A More Memorable Spanking Part 1

A More Memorable Spanking Part 1
By Cassie

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This story is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It contains explicit depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.

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Foreword: This story was written because one reader, let's call him Kevin, liked my stories and contacted me to tell me so. He mentioned that he had some experiences growing up that I might find interesting.

Kevin does not consider himself a writer, even though he narrated those memories in an extensive and articulate manner. He asked me to write them down in story form. I have done so, and this is the result. It may not be as intense as some of the fictitious stories in this site, but it reflects something that actually happened.

The names have been changed to protect the innocent, and I have taken some small liberties, since you cannot expect anyone to remember all the details after so many years. However, I have done my best to preserve the essence of his story. I have told it in first person, just like I heard it, and when possible I have used Kevin's own words and expressions to describe what happened to him. Most of the credit for the story is his, therefore.

Feedback is welcomed and will be passed on to Kevin, too.

I hope you enjoy it.

Cassie.

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Part 1

I find the stories in this site fascinating, particularly since I have been there somewhat. I'm talking about something that happened to my brother and me about 35 years ago, when I was just a child. It is worth remembering that kids were not as sophisticated then as they are now. We were little boys, as far as adults were concerned. Thus, we were treated like little boys and it wouldn't have occurred to us to question it.

When it all happened, we were between the ages of about 8 and 11 years old. We were a handful, "all boy," as they say. We were often in trouble. Nothing very serious, mind you, just boyish stuff.

We fought a lot with each other. Often it was playful fighting that got out of hand. Mom would warn us saying that one of us would end up crying, but we wouldn't listen and, in the end, both of us would be crying, not because of the fight but because of the resulting spankings.

We could also be a bit disobedient, which is something Mom really hated. She would tell us it was time for bed, and we... well, you know boys hate going to bed. Or she would tell us to come home right after school, but we would get involved in some game with other boys and forget about the time. Afterwards we would run home, although it was already too late to save our backsides.

School was another big source of trouble for us. We knew very well that getting in trouble at school meant a spanking at home, but boys will be boys, so we would get into a fight, or act like a clown in class, or talk back to the teacher. Perhaps today we would be called hyperactive, but back then mom would get a note or phone call from school, and we would end up holding our well-spanked bottoms.

Our mother was English, with some Victorian blood, I guess. She was very strict with us and she believed in firm discipline. She was not afraid to spank us when we misbehaved, and she was not above making those childish punishments more memorable by adding some embarrassment and shame, as you'll see. At our young ages it wasn't that embarrassing to be naked in front of mom. She was our mom, after all. But we really hated it when she spanked us, and not only for the pain. It would always be on the bare bottom, no exceptions, and she was not shy about announcing in front of our friends that we were going to "have our bare little bottoms spanked". We did not like it, but we accepted it, because it was the way it was. However, perhaps because a medicine administered too often loses its effectiveness, it didn't do much for our behavior. That is why Mom decided to emphasize the embarrassment aspect of it.

Time has passed, we now have families, but my brother and I talk about those days sometimes. We still remember what happened very vividly, and I don't think we'll ever forget it. We agree that our mother did not deal very well with it, but after all these years we can't really feel resentment. Although we didn't realize it then, Mom didn't have it easy. We were little hell raisers, and she had to bring us up alone. She was a single mom, my dad having left when my brother was about 2. She had been quite young when she had us. She was very strict with us, true, but she loved us and wanted to raise good boys.

But that's enough background. Let me tell you about how our mom tried to make our punishments more memorable and effective:

I was 10 years old when it started, so my brother Jeff, who is three years younger than me, was just 7. As I have explained, Mom would spank us fairly often, but I guess she thought it wasn't doing as much good as it used to. I didn't know it then but, judging from some conversations I overheard later, I believe she talked to a friend of hers about how difficult to manage we were, and she advised her that some more embarrassment along with the spanking would make it have a longer-lasting effect. I think to a degree it did work as expected with me, but with my brother it took a little more than what I went through.

My mom worked part-time in a supermarket, and she had a friend there called Rachel, whose help she enlisted. I don't how Rachel came about to be the one that helped her out. Perhaps she was the one who advised Mom on how to deal with us, or perhaps Mom just asked her because she trusted her.

In any case, the first time I met Rachel I had just turned 10 years old. I remember it was a school night, and right after we ate dinner Rachel came over our house. I didn't think much of it right then, just another one of Mom's friends visiting. The only thing that I noticed was that she looked younger than my Mom's other friends. After she left I did in fact ask my mom how old Rachel was, and found out she was 20. It seems she was going to a local college part-time, and worked part-time with Mom in the supermarket.

Now, the day before I had had to give my mom a note from my teacher about me misbehaving in class. After Mom read it she told me we would talk about it later, which was unusual. I had expected to get yelled at and get a spanking on top of it. However, Mom didn't say anything else about it that day, and I thought she had forgotten. The following day came and still no mention had been made of my school trouble. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened, except that Mom had her co-worker, Rachel, come visit her.

Rachel acted friendly enough, but do you ever get the feeling when you're talking to someone, that something else is going on in their head? Like they are thinking of something else while you're talking to them? I was only 10, but I sensed this. She asked me my name and about school, but it seemed by how intently she looked at me that she was thinking of something else.

