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Spanking Art & Story Sites:

Note: Only totally free, no-membership/no AVS sites containing  juvenile spanking content are listed here.


            You've seen SpankArt's delightful work scattered about various Drawings Galleries on this website.  Does viewing his spanking art and others like it make you want to try your hand at creating some original images of your own?  If so, SpankArt's website, A Spanking Art Genre is for you!  It is full of useful pointers for beginning artists with tips on drawing in general, and on drawing of juvenile spankings in particular.
Our little corner of Kinkland is very fortunate to have SpankArt, both as a spanking artist and as resource for others who want to be spanking artists themselves.  This website is for anyone interested in spanking art as an art genre. It gives a brief introduction to the genre and lists some websites that feature fine examples of spanking art. In addition, artists will find a  list of links to free drawing tutorials on the Web, and some original tutorials SpankArt created to help beginners get started drawing the human figure without a model.


           (And of course, when you finish that */f image, submit it via email it to Handprints for possible inclusion in a future Drawings Gallery!)


        Original art by Bee Bee (Phoebe) and spanking images from Little Audrey, Richie Rich and other comics.  If anyone has a current url for this site, please let me know.


Encyclopedia of Spanking Art

[link should work now!]

        Those who enjoyed viewing Kibato's artwork on Handprints should definitely give this artist's site a visit.  It features a very extensive collection of spanking art and photography.  Are wa, ichiban atsui desu!


A collection of drawings by George Jackson Churchward and Ann.



   A nice Japanese spanking anime-style site by Makoto. 


    More original spanking art from Japan.


     Stories by Ricky in which fictional preteen boys get their bare bottoms spanked.


        Spanking artist Jennifer writes, "As with many of my other drawings, these represent real life experiences of my teen years and in particular, the "discussions" I would have with my parents when I broke the rules. You know the type of discussion I'm referring to don't ya? The type where you're over a knee staring at the carpet while a thick piece of leather is whipping your behind!"

Naughty Kids Discipline Equipment

A spoof website for the amusement of people like us.  Imaginary "products" include personalized hairbrushes upon which parents can have photos of their child getting spanked, pants which administer electric shocks to the bottom at the parental push of a button, and stickers featuring art by Collegeboy and Barb.

With this imaginary device you can give your child
a spanking without having to get up out of your chair.
Features both "hand" and "hairbrush" settings!







"Daddy noooo" Hannah cried as her father held tightly to her arm as they walked  back to the apartment.

"Yes Hannah," you broke the rules and you are going to get a spanking," he replied.

Hannah was crying and struggling to free herself from her daddy's tight grip as he led her into their apartment. With little Hannah still in tow and struggling, he took a seat on the couch, pulled Hannah across his lap and preceded to pull down her cotton shorts along with her little cotton panties.

SMACK.....Owww SMACK...... owwwweeee. oooohhhhhoooo daddyyyy noooooo. Struggling and kicking her feet in protest.

"Young lady you hold still" her father stated. As he quickly lifted his hand and brought it down  again onto her tiny naked bottom.

*   *   *

"Very well, Little Miss Mischief," Annette sighed. She stood up, took her daughter's arm, and led her back to the sofa. "It looks like we aren't going anywhere until your bottom has been warmed."
"No! No, Mommy!" Ashley cried. "I will go with you."
Annette pulled her daughter over her lap and lifted her bright yellow sundress.
"I will play with Katie later," Ashley agreed. "We can go now."
Annette slipped her fingertips into the waistband of Ashley's yellow cotton panties and tugged them down over the girl's chubby bottom.
"Don't spank me, Mommy!" Ashley begged.
Annette raised her hand and brought down a light smack on one plump bare cheek.
"No, Mommyyyyy!" Ashley pleaded.
Annette spanked each chub quickly and lightly, warming her daughter's tender flesh.
"I gave you every opportunity to cooperate with me, Ashley, but you have chosen to be naughty instead," Annette scolded. When you do that," Annette explained, "it's the same as asking Mommy to spank you."
Annette spanked the middle of Ashley's little bottom in sharp smacks that quickly turned the little girl's pink cheeks red.
"Nooooo, Mommyyyyy! Don't spaaaaaank! I don't want a spankiiiiiing!" Ashley assured her mother a moment before she burst into tears.
"I'm going to spank you right where you sit," Annette said, ignoring her daughter's protest and delivering the promised smacks at the tops of her little girl's thighs"And each time you sit today, you will remember that you must not talk back to Mommy and that you must obey."

*   *   *

"Ohhh No!" Lisa said, "this will never come out. Where did you get that nail polish?"

"Umm, we borrowed it, Mommy," Jenn said.

"Borrowing means asking, and I don't remember any of you asking to use it. So, that makes it stealing. That is first. Secondly, you were told to rest. Did you?" Lisa asked angrily.

"No, Mommy," Jenn replied.

"And third of all, you have spilled my polish all over your bed," Lisa said, beyond annoyed. The girls realized that they were in big trouble.

"I am sorry, Aunt Lisa," Maggie replied.

"Me too, Mommy!" both twins said.

"Well, not as sorry as you are going to be. I'm too angry to deal with you now. You are all to stay in this room until dinnertime, and then you will tell your father what you have done, and we will deal with it then. Is that clear?" With that said, Lisa grabbed the stained bedspread and left the room.

Jennifer pouted. "You and your ideas, Robin. I thought I was the one that always got us in trouble. You are catching up, sis."

Maggie stood rooted to the spot. "What is your dad going to do to us?"

Robin said, "Well, probably lecture us, and if we are all lucky we will be grounded for a day or two, and have to apologize to Mommy and do extra chores."

Maggie then asked, "And if we aren't? Lucky, I mean?" Maggie knew the answer but asked anyway.

Jennifer said, "Well, if Daddy is not in a realllly good mood, all of us are in for spankings tonight."

The rest of the afternoon passed slowly and quickly depending on the way one looked at it. Finally they heard Charlie's voice in the kitchen, but none of them moved. They heard Lisa talking to him, and then his slow steps coming toward their bedroom.

 *   *   *

"Do you know why you are going to be punished?" Lisa asked.

"Yes, Mommy. I shouldn't have pretended to call Cindy, or gone to play in the basement."

Lisa pulled Jenn into her arms for a hug, and told her, "Honey, I don't know what it is going to take to get this through to you, but I NEED to know where you are at all times. I can't take care of you, if you don't tell me."

Jennifer had never thought of that in that way before, and slow tears fell down her face.

"I am sooo sorry I worried you, Mommy," Jenn said.

"I know you are sweetie. But you still must be punished," Lisa replied.

"Mommy, I won't do it again, I promise, please don't spank me!"

Lisa said, "Honey, I am sorry. I don't like spanking you, but it is my job to make sure you know right from wrong. What you did today was wrong. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, Mommy," Jenn sighed again.

"Then let's get this over with," Lisa said and pulled down Jennifer's shorts and panties, and began her spanking. She spanked harder than usual, because she really wanted Jennifer to learn to think before she acted, which is what she began her lecture with.

Lisa spanked again and again, right in the middle of her bottom, and down further on her sit spot. She wanted to make sure this lesson sunk in. When Jenn was sobbing, Lisa stopped, rubbed her bottom, and told her it was important for her to learn responsibility for her actions. Reaching over, Lisa began again with the hairbrush.

*   *   *

"Okay, baby, we need to take care of you not doing your work at school. I expect you to do all your work in class when you are supposed to. No more staying in at recess because you didn't do it. Is that understood, little miss?" Uncle Ben asked.

Susie nodded, and in a very small, quiet voice said, "Yes."

Ben almost shouted for joy. It was the first word anyone had heard her speak since the tragedy. "Now Uncle loves you but he is going to spank your bum so you remember."

Ben reached under her dress and pulled down her panties. He then picked her up and placed her across his lap. He lifted her dress up off her bottom and rubbed her cheeks. Susie was stiff and he talked to her a minute before he started. "Relax, my little one. Yes, Uncle is going to make your bottom sting, but when I am done all will be forgiven. You will be my best girl, just like always." He continued to rub her back and bottom until she relaxed. Then he raised his hand.

*   *   *

"Ok," said her aunt. "Let's get this over with."

Aunt Helen tugged at Jessie's wrist, but Jessie resisted...just a little bit. But...then ...something happened inside her. She was glad she'd cleaned up the room and washed the wall and stood in the corner, like she was supposed to, and she was really glad when Aunty had told her she'd been a good girl for it. She wanted to get the spanking over with and hear Aunty tell her again that she was a good girl. And so, she stopped resisting and went over her aunt's lap.

She felt her dress lifted and her aunt's comforting hand on her back. Still, she whimpered just a little.

The first slap on her panty-clad bottom surprised her more than hurt her and she sucked in her breath. Another slap fell, and another. Lots more, and Jessie began to squirm. It was starting to hurt! Suddenly, she felt her panties coming down over her heated bottom, down to her knees.

", please! I'll be good! I promise!"

But she didn't think Aunt Helen had heard her...

When she felt her aunt slap her already tender bare bottom, she yelled out loud.

"Please! I'm sorry!"

A shower of spanks landed on both cheeks and Jessie could do nothing about it, but wiggle a little bit and cry. Her tears came hard and fast as her backside burned with red heat from the punishing spanking. Finally, she even stopped wiggling and just cried, sobbed, and felt every stinging blow. She almost didn't realize the spanking was over. But, when she was helped to her feet again, she couldn't stand still. Her bottom *really* hurt!

She fell into her aunt's comforting arms and continued to weep.

"Shh, that's my good little girl. You handled your spanking very well, sweetie. Good girl."

When she was calm again, Aunty Helen washed her hot and tear-streaked face with a cool wet cloth, and then helped her into her pajamas. She squirmed at the feel of the material against her sore bottom, but her aunt insisted that it was too cold a night to go without nice warm jammies. Jessie only nodded. Then she was tucked into bed, safe beneath the covers, a kiss on her forehead to send her off to sleep, her teddy-bear wrapped in her arms. She sighed. Everything was going to be ok now.

*   *   *

"Robin, you're nine years old; you know the rules. Playing physical pranks on another student, and trying to leave school without permission, are both paddling offenses, for you, just like for any other student," Uncle Jack explained.

"But that's not fair. Pleeeease! I'm sorrry!" I shouted. I looked to Daddy for help.

But he shook his head and said, "You will take what you have coming here, young lady. Because you don't want to add anything to what you have coming at home. It's perfectly fair -- if you break the rules, you get punished, same as anyone else."

I knew at this point that I was in really big trouble, both here and then at home later. I didn't know what to do or say.

Uncle Jack said, "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"No, sir, just that I'm sorry. And I won't do it again."

He kind of just nodded. Then he jotted something down on a piece of paper. "Robin, you said 'Diane', would that be Diane Furgeson?"

I hated ratting out on my friend, but I knew I had to answer. I nodded and said, "Um, yes, sir."

Uncle Jack said, "Okay. Come here, please." He indicated that I should approach his desk. I had only received a school paddling once before, but I remember it had hurt so much. I was afraid that this time would be worse, cuz I was older now.

I had hesitated, and Uncle Jack said, "Robin, come here now, please, and bend over my desk." He turned to my Daddy then and said, "Charlie, will you act as my witness?"

"Of course, Jack."

I walked over to Uncle Jack's desk, slowly. I bent over the side. I felt Uncle Jack pull down my pants. Then he put one of his hands on my back. I think it was there to remind me to stay in position. He must have gotten out the school paddle, because the next thing I knew, I felt several sharp cracks on my backside.

*   *   *

She began to cry even more when she felt her panties being pulled down. The spanks continued to rain down on her backside with the same determination as before.  Despite how much it was hurting, she refused to reach back. She held on the rungs on the bottom of the chair and willed herself not to move her hands. She was determined to get this over with as soon as possible and not make it any worse, if that was possible.

In time, her father pulled her up her panties she winced when he tried to pull up her pants. Understanding her discomfort he left them at half-mast and helped her to her feet, but not before telling her that her spanking was far from over.

*   *   *

Mandy was not a good liar so she proceeded to tell the real story. When she was done she was hiccupping and crying because she knew she did a very bad thing. Momma gave her a hug but told her that little girls who tell tales get their tails spanked. Mandy knew her momma meant business and just hung her little head. Momma got up and pulled a chair into the center of the room. She took Mandy's hand and guided her over to the chair. Momma sat down and very quietly pulled Mandy's pants and panties down to her knees.

Mandy didn't raise a fuss like she usually did because she needed to feel better. She knew after her spanking all would be right with her world again. Momma pulled her over her knee and spanked Mandy up one cheek and down the other. She concentrated most of the spanks on Mandy's sit spot so the little girl would remember this for a good long time. Mandy cried and kicked her little legs because Momma's spankins' hurt a whole lot. After Momma felt her little one had learned her lesson she started to rub her child's back till she calmed down. Momma picked up Mandy and sat her on her lap. Mandy was glad her momma wasn't angry anymore.

*   *   *

     "You knew that when you were being naughty tonight, didn't you?"  Carine asked as she tugged her daughter's pajamas down, uncovering her panty-covered bottom and then her bare legs.

      She slipped her fingers inside the waistband of Cassie's flower-printed, cotton panties.  The pre-teen gathered a handful of her bedspread and closed her eyes.

     "You need to learn to always think of the consequences before you do something," Carine scolded while pulling her daughter's panties down.

