February 21, 2013
Regular visitors will know this is a sister website to www.overthedesk.com
As the name suggests, this website aims to offer recollections and memories of spanking and discipline related incidents, whereas the overthedesk site deals mainly with fiction stories that are realistice and may be based on true-life experiences.
We’re always keen to hear from our readers with comments, views and especially any recollections you have of spanking and corporal punishment incidents you’ve witnessed or experienced.
February 12, 2016
Before I reached puberty, I was convinced I had such a thing as a ‘spankable’ bottom. Even for those times, I seemed to get spanked more often and more severely than my contemporaries. I wasn’t a plump boy, but my bottom was rounded and ‘shapely’ like a girl’s. I was always being mistaken for a girl because, to my boyish shame, I was also in possession of thick golden curls which my mother refused to allow me to cut.
One of my first memories is of my first day at my new school, aged five, being carried into class and spanked for ‘making a fuss’. In fact, my family had just moved into the area and I had been unsure of the location of my new classroom. I wasn’t trying to ‘stay with Mum’, I was lost. Once the spanking had succeeded in causing me to make a proper fuss, I was cuddled and soothed with the epithet ‘good girl’, which characterised the sweet and sour, hot and cold relationship I enjoyed with most of my primary school teachers.
It was usually me who would be kept in at playtimes or after class and I honestly never knew beforehand if it was for praise or punishment, to help teacher with her preparations or to be dragged summarily over her knee. Like any kid, I joined a gang who invariably got into mischief. My glowing locks and ample rump made me any punitive adult’s first choice for target practice. Boys would run (or ‘scarper’) in every direction to escape and the teacher would chase me. If more than one of us were secured for spanking, it would be me who had his bottom bared. I knew boys who never had their shorts and pants pulled down, but I was bared before punishment so much in primary school it was almost a waste of time and energy my wearing shorts at all! Some wag once told me, my best mate P most likely, that I should wear a skirt. Whether that would have helped or hindered me I wasn’t quite sure.
February 12, 2016
I am describing my memory of a school spanking a girl called Samantha and I (Steven) got when we were both at school. We were both 14 at the time and went to Hummersknott Comprehensive School in 1984. The spankings happened after we both played for the school chess team.
There were seven in each team and the winners of each game got a point. We played local schools and clubs, the winners getting trophies and prizes. Our teacher, Mrs Williams, was also a maths teacher in her late 50s and fairly easy going, especially after school lesson finished.
On the day in question, we were playing a local school, and Samantha and I were playing on tables opposite each other. We heard cheers break out and, when we looked, everyone else in the team had won, and that meant we had won the league. As a consequence, Samantha and I didn’t try as hard to win and we both ended up losing. Mrs Williams never said anything but when we got back to school and everyone else rushed off home, she asked us to stay.
Normally if we had lost she just said for us to try harder. We were both shocked when she angrily told us she had watched us and was not pleased as we had shown disrespect to our school team-mates. We both felt about 5 by time she had finished. Then came the bombshell that she was going to spank us and that we would be getting the plimsoll.
January 5, 2016
The spanking I relate took place in Lancashire, England, in the spring of 1965. Even though it is now almost 51 years ago it is burned into my memory, perhaps more than any other spanking I received.
I had just turned 11 years old and was in my final year of junior school. This was a very important year; I would soon be sitting my 11 plus exam which would decide if I was to go to the Grammar School or the Secondary Modern. My parents wanted the best for me and were keen that I work hard, pass the 11 plus and get into the Grammar School. I was a little too confident in my ability and was not giving my best efforts. It was a bad time to get lazy. This was reflected in my spring report card, my last before I would sit the 11 plus.
On the fateful day I was given the report card in a sealed envelope to take home. I didn’t think too much of it as my report cards were normally good and, reflecting my general over confidence at the time, I did not fear for a second that the contents would be sufficient to get me spanked. On arriving home I gave the envelope to my Mum. I had a drink and a snack as usual while she opened and read it. As I sat at the kitchen table my Mum suddenly confronted me with its contents. It said that I had become increasingly lazy and inattentive towards my work and my lack of effort meant that I was in danger of failing the 11 plus. I was shocked and stuttered back something about the report not being right. My Mum said something like I should tell the truth now before I got into more trouble than I was already in, so I admitted that I hadn’t been working as hard as I should have. Mum said that she was going to discuss with Dad what to do with me and that I was to go to my room and wait for him to come home from work.
November 18, 2015
I attended a small private prep school just out side London. I won’t mention the name as it still exists in the same large house and nearby sports field with pavilions.
My first memory of corporal punishment there was in my first or second year when a female teacher took me into a small changing room, sat on a stool and pulled me over her lap to spank me. I don’t remember what for, or any other detail except laying over her lap and having my bottom smacked.
As I moved up in the school, I knew that the headmaster and deputy head slippered boys but I didn’t experience that for a few years. However, teachers would punish boys a lot, and often in the classroom. We would be called to the front of the class where we bent over their desk with our bottom facing the boys in the class, and they would lift up our shorts as high up our leg as they could and slap as much bare skin as they could uncover. The more loose your shorts, the higher up they could expose, so your lower buttock and upper thigh could be smacked very painfully. They would then do the same on the other side.
November 3, 2015
I went to a boys grammar school in the 1960s, and corporal punishment, while not an everyday occurrence, was regular. You could receive a plimsoll or ruler across the bottom or be spanked with the hand, and our gym master used to have you bend over in just shorts and would flick your bottom with his finger tips. All these punishments were carried out in front of the class. You could also receive lines and detentions.
If you were sent to the Headmaster then you would be caned, and with it being in private everybody was very apprehensive about receiving it.
Also, every month if your overall work standard was classed by your masters as being unsatisfactory you would be placed on report for the following month and for the first 3 years I was at the school this merited an automatic 3 strokes of the cane. It was changed to 3 stokes of the cane if you were given a poor performance in a lesson and 6 strokes if you were given an unsatisfactory performance over the month.
During my first 5 years, I received several detentions and felt the slipper on about 9 occasions. I had escaped a certain caning on 2 occasions by the skin of my teeth.
October 10, 2015
I would like to recount discipline at the rural school I attended in the early to mid 1960s.
Our school was a small two classroom school with 55 pupils in varying ages. We had two schoolmistresses, Miss Harrop and the older Mrs Banning. We also had a Headmaster, Mr Ascombe. The pupils came from outlying farms and a smaller number of us came from the town. My aunt owned a clothes shop catering for women’s and girls’ clothes.
Our much liked old headmaster had suddenly retired and we went a few months without one. Discipline had to be quick because it was not possible to keep the school back as the bus to school and back came once a day, especially for those who lived on the farms. We didn’t have a uniform and our new headmaster had introduced a dress code. Mr Ascombe was the new Headmaster and there had been a culture change as his predecessor had become distant. I had been sent to Mr Yardley earlier in the year and while I thought he would cane me (admittedly I was not a stranger to the cane), he scolded me and sent me back to class.
Mr Ascombe had been with us for a month or so when I was sent to him for getting caught out of my seat while Miss Harrop was out of the classroom and attempting to throw a small bit of chalk at a friend.
September 28, 2015
I did as I was told with some hesitation. My aunt was poised in her armless chair, and I stared dumbly at her uninviting lap which, upon recollection, conjured up the feelings of dread a dead man walking might have. I knew I was helpless at this point and with the final tug of a zipper my shorts practically dropped to the floor.
“Care to tell me why are you being punished today?”
“I disobeyed you.”
“That’s right. Had you simply misbehaved, you would be at your parents’ mercy, but you chose to disobey me. When I’m watching you, you are my responsibility. I hope this spanking will teach you to listen when I tell you to do something.”
My aunt’s hands went to the waistband of my Buzz Lightyear briefs. At this point I was shocked to learn my punishment would be delivered on the bare bottom. A normal procedure for mom and dad but I didn’t realize my aunt would also spank my naked behind like this.
“Look me in my eyes. I want you to remember this.”
As soon as I looked up, from the thumbs that were already looped inside the elastic of my briefs and the humble pile my shorts made at my feet, I could feel the baring process begin.
September 10, 2015
The beginning of a marriage.
My wife of 8 hours stood in the corner of the hotel room, nose firmly pressed into the corner, the hem of her skirt pinned well-up her back. 1976 and Barbara, at the age of 20, had just been given her third and hardest spanking. This was evidenced by her trembling, from head to toe (her quivering bottom and thighs) the overall red color of her full cheeks, the bruises showing on them and the nasty red covering her upper thighs. As I waited and watched, the bruises took on a deeper red color, a more painful deep red, outlined and surrounded by her fair white toned skin.
Otherwise she was nude from the waist down, barefoot as well.
This wasn’t a game; she was being punished. It wasn’t over yet.
After mixing myself another drink I said: “Barbara, it’s time to finish this. Come here.”
She gave a deep sigh then turned and walked to join me at the chair. After having her turn around I unpinned the dress, unzipped it down the back then pulled it to allow it to fall in a puddle around her ankles. I told her to take off her bra which she did obediently. Taking her by the arm I moved her to my right side, sat and waited. Without being told she slowly placed herself back over my lap, reached down to grip the chair legs firmly and waited, her toes rested on the carpet. There was a sharp gasp as I slipped my hand between her thighs and pulled her roughly into a better position; higher over my lap.
September 5, 2015
I have recently returned from a two week holiday in France and whilst there, on the 22nd August, I celebrated my 35th birthday. I was on holiday with my long-term, same-sex partner J. We have been together for eight years, and although we have not entered into a formal civil contract, we consider ourselves to be effectively married, a situation fully supported by our friends and both our families. I teach English at secondary level, whilst J is the headmistress of a local primary school. She is three years older than me and takes a lead role in our relationship as the dominant partner. We are extremely happy and live full and enriched lives.
J’s parents own a holiday home in France and as they never use it in August (“too hot and too many kids!”) they were happy for us to borrow it for our summer break. The cottage is quite remote and utterly charming. It stands in a reasonable sized plot about a kilometer from the nearest village. It is the ideal spot for complete rest and a much needed battery recharge. The accommodation is simple, but comfortable, and the property has been tastefully restored and decorated by J’s Dad, and furnished by her Mum. It consists of a modern kitchen, sitting/dining room, cloakroom, two bedrooms, bathroom and loo. Outside there is a spacious covered terrace with a built-in barbeque, and plenty of garden furniture for unashamed lounging.
August 8, 2015
During a number of private discussions, we’ve noticed that a fair proportion of girls who were slippered at school kept it entirely to themselves and never mentioned it even to their best friends. We’re intrigued as to why this should be. Was it simply embarrassment? Shame? The shock of the punishment?
If anyone has a view, especially if you were one of those girls, then please email us your thoughts. Obviously, total confidentiality is assured as with all our contacts.
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