I Was Spanked As A Teen
My Final Tanning From Mom
My two younger sisters and I were spanked through our teen years by our Mom, whose weapon of choice was the flat wooden hairbrush that kept us from sitting down for a long time. Getting spanked as teenagers was not unusual where I grew up, both at home and at school. When I was seventeen I received a paddling from my school principal, and so joined the ranks of so many others who paid for school infractions with their behinds. I know my friends were spanked at home as well.
By the time I graduated high school and began to attend college my behavior had matured to the point that home spankings seemed to be a thing of the past.
I will never forget August 14, 1978.
It was a warm summer afternoon, not unreasonably hot, and I felt comfortable in my light blue flowered skirt and powder blue shell that left my shoulders bare. Mom was in the house taking a nap before leaving for her night nursing shift at the local hospital. I had a driver's license but no car. Feeling a pang of wanderlust, I decided to borrow Mom's car and go for a ride to cool down. I couldn't ask permission because she was sleeping, so I took it upon myself to fetch her car keys and take a nice ride down the highway, intending to return before she woke up.
I cranked down the window and opened the vents. Turning onto the highway I increased my speed, and the breeze blew onto my shoulders and up my slip. Oh, that felt so cool on me! My red ponytail was whipping back and forth on the back of my neck.
I didn't see the sheriff.
He must have been hiding in my trunk! He came from out of nowhere, and I saw his flashing lights and then heard his siren. He pulled me over to the side of the highway.
Most women know that crying their way out of a ticket never works. The sheriff slapped me with a ticket for going seventy in a fifty-five mile zone. Apprehensively, I made my way back home to our big farmhouse.
Mom was no longer asleep. She was dressed in her white nurse's uniform of a white dress, white stockings and sensible white shoes.
She was furious.
"Pamela Ann, where in hell have you been?" she shouted.
I stammered, "I...I went for a ride while you were taking a nap. I was going to come home sooner, but..." Then I produced the ticket.
Now Mom went livid. "You knew I had to go to work. I had to call in sick because I had no idea when you were going to show up. Now I missed a night's work--and you get yourself a speeding ticket? What is wrong with you, Pamela Ann??"
"I guess," I explained lamely, "I just lost track of the time."
With that, Mom hit the roof.
"Get in that bathroom, Missy. I'm going to tan your heinie like no tomorrow!"
I stared at her incredulously. "Tan my heinie??" I almost laughed, the notion seemed so absurd. "Mom, you're kidding! I'm old enough to vote!"
Mom's eyes blazed with her angriest look ever. "Now you listen to me, Missy. You think you're too mature for a tanning, do you? Well, with maturity comes responsibility--and you have shown neither! And so you will be tanned like the irresponsible brat that you are! Now," she concluded, "scoot to the bathroom and get out all your friends!"
I stopped and turned to face her. "All of them?" I asked. I knew that "all my friends" consisted of the hairbrush, clothespins to pin my skirt back, and the most dreaded of all--the family enema kit! Mom always administered a large enema after every spanking for further discomfort and shame. And she did it in front of my sisters.
"Please," I begged, "not the enema too!"
"Pamela Ann, it's time you learned some discipline," Mom said. "I intend to give you the full treatment as always. Now get in there and stop whining about it!"
There was never any talking our way out of a tanning. Defeated, I walked into the big bathroom and opened the cupboard to remove the large wooden hairbrush, the orange box that contained the red rubber bag and hose, and the large barium enema nozzle that Mom had procured from the hospital, a bag of spring clothespins for holding up my skirts, and a jar of petroleum jelly. Meanwhile my two sisters, Gretchen and Audrey, had been called down to watch the spanking. They entered the bathroom as I put all the equipment on the vanity, while Mom was busy in the kitchen mixing up the enema solution.
"Pamela Ann!" Gretchen said. "Is Mom really going to tan your heinie?"
I didn't really feel like talking, but I managed, "Looks that way."
"Wow!" said Audrey in disbelief.
