Paddled On Panties

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Paddled On Panties
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I’ve already told you how I got paddled for passing notes in class – this is the story about what happened when I got home that day, with an already sore bottom.
As I noted in my previous story, prior to being paddled that day at school, I had not been spanked in over two years. I hadn’t even really been threatened with a spanking. Grounding had replaced the parental hand.
As I went through the rest of my school day, squirming in hard chairs, feeling a little feverish, I mentally played the ‘how long will I be grounded for’ game. It’s amazing I didn’t get in trouble again that day, for not paying attention.
My mind wandered a couple of times to a rule I had known throughout my younger years – that being in trouble at school would result in an immediate spanking. However, I dismissed the possibility. That rule was for back when I was still being spanked, after all.
When I finally reached the final bell and shuffled off to home, I was dreading what was sure to be an exceptionally long chewing out and the forthcoming sentence. Caroline and I wished each other luck as we left the building. So I walked on home.
When I finally got there, my mom was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the door. There was none of the calm coldness of Mrs Jamison. Rather, the fire of anger animated her entire face.
“Sit your little fanny down and do your homework right this second, young lady – then we are going to talk.”
Well, that didn’t sound good. I complied, thinking she was giving herself time to calm down. As I worked through my assignments, I actually found myself settling down. I didn’t exactly forget that I was in big trouble, but I pushed the thought aside.
When my homework was finished, Mom swooped right back in and told me: “Go to my bedroom, right now.” Her bedroom? That was weird – that had never happened before. But I wasn’t exactly feeling confident that I could question her right then. So upstairs and into my parents’ bedroom I went. My mom followed, and her voice was rising as we entered. “What were you thinking – if you were even thinking? School is not a spot to act up, young lady.”
I don’t remember her ever once bringing up the note-passing or the profanity – just the very fact that I had been sent to the principal and that I had been paddled. My offence wasn’t the specific action, in her mind, but merely the very basic misdemeanour of getting in trouble at school. Did I say she was taking time to calm down? I’m a damn fool, because she was as angry as I had ever seen her in my life.
Then came a very unexpected sentence. “Let me see how bad it is.” “What?” “Pull your jeans down so I can see how bad you got it.”
So my jeans came down. Remember, removing clothing was never part of my spankings, so I still wasn’t really thinking in that direction. I stood there in just my yellow panties. Thirty-five years later, I still remember the panties I wore that day – not what shirt or shoes, but I remember the underwear.
I also remember Mom looking at my butt. I caught a glance in her mirror and my left thigh had a pretty clear bruise. Before I thought much else, her hands were suddenly whisking down my yellow undies to join my jeans, and my right cheek was also clearly showing the results of the punishment.
My bottom wasn’t exactly a mess of bruises, but there was a splotch of purple on my right cheek and another on my left thigh, and a lot of red all around. I quickly pulled my panties back up but before I could reach for my jeans, my mom froze me in fear.
“Don’t move another muscle, Samantha Lynn,” she ordered.
She opened a dresser drawer and removed a wooden hairbrush I had never seen before. I should’ve known at that point what was in my future, but I swear it didn’t register.
“What’s that for mom?” “What do you think, that’s it to fix your hair? Come here.” And so for the first time in two years, and the first time as a teenager, I found myself across my mother’s lap.
Then the brush began to come down, right on my utterly too-thin-to-help panties, and I began to scream. For the first time in my life, I got a true bottom tanning. The brush continued to talk well past the point that I myself could even verbalise. My mom was spanking me well past the point of crying; she was going for hysterical. She was trying to make sure I never sat comfortably again, or so it seemed at the time.
Finally, after what felt like hours, she pushed me off her lap. I grabbed my bottom and tried to rub the fire away. “You are not too old for a spanking, Samantha, and I hope you remember that – because this can be done again, and worse.”
I finally got myself together enough to leave her room and go to mine. I fell asleep still crying.
Over the next two or three years, Mom threatened me with the brush on several occasions (often using the euphemism ‘do we need to go fix your hair?’). Just one more time, she proved true to her word: that I was not too old to be spanked; and that it could indeed be done again, and worse.