     "I will, Mommy," Cassie promised.  "The next time, I will," she promised with a blush and a shiver as the smooth bare flesh of her bottom was uncovered.

     "I'm glad to hear that.  However, this time you were naughty and you need to take the consequence."

     Carine settled her daughter's panties just below the tops of her thighs.  With the full flat of her palm, she patted the firm flesh where bottom curved under to meet leg. Cassie quivered. Her mother would spank there and the soft, cotton panties would not be in her way.  Carine placed her hand at Cassie's waist and held her firmly.  Cassie clenched her cheeks and, for the first time in eight months, waited for the first spank to sting her bottom.


                              I  pulled her close to me. "Cesya, why are you being spanked?"


                              My niece strained the meaning of exasperation sometimes.

                              "Because why, Cesya Kate?"

                              "'Cause I went outside and broke my promise an' 'cause I rode my bike when I
                              shouldn't have."

                              I nodded and gently pulled her hands away from her backside. I positioned her
                              over my lap and she offered no resistance. Lifting up her t-shirt, I rubbed her
                              bare bottom until she relaxed.

                              Finally, I raised my right hand and brought it down to the center of her right
                              cheek with a thunderous clap.


This is a section of the World Corporal Punishment Research website which may be of particular interest to Handprints readers.



Have you ever wondered whether or not that gorgeous actress or other female celebrity was spanked as a child, and if so, how?  Then this is the site for you!

Debbie Boone (pop singer):

"When [younger sister] Laury and I were about six or seven, we shared a bedroom. Every afternoon about 1:00 my mother sent us to our room for a nap. One day we were horsing around instead of sleeping and accidentally knocked over a big lamp. The clatter was sure to attract attention. I heard someone coming down the hall toward our room. Jumping under the covers, I left Laury to face our angry father. He caught her out of bed and she got the spanking, while I pretended to wake up startled from all the noise."

"Spankings, especially from my father, were not just a perfunctory pat on the behind. He meant for us to remember them and used a slipper, belt, or anything else that stung. The number of whacks on our bare bottoms depended as much on our reaction to being caught as the offense itself. We could expect more if we had lied or talked back."

"Often with tears still fresh in our eyes, [my three sisters and I] would go up to my room and compare war wounds. Bending over, we'd back up to the mirror to see whose backsides had the reddest marks. Mine were always the worst, mainly because I had the most sensitive skin."

"Another time Laury was paddled when I deserved it came when we were playing "truth or dare." The game involved a choice between answering any embarrassing questions the other players could think up or accepting a dare to do crazy or sometimes dangerous things. One summer at camp, I made others eat horse manure and even tried it myself. At home, I had been known to dare my sisters to jump from tall trees or rooftops."

"This time I made Laury take off her clothes and ride her bicycle around the driveway. She was only nine, nothing too obscene, but there she went after we taunted her sufficiently. Our family home is right on a busy intersection, and Laury had to ride around our circular driveway and out onto the sidewalk-five times in all. Lindy and I hid in the  bushes, laughing hysterically, especially when a tour bus drove by to show out-of-state visitors "the homes of the stars.""

"Laury was tooling around on her fourth trip, when our mother came back from a shopping trip. The car screeched to a halt in the driveway, and Laury was grabbed off that bike almost quicker than we knew it. Lindy and I stifled our laughter as we watched Laury's bare behind disappear through the front door under my mother's strong right arm."

"I never said a word to protect Laury. She had once told me she'd rather take the punishment than watch me get paddled. That was fine with me. I figured at the time that if she was that dumb, I wouldn't stand in her way. Today, I recognize that Laury wasn't dumb. What I mistook as stupidity was really the seed of warm sensitivity and compassion for other people."

Cybil Shepard (movie actress):
  "When my father saw my bruised shins and red-rimmed eyes, he made Terry bend over,  hands to ankles, and walloped her with his belt. She incurred a similar punishment every  time she chased me around the house and attacked me, which was often because I regularly provoked her, awfully dumb since she was older, bigger, stronger, and faster. I  hid over a floor furnace outside the den every time she was punished, talking to my  plastic horses while my sister yelped, determined to avoid such punishment myself. I,  Miss Perfect, rarely got whipped. My most egregious sins were repeatedly scribbling in  crayon on the living room wall and taunting my brother to bite me, then telling on him when he did."

Joan Bakewell (tv hostess):
"I was required to have perfect manners, good  school reports, to care for our home, to be tidy about the house and to maintain a reputation for  moral behaviour that brought credit on the family.

I didn`t always do this. Indeed I was a thoroughly normal, boisterous easily-bored child, who would risk the odd lie if it covered a minor transgression. And it was the lie that engendered the greatest thrashing.

It was wartime and sugar was rationed. A bowl of this forbidden delight sat in the middle of the table while my mother fetched some cakes from the kitchen.

A quick lick of my finger, a quick dip in the gorgeous sweetness and all was as normal when my mother returned. Except that there suddenly appeared a gaping, glaring crater in the middle of the forbidden food, clear evidence of a crime, clear evidence of my guilt.

But I denied all knowledge. So now it was two crimes - stealing and lying. There was to be no discussion of the matter. Retribution was immediate and memorable. I got the slipper on a bare backside."

Peta Wilson (actress):
"I had something happen to me when I was 13 years old. I was at school, 1st week of school, and I was away sick for 1 day, and the day I was away they outlawed handstands, I didn`t know, and when I came back someone said I bet you Ten Bucks  you can`t do a handstand longer than me, so I said ok. The bell rang and there I was,  my dress around my neck and my pantaloons showing.

So I was pulled up in an assembly in front of the entire school by one of the nuns, to be made an example of, and she bent me over in front of 600 students, I was the new girl - I only knew two, bent me over and whipped me on my little pantaloons. Most embarrassing, it was very tough.

Shirley Temple (child actress):
"That afternoon Mother had summoned me into the front hall, where I was confronted by a clot of self-conscious strangers.  When she asked me to give them a little song-and-dance routine, I stuck out both my chin and lower lip and shook my head.

Apologizing profusely, Mother bid them good-bye and steered me into another room, one stiff finger between my shoulder blades.

"Take down your pants," she commanded, and produced a wooden yardstick from her cupboard of sewing materials.  "Bend over!"  She was not fooling.

So far as I knew, few people had inspected my bottom bare.  It was not my most impressive feature, and my instinct always was to hid it.  I was mortified to be hunched over, staring at a wooden floor with my nude bottom upended.

Her yardstick fell with a sharp thwack.  It really didn't sting, but I didn't laugh and didn't straighten up.  It was ineffective punishment; my bottom, then and now, made me the original dead-end kid.  The second time her stick cracked in two, sending the broken end clattering across the floor.  I turned and peered up.  Mother was staring at the shattered stub still clutched in her hand, her eyes glistening.

Slowly I eased off her lap and pulled up my panties.  She had started crying silently, so I put my arms around her and nestled one cheek close against her chin.  In a moment she dropped the broken stub to the floor and put her arms around me, tears dampening both her face and mine. The moment was a watershed, in more ways than one.  We remained in our embrace a long time, silent symbolism of the love and sense of partnership which would characterize our lifelong relationship. It was my first spanking from her, but not the last."


An article about images of juvenile corporal punishment used in advertising, with several examples provided.



            These four pages (here, here, here, and here) are full of real life thumbnail memories of school CP in the UK.

            "Remember the uniform? remember the special buses? all lined up to take us back to Town. I was perhaps the most badly behaved girl ever with Josie Tighe and Julie Holmes. Remember Hckling, Lewis Glock, Webster, Harrison, all wonderful strict teachers. All very capapable of dishing out strap, cane, lines, etc."  - Anne Hanley - 1963

            "The only time I ever got the belt was from Miss Dick. Three of us never returned to school one sunny afternoon. It was pretty obvious we had 'dogged it'. We had all gone up the braes for lunch and it was so nice we decided not to go back. Of course I got the blame for having the idea but we all got the belt. We probably deserved it." - Isabella Stewart - 1965

            "Remember how [Mr. Bains] used to bend you over his desk and make you face the class and humiliate you. If you heard the keys rattle you knew you were about to get whacked!"
- Debra Arkwell - 1968




       This is Flatt's page which includes two F/m galleries hereand here.  Also check out his "La Ma�tresse" F/m sequence.


        George Jackson Churchward, who passed away on the 29th of July, 2000 after a losing battle with cancer, was one of the most outstanding Artists of the */f spanking-themed art genre.

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

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

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


     "My wife and I have four beautiful daughters, ages 14, 12, 10, and 8. When they were little, I gave the spankings when needed. But I found myself enjoying it -- smacking the hairbrush down on those tender round buttocks and watching them bounce and turn red.
        "I knew that wasn't right. So I asked my wife to please give the spankings from then on, and she has. My wife firmly believes in spanking, and gives good hard ones on bare buttocks, but she does not enjoy it at all. To her, a spanking is just a deserved punishment that needs to be given.
        "Our 12-year-old Laurie got one half an hour ago for lying and back-talk. I didn't witness it (I never do), but I heard my wife's stern "Take your pants down command" and the crying and smacking of the hairbrush. Laurie really got it, and she deserved it. She is still in her bedroom thinking about her misdeeds."

       "I have two girls, ages 3 and 7.   I think that if spanking is done properly, not used very frequently, and not done in anger, that it can be an effective discipline tool.  My kids know that they will be given a spanking for direct misbehavior, breaking the rules, or back talking.
        "When they are spanked, it is usually done in either their bedroom or in the bathroom.  They are put over my knee or over the bed, and spanked on the bare bottom either with my hand or occasionally with a flat spatula. They are usually only smacked between 4 and 10 times, depending on their misbehavior. I do not spank abusively, just enough to get the message across. They are made to stand in the corner, bare bottomed after a spanking to think about the misbehavior. This method works well and will until the girls are about 8 or 9...then we will use other methods. They are generally very well behaved kids."

       "All through elemtary school, I was over mom's knee with my skirt up and my panties down once or twice a week. If I even looked at her wrong, I'd get a spanking."

       "When I was eight, some neighborhood kids (two boys, two girls) and I decided to play "doctor" in my garage. It was a detatched garage in our back yard; my dad had driven the car to work, so the garage was empty.  To play "doctor", of course, someone had to be the "patient" and take off his or her clothes. Since I was the most daring of the bunch and had visited my real pediatrician the day before so I knew the drill, I volunteered. I took off my blouse, my shorts, and then my panties.  Just as I got my panties off, my mom came out and peeked in on us. Seeing her eight-year-old daughter in there nude, mom stormed in and demanded an explanation. I stammered that we were playing doctor, I was the patient, and hey, it's just kid fun, right?  My mom didn't see it that way. She gave us all a lecture, grabbed a flat stick, turned me over her knee, and blistered the %$#* out of my bottom with everyone watching.
        "The other kids were sent home. Mom picked up my clothes. I had to make an embarrassing "perp walk" from garage to kitchen completely nude, and then spend an hour in my room before mom said, 'Okay, you can come down and put your clothes on. And I hope you learned your lesson, young lady.'
        "Two lessons I learned, which I already knew, were that (1) my mom spanks AWFUL hard, and (2) eight-year-old's bottoms are awful tender."


"The spankings I recieved from my parents were over the knee. My sister and I were spanked in the master bedroom with Mom using her wooden hairbrush. She spanked us on our panties, she lifted dresses and skirts as we lay over her knee or took our shorts/pants down while we stood next to her. Dad spanked over his knee as well and he removed our outer clothing the same way."

"All my and my sister's spankings were on our bare bottoms. No exceptions. Mom would sit in her wooden kitchen chair, pull our panties down, and spank us very hard over her knee with her wooden spoon. Dad would take us to his den, tell us "Pull your panties down", and make us lie over his couch arm, bare bottom up, for a whipping with his heavy leather strap. Mom spanked pretty much on our buttocks. Sometimes dad would spank down onto our thighs as well as on our buttocks. The spanked part of our anatomy ended up plenty red and sore."

"When I entered a foster home, at 7, my foster mother brought up spankings on the first night.  She wasn't mean about it - it was a matter-of-fact conclusion to the short list of rules she explained to me.  She asked if I had ever been spanked, and I said yes, at school, and sort of at home.  She assured me that she spanked, and that when I made the choice to disobey that's what I could expect.  She asked if I understood what that meant. I said yes, but really wasn't sure. Afterwards, I wished I had said "No" so that I wouldn't have this big mystery hanging over my head.  At school I had been paddled, but it was only a couple of swats on my fully clothed backside that stung, but not enough to make me cry. I had no idea if home spanking would be the same, or not.

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

"I happen to know exactly when I got my first spanking. It was on Saturday Nov. 23rd 1963 when the news of the assassination of JFK hit the radio news in Europe. I had just turned nine and my sister eight.

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

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

"The first smacking I remember was when I had just turned five. I had been particularly tiresome and Mum put me over her knee and gave me several hard smacks with her hand on my bare bottom. It came as quite a shock and I remember yelling my head off! This continued until I was eight when I was very disobedient and earned my first hairbrush spanking. I remember how shocked and surprised I was when I learned how much a wooden-backed brush could hurt when applied firmly to a girl's bare bottom. I thought this was the ultimate punishment until, at about twelve, I was introduced to the strap. Now this was a different experience altogether. Gone was the intimate feeling of a smacking over Mum's knee. Now, I was required to bend over the arm of the settee where I was ceremoniously prepared for a proper whipping - skirt up and knickers right down. The pain was absolutely awful as Mum thrashed my poor bottom really hard. The experience was effective and I only needed the strap three times altogether."

