Spanked To Tears Stories

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Spanked To Tears Stories
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I am a UK-based father of three boys, and regularly smacked their bottoms when they were growing up. While I always had a genuine reason for smacking them, such as disobedience or lying, when the opportunity did arise to dish out corporal punishment, I must admit that I enjoyed the experience.
Of course, I would say all the things many parents tend to say their child in such circumstances, such as ‘this hurts me more than it hurts you’ or (a personal favourite) ‘do you think Daddy likes having to smack your bottom?’
There was always something so beautifully innocent about the instant tears of shame that particular question was able to trigger – the boy clearly believing that I was upset to be smacking him, his childish display of guilt and remorse. All this just deepened the thrill for me. 
I have read many of the stories on your website and suspect that I am something of an anomaly. While many of your contributors say they’ve loved all things about spanking since they were themselves young children or teenagers, I had no interest in corporal punishment (certainly, none that I was aware of) until I became a father. Indeed, I remained unaware of thos interest until I actually smacked my eldest son for the first time – and I was honestly gobsmacked at the effect it had on me. 
Simon was around two and a half when he first felt my hand across his bottom. My wife Polly and I had agreed prior to his birth (with that characteristic naive optimism of first-time parents) that spanking was old-fashioned and unnecessary; in fact, frankly, we felt that it was cruel and barbaric.
Then Simon entered the ‘terrible twos’ and we very quickly began to reconsider our views! Public tantrums, biting other children at nursery and throwing food from his plate were just some of the problems we had to contend with. We tried to explain to Simon what was wrong with his behaviour; we tried to ignore the naughty behaviour and reward the good; we even tried a ‘Supernanny’-style naughty step. Of course, none of these things worked!
We were at our wits’ end with him, when one day he bit Polly’s wrist and she instinctively grabbed him and slapped the back of his thighs three or four times. Immediately following the punishment Polly was utterly distraught – but then, as we saw the improvement it had on Simon’s behaviour in the days that followed, we began to realise that a smacked bottom or legs might be the answer to our prayers. 
Even after witnessing this event, I still felt no arousal about spanking. However, a few weeks later I had what can only be described as an awakening. Polly was away for the weekend with an old university friend, and Simon and I were at home alone. 
He had been acting up all day, clearly taking advantage of Mummy’s absence. Simon hadn’t been spanked since the incident with Polly a few weeks previously – but when I caught him out of bed and using a kitchen chair to climb onto the worktops, I knew I had to act. I lifted him from the kitchen counter and immediately he began to scream and squirm, and then managed to kick me hard in the stomach. 
I saw red. Before I had time to even think about what I was doing, I had sat down on the kitchen chair, lowered my son’s pyjama trousers and flipped him over my lap. Obviously, up until this point Simon had no experience of this type of formal punishment but he still could sense the trouble he was in and was already wriggling around, trying to get up from the confusing and frightening position in which he found himself. I simply wrapped my left hand around his slim waist, raised my right hand and brought it down hard on his little bottom. 
As soon as I heard the cracking slap sound of my hand meeting his bot, followed immediately by his deep crying and unsuccessful straining to get up from my lap, it just felt right . It felt so natural, so instinctive to be punishing my boy this way, using the same method that had been used on countless generations of children. 
I gave Simon another three or four hard smacks, turning his little bare bottom from white to pink. When I stood him up, I felt my penis hardening at the sight of his bright red face, tears and snot streaming down it, as he cried heartily.
I drank it in for a few seconds, feeling utterly confused by the effect it was having on me, before coming to my senses, pulling up Simon’s pyjama trousers and ordering him straight to bed. He didn’t have to be told twice, and ran from the room with both hands down the back of his trousers, trying to rub the sting out of his sore little bottom.
I sat for a few seconds, feeling confused and shocked at the reaction I’d had to this punishment. As I say, spanking was not something that had ever even registered on my sexual radar with either my wife or former girlfriends, let alone with my own son. I listened to Simon crying loudly in his bedroom, and thought about how I was the one who had brought about those tears, who had tanned his little bottom, who had lowered his trousers and pinned him across my lap.
By this time, my erection was straining against the fabric of my trousers and I stumbled from the kitchen to the bathroom, dropped my pants, grabbed a handful of lotion and within seconds had shot a massive load of semen into the toilet.
I was utterly gobsmacked by what had happened. I sheepishly cleaned up, washed my hands and left the room, trying to convince myself that it must be down to missing Polly. But later that night, I again thought of all that had happened with Simon, and again had to relieve myself. I know I should pretend I felt ashamed of what had happened, but honestly I simply felt more confused than anything. 
The next day, Simon was as good as gold and clearly the smacked bottom had achieved the desired effect on my young son – as well as the surprising effect it had had on his dad!
When Polly returned later that night, I told her about the change in Simon’s behaviour following the smacked bottom he had received, and we agreed that we would no longer hesitate to spank when necessary. 
Children of that age need a lot of discipline and between Polly and myself, Simon must have received a sore bottom roughly every week around that time. In the evenings after Simon had been tanned, Polly and I would make incredibly passionate love. Often Polly would initiate this herself, so I suspect that she too got a certain something from watching me smack our son, or doing it herself.
We have never had a discussion about this, but this pattern continued after our other two boys arrived and began going over Mummy or Daddy’s knee for discipline. Harry, our second boy, was conceived during a passionate post-spanking lovemaking session, so he owes his life to Simon’s naughtiness! I can’t be sure about James, our youngest, but no doubt his naughty big brothers contributed to his own conception. 
I suspect that the reaction Polly and I experienced from spanking the boys’ bottoms is actually far more common than most people would dare to admit. I still don’t think of myself as a spanking fetishist, as I only enjoyed the experience in the context of my own sons being disciplined. I’m unsure about Polly – as I say, I don’t think it’s a conversation we will ever have – but certainly she has never shown any interest in spanking in the marital bed, for example.
Finally, I must make it perfectly clear that neither of us ever acted inappropriately with the boys. As I said at the start, they only received smacked bottoms when they had thoroughly earned them. I guess the way we saw it was, we were raising three polite, obedient and respectful little boys – and if Mummy and Daddy had some fun in the process, then so be it. 
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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. 

