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, least of all your own mother. It may be some time since the last one, but you need a good spanking for that, young lady, and that’s what you’re going to get at 7.30, after tea, and be sure to fetch the slipper.”

Without giving me the chance to apologise, she rushed out of the room and banged the door behind her. She had never spanked me while still angry, but I really wished she could have done it there and then, I felt so bad.

Waiting to be punished was never a good position to be in, knowing from experience how much it was going to hurt and trying to prepare mentally so that when the slipper landed it came as less of a surprise. In a way it helped, but I must admit I never stood up from a spanking, either at home or at school, without at least a couple of tears in my eyes ready to roll down my cheeks. Waiting was also quite normal at school for the more formal punishments where you had an appointment to bend over the headmistress’s, or deputy headmistress’s desk, as opposed to the class slipperings which, though still painful, were generally less severe and involved fewer strokes. Mum’s spankings were never quite so hard as the formal six of the best you got at school, which were meant to hurt like hell and did, but she made up for some lack of quality with quantity, so the end result was still a very sore bottom.


At 7.25 that evening, I took the slipper, a well-worn plimsoll, out of the airing cupboard where it had been kept since I turned 11. In my early teens, I had become well acquainted with it, but as my behaviour slowly improved it had become an infrequent visitor; in fact, it had been the best part of two years since it had last been used on me. I’d got a detention at school for pushing a girl into the swimming pool. Cathy and I would normally have been slippered there and then by the PE teacher, but she was in a hurry to get away and gave us a Saturday morning detention instead. That in turn meant a note home and a spanking from Mum who considered it both stupid and dangerous, and well deserving of a dozen hard swats on my bare bottom.

Typical of my brother, he just happened to come out of his room as I was taking the plimsoll out. He had probably heard the major row with Mum that morning, so wasn’t that surprised to see me holding it. He laughed, of course, finding the idea that big sister was getting her bottom warmed very amusing, teasing me with ‘Jenny’s getting a spanking’ before rushing downstairs to get out of the way of my feeble attempt to hit him with it.

Back in my room, I began to remove my school skirt and tights, and clear my desk so that I could lean over it. I felt really bad about what I had called Mum. She hadn’t deserved it, and I had come to terms with my punishment, having had a long day to think about it. From about age 13 I had been given a choice over punishments, spanking or grounding with chores. I tried the grounding but the bad feeling between me and Mum didn’t really go away until my punishment was finally over, so the next time I opted for the spanking; a sore bottom, but a hug from Mum and forgiveness. Whether I would have had a choice after what I had called her that morning, I don’t know.

Mum knocked and came in. Seeing that I had cleared my desk and undressed already, she thanked me.

“You know you really hurt me this morning. We were having an argument, yes, but those things you said I really hope you didn’t mean.”

“No Mum, of course I didn’t. I’m really sorry, I just lost my temper and they came out.”

I began to well up.

“I know you didn’t really, Jennifer, and I am sure you are sorry, but you understand I can’t just let it pass. You can’t just talk to anyone like that, you need to be punished, and I hope you will never talk like that again, so we’ll get this done, then forgive and forget, and put it behind us.”

Mum’s words about forgiveness were reassuring, but I realised I would have to endure the punishment first. I gave Mum the slipper and bent over the desk in the usual way. She applied the first five strokes slowly and hard, harder perhaps than I remembered in my previous spankings, except perhaps the time when I had been punished at school for smoking and Mum followed up with a real good hiding.

My bottom was really sizzling already after the five. I must have been out of practice; nearly two years since Mum spanked me and the best part of a year since the Deputy Headmistress had applied her extra-large plimsoll to the back of my knickers. At least in the privacy of her study you didn’t have the added pressure of a younger brother listening to every whack, with the TV turned right down, in the hope of some cries of anguish as his naughty big sister got her come-uppance.

The spanking stopped.

“That was the door-bell. Who would that be?”

She left me there with my knickers around my ankles and bottom on fire, to go to the top of the stairs and call for my brother to see who was at the door, supervising from the landing with slipper still in hand. Seizing the opportunity to attempt to squeeze some of the sting out of my cheeks, blind panic suddenly struck. I had met a boy at the weekend and suddenly remembered he was coming around that night to take me to the cinema. I had completely forgotten, thinking most of the day about my punishment to come that evening.

“It’s David for Jenny, Mum. Should I let him in?”

“Hello, David Um, Jenny’s busy just at the moment. She’ll be down as soon as she can. John will show you into the front room where you can wait, if you don’t mind.”

“John, show David in please.”

“Thank you, Mrs T. Nice to meet you.”

I was sunk completely. He thought he was asking a mature teenager out and now he wouldn’t help but hear a naughty little girl getting her bottom smacked with full commentary from my horrible little brother. He’d likely even seen the slipper in my mother’s hand as she stood at the top of the stairs. Embarrassment was insufficient to describe how I was feeling.

Mum returned.

