Non Consensual Spanking Stories
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Non Consensual Spanking Stories
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Date: Fri, 15 Jul 2005 14:59:21 -0000 From: "billj1945" < billj1945@yahoo.com > Subject: My true life spanking story, sorry, quite long Lies and Deceptions.... Fifty years ago, hard spankings were not too common in our house. A swat on the bottom was a very common attention getter, but receiving one of Mom's hairbrush spankings was a rare and fearful event. Listening to my sister's cries during a hairbrush spanking emphasized my mother's resolve to punish effectively when necessary. It also emphasized my resolve to do whatever was necessary to avoid the same fate. I was successful at avoiding her ultimate sanction until one night when I was about 8 years old. I must have pushed her too far one night at bedtime and she announced that I was going to have my first taste of her hairbrush. She must have decided that her credibility needed a bit of reinforcement even though I was pretty good, most of the time. I begged my mother for another chance remembering my sister's cries, but she was determined to finally give me a first hand introduction to what she called a "good hairbrush spanking" I was brought over to a low chair and made to kneel in front of it with my torso supported on the seat. She then walked to my dresser, picked up my heavy plastic hairbrush and walked back to where I was kneeling. All of this seemed to take place in stop-action photography. Finally she told me that if I was going to ignore her instructions in the future then I could expect another spanking just like what I was going to receive now. With that she bent over, placed a hand on my back and began spanking my p.j. clad bottom. When the first spank hit, my bottom exploded in pain and I cried out in pain. I could not believe anything could be so painful. Instinctively, I attempted to crawl forward away from the horrible spanks. Frustration! I was blocked by the front of the chair and the back of the chair. Worse yet, the spanks came swiftly, one over the other. I was screaming for her to stop, and miraculously, she stopped. The spanking probably took less than 30 seconds, but I thought it took forever. Again I was warned about ignoring her instructions and sent to bed. I never wanted to have a repeat of that spanking and I was quite successful until one day during summer vacation when I was about 10… I was eating my breakfast and thinking about adventures on a large vacant lot with my friends that day. I was anxious to finish and charge outside when Mom asked if I had made my bed and picked up my room. She was a bit of a neat-nick and did not like a messy house. I usually did so daily, but not always. We kids slept upstairs and our parents downstairs, so there was not a daily inspection. I wanted to go NOW and not dally about making my bed. I thought that I could stall her and so I said "No, but I will later". She was doing the dishes and said "Good". I thought that an unusual response in as much I was hoping for "Ok." I finished breakfast and was out of the house like a shot. After a morning of adventure, my stomach told me it was about lunch time and so I went home to eat lunch. Running into the kitchen, I did not see my mother and casually wondered where she was. She must have heard the screen door close, because I heard her call me from up stairs. I ran up to see what she wanted and found a frowning mother standing in the middle of my messy room with hands on her hips asking, "Why is your room a mess? Did you not tell me that your bed was made and the room picked up?" Then I saw my hairbrush lying on my bed and I knew that I was in trouble, bad trouble. "Have I not caught you telling me a lie?" she asked. She was a stickler for truth, and telling a lie was one of the major offenses. I started an explanation that I had told her "No" but that she must have heard a "yes", and no, I would not lie about something (inconsequential) like making my bed. Of course, that also implied that I would lie about something more substantial. There was some justification for her catching on to this inconsistency. I had become fairly slick about twisting the facts (just a bit) to get out of a jam. Not my best trait, but quite effective at deflecting trouble. My stomach began to churn and my knees began to wobble as it became obvious that my pleadings were going nowhere. I remembered her ability to turn my bottom into a burning flame with me crying so hard I could not breathe. Panic set in as I recognized the start of a "pre-spanking lecture" and again tried with a cracking voice to tell my side of the story. No chance. I shook during the rest of the lecture and pleaded for mercy when instructed to drop my jeans and bend over the bed. It is difficult to unbuckle, unbutton and unzip with shaking hands and a mad mother demanding faster response. Next was a string of commands to reposition myself on the edge of the bed with my bottom presented just so for her attentions. How horrible to be made to cooperate and present myself for spanking! How unfair. She could place me however and wherever she pleased. Why do I have to help? My bottom was now right where she wanted it. It was pointed up and vulnerable. It was only a matter of time now. Nothing could save it from the pain of a mad-mother spanking. Lying on my bed awaiting my fate, the dreaded hairbrush was now only inches from my face. I did not hear another word she said during the final lecture. My entire attention was focused on the hairbrush and the torture it could inflict. Time was now warped by fear and