The Handprints Spanking Links Page

Back in the 1950s growing up, spanking was a normal everyday punishment. Almost every kid in our road got spanked when they were naughty. Some were over-the-knee, some touch your toes, some bent over chairs or sofas.
We witnessed many spankings. In fact, if one was due we gathered outside the house to listen. Often remarks were made about it being hand, belt, slipper, or cane, and whether it was bare bottom or not. We often offered sympathy to the victim after as they sobbed holding their bottom looking out of their bedroom window.
One spanking sticks in my mind as the girl and I became boyfriend and girlfriend years later.
I was born in East London in 1951. Due to the bombings in the war, we were moved out to new towns in and around Essex. We moved to Harold Hill in Romford. I lived with my two brothers and a younger sister. We were all spanked on our bare bottoms if we mis-behaved. I can't actually remember my little sister getting a hiding, but my brothers and I got lots.
This particular time, I was out playing with a girl called Sally, of similar age. We were playing hopscotch and would have been around ten-years-old. Sally's younger sister was there making a nuisance of herself. She kept kicking our stones away. Sally chased her a few times, but her sister got away only to creep back and laugh. Sally was getting very annoyed.
I saw Sally watching her sister out of the corner of her eye. She was making out she wasn't looking, but she was. As her sister moved in to kick my stone, Sally pounced. Her sister did manage to escape, but not for long. Sally tried to grab her but failed and gave her a push in the back. Her sister stumbled, then went head first onto the pavement, grazing both knees. She burst out crying, said she would be telling on her big sister, and ran into their house. Sally shouted back something like it was her own fault, but I knew she was sorry for what happened.
Not as sorry as she was soon going to be, though.
All of a sudden there was a shout as Sally's father came running out towards Sally. He was rolling up his shirt sleeves and shouting, "What have I told you?"
Sally stammered and tried to tell her father what had happened. It was no good. Sally's father wasn't listening. He scooped her up like a rag doll.
Sally shouted, "No daddy, no!"
He lifted Sally's dress, pulled down her white panties, then pulled her across his leg.
He shouted something like, "I'll teach you, my girl, to keep your hands to yourself."
By this time he had slapped Sally's bare bottom six or seven times, more or less in time with the words. Sally was screaming and wriggling, but there was no escape.
I just stood there, eyes wide open, looking at the sweetest little bare white bottom getting redder by the second. It seemed to be never-ending.
More words came out, like, "How do you like that, my girl?"
That was probably another seven or eight slaps. The sound echoed around the street. I was just frozen to the spot, gawking. Suddenly, he just stopped, dropped Sally to the ground, and walked off still chattering to himself.
Sally flipped onto her back arched her body, lifting her bottom off the floor and grabbing it with both hands. She started frantically rubbing it as if that would make it better. She made absolutely no attempt to cover herself. I was still wide-eyed staring.
I just watched until Sally calmed down a bit and got to her feet, still bawling her eyes out. I said, "Shush, shush," or something and put my arms around her.
She grabbed me with both arms and hugged me, mumbling, "It wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault."
It wasn't. It was her little sister who should have been spanked, not Sally.
In our road, next to each end house, were some bushes planted by the council to look nice. We often played in them, and made camps and dens. I can't remember who made the first move, but still holding each other we walked into the bushes out of site, to hide Sally's embarrassment.
Sally was still crying, cuddling me, and sobbing on my shoulder. I just started to rub her bottom better. I remember it clearly. It was so smooth and warm, and bright red.

"You little brat! Give it here," said Rebecca, lunging at me and grabbing the book from my hands. I snatched it back, and in a moment a fierce struggle ensued which lasted just a couple of seconds but which resulted in the book being torn in half, several other parcels being scattered around the floor, and the Christmas tree coming crashing down.
There was a brief silence as we sat among the chaos, realising what we had done and the trouble we were in. The calm before the storm. Then we were noisily chased out of the room and up the stairs to our bedrooms and told to wait there and not dare to come out until we were told.
Dad had been having a lie-in, not wanting to get up at the early hour my sister and I had come downstairs to open our presents, but I could hear him complaining as Mum insisted on him getting up now. It took a few minutes in which I could hear him in the bathroom before I heard him entering my sister's room. I heard Mum's footsteps going down the stairs, the door of the hall cupboard where the slipper was kept opened and closed, her footsteps again, this time coming back up, and then she too went into Rebecca's bedroom.
Dad must have been ready and waiting for her with my sister already over his knee because the spanking started immediately. I sat on my bed listening and counting as Dad gave her two dozen whacks with the slipper, each one followed by a howl of pain. I would normally have enjoyed listening to her being punished but not this time, because I knew it would be my turn next. I could hear her sobbing while my parents left her room and came into mine.
Dad looked at me, sighed and shook his head. He was still unshaven and in his pyjamas. He sat on the edge of my bed and pulled me over his knee. My mother stood watching, arms folded, as he pulled down my pyjama bottoms and began to spank my bare bum with the slipper.
He obviously hadn't wanted to start Christmas morning like this and showed his annoyance by whacking me much harder than usual. After twenty-four stinging whacks, my bum felt like it was on fire, but at least it was over.

I have a vivid memory, back in the late 1990s, of the headmistress of my junior school calling my stepdad out of work to collect me from school. I had been caught stealing from the tuck shop. I had been excluded from school for 2 weeks. I was 11-years-old.
As soon as, he arrived, I was terrified. At that point, he was my mum's boyfriend of about 4 months and had recently moved in with us. My mother was out of town at the time, and he was the closest person able to come to school and get me.
While listening to what the headmistress was saying, he had a face like thunder and was staring at me. Then, in a flash, he got up, grabbed me by my arm, forced me up out of the chair into a kind of standing position. His hand went up my school dress, he pulled down my knickers, and slapped my backside right there and then.

"Up here, now Vicky!" said Mrs B with a strong tone of annoyance in her voice.
Vicky pushed her chair back, which made a loud grating sound on the wooden floor, and walked slowly past the four rows of desks separating our desk from the front of the class. She stood facing Mrs B with her hands behind her back, guessing what was coming next.
Mrs B produced a well-used black plimsoll from her top drawer, and I saw the colour drain from Vicky's neck from where I was sitting. Perhaps she thought she'd just get smacked with Mrs B's hand.
"Bend over my desk and reach across to the far side. Push your bottom out. That's perfect," Mrs B said.
Then, to the entertainment of everyone, but especially the boys in the class, she pulled Vicky's grey pleated skirt up above her waist, leaving her red knickers and half her bottom on display to all and sundry. There were whispers of anticipation and approval.
"Silence! Unless you wish to join her."
Silence fell, but only for a matter of seconds. Whapp! The plimsoll rose and fell onto Vicky's knickers in the blink of an eye, the sound reverberating from the classroom walls. Whapp! A second equally harsh blow landed, making Vicky sway forward and gasp. Whapp! Vicky grunted and sagged very slightly at the knees. A fourth and, as it turned out to be, final slap of plimsoll on bottom yielded a loud 'ouch' from Vicky.
"Now get up, get back to your desk, and pay attention," Mrs B ordered.
As Vicky stood, her skirt covered her sore bottom and she walked returned to her desk.

The impact was hard enough to break the unbreakable cup into several pieces and also to leave a large dent in the wall where the force had cracked the plaster. A little pile of paint flakes and plaster crumbs lay on the floor, along with the remains of the cup.
As we stared in horror at the scene of destruction, Lisa's mum entered the room to see what all the noise was about. Without a word, she turned and left the kitchen, returning moments later with a hairbrush. It was made from one solid piece of some kind of hardwood, about half an inch thick, five inches wide and ten inches long including the handle, which was about four inches. I knew that when Lisa got spanked by her mum it was with a hairbrush, but I had never previously seen it in action.
Lisa pleaded with her mum not to spank her, blaming the manufacturers for making false claims, but her pleas were ignored as her mum pulled out a dining chair, sat down and hauled Lisa across her lap. I looked on, fascinated and a little embarrassed, as her shorts were pulled down, swiftly followed by her pants.
"I have always believed this hairbrush, which used to belong to your grandmother, to be unbreakable," her mum said. "At least, she never managed to break it, no matter how hard she hit us with it. But as you seem so keen to find the breaking point of everything, we shall see if your bottom can succeed where my mine never could."
She then proceeded to smack Lisa's bare bottom as hard as she possibly could. Lisa howled and bawled at each stinging smack, but her mum showed no signs of pity and I am quite certain that she intended to keep spanking until she succeeded in breaking the hairbrush. But, it proved to be very durable and eventually, after several minutes and dozens of smacks, she stopped the punishment, presumably because her arm was aching too much to continue.
Lisa lay sobbing across her mum's lap, her bottom and the top of her thighs a deep purple.
"Have you got anything to say for yourself?" her mum asked her.
"I'm-I'm sorry," Lisa whimpered between sobs and sniffles.
"So you should be. And what about you?" she said looking across at me.
"Me?" I said, uncertainly. "What about me?"
"You must have played your part in this. Do you think it's fair that Lisa should get a spanking and you should go unpunished, or are you going to come over here and get the same? It's your choice."
I hadn't even thought about it, but when she said it I could see her point. However, I could also see Lisa's bruised bottom and I certainly didn't want the same.
"I didn't break anything," I protested.
Lisa's mum stared at me in silence for a long moment, then sighed.
"You'd better get off home then, because Lisa is going straight to bed. Not that I could have given you much of a spanking anyway, after all that exertion with my daughter. I hope, when you are sitting comfortably at home later, your conscience doesn't bother you too much."
I left the house and walked home, annoyed by her words. My conscience was clear. It wasn't my fault that Lisa got carried away and broke the cup, even if I didn't try to stop her. I tried to convince myself that I didn't feel guilty at all, but Lisa's mum's suggestion made me feel slightly ashamed when I thought of poor Lisa lying on her bed on her tummy, unable to sit down, flinching every time anything touched her bottom.
"You're early," my mum said. "I thought you were going to watch Top of the Pops."
"We were, but Lisa broke something and got sent to bed early. You know how clumsy she is."
I omitted any mention of the spanking. I didn't want my mum to be inquisitive about exactly what had gone on.
I knew there was no chance of getting my dad to put Top of the Pops on so I went to my room to listen to some records. A little while later, I heard the telephone ring. It was in the hall at the bottom of the stairs and as I was in the middle of changing the record and had no music on I could hear my mum's voice when she answered.
"Yes? Oh, hello Rita."
My heart skipped a beat. Rita was Lisa's mum. I couldn't hear what she said, but my mum's side of the conversation went something like this.
"Yes, she's home. No. Well, she told me Lisa had been sent to bed early but, no. No, she didn't tell me that. No, she didn't tell me that either. No. Really? Ok, thank you for letting me know. Yes. Oh, she will be, don't you worry. Yes. Oh yes, definitely. I will. Goodbye."
Mum hung up and went back into the living room. I could hear her talking to Dad but I couldn't tell what she was saying. I could guess though. A few minutes later, I heard the door of the cupboard in the hall, the cupboard in which my parents kept the slipper they used to punish us with, open and close and then Dad's footsteps on the stairs.
He came into my room and I saw, as I knew I would, that he was holding the slipper.
We had a 'discussion' in which he told me why I was going to be punished. I pleaded my innocence, but he had already agreed with my mum and Lisa's that I must share some of the blame, and no amount of pleading was going to save me. He sat down on my bed and pulled me over his knee, pulled up the hem of my skirt, and pulled down my pants. He then gave me a very long and hard spanking on my bare bottom with the leather slipper, which of course, was never in danger of breaking before he had finished.
When he had gone back downstairs, I examined my bottom in the mirror. It looked as sore as it felt, though it was not as livid as Lisa's. I could only imagine how she must be feeling as her spanking had clearly been more painful than mine. It didn't stop her being clumsy, though, and it wasn't long before her next encounter with the hairbrush.
We are still friends to this day, almost fifty years later, and she now has that hairbrush, still unbroken, and has used it many times on her own children, but as parenting techniques have changed so dramatically since our childhood, only to brush their hair!

