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.
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 16, 2015
My name is James Turner and I’m employed as a Fertiliser Trading Director in a medium sized family owned agricultural merchants business in the West Country. I’m currently 46 years old and happily married with three children under the age of 15. My wife and I are happy in all aspects of our marriage but I do have a particular interest in adult corporal punishment. This is somewhat reciprocated by my wife but she unfortunately has a low pain threshold which restricts activities! Overall, though, we have a good and secure life which makes me wonder why I allowed myself almost four years ago to get drawn into a risky situation which could have lead to disaster for all of us. Enough time has now passed for me to relax on these worries and feel confident enough, having changed all of the names and locations involved, to share my experience with a wider audience.
I joined the company that I work for direct from university. We have always had to compete with much bigger firms but we have a loyal set of farmer customers who seem to value the personal touch that we can provide. The business has steadily grown over the years and I have risen through the ranks to be in charge of all the company’s fertiliser trading activities and a place on the main Board. My responsibilities have expanded over time and dealing with farmers can be quite complex and time consuming. The early part of 2010 was particularly difficult and in the autumn of that year I went to my boss and suggested that we take on a graduate trainee to assist me and provide a bit of succession in the business for the future. He agreed and we advertised for applicants.
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.
Please email: firstname.lastname@example.org
August 7, 2015
I am a guy in my mid 50s who was brought up in the 1960s and 70s when corporal punishment was common place and a fairly normal method of dealing with poor behaviour. During my youth my father worked away a lot and my mother was therefore responsible for dealing with my sisters and I on her own for extended periods. Whilst we were not bad children it is fair to say we could be challenging at times, and therefore my mother resorted to what seemed like fairly harsh punishments, but in truth were only ensuring we didn’t stray too far over that fine line between boisterous behaviour and serious trouble. From being around 6 or 7 any bad behaviour would result in me having to bend over the sofa arm whilst mother went to the sideboard and collected one of father’s old leather carpet slippers. When she returned she would pull down my shorts and pants and then give me a series of hard whacks on alternate cheeks of my bare bottom and culminate with about 6 stinging blows across both cheeks. I was then allowed to get up and pull up my pants and shorts and resume my previous activity.
August 2, 2015
One time, when I was about seven, my older cousin Emma, then eleven, earned herself a spanking. In front of my mother and me, my aunt instructed her to get across her lap.
There ensued a teary: “Please, Mommy, can w-we do th-this in my r-room?” but one determined: “No, Emma, we will do it right here,” and my cousin’s hands reached for the hem of her sundress. She raised it and with no further instruction laid herself across my aunt’s lap.
Emma looked over at me, blushing to be sure, but with no trace of resentment that I would be watching. It was almost as if she felt sorry for me having to witness her suffering. Despite our age difference we were very close and loved each other. For my part I remember hoping she could sense my profound sorrow and sympathy and only wanting to be a comfort to her. She forced a little smile at me, as if to tell me it would be okay. Tears clouded my eyes as I nodded toward her and made a silent prayer.
A few seconds later my aunt raised her right hand and brought it down with a resounding smack on the smooth white cotton clad bottom. Twenty-five times that slender, aristocratic hand would rise and fall, smacking the errant bottom soundly, turning it ever darker shades of red. After a half dozen, I observed my cousin begin to sob quietly. At fifteen, Emma’s cries were unmistakable and I felt my heart breaking. Then came my cousin’s dirge of guilt; promising never again to disobey and to be a ‘really good girl’.