“Did you know he was coming round?”

“I’d forgotten completely, Mum. I’m sorry.”

“In the circumstances, I’ll give you a choice. We carry on and finish now, or we start again before school in the morning. It can’t wait any longer than that.”

Not much of a choice really. Nursing an already sore bottom for the evening and then having to sit on the bus and through lessons on an even sorer one, or carry on with the spanking, accept that I had some explaining to do, and maybe lose a new boyfriend whom I really fancied. Even before my punishment started again, he would have been told what was happening because my brother always went out of his way to embarrass me. He’d probably even seen how I was being punished; exhibit A in Mum’s hand. I came to the conclusion it was better just to carry on and try my hardest not to cry or scream. I failed in both of those objectives. Mum had forgotten where she had left off and I ended up with fourteen whacks. Tears drizzled from the tenth and I cried out at the last two. So, David had got a cry-baby for a girlfriend on top of everything else.

It took me a few seconds to compose myself and stand up, hands attempting to soothe my burning bottom. I could swear she had spanked me harder than usual, as well as the extra ones, but I would never deny that I deserved it. I looked towards Mum and responded to her open arms and the traditional hug of forgiveness, as she brushed the tears from my cheeks.

Mum left the room and I started to dry my eyes, after first briefly inspecting my bright red bottom in the wardrobe mirror as I always did. It looked even redder than usual with the extra strokes. Mum returned with the magic anti-bruise cream which she usually applied at bedtime, but on that occasion I got an early dose of the cool soothing cream, not a cure for a burning bottom but some relief. I got dressed as quickly as I could, though I was so sore it was not easy; a nice loose-fitting summer dress, maybe a bit longer than usual in case it blew up in the breeze; full knickers for the same reason. My eyes were still red and my face flushed, but I tidied myself up as best I could in the circumstances.

As I walked stiffly down the stairs, I could feel my face getting even redder with the embarrassment of having to walk into the lounge and face my brother and my new boyfriend in their full knowledge of what I had just undergone. Red eyes, red face, and red bottom. I think I was brave to go through with the next few minutes. What on earth was he going to think of a girl who still got spanked at home? I cautiously opened the door and, of course, the first thing I saw was my brother’s grinning face, and the inevitable comment about my sore bottom. There was absolutely no doubt that he had explained in detail what had been going on upstairs. David likely saw me wince as I sat down on the stairs to put my shoes on. I grabbed my jacket and we began walking slowly down the street. My bottom was still burning and my cheeks were beginning to tighten up into bruises, despite the ministrations of the magic cream. It had been a really hard slippering.

“Are you alright?” he asked after a few minutes of silence, wondering what to say.

“I will be,” I replied, sort of half-jokingly, knowing that he knew why I wouldn’t be, at that moment. “Do you mind if we just walk to the park rather than go to the cinema?” I wasn’t particularly in the mood and I felt like I needed to explain myself which I couldn’t do watching a film and, besides, I wasn’t sure I could sit comfortably for the duration anyway.

“That’s fine by me, we can go another time.”

So, there was hope, he hadn’t gone off me completely yet, but there was still an awkward silence, the proverbial ‘elephant’ as we say these days. There was no flowing conversation. I had to take the initiative.

“OK, so what did my darling brother tell you?”

There was a pause, and an embarrassed cough, then a mumbled, “He said you were, um, getting the slipper.”

“And then he laughed and turned the TV down, right?”

Another sheepish, “um, yes, well actually, he already had.”

“Typical! As expected! I intend to kill him, and now you know!”

Deep breath.

“Here it is then. I was really horrible to Mum this morning. I lost my temper and swore at her, and called her some dreadful names. And this evening I got the slipper. It hurt a lot, but I thoroughly deserved it. And you were thinking you were going out with a 17-year-old, and now you find you’re with a little girl who still gets spanked. If you want to just give up on me and go home, I will not hold it against you.”

David looked at me, and said, “Thank you for explaining, you didn’t have to. That was very brave. I asked you out because I liked you, and I still do, maybe even a bit more now.”

He gave my hand a squeeze to re-assure me. I held it tight. I was so relieved, although I was never quite sure whether he liked me more because of the explanation, or the bad temper, or the spanking.

Our conversation remained a bit sporadic after that. Neither of us really knew quite what to say; first-date nerves, made worse by the knowledge of what had happened only minutes before.

After twenty minutes or so, we were well inside the park, at the bench near the fountain, a favourite place for young couples. David took off his jacket, folded it double, and placed it very carefully on the bench.

“You might like to sit on this, it’s much softer for your um…” he chuckled.

I giggled. “Bum is the word!”

We laughed. I thanked him for not going, the ice was broken by that gesture and we chatted for hours about everything, even school spankings, then held hands all the way back.

But what a dreadful start to the evening! He never let me forget it, of course. Every time I did something a little bit naughty, he threatened to tell my mother. As we got to know each other better, he even threatened to do it himself.