From: "billj1945" <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Subject: My true life spanking story, sorry, quite long
Lies and Deceptions....
Fifty years ago, hard spankings were not too common in our house. A
swat on the bottom was a very common attention getter, but receiving
one of Mom's hairbrush spankings was a rare and fearful event.
Listening to my sister's cries during a hairbrush spanking emphasized
my mother's resolve to punish effectively when necessary. It also
emphasized my resolve to do whatever was necessary to avoid the same
fate. I was successful at avoiding her ultimate sanction until one
night when I was about 8 years old.
I must have pushed her too far one night at bedtime and she announced
that I was going to have my first taste of her hairbrush. She must
have decided that her credibility needed a bit of reinforcement even
though I was pretty good, most of the time. I begged my mother for
another chance remembering my sister's cries, but she was determined
to finally give me a first hand introduction to what she called
a "good hairbrush spanking" I was brought over to a low chair and
made to kneel in front of it with my torso supported on the seat.
She then walked to my dresser, picked up my heavy plastic hairbrush
and walked back to where I was kneeling. All of this seemed to take
place in stop-action photography. Finally she told me that if I was
going to ignore her instructions in the future then I could expect
another spanking just like what I was going to receive now. With
that she bent over, placed a hand on my back and began spanking my
p.j. clad bottom. When the first spank hit, my bottom exploded in
pain and I cried out in pain. I could not believe anything could be
so painful. Instinctively, I attempted to crawl forward away from
the horrible spanks. Frustration! I was blocked by the front of the
chair and the back of the chair. Worse yet, the spanks came swiftly,
one over the other. I was screaming for her to stop, and
miraculously, she stopped. The spanking probably took less than 30
seconds, but I thought it took forever. Again I was warned about
ignoring her instructions and sent to bed. I never wanted to have a
repeat of that spanking and I was quite successful until one day
during summer vacation when I was about 10…
I was eating my breakfast and thinking about adventures on a large
vacant lot with my friends that day. I was anxious to finish and
charge outside when Mom asked if I had made my bed and picked up my
room. She was a bit of a neat-nick and did not like a messy house.
I usually did so daily, but not always. We kids slept upstairs and
our parents downstairs, so there was not a daily inspection. I
wanted to go NOW and not dally about making my bed. I thought that I
could stall her and so I said "No, but I will later". She was doing
the dishes and said "Good". I thought that an unusual response in as
much I was hoping for "Ok." I finished breakfast and was out of the
house like a shot. After a morning of adventure, my stomach told me
it was about lunch time and so I went home to eat lunch.
Running into the kitchen, I did not see my mother and casually
wondered where she was. She must have heard the screen door close,
because I heard her call me from up stairs. I ran up to see what she
wanted and found a frowning mother standing in the middle of my messy
room with hands on her hips asking, "Why is your room a mess? Did
you not tell me that your bed was made and the room picked up?" Then
I saw my hairbrush lying on my bed and I knew that I was in trouble,
bad trouble. "Have I not caught you telling me a lie?" she asked.
She was a stickler for truth, and telling a lie was one of the
major offenses. I started an explanation that I had told her "No"
but that she must have heard a "yes", and no, I would not lie about
something (inconsequential) like making my bed. Of course, that
also implied that I would lie about something more substantial.
There was some justification for her catching on to this
inconsistency. I had become fairly slick about twisting the facts
(just a bit) to get out of a jam. Not my best trait, but quite
effective at deflecting trouble.
My stomach began to churn and my knees began to wobble as it became
obvious that my pleadings were going nowhere. I remembered her
ability to turn my bottom into a burning flame with me crying so hard
I could not breathe. Panic set in as I recognized the start of
a "pre-spanking lecture" and again tried with a cracking voice to
tell my side of the story. No chance. I shook during the rest of
the lecture and pleaded for mercy when instructed to drop my jeans
and bend over the bed. It is difficult to unbuckle, unbutton and
unzip with shaking hands and a mad mother demanding faster response.
Next was a string of commands to reposition myself on the edge of the
bed with my bottom presented just so for her attentions. How
horrible to be made to cooperate and present myself for spanking!
