I Watched A Spanking
"If a girl can still sit, she hasn't been spanked!" That was Mom's favorite maxim, and she lived it. Myself and my two younger sisters, Gretchen and Audrey, felt the hairbrush on many occasions, and as a result we literally could not sit for days afterward. Needless to say, we tried to stay on good behavior knowing what the consequence would be if we didn't!
I was fifteen and Gretchen was a year and a half younger, even though she was as tall as I was and growing. She discovered that she could fit very nicely into my clothes, which she sometimes borrowed--with my permission of course.
She was going to a party one Friday night, and asked to borrow my white pleated skirt to wear with her blue blazer. That would be a nice combination, I thought. Sure she could borrow it.
Although she didn't mean it, Gretchen had spilled grape punch all over my nice white skirt, and didn't tell me about it until Saturday. When I saw the purple stain down the front of it, I went livid.
"How can you be so stupid?" I shouted. "Don't you know enough to be careful with my things?"
"So sue me," Gretchen said. "What do you want from me?"
I threw the first punch. It landed on Gretchen's jaw. Of course Gretchen, being as feisty as I was, punched me on the shoulder.
This was no catfight--it was a slugfest! We made quite a racket, which of course brought Mom running up the stairs as fast as her overweight body could carry her. She grabbed us both and shook us apart. "Girls! Stop this now!" she yelled. "Sit down on your beds!"
We did, puffing and panting, our red hair disheveled and matted from the fight. Mom demanded to know what this was all about. Gretchen and I played the blame game until Mom refused to hear any more.
"You know the rules about fighting," she said. "For that, you're both getting your heinies tanned!"
"Mom!" I protested.
"Pamela Ann, not another word. Now both of you--calm down, and when you can think straight, you can scoot down to the bathroom and get out all your friends!"
They were no friends of ours!
Our "friends" consisted of the hairbrush, the orange box containing the enema kit, and a bag of spring clothespins for pinning up our skirts.
We watched Mom descend the stairs to start mixing the special enema solution. As a registered nurse she had given her patients thousands of enemas over the years, and was quite good at it. When we were girls she always administered what she called "a good enema" to cure all ills--many parents back then believed in its magic healing powers--but we didn't like it at all. We carried on as though we were being murdered!
So Mom hit upon a great idea. After every spanking, she would administer a nice big enema as a supplement. That, she said, ought to keep us on good behavior!
Gretchen and I reluctantly headed down to the bathroom, our place of execution, grumbling all the way.
"Thanks a lot, Gretchen!" I snapped. "Because of you, we'll both have to eat standing at the counter for the next week."
"Me?" said my sister. "Who told you to punch me in the face?"
Once in the bathroom, still arguing, we opened the cupboard and removed the special hairbrush that was used only for tanning our hides. It was a Fuller brush, solid dark wood with black boar bristles. The enema kit contained a two-quart red rubber bag, a red hose and metal clamp, and a special barium enema nozzle that Mom had brought home from the hospital. It didn't hurt, but it sure was uncomfortable! Along with it was the jar of petroleum jelly, which the family had christened "heinie butter." We had our sense of humor anyway. The clothespins were securely attached to the backs of our up-folded skirts and secured to the waistbands, so that all the squirming and kicking in the world could not shake them loose.
Mom could be heard in the kitchen, mixing up the enema. It consisted of two quarts of warm water, a bar of Ivory soap, baking soda and salt. With such a concoction we would be the cleanest girls in town--at least on the inside.
Our little sister Audrey came in to watch our tannings. Mom required that we be spanked in front of one another because she considered this a learning experience, first for the girl being tanned, but also for those watching her hind end turn red, an inspirational sight if there ever was one.
Presently, Mom came in carrying a large glass pitcher. Getting down to business she carefully filled the enema bag full until we could hear it gurgle at the mouth. She screwed on the stopper, clicked the stop valve and hung the full bag on the shower rod.
"Who is going first?" she asked.
Gretchen sighed and said, "OK, I'll go."
"Take your shoes off and stand at attention."
Before a tanning the condemned girl had to remove her shoes to prevent anyone from getting beaned with a flying penny loafer while the girl kicked and twisted under the hairbrush.
