My name is Kateøina, which translates as Cathy in English. I am 30 years old and I have decided to share this memory with you. Before telling the story, I must stress out two important points.

  1. English is not my first language and there might be some grammar/linguistic errors in the text. I apologize in advance.
  1. I do not remember the exact words of people engaged in the story. It is a little adjusted, but the main point is the same.
  1. I have kept this story to myself and never told anyone and never will. There are only two individuals in the whole world who know about it. However, this is a great opportunity to tell the world and yet stay anonymous (all the names are fictional, only USA is not). It occurred to me multiple times in the past, but I thought no one would ever believe me. Finally, I took courage.

I will try to be as descriptive as possible, even of my own body. It feels weird, but I want to share this memory complete so you can be there with me for a while.

As you may have guessed, I am not from any English-speaking country. I live in a rather small country located in the heart of Europe. I am 30, graduated from college and in a working process, but this story brings me back to 2004 when I was 15 and was attending a boarding school gymnasium in the capital of my country. I was a very good student with almost outstanding grades, also lucky enough to be truly beautiful and I was very aware of that. I was about 160 centimetres tall, not skinny but slim fit figure. I was extremely proud of my long dark curly hair and soft healthy skin, already developed C-cup breasts, and my bottom was full and round. I used to wear leggings and tight jeans to show my curves, naturally with thongs under them.

The school I was attending focused on teaching languages and had a good international reputation. There were, and maybe still are, many exchange programmes with various countries from around the world going on. Just the best students could apply for an exchange programme and spend a year abroad, and to my luck, I was one of those. I was chosen to go on exchange to one of the partner schools in Texas, USA. I can’t even describe my feelings then, I was so excited; it had been my huge wish to visit America for a long time. I stayed with an American family that was in the programme and probably paid for it. The Harewoods were lovely people who already had two children, a boy 14 and a girl 8, and were incredibly kind to me. I really felt welcome in their household. I was given my own room, a laptop to use, Internet connection and just anything I could wish for. I was told the rules there and what would my punishment be if I disobeyed them. They never mentioned corporal punishment, and I am not sure if they were allowed to beat me anyway. To my best of my knowledge, they never used it on their kids, and yet the kids were just great and incredibly good. I was not problematic either and never had a problem with any member of the family.

The school I was assigned to was using corporal punishment and any student could get it, regardless of the gender, age or nationality.

I have to admit I was and still am a spanking enthusiast. It had been attracting my attention since childhood and I always wished to be spanked. My parents were totally against it and any trouble I found myself in was handled by communication. I must say I am thankful for it. As it turned out, I never needed a spanking. I am convinced that is also a reason why I like spanking; because I never got one as a child. Perhaps if I had been spanked then it might have set my mind differently about it.

Luckily, growing up in the Internet era, there were possibilities to find articles, stories, photos and even a few videos on the topic, so I quickly realized I was completely normal and not alone. I also think that is the reason why I liked my bottom so much; it just felt more sexual than any other part of my body and I would also watch other girls’ backsides and imagine them bare and, of course, spanked. You can imagine how I enjoyed PE lessons, especially the times in the changing room and showers.

To my disappointment, I never spotted another girl’s butt spanked. It is not important, but I might add I am not homosexual, but still I found girls’ bottoms more interesting than those of guys and somehow made for spanking. If you are wondering whether I ever attempted to be spanked, I must disappoint you. I never did. I was hoping there would be a chance, but I guess I was just too good for that and never found myself in trouble that could be handled this way. What’s left then is a self-spanking. I slapped myself a few times, but I always stopped because I felt stupid and not excited enough about it.

The only spanking relief I ever got was a greeting with my best friend; we would slap each other’s butt to say hello for some while (a few months) at the age of 13 before we realized it was too immature and weird. There were a few times when we did it on the bare in the shower after PE. I remember having a handprint on my right cheek and it felt very nice for about an hour and I would think about it for the rest of the day. Sadly, that’s it for my real-life spanking experience. Until USA.

In the beginning of my studies there, I attended an obligatory seminar on school rules and ethics. It was very boring altogether, but I was listening very closely to the part about punishments overview. I learned I could get a detention that could be converted into licks with a paddle across the seat; one day of detention equalled 1 swat, with up to 6 swats allowed per day. The choice was always up to the student. More serious offences would be discussed individually. I was as happy as a little girl that just got the doll she desperately wanted.

