I Was Spanked As A Teen
Doing The Horizontal Dance
Many people have asked me if I kicked my legs and twisted during a spanking. Well sure I did! So did my two younger sisters when it was their turn to go over the parental lap. A spanking in our house was not exactly a quiet affair. It was always accompanied by howling, crying and begging for mercy. And of course plenty of leg kicking and tail wagging. Under Mom's hairbrush the girl in question inevitably writhed and kicked her feet while loudly counting out the spanks until she reached the end of her pre-determined sentence. By that time the girl--and her bare bottom--were thoroughly worn out!
My sisters and I were always made to watch each other's spankings so that, according to Mom's thinking, a lesson would be learned by all the girls involved. The girl to be spanked was prepared by Mom in the form of raising her skirt and slip in the rear and pinning them up securely, then skinning down her pantyhose and panties until they were around her knees. Thus exposed for business, the girl was ordered to lie across Mom's stocking tops where she was given a scolding and then a sentence of how many spanks she would receive. Usually it was fifty, sometimes more, rarely less.
Having been in that position many times I can tell you that the anticipation of that first spank was mighty scary. Mom always asked the girl which cheek she wanted spanked first, and after the selection the spanking began.
There was a sharp sting on the selected cheek by the lacquered wooden hairbrush, and I gritted my teeth as it burned in. I was always determined to take the tanning without much fuss, but none of us ever made it to the count of twenty.
"One!" I called out.
A second spank landed on the same exact spot.
"Two!"
Then a third, fourth, and finally a fifth sharp wallop heated up the bare buttock. Then Mom switched to the opposite bun and planted five more. At this point I began to squirm, but kept my knees locked together with my lowered panties helping to bind them.
Then five more spanks whacked over my first cheek again. The burning pain was mounting. Five more on the other cheek, and before that I drew in my breath and let out a loud cry, being very careful to count out each spank between sobs.
After a while I began to kick, despite my legs being impeded by my hose and panties. My sisters nicknamed me "The Kicker" because I would really fling my feet and legs around trying to get some relief from the roasting pain on my poor behind. As a precaution, Mom always made the girl remove her shoes before a spanking, so no one would get hurt by a flying missile in the shape of a penny loafer.
I could feel my panties stretch themselves to the limit between my spread-out knees, and I knew I was showing my most intimate regions because I could see my sisters doing the same when they were spanked. But we were all girls anyway and had the same thing, so it was really no big deal. Besides, my hind end was so blazing hot at that point that I simply didn't care what I was revealing.
Usually I kicked and danced so furiously over Mom's lap that I felt my panties and stockings slip down my calves and finally hang over the ends of my flailing ankles. Now I really did the "Horizontal Dance" by bucking and kicking my legs, pointing them toward opposite walls of the bathroom, where the tannings always took place, and howling out entreaties between counts for Mom to stop. I tried to twist my burning heinie from side to side in an effort to avoid the never-ending falls of the hairbrush, but Mom always found the target. It seemed like I was trying to shake out the burning pain. Sometimes my hose and panties fell off my feet and I kicked furiously, bare from my waist to my toes. All the while Mom held me down firmly with her free hand pressed against my back. Finally the spanking came to an end with a terrible stinger, and I lay there crying while Mom laid aside the hairbrush. "Thank you for tanning my heinie!" I cried out as part of the required formula. Then it was time for the customary enema that always followed a spanking. I tried to hold as still as possible for this, but at times I had to raise my head to relieve some of the bloating that cramped my bowels. I was told sharply to keep my head down. There was no further kicking, and when Mom finally let my off her exposed garters I shuffled painfully to the toilet. We did not do the "Spanky Dance" because we were so full of enema that we could hardly move! My panties and pantyhose were either down around my feet, pulled inside out, or off completely from all the kicking. I know we all looked mighty silly like that, but humiliation was part of the punishment. After the enema came corner time, one full hour with my spanked heinie exposed to the gaze of my Mom and sisters. When that was over, Mom unclipped my slip and skirt and made me do the painful climb up the stairs to bed. Usually a spanking would keep us from sitting down for at least two days.
Watching the Horizontal Dance was enough for the remaining sisters to know how much the spanking hurt, and we tried to keep on good behavior for a while after either receiving or watching a tanning. It worked too, because each of us was only tanned about once every two months on average--not a bad record really!
