Back Spanking

Back Spanking

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использует защитную технологию, которая является устаревшей и уязвимой для атаки. Злоумышленник может легко выявить информацию, которая, как вы думали, находится в безопасности.

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I’ll always remember the last spanking I got while living at home – it was exactly three days before I left home for college!
A couple of weeks earlier, my mom had told me to go through my closet and box up all the old clothes I wasn’t taking with me. She reminded me about this several times over a couple of weeks but I kept putting it off.
Three days before I was leaving, Mom said she wanted the task done by the time she got home from work that day. I started sorting my clothes as requested – but then a friend called and asked me if I wanted to go to the pool. No prizes for guessing what I chose.
Mom was already home by the time I got back, and she was not happy at all. To cut long story short, we got into a huge argument, I smarted off and told her to get off my back. Then I stormed off to my room.
As I was changing out of my wet swim clothes, Mom came in with the family paddle in her hand. I started arguing again, but Mom said I was acting like a child and needed a spanking.
I suppose I could have resisted more, but in the end I thought it best to just bend over and take my licks. Mom usually didn’t spank me naked but since I was already undressed, she did.
I think she knew that this would be the last time she spanked me, so she put a little extra oomph into every spank and gave me significantly more swats than she usually did during my childhood.
In fact, she walloped me so well, I actually cried – something I never usually did during a spanking, even when I was a little boy.
All Maman stories are copyright, unauthorised reproduction may lead to legal action.
Maman is an adult website containing recollections of corporal punishment experienced during the contributors' childhoods. By proceeding, you are asserting that you are over the age of majority for the country in which you reside, and you further agree to the use of cookies on this website. Note that although this website contains only legal content, Maman is nevertheless a fetish site and should be considered Not Safe For Work (NSFW). Maman does not advocate corporal punishment for today's children. If you are a minor or likely to be upset by the subject matter, please do not proceed any further.

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I grew up in the 1980s and 1990s, and while spanking was, I think, still in common practice in my neighborhood, it had already gotten a certain stigma attached to it, mainly from well-intentioned liberals who could not differentiate between abuse and discipline that came from a loving place. My folks were, and are, progressive liberals with strong social consciences, but they also are very old-fashioned in their beliefs on raising kids.
All of us, I am the oldest of four, with a younger sister and two younger brothers, were spanked into our mid-teens. To be clear, our parents were heavily involved in our lives and provided, sometimes at great sacrifice from them, all that we could ask, both materially and emotionally. We were always cared for and knew that we were loved. Equally, they were clear on expectations and consequences, and there was no ambiguity or inconsistency in either.
As I said, the stigma attached to parental spanking meant that it was not discussed in the open and never outside the family. I often felt like I was the only teen in the world who was still getting her bare bottom spanked, and that often felt very lonely and isolating. It was comforting, at least, that I had a set of cousins, the children of my mom’s sister, who also grew up in a spanking household and whose parents shared the same views on it as my parents did.

