TRUE SPANKING STORIES
VOLUME I
True accounts of erotic spanking, bdsm spanking, punishment spanking, discipline spanking, kinky spanking, corporal punishment, domestic discipline, and spanking fetishism, with hand, hairbrush, paddle, strap, switch, and more.
Edited by
Sasha Cave
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY:
Nelson & Jones on Smashwords
True Spanking Stories, Volume I
Copyright © 2010 by Nelson & Jones
Edited by Sasha Cave
Nelson & Jones
2272 Colorado Boulevard, #100
Los Angeles, California 90041
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, such as electronic, mechanical, photocopying or recording, without prior written permission from the publisher, except for brief quotations in reviews or articles. Requests for reprint permission should be addressed to: Rights and Permissions Dept., Nelson & Jones, 2272 Colorado Blvd. #100, Los Angeles, CA. 90041, or online through the link at http://www.SpankingBible.com.
Smashwords Edition License Notes
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Disclaimer/Warning/Notice
This publication contains the opinions, ideas and accounts of many people. It is meant to offer informative and interesting material. It is sold with the understanding that its editor, publisher and contributors are not offering professional services or advice. In particular, this book is not intended as, and should not be used as, advice for diagnosis or treatment of any physical or mental condition in yourself or others (especially children). Please do not use it for that purpose. For any health conditions or questions, you should consult a medical doctor or other health professional competent to diagnose and treat that condition and answer your questions. Before copying any activity described herein, such as spanking, the reader should consult a competent medical professional for advice, especially if there are any known or suspected relevant or significant health conditions, or restrictions as to activities.
While the publisher, editor and others involved have done their best in preparing this book, they make no representation or warranty regarding its contents, and specifically disclaim any implied warranties of merchantability or fitness for a particular purpose. No warranty may be created or extended by sales or promotional materials or publicity given to this book by others. They assume no responsibility for errors or omissions. They assume no liability for damages resulting from use of information or ideas herein or from following acts described herein. The fact that a person, organization, book, article or website may be referred to herein as a citation or a possible source of information does not mean that the publisher or editor endorses such sources or their information or recommendations. In addition, readers should be aware that organizations’ character may change and that websites may disappear, change or change ownership between the time this book is written and when it is read.
Readers should consult an appropriate professional for all physical, mental or health conditions, treatments or questions.
If you do not wish to be bound by the above, you may return this book to the seller for a full refund.
— Editor and Publisher
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Sweet Sixteen Birthday Spanking
School Principal Relies on the Paddle
Memories of a Girls’ Reform School Guard
Wife’s First Spanking Changes Marriage
Spanking Arrangement with a Professional Dominant
Embarrassed to Be Spanked by Big Brother
College Junior Gets Spanked at Home
Amazed to See Parking Lot Spanking from His Pickup Truck
College Girl’s Birthday Spanking
Spankings with a Scottish Tawse
Mom’s Friend Teaches Her How to Spank
Domestic Discipline Arrangement
Four House Mates Rely on Painful Punishment
Spanked in the Park and at the Beach
18–Year–Old Girlfriends Get Spanked by Both Dads
Carly Simon’s Spanking Solution
Uncertainty Counts
The Punishment Wall
Worse than the Spanking?
Not that Complicated
Hates Corner Time
No Privacy for Corner Time
Corner Time was Frightening and Embarrassing
Face Outward
Prefers Kneeling Position
Be Creative
Punishment Sign Embarrasses Wife
Lying Over Pillows Is Just as Bad
“Wearing Feathers” is the Ultimate Humiliation
Corner Time with Soap in Mouth
Discipline Spankings for Wives and Daughters
Young Lady Upset to Be Spanked Bare
Mirrors Give Full Picture of Spanking
Spanked at the Department Store
Surprise Spanking from Her Uncle
Teaching Assistant Spanks Cheating Students
Teen Vandals Spanked at Police Station
Sex Spankings Versus Punishment Spankings
Young Lady Spanked by Her Fiancee
How Young Ladies Should Be Spanked
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FOREWORD
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Here, in letters describing their true spanking experiences, dozens of men and women reveal their interests, activities and feelings. Their words portray a fascinating world of behavior and feelings. Especially sexual feelings.
