The Hour Of ShameIn a good number of families, spanking and corner time were an inseparable combination. There were several variations. The victim could be made to stand in the corner to await the spanking, then returned to the corner, or most commonly, spanked well and then made to stand in the corner for a time. My sisters and I had to endure the last version. Corner time at our house was called "The Hour of Shame," first because the length of time was literally one hour, and because the spanked girl was made to stand there with her red bottom fully exposed to the gaze of the family while she was powerless to do anything about it.
Because Mom was a single parent, being made to raise three daughters alone, she was the sole punisher of misbehavior. The punishment rarely varied and always followed a routine: First a long spanking on the bare bottom with a large wooden hairbrush that was used exclusively for tanning our hides, followed by large soapsuds enema. For those who wonder about this, Mom was a nurse and discovered that we girls hated enemas, so she used it to add to our shame and discomfort. After the girl had relieved herself, during which time she had to sit on the hard toilet seat with her red hot bottom in full contact, she was marched to the living room corner to spend the next hour there in complete silence and immobility.
The corner time was very tedious and difficult to endure, in case some people think that it was probably easy because the spanking was over and there was no further pain involved. This was simply not true.
In preparation for the spanking session, Mom folded up the backs of the girl's skirt and slip, and pinned them securely to the waistband of her skirt with four spring clothespins--one at each hip and two toward the middle of the back, which held up the skirts securely. And once her panties and pantyhose had been peeled down to her knees, the girl's bottom and thighs were completely exposed. Then it was over Mom's knee for her. At the end of the tanning her cheeks and thighs were a burning red and swollen up considerably. This made the girl's butt very difficult to sit on while she was on the toilet.
Now came the "Hour of Shame."
With her skirt and slip still tacked up and her panties down to where they had fallen during her wild kicking from the spanking, the girl was ushered into the living room and over to the designated corner, which was usually occupied by an armchair. After moving the chair out of the way, the girl took its place by standing facing the corner with her hands at her side and her nose as far into the corner as possible. She was forbidden to speak or be spoken to by anyone except Mom, and her hands were not to move from her sides. Unable to soothe or rub her simmering cheeks, the girl had to stand at complete attention to do her "reflection," that is, meditate upon the reason for the naughtiness that had gotten her into this situation, and to feel her spanked heinie cook for the next sixty minutes. Mom set a kitchen timer, and the girl was made to listen to the slow ticking as the minutes whiled away.
I can't begin to say how many times I was in this situation, but I never liked it. After my sound tanning and uncomfortable enema, I was led to the corner while I shuffled with my panties down, followed by my sisters who had been made to watch my spanking. With hands at sides and nose in the corner, I felt surrounded by the two joining walls. I knew my family's combined eyes were staring at my burning rump, because I could feel their presence, but as I could not turn around I could not see my audience. My hind end was tingling and burning, and I longed to reach back and rub it gently to soothe it and maybe lower the heat that radiated out from my cheeks, which I could feel were swelling up as I stood there helplessly.
I could make no sound except to sniffle and sob from the pain and the shame. All I could hear was the ticking of the kitchen timer. Because I was in reflection, I had plenty of time to think about what I had done to earn my punishment. As I felt my bare heinie glow and fry, I promised myself never to get into this situation again! But being young, and making foolish errors, I knew the corner would be waiting for me again.
On average, each of us were tanned about once every two months, which actually is quite a space between spankings. Mom did not tan us for every little infraction, but only when the crime required this type of punishment, like willful disobedience, fighting with sisters, failure to do chores, or breaking curfew and not returning home at the designated time.
On and on went that infernal ticking. It was driving me nuts! How much longer would I have to stand here? Shaking from the well-applied spanking and becoming weak in the knees from standing at attention, I began to grow tired. I longed to turn around to look at the wall clock, or even call out to Mom, "How much longer?" I wanted to reach back and put a gentle hand on my blazing heinie. But I did not dare! Mom could be watching me and such an infraction could result in more "paddywhacks" as she called the spanks. I certainly did not want more of those!
At long, long last the timer bell rang. I sobbed with relief. I was soon to be a free girl again!
I could hear Mom come into the living room and felt her unclip the clothespins, then unfold my slip and skirt. My panties and stockings were left down.
"All right, Pamela Ann," said Mom in a surprisingly soothing tone, "get upstairs to bed now."
I made a painful about-face and hobbled to the long stairway. I could feel my burning hot seat rubbing against my nylon slip with a chafing sensation. The stairway up to our bedroom never seemed so long as when I had to climb it with my underpants down. I took one step at a time because my ankles were confined by my hose and panties. Another step, then another, and after what seemed like forever I reached the top step and shuffled into my room. Once there I kicked off my hose and panties, eased out of my skirt and slip, and backed into the door mirror, peering apprehensively over my shoulder to see what damage the hairbrush had inflicted. Then I cried at the sight. Shucking off my blouse and bra, I put on my pajama top and left my bottom bare to get some coolness on it. I collapsed face-down on the bed and cried into my pillow.
As she always did, Mom came into my room in about an hour, carrying a jar of cold cream and a box of medicated baby powder. She was very gentle as she spread the soothing cream over my plumped-up cheeks, then dusted them with the powder. Then she gave me a reassuring kiss.
"Remember," she said, "I tanned your heinie because I love you, and care about your behavior."
Her words made me cry all over again. "I'm sorry, Mom," I blubbered.
"It's over now," said Mom. "Get some rest."
Usually it took between two and three days to sit comfortably again, and during that time the spanked girl had to eat all her meals standing at the kitchen counter, bending forward over her plate. Going to the bathroom was difficult, but we managed to do it by hovering our behinds just above the toilet seat.
I still love my Mom very much, and I knew she did this not to be cruel, but because it was the only way she knew how to deal with discipline--especially during that age when spankings were a common punishment, and when love was measured by how red she had made our bottoms. But I would never have gone against doing less time in the corner. But then it would not have been called "The Hour of Shame."