"April, come here!" was mum's next instruction.
April moved slowly to mum's side and was firmly pulled across her lap. I stood with my bum and face burning red equally from my experience and embarrassment. Mum pulled April's yellow dress up and whipped her white panties down, which came to rest around both her knees. April's white bottom soon began to suffer one of mum's spankings, as mine had just done. Bright red hand prints soon became visible as mum's hand repeatedly rose and fell sharply, making loud slapping noise on contact.
April was sobbing loudly about the fifth or sixth smack. I was feeling as sorry for her as I was for myself. As she was younger than me, her spanking seemed to be somewhat shorter. I couldn't begrudge her that. I suppose I was more to blame than she was.

On one particular Saturday, my mother and Mrs Schmidt were going for a walk along the river. I decided to go with them as I always tried to be 'little Miss Perfect.' It wasn't long before the two of them started talking about Sunday school, as it was church the next day, and it was then that my mother brought up the "totally unacceptable behavior of her children," and I saw my chance to prove my utter perfection.
"I know," I said. "Sophie and Sam are always yelling and saying stupid things."
"Now you be quiet!" my mother snapped. "You think I haven't seen you pulling faces at them when you think I'm not looking? You're a major distraction."
At this point I was quite shocked, for I was certain I had hidden the sabotaging of my siblings' behavior well. However, it was true. I would regularly try and get them told off in front of the rest of the Sunday school class. It was at this point that Mrs Schmidt decided to chime in.
"And you're lucky you're not in bigger trouble," she said. Then, turning to my mother, "If any of my kids acted up like that, and tried to deceive me, they would be straight over my knee, with their bare bottoms feeling the sting of my hand."
After this statement, there was a slight pause as my mother pondered what Mrs Schmidt had just said, before coming to a decision.
"I was actually just considering that myself," she said to my utmost horror. "Yes, nothing better than a good old spanking."
"No mommy, please. I'm sorry, don't spank me."
My mother's face softened for a second, but upon seeing the stern face of Mrs Schmidt she changed tack.
"In fact," she said. "That bench over there looks most suitable."
By this point, I was screaming at the top of my voice begging her not to spank me in front of everybody else in the park. However, it did little good. While Mrs Schmidt stood by and watched, my mother managed to bend me over her knee and then, to my shock, pulled down my leggings and panties.
"Nooooo! Not on the naked bum! Please no, mommy. Noooo!"
"Quiet," was my mother's reply.
Then the spanking started, one spank after the other, switching between sides of my bum each time. By the fourth smack I was in tears, and by the eighth I was in hysterics, from both embarrassment and pain. Before long, I thought my bottom was literally on fire, but the spanks kept coming for what must have been another five minutes, every smack punctuated with stern words regarding my terrible behavior.
When my mother finally stopped and let me go, I just slid to the ground, both hands clutching my burning rear end as I sobbed into the grass. I was allowed to lie there for a few minutes before my crying came to an end. Then Mrs Schmidt gently stood me up as my mother picked up my clothes and helped me back into them. I then sat on Mrs Schmidt's lap as my mother went to the toilet, and I remember Mrs Schmidt allowing me to sit so that my sore bottom hung between her legs, to avoid any further discomfort.
It was at this point that I started to take notice of all the people around, many still casting glances in our direction. So, as soon as my mother returned I begged to return home, which we did, one hand clasping my mother's, and the other rubbing my bottom.
Once we returned home, the first thing I did was run into my bedroom, and look at my bare bottom in the mirror. It was unbelievably red, and painful, but I certainly started behaving better after that.
Following the success of this spanking, my mother would spank my bare bottom many more times, although I'm still not sure if she did the same to any of my siblings. However, I never stopped loving her, and am still in contact with Mrs Schmidt to this day.

I went to a primary school back in the day when each teacher was allowed to have his or her own paddle. Typically, the students were punished out in the hall fully dressed, but one time when I was in third grade I was paddled over my panties in front of the whole class.
I will never forget our third-grade teacher's name: Miss B. She looked like she drank a whole lot of beer, she was huge. She was quite strict and with no sense of humor. Every week at least one kid, almost always a boy, got a paddling out in the hall. Sometimes, when she was in a bad mood, it was several a day.
She kept her paddle in her desk. It was shorter than a regular school-style paddle, and the part she applied to our bottoms was oval rather than rectangular. When she took us out in the hall, she would bend us over under her arm rather than having us grab our ankles. She actually would lift us off the floor and paddle our bottoms, with our head dangling next to her big rear and our feet dangling in front. It was quite a helpless feeling.
This is also back in the day when all of the girls were required to wear dresses. Some of the wealthier girls wore various undergarments, but most of us just had underpants underneath, so we had to be careful on the playground, as the boys would like to look up our dresses as we climbed the jungle gym or the ladder to the slide.
I was 9 years old, one of the class leaders, and a little rambunctious. We liked to joke around with the other girls. One of my friends had heard about a game that some of her friends from other schools had been playing. We decided to play it on some of the girls in our class.
At our school, bathroom breaks were taken in small groups of about half a dozen girls at a time. We were in the bathroom with a bunch of girls one day when she and I decided to play the game. We got on each side of one of the other girls who we didn't much like.
"Do you like to play dress-up?" my friend asked.
"Yes, of course," the girl replied.
Then my friend and I grabbed the hem of the girl's dress on each side, pulled it up over her head, and yelled together, "Dress up!"
The other three or four girls in the bathroom laughed hard, but the girl we had done it to was not amused. She started to cry and ran out of the bathroom. We knew she was headed straight for Miss B.
We finished going to the bathroom and returned to the classroom as if nothing had happened. Miss B called me to the front of the class. She had moved her chair to the side of the desk rather than behind it, and she was seated on it.
"So, Trina," she said. "You like to play dress-up? Well what about this game of dress-up?"
With that, she jerked me over her lap, pulled up my dress and began spanking me over my panties. She gave me several smacks with her hand, then picked up her paddle off her desk and whacked me with that. It was rapid-fire and all over in about 10 seconds, but I was already bawling, both from the pain and the embarrassment. She put down her paddle, stood me up, and pushed me toward my desk.
You could have heard a pin drop. The other kids were in shock. They had never seen a student spanked on their underwear, nor had they seen a student spanked in front of the class. They were afraid to laugh, exclaim, or make a sound for fear they would find themselves in the same position.
I went to my desk and sat down, sniffling as quietly as I could. My bottom was on fire, and I could feel the hard chair even through my dress. I couldn't look at any of my classmates. I was so embarrassed. I knew I was going to be teased unmercifully about this. And I was hoping my parents weren't going to find out, as they had that 'punished at school, punished at home' philosophy.
Fortunately, Miss B never told them. I think it might have been because she had broken two rules for discipline: She didn't take me out in the hall, and she didn't spank me fully clothed.
When we finally got recess that day, I went to my friend who had started the game. I asked her why she didn't get spanked as well. She said she didn't know. Later we found out that the girl we had teased had only told Miss B my name. Apparently she wanted to be friends with my friend, so did not report her.
The boys had a field day. They teased me about the flowered panties they had seen. They would ask me on many days what kind of panties I had on, and if they could see them. That was hard to take, but I also realized that I was the center of their attention. Eventually I turned that to my advantage. I would ask them to run errands for me. I would ask them to go easy on me during our playground games. I didn't realize it at the time, but it was the beginning of me using sex appeal to control men, something I have done successfully ever since.

My grandpa took off his belt and folded it over. I was scared and started crying, asking him to please use his hand. After some more talking, I was convinced there was no way out of the belt. I asked him how he was going to do it and how many times. He told me to bend over the bed with my pants down. He said I was going to get 5 spanks. I was embarrassed to bare my bottom for my grandpa and begged him to please just spank my pants or panties. He finally agreed that he would step out of the room and I would bare my bottom and lay down on my stomach.
He did just that, and when he returned I was laying with my bare bottom up. I asked him to please only hit my butt. I'm not sure now why I knew to be worried about getting my legs hit, but I did. He told me he would go slow. The first spank burned so bad and I burst out crying. He told me that was #1 and then delivered the 2nd, and just as painful, spank with the belt. I knew from my home rules you don't move while your caregiver is spanking you. I hugged my pillow so hard and asked my grandpa if he could just get it finished. He obliged and gave me my last three quicker but still slow enough that he made sure my bottom was done wiggling before landing the next.
He then told me he would step out and I could redress. He came back in once I had everything back up and he gave me a kiss on my head and said a few things to me. I later looked at my bottom in the mirror. Unlike the wood spoon, which left red circles on my bottom, I had the outlines of the belt on my bottom which were overlapped. I learned my lesson though and never again wandered too far out.

I grew up in a very religious home with two sisters. We were the family that went to church each Sunday and participated in the Wednesday church activities. My parents were both involved in the church and my father would become an elder in the church. We were always expected to talk the talk and walk the walk, especially when in public, as the perfect Christian family.
If we dared misbehave or go astray of their expectations, my parents were very quick to teach you a lesson via your bottom. My sisters and I were no strangers to spankings. They occurred pretty much the same each time. The daughter who earned her spanking would meet with mom and dad after dinner. They did not believe in punishing at the time of your misdeed, but rather would wait till after dinner so both of them would have the time to go through their routine.
Their routine went as follows. I would walk upstairs with both parents and into their bedroom. The door would be closed and my mom would go to the dresser drawer and remove a Bible and a wooden spoon. We would read verses in the Bible that discussed children obeying and what parents were expected to do. While reading the verses my parents would explain to me how my misdeed fit into the passage and why they must now use the rod.
When we finished with the Bible I would be instructed to lower my pants/shorts or raise my dress. Then I would have to pull my panties down. I was then to lean over their bed placing both of my hands flat in their bedspread. I was to look forward and not turn back. There would be no reaching back to cover my bottom and I needed to remain as still as possible. Their spanks were applied with the wood spoon. I can still remember the pattern my dad used. Left cheek, right cheek, and then one right in the middle across my butt crack. Then he then returned to my left cheek and so on. I would end up pulling a handful of bedspread into my fist as the pain worsened, but I did my very best to stay leaning over and keeping my bottom still. I probably would get 10-15 spanks each time.
When he finally finished I would be given a wash cloth to dry my tears and allowed a few moments to calm down. We then ended with saying a prayer.
I believe I got my last spanking at 13 and my sisters would have been close to the same age.