"My record, at age eight, was three nights in a row, for three totally separate offenses. And, the first of those nights I got a bare, OTK hand spanking in the van in the parking lot of the grocery store, followed by a "real" spanking at home. Worse, the third morning I got a bare, OTK spanking with a doubled belt in the hay barn (down the road from our house), followed by a "real" one when we got back to the house that evening. So, five total spankings in three days. I cried all through dinner that last night because we sat on wooden benches, and my bottom hurt so much! I didn't get any sympathy, though. I remember sitting there snuffling as I shoveled in the green peas! Don't know what got into me that week - they were REALLY well-earned spankings, too!"

"All our spankings were bare-bottom, no exceptions. Mom pulled our panties down. Dad made us do it. Dad's strap hurt more than mom's hairbrush, but both parents gave very hard no-nonsense spankings. You really knew you'd been punished when either parents finished with you. Both parents made us pull our own panties up afterward and gave us a hug till we finished crying. Then we usually had corner time for 15 minutes or so. We were allowed to hold our hands over our sore bottoms if we wanted to, and we usually did."

"I spanked my children and I feel that spankings didn't do me any harm. I certainly don't spank my daughter and son as often as I was spanked or for the minor things I was spanked for. I remember once being spanked for not wearing a pair of frilly panties that matched a dress my mother had laid out for me for Church one Sunday."

Glory Bee Comix

   Gauis Marius, the creator of Glory Bee, draws in the tradition of  mainstream children's comic books of the 40's and 50's - where the child heroine as often as not finds herself face down across an adult lap getting her panties warmed in the final panel.  Gauis writes:

   "GLORY BEE is dedicated to that bygone era with its innocent young heroines and sassy humor. In order to promote the children's genre, I'm placing the strip in the public domain (although ultimate copyright remains with me, naturally). So, if you're an aspiring writer, cartoonist or just happen to like kiddie's comics, feel free to try your hand with Beatrice 'Glory' Benton and her friends."

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

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

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


        "Not even this bibliography can contain every book in which somebody gets a slap on the behind or a threat of a slap or a spanking. I tried to include those books with scenes which would appeal to somebody as obsessed as I am. I had a slight prejudice towards classics, Twain gets in for the Becky Thatcher episode which probably wouldn't have merited mention if it had been by a lesser writer. I am a purist, I tried to steer away from what could be called beatings or whippings of slappings rather than spankings. Like most of us, I am a glutton for details, I want to read about lowered panties, rolled up sleeves, kicking, begging, and bright red bottoms."

[Below is just a small sample.  There's lots more where these came from. - HP]

Accawi, Anwar THE BOY FROM THE TOWER OF THE MOON, Beacon, 1999.
pp. 62-3 A mother gives her son a sound spanking across her knees for getting dirty above and beyond the call of duty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


    "I love spring time when it's warm enough for my neighbors to open up their windows and doors to the outside air.
    "Two weeks ago my next door neighbor spanked one of her kids. Since both kids are in the first and second grade I couldn't tell if it was the boy or the girl that was getting the spanking. But, for a good minute I strained to listen to someone's bottom getting tanned."

   "when i was young, i got spanked often by my mother, it was normal back then.   one time i got my sunday best messy after church, she pulled me to the bench in the park, lifted up my dress, pulled down my panties, and pulled me over [her] knee, then she spanked my bare bottom good and hard, i was 6 i think then, as i got older she used a hairbrush , but always bare botttom..."



Post your real-life memories here!  This forum replaces the previous forum of the same name.  It is run by a different moderator. -HP

"When I was about nine I discovered the joys of climbing, and that, since I was pretty good at it, as well as being a bit of a tomboy, and a definite daredevil got me into trouble and got me spanked on more than one occasion.
I was in the bathroom with a few of my happy little pals, and there was a set of old pipes running up one wall and across the ceiling. After a bit of speculating and one dare later, I was up the pipe like a shot and halfway across the ceiling before the inevitable happened. Both the pipes and the bolts holding them in place were old and rusty, one gave way, and the pipe, with me still clinging to it like a baby monkey, came away, and I half fell, half swung down into one of the toilet cubicles below, along with what looked like half the ceiling. I landed with one foot in the toilet itself, the pipe was dangling from the ceiling and the mess was pretty comprehensive! All but a couple of my friends were so terrified that they disappeared like lightning, and I was left with one soaking wet shoe and sock, and my school uniform and hair covered in rust and plaster dust. We spent a few minutes trying to make me presentable but by the time the bell rang, we hadn't really succeeded and I had to go back to class looking like I'd spent lunch time on a construction site. And obviously with the awareness that what had happened in the bathroom was seconds away from being public knowledge.
Our form teacher was young and usually fun, but no idiot, he clocked me the moment I walked in.
"Briony, what have you been up to that I should know about?"
It's difficult trying to look as though butter wouldn't melt when you're covered in the evidence, but obviously I pretended total innocence. He kept me behind at break time and told me he knew I was responsible for the pipe coming down in the bathroom and that I would only make things worse for myself if I carried on lying. I gave up and admitted that it had been a dare, but managed to more or less keep it together while he listed my punishments - lines, loss of free time, and loss of my part in the school play - that really stung - but when he said he had to call my parents and let them know, I lost the plot completely, burst into tears and spent the rest of the afternoon dreading having to go home.
My mother had had the call by the time I got there. She was as angry as I had ever seen her. The crime was vandalism and self-endangerment, sentence was pronounced and swiftly executed, she gave me what had to be one of the hardest spankings with the hairbrush that I ever got. My father got home later that night, after I was in bed and supposed to be asleep. I was scared while my mother was telling him about it but to my amazement he burst out laughing and the following day, all he said was, "As far as I can tell, the great thing is that I'm not going to get a bill for it!"
Since then, "the time Auntie Bri fell off the ceiling!" has become one of the favourite family stories that both my sister's and my kids love to make their grandfather retell on family occasions, although the emphasis is on the funny parts not the spanking. I can laugh about it now, but the memory of the spanking still smarts."

"I was at Martha's party. Someone said it was time for her birthday spanks. She stood against the wall and stuck out her bottom. We formed a line and started to give her the requisite spanks. About seven or eight, she started to feel it even though they were hand spanks over her corduroy slacks. Once she started to mind it, that seemed to inspire the remaining spankers to really give it to her. Some guy really landed a good one. She shrieked and, I think, cursed. She refused to stay in position and left the room rubbing her bottom vigorously. I was one of the remaining spankers so I missed my turn.
I remember wondering whether she was over-reacting or if she was really hurt. She came back somewhat less furious but I have to admit that the tradition just didn't work for Martha. It put such a damper on events that the party just kind of sputtered to a halt and we all headed home."

"I recall on one class, when a curious teacher asked the class if anyone ever got spanked at home when they were kids. Practically all hands raised, and encouraged by that example, also I raised mine. I felt kind of relieved about it because I realized so many other hands raised. But then she asked the class: "Does anyone still get spanked at home?" (we were 12-13 then). Only two hands raised, and then very quickly went down - and mine was one of the hands! So embarrassing - and so much of the "cool kid reputation." I guess me and this other child were not the only ones who still got spanked at that age, but nobody else were stupid enough to admit it in front of a whole class."

"I went to several schools growing up. My Dad was in the military and we moved around. Most of the schools I went to used a paddle. I went to a public school for 7th and 8th grades. Guess I was testing the limits of a not so strict school and found myself on the receiving end of swats many times. I think I was the girl with the most swats during 7th grade. The worst was for giving a substitute teacher a hard time and tipping my desk forward. The principal happened to walk by the classroom and caught me. I was out of my seat and into his office faster than I thought possiable. Received the max of 5 swats with his paddle. And a phone call home which was received by my father. My bottom was very red and sore. But not as sore as it was after a "talk" with my father."

"Both my sister and I were both threatened with spankings from time to time for teasing each other about one sister having got it without the other one also being spanked. I only remember one time when our mother actually followed through on that threat - my younger sister was a regular pest and her favourite pastime when we were little girls was to provoke me to the point where I always lost my temper.
On this occasion, I had just been spanked, and Janna thought she would enjoy herself teasing me about it. She kind of liked it when I did lose my rag and try to hit her because that was guaranteed to get me spanked, but on this occasion, I was still feeling too sorry for myself to get really angry. Anyway, our mother heard her at it, and warned her off. She backed off for a bit, but then a few minutes later came back for another go, and it was her bad luck that Mum heard her.
She got spanked then, and of course, I was absolutely delighted!"

Click here for selected passages from the previous, now-defunct Childhood Spanking Memories forum of the same name.

    Click here for selected passages from the current forum.

Alvaro's Archive of Spanking Stories

Here are some exerpts:

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

*   *   *

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

*   *   *

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

*   *   *

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

*   *   *

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

*   *   *

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

*   *   *

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

*   *   *

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


 Two short films available for download on the web with juvenile spanking content:

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

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

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

(Thanks to Jason for discovering these! -HP)

Heidi Leigh's Hideaway

 When I was between the ages of 5 and 7, my mom would drop me off at Cheryl's, house, to be baby-sat while she was at work.  Cheryl baby-sat for a bunch of different children and most of the time we were all in the backyard playing on the swing-set.   But when it was cold or rainy, we all hung out in the playroom.  On the wall of the playroom, above the toy chest, in plain sight, hung a long wooden paddle.  I have a very vivid memory of this paddle: it was of a light oak color and over a foot in length, not including the handle.  There was also a round sticker on the end of the paddle, which depicted a young boy and girl, next to each other bending over a sawhorse. 

 When I was 12, I went out to a restaurant with my parents and another couple they were friends with.  This couple had two daughters, ages 9 and 11, but they had been left at home that evening.  Their parents enjoyed telling lots of embarrassing stories about them in their absence.  One of these stories was about how the father had caught the 9 year old doing something her mother had specifically told her not to do. 

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

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

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

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


 Mom usually let Ashley get away with anything, but this time she was very mad and she asked Mike if he would go ahead and spank her.  Mike was happy to oblige.  He told me that he took Ashley across his knee, flipped up her skirt, and pulled down her panties. He said that it was the first time Ashley had ever been spanked by anyone, and that she was really screaming and wailing, but he still kept spanking her bare bottom until it was bright red.  Although I heard about this before I was conscious of my own interest in spanking, it still struck me as being very strange and inappropriate.  Though I couldn't disagree that Ashley was long overdue for a punishment, Mike was still her half-brother, even if he was 18 years older. 

 She described how when she was bad her father would tell her exactly where to stand when he lowered her pants, and how embarrassing it was when he would lecture for a long time before taking her over his knee.  The interesting thing was that although Leanne was describing her punishment in such detail, she couldn't actually say the word spank; she kept saying, "he'd hit my butt."  This makes me believe that there is a lot of power in that little word!  For me personally, I could barely say *it* out loud until a few years ago and sometimes it still makes me blush.

 Whenever a baby-sitter comes to our house I always make sure to instruct her on how to properly discipline [our 7 year old daughter] Tara.  A usual spanking is only about 10-15 spanks over her panties- bare bottom only for particularly horrid behavior. After we discuss bedtimes and the emergency phone numbers, I take both the babysitter and Tara into the study and show her where we keep the paddle.  It's important that Tara understands that even though her parents are away, she is still under the authority of another adult. 

 I'd only been living with my stepfamily for a few weeks when I witnessed my first spanking. Report cards had been sent home earlier that day, and I knew my youngest stepsister Claudia was worried about her 2 C's.  When it came time for her punishment, I was surprised when my stepfather David called me into the study, too.  I know I must have gone completely pale when I saw my younger stepsister bent over the desk, her small white bottom trembling and completely bare.  David took down the long wooden paddle from the wall (which, until then, I'd thought was just there as a threat) and proceeded to deliver swat after swat until my poor sister's bottom was a bright shade of pink.  I know I must have flinched with every whack of the paddle.  Claudia howled loudly, without restraint, and I cringed with each and every shriek she let out.  Her tears didn't cause David to let up: he continued to spank steadily, ignoring all Claudia's cries and pleas to stop.  I felt guilty watching, but at the same time, I couldn't look away. 

Two Shades of Blue [down]

   Spanking fiction by Tasha, with a mixture of adult and juvenile spankees.  Here are some exerpts:

     Once home, he sent Jenny to her room to wait for him. She threw her arms around him helplessly, begging for some comfort. He held her for a few seconds, then pried her away and directed her to go. Her tears yanked at his heartstrings. He hated what he had to do. He had to dry his own eyes before going to her room to face her.
    She was lying face-down on her bed, sobbing, and he addressed her harshly to startle her out of her misery. He told her to lower her pants and to resume her position on the bed. She whimpered, knowing full well what that meant. Hesitantly, she did as she was told, lying prone with only her panties covering her bottom.
    Peter pulled them down curtly, scolding her as he took off his belt. He whipped her soundly, forcing himself to tune out her cries and sobs. Jenny clung to the pillow, her face buried, muffling her cries. But she didn't move. She knew she deserved this. She accepted it bravely, knowing that once it was done, she would be forgiven.
    When Peter saw that she was crying so hard she wasn't even feeling the strokes any more, he sat down beside her and gathered her to him. She melted in his arms, her tears soaking his shirt as she sobbed and apologized, begging him to forgive her.

