I Spanked My Kids
The Spanking Stool
After reading some of my own experiences, people have asked me if I spank my children. I tell them I do (or did--they are now adults), but not nearly the same way as I was spanked when I was a girl. My Mom took spanking very seriously, and never failed to spank me until I could not sit down for days.
I have triplet girls--Jennifer, Jessica and Renee. They are fraternal triplets--they look similar but are not identical. They look like their father, which I'm happy to say, and all have long chestnut hair with just a glint of red that they got from me.
They were very good girls, even when they were little, but as you might imagine they could be a handful when together. Remembering my own painful spankings with the hairbrush, I tried my best not to hurt them too much, and only used my hand for some half-hearted slaps across the seat of the skirt while draped over my knee. This shamed them, I noticed, more than actually hurting their bottoms, and they straightened out fast after a few spanks. For more serious infractions I would pull down the recalcitrant girl's panties and slap her bare, which was even more shameful for her.
Then they reached the magic age of twelve, when they were no longer affected by a trip over my knee. Besides, they were growing taller than their Mom and difficult to keep in place. I needed to do something fast as their teenage hormones were kicking in. What's a mother to do?
One day my husband and I went to an antique fair, where we saw many products from the good old days. My husband had an antique shaving stand in the bathroom, complete with straight razors, soap and brush, and even a replica of Teddy Roosevelt's shaving mug. Then he saw the one thing that was missing from his display--an old-fashioned razor strop in very good condition. About a hundred years ago every Dad had a strop for honing his razors--and for whipping naughty kids as well!
I held the strop in my hand. It was big and made of heavy leather, and looked like it could really hurt a heinie if used in the proper manner! It was actually two straps, one behind the other, and had a handle for gripping. I slapped the strop against my hand and it gave out a loud SLAP! sound without too much effort. This got me thinking. I remember when I was paddled by my principal when I was seventeen. Besides hurting my rear end like a house afire, it gave a frightfully loud POFF! that echoed throughout the high-ceilinged room every time it whacked against my skirt. That sound made the spanking even more devastating. So sound made a big difference. What if I used the strop to spank the girls without using it too hard, but to make a loud sound as it hit their skin? It just might work! We bought the strop for five dollars.
On the way home we stopped at Wal-Mart for a few things. While we were there I went through the furniture department and saw some barstools of various shapes and sizes. One of them caught my eye. It was about three feet high with a square seat and square rungs rather than the round sort. Each side had two rungs. It was made of wood and colored a dark brown. Then I thought, if my girls could bend over this stool and push out their rear ends for a whipping, I'm sure they would be sufficiently embarrassed by the ordeal. I told my husband my plan, and he agreed with it, under one condition. He would not be present during the discipline because, as he put it, he would not feel right watching his daughters get spanked "with their bare heinies sticking up in the air." He said he would leave the house, or maybe the girls could be whipped when he was at work. I agreed with his terms. We bought the stool and went home.
I placed the stool in the middle of the kitchen floor and laid the razor strop on its seat. I informed the girls that we had just bought what I christened "The Spanking Stool" and from now on I would use this stool--with the accompanying strop--on the bare bottom of any girl who did not follow the rules, whether it be for late curfew, failure to do chores or schoolwork, or sassing parents. Avoiding the Spanking Stool was easy--simply stay on good behavior. Then I put the stool in the kitchen corner to await its first occupant.
My girls were really very good and I had little trouble with them, but at times the pre-teen rebellion would raise its head and needed to be put in its place. I did not tell them this, but I intended to give them light whippings with the strop making most of the noise. In the hands of someone who means business, that strop could really devastate a bare behind and fill it with plenty of welts, maybe even peeling off some skin. I didn't want any of that, of course, but the sight of that thick leather sure was scary!
The first girl to take a ride on the Spanking Stool was Jessica, who I had mentally predicted to be the prime victim. She had neglected to clean her room when told, and now was about to take fifteen lashes for her punishment. I asked Jennifer and Renee if they wanted to watch how the strop would be used. Unlike myself, who was required to watch the spankings of my sisters, I did not make the girls watch--but it was an option. I told Jessica to place the Spanking Stool in the middle of the kitchen floor, fetch the razor strop from her Dad's shaving stand and give it to me. Then I made her stand behind the stool for further orders.