I almost completely forgot about spankings after I learned my American parents were not into it and I did not think that was possible at school. It has not been a thing in continental Europe for a long time. However, I was worried whether my school back home would know I was paddled or sent to detention in America and whether either might cause me to be excluded from the programme. I pretended to be cautious and asked the lecturer about it after the ethics seminar, and found out they would not be told. I was officially their student now and they would handle me in line with their rules, unless I did not want them to. He said I always had a backdoor option to withdraw from the programme if my parents agreed with me that I had been treated unfairly and the matter would then be discussed. Based on the outcome, I would or would not face consequences at my school and must pay tuition fees and other costs that my school paid for me. It all sounded very fair.

My head teacher and classmates accepted me very well. They were patient with my English and quickly befriended me. I felt it was helped by my good looks and nice clothes which my parents and grandparents bought me so I could feel comfortable with myself.

It was not very long into the the semester before there were first detentions for some of my classmates, mostly boys. I was offered a few good opportunities to ask girls about punishments there and I was told it was mainly boys who would take up paddlings. Others felt too proud to undergo it. One of the classmates, Mike, was already on conditional exclusion, because he got into a tantrum during his paddling and called the principal a son of a bitch and told him to go fuck himself before he left the office. He was then very remorseful about the act and was forgiven, or at least not expelled right away.

I do not have to tell you I was already making plans about how to get paddled. It would have been easy, but I did not want my new friends and classmates to know because, apparently, it was considered very lame and my reputation was very important for me. I wanted to be popular. So, I couldn’t do anything in the classroom. There were a few opportunities I could draw attention to my behaviour in the halls, but I never got the courage to actually do something bad to earn my paddling.  After a few weeks, I forgot about it and didn’t think about it much. I just made peace with myself that I would never be spanked because either I did not deserve it, or I didn’t have the courage.

Luckily, fate was in my favour. Big time. In American schools, there are many events held for the students during the year. I attended some of them and it was great, always fun. We were always reminded we were supposed to act in line with the school rules there, but we didn’t pay much attention to it. One of my classmates, Kayla, brought a flask of vodka to one of the events. It was a school jam. We were aware it was not in line with the school rules, but many others also brought alcohol so why shouldn’t we?

Later that afternoon, we were sitting in a circle a little further from the stage and playing a drinking game. We had a bottle of Coca-Cola in the middle as a cover if anyone saw us. There were six of us, including Mike, who was a little nervous about it, but we persuaded him it was quite safe. Well, it was not. Our head teacher, Mr Anderson, spotted us from afar and wanted to chat with us a little, I think. He really was friendly and wanted to have a good relationship with his students. He joined our circle and started a small talk on what we thought about the bands performing.

Almost immediately, he spotted our bottle and asked if we had alcohol in it. We truthfully denied it and he seemed to believe us. He did not even check if it was true. I guess we seemed convincingly enough since we were not lying.

However, after some minutes the flask fell from Mike’s hoodie kangaroo pocket as he was getting up. Mr Anderson demanded the flask be handed over to him. He opened it and smelled it. His face was very disappointed and I felt so bad too. He asked whose the flask was and whether we all drank from it. No one said a word.

My brain was operating at high speed. I was shaking, embarrassed and nervous about this situation, but also a little excited at the same time. I knew this could be my chance and was hoping Kayla would not step forward admitting the ownership of the flask because I was worried she might be punished alone. I was hoping everyone would stay quiet and we all would be punished equally. However, my plans got ruined soon enough.

“I hope you all realize alcohol at the school event is not a usual detention offence. The fact you are all minors does not help you either. I recommend the one who brought this flask pleads guilty immediately. The consequences get worse and worse every second.” He looked towards Mike as he finished that sentence. I never saw him that serious.

My brain was now playing horrible scenarios of me getting busted by the police, excluded from the exchange programme, being reported to my school and parents. It was one bad thing after another. Also, I couldn’t help but think of Mike too. I did not really know the guy, but I felt sorry for him getting excluded from school because we persuaded him to drink with us.

