Mommy Spanks Me

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They spanked to punish, and therefore it was painful, but also to teach lessons: that they loved and cared enough about me to take time to spank; that the world had rules, limits and penalties for breaking those rules. Responsibility for actions and the idea of having a duty; them as parents and me as a growing-up boy. Mom’s spanking were always painful yet never abusive. I read some of the stories of kids being spanked till they couldn’t sit for days after and I can’t quite see how the adult doing the spanking could be that rough. I grew up the oldest of four, with a sister two years younger and brothers five and eight years younger. Though my parents were 1960s liberal types, they were anything but when it came to raising kids, and both were firm believers in the effectiveness of a warm bottom in maintaining discipline.

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Mom was a big believer in household chores as a way to build responsibility and have us contribute to the household. Cleaning up the kitchen after dinner had been one of my assignments since I was 12. My sister was added to that rotation when she reached 12 and for the better part of the year, we had been sharing the duties. The last incident I remember was shortly after I turned 15 and she was 13 – and as it usually did, the trouble began with a petty argument that escalated into a major conflict. Spankings in our house were not everyday happenings, but they certainly were not rare and the sounds (and sometimes the sight) of one of us getting our bare bottoms tanned could be heard fairly often.While my brothers found themselves in trouble together more frequently (usually with dad), I recall only a handful of times that sis and I were involved in the same incident and were disciplined together. It was the day after Halloween. I was happy with my loot and trying mom’s patience with my pouting, whining, and general nagging her to let me have more of the candy from the night before than I needed. She’d set the limit and this I knew, but I was a self-centred kid to the end (usually, literally, my end). My butt really stung. I lay on my stomach and rubbed the fire out while thinking about how embarrassed I was going to be at Mrs Miller’s – I really liked her and she was always really nice to all us kids.

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I was summoned to the vanity bench and I shuffled over with pants and undies bunched around my knees. I bent over and gripped each side of the vanity, putting my butt out at a 90-degree angle. The vanity had a large oval mirror attached to it, and it was incredibly embarrassing to look up and see yourself exposed and Mom standing behind you ready to strap your bare bum. When I was called for dinner, I had to go in just a T-shirt and my diapers, which was embarrassing, but also told my dad I’d messed up. It really hurt to have to tell my parents I was a liar or thief, but then I had done the behaviour. I was around 5ft 8in at the time, and had long legs and a firm round butt that years of competitive swimming helped tone. Cara was about 5ft 5in, but still coltish and not as developed physically as I was, and her rear end was still more flat than shapely.Both of us frozen in sheer panic, just as mom and dad came flying into the kitchen. When dad saw the dishwasher door hanging by one hinge, his face turned crimson. On the rare times I saw him that way, there usually was a dose of the strap in someone’s near future and I feared it was going to be my sister and me getting it from him soon.