The Romance of Chastisement

The Romance of Chastisement

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Summer Camp Fun

Summer is in full swing and the kids are away at summer camp. Imagine what fun the happy campers are having. Let's listen in while a few sorority sisters reminisce about their old summer camp days.
From Gwen's Sorority Days here is a summer camp story.
Vintage photo courtesy of Richard Windsor; art by Funbun and Paula Russell

“Oh yeah,” said Misty. “I used to go to this summer camp for girls. I was sixteen and in sort of a senior cabin. Cabin 12. Our counselors were juniors and seniors from the university, so they were about five years older. There were three other senior cabins and we were all highly competitive with each other. You know, who won the most at swimming races, who were the best horseback riders, things like that. We got into a real fierce rivalry with cabin 18, one of the other senior cabins. We even competed on cabin inspections. You got points for having the best cabin and we all had chores assigned, so if you got dinged at inspection it was because someone failed to do their job. At first the other girls would just make sure you got scolded for missing some dust or whatever, but as the summer went on, the competition heated up. Our counselors were getting into it too. They wanted to win. Our counselor was a girl from State named Jennifer Johnston. She was a Phys Ed major---real pretty girl, a solid, tall athletic blonde who worked out all the time and was a water safety instructor. Her counterpart at cabin 18 was Claire Carson, a tall and voluptuous dark haired girl who mostly taught horseback riding. They were known as JJ and CC to all the girls and they didn’t like each other very much.”

“I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised by what came next because of what happened on my birthday,” Misty continued.

“What did your birthday have to do with anything?” asked Joyce.

“Nothing, really, but it revealed a lot about Jen. Anyway, I had a birthday during the camp session and I told everybody, and I was all excited. Our cabin was going to get a cake at supper. Now, at this camp we had an outdoor shower facility. Typically you put on a big towel or a robe and walked up to the showers. So on my birthday I walked up there as usual, just before supper, and took a shower. When I got back to the cabin, all of my cabin mates, there were six of us to a cabin, were there and standing inside. They were all dressed and were just standing there grinning at me. Jen was seated in a chair in the middle of the cabin. And then everyone shouted ‘happy birthday!’ and Jen grinned and said, ‘and what happens on birthdays?’ and everybody shouted ‘birthday spanking!’. They were all laughing, but before I could blink they ripped off my towel. I was stark naked underneath. Then Jen grabbed me and pulled me down, right over her knee, just like some naughty schoolgirl. I was mortified beyond belief, but everyone else thought it was great fun. There I was, just squirming and wiggling over Jen’s lap, but Jen was strong and I couldn’t get up. She rubbed her hand around on my bottom, patting it and said, ‘how old is Misty today?’ Somebody said ‘seventeen,’ and Jen said ‘seventeen it is.’ 

“The next thing I felt was this crisp smack! from Jen’s hand on my bare behind. Everybody said, ‘one!’. Then another smack, then another. All the while my cabin mates are counting. The smacks stung. She spanked one cheek, then the other. Sometimes right square across the middle. I was struggling and yelping, but to no avail. The spanks just kept coming as Jen worked her way up to seventeen. My behind was burning hot. I could see the absolute glee on my friends’ faces as I got the birthday spanking of a lifetime as they counted….smack! ‘fifteen’…smack!....’sixteen’….smack!...’seventeen’. Finally I got the last ‘one to grow on’, which was harder by far than the others, by the way, and Jen let me go. They were all laughing as I jumped up in the nude and danced around rubbing my bottom which must have been ten shades of red.

“It turns out that the birthday spanking was a camp tradition and a couple of other girls had birthdays that Summer too. Anyway, back to the rivalry.

“The camp director who ran everything was a big blonde matronly woman in her forties named Dottie Findlay. Every morning we had cabin inspection and she’d come though inspecting cabins one by one. We stood by our bunks while she looked around and made sure everything was ship shape. If she found dust or grime or things out of place you got dinged for it.

“So one day Dottie came though and we lost points because the walk in front wasn’t swept. Donna Sanders was supposed to have done it, but she’d been yakking and fooling around before inspection and it didn’t get done. Everybody was mad at Donna and we all started in on her. It got pretty heated but Jen stepped in and said, ‘Girls, there’s a better way to handle this.’ And she pulled out her sorority paddle from her locker. She let us pass it around and hold it. It was a maple paddle, about eighteen inches long, four inches wide and three fourths of an inch thick. She said from now on if we all agreed, whoever caused us to lose points would get swats. She would decide how many and her decision would be final. She said if we really wanted to win, this would keep us on our toes.

“We all gaped at the paddle and understood the implication, but in the end we agreed. We’d do whatever it took to win. Even Donna, who was in the soup for that morning said yes. Jen said, ‘Ok, if you all agree. We’ll institute a system and I’ll dish out paddle swats for anything that causes us to lose points.’ Then she addressed Donna and told her that she was ‘it’ and that she should get three swats for the messy walk. We closed the cabin door and Jen told Donna to bend over and grab the steel frame of the bunk. We gathered around to watch, and the tension was really thick in that closed cabin. Donna was nervous, but she bent over. It made her butt stick out in her little camp shorts. Jen stood to her left and carefully lined up the paddle. “She tapped a time or two then reared back and smacked her with the paddle right on the center of her bottom. It made a loud pop! And Donna hissed and jerked her head back. Then pop! Pop! Jen laid on two more swats, hard, about ten seconds apart. Donna stood up and rubbed frantically and hopped from foot to foot. Her eyes were as big as saucers. She said, ‘Oh yeah, girls. That hurts.’