I looked around and everyone was horribly scared, without exception. I realised this was something you did not get away with easily, and not just a few licks or days in detention. I was almost ready to confess for Kayla’s crime, but did not. I was too nervous and too scared of the consequences that would far exceed paddling.

Mr Anderson said: “Okay, your choice,” and left us.

We knew this would be handled the following day, most likely in the principal’s office, and he would expel us all.

I went home and cried. I knew I was in hell of a lot of trouble. My US parents came to me when they saw what a mess I was in and asked what had happened. I told them the whole story. To my surprise, they did not look disappointed, nor did they judge me. They said it was perfectly normal to screw up sometimes, but what was important was to learn a lesson. I swore I did and said I would never touch alcohol again before reaching the age of majority. It did not really work for me though. They advised me to go to Mr Anderson tomorrow before class and tell him how sorry I was. They were confident he was going to go easy on me that way.

I couldn’t sleep that night. In my head, I was playing all possible scenarios of my conversation with Mr Anderson in the morning. It was all very nervous in the beginning, but as the hours went by I started to daydream a little about him spanking me as my punishment. Suddenly, my alarm went off and woke me up from my thoughts.

That morning, I did not really think about what clothes I was going to wear. All I could think of was me reaching Mr Anderson first thing at school. I put on black jeans and quite a big hoodie, which was fashionable back then, so nothing special really, and a black G-string underneath as always. I got up a little earlier so as not to be late for the first lesson after visiting Mr Anderson.

When I entered his office, he was sitting behind a huge dark wooden table. He looked up to me from some paperwork and seemed a little surprised. I was preparing all night what I was going to say to him, but I did not stick to it. It was something between talking and weeping. I was fortunate he actually understood my poor English words. I said something like I was very sorry about the other day, that I did not think, and just wanted to impress my classmates to really fit in here, and that it was a huge mistake, and that I would accept any punishment that may follow.

“Just please do not tell the principal. I love it here!” I added.

Mr Anderson was very calm, and he gave me a little smile. At that moment, I felt incredibly grateful to him and relieved. He said he was expecting me to confess in private and said I pleased him.

“I am not going to tell on you and get you sent back home, Cathy.”

Those words were like a balm on my guilty soul.

“However, you must be punished for what you did. I can’t let it go. I hope you understand that.”

I agreed happily. I was full of anticipation about what punishment Mr Anderson would award, but I had to ask him what he was going to do with the others. Suddenly, his face became sad and said he was going to report everyone who did not confess. He said children could be naughty but they needed to learn consequences. Being called a child insulted me a little.

Before I managed to construct an English reply in my head, someone knocked on the door. Mr Anderson told them to come in and there were all five of the other offenders. They all started confessing, one over the other, and they wouldn’t stop until Mr Anderson said enough.

As in my case, he praised them for pleading guilty and promised not to report them to the principal. However, Mike was in real trouble because of his past offence and it seemed to me Mr Anderson did not know what to do with him.

“My hands are tied. Go see the principal, confess what you did, and he will decide your fate.”

It sounded a little too strict to me. No one would ever find out if he did not send him to the principal, but I guess he was being fair. Mike was about to reach for the door handle and leave when I stepped forward.

“Mr Anderson, it was me who brought the flask and persuaded everyone to drink with me. I suppose they should have known better, but nothing would have ever happened if it wasn’t for me. Please, Mr Anderson, do not report anyone, not even Mike. Do not punish them, just me. I am the one to blame here.”

Normally, I would not confess to something I did not do but, somehow, Mr Anderson made me feel very secure. He would not report me and there was Mike’s fate on the line. Also, I hoped he would appreciate my attitude and honesty.

It felt like a decade before he finally answered. “Very well. We’ll see each other after school, Cathy. You are all dismissed.”

I couldn’t focus on lessons that day. All I was thinking about was that afternoon meeting with Mr Anderson. I knew he could not send to me to detention as it would have had to be documented properly. He could keep me in his office working on some task instead. That would work like a detention. However, he explicitly said alcohol was not a detention offence and I also confessed to the flask. Would he paddle me? That would also have to be off the record because only the Principal could administer paddlings, with a female witness present to the punishment. Mr Anderson did not seem to be the type of man who broke rules. Also, they perceived paddling to be on the same level of punishment as detention. This was a special offence to be discussed individually, but there was no official record of it.

