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. Contact: kennywalters@hotmail.com

I was first caned when I was 11 at a prep school in Hertfordshire in the 1950s. It was only the headmaster who could cane, and he did it frequently. It was unlikely that you could pass through the school without a caning at some point. So far, I had managed to avoid it, only receiving a slippering from Matron on one occasion. I was never caned at home. There had been a rumpus in the dormitory, and Matron had caught three of us fighting. “Report to the headmaster’s study at break tomorrow, in your gym shorts.” That meant only

I was paddled just twice in school. First time was 15 years ago when I was nine years old. Three of us girls were messing around in an art drawing class and the lovely old teacher, Mrs B, called us out front and stood us in a line. Then she went to her desk, reached down to a bottom drawer and brought out a small wooden paddle. It was about fifteen inches long including the handle, just maybe three inches across. She had us all bend over and grab hold of our ankles, then she went down our little line

Back in the 1970s, I attended a state school in a middle-class area of north London. At the time, there were whispers that London schools might abandon the use of corporal punishment, but that certainly had not happened in my mixed-sex school. Teachers were allowed to slipper boys and girls. Only the headmaster and his female deputy were allowed to cane. Canings weren’t frequent, and it seemed only boys were caned, although I’m not sure why girls weren’t. I think it was allowed, but I never heard of it being done. Occasionally, when we didn’t have a lesson in our

In the mid-1970s I was in the fourth year of an all-boys grammar school in Essex. It was a good school with a good local reputation, and my group of three friends and I were well-behaved and quite bright academically. At that age, with cigarette and tobacco adverts all around, we became attracted to the idea of trying smoking for ourselves. Of course, we were too young to legally buy cigarettes. However, in those days almost every newsagent had a vending machine outside their premises where you could buy small packets of cigarettes just by inserting the correct coinage, thus

Once, in the last term before graduation from my high school in Madrid, I stayed late for a rehearsal of our school play. It was an adaptation of Don Quixote, and we were practicing really hard. I was to play the landlady at an inn the Don stops at. I was hurrying to the drama studio. My route happened to take me past the headmaster’s office and, as I passed it, I couldn’t help but hear that something was going on. There was a strange sound, like a gust of wind whistling through the air followed by a thud. A

This was told to me by a long-time friend, Bernice, who was happy for me to retell this for her on this platform. Only names have been changed from the original telling. It was late summer and the schools were on holiday. Bernice, her sister, Toni, and her mother were away for the day at the seaside. The breeze was gentle and just enough to take the edge off the hot sun. Small puffs of cloud slowly drifted across the sky giving occasional shade from the glaring sun. All in all, a quintessentially British summer’s day. They set off early, parked up easily, and selected a

When I was younger, my mother would teach Sunday school along with another woman called Mrs Schmidt. I was about 9-years-old at the time of this story, and had an 11-year-old sister, Sophie, and a 6-year-old brother, Sam. Mrs Schmidt also had three daughters of her own, one 3, one 8 and the other 12. Growing up, my mother was pretty strict, but a spanking was a rare occurrence and was always done in private over the panties. However, my mother also cared greatly about her public appearance, and the opinions of her friends. This would sometimes be great, as

It was the end of July, during the school holidays, and I was staying with my aunt Sheila on her smallholding about 20 miles from home. It was officially to give her some company. However, I think mum just needed a week off from my 14-year-old comments and tomboy-like fooling about. It was quite warm and pleasant, lots of sunshine and all was well with the world. Aunty had asked me to put the hens in their runs for the night to keep the foxes at bay. I closed up the enclosure, double-checked it was secure, and headed back to the cottage

Without doubt, the most embarrassing spanking I ever received at home was the one at age seventeen, within earshot of a new boyfriend who was sitting downstairs waiting for me. That morning, Mum and I had had a terrible argument which ended with my completely losing it with a flurry of insults and swearing, which I regretted the instant after they came out of my mouth. Mum was at first taken aback, then hurt, but finally back in control. “Where on earth did you get language like that from? I don’t think anybody deserves to be spoken to like that,

Many years ago, I was invited to go away for a long weekend with my friend, David, who, like me, was about 13 or 14 at the time, his mum (his dad was away for work for a couple of weeks) and his older sister, Donna, who was 18 or 19 at the time. We had gone to a thatched cottage in Norfolk, quite idyllic looking back on it. Set in between several large fields with small wooded areas and hedgerows, it was quite a place for adventure, which was why David had asked if I could come. He was resourceful but would have become