There were six kids in that house: My cousin, Judith, known as Judi, was a couple months older than me. We were, and are, extremely close and often shared our experiences and feelings on being spanked and were frequent consolers, each of the other. I got my last spanking at 16 1/2, but Judi was still getting them as a high school senior. Judi is actually my uncle’s niece. My aunt and uncle took her in when she was 8 or 9 and formally adopted her when she was 10 (long story). She grew up in that house and thinks of my aunt and uncle as her parents. The oldest of my aunt and uncle’s biological kids are twins, Jackson and Jordan, two years younger than Judi, followed closely by Julia, a year younger, and Jason, a year younger than Julia. My aunt and uncle later added another boy, Jeremiah, who is about 5 years younger than Jason.
Like my mom, my aunt was a first-response spanker. Though she tended to let more things slide than my mom did, probably because of the sheer number of kids there, spankings were not rare there, and, unlike my house, were always done in the open in front of whatever family happened to be there. With the exception of the youngest boy, I’d seen each of my cousins on the receiving end at least once, bent over getting the paddle applied to their bare bottoms. My aunt also believed in ‘while you are a guest here, I expect you to follow the rules’ and I had found myself in that bent-over position a handful of times when I stayed there over the years.
When this recollection took place, I was 18, already married, and living with my husband in a studio apartment over my in-laws’ garage. My mom called me on a Friday and asked if I wanted to spend the weekend at her house. My husband was in the Reserves and was away on some training exercise. At first, I thought she wanted to offer me some company so I wouldn’t be all by myself, and while that may have been in true in part, I came to find out she was watching three of my cousins that weekend, in addition to my youngest brother, so perhaps she may also have been looking for reinforcements.
The twins, who were around 15, were on a travel hockey team and my aunt and uncle were chaperones at some tournament taking place over the border in Canada. My dad was there too, because the older of my younger brothers was on a team in a different age division. My sister was on a sleepover, so that left my brother Patrick, who was 10, Julia, who was 14, Jason, who was 13, and Jeremiah, who was 8, for my mother to corral.
The evening started out well. Though I was not of legal age, mom let me drink while I was there, and I was enjoying some sparkling wine. Mom was making pasta with meatballs, a favourite of the kids. My little brother seemed to be enjoying having Jeremiah around, maybe because it meant he was not the youngest for a change.
That left Julia and Jason. Julia was in the midst of her young teen girl ennui and everything in her body language, tone and expression said she wanted to be anywhere else but where she was. I tried to engage her, but the monosyllabic responses I was getting caused me to throw in the towel. Jason was always moody and sullen, even on a good day, and his mood that night was apparently compounded because he was missing out on some outing with his school buddies. His face was planted into the screen of the Gameboy he brought with him and he barely acknowledged anyone else’s existence.
My mom called everyone down for dinner around 5. And while Patrick and Jeremiah were eager eaters and answered the bell the first time, it took some additional cajoling to get Julia and Jason to the kitchen table. Julia was playing the ‘I’m not hungry’ card and asked to be excused. Mom was being unusually patient, but shot down the request with a terse: “No. If you don’t want to eat, fine, but you can stay here until we have.” That engendered a huff and some mumbles that, again, mom let pass, although I could sense her growing agitation.
Perhaps as a passive aggressive way to get herself away from the table, Julia started fussing with Jason, whom she was seated next to. First, she said she wanted the Gameboy after dinner. That started an argument over what their mom had said about sharing it. My mom refereed that one, and the table fell silent for a few moments.
Then Julia piped up that Jason was kicking her under the table. Jason said he wasn’t. Then Julia told Jason to move over and stop crowding her, punctuating the request with an elbow to Jason’s ribs. Mom intervened again, telling them both to knock it off and settle down.
The snipping and sniping kept up in muted tones for a few more minutes before erupting again when Julia shrieked: “STOP KICKING ME!” and thrust another elbow into Jason. He, in turn, slapped her forearm and she made the move to slap him back. Their voices were raised and there were several words used by both that definitely were not table appropriate.
I can’t say for sure exactly what happened next, but in the scrum that ensued, someone’s hand made contact with the glass milk pitcher on the table, tipping it over onto a porcelain salad bowl. The collision broke the handle of the pitcher, put a significant chip in the bowl, sent salad flying and sent a gusher of milk spilling across the table. Mom jumped up and shooed everyone away from the table in case there was any broken glass. Then, very calmly, she took command of the clean-up, dispatching me for paper towels, clearing away broken dishes and inspecting floor and table for any stray shards. Satisfied, she turned her attention to Julia and Jason, who were standing a few feet away against a wall.
To say their demeanors had changed would be mass understatement. The petulance and sullenness had been replaced by shock and fear. Julia, especially, was trembling and there were tears in her eyes. Mom pointed at her.
“I want you to go upstairs to the closet in the hall and bring down the paddle that’s in there,” she said.
Julia dissolved into sobs and began begging forgiveness.
“It’s too late for that, young lady. I warned you both and now there are going to be consequences.”
She turned to Jason and told him to take one of the kitchen chairs and place it in the middle of the room. Julia returned moments with the paddle, a firm plywood ping-pong paddle that had the rubber removed from one side which had then been sanded and varnished. Julia shakily handed over the paddle to mom.
Mom sat in the chair and had Julia and Jason stand side by side. By this time, the other boys and I had returned to the table and were about 6 feet from where Julia and Jason stood. My mother waved the paddle at both.
“I warned you both. Get those down,” she said, pointing at the sweatpants both were wearing. Now, just as in my house, every spanking at my aunt’s house was given on a bare bottom. Being told to take down pants meant both pants and underwear. It was implicit.
Jason made a sour look, but knew protest was futile and made short work of hiking down sweatpants and boxer briefs to his knees in one motion. Julia, meantime, had dissolved into a fresh set of tears. She gingerly lowered her sweatpants to mid-thigh but stood almost paralyzed in her blue cotton panties with yellow butterflies.
“Quit stalling,” mom snapped, eliciting more crying.
Finally, Julia nervously and slowly shucked down her panties so they joined her pants. Instinctively, she covered her front side with her hands, but mom rebuked her.
Jason and Julia stood to mom’s right, hands at side and heads down, avoiding eye contact.
“Look at me,” mom snapped. “Get your heads up so I can look you in the eye.”
With that, the pre-spanking lecture began in earnest, an event that always seemed longer to me when I was a feature player and not just a spectator. My own experience with mom’s lengthy and elaborate spanking routine had found this part to be the worst of the whole ordeal, even beyond the physical discomfort of the pending spanking. The pre-spanking lecture while you stood there exposed was the ultimate in embarrassment, especially on those occasions where it was witnessed by others.
I had not seen either of these two spanked in at least a couple of years and I took notice of the body changes in both that had taken place in the interim. Julia had been on puberty’s doorstep last time I saw my aunt paddle her. She had lost the baby fat and now, thanks to competitive swimming, was toned and muscular. Her few stray strands of pubic hair had grown to a thicket of whispy auburn that she kept in a tight landing strip.
Jason, meantime, had been a boy in every sense of the word last time I saw him, but that was no longer the case. All of the visible parts of his body were still hairless, except for a thick tuft of reddish-brown hair that looked like a small Brillo pad right above his penis.
My mother motioned for Julia to come over to her. All of the spankings my aunt gave were with you bent over, grabbing the seat of a chair. Over-the-knee spankings were foreign to my cousins and it took a few seconds for Julia to get in position. The first thing I noticed was the toned muscular swimmer’s bottom across mom’s lap and how white it was. Julia had the complexion from her dad’s side, the Irish side of their family. Her toes touched the floor and her hands grabbed the chair rungs.
Mom did no talking once the lecture ended and you went over her knee. When Julia was properly positioned, the paddle went up and then landed with a firm THWAK on her bare bottom. Her legs did a small fish tail and she croaked out: “One, ma’am.”
Like at our house, they had to count swats at their house, but my aunt insisted on the “ma’am” after each one. My mom had a set cadence of swat, count, pause, pause, THWAK. She definitely was not using maximum force but the swats were firm enough to elicit yelps, squeaks and ouches, and have Julia swim, kick and buck from time to time. Her behind was rapidly moving from hot pink to hot red and I noticed her voice getting higher pitched with each swat.
Mom gave swats in groups of 12, and this day Julia took two dozen before mom let her up. She commenced to doing the spankin
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