Girl Spanking Stories

Girl Spanking Stories
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I’d like to tell you about the first two times I gave a spanking. The first time was when I was only 10 years old – it was definitely not allowed and I suspect that had I been found out, I would have ended up getting rather than giving the punishment.
I was at a sleepover birthday party with my two best friends, and we were playing truth or dare. I chose ‘truth’ and was asked what was the most trouble I had ever been in, and what was the punishment. I told the story, recounted in another of my contributions to this site , of how my brother and I went way out of our established bounds and had received a hard paddling for our misdeeds. Since I was ‘under oath’ in a truth or dare game, I even recounted how the paddling had made me so nervous that I’d wet myself, which sent my girlfriends into a fit of giggles.
My friend Amanda then volunteered that her worst misdeed was taking some money from her mom’s purse. Her dad had ‘whipped my butt until it was redder than a tomato’, which expression set off another fit of giggling.
We both looked at Katie, the birthday girl, for her story. She confessed to getting caught at school cheating on a multiplication test, which resulted in her getting grounded for two nights. I thought this was a pretty lenient punishment. So did Amanda, who wasn’t shy about voicing that opinion. “I can’t believe your mom didn’t spank you for getting in trouble at school. The one time I got in trouble at school, my mom wore me out,” she said.
Katie disclosed that her parents had never spanked her ever, which came as a shock to both myself and Amanda. We let Katie know how lucky she was, and made it clear we didn’t think the situation was fair at all.
We returned to our game, and on Katie’s next turn she chose ‘dare’. Amanda said that since Katie had never been spanked before, she had to take a birthday spanking from both of us. She looked a little nervous but we reminded her what a serious transgression it was to break the rules of truth or dare – so she agreed.
I won ‘rock, paper, scissors’ to spank first. I told Katie to pull down her pants and underwear. She balked at this, but because the rules of sleepover truth or dare are sacrosanct, I soon had a bare bottom over my lap.
Katie was bigger than me so it was a little awkward, but we made it work. I spanked her five times with no reaction from her, so I decided to crank it up a notch. From the sixth spank on, I hit her harder and she began to cry out. I gave her an extra hard one to ‘grow on’ and then a ‘pinch to grow an inch’ on her tush for good measure. She was the tiniest bit pink afterwards.
Then it was Amanda’s turn, and she got much more into it than I did. She gave Katie a lecture about behaving in school and not embarrassing the family – I presume she copied this lecture from her own parents. Amanda then pulled Katie over her lap and gave her ten rapid, hard spanks, with an extra hard one to grow on.
Katie came off of her lap bouncing around and rubbing her bottom, which was now thoroughly pink. She commented on how much it hurt – Amanda and I assured her that she had gotten off easy, and that was nothing compared to what our parents dished out. Katie admitted that she was pretty lucky.
By the second time I gave a spanking, I was a bit older and it was more in an official capacity rather than just kids playing games. I was 16 and had been tasked with babysitting my cousins, six-year-old Emma and eight-year-old Randy.
It was the first time that I had babysat them and they were pushing the limits from the beginning, especially Randy. I had done a couple of time-outs and some threats, but nothing was working. As the night wore on, their behaviour got worse and worse, and they were jumping on the couches and running through the house.
I had had enough. I grabbed Randy by the wrist as he ran past and began to drag him to the couch. “Hey, what are you doing?” “I’ve had enough of your naughty behaviour, young man – you’re getting a spanking.” “You can’t spank me. You’re not my mom.” “I can and I will,” I said as I sat down on the couch.
The childrens’ mom hadn’t said that I could spank them, but she had also not said that I couldn’t. I knew that they were a spanking family and at this point, we had reached the point of no return. I grabbed the waistband of Randy’s shorts and underwear and jerked them down. He clamped his hands down over his privates just as fast as he could.
“You can’t! You can’t!” I tipped him over my lap and began to spank him. I gave him two smacks for each year of his age, so a total of 16. He was kicking and screaming by the tenth swat. I had to hold his legs in place to finish the punishment.
When it was over, I marched Randy to the corner, with him waddling along because his pants were still around his ankles. I told him he had 10 minutes of corner time, with no rubbing. I swatted his bottom one more time and then went for Emma.
While her brother was getting spanked, Emma had had an amused look on her face – but now she looked nervous. “Please don’t,” she pleaded. “I’ll be good.” “It’s too late for that now. You’ve been very naughty young lady.”
Emma’s shorts and undies came down and she went over my lap as well. Like her brother, she got two smacks for each year of her age, for a solid round dozen. Unlike her brother, Emma didn’t kick or scream – she just cried and cried, with big fat tears rolling down her face, leaving a wet spot on the couch.
As soon as we were done, she hugged me and wanted to cuddle. I held her for a minute and then deposited her in the corner like her brother.
After their corner time was over, both children were much better behaved. I did tell their mom that I had spanked them when she got home. She assured me that I had done the right thing and gave me permission to spank the children again in the future. However, the need never arose again, because they always behaved for me after that.
I should add that when Emma was in college, she babysat my own kids a couple of times, and did give my eldest son a few swats on his bare bottom when he wouldn’t settle down.
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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 sweatpan
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