"The Day We Had Our Bottoms Smacked!"

By Robert

 I was alone at the bottom of the garden trying to come to terms with the sound smacking I had just received.  I had had it on my bare bottom with a heavy wooden hairbrush!  The afterglow was still very keen and throbbing and I certainly had no wish to sit down just yet.  I’m sure you know how it is when you’re my age, a smacked bottom, especially when, like mine, it has been given in public and on the bare bottom, hurts more than just that part of one’s anatomy?  Your pride, your dignity, your self esteem even, have been hurt and that is especially true when you know that you deserved every single whack and I had deserved them all!  My misery was interrupted by the sound of footsteps and I looked up to see my sister, walking very carefully, approaching me with a rueful grin on her cheeky face.

“Sorry” she said.

“What for?  It wasn’t your fault”

“Well, thanks, but I think it was.  We’d have gone if it hadn’t been for me.  Any way, how is it now?”

My sister is all right!  She’s not one of those soppy girls, she might almost be a boy though she’d punch my nose if she heard me say that.  She had been spanked first of the three of us this afternoon and so her bottom had had longer to simmer down.  She had taken her spanking very well, I had watched it as I waited for my turn and she took it very well indeed, long and hard though it had been.  She managed another grin.

“Come on” she said  “How was it and how is it now?  Did it hurt ..” another wicked grin “ you know, with you having it on the bare???”

It occurred to me that dear old Rose wanted to talk about smacked bottoms.  My heart missed a beat, sore though my derriere still was the thought excited me.  I realised I had always wanted to talk about that so very special and intimate punishment!  My tingling bottom twitched!

“Isn’t she marvellous when she’s cross?” I said.

Rose nodded.  “Oh, yes!” and, grinning again, she gently caressed her bottom.  “She certainly is!  I don’t want another one like that in a hurry.”

I shook my head.  “NO!”

But how, I hear you ask had Rosie and I, as well as our weedy little brother who was still weeping in his room, how had we three all ended up that fine summer’s day with very soundly smacked bottoms?   Well, to be honest, I am embarrassed even now to talk about it, not that I got my bottom smacked, no, that I asked for, but I’m embarrassed to recall our appalling conduct that day.

It happened like this.

We lived in a small Norfolk village about 15 miles from Norwich, the county town.  Norfolk, for those of you in the remote colonies, is the northern half of that bulge that sticks out into the North Sea on the eastern side of England.  My mother was Head Teacher of a school in a neighbouring village to which she drove in her little Austin 7.  Yes, she was a school teacher but that doesn’t mean she was a harsh or illiberal disciplinarian, far from it.  At school she seldom had recourse to the cane which the Education Authority thoughtfully provided and at home, well, while a trip over her knee was not easily forgotten it was a rare event.  We were very seldom smacked.  She never grabbed us and smacked in temper, she was always totally in control, but her smackings, when awarded, were given with all due formality and, you might say, ritual!   The culprit or culprits received a sound and considered scolding while they waited for what they knew was coming.  That really grabs your attention, believe me, far more effectively than a wild ‘haymaker’ delivered to the back of your legs. We boys invariably had our trousers taken down before going over her knee.  Boys’ trousers were made of thick grey flannel material which would have provided too much protection for our bottoms!  Yes, we had it on the bare every time.  My sister, who had her bottom smacked quite as often as us, maybe more often in fact, two strong minded females in the same house means trouble, was usually allowed to retain her knickers which provided little defence from mother’s smacks.  There were three of us by the way, Rose, who you have already met, was the eldest, then there was me and finally, five years younger than me, family planning was not too reliable in those days, was our little brother Billie.  I was called Bobbie when I was still young enough to smack and, by the way, another idiomatic point, we were never ‘spanked’ – we had our bottoms smacked!  I have always thought, quite incorrectly, that a ‘spanking’ sounds rather nice and cosy whereas ‘a good smack bottom’, well, doesn’t!