We walked slowly and carefully, trying not to slip over in the muddy mess we had, in part, helped to create. As we did so, the teacher walked the 5 or 6 yards behind the bush to the old bench and tied Trixy, her dog, to it before returning carefully to the muddy spot where the incident occurred. We slipped and slithered our way towards her and as soon as we were within arms-reach, she firmly grabbed both of our shoulders and took a step backwards onto less slippery ground.
"Right, you two. You are coming over here with me," she said, half pushing us over to where the dog was shaking itself dry and rolling in some long grass at the end of its lead. "I hope you girls are very sorry for what you have done," she demanded.
"Yes Miss, we are," we both said quietly before I added, " It was just an accident, Miss."
"Hardly just an accident as it resulted from your stupidity, is it girl?" she barked back at me. "You say you are sorry. You will be by the time I am finished with the pair of you."
I did not like the sound of that and before the possible range of outcomes even had a chance to formulate in our minds, taking Pam by the top of her sleeve, she sat herself down on the bench and pulled Patricia over her lap, legs waving about in the air and her bottom facing the heavens. With one fluid move, which I could only presume she had carried out countless times before, she grabbed the hem of Pam's dress and pulled it up and over her bottom, exposing her washday grey knickers which, like the dress, were a couple of years too small for her bottom and had seen far better days.
Wasting no time, the teacher began to apply her flat hand to Patricia's bottom with some speed and power. Patricia immediately howled in pain and shock as the spanking really started to take effect, even after only 2 or 3 spanks had landed. Her bum was becoming redder and redder by the second. After half a dozen or so, she was sobbing her little heart out and I would have felt so sorry for her had I not been expecting to be the next over that lap.
After about 20 or 25 spanks, it was hard to keep count as her hand moved so quickly and with such purpose, she pulled Patricia's dress back down and told her, "Right, that is your bottom taken care of. Get up. Stand there," she said, indicating Patricia should stand to her left. "Now, it is your turn," she said, leaning far to her right and taking a firm hold of my bony wrist and pulling me, without resistance, to my fate. Before eventually taking me across her knee, she quickly undid the button and zip on my shorts, pulled them down to my ankles, almost but not quite taking my bright blue knickers down with them, which I hastily pulled back into place.
Within a second, I was over her lap, bottom to the sky, as the first of 20 or so really firm spanks landed on my bum. The pain was instant and vivid as the slaps rang out.
As she landed the 6th or 7th, a lady jogged by, commenting, "It looks like someone's been naughty!"
The spanking continued for another couple of minutes and seemed to be much longer than Patricia's had been, but I suppose it was not. Like Patricia, I was in tears by the end and was so glad when she told me to get up.
"Now, let that be a lesson to the pair of you!" she said, and then she warned us, "I come here regularly with Trixy. If I see you up to no good again, it won't be my hand you feel on your sorry backsides. I'll cut a switch from a tree and use that on you both, do you understand?"
"Yes Miss," we whimpered through our tears and sobs, and I struggled to pull my shorts back up over my aching bottom.
"Good. Get out of my sight and get yourselves home," she said, untying Trixy and heading off back to the park.
I realised mum would be home and she would probably see my red bottom. It was almost tea time so I couldn't delay. I said goodbye to Pam and dashed off. Once home, I opened the door, stripped off, and tried to get upstairs before mum spotted me. No chance.
"What on earth has happened to you?" Mum said as I crept upstairs. "Come back down here immediately, young lady. Kindly explain why you have such a red and sore bottom."
I had to come clean; there was no point in doing otherwise really. I told mum the full story, finishing with, "It was an unfortunate accident, so can we just put this behind us, please mum?"
"Thank you for being so honest," mum replied. "But you know the house rules; if you are punished at school, you get punished again at home."
I always thought it was a stupid rule.
"But I wasn't spanked at school, mum. It was in the woods," I bit back.
"Don't talk to me like that, young lady," mum responded. "You were spanked by a teacher, and that is good enough for me."
With that, I was thrust over the second lap in half an hour and my already sore bottom received another firm spanking, which this time I felt was most undeserved. After that I was sent to my room and not allowed out until tea was ready. Thankfully, mum did not seem to have mentioned anything to dad when he arrived home from work.
Needless to say, Patricia and I gave those woods a wide berth for the rest of our school holidays.

I was 9 years old and one summer, while visiting my maternal grandparents on the farm, I had my best friend Hannah with me. We loved spending time together, but often it also ended in some kind of trouble.
   We spent a week during the summer vacation on my grandparents' farm, with not many other kids around to play with so we had to play by ourselves. We did well for a couple of days and grandmom did well to keep us entertained too.
   Where my grandparents' garden ended, there was a forest that we were not allowed to play in, mostly because you could easily get lost there. When we came to Wednesday, Hannah and I were bored and for some reason the only thing we really wanted to do was go and see what the woods looked like. We found an old magnifying glass and then we were explorers on expedition to the lost woods.
   We did not go that far into the woods because we found a place that looked like an old camp ground and we stayed there pretending to make us a camp for our expedition to find the lost tribe of some kind of imaginary people.
   While being in our camp, Hannah showed me something she had learned at the Scouts. She showed me how to make fire with the magnifying glass, so we gathered some small switches and leaves and, with the magnifying glass, we used the sun's rays to get our little fire going. What we did not take into account was that the smoke from the fire was like a smoke signal, and while I tried to light something too we were interrupted by my grandfather who was very disappointed with us, first of all by going to the woods without adult supervision and on top of that catching us playing with fire.
   He scolded us a lot and then grabbed each of us and walked us to the woodshed to administer us a spanking. In the woodshed, he closed the door to lecture us some more about the danger of going someplace without anyone knew about it, what could happen if we got lost, and then about how dangerous fire is.
At the end, he just said, "Because of your naughty behaviour, you are both getting a spanking."
He then took me over his knee and, when in position, started to administer a very hard spanking. The woodshed was filled with the sounds of hand smacking and little girls crying. Normally, I'd get double my age in smacks, but this time, because of the danger we'd put ourselves in, it was three times age, so I got 27 hard smacks and was bawling like a little girl when my spanking was over.
It was Hannah's turn, and it was the same. Granddad smacking up and down on Hannah's bottom, a lot of noise from the smacking and crying.
After Hannah had been spanked, we were taken back to the house and sent to the room we were sleeping in, told to stay there till we stopped crying, and we were called down for dinner. Then granddad hugged us and told us he hoped we would behave for the rest of the week. We laid on our beds for a nap and we cried ourselves to sleep.

   I grew up in a Christian home which meant we went to church every Sunday. I was about 10 years old when this happened.
   Every year, our Sunday school went on a weekend tour staying in scout camp or a large summer house. I was now old enough that I was allowed to go on one of those trips. I was excited.
On our way to church, mom told me I needed to behave while being away and to do what the teachers told me. To make sure I understood, she informed me that she would give me a spanking when I got home if did not behave. I thought mom was joking when she told me she had signed a form that allowed the Sunday school teacher to spank me if it was needed, but I found out later it was not a joke.
We got on the bus and when we arrived at the summer house the teachers told where we would sleep. After making our beds there was a small gathering where we were informed of the rules, and one the teachers prayed for a good weekend. I was bored and wanted to go playing. I was told to sit quietly a few times and while praying I made some faces.
When all the chores were done we were allowed to go out playing, but just as I wanted to go out a teacher called me back and told me to come with her to the bedroom I was sleeping in. She sat on my bed and made it clear my behaviour during our gathering was unacceptable, and because of that I was now going to get a spanking.
She pulled my pants down, put me over her knee and started to spank me with her hand over my panties. She did not spank as hard as my mom or dad, but hard enough that I cried a little. I got 10 swats. When the spanking was over, I cried for few minutes and then I was allowed to go outside to play.
I was good for the rest of the time and had forgotten my mom's warning until it was time to be picked up. The teacher told my mom I been good most of the time, but on the first day she found she needed to give me a spanking for disrupting the gathering. I could see mom was not pleased and on our way home she scolded me.
At home, she told dad and he told me to get ready for bed after dinner that night as I had been warned. Daddy took me to my room and gave me another spanking and after I cried myself to sleep.

I was 12 years old and I grew up in a Christian family. Every summer, our church had a weekly summer camp with many church activities, but also lots of time to just be around and play with kids both from my own church and from other churches.
This summer, for some reason, both of my parents were still at work and had not taken a vacation yet, so we could not go this year and I was sad about it because I loved the times at those camps.
One of my parents' friends was a lady from church called Kirsten, but her nickname was just Auntie Gege. She had two girls still living at home; the oldest was 20 and the youngest was 18. Kirsten and her daughter babysat me a lot as a child and when hearing I couldn't go to the camp Auntie Gege offered that I could go with her and her family. I could have a tent at the camp ground and then eat with Auntie Gege and her daughters at their summer house.
My parents agreed to this offer and on the day of leaving to go to camp my mom reminded me to behave for Auntie Gege and reminded me that she had permission to give me a spanking if that was needed.
After a two hour drive, we arrived at the camp ground. While Auntie Gege went to prepare lunch with her youngest daughter, I went with her oldest daughter to set up my tent. All my friends thought it was so nice that I had my own tent and was there on my own. Two of my best friends were allowed to sleep with me in the tent.
We had a very good time but were too loud, and on the second day of camp there were too many complains to my auntie about how I behaved there with my friends. After a pre-teen club meeting on the second day, I met Auntie Gege's oldest daughter. She had taken down my tent and told me to follow her to auntie's car.
Auntie Gege was not pleased with my behaviour and scolded me all the way back to the summer house. Back at the summer house, my tent was set up in the garden and after lunch my auntie took me to her bedroom for more lectures about my behaviour, and to announce that I was going to get a spanking for this behaviour.
Because we had to spend the afternoon where there was a small farm with different animals and bouncing castle, she gave me the choice of getting spanked now or before bed tonight. I thought it would be hard to have fun with a smacked bottom so I told her I would wait till bedtime.
We had a great afternoon and after dinner I was allowed to see some TV with my auntie's two children. When the clock turned 9.00, my auntie announced that it was my bedtime and she told me to put on my nightie and go brush my teeth. I did as I was told and when I was ready my auntie asked me to follow her to her bedroom.
In there, auntie sat on her bed and lectured me again on my behaviour. She also told me that I had been good girl during the afternoon and she hoped that I would continue to behave good, but because of the behaviour the first two days I was still going to get a spanking.
I was then guided over her lap, a position I had been in many times before. She raised my nightie and then slid my panties down so my bottom was bare. She rested her hand on my bottom while making sure everything was in order. Then she raised her hand and the spanking began.
After about 5 smacks I was already in tears, and after 10 I cried a lot. I got double my age in smacks, and after 24 hard smacks my auntie had me laying, bawling and sobbing, over her lap before she pulled my panties back up. When my sobbing had softened, she helped me to my feet again and hugged me while she told me she loved me very much. Then she helped me to my tent and I slept on my tummy that night, softly crying myself to sleep.

My daughter and I spend New Year with my mom and dad, and during that time dad told the story about when I was 12 years old and was caught playing with fireworks.
It was 1 January 1997, and I had been allowed to visit one my friends, a boy named Thomas, during my time at his house. Thomas and I found some small fireworks that were left over from the night before and we started to light some of them and tie some of them together to maybe get a bigger explosion. Of course, it made some noise and Thomas's mom came out.
When she saw what we did, she scolded us a lot. When she was done yelling, she sent Thomas to his room and she told me to go home. What I did not know was that while I walked home, she called my parents. So, when I got home mom and dad was very angry with me and I got a good telling-off about how dangerous fireworks were and, being 12, I knew better than to play with fire and fireworks. My dad then told me to go to my room and wait for him, and when he had calmed down he would come to my room and then I was going to get a spanking.
I sat on my bed crying softly. 20 minutes later, dad entered my bedroom. He sat on my bed and had me stand in front of him while he gave me a short lecture again to make sure I understood how dangerous what we had done was, and then he explained how mom and him still loved me and wanted me to be safe. To make me understand how serious this was, I was now going to get a spanking.
Because of my Christian upbringing, daddy did not believe it was okay for him to see my bare bottom and private parts, so he always spanked me over my clothed bottom. That does not mean the spankings did not hurt. They hurt a lot!
Daddy guided me over his knee and when was in position he raised his hand and started the spanking. As always, after 3 or 4 smacks I cried a lot, but the spanking was not over. Normally, daddy gave me double my age in smacks, but this time because I had put my life in danger by playing with fireworks, this time it was triple age in smacks. That meant I got 36 hard smacks and I was just crying and crying, then crying some more like a very little girl.
When the spanking was over, daddy helped me up from his knee and while I cried he hugged me and told it was over and all was forgiven now. I did sit on a pillow during dinner that night.
My daughter was very silent after the story. Hopefully, I won't catch her with fireworks later in life.

