From: Megan M.

The Ritual of Properly Smacking a Bottom

When I was growing up in the late 40's, 50's and early 60's, it seemed to me that every child got his or her bottom smacked at one time or other. Most of the time it was an impromtu spanking, the culprit hauled unceremoniously over the irate parent's or guardian's lap, and a flurry of smacks landed on whatever part of the struggling culprits clothed anatomy was available to the descending hand.

Not in our home though! Corporal punishment, when carried out on me, or my siblings (there were 7 of us with me second oldest), took the form of a ritualised ceremony. Mother was the prime disciplinarian, Father only playing a role if you were stupid enough to resist! In that case you got a bare bottom thrashing from father, with his hard hand, then he left you to the tender mercies of mother, who proceeded to give you the same smacked bottom as you would have gotten originally! We learned early to co-operate!

Let me describe to you what I would call the stages of properly disciplining a child, a tradition I carried on, with great success, in raising my own four children.

The Call

There was something in the way mother called "Megan!" that sent shivers up my spine.I just knew from the tone I was in big, big trouble. I would slowly enter the living room, a slight flicker of hope that perhaps I was mistaken. But a glance at mother's face as she sat cross-legged on one of the soft padded chairs, staring hard at me, her mouth set, told me to abandon hope!

Sometimes 'the call' took a little longer, when I was dispatched to school, with a sound whap on my skirt clad bottom, and "We'll see about that when you get home, young lady!," ringing in my ears, as I made my way down the driveway to the school bus. All day I sat at my desk watching the big second hand on the wall clock push the minute and hour hands closer and closer to quitting time and my awaiting fate. That walk up the drive, with some of my brothers and sister's, seeing mother at the door, her arms folded under her ample bosum, her legs apart, eyes flinty, as she snapped "Hurry up, Megan!"

The Lecture

The lecture was always long and excrutiatingly painful -mentally, though, not physically. Physical pain was to come! Mother was an expert in getting the truth, and twisting your words to make them even more incriminating. I would stand in front of mother, hands wringing, shifting my weight from foot to foot, feeling the emotions rising from the pit of my stomach, and trying to choke back the tears, as I tried desperately to think of any way to get our of what was about to happen! Her bosum heaving, she would cross and uncross her legs, as the tone of her lecture, and interrogation, rose and fell! I can still hear that soft swish from her nylons, as her thighs brushed together, and I glanced down at her large lap, picturing myself across it, bottom bare, yelping from the pain!

Often father would be sittng in there, as would one or two of my brothers or sisters, pretending to do homework, or reading a book, but really focussed on what mother was saying, and glancing from time to time taking in my discomforture. I had watched my sibs in the same predicament so knew just how enjoyable and exiting they were finding the whole thing! And so, so glad it was not them!

The Walk

Like all good things -lol!- the lecture finaly drew to a close! Was it a relief? Maybe! Hard to tell! My mind by that time would be spinning, my stomach would be in knots, my hands would be dabbing tears from my eyes, my knees would be quaking, and I would be trying desperately not to cause too much of a scene in front of my siblings, and certainly not in front of father, in case he determined I was 'resisting' a little to much!

Mother would stand, heavily, and smooth the front of her skirt down over her ample thighs. With a curt, "Come along, Megan!"- normally I was 'Meg', but if my bottom was in trouble, it was always "Megan!" She took me firmly by the shoulder or arm, and we walked slowly out of the living room across the hall into the bathroom.

Mother always used the bathroom when we were younger, if we were due a smacked bottom. I think she liked the idea of its closeness, and the privacy it gave her when she locked the door. Although, as I will tell you in detail later, she would on occasion leave the door ajar, if she wanted an audience to really appreciate what a smacked botom was all about in our home!

In our later years, say 13 or 14 and older, the lecture was the same, but we were then dispatched alone to our bedroom, via hers to pick up the strap or cane, to 'prepare'. That meant, after placing the strap or cane in the middle of my bed, slipping my panties down to my ankles, then folding my skirt up above my waist, I would face the wall, bare bottom facing the door and await mother's arrival!

But here I am describing a bathroom spanking. I can still remember the awful 'click' that lock made, emphasising all was lost.

The Bathroom

The bathroom was big- large white porcelain tub and toilet. There was linoleum on the floor, which had such a floor wax, musty, uriny smell when my nose was pressed to it, as I lay over mother's lap. White ceramic tiles covered the walls. There was a big wooden vanity, with a large white sink set in it, and a couple of cupboard doors below, and a big mirror above. The acoustics in that room were superb in that the sounds of hand or hairbrush impacting with my bare buttocks, my mother's stern lecturing, and my yelps and cries, would reverberate off the wall and mix together into such a caucophony of sound. I know when I listened to one of my sibs 'get it' in the bathroom the sounds were incredible!

To this day, bathrooms have a special place in my psyche. When I visit my parents I still walk into that room, a little trepidation in my heart!. And I have used my own main bathroom on many occasions when disciplining my own children. A very useful room!

