I Got Spanked As a Kid
Spanking Times Two... When I was in school, I never got in trouble for bad grades on my report card. In fact, in my school I was in what would be called the "gifted program" today. But starting in 5th grade I was the ringleader of a clique of girls who took pleasure in mocking and making fun of others, especially those who were not in the accelerated class. By 7th grade I was pretty "stuck up", as we used to call it, and I had a homeroom teacher, Mrs. G., who saw on a daily basis the way my friends and I would put down other kids, even those who were in my class. Mrs. G. would call me out on a regular basis but I could care less what she thought.
Well, the second report card of the year was handed out and my grades were all As, as usual. BUT, on the cover page that was completed by our homeroom teacher was our conduct report, and this time the box next to "Displays good Christian behavior" was not checked. Instead, the box next to "Disrespectful to others" was marked. As soon as I saw it I was at once stunned, furious at Mrs. G. for being such a b****, and also concerned for what this would mean at home, because my parents did not tolerate poor behavior, especially not in school. I started to cry silently and buried my head in my hands as my girlfriends came over to console me and commiserate about the nasty Mrs. G.
On the bus ride home I ran through all the scenarios that might play out with my parents and tried to figure out how best to explain myself or put myself in the best possible light. But all my planning was for naught, because as soon as I walked in to the house my mother called me to the kitchen and sent my younger siblings upstairs to do their homework. I could tell by the tone of her voice that she wasn't happy. Mrs. G. must have called. This was not good.
As soon as I entered the kitchen Mom said, "Just put your books down right there, Missy, and put your nose in the corner. As soon as I finish putting dinner in the oven I will deal with you." I tried to reply but Mom cut me off, "I don't want to hear a word out of you. You just get your little bottom into that corner." I could see that the kitchen table was cleared off but not entirely - a large wooden spoon was on display and it was pretty obvious to me that it was meant for my backside. I slunk over to the corner to await my impending doom.
It had been nearly three years since my last spanking - my parents' preferred method of punishment for me had changed to putting me on restriction. So while my parents never explicitly said so, I had thought my days of being spanked were over. Clearly, I was wrong. And when my parents spanked any of us, they didn't fool around. If you went across either of their laps, you didn't get up until your bare bottom was scorched, your eyes puffy, nose running with snot, choking on your tears. I studied the patterns on the wallpaper intently in a vain attempt to take my mind off of what was about to happen.
In any event, I didn't have long to worry about it. I hear Mom's footsteps approaching and the sickening sound of the wooden spoon scraping across the table as she picked it up. She turned me around, got right in my face, and started in on her lecture. "I suspect you've figured out that Mrs. G. called me and told me about your despicable behavior. It's bad enough that I got a call from your teacher in the first place, but when she told me it had nothing to do with grades, I was appalled. You have been absolutely ugly in the way you've been treating your classmates. Your behavior has been an embarrassment to this entire family, and from what Mrs. G. said, it's been going on for a while. Well, young lady, it stops now. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
I was silent.
Mom sat down and crooked her finger. "Get over here."
I took a tentative step and Mom reached up and yanked me the rest of the way to her. Without a word she reached up under my uniform skirt and jerked my underwear down. I started to whine and reached back to protect my bottom but Mom slapped my hands out of the way and snapped, "Don't you dare. I am going to make sure you remember this when you sit down for the next week. You are 13 years old and that's too old to be pulling this kind of foolishness." With that, she pulled me over, lifted up my skirt, and went to town with the wooden spoon. It was the worst spanking ever. I cried until I was hoarse as Mom blistered my bottom and thighs. When she finally stopped I was a complete mess, coughing, sobbing, moaning, and begging for the punishment to end. I would have confessed to anything just to make it stop.
Mom sent me back to the corner with my panties down around my ankles and told me that my father would also want to "discuss" my behavior when he got home. So I stood there, sniffling, with my burning backside on display for another hour or so until Dad got home from work. He gave me a stern lecture of his own, but mercifully, I was allowed to join the family for dinner without any further punishment. But as soon as the table was cleared, my brother and sister were sent upstairs and Dad had a brief turn with my still throbbing bottom, giving me enough of a warmup to bring me to tears again before bed and a promise of a repeat performance the next evening if I so much as looked cross-eyed at something I shouldn't.