When we use the word “spanking,” it is shorthand for experiences that range across a vast landscape. The spanking experiences include erotic, play and discipline experiences. The accounts are from men and women of all sorts, in an enormous range of relationships: husband/wife; boyfriend/girlfriend; girlfriend/girlfriend; parent/teenager; sibling/sibling; teacher/student; school principal or sorority sister/pledge; jailers and their unhappy detainees in reformatories, prisons, and police stations; and much, much more. The experiences are described by the spanker, the “spankee,” and sometimes the observer, seen or unseen by the participants.
The accounts include every imaginable position. Over the knee. Standing bent over, touching toes or ankles. Hands and knees. Shoulders and knees. Over couches, chairs, hassocks, footstools. Lying on couches and beds, perhaps with a pillow raising the target area. Bent over a desk, desperately clutching the far side. Even attached to a specially–made spanking bench. And many more positions.
Every kind of spanking implement makes its appearance. The strap in all its variations of size, length and thickness. The tailed strap (Scottish tawse). The belt. The hairbrush and its cousins: bath brush, dog brush, horse curry brush. The paddle, one–handed and two–handed, short and long, light and heavy, flat and ridged, intact or with cruel holes drilled to reduce wind resistance. The rattan cane, favorite of English schoolmasters. The switch—birch, hickory, peach, willow and many others. The riding crop. The martinet. And, of course, the firm, vigorously applied palm of the hand.
There is every kind of technique and detail. Hard spanks and easy. Few spanks or many. Slow spanking or fast flurries. Number of spanks announced in advance, or left unstated for the fearful person awaiting their ordeal. Corner time, before or after. Spanking alone, or combined with other punishments. Spanking in private, or in front of others like siblings or even friends.
In short, there are an infinite number of spanking experiences: from easy, relaxing, pleasurable and even therapeutic, to ordeals of anticipation, humiliation and pain.
Every emotion makes its appearance, and often many emotions in conflict: pain, pain and pleasure, submission and self–affirmation, resentment yet security, and of course sexual excitement, awakening and release, intertwined with the physical pain. And those are just the emotions of the person being spanked; the emotions of the person wielding the hand, brush, strap or cane are another whole constellation, as are those of the watcher.
Are you curious about spanking? You’re certainly not alone. Over seventy–five per cent of Americans have had spanking experiences and at least twenty–nine per cent of adults have a strong interest in giving or getting spankings. The Kinsey Study and many others proved a wide and deep interest in spanking. Spanking scenes occur in a huge number of mainstream films. Spankings abound in classic literature, and today in popular literature and music. Years ago Penthouse magazine shot to popularity partly for its willingness to print readers’ letters about spanking and other then–taboo topics. Today “spanking” is one of the thirty most common internet search terms.
In some foreign countries, an interest in spanking is almost universal. Spanking and all its variants have been called “the English vice,” or, in French “le vice Anglais.” But the British call corporal punishment “the French vice,” pointing to the hundreds of thousands of martinets bought every year for punishing the bare buttocks of children, teenagers and errant wives and girlfriends. In parts of Central and Eastern Europe, spanking of teens has been very common until recently, even when discouraged by law. In Japan, an interest in spanking is said to be intertwined with obsessions for schoolgirls, schoolgirl uniforms (e.g., sailor suits for adolescent girls) and American clothing styles of the Fifties.
In short, the American interest in spanking is not unique.
The letters and a few illuminating articles in this collection were sifted from thousands of others. (Future volumes are in progress.) But even this sampling projects a luminous psychological liberation, based on validation and acceptance of the writers’ own experiences, feelings and sexuality. Almost every possible variation of spanking and related topics appears here (and will also appear in later volumes.)
And, the key point: every spanking experience is described by those who actually experienced it—giving the spanking, getting the spanking or (in a few cases) observing or helping. “Insiders,” not distant third parties. Real, not made up. Each writer is saying, “This is my experience, these were my feelings, this is possible for you too, ‘go thou and do likewise’ if you want to.” As the United States Constitution puts it, you have a right to “the pursuit of happiness.”
Readers can rejoice that these writers “out” everything about themselves into the open. Not merely the act of spanking, often in great detail, but the feelings, physical and emotional, of those involved. The entire world of spanking is revealed as a rich canvas of human interaction and sexuality.