My stepmother had a son who was, obviously, my stepbrother, but he was never subject to the same regime as me.
Once, he came into my room and I told him where to go. Five minutes later, he came back with my stepmother in tow. She accused me of hitting him, which I hadn't, but she wouldn't believe me. So, she pulled out a chair from my dressing table. I continued protesting my innocence, but dreaded what was coming next.
As I feared, she sat down on the chair and grabbed my wrists. I knew full well where this was going. She told me I could learn what it was to be hit by someone bigger. My stepbrother, of course, was watching everything.
With a sharp tug, over her lap I went. I could feel her thighs supporting me, my nose was down towards the carpet and my legs hung in mid-air the other side. When she pulled up my skirt, I saw my stepbrother drinking it all in. It seemed to be happening in slow motion, taking hours not minutes. Then, horror of horrors, her fingers went into the elastic of my panties and down they came. I didn't even look to the side because I was so embarrassed. After another scolding, her hand slapped down on my bare bottom. I was soon promising anything to have her stop spanking me.
After that, my stepbrother was able to be quite controlling, knowing he only had to tell his mother and I'd be back across her lap.

I went to an all-girls catholic elementary school in Memphis, Tennessee, in the 1970s and corporal punishment was the norm in those days. I received a few spankings from a couple of teachers and the nuns. My first spanking at school was age 7 for talking in class. The girl I was speaking with and I were both brought to a little room just adjacent to the classroom, and each of us was put over the teacher's lap and she raised our skirts, pulled down our panties and gave us each several hard pops with a small round paddle on our bare cheeks. I received 4 spankings in this manner between ages 7 through 11. All of my teachers were women.

The first time I got myself in trouble at school was in Grade one. I was on the swings and wasn't listening when the bell rang; off in my own little world, I guess. All of a sudden, I heard Miss McL shouting my name and motioning me to come inside. I should have listened, but me being me, I stood up on the swing seat and started swinging higher and higher until, oh my gosh, I slipped off the swing and landed hard on the ground, muddying my dress and skinning my knee.
Miss McL came running down towards me shouting, "Are you all right?" as she headed towards me. Once she got to me, she helped me up and, after making certain that I wasn't hurt really bad, she ushered me into the schoolhouse.
Once inside, she took me to the teachers' room where she cleaned up my scraped knee and put a bandage on my leg. She then brushed the dirt off my dress and, after getting me a glass of water, she asked me why I hadn't come in at the bell. I just looked down. Then she asked if I heard the bell. I said no, and then she asked if I had heard her calling me. I looked down again but when she repeated the question, I nodded that I had. She then asked me how bad my knee was hurting, and I said that it was ok.
It was about then that she asked me who my teacher was, and I told her, "Miss S."
She told me to wait there and she'd go tell Miss S what had happened. About 5 minutes later, Miss S tapped on the door and came in. Once inside, she asked me why I didn't come inside when Miss McL first called my name, and with no response from me, she took me by the ear and marched me over towards a cabinet. She opened it and took out what looked like a tetherball paddle. Then she propped me up and over the edge of a chair, lifted my dress, pulled my panties down and gave me a really hard whack on my bare bum with that paddle.
Oh my gosh, it stung so bad. She held me in place and I just wondered how many whacks I was going to get, but no more came, just corner-time and a note for me to take home for my mom or dad to sign.
When I arrived home after school, I gave my mom the envelope and, after opening and reading it, she said that she and daddy would discuss it after supper.
After dishes that night, my mom told me to get washed up for bed and go up and say my prayers. She or daddy would be up to tuck me in after they discussed the letter from Miss S.
I did as I was told, and I was reading when mom came upstairs. She wasn't angry. However, she was disappointed in my behaviour. She gave me what we used to call 'a stern talking to' and then she sat on the edge of my bed and told me to stand up. I did, and then she just took me over her knee, pulled up my nightdress and with my panties at my knees, she spanked me again and again until I was crying hard. It was the first time I remember getting my bare bum spanked, but certainly not the last time.

I would like to relate a particularly moving memory. One time when I was about seven, my older cousin, Emma, then eleven, earned herself a spanking. In front of my mother and me, my aunt instructed her to get across her lap.
There ensued a teary, "Please..Mommy, can w-we do th-this in my r-room?"
But, one determined, "No, Emma, we will do it right here," and my cousin's hands reached for the hem of her sundress. She raised it and, with no further instruction, laid herself across my aunt's lap.
Emma looked over at me, blushing to be sure, but with no trace of resentment that I would be watching. It was almost as if she felt sorry for me having to witness her suffering. Despite our age difference, we were very close and loved each other. For my part, I remember hoping she could sense my profound sorrow and sympathy, and only wanting to be a comfort to her. She forced a little smile at me, as if to tell me it would be okay. Tears clouded my eyes as I nodded toward her and made a silent prayer.
A few seconds later, my aunt raised her right hand and brought it down with a resounding smack on the smooth white cotton-clad bottom. Twenty-five times that slender, aristocratic hand would rise and fall, smacking the errant bottom soundly, turning it ever darker shades of red. After a half dozen, I observed my cousin begin to sob quietly. At fifteen, Emma's cries were unmistakable and I felt my heart breaking. Then came my cousin's dirge of guilt; promising never again to disobey and to be a really good girl.
During the last five, my cousin cried very hard. Then, the spanking over, my aunt gently helped her off of her lap and gave her a hug and whispered something in her ear. Emma turned to us and, tears streaming down her face, apologized for being a bad girl and disturbing our visit. My aunt gave her permission to go to her room to finish her crying.
"Emma, would, would you like me to come with you?" I heard myself offer.
My older cousin looked at me and nodded.
"I'd l-like that very much," she sniffed. "I really would."
Looking over at my mother and my aunt, all I could see were broad smiles and encouraging nods. I stood up, walked over to my cousin and took her hand in mine. And hand in hand we walked upstairs to her room. It was a powerful lesson to me about taking a spanking like a big girl.

Finally, Mrs S had had enough. Normally a fairly quietly spoken woman of about 5 feet 6 inches, she rose to her full height, glared towards the back of the class and bellowed like we had never heard before.
"Katherine T, you have been told four times now to be quiet and work. Everyone else has finally got the message. What makes you so special that you can ignore this?"
Silence ensued.
"Well? I am waiting, Katherine," Mrs S continued.
"Sorry Miss, I'll be quiet."
"Sorry, Katherine," Mrs S replied. "It is far too late for that."
With that, she did something none of us had seen before. She told Katherine to come to the front of the class and to bring one of her slippers from her PE kit bag with her.
Katherine was horror struck. She had been slapped on the bottom and legs a couple of times for answering back before, but this was new territory for her and the rest of us.
"Come on, I am waiting!" shouted Mrs S.
Slowly Katherine took out her slipper and, with tears already streaming down her cheeks, took the walk of shame to the front of the class. Mrs S had brought her chair around to the front of the desk and sat on it as Katherine approached. Smoothing her knee-length red skirt, she sat in anticipation of what was to come.
"I'm not sure why you are crying now; we haven't started yet!" chipped in Mrs S, who was bright red in the face with anger.
Mrs S took the slipper and put it on the desk behind her, held Katherine's wrist and slowly pulled the reluctant 9-year-old across her slender knees. The class was silent and almost everyone held their collective breath. Mrs S held Katherine down by the waist-band of her skirt and, without hesitation, started slowly to spank her bottom with her small but firm hand. The slaps echoed around the Victorian-built classroom. Slap, slap, slap.
After what seemed like an age, but in reality was probably only 15 seconds, Mrs S did the unthinkable. She flipped Katherine's skirt up over her waist and continued to spank her on her white knickers for another 15 seconds or so. We had a good view from my side of the room and Katherine's bottom was already a deep pink colour.
Mrs S seemed to be enjoying the attention, and slowly reached behind her for the slipper she had placed on the desk a few moments earlier. Katherine was sobbing hard by now, but this didn't put Mrs S off her stroke at all. Six thwacks of the small slipper, Mrs S finished the spanking.
"Now stand up, pick up your slipper and go back to your desk. One sound out you for the rest of today, young lady, and you will get the same again, and you'll not be coming on the zoo trip tomorrow, you will be coming here and sitting in with another class. You have been warned!"
We couldn't believe what we had just witnessed, and everyone was talking of little else on the way home or on the coach the following day. Katherine did come with us, but the look of embarrassment on her face all day as people continued to point and joke meant the teachers had a much quieter day than they had expected.

   My first experience of school corporal punishment had been at juniors when at the age of 10 I chose to answer back just one time too many. I was called to the front of the class and told to hitch up my skirt for six with the stingy plastic ruler across the back of my thighs. That really hurt and left me with tears rolling down my cheeks and very sore legs when I sat back down on the hard chair. It also caused me some difficulty walking home, trying to prevent my skirt riding up too much so the weals could be seen. At home, though, I made the fatal mistake of walking up the stairs just as my mother came into the hall. She, of course, agreed with the teacher's solution to my bad behaviour and in no time I was over her knee, knickers at my ankles, and having her hand apply itself firmly and repeatedly to my bare bottom.

We were both quiet for about a minute, and then out of nowhere, my sister slapped me on the face and pulled my hair, which led to another mini back seat brawl.
"Damn it!" My dad swerved the car over to the side of the road and slammed on the brakes. "Katherine, I warned you, young lady! Didn't I? My dad angrily got out of the car and slammed the door behind him. He opened the back door on the side where Katherine was sitting and he yanked her out of the car. My sister immediately started yelling, apologizing and pleading.
"No! Please! No! I'm sorry! Please. I won't hit Ellie again! Please! I promise! NO! Not here! Please, I'm too old!"
I looked outside of the window and I saw my dad taking off his belt. Oh, this was too good to be true. Katherine was going to get just what she deserved!
I tried to watch, but my dad took her into the woods behind some trees with thick leaves blocking most of the view. My sister was loud so I could hear her screams.
"NO! PLEASE DAD NO! NOT THE BELT! NOT THE BELT! PLEASE! I'M SORRY! I'LL BE GOOD! I PROMISE! NO! NO PLEASE! STOP! NO! I'M TOO OLD! STOP! DON'T TAKE THEM OFF!"
Through the leaves I could see the bottom of my sister's and father's legs, and I saw my sister's yellow pants yanked down to her feet and then my father pulled her to the ground where they were mostly out of view. All I could make out were her sneakers trying to kick but were restrained by her pants being wrapped down around her ankles.
"Please don't! I'm too old! No! NO! Please! Please don't pull them down! KEEP THEM UP! Please not here! DON'T!"
Then I heard the unmistakable sound of my dad's leather belt slapping against bare skin. The screaming became howls, and then loud cries, which meant that my dad's belt was hard at work.
Katherine and I had both gotten the belt a few times. If we were wearing pants or shorts he would tell us to pull them down, or if we were wearing a skirt he would flip it up, then put us over his knee and pull our panties down. Then he would fold his belt in half and give us a few whacks with it, usually between 5 to 10, and boy it hurt! I don't think our dad has ever given us more than 10 licks with the belt, but this time Katherine was definitely getting more. I wasn't counting the number of slaps but they seemed to go on for over a minute, and Katherine's wailing became more agonizing. I went from feeling happy that she was getting punished to feeling sorry for her.
After what seemed like an eternity, my dad and sister returned to the car. Dad still had his belt in his hand.
"Katherine, I don't want to hear a peep out of you! Now get in the car!"
My sister was sobbing and sniffling, and her neatly brushed blonde hair was now a wild mess with pieces of leaves embedded in it. With one hand my sister opened the car door, while with the other she was clutching her bottom. I noticed that her pants were still unbuttoned, and her zipper was down, but I thought I should wisely keep my mouth shut. Her cheeks were tear-stained and wet from crying and were bright red, blushing probably from embarrassment.