Later, I sat with my co-felons during lunch break. They were all very grateful to me, especially Mike, but were not happy at all. They knew I had saved their sorry asses, maybe literally, and felt bad. They all got a detention from Mr Anderson. He fabricated a document saying they had been repeatedly disruptive in class. Of course, they could have chosen the swats from the principal (it’s only two for this offence), but no one did. This was a very friendly move from Mr Anderson, maybe too friendly actually, but if they got just a two-day detention, what was I going to get? We discussed it a little, but it was not very helpful. They were all repeating it was going to be okay. I had to find out on my own.

When I entered Mr Anderson’s office, he greeted me and offered me a chair. I sat down shaking about what was going to happen.

Mr Anderson began very surprisingly. “I know you did not bring that flask, Cathy. I admire your courage and appreciate you wanted to save your friends, especially Mike. I pretended to believe you because I think it is a valuable life lesson that you can accept guilt for someone else, but then it must be you who deals with the consequences. Also, Mike and everyone else must feel horrible now, even though they escaped a proper punishment. I have faith in them, and this will teach them better.”

How could he possibly know all this? I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He did not expect any answer from me and went on.

“Did you think about your punishment? What do you think you deserve?”

This was the moment of truth. I knew this was my one and only opportunity to get spanked for a real-life offence. But still, at that very moment, I just wouldn’t dare. I wanted it badly and I would accept it if Mr Anderson brought it up. But asking for it on my own? I just couldn’t.

“No, Mr Anderson, but I am ready to accept any punishment you might find fit.”

“Well, for less serious crime I would send you to the Principal who would offer you a detention or a paddling. However, we cannot make this official because you would face exclusion. So, both punishment forms are out of the question.”

I was very sad. I did not expect my wish to have come true, but I desperately hoped it would.

“I didn’t think it would be the Principal who decided my punishment in this case,” I tried.

“Exactly, I would have to lie about your crime so he would not expel you on the spot.”

I remained silent. Sooner or later, he would have to punish me somehow, and I did not want to ask him to paddle me. I just didn’t.

“So, we will have to handle this ourselves. I do not think a private detention in my office would be appropriate regarding the fact that you, as a minor, drank alcohol on the school event and even brought a flask and persuaded your friends to drink with you.”

I looked up at him. We both knew I did not bring the flask.

“You seem to be surprised, Cathy. I told you there are consequences when you accept other people’s guilt. I must therefore act like you did do that.”

I just nodded. I also felt detention was not an appropriate punishment for drinking alcohol at school at the age of 15, and even persuading others. He was right.

“What would happen to you if you did this in your country?”

“I would be most likely expelled from school.” That was true.

“I thought so. However, that is not an option for us. I am afraid we will have to go with a more American punishment.”

I will never forget that sentence. It was almost clear I would be paddled after all!

“What exactly do you mean, Mr Anderson?” I played scared.

“My offer is that I am going to use a paddle on your backside.”


“Eh? I have never been spanked before.” Saying this made me absolutely excited. I was enjoying the situation but had to be all sad and fearful on the outside.

Mr Anderson seemed to be surprised, but quickly realized it was not as usual in Europe.

“That’s for the better, I think. It will be a harsher punishment for you if you are a stranger to the pain it produces. However, we agreed this can not be handled by the books. There will be no witness. It will not be over your jeans and it will definitely be more than only six swats, because this was an exclusion-worthy offence. I think double would be a fair amount regarding the fact you have never been paddled. It will be full-force though, just like the principal would administer. This punishment is no fun. You can naturally still refuse. You are not being forced into anything, but remember you are in very deep trouble. This might be a relatively easy way out of it.”

I was speechless. Did he just say he would paddle my bare bottom? Twelve times? That sounded a hell of a punishment, not an ‘easy way’ out of it. I was very nervous and excited at the same time. Of course, I wanted to take the paddling, my big dream, but on my bare bottom? Even a single full-force swat sounded like something I couldn’t take. And I hadn’t even seen the paddle yet.

“You want to paddle my bare backside?” I asked, scared enough.