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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It’s funny how you can tell the amazement factor of how things were back in my era of the 1950s when you compare the ones my age to the young ones of today. The older remember many of the things I describe, while the younger often pass a judgment of backwards, perverted and evil. Actually, a small portion of that did occur, just as it does today, and yes folks got away with more things then but that does not make it a bad time or era.
Many are shocked when they hear of how often kids were spanked then and cannot understand how that was allowed to happen. Well, you must not only understand the culture of the region but also the era of that period. There was no internet, no computers, no air conditioning. Very few had television and if one had a phone, it had no dial and you had to pick it up and ask the operator to connect you to someone’s home.
Also, it was very rural and very conservative Christian. At least once every few months the pastor at the church would talk about how it was the parents and other adults’ responsibility to “deliver the rod” to misbehaving children and how that “rod of correction” was used by God to save the souls of kids from hell. It was not uncommon to have parents spank their neighbors’ kids and no one complained.

Sometimes when we would hang around other kids from school or the area, we often would exchange spanking accounts and sometimes try to one up the other person. The sexual aspect of it was something a few of us found interesting although we did not know at the time it was sexual. We just knew that other feelings and thoughts circulated around such punishments and for many of it was an introduction to human sexuality.
And no doubt many adults enjoyed this kink as well and found ways to explore it through the administering of spankings to the younger ones. It went on for as long as it did because no one, and I mean no one, questioned those in authority. And it was not just male administrators who did this kind of thing, but some women as well. I recall at a large gathering at my mom’s brothers house (uncle Steven) where one lady there, and I do not remember who she was and her relation to my uncle, but she made a statement how she had to spank her little boy every few days and that his fanny was perpetually red. I remember asking my mom later what did ‘perpetually’ mean.
Someone once messaged me and asked of all the spankings I got, which was the most memorable? Well that would be hard since each one had unique factors to them, but I suppose the one that I thought about the most afterwards was one I got in 5th grade (1956) just a few days before summer vacation started. The timing was funny because I got one the following year at nearly the same time.
In the 5th grade my interest in spankings was just beginning to sprout. By this time, I was pretty tough and cried very little, if at all, to the ones I got in school, especially if I was getting it with others. It was a most interesting era of my life as new and unspeakable things were beginning to occur.
It was a very hot and humid mid-May day when I found myself receiving even more heat to add to the situation. If you have read my other accounts, you will know that, while I was quite petite, I was also very rambunctious and did not put up with people picking on me, especially if it was totally uninvited. I was walking back from afternoon recess and had just entered the building when a sixth grade boy shot me in the back with a small, tightly folded up piece of paper that used a long rubber band as the method of delivery.
Besides saying “s**t” when it hit me, I immediately turned around and kicked him right in the nuts with my fairly new shiny black Mary Jane shoes. As he crumbled to the hallway floor, he called me an a-hole and began hollering in pain. Of course, this got the attention of nearby Mrs Edwards who took me straight to the office. The lady working in there noted what I had done and, after looking down at a planner, told me to report to the principal’s office at 3:05 pm sharp.
School let out at 3:00 pm and the buses left at 3:45 so it always gave him time to warm some behinds before they departed for their destination. So I sighed and went back to my class where I would await the end of the day with a baited behind.
Soon the loud clanging of the 3 o’clock bell was heard throughout the school and I went straight to the office where the lady told me to go on in to the waiting room and sit down until Mr Anderson called for me. I went inside and sat down on the bench on the left side of the room. About two minutes later a seventh-grade girl, Sarabeth, came in and sat on the bench across from me. She was one familiar with Mr Anderson’s paddle because she was much like me in that she did not put up with people’s nonsense and, like Peggy Sue from an earlier posted story, she was Mr Anderson’s niece.
She was a member of the FFA (Future Farmers of America) class and since it was Friday, she was dressed in blue overalls and red canvas shoes. She had her bright red hair pulled back into a short ponytail with two silver hair barrettes in the front.