Some readers can simply enjoy this collection. Others can learn about those with like interests and experiences, and be reassured that their own interest is “okay” and “normal.” That alone makes this collection invaluable. The same comment about reassurance applies to related topics on which some of the writers touch, such as dominance and submission, domestic discipline, medical exams and medical play, the deep psychological impact and meaning of spanking, and of course the profound connection between spanking and sexual feelings and activities. Invaluable also was the publisher’s service in gathering and publishing these accounts, despite, even today, organized opposition in some quarters against free and honest discussion of such topics. I hope that any reader, whatever his interests, will broaden his horizons with this collection.
The publisher’s and editor’s job is not to approve or condemn any specific act, practice or feeling described within these pages. The letters are what they are. The writers are who they are. Rather, our job is to let each contributor “speak” to each reader. The letters are, each and all, a window into a fascinating world. And, in a sense, a mirror in which the writers and readers can see ourselves.
Any editor, including this one, has his own preferences and may wish to favor some themes or types of writing over others. I have tried to resist any such bias. This collection was hand–picked to show the wide range of contributors’ spanking experiences. Indeed, editing the collection was challenging, entertaining, often moving, and eye–opening to me on many levels.
I will admit that, other things being equal, I favored letters that were the best written, with vivid descriptions of spanking details and the narrator’s feelings.
I emphasize that these are real people’s real experiences, set out in their own words. This differs from anthologies of fictional spanking stories. Some events happened years ago and the writers do history a service by shining light on times, places, behaviors and thinking that might otherwise end up lost to memory. Other experiences are so fresh the writers are writing them standing, while nursing their crimson buttocks. Or at least so fresh that the writers may still be struggling to come to terms with what the experience means to them.
In a few cases I have decided to include a piece but asked the contributor to include additional information or clarify certain details. Otherwise, though, I have tried to limit myself to minor editing for spelling, grammar, punctuation and clarity. Some foreign terms have been translated into English. Some British terms have been changed to American equivalents, and some British spellings to American ones. In many cases names have been changed, or last names omitted, for privacy and legal reasons. Titles have been added to most of the letters for the reader’s convenience. In other ways, however, the accounts are essentially unchanged by this editor, who is merely their gatherer, chooser and editor, not their creator.
I have tried to make this collection one of the most remarkable works you may ever read. I hope you enjoy it and enjoy the future volumes already in preparation.
— Sasha Cave, Editor
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College Freshman Gets Spanked
Elizabeth B., Los Angeles, California
I am 18, a college freshman at UCLA—Go, Bruins! And I still get spanked.
When I was accepted, my parents were delighted. But they considered me wild, “boy crazy,” and a “party girl,” and were concerned I might go off the rails when I was suddenly on my own. I guess I couldn’t really blame them for worrying.
They agreed to help with tuition, car and other expenses only if I lived with my older sister and her husband, who could “keep an eye on me,” and obeyed their rules. I didn’t realize all that this implied when I eagerly agreed. As some poet or Englishman or court decision once said, “The full consequences of my decision were still in the bosom of Time, as yet unrevealed.”
I arrived at Jerry and Cathy’s wonderful townhouse near campus and settled in a few days before Orientation Week began. We sat down and went over the rules which they had worked out for me with my parents. (No input from me, of course.) There were more rules than I wished, and they were a little stricter than I wished, but they were pretty reasonable—keep my room neat, clean up after myself in the kitchen and bathroom, do a few chores, keep their curfew except with specific permission, be polite to the cleaning woman, do not smoke, limit my alcohol, don’t use illegal drugs, dress reasonably, maintain decent grades, and so forth.
Anyhow, I had no choice. When we went over the rules, I joked, “What happens if I break a rule? Do you ground me?” Jerry matter–of–factly answered, “No. I spank you.”
At home my parents had usually just argued with me, cut my allowance or denied me the car keys for a few days. My sister had urged them to be firmer, but I hadn’t been spanked since I was 11 or 12 years old, and my parents became uncomfortable putting my developing body over their knees. I couldn’t imagine someone spanking me now, when I was a legal adult woman. I looked at my sister but Cathy just nodded.
I called my parents and complained, but they said “You need someone to keep an eye on you,” and Jerry, Cathy and they had worked out “both reasonable house rules and reasonable punishment for breaking those rules.” Mom added, “You shouldn’t worry so much. Just don’t do anything that requires punishment.”
I must have still been in a state of denial, but that ended a few days later, in the middle of Orientation Week, when I returned from a dance at 1:15 a.m. In less than five minutes I ended up face down over Jerry’s lap being paddled with my sister’s oak hairbrush.
