Pamela

By Red Rover

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This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain 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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This story takes place in a small New England town in August of 1963.

Some people think it was a more innocent time, and in some ways, it was. But in other ways it was not.

Pamela's mother believed in spanking. More accurately, Pamela's mother believed in spanking PAMELA.

This was obvious to every family in the neighborhood. In anything but the coldest weather, Pamela was spanked in her bedroom with the window wide open so that all interested parties could hear the whole episode. Pamela was also spanked quite often, and for what most of us kids regarded as trivial reasons. She was also spanked often for offenses committed by her younger brothers under the theory that she was responsible for monitoring their behaviour. Since she was never given any authority over her younger siblings, however, this seemed to be simply an excuse whereby her mother could spank the girl more often.

The Clayton house was in the style called "Daylight Basement." It sat on the side of a fairly steep hill. The ground floor was even with the street in front and about twelve feet above the ground level in the back. Some such houses had garages or bedrooms in the basement area, but the Clayton house had only laundry machinery, Mr. Clayton's workshop, and storage space. Pamela's window was thus about 15 feet above ground on the northeast corner with concrete blocks on the south and part of the east faces.

With this construction, it was possible for a dozen or so local children to assemble directly below the window and listen to Pamela being spanked without being observed from inside the house. This was greatly facilitated by the custom of Pamela's younger brothers (11 and 9 in 1963, Pamela turned 15 in July) to dash around the neighborhood and announce to any child between 7 and 11 that "Pamela's getting a spanking." Since Mrs. Clayton usually sent Pamela to her room 15-20 minutes before the announced spanking, this provided ample time for an audience to assemble. If we had had microwave popcorn in those days, we could have had refreshments with our entertainment.

I am quite sure that Mrs. Clayton was well aware of the eager audience and that she orchestrated the spanking accordingly, in order to add to Pamela's embarrassment and (in Mrs. C.'s mind) the effectiveness of the punishment. The spanking would begin with the slam of the girl's bedroom door and the preliminary announcements. "All right, young lady, get those clothes off NOW." "Panties off too." "Get me the paddle." "Over my knee." "Now tell me why you are getting this spanking." All of this was in a loud voice so that the audience missed nothing.

During the spanking, every single smack was audible, as was Mrs. Clayton's scolding and Pamela's bawling and pleas for mercy. The number of spanks would vary, but there were seldom less than 50. The paddle used was one of the "Board of Education." styles popular in stores of the era. This one was painted with the words "For Pamela's Bottom” just in case anybody was in doubt, and it often hung in the Clayton's kitchen for the amusement of visitors. Mrs. Clayton used an ordinary ping pong paddle to spank the boys and kept it in a drawer in the kitchen. Once in a while she would threaten the boys with "Keep that up and I'll use Pamela's paddle on you," but she rarely followed through with the threat.

Her mother would also make frequent comments during the spanking such as “That's the way a bad girl's bottom should look." "Getting it nice and red now." "Stop squirming around." "You're going to have some good blisters there." "Now for a few with the strap." In summary, Mrs. Clayton was a real bitch and a lousy mother and would probably be arrested if she had conducted herself that way today. But this was 50 years ago, and things were very different.

Pamela turned 15 in July of 1963 and was going into the 10th grade in September. I was going into the 8th grade and just about a month short of my 13th birthday. She was the oldest child in the neighborhood and I was the second oldest, so we developed a bond. The fact that I was larger and more mature than most boys my age and she was smaller and less mature than most of the girls her age meant that we were about equals, despite being two grades apart. And the fact that my first nocturnal emission happened a month after her first period tended to reinforce the bond. We were no longer little kids and we were sharing the onset of adolescence.

In the summer of 1962, we had begun our first experiments in the field of sexuality. We didn't have actual sex. We knew what it was and how to do it, but we also knew that girls could get pregnant and boys could get diseases, so we never had actual sex. (Even that young, I had a good grasp of biology.) We knew about oral and anal sex, but neither had much appeal for us so we confined ourselves to the visual and tactile explorations of our mutual bodies

By the standards of the time we were "good kids." We also knew enough to be discreet in when and where we did our explorations and that it was highly desirable to have some pieces of old cloth around for the spills and cleanup of the privates after a particularly intense session. But by the summer of 1963, there was no part of either of our bodies which was unknown territory to the other. But the only penetration had been by single fingers on both sides. looking back on it, the incredible thing is that we were never caught in the act and I am quite sure that none of our parents or siblings suspected a thing.

Now the schools in our town did not use corporal punishment. Discipline was handled by detention, writing lines and suspension in the elementary and junior high schools. In high school, however, there was the dreaded "detention letter." When a child misbehaved in high school and got detention, he or she was given a letter to be signed by a parent and returned. Now Pamela was rather hyper-active as a child (possibly ADHD) and tended to get such letters for such things as talking in class, chewing gum, being late to class and forgetting to turn in homework.

Of course, when the Wicked Witch of the East got her hands on a detention letter, that meant Pamela was going to get a ferocious spanking, regardless of how trivial the offense was. Fortunately for Pamela's bottom, her mother worked from 3 to 11 four days a week and was not home when Pamela returned from school most days. Her father worked a day shift and was usually home at 4:30 or 5.

