Tony's Childhood Accounts

By Tony

My great grandmother used to watch me one afternoon a week at her house after my half-day of kindergarten was over. This was in the early 1970s. I used to enjoy going over because sometimes my two cousins would be there and we'd play while my grandmother and aunt would chat. My cousin Jim was 8 and my other cousin Kali was 6 years old like me. Kali was a small blond girl with a fun smile and Jim was a typical 2nd grader who liked GI Joe and guns and had a bit of a bad reputation, at least as bad a rep as an 8 year old can accrue. My Aunt Susie was a slender brunet with a sharp voice - I guess she was in her 20s at the time.

One of the games we would play involved standing on an old chair and looking out the window and pretending that we saw Santa Clause or the Easter Bunny and telling the other two kids to come look. The funny part was when they got there too see for themselves you'd say, "Too late, you missed it." The problem was we messed up the chair pretty bad and finally it was against the rules to climb on the chair. We still continued to do it week after week and finally it came to a head when my grandmother asked my Aunt to make sure we stopped climbing on the chair. She got all three of us kids together and with her finger pointing at each of us during the lecture threatened that the next one to climb on the chair would get a spanking on "the bare can" in front of everyone. The bare can meant the bare butt of course, but I don't think butt was a common word back then - and regardless, we all new what she was talking about. I can remember Kali and Jim heading the warning very seriously. I also took it seriously and thinking about that happening to me sent a hot flash through my body. I had seen Kali spanked across her mother's knee briefly at her house once. It wasn't very severe I suppose, as I remember her laughing through it, and my aunt seemed a little frustrated by the situation and preoccupied with something else and gave it up after a few minutes. I was spanked some at home with a ping pong paddle and a whip which was actually the remnants of a toy fire hose, but nothing so formal as pants-down over-the-knee in front of everyone.

None of us had any intention of climbing on the chair again. However, we had been doing it for a long time and out of habit that same day I jumped up on the chair, realized what I had done, and jumped back down quickly. It was a total accident and I began to sweat and look around to see if anyone had seen me. No one had, but as I looked at the chair for signs of my sin, noticed a dirt-mark from my shoe. Try as I might to get it off, I could not. So I did what any six year old would do - I ran. I did eventually forget about it until I heard my aunt's shrill voice call out, "All three kids get up here right now!@quot; We came running and arrived to find my aunt and grandmother standing at the scene of my crime with their arms folded. Our faces went flat with fear and unfortunately for my cousins, I had no intention of admitting the print was mine. I guess it was a sufficiently vague print as to preclude my aunt from guessing whose it really was, but I could tell she had every intention of finding out whose it as. I was afraid she'd have some secret way of knowing it was me, but as it turned out - she did not.

It was a long time ago and I forget exactly how it went down, but my cousin Jim, with the bad reputation, finally got the blame and I did not object to his taking the punishment for me. She threatened to spank all of us if no one would admit it, but she didn't really want to do that. I had no idea how I could have taken a punishment like that - it was so outside my realm of experience. I mean, the pain, the embarrassment - I just couldn't do it. I didn't feel bad, I was just not doubly afraid of getting caught now that someone else was going to get punished for it. I remember thinking that I wish Kali was blamed so I could see her naked butt, but Kali and I were really close and stood there holding on to each other's arms in fear while Jim's spanking got under way. Of course he protested LOUDLY that he didn't do it. He blamed his sister, then he blamed me and then he forgot all about his sister and me as my aunt pulled out a small stick about the size of a flute and told him to pull his pants down. He screamed in protest again and actually ran, but he had no chance and now after chasing him around the house Aunt Sue was actually mad rather than just carrying through on her threat of punishment for climbing on the chair. It was very dramatic and I don't think Kali and I took many breaths during the time it took Aunt Sue to catch him, de-pants him and secure his little protesting body over her lap. By the time she had him in the dreaded position, he looked like he had already been spanked he was so disheveled.

