Whipped With His Own BeltI was raised in an all-girl household. My Mom spanked my sisters and me on our bare bottoms, and the girls who were not spanked had to watch the girl who was! Needless to say, we grew very used to seeing one another with our panties at half-mast, both over Mom's knee and in the large bedroom which we all shared, getting ready for bed.
Not a boy in sight.
As a country girl I had plenty of opportunities to play in rural settings, in the woods, the fields, and the meadows. Nor were my friends exclusively girls. Both girls and boys were members of our group, so we played gender-neutral games like tag and impromptu softball, or explored the barns that many of our parents owned.
Such a friend was Billy. We played together, sometimes read comic books, and even played with his collection of toy soldiers and cowboys. I had a Jane West action figure, and Billy had G.I. Joe, and the two dolls played house as if they were married--without the sex of course.
We were about 12 years old when Billy and I took a short cut through a neighboring farmer's field. I watched where I stepped so as not to get my sneakers dirty, and I was careful in how to play in a skirt. But Billy was none too careful and got his shoes caked with wet brown mud, which he tracked on the asphalt road surface and right up to the front door of his house, where we were about to settle in for some comic book reading before I went home to supper. Billy's mom was hanging laundry on her backyard clothesline, so she didn't see us come in.
We were in the living room. Since we were mixed company we always were told it was improper to play in the bedroom, so we gathered in a neutral place.
"Billy!" came a very angry voice from the kitchen. His mom had finished the laundry and was bringing in the laundry basket. That's when she saw the muddy footprints.
"Billy, look at this place! Look at the floors!" She pointed to the mud tracks. "Did you walk through the house with mud on your shoes?"
"I don't think so," Billy said.
"Look at your shoes!"
Billy raised a foot and looked under the sole. The mud was dry and caked.
"Pamela Ann, what about your shoes?"
I Kicked up my foot in the rear and peered over my shoulder, which as a young lady I had been instructed to do. There was no mud. "No, Ma'am, no mud," I said respectfully.
"Billy, you are going to clean these floors of every trace of mud--do you hear me?"
"Yes, Mom," said Billy, obviously relieved that nothing further was about to happen.
But he was seriously wrong.
"And," continued his Mom, "I'm going to take off your belt and use it on you!"
Billy's face clouded over. "But Mom! Pamela Ann is here!"
"Don't tell me she's never had a spanking or seen one," said his mom. "What about it, Pamela Ann?"
"Yes, Ma'am," I replied, "with the hairbrush."
"Well, Billy gets the belt, and he knows it. Now, Billy," she said, "take off your belt and give it to me!"
Billy looked at me in shame. As for myself, I didn't know what to do. Should I leave? Billy's mom seemed to have every intention of making me stay and watch.
Billy's belt was a wide leather affair, obviously good for more than holding his pants up.
"You know what to do!" said his mom.
"Please Mom, not in front of Pamela Ann!"
"Do it!" she commanded.
Turning his back to me, Billy unbuttoned his denim jeans and pulled them down to his ankles, then went back for his white Fruit of the Looms and pulled them down as well. There, for his shame and my shocked embarrassment, was his white behind, naked for whipping. I didn't know where to look, so I cast my eyes down and looked at my feet. I had never seen a boy with his pants down before.
Billy's mom took him by the arm and led him to the back of a living room chair. Poor Billy had to hop along with his pants down to keep up with her.
"Up and over!" his mom ordered. indicating the back of the chair with his own looped belt.
Billy hopped up and lay over the back of the chair, balanced on his tummy, with head down toward the seat and his trouser-clad feet hanging down the back. His mom lifted the back of his shirt to get a good clear target. then with a loud THWACK! lay the leather across his bare cheeks.
Billy gasped but did not cry out. Apparently he wanted to show me he could take it. A pink loop appeared on his bare heinie.
THWACK! again. The leather belt made an awful sound, like a small firecracker. He tried to lift his legs in back, but was quickly ordered to let them hang down.
THWACK! came the third lash. I began to cry in sympathy for my friend. His buns were sporting red stripes like a zebra.
The whipping continued. Billy still made no sound, but mentally I was counting each time the leather smacked across his quivering behind.
Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
My own heinie began to ache in sympathy. I knew what a spanking was like, having been raised with them, and I knew how much my Mom's hairbrush hurt on my own bare. I had never felt a leather belt, but I could only imagine the searing pain.
Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
Was his mom never going to stop? This was awful! Why did she make me stay and watch this? Maybe it was to teach me a lesson as well. I was so glad there was no mud on my sneakers. Maybe she would have had me there over the chair along side him, with my skirt up and panties down. I wondered!
"OW!!" yelled Billy.
His mom stopped the whipping after she applied number fifteen across his striped dumplings. I suppose she waited for him to cry out before she stopped.
"Okay, get down," she ordered, "and from now on you will remember to take your shoes off before tracking mud all over my rugs! Pull your pants up."
Still showing me his rear and avoiding his front, Billy bent over and carefully pulled up his underpants and jeans. He was sniffling, but not crying aloud. I think he took that whipping very well, and I was impressed!
Billy took his belt back and threaded it though the loops of his denims. Except for what seemed to be a very sore heinie and equally sore pride, he asked for the carpet sweeper for the rug and a mop for the kitchen.
"I'll help," I offered.
"Thank you, Pamela Ann," said Billy's mom. "That's very sweet of you."
Sweet, huh? I had just watched my friend get a behind full of welts. I think I was more scared than anything, and offered to help clean up to take my own mind off the whipping.
His mom left the room to fetch a wet mop and carpet sweeper.
"Billy, are you all right?" I asked anxiously.
"Yeah, I'm okay," Billy said. "It wasn't that bad."
"It looked awful from where I was standing," I admitted.
"Aw, I get this all the time." he laughed. "Too bad you had to see it, though."
"Yeah," I said, "I could have done without the show."
"Don't you get spanked with your pants down?" he asked.
"Well," I said, "sure I do--but only in front of my sisters. And they don't have anything different from what I have."
"You, uh--you couldn't see nothing, could you?" Billy asked apprehensively.
"Naw," I reassured him
I helped Billy clean the muddy tracks, then went home for dinner.
At the table I seemed to be more quiet than usual.
"Pamela Ann, is something wrong?" asked Mom.
I had to say it. "I watched Billy get a spanking with his own belt," I said.
"With his pants down?" asked my little sister Audrey, sounding somewhat amused by the news.
"Well," I said, "isn't that how we get it?"
Mom chimed in, "That's the only way to get it. I'm glad to hear Mrs. Dowling knows how to handle misbehavior."
Audrey laughed. "Wow, cool!" she exclaimed.
I admitted, "I didn't think it was cool. I felt sorry for him. I thought Mrs. Dowling was gonna do the same with me!" Then I thought for a moment. "Mom, would you let that happen?"
Mom replied, "If you were equally guilty, and you were in his house, you should get the same punishment."
Well now I know. And knowing my Mom, did I really need to ask?