"Prepare your cheeks!" I commanded. "Take down your slacks and panties."
Jessica undid her slacks and pushed them way down to her ankles, then skinned down her panties over them.
"Mount up!" I said. Jessica hopped up on the lowest rung, then bent way over to grip the lowest rung on the front side of the stool. Then I showed her how to "poise up." She had to flex her knees and dip the hollow of her back so that her bare rear end bulged out and up in an exaggerated presentation. I knew this would be very embarrassing to her, and I could hear her sisters giggle as Jess assumed the position.
"Ready, Jessica?" I asked with strop in hand.
"Yes, Mom," came the shaky reply. I knew she was scared, not knowing what to expect. I told her to count out every lash as it hit her backside. Then I swished the strop lightly, and as I had hoped it made a loud SNAP! as the two straps hit each other. Jessica gasped and called out "One!"
Of course she had never felt a razor strop, and was surprised at the sting. But I kept a close watch on the skin of her hind end, to make sure it only blushed and did not turn angry like the sight of my sisters' bottoms when I watched their tannings.
Jessica took it very well. She did not cry, but did sound somewhat annoyed as she counted her lashes. Finally she called out "Fifteen!" and the stropping came to an end.
Following my Mom's procedure, I required that the girls thank me in the same way I had to thank my Mom after a tanning. "Thank you for tanning my heinie!" was the formula, and believe me I hated to say those words. I'm sure Jess did too.
"Dismount," I ordered, "and pull up."
Jessica's rear did not look bad at all, and she did not even wince as she pulled up her panties.
"How do you feel, Jessica?" I asked.
"I feel like a total choad!" growled my freshly-stropped daughter. Her sisters laughed at that answer. Good! I thought. That's how I wanted her to feel. She was none the worse for wear. Her behind was a light pink, there was not a tear in her eye, and she could sit down just fine. All things considered, I didn't think I appeared cruel at all. The girls admitted that the leather strop gave a little sting to their bare behinds, but not so much that they thought the world was coming to an end.
Jennifer got a whipping a few weeks later for writing a nasty edit on the shopping list. Instead of "peanut butter" she thought she would be wise and wrote "peanus butter" on the list below the eggs and milk. I was angry and gave her twenty lashes on the Spanking Stool. She behaved pretty much the same as Jessica had, with no tears and just a trace of annoyance. In retrospect, I think maybe I should hot have used the Spanking Stool for something so trivial, but at the time I thought it was pretty nasty for a twelve-year-old girl to write.
My girls learned to take their whippings without much fuss, because they came to consider the Spanking Stool as a place of atonement for a clear misdeed. In fact, they never really fought the prospect but were amazingly cooperative.
One Friday night Jessica came home very late past her curfew. She gave me the usual lame excuse of losing track of the time, and after a late-night scolding I told her she was going to get twenty lashes in the morning.
Next morning I busied myself reading the morning paper in the living room, when Jessica came in and told me she was ready for her whipping. She was dressed in a shirt and only her panties, with bare legs and feet. She took me to the kitchen, where to my surprise Jessica had already put the Spanking Stool in place on the kitchen floor, laid the strop on the seat, and walked behind the stool to await her usual orders. She even lowered her panties without being told to do so. I gave her the usual commands about mounting up and poising out her rear, then took the razor strop in hand and walked behind her to administer the spanking.
"That was fifteen lashes, right?" I asked.
With her head pointed down toward the floor, Jessica replied, "No, Mom--twenty."
I was so proud of my girl! She had set up for her own spanking, and was honest about the sentence. She knew she deserved punishment and knew the reason why. But coming in late for curfew generally cost the girl twenty lashes, and Jessica was no exception. Although I was tempted to commute her sentence, I gave her the twenty--although the way I spanked an extra five would not have made any difference.
By the time the girls were sixteen the Spanking Stool got less and less use. They were maturing and did not need to be corrected as much now as they used to be.
I gave the final whipping to Renee, and this time I made her cry.
As a matter of policy I always asked the girls if their homework was done before they went to bed. They always said yes, it had been. That included Renee, who assured me that her homework was all taken care of. Then I received a letter from the school in the mail. Her teacher had written a warning to me that Renee had not handed in her homework for two weeks and was in danger of getting a low grade for the quarter. I was surprised, and confronted Renee, asking her if there was a problem in school that I should know about. There wasn't any problem, Renee assured me. She simply did not feel like doing her homework.