“And that came to be our method for dealing with mistakes that lost us points. If you didn’t do your job right, if you came in last at anything—it was swats. Usually the bill was three but it could be as high as six. Six would leave a girl blinking back tears.

“Wow,” said Joyce. “How often and when did you get it?”

“If it was an inspection, right after. Otherwise, just before bed the day of the event. Sometimes you had to wait a day or two. Staff meetings and other duties would take Jen away from time to time. That was the worst, I think, having to wait for a day, knowing that when Jen had time it would be bottoms up for the paddle. And it got worse. At bedtime we were in tops and panties or shorty PJ’s which were even less protection. When you bent over and grabbed the bunk, there was frequently just one thin layer of nylon between you and that paddle. Some girls started wearing thicker PJ’s. So in order to make things perfectly fair, Jen said all paddlings should be bare, that that was how her college sorority did it. We reluctantly agreed. So from then on it was panties down when you bent over to take your licks. It was so embarrassing to have to drop your panties to your knees. We came to dread that command, ‘ok, take your panties down and bend over.’

“Bare, it really, really stung. A smack on the bare bottom with a wooden paddle felt like a brand of fire. It was fascinating to watch, as long as you were not getting it. The first time someone got it bare it was a girl named Sarah Blake. She had been given a demerit at gym for poor sportsmanship. Demerits subtracted points from your cabin’s total, so that was really bad. So that night at bedtime Jen announced, ‘Six swats, Sarah.’ Everyone else agreed. It had really hurt our chances. So Sarah stood at the head of her bunk and slid her panties down. She was a honey haired blonde, a little beauty. When she bent over her cute little bottom cheeks stuck out in the most adorable way. But then Jen took up her stance and patted her butt lightly. She clenched up but Jen told her it hurt more that way. Then Jen swung the paddle and it hit with a sharp crack! Sarah’s bottom cheeks wobbled with the impact and she sucked her breath in with a ‘hss….ahh’ sound and stamped her feet. A few seconds later a red band rose on her skin. We watched breathlessly as Sarah took her licks. Each swat took maybe fifteen or twenty seconds because she had to calm down and resume her position after each one. I mean at each swat she’d howl and jerk straight up and clap her hands to her bottom cheeks. Jen just waited, but after a few seconds told her she had to resume the position and stick it out. Then she’d line up again, bring her arm back and crack! the paddle would smack Sarah’s bottom.  It was like that through all six swats and I know she struggled to take her paddling.

After that Jen had to say that you had to stay bent over or get an extra. No one wanted that and everybody tried their best to stay down for their licks.

“After that everyone redoubled their efforts. Every now and then, though, somebody had to take their panties down and bend over for swats. I know I did a couple of times. Once I got three and another time four and both times it hurt like blazes. Fran Breck, a real cute brunette, got it the most. But she had the butt for it—a real round fleshy bubble of a fanny. And boy did it wobble when Jen tanned it. We all yelped and did a little dance when that paddle toasted our bare fannies.

“The competition kept getting hotter between us and cabin 18. And we found out something else. They had taken our lead and had instituted their own discipline system as an incentive to win. Their cabin counselor, CC, brought a wide harness strap down from the stables. Her girls had to take their pants down and get face down on the bed over pillows and take up to six licks with the harness strap. They later said it stung like fire too and we wondered whose was worse. We were about to find out.

“I don’t know who first concocted the idea of sabotage but someone did, and we managed to find ways to screw up cabin 18 so they would lose points. Britney Sayers dumped some dirt on their porch just after Dottie had gone in for inspection and when she came out she figured she had missed it the first time and dinged them. They knew we did it, though and they retaliated. It got to be a war. One night things came to a head. After lights out cabin 18 snuck out and raided us. They hit us with talcum powder bombs, making a big mess.

“Now the thing is, Jen was there and she got hit too. And she was mad. She figured there was no way this could have happened without CC being in on it. So we plotted revenge. That same night we made water bombs with some balloons that someone had. Then at about three in the morning we snuck out and tossed our water balloons in their windows. Well, they started shrieking and yelling and next thing you know lights are coming on all over the camp. Before long, here comes Dottie and she is steaming mad. JJ and CC are mad at each other and us girls in cabin 12 are screaming at the girls in cabin 18.”

“I guess you were all in trouble,” said Joyce.

“Not only us, JJ and CC too. Nothing happened right away, but the very next day all of us were summoned to the director’s house where Dottie lived. Dottie was there with the assistant director, another woman in her forties everyone called Aunt Betty. They marched us all out to this shed in back of the house, kind of an equipment shed where stuff was stored in the winter. It was a big metal shed with a concrete floor and it was all cleared out in the middle. Except that there were two of these tall narrow type sawhorses set up side by side. We were all really nervous, as you can guess. I didn’t like the looks of the whole thing, not one bit.

