone read about his behavior above and justify it as "needed correction." I probably received over 500 whacks during my 8 years there and there were others who got it a lot more than I did. I was 14 years old when I received my last attack, but 25 years later the memories still haunt me. When I was in the 7th and 8th grades I worked as an assistant in the administration office and I saw several students go to his office for their beatings. I would hum to myself or go into the supply storage room so I would not hear their cries. And even though he spanked both boys and girls, through my fellow classmates I learned that with boys, it was in and out fairly quickly. With girls he took his time. After reading Louise's account, one ponders how many times this type of violation has happened or maybe continues to happen. I shudder at the thought. About two years ago I became aquainted with the Internet and through it I have found many others who were similarly abused. I have even read a few of the so-called erotic school spanking stories found at various web sites and because so many of them are so near to what actually happened to me, I have no doubt that several who wrote them were victims themselves. They have come to erotisize the experience in order to cope with it. But I assure you, in reality there is nothing whatsoever erotic about it. It is cruel, inhumane and crime against innocent youth. I like the quote by Tom Johnson, author of the book "The Sexual Dangers of Spanking Children" who said "It's ironic: Only those over 18 can legally buy spanking porn, but only those under 18 can be forced to submit to the real thing."

"It's time to outlaw the beatings of kids." 

And there was Sue. She and I were friends, drawn together perhaps because we were both outsiders, each in our own way. She was poor and her clothes weren't as nice as the other girls', and sometimes she didn't smell very good. As an eight-year-old, I wondered if her family couldn't afford soap, but it didn't seem like a good idea to ask. And I was the clever kid in the class, the one who questioned everything, the smartaleck. So we had a thing together, Sue and I.

Sue had already gotten paddled once, and seeing her coming back into class crying made my own butt almost hurt. One day close to Christmas vacation, she came wearing a long dress, actually looking nicer than usual. I'd gotten my work done early and the teacher was in a good mood so she gave me some yarn, wooden sticks, and instructions for a project. It was easy, but the finished product was unimpressive, even to a third-grader, and I immediately lost interest in it. Later, when I asked the teacher if she know where it was, she made a beeline over to Sue's desk. Apparently, Sue had picked up my project and the teacher had seen her do it. Maybe the teacher was waiting for the opportunity to spring into action. Unfortunately, I gave her that opportunity. She grabbed Sue and lead her out into the hall, paddle in hand.

That really sucked. The project was just a piece of junk, and I really didn't care about it. The worst thing, I guess, was my own inability to protect my friend. When they came back in the classroom, Sue was crying, and I felt too ashamed to look at her.

One day, about a year later, I'd starting fidgeting conspicuously in class and for that I got to take my own walk down to the stairwell and face the paddle. I can remember shaking with fear and backing against the wall. My former third grade teacher was also there, the one who had hit Sue, and I remember asking why she had to be there, and my teacher said that state law required a witness. Each teacher grabbed one of my hands and pulled me forward. I got hit three times, each time harder than the last. It made me feel like vomiting, but I managed to not cry. Tears seemed like the ultimate defeat, a forced admission of how much someone had actually been able to hurt you.

Walking back into the classroom afterwards with the teacher, I felt overwhelmed and couldn't look at the faces that stared at us as we entered the room. At home that night, I couldn't get the events of the day off my mind. My mother asked why I wasn't eating and I told her I just wasn't hungry.

Another time, two boys got in a fight at recess, and when we came back to class, the teacher took them to the stairwell and used "Big Bertha" on them, which appeared to be about two and a half feet long, and an inch thick, with holes drilled in it. They were both crying when they walked back into the classroom. I realized that the teacher could make anyone cry if she wanted to...

"One day in third grade, the teacher told me that I was going to have a "sore bottom" if I didn't finish something by the end of the day, and I wondered if she thought it was only about what happened to you outside, if she couldn't understand what being hit did to you inside.

"It bothers me a lot when people talk about bringing back corporal punishment. Don't they remember what the "good old days" were really like? If they want to be nostalgic, would they bring back lead-based paint too? When I see little kids, even those that I don't know, the idea of them being hit like that makes me wonder if there's anything I can do to stop it.

"Actually, it appalls me that so many states still allow this crap to go on."

There are no examples of children being beaten with a rod.

We see in most other instances that the word "rod" is used to symbolize God's authority or the authority of a nation.