"Then you lied to me for the last two weeks!" I fairly shouted.
Renee lowered her eyes. "Yes, Mom--I lied. I didn't think you would find out."
I sighed. "I thought you would be past the use of the Spanking Stool, Renee. But I will not tolerate deliberate lying to my face. Now go up to your room while I calm down and think about your sentence."
I knew that I should never spank in anger. My own Mom forgot that policy once, and as a result I could not sit down for over a week. I would not make the same mistake. However, this sort of infraction called for more than twenty or even twenty-five lashes.
I went up to Renee's room and told her she would get three dozen strokes of the razor strop. A nice round thirty-six. "Do you want it now or later?" I asked. Nobody else was home, so now would be as good a time as any.
"I'll take it now," Renee said, and followed me downstairs to the kitchen where she went through the usual setting up and preparation. She was wearing a skirt and top. She tucked up her skirt, lowered her panties and assumed the position with her bare bottom stuck way out.
I started the whipping and Renee began the count. I tried not to hit harder than usual, but I think the sheer number of lashes might have been too much for her hind end. It was noticeably pinker than usual, and when she counted out number twenty-five I heard her let out a little "How-how-how!" to indicate that it was hurting a bit more than usual--enough to make her cry. Not a loud wail, mind you, but a low little sob, and her voice quavered as she finished counting the lashes. When she finally thanked me for the whipping and dismounted the stool she did indeed have tears in her eyes. She drew up her panties, shook out her skirt, then walked over to me and gave me a hug before breaking down.
"Mom," she sniffled, "I'm sorry I lied to you. I'll be very honest with you from now on. Please don't mistrust me!"
I hugged my contrite daughter and assured her that I would indeed trust her, and said I hoped I would never have to use the strop on her again. I dried her eyes with a tissue and let her return the Spanking Stool to the corner, where it still sits today, used only as an extra chair and to fetch things from top shelves.
My three girls are grown women now, and they still live at home. They are in college, where they certainly can be trusted to finish their assignments without any help from the Spanking Stool.
After reading some of my own experiences, people have asked me if I spank my children. I tell them I do (or did--they are now adults), but not nearly the same way as I was spanked when I was a girl. My Mom took spanking very seriously, and never failed to spank me until I could not sit down for days.
I have triplet girls--Jennifer, Jessica and Renee. They are fraternal triplets--they look similar but are not identical. They look like their father, which I'm happy to say, and all have long chestnut hair with just a glint of red that they got from me.
They were very good girls, even when they were little, but as you might imagine they could be a handful when together. Remembering my own painful spankings with the hairbrush, I tried my best not to hurt them too much, and only used my hand for some half-hearted slaps across the seat of the skirt while draped over my knee. This shamed them, I noticed, more than actually hurting their bottoms, and they straightened out fast after a few spanks. For more serious infractions I would pull down the recalcitrant girl's panties and slap her bare, which was even more shameful for her.
Then they reached the magic age of twelve, when they were no longer affected by a trip over my knee. Besides, they were growing taller than their Mom and difficult to keep in place. I needed to do something fast as their teenage hormones were kicking in. What's a mother to do?
One day my husband and I went to an antique fair, where we saw many products from the good old days. My husband had an antique shaving stand in the bathroom, complete with straight razors, soap and brush, and even a replica of Teddy Roosevelt's shaving mug. Then he saw the one thing that was missing from his display--an old-fashioned razor strop in very good condition. About a hundred years ago every Dad had a strop for honing his razors--and for whipping naughty kids as well!
I held the strop in my hand. It was big and made of heavy leather, and looked like it could really hurt a heinie if used in the proper manner! It was actually two straps, one behind the other, and had a handle for gripping. I slapped the strop against my hand and it gave out a loud SLAP! sound without too much effort. This got me thinking. I remember when I was paddled by my principal when I was seventeen. Besides hurting my rear end like a house afire, it gave a frightfully loud POFF! that echoed throughout the high-ceilinged room every time it whacked against my skirt. That sound made the spanking even more devastating. So sound made a big difference. What if I used the strop to spank the girls without using it too hard, but to make a loud sound as it hit their skin? It just might work! We bought the strop for five dollars.