“Dottie started off by telling us that what ordinarily would happen is, we would be sent home, that the kind of fight we started was totally unacceptable, and it was grounds for terminating our camp session. But, she said, she’d had a talk with both JJ and CC and that she knew and understood how things had got to that point. She also said that she had been told about our pact on discipline. Then came the bomb. Anyone could walk out of there with five demerits for the fight, she said. She understood that girls will be girls and highly competitive, but there had to be discipline. But---in lieu of demerits any girl could take eight swats. The catch was it was to be administered by the other cabin’s counselor. ‘And it will be on the bare butt, girls; and if you get up before it’s done, the demerits will be applied anyway,’ she added. She pulled out JJ’s paddle and CC’s harness strap and placed one on each sawhorse. ‘You decide, girls,’ she said, and stepped outside.

“For minute we were just in shock. Then we started talking. Cabin 18 was talking too. We were eyeing that strap and it looked wicked. But no one wanted to be the coward that cost us five demerits. In the end we made a pact. We would all take our licks. Let those floozies from cabin 18 be cowards about it. So when Dottie came back in we told her what we had decided. Each of us would step up and take licks with the strap. To our surprise cabin 18’s girls decided the same.

“So Dottie said, ‘all right, CC, you and JJ come up here and take over. They did. JJ said, ‘ok, who wants to go first?’ and one of their girls stepped up and stood at the sawhorse. JJ told her to take her shorts and panties down and get over the horse. Meanwhile CC motioned toward us, and one of us, I think Cyn Lawler, this cute little pixie of a girl stepped up to the other sawhorse and skinned down her shorts. Since it was the other cabin’s girls, both CC and JJ really laid it on. CC brought her arm back over her shoulder and let fly with that strap will a full sweep of her arm. JJ did the same with the paddle. The crack! of the strap and paddle sounded deafening in that shed, like firecrackers going off. As the strokes of the strap were delivered one by one, Cyn’s little bottom quivered and got red as a beet; and she really squealed as CC whipped  her fanny but good. The girl from 18, Yvonne something, yelped frantically too as the paddle turned her butt the color of a ripe tomato, but neither got up before their eight.

“Wow,” said Brina. “I’ll bet that really hurt when it came your turn.”

“Listen, the whipping I got with that strap was worse than anything I ever got at the Kappa house. The sting was unbelievable. I thought I’d never hold on for eight licks. We had to bend over the sawhorse and grab the crossbar in front. This meant that your bottom was arched over the top. I never felt so vulnerable, having my bare ass upended like that. I held on for dear life, but when I felt the licks from that strap, I practically screamed. It was white hot fire searing your fanny. In the end we were a sight, a dozen girls hopping around crying and wailing and rubbing our bottoms like mad. It was quite the old country style licking.”

“But that wasn’t the end of it. When it was over, Dottie told us she hoped we’d learned our lesson. Then we heard her tell JJ and CC that she wanted to see them both right back here after lights out. Well both our counselors kind of went white, I mean, all the color drained out of their faces. But they just said ‘yes, ma’am’ and we all went back to the cabin. There was a lot of chatter, I’m sure, as to why we were all sitting on pillows at supper that night. But what we really wondered was what was going on with CC and JJ. A couple of us were determined to see. So after lights out me and Cyn and Sarah snuck out and followed JJ.

“We made our way in the dark to the shed and crawled down on our stomachs. We could see through cracks in the siding. The lights were on in the shed and Dottie and Aunt Betty were there. CC and JJ looked like naughty school kids while Dottie reamed them out for letting the whole cabin war thing get out of hand. She said she ought to fire them and send them home too, but she’d thought about it and since she’d given us the choice, she’d give them one too. They could each take twelve licks, she said, bare bottom. Six with the paddle and six with the strap, so they’d know what each one felt like. CC and JJ got these sick looks on their faces but we could see they were going to do it. 

“We watched breathlessly as JJ and CC stepped up to the sawhorses. They unfastened their shorts and slid them down. The panties followed. Both girls had great figures. They were tall and well built college seniors. JJ was more slender, CC more voluptuous, but both girls had round, firm, and well shaped bottoms on them. I had to admit we all had this sick feeling of anticipation now seeing our counselors about to get it. Dottie picked up JJ’s paddle and Aunt Betty took up CC’s harness strap. Dottie measured up for a swat and brought the paddle back. She gave it a full swing. The paddle whooshed through the air and landed with an ear splitting smack. JJ hissed. Her bottom jiggled. Then it was Aunt Betty’s turn. The strap cracked across CC’s behind and left a red stripe.  Then it was Dottie again with the paddle. She lined up and planted another hard paddle swat On JJ’s bottom. JJ let out a soft yeow! Trying to stifle it but we knew how bad it burned. Then she stepped back so that Aunt Betty could swing that strap and paint another red stripe across CC’s fanny. It was a loud tanning they were getting with the sharp smacks of the paddle and the thwacks of the strap, not to mention the girls’ vocal reactions.