If you read the "shebet" passages in Proverbs , you will see that you can always substitute the word "authority" for "rod". If "rod" can be referring to God's authority or a nation's authority in some of the above verses, then it is referring to a parent's authority in the following verses:
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Pr 23:13 Withhold not correction from the child: for if thou beatest him with the rod, he shall not die.
Pr 23:14 Thou shalt beat him with the rod, and shalt deliver his soul from hell. 
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In the preceding verses, we see that he shall not die with this rod. Yet in Exodus, we saw that a man COULD cause someone to die with a literal shebet. If Scripture were talking about a literal rod here, we would be finding a contradiction because it says he SHALL NOT die. You cannot kill someone with your authority. You can be striking (beating) them with your authority by using your authority to discipline (teach, disciple, educate, instruct) and guide them. I hold to the figurative interpretation of this verse. 

IF this Scripture were referring to a literal beating, taken in context, it would have to be speaking about a grown child. The verses before and after are written by a father speaking to his grown or almost grown son. However, you still have the problem of the contradiction as far as whether or not a "shebet" can cause someone to die.

Another observation worth mention is the word child used in all of these "rod" Scriptures in Proverbs. This word is "na'ar".
This word means as follows:
a boy, lad, servant, youth, retainer
a. boy, lad, youth
b. servant, retainer

Concretely a boy (as active), from the age of infancy to adolescence; by implication a servant; also (by interchange of sex) a girl (of similar latitude in age).

The KJV translates it as follows: young man 76, servant 54, child 44, lad 33, young 15, children 7, youth 6, babe 1, boys 1

This would mean that we are speaking about boys most of the time when we see this word (since a lad would be a male) here and usually young men.

Therefore, *if* one took these Scriptures to mean literal physical punishment, than it would possibly only apply to fathers spanking their sons who are older (since adolescence can go through the early 20's). Most Christian discipline "experts" do not mention this. Yet, if you're going to interpret it literally, this would have to be the explanation. Most Christian parenting authors say you should be able to STOP spanking by the time they become 12 or 13, yet according to this Scripture, you would not even START using physical punishment until then. So, we see that these Scriptures, if taken literally, would be referring to this form of punishment as an absolute last resort to save the child (which was possibly a boy only) from hell.

So many Christians have taken FIVE verses and hung a whole child rearing philosophy on them! Parents are told to use this as a primary form of punishment (what these experts refer to as discipline). Some use the words "punishment" and "discipline" interchangeably when they mean two entirely different things. These people are basing their theology on nothing more than the traditions of men! 

"I was not 'abused' as a child, just 'spanked with love.' She never left a bruise when she 'lovingly spanked' me. My permanent marks were inside, not outside.

"Mother firmly believed in spankings as discipline for her children because they 'worked' so well. All she needed to do if my behavior displeased her was say, 'Carol, do you want a spanking?' and that would frighten me into obeying her. And if she told me to do the dishes and I didn't do them very well and got spanked for it you can bet those dishes were unusually spotless for the next couple of days. But spankings also left me with lifelong emotional and sexual problems that I still don't know how to fix despite years of therapy. My mother got an obedient daughter and cleaner dishes and I got a lifelong mess inside me.

"If I were growing up today, Mother could post on parenting web forums about how 'effective' spankings are as discipline for her daughters. She could brush aside concerns about emotional harm saying 'an hour after I spank her, Carol is happily playing or doing her chores.' She could talk about my good grades in school. She could talk about how polite I am and respectful to my elders, and how she gets compliments from other adults about what a good girl I am in public. And if anyone tried to warn her that she might give her child a fetish, she could laugh and say, 'Carol would never turn out like that. She hates to be spanked!' And nothing she said would be a lie.

"I tried so hard to be good. But sooner or later I always found myself face down across my mother's lap getting yet another spanking. I just couldn't control it - except in my fantasies. In fantasy I could make everything happen just so, as if it really were under my control. My mother's preferred discipline method emotionally upset me so much that I sexualized it - everything about it: the kind of clothing she wore and I wore, the things she would say before and after my spanking, the position she put me in, on and on. Fantasy let me cope with my trauma and get a pretend feeling of control over something really out of my control. When I imagined myself as a naughty girl over her Mommy's lap getting her bare little bottom spanked I pictured myself crying and begging the Mommy to stop. Yet it was my fantasy so really I had total control. And by eroticizing, I made something awful and frightening into something delightful and pleasant. ...