She had him pinned with one leg holding him over her lap and one elbow holding down his back. She was way stronger than he was, but when someone is freaking out that much, it's still hard to hold that person down. In the end, what struck me was the whiteness and bareness of his butt. It looked so smooth and vulnerable to our eyes, the cool air and to the stick. Some years later I was beat with a stick over my mother's lap and my pants were up. Within two strikes my eyes were watering and I was wondering how I was going to endure a full beating - I can't imagine how that stick felt on his bare butt. If the stick made a noise on his smooth white butt - I couldn't say, because he'd been screaming at the utter top of his lungs since he was accused a few minutes before. He literally could not have screamed any louder by the time she started hitting him. There was no ceremony the way you read about in Victorian times and all. This was an overpowering followed by a beating. She was laying as many on him as she could in as short a time period as she could. God, I thought to myself, I could never have taken this beating. The fact is though, if it were me, it probably wouldn't have been so bad since I was not her kid and I wouldn't have provoked her to real anger by running away and screaming. There have been many times since then that I've wished it were me, just to experience something like that, but I never would have willingly put myself in that situation.

This was not child abuse, but it was not a walk in the park for Jim either. He was ready after the first cut of the stick to apologize and promise anything - as anyone would be under those very real circumstances. If you've ever been spanked as a real child - with no control over the situation, you know the panic I'm talking about. You can never really relive it as an adult, because if you are playing spanking with someone else, you know you could stop it if you wanted to, but as a child - you can't stop it. By this time I'd forgotten that it should be me laying over those stockings and that I should be the one exposed to all and being punished - and I actually started to enjoy watching. Kali, who I already thought was cute, leaned over to me with an excited smile during it and said, "This is the best I've ever seen." I agreed. We didn't ask Jim his opinion - but I think we knew it pretty well. When she let him stand up I remember seeing a mark on the front of his thigh and thinking that she had hit him there accidentally, but it was actually a rug-type burn from the friction of his thighs against my aunts stockings. Jim and been spanked with the stick until his white smooth butt was red and welted. I remember noticing that the middle of his butt cheeks where actually turning white with the repeated strokes and then she stopped the punishment.

A few days later when I got together with my cousins again, Kali told me that Jim had convinced her that it wasn't him who had climbed on the chair and that it must have been me because she knows it wasn't her. I denied it, but Jim, Kali and I all new the truth now. I was really afraid that they'd be able to convince my aunt of the deception, whether they did or not, I don't know. 

This story is completely true and I credit it as one of the things that got me into spankings.

Real School Spanking

I went to a Christian school in 7th grade where corporal punishment was allowed. This was in the late 70's, and while it was permitted, it wasn't often used. That is until one year we got a new young teacher named Mr. Vance. Our class knew we where in for a unique teaching experience when one of the first serious talks he had with the class was about lusting. He said he could tell when the guys where lusting after the girls and he would paddle the boys for doing so. Guys, you'll understand and girls, get a clue. in 7th grade all boys do is lust after the girls. While this unnerved the boys to some extent, nothing ever came of it except for the introduction of the paddle to the class. A few days later he showed it to us before sliding it in his drawer for later use. It was about a foot long and thick. I was struck by how hard and smooth the wood was. Mr. Vance rotated it so the class could get a good look. He said, "For both boys and girls." At the time I didn't think of this, but in retrospect he must have been a spanko. Either way, it was a very serious thing to our 7th grade class. I had liked the theory of spankings since I was very young, but being beat with that formidable piece of wood by a male teacher was not something I planned to do. 

I can only guess for the girls, but the boys couldn't wait until someone was paddled. It was new, it was fun and it was scary. Finally a classmate of mine giggled during a prayer for some God-unknown reason and when Mr. Vance ended the prayer and we looked up at him he was red with fury. He walked quickly to his desk, slid out that paddle (I can still remember the sound of the wood sliding out against the desk), and told the boy to follow him and walked out into the hall. The boy's face flushed red with fear and shame - everyone else was silent with anticipation. After a few moments of silence from the hall we heard 3 sharp smacks - the third followed by the boy's quick breathing and Mr. Vance's voice saying get back inside. The two walked back in and the paddle was placed back into the desk. The boy would not even talk about it after class. While I was excited about the introduction of paddling to our class, I still had no intention of feeling it myself. Little did I know I was only a few months away from feeling it.