For the next five minutes at least the two directors alternated giving their charges paddle swats and licks with the strap. Both CC and JJ yelped and squirmed around. They stamped their feet on the floor, humped up and down, and gasped in pain as stripe after stripe, smack after smack literally painted their bottoms red. In the end they were pleading for Dottie and Aunt Betty to go easier on them. But Dottie said no, they were going to get it good and hard if they wanted to stay on. So the girls just had to grin and bear it. When it was over, when they had each been given twelve licks or swats, they were tearfully rubbing their behinds and stamping around, trying to rub the sting out.”

“Whew,” said Donna. “Is it hot in here? That’s some story. Who won? How did it come out?”

“Oh,” said Misty. “Nobody. Both cabins disqualified.”

“Oh, geez,” said Gwen. “All that for nothing.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Misty with a grin. “It sure was an interesting Summer.”

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

In the Woodshed

The woodshed is an American iconic symbol of old fashioned discipline. The phrase is ingrained in our culture as a place of correction and retribution, a place of payment for disobedience, misdeeds and general naughtiness. Here is where the sinners go to be taught the price of misbehavior.

Typically the implement of the woodshed was the strap or the belt. It usually hung on a nail, ready for use.
Why a woodshed? In a word, privacy. In the house or cabin the rest of the family would hear the crack of the strap and the cries of the punished.

As you might expect, the woodshed figures prominently in American spanking literature, especially period pieces. Early flagellant fiction came in the form of crudely produced pamphlets that were sold under the counter in less than reputable bookstores. An early example is today's featured story,


ALTHOUGH my spanking life has covered less than a half dozen years, to write fully of it would fill the space of many volumes.
As a child, I received the regular spankings from my parents, who would smack my bottom several times,or occasionally turn me over their knee, lift my dress and warm the seat of my panties. I was ten years old before the first variation of them occurred.

When I was ten years old my parents were killed in an automobile accident, and I was taken into the
country to live with my grandfather and my aunt Monica.
From that time on I was under the care of Aunt Monica, even though she was only ten years older than me. My grandfather never spanked me, but when I was disobedient, Aunt Monica would turn me over her lap, lift my dress, unbutton and take down my drawers, then spank my bare behind with a hairbrush. Although the spankings would sting my heinie, they were nothing more than what the average girl gets from her mother,

and I loved Aunt Monica, regardless of them. She never spanked me unless there was a good and sufficient reason.

I was sixteen years old when grandfather died. Aunt Monica made an effort to carry on the work of the farm, but never having been familiar with anything but housework, she made a miserable failure as an agriculturist. When she tried to sell the farm, she found it impossible to locate a buyer,
It was about that time that Jeb Turner, who had been working at odd times for Grandfather, began to call around to see Aunt Monica. He was several years her senior, and rather good looking. At least, Aunt Monica thought so.

When she explained to him what she was up against regarding the farm, he suggested that the best think she could do was marry him and let him run things. I don't know whether she really wanted to marry him, or just took his suggestion as a way out of the trouble, but two weeks later they were married. Almost from the very first day they were married there was a different atmosphere about the farm. Within a couple of weeks Jeb was ordering Aunt Monica and I about as though he was boss of everything. Aunt Monica didn't say anything, but I objected and soon told him just what I thought.

“For a kid, you've got too much to say,” he declared. “What you need is a darned good licking. And if you don't watch yourself, I'll take down your pants and give it to you!”

“Just you try it!” I replied. “I'd like to see some bully like you try to give me a licking.”

Jeb said nothing, but before I realized what was happening, he was out of his chair and grabbed me. I kicked and struggled desperately, but I might just as well have remained limp in his arms for all the good it did. As though handling a small child instead of a girl of sixteen, I went down over his knees, and he planted a strong left hand in the small of my back to keep me sprawled across his lap.

“Jeb, don't you whip her!” exclaimed Aunt Monica, who rushed into the room, attracted by my cries.

“Keep out of this, Monny, or you'll get the same dose,” advised Jeb. “This fresh kid needs somebody to take the starch out of her, and I'm going to do it.”

“Jeb!” exclaimed Aunt Monica again.
But Jeb ignored her as he lifted my dress and pulled down my panties. Then he began spanking my bare bottom with his rough, calloused hand. The spanking stung fearfully, for Jeb was a strong man and he put the full force of his strength behind each smack. It was far worse than any paddling I had ever received from Aunt Monica's hairbrush.

I wriggled and squirmed my bottom about upon his lap, but his hand struck down sharply and landed
accurately each time. Aunt Monica tried to grab his arm to prevent him from continuing the spanking, but her efforts were as puny as mine had been.
He spanked me for several minutes, and my bottom had never before felt as sore as it did then.

“Now let that teach you not to try talking back to me again,” he declared as he released me so I could
scamper from his knees. “The next time I take down your pants, I'll give your backside a darned good licking with a strap!”

“Jeb, you shouldn't have done that,” declared Aunt Monica as I backed quickly away from him, pulling up my panties and tenderly rubbing my sore heinie.
Jeb turned slowly about and looked at Aunt Monica in a stern way.

“And now I'm ready for you,” he said. “You saw what happened to Kate for being a fresh kid. That's what's going to happen to her every time I think she needs it, only the next time I'll probably give her behind something to make her really yip a−bout. And if you ever try interfering again as you did this time, I'll take you over my knee and tan your backside as I did hers. It's time you women learned that there's a man around this house now who's running things.”