"Most spanked kids don't turn out as obsessed as me. But some of us do. And we aren't rare. Growing up I knew two other little girls who both got spanked by their parents and who both loved to play House the same way I did: with play spankings, play spankings, and more play spankings all afternoon without ever getting bored. (At least two of us were strict disciplinarians of our dolls, too!) One girl would even get me to pretend to be her real life mother so we could re-enact actual episodes for which she had been disciplined in her home. For me to meet two others so like myself in this way would be almost impossible if kids like me were rare. ...

"Growing up in my 'traditional values' family, children did as they were told and didn't talk back. If you did, Mommy would turn you across her knee, pull down your panties and 'teach you a lesson' right then and there. I sure learned my lessons! The trouble is, how do you unlearn that lesson as a grownup out in the world who has to stand up for herself? I just hate myself now whenever I realize that once again I let myself be someone's doormat. ...

"Spanking children is harmful, it is hurtful, it is violent, and it needs to stop. Parents reading this: please don't use physical pain to discipline your children!"

"The therapists very much believed in "spare the rod, spoil the child," and on their instruction, my parents' spankings of me increased. This probably wasn't a good idea in a family with documented legal problems with alcoholic rages and violence. I'll also note that at age 10, in my view, that’s too old to be increasing physical punishment. They also taught that physical discipline should be immediate, which meant it should happen in public if that's where the offense occurred. For example, if a dirty word was said, according to them, your parent takes you to the nearest public bathroom to wash your mouth out with soap, regardless of whether other people are in there. To my recollection, they never addressed my father’s drinking, constant foul mouth or angry demeanor. ...

"When the counselors would ask me how the previous week went, and I said anything about my father’s or brother's physical abuse, my father was instructed to pull me over his lap and spank me in front of everyone. The first time it happened, my father began to pull my arms toward toward him on the sofa, and I thought he was about to hug me. When he then pulled me over his lap and spanked me, I was mortified. 

"Two of the therapists in the room smiled and giggled the first time, and one clapped afterward. Between the family and counselors, there were around 10 adults total watching this and, as mentioned, the sessions were videotaped. I have no idea how Doty used these tapes. This was incredibly humiliating. ...

"Today, Doty has become somewhat of a mini-celebrity in both Christian and secular counseling circles, including giving keynote addresses at conventions. I'm currently in a treatment program for post- traumatic stress disorder, and one of my issues being addressed is the treatment at CFI. It's ironic that I’m in counseling to address what happened to me in counseling!"

"I can remember having thoughts and fantasies about being spanked from the time I was five years old. I was quite amazed at the parallels I discovered in other's accounts of how spanking affected sexuality. I remember looking up the word "spanking" in the dictionary to get a sexual reaction. I remember that when I would play with myself as a five year old, I would always imagine that someone was spanking me. As an adolescent spanking fantasies were a part of my masturbation. Anything related to spanking would give me a sexual reaction; whether it was a scene of corporal punishemnt in a book, or a movie. Even many christian parenting books which described how to "appropritely" spank your child, could get me aroused. ...

"I worry that if I ever do marry I will probably have to fantasize about being spanked in order to reach an orgasm. I think this is a shame, and I don't believe that this was God's will or intention for my sexuality. But, I don't know how to undo that harm. Part of me thinks that I will probably live with this spanking fetish for the rest of my life. I just wish there were resources available to help with this issue."

She seemed to take great pleasure in the humiliation aspect of the beatings. We had to have them bare-bottomed, of course. And when she chose to use a cherry switch, we had to go outside and pick it ourselves. If it wasn't large or "good" enough, she would send us back out to pick another, and give us extra swats for "trying to get away with it". 

Mom would give beatings out for only one reason: when she was dissatisfied somehow regarding chores. Say I dropped a glass while doing dishes, or left my toys lying about, or my eldest sibling (mother's pet, who escaped all beatings) hadn't done her own duties- then out would come the belt. That is actually one of my most vivid memories of childhood... getting pulled out of bed at one in the morning (when my mother got home from being out) and being beaten while finishing my sister's undone chores. 

It's very odd, because in all other respects my mother seemed to be a decent and respectable person. She was fun-loving and open with us. She did not call us names or hit us for other reasons. She held a high-paying, extremely well respected position in the community.

I've discovered that she has her own history with "spanking", and it is hauntingly similar to what she did to her own daughters. She was raised by an alcoholic father and an unattached mother. As the least favored child she was regularly whipped, often for no reason other than her parents were in bad moods. It is so true that spanking affects far more people than just the poor child who receives it. 

How can "spanking" advocates not see what this violence does to people; how it trickles down through the generations and hurts us all? 