At my Junior School in the English Midlands, at around the mid-1960s, punishments by the predominately female teachers involved slapping of the wrists or legs. Serious offences would result in the cane, administered by the Headmaster, Mr P, a tall, authoritarian gentleman around 60-years-old who always wore a grey suit, and, although not the terrifying character so associated with head teachers of that era, he certainly instilled a certain amount of fear and commanded respect.
Caning involved two strokes across the palm of the hand, always in the privacy of his office.
A notable deviation from this came when I was about eight or nine, when our regular teacher was off for some reason, and Mr P stood in.
A female classmate, Claire, was widely acknowledged as the prettiest girl in the class; she had a very pretty face, shoulder length light brown hair, which was often adorned with decorated clips or ribbons. She was always smartly dressed, and that day was no different. As with most girls, this consisted of a flowery cotton dress with flared skirt, just above the knee, white ankle socks, and sandals. At that young and innocent age, all the boys, including myself, 'fancied' her, and this amount of attention contributed to her air of superiority, haughtiness, and untouchability. Looking back, I suspected she was a bit of a spoilt little princess at home.
She was ringleader of a group of girls around her, who obviously thought her as influential.
She was what was known in those days as a chatterbox and was often reprimanded in class. She had a few wrist-slappings from the female teachers, but her come-uppance came during the class taken by Mr P.
The elderly male Headmaster had all of us in awe taking the class, which was much quieter than usual, except for the little madam, Claire, who decided that she would not be fazed by the presence of the Headmaster, and was more interested in chatting to her friend next to her.
Warnings from Mr P would only be effective for about 5 minutes, before the chatting started again, until the final warning of "I won't tell you again".
This final warning was effective for about five minutes, when, to everybody's surprise, her voice could be heard again.
A progressively irritated Mr P banged his papers down on the desk, and announced to Claire that he had had enough of her chattering, and called her to the front of the class.
As she made her way up to the front, he lifted the chair out from behind the desk and placed it at the front of the class. I could sense the feeling throughout the class that this was not going to be a simple wrist or leg slapping!
He held her by the wrist, and told her that she had had enough warnings about her chattering, and that he was going to do something about it once and for all.
He sat down on the chair he had positioned, and in front of the hushed classroom, guided her over his knee.
To my, and no doubt all my classmates, amazement, he lifted the skirt of her dress to reveal a pair of satiny looking light blue knickers trimmed with white lacy piping, which he proceeded to pull up over and between her bottom cheeks, yanking both sides up firmly until her bottom was virtually bared.
In those times, and age of innocence, to see up a girl's skirt was somewhat scandalous, and to see a girl's knickers more so, and here was the whole class seeing her almost bared bottom!
The positioning of the chair, angled so that her head was pointing slightly to the back wall, and my position in the second row on the optimum side, meant that I had a very good view of her bottom, particularly as it was nicely presented, slightly bent over his right knee, her knees bent, torso and head pointing slightly towards the floor.
With his left hand holding her firmly in the small of her back, and with the flat of his right hand, he proceeded to deliver slow, measured, firm spanks to her upturned rear. After about six smacks her bottom began to blush. Towards the end, after I reckon about fifteen or sixteen smacks, her whole bottom was a nice shade of pink.
The class was that silent you could hear a pin drop. The sharp sound of his hand firmly slapping her soft little bottom filled the classroom. The spanks were not overly hard, just firm enough to slowly bring the right amount of warmth and tingling which would last as a reminder not to talk in his class, and of course a large dose of humiliation, expertly planned so as to bare the bottom whilst just keep within the bounds of decency. Little Miss Ringleader was now just a naughty little girl having her bottom spanked in front of all her little gang!
Once the spanking had finished, Mr P took her arm and stood her up, and told her to straighten herself up. Presumably, because she was somewhat flustered and embarrassed after her ordeal, her reaction was to turn away from the class and face the back wall to do this, but that meant her pink bottom was shown to the class once more, as she pulled her knickers back down over her bottom, and replaced the skirt of her dress, before sheepishly returning to her seat and very gingerly sitting down.
The Headmaster then said: "I think I'll leave this chair here, just in case anyone else decides they'd rather chatter."
Needless to say, the class was concluded in total silence, and in the days that followed, news of Mr P spanking Claire's bare bottom spread to other years in the school, which resulted in a certain amount of teasing, on top of that given by her own class.

I walked right up to my room and sat on my bed. I could hear my Dad talking to my Mom for a brief time before he started walking up the stairs. It was the middle of summer and the room was incredibly bright. He walked into the room, over to the window and closed my blinds. The room became instantly dark. My Dad walked over and sat on my bed to the left of me. He proceeded to tell me how disappointed that my Mom and him were with my choices, that I was behaving incredibly poorly and that I could have set my friend's house on fire. I needed to be spanked in order to understand what I had done.
He told me stand and I did so promptly. He pulled down my shorts and underwear and pulled me over his knee. I remember feeling so embarrassed. I couldn't think of the last time my Dad had seen me that naked. I laid there in panic over his lap, just waiting for what was coming next. I became abruptly aware how this was going to go when he brought his hand up quickly and brought it down swiftly to my bare bottom.
I took the deepest and sharpest breaths with the first few smacks, and I felt like I would never be able to catch my breath. I lost count of how many times he smacked me on my bare bottom, but it was much more than 40 swats. He was quiet the entire time as I panted and tried desperately not to cry. I yelled out a few times and, near the end, I could hold out no more and burst into tears. The final swat came down with such force that I yelped and felt certain that I would always feel that pain. My Dad left me on his lap, my bare bottom hot and exposed, while he reinforced how badly I had behaved. That both he and my Mom expected so much more from me and that if I ever did anything like that again the punishment would be far worse. I shuddered at the thought of a harder punishment and made a mental note to never touch matches ever again.

Then they went on to scold me for lying to them about my homework and I was reminded about the Bible telling always to speak the truth. At the end, mom told me I knew what happened when I lied. I nodded.
She then said: "Now go to your room and think about your behaviour. Dad will be up in about 5 minutes to give you a spanking."
I sat on my bed waiting. I could hear my parents talk about what kind of spanking I should get, and about 5 minutes later dad entered my room holding a hair brush. He lectured me again, mostly about lying, then at the end he asked me if I understood why I was getting a spanking. I told him, yes, because I lied and had not done my homework.
He then had me stand in front of him. Nothing was said, but tears ran down my cheeks while he unzipped my jeans and pulled them down and then pulled my underpants down. He sat on my bed and helped me over his lap.
When I was over his knee, he informed me I was going to get double my age in smacks, first 11 with his hand, then another 11 smacks with the hairbrush. He asked if I was ready. I replied, yes, with a scary little voice. He raised his hand and brought it down with a resounding smack. After 3 smacks, I was already crying and, after the first 11 smacks, I was bawling like a little girt. He picked up the brush and, after a little break for crying, he adjusted my position. Then the brush landed on my bottom and I was soon crying out loud again.
When my spanking was over, I was helped up and made to sit on my dad's lap while he hugged me. He told me mom and him loved me, then he pulled my underpants and jeans back up and told me I was to stay in my room until dinner and do my homework.
I did my homework and at dinner I was informed the spanking was mostly for lying and that I was grounded for two weeks to get my missing homework done, together with my other homework. I was reminded once again it would be checked every night from now on, and if it was not done I would get a spanking.

Growing up, my parents were and still are Christians, and believed in spanking for misbehaving. This happened when I was 8 years old. We had been on a week long church camp and when we got home my dad asked me to help him unload the car, which I did.
One of the things I carried in was something for the kitchen. When I entered the kitchen I accidentally knocked over a glass bowl that ended up smashed on the floor. Mom sent me to my room and, 5 minutes after, dad entered and started scolding me for not doing as I was told and helping him unload the car.
I tried telling him mom sent me to my room, but he would not listen. He put me over his knee and gave me a spanking. Lucky me, it was over my pants and it was only my age in smacks with his hand, but I still cried after the spanking.
He told me, when I had stopped crying, to come and do as I was told and help him unload the car.
After we had done that, mom told him she sent me to my room because I knocked over the bowl. He said it was good he had spanked me then.
I still to this day think this spanking was unfair.
I grew up in Europe and still live there. Most of the spankings I got as child were deserved. Now I am dad of a 10 year old daughter and when it is needed I correct her behaviour by spanking.

