As for the spankings themselves, Tommy said she always spanked slowly and patiently, reinforcing the spanks with a lengthy series of questions and sharp verbal reminders using language normally reserved for younger children. Methodical and thorough, her sessions usually lasted twenty to thirty minutes including the post-spanking time lying over her knees until any real crying subsided. Sometimes, she made Tommy stand in the corner afterwards with his flap down and his reddened bottom well on display for another fifteen minutes. Whether he did corner time or not, she always sat him on her lap at the very end for a final cuddle and kiss. Aunt Betsy would remind him again of how much mommie loved him, what a good little angel he was most of the time, and why mommie had to spank him whenever he was naughty. He, in turn, had to promise mommie to try to be good in the future. Only then was he put to bed.
Except for special clothes, my mother had similar ideas along with a few special twists of her own. She often combined spankings with punishment naps, early bedtime, and rectal temps and reviewed my behavior once a week in addition to giving out extra spankings which couldn’t wait til Sunday. And like Aunt Betsy, she postponed most extra spankings until just after dinner. That way, she rarely spanked in anger. After I finished my desert, she led me to my spanking corner in the living room and lowered my pants and underpants to mid-thigh before returning to the kitchen to wash the dishes. After ten or fifteen minutes of leaving me waiting bare bottomed, she would return and take me by the hand over to the couch and spank me right there in the living room. In the summers, the windows were always left open so that the neighbors and their kids could hear everything.
If I was being put to bed early, she would lead me upstairs to my bedroom instead, moving slowly because my half-lowered pants forced me to waddle childishly. Keeping hold of me from start to finish, she would sit on my bed and stand me in front of her while she finished undressing me and putting on my pyjamas. As she often explained, any boy naughty enough to earn a spanking was not allowed to dress or undress himself when he was about to be spanked. Only then would she take me over her lap, pull down my pjs, and begin my spanking. Afterwards, I was always put right to bed so I had extra time to “to think about the good lesson I had just learned.” When I was particularly naughty, she would sentence me to a “pink bottom weekend”. That meant I was grounded for the weekend and confined indoors. On pink bottom weekends, each day began with a spanking in my bedroom. After lunch, I was usually spanked in the living room, even if mom had a visiting ladyfriend. Then I was put right down for an afternoon nap. Of course, I was always put to bed early after dinner with another spanking. By Sunday night, I was always one very contrite and well spanked little boy.
When I had earned an extra spanking for misbehavior at school, mom felt it was only fair that the teacher in question should know exactly how I was punished. When it was something really bad like cheating or lying, she invited the teacher over for Sunday dinner. There’s nothing quite so embarrassing as sitting through dinner, chatting about various normal subjects with your mom and a female teacher from school knowing full well you will soon be kicking and crying over your mother’s lap with a red bottom right in front of your teacher.
When my misbehavior at school was less serious, my mother would simply call up the teacher at my bedtime on the night in question so she could hear my punishment on the phone. This was especially likely if the teacher was already one of mom’s good friends or had been over already for a Sunday dinner. Once mom had the teacher on the line, she would scold me and ask me if I was embarrassed to be bare bottomed over mommie’s lap like a naughty little boy. Then she would give me the phone so the teacher could scold me as well. If I didn’t seem to be responding adequately to the teacher, my mom would encourage me with smacks and comments like,
“Would you like me to invite Mrs. Billings for dinner this Sunday so she can see firsthand how mommie takes care of bad little boys in this house … would you?”
With reminders like that, I had long since learned to say what was expected on the phone. It was, after all, the same thing my mother and my well-coached baby sitters always expected to hear before a spanking. After I had been well scolded and shamed, my teachers invariably asked me what I thought I deserved for being so naughty. And I always had to admit that I needed to have my pants taken down for a good spanking on my bare bottom. Before getting off the line, my mom insisted I ask in a clear voice:
“Please, Mommie, I know I’ve earned a good spanking and it’s time for me to get it. I’m ready for a good lesson, Mommy.”
Generally, my mother put the receiver down on a nearby table so the teacher didn’t miss anything. Thus they heard what for me was the most embarrassing point of all when I eventually broke down as the spanking got underway and began crying with the manner of a younger child. Sooner or later, this always happened since my mom never stopped until she heard real crying. (When no witnesses were present, I was less Stoic and usually began sniffling if not crying even before my spanking started.) After “phone spankings”, as my mother called them, I had to get back on the line and answer questions about how well I had been spanked, whether I had learned my lesson, and whether I was sorry I was for misbehaving. I also had to ask her to call my mother again whenever she thought I needed a spanking. Finally, I had to say to my mother through my tears:
“Thank you Mommie for spanking me. I know I needed a good paddling. I promise I’ll be good from now on”.
She would then get on the line and thank the teacher for alerting her to my misbehavior. Sometimes, she even promised to invite the teacher over for Sunday dinner the next time I misbehaved.