Our spankings were very ceremonial, intended to drive home the seriousness of the whole affair. Presently Mom came in with a glass pitcher filled with a milky concoction of warm water, soapsuds, baking soda and salt. She poured it into the enema bag, attached the hose, clamped it off and then hung it upside-down on the shower curtain rod high above the tub.
"Pamela Ann, take off your shoes," Mom ordered, "and stand at attention."
We had to take our shoes off so they wouldn't go flying when we kicked and thrashed over the parental knee. Taking four clothespins, Mom carefully raised the backs of my skirt and half-slip, folded them neatly and clipped them to my waistband with the clothespins. Then she peeled down my lightweight pantyhose to my knees, and finally pulled down my white lace panties to join them. I was staring into the faces of my shocked sisters, and was holding the lethal hairbrush in my hand.
As she always did, Mom hiked up her dress so that her girdle and stockings showed, then sat down on the wide rim of the tub. She indicated her stocking-tops.
"Cross my garters, young lady!"
That was the order to lie across her lap. I wasn't very big, only 5' 5", and I fit very nicely across her ample lap. As I lay there, my completely bare behind facing my sisters, I kept thinking to myself, I'm almost twenty! Almost twenty years old!!
"Hand up the hairbrush!" said Mom. I reached up and back and offered her the handle of the mahogany-colored Fuller brush. Now it was time for sentencing.
"Now, Pamela Ann," Mom began, "can you tell me why you are getting your heinie tanned?"
All I could say was, "Because I was thoughtless and irresponsible."
"You certainly were!" Mom snapped. "You made me late for work by taking my car without my permission, and you got yourself a ticket that you can't even pay for! Do you think you acted like a mature young woman?"
"No, Mom--I don't. Please, I'm sorry!"
"Sorry? Yes, you will be--very sorry! Your sentence is one hundred paddywhacks!"
Mom always called the spanks "paddywhacks" to make us feel more like little children. I hated the term. But Mom had never issued such a severe sentence.
"Mom, please!" I begged. "You never gave a hundred before!" In my spanking position I was actually addressing the tile floor.
Mom said, "You're lucky to get off with that! Now, which cheek do you want slapped first?"
Mom's spanking method was to give five good spanks on one cheek, then move to the other cheek for five more. That style produced a lot of heat and set our buns blazing quickly. We were required to count out our spanks, loud and clear, or receive four extras on the backs of our bare thighs each time we missed.
"My--my right cheek, please," I said.
Mom rubbed the hairbrush on my right buttock, then brought it down sharply. I noticed that she was hitting harder than usual.
"OW! One!" I called.
SPANK! again.
"OH! Two! Please, Mom--not so hard!"
None of us girls ever counted to twenty without crying. This time I didn't make it to ten. The floodgates opened and I began to rain warm tears.
"Waaa-haaaa-haaa! Ten! Wooo-hooooo! Eleven! Aaaaah-haaaa! Twelve! Please, no more!"
I was beginning to howl my head off. Joining me in the crying chorus were Audrey and Gretchen, who were crying in sympathy and imploring Mom not to go through with a hundred paddywhacks. What Mom had failed to do was to follow her custom of cooling down first before tanning one of us. This time she spanked in anger, venting her rage fully on my reddening, roasting rear end. I twisted, I kicked, I wagged my bare tail trying to get away from the never-ending shower of hard spanks. I could feel my pantyhose slipping down to my feet and turning inside-out from my wild kicking.
I don't remember much after that. Gretchen later told me I was screaming out the count, and I'm not surprised. My rear was on fire and I could feel the cheeks swelling up.
"Oh! Oh! Ninety-seven! Owwww!!! Ninety-eight! Aah! Ninety-nine! Wooo!! ONE HUNDRED!!" I sighed in relief and just lay there over her garter-stockings, crying and sobbing
Mom reminded me, "You forgot something, young lady! Do you want some on your thighs to help you remember?"
I fairly shouted out, "Thank you for tanning my heinie!" I felt like a naughty little girl again.
