I grew up in the US Mid-West in a small town in a state where corporal punishment was no longer allowed, so I had never really come across this on a regular basis. I moved to the UK after college in 2012. I had friends who said they had been spanked, but my parents were ‘modern thinkers’ and didn’t believe in the use of corporal punishment. Everyone was aware spankings went on, mainly behind closed doors, but no one ever spoke about them; it was almost a taboo subject. That didn’t prevent it being a topic of interest, possibly due to the mystique.
One day, when I was just turned 17, Amy, my friend, and I were calling on Joan, another high school friend, to go for a walk in the woods as it was a very pleasant spring Saturday morning. As we approached the house we heard raised voices and I could hear Joan was pleading with her mom. We were not sure what was going on and crept up to the side fence of the property where we could see Joan and her mom having a full-on argument.
After a few seconds, her mom grabbed Joan’s hand and, though Joan struggled, her mom pulled Joan over her knees as she sat on a chair on the porch. Joan seemed to flow like water into position before being pressed down in the small of her back by her mom’s left hand. Her mom scolded her and told her she had had this coming for a few days. With that, her right hand started beating Joan’s poor butt over and over. She seemed to be spanking her from the top of her thighs to the base of her back and back again.
After a while, she effortlessly whipped up Joan’s skirt, revealing a very red butt covered by thin white panties. Her mom spanked on and on. Joan was blubbering like a first grader by now. Eventually, the spanking came to a finish and Joan was allowed to stand up. Sitting would not be an option for a while, I guess!
Amy and I quietly backed away from the fence and agreed we would slowly take a turn around the block and give Joan time to collect herself. 30 minutes later, we rang the bell and Joan’s mum came to the door as though nothing had happened, pleasantly called Joan and allowed all three of us to leave without any sign of what had gone on a few minutes earlier. After we entered the woods, I eventually had to ask; I couldn’t keep quiet any longer. I told Joan Amy and I had seen her being spanked and asked what it was all about. She had, apparently, broken curfew twice in a week, and her mom had warned her what would happen. Clearly Joan must have been with Brad, her boyfriend, and lost track of time. A painful mistake.
We walked on in silence for a few hundred yards. Then I stopped to ask another question. “What was it like?” I asked.
Joan was confused. “Making out with Brad, or being spanked for it?”
“Clearly the latter,” Amy and I said together. We were both fascinated by what we had witnessed and both were dying to hear more details.
Joan explained that Brad’s car had a puncture and by the time he had fixed the tire we were 45 minutes late back home. Mom had sent her to bed and said she’d deal with it in the morning, which must have been when we arrived. Neither Amy nor I had seen a spanking really since about 2nd or 3rd grade and we were still full of questions.
“How often does she spank you? Does she always put you across her lap? Does she always use her hand? Does she always do it over your panties?”
Joan answered about once or twice a month. Yes, usually across her lap, usually her hand or a slipper, and, yes, usually on her panties but occasionally on her bare bottom.
Amy asked, “Did it hurt?”
That was a dumb question. What did she think it was for? Pleasure?
“Not much,” Joan replied.
We had more questions; how long does it last for afterwards? What was the worst part of it? Has anyone else spanked you?
Joan explained only her mom had spanked her (she never knew the dad) and it hurt badly for about half an hour but she could still feel it for a few hours. It was still sore now. The worst part of it, as a 17-year-old, was the humiliation of being put over mom’s knee in the first place, but obviously the pain of the punishment was the main issue – durr!
Amy kept asking more and more bizarre questions. She was really wanting detail.
Clearly Joan was getting a little fed up with the attention and just replied to say, “If you are so keen to find out, get yourself a spanking.”
It kinda made sense.
Amy said her mom would never do it. Maybe she should have when she was younger. Maybe.
With that, the conversation ran out and we moved on. I still had the image of Joan up-ended and her mom’s hand working her poor bottom like an expert fresh in my mind and really wanted to find out what it was really like.
Eventually we came to the clearing where we were going to have the picnic we had brought along and we sat on a log and opened our backpacks. We ate in silence except for the odd joke and the subject turned to Brad. He was a hunk, the same age as us, but at a different school. Joan didn’t really want to discuss it. Sore point, literally.