That day, the day we had our bottoms smacked, had dawned bright and sunny as only that rare miracle of a fine English summer’s day can.  There was to be a children’s outing organised, I think, by the church.  It was to be in yet another village, Norfolk is full of little villages, and our local parish priest had kindly offered to take the three of us to the fete and bring us back.  When the kindly clergyman turned we refused to go.  Look, don’t push me on this, as you’ll find out I got a very sore behind for it later and I’m not proud of our conduct.  Almost as soon as the vicar had left we changed our minds.  We wanted to go!  You might argue, and I wouldn’t disagree, that bottoms might have been smacked at that point but, as I hope you have already gathered, mother was a patient soul.  She got out the trusty Austin and off we went.  I don’t recall the full details but somehow she managed to lose her way, get stuck in a tiny narrow lane, have to be pulled out by a misogynist farmer with views on women drivers.  We lost so much time as to make it ridiculous to go on so, after thanking our sneering rescuer, Mother turned for home.

The drive home was in total, cold, almost menacing silence.  I felt distinctly ill at ease and I felt sure that Rose, sitting in the front with Mother, was equally worried and apprehensive.  Billie may have lacked our mature sensitivities but he, also, remained silent.  Difficult to be certain after all this time but, you know, I became more and more convinced that Mother was more angry than I had ever seen her and, with a little frisson of anticipation I became convinced she was going to punish us for our bad manners, punish us severely!  I shivered!  She would smack our bottoms, all three of us, when we got home!  Of that I was now certain!  I was about to be spanked.  Hard! I looked up and, with dread, saw we were turning into the drive to our house.  Welcome home!

The little car crunched up the gravel drive and came to a rest outside the front door of the imposing Georgian house in which we were privileged to live.  Mother got out and held the door.  “Come along, into the house with you her voice was cold, hard even, very much the Head Teacher not our warm and cuddly mother.  “Wait for me in the sitting room.” It was with a deep sense of foreboding that I accompanied my siblings into the sitting room.  My mother went upstairs. 

The sitting room was large and spacious.  Our furniture had difficulty in filling it.  Splendid French windows opened out onto a paved terrace, a green well tended lawn ran down to an area which we called ‘the rough place’ in which, in happier times (!) we enjoyed many a game of cowboys and Indians.  To the left in the sitting room was a splendid fireplace typical of the period and opposite a door led to the dining room.  So that sets the scene for you who are going to witness our punishment.

We were standing, miserable and apprehensive when we heard mother’s footsteps coming down the stairs not, I thought, with her usual brisk step but a more slow considered pace.  The door opened and, as one, we turned to watch her enter.  I am sure it had been her intent that the first thing we should see as she entered was her hairbrush!  It was!  My buttocks clenched.  This was it.  Without a word mother crossed the room, picked up a tall backed chair, positioned it ‘centre stage’ and placed her hairbrush on it.  She turned to face us her face bore an unhappy but determined expression.

“I’m going to smack your bottoms!” she said.

Billie burst into tears and, clutching his bottom, wailed pathetically.  Rosie gasped at hearing those six doom laden words although she cannot have really been surprised.  I hung my head in what I hoped looked like dignified resignation – it’s difficult to look dignified lying across the knee but you can try beforehand.  I reached round and clasped my bottom protectively.  “Yes, mum” I heard myself croak!.

“Before I smack you, and you richly deserve the sound smacking you’re about to have, oh, Billie do control yourself, boy, you should have thought about this.  Before I smack you I want you to think about this afternoon’s behaviour.  I have been thinking about it upstairs and I am sadly convinced that nothing else, apart from a sore bottom, will get my message across, so listen and learn your lesson!”

Mother then delivered the most scathing, apposite, well considered, frightening and so well deserved pre-spanking scolding I have ever received!  She was really wonderful and filled me with a mass of mixed emotions not all of which were of dread.  When she was like this, strict, firm, determined, she aroused in me that strange, almost erotic, feeling which must be unique to the mother/son relationship.  Girls go on about the ‘romance’ of daddie’s spankings, and how would I know whether they are right, but there is something about mother/son when it comes to the smacked bottom!  Something not entirely undesirable!  There, I’ve said it, deep down inside part of me wanted her to punish me in that most intimate manner – bare bottom and over her knee. 

“Now” said mother, raising her voice slightly to be heard over Billie’s snivelling, “This gives me no satisfaction, my dears, because it seems to me that I have failed when I have to resort to spanking you.  It gives me no satisfaction but I know it is right.  You have let me down badly and you must now pay for it.  Before I start does any one of you have anything to tell me?”

Rosie said, her voice only slightly wobbly, “I’m sorry, mother, really.” 

I mumbled something, my mind fixed on that hairbrush!

Billie, realising no doubt that the prelude was over, howled louder.

“Rose!” and it began!

“Yes mother?”

“Let’s start with you, dear.  Come here.”

“Oh, mother, please!  Can’t you let us off?  It won’t happen again.  Please”

“Don’t be silly, my dear.  Come here and let me get at your bottom,”

“Yes, mother!” and my dear sister, I really quite like her, you know, went over to where mother was seated on that high backed chair.  The hairbrush, which Rosie could not help but see, was in her hand!  Mother took my sister gently by the arms and moved her round to stand by mother’s right thigh.  Poor Rose’s face was a mask of anticipation, remorse and misery..

“Over you go!” and gentle pressure on the small of her back forced Rosie forward.  Her hands  on mother’s left thigh she gracefully lowered herself into the classic OTK position.  I heard her utter a little moan or groan.  Mother took her by the waist, “A little further, please” she said  “Hands on the floor!”  Rosie helped mother to get her properly positioned, her hands reached for the floor, her head and shoulders went down pulling her dress tightly across her little bosom, her legs, encased in long silvery boots, went down, her bottom up.  Mother lifted her skirts and exposed Rosie’s bottom in its lily-white knickers.  Rosie groaned some more.  Mother took hold of the waist band of those knickers and pulled them down, but only a bit leaving the lower curves of her bottom modestly covered. Mother raised the hairbrush and, without further ado…

THWACK!

Billie howled in fright!  I stared at Rosie in disbelief.  Rosie, poor lass, yelled AAAAH!!  She seemed to try to look round and see her bottom.  Her face looked strained, miserable, flushed.  I couldn’t look at the poor girl’s face but I couldn’t look away either.  I looked at her bottom, I just had to look at her little bottom!

I watched with a horrid fascination as mother delivered THWACK!  after stinging THWACK! across Rosie’s poor behind.  With each smack her white knickers rippled, her little body tensed, her legs kicked, her bottom flattened, reddened and bounced back.  With each smack dear Rosie yelled.  I clasped my hands over my bottom – and watched and listened to Rosie’s thrashing!  Billie, it goes without saying, was howling from where he had thrown himself, prostrate in horror and misery, on the sitting room floor.  He whimpered “No, please, I’m sorry. No!”.

Brave Rose was smacked and smacked and smacked!  Her lissom young body jerked and twisted and flinched under those stinging hard strokes of the hairbrush.  Her knickers rippled and the cheeks of her bottom could be seen clearly reddening with clear outlines of that hairbrush.  My sister was having the thrashing of her young life and what she was getting I knew I would soon be getting in my turn.  I tried not to watch but I had to, I just had to.  Rosie did not cry, brave girl, but she yelped with the pain of every smack, the pain that must be sharpening as her little bottom became more and more sensitive under each successive stroke.  Poor Rosie – and poor me!

Then it was over.  I do not know how many times mother had smacked her naughty daughter’s bottom, I had not been counting, but it had been a long, hard smacking and my bottom twitched at what was coming to it shortly.  Rosie hung over mother’s knee gasping and choking and moaning.  She had been soundly thrashed.  The cheeks of her bottom where they peeped out from her white knickers were reddened with livid purple blotches.  How must it feel?

Billie looked up and realised it was over, he guessed he was going to be next and he cried “No, please, no!  I’m sorry, it wasn’t my fault. No, no, no!”

After a while mother said, very gently  “Do you want to get down, Rosie.  That’s all!” and she, very gently, helped my sister onto her feet where she stood looking puzzled as she started the process of coming to terms with having had a well smacked bottom!  Her face was flushed and strained and she was clearly fighting back the tears.  Why?  No one, least of all our mother, would have blamed if she had cried, cried tears of regret for her bad behaviour as well as tears of  distress for her sore bottom.  Rosie wobbled slightly then, with obvious concentration and still looking distinctly odd, she shuffled awkwardly away from mother’s chair, past me and over to stand by the French windows.