Mom put down the hairbrush and picked up the jar of Vaseline, then lowered the red hose of the waiting enema. She spread apart my swollen dumplings and dabbed my rosebud with the lubricant while I sobbed, "Oh, not that!" I gasped as the oversized nozzle slipped into me. With a sharp click, the flow valve opened and the enema began to flow while I cried and implored Mom not to make me sit. I took all two quarts of it, with Mom stopping several times to rub my back and ribs and let me take deep breaths to relieve the bloating. At last she shut off the stopcock and squeezed my roasting cheeks together with the nozzle still inside me. I yelped when she touched my behind.
"Now, Pamela Ann," said Mom, "what have you learned from this experience?"
Fighting back a terrible urge to poo, I explained to her and my younger sisters how I had learned to be more responsible and thoughtful for others in the future, how I would be more careful with my driving, and ask permission before taking someone else's property. After five agonizing minutes, Mom pulled out the nozzle with a noise like a wet kiss, then helped me to my feet.
"Now, Pamela Ann--you may poo."
I hobbled to the waiting toilet seat of hard plastic. "Please don't make me sit!" I entreated. "I'm too sore!"
"You should be!" said Mom. "Now you plant that heinie down!"
I sat and let out a howl. I had never been so well-spanked in my life.
After completing my business in front of Mom and my gazing sisters, I was marched to the living room, my pantyhose dragging behind me as I shuffled along. It was now time for the "Hour of Shame"--one full hour in the corner with my nose to the wall and my hands at sides, my punished behind on full display.
I took up my position as my sisters gathered around me and Mom busied herself in the bathroom, cleaning and sterilizing the equipment for the next victim.
"Oh Pamela Ann!" Gretchen said.
Tearfully I sobbed, "Gretchen--does my heinie look as bad as it feels?"
Gretchen was honest. "Worse!" she said.
From the bathroom the voice of Mom could be heard. "Pamela Ann is in reflection! There is no talking!"
After sixty tedious minutes I heard the kitchen timer ring, signaling the end of my ordeal. Mom came in and unclipped my skirts. My wispy little slip fell over my tenderized behind and felt like sandpaper on my skin. I shuffled upstairs to my room, my panties and hose still down and trailing behind me.
Very apprehensively, I looked into the door mirror and peered around my shoulder to see the damage. I gasped when I saw my big swollen cheeks, deep red and covered with black and blue ovals, I had also sprouted a good crop of blisters. I had never seen my seat look like this. I had really been over-spanked!
I climbed out of my skirt and petti, pulled my feet out of my hose and panties, donned my pajama top only, and lay face-down on my pillow, crying and sniffling. How could I have been so careless and stupid?
As she always did, Mom came up in about an hour to examine my spanked heinie and put soothing cream on it. But this time was different. Mom took one look at the damage she had inflicted, and broke down crying.
"Oh Pamela Ann, I'm so sorry!" she sobbed. "I wasn't thinking. My poor baby, please forgive me."
I had never seen my Mom so contrite after giving any of us a tanning. I felt more sorry for her than for my own heinie.
"I should have cooled down first," Mom went on. "It was too much and I was so angry. I promise I'll never tan you again."
She gently spread cooling medicated cream over my big cheeks, then prepared ice packs to cool them off and get the swelling down. She was still crying.
"Mom," I said, "I forgive you. I understand. It's all right."
I never thought I would see the day when I had to comfort my Mom after she had tanned my heinie!
Next day I was unable to wear even my thinnest panties. I had to go down to breakfast wearing only my bra and a full-length apron that left my spanked cheeks exposed to the air. And of course I had to eat my breakfast standing at the kitchen counter. My hind end felt like a bad sunburn. I could not sit comfortably for nine days. It had been the whaling of my life. But Mom was true to her word. She never tanned either me or Gretchen again, and I believe only tanned Audrey's heinie once. The hairbrush was put away for good. And if I never see another enema again, it would be too soon. But in a way I'm glad to have sacrificed my own dumplings for the good of my sisters. Mom and I never talk about that tanning. I don't intend to upset her by reminding her. We still have a very good relationship.