With Gretchen facing us, Mom folded back the girl's slip and skirt and pinned them up in the rear with the clothespins. Next she skinned down Gretchen's pantihose to her knees, followed by her light blue panties. She was now ready for the festivities.
Then Mom did the same ceremonial raising of my skirt and half-slip, so that we were both bare from waist to knees in back. I stood near the doorway with Audrey to watch Gretchen's tanning.
Mom hiked up her dress so that her girdle and stockings showed, then sat on the wide rim of the bathtub.
"Cross my garters, young lady!" she ordered.
Gretchen awkwardly climbed over Mom's stocking tops so that her head was cantilevered toward the floor and her bare rear end sticking straight up over Mom's lap. Gretch's bare butt faced us so that we could see the physical results of her misbehavior.
"Now, Gretchen," she asked, "can you tell me why you are getting your heinie tanned?"
Head-down, Gretchen replied "For fighting with my sister."
"And you know the house rules about that, do you not?"
"Yes, Mom, I do."
"For that," Mom announced, "your sentence will be sixty paddywhacks." Mom always called them that--such a silly childish term, but all the more reason to make us feel like naughty little girls. "And remember to count each one loud and clear."
"Yes, Mom."
"And what happens if you don't count?"
Gretchen's voice was shaking now. "I get four extra paddywhacks on the backs of my thighs."
Mom ordered, "Hand up the hairbrush." Gretchen reached back and up and offered the brush to Mom, who asked, "Which cheek do you want slapped first?"
Oh what a choice! Mom's spanking style consisted of five spanks on one buttock, the last spank being the hardest, then five on the opposite buttock until the girl's hind end was practically smoking.
"My left cheek please." Gretchen said almost in a whisper.
Mom didn't spank very hard, but briskly and with plenty of wrist action that snapped the hairbrush sharply on the selected cheek. The repeated spanks on the same spot was what caused the pain and damage.
Slap! "One!" Slap! "Two!" Slap! "Three!" Slap! "Four!" SMACK! "OWW--five!"
Gretchen's left cheek was slowly turning an angry pink. As I watched the tanning I felt some satisfaction that Gretch was getting her deserts.
But I was next.
Right cheek now. Gretchen was still counting and taking the paddywhacks very well. But none of us was ever able to make it to twenty without crying.
Her tail was turning a darker shade of red.
Gretch broke down on number seventeen. "Owwww--how-howwww!" she wailed. "Oh, it hurts! Please, Mom!"
As I watched her heinie darken into crimson, and listened to her howls, I began to feel sorry for Gretch. I didn't like to see her suffer like this. I realized now that I was no longer angry. I found myself hoping that she would be able to count to sixty without missing.
Spank number forty was obviously very painful, and Gretchen let out a yell. She threw her legs apart, her lowered pantihose and panties stretched to the limit between her spread knees like a capital A. "Yeeeowww!" she hollered. "Forty! Ow! Ow!!" I was feeling very sorry for her now, and even sorrier for myself, knowing that soon I would be taking her place across Mom's garters.
Luckily for Gretch, she made it and her thighs were spared. But was she crying!
"Aaaah-haaa! Wow! fifty-nine! Oooo-hooo-hoooo! Wowww! Sixty!" Then came the required formula that we said at the end of the spanking. "Thank you for tanning my heinie!"
Mom put the hairbrush aside, picked up the jar of "heinie butter" and pulled down the enema nozzle. Using her thumb and forefinger, Mom spread apart Gretchen's red, swollen buttocks to expose her little rosebud. Taking a goop of Vaseline on her fingertip, she dabbed the puckered sphincter with it and proceded to push the nozzle against it.
"Oh Mom, please wait!" Gretchen begged, Bit it was no use. Her heinie hole swallowed up the nozzle, and Mom clicked open the stopcock. The enema commenced!
Gretchen took it well at first, but soon she began to cramp and she implored Mom to stop. Mom closed off the flow, told Gretchen to take some deep breaths and then gave her the "rib rub" by massaging her back and ribcage to allow the cramps to subside. Then the flow resumed. Finally the red rubber bag hung flat. The bag was empty and the girl was full.
Mom did not remove the nozzle, but squeezed Gretchen's sore cheeks together over it to hold it in.
