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A girl’s campsite spanking
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Extracts from a schoolgirl’s diary dated 1978
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Spankings were quite common in the 1960s. This is a true story from 1963.
In July 1963, my family went on a road trip, and my sister Katherine and I got into a shouting match which led to pinching, hitting, and kicking. I was 13, and Katherine had just turned 15 the week before. Katherine and I fought a lot in those days. I was jealous of her because she was very pretty, blond with hazel eyes, and had always been popular at school, whereas I was more nerdy, a bit on the chubby side, wore glasses, and had a hard time making friends, facts that Katherine took great pleasure in rubbing in my face.
I don’t remember what we were fighting about that particular day, but we had been at each other’s throats nonstop. My parents warned us to cut it out, but we didn’t. My dad gave us several more warnings.
The last warning was, “I’m going to pull this car over and spank the next one who your mother or I hear or see fighting!”
Our parents hadn’t spanked either one of us in over two years, so I don’t think we took the threat seriously. We were both quiet for about a minute, and then out of nowhere, my sister slapped me on the face and pulled my hair, which led to another mini back seat brawl.
“Damn it!” My dad swerved the car over to the side of the road and slammed on the brakes. “Katherine, I warned you, young lady! Didn’t I? My dad angrily got out of the car and slammed the door behind him. He opened the back door on the side where Katherine was sitting and he yanked her out of the car. My sister immediately started yelling, apologizing and pleading.
“No! Please! No! I’m sorry! Please. I won’t hit Ellie again! Please! I promise! NO! Not here! Please, I’m too old!”
I looked outside of the window and I saw my dad taking off his belt. Oh, this was too good to be true. Katherine was going to get just what she deserved!
I tried to watch, but my dad took her into the woods behind some trees with thick leaves blocking most of the view. My sister was loud so I could hear her screams.
“NO! PLEASE DAD NO! NOT THE BELT! NOT THE BELT! PLEASE! I’M SORRY! I’LL BE GOOD! I PROMISE! NO! NO PLEASE! STOP! NO! I’M TOO OLD! STOP! DON’T TAKE THEM OFF!”
Through the leaves I could see the bottom of my sister’s and father’s legs, and I saw my sister’s yellow pants yanked down to her feet and then my father pulled her to the ground where they were mostly out of view. All I could make out were her sneakers trying to kick but were restrained by her pants being wrapped down around her ankles.
“Please don’t! I’m too old! No! NO! Please! Please don’t pull them down! KEEP THEM UP! Please not here! DON’T!”
Then I heard the unmistakable sound of my dad’s leather belt slapping against bare skin. The screaming became howls, and then loud cries, which meant that my dad’s belt was hard at work.
Katherine and I had both gotten the belt a few times in our childhood. If we were wearing pants or shorts he would tell us to pull them down, or if we were wearing a skirt he would flip it up, then put us over his knee and pull our panties down. Then he would fold his belt in half and give us a few whacks with it, usually between 5 to 10, and boy it hurt! I don’t think our dad has ever given us more than 10 licks with the belt, but this time Katherine was definitely getting more. I wasn’t counting the number of slaps but they seemed to go on for over a minute, and Katherine’s wailing became more agonizing. I went from feeling happy that she was getting punished to feeling sorry for her.
After what seemed like an eternity, my dad and sister returned to the car. Dad still had his belt in his hand.
“Katherine, I don’t want to hear a peep out of you! Now get in the car!”
My sister was sobbing and sniffling, and her neatly brushed blonde hair was now a wild mess with pieces of leaves embedded in it. With one hand my sister opened the car door, while with the other she was clutching her bottom. I noticed that her pants were still unbuttoned, and her zipper was down, but I thought I should wisely keep my mouth shut. Her cheeks were tear-stained and wet from crying and were bright red, blushing probably from embarrassment. What could be more humiliating for a 15-year-old girl than a bare bottom spanking? Katherine closed the door behind her and sat down, shifting from side to side like she was having a hard time getting comfortable.
As my father restarted the car, my mother turned around in her seat and lovingly looked over at her, handed her a tissue and said, “Katherine, I’m sorry that you were spanked at your age, but you were warned several times.”
Well, I must admit I am pleased that it’s almost been two weeks and until today, I haven’t witnessed my wife break a rule. She has been on her best behaviour.
Tonight, there was a mishap that I still felt had to be addressed if my word is to mean anything. While I was watching the inauguration, my wife was preparing dinner, and I heard a loud bang followed a very loud, FUCK! Not once, not twice but I think five times.
I went into the kitchen to see a huge salad spilt all over the floor.
Not to toot my own horn, but I was very calm and asked her if she said what I thought she said, and she looked like she saw a ghost. I calmly told her to stand in the corner, the corner I showed which is the designated punishment corner.
She apologized and said she should never speak that way. I told her I appreciated her apology, but she needed to stand in the corner immediately. I lightly took her by the arm, and brought her to the corner, positioned her and told her to think about the language she used and not to turn around.
Whew! The first step accomplished, and I had some time to prepare for the spanking. I decided to have her spend 20 minutes in the corner. I decided since it was her first spanking that I would use mostly my hand and then maybe 10 with the paddle.
After 20 minutes, I insisted she strip and stand in front of me.
I told her I was going to give her a spanking and I asked her why. She answered because I swore.
I put her over my knee and spanked her for about five minutes with my hand. She was quiet, but her behind turned pink.
I then grabbed my paddle, which I had next to the chair and gave her 10 fairly hard spanks. She was no longer quiet and begged me to stop. It was very hard for me, but I carried on and told her this would happen every time she swears. She started crying, and finally, I could tell by her sobbing, and the very red colour of her behind I had spanked her sufficiently. I sent her back to the corner and told her to think about her behaviour. She was crying still.
I made her stand in the corner for another 20 minutes. At the 15 minute mark, I made her turn to me, and I put a bar of soap in her mouth and told her to spend 5 minutes with it in her mouth.
She gagged a little and then I turned her back to face the corner.
I spent these five minutes lecturing her on how inappropriate it is for a lady of her beauty and intelligence to use such words. It will not be tolerated, and I hope that your behind will remind you not to. I could tell she wanted to speak but couldn’t because of the soap. When her corner time was finished, I let her spit out the soap and had her watch me put in a sealable bag reminding her that it’s her for future use.
I had her hang my paddle back up and put the soap in the medicine cabinet.
I then hugged her and told her she handled her punishment well. I told her to continue cleaning up and make dinner but to remain nude. And that is what she is doing now. I think I will let her put her clothes on after dinner and cleanup.
Well, for the first spanking, I think it went well. I remained calm, was very firm and gave her a good spanking. She was pretty submissive and very embarrassed. I think nude corner time with soap made her feel humiliated, which I feel was deserved.
I can’t deny that it was challenging to really spank her, but I am determined to steer her right and improve my marriage.
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Recent Posts
A girl’s campsite spanking
A boy’s 1962 school caning
Trouble on a school trip
Girls paddled in school
Extracts from a schoolgirl’s diary dated 1978
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The Latest From Over The Desk Spanking Student Nurse Two for the Price of One Lending a Hand to a Neighbour The Headmistress Under the Microscope Quite while you are behind A Lesson Learned Please Spank Me, Dad The Fascination of Laura Watts Honesty is not Always Best Guilt Spanking Stories
Over the Desk Free Spanking stories
Poser CP Art
Spanking Facts and Research
Spanko Files
Susan Thomas Stories
Spanking Websites
Sound Punishment
Spanking Facts and Research
Susan Thomas Stories
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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
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