As we walked into his office, Sister G told us to sit on the bench on the left while she went to inform Bishop M of our transgression. She was quite exaggerated as she told the account, and as she told him what we 4th graders had done she would point at one of us and then make some animated gestures with her hands.
Then he said, "Thank you, Sister G, I'll take care of it."
She nodded in agreement and gave us a mean look as she walked past us and out of the office.
He stood up from his chair, turned it around so the back of the chair was up against the desk, and then clasped his hands together, cracked his knuckles and sat back down. Looking to his right towards us, he began his speech by stating how disrespectful to our prophet we had been by making light of J's and H's death, and how, if this mentality was left unchecked, it would lead to us becoming enemies of God. He then told us our punishment was to be 60 swats each.
Then he did something really strange. He turned to the chalkboard and drew two vertical lines about 2 feet long and 4 inches apart.
Then he pointed to the right one and pointed to the section that turned out in the middle and continued, "This is the backside of your body, and what is this part?" pointing at the jutting out part."
"That's your behind," quipped Donna.
"Correct!" replied the Bishop. "And do you know why he made this part have so much more padding?"
"So, you can get a spanking and it won't damage anything," I answered.
"Correct again! And that is what is about to happen to you four girls. I will apply my hand to your derrieres until they become a repentant pink! Now, all of you, remove your dresses and lay them across the chairs right over there. Then come back to this line." He pointed to a faded white line about 8 feet in length."
We all followed his instructions and went up to him so he could unclasp the button at the top back of the dress. Then we pulled them over our heads and placed them on the chairs by the wall. Then we stood and lined the front of our black shoes against the white line.
"Put your hands on top of your head!"
There we were standing wearing only panties, socks and shoes.
He then motioned for Betty to come to him and said to keep her hands on top of her head. She was already whining, saying she was sorry and would never do it again, but he said it was too late for that.
"Please lower your panties and bend over and hold the chair legs," he gruffed.
Her short blonde braids dangled as she shook her head. "No," and again began saying she was sorry.
"I don't care," he replied. "Do as I say or you will get another 20."
Again, she shook her head in defiance, to which he said in a louder voice: "Pull your panties down and bend over!"
Still delaying, Bishop M said: "Ok, I'll do it and you get another 20 as I said!"
He grabbed the elastic band of her panties with both his hands and pulled them down to knee level, and then pushed her on to his lap where she made an 'uhh' sound as she landed. Then, with his left hand he placed it in the center of her back and with his right hand he rubbed her behind in small circles.
She said: "Oh! Your hands are cold!"
He replied that they soon would warm up and SWAT went his hand for the first time on her butt, and she let out a loud: "Owww, that hurts!" in the middle of her loud exhales and inhales.
Bishop M ignored the comment and delivered the next 14 swats, spaced about 4 seconds apart.
The rest of us were standing directly behind her butt, so I had a good view as his big tanned hand struck its pale target. As her derriere bounced into place after each swat, it became increasingly pinker. She also kicked her legs slightly.
During the 10 or 15 second gap before the second set, he told her to quit kicking her legs so much or she would get more.
She replied with a distressed: "Ok," and he would answer with a: "Good girl."
Then he gave her the next 15 swats and she continued to puncture her breathing with "ows," but she did control her kicking as instructed. His huge hand completely covered her little bottom.
He only paused for 5 seconds or so before giving her the next 15 swats. Her reaction changed little during this set except she began coughing here and there. He did something I had never noticed before. As he rubbed his hand on her bottom in circles, he would squeeze the buns together a few times.
Then came the last set, and by now her small light-complexioned butt was quite pink. She stared to lift herself off his lap and I thought to myself: 'I thought she was supposed to get an extra 20."
The he said, "Oh yeah, you get an extra 20," and pushed her back into place to deliver them at the same pace as before.
I almost wondered: 'Did I say that out loud?'
After the last one, he helped her up and she reached down and pulled her panties up. He then grabbed her arm and said, "I hope this makes you think the next time." Still crying, she nodded a 'yes' and he said: "Go back to the line and resume standing there with your hands on your head."
She came and stood to my left, and then he called me. I immediately got up and went to his side.
"Pull down your panties, bend over and hold the legs, please."
I reached for the hem and pulled them down to just above my knee, and bent over his knee. His slightly pushed on my back below the shoulder until I was lying across his lap. Then I felt his left hand shifting a bit and then he rested it just below my shoulder blades.
After a bit of tapping, I felt the first swat that sent that weird stinging sensation across my backside. I gripped the chair legs tightly and began my anticipation for the rest. As the next 15 were delivered, I would shift from looking straight down at the floor to looking under the chair at my dangling black-shoe clad feet bobbing on the other side.
During the first break of 15 seconds or so, he rested his hand on my bottom as he briefly coughed. He was rubbing my behind and then I felt that squeezing he had done on Betty. It didn't hurt, but it was a weird sensation.
Then he said a barely audible: "Let's continue on," and then he delivered my next 15 swats. This set and the remainder were the ones I actually enjoyed the most because I was now used to the stinging and I could focus on the enjoyment. I was trying to shift a bit, but it was hard to do so, being held in place. I could feel my short brown pigtails swinging to the pattern of the swats.
He told me to be still, and when I relaxed a bit he gave me the coveted: "Good girl" comment.
During the third set of 15 swats, I felt his left hand on the small of my back press harder, probably in response to my shifting. One of the things I focused on for the first time was the sound of his hand smacking my bare bottom. It sounded different with my head under the chair than it did when I heard the others get it. They all had a similar 'spat' sound, but I noticed they would vary slightly in pitch frequency. I know, I was a weird child!
I hardly noticed the final break before the last 15 swats were being administered. Again, I was listening to the various pitches of the swats and all too soon it was over as he helped me up. I pulled up my undies and went and stood next to Betty, who was still sniffing.
Just as I got back to the line, he called for Cathy who let out a sigh as she walked to Bishop M. Just as she approached him, she took her hands off her head and lowered her panties. She stood there for a moment, and then he pushed her over his lap. Once in position, he rubbed his hand back and forth a few times on her backside, and then he gave her the first 15 swats. She let out a yelp and then began uttering "eeees" and "ooohs" after each one and slightly kicking her feet a bit.
As the swats were distributed, I could see the top of her blond head bob up from time to time, and I could see her right hand shifting up and down on the chair leg. Her butt was soon pink, just like Betty's, and I tried to see if could notice the pitch difference in the swats. I did, but it did not seem to fluctuate as much as mine did.
Then I noticed his butt squeezing again as he rubbed and patted her bottom. Then he said: "Last group," and finally she was on her last set and her "eeees" and "ooohs were punctuated only by an occasional sniff. As she was helped up, she almost fell as she pulled up her panties, then she came and stood to my right.
Last, but not least, was Donna. She, like Cathy before, walked up to the Bishop with her hands still on her head and then readied herself without being instructed and without any scene. She seemed to have a slight smile that changed to surprised look as he pushed her over his lap. She was completely quiet until the 4th or 5th swat, when she broke into low tone utterances of "ouch" on each swat. Every now and then, she would change to a few "ows" and "ssss" sounds, but other than that she pretty much maintained the same composure throughout the spanking.
During the spanking, Bishop M's composure changed little as he looked intently at the target area, seeming to like the image of her bottom compressing and bouncing back into shape as the swats struck. He would occasionally clear his throat or say "good girl" here and there, but that was about it.
After he was finished with her 60th swat, he rubbed and squeezed her little behind for about a minute as he told us to never make fun of our prophets and leaders again.
He then sent us back to our classroom where, upon entering, you knew that everyone knew you had just come from being spanked. I really did not care what anyone thought. I just knew that this spanking thing was becoming more and more enjoyable, and I had no clue as to why.

On a couple occasions, I was told to get the switch myself. I remember camping one weekend when I was 9 and I had talked back and disobeyed one too many times. My dad and I were both sitting at the picnic table and he pulled out his pocket-knife and told me to go cut a switch off one of the trees behind us. I didn't want to do this, but at the same time I was too afraid to not obey.
I walked over to the trees and found it a little difficult at first to get something similar to what I had seen him use in the past. I had to look at two or three different trees but I found something I felt he would have chosen. I struggled cutting it with the knife, I'm sure more so due to being nervous. Once cut from the tree, I pulled off the leaves and walked back to my dad. He didn't take it from me though, but rather told me to get in the camper and he followed me. Once inside he shut the door.
This was the second switching I had been given in this camper so I did as I had been instructed to the last time which was pull my pants and underwear down and lean over the table. I don't know how many licks I got, maybe 10 across my bare butt, but I swear the pain was like being stung by a bee over and over again. He didn't go fast with the switch so there were times I took my hands off the table and grabbed my butt. He would instruct me, though, to place my hands back on the table. When he finished, he told me to pull my pants up and he left the camper which allowed me to lay down and cry. Later, when I came out of the camper I saw my switch laying in the fire pit.
I was once as well asked to help my sister get a switch. I am three years older than her and she was, I think, 10 at the time. We were at home so I don't know what she had done to earn a switching but it must have been fairly bad. My dad told her to get a switch, which she did go out with scissors and in tears. She returned about 2 minutes later with no switch and crying even heavier. She told dad she didn't know how to get it. I was sitting on the couch watching this whole thing and my dad turned to me and told me to go help her. I didn't hesitate because I knew he was already mad and I told her to come with me. I took her to where dad gets them, which is from a bush that grows by the shed. I cut one off for her and gave it to her to give to dad after getting the little bumps off of it. Once inside, my dad took her to the dining room so she could lean over the table. I sat in the living room listening to my poor sister's bare backside being switch and her hard crying.

   When I was about 12, we were on a coach coming back from a school trip. We had had a lovely day, but the journey home seemed very long. Us girls were getting a bit bored and restive, and our form mistress, who we adored but was strict, had told us to keep our seats several times. There were no seat belts in those days. She finally ran out of patience when I stood up and crossed the aisle of the coach to talk to a friend. I suddenly heard my name called.
   "W, come here!"
   I went to the back seat of the coach where she was sitting and got told off for not keeping my seat. I thought that would be it but, to my horror, she decided to make an example of me, no doubt to deter others.
"You've had enough warnings, young lady, so now get over my knee!" She said with authority.
Miss then made me lie over her knee, pulled my skirt up and smacked my bum hard several times. She was young and very athletic so she made every smack count as I yelped. The sounds of the smacks and yelps brought the spanking to the attention of other girls who looked round with amused grins on their faces.
I went back to my seat with a red face and a smarting behind. We all remained sitting throughout the rest of the journey. Pity it had to be my bum that was made an example of, I thought, as I wriggled in my seat. I just hoped the coach driver wasn't looking in his mirror at the time!

As many of my teachers in primary school had been in the army, they had little time for our childish naughtiness. They were good teachers but justice tended to be somewhat summary with them. As I found out when I made some cheeky remark to one teacher which I thought was very clever and which would make the class laugh. He was quite a jolly man but that afternoon he was not amused.
"Come out here, young lady!" he commanded.
I obeyed, noting with consternation him drawing up his chair and sitting on it. He usually did this when about to dish out a smacked bottom.
"Now bend over my knee!" he said as I reached the front of the class.
I complied with the order, getting an amazing view of the floor and knowing the class had an amazing view of my upturned bottom.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
"Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!" was my response as the hard hand came into contact with my soft bottom four times, causing the tears to come to my eyes and flow down my cheeks.
I stood up and tearily rubbed my poor bum, which felt superheated.
"Now go back to your place and behave yourself," said the teacher.
I went back to my place with a stinging bottom, which stung even more as I sat on the hard, unyielding chair. I noticed many of the class, especially the boys, grinning. I put my head on the desk for a few minutes before the teacher told me to sit up. My little joke had fallen flat, but I had provided the class with some unexpected entertainment for the afternoon. Sadly, it was at the expense of my poor little bottom.

This is a memory of one of only a few spankings I got on my bare bottom. I was 10 years old and had been out shopping with my mom and sister. My sister, who was 7, and I had been at each others' throats all morning and my mom had enough of it from us after giving us a fair number of warnings. My mom announced when we got back to the car that she and I would both be spanked when we got home. My sister started crying and I just sat there in the car, mad.
When we got home my mom sent us upstairs to our room to wait because she had to put the groceries away before spanking us. My mom didn't do the honours of spanking us that often, because she felt that task was better left to dad. She would, though, when she was mad enough to take matters into her own hands. My mom was a hand spanker and would spank us over our clothes while she sat on a chair and we stood at her side, her holding our arm and swatting away at our bottoms. The spanking would not be too bad at first, but as she spanked you would start to fill the heat.
So there we were, my sister and I, sitting in our bedroom and I got a brilliant idea. I knew my sister was paying attention to what I was doing so I quietly got into my panties drawer and took out about 3 pairs. Using the bed as my cover I slipped on the three extra pairs of panties under my dress. Soon after, my mom called us into the living room for our spankings.
We both stood in front of her waiting to see who was to go first, and finally my mom chose me. I said: "Yes, mama," and slowly walked over to her and turned my body so she has a good aim at my bottom as she took a hold of my left arm. Then I heard it; my sister ratting me out. She had been watching me try to cheat my way out of the spanking's sting by adding extra protection. I had no idea she saw me do it.
My mom asked me if I had on extra panties, but fear took over my voice and I just looked at her. My mom ordered me to lift up my dress, which I did, to reveal four layers of panties on my butt. Mom scolded me for trying to deceive her and then order me to pull them all down, as she was now going to spank me on the bare bottom. I protested about my sister being in the room, but my mom said we are ladies here and I should have thought about the consequences of being deceitful.
I put my fingers into the waist band of all four pairs of panties and slid them down off, past my bottom, and probably down close to my knees. I let my dress fall back down, hoping she would spank over my dress, but was ordered to lift up my dress. I did so and held my dress up with my right arm while she again held my left arm. Then I felt the spanks come.
One after another, my mom spanked with a fury of spanks. It hurt so much on my bare skin, and I tried to pull my away from her, but she kept me close by holding my arm and made me take each spank. When she finished I curled up on the couch and cried. I then heard my sister being spanked and looked to see her of course being spanked on her dress and panties.
I never tried anything like that again.