"Now, Gretchen," she asked, "what have you learned from this experience?"
Crying and groaning, Gretchen explained that she must not fight with her sister and if she has problems she should come to Mom with them. She had to hold in her enema for five minutes. At last Mom removed the nozzle with a wet "Slup!" sound, and a very bloated Gretchen was helped off Mom's garters. "Now," said Mom, "you may poo."
We called this the moment of truth. Attempting to sit on the hard toilet seat always brought out a yelp from the girl--a sign that she had been well-tanned. When she was finished with the "paperwork" Gretchen was allowed to get up from the toilet and stand beside Audrey to watch my tanning. Same sentence, sixty good stingers on both cheeks, plus two quarts of soapsuds to wash it down.
After I was done on the toilet we were both marched to the living room corner, where we had to endure the tedious "Hour of Shame"--one full hour in the corner on display with skirts up and panties down. But this time Mom decided to do a little variation of the punishment. Gretchen and I were required to stand in the same corner with our arms around each other's waist, and were allowed to talk, which we ordinarily could not do. By the time the hour was up, Gretchen and I had apologized to each other and were best friends again.
Mom came in and unpinned our skirts, then sent us upstairs to bed with our panties and hose still down, making us shuffle painfully up the long staircase. Once in our room we checked out our damaged behinds in a full-length mirror. Both looked pretty much the same, very dark red and puffed, with a few good blisters on the more tender spots. Our bottoms looked like they had been left too long under a sun lamp, and felt very much like they had been! However, I had four red ovals on the backs of my upper thighs for having missed the count on spank number fifty!
About an hour later, Mom showed up with a jar of cold cream, which she gently rubbed on our red and swollen rear ends. Then she had us stand, as was her custom, and put her arms around us both. We had to stand because we could not possibly sit down.
"Remember," she said, "I tanned your heinies because I love you and care how you behave."
It was over. We could not sit down for the next three days and had to eat all meals standing at the kitchen counter. We could not sit to watch tv, ride in a car or even go to the bathroom without doing what ladies know as the "gas station squat"--hovering over the toilet without letting the runp touch the seat.
Gretchen and I are still very close. Too bad she had to move away for her teaching job, but she does come up for holidays and stays at my house. The visits always feel like we are young teens again. But we rarely talk about Crossing the Garters!
I was fifteen and Gretchen was a year and a half younger, even though she was as tall as I was and growing. She discovered that she could fit very nicely into my clothes, which she sometimes borrowed--with my permission of course.
She was going to a party one Friday night, and asked to borrow my white pleated skirt to wear with her blue blazer. That would be a nice combination, I thought. Sure she could borrow it.
Although she didn't mean it, Gretchen had spilled grape punch all over my nice white skirt, and didn't tell me about it until Saturday. When I saw the purple stain down the front of it, I went livid.
"How can you be so stupid?" I shouted. "Don't you know enough to be careful with my things?"
"So sue me," Gretchen said. "What do you want from me?"
I threw the first punch. It landed on Gretchen's jaw. Of course Gretchen, being as feisty as I was, punched me on the shoulder.
This was no catfight--it was a slugfest! We made quite a racket, which of course brought Mom running up the stairs as fast as her overweight body could carry her. She grabbed us both and shook us apart. "Girls! Stop this now!" she yelled. "Sit down on your beds!"
We did, puffing and panting, our red hair disheveled and matted from the fight. Mom demanded to know what this was all about. Gretchen and I played the blame game until Mom refused to hear any more.
"You know the rules about fighting," she said. "For that, you're both getting your heinies tanned!"
"Mom!" I protested.
"Pamela Ann, not another word. Now both of you--calm down, and when you can think straight, you can scoot down to the bathroom and get out all your friends!"
They were no friends of ours!
Our "friends" consisted of the hairbrush, the orange box containing the enema kit, and a bag of spring clothespins for pinning up our skirts.
We watched Mom descend the stairs to start mixing the special enema solution. As a registered nurse she had given her patients thousands of enemas over the years, and was quite good at it. When we were girls she always administered what she called "a good enema" to cure all ills--many parents back then believed in its magic healing powers--but we didn't like it at all. We carried on as though we were being murdered!
So Mom hit upon a great idea. After every spanking, she would administer a nice big enema as a supplement. That, she said, ought to keep us on good behavior!