It is a shocking experience for a girl my age to be spanked. First there is the burning pain. Jerry is not huge, but he’s fit and strong, and it really hurts, especially with that big hairbrush. Each spank feels like hornet stings. Worse is that I’m being punished like a little girl over her daddy’s lap. But the very worst part is so bad that it is painful for me to write to you. Jerry and my parents have decided that “paddling” means paddling on my bare behind. When I am over Jerry’s knees, he rucks my skirt or dress up, and my panties or thong down, before paddling me.
I have pleaded with Jerry and Cathy to let me keep my underwear on. It wouldn’t offer any real protection, certainly not the thongs, and he could even give me extra smacks in return. But Jerry says a spanking is on bare skin; it’s safer for me if he can aim and see how much damage he is doing, and embarrassment is a part of the punishment.
I’ve been in school six months and have been spanked eight times; Jerry keeps a log of my infractions and punishments. Every spanking was with the same lethal hairbrush, and every one was on my bared bottom. I don’t know what I can do. I’m sure I’m the only girl at UCLA that gets her bottom paddled like a disobedient little girl.
I am terrified that my friends will find out. Twice I’ve had to beg out of swimming with friends, knowing they’d notice my bright red buttocks. Ditto a hot date another time; what would the boy think when he saw, or even felt, my scarlet behind?
I’ve asked Cathy to intervene, but she just laughed and said the spankings were doing me good. I’ve even asked Cathy to give me the spankings. Since she’s my sister, at least there would be less embarrassment. But she said the spankings were a man’s job, and since the nudity enhanced the punishment without doing any harm, she was all for it. “Anyhow, I’d be outvoted three to one by our parents and Jerry,” she added with a laugh.
My parents are no help. Cathy sends them copies of my punishment log, so they know everything that is going on. They just say the spankings seem to be more effective than the methods they used with me at home. “Also, since you’re getting good grades and Jerry and Cathy report your behavior has improved, why change a winning game?” dad asked. They say I have to stay with Jerry and Cathy as long as I’m at UCLA, and they fully approve the bare bottom paddlings. “After your first year, we’ll discuss the house rules with Cathy and Jerry, and it’s possible we’ll loosen them. But we will not approve stopping your spankings. They seem to be doing you a world of good.”
I am terrified that my friends will find out how I get punished. I’d die of shame if the word got out. One time a date brought me back way after my curfew, and insisted on walking me to my door. Either he didn’t notice the hairbrush sitting on the coffee table, or didn’t grasp its meaning, thank heavens.
Can you imagine coming home a little bit late, or having a little tobacco on your breath, and just for that being given a child’s punishment? Being put over a man’s knees, panties down, bare bottom up, and getting a hairbrush until your bottom feels like it’s ablaze and you are screaming and crying like a little girl? But I don’t see how I can change things for at least another three years.
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Sweet Sixteen Birthday Spanking
Kimberley (“Kim”) W. Smith, Portland, Maine
Let me tell you about my birthday spanking.
I, Kim, short for Kimberley W. Smith, have a sister Julie two years younger, who I dote on, and a brother Nelson a year older than me. A slightly unusual name? Yes, named after Horatio Nelson, the hero of Trafalgar and the Battle of the Nile. My brother’s real name is “Admiral Horatio Nelson Smith.” Can you believe it? No wonder he uses just the letter “A” for his first name and calls himself “Nelson.” He swears he’ll change his name the moment he turns eighteen. When I want to annoy him, I address him as “Lord Nelson,” “Admiral Nelson” or “Horatio.” But I don’t kid him too much; my middle name is “Wellington,” as in the Iron Duke, victor at Waterloo. Nelson and I love each other like big bro and little sis.
My parents and I, especially my dad, have a pretty good relationship that some of my girlfriends envy. Many of them don’t get along with their parents. One girl’s mom ratted her daughter to the cops for smoking weed. Another girl ratted her own parents to the IRS for tax evasion and tried to collect the reward. Another one was so pissed at constantly being grounded she paid a street person to whack her with a razor strap till her butt was deep red, swollen, and blistered. Then she showed it to the gym teacher at school, who called Child Protective Services. Her parents got in the local newspapers and TV and had to pay a lawyer thousands of dollars before she confessed the truth a few days later.