How unfair. She could place me however and wherever she pleased.
Why do I have to help? My bottom was now right where she wanted it.
It was pointed up and vulnerable. It was only a matter of time now.
Nothing could save it from the pain of a mad-mother spanking.
Lying on my bed awaiting my fate, the dreaded hairbrush was now only
inches from my face. I did not hear another word she said during the
final lecture. My entire attention was focused on the hairbrush and
the torture it could inflict.
Time was now warped by fear and adrenalin. Ever so slowly (it
seemed) Mom sat beside me on the bed, reached back and picked up the
hairbrush. She placed her hand on my back and rhetorically asked if
I was ready. I was paralyzed with fear, and could nether move nor
speak. It seemed that I was going to have to wait forever dreading a
spanking that was now only moments away. Suddenly, the hairbrush
met my bottom with a crack. Fire burned, my back arched, and I
sucked in my breath as the pain consumed me. Before my back could
relax another spank impacted my bottom, and another, and another.
After what seemed to be an eternity I was able to cry out scream for
mercy and magically the spanking stopped. I had only lasted a few
moments. I was hurting, crying, but recovering quickly. In a minute
I was only sobbing slowly and what I sensed as the "post-spanking
lecture" began. By the time the lecture was over, I was pleased that
I had in fact survived and quite well, thank you. The relief I felt
I was completely unprepared for what happened next. She reached for
the hairbrush and began spanking me again. Instantly my bottom was
rekindled to a red-hot flame as rapid, hard spanks rained down, never
ending. Time slowed again as I became two people, one receiving a
painful spanking, the other seeming to be only an observer of the
proceedings. It seemed to go on forever and I could not understand
how I could stand another spank, but come they did, and faster than I
could contemplate. I seemed to be one with the spanking, my whole
existence was pain, paralysis, crying, and trying to breathe.
Finally she did stop, but now I needed several minutes to recover and
even then I was still gasping and crying. This session had lasted
much longer than the first installment. It had been fast, hard,
long, and totally unexpected. I felt deceived and victimized so I
blurted out, "Why did you spank me again?" She simply said, "I
thought you needed more" as she left the room.
I was sentenced to my room for the afternoon, and began to recover
from my adrenalin high. I felt sorry for myself, railed about my
unjust spanking, and resented her refusal to listen to my side. As I
became more calm, I did realize that I knew that I had slipped one
past her while she was washing the dishes. Her response was
appropriate for a "yes I did clean my room". I also realized that I
knew I had been successful, too successful. She had expected a yes
even though I had said no. I had not lied, but I had to admit to
myself that If she had heard "no" I would have been ordered to clean
up the room prior to leaving. I concluded that I was guilty of
deception, but not guilty of out and out lying. I also concluded
that I could not blame her for the confusion, but only me. Slowly I
accepted that it was all my fault.
Next I railed (to myself) about the injustice of two spankings and
how cruel she was, allowing me to believe that I had endured my
spanking and it was over, only to surprise me with additional
spanking, only this time much faster and harder. I was still
reliving the pain, the distortion of time, the pain, the inability to
move, resist, or do anything except feel pain, choke, and cry. I was
still feeling very sorry for myself but I made a promise to myself to
be careful and never let this happen again. It was simply
unthinkable that I would ever be able to face and endure another
spanking like that. I had to eliminate lying from my behavior.
Strangely, as I completed the promise to myself, I felt a bit of
satisfaction and relief.
Then more self-realization flashed in my brain. I realized that
I "had needed more". I had recovered from the first spanking far too
quickly. I felt I had survived intact. The second spanking shook me
to the core, caused me to want to change and prevent a recurrence.
My bottom was recovering, still pink but tolerable. I was not beaten
or bruised, but I had been touched, although none too gently. I felt
a sense of peace with myself, relief that it was over, and that I
would do my best to never be spanked again.
As a result I have been very careful in communications ever since.
No chance I will be misread. That was my last spanking. It was
a "good" one, and I still remember like it was yesterday in spite of
a lapse of nearly 50 years.