Grandma in Charge: spankings for mother and daughter

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Penny sat on very cold stone, at first a yelp and then a wriggle, then settled her cheeks in for the duration. Tasha draped over the matronly knee, Penny, though bursting at the seams to begin, stroked the target of her frustration and admiration – the magnificent moon of her pal. So recalling some of the lesson learnt from this morning’s tutorial show, she raised her hand above those cheeks and whapped it down as first shot in an opening salvo. The barrage went on and Tasha did shout out, most satisfactorily “ow!, Oh!, Ah!, aaah” and of course then added “that hurts!”. It is an old line but time-served. Karen took the note, her hand shaking slightly. She could feel the cheeks on her face flush. “No Mummy I do not have any homework tonight.” I did find the atmosphere of spanking that was around in every facet of cultural life quite exciting; forbidden, terrifying, and yet intriguing. At my primary school I was once sent to the headmaster for playfully spanking a girl’s bottom – but instead of getting the cane (which is what usually happened if you were sent to the head) he just scooped me up in one movement, slapped my behind three times and told me to never to do that again. I was otherwise a model pupil, so I guess I’d earned some credit points. A formidable no nonsense women. Her standing in the community was the fuel that drove her on. At Christmas she probably had to do without, to provide a lovely Christmas for her daughter. She was the woman you went to to get something done, Tombolas, Raffles, Carol Concerts to name a few. In short, she was a very much loved and respected member of the village community. For the next couple of days, everything went well – but out of embarrassment I didn’t mention the whipping at all. Then Joanne came down to the garden one day in a pair of men’s boxers. When she stretched out I could see the fleshy part of her bottom, the greenish yellow of old bruises. I asked shyly if it still hurt. She came and sat by me and said that it was a bit sore but not too bad anymore.

Karen listened, and the message sank in. She knew her Mummy did not do idle talk as regards discipline. I countered by saying that I was too old to be spanked, and asked what would happen if I simply refused to submit to the punishment, as she wasn’t my parent nor my teacher. This was actually very untypical and rather daring of me – but Aunt Pam simply said that I was most certainly not too old to be spanked. “Boys are at their naughtiest in their teens – they need more spanking rather than less as they get older!” she said. In due time, this joyous fact would be shared with parish ladies as they discussed the merits and joys of bottoms bare and spanking matters, over each other’s knee as it turned out, on Wednesday nights at Ladies Group. But that was for the near future. There and then, in real time, there was some proper action due.

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She took hold of my chin and looked me in the eye. “You’ve got the face of an angel and hands that are a gift from God. Now let’s see if you’ve got a nice little bottom that the Lord made for spanking, shall we? Take your trousers down!” It was then that the recent thought of the normality beyond the house returned, and Mummy noticed the bedroom window open. It was a secret no more, the sound of this spanking would travel! In a strange way it encouraged Mummy. Who stopped. I looked at the uniform, at all the buttons on it. I couldn't bring myself to say yes. I just cried. By eight, I had already a fairly well-developed sense of modesty, so when my underwear followed my pants to my ankles, I immediately cupped my hands in front of my penis. Bad enough that she was going to see (and spank) my bare bottom. However, modesty was almost immediately lost as she took one hand off my groin and used it to firmly pull me across her knee.

In the corner is Ma, a stout middle aged woman. Sat on a stool by her side at a piano, is Pa. she tells stories, spanking stories, he….just now and then….tinkles a little accompaniment. I remember actually grinning and not really taking her seriously, and yet feeling quite excited, with a combination of disbelief and adrenalised elation! I asked her if it was true that she’d caned her Rory across his bare bottom, but she just told me that it was none of my business – what was my business right now was my own behaviour. I was crying pathetically after just 3 more swats. After what felt like an eternity, but couldn't have been more than five minutes, she asked again. This time I said "Yes." She stood me up and brought me the shirt.

Joanne lived with me until see was nearly 20. Although on two more occasions I filled the gaps in my parenting skills with spankings – the first when she was 17, and the last two days after her 19th birthday – I am proud to say that both times she gave her explicit consent. I want you to stand in the corner and compose yourself." I complied. It took me half an hour to stop crying and even speak. "Danny, I have here a paddle. I am going to give you 10 swats with this. Then the spanking will be over. If you miss one, or miscount, we will start again. Do you understand?" The journey to the end of the day was like some heroic trek in a fantasy novel. Long and arduous. The lunch time collection of the ‘death sentence’ sent a cold shiver to her tummy. The words left the slip and ran amok in her brain. There before her the words threatened her bottom. You will be in bed by 10:00 every night, regardless if it is a week-night or not. Your homework should be done by then."