Hairbrush Spanking Stories

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Hairbrush Spanking Stories
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When I was 14 or 15, in the early 1970s, I had secretly taken up smoking. I thought I was pretty grown-up – until the day my grandmother caught me at the habit.
I often went to stay with my grandparents when my folks went out of town on a trip. I was certainly no stranger to corporal punishment – my parents firmly believed in spanking, which was always given bare bottom with either my mother or father’s hand. As I got older, these spankings sometimes finished up with a dose of the ruler or wooden spoon across the tops of my thighs, so I would remember my punishment whenever I happened to sit down during the next few hours at least.
My mother had been raised strictly by her own mom, getting the hairbrush on her bare bottom as she grew up, and she warned me that my grandmother wouldn’t hesitate to give me the same if I got in trouble while I was staying with them.
So when grandma caught me smoking in the back yard, it wasn’t much of a surprise to be told to present myself in the living room for a spanking. This meant the hairbrush.
When I got there, both my grandparents were there, sitting on the couch. I was ordered to bend over my grandmother’s knee. I obeyed, my bottom facing my grandfather, who handed my grandmother the hairbrush.
Without speaking further, she turned up my skirt and started spanking me hard on the seat of my panties. It was really painful and I squirmed, kicked and cried.
Eventually grandmother slid down my panties and I was by now not only crying from the pain but from the humiliation, knowing my grandfather was seeing everything I had, as I kicked and screamed. I know he saw everything because he eventually held my legs still to help me take my punishment properly.
The hairbrush produced the most vigorous, heated spanking I had ever received. The punishment was not overly long, but my bottom was crimson and throbbing from the heat coming off it by the time my grandmother had finished with me.
After I had been thoroughly spanked, I was given a big, long scolding, then I was put in the corner for a while, my sore bare bottom on display.
I never got another spanking at my grandparents’ but that dose of the hairbrush stuck in my mind for a long time.
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“SHOWING THEM” by the Crimson Kid

LATE JULY 1968

“Don’t even think it,” Dimity Hamilton advised her second cousin Richard Phillips, “That’s simply never been done.”

She liked the slightly stocky sixteen-year-old, whose wavy auburn hair, hazel eyes and pleasant facial features she found to be appealing, but considered him to be overconfident in that area.

Cathleen Wilkes nodded soberly. “Nobody’s ever gotten a ‘three-one-one’ ass-whuppin’ from my mother without kicking, crying and begging for mercy—I know from experience, the person getting it on his bare behind just can’t help himself.” She was a freshly pretty, aquamarine-eyed silver blonde with cascading, curly, shoulder-length hair, nearly eighteen years old and at 5’10” two inches taller than her masculine second cousin.

He chewed his lip. “Maybe I’d end up kicking and crying, but you can be damn sure I wouldn’t do any begging—I’ve got my pride.”

The blonde chuckled. “Male ego, you mean—I’ve dealt with plenty of them, Richie. Trust me, Mom would have you begging her to stop scorching your bare ass.”

Dimity, first cousin to the seventeen-year-old, pursed her lips. “I guess we’ll only know for certain if Richie’s willing to put his money where his mouth is.” The Mediterranean-complexioned younger girl was the physical opposite of the lithe, Nordic-looking Cathleen, having a pleasingly plump, 5’3” tall body, pixie-cut auburn hair, chocolate-brown eyes and a sweet-looking face

“You mean put his FANNY where his mouth is, don’t you?” chortled Cathleen. Her gaze bored into the boy’s eyes. “Admit it, you don’t have the nerve to back up your bragging by actually showing us.”

Dimity shrugged. “You can’t expect him to deliberately earn a spanking from Aunt Scarlett, especially not a ‘three-one-one’ butt-blistering.”

The older girl snorted. “No, because like most guys he’s all talk and no action.”

His pride stung, Richard frowned. “You think so, huh?”

“Until you show me otherwise,” Cathleen countered breezily.