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On the way home we stopped at Wal-Mart for a few things. While we were there I went through the furniture department and saw some barstools of various shapes and sizes. One of them caught my eye. It was about three feet high with a square seat and square rungs rather than the round sort. Each side had two rungs. It was made of wood and colored a dark brown. Then I thought, if my girls could bend over this stool and push out their rear ends for a whipping, I'm sure they would be sufficiently embarrassed by the ordeal. I told my husband my plan, and he agreed with it, under one condition. He would not be present during the discipline because, as he put it, he would not feel right watching his daughters get spanked "with their bare heinies sticking up in the air." He said he would leave the house, or maybe the girls could be whipped when he was at work. I agreed with his terms. We bought the stool and went home.
[image/video - please log in to see this content]
I placed the stool in the middle of the kitchen floor and laid the razor strop on its seat. I informed the girls that we had just bought what I christened "The Spanking Stool" and from now on I would use this stool--with the accompanying strop--on the bare bottom of any girl who did not follow the rules, whether it be for late curfew, failure to do chores or schoolwork, or sassing parents. Avoiding the Spanking Stool was easy--simply stay on good behavior. Then I put the stool in the kitchen corner to await its first occupant.
My girls were really very good and I had little trouble with them, but at times the pre-teen rebellion would raise its head and needed to be put in its place. I did not tell them this, but I intended to give them light whippings with the strop making most of the noise. In the hands of someone who means business, that strop could really devastate a bare behind and fill it with plenty of welts, maybe even peeling off some skin. I didn't want any of that, of course, but the sight of that thick leather sure was scary!
The first girl to take a ride on the Spanking Stool was Jessica, who I had mentally predicted to be the prime victim. She had neglected to clean her room when told, and now was about to take fifteen lashes for her punishment. I asked Jennifer and Renee if they wanted to watch how the strop would be used. Unlike myself, who was required to watch the spankings of my sisters, I did not make the girls watch--but it was an option. I told Jessica to place the Spanking Stool in the middle of the kitchen floor, fetch the razor strop from her Dad's shaving stand and give it to me. Then I made her stand behind the stool for further orders.
[image/video - please log in to see this content]
"Prepare your cheeks!" I commanded. "Take down your slacks and panties."
Jessica undid her slacks and pushed them way down to her ankles, then skinned down her panties over them.
"Mount up!" I said. Jessica hopped up on the lowest rung, then bent way over to grip the lowest rung on the front side of the stool. Then I showed her how to "poise up." She had to flex her knees and dip the hollow of her back so that her bare rear end bulged out and up in an exaggerated presentation. I knew this would be very embarrassing to her, and I could hear her sisters giggle as Jess assumed the position.
"Ready, Jessica?" I asked with strop in hand.
"Yes, Mom," came the shaky reply. I knew she was scared, not knowing what to expect. I told her to count out every lash as it hit her backside. Then I swished the strop lightly, and as I had hoped it made a loud SNAP! as the two straps hit each other. Jessica gasped and called out "One!"
Of course she had never felt a razor strop, and was surprised at the sting. But I kept a close watch on the skin of her hind end, to make sure it only blushed and did not turn angry like the sight of my sisters' bottoms when I watched their tannings.
Jessica took it very well. She did not cry, but did sound somewhat annoyed as she counted her lashes. Finally she called out "Fifteen!" and the stropping came to an end.
Following my Mom's procedure, I required that the girls thank me in the same way I had to thank my Mom after a tanning. "Thank you for tanning my heinie!" was the formula, and believe me I hated to say those words. I'm sure Jess did too.
"Dismount," I ordered, "and pull up."
Jessica's rear did not look bad at all, and she did not even wince as she pulled up her panties.
"How do you feel, Jessica?" I asked.
"I feel like a total choad!" growled my freshly-stropped daughter. Her sisters laughed at that answer. Good! I thought. That's how I wanted her to feel. She was none the worse for wear. Her behind was a light pink, there was not a tear in her eye, and she could sit down just fine. All things considered, I didn't think I appeared cruel at all. The girls admitted that the leather strop gave a little sting to their bare behinds, but not so much that they thought the world was coming to an end.