      Half an hour later, the girls stood side by side in their pyjamas, facing the bedroom wall with their hands on their heads. The bath had been a painful and embarrassing process, as the mud had been everywhere - their faces, their ears, their hair... But the hard bath brush had finally scrubbed it all away.
    "Right," said Abigail's father. "Turn around. Hands at your sides."
    The girls obeyed, glad to relax their arms.
    Haley's father stood in front of them. "I'm very disappointed in both of you," he said. "You could have been hurt. You could even have drowned. And all because you disobeyed the one rule we set down for you."
    "Sorry, Daddy," Haley murmured.
    Abigail's father shook his head. "`Sorry' just isn't good enough, girls. You're going to be punished. Severely."
    "Yes," Haley's father added. "But as neither of us wants to be as severe as is necessary with his own daughter..."
    "We're going to swap," Abigail's father concluded, looking at Haley.
    Haley gasped in horror. "Oh no! Please, no!"
    "It's a little late for sorrow now," Haley's father said. "This is going to be one lesson you will not forget."
    Haley began to cry as Abigail's father took her by the hand and led her away from her cousin.
    Abigail watched with wide, frightened eyes as her father sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Haley across his lap. 

      She had wanted him to be proud of her. That was why she'd done it. All the other kids had loads of gold stars for good conduct and Siobhan wanted them too. She'd had no idea they even sold those little stars in the store. But when she saw them she knew her problem was solved. That was almost three months ago. Now she regretted it deeply. Because she'd forgotten all about the parents' night. The parents' night where her father must right now be learning of her dishonesty. And any second, he would be home. Home and disappointed and angry.
    Siobhan's heart fluttered when she heard his car in the drive. Every muscle in her body was tensed as she listened to the sounds from downstairs. Had he seen Mr Ellis? Did he know? The front door. Closed firmly, but not slammed. She didn't know if that was a good sign or not.
    There was the creak of the stairs as he made his way to her room and she squeezed her eyes shut tightly and murmured one more frantic prayer to the deities who must exist to save little girls from punishment. None of those prayers had ever worked. Not for her or anyone. Yet every kid said them.
    As soon as he opened the door and she saw the look on his face she knew. He'd been to the school. He knew everything.

      She had pouted and stamped her feet, detesting the frills and itchy lace she was being forced to wear. She wasn't a china doll - she was a kid! "Please, Daddy? Can't I just wear a T shirt? I'll be really good."
    He shook his head firmly. "No, Penny." He adjusted her flouncy skirt and tightened the ribbon in her hair. "Now, Daddy bought you a nice dress for the Christmas party, and I want you to wear it. Please make me proud. You're such a pretty little girl and Daddy likes to see you in pretty dresses."
    Penny shrugged away his touch. "I hate dresses!" she hissed.
    A stern look crossed her father's face. "Penelope," he intoned, crossing his arms and standing over her. "I'm not going to have you in dirty jeans and a T shirt, looking like a street urchin at this party. This is a party for grownups and it's time for you to act like a little lady. And that's final."
    Penny felt the heat rising in her face, making her throat and ears hot. She balled her hands into fists as Daddy buckled her shoes. She felt tears shimmering in her eyes and she bit her lip to keep from crying.
    "There, now. You look just like a little angel. Daddy's little angel. Now, let's go downstairs and get ready for the party."
    Penny nodded, the kiss to her forehead not reciprocated. She listened to her father's footsteps all the way down the stairs and then turned to face the pink lacy nightmare in the mirror. A tough little 10 year old tomboy face glared out from under the carefully coifed braids. She made a face at the white stockings and black patent leather Mary Janes. She looked longingly at the blue jeans draped sloppily over the chair, the seat faded and almost threadbare from hard play, but never her father's hand. She knew he wouldn't spank her if she put them back on. He would just tell her how disappointed he was. Big deal. He didn't have to wear itchy girl clothes and shoes that were too tight and ribbons in her hair. Yuck!

    She squirmed in his arms. "Would you... do something for me?"
    "Yes, baby, anything."
    She turned away, obviously fighting what she wanted to say. "Would you... would you..?"
    He knew what she wanted, what she needed to make her feel like Daddy's girl again, and he ended her torture. "Spank you?"
    She squirmed again, but didn't have to answer.
    "Of course, little one," he said, his voice catching. "Come on." He pulled her gently across his lap and tugged her wet shorts and panties down, taking them completely off. She didn't protest. He didn't have to say a word as he spanked her, very softly, barely even love taps, but they wrenched deep emotional sobs from her. "That's it, baby, let it out. Let it all out." He spanked her for almost ten minutes, only barely turning her bottom pink, and when he stopped, he pulled her onto his lap, where she clung to his neck and cried into his already wet T-shirt.

     "Now, Rhett, you understand why Daddy has to do this."
    The wide brown eyes of the Golden Retriever offered a silent plea.
    Again, silence and those bottomless eyes, eyes to melt the ice of the hardest heart.
    "You know Daddy would never hurt his little girl. Come on, furface, drop it. Give Daddy the hairbrush."
    But the strong jaws refused to relinquish the implement.

Bri's Spanking Story Archive

Breanna's Story World

  Spanking fiction by Breanna Carter.

The Khan's Spanking Forum

  Spanking artist, Cannibal Khan, has his own Dreambook.   He writes, "My purpose in creating this book is to ask the question; How and when did you first become interested in the spanking feti$h, and when did you realize you had this interest? So welcome, I'm eager to hear from all of you!

 The day the hook was set, so to speak, was in the second grade. That's around seven years old for any UK friends out there. We had a teacher that I now believe loved to spank little kids. She did it often and for any reason.
I had a girlfriend named Jeanie and I saw this teacher haul her over her knee, raise her skirt, pull down her panties and deliver about a half dozen stingers there in the class room. I was at the chalk board and saw the whole thing. The rest of the class couldn't see anything because the teacher's desk blocked their view. We all heard the spanks and cries. 
There was just something about seeing my girlfriend being spanked bare bottom that sparked the fire of interest from then on. 

 I remember i got interested in spanking around age 4 or 5 as i know i was into spanking when i finished kindergarten and this was in 1958.   My girlfriend at the time Janelle agreed to take a bare bottom spanking and so all my games were House where i got to spank the daughter. Spankings were also prevalent in the comics and movies and tv of the time...

 It was only when I got older (maybe 10 or 11) that I became interested in spanking. This kind of stuff is different from the BDSM lifestyle, because in consentual BDSM, the power lies ultimately with the submissive, who can stop it at any time. Not so in the case of the unfortunate (imaginary) victims in HandPrince's gallery.  They have no power, and no control over the situation. Maybe that's where the root of the fetish lies. 

 I was never spanked and saw very little spanking as a child but what I did see has stuck in my mind. I saw a boy being spanked by two other boys at school, it was on a cross country run, the two boys pulled his shorts down, he was lay face down on the ground, each boy took turns in spanking him. The whole thing excited me but I remember the embarrassment of the boy when he was finally allowed to get up and pull his shorts up with the rest of the class watching.

 There are a number of things I remember when growing up that seem in retrospect to indicate I had "the bug". When playing house with my cousins when we were 4,5,6 or so, I would somehow arrange to spank my cousins (both girls) and I don't think I held back at all. In kindergarten, a girl from my class who I liked was spanked by the gym teacher. In 1st grade, there was a girl in our class who was always being threatened with being sent to the Principal to get paddled (Catholic school). Then there was a movie on TV I saw when I was six or seven that had a switching of a girl (she was outside and naked) by her mother or grandmother. 

 I was about 7-8 years old and playing in my backyard on a Saturday morning. Our home had a ditch behind the backyard which faced out to other backyards, so you could hear stuff coming from the neighboring backyards. Anyway, I suddenly heard this kid crying and yelling "I won't do it again Daddy! I won't do it again Daddy!" and the telltale smack-smack-smack - definitely a hand on a bare bottom. I think it was a boy getting spanked. The really interesting part is it had to be a neighborhood kid, so it had to be someone I knew. Never found out who, though. 

 I think it's most likely that in some people incidents in their young childhood set things off. I think it was the psychologist Krafft-Ebing who told of a patient who saw two flies copulating when he was young, and ever since then needed to kill flies to have real sexual pleasure. (If lots of people were like this, pictures of flyswatters would be called pornography!) I don't recall ever seeing anyone spanked, but my sister has told me that when I was very young I saw her getting spanked... maybe that's why...? 

 I love spanking as long I can remember! When I was young we often played house. I always wanted to play Dad, cause then I could spank my brother and sister.  I've always been curious why I love to spank or see others get spanked!
A few years ago I spanked a little girl (she was 8 years old), not hard, it was for fun. She was laying on her tummy on her bed. When I walked passed I drew her nightgown up and wanted to give her a playspank. Then I saw she wasn't wearing a pantie. I gave her a "spank," sat on her bed and took her over my knee. I gave her another few playful spankings and then I stopped. She asked me to spank her a bit harder. I didn't do it, cause I didn't dare.
It has been a few years but I often think about that time and also why did she want me to spank her harder! 

 Two things really got me started on the slippery slope to becoming a fully fledged spankaholic. One was the thought that a particularly steely eyed school mistress might actually carry out her often repeated threat to put me over her slender knee and smack my bare bottom. I was 7 or 8 at the time. The other influence was my best friend's mother. A disciplinarian who favoured the Dickensian disciplinary approach to child rearing. As my mother worked i was often looked after by this lady and her recipe for dealing with misbehaviour was to remove trousers or lift skirt, remove underpants put the culprit over her knee and spank until skin turns cherry blossom red . All spankings to be carried out in full public view. Usually i was merely an interested spectator although i did receive a bare bottomed spanking myself from this lady. In a fit of madness and as a result of a dare i squirted her with a water pistol.

 I'm not sure exactly when it started for me, though I'm pretty sure it was just before I started school. I was watching an old movie on TV which featured a man spanking his wife following an argument. I recall being surprised that an adult woman could be punished like a little girl; at that time, I thought only children were ever spanked over the knee. The same night, I started fantasizing about being the lady in that movie. I'm not sure why I found the idea so appealing, as I didn't like being spanked in real life. I suppose that's the difference between fantasy and reality. Another odd thing is that when I was a child, I always imagined being spanked as a grown-up woman, but now that I'm an adult, it's the exact opposite. Anybody else here ever experienced that kind of reversal? Funny, isn't it?

 Me and my niece lived in different cities, but our parents found it better that in the summerholidays we stayed on the countryside, with one of my very many aunts or granny. I was a few months older than she was, and as we spend all our happy summerdays together, I loved her maybe more than my own sisters or brothers.

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

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



 This is a Japanese site with */f spanking artwork, gif animations, shockwave animations and more, all   from spanking artist, Kitora.

Spanking at Home and at School [down]

 "i recall i was about 8 or 9 and my parents had a birthday celebration at the house with extended family. while mom & dad were on the patio and several kids and aunts and uncles were inside, one uncle asked me if i had my birthday spanking yet. I laughed and he took me, playfully across his lap and flipped up my dress. he spanked me lightly equal to my age, then gave me one more that stung a bit "for good measure", and then one more rather smartly "for good luck".

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


  "Mom would sit wherever convenient, pull my pants and undies down, and spank me right there in whatever room in the house we were in. Sometimes if what I'd done was extra naughty or more generally the closer to ten I was, I'd be taken to the kitchen since the spanking ruler was kept in the kitchen drawer. I think the kitchen was also conveneint for Mom because she could keep an eye on me or at least know I was still in the corner after my spanking and not playing in my room or something. When I was younger, I often had corner time in the kitchen even if I was spanked in my room or elsewhere."

 "My brother and I have always been spanked bare by my mother without exception. It was always the same, we would be told to remove our pants and underpants completely. We then pulled across her lap and the back of her wooden hairbrush was used on our bare skin. Crying was almost right away. She was no nonsense and it wasn't "go to your room and wait." It was now at the first thing she could find to sit on."

 "A few weeks ago when I came home from work my best friend Megan left a message on my machine telling me her two little boys (ages 7 and 9) had gotten into some kind of trouble and could I please come over and spank them for her because she had just had surgery and was a little too weak to do it herself. I slipped into something more comfortable, put my hair in a ponytail and went over to Megan's.

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

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

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


 "I was spanked about four times by my uncle from about age nine to about twelve, but one I do recall because I volunteered for it when I was ten years old. I was at a birthday party and my uncle at the request of the boy's mom, put the boy over his lap and birthday spanked him, though it looked like a firm punishment spanking - the boy received more than light play spanks.

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

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

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

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


 "My father usually spanked me with his hand, although he bought a paddle when I was 13 and used it on me a few times thereafter. I was also spanked 3 times with his belt.

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

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

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

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

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


o Percentage of mothers who spanked their preschooler in past week: 61

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


 "When I was about 10 or 11 one of my friends heard me get spanked with the yardstick. She was a year older than me. When I saw her the next day she immediately asked me about it. She wanted to know I got in trouble, what my mom spanked me with and whether or not I got spanked bare bottom. I was a little reluctant to fill her in on the details but then she started to tell me what her parents would do to her if she ever did what I did. Dana made me so comfortable that I went on to fill her in on all the details. As it turned out we both got spanked pretty much the same way with a hairbrush and usually with pants and underpants down. From that point on, right into high school we would fill each other in not only on our own spankings but any other spankings we found out about in the neighborhood."