Amy again went back to the spanking. She said she’d really like to experience one, but doubted she could ‘engineer’ one at home, and I said the same.
“Maybe if all three of us did something bad at your’s?” We suggested.
Joan said she wasn’t looking to get a sore behind again just to satisfy our curiosity, but there was a more direct option. We looked puzzled. She suggested, why didn’t she do it? She’d been on the receiving end, so understood the process. Amy and I looked at each other. Her seeing our panties wasn’t an issue. We’d been skinny-dipping since we were 3 or 4 years old.
Amy looked slightly hesitant, but I said, “Sure, go on, why not?” I was game if she was.
Amy nodded she was in too. It was just when and where. Joan suggested here and now, or were we getting cold feet? Amy and I agreed and Joan started looking for a suitable spot. Perfect! A low tree stump which was clear of bushes on all sides.
So it was just a case of who first. By now we had gotten cold feet, but there was no going back without losing face, and neither wanted to be first. Joan picked up a stone, showed it, put her hands behind her back, held out both fists and said, “Get the stone, you go second. Amy taped right; empty. She was to be first up.
Joan sat gingerly on the stump. That filled me full of dread, seeing how she sat. She smoothed her dress down and told Amy she should come and stand to her right, then she would pull her forward, just go with it, bend over and lay across her lap and she would do the rest. Showing hesitation, Amy did this and over she went. Amy’s hands were firmly on the floor and her toes were touching the ground so she was good and stable at least.
Joan explained she would put her left hand in the small of her back to stop her squirming and would then commence the spanking. She wouldn’t do it as hard as her mom did as it was our first time, but we would certainly feel it afterwards. Amy was wearing a thin short summer dress. Joan smoothed the skirt and started to gently pat Amy’s backside.
She asked Amy if that was okay, which it was, and slowly began to spank more firmly as Amy became accustomed. Amy was soon squirming and ouching and looking very uncomfortable indeed. Joan then pulled the hem of the dress up over Any’s bottom. She did have a lovely bum, which was covered by only a pair of tight white panties. Joan resumed her spanking and continued for at least another 2 or 3 minutes.
I was transfixed and petrified at one and the same time. Joan then stopped and explained at this point if she was really naughty, either a slipper or hairbrush would come into play and her panties might be lowered. Amy looked worried but need not be as Joan announced Amy’s spanking to be complete. She should stand up, give it a good rub and make room for me.
“Don’t rush on my account,” I said, trying to sound cheerful. More like gallows humor. If only.
Now it was my turn.
I stood by Joan and went across her knee. A strange sensation; positioning yourself so someone else can inflict pain, even if it was a punishment. It was even stranger with a friend doing it as a favor to us.
The unfamiliar position was comfortable but weird. Someone was looking just at my behind. Joan smoothed over my skirt; her hand felt warm and soft. Smack! Ohh, not so soft. A rush of heat and a sting of pain registered and I felt her hand lift and crash again onto my other buttock. Again and again she struck home. Had this been a good idea? The pain and heat built, but after a while actually seemed to become almost enjoyable, not that it made any sense to a 17-year-old.
Joan stopped and, as with Amy, pulled my skirt up. My yellow polka-dot panties were on show for all to see. Amy wasn’t bothered. She was still rubbing her spanked bottom, but was transfixed on my ‘punishment’ at the same time. Spank after spank on my polka-dots made my rear hot and red. Part of me wished it would stop, part wanted it to continue, whilst the real devil on my shoulder wished Joan would pull my panties down and finish the spanking bare bottom, just to see what it was like.
Joan made the decision for me and said I had done well and it was all finished. I stood and rubbed my panty covered backside vigourously. Whilst it stung, it was also quite thrilling in a way I, as yet, did not fully understand.
It was Joan’s turn to ask the questions. How had it been, etc? Amy was near tears still and said it had been far more painful than she had expected. I said it had hurt, of course it had, but I suspected her mom spanked far harder, which we all three knew was correct.
Joan enquired if we would be going out of our way to get another spanking.
“No way,” said Amy.
I just smiled at Joan. I thought with the right person, this could be fun.