The Room Preparation

Having firmly locked the door, mother would turn and sternly stare at me, looking for even a trace of resistance, then brush by and bend heavily at the waist, legs straight, open up the cupboard below the sink. I was faced by her bottom, the material of her skirt pulled tight across it.

"What would it be like to smack that?", I wondered. I never tried, of course.

As well as the bottom facing me, I noted mother's skirt had ridden up, and I had a good view of the tops of her nylons, the straining elastic garters, the frilly hem of her corset, and the expanse of white thigh 'tween stocking top and corset. I wondered if my brother's had experienced such a view, and what they thought of it?

She rose heavily, her face florid from the exertion of bending, as she turned to face me, slapping the hairbrush (large oval canadian maple wood) on her left palm! My heart sunk even further!

She laid the brush on the side of the bath, then took the bath mat and laid it down in the middle of the floor, pushing me roughly aside! Then one leg at a time, she knelt down on the bath mat, sat back on her heels facing me, and with her hand guided me in front!

My Preparation

The lecture renewed. Oh how well she described what I had done wrong and what was about to happpen! My tears started anew and I tried a little pleading but I knew it was to no avail. Never did mother bare my bottom, put me over her lap, then let me up unsmacked!

As she lectured she started to turn my skirt up. My hands landed on hers, but she stopped, reached for the hairbrush, and I quickly withdrew. I know only to well what a crack on the knuckles feels like from that brush! I watch wided eyed as my skirt is raised and my panties are exposed!

Today I am wearing my green serge school knickers, elasticated waist and legs, that leave a thin red line around the tops of my thighs and around my waist! The type of panties I am wearing is inconsequential, whether they be cotton, nylon or serge- they will be coming down!

Not like my best friend Jill. She gets spanked too, but by her father mostly. He takes her over his lap, and smacks over her skirt or slacks, or at worst lifts her skirt or takes down her slacks and smacks her bottom over her panties. She says she has never had a bare bottomed spanking! She says it is just as sore over panties, and besides she thinks her father smacks harder than my mother, but I don't believe her!

With my skirt high above my waist, mother then turned her attention to my panties, and I felt her cold fingers scrabble between my stomach and the elasticated waist. Normally I am very ticklish-but not this time! Slowly, oh so slowly she 'talked' them down, unhooking where they were caught up between my thighs. As long as I live I will never forget the feeling on my thighs and lower legs from the garment as it was lowered. The waft of cool air blowing over my exposed cheeks. That feeling of total helplessness as I stare down over my naked hips, thighs and legs, at the tangle of material around my ankles! I don't care what Jill says!- getting your panties down is a huge deal!- maybe worse than the spanking itself!

The Spanking

Satisfied that I am properly prepared, mother pulls me to her right side. I shuffle, trying not to trip because of my panties encircling my ankles! I look down at the skirt clad lap below me.

Time to go over! She half hauls, half pushes me over her lap. I kind of resist, but dare not! I place my hands on the floor on her left side and lower my bare bottom on to her lap. How hard the linoleum feels on my elbows and knees, and how soft does her lap feel on the front of my hips! She carefully adjusts my hips so that my bottom is idealy placed for a sound smacking. I clasp my fingers together, to ensure my hands don't stray over my bottom to provide protection, press my head on to the floor, squeeze, and clench my buttocks as tight together as I can, to make as small a target as posible, and pray for deliverance! -it never came! -lol!

As mother gazes down on my fresh white, unblemished hams, she lectures some more then raises her right hand and "SMACKKKKK!" brings it down full across both the widest plumpest portion of both cheeks. No matter how often I am spanked, nothing can prepare me for the pain of that first smack! I try to imagine what it will be like, but when it arrives it is alweays 10 times worse than I remembered! The cane and strap are even worse-if that is possible!

Mother starts up a steady rythm of lecturing and spanking. I always try to be brave, but as the spanking continues and the pain increases I start to blubber, then really cry! I am aware initially that my bros and sisters wil be listening -I have heard them in distress often myself- but with the pain I really do not care what they hear!

From my own experience I know now that mother smacked until her hand was too uncomfortable to continue. She then picked up the hairbrush from the side of the bath and delivered a few vigorous splatts all over my bottom and halfway down my thigh. The pain is so bad, my fingers release and my hand shoots back to cover. Mother pauses, and says "Megan!- 2 seconds to move that!" "One... Two!!" CRACK!! I was too slow and feel the pain lancing up my arm from the crack on the knuckles she gives me. My hand withdraws rapidly and I hold it tightly with my other as the hairbrush continues its round of my buttocks and highs. By the time she finally stops, my crying is hoarse and I am one well punished young lady!

The Finale

With a contemptiuous push, mother spills me off her lap on to the floor, where I lay, like a little hedgehog, curled in a ball, my hands squeezing my bare buttocks trying desperately to ease the pain. With a "I hope you have learned a good lesson today, Meg!", mother unlocks the door shutting it behind her. It is over except for the embarrassment of facing father and my brothers and sisters. Though since my siblings have often gotten the same, I really do not understand why it was so!