 "We prayed together about the sin, and then Daddy asked if I was ready to take my punishment. I don't know if he would have allowed me to wait a while or not, but I knew it was best to just get it overwith rather than to worry about it until later. I doubt he would have let me wait anyway. Anyway, I just nodded, so he told me to go over his desk and he got up to get his paddle. I got over as quick as I could and got my dress up and panties down so I could take a couple of deep breaths and relax before he started spanking me. I thought about snorkeling, although I've never snorkeled, and started imagining looking at fish and colorful coarl reefs. In my mind, I was barely underwater when I felt the first lick. It stung, but I promise it didn't hurt as bad as it would if I was thinking about getting paddled. I swam and swam in my mind and pretended the paddle slapping my butt was waves laping against my sunburned skin while I swam. I won't lie and say that it didn't hurt, because it did, but pretending it was something else really helped. Even when I started crying I pretended it was water coming in through my mask and stinging my eyes. I don't know how many licks I got, somewhere around 12 or 15 I suppose, but I was almost surprised when it was over. I think it hurt worst when Daddy stopped spanking me and said I could stay in his office and lay on the sofa until supper if I wanted to. When I pulled my panties back up I could really feel the sting, but then I laid down on the sofa on my stomach and kept my dress up so I could still imagine that I was swimming along with a sunburned bottom and that my panties were my swimsuit bottoms. It helped again.

MAMAN  (archive of the old site)
MAMAN  (current site)

True tales of spankings of girls and boys by mothers, aunts, and other female authority figures.

 "I don't care who started it," she said ominously, "I'm finishing it." She took both bags of sweets from our sticky hands and went back into the kitchen. When she came back she was carrying her "bottom smacker" - a rubber spatula that stung like hell.

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

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

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

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

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


 "My spankings were never severe but always firm enough to give a clear signal to one of my girls that she did something wrong. I always spanked them with my hand, sometimes over my knee, sometimes standing. I usually pulled their pants and panties down and spanked them on their bare bottoms because I wanted to see what my hand was doing to their skin."


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

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

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

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

I was about 15ft away and was seeing this from the side, looking directly from behind at my wailing sister's little pinkening buttocks trembling and jiggling as our mother spanked them.


I never called my stepmother "mom" as we were all required to address her as "ma'am" as in "yes ma'am" "no ma'am" etc.

My world - as well as my behind - was turned upside down the first time she spanked me over her lap with my panties pulled down.

After that first shocking spanking, I became part of her routine discipline sessions which included all us kids bared and bawling at least once a month for the next ten years!

I never got "used to" such punishments - I was always frightened yet fascinated any time my step siblings were spanked and I was horrified and humiliated ever single time it was my bottom bared and spanked.

It got worse as we grew older, when I realized puberty only meant more embarrassment at being bared and hand spankings turned into wooden spoon smackings, hairbrush paddlings and belt whippings.

I must admit, my stepmother never spanked without cause, but her rules were many and her expectations so high that her sentence of "take your jeans/skirt off and bring me the spoon/brush" were constantly part of my upbringing.



On this day I entered my aunt's house as usual, but before I could call out I heard my aunt's voice raised in anger from the living room. Always one to avoid a scene, I was about to sneak back out when something I heard grabbed my attention.

"That was unforgivable, young lady. You must be punished. For ducking school I think you deserve a good smacking across your backside. And I'm going to give it to you now." "Please, no mum!" Dani cried out.

I paused, and till this day I don't know why I headed instead towards the hall. From there I could see into the lounge, through the half-open door. Dani was standing in the lounge, her head hung down, while my aunt was scolding her.

Dani was slim, almost elfin. She had dark long hair at the time which reached half way down her back. She was dressed for school: a white blouse with a blue V-neck jumper, with blue pleated skirt that reached about half-way down her smooth thighs, and white ankle socks.

Suddenly my aunt grabbed Dani and bent her over so her backside was facing me directly. This moment is engraved forever on my memory. She looked so slight and helpless. Then, to my amazement, she pulled up Dani's skirt above her waist and I was faced with my cousin's white knickers pulled tight across her small petite derriere. I had seen Dani in a swimming costume before without effect, but this I found very arousing.

My aunt raised her hand and brought it down on Dani's pretty, tight white panties and it landed with a loud smack, followed by a small whimper. I was rooted to the spot. I couldn't move if I my life depended on it. This moment was the time I became interested in spanking.

Smack, smack, smack. Three more landed and by now Dani was wriggling but my aunt's hand was firmly on her back, holding her bent over. She tried to turn her bottom away but my aunt's blow landed cleanly every time.

By number five Dani was crying - I could hear her gulping sobs over the slaps. She screamed out "Noooo. stop mum. I can't bear it anymore." Smack. "No, please, I promise I'll never skip school again". Smack "You certainly won't young lady" declared my aunt. "You still have six more to come". "What? No, that's not fair! Please mummy, no more, I can't stand it."

With this, she started to whimper and whine. By now I could see a rosy glow appearing beneath her white panties.

By now she was crying steadily. Smack. "Ooowwwwwwww!" Smack, smack. "Arghhhhhhhhh!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. With the twelfth smack my aunt stopped. However, she kept my cousin bent over while she sat down out of sight.

I was unbelievably aroused by the sight of my cousin bent double. My eyes ran up her legs from her ankles, across her calves now quivering slightly from the release of tension to that deep crimson backside and her knickers damp with perspiration.

Embarrassed but highly aroused, I slipped out the back door, my life transformed forever.



It is now 50 years ago that I visited an aunt with my mother. On arrival we were shown into the dining room and my aunt apologised for asking us to wait, as she had a job to finish upstairs.

As we sat down we could hear my aunt sharply issuing instructions and the pleading voice of her youngest daughter who, apparently, was being instructed to drop her knickers, lift up her dress and petticoat and bend over the side of the bed.

There then followed a series of six sharp cracks, well spaced out and each one followed by an increasingly louder wail and promises to be good etc.

I knew that there was a conservatory at the back of the house where three thin flexible canes hung on the wall, one for each of the three daughters. It seemed that Jane's was being put to good use.

My aunt appeared in the dining room and apologised again for keeping us waiting.

At this point my aunt called upstairs.

"Jane, I told you to come straight downstairs. Do you want some more?"

Immediately Jane's small voice called that she was coming and she promptly appeared.

Her eyes were glistening as tears continued to well up and there were tear-streaks on her cheeks. She tried to shuffle unobtrusively to try to ease the stinging sensation in her bottom but was sharply told to "sit still".

Although such discipline was common among families in those days and I was well aware of similar events, this was the closest that I had been to such an event (other than my own!) and it has remained in my mind ever since.


Mum opened the door and walked towards me and said: "Stand up Sharyn." My two little sisters then walked in the room and were told to stand next to my bed so they could watch their sister get the strap. I stood up with a release of more tears holding on the strap that was now terrifying me and mum took the strap from me, saying: "I hope you have been thinking about what this can do to you, young lady."

I just looked at her with pitiful and teary eyes and started crying a lot harder now as I realised the end was nigh. The only answer from my mother was: "You might as well as keep the tears for a minute or two, young lady - then you will really know how to cry."

I was told to put my hands on my head as my mum grabbed me by my arm and turned me around. I felt a strange sensation when the dangling strap brushed against my bare leg as mum placed her fingers inside the waistband of my panties and pulled them down to my knees. I had a sensation of cool air against my already heated bottom. I was then pushed in my back and forced to lie across the end of bed.

"Right, young lady - I am going to teach you to do as you're told," mum said. "You know where I'm going to lay the first one?" she added with me just nodding my head - I was also aware at this stage that the strap was lying across my bottom down near the tops of my legs - "Right across the tops of your legs where you sit down."

Suddenly the strap was gone and then I had funny feeling as I could sense mum swinging her arm and a loud crack filled the room and intense pain. I let out a squeal at this first crack and could barely believe that such pain was possible and it was being caused by my mum.

I was still coming to terms with the pain and shock when the sense of movement, loud crack, more stinging pain and squeal was repeated. At this stage I became unaware of actual details only the searing pain and the cracking sound of leather hitting bare bottom. I was distantly aware of mum talking all the time she was trapping me but I wasn't taking much notice.

By the time my dozen of the best was over I was a crying, limp doll laying submissively over the edge of the sofa blubbering out promises never to be naughty again. Mum then came around and pulled my panties up over my stinging backside and I felt a strange hot sensation on my bottom as the rather thick nylon enveloped my stinging buttocks followed by a numb feeling. I don't know how long this lasted as mum said to me to stand up and to look at her.

Through my tears she said: "That will teach you to do as you're told and to come home straight away, won't it, Sharyn?" I answered a very tearful: "Yes mum, and I'm very sorry." Mum answered back: "Good, it was meant to." Turning to my two little sisters, she continued: "The first time one of you two steps out of line you will be getting the same treatment, understood girls?" and Tracey and Carly both nodded their heads and said "yes mum". I was then left alone to cry some more which I did for such a long time.


I lay there trying to cover my panties with my hand. She pulled my hands away and patted my pantied bottom. I was crying while she continued patting my bottom she tucked her fingers under my elastic waist band and began to take them over my bottom. I became hysterical started yelling and pushing off her lap. Mrs. Harris paid no heed to my cries and yanked my panties down past my thighs.

I was mortified stretched over her knee bare bottomed and unable to cover my nakedness. Helen made it worse by lifting her knee high so that my bottom was perched up. She patted it continuously while telling me "you need to settle down and keep your bottom arched and in position. Part of your punishment is to submit to me. I am going to give you a very sound and firm spanking that will teach you a lesson about humility and respect. Baring your bottom for me over my lap is the beginning of understanding that you are to be punished."

I was no match for her strength or determination. She held me there tightly while I squirmed and wiggled "You deserve a spanking more than any child I have ever known. I am going to make sure your bottom is well tended to this summer, young lady. Now lift your bottom up and keep it high so I can warm it good."

She then lifted her palm and swiftly spanked my cheeks, smack smack smack, over and over one cheek and then the other and then back and then both cheeks at once. I began to cry and wiggle under her palm but she kept spanking and spanking my bottom harder and harder.

 "Sarah was promptly ordered to put her hands on her head. She began to cry, tears flowed freely down her face, and she pleaded to go home. But her hands went straight onto her head. Sarah's white knickers were clearly displayed, as her short dress rode up.

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

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


Boy's Kingdom (Miyuki's Boy Spanking Art Page)

 Miyuki is a Japanese spanking artist whose work appears in a couple of Various Artists galleries on Handprints.   His website also features his girl spanking art.

Ann's Pictures

    This gallery has Mule's collection of spanking images by Ann.  Hopefully this collection will grow!  :-)

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


Ann, early in her career
as a spanking artist

Z's Mind Candy
a collection of stories by zprymantis

By the time that Beth was in her nightgown, and under covers, waiting for mom to visit and say goodnight, she was certain that the threat of a spanking, was just that, a threat. Then her mom walked into her room, and she was holding a wooden hairbrush.
Mom sat down on the bed and explained that just a hand spanking was not going to teach her a lesson. Tonight, before bed, she was going to get a good blistering with a hairbrush, just like she had gotten from grandma, when she was a very naughty little girl. Mom explained that kicking and crying and begging would only delay things, and that she expected her to behave during her spanking. Somehow, more than anything, Beth wanted to be good and have this day over with, so she climbed out of bed, and placed herself across her mother's lap.
She felt her night gown getting lifted, and her panties being lowered. Nothing prepared her though, for that first smack from the hairbrush. As the swats rained down, Beth kicked with all her strength, and cried out "No, Mommy no! It hurts, please ..oh! Owwwwww" The hairbrush stung, and thumped and turned her vision to nothing but white searing pain. Tears sprang from her eyes, and her fingers clutched at her mother's leg with fright. She didn't know if she could be a good girl during this spanking! Her mother held her tighter around the middle with one arm, and didn't finish until every inch of her behind was pulsing and sore."

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

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

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


Memories of Childhood Spankings

   "This site is about spanking and contains readers' contributed spanking memories about the real spankings they got. The site is not meant to debate if spanking is "right" or "wrong" rather the aim is to provide factual memories from people who have  received real spankings.  For the purpose of this site spanking is defined as striking with either an open hand or an object on the bottom (clothed or unclothed) of a child (person under 16) without leaving marks of any kind that last over 24 hours."

  Every Saturday morning, me and my younger brother and sister would get up early and watch the cartoons on TV while my parents tried to sleep in. 
  It was usually my siblings that were too loud, but when we got too loud, mom or dad would tell us to shut up. After a couple of warnings, their bedroom door would fly open and we knew exactly what was coming. 
Dad would come out and not really say much of anything. Instead, he would just grab us one by one, yank our pajama pants and underwear down (with the exception of our sister. For her he would lift the nightgown and pull down the underwear) and give us each a pretty hard and fast spanking. 
  He'd then leave us alone, quietly crying and rubbing our sore butts. 
  Week after week we'd end up getting our bare butts beat for the same thing, we never learned. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Childhood Spanking Memories

One memory I have is of me and my twin sister being publicly spanked in front of the class in school when were about 10, we went to a convent school, the nuns who taught us were ridiculously strict, my twin sister and I were falsely accused of cheating in a test, and the nun spanked us on our bare bottoms in front of the class, it was only a hand-spanking though it did still hurt, but more than that it was incredibly humiliating!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spanking Memories

I was born in Febuary of 1950 when my father finally finished his duties after WW 2. I was the eldest of two girls and our mother, like most women in those days, was the dutiful wife and mother.
The majority of children in those days were spanked by their parents and if you were not spanked you were considered spoilt.
Grandma and I were out shopping, she wanted to buy me a new dress, I was 5 at the time. To cut a long story short I had walked away from her in the department store and ended up in the toy department when security found me and took me back to the children's clothing part of the store. I was wearing a pink and yellow dress that had short ruffled skirt, petticoat with these matching ruffle seated panties.
Grandma was furious and took me over to a courtesy chair where she sat down and put me over her knee.
Before I knew what was happening she lifted my dress and began to spank me soundly. I remember crying and kicking my legs as she spanked my bottom. The worst part was being spanked in public, in front of the security guard and the two sales ladies. The embarrassment was just a awful as my stinging bottom.
To make matters worse I had to apologise for 'being a naughty little girl' to the store staff. I remember rubbing my bottom with my right hand as Grandma held my left hand.
My grandmother actually spanked just as hard as Mom did and I found out later that she had also spanked Mom, my uncle and aunt when they were children.