In my home the custom is for our parents to pay for our birthday parties, but for one of the siblings to organize the party for the birthday boy or girl, at least once we got past ten years old. The honoree is welcome to tell the Master of Ceremonies his or her wishes, but everything is up to the MC. For my Sweet Sixteenth, Lord Nelson was organizing my party.
It wasn’t a big party. Just me, three of my best girl friends, mom and dad, Julie and Nelson, and my first real boyfriend, Jim, a total sweetie, shy and polite, who was practically “family” himself at that point. Jim had been having me every way a girl can be had for six months. Nelson and Julie had decorated the family room in my favorite colors of blue and turquoise.
I knew what was coming first. My parents thought of birthdays as “rites of passage,” and the “rite” included not just cake and ice cream, presents and a birthday song, but a birthday spanking. But I didn’t know all the details. After all, Lord Nelson as organizer and MC, was the final authority.
Here’s something very important. If you plan to have a birthday feast—and who doesn’t?— the Birthday Girl’s spanking must come before the food. If she eats first, then goes over someone’s lap, she’s likely to barf even before the spanking starts. I saw this happen once when I was twelve. Everyone had hamburgers, cake, ice cream and soda, then the birthday boy went over his girlfriend’s lap for a playful spanking. On spank three, he vomited all over the carpet. Everyone but his mom thought it was hysterical.
I’ve received previous birthday spankings from mom and dad, from a best girl friend, from little Julie, and from Nelson. Who would it be this time? I had butterflies in my stomach as Julie ceremoniously walked in front of the guests, holding aloft a walnut paddle, the handle adorned with ribbons in blue and turquoise. Nelson loves ceremony.
Nelson had made the paddle himself in wood shop when he was 13. He loved walnut. He’d chosen the best piece, cut it perfectly, beveled the edges, sanded it smooth. Then he’d signed it, varnished it again and again, wound a leather tennis racket grip around the handle, drilled a hole in the handle end and installed a leather loop to hang it with. The paddle was short, the perfect size to smack each of my butt cheeks, or Julie’s or Nelson’s for that matter. Not the long kind principals used to use. Dad said “the kids would wear out before the paddle did.”
Nelson announced, “Kim will honor several of our guests this afternoon. First, Sherri, Barbara and Cindy. Julie handed me the paddle, and I handed it to Sherri with both hands.
When I was younger, my birthday spankings were over panties. But since age twelve, they have been bare bottom for all of us, and I find this agonizingly embarrassing. Should I? Mom and dad have certainly seen me bareass a million times. My three best girl friends and my sweet little sis are “just us girls.” Nelson and I bathed together till we started developing. He helped take care of me when I was sick a few times even in my teens, which sometimes meant sponge baths, and once (God!) rectal suppositories. So I’m not exactly a mystery to him. Finally, my perfect boyfriend Jim has seen and done everything with me, so what’s the big deal with him?
Yet I blushed beet red when I lowered my cut–off jeans and panties and carefully fit myself over grinning Sherri’s lap. Nelson had another surprise: he started a continuous loop of songs: “Sweet Sixteen,” “Sixteen Candles,” “She Was Only 16,” Madonna’s “Spank Me,” “It’s My Party and I’ll Cry if I Want To,” and a couple of others, and everyone laughed. What a wit. Julie said “That will drown out her crying.” Then Sherri gave me two good smacks, one on each cheek. Each sounded like a pistol shot and stung like crazy.
Directed by Nelson, I got up, took the paddle and thanked Sherri. Everyone congratulated her. I gave Barbara the paddle, again presenting it with both hands. Over Barbara’s lap I went, she adjusted me and gave me two good shots, which hurt as much as Sherri’s.
I thanked Barbara. While everyone congratulated her, I handed Cindy the paddle and got over her lap. With a laugh, Cindy, a left hander, stood me up, turned me around the other way and adjusted me in position. Cindy, star pitcher on the school’s softball team, biceps like a boy’s. Pow! Pow! Worse than the others, and I’d already had four. I trembled. God! We’d barely started and I was stinging and aching. Cindy kept me in position over her lap.
Nelson was laughing: “Can you believe she’s so red so quick?” He brought his digital camera right up to my behind and took a photo, then showed it to me. I was already red. You could also see “everything.” Wonderful. Nelson showed it around and Barbara asked if he could print blow–ups for all of us.
I thanked Cindy for her trouble. Everyone thought she’d done a fine job too.