My two younger sisters and I were spanked through our teen years by our Mom, whose weapon of choice was the flat wooden hairbrush that kept us from sitting down for a long time. Getting spanked as teenagers was not unusual where I grew up, both at home and at school. When I was seventeen I received a paddling from my school principal, and so joined the ranks of so many others who paid for school infractions with their behinds. I know my friends were spanked at home as well.
By the time I graduated high school and began to attend college my behavior had matured to the point that home spankings seemed to be a thing of the past.
I will never forget August 14, 1978.
It was a warm summer afternoon, not unreasonably hot, and I felt comfortable in my light blue flowered skirt and powder blue shell that left my shoulders bare. Mom was in the house taking a nap before leaving for her night nursing shift at the local hospital. I had a driver's license but no car. Feeling a pang of wanderlust, I decided to borrow Mom's car and go for a ride to cool down. I couldn't ask permission because she was sleeping, so I took it upon myself to fetch her car keys and take a nice ride down the highway, intending to return before she woke up.
I cranked down the window and opened the vents. Turning onto the highway I increased my speed, and the breeze blew onto my shoulders and up my slip. Oh, that felt so cool on me! My red ponytail was whipping back and forth on the back of my neck.
I didn't see the sheriff.
[image/video - please log in to see this content]
He must have been hiding in my trunk! He came from out of nowhere, and I saw his flashing lights and then heard his siren. He pulled me over to the side of the highway.
Most women know that crying their way out of a ticket never works. The sheriff slapped me with a ticket for going seventy in a fifty-five mile zone. Apprehensively, I made my way back home to our big farmhouse.
Mom was no longer asleep. She was dressed in her white nurse's uniform of a white dress, white stockings and sensible white shoes.
She was furious.
"Pamela Ann, where in hell have you been?" she shouted.
I stammered, "I...I went for a ride while you were taking a nap. I was going to come home sooner, but..." Then I produced the ticket.
Now Mom went livid. "You knew I had to go to work. I had to call in sick because I had no idea when you were going to show up. Now I missed a night's work--and you get yourself a speeding ticket? What is wrong with you, Pamela Ann??"
"I guess," I explained lamely, "I just lost track of the time."
With that, Mom hit the roof.
"Get in that bathroom, Missy. I'm going to tan your heinie like no tomorrow!"
I stared at her incredulously. "Tan my heinie??" I almost laughed, the notion seemed so absurd. "Mom, you're kidding! I'm old enough to vote!"
Mom's eyes blazed with her angriest look ever. "Now you listen to me, Missy. You think you're too mature for a tanning, do you? Well, with maturity comes responsibility--and you have shown neither! And so you will be tanned like the irresponsible brat that you are! Now," she concluded, "scoot to the bathroom and get out all your friends!"
I stopped and turned to face her. "All of them?" I asked. I knew that "all my friends" consisted of the hairbrush, clothespins to pin my skirt back, and the most dreaded of all--the family enema kit! Mom always administered a large enema after every spanking for further discomfort and shame. And she did it in front of my sisters.
"Please," I begged, "not the enema too!"
"Pamela Ann, it's time you learned some discipline," Mom said. "I intend to give you the full treatment as always. Now get in there and stop whining about it!"
There was never any talking our way out of a tanning. Defeated, I walked into the big bathroom and opened the cupboard to remove the large wooden hairbrush, the orange box that contained the red rubber bag and hose, and the large barium enema nozzle that Mom had procured from the hospital, a bag of spring clothespins for holding up my skirts, and a jar of petroleum jelly. Meanwhile my two sisters, Gretchen and Audrey, had been called down to watch the spanking. They entered the bathroom as I put all the equipment on the vanity, while Mom was busy in the kitchen mixing up the enema solution.
"Pamela Ann!" Gretchen said. "Is Mom really going to tan your heinie?"
I didn't really feel like talking, but I managed, "Looks that way."
"Wow!" said Audrey in disbelief.
Our spankings were very ceremonial, intended to drive home the seriousness of the whole affair. Presently Mom came in with a glass pitcher filled with a milky concoction of warm water, soapsuds, baking soda and salt. She poured it into the enema bag, attached the hose, clamped it off and then hung it upside-down on the shower curtain rod high above the tub.