        
Alas,
the mood finally passed. I became
aware that my backside now itched
most unpleasantly in addition to the dull,
throbbing, ache which hadn't
seemed to matter earlier, and also that I
was ravenously hungry. 
But I knew better than to call for Mommy
or Daddy, much less leave my room. 
In the Christensen family, when you were
spanked and put to bed, you stayed
there, and not a peep was expected from
you until the next morning or until
a grownup gave you permission to rejoin
the family.

 Handprince (c) 2000

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My name is Sam (short for Samantha) and I started work in the local high school, where I used to be a pupil, during the summer of 1981. My job was clerical and I had a small corner office at the top of the new building which overlooked the playground and the old original Victorian school buildings where the senior staff offices were located.
The school was a firm believer in the use of corporal punishment and I was no stranger to the practice. I had been slippered across my panties twice by the previous headmistress; the ‘old witch Brown’ as she was universally known. I had also been over her knee several other times for a hand spanking, which frankly was little better than the slipper.
Miss Brown (name changed) left just before I went to university and was replaced by the current head, Janet Forthergill (name changed). She was there long enough to have me across her knee, once for answering back and twice more for uniform infringements. It was the usual telling-off, invitation to lay over the lap, raising of the pleated green uniform skirt and a couple of dozen firm spanks on the knickers. The last occasion, I was also not wearing uniform knickers so I got extra. I think Brown must have coached Forthergill as her spanks stung just as badly as the old cow’s spankings ever did! That said, I did seem to keep going back for more. Although I didn’t fully appreciate it at the time, I had started to learn to enjoy the experience more than perhaps I should have.

After university, jobs were scarce and I applied for a position at my old school. Having done a joint History and English degree at university, I jumped at the chance when an interview letter arrived. It was very odd being interviewed by my old headmistress, especially when she mentioned she remembered spanking me on several occasions and should I get the job I had better keep to dress regulations. She remembered the knickers after all these years!
Anyhow, I did get the job and started in early August. There were works being carried out on the old building which were due to finish in late September, well after school had returned for the holidays. Fortunately, all the noisy works finished just in time and there were the more aesthetic tasks left to finish after that.
Spankings in school were a fairly common affair as standards were kept very high indeed. Some staff preferred to keep these slightly off-book and administer them after school or in breaks. This was a bit naughty, but the kids preferred this to going to the headmistress. Generally, this would be a trip over the knee and a spanking with the hand only. Occasionally, a slipper would come into the mix, but that was very rare. If they were sent to the headmistress, punishments usually happened at the end of the day, with a bumper session on Fridays. It was always a great way to start the weekend. The pupils would line up and be called in one by one, lectured, bent over or put across the knee, spanked or slippered, cry, be told off again, leave the room, next. It was a little conveyor-like some days, I seem to remember. It mattered little if you were first or last, the spankings were all the same, I found anyway.
During the final works, there was a small accident. Some tools from the scaffolding slipped and damaged the frame of the highest windows in the headmistress’s office, badly cracking the glass, which had always been frosted. The workmen could not get a like-for-like replacement so installed toughened clear glass. The headmistress did not mind as the room was not really overlooked, except for my window, that is!
A couple of weeks later, I was tidying up on Friday afternoon when I realised I could, just, see directly into Fothergill’s office. From my vantage point, I could just about see the whole room and could see her tearing a strip off some unfortunate soul. Been there, done that, got the spanking and then the penny dropped, it was Friday afternoon. The headmistress sat down and the girl proceeded to bend over her lap, head away from the window, bottom towards it. It was Amy from the lower sixth. The headmistress proceeded to spank her firmly with her hand, skirt raised, for what looked like 20 slaps. Amy stood up, rubbed herself vigorously, straightened her clothes and left.
A couple of minutes later, Bekky from the upper sixth came into view. I heard she had been caught smoking at lunchtime. Sure enough, after a lecture, Bekky bent herself over the arm of the headmistress’s easy chair. Once there, her skirt was raised and the unmistakable and unforgettable image of a size 10 plimsoll came into view. Six hearty whacks on her panties, 3 for each buttock, and she was blubbering like a toddler.
How many more girls, I wondered. The answer was, one; Zara from the 5th year. I wondered what she had done. Again, a lecture, the headmistress sat and straightened her skirt before Zara’s bottom hid it from view. This time, the victim’s skirt stayed down. It must be a minor infraction, I thought. The headmistress’s hand cracked down a dozen or more times before she was satisfied that whatever rule had been broken, justice had been fully dispensed. Again, the girl was blubbering and she rubbed her bum as though it were on fire, poor thing.




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