What next? Over to Julie. If a person can be hopping with excitement while sitting still, my little sister was. She reveled in putting me over her lap, making a big show of adjusting my position, and commenting on how hot my butt was. “The secret is in the snap of the wrist,” Julie explained. Then a big smack on my left cheek, then my right. She left me there while everyone cheered. “I wish Kim had a birthday every week,” Julie said, and everyone laughed again. I thought to myself that Julie’s birthday was in two months and I was the organizer.
I thanked Julie and put myself over Nelson’s lap. Like Julie, he enjoyed his authority. He rubbed the paddle around on each cheek, then raised it high and smacked my left cheek with a good wrist snap. Fifteen seconds to let me catch my breath, and then my right cheek, the hardest yet. As I lay over his lap, I was crying hard.
Nelson let me up and I thanked him while everyone applauded. What next?
Next was Jim, sweet, kind, gentle, loving Jim, my first real boyfriend, the first boy to give me a full body massage, the first boy to stroke me with his finger, to take me, to bring me to a real orgasm, to take me in my butt, the first I ever took in my mouth . . . well, the first everything. I presented the paddle to Jim with both hands and he eased me over his lap.
Nelson had cleared this with Jim. If Jim refused to spank me, Nelson would have finished me off himself, or handed me over to Julie and the girls. But Jim, despite mixed feelings, was willing. Nelson reminded Jim of his duty. “ This is a very big day for Kimmie. Don’t disappoint her. Make her feel it. Remember, this is her Sixteenth Birthday. An important rite of passage. The only time in her whole life she’ll turn sixteen.”
Finally the clincher: “If you take it easy, your smacks won’t count and Julie and I will do them again.” A chorus from the others: “Be a man!” “Your best shot!” “Don’t disappoint her!” “Don’t wimp out just because you like her!” From Julie: “Just baby pats, Jim.” The imp wanted me over her lap again. I turned my head around and begged Jim, “Please. As hard as you can. I don’t want extras.”
Then Nelson soaked a towel in the sink, and wetted my buttock cheeks. Oh, god! It would hurt twice as much wet!
Jim rubbed his treasures with his hand. My buttocks, perfect size and shape, deep clefted, soft but well muscled, smooth as a baby’s skin, and admired by all the boys, even in jeans but more so in thongs at the beach. Then Jim raised his weapon. Crack! Crack! Worse than any of the others! Much worse! How could it hurt so much? Jim rubbed it around on each cheek. Up again, as I braced, then Crack! Crack! Like a swarm of bee stings, then a deep–seated ache.
I was crying uncontrollably. My butt felt on fire. Was I bleeding? Swollen? Blistering? Jim felt around again, and I winced from the touch. Nelson brought the washcloth again and soaked me. God! Then Jim again, rubbing the paddle on my left cheek. I mentally prepared myself, and he brought it up high and down hard on my right cheek instead! The hardest yet! If he hadn’t been holding me, I would have fallen off his lap. Then a shot, hard, on my left cheek! All I could do was cry. I’d lost count. Two more? Four more?
Nelson: “Nice job, Jim. Congratulations, Kimmie.” “Thank God,” I thought. “Done!?” Nope. Nelson continued: “That’s sixteen. Now only one for luck and one to grow on. Do your duty, Jim.” Jim adjusted me again and all I could do was close my eyes and wish for life to end. I wouldn’t beg. I couldn’t dare try to escape or cover myself or I knew Nelson would order extras. Crack! On my right cheek, the most sensitive spot, right where cheek meets thigh. Crack! On my left! Where cheek meets thigh. I felt like I was on fire.
Everyone, including mom and dad, crowded around to praise and congratulate me as a “hero” and “big girl,” and squeeze and pat my butt. Nelson got right behind and took photos again, and now I saw I was a deep red on both cheeks, all the way to where the butt meets the thigh. All my paddlers had hit the bull’s eye. But no bruises, no blood, no blisters. Just a butt on fire. I lay over Jim’s lap, crying, hiccuping and shaking. Yet—how weird—feeling loved and protected by my circle of family and friends.
When I finally got up, I was still crying, but it was big hugs all around. I ended up with my arms around Jim’s neck, holding him tight. He whispered, “Happy birthday, Sweet Sixteen,” while I sobbed onto his chest. Finally I pulled back and he pulled up my panties and then my cut–offs.