Even before Thanksgiving vacation, I was a regular weekend guest at the Springer household. I loved getting away from the cramped space of my dormitory room and the bad food. Aunt Betsy would always give us sodas, home-baked cookies, and put us to bed with entertaining stories about her childhood. Tommy and I particularly enjoyed hearing about the mischief she and my mother got into, especially if it led to a spanking. I suppose knowing that our moms were regularly spanked as children made it easier to accept our own punishment. We even tried to draw out such stories by asking Aunt Betsy questions like, “Did you get punished for that?” Aunt Betsy’s stories also served as reminders for Tommy to behave. And they were also directed at me, especially since she often glanced at me with a twinkle in her eye. Once when putting us to bed, she even put me on the spot.
“You see children, my mother promised she would spank us as long as we didn’t act our age. And since your mother and I got into so much trouble, we continued to earn trips over mother’s knee all the way through tenth grade in addition to our regular weekly punishments. Every Sunday night, the two of us were spanked together, one right after the other. Although we hated our spankings, there was no arguing with mom when we got out of line. And to be honest, she never spanked us unless we deserved it. So you see Billy, you might say that your mother and I learned first hand about how useful spankings are in setting the clear limits that every youngster needs. Nothing brings a naughty teen faster into line than having his mother take him firmly by the hand like a child half his age for a well-earned spanking on his bare bottom. It has certainly worked wonders in this house. Three years ago, Tommy still needed three or four spankings a week but now he’s down to about half that. Given all the things your mother has told me, Billy, I’d say regular spankings have helped you learn to behave like a good little boy too. Isn’t that right?”
Caught off guard by this question, I stared silently at my feet conscious of how red my face was. Here I was, fourteen years old, with my favorite Aunt referring directly to the fact that my mother still spanked me and to good effect at that. The more I stared down unable to say anything in my defense, the more red my face became. After all, she had it straight from my mother. And who was I to deny the fact that spankings were all too effective, especially with boys who felt they had outgrown them. Aunt Betsy certainly didn’t miss the implication of my silence.
“I thought so, Billy. You see what I mean, you two. The simple, tried and true methods are often the best when it comes to raising children. Deep down, I think most youngsters prefer an hour nursing a sore bottom to losing their allowance or getting grounded for a weekend. There’s nothing quite like a firm paddling in reestablishing a child’s sense of limits and clearing the air. Your mother has often told me how good you are around the house after a spanking, Billy. I know it works for Tommy; he’s usually a little angel after going over my knee. As long as children know their spankings are well deserved and spring from their parent’s love, they usually don’t object, except, of course, when their bottoms are bare. That’s why I always hold Tommy close after a paddling so he knows how much I love him even when he’s bad.”
Hearing comments like these over the course of the fall, it was easier for me to understand my mother’s frequent remarks about how spankings were a sign of parental concern and proper guidance. Such words certainly seemed reasonable at the safe distance I enjoyed in Tommy’s house. In retrospect, I should have realized I was less safe than I thought.
Since spankings were such a fact of life in the Springer household, Aunt Betsy would occasionally mention a spanking Tommy had recently received or was due to get, or warn him in my presence to behave unless he wanted a red bottom right then and there. And once, in early October, she told me I was lucky I was so far from home.
“If you were living here under my roof as more than a weekend guest, Billy, you’d be getting some of the same regular medicine I give Tommy. It’s all too clear that you could use some firm correction. In fact, I was just discussing that with your mother yesterday. As you already know, we want you to stay with us during the shorter vacations. While Tommy and I would be delighted to have you here, you would have to follow all of my house rules and suffer the consequences when you didn’t. Your mother says it would do you some good to go back to a regular Sunday night spanking at the very least. Of course, if you’re good, you won’t need to go over my knee more than once a week, will you, Billy?”
Once again I could only stammer and look down in embarrassment. Fortunately Aunt Betsy left me off the hook by laughing and asking Tommy and I if we were ready for some soda and cookies.
While I had already heard Aunt Betsy spank Tommy on Sunday nights, she had always taken him into his bedroom alone. Of course, I hoped I would have a chance to see him get paddled and figured it was only a matter of time. And I was right. To be honest, I also tried to be in the right place at the right time by getting myself invited well in advance for the weekend after our mid-term math exam in October. Since I knew Tommy was having trouble in that class, I suspected he might do badly and earn an afternoon spanking as usually happened when he did badly on tests. On Friday, when the teacher handed back our tests from the previous day, I didn’t have to ask Tommy how he had done; his gloomy disposition said it all. At the end of school, as we climbed into his mom’s waiting station wagon, it was clear from her somber expression that the math teacher had already called her. For the first five minutes of the drive, no one said anything. Finally Aunt Betsy broke the silence.
“Tommy, Mr. Woods called about your math test. What on earth happened? Don’t you remember the last little chat we had? You promised you were never going to get another D. Did you forget what I said would happen if you broke your promise?”
Tommy replied with real concern in his voice and insisted that he had been working harder but that the teacher hadn’t explained things well. Since I was in the same class, Aunt Betsy asked me how I had done. When I said told her about my B plus, she smiled triumphantly and said: