Spanking has been the subject of my thoughts for as long as I can remember. As a young child, I was remarkably well behaved… I wanted to please my parents, and they showered me with love and affection. When I was bratty, it was mild and very playful, and I never got spanked.
I remember finding a small thrill in testing boundaries, but when I was scolded for misbehavior I would immediately crumble and cry. If my Daddy gave me a stern look my chin would quiver and my eyes would well with tears. They really had little reason to punish me.
However, I was enthralled when in a cartoon or TV show a spanking scene appeared. My eyes would be glued to the screen and my heart would pound in my chest. Even at a very young age, I felt that my interest was inherently shameful, so I tried not to show it. Spankings were wonderful and compelling, and on TV, they always seemed to happen to children whose parents loved them. I loved the idea of over-the-knee correction administered by a loving but determined father, experiencing controlled fear and pain, and especially the affectionate aftermath, which, in my mind, was attention showered by a beautiful mother with a soft bosom and lots of suckers.
I was a tiny child, the accidental caboose after Mom and Dad already produced the obligatory boy and girl, and my siblings received wicked beltings from my dad surprisingly frequently. I remember hiding around the corner, sobbing and scared, wishing it weren’t happening, horrified yet enthralled. My dad would have my brother and sister come into the living room, scold them both so they knew why they were about to get spanked, methodically call my sister first, grab her around the waist so she was standing, bent over, unable to move and strap her hard with his leather weapon. She would kick, scream and cry, and this would continue for what felt like an eternity while my brother stood there knowing he was next. Then it was my brother, exactly the same, but I think my dad was a little bit harder on him despite his younger age. After it was all over he would abruptly tell them he hoped they’d learned their lesson and stomp away, sometimes walking right by me, but needing to cool off before dealing with any of us. In real life, witnessing the spankings was traumatic, but I couldn’t stop myself from eavesdropping. And as the youngest and most docile of the children, I was insulated from receiving them.
When I was five or six years old, my mother won a giant teddy bear from a gift store. It was about four feet tall sitting down, taller than me, and I would prop myself over its lap and try to make it spank me with its ungainly fur paw. As I got older, I managed to get almost every child in my neighborhood to play spanking games with me. It was around this time, at age 8 or 9, that I realized that it was a lot easier to get them to play spanking games if they were the ones who got the spankings! At first, I begrudgingly took the naughty little boy or girl over my lap and smacked away, wishing I were the one being spanked. But then I started to like it. A lot. As time passed, I became intoxicated with the power I felt as I lovingly administered maternal spankings to my “children.” And so a switch was born.
All in all, though, my childhood was mellow and uneventful. I see my own happy childhood as a strong testament to the idea that some people are just born with the spanking bug. I wrote some stories when I was 11 or 12 years old, all based around a little girl getting kidnapped into a family of giants and forced into domestic servitude. You won’t be surprised to hear that she was frequently and soundly spanked.
It wasn’t until fairly recently that I had the Internet, so for much of my early adulthood I didn’t know that I was not alone in my proclivities. From the time I hit puberty, I kept my curiosity and passion for spanking a secret, and I treated myself to occasionally looking up “SPANK” in the dictionary (that page was worn, tattered and dog-eared!), gazing lovingly at cheap pine paddles in novelty stores, and fantasizing in depth about giving and receiving spankings. I focused on school and family (I lived with my ill sister for a long time and mothered her children in my mid-teens), and became responsible, straight-laced and boring.
My first adult spanking experience came from a short-lived fling with an exciting, dangerous, adventurous boy. Jesse and I were both on the rebound from a more involved relationship. His ex was a beautiful little blond named Desiree. He showed me pictures of her, long blond hair teasing the dimpled tops of tiny, rounded buttocks, slender and beautiful, and a crazy bitch to boot. He reminisced that he did things to her that he’d go to jail for doing to me, which extracted a flushed smile from me. Eventually the kid got smart enough to realize that although I was fairly inexperienced and wholesome, I was excited about doing naughty things with him. One night we were playing in bed, and he blindfolded me. He told me to wait for him while he left and got something from the other room, and warned me that if I touched the blindfold, he’d stick my bottom high up in the air and spank it.
I nearly fainted at his words! The blood was rushing through my ears so forcefully I could feel it. My heart racing, my palms sweating, I stood frozen and breathless for a moment until I realized this was finally my chance! I ripped the blindfold from my face and flung it across the room, nearly hitting him with it as he walked back in with a cold beer.
Jesse’s face registered surprise and then instant acknowledgment. A big grin slowly stretched over his face and he looked at me with new eyes. I had just inducted myself into a secret, unnamed society, a class of people identified by their predilections for the darker side of sex and play. He didn’t say anything, and neither did I, but in that moment we exchanged a thousand words. I saw the glint in his eyes and realized that he knew something about me, something deep and secret and shameful, but before I could show my embarrassment he closed the distance between us in three long strides and, clasping my wrists behind my back, stole a long, passionate kiss from me. Still holding my wrists, he spun me around and lifted my arms so that I had no choice but to bend over, and he delivered a long volley of spanks to my virginal bottom.
What an experience! I squealed and kicked, but he didn’t stop until he was ready, then let me stand. I was amazed. It was perfect! I wanted to marry him right then and there. I couldn’t believe that someone else in this world would gain pleasure from the same things I did.
When I finally emerged from the dark ages and bought myself a computer, I was overwhelmed by the plethora of spanking information available. I joined groups and forums and immersed myself as much as I could into the world of spanking. It was all so new and wonderful. It amazed me every day. I’ve had the typical experiences of hitting the wall and leaving the scene for a while, but the spanking bug never left me. I want to share my experiences and stories with anyone who would like to know. My adventure in spanking has had many ups and downs, but the end result is that I am here, and I’m happy and in a place of acceptance with who I am.
Thank you for reading about me! I hope that you enjoy what I intend to share, and please give me feedback! I will listen to your comments and suggestions.