The rest of the party was “normal,” with everyone singing “Happy Birthday” and me blowing out sixteen candles, getting some nice presents, and all of us gorging on giant sausages, cake and ice cream, washed down with soda, milkshakes and so on, and people sneaking up behind me and grabbing my butt to see me jump.
Julie’s birthday is in two months and I’m already plotting some ideas with Nelson and her best girlfriend. And remember, kids, if someone is getting a birthday spanking, always spank him or her before the birthday pig–out, not after.
* * * * *
Theresa C., Boston, Massachusetts
Every so often I run across someone, man or woman, who also attended Catholic schools (“parochial schools”) in the late 60's and 70's. We test our recall of the Latin Mass, Catechism and Latin phrases. We shake our heads remembering the school’s obsession over “impure thoughts,” skirts that were too short, degenerate music and other sins. We recall the parochial school version of sex education. I never understood how the parochial schools could combine excellent academic instruction, which has served me well, with such weirdness.
But the Old School memories always end up on a less pleasant topic—corporal punishment by the nuns.
I do not know whether paddling was officially sanctioned by the Pope or American cardinals. (I actually wrote to the Pope once but didn’t get the courtesy of a reply. I’m not blaming him; I should probably blame the Italian Postal Service.) But paddling was common at my school, which I attended from age 14 through 17½ ( grades 9 through 12). I have never met anyone of my generation who said corporal punishment didn’t happen, at least occasionally, at their own parochial schools. It is far less common today. At least that’s what my friends’ children who go to parochial schools tell me.
My parochial school was co–ed, which was unusual then. The principal was a priest, but almost all the teachers were nuns. Boys and girls were punished much the same.
At some parochial schools the parents can opt out of allowing corporal punishment. At mine there was no choice. It came with the territory. Anyhow, back then very few parents would have opted out; the strap, paddle or hairbrush was standard punishment in most families.
Not every nun liked to paddle kids. About half refused to use physical violence, and required you to write sentences on the blackboard fifty times after school, or sent notes home to your parents (which would typically result in serious punishment, at least in my case and my friends’). But the nuns who did use the paddle created a cloud of threat and fear that my friends and I still remember.
Almost anything could bring on punishment: fighting, horsing around in church or between classes, running in the hallway, goosing fellow students, throwing snowballs or slush at each other, and taping idiotic messages to the back of each other’s sweaters, such as “Elect me Pope” or “I haven’t carnally sinned but I want to this week.” Also, swearing in or out of class, making noise in class even seconds after the starting bell had rung, “talking back” and “disrespect by manner” (two specialties of mine), and practically everything else that is normal and fun for American kids. The older kids could also get in trouble for driving too fast or recklessly in the parking lot, or gunning their motorcycles to make a racket.
There were various physical punishments. Several nuns kept a bar of soap and a bowl of water on their desk. If a kid misbehaved, the sister would put the soap bar in the water till it got mushy, then scrub the perp’s mouth and tongue with the horrible stinging mush. Then she’d put the perp in the corner for a minute, letting the kid think about the offense while the horrible taste and smell filled their mouth and nose, before letting the student walk, not run, to the bathroom and try to wash the stuff out.
Another punishment was to make the student hold out his or her hands, so the nun could whack their knuckles with a heavy wooden ruler. It hurt like Hell. My doctor says this can help cause Osteoarthritis years later.
But mostly the nuns relied on hitting your butt with a paddle. (My friends tell me in some schools a strap or yardstick was used.) Wooden, heavy, the business part about 5" wide and 18" long, burnished to a gloss from years of use, the handle covered in black or white tape for a good grip. There’d be a hole in the handle, with a loop, so they could hang the paddle from the wall as a decoration and ever–present threat.
When the teacher decided a paddling was required, the student would be ordered forward. He or she would have to bend over and hold his ankles. The nun would hold the paddle with both hands and give anywhere from three to six whacks, as hard as she could.
This was normally over pants (boys) or skirts (girls). However, in classes with only girls, like cooking, the miscreant sometimes would have to pull up her skirt and get it over her panties, which was both more painful and very embarrassing. The same thing would happen to boys sometimes in boys–only classes taught by men, like wood shop.
One of my classes was taught by a crazy old sister named “Edna Maria,” commonly known as “Crazy Eddie,” who had rheumatism in her hands. That kept her from wielding the paddle. So she would enlist her pet student, Ronald, to do the honors. He was a gentle boy who really didn’t want the task, especially when he had to punish a girl. Which was almost always the case, because Edna was hard on girls and easy on boys.