Now in the present day... the effects of my childhood have been ongoing, as you may have guessed. I have suffered from depression and low self-esteem regularly. I am completely unable to walk away from a mess or job that needs to be finished- never in my adult life have I left dishes in the sink overnight, or saved the vacuuming for another day. I still have an incredible fear of leaving a chore undone. As a result, my doctor suspects I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. 

I am glad to say that my family's cycle of violence stops with me. I have NEVER hit even one my six beautiful daughters, NEVER. Not once. I've had a lot of counselling, and help from my husband, and sometimes medication, to keep me from lashing out at the girls.

Whether the cruelest whipping or the so-called "gentlest" spanking, all tell a child the same thing: "hitting is okay and you should use it to get your way". Every time an adult strikes a child, it gives him or her the idea that violence is an acceptable response... and I guarantee that not every child who learns this falsehood can resist acting on it in adulthood. 

Even today, as a grown woman, I feel like a lightning bolt will come through the ceiling and strike me for writing one of the "stories" from my WCG childhood...
Apparently I had been crying or misbehaving in the services (which were held in miserable heat under a big canopy tent) when I was taken outside for disciplinary proceedings by my mother. Bear in mind the fact that on 3 days out of the 7, we endured two services a day. Each service ran between 2 and a half to 3 hours or more in length. Unsuccessful in quieting me inside the service, she led me to another tent which she explained was the "spank tent" for unruly children. In fact, it was a tent solely designated for the spanking of children. I remember hearing what sounded like children being tortured; crying, screaming, pleading for mercy, smacking sounds, etc. I cannot explain how horrific a feeling that was; my own mother taking me to a "torture chamber" for children, condoned by "the church," put there by "the church." 
As a mother today of a 5 year old son, it is not okay with me to spank him. I have such bad memories/feelings of the inappropriate discipline (from my own childhood) that I probably go too easy on my son. Either way, I'll take my chances. I would never want my son to feel like he was only worthy of love when he was being the perfect child. There were countless other children who endured this same "disciplinary attitude" and I hope they have realized that "the rod" is not as it had been misinterpreted by church leadership.

I never knew when I was going to get spanked or corrected. We lived in Tucson and under Mr. Reedy's regime, we were constantly being reminded that we were evil and needed Satan beaten out of us. On top of that, I had the unfortunate status of being female. It was often drummed into my head that as a woman, I had little or no options. I was expected to be someone's wife some day and do everything that man told me to do.  When I showed a more than adequate talent at art, it was a source of pride for my father, but nothing was done to encourage me to pursue it as a possible career.
I was taught to look down on people in "the world" and to distance myself from them. A difficult feat in a public school system to be sure. My mother made all my clothes because the styles in the early 70's were way too daring for HWA and I remember sermons including the number of inches above the knee my skirts could be: Two inches, by the way. No more...
My father was a deacon in the WCG and as such, we had to present a good example. Ours was "encouraged" by a paddle my father had made out of birch. On the wall of our kitchen was a list of offences and the corresponding number of "swats" we would receive. These offences included such things as not addressing my father as "Sir" whenever he spoke to me or answering, "Yes, Sir" when he told me to do something (my mother was to be addressed as "ma'am") to lying, chewing with our mouths open, etc.
One of the forcibly divorced women from our church used to bring her son over so my father could spank him, as he would not let his mother do it and he was too big for her to hold down. My father also made paddles for several church members because he was good at woodworking...
I did not remember the spanking tent at the [Feast of Tabernacles] until I read one of the accounts and yes, then I remembered it and being taken there for "that look of rebellion" on my face. If I had one penny for each time I was spanked for the look on my face, I'd be a very rich woman indeed. I used to pray every night before falling asleep that God would make me a good girl so I wouldn't get spanked. It was a rare day in my life not to receive a spanking.

I learned that the more "spiritual" a family was, the more "quiet and obedient" their children were. When the children got unruly and restless from sitting there for 2 hours (or more, if Gerald Waterhouse was there), they got "taken out" to the Mother's Room, where they were "disciplined" and then promptly returned to services. I did not have children at the time, but I heard so much about how children were filled with "human nature" and had "naturally rebellious spirits" which had to be "spanked out of them." I learned that the children had to be quickly returned to services once they were "disciplined" or they would get smart about acting up in services just so they could get up and play. They had to know that "going to the Mother's Room" meant an "unpleasant experience" was waiting ahead for them.
I can recall going to one Feast and hearing a little girl screaming and begging from behind a bathroom stall, "NO, MOMMY!! P-L-E-A-S-E don't hit me!! I'll be good!!!" The mother was extremely angry and smacked the child very hard, over and over again. 