So there you are! Hope you enjoyed.

Dear All,

Thinking about the 'happy' memories I have of my mother's discipline sessions put me in mind of one particular one you might like to hear about.

I must have been 10 at the time. Mother was sitting in the living room, me standing in front, head down, feet shuffling as she lectured me sternly. I knew this was a precursor to that dreadful march to the bathroom! Mother always smacked our bottoms in there (at least until we were teens when it was done in either her or our bedroom). I think she liked the fact that it was close and the door could be locked, so we would be uninterrupted.

Anyway, as Mother was winding down the lecture, and I was steeling myself for the inevitable, clenching my chubby bottom cheeks, under my white coton panties, sobbing a little, wondering just how bad a one I was due, the door bell went. Now I should have scuttled quickly into the bathroom, as mother went to answer it, but for some reason I stood rooted to the spot in the living room.

I heard mother's voices from the hall--"AH!... Mary... and Tommy too... come in"

Oh no, it was our next door neighbours!!--Tommy (who attended the same class as me at school) and his mother!

"Come on in!" said mother leading them into the living room.

I turned to face them, my face as red as my bottom was about to be, my heart pounding, my palms sweating.

"H..h..hello Tommy.... h..h..hello Mrs Ogilvie!" I stammered. Mother always insisted we were polite, even in the most trying of circumstances!--lol!

"Hello, Megan", said Mrs Ogilvie, a warm smile on her face. Tommy just kind of nodded, his face a trifle puzzled at my obvious discomfort.

"Sit down... sit down, and make yourself comfortable", said mother "I won't be long. I have just something to discuss with Megan!"

"Discuss"- wow!! that was a euphemism if ever I heard one!!-though I must admit I did not know then what a euphemism was-lol!!

I watched them sitting down, their eyes rivetted on me, as mother took me firmly by the arm, and with a "Come along Megan!" led me out of the room across the hall into the main bathroom.

As I said, I think Mother liked the bathroom because she could lock the door, but on this occasion she left it ajar. I think she wanted to impress Mrs. Ogilvie with her skills in smacking bottoms, and what one was like in our home!!!

Normally I made a lot of noise when having my botom bared, then spanked. I would plead, cry, never resist of course, but really yelp as each hard smack from mother's hand or hairbrush descended on my naked nates!

With Tommy and his mother listening, I tried to be quiet as a mouse. I imagined them sitting in the room oposite, bolt upright, their ears pricked for every nuance of noise emanating from that bathroom!

Mother wasn't quiet though. If anything she was louder than usual. She knelt before me on the floor, and lectured loudly, describing in detail where I had gone wrong and the consequences about to befall me. I tried pressing my hands gently on her mouth to quieten her, but she brushed them away, saying "Don't be so silly Megan. You were the one who asked for this!!", God was I mortified!

I think I was wearing a skirt, because I can still remember how cold her hands were as she reached under it and her fingers scrabbled for the waist band of my panties! She described in graphic detail everything she was doing, and why, in the loudest of voices, painting the perfect for the audience in the next room!

The bathroom was the coolest room in the house and i can clearly remember the feeling of the cool breezes blowing gently over my bare bottom after Mother turned my skirt up above my waist, and she sat back on her heels and looked at me.

"Sorry for yourself,, Megan?... not quite so cocky standing there with your bottom bare, young lady??"

If the ground could have opened and swallowed me I would have been happy! I wondered how I would ever be able to look Tommy in the face again.

Mother pulled me over her lap, adjusted my hips so my bototm was ideally placed for her hand, describing loudly "Just what happens to naughty girls"

The smell of the linoleum, and the trace of urine in the air, the feel of the hard floor digging into my elbows and knees-so memorable. And that feeling of helplessness as I lay there listening to mother, my bare buttocks totally exposed and vulnerable.

I would like to say that i took the spanking stoically but I cannot. Oh the first few smacks, I managed a grunt or two, but as mother got into her rythm, and the pain mounted i started to yelp, them cry then plead. A great show for Tommy!! But I could not help it! I do not know what he thought when mother switched to the hairbrush and I really let loose.

Finally it was over, and mother dumped me unceremoniously on the floor and went out leavig the door open, to join our neighbours. I curled in a ball, my hands clutching my burning cheeks trying desperately to squeeze out the pain!

Finally I recovered a little, stood, pulled my panties gingerly over my red, bruised, swollen bottom, and scuttled out of the room. As I headed down the corridor i glanced into the living room. Mother and Mrs Ogilvie were sitting talking, but Tommy was staring right out at me. I could have died.

Funilly enough, Tommy never mentioned the incident, and of course neither did I. Probably because he had received a few hot bottoms himself, from his mother, and maybe sympathised with me!

Who knows--but anyway there it is-hope you enjoyed!



The End

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