The girl to be punished was horribly embarrassed to be paddled by a fellow student. But Crazy Eddie would give her a choice: get it from Ronald, or get it worse, with extras, from the principal. Ronald was willing only because he knew he was doing the girl a favor. So he’d give her the whacks. Hard whacks because Crazy Eddie would order extras if she thought he was going easy. Ronald would be called to service about twice a week in my class with Crazy Eddie.
I must have seen at least two hundred paddlings over my four years there. The students would react differently to their three or four whacks, some taking it much better than others. But getting six or seven was different. Some would cry and yell, others remained silent, but almost all, boys as well as girls, would end up with tears of pain rolling down their cheeks.
We students learned to control ourselves. Overreacting, resisting, or jumping up and holding your butt when you were required to stay bent over for more, would just get you extras.
One time in my first year a girl, who had never been paddled before, did not know what to expect. At the first whack she lost control, jumped up and yelled “Jesus Fucking Christ,” which was the wrong thing to yell to a nun who was already annoyed at her. The nun was so upset she added four more whacks to the three, washed her mouth out with soap, and sent a note to her parents, who gave her another mouth washing. The next day at gym class she showed me her butt and it was red and deeper red with horrible splotches.
I wish I could just describe what I saw done to others. Unfortunately I was on the receiving end more than a few times. Usually for talking back, swearing or “disrespect” (like rolling my eyes when a nun said something factually wrong.) I envied my friends in public school who could correct a teacher, dress in micro–skirts, use bad language and even make out with boys between classes.
One time I remember I “sassed” a nun. She was big on math history, and was carrying on about the invention of the Calculus and the riveting argument over whether Newton or Leibnitz invented it first. I said, very respectfully, that most people would not care whether Newton or Leibnitz invented the Calculus first, it didn’t make any difference to the math, and it was as much use as arguing whether chocolate or vanilla ice cream tasted better.
This was in an all–girls class (they thought girls would do better in single–sex math classes). So I had to raise my skirt, bend over and get “six good ones.” The pain was horrible—a searing fire on the surface combined with a deep muscle pain that lasted for hours. I ended up sobbing while I stood with my nose in the corner for ten minutes.
If there was any good that came out of all this corporal punishment, it was the feeling of camaraderie from our hatred of the sisters, and of the Church that sponsored the abuse. We felt for each other, and resented each paddling of any of us.
Our parents weren’t much help. Most of them had gone through the same or worse in school. They had gotten the strap, paddle or hairbrush from their own parents as kids, and used the same tools on their own children. They considered corporal punishment, even harsh corporal punishment, “normal.” In addition, many were intimidated by authority figures such as the principal (a priest), and the teaching sisters. So we were on our own.
I don’t think the paddling did any of us any good, and I think some of my friends still have emotional scars from the fear and humiliation. The punishments certainly turned many of us away from the Church. After all, Jesus never paddled the hell out of a child, as far as the gospels say. Certainly if a student had said He did, that student would have been punished within an inch of his or her life. So how could His Church paddle children?
And that’s what I get to thinking about when I reminisce with other former Catholic school students, or when a car drives by with a bumper sticker like “I survived parochial school” or “Honk if you hated Catholic school.” I’m glad things have changed and Catholic schools are more humane now.
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School Principal Relies on the Paddle
Arthur J., (Town withheld), Texas
I am a high school principal at a large rural high school in Texas, serving a wide geographical area. I paddle students, boys and girls, all the time—certainly at least three or four paddlings a week. I hope you’ll find my viewpoint interesting.
I use an old oak paddle. It’s two feet long, with a handle wrapped in duct tape. It’s fairly thin and light, but it does the job. The handle is long enough so I can wield my paddle either one or two–handed, though I only use one hand.
The previous principal presented it to me as a gift when he retired to a life of golf, fishing, and drinking. His predecessor had used it freely. He had not. And the school was a mess when I took over; discipline had entirely broken down.
The paddle hangs in plain view on the wall for visitors to see, especially kids sent to my office. Students get the paddle for a serious offense such as stealing, starting a fight, bullying, racial insults, disrupting a class, or speeding and wild driving in and around the student parking lot. They also get the paddle for repeated smaller infractions after warnings. (Crimes such as bringing guns, alcohol or illegal drugs to school, or vandalism, earns a paddling, a suspension and a referral to the District Attorney or police.)