We had Chapel once a week and it was after Christmas. I was showing my friend Mario my new watch during the service in hushed whispers. Of course, Mr. Vance warned us there was no talking during chapel. We were pretty good at getting a few words in unnoticed, but when I handed Mario my new watch and he pulled the elastic band and it shot loudly against the back of the wooden pew in front of us, we froze in terror. Not looking at each other, assuming it would be hard for Mr. Vance to localize the noise unless he had already been looking at us, we acted like nothing had happened. As we walked out of the church we both felt a hand on our shoulders and Mr. Vance said to meet him in the teacher's lounge right away. Mario and I plotted as to ways to get out of the paddling we knew was coming, and even felt like we had a good cover story. I forget what it was, but we were confident we could talk our way out of it. Well, talk we did. We went back and forth with Mr. Vance for quite some time but in the end he was determined to paddle us. I had received a few smacks with a ping-pong paddle at home and a few whips with an old toy fire hose, but nothing so calculated as this, and certainly not given by a stranger in front of other people.

Since the administration realized that Mr. Vance was going to use corporal punishment on a regular basis after a few students were paddled, they laid some ground rules for him. He had to have another teacher witness and he had to send a note home to our parents informing them of why we were paddled. The obvious problem with this from a 7th grade boy's perspective is that more people had to witness the humiliation and many of the Christian parents at home would repeat the beating that evening.

Mr. Vance left us to sweat it out in the teacher's room while he went to get a witness. I didn't think much of it, but when he brought in Mrs. Hibbard, one of the young female teachers, I couldn't believe it. She was decent looking and a very serious person. She looked at us seriously and with a touch of pity. I doubt she had ever witnessed something like this. She could tell we were embarrassed to be paddled in front of her and told us that she was strapped at home by her father in a much more undressed state than we were about to be paddled in. This excited me a little, but when Mr. Vance stepped back into the room holding the paddle - the thrill was gone. Apparently this was Mario's 2nd time getting the paddle - a fact that he thus far had hidden from me. Mr. Vance informed him his punishment would be eight smacks and mine would be four.

Now for you spankos used to combing the Internet for videos of people being paddled 50 and 60 times, this might not seem like much, but this is real life and the fact is that someone beating a 12 year old 50 times with a paddle would be arrested and the 12 year old would be dead. If you have ever really been paddled in a way you had no control over you will realize that the paddle HURTS and hurts bad. I don't know how I would have endured more than 4 swats - I really don't. He put his hand on my shoulder; I looked piteously at Mrs. Hibbard and she just pursed her lips and shook her head slightly. I looked at Mario and found no pity - he was worried about his own turn next. I bent over and felt my pants tighten around my butt - so this is why people have to bend over when paddled I thought. I had never felt a paddle before, and the initial blow was loud and sharp. I heard the sound before I felt the pain, but then the pain came like a tide. It STUNG like I had never felt before. It was like a hundred bee stings on each cheek. I almost panicked. My mouth opened and let a staggered breath out. Oh my God I thought - I can't do this! As I was thinking that this is not possible to endure, the 2nd one fell. Fell is the wrong word - I actually heard the swish of the paddle through the air and I staggered forward with the blow. Mr. Vance was big and he was hitting me hard. Mr. Vance harshly told me to stay still or I'd regret it. I said I was trying to but as I was finishing the sentence the third smack hit me. I was not crying but my eyes where watering and my nose started running. The pain seemed to run up my back and fill my head with the bees. I think I made a noise and the fourth blow hit - since it was my last I jumped up and rubbed and rubbed and rubbed just like you would see in the pictures. But it's true that rubbing seems to help. I looked up at Mr. Vance; he was still holding the paddle and breathing heavy form the effort of the strokes. I was still rubbing my butt. He said, Tony, if you are in here again with me you will sorely regret it. This was nothing compared to what I can do to you - just ask my son sometime! You deserve what he gets, but your parents just wouldn't stand for it; they just wouldn't.

