How It Began...Although I received what was probably the ‘typical’ number of spankings as a younger child, it was when I was 8 years old – in the third grade – that my mother began my new discipline regimen. She was just divorced from my father, and although he had rarely if ever spanked me, she explained that now that it was just the two of us, she felt it best that I grow up ‘properly’ and that good behavior was the only type that would be allowed in our home.
Until this time, a spanking had consisted of a dozen or so swats on my usually clothed bottom, by my grandmother, sitter, or teachers. Our public school allowed paddling, and I had received my fair number of swats in the first and second grades – all but one time on the seat of my pants, in front of the class.
Mother explained the new rules (and consequences) one evening after I had answered back to her in a very rude manner. Before I go any farther, let me explain that my mother was a very loving and kind person, she would and did do anything for me, and I loved her very much until the day that she died, some years ago.
She explained that from this moment on, until the day that I moved out of her house, her preferred method of punishment would be a spanking, applied to my bare bottom, with whatever implement she felt most appropriate. She went on to explain that I would always have one, and only one, warning, and that it mattered little how much I complained, begged, cried or promised to be good – if I had earned a spanking, I was going to receive a spanking.
If I thought that this was a spur of the moment decision on her part, I was soon to learn otherwise. I was told to sit right where I was in our living room, as she had something to show me. She returned a couple of minutes later with her little surprise, which turned out to be quite a handful. She had three wooden paddles and a very old looking leather strap.
One of the paddles was of the bolo type – it had once had a rubber ball attached via a rubber band, but let me assure you that in 1963 those were much better constructed than they are today, and quite sturdy enough to warm many a boys bare bottom without breaking. The second was like a short school paddle, not terribly thick or long, but quite sturdy looking nonetheless. The third was quite a special surprise, perhaps I’ll speak of it later. The old strap, she explained, was cut from a razor strop, and her father had used it on her brothers and – occasionally – her.
She went on to say that, should a spanking be required ‘on the spot’, when none of her ‘tools’ were available, she wouldn’t hesitate to use whatever was available that she felt would make the proper ‘impression’. She mentioned wooden spoons, a hairbrush, and a paint stir stick. She also said that as a girl she had often felt a willow switch, and knew that there were times when the same would be required for my punishment. I had only heard of a switch in reading Tom Sawyer, or watching The Beverly Hillbillies, so I didn’t know quite what to expect.
She said that all spankings were going to be applied to my bare bottom, and that she would be the one lowering my pants and underwear. She also explained that any fighting on my part would be useless, and would only result in a longer and harder spanking. All spanking were also to be followed by corner time, with my bright red bottom on display (I remember her words vividly), and that if she felt it necessary to reinforce her point, she wouldn’t hesitate to again spank my already sore bottom as many more times as required.
By this time I was wondering how to make my escape, what to say, how to protest, and if she was serious. She showed me, in just a few minutes, just how serious she really was.
Sitting on the couch, she told me to stand in front of her. She continued to lecture and scold me as she reached forward to unbuckle my belt and unfasten my pants. I was really too stunned to say much of anything, or even protest more than half heartedly, as my pants fell to the ground and I felt her thumbs in the waistband of my underwear. I was shocked when those were pushed down and soon joined my pants about my shoes, and she took my arm firmly and guided me over her waiting lap.
She explained that from this moment on, I was not going to talk back to her. I was going to do as she told me to do, and that I was going to be a perfect little gentleman both in public and in private. As she adjusted me across her skirt covered thighs, she continued to explain that even if she had to spank me three times a day for the next ten years, she would do so – and she didn’t care where we were or who was watching.
Finally satisfied with the position of my bare and very vulnerable chubby little bottom, she told me that spankings were not going to consist of any specific number of swats, but rather she would make sure that each and every spanking would not end until I was one very sorry little boy, crying and sobbing, with a red or even blistered behind.
As my bottom made first acquaintance with that paddle, she proved to me that she wasn’t kidding – that first ‘real’ spanking seemed to go on forever, and absolutely no amount of crying, kicking, screaming or promises caused her to stop. I have no idea of the number of times that paddle landed on my bare bottom, but it really burned almost from the first and didn’t let up until well after she had kept her promise of producing a ‘sobbing and very sorry little boy’. She held me across her lap for a good ten minutes, before I was sent – still crying – to the corner for thirty minutes.
While this was the first ‘real’ spanking, it was far from the last. She did, in fact, keep her promise and continue to spank my bare bottom, often over her lap, well into my teen years. This became increasingly embarrassing, as you might well imagine. She also found other ways to enhance the punishment as time went on.
By the time I was eleven or twelve, she was indeed spanking me almost every day, sometimes even more than once on the same day. Even when I was fifteen, I was receiving at least a spanking a week (and often more).
Distant memories, yet crystal clear in my mind even now, all these years later.