Aunt Monica, who was always a quiet, timid sort of person, and who had become even more so since she had married Jeb, said nothing further about the spanking I had received. But she looked at her husband with a strong fear in her eyes, as though she knew he was not making an idle threat.
I thought when he said he would give her a licking that he was just bluffing her into being afraid to say anything whenever he wanted to spank me. I knew that Aunt Monica was easily intimidated. But I soon learned that he was not bluffing.

Aunt Monica was then twenty−six years old, and I did not think it possible that a woman her age would have her bottom turned up, uncovered and spanked as I had gotten mine.
But several days later, just as I was coming out of the hen house, I saw she and Jeb walking toward the woodshed., Jeb was carrying a strap in his hand. They could not see me, but I could see them and could also hear everything that took place.

“Get in there!” Jeb commanded when he opened the door of the woodshed. “I'm going to teach you once and for all who's boss around here. I've told you about arguing with me over my way of doing things, and since my talking to you didn't do any good, maybe a few licks, of this strap across your bare backside will make you sing a different tune.”

“Jeb, you shouldn't whip me,” declared Aunt Monica in a pleading voice as she stepped timidly into the woodshed.

“And you shouldn't argue with me,” retorted Jeb. “So just as long as you do it, you can expect to get a
licking from me. Now turn your backside around here.”

When Aunt Monica turned her back toward him, he lifted hen dress to her waist, then stripped her panties down from her bottom, leaving her naked from the knees to the waist. He caught her under his left arm and bent her over so that her hindquarters were pointed toward the strap.
Then he began whipping her. I could see her naked bottom quiver each time the strap landed full across the two plump cheeks. A vivid red mark was left upon her heinie each time the strap descended upon her shuddering rear end.

 Within a few minutes her bottom was completely covered with the vicious red lines.
Jeb showed her no mercy, and took full advantage of her meek, submissive nature to whip her bare behind more soundly than I had ever known anyone to be punished.

THERE was a light of satisfaction and triumph in Jeb's eyes as he stood in the doorway of the woodshed,his arms folded and the strap held in his left hand, as he watched her walk meekly back to the house. Her every step proclaimed loudly that she had been taken to the woodshed and given a sound spanking. I waited until she had gone into the house, then, bristling with anger and indignation, I hurried over to where Jeb Turner was standing.

“What have you been doing to my Aunt?” I demanded.

“Gave her her a licking, just the same as I'm going to give you if you don't stop acting like a fresh kid,” he answered.

“You're beast, that's what you are, Jeb Turner!”
I told him. “You're just taking advantage of a couple of helpless women. You might have Auntie so afraid of you that she's ready to eat out of your hand, but you can't boss me around like that. You hear me, Jeb Turner? Don't you dare lay a hand on me!”

“I won't lay a hand on you, but I'm going to lay this strap all over your bare backside, young lady!” he declared, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me into the woodshed. “I've stood your back−talk just long enough. As long as the licking I gave you a couple of days ago didn't do any good, maybe this one will!”

He seized me under his left arm as he had held Aunt Monica. My arms were pinned to my sides, rendering me helpless no offer any resistance. All I could do was kick up my heels in protest.
Holding me firmly, Jeb raised my dress, then took down my panties. Then he began whipping me with the strap. I immediately learned the vast difference between it and the spanking he had given several days before with his hand.

The strap cut down across my bare bottom like a branding iron. I could not repress the cry of agony that came to my lips. Then the second crack of the strap came, and the third and the fourth.
I could understand then why Aunt Monica's bottom had quivered with fear at the mere touch of it and why it had made her so meek and humble. After the first half dozen licks of it, I was crying and pleading with him to stop as she had done. I was ready then to promise anything if he would only end the whipping.

“How does this feel, youngster?” he demanded, giving me an extra hard smack. “And this! and this! and this!”

“Oh, Jeb, you're killing me!” I cried in pain. “Stop! Please stop! I'll never do anything to make you mad again. I'll always do just what you tell me.”

“Yeah?” asked Jeb, stopping the punishment, but continuing to hold me under his arm as he had done with Aunt Monica. “You've got a well whipped little backside on you now, Kate. What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing, Jeb,” I promised. “But please don't whip me any more.”

“But now you know I'm going to whip you again if you don't do just whatever I tell you, don't you?” he demanded.

“Yes, Jeb,” I answered.

“You know I'm boss around here, and as the boss I'm going to whip the bare behinds of you and your Aunt Monica just whenever I think you deserve it, don't you?”

“Yes, Jeb.”

“All right,” he replied, releasing me. “Now pull up your pants and get back to the house, where you
belong. And just remember that if you try acting fresh again, I'll tan your backside more soundly than you got it this time.”

AFTER that Jeb whipped me quite regularly, and also did the same to Aunt Monica. Although he always whipped her more soundly than he whipped me, I was punished more frequently. And believe I suffered more, for there is much mental agony in being led to the woodshed with the knowledge of what is going to happen after one arrives there. Jeb never made the punishment easy that way, either, for on the way out he would talk freely of what was going to happen after he had taken me across his knee and lowered my panties.