“Don’t be rushing into anything stupid, Richie, just to prove how macho you’re supposed to be,” his younger cousin counseled.

Her show of concern had the reverse effect from what she’d intended, since Richard would’ve done almost anything to impress Dimity, including ‘manfully’ disregarding her warning.

He smiled tightly. “I’m going to show both of you, Dimie…So how should we set this up?”

The three cousins, wearing working clothes, were seated at the kitchen table drinking iced tea, having recently finished their assigned chores for the day.

Cathleen’s grin was predatory. “Okay, if you’re still sure about proving yourself, here’s my idea…”

At forty-four years of age, Scarlett Wilkes fit the image of a tall, buxom, strong-yet-sexy farmer’s wife, a woman who could perform physical labor eleven hours a day yet still have enough energy left to nourish her children and satisfy her husband in the conjugal bed. Although only her youngest child remained at home and she’d been widowed by a traffic accident seven years earlier, the family farm had remained a profitable business—she’d downsized its operation enough that she could manage it herself, with the assistance of outside hired help.

During the warm pre-harvest months, the woman offered her teenaged relatives employment on her farm doing simple menial tasks involving upkeep of the premises; they received moderate wages, working six- to eight-hour days with weekends free, plus room and board, and could stay as many weeks as was feasible given their summertime activities. Not only did her farm acquire affordable labor, but she and her still-at-home children got to know their ‘city cousins’ much better than they otherwise would have, given their isolated location.

Those teenaged employees were treated by Scarlett exactly as her own children were, with caring affection but also strict discipline. She believed in a “spare the road and spoil the child” approach to rearing children, including teenagers, and those who worked for her during the summer were subject to sound corporal correction for offenses such as disrespect, disobedience and poor working efforts.

Dimity had been employed at the Wilkes Farm for three-week periods in each of the previous two summers, developing a friendship with Scarlett’s daughter Cathleen, but Richard was a newcomer. “Aunt Scarlett,” as she insisted on being addressed by all of her ‘next generation’ kinspersons, suspected it was more than coincidental that his two-week period of employment overlapped his younger second cousin’s three-week one, but the woman had no objection to youthful romance within limitations.

The after-supper cleanup was finished by six-thirty that evening, at which point Scarlett announced that she was going to take a relaxing hot bath before watching television. Richard decided to take an immediate quick shower, furtively excusing himself and heading upstairs toward his guest room.

“Dimie and I’ll go out and check the strawberry patch,” Cathleen informed her mother. “I like to imagine the taste of shortcake next month.”

Three minutes later, while in the master bedroom beginning to strip down for bathing, Scarlett heard the creaking of a sliding door to her closet. Speculating that one of her pet cats might have trapped herself in there, the semi-nude female walked over and slid the right-side door open, exposing Richard inside the closet holding his flash camera.

“Richie, I’m shocked,” she gasped, making no attempt to cover up her 5’11,” still-firm womanly body, clad only in a white bra and cotton panties, “Not to mention deeply disappointed in you. You’ve seemed like such a trustworthy young man, yet now you’ve pulled a stunt like this!”

The boy shook his head regretfully. “Aunt Scarlett, I just…It was a sudden impulse…”

Scarlett’s hands landed on her hips as she scowled. “Okay, you privacy-invading reprobate, you’ve got a choice: Either I send you home in the morning, on the eight-thirty bus out of town, or you follow me out to the woodshed for the butt-whuppin’ of your young life.” Her turquoise eyes flashed white fire. “You have exactly ten seconds to make up your mind, Richie.”

“The woodshed,” he croaked.

She smiled thinly. “As a male, you’ll only be exposed in the rear, so please replace your underpants with the jockstrap I told you to pack—you have thirty seconds to meet me downstairs.”

“Okay, Aunt Scarlett,” Richard murmured.

“You’re to address me as ‘ma’am’ until your punishment’s finished,” the dishwater blonde stated sharply. “Twenty-six seconds left!”