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

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

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


The introductory page reads, "This web site contains fiction and a little non-fiction about Male/Male discipline, ie. the spanking of boys, male teens and adults by other males. These stories are in all styles and cover the entire range of discipline scenarios, from the use of belt, switch, paddle or slipper at home, or cane, birch and tawse at school, through judicial and military whippings to fun spanking games and consensual S&M relationships."  However, some stories do feature female spankers and even the occasional juvenile female spankee. Exerpts follow:

"Lucy, you ganged up with Matt against Jay and Cam because you'd get your way if you got him on your side. You used your age to bully you little brothers. Your little brothers are your responsibility. You are the big sister and it is your job to tell them when they are being out of line. It is not your job to join them, much less lead them. I expect you to be the voice of reason."

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wait and see." Paul grinned back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Bend over."

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

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

"Please, no more, Daddy!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Dress yourself."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Set on her feet, Janet pulled up her knickers.

"Up to your room and stay there," ordered father.

Dad took his shower and shed a few tears. He dried off, got dressed and retrieved the paddlebrush that was on the vanity and took off for Lindsey's room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ok, daddy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'But someone might hear Daddy.'

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

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

'Hey Daddy, not my knickers too.'

'Shut up and stay still.'

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

'Ouch, that hurt.'

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

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

'Your turn Caroline. Over my knee.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SPANK! "OOOHHHHH that hurts!"

Will's turn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whit's turn.

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

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

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

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

They both slept on their tummies that night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I - I can't!"

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

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

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

Their father said, "What's this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Uh I uh get a spankin'."

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

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

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

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

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

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


Terri started to protest.


Terri started to cry.


Terri switched to bawling.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Now your underpants," I said sternly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kyle gulped.

"Come on, let's go outside."

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

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


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

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

"What happened?"

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

"Stand up, Hermione, and come here."

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

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

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

"Yes, mother; I'm sorry."

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

"No, mother, please...."

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

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

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

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



Modeled on Handprints, this site focuses on */m art and fiction.


 Tightening his grasp around her waist, he raised his hand as he said, "I'm going to spank you Mary Catherine . . . I know you've never been spanked before, but I know that Patrick would do the same thing if he were here and you'd acted like you did today." Mary grew very quiet as he talked, then dropped her head with shame.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


  About his website featuring his original stories, Paul Summers writes:

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

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

   About his fictional Winters family, Paul Summers writes:

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

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

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

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


  Childhood spanking memories by Lynx.
             "As I slowly approached she became impatient, and said "hurry up." then as I got within her reach she snatched me by the left arm and pulled me over to the right side of her. In a angry voice she ordered me not to move. Then she reached down and undone my pants and pulled them down around my ankles. This surprised me so in a semi whinning tone I Asked " what are you doing?" With a steady gaze on me she replied "since all my talks and threats of punishment as well as your moms spankings you still refuse to do your history homework." after a pause she continued "I've decided that I need to blister you behind the old fashion way." this time i was whinning "noooo you can't your a teacher." In one swift move she pulled me over her lap. After some struggleing from me she managed to pin down my arms. Just when i thought thing couldn't get any worse she gripped the elastic of my underwear and yanked them down."

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

Spanking Drawings Put To Words

(If the above link doesn't work, try this)

 Urjaywall writes:  "This site contains some of the best spanking drawings out there. I have chosen to narrate each drawing, mostly through short story (maybe some prose or "experimental" storytelling), to make the drawings come alive. If this offends you, I'm not offended (you can even let me know that it offends you). If you enjoy this site, that's what I made it for. I am not one to write "erotica," but I do enjoy writing. All of these stories center around a spanking in the story, some deviate from the "erotica" formula and dive into deeper meanings. Others are just straight telling the scene. Some are more descriptive than others. My goal is to make the stories realistic, yet enjoyable to read. Most of the drawings came from the wonderful website



"This blog has been created for one purpose only:

"To create, preserve and expand what is meant to develop into the largest collection of clips from mainstream movies and television involving the spanking of little girls (female minors under 14). This blog shall be freely accessible .These clips are collected for nostalgia only. I do not own the rights on any of those clips, stills and lobbycards; informational purposes only, no copyright infringement intended.

"The content of this blog has been collected over several years, via several free sources on the web."


         Juanoneone writes: "This is just fiction. Hitting children is cruel and counterproductive. If you haven't read my stories before, be forewarned that you will find nothing heartwarming within."

         Juanoneone's stories may not be 'heartwarming,' but they often border on the surreal.  In no other spanking writer's fictional world do little girls get spanked so unfairly, to the point of absurdity, and sometimes hilarity!  No one can accuse Juanoneone of cliche plots.  Likewise, no one can accuse the adults in his stories of being fair-minded disciplinarians.  His fictional girls get spanked in ways, and/or for reasons, you've never heard of before! -HP

*   *   *

Her mother pointed her at the doorway, lifted her right arm back again, and guided the girl through by delivering another mighty spank to her naked posterior. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" squealed Bonnie from the corridor, realizing that she had gone too far. Her mother pointed her at the end of the corridor and Bonnie arched her body forward as yet another hearty slap landed on her stinging and reddening bottom. The half-naked girl was herded to the front door, redirected with painful smacks three times to get her there without protest. "I can't go outside, Mommy" she sniffed, her eyes shining, her hands clasped over her sore rear end. "Since you wouldn't put on your skirt when I told you to, today you get to go to school with no pants on at all" replied the woman matter of factly, unlocking the door and swinging it open.

*   *   *

Mrs. Black was very keen on sports. She had had her ten-year old daughter Jenny play every different sport that could be found, convinced that her girl would be great at one of them. Jenny was good at most sports, but lacked the dedicated interest to truly excel at any. Mrs. Sales, Jenny's sports teacher, told Mrs. Black "Jenny has tried all the sports we offer at the Fourth Street School. There just isn't anything else. She's played basketball and softball and tennis. She has swum and done gymnastics. That's everything".

"What is this?" asked Mrs. Black, squinting at the activities list. "What's 'being spanked?' That's listed under 'sports'"

"Oh, we really should take 'being spanked' off the list. It has been years since a girl has chosen being spanked as her sport, and even then, she only took it because her mother made her".

"I don't understand - what is it?"

"Well its being spanked. The girl is taken across the knee and soundly spanked". Jenny objected "being spanked isn't a sport! It's just being spanked!". Jenny had strong views on the subject of being spanked. She was against it. Jenny was a slight girl with blue eyes and short blonde hair. She wore a pink hairband, a yellow shirt with multi-colored stars, a pleated blue skirt and pink sneakers. Her sports teacher told her "being spanked can be a sport, Jenny. The girls get graded on their squirming and crying, their kicking and pleading for mercy. A great spankee is as skilled as a great gymnast".

*   *   *

Mrs. Washington looked up and out of the store window for a second, noticing something outside. "I'll be back in a second" she told her friend and strolled out. She returned a few minute later with a happy sense of urgency. Mrs. Graham and her daughter were now looking through skirts together. "Carol!" cried Mrs. Washington, grabbing the woman's arm and making her start, "you will never guess what is going on out in the middle of the mall. The mall is holding a spanking competition!" The word "spanking" made Alice's little bottom clench. She didn't like the word "spanking", for exactly the reason that it reminded her of spankings. Her mother was a firm believer in spankings "when necessary", and the spankings she gave were impressive. Mrs. Graham asked her daughter "Alice, do you want to see the spanking competition?" Before Alice could answer, Mrs. Washington butted in.

"Watch the spanking competition? Carol, you are a terrific spanker! You and Alice should be in the spanking competition". Alice's mouth dropped open in indignation. "It's all just local women who happened to be in the mall and there is no entry fee" persisted Mrs. Washington "Go on! It will be fun! But you have to hurry!" Mrs. Graham grinned.

"Oh alright! I'm convinced! Let's show these people what a real spanking is all about" she replied decisively, grabbing her daughter by the wrist. "Mommy, I don't want to be in a spanking competition!" wailed Alice in horror as her mother led her resisting out the door. "Don't be difficult Alice" the woman replied, leading her through the crowd, "or we will have to have another little spanking competition when we get home".

*   *   *

"Do you have any hobbies, Jane?" asked Mrs. Chen. Jane flinched. Her fingers tightened around her knees. Her mother announced "Jane has a hobby. Jane collects *spankings*!". There was silence in the room for a moment. Mrs. Jones scratched her head. "I don't understand." she admitted.

"That's Jane's hobby" Mrs. Wakefield assured them enthusiastically. "Every girl needs a hobby and Jane collects spankings - spankings on her bare bottom. It certainly keeps her busy. She collects all sorts of different spankings. As many different types as she can". The three Girl Scout leaders looked to one another without comprehension. Jane's face burned red as she glared down at her own hands. Mrs. Wakefield continued "It all started because I was concerned that she didn't seem to have a hobby, and every girl should have one. Then I realized that since we moved into the new house, she had had a bare bottom spanking in her bedroom, and a bare bottom spanking in my bedroom, and a bare bottom spanking in the bathroom. So it occurred to me that if I gave her a bare bottom spanking in the lounge, and a bare bottom spanking in the kitchen, and a bare bottom spanking in the garage, then she would have had a bare bottom spanking in every room in the house. So - three bare bottom spankings later, she had the full set. And thus, a hobby was born that has kept her pretty busy ever since!"

*   *   *

"Still in bed, Hannah?" Mrs. Smith asked her daughter cheerfully. "I would have thought that you would be up and about and enjoying the day. You are a big girl of ten today!". Hannah rubbed her eyes as the information sank in. "Its my birthday!" she chirped, suddenly remembering. She sat up in bed.

"Happy birthday darling!" her mother told her and gave her brown-haired child a big hug. "This is your special day and today, you get just whatever you want!".

"Whatever I want?" Hannah asked, her dark eyes growing large.

"Anything you want!" her mother promised her, kissing her forehead.

Hannah's eight year old sister Caroline opened her blue eyes and sat up in bed. The sun streaming through the window shone through her golden hair. Hannah asked "if I want Caroline to get a spanking, can she have one?". Mrs. Smith tousled Hannah's hair.

"It's your birthday! Today, if you want Caroline to get a spanking, then Caroline *gets* a spanking".

"What?" asked Caroline, blinking.

"I want Caroline to get a spanking!" squealed Hannah in delight. "Will you really give Caroline a spanking?"

"One spanking coming right up!" promised her mother indulgently, chucking her under the chin.

"Huh? No! I didn't do anything!" cried Caroline in shock as her mother approached.

"Don't be so selfish, Caroline. It's Hannah's birthday today. If she says you get a spanking, then you get a spanking."

*   *   *

Susan Kimura did not hurry home that evening of October 12th. The twelve year old was not normally so slow, but today she carried her monthly report card with her and the matter gave her some concern. Mrs. Kimura seemed to have noticed her daughter's lateness - for she looked up expectantly from her paperback when Susan walked in. Her eyes said "Well?". Susan smiled at her mother, but the very nervousness with which she did so gave her away. Mrs. Kimura put down her book. Now storms were just beginning to brew behind her eyes. "What is it Susan?" she asked quietly.

"Good news mommy" Susan ventured optimistically, "I came top in the class again!".

"I would hardly have expected you to come anywhere else" her mother noted "where is your report card? I want to see". Susan tried so hard not to look worried as she handed it across. She decided to seize the initiative.

"I got As in every subject except math" she spat out hurriedly "Mrs. Wilson says that I'm-"

"Math!" snapped her mother, eyes darting down the card like a striking cobra "Math! B-plus! A B-plus!"

"Mrs. Wilson said it was on the tip of an A minus, but I-"

"So that's why you come skulking in late, young lady. I should have known it!". The storm in her eyes was no longer brewing - it was breaking. Susan blurted "I got ninety seven percent in English and Mrs. Wilson said it-". Mrs. Kimura was angrily rolling up her right sleeve. "It looks like it's spanking time again!" she said firmly. Susan was not at all surprised, but very much afraid all the same. "Please don't give me a spanking mommy!" she begged "I promise I'll-".

"I promise you'll have a very sore bottom for not doing your best in school. That's my promise!" her mother broke in. "You deserve a good spanking Susan, and that is just what you are going to get! If you won't learn in class, maybe you'll learn a thing or two over my knee". Mrs. Kimura was up in an instant and had her daughter by the arm, hauling her back to the chair. Susan's hand flew instinctively across her rear end as she rushed "Mrs. Wilson said that I'm the best-". Mrs. Kimura sat down heavily and pulled her daughter across her knee, cutting her plea short. Susan felt her skirt fly up behind her, and knew the fight was over. Really, she knew it had been over before it had begun - when her mother got angry, she was spanked. Soundly.