I lived in a small town in Alabama. I was 11 in 1971 in the 5th grade and 2nd of five children. I had loving parents who expected myself and my 4 brothers and sisters to behave, be respectful, obey the rules, and stay within our boundaries. As long as we did that, we all had a great childhood. When you didn't, spanking was the main punishment, sometimes followed by grounding, extra chores etc.
My dad was an industrial engineer. He was away frequently on job sites, sometimes for the whole week. He was away this particular week. My mom was the main disciplinarian in the house. All spankings were given on your bare bottom, frequently in the kitchen or living room. The level of your spanking depended on the infraction. Her wooden spoon was the main implement used and she had a variety of them.
I attended a rather strict Baptist private school. They had a lot of rules and, yes, they did spank and paddle, amongst other punishments. For example, if you crossed the red line in the middle of the hallway instead of going down the stairs and back up the other side, that was an after-school detention. Higher level infractions resulted in the smaller kids getting spanked by the teacher and the older kids reported to the principal, and sometimes paddled there.
We all wore uniforms and they were expected to be clean, pressed and neat. No hair was allowed in your face and, other than a cross, no jewelry was allowed and shoes had to be shined. We girls wore a grey plaid V-neck jumper over a white blouse with a rounded collar, white knee socks and black mary jane shoes. Your hair band, if you wore one, had to be grey as well.
My parents were very active and well known in the school. My mom even taught there before she starting having kids.
On this particular day, we were scheduled to have a test in Science. I hated Science. I didn't study for the test much and I feared the wooden spoon so much I went to the bathroom and wrote notes on my left hand just before the test, then I kept my hand fisted when I went back to the classroom. I didn't get away with it. Apparently the teacher saw me looking at my hand and I was caught. She promptly marked the paper with a zero and sent me to the principal.
I was so scared; I had never been spanked or paddled at school. The principal was furious and disappointed in me.
"You, of all people," he said. "A good student, a leader of the drama club and active in many others, and a role model to younger students."
He asked why would I do something so foolish and break one of the most sacred rules the school has. I saw the paddle hanging.
He looked at me and said: "I am not going to paddle you, young lady. I am sure when your mother finds out you will receive the spanking of your life."
When I got home I thought it would be best to wait until after I did my homework and went to ballet class. Right after school and after snacks we all sat on the wooden benches on either side of the kitchen table and did our homework. The test was in my science book sticking out a little. While my mom was checking up on our progress, she saw it and asked what it was. I said it was my test.
She said, "Well Amy, let me see it."
She pulled it out and was outraged by what I had done. She wasted no time pulling one of the chairs on the end of the table to the middle of the kitchen, then ordered me up NOW!
My older sister smiled at me and laughed. "You're so gonna get it!" she said.
My mother hushed her. She removed the largest wooden spoon from the drawer. Usually mom starts with a few swats over my underpants before pulling them down. This time I stood before her and she reached under my jumper and took them down to my ankles. She placed me over her knee, raised my jumper and began spanking me hard. I kicked and screamed and cried, and my underpants flew off my shoes. I even squirmed off her knee to the floor. She ordered me up, put me back over her knee, this time locking me in place with a scissor lock with her legs in between mine. She propped my bare bottom high and continued to spank me hard with full swings for another minute or two. Seemed like hours.
Mom told me to get my fanny back to the table to work on my homework, my bottom burning, sitting on the wooden bench in tears. Humiliated in front of my siblings, sore and shamed.
My mom stated: "You're grounded until further notice, and you can forget about Sara's birthday party."
Sara was my very best friend since kindergarden and still is to this day.
Mom told me how disappointed she was and how disappointed my father was going to be. I didn't want to go to ballet but my mom made me and it was awful. Pink tights don't cover a crimson red bottom. I was teased and giggled at. Doing barre work and dancing was painful in itself.
Dad came home late Friday night. I had talked to him in tears the night of the incident and he told me we were going to have a long talk before detention on Saturday. He came into my bedroom, which I shared with my two sisters, early. I was in bed wearing my pink nightgown with white underpants. He told my sisters to go downstairs. He talked and I listened, then he sat on my bed and said: "You deserve to receive two spankings for this."
He put me over his knee, raised my nightgown, lowered my underpants and began spanking me hard with his hand. He finished with a metal spatula.
I never cheated again. I also never got spanked in school my whole 12 years there. At home was a different story.

When I was a child, one of the things that always got me spanked was lying.
I was 10 years old and went to to play with someone from my class and I don't know why but for some reason I told my mom that I would go over to my friend, Pernille's, house, but instead I went to Sarah's house to play.
What caught me out was that while I was at Sarah's house Pernille came to ask if I could play, and my mom got a little confused because she thought that me and Pernille were playing already and she told Pernille that she thought I was over at her house.
So my mom got worried because she did not know where I was and went to search for me. When she did not find me she called my dad at work for advice. He told her that if I was not home in a hour to call the police.
I did come home in time and when I got home my mom was not pleased with me and demanded I tell her where I had been. Again, I lied and told her with Pernille, but my mom told me that was a lie because Pernille had been here to ask for me to come and play.
I then told her I was at Sarah's house playing and my mom asked why I had lied to her and I did not have a answer for that.
She told me that lying is very bad and I had made her worried a lot because she did not know where I was or if something had happened to me. I had been very naughty. Then she told me to go to my room and get dressed for bed and when I was ready she would come and give me a spanking.
15 minutes later, I sat on my bed dressed in my nightie and mom came in, sat on my bed, lectured me some more and asked me to stand in front of her. She pulled my panties down and guided me over her lap, raised my nightie, raised her hand and started spanking my bare bottom.
I was crying like a 3 year old after her first 4 smacks and my spanking continued. After 20 smacks, double my age, my spanking stopped. I cried a lot while she pulled my panties back up again and, while I sat on he lap crying, she told me that she loved me and again lying was very bad, but now I had been spanked it was forgiven. I told her I was sorry and again she told me that she loved me even when she had to spank me.

As a child we went to church and when I was a 12 year old I started to go to what they called pre-teen club. They met every Thursday from 7 to 9 in the evening. My curfew on those nights was to catch the 9.15 pm bus so I was home by 9.30 because it was a school night at it was important that I got my sleep.
One Thursday I lost track of time and there was no battery charge left on my cell phone, so I could not call my mom and tell her I missed the bus.
I took the next bus which meant I was home at 10.00. I expected my mom to be mad but she was just happy to see me home. She had been worried and called the church, who told her that I had gone. She told me to get ready for bed and, before I went to my bed, she said we would talk more about this when I got home from school the next day.
So, next day, when I got home my mom called me to the living room where both my mom and dad sat on the sofa. They asked me to sit and tell them why I was late the previous evening. I told them I had lost track of time and my phone battery was not charged.
They lectured me and told me if I was to be trusted by going to this club it was my responsibility to remember the time and, when I discovered my phone was off, I should have borrowed the phone in church. Then my mom would have just come and pick me up. Because I had done nothing at all about this situation, it was naughty and disobedient, and because of that my dad would now take me to my bedroom where I was going to get a spanking.
My dad stood up and asked me to follow him. We went to my room and he sat on my bed. When I was in front of him, he started to pull my pants and panties down. I protested and pleaded with him not to spank me, but he did not listen.
When I had my bottom bared, he guided me over his lap. When I was in position, he raised his hand and started my spanking. After 4 smacks I started to cry, and after 8 I sobbed like a baby. After 12 smacks my spanking stopped. He pulled my pants and panties back up and then had me sit on his lap while I cried and he told me that my parents loved me and all was forgiven.

My face flushed. I had pushed it too far, I knew I had. I knew I couldn't possibly get away with all that badness, and now I was going to be spanked, one way or the other. I knew that steely glint in my mother's eye. She meant business alright. I had been spanked by both my parents before. My mother tended to take us away from the rest of the family and spank us in private, but it was a longer spanking and always on a bare bottom, whereas my father would just grab the offender, sling them over his knee and wallop them without much care for who else was present. He was a big man, though, with a hard hand, and he wouldn't be pleased to have to come home and deal with me after a hard day's work. I made up my mind in a flash.
"You," I said sulkily, still looking at the floor, my fingers twisting around each other behind my back.
"Right, then stop mucking about and come over her," said my mother impatiently.
She put down her coffee mug, spilling a little coffee, and reached out for me. I let her take me by the hand and dragged my feet as she pulled me towards her. I hadn't made up my mind whether to fight and struggle or not when I was upended. Suddenly I could see my own bare feet through my mother's legs, and my long blonde hair swept the floor. I had to grip my mother's ankles to stop myself falling, and I suddenly became very conscious that my pink bunny pyjama clad bottom was in the air.
I didn't have long to take it all in. I heard my mother take another drag of her cigarette and puff out the smoke before she reached over me and dropped the end into the toilet, where it sizzled out. She put one hand on the small of my back and the other rested on my bottom.
"Rosy, you know why you're getting this spanking, don't you?" She asked.
"Yes, mummy," I said from my ignominious position. I just wanted it over with, but my mother was a talker.
"You've been so cheeky and disobedient this week, Rosy, We haven't known what to do with you at all! And all I've heard from your Nanna all week? 'Let the girl alone, she's just growing up, she's a lovely girl.'
"Well, I'm here to tell you, Rosy Lee, you are most definitely NOT a lovely girl. You're a street angel, that's what you are. All sweetness on the outside, but behind these doors, nothing but a little devil! Well I'm going to show you what happens to little devils. They go over their mother's knee, and they get their bottoms smacked!"
And with that she started to smack my bottom. Hard straight off, not even a warm up. Hard, and fast, her hand easily covering both my cheeks at once.
I started to kick and make a fuss. At once point I considered biting her on the leg, and maybe she read my mind because at that point, she yanked my pink bunny pyjama bottoms down, all the way to my knees, and began again.
She smacked my bottom so hard that morning. At one point she even tipped me forwards so that she could spank the underneath, where my bottom turned into my legs. I yelped and shouted and kicked, but she just spanked me harder until eventually I stopped fighting and just lay, limply, over her knee while she continued to colour my backside a bright fiery red. Tears rolled down my cheeks and were plopping onto the floor by the time she had finished.
"So now, big bad Rosy Lee, what do you think your Nanna would say if she could see you now? And your friends from school? Are you big bad Rosy Lee now?" Said my mother, a little breathlessly.
"No mummy," I whimpered. "I'm sorry, Mummy."
"That's better then," said my mother, sounding pleased with herself. She gave my roasted bottom another two smacks for luck and heaved me to my feet, leaving me to stand in front of her, struggling to pull my pyjama bottoms up my shaking legs and over my burning behind with my trembling hands.
"Now, I hope that's a lesson for you, Rosy, and I want to see you ready for school and going out that door in five minutes flat."
I fled the bathroom and I was ready for school in the five minutes, sobbing all the way. My friends kept asking me what was wrong, but I wouldn't tell them.
I'd like to say that I learned my lesson and that was the last spanking I ever had from my mother, but that wouldn't be the truth at all.