“Billie” mother called her next client!

I don’t want to dwell for too long on Billie’s smacking.  It was pretty bad, I can tell you.  He backed away when mother called him and she had to get up and go to collect him from where he cowered in a corner.  Not her style, I know, but she had no option but to drag his unresisting but quite uncooperative form over to where, as the wretched boy well knew, he was to be punished.  I felt sick.  Mother sat down and hoisting him onto his feet pulled him in between her legs where she held him firmly pinioned by her thighs.  She roughly undid his trousers and, easing the grip in which her legs held him, she pulled them down as he screamed in anticipation.  His underpants followed and she reapplied her grip, put her hand on his neck and pushed him over her left thigh.  She hoisted his shirt and exposed his little white buttocks.  I shivered.

The hairbrush rose and THWACK!  she laid it hard and accurate across the lower curves of his bottom.  I swayed on my feet as I watched.  Angry red marks appeared on both cheeks, Billie screamed and fought against the iron grip of mother’s thighs and her hand on the back of his neck.  It was awful, awful, not how a maternal spanking should be but I don’t blame my wonderful mother.  Billie tried, as others have before him, to shield his bottom with his right hand but was quickly thwarted as she grabbed his wrist and held it firmly on his back.  She thrashed every bit as soundly as she had thrashed Rosie and, I shuddered, as soundly as I knew she was going to thrash me.  He screamed and yelled and kicked and fought but, oh boy, did he get his little bottom smacked and how? 

Mother released her iron grip and he slumped off her knee to the floor where he lay with his blazing bottom in full view!

Mother said  “Get out of my sight!”  she was frighteningly angry and I was frightened.  I hadn’t been frightened before, of course I didn’t want what I knew I was going to get, no one wants their bottom smacked, do they,, but I’d not been frightened before. 

“Rose” said mother “Take him to his room, will you, then come back here.”  

“Yes, mother!”

When they had gone mother turned to me.  “Do you mind waiting a minute I must go and calm down.”  A strange question to address to a boy about to have his bottom smacked, you might think, but I managed to express my acquiescence!  “I’ll not keep you waiting long.” and Mother left the room.  Shortly afterwards Rosie came back.

“Hello.  What’s going on?”

You’ll understand that I was not feeling very chatty and said nothing!  We stood there in awkward silence for what seemed to me like ages then mother came back to smack my bottom.  That wait was agony, I didn’t want it to end because then I’d be smacked but standing there waiting to be smacked was awful.  Eventually we heard mother’s footsteps as she returned.  Rose looked awkward, bless her, at my dilemma, she must have guessed how I was feeling as I looked at the doorway waiting for mother to come into the room.  Then she did come in looking much more at ease, ready, no doubt, to complete her work!

“Rose dear, did you sort your brother out?  Thank you.”  Then she turned to me!  She put her arm round me saying “Sorry, Bobbie.  You know you still have to be punished, don’t you?  Come along, let’s get it over with.”  She went to her chair, picked up that dreadful hairbrush and sat down.

“Come along!”  There was, I thought, a slight nervous edge to her voice but she was determined to do what she knew she must!  Smack my bottom.

“Yes, mother”

My mouth was dry, my voice, Rosie told me later, sounded very strange, but I found myself going to mother’s side.  I stood meekly waiting.  One of the nasty parts of the bottom smacking procedure, I think, is having your trousers taken for you!  Taking them down yourself is bad enough but having to stand meekly while she who is going to smack your bottom fumbles with the fastenings, undoes your fly and pulls the trousers down?  I hate it and it was happening to me!  Mother reached for my waist, unbuckled my belt, I felt my trousers loosen and I groaned.  She unbuttoned my fly.  Mother tugged lightly and my trousers fell away.  Rosie, watching, gasped, I uttered another heartfelt groan.  Then her fingers were on my underpants and I felt them being eased slowly down over the curves of my bottom and onto my thighs.  Cool air wafted over my trembling bottom.  I clasped my hands modestly over the crown jewels!