*   *   *

Once upon a time, in a great wide forest, full of beautiful trees, and green glades, there lived a woman named Mrs. Ridinghood and her little girl. The little girl was very pretty, and very good, but even so, she received a lot of spankings. Her mother spanked her at home, her teacher spanked her at school, and even her relatives would spank her when she went to visit. Everyone called her "Little Red Ridinghood" because her poor bottom was always so red from spankings. Little Red Ridinghood lived with her mother in a little white cottage with a green door and a thatched roof, and red and white roses climbing all over the walls. The sound of Little Red Ridinghood being spanked could often be heard coming from within.

On a bright spring morning early in May, Mrs. Ridinghood sat in her kitchen with her daughter skirt-up across her knee, spanking her just in case she had been bad and not been caught. Little Red Ridinghood had insisted very adamantly that she had not been bad, but her mother wanted to play it safe. When she was finally done slapping the girl's behind, she stood her up and told her "since you have no school today, I have decided that you are going to go get a spanking from your grandmother. We both know that she understands how to deal with naughty little girls like you! As a special punishment, here is your basket - I've put my big wooden hairbrush in it for Grannie to spank you with. How she will make you dance over her knee!"

*   *   *  

She took hold of the girl and sat
Upon the beige settee
And soon poor Sue discovered that
She lay across the knee.
"I will take down her underwear,
I'll never let it stay.
I'll always spank her bottom bare
It hurts much more that way"
Anna pulled Sue's panties down
And bared her little rump.
This achieved, she went to town
And made her buck and jump
By treating her to hearty slaps
Upon her naked skin.
Poor Susan bawled from Anna's claps
And made a fearful din.

   *   *   *

Still in a dream of disbelief, Nicole walked to the woman's left and gently laid herself across her knees. She stared at the dull beige carpet. Miss banks raised her blue skirt and laid it up over her back, leaving the girl exposed in her little pink panties before the class. Nicole bit her lip and crossed her ankles behind her. She tensed all over and gasped quietly as Miss Banks took hold of the sides of her panties and slid them down to her thighs, presenting her bare bottom to the view of the thirty girls who sat as still as statues, watching in helpless sympathy. "Take a good look at those rounded white cheeks, girls" instructed Miss Banks "they will soon be as red, as hot and as spanked as can be. Keep in mind that when you are bad in my class, your bottoms will be treated exactly the same."

Painfully Drawn Out

    Blogger Lara Marks writes: "This is where we look at the magnificent talents of the artists involved in the Spanking World.

Hairbrushes, Wooden Spoons, and Paddles, Oh My!

Jocular blog post about childhood spankings, with comments from readers


Cameron Dawn
   A page devoted to */f stories and poems.

"Oh Santa, dear Santa, don't spank me, I pray!
I'll be ever so good, starting right from today!"
But Santa just chuckled, "I've heard that before
From many a bad girl with bottom so sore
As she wriggles and squirms `neath his hand's hearty sting.
But a promise like that - why, it means not a thing.
What matters, dear One, as you'll very soon see
Is that you should be spanked across Santa's broad knee
Till your sassy bare bottom is burning bright red!"
And with that, the old fellow did just as he'd said,
And proceeded to spank her with all of his might
Till her yelps echoed loud in the cold frosty night,
And each swat, ringing out like a loud pistol shot,
Turned her soft, round bottom increasingly hot.


Naughty Cheeky Bottoms
"Just a blog about naughty little FICTIONAL boys and girls getting spanked,
cute little things, mischievous children, and all chibi things as well."


Spanking Animations

"For those who love spanking art and some action."  An extensive collection of */F and */f spanking gifs.


Spanking Moms

"A forum for no-nonsense Moms."


Moms Spanking Talk

"This forum is for Moms, those who sit for kids, to feel as if we are sitting around sharing stories of our day, week,
spankings we have given, girl talk."


The Spanking Art Wiki

"A collaborative project to collect information on Spanking in Arts, Movies and Literature. "
An excellent resourse, managed by Spankart.


SPK Comics

An awesome and growing collection of spanking images from comic strips, comic books, advertising, etc.


Something To Cry About


I grew up in a small, conservative town during the '80s, and there was LOTS of spanking: my cousins got spanked; my friends got spanked; kids on TV got spanked; kids in books got spanked; birthday spankings were administered at school (real spankings in school were more or less a thing of the past, but such recent past that teachers talked freely and fondly of all the spankings they'd given our predecessors); childhood games of "House" and "Dolls" were basically spanking orgies...

[My babysitter's daughter Ella] slammed doors and broke dishes, tracked mud across clean floors, and spilled fruit punch on furniture. Ella was forever shouting in the library and running by the pool. When she was told to stay, she went, and when she was told to go, she stayed. I was both terrified by her obstinacy and in awe of it.

Ella sometimes received as many as three or four spankings in a single day. These were real, over the knee, bare bottom spankings. If we were at home, Ella would be sent to the living room to sit on what was known in their house as "The Naughty Couch." The Naughty Couch could serve as a kind of Time Out, and the neighborhood kids Rachel babysat for were sometimes ordered to sit on it for a set number of minutes when they were rowdy or misbehaving (I, myself, was never sent to the Naughty Couch). Mostly, though, the Naughty Couch was the place where spankings were administered, and after Ella had sat waiting on it for a period of time which could be as brief as thirty seconds or as long as a quarter of an hour, Rachel would join her daughter on the Naughty Couch, peel down her pants and underwear, haul her across her lap, and spank her.

But many of Ella's spankings occurred when we were outside of the home: in the locker room at the swimming pool or at a picnic table at the park; countless ladies' fitting rooms and public restrooms; and often times, after Ella had misbehaved in the car, right on the side of the road.

I was both terrified and electrified by Ella's spankings, and I have distinct memories of at some times desperately trying to prevent Ella from engaging in behavior which would earn her a spanking and, at other times, egging her on in the hopes that she would get one.

OTD Punishment Memories

  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.
  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.
  "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.


Anti-Spanking Resources:



             Make-believe is harmless and fun is fun, but... violence against real-life children in the name of  "discipline" is a serious social problem. A fictional story about an imaginary little girl paddled so hard at school that she can't sit down may be an exciting read for those of us into such things, but the real thing is not a pretty sight!  (Click at your own risk).  Project NoSpank is the website of  Parents and Teachers Against Violence in Education (PTAVE), and has a very extensive and growing collection of articles and essays dealing, from the abolitionist perspective, with every imaginable critical angle on the subject of child spanking.   Check out this site to learn more about the impact of actual spanking on the lives of real-life children.  Download "No-Spanking Zone" posters and much more!
           [Note: Project Nospank lost their ownership of the "" domain name and now use"]

  The NoSpanKing Page

  This site has such a good collection of links that I need only refer you to them rather than having to list them all myself!

EPOCH: End Physical Punishment of Children

             A worldwide organization with chapters in various countries.  The British chapter was instrumental in securing the 1987 ban on the cruel and barbaric practice of caning students in British schools.  EPOCH seeks a total end to all physical punishment worldwide, and advocates Sweden-style no-spanking laws which forbid spanking of children but which carry no jail terms or fines for parents who violate the law.  The above link is to the USA chapter.


        "An Examination of school paddling and spanking as physical abuse, sexual abuse, and sexual harassment."  Don't forget to check for regular updates of Jeff Charles' often visually explicit antispanking cartoons.  His book-in-progress, Southern Education, features posed photos featuring teen model, Andrea, bent over for the paddle, so that readers can see exactly how girls her age shouldn't be disciplined.   Read his book for the descriptions of school paddling incidents involving girls; you just might come away from it with an appreciation of the valid points he makes about sexual abuse of schoolgirls masquerading as "discipline."

Spanking Harms Children, Especially Girls

         "When a girl is spanked by her father or paddled by a male school teacher, she  is being trained to submit," says Jordan Riak, a retired school teacher and the  executive director of Parents and Teachers Against Violence in Education.  "When a school district permits teachers to paddle girls, it is setting those girls up to be victims of future male authority figures, whether it be a boyfriend,  husband or employer," Riak claims.

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


              "If we're going to obey Scripture we need to make sure we're obeying what it really says.  And the verses in the Bible that talk about discipline are verses that refer to the "shebet", not the choter, the matteh, or the rhabdos.   If you choose to spank your child with a twig you must know that you are NOT fulfilling the admonition of the Proverbs "rod" verses.  If you choose to take the "rod" verses literally and beat your child with a rod then you must use a shebet--a large walking stick, a shepherd's staff, or a king's scepter.  If, instead, you see that Proverbs is a compilation of wisdom sayings and the shebet was a symbol of the authority for a head of a household or a country, and you see that the emphasis on the discipline being done is teaching and correcting, and you love your children, you will not find a need to hit them with a rod of any kind."


       Elizabeth Pantley writes: "In my house, my father had a belt hanging on a hook in the kitchen. It was a visible reminder to be good or to be put over his knee. We were all afraid of that belt. One day, my father couldn't find it. Eventually it was found-in the trashcan-my little sister, then age six, had decided the garbage would be a better place for it! She was due for a spanking and was trying to avoid it. Once discovered, she knew her spanking would be worse than ever. When my father put her over his knee he noticed that her little rear end had been replaced by a  large lumpy surface-wadded up towels in her underpants! Boy did he get angry! He pulled out the towels, pulled down her pants, and proceeded to hit her. I can still remember the welts on her bottom after her bare skin was hit with that belt."


  To all parents who spank or are considering spanking their children:

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

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

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

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

I did not know that this interest was sexual. I was not well informed about the facts of life, and had no idea that the parts of my body where I felt stirring sensations were connected with anything other than going to the toilet and being spanked. I deliberately sought this exciting feeling for years. I would go into bookshops and look for books on Christian parenting (especially Dr. Dobson's books), and I would read extracts and reach a state of arousal. I never spoke about it to anyone: although I did not know that it was sexual, I did know that it was weird...

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

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


          "From personal experience I can validate the reality of spanking as sexual abuse. I know I was spanked many more times than I actually remember, because my memory of childhood events has gaps. But my body readily remembers how it feels to get hit - with a hand, a belt, a stick, etc. If I see someone being hurt or even just read about it happening to others, my body immediately responds to the specific pain of being hit with the described object. I know what it feels like to be so scared and hurt that you wet yourself. And how the urine stings the skin as it runs down the legs. The longest-standing memories I have are hearing those awful words - "Pull your pants down! All the way down! Bend over! Now! Further!" My father would hold me down by the back of my neck if I tried to run away or cover my buttocks with my hands. "Move your hands!" Any struggling or complaining, hiding or running would only make the punishment worse, so I must have learned to accept the inevitable when I was very young. The burning humiliation of being forced to undress while someone is watching intently, or worse, being forcibly undressed, will never leave my mind. Even as I write these words a searing hot blush of shame overwhelms me.

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

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

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

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


         Annie, 11, of Marquette, Mich., remembers being spanked as a  toddler:  "Sometimes I would do the weirdest things and I would get in trouble," she said. "But I don't think (spanking) had an effect on me. I didn't learn from it very well. I just felt like I was a bad person."

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

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

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


"It hurts and it's painful inside - it's like
breaking your bones."  -7 y.o. girl

Spanking Parents May be Unaware of Force

          "Every about-to-be-spanked child who has heard a parent piously pronounce "this hurts me more than it hurts  you" can today reply, "Not according to modern science, it doesn't."

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

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

"I Was Spanked And I'm Fine!"

            "We hear it all the time, when spanking is mentioned. Someone steps forward and says something like this:

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

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

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


 Diana Halvorsen writes:

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

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

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

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

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


Author Diana Halvorsen and her
unspanked daughter make cookies together.



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



 "To begin with, something many counselors, parents and teachers say to children to help prevent sexual abuse is that their private parts are any part of the body that would be covered if they were wearing a bathing suit. Obviously, the genitals are the areas of most concern. However, the buttocks are also covered by a bathing suit and, in general, children are taught not to touch people there or to display this part of the body in front of others...

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

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

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

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



     "The sexuality of the buttocks is significant not just to adults, but to children as well. Even though they are sexually immature and without an active sex drive, children are from birth neurologically complete sexual beings who are capable of experiencing erotic sensation. The existence of pedophiles, furthermore, means that children can also become the targets of sexual intentions. As much as we might like to imagine childhood as an innocent, carefree world beyond the influence of sexuality, we do children a disservice if we fail to recognize that they too have erogenous zones which deserve consideration and respect.

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

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

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



    "I come from an only-child family, growing up in Western Canada in the Seventies and early Eighties. I have often said that I was both spoiled and abused at the same time. While I came from upper-middle class parents and wanted for absolutely nothing, I was also variously struck, spanked and otherwise frequently hit by my mother who was legendary for her temper (and who came from a home where she and her siblings were poor AND abused). My earliest recollection of a spanking was one I received in front of my aunt and uncle, both teens at the time, when I was four. I remember clearly the shame and humiliation of being denuded more than actual pain. My mother has told me, though, that she spanked me as early as two using a wooden spoon when I ran into the street. A spanking, when I was growing up, always involved the use of a belt on my bare buttocks, and I would be left with welts that persisted for hours, even to the next day and in one case, days. I recall at least 12 such incidents and know there are more that I have forgotten. The political and professional opinion regarding the acceptability/legality of such punishments during my childhood was decidedly neutral. While the public-school system here abolished the "strap" when I was still a preschooler, many of my friends also sustained parental spankings of similar severity and kind. It is this fact that is the reason why none of us complained to our teachers, grown-ups etc., that we were being abused-it simply was accepted as "normal" in our families and widely tolerated by most everyone as long as it was "deserved"...