Following several such trips to the woodshed, I was a thoroughly changed girl, and became as meek and humble as Aunt Monica. I never dared cross Jeb in actions or speech, and pleaded with him to stop whipping me as humiliatingly as did Aunt Monica while he was tanning her bare bottom.

He always punished us with a strap, which he kept hanging on a peg by the kitchen door. He would always carry it in his hand while taking us out to the woodshed to be whipped, although sometimes he would make us take it off the peg and hand it to him.

Aunt Monica never dared protest when he announced that he was going to give me a whipping, although his announcements always caused her to tremble in fear as though it was she and not me who was to be whipped. And that first whipping he had given me had proved how useless it was for me to attempt to interfere when he took her out for a taste of the strap.

For three years he kept us under his thumb. Or, more literally, under his arm and over his knee. Then a new When I pulled up my panties, I realized just how sore my bottom had been made by the severe whipping. Although I had not been punished as hard as had Aunt Monica, I walked stiff−legged back to the house, for it hurt my sizzling hips to move.

That whipping seemed to take something out of me, for from then on my spirit was changed. I never dared say. anything without first stopping to think whether or not it would offend Jeb. Just one severe whipping had made me an entirely different girl. It had created an impression of submissiveness to his authority, and the memory of that painful session in the woodshed under his arm, with the strap searing down with blistering cracks upon my naked hindquarters was never erased from my mind.

Sunday, July 20, 2014

F/M Sunday -- "Liz"

Here's a story I pulled off the internet years ago. It's hardly an original plot, but it's well written. The time is the 1950's. The author's name was Boy Spanker.


My parents were genuine Victorians, that is they believed that children were to be mostly seen and not heard. I don’t mean that there was any cruelty involved, just that you knew, as the child, you had certain limits and if those were breached you were in a lot of trouble. That trouble usually meant you were sent to your room after you had suffered the rite of being spanked. The form and duration of these punishments were decided by the gravity of the offense committed. Most of the time spankings from my mom were not too hard to take, though you knew by your stinging rear that you had better mend your ways. When grave offenses were committed, you might have to wait for dad to come home. If the problem was really awful, both parents took a turn at dispensing discipline. That only happened once to me, but it was memorable.

The spankings were not often, but did occur when breaches of expected behavior took place or if the family name was put at risk by the deed committed. The story I’m about to tell has to do with this type of mistake.

I was 13 in the 40’s and 50’s when these youthful sins took place. It was 8th grade and during a time of life when girls were a deep mystery to us boys. We were intensely interested in how they looked, smelled, and the changes in their bodies.

There was no media as we know it today. TV was just starting, Playboy did not yet exist, we lived in a sexual wasteland. You took advantage of every opportunity to get a little sex education or see some sights not before experienced. ‘But, I’m getting ahead of myself. Suffice it to say sex was very exciting thing for us and we took our chances not thinking of the possible consequences.

A few friends and I always walked home from school together. We comprised at least three girls and three, sometimes four boys in this neighborhood group. We lived close to each other, house across alley. We knew enough about each others families to know what to expect if the standards of behavior were not adhered to. We understood that bad grades, mischief in the neighborhood, or worse, trouble at school would bring certain punishment at home. A call from a teacher, or worse the principal, was a cause for great concern.

Two of the girls in this group went to the parochial school and we met them each day on the way home. One girl who I’ll call Liz was very well developed and liked to flirt with the boys in our group.

One day she seemed preoccupied about something. We asked her what was wrong and coaxed out of her that she had gotten in trouble in school and had talked back to a nun. With a very downtrodden look she admitted that she’d made a very smartmouthed comment to one of the strictest nuns in the school. She’d been taken to the principal’s office where she was bent over the desk and given 5 swats with a yard stick on her bare thighs. Liz even raised her skirt to show us the red marks still very visible.

Liz lifted her pleated tartan skirt just high enough for us to all see the still pinkish marks on her up-per thighs. Wow! My first almost look at a luscious female derriere! Despite trying to be brave, Liz admitted she feared going home because the principal had promised to call her mother regarding her disrespectful outburst.

Liz’s mother was one of those stern disciplinarian’s who you just did not trifle with. She had three daughters and ‘they would all be good or she would know the reason why’, a quote from Liz about her mom. Her mom treated us all very well, giving us cookies. hot chocolate, fruit, etc. but always on the promise that we would behave ourselves.

I recall quite clearly how we tried to give Liz some comfort and sympathy. telling her we had all been grounded or sent to our rooms without supper. After all, when it’s over, its over. right? But the knowledge of what would really occur hung in the air like a dark cloud. We all thought we were to old to be turned over the knee and spanked. Then Liz said it out loud; Yes, mom still spanks me and my two younger sisters.

She said she could take it, if the punishment was not one of those rare times when her mom was really angry and would use a hairbrush or a strap on her over the couch. She was afraid her mom would be very angry by the time she got home. As it turned Liz was right and her worst fears were well founded.

My friend John and I decided that if Liz was to be spanked, we wanted to witness the spectacle if it was at all possible. We had fantasies about her, doing other unmentionable things with her. Of course we did consider her our friend, but, if we had a chance to observe the beautiful bottom of our friend, then we deserved a look if we could get it.

We decided to observe from under the back porch where we could look through a small window and see what went on in the basement ironing room in Liz‘s house.