“Yeh-Yes, ma’am.” He rushed out of the room.

Momentarily, Scarlett grinned grimly as the sixteen-year-old hurriedly arrived as instructed. “It seems I’m a faster dresser,” she noted. “Get the hedge clippers, you’ve got five minutes to present me with three willow switches—they’d better be wickedly whippy, thick as my little finger, three feet long and completely peeled…Understood?”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Six minutes later, seated on the the woodshed’s single step while fingering the trio of yard-length willow wands, the woman smiled smugly. “All three are satisfactory, something of which you’re about to become painfully aware…Let’s go inside and get underway with your punishment, Richard.”

The building was a mini-sized cabin for storage of various items, including seed and machinery, although there was stacked firewood kept atop an eight-feet-high loft—which justified the term ‘woodshed’ for it. In the “whuppin’ area,” several instruments of corporal correction hung on the wall, while a thick quilt was draped over bales of hay—three stacks of two bales next to a single bale, effectively creating sixteen-inch-high ‘steps.’

Once they’d walked inside, Scarlett flipping on the ceiling lights, the teenager shuddered in trepidation. “Now what?”

Her eyebrows arched. “You lower your pants to half-mast position, then kneel on the first step and bend way forward across the top, making your naked buttcheeks push backwards, giving me a wide-open target to work over.”

Richard cringed. “Work over how?”

His disciplinarian set two switches down, then flicked the third one menacingly. “You’re going to receive a ‘three-one-one’ licking, Richard, the most severe type I administer—my late husband underwent perhaps twenty of them during our fourteen years of marriage, and all of my children bawled through at least one during their teenaged years. Basically, it’s three switchings separated by a razor stropping and a paddywhacking with my sorority paddle, each session being fifty strokes—extremely emphatic ones, believe me.” Her head shook. “I still have no idea why you’d treat me that way, invading my privacy for a cheap thrill, but such misconduct calls for intensive correction.”

The boy was downcast. “Ahhhh-I can’t explain, Aunt Scarlett, but you shouldn’t take it personally.”

Her sarcastic laughter trilled. “Peeping at me getting undressed, I shouldn’t take that personally, hmmmm? In that case, while I’m firing up your fanny, don’t take it personally…Speaking of which, let’s get this butt-blistering started—you’ve got thirty seconds to assume the proper punishment position, which includes baring your behind.”

“Yeh-Yes, ma’am.” It took him eighteen seconds to lower his bluejeans to his knees, exposing his supporter-framed posterior, then kneel on the first blanket-covered ‘step’ and stretch his torso across the two-bale-high top surface, forcing his trembling buttocks to project backward.

Scarlett took a stance facing his left hip, then tapped his vulnerable undercheeks with the first willow branch. “My, that’s a tempting target you’re providing there, sweetness, and I intend to exploit it very thoroughly. If you break position you’ll receive penalty swats, if you do it more than twice we’ll start your switching all over.” Her right hand raised the whippy wand to strike. “Squirming, squealing, sobbing, bawling and begging for mercy, those are acceptable behaviors, in fact I expect them, but don’t wiggle your baby-naked buns out of range…Ready for your first session with the switch, Richard?”

He gulped. “Yes, ma’am.”

Although no stranger to maternal bottom-warmings, the boy had never before experienced an energetic switching atop his exposed buttock rounds. As the slim, supple branch repeatedly slashed across his wide-open ‘sit spots,’ the sixteen-year-old desperately shifted his hips while his verbal reactions progressed from gasps to yelps to wails. Even as the teardrops began trickling and then flowing down his flushed facial cheeks, however, he refrained from begging for any surcease of chastisement.

“I’ll give you a couple minutes to compose yourself before your licks with the strop,” the woman clucked, observing the scarlet stripes crisscrossing the sobbing boy’s quivering hindquarters. “Have you ever been strapped with one?”