The worst part of all was that it was the middle of the week, so I had to face Mrs. G. at school the next day. She bore a smile of satisfaction as I gingerly lowered myself into my desk that morning and she made a point of asking me if I had suffered any "unpleasant consequences" at home the night before. I answered, "Yes Ma'am" but didn't elaborate, not that I needed to. "Good," Mrs. G. said. "Your parents and I agreed that I would given them regular reports for the near future." It wasn't the last time that school year for "unpleasant consequences."
Well, the second report card of the year was handed out and my grades were all As, as usual. BUT, on the cover page that was completed by our homeroom teacher was our conduct report, and this time the box next to "Displays good Christian behavior" was not checked. Instead, the box next to "Disrespectful to others" was marked. As soon as I saw it I was at once stunned, furious at Mrs. G. for being such a b****, and also concerned for what this would mean at home, because my parents did not tolerate poor behavior, especially not in school. I started to cry silently and buried my head in my hands as my girlfriends came over to console me and commiserate about the nasty Mrs. G.
On the bus ride home I ran through all the scenarios that might play out with my parents and tried to figure out how best to explain myself or put myself in the best possible light. But all my planning was for naught, because as soon as I walked in to the house my mother called me to the kitchen and sent my younger siblings upstairs to do their homework. I could tell by the tone of her voice that she wasn't happy. Mrs. G. must have called. This was not good.
As soon as I entered the kitchen Mom said, "Just put your books down right there, Missy, and put your nose in the corner. As soon as I finish putting dinner in the oven I will deal with you." I tried to reply but Mom cut me off, "I don't want to hear a word out of you. You just get your little bottom into that corner." I could see that the kitchen table was cleared off but not entirely - a large wooden spoon was on display and it was pretty obvious to me that it was meant for my backside. I slunk over to the corner to await my impending doom.
It had been nearly three years since my last spanking - my parents' preferred method of punishment for me had changed to putting me on restriction. So while my parents never explicitly said so, I had thought my days of being spanked were over. Clearly, I was wrong. And when my parents spanked any of us, they didn't fool around. If you went across either of their laps, you didn't get up until your bare bottom was scorched, your eyes puffy, nose running with snot, choking on your tears. I studied the patterns on the wallpaper intently in a vain attempt to take my mind off of what was about to happen.
In any event, I didn't have long to worry about it. I hear Mom's footsteps approaching and the sickening sound of the wooden spoon scraping across the table as she picked it up. She turned me around, got right in my face, and started in on her lecture. "I suspect you've figured out that Mrs. G. called me and told me about your despicable behavior. It's bad enough that I got a call from your teacher in the first place, but when she told me it had nothing to do with grades, I was appalled. You have been absolutely ugly in the way you've been treating your classmates. Your behavior has been an embarrassment to this entire family, and from what Mrs. G. said, it's been going on for a while. Well, young lady, it stops now. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
I was silent.
Mom sat down and crooked her finger. "Get over here."
I took a tentative step and Mom reached up and yanked me the rest of the way to her. Without a word she reached up under my uniform skirt and jerked my underwear down. I started to whine and reached back to protect my bottom but Mom slapped my hands out of the way and snapped, "Don't you dare. I am going to make sure you remember this when you sit down for the next week. You are 13 years old and that's too old to be pulling this kind of foolishness." With that, she pulled me over, lifted up my skirt, and went to town with the wooden spoon. It was the worst spanking ever. I cried until I was hoarse as Mom blistered my bottom and thighs. When she finally stopped I was a complete mess, coughing, sobbing, moaning, and begging for the punishment to end. I would have confessed to anything just to make it stop.
Mom sent me back to the corner with my panties down around my ankles and told me that my father would also want to "discuss" my behavior when he got home. So I stood there, sniffling, with my burning backside on display for another hour or so until Dad got home from work. He gave me a stern lecture of his own, but mercifully, I was allowed to join the family for dinner without any further punishment. But as soon as the table was cleared, my brother and sister were sent upstairs and Dad had a brief turn with my still throbbing bottom, giving me enough of a warmup to bring me to tears again before bed and a promise of a repeat performance the next evening if I so much as looked cross-eyed at something I shouldn't.
The worst part of all was that it was the middle of the week, so I had to face Mrs. G. at school the next day. She bore a smile of satisfaction as I gingerly lowered myself into my desk that morning and she made a point of asking me if I had suffered any "unpleasant consequences" at home the night before. I answered, "Yes Ma'am" but didn't elaborate, not that I needed to. "Good," Mrs. G. said. "Your parents and I agreed that I would given them regular reports for the near future." It wasn't the last time that school year for "unpleasant consequences."
51-55, F