“Don’t be a silly boy. Come on” said mother gently and urged me over!

Her right hand was round my back and she exerted pressure to force me down.  Stupidly I resisted and her hand came off my back and gave me a stinging smack on the bottom!  What can I have been thinking?  “Come along now, over my knee so I can get at that bottom properly. Don’t be a silly boy, you’re going to have your bottom smacked with or without your cooperation”  She gave my poor bottom another sharp hand smack and I went!   My hands resting on her thigh and her hand pressing on my back I went!  Down onto her lap, I went,  with my bottom over her right knee.  She took hold of my waist and said  “A bit further over, please.”  Her voice was gentle now.  “I need you a bit further over, hands down to the floor.  Come on, good lad, that’s fine!” as I helped her move my body.  My hands slipped off her knee down to the floor, my head and shoulders were now over her lap.  She lowered her left knee, pulled in her right and there I was, just right for smacking.  Mother lifted my shirt tail, I looked round and caught my sister’s eye and …..

THWACK  !  It was the shock of the first smack more than its pain.  I yelled!  Sorry but its true, I yelled  “AARGH!”   And that was only the first, hard and accurate and well placed across both cheeks at their plumpest part!  I wished I’d not been so silly.

Mother Nature, and it must have been ‘Mother’, smacking bottoms is much a motherly punishment, certainly knew what she was doing when she designed the human bottom!  It is a perfect place for smacking, plump and rounded and very, very tender!  There must be more nerve endings in the buttocks, mustn’t there?  A smacked bottom hurts so and yet, however hard she smacks you she won’t cause any injury.  The bottom can take it.  Smacking your bottom not only hurts it clearly shows you your place in the hierarchy.  It shows you who is in charge.  You lie helpless over her knee, bottom bare for all to see, so that in addition to the stinging smacks there is a feeling of absolute submission and humiliation.  No doubt in my mind.  Motherly smacking on the bare bottom is the sanction for a bad boy.  I closed my eyes, clenched my fists and raised my bottom.  It was bad!  It was painful!  It was shaming!  Most of all I recognised even as I lay writhing under that hairbrush, it was well deserved.  And yes, I yelled with every stinging smack!  It hurt!!

Then it was over.  I hung limply over the altar of her lap gasping and gulping and whimpering.  My bottom hurt so!  My body was stiff and wracked with aches and pains.  I didn’t want to try to move but mother suggested I get down.  She helped me to my feet and hoisted my underpants to preserve my modesty.  I flinched.  She then leaned down and recovered my trousers and, very carefully, bless her, eased them back into place and fastened them.  I had been spanked.  On the verge of tears I crept stiffly over to the French doors and out into the garden.  I made my way to the ‘rough place’ where, as you have read, Rose later joined me.

It was a comfort to have Rosie there.  We had both had the thrashing of our young lives and it was good to have her with me.  She recovered more quickly and was soon taking a quite cheerful interest in the state of my bottom!

“Let’s have a look, then, you poor old lad!” she grinned up at me from where she was sitting, yes, sitting albeit carefully, on the grass.

I shook my head awkwardly.  “No”

“Don’t be rotten.  You can see mine if you’ll show me yours!”  and she burst into laughter – not at all what you’d expect from a girl with a newly smacked bottom.  She patted her lap!  “Come on, trousers down!”

I can’t resist Rose.  She’s older, a bit older, than me and has a strong personality and anyway, some thing deep inside me wanted to agree.  Awkwardly I knelt down by her side, dropped my trousers and put myself across her knee!  It felt good.  Rosie gently eased my pants down and gasped!  “Oh, you poor boy!” she said.  And there, dear reader, my lifelong fascination with feminine discipline was born.

We were happily adjusting to our newly chastised state when we heard mother call.  “Tea!”

Rosie’s cool, girlie hand caressed my bottom.  “We’d better go!” she said pulling my pants up. At the sitting room doors mother stood arms outstretched’  “Am I forgiven?” she asked and gathered us both into her warm embrace.  Suddenly all was well, my throbbing bottom felt rather warm and exciting.  I had no regrets.

“Yes, mother!”