On the advice of the minister, my parents adopted a very forceful approach. They had not up to that time ever hit me in anyway. One Friday evening my parents told me that I was going to Church with them tomorrow and if I gave them any trouble I was going to be spanked. They then showed me a paddle that they obtained from somewhere. (Most likely from the minister)...
I sulked right up until the time we had to leave. Then I mistakenly made one last effort to stay home. I refused to get in the car. That was the last straw, Dad went to get the paddle and Mum went to her bedroom, I don't think she could bear to watch. Dad forcefully took hold of me and held me over his knee and gave me a very long and hard spanking. While being paddled I squirmed and wriggled about, begging in tears for Dad to stop. Eventually, Dad stopped hitting me when I promised to get in the car. When we arrived at Church (school gym), services had just started, as I made them late. I sat there, backside throbbing, feeling very angry and also very confused.

Some of worst memories of my childhood were the spankings. I was spanked on a near daily basis for what were sometimes the most trivial of transgressions. I recall the horror, when I was about 8, of sitting in church listening to a sermon by Mr. Dennis (Fresno, CA).  He was preaching that children needed to be spanked daily, and with vigor, to make sure we had the fear of God in us. I was already getting spanked regularly but now the sessions became more intense. Shortly afterward, my father spanked me for 30 minutes because I had missed one leaf while raking the backyard. I know my father felt bad about the beatings he was giving me, but he was doing what he was told.  After all--the elders knew better than the lowly lay-persons what was best. I dealt with all this abuse by burying my emotions deep within.

All my dad had to say was, "Do you need a spanking?" and I'd start bawling, so I know my parents spanked some early on. My mom routinely threatened me with the obligatory wooden spoon. I felt so bad for some of my friends, who nearly every Saturday were taken into a bathroom stall and had to suffer through having their pants and underwear stripped down and spanked repeatedly on their bare bottoms, and another person would be beat with a belt over any small infraction. Nobody so much as batted an eye.
What was hardest for me was an all-pervasive high-pressure performance mentality of trying to be perfect. I never rebelled, never did anything "wrong," got all A's, didn't date [boys] or kiss until I went to Ambassador College, yet I always had (and have) zero self-esteem.

Some of the rulings were just weird.  In the summer of 2000, Gerald Flurry cracked down on women wearing skirts too short, by which he meant that he could see a portion of a woman's knee when she sat down...and said that if a woman wore a skirt that was too tight, the minister should take her in the back room, bend her over his knee, and spank her!

We feel like finally, now we are just starting to get our lives back. My three children now say that they did feel different in school being put in the hallway when there was a Valentine's party, or Christmas party etc. and you know, at the time I just thought, "Well, this will teach them about being persecuted." Now I can't believe that I really didn't see their side of it. When they came home once after visiting my X-in-laws for Easter, I remember taking them down the street to a public garbage can to throw away their bunny and chick animal cookies their grandparents had given them, because it was during the days of unleavened bread. Now that seems so mean. They were only 5 and 7 years old. I remember also the spankings I used to administer. I am not against spanking in extreme cases of danger or rebellion, but I am convinced that because of the teachings in the WCG I did a lot more of it than was necessary.
My children were very troubled in high school. One attempted suicide three times and he was on drugs.

"So how might getting spanked on the butt actually affect the workings of the brain? Straus notes that being spanked or hit is associated with fright and stress; kids who experience that kind of trauma have a harder time focusing and learning. In another recent paper that he coauthored with Paschall, Straus writes that previous research has found that even after you control for parental education and occupation, children of parents who use corporal punishment are less likely than other kids to graduate from college.

"Still, it's not clear if spanking causes lower cognitive ability or if lower cognitive ability might somehow lead to more spanking. It's quite possible that kids with poor reasoning skills misbehave more often and therefore elicit harsher punishment. "It could be that lower IQ causes parents to get exasperated and hit more," Straus says, although he notes that a recent Duke University study of low-income families found that toddlers' low mental ability did not predict an increase in spanking. (The study did find, however, that kids who were spanked at age 1 displayed more aggressive behavior by age 2, and scored lower on cognitive development tests by age 3.) "I believe the relationship [between corporal punishment and IQ] is probably bidirectional," says Straus. "There has to be something the kid is doing that's wrong that leads to corporal punishment. The problem is, when the parent does that, it seems to have counterproductive results to cognitive ability in the long term."'