Pamela's father was a compassionate man and did not really approve of the was her mother handled Pamela's discipline, but put up with it. So, the result was that Pamela would give the letter to her father who would give Pamela a mild spanking (usually hand over panties, maybe 25 smacks) and sign the letter. This satisfied the school and if Mrs. C. inquired, he would say: "Yes, I gave her a good spanking and signed the letter." Needless to say, Pamela much preferred her father's system.

Unfortunately. Mr. Clayton's job schedule changed, and he was often called out of town for 3-4 days at a time. This meant that Pamela could not always get his signature in time since the school would call home if the letter was not returned in 3 days. So, the letters home came to the attention of her mother more often and her mother was convinced that Pamela's behaviour was deteriorating. Thus, the spankings became longer, harder and more frequent.

Then came the brainstorm. Pamela remarked that my handwriting was very similar to her father's. So, after a few days practice, I was able to produce a very good imitation of her father's signature. With some trepidation, we put the plan into effect and it worked! Mrs. C. stopped seeing letters and concluded that Pamela's behaviour at school was improving. There was nothing, of course, that we could do to stop Pamela from being spanked for "crimes" committed at home. The best we could arrange for was to get together as soon as possible after the fact and I could rub cold cream into her bottom and reassure her in other mutually pleasurable ways.

The unfortunate side effect of this, however, was that Pamela began to feel free to misbehave more often at school. The letters became more frequent and I was concerned that - without consequences - there would be the dreaded "teacher's conference with parent" and that her mother would find out and go ballistic. That would mean that my part in the affair would become known, with serious consequences for MY bottom. Worse yet, we would be banned from seeing each other and our whole romantic life would be ruined. (OK, so it wasn't all that romantic, but it was all we had.)

Now I had occasionally spanked Pamela as part of our play, but I decided that it had to become more serious. After considerable discussion, it was decided that I would give Pamela a "serious" bare-bottom spanking every time she got a letter that I had to forge. She agreed that it was better than facing her mother's wrath or risking exposure of our sordid affair. (She actually used the word "sordid" which sounds preposterous now, but at ages 13 and 15, we had vivid imaginations and a pretty good vocabulary by modern standards.)

Now all the kids and parents in the neighborhood were used to the two of us going off on our own, so nobody really noticed when we sneaked off to our secret rendezvous. The parents thought our "puppy-love" was "cute" and the smaller kids thought it was "dumb" stuff that big kids did -"Yuck." So, there we were in the old tool shed, which you could call a "woodshed" as my father stored his lumber there. I set up an old kitchen chair we had "liberated,” put the ping pong paddle on the lumber pile and addressed my "little girl."

"OK, young lady, it's time for your spanking now."

"Please, Tommy, don't make me pull my panties down."

"Sorry, but naughty little girls get spanked on their bare bottoms."

Now the dynamic had shifted and we both were nervous. She was baring her bottom, I was fully clothed, and we were about to embark into unknown territory. It just wasn't play anymore, and we were both scared. I was being a parent to a girl older than I was and that made it even weirder. I think we must have sat there for five minutes with my hand on her bare bottom, getting up the courage to proceed.

Finally, Pamela got up the courage to speak. (Lord knows how long it would have taken me on my own.) "I'm sorry I was a bad little girl, Tommy, please don't spank me too hard."

I took a deep breath and smacked her bottom, not very hard. She yelped, more in surprise than pain, but that gave me the encouragement to continue. I started spanking her bare bottom with my hand, gradually increasing the tempo and strength of my spanks. After a while, (I have no idea how long), she started to sob and whimper a little bit and that encouraged me further. Then she started kicking her legs and crying harder and began to promise to be good and ask me to stop.

That was my cue to pick up the paddle and bounce it a few times on her already red bottom. "All, right, little girl, now you are going to get 15 spanks with the paddle and your spanking will be over." (Don't ask me where I got the idea for a 'warm up" hand spanking, I remembered the standard spanking dialogue from kids’ books, but I have no idea where the concept of two phases of spanking came from. Pamela's mother used the paddle full force from the beginning and her father did nothing but hand spanking, so it couldn't have come from her experience, either)

"Please, Daddy, not the paddle, my bottom really hurts," she sobbed. (Great - now I was "Daddy" and not a scared kid with no clue as to what I was doing.)

"Sorry, Pamela, but this is for your own good." (My hand was getting sore anyway.)

So, I brought the paddle down on her red bottom and she yowled in pain and started sobbing louder. I cheated a bit and stopped at twelve instead of giving her the full fifteen because I was almost crying myself, seeing her in that pain. Then I let her rest over my knees for a while. (Which was a bit painful too since I was fairly skinny at that time and she weighed almost as much as I did, remember, she was two years older)

Then I hugged her and cuddled her for a while and told her what a good little girl she was and all that stuff that we had learned from the kids’ books and romance novels. After she calmed down, I put her back over my knees and rubbed the cold cream into her bottom and we did some of the other things that gave us pleasure.

Anyway, the first spanking went off so well that we continued the practice well into the winter and spring, though it became more complicated in the winter when we really couldn't use the tool shed without it being obvious that something odd was going on. Somehow, we were never discovered and Pamela's school behaviour did improve so I guess it was a success.

There is no happy ending to this story. Pamela's family moved to Michigan at the end of the 1953-4 school year and I never saw her again. We did exchange letters for a while, but they stopped after six months or so. My last letter from her was a 1965 Xmas card. After that, I sent several letters but got no response. I suspect her mother stopped her from writing. So, we both went on to other things, but I will never forget her and hope she will never forget me.

END

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