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

by Susan

      "The sexual aspect of spanking is something that is not addressed by many anti-spanking activists.

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

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

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

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


By Jenn

     "Shortly before I turned 5 my father moved my siblings and I into the home of his then girlfriend--she later became my stepmother (step monster). She preferred to spank with a wooden spoon, and started almost immediately when we moved in. Spankings became a regular event. By the time I was in 1st grade I could expect to be beaten with a wooden spoon or one of my father's belts by my step mother or my father at least twice a week--often more frequently...About that same time--when I was barely 6 or 7 years old--I began to realize that I was fixated with my classmate's bottoms. I wanted to spank them. Somehow I thought the act would be pleasurable to me and to them. This troubled me a lot, and I could not imagine how a spanking could be pleasurable. But still, somewhere, somehow, I had this feeling that it was...I would have trouble not staring at the bottom of the student in front of me in line as we walked to various classes, lunch, or recess. I just longed to feel the curve of the buttocks in my hand--and I worried that something was dreadfully wrong with me that I wanted to spank my classmates..."

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

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



 "Family Clinic" column
by Dr. Roy Horowitz and Susan Duff,
published in Newsday (Long Island/Queens)
March 17, 1990

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

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

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

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

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


Physical punishment only hurts kids, study argues

      "SPANKING has no positive effect on children and physical punishment jeopardizes children's health and development, says a groundbreaking study by Canada's top authorities on children's health and welfare. There is overwhelming scientific evidence that physical punishment is ineffective and can often lead to anti-social behaviour, poor parent-child relations and a tolerance for violence in adulthood, the study says.

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

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


Sexually Abusive Spankings Remembered

 "I was an only child raised by my mother. As early as I can remember, spanking was the main form of punishment my mom used on me. I would guess that between the ages of 4 and 13 my mom spanked me at least once every couple of weeks. Nearly every spanking was identical in it's ritual. Spankings would always be given after my bath just before bed, and if I was to be punished my mom would tell me to go to her room after I put my pajamas on. When I would get to her room I would always find her in some form of undress. Usually she would have a nightgown on, but sometimes she would be dressed in only her underclothes. I would have to stand in front of her while she sat on the bed and scolded me for whatever I had done that day to warrant punishment. She then would pull down my pants and I would have to lay across her lap. She would spank my bare butt with her hand about 25-30 times.

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

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


Fatherly Love(?)

I don't remember my first spanking. I was 2 years old. Even when I had 5 of my own children, my father still relished telling the story of that first corporal punishment. It was for lying about getting into some paint he had stepped away from momentarily. He claimed I never lied again. Actually I made quite sure I never got caught again. After that I can only remember about 5 spankings (there may have been others) never particularly prolonged but always after having all clothing from the waist down removed. During this undressing my father always seemed to be enjoying the process, never expressing any reluctance or regret.

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

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

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


School Paddling

In the fall of 1962 I was enrolled in Carrollton Elementary. My parents had told me the old cliche', "If you get it at school, you'll get it at home." That never happened because I never told them when I got it at school.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Christian Crusaders Go to Battle Over Spanking
Tools of discipline horrify some of faithful

"The Rod" is designed give Christian home schooled children very severe "faith based"spankings.

 Twyla Bullock, in Eufaula, Okla., swears by the Rod -- a 22-inch, $5 white nylon whipping stick her husband designed and produced until recently. Named after the biblical "rod of correction," the Rod provides "a faith-based way to discipline children ... and train them as Christians," Bullock explains.
But equally observant Christians, such as Al Crowell, director of the San Francisco-based Christians for Nonviolent Parenting, are becoming increasingly vocal in their opposition to the practice.

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

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

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


 Unto the Least of These

Not to Me
By Rebecca

When you made me bend over
Face down on the bed
And hold the position
While you used the red paddle
Or the oak switch
Or the board

When repeatedly the sound
Of my flesh being struck filled the room
And my silence was cause for more blows
And my cries of pain were seen
As signs of submission
That cleansed my soul

When you made me hold you close
And say I was sorry for the wrong I had done
While inside I seethed at the injustice
My spirit revolted at the lack of mercy
My mind tried and failed to know
How this was for my own good

When each day that this continued
Was a day that you rejoiced
In your self-righteous pleasure
Of following God
You did not do this to me.

(You did it to Jesus.)

And the King will tell them, 
`I assure you, when you did it to 
one of the least of these 
my brothers and sisters, 
you were doing it to me!'

Matthew 25:40

By Jordon Riak

 Ask ten spankers the right way to do it, and you'll get ten different, conflicting descriptions. The more closely you listen to them, the more confused the picture becomes. Following are just a few of the sticking points:

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


By Chip Wilson

   "In my fifth-grade year, I suddenly found myself receiving spankings at home that were frightening, embarrassing, and agonizing on a scale theretofore unknown in our family and even the small liberal town near Knoxville, Tennessee where we lived.

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


By Beth F.

 Here are some exerpts from a tell-all letter written by a woman who grew up in the church where parenting author, Roy Lessin, was a preacher.  He instructed her parents to discipline her and her siblings with spankings for the slightest disobedience, such as not having a "cheerful attitude."  He believed that "biblical" spankings should be administered very soundly, with a flexible switch on the child's bare bottom, and that parents should continue to spank until their child's will was completely broken and she cries a "cry of repentance." Beth is not grateful.  -HP

Beth F.

"Dear Roy,

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

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

"My last spanking occurred when I was thirteen years old. The Roy Lessin spankings that I remember most vividly took place between the ages of three and seven, because I hardly went a few days without a spanking at that time. I'd like to share with you, and others, what it was like receiving a Roy Lessin spanking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Roy's daughter Lydia was a
playmate of Beth's as a child.

Please Don't Spank Or Slap Your Children
By Katharine O.

Katharine at age 10,  with her brother.

 "As someone who was slapped across the face, spanked on the buttocks with a hand, and whipped on the buttocks with leather belts as a child, I'm appalled that any percentage of Americans believes that children should be spanked. 

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

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

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


Childhood memories
By B. G.

 "I grew up in the late 70's and early 80's in rural Pennsylvania. My parents considered themselves devout Christians, and were firm believers in spanking. My mom was very strict, and kept a paddle on our living room wall. Rarely a week of my life in that house went by when my rear end didn't feel it. From as early as I can remember, until my late teens, her procedure was pretty much the same. Pants and underwear to the floor, elbows on the couch, and an endless succession of swats. She wouldn't stop spanking until I was past the point of tears, and just taking each hit with a whimper. This would leave my bottom purple. To make matters worse, it was usually done in the family room, with my dad and little sister present as an audience. To this day my sister and I cannot talk about the spankings we received in each other's presence.

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

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

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



My Own Story
By Ruth

 "My name is Ruth, and I'm a nineteen-year-old woman who was spanked as a child. I definitely agree with you that spanking can give the spanker sexual pleasure. In fact, when I was in kindergarten, I went to a private Christian school where spanking was allowed, and I noticed that the teacher (an elderly lady) repeatedly spanked the boys in my class but only spanked one of the girls once. (Thankfully, it wasn't me.) She frequently described how she would spank us if we ever did anything she viewed as "bad."  "I spank really hard," she would inform us, brandishing a paddle with holes in it.

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

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

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


 Thank You, Dad!
By Pamela M.

 "My mother never put underpants on me after a bath. (I used to worry quite a bit after I got a bath, especially when I was wearing a nightgown. I felt so vulnerable. I suppose it has something to do with having to hold up my nightgown so my father could see and beat my bare buttocks with his belt.)...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



Louise's story

 "I am 31 years old and undergoing psychotherapy for a number of childhood issues. One of the issues that has had a very negative effect on me and my development as an adult is corporal punishment. I read the "Cane Lovers" page and was highly upset to see that people still have the attitude that archaic, mindless barbarism has a place in modern society. The statement I read, "Beating is actually Love," filled me with a sense of dread. How many times had we heard that people were beating or abusing us for our own good and because they loved us? It is a statement that continues to this day that makes the victim of abuse think that it is their fault they are being abused/beaten and not the fault of an adult with the control and power to do such wicked things to defenseless children.
"I was caned approximately 60 times in a period of four years between the ages of seven and eleven, mostly for trivial things such as forgetting books, dropping things and getting low marks in tests... The physical pain would heal quickly, but the deep mental scars have remained for many, many years...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



 "My parents immigrated from Germany in 1957. I was born in 1963 and in 1966 my parents were killed in a car accident. I became custody of the state of California and was placed in a "Christian" orphanage just outside of Los Angeles. This place became my home, school and church. Spanking was a very common occurrence and my first memory of it that stuck in my head was walking down the hallway to the lunchroom and seeing a boy in an adjourning hallway bending over a chair being paddled. I remember his noise of his crying would fluctuate everytime he was struck.

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

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

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

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

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

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


School Days Remembered
A letter from Wendy

 "Our third grade teacher had a bad temper sometimes. One time, she took a boy out in the hall and paddled him for something - I wasn't sure what for. He walked back to his desk muttering that it didn't really hurt, apparently trying to salvage some dignity. Some of the kids who heard him told the teacher and she said, "Let's try it again." So she took him back out and hit him so hard we could hear the blows from inside the classroom. When he came back in, he was crying. It was horrible. I wondered if the kids who told had gotten what they wanted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Suffer The Little Children
by Joan V.

 Now we have seen all 36 places where this word is recorded "rod" in the KJV, let us examine the use of this word. There are only a few places that "shebet" is possibly referring to a literal rod in connection with hitting someone.
Exodus 21:20 And if a man smite his servant, or his maid, with a rod, and he die under his hand; he shall be surely punished.
The Exodus scripture reference shows us that if this rod were used on a maid or servant and killed them that it was punishable. So, we see that it had to be a heavy duty instrument to kill someone which would be consistent with the idea of a staff or club. We see that if it is ok to spank a child using this instrument, that it is not mentioned here and if it were, then the child could die by it's use.
II Samuel 7:14 I will be his father, and he shall be my son. If he commit iniquity, I will chasten him with the rod of men, and with the stripes of the children of men:
When we see the use of the rod on fools, this would be adults who are "fools" because they are grown and still have no self control. It would be comparable to a criminal being beaten. This is not speaking of a young child. We see examples of criminals being beaten in Scripture. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Non-abusive "Loving Spankings" Messed Me Up For Life
By Carol

 "When I was a little girl and my mother thought I required discipline, she would pull me face down across her lap and give me a series of stinging slaps of her hand on my bare buttocks while I cried. In fifteen seconds it was over. I would be in tears and clutching my bottom for a minute or so, but it didn't really hurt much after that, just a hot itch. My rear end would be a solid pink right afterwards. But in a few hours it would be back to normal. And that was that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christianity and spanking
By Edyta

 "When I was 10 and my brother 13, my entire family began attending sessions at Christian Family Institute in Tulsa, Oklahoma. The set-up there was quite creepy. We sat in a room with 3-4 young therapists; I believe they were graduate students from Oral Roberts University nearby, which is where Dr. Dale R. Doty, their supervisor, had also attended. Doty and 2-3 other young therapists would sit in the next room behind some one-way glass for the entire session which was also videotaped and recorded. Toward the end of the session, the therapists who'd been in the room with us would go and meet with the supervisor behind the glass for about five minutes. They'd come back and tell us what Doty observed about the session. It reminded me of Oz, where we didn't often see that much of the Wizard yet his wisdom was sought. Despite the sessions apparently being a training ground for new counselors, it was quite expensive.

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

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

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

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


I don't believe that this was God's will
By M. C.

"I am a Christian who was spanked by my fundamentalist father quite often for stupid things. A typical 'loving' spanking involved my father removing my pants and underwear and wacking my bare bottom with a home-made wooden paddle or a doubled over leather belt. I believe this was abuse and I resent the fact that churches still teach parents that there is no harm in spanking; but like others who have written for this website, I suffer from the sexual effects that can result from corporal punishment.

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

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

No Spankings For My Six Daughters
By Nicole C.

 Like many Americans, I too was subjected to "spankings" as a child, though I prefer to call them whippings and beatings since that's what they really were. My mother's "paddles of choice" were thick leather belts, large soup spoons, and what she called "cherry switches" (thin branches!). 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hitting Bottom: Why America Should Outlaw Spanking

Who should we worry about more: The well-intentioned parent who smacks a child's bottom and gets hauled off to court, or the kid who keeps getting pounded because the cops can't find a bruise? This U.N. report on violence against children argues that "The de minimis principle-that the law does not concern itself with trivial matters" will keep minor assaults on children out of court, just as it does almost all minor assaults between adults. The U.N. Committee on the Rights of the Child has been urging countries to ban corporal punishment since 1996. The idea is that by making it illegal to hit your kids, countries will make hurting them socially unacceptable.

Exit & Support Network

This site is for "aiding those spiritually abused by Worldwide Church of God, Philadelphia Church of God and all affiliated high demand offshoots."  This denomination preaches and practices extremely strict discipline of children with an emphasis on "the rod" from babyhood on.

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

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

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

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

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

All my dad had to say was, "Do you need a spanking?" and I'd start bawling, so I know my parents spanked some early on. My mom routinely threatene