“Of course I don’t. But what choice do I have? I can’t slap your wrist over this. You would have now been on your way home if it was another teacher at the jam. But okay, you have a point. I can’t demand you strip naked even if you potentially agreed. You may have one layer to protect your dignity, which means your underwear.”

That was a relief. Again, Mr Anderson was a decent man who seemed to be very sad he had to go through this.

“Thank you, Mr Anderson. I agree with everything, then.”

“Okay. Please come after 7 pm. No one will be present at the school by that time, so they won’t hear it. It goes without saying you must not tell anyone about all this.”

“Of course, Mr Anderson. So, am I dismissed?”

“Yes, Cathy.”

The. Best. Day. Of. My. Life.

I was completely sure I would regret it with the first stroke of the paddle, but I said to myself: “You wanted this! You got it, enjoy it, your dream will come true.”

When I arrived home, my US parent asked me how it was going to be sorted. I totally forgot I could not tell the truth, so I had not prepared a back-up story. So I lied.

“Mr Anderson gave me a week of detention. He wrote I did something else to the document.”

They bought it and were happy it went well. I also said I was going to go out in the evening to have a celebration milkshake with Kayla. They were good with it, as I expected.

I thought a very long time about what to wear. I wanted to wear something so my bottom could be reached easily. Unzipping my jeans in front of Mr Anderson would be terribly embarrassing. A skirt was a logical choice. I went with classic; a black V-shaped skirt, regular length. I do not know an English term for that. I hope you get the picture. I decided on a white shirt on top. I knew I couldn’t look too formal, so I wore sneakers with short white socks. It all looked surprisingly great. Then came the most important question; what underwear?

I removed my usual G-string and looked for something that would provide better protection. I had some full briefs at home from when I was younger, but I did not bring any with me to America. I only had one pair of boys shorts that were my pyjamas. My butt looked beautiful squeezed in those, even though the lowest part of my butt would show. I imagined how stretched those would be when leaning and suddenly feared them bursting! Of course, I knew that was impossible, but you know, they were not clean, and I needed to tell myself a lie not to wear pyjamas for my spanking.

My only option was to go shopping and buy myself a pair of regular panties. I would make it in time, but now I hesitated. In my fantasies, I always dreamed of getting my bottom spanked bare, never over clothing. Of course, dreams of a hand spanking or a belt applied to my bare bottom was something different to a paddle. I was well aware what a paddle looked like from pictures, although I had not yet seen one in real life. It always looked quite thick and thuddy. It had to be incredibly painful. I wondered what marks it would leave. I wasn’t able to find any pictures on the Internet about that.

For the moment, I felt a little sad my bare buttocks would not be on display for Mr Anderson, because I love my backside and do not mind showing it. I always wear bikinis on the beach, for example. What I didn’t want him to see was my princess parts; that truly was my dignity. My regular G-strings would let me have it both ways. I knew Mr Anderson would be confused with my choice, but I repeatedly said to myself: “What other opportunity will you get to receive a bare bottom spanking?” and I persuaded myself. I took a few photos of my untouched bottom with a camera before leaving.

At 7.00 pm sharp, I knocked on Mr Anderson’s office. He was waiting for me, ready. A big wooden paddle was laying on the desk. It was about 15 inches long, 5 inches wide and about half an inch thick.

“Come on, Cathy, let’s sort this out, unless you have changed your mind?”

“I didn’t, Mr Anderson. I mean, haven’t.” I could not even focus on my English.

“Okay, since you are wearing a skirt, I will ask you to step in front of my desk, put your feet apart a little, bend over the desk and put your elbows on it.”

I was so glad there was not another lecture waiting for me, nor an embarrassing chat. I was also glad I took that skirt. Straightaway, I did what Mr Anderson told me to. When bending over the table, I realised how big the table was. It was like tailored for my height. For a moment, I realised I just offered Mr Anderson, who still sat at his desk, a very deep look at my breasts as my two top shirt buttons were not buttoned. It was not provocative at all, but this position was not very appropriate. I must say I did not catch his eyes looking at something they shouldn’t. He really was a gentleman.

He stood up, took the paddle and stood behind me. I felt my skirt being raised. Oh boy, I felt so embarrassed. I was cursing myself I did not buy some regular panties instead. I hoped Mr Anderson would not comment on it and he didn’t. I felt air on my two pale globes. It is always an interesting sensation being bare-assed. I don’t know why I would think about something like that in the position I found myself in, but I wondered whether Mr Anderson liked my bottom, or whether he had seen a bare-bottomed 15-year-old before.