I staggered over next to Mrs. Hibbard and she put her arm around my shoulder. I was overcome with the gesture and completely surprising myself I put my head on her shoulder and started crying. I was 12 years old and something about the experience just made me cry. It was traumatic and out of character for me, but her comfort was amazing. Just the fact that she was a woman and there for me. Her usual hard countenance softened for a few minutes, but when Mario bent over she released me from her embrace and we were teacher and student again.

It was odd, but I just assumed there was no way Mario was going to get 8 strokes. It just wasn't possible after what I had endured. But the paddling commenced. Mr. Vance hit him harder than he hit me, and for 8 strokes. Mario was a mess all throughout it and actually fell at one point. I had never heard a real person whimper and moan, but he did. The last 2 strokes where administered with Mario on his hands and knees because he couldn't bring himself to stand up. The event was over with as quickly as it started. Mario got his stern warning as he lay on his side on the floor. I remember it because it was so scary. Mario, Mr. Vance said, your next paddling is 12 strokes with only your underwear for protection against that skinny butt of yours. Don't wind up here again. Mr. Vance looked at Mrs. Hibbard and said, "I'll get a male witness next time." Mrs. Hibbard said, "I'm fine with it if I'm available." That was all that was said on the subject.

Walking back to class we floated through the hall and walked with out heads down to our seats. I knew how the first boy felt with all the eyes upon him. At home that night I turned the note into my mom that she had to sign. She said, so, you got the paddle - show it to your father. I asked her if I could avoid showing it to him and she stood with her hands on her hips and shook her head in an understanding way. Ok, she said, just this once. Let me see your butt; are there marks? She said it with an interested smile. I said there were no marks since I had checked at school in the bathroom. She quickly realized that I was embarrassed to pull my pants down in front of her and she let me off the hook. She signed the paper and before handing it back to me she said, "Next time your dad has to sign it and I'll make sure I see the marks because you'll get more and I'll watch."

I wasn't paddled in school again.

Daring to Discipline

This is a second part of the true story named "Childhood Memories" and this is completely true as well. It's not really a second part since I don't think these events happened right after the spanking my cousin unwittingly took for me, but they are related in that after my aunt Sue told my mother of the sticking she gave Jim in front of Kali and I, mom began thinking that maybe she wasn't doing enough to discipline me as she should.

Nothing changed right away, but a few years later when I was around 10 or 11 and my younger sister was 9-ish, I noticed a book sitting in her bedroom called, "Dare to Discipline" by Dr. James Dobson. Some of you may have heard of it - it's still popular today. I had an ongoing interest in spanking, so I sat in my mom and dad's room and read the book over a period of a few days. I wondered how much of it she would try with my sister and me - if any of it. The book didn't recommend spanking a child for every offence, but for direct and willful disobedience a spanking was warranted. The book described a proper spanking as given with an implement on an underwear-clad bottom. The implement was so the child would not associate pain with the mother or father's hand and the underwear was so it would hurt, but not humiliate and sexualize the child by being naked over the parent's lap. The spanking was supposed to make the child cry - really cry, not fake cry. Dr. Dobson said that you would know when the child was really crying and not just faking it or crying with anger. While spanking in general was on my mind as a child, the exact fantasy was diffused, and I had no specific desire to be spanked by my parents. Up to this point I had the occasional swats with a ping-pong paddle and a few whips with a rubber toy hose, but nothing very formal. The book advocated formality with the child knowing specifically what he/she had done and why they were being punished. Afterward there were to be affirmations of continued love.

My sister and I were going across town one day to visit some friends and there was a convenience store next to our friend's house. We used to like to stop there on our way to our friend's house and buy red chewy fish candy, but a bad crowd tended to hang outside the store and my mother told us not to go in there anymore. As we left our house for our friend's house my mom yelled after us, "Don't go to Marion's" (the store's name). I told my sister not to answer mom and we shut the door. Unfortunately my mom knew that we really wanted to go to the store and she heard me tell my sister not to answer. This was so unbelievable to me when I got caught, but my mom apparently followed us and witnessed us "willfully disobeying." I had absolutely no idea she had done it. When we came home a few hours later the house was kind of dark. My dad was at work and my little baby brother was down for a nap. My mom was sitting on the couch with her arms crossed and I could see a wooden curtain rod stick in her hand resting against her chest and shoulder. I went flush with fear and she said, "Did you go to Marion's?" I knew she must have known we went, but I couldn't imagine how, so I said, "No, we didn't." Unfortunately without thinking about 'the book' I had just told a "deliberate lie" on top of "willfully disobeying" and I was about to be "punished until I really cried" - if I may borrow Mr. Dobson's phrasing. Mom was going to implement the theory in the book, and the beating was about to become much more than a theory to my sister and me.