Gretchen and I reluctantly headed down to the bathroom, our place of execution, grumbling all the way.
"Thanks a lot, Gretchen!" I snapped. "Because of you, we'll both have to eat standing at the counter for the next week."
"Me?" said my sister. "Who told you to punch me in the face?"
Once in the bathroom, still arguing, we opened the cupboard and removed the special hairbrush that was used only for tanning our hides. It was a Fuller brush, solid dark wood with black boar bristles. The enema kit contained a two-quart red rubber bag, a red hose and metal clamp, and a special barium enema nozzle that Mom had brought home from the hospital. It didn't hurt, but it sure was uncomfortable! Along with it was the jar of petroleum jelly, which the family had christened "heinie butter." We had our sense of humor anyway. The clothespins were securely attached to the backs of our up-folded skirts and secured to the waistbands, so that all the squirming and kicking in the world could not shake them loose.
Mom could be heard in the kitchen, mixing up the enema. It consisted of two quarts of warm water, a bar of Ivory soap, baking soda and salt. With such a concoction we would be the cleanest girls in town--at least on the inside.
Our little sister Audrey came in to watch our tannings. Mom required that we be spanked in front of one another because she considered this a learning experience, first for the girl being tanned, but also for those watching her hind end turn red, an inspirational sight if there ever was one.
Presently, Mom came in carrying a large glass pitcher. Getting down to business she carefully filled the enema bag full until we could hear it gurgle at the mouth. She screwed on the stopper, clicked the stop valve and hung the full bag on the shower rod.
"Who is going first?" she asked.
Gretchen sighed and said, "OK, I'll go."
"Take your shoes off and stand at attention."
Before a tanning the condemned girl had to remove her shoes to prevent anyone from getting beaned with a flying penny loafer while the girl kicked and twisted under the hairbrush.
With Gretchen facing us, Mom folded back the girl's slip and skirt and pinned them up in the rear with the clothespins. Next she skinned down Gretchen's pantihose to her knees, followed by her light blue panties. She was now ready for the festivities.
Then Mom did the same ceremonial raising of my skirt and half-slip, so that we were both bare from waist to knees in back. I stood near the doorway with Audrey to watch Gretchen's tanning.
Mom hiked up her dress so that her girdle and stockings showed, then sat on the wide rim of the bathtub.
"Cross my garters, young lady!" she ordered.
Gretchen awkwardly climbed over Mom's stocking tops so that her head was cantilevered toward the floor and her bare rear end sticking straight up over Mom's lap. Gretch's bare butt faced us so that we could see the physical results of her misbehavior.
"Now, Gretchen," she asked, "can you tell me why you are getting your heinie tanned?"
Head-down, Gretchen replied "For fighting with my sister."
"And you know the house rules about that, do you not?"
"Yes, Mom, I do."
"For that," Mom announced, "your sentence will be sixty paddywhacks." Mom always called them that--such a silly childish term, but all the more reason to make us feel like naughty little girls. "And remember to count each one loud and clear."
"Yes, Mom."
"And what happens if you don't count?"
Gretchen's voice was shaking now. "I get four extra paddywhacks on the backs of my thighs."
Mom ordered, "Hand up the hairbrush." Gretchen reached back and up and offered the brush to Mom, who asked, "Which cheek do you want slapped first?"
Oh what a choice! Mom's spanking style consisted of five spanks on one buttock, the last spank being the hardest, then five on the opposite buttock until the girl's hind end was practically smoking.
"My left cheek please." Gretchen said almost in a whisper.
Mom didn't spank very hard, but briskly and with plenty of wrist action that snapped the hairbrush sharply on the selected cheek. The repeated spanks on the same spot was what caused the pain and damage.
Slap! "One!" Slap! "Two!" Slap! "Three!" Slap! "Four!" SMACK! "OWW--five!"
Gretchen's left cheek was slowly turning an angry pink. As I watched the tanning I felt some satisfaction that Gretch was getting her deserts.
But I was next.
Right cheek now. Gretchen was still counting and taking the paddywhacks very well. But none of us was ever able to make it to twenty without crying.
Her tail was turning a darker shade of red.
