I Spanked My Kids

DEALING WITH RENEE

My three daughters were usually well-behaved girls and I did not have to discipline them very often, and when I did I tried not to hit them too hard. I relied on the embarrassment of the ordeal rather than the pain, which was no more than an uncomfortable sting.
I tried to instill good manners on Jennifer, Jessica and Renee, but sometimes as teenagers the girls would fall into the trap of adolescent defiance.
We were having dinner one weeknight, and were just finishing up. My husband and I were still at the table along with Jen and Jess, but Renee was up and wandering the kitchen looking for something sweet to top off her meal. The girls were about fourteen at the time, as I recall.
Suddenly Renee shattered the tranquility of the room with a terrible burst of wind.
Jen and Jess began to snort with laughter, and my husband tried to conceal a smile. But I didn't think such indiscretion was very amusing.
“Hey, Miss Manners!” I shouted. “What do you say?”
Renee did not miss a beat and did not even look at me. “Deal with it,” she replied.
I slapped my palm down on the tabletop, causing the plates and glasses to rattle.
“Deal with it?” I replied angrily. “Deal with it?!”
Renee did not reply.
“All right, Lady,” I continued. “I'll show you how I deal with it. Go set up the Spanking Stool!”
This time Renee had a reply. “Aw Mom—just for that?”
I said, “Renee, when you fart like a Clydesdale in front of the family I expect you to excuse yourself—not back-sass your mother. That's why you're getting ten lashes!”
My husband got up from the table. “Uh...I think I'll go down to the market and get a six-pack of soda,” he said. Actually he wanted to leave the house so he would not have to see the spanking. He always said it was not proper for a father to see his daughters “with their bare heinies sticking up in the air.” And that's exactly how I spanked—on the bare bottom with his leather shaving strop that he kept in the bathroom as a decoration.
The Spanking Stool was a tall wooden barstool that was called a saddle stool because it had a flat rectangular seat and squared rungs. The girl to be spanked had to expose her bottom and climb onto the lowest rung, bend all the way over and grab onto the front rung. She also had to stick out her bottom in an exaggerated pose. This position was very shameful for her, especially in her teenage years. All three of my girls had their turns on the Spanking Stool, and although they agreed that it didn't really hurt, they did admit that they felt—as Jessica put it--”like a total choad.”
Once her father had backed out of the driveway Renee walked over to the corner, lifted the stool and carried it to the middle of the kitchen, then went to the bathroom to fetch her Dad's razor strop—a formidable-looking thing that could really devastate a girl's behind if used with force. But I swung it lightly, which produced a tolerable little sting and turned the flesh a very pale pink.


Renee walked behind the stool and waited. Her two sisters sat at the table with amused looks on their faces. They were permitted to watch the show.
“Prepare your cheeks,” I told Renee. She knew this meant to push her slacks and panties all the way down to her knees, leaving her bottom and thighs completely bare.
“Mount up!”
Renee hopped up on the lower rung, her lowered pants impeding her movement, then bent over to grab the opposite rung. She flexed her knees and dipped her back so that her rear end was thrust way out.
“Mom,” she said, “do you really have to do this?”
“Yes, Renee,” I replied. “I do. Because you don't back-sass me when I tell you to do something. If you can't control that little rosebud, the least you can do it excuse yourself without the smart mouth. Understood?”
“Yes, Mom,” Renee said weakly.
“All right—hold on,” I warned.
The two leather straps that comprised the razor strop slapped together with a loud whacking sound. I chose a razor strop for this reason. It made a loud report when it hit the skin, but sounded way worse than it felt.
“One!” said Renee. The girls were made to count their own lashes, to add to their shame.
SLAP!
“Two!”
SLAP!
“Three!” Renee could not conceal the tone of annoyance in her voice.
SLAP!
“Four!” Renee let out a little sigh.
“Are you okay, Renee?” I asked.
“It's starting to hurt, Mom,” my girl admitted. “Am I very red?”
“Spankings usually do,” I replied. “And no, you're hardly blushing back there.”
SLAP!
“Five!”
I kept a watchful eye on her bottom to determine if she was sprouting any welts. I saw that she was not, much to my relief. I did not want any real damage done to her hide. But the way I spanked, if outsiders ever saw me apply the razor strop they would think I was kidding.
SLAP!
“Six!” called Renee, followed by a little “Mmmmhh!”
“Hold on, Renee,” I said. “Only four to go.”
“Come on, Renee!” called Jennifer from the table. “You're doing fine.”
SLAP!
“Seven! Well, I sure don't feel like I'm doing fine!” Renee retorted.
“SLAP!
“Eight!”
Jessica began to giggle. “I think you're blushing more than your heinie is!”
SLAP!
“Nine!” called Renee. “Yeah, Jess—like I really needed to hear that!"
And finally, SLAP!
“Ten!” Renee sighed, relieved that the stropping was at an end. Then she added, as I had to add when my own Mom tanned me, “Thank you for tanning my heinie.”
“Okay,” I said. “Dismount and pull up.”
Renee hopped off the stool, reached down and pulled up what I thought were very skimpy panties. I wondered where she had gotten them. Then up came her slacks. Renee did not even wince as she pulled them up over her bottom.
As required, Renee put the stool and strop back in their places. Then she sat angrily on a living room chair.
My husband soon came home with some cans of Diet Coke. After putting them down on the table, the next thing he did was to approach Renee.
“Are you okay, Kid?” he asked.
Renee sort of laughed. “Yeah, Dad—I'm okay. It wasn't too bad.” But she added, almost as an afterthought, “And I'm sorry.”