As mom described how she heard me tell my sister not to answer and followed us to witness the transgression, I realized that while my sister was in trouble too - I was getting a lot of the blame for this as the older sibling. As this surreal scene unfolded before me I became mad at my aunt Sue for putting this spanking stuff in my mom's head and I became mad at my mom for buying into Dr. Dobson's theories. But my anger and curtness as I spoke only served to make my mom madder. Anyone who has been spanked knows that an angry spanker is not the desired state of mind from the spankee's perspective. But anger her I did and by the time I backed off she had grabbed my sister's wrist and put her over her knee while she sat on the couch. Mom tried to wiggle my sister's pants down while she was over her lap. Remember, mom was an amateur; something I took some comfort in and I laughed a bit at her struggle. Becoming frustrated she told my sister to stand up and pull her pants down. My sis was so scared she just pulled her pants and underwear down right away and bent over mom's knee. Even though as far as I know, she had never been spanked like this. I guess it's just innate in every kid. Though this nakedness violated Dobson's rule, mom was mad and ready to start spanking and she laid into my sister 3 or 4 times fast and hard. My mom had no idea how much it hurt having never felt it herself. The crazy and real screaming from my sister alerted her to the over the top severity of the punishment and after a few more whacks she told sis to stand up and mom pulled her underwear up over her naked shaking butt and pushed her back over her lap and continued the sticking of my young sister's life - over the underwear.

I felt that I was dreaming. The room was slightly dark and the scene so unreal that I faded out and just watched without any emotion. Sis was really crying like Dobson said, but mom told her, "You're not really crying; you're not done yet girl." Crap, I thought. Mom can't tell that she's really crying. Mom can't judge this correctly. How can sis convince mom that she's had enough. Sis hadn't read the book, but I had. I said, "Mom, she's really crying." Mom acted like I wasn't there and continued to lay it on. Sis's legs were sticking straight out behind her and her butt was as tight as she could get it. Her pants wear hanging on to one of her legs and she seemed oblivious to her state of undress. Normally she was very modest around everyone. I could tell her butt was bright red through her white panties. Mom was hitting her so fast that sis couldn't yelp at every blow, she just let out a steady yell that varied in intensity. Finally, after what seemed like forever she stopped. It was really about 5 minutes I guess, but believe me, that is plenty. I defy anyone to get beat like that and not cry. Sis rolled off mom's lap onto the floor and scooted around rubbing her but on the floor to relieve the pain. I snapped out of my dream-like state when I realized I was next.

I started breathing heavy and thinking, I can't take this, no way. But when you are a kid you have no choice, and the fact that I had no way out panicked me some. My mom saw my impending panic and grabbed my wrist before I stepped away. This reminded me of my cousin Jim's running away from his mom before the spanking. I now understood why he ran even though it was futile. How odd that that flashed back to me, but regardless, I couldn't run and I knew it would only make things worse. I was surprised how ruthless mom was on my sister and I was dreading my turn. I knew mom blamed me more than my sister for what happened. I wanted mom to think about how bad she wanted to hurt me and I said something like mom, the stick really hurts, do you know how much? Isn't this more than you want to do? She looked at me and thought about it, pursed her lips together and gave herself a sharp smack on her own bare leg with the stick. I have no idea whether she thought it hurt too much or not, she had no intention of explaining herself to me. She pulled me close and said get your shorts down!