Jennifer got a whipping a few weeks later for writing a nasty edit on the shopping list. Instead of "peanut butter" she thought she would be wise and wrote "peanus butter" on the list below the eggs and milk. I was angry and gave her twenty lashes on the Spanking Stool. She behaved pretty much the same as Jessica had, with no tears and just a trace of annoyance. In retrospect, I think maybe I should hot have used the Spanking Stool for something so trivial, but at the time I thought it was pretty nasty for a twelve-year-old girl to write.
My girls learned to take their whippings without much fuss, because they came to consider the Spanking Stool as a place of atonement for a clear misdeed. In fact, they never really fought the prospect but were amazingly cooperative.
One Friday night Jessica came home very late past her curfew. She gave me the usual lame excuse of losing track of the time, and after a late-night scolding I told her she was going to get twenty lashes in the morning.
Next morning I busied myself reading the morning paper in the living room, when Jessica came in and told me she was ready for her whipping. She was dressed in a shirt and only her panties, with bare legs and feet. She took me to the kitchen, where to my surprise Jessica had already put the Spanking Stool in place on the kitchen floor, laid the strop on the seat, and walked behind the stool to await her usual orders. She even lowered her panties without being told to do so. I gave her the usual commands about mounting up and poising out her rear, then took the razor strop in hand and walked behind her to administer the spanking.
"That was fifteen lashes, right?" I asked.
With her head pointed down toward the floor, Jessica replied, "No, Mom--twenty."
I was so proud of my girl! She had set up for her own spanking, and was honest about the sentence. She knew she deserved punishment and knew the reason why. But coming in late for curfew generally cost the girl twenty lashes, and Jessica was no exception. Although I was tempted to commute her sentence, I gave her the twenty--although the way I spanked an extra five would not have made any difference.
By the time the girls were sixteen the Spanking Stool got less and less use. They were maturing and did not need to be corrected as much now as they used to be.
I gave the final whipping to Renee, and this time I made her cry.
As a matter of policy I always asked the girls if their homework was done before they went to bed. They always said yes, it had been. That included Renee, who assured me that her homework was all taken care of. Then I received a letter from the school in the mail. Her teacher had written a warning to me that Renee had not handed in her homework for two weeks and was in danger of getting a low grade for the quarter. I was surprised, and confronted Renee, asking her if there was a problem in school that I should know about. There wasn't any problem, Renee assured me. She simply did not feel like doing her homework.
"Then you lied to me for the last two weeks!" I fairly shouted.
Renee lowered her eyes. "Yes, Mom--I lied. I didn't think you would find out."
I sighed. "I thought you would be past the use of the Spanking Stool, Renee. But I will not tolerate deliberate lying to my face. Now go up to your room while I calm down and think about your sentence."
I knew that I should never spank in anger. My own Mom forgot that policy once, and as a result I could not sit down for over a week. I would not make the same mistake. However, this sort of infraction called for more than twenty or even twenty-five lashes.
I went up to Renee's room and told her she would get three dozen strokes of the razor strop. A nice round thirty-six. "Do you want it now or later?" I asked. Nobody else was home, so now would be as good a time as any.
"I'll take it now," Renee said, and followed me downstairs to the kitchen where she went through the usual setting up and preparation. She was wearing a skirt and top. She tucked up her skirt, lowered her panties and assumed the position with her bare bottom stuck way out.
I started the whipping and Renee began the count. I tried not to hit harder than usual, but I think the sheer number of lashes might have been too much for her hind end. It was noticeably pinker than usual, and when she counted out number twenty-five I heard her let out a little "How-how-how!" to indicate that it was hurting a bit more than usual--enough to make her cry. Not a loud wail, mind you, but a low little sob, and her voice quavered as she finished counting the lashes. When she finally thanked me for the whipping and dismounted the stool she did indeed have tears in her eyes. She drew up her panties, shook out her skirt, then walked over to me and gave me a hug before breaking down.
"Mom," she sniffled, "I'm sorry I lied to you. I'll be very honest with you from now on. Please don't mistrust me!"
I hugged my contrite daughter and assured her that I would indeed trust her, and said I hoped I would never have to use the strop on her again. I dried her eyes with a tissue and let her return the Spanking Stool to the corner, where it still sits today, used only as an extra chair and to fetch things from top shelves.
My three girls are grown women now, and they still live at home. They are in college, where they certainly can be trusted to finish their assignments without any help from the Spanking Stool.