I went off to our family room and watched TV. About five minutes later, my mom called me to come into the kitchen. As I was walking to the kitchen, I noticed that the table that usually was in front of our couch had been moved over. When I got to the kitchen, Mom and Rachel were sitting at the kitchen table.

"Kev, your mom told me you been misbehaving lately and got a note from your teacher at school", Rachel said conversationally.

The two women looked at me, and I just put my head down and didn't say anything.

"What else did I tell you, Rachel?" Mom asked her.

"That Kev was going to get a spanking," Rachel said, looking directly at me.

I almost jumped out of my skin. I had not expected that at all! This was the first time Rachel was over at our house, and I was really embarrassed hearing her say that. She had known all along that I was going to get a spanking that night even before she got to our house. As I looked up at her and she had this little, self-sufficient smile on her face. I felt really shamed and so embarrassed!

My mom began to scold me and told me that she had not forgotten about the note from school, and that I was indeed going to get a spanking. She got up and put a chair in front of our couch. Now I knew why the coffee table had been moved. She took my hand and we all went into the living room. Rachel sat on our couch in front of the chair my mom had put there. My mom sat on the chair and continued to scold me, and also started to undo my pants. I was so embarrassed I could only look straight down at the floor.

My brother and I knew from an early age not to struggle or try to get away from a spanking. We could plead all we wanted, but we had to accept our punishment or it would be much worse. I had found out the hard way at age 6 or so. I had tried to get away then, so Mom gave me about fifty swats, and they were extra hard because I had resisted. The same had happened to my brother one time at about that age. That's why I knew better than resisting when Mom wanted to spank me. If our mom wanted to spank us, we got spanked, and that was that.

I didn't know what to do with myself, so I started to say I was sorry and that I wouldn't do it again, pleading not to get a spanking. I would have accepted the spanking as one of the hazards of boyhood if Rachel hadn't been there, but I did not want her to watch me get it.

But, like it or not, Mom took my pants and underpants down in a no-nonsense way. I must have turned thirty different shades of red. I looked up once and saw Rachel staring with what looked like a fake smile. She was not looking at my face, but right at my boy parts. She was staring, rather than looking. I was just a kid, but I was old enough to be rather modest. I considered my penis and testicles as my "private" parts. Sure, Mom and Jeff saw me naked from time to time, but that was it. And now there I was, about to be spanked, with my bald 10-year-old penis and testicles on display in front of this young woman whom I had just met!

Mom scolded me for a couple of minutes more while I was standing there. Then she got me over her lap and began the spanking. I tried like anything not to cry, but my resolution to be the strong and silent type didn't last long. After about ten spanks I could not help it and began crying like a baby. Almost against my will, I turned my head to look at Rachel. She was watching the spanking and every now and then would look at my face. I quickly turned my head away and looked back at the floor. My bare bottom was on fire and I couldn't do anything but bawl.

Mom gave me about thirty or forty spanks before she let me up. I was crying pretty good and stood in front of her, rubbing my backside. After about a minute or maybe a little less, I pulled up my underpants and ran to my room crying.

I did not come out for the rest of the night.

The next day Mom asked me if I had learned my lesson. I said yes and asked if Rachel was going to come over any more.

"She probably will," my mom said. "Unless you improve your behavior, Rachel is going to watch a lot of your spankings."

I tried really hard to behave, because I would have done anything to avoid having Rachel witness my spankings. It was so shameful! Of course, you can't expect miracles, and I still got in trouble from time to time, and got my bottom tanned for it. But I guess Mom could tell I was trying, because those were in private. The threat of having Rachel come and watch was enough to put the fear of God into me.

I only got one more spanking in front of Rachel. It was almost a year later, and it was one of the last spankings my mom gave me. It was as embarrassing as the first one, though, or maybe even more.

I was going through a spell of bad behavior, and suddenly one evening Rachel was there again, visiting Mom. I hoped against hope that she hadn't come to see me getting spanked, but deep down I knew she had.

Once again Mom bared me from the waist down in front of her. I knew she could see everything, and even when I was looking down at the floor I knew perfectly well where she was staring. Sure enough, I would look at her from time to time, almost against my will, and she would be right there, looking intently at my boy parts from a close distance, breathing hard and with that little smile on her lips.

That time, Mom scolded me for a really long while after baring my bottom. The spanking hurt and I cried a lot, but I can tell you that standing there on display and knowing just where Rachel was looking was horrible.

The spanking itself was not more severe than our regular spankings. Basically it was the same amount of smacks, and just as hard. Mom usually gave us twenty-five or thirty spanks for normal misbehavior, for more serious things like this maybe up to forty or more. They were not actually real hard, but I think the constant spanking on the same spot made it hurt a lot.

I was a crying mess when my mom was done spanking my bare bottom. Somehow, Rachel's presence took it to a different level. Back then I just felt extremely ashamed and embarrassed. Now I wonder what that very young woman felt and thought when she watched me get stripped and spanked to tears. She certainly didn't act bored or disinterested. On the contrary, she seemed fascinated and eager. Looking back, I would even say she was excited, although I might be misremembering.

Anyway, I had to go through that ordeal twice. My brother Jeff, on the other hand, received many spankings in front of Rachel. Maybe he learned more slowly, or maybe it was just because he was younger, but Rachel got to know his little penis and testicles, as well as his well-spanked bare bottom, even better than mine. And Rachel wasn't the only one who saw him, although that account will have to wait for the second part.

(To be continued...)