[image/video - please log in to see this content]
"Pamela Ann, take off your shoes," Mom ordered, "and stand at attention."
We had to take our shoes off so they wouldn't go flying when we kicked and thrashed over the parental knee. Taking four clothespins, Mom carefully raised the backs of my skirt and half-slip, folded them neatly and clipped them to my waistband with the clothespins. Then she peeled down my lightweight pantyhose to my knees, and finally pulled down my white lace panties to join them. I was staring into the faces of my shocked sisters, and was holding the lethal hairbrush in my hand.
As she always did, Mom hiked up her dress so that her girdle and stockings showed, then sat down on the wide rim of the tub. She indicated her stocking-tops.
"Cross my garters, young lady!"
That was the order to lie across her lap. I wasn't very big, only 5' 5", and I fit very nicely across her ample lap. As I lay there, my completely bare behind facing my sisters, I kept thinking to myself, I'm almost twenty! Almost twenty years old!!
"Hand up the hairbrush!" said Mom. I reached up and back and offered her the handle of the mahogany-colored Fuller brush. Now it was time for sentencing.
"Now, Pamela Ann," Mom began, "can you tell me why you are getting your heinie tanned?"
All I could say was, "Because I was thoughtless and irresponsible."
"You certainly were!" Mom snapped. "You made me late for work by taking my car without my permission, and you got yourself a ticket that you can't even pay for! Do you think you acted like a mature young woman?"
"No, Mom--I don't. Please, I'm sorry!"
"Sorry? Yes, you will be--very sorry! Your sentence is one hundred paddywhacks!"
Mom always called the spanks "paddywhacks" to make us feel more like little children. I hated the term. But Mom had never issued such a severe sentence.
"Mom, please!" I begged. "You never gave a hundred before!" In my spanking position I was actually addressing the tile floor.
Mom said, "You're lucky to get off with that! Now, which cheek do you want slapped first?"
Mom's spanking method was to give five good spanks on one cheek, then move to the other cheek for five more. That style produced a lot of heat and set our buns blazing quickly. We were required to count out our spanks, loud and clear, or receive four extras on the backs of our bare thighs each time we missed.
"My--my right cheek, please," I said.
Mom rubbed the hairbrush on my right buttock, then brought it down sharply. I noticed that she was hitting harder than usual.
"OW! One!" I called.
SPANK! again.
"OH! Two! Please, Mom--not so hard!"
None of us girls ever counted to twenty without crying. This time I didn't make it to ten. The floodgates opened and I began to rain warm tears.
"Waaa-haaaa-haaa! Ten! Wooo-hooooo! Eleven! Aaaaah-haaaa! Twelve! Please, no more!"
I was beginning to howl my head off. Joining me in the crying chorus were Audrey and Gretchen, who were crying in sympathy and imploring Mom not to go through with a hundred paddywhacks. What Mom had failed to do was to follow her custom of cooling down first before tanning one of us. This time she spanked in anger, venting her rage fully on my reddening, roasting rear end. I twisted, I kicked, I wagged my bare tail trying to get away from the never-ending shower of hard spanks. I could feel my pantyhose slipping down to my feet and turning inside-out from my wild kicking.
I don't remember much after that. Gretchen later told me I was screaming out the count, and I'm not surprised. My rear was on fire and I could feel the cheeks swelling up.
"Oh! Oh! Ninety-seven! Owwww!!! Ninety-eight! Aah! Ninety-nine! Wooo!! ONE HUNDRED!!" I sighed in relief and just lay there over her garter-stockings, crying and sobbing
Mom reminded me, "You forgot something, young lady! Do you want some on your thighs to help you remember?"
I fairly shouted out, "Thank you for tanning my heinie!" I felt like a naughty little girl again.