Well, I don't think more than two minutes went by before I was chewing on the gum again, probably by habit. Not knowing why just yet, Mr Davis came over to me, slammed his hand on my desk, put his face right in front of mine, and stated rather loudly: "YOU BETTER NOT BE CHEWING GUM AGAIN MISS BRADFORD!"
I knew this time he was definitely not very happy. I just lowered my head with shame and worry and said: "Sorry, I never really spat it out." With that he sighed, shook his head with disgust, and went to the front of the room where he picked up the garbage can calling me forward and he made sure I spit it out that time. Then he told me he wanted to see me out in the hall.
Suddenly the whole class became completely silent and I knew all eyes were on me. I felt so embarrassed and was just as scared as I followed Mr Davis to the door. He held it open for me as I walked out and he followed me and shut the door behind him. In the back of my mind I think I knew what was about to happen, but I also think part of me was in denial since he hadn't told me what I was in for yet. I thought there was still some hope that I wasn't in too much trouble and that Mr Davis would let me off easy. After all, I was one of his pets.
He lectured me outside the classroom for a few minutes. Most of what was said is pretty blurry, but the gist of it all was that he was very disappointed in me. He said something to the effect that he liked to have a good time as much as anyone, but there was a time when enough was enough. The whole time I could hardly look at him as he told me more than once to "LOOK AT ME" as he did all of the talking.
Still without any confirmation as to what was going to happen, he told me to follow him. I was nearly in tears as we walked down the hallway; in fact I'm not really sure what prevented me from crying my eyes out up to that point. I should have known for certain what I was in for when we stopped in front of the storage room in the center of the school. He told me to wait right there as he went to the next classroom (which was 5th grade) and he knocked on the door. Mrs Elkin, who I had for 5th grade and also for English class the previous period, came out and the two of them whispered a few words before she shut her classroom door and they both came over to me. My heart was racing, my stomach was turning, my knees were buckling, and my palms were sweating all the while I still think I was in denial. Mrs Elkin seemed totally shocked to see it was ME standing there waiting for her services.
Mr Davis opened the door to the storage room and motioned for me to step inside along with Mrs Elkin. Once the three of us were in there, the door was closed and I could feel as well as hear my heart beating as if it were trying to pound itself right out of my chest. I was still trying to deny the fact that my butt was in big trouble even though I knew that was where Mr Davis did his paddling.
This room was fairly small and the quarters were somewhat tight. There were shelves with books and school supplies on both sides. There were also a few student desks as the room was sometimes used for tutoring sessions for kids that needed extra help. There was also a piece of equipment we used to call the "ditto" machine that made those copies in purple ink by turning the handle. I had been in this room before to help make copies with that machine, but never once did I see a paddle when I was in there. Opposite the door there were windows, which I clearly remember having blinds that were up so anyone in the parking lot outside could see in.
We were all standing near the door as Mr Davis explained to Mrs Elkin what I had done. He basically told her I had been acting up all day by being disruptive and so forth in his classes. He then told her what happened with the gum and I can vividly remember the look of shock and disappointment in her face. I had very few discipline problems in her class, so it must have been hard for her to believe that I would behave like that. I think her exact words when she responded to Mr Davis while looking directly at me were: "Well she certainly deserves to be punished." She obviously knew what that punishment was going to be since Mr Davis had asked her to be the witness. The whole time I was feeling worse and worse about what I had done knowing how much I had disappointed the two of them.
After the brief discussion, my fate was finally confirmed. Mr Davis reached up and retrieved his paddle from one of the higher shelves. My eyes immediately widened and all the nerves and emotions I was already experiencing increased tenfold. Even a few tears finally emerged from my eyes. Mr Davis looked directly at me while tapping the paddle into his palm and said: "Perhaps I should have used this a long time ago," as he made it clear to Mrs Elkin and me that I had gotten away with quite a bit in his class throughout the year.
Seeing that paddle I don't think I was ever so scared in my life. I had been spanked occasionally at home by my mom with a wooden spoon, some of which were pretty drastic, but this was my first at school. I had actually only seen a few kids get paddled at school and heard several others, but this time it was going to be me. The feelings were completely different.
Now I had an idea of what those other kids had gone through when it happened to them. It was always an interesting experience seeing or hearing someone else get it. A very tiny part of me may still have felt some of the same feelings, but this time there was so much more fear and embarrassment. The worst part was that I knew the whole school was going to be able to hear it.
For the moment only my own sixth grade classmates knew who it was, but because the school was so small, all of the other classes could always hear a paddling take place in that storage room. I remember very well how the sound would interrupt instructions when it happened and everyone wondered who it was and what they had done to earn it. Sometimes even the teacher would make a snide comment when the swats were heard.
In fifth grade, you usually knew someone was about to get it when Mr Davis pulled Mrs Elkin out of her room. Nine times out of ten when that happened, it wasn't long before hearing that distinct sound of a paddle meeting a backside. Dang if it didn't hold true in this case too. I knew those fifth graders had to be wondering if someone was about to get 'it'.
From what I remember of Mr Davis' paddle (other than it hurt) was it was kind of a dark colored wood. It wasn't a typical school type paddle; it was more pear shaped or oval at the business end. I would guess the overall size was about 6 to 8 inches across at its widest point and about 15 or so inches long including the handle. It was maybe about a quarter to a half inch thick. I can still envision it in my mind, but not to exact measures. Regardless, it looked pretty darn scary to an 11 year-old girl who was about to have her rear end busted by it. I think it was certainly big enough to cover my entire bottom.
There was probably a lot more that transpired during the short time the three of us were in that room while Mr Davis did all the talking, but a lot of that is so hard to remember. I was simply scared half to death. I couldn't believe that Mr Davis was actually going to paddle me. Deep down I always thought he would never do THAT to me, which is why I may have acted up so much that day. I guess I was stupid to think that, for at that point, Mr Davis now had every intention of whacking my butt and I was only a few moments away from it happening.
Once all the talking was finished and everyone knew the reason we were all there, Mr Davis slid one of the student desks out so it was in front of the door. The desks at our school were rectangular, about three feet wide by two feet deep. They had a light colored wood top and the bottom was all metal including the legs. The top did not lift up, but the front was open so items could be stored inside. The seats were separate and not attached to the desk.
Mr Davis pointed to the desk with the paddle and told me to stand in front of it. This is when I started losing it a little bit. I didn't want this to happen and I started to cry and actually pleaded a little bit. For me, spanking was always the ultimate worst and I always acted like a baby if I were in for one at home. Many times I even got out of it at home since my mom could be quite the softie at times. I don't think I acted quite as bad as I did at home, but I still put up a pretty good fuss. It was to no avail though; Mr Davis didn't sympathize with me too much. He didn't yell, but he said I had certainly earned a paddling and that I better stiffen up and take what I had coming. He mentioned that he didn't want to have to make matters worse by calling my mother and that I had better just get it over with now. Being that I certainly didn't want my mom to find out about it, I somehow managed to reluctantly move to the desk, but with pleading eyes still directed at Mr D. Now I often wonder if there were other kids that ever acted like me.
I was now standing in front of the desk still crying and looking back over my shoulder at Mr Davis. Mrs Elkin was just observing everything without saying a word. I don't think she felt much sympathy either as she stood there looking rather stoic with her arms folded across her chest. With my nerves at their absolute ends, Mr Davis approached me and gave me further instructions to bend over the desk. My crying continued as I tried to oblige, but couldn't.
Mr Davis remained rather calm even though I wasn't cooperating very well. He simply told me: "Lexie, we're going to do this no matter how long it takes. As painful as you fear this is going to be, there's no way out of it, so I suggest you simply bend over the desk and take what you have coming."
Without much further delay I somehow managed to bend over the desk. I was still looking over my shoulder back at both teachers and he told me to bend all the way over and hold onto the other side. Still crying, I stood up and told him I couldn't do it. His patience started to wear a little as he raised his voice slightly and told me to get back into position while pointing the paddle at me.
Out of fear I somehow forced myself to do it. He told me to look straight ahead, keep my hands on the desk, and my feet on the floor, but I kept looking back over my shoulder. He said: "Lexie I need you to look forward!"
I was quivering so much and nearly stood again, but he still remained rather calm and explained to me that he needed me to hold still and look forward for my own protection. Once I finally did so, to my utter surprise, the paddle quickly met my entire bottom with a loud "CRACK!"
My eyes went wide and I screamed. My hands went right to my butt as I stood up again. Mr Davis said something like: "No, no, young lady. One crack won't be enough for your behavior. I need you to get back in position and look straight ahead."
I was devastated, but could tell from his look that I had better do as he said. I slowly and reluctantly bent back over the desk, but had to be told to look forward yet again. I was now bawling like a baby and holding on for dear life. The fire in my seat was already beginning to intensify considerably. Then Mr Davis laid on another solid swat which virtually lifted me off my feet and added to the burn.
I again screamed in agony, but my elbows were resting on the desk so I didn't stand up. Then again I heard the words: "Look straight ahead," and within seconds the paddle made its mark on the seat of my jumper for the third time, causing me to shriek loudly once more. The cracking sound of the paddle seemed almost deafening in that little room.
As I stayed over the desk crying, I shifted from foot to foot sort of wagging my bottom to try and ease the pain. These antics didn't help at all. Fortunately for me, I heard Mr Davis say: "I think that should do it; you may stand up, young lady."
I did so crying while wiping my eyes with one hand and rubbing my bottom with the other. I'm sure both sets of my cheeks had to be quite red at that moment; however my lower cheeks were in much worse shape and really felt the effects of that paddle.
Mr Davis then exchanged a few words with Mrs Elkin before he excused her. Her duties as witness had concluded. Once she was gone he turned his attention back to me while still holding the paddle. He asked me if that would be enough to set me straight which, by only nodding, I told him it was. He sympathized with me a little bit, but told me he wasn't sorry for what he did, but hoped that I was sorry about how I acted. I certainly was very sorry. He calmly talked to me for a little bit longer as I gained some composure. He told me it wasn't the first time he had to take those measures, but even though he hoped it would be his last (in general), he knew it would not. He made me assure him that I had learned my lesson and that another trip to that room with me would not be necessary for the remainder of the year. I had no problem promising that! Once that was settled he put the paddle back on the shelf and smiled at me as if nothing even happened. He told me it was all behind us now.
He opened the door and we both went out into the empty hallway, which I was glad to see. I didn't want anyone to know it was me coming out of that room. As we made our way down the hall, Mr Davis told me I could stop off in the restroom if I so desired, but I was to be back in the classroom within five minutes.
I wasn't looking forward to going back to class at all so I chose to visit the girl's room first as Mr Davis went on down to his room. There were only about 10 or 15 minutes left in the day so with my five-minute time limit, I couldn't just hang out in there (like I wanted to) to avoid going back to the room, however, I'm sure I did use every second of those five minutes.
As I spent the time rinsing my face and trying my best to make myself look somewhat presentable, the throbbing in my bottom continued, but was subsiding little by little. I had a notion to look at it, but was afraid someone might walk in which would have really been embarrassing. My hair was also a mess, but I didn't have a brush with me to fix it properly so I did my best using my hands. I also cleaned my glasses which had become quite smeared. (Actually, I don't know how they stayed on my face during the paddling.) Then I could no longer avoid the inevitable. I eventually made my way back to the room slowly, but surely.
Once I got there the door was already open. I think walking back into that room was harder than walking out when Mr Davis initially said he wanted to see me in the hallway. All the emotions that led up to the paddling were finally gone, but many were returning along with some fears because I now had to face my classmates. I just hung my head as I went in and took my seat without looking at anyone. I could tell though, that all eyes were on me. It was a horrible feeling. I now knew what other kids had felt like when they were paddled. Some you could tell it really bothered, while others it didn't all that much. I'm sure everyone could tell that it really bothered me for sure as I kept trying to suck back my tears.

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