Richard believed it was an experience he could’ve done without. “No, ma’am.”

Three minutes later, in her stance perpendicular to her chubby, doubly-rounded target, she addressed her punitive victim while gripping the flexible leather strop. “Stick out that naked hiney and prepare to cry your eyes out.”

He blanched but obeyed. “Okay, ma’am.”

Scarlett delivered a fierce leathering, steadily cracking the pliable corrective implement across the teen’s vulnerable ‘spank spot,’ rapidly reducing him to continuous weeping and wailing as his broad backside bounced with every stinging impact. The base of his behind was evincing a fire-engine red hue by the time the fiftieth lick of the cruel leather had resoundingly landed there.

After another brief pause, the second willow wand was vigorously employed on the same target area, with blazing-hot effect. Richard was hardly stoic in undergoing his corporal comeuppance, howling throughout the switch’s fifty whipping-hard strokes, yet he made no supplications for mercy.

Gently patting her half-inch-thick, cedar sorority paddle’s striking surface against her left palm, his chastiser believed that the begging she’d anticipated would occur during his impending fanny-whacking, since she considered herself an accomplished spankmistress with that wooden bottom-burner. “This paddling will leave you ‘hurtin’ for certain,’ Richard,” she predicted, “Then we’ll talk.”

He sighed. “Yes, ma’am.

The fifty reverberating paddywhacks, although ‘painting’ the boy’s squirming southern hemispheres a deeply-glowing magenta shade while reducing him to blubbering helplessly like a soundly-spanked toddler, failed to result in any pleas for clemency.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” Scarlett explained to the still-sniffling mid-teenager, “If you’ll apologize and ask me to end your discipline at this point, I’ll do so—provided you’re genuinely remorseful.” She waited for his immediate expression of regret, only to receive no response. “Let me make this clear, Richard…If you don’t request that your punishment be stopped, not only will I deliver the final fifty strokes with the third switch, but you’ll spend the following half-hour doing bare-bottomed penitence in the living room corner, plus at bedtime you’ll be put over my knee, pajama bottoms lowered in the rear, for an extremely lengthy spanking with my heavy maple hairbrush. Your cousins will be allowed to witness both the cornertime and your session with my paddling brush--I’d think you’d want to avoid that.”

He recalled Cathleen’s admonition: “Any attempt to reduce the length or severity of your ass-whuppin’ is considered begging, and afterward I’ll ask Mom if you tried that.”

“No comment, ma’am.” His voice quavered.

Head shaking, she grasped the third willow wand. “Masculine stubbornness…Very well, get back in position--but once I start whipping your naked nates with this switch, it’s too late to change your mind.” Her shoulders shrugged. “Okay then, your choice.”

It was the best—or worst, from its victim’s perspective—of the three flexible branches, and was applied to his already throbbing posterior with furious determination by its womanly wielder, resulting in frenzied childish bawling.

Afterward, she was stunned by Richard burying his tearstained face on her breasts, both of his arms encircling her. “Ahh-I’m soooo sorry, Aunt Scarlett, I’d never ruh-really spy on you like that, pluh-please forgive me,” he whimpered.

Puzzled, she briefly returned the embrace. “Why couldn’t you have said that five minutes ago? Too late now, leave your trousers down and head for the house—I want to see your nose in the corner with your flaming-hot fanny on display when I get there.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He obediently waddled out of the woodshed.

Scarlett turned and gazed upward at the loft. “Come on down, girls,” she instructed airily.

Momentarily, the two smirking teenaged females were standing in front of her.

“How did you know, Mom?” Cathleen queried.

Her mother chuckled. “Excellent peripheral vision, honeychile, I caught several flashes from your cameras out of the corner of my eye...You didn’t get Richie’s face in any of those shots, I’m hoping--people already know that I believe in whuppin’ the baby-naked backsides of any children under my roof when necessary, so me being recognized isn’t an
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