He set up my skirt so it wouldn’t fall back and assumed the position. He made a few steps to the side so the paddle would perfectly land to a lower part of my bottom, allowing him a good swing. When he was satisfied, he gave me a few taps on my buttocks. I guess that was a signal he was ready and that was the area he wanted to place his swats. The paddle remained on my bottom.

“You may not leave your position. Please remember I could harm you if you attempted to dodge the swats. I will count to myself only and will wait for you to be ready for the next swat. Are you ready?”

I nodded.

The paddle disappeared and I felt air on my butt again for a moment. Not for a long one, though. A loud, powerful swat landed. I was in an indescribable pain. Nothing I ever experienced. I cried out a loud scream, I was not prepared for this. Since the paddle was quite large, it covered a big area, in fact my whole lower butt, including sit spot. Reflexively, I reached for my bottom to give it a rub. It felt hot already! I must say the pain was getting more and more manageable every second. I also started to have thoughts like whether my butt wiggled and whether he liked it or not. Before Mr Anderson tapped my bottom again, it was feeling quite nice.

But then there was the second swat. It was on the very same spot and even more painful than the first one. What followed? Terrible pain, my scream and quick rubbing.

After the third swat, I was crying hysterically.

This continued till the ninth stroke. Each one was terribly painful, but I think I got used to it a little by the fifth swat. It’s not like I would be okay with Mr Anderson hitting the same spot on my bottom over and over again, but the pain was not that surprising then. After the ninth, I got up, jumping there and crying out sentences like, “I can’t take any more,” and “Please expel me instead,” etc. first in my language, then in English when I realized he couldn’t understand. I really had enough, my bottom was set on fire and even my hands touching it were very painful. I felt bruises on my fingertips. To my surprise, Mr Anderson agreed.

“Yes, your bottom really looks like you learned a big lesson. I will forgive you the remaining three; it would have been too much. It was not a good judgement back then.”

I got up immediately, rubbing my bottom. I adjusted my skirt and placed both hands on my butt cheeks again.

“You are very brave, Cathy. I hope you will never forget this lesson. You will certainly be reminded for a few weeks. Your sheet is clean.”

I was still whining, but was able to only mumble: “Okay, bye Mr Anderson.” There were no ‘thank yous’ and I left the office. I knew I needed some time to gain control over myself and not get home in a suspicious state. The girls’ room was open, so I went there, washing my tears and eyes. The mirrors there were too high, so I couldn’t see the damage done to my butt. I had to wait till home.

My parents were dining when I arrived and I politely rejected dinner, because I was full of the milkshake. They were okay with it and I went to my room. I immediately removed my skirt that was too painful as it was in contact with my bottom. Again, I was glad I did not have those jeans on.

My steps led to the mirror, of course. You will not believe what I saw there. I did not believe it either. There were two giant circular dark red/purple bruises on my otherwise reddened bottom, each on a lower part of both cheeks. The bruise on the right cheek was significantly deeper than the left one. Later, I learned it’s called bull’s eyes.

It was incredibly tender to touch, and it hurt like hell, even without touching. I took a few photos with the camera again from various angles. I wish I had a full HD camera back then. It was just beautiful, yet very scary.

I was looking at my bruised beaten butt for a very long time. Later that night, it started to feel amazingly great. Retrospectively, I was very glad it was on my bare buttocks. I know I would have been bruised even with my jeans on, but still, certainly not like that. I was touching and sitting on it and it always produced fantastic sensations.

That was my story of my one and only real-life spanking. I am thinking about it very often, even today. I still have those photos. If my house was to be burnt down, those photos would be my biggest loss. Hah, I am kidding, but really, I can state with a clear conscience that it was the best experience of my entire life.

With social sites and virtual space development, I could, and still can, find myself a spanking date and relive the experience. I never did. I am positive it would be very different from that real-life, not faked, experience and I would be disappointed. Also, you never know who you stumble upon. I do not feel like becoming a victim to some violent perv. I am too scared of people, I know. But I will never let this memory be taken away from me.

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