Mom put down the hairbrush and picked up the jar of Vaseline, then lowered the red hose of the waiting enema. She spread apart my swollen dumplings and dabbed my rosebud with the lubricant while I sobbed, "Oh, not that!" I gasped as the oversized nozzle slipped into me. With a sharp click, the flow valve opened and the enema began to flow while I cried and implored Mom not to make me sit. I took all two quarts of it, with Mom stopping several times to rub my back and ribs and let me take deep breaths to relieve the bloating. At last she shut off the stopcock and squeezed my roasting cheeks together with the nozzle still inside me. I yelped when she touched my behind.
[image/video - please log in to see this content]
"Now, Pamela Ann," said Mom, "what have you learned from this experience?"
Fighting back a terrible urge to poo, I explained to her and my younger sisters how I had learned to be more responsible and thoughtful for others in the future, how I would be more careful with my driving, and ask permission before taking someone else's property. After five agonizing minutes, Mom pulled out the nozzle with a noise like a wet kiss, then helped me to my feet.
"Now, Pamela Ann--you may poo."
I hobbled to the waiting toilet seat of hard plastic. "Please don't make me sit!" I entreated. "I'm too sore!"
"You should be!" said Mom. "Now you plant that heinie down!"
I sat and let out a howl. I had never been so well-spanked in my life.
After completing my business in front of Mom and my gazing sisters, I was marched to the living room, my pantyhose dragging behind me as I shuffled along. It was now time for the "Hour of Shame"--one full hour in the corner with my nose to the wall and my hands at sides, my punished behind on full display.
I took up my position as my sisters gathered around me and Mom busied herself in the bathroom, cleaning and sterilizing the equipment for the next victim.
"Oh Pamela Ann!" Gretchen said.
Tearfully I sobbed, "Gretchen--does my heinie look as bad as it feels?"
Gretchen was honest. "Worse!" she said.
From the bathroom the voice of Mom could be heard. "Pamela Ann is in reflection! There is no talking!"
[image/video - please log in to see this content]
After sixty tedious minutes I heard the kitchen timer ring, signaling the end of my ordeal. Mom came in and unclipped my skirts. My wispy little slip fell over my tenderized behind and felt like sandpaper on my skin. I shuffled upstairs to my room, my panties and hose still down and trailing behind me.
Very apprehensively, I looked into the door mirror and peered around my shoulder to see the damage. I gasped when I saw my big swollen cheeks, deep red and covered with black and blue ovals, I had also sprouted a good crop of blisters. I had never seen my seat look like this. I had really been over-spanked!
I climbed out of my skirt and petti, pulled my feet out of my hose and panties, donned my pajama top only, and lay face-down on my pillow, crying and sniffling. How could I have been so careless and stupid?
As she always did, Mom came up in about an hour to examine my spanked heinie and put soothing cream on it. But this time was different. Mom took one look at the damage she had inflicted, and broke down crying.
"Oh Pamela Ann, I'm so sorry!" she sobbed. "I wasn't thinking. My poor baby, please forgive me."
I had never seen my Mom so contrite after giving any of us a tanning. I felt more sorry for her than for my own heinie.
"I should have cooled down first," Mom went on. "It was too much and I was so angry. I promise I'll never tan you again."
She gently spread cooling medicated cream over my big cheeks, then prepared ice packs to cool them off and get the swelling down. She was still crying.
"Mom," I said, "I forgive you. I understand. It's all right."
[image/video - please log in to see this content]
I never thought I would see the day when I had to comfort my Mom after she had tanned my heinie!
Next day I was unable to wear even my thinnest panties. I had to go down to breakfast wearing only my bra and a full-length apron that left my spanked cheeks exposed to the air. And of course I had to eat my breakfast standing at the kitchen counter. My hind end felt like a bad sunburn. I could not sit comfortably for nine days. It had been the whaling of my life. But Mom was true to her word. She never tanned either me or Gretchen again, and I believe only tanned Audrey's heinie once. The hairbrush was put away for good. And if I never see another enema again, it would be too soon. But in a way I'm glad to have sacrificed my own dumplings for the good of my sisters. Mom and I never talk about that tanning. I don't intend to upset her by reminding her. We still have a very good relationship.