adrenalin. Ever so slowly (it seemed) Mom sat beside me on the bed, reached back and picked up the hairbrush. She placed her hand on my back and rhetorically asked if I was ready. I was paralyzed with fear, and could nether move nor speak. It seemed that I was going to have to wait forever dreading a spanking that was now only moments away. Suddenly, the hairbrush met my bottom with a crack. Fire burned, my back arched, and I sucked in my breath as the pain consumed me. Before my back could relax another spank impacted my bottom, and another, and another. After what seemed to be an eternity I was able to cry out scream for mercy and magically the spanking stopped. I had only lasted a few moments. I was hurting, crying, but recovering quickly. In a minute I was only sobbing slowly and what I sensed as the "post-spanking lecture" began. By the time the lecture was over, I was pleased that I had in fact survived and quite well, thank you. The relief I felt was amazing. I was completely unprepared for what happened next. She reached for the hairbrush and began spanking me again. Instantly my bottom was rekindled to a red-hot flame as rapid, hard spanks rained down, never ending. Time slowed again as I became two people, one receiving a painful spanking, the other seeming to be only an observer of the proceedings. It seemed to go on forever and I could not understand how I could stand another spank, but come they did, and faster than I could contemplate. I seemed to be one with the spanking, my whole existence was pain, paralysis, crying, and trying to breathe. Finally she did stop, but now I needed several minutes to recover and even then I was still gasping and crying. This session had lasted much longer than the first installment. It had been fast, hard, long, and totally unexpected. I felt deceived and victimized so I blurted out, "Why did you spank me again?" She simply said, "I thought you needed more" as she left the room. I was sentenced to my room for the afternoon, and began to recover from my adrenalin high. I felt sorry for myself, railed about my unjust spanking, and resented her refusal to listen to my side. As I became more calm, I did realize that I knew that I had slipped one past her while she was washing the dishes. Her response was appropriate for a "yes I did clean my room". I also realized that I knew I had been successful, too successful. She had expected a yes even though I had said no. I had not lied, but I had to admit to myself that If she had heard "no" I would have been ordered to clean up the room prior to leaving. I concluded that I was guilty of deception, but not guilty of out and out lying. I also concluded that I could not blame her for the confusion, but only me. Slowly I accepted that it was all my fault. Next I railed (to myself) about the injustice of two spankings and how cruel she was, allowing me to believe that I had endured my spanking and it was over, only to surprise me with additional spanking, only this time much faster and harder. I was still reliving the pain, the distortion of time, the pain, the inability to move, resist, or do anything except feel pain, choke, and cry. I was still feeling very sorry for myself but I made a promise to myself to be careful and never let this happen again. It was simply unthinkable that I would ever be able to face and endure another spanking like that. I had to eliminate lying from my behavior. Strangely, as I completed the promise to myself, I felt a bit of satisfaction and relief. Then more self-realization flashed in my brain. I realized that I "had needed more". I had recovered from the first spanking far too quickly. I felt I had survived intact. The second spanking shook me to the core, caused me to want to change and prevent a recurrence. My bottom was recovering, still pink but tolerable. I was not beaten or bruised, but I had been touched, although none too gently. I felt a sense of peace with myself, relief that it was over, and that I would do my best to never be spanked again. As a result I have been very careful in communications ever since. No chance I will be misread. That was my last spanking. It was a "good" one, and I still remember like it was yesterday in spite of a lapse of nearly 50 years.
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This is the place where non-consent stories(meaning the celeb in question does not agree to the sex in the story) are posted
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Cobbled this post from a few things I had on file, some which I have posted before.
Spanking in the mainstream cinema is as old as the movie industry itself. Putting a pretty girl across a guy’s knee was a code for sex even on the Victorian stage, where in British pantomimes girls dressed as boys and no production of Aladdin was complete without a thigh slap or a good sound spanking across widow Twanky’s knee on the seat of some very tight tights.
There is an insight into some of the reasoning and pitfalls of theatrical spanking in this excerpt with Johnny D (a presumed movie producer) talking to Sally-Anne in a 1960s teen magazine. I only have a page so the preamble and context as well as the end are missing, if anyone has it or knows where it’s from let us know.
Sally-Anne: What about girls in the movies, they aren’t all famous. Did anyone you work with as an extra or bit-parter ever end up a star?
Johnny D: Oh sure, you would be surprised. Most actresses did some heavy time while they fought tooth and nail for a line. You would be surprised what some of them would do. The cutting room floor is littered with the in
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