Gretch broke down on number seventeen. "Owwww--how-howwww!" she wailed. "Oh, it hurts! Please, Mom!"
As I watched her heinie darken into crimson, and listened to her howls, I began to feel sorry for Gretch. I didn't like to see her suffer like this. I realized now that I was no longer angry. I found myself hoping that she would be able to count to sixty without missing.
Spank number forty was obviously very painful, and Gretchen let out a yell. She threw her legs apart, her lowered pantihose and panties stretched to the limit between her spread knees like a capital A. "Yeeeowww!" she hollered. "Forty! Ow! Ow!!" I was feeling very sorry for her now, and even sorrier for myself, knowing that soon I would be taking her place across Mom's garters.
Luckily for Gretch, she made it and her thighs were spared. But was she crying!
"Aaaah-haaa! Wow! fifty-nine! Oooo-hooo-hoooo! Wowww! Sixty!" Then came the required formula that we said at the end of the spanking. "Thank you for tanning my heinie!"
Mom put the hairbrush aside, picked up the jar of "heinie butter" and pulled down the enema nozzle. Using her thumb and forefinger, Mom spread apart Gretchen's red, swollen buttocks to expose her little rosebud. Taking a goop of Vaseline on her fingertip, she dabbed the puckered sphincter with it and proceded to push the nozzle against it.
"Oh Mom, please wait!" Gretchen begged, Bit it was no use. Her heinie hole swallowed up the nozzle, and Mom clicked open the stopcock. The enema commenced!
Gretchen took it well at first, but soon she began to cramp and she implored Mom to stop. Mom closed off the flow, told Gretchen to take some deep breaths and then gave her the "rib rub" by massaging her back and ribcage to allow the cramps to subside. Then the flow resumed. Finally the red rubber bag hung flat. The bag was empty and the girl was full.
Mom did not remove the nozzle, but squeezed Gretchen's sore cheeks together over it to hold it in.
"Now, Gretchen," she asked, "what have you learned from this experience?"
Crying and groaning, Gretchen explained that she must not fight with her sister and if she has problems she should come to Mom with them. She had to hold in her enema for five minutes. At last Mom removed the nozzle with a wet "Slup!" sound, and a very bloated Gretchen was helped off Mom's garters. "Now," said Mom, "you may poo."
We called this the moment of truth. Attempting to sit on the hard toilet seat always brought out a yelp from the girl--a sign that she had been well-tanned. When she was finished with the "paperwork" Gretchen was allowed to get up from the toilet and stand beside Audrey to watch my tanning. Same sentence, sixty good stingers on both cheeks, plus two quarts of soapsuds to wash it down.
After I was done on the toilet we were both marched to the living room corner, where we had to endure the tedious "Hour of Shame"--one full hour in the corner on display with skirts up and panties down. But this time Mom decided to do a little variation of the punishment. Gretchen and I were required to stand in the same corner with our arms around each other's waist, and were allowed to talk, which we ordinarily could not do. By the time the hour was up, Gretchen and I had apologized to each other and were best friends again.
Mom came in and unpinned our skirts, then sent us upstairs to bed with our panties and hose still down, making us shuffle painfully up the long staircase. Once in our room we checked out our damaged behinds in a full-length mirror. Both looked pretty much the same, very dark red and puffed, with a few good blisters on the more tender spots. Our bottoms looked like they had been left too long under a sun lamp, and felt very much like they had been! However, I had four red ovals on the backs of my upper thighs for having missed the count on spank number fifty!
About an hour later, Mom showed up with a jar of cold cream, which she gently rubbed on our red and swollen rear ends. Then she had us stand, as was her custom, and put her arms around us both. We had to stand because we could not possibly sit down.
"Remember," she said, "I tanned your heinies because I love you and care how you behave."
It was over. We could not sit down for the next three days and had to eat all meals standing at the kitchen counter. We could not sit to watch tv, ride in a car or even go to the bathroom without doing what ladies know as the "gas station squat"--hovering over the toilet without letting the runp touch the seat.
Gretchen and I are still very close. Too bad she had to move away for her teaching job, but she does come up for holidays and stays at my house. The visits always feel like we are young teens again. But we rarely talk about Crossing the Garters!
By:
BadPam
Age:
51-55
,
Female