I asked her: “What are you here for?” and she replied: “I told a very irritating person to ‘eat s**t!’ and they told on me so here am. What are you here for?”
I told her about my incident in the hall and she just smiled and said, “good for you.” I laughed in response and continued to wait for the big brown door to open.
As I sat there looking at Sarabeth I noticed she had no shirt on under her overalls. This was very common on hot days like today, but I wondered what was going to happen when she had to shed them for the paddling. I soon would find out.
About two minutes later the sound of footsteps approaching the door became audible, followed by the turning of the handle and the opening of the door and there stood Mr Anderson, all 6 foot 4 of him. He looked at Sarabeth, then me and said, “Come on in girls and go stand in front of my desk.”
We slowly walked inside and soon were standing where we had been directed and he walked around to the front of his desk and sat down and read the report of our transgressions in a low undertone. Then he looked up at us and said: “Girls, this kind of behavior is serious and not tolerated here at school. Punishment must be administered to such actions. Sarabeth, you will receive 20 swats and Em, you will get 15. Ok? Well let’s get started.”
As he got up to get things ready, we both turned our back to the desk and watched him grab a wood framed metal chair and place it front of the mirror on the south wall. As was his custom, the oldest went first and he called his niece to him by saying, “Sara” followed by a beckoning finger.
She had been here a few times before and knew the drill. As she approached him she began undoing the shoulder clasps on her overalls and once done she let them fall on the floor and then stepped out of them. Then Mr Anderson placed a hand on her shoulder and he turned her around towards the chair and walked her to it. Then, pushing lightly, he said: “Bend over, Sara, and hold the seat tightly. Please keep your feet together and do not get up until so directed ok?”
Even though back in that time it was not uncommon to see girls our age without a shirt, especially in the summer, it was eye opening for me because it was the first time I had seen her without one. She was quite pale and had some nice size breasts for a 13-year-old which made me feel ‘without’ since I had none yet.
As he prepared to deliver the swats, I noticed how his olive complexioned left hand contrasted with the pale skin of her back and he rested it there to keep her from getting up. Then he took the paddle and began rubbing it against her white pantied behind and after a few seconds said: “Ok, here we go,” and swung the paddle back for the first swat.
I looked at Sarabeth’s face in the mirror and saw her look at the reflection showing the paddle beginning its down stroke. She gritted her teeth and then looked down as the seat heater made its contact. ‘WHAP!’ The sound filled the room and she replied with a “ayeee ayeee ayeee” followed by slightly bending her left leg and then her right.
Her skin was so pale that her white panties blended almost perfectly. It contrasted with her fiery red hair and red canvas shoes. Soon, something in between would be red as well.
After the first swat he began rubbing the paddle on her panties again as he prepared for #2. ‘WHAP!’ came the sound and again she let out several “ayeees” followed by flexing one leg then the other.
The next 18 were similar. He spaced them about three seconds apart.
WHAP 7 – Breathes in heavily the an “Ayeee!”
Her leg flexing became more pronounced which prompted Mr Anderson to say: “Sara, quit flexing and moving so much, ok? Good girl.”
WHAP 10 – Breathes in heavily while shaking her head
Her leg flexing resumed again but not as much as before.
WHAP 12 – OW, OW! (breathes in through her teeth.)
WHAP 13 – OW! Ouch!! (Looks briefly at herself in the mirror and the back down at the chair seat.)
WHAP 15 – Breathes in heavily again and pushes her bottom back against the paddle as he holds it in place against it.
WHAP 16 – Ayeee, OH!!! (Looks back at the mirror briefly)
Mr Anderson chimes in: “Sara were almost done, ok sweetie?”
Which she followed with a “Yes sir.”
WHAP 17 – Breathes in loudly and then exhales.
WHAP 19 – Looks back in the mirror and her face grimaces as the paddle swings back.
While he was delivering her swats I could not help but look at her boobs that would jiggle a bit on each one, which I found fascinating. And you could see the paddle slightly flatten
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