My mom had no idea I had read the book remember, so I just pulled my shorts down and laid over her lap in my underwear like Dobson recommended. This was her original intent with my sister. I had never heard my mom talk like this, she was so mad at me. She said, "This was your fault more than your sister's. Do you think I'm going to beat her bare ass and not yours boy?!" I was 10 and hadn't been naked around my mom in a couple of years, and as far as I knew my sister had never seen me naked. Mom read my thoughts and unceremoniously yanked my underpants down to my knees and pulled me over her lap. Now I want to emphasize that my mom has never even remotely turned me on - not even a little, but the shock of feeling my privates against another person's skin really stuck with me. I had never felt that before. Mom was apparently afraid she was going to hurt my privates against her leg so she very briskly pulled me higher on her lap so they would drop between her knees and not get squished. This however, had the effect of bringing my head almost to the floor and to get 'comfortable' I readjusted and leaned my elbows on the couch. The preliminaries done - the spanking commenced.

I had no way to prepare myself for the stick beating my butt. Think about it, you prepare yourself for something you've experienced before based on what you've been through in the past. Not only had I never been so formally spanked, but also I had never had to dread it so long. The sick feeling of seeing mom there in the dark with the stick when we got home; watching in horror as my stupid sister pulled her pants AND underwear down without even being told to do so; watching my sister's punishment rise to a level of intensity that I didn't think my mom would even use on me - was all putting my stomach in a knot and made my knees weak.

My stomach dropped out of mind when she opened up with a fury on my butt. Like my sister, they were coming to fast to yelp with each individual strike, so I just started with a low 'aaaa' that quickly built to a crescendo of "AAAAAAHH!!!!!" with no sign of relief my mind quickly turned to the book and how to get her to stop wailing on me. After just 20 seconds or so their were tears in my eyes and I tried to turn my head around to show her I was crying which should make her stop. What I saw instead was a very focused mommy looking at nothing but my striped butt and the damage she was causing. After a few seconds she did meet my eye and then just got back to the business at hand.

Stop, stop, stop I demanded! The beating continued until I was nearly out of my mind with pain and fear. Would it ever stop? Was this child abuse? Who could help me? My spanking was no longer than my sisters - maybe 5 minutes. But that is an eternity when your facing the floor with a mom who's intent on "Daring to Discipline" with James Dobson. What I didn't realize and apparently she did realize is that I was really crying and sobbing now with despair, not just tearing up from the sting. At that point, she stopped. After giving me a few seconds to compose myself, but showing no sign of letting me off her lap, she started making sure I knew why I was being spanked. I dared do nothing but listen and agree and throw in "I'm sorry" at every opportunity - anything to get off her lap and my pants up. As she lectured me she rested her hand on my butt and pushed her hand into my cheeks. My best guess is she was feeling how hot it was. After it was over I went into the bathroom, pulled my pants down and looked at the damage. I touched my butt and was shocked at the heat radiating off it. Your butt really does get hot during a spanking, and remains that way for a while.

Unfortunately at this point I was not in the bathroom touching my butt; I was over mom's knee in the process of completely understanding why I was being punished. As an additional misfortune my mom got herself mad talking about the willful disobedience and the lying that when she got to a particularly upsetting part in the story of my delinquency she would hit me 2 or 3 times with the stick again as if to emphasize her point. I remember that the 2 or 3 strokes hurt worse and deeper than they did at the beginning of the spanking. My butt was raw. I was happy to find that she had no intention of resuming an all-out beating, but to my horror the door handle to the front door my sister and I had walked in through a mere 15 minutes ago, began to jiggle and open. My father was home from work. His jaw dropped open as he surveyed the scene and surmised what had taken place. I was embarrassed to be seen in such an unmanly position by my father, but there I was. obviously I had been crying, obviously I had been beaten soundly by a woman - albeit my mother, and obviously I was not pulling my pants up until she was good and ready to let me up. Dad laughed, smiled and finally said, "Proceed." Mom slapped my butt lightly and said, "We're done," and nudged me off her lap. I too quickly for cool pulled my pants up, and regaining a rag of dignity I ran upstairs to pout and plan creative and devious ways to make mom regret what she had done to me.

Surprisingly, after that incident, discipline in my household went back to the way it used to be - both infrequent and unstructured. This was an aberration in my childhood, but one that stuck with me very vividly. I can't imagine living with the fear of something like that all the days I was growing up.