When Liz went into the house, we went around back of her house and took up our position by the window. Success was ours, Liz’s mom had already taken her to the ironing room and dosed the curtains, but we had a clear view over the top of the curtains. We heard the scolding and the offered apologies. I recall her mother’s words "You’re about to get the worst spanking of your life young lady".

The scolding continued as Mrs. J. prepared for the punishment by putting a sturdy wooden chair in the center of the room. She instructed Liz to retrieve both a hairbrush and the strap from the nearby cabinet.

Mrs J. pulled Liz to her side and then over her lap. Much to our delight her pleated blue and white tartan skirt was raised. The white panties were visible and I held my breath as we quickly found a board to stand on so we could get a better view of these marvelous proceedings.

Liz’s mother began the spanking with her hand, and that looked convincing enough to us. Liz squirmed, cried, and pleaded over her mother’s lap. Her mom’s hand came down hard and fast, first on one cheek then the other, 5 or 6 on each side of the bottom as the punishment continued.

After several minutes of hard hand spanking over the white cotton panties Mrs. J. told Liz to stand up. We thought the spanking was over but were wrong. What we heard next really turned us on and we both held our breaths. Mrs. J. instructed her daughter to hand her the hair brush, a black backed wooden brush that looked fearsome to us, even from our window perch!

Liz got the brush and handed it to her mother, tears still in her eyes from what she had already received. Liz was pulled back over her mother’s knee. Her skirt was raised for the second time and to our utter amazement, her white panties were yanked down to the knees. It was just like what happened to us boys at those times we badly misbehaved.

The scolding continued in earnest, "How dare you humiliate me and this family with your smart mouth, I’ll show you what happens to my daughter when she disgraces our family at school in front of the nuns".

All the time she scolded, Mrs. J. spanked and spanked with that hairbrush, and our friend Liz was pleading and crying and wiggling across her mom’s lap. I clearly recall the SMACK, SPANK, SMACK, SPANK, going on and on as the beautiful bottom in front of us turned from pink to red to dark red before our eyes. The punishment went on for some time, during which I was becoming more turned on than I had ever been in my entire life. I recall being both turned on and afraid that I would get caught watching this most humiliating of punishments, and for me a forbidden view of the event.

I began to feel very sorry and concerned for Liz as she endured this spanking. I remember saying to John that we had seen enough and should leave before we got caught But there was another feeling that said stay, this is a great show even if it is risky. Of course this side won out as we stayed on to witness even more of the punishment. John said Mrs. J. had not used the strap and she still seemed very upset with her daughter. The vision of Liz getting punished with the strap, on her now quite bare and very crimson bottom kept me right where I was, despite my momentary chivalry in feeling we had seen enough.

It seemed that Liz’s mother would never stop scolding and spanking. Just as Mrs. J. stopped the hairbrush spanking, "Liz, you’re not done yet! Get that strap, hand it to me and bend over, raise that skirt, and grasp the seat of this chair!" she ordered Liz.

Liz trembled as she did what her mom said. Her mom began to scold again and we watched intently. Poor Liz’s rear was red, scorched even, as she stood with her panties now to her ankles, giving us a clear view of that beautiful bottom. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! Liz received sharp smacks as we looked on.

As it happened, Liz’s younger sister walked right up to John and me watching the spanking with big smiles on our faces. Little sister yelled! We stood there, shocked by being caught. She yelled our names and we ran, but with the awful knowledge that we had been caught, named, and now were in for it as sure as the sun comes up!

Why hadn’t we left when we’d had the chance?! We just couldn’t stop looking at the great backside of our friend as she got her spanking! I was almost sure I would suffer the same fate unless I could convince my mom that it was all an accident We just happened to be there and heard a commotion and looked for just a minute before we were caught.

When I got home my worst fears were realized. Mrs. J. was talking to my mother as I walked in the door. Mrs. J. and my mom were good neighbors and spoke often. My mother, as I’ve said before, was a gentle Victorian Lady who always spoke softly. I could tell that she was more upset and angry than I had ever seen her in my life. It had always been my father who spanked or switched me when I committed some punishable act. I knew from the look in her eyes that this was one of those times that she was going to take care of me and my bottom was in serious trouble.

I had no idea how serious at this point, but would soon to find out.

The conversation between the two mothers went on for some time and my fate was being determined by these very irate ladies. They were intent on teaching me a lesson I would never forget, and might add, I never have.

When they hung up, my mother called me to her. She calmly told me she was greatly disappointed in my actions, and that we were going to remedy them, now! She said that since I had watched Liz get a bare bottomed spanking, I would suffer the same fate.

What? My mother did not make sense. I knew I’d be spanked, but what did she mean, the same fate? Mom said she understood that young boys were interested in girls bodies. She told me she wouldn’t tell my father right away, but later, in her own way.

Now I was sure something quite different was about to take place. Mother said I would be severely punished so that I would never again invade another person’s privacy, by ever thinking of doing such a thing again. My punishment would be two-fold, first, she would spank me with her hairbrush on the bare bottom. Of course! Otherwise it didn’t count as a serious discipline. She said I’d find out the second part when I had a very red and sore bottom.