Many people have asked me if I kicked my legs and twisted during a spanking. Well sure I did! So did my two younger sisters when it was their turn to go over the parental lap. A spanking in our house was not exactly a quiet affair. It was always accompanied by howling, crying and begging for mercy. And of course plenty of leg kicking and tail wagging. Under Mom's hairbrush the girl in question inevitably writhed and kicked her feet while loudly counting out the spanks until she reached the end of her pre-determined sentence. By that time the girl--and her bare bottom--were thoroughly worn out!
My sisters and I were always made to watch each other's spankings so that, according to Mom's thinking, a lesson would be learned by all the girls involved. The girl to be spanked was prepared by Mom in the form of raising her skirt and slip in the rear and pinning them up securely, then skinning down her pantyhose and panties until they were around her knees. Thus exposed for business, the girl was ordered to lie across Mom's stocking tops where she was given a scolding and then a sentence of how many spanks she would receive. Usually it was fifty, sometimes more, rarely less.
Having been in that position many times I can tell you that the anticipation of that first spank was mighty scary. Mom always asked the girl which cheek she wanted spanked first, and after the selection the spanking began.
There was a sharp sting on the selected cheek by the lacquered wooden hairbrush, and I gritted my teeth as it burned in. I was always determined to take the tanning without much fuss, but none of us ever made it to the count of twenty.
"One!" I called out.
A second spank landed on the same exact spot.
"Two!"
Then a third, fourth, and finally a fifth sharp wallop heated up the bare buttock. Then Mom switched to the opposite bun and planted five more. At this point I began to squirm, but kept my knees locked together with my lowered panties helping to bind them.
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Then five more spanks whacked over my first cheek again. The burning pain was mounting. Five more on the other cheek, and before that I drew in my breath and let out a loud cry, being very careful to count out each spank between sobs.
After a while I began to kick, despite my legs being impeded by my hose and panties. My sisters nicknamed me "The Kicker" because I would really fling my feet and legs around trying to get some relief from the roasting pain on my poor behind. As a precaution, Mom always made the girl remove her shoes before a spanking, so no one would get hurt by a flying missile in the shape of a penny loafer.
I could feel my panties stretch themselves to the limit between my spread-out knees, and I knew I was showing my most intimate regions because I could see my sisters doing the same when they were spanked. But we were all girls anyway and had the same thing, so it was really no big deal. Besides, my hind end was so blazing hot at that point that I simply didn't care what I was revealing.
Usually I kicked and danced so furiously over Mom's lap that I felt my panties and stockings slip down my calves and finally hang over the ends of my flailing ankles. Now I really did the "Horizontal Dance" by bucking and kicking my legs, pointing them toward opposite walls of the bathroom, where the tannings always took place, and howling out entreaties between counts for Mom to stop. I tried to twist my burning heinie from side to side in an effort to avoid the never-ending falls of the hairbrush, but Mom always found the target. It seemed like I was trying to shake out the burning pain. Sometimes my hose and panties fell off my feet and I kicked furiously, bare from my waist to my toes. All the while Mom held me down firmly with her free hand pressed against my back. Finally the spanking came to an end with a terrible stinger, and I lay there crying while Mom laid aside the hairbrush. "Thank you for tanning my heinie!" I cried out as part of the required formula. Then it was time for the customary enema that always followed a spanking. I tried to hold as still as possible for this, but at times I had to raise my head to relieve some of the bloating that cramped my bowels. I was told sharply to keep my head down. There was no further kicking, and when Mom finally let my off her exposed garters I shuffled painfully to the toilet. We did not do the "Spanky Dance" because we were so full of enema that we could hardly move! My panties and pantyhose were either down around my feet, pulled inside out, or off completely from all the kicking. I know we all looked mighty silly like that, but humiliation was part of the punishment. After the enema came corner time, one full hour with my spanked heinie exposed to the gaze of my Mom and sisters. When that was over, Mom unclipped my slip and skirt and made me do the painful climb up the stairs to bed. Usually a spanking would keep us from sitting down for at least two days.
Watching the Horizontal Dance was enough for the remaining sisters to know how much the spanking hurt, and we tried to keep on good behavior for a while after either receiving or watching a tanning. It worked too, because each of us was only tanned about once every two months on average--not a bad record really!