I hadn’t been spanked barebottom for two years, and never, that I could remember, with a hairbrush by my mom. I knew I deserved a good spanking, and even admitted as much to my mother. I tried to say that I was sorry, and felt very bad realizing that I was wrong, but her only response was to say that I would soon feel much worse. She told me to get her hairbrush and then the wooden spoon from the kitchen. Mom had never been so deliberate in any punishment. I felt sick, and with good cause.

Upon entering the bedroom she moved her dressing table chair to the center of the room, called me to her, unfastened my pants, took them down and told me to step out of them. I was told to bend myself over her lap. I remember being very scared as I did as she instructed. She began the spanking immediately with very deliberate WHACKS! with the wooden spoon. She put her arm into it and it wasn’t long before I was howling and pleading with mom to "Please stop, it really hurts! I’ll never do it again!". Her only reply was that I should have thought of that before, and now I must pay the price for my deeds if I was to grow up a good man.

After spanking me for what seemed hours, she stopped and forced me to stand so she could take down my undershorts. She pulled me back over her lap. Now the hairbrush was used to deliver scalding swats to my now tenderized bare bot-tom. My rear cheeks were on fire, as if an angry nest of hornets were stinging me. I was crying buckets of tears by now and promising to be a good man and never look at any girls bottom ever again.

I had never been spanked this hard by my dad, so I gained a new respect for what an angry mother can do with a hairbrush and a wooden spoon. When the spanking finally stopped I cried for some time as I lay over that maternal knee until she told me to get up. I do recall feeling better because I knew that after this I would be forgiven by my mother.

Well, I was partly correct mom did forgive me, but the punishment was not over. I was completely shooked to hear that I was due for more bare bottom spanking if it was required to satisfy Mrs. J.. I just couldn’t believe it! But I was to go with my mother immediately to Liz’s house and be spanked by her mother, in whatever manner Mrs. J. decreed. According to my mother, Liz could watch me receive my punishment, just as I had watched her get spanked. My dear Victorian mother also told me that she had suggested to Mrs. J. that I be given the same dose she had given to her daughter though I deserved harder and longer.

I was so upset, bewildered, and fearful, I could not even talk. I knew I had earned the punishment but still had a difficult time accepting that my mother would turn me over to someone else’s lap for a spanking. Mom said she knew I deserved what I was going to get even if it was embarrassing, because it was only fair for Liz to see me get my comeuppance.

Mom and I went directly to Liz’s house. I was ushered to the very room where I had observed Liz get spanked, only this time it was my turn. Mrs. J. was waiting for me and asked that I put the chair in the center of the room so the others could watch. I obeyed, head hanging low, for I didn’t have any real choice in the matter. Mrs. J. called her daughter to come into the room and watch the spanking with my mom.

I was ordered to take down my pants and underpants, then come and stand beside Mrs. J. I received a scolding lecture on my awful behavior, and how shamed I should feel, etc. etc. I just wanted it to be over! I was so embarrassed and wanted to hide. I knew it was going to hurt like red hot irons on my already sore bare bottom cheeks. I trembled when I saw that Mrs. J. had her hairbrush and strap laying within easy reach. She took my arm firmly and guided me down over her lap. I saw her reach for the hairbrush out of the corner of my eye and knew it was being raised over my backside. CRACK!!! Mrs. J. brought that horrid brush down with all the force she could muster.


Mrs. J. spanked me hard and fast, then hard and slow, one spot several times, then another until my cries became hoarse and my kicking legs grew stiff, bottom not red, but white from the force of the blows. I cried and screamed alternately until my own ears echoed with the sounds of my distress as it bounced off the cellar walls.

I didn’t care who was watching, nor who saw my private places as I scissored my legs, then twisted on her lap, exposed even my tight bottom hole to those who watched my punishment and distress. This went on and on, never ending but in actuality probably only lasted eight or ten minutes. Her spank-ing was far worse than my mother’s and I was one well spanked young man.

But I still had one more trial to endure! A strapping over the back of the chair. I was ordered to stand, turn around, bend and grab the seat of the chair. Worse of worse, I was also commanded to spread my legs apart, making my bottom taunt and prominent.

I was to receive that strapping on my already tortured bare bottom and upper thighs. I heard Mrs. J. ask if Liz and my mother had a proper view of the proceedings and I groaned, embarrassed in a very uncomfortable position and the knowledge that I was on full display in front of the others.

Then the strapping began! It was a totally new kind of hurt and pain, but it wasn’t so bad anymore. I didn’t care if it went on and on. After several strokes of the strap, the feelings sensations changed and I was again crying and pleading like a small child for my punishment to come to an end.

After 25 or 30 strokes with the strap, my afternoon of spanking finally came to a end. I had to apologize to Liz, and she was told not to talk about my punishment to any one else, on a promise of further painful spankings herself. The mothers agreed that justice had been served.

Liz told me later she was sorry I had suffered so much, but that I should not have tried to watch her spanking in the first place. I had to agree with her. Even though we were not to talk about it to others, we talked among ourselves and that led to other spanking situations that I will reserve for another time. The experiences related here happened at a time when I was just becoming very interested in the opposite sex and has forever left me with the connection of a good spanking being related to all things sexual.