SPANKING MEMORIES (THE MEMORABLE SERIES)

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That my father, in our insular world, had the privilege of exposing his own daughter’s panties underscored his tremendous authority.

I don't think Mom could believe I disobeyed her like that immediately after she told me to stop rolling my eyes. This forum can also be used for Members who suffered sexual abuse at the time of physical, emotional and verbal abuse. It might have even gained more spanks so I avoid it and try to give my mother’s loving correction respect.My early childhood memories are a strange jumble and sometimes I wonder if I’ve really remembered everything correctly.

I am instructructed to get The Wooden Spoon from the utensil holder in the kitchen and bring it with me. And there are books that defend the effectiveness of spanking, such as "The New Dare to Discipline" by James Dobson and "To Spank or Not to Spank" by John Rosemond. When my mother reported this to my father he was taken to my parents’ bedroom and my father produced a belt and my mother produced her famous wooden soup spoon. I have tried to talk to my husband about our son remembering being spanked - not about the more recent comment as my husband thinks our son manipulates me/the conversation. This was the early nineteen-sixties and what later became known as the “permissive society” was just about starting.I remember my mom sobbing while she spanked me, saying how she just wanted me to submit — all I needed to do was let her break my will and it would be over. So much so that we tended to "stretch the truth" a bit out of shape but we always enjoyed sharing these experiences with each other. I tried to hold back my excitement over spanking, it wasn’t any different than holding back my bubbly outgoing loud personality, it was just another thing that made me different and “bad”. We could distinguish the distinct squeal of the spoon drawer from the furthest parts of the house and we knew we had to scatter, or at least distance ourselves from the offender or risk being painted with that infamous “broad brush.

Once at a hotel, Mom was anxious that we close the drapes because some of the girls were already in their nightgowns. At university I had something of an inferiority complex, due to having only attended a state grammar rather than an exclusive public school. I was 6 years old the first time I told my mother “I like being spanked”, to which she replied “Then, I’ll make sure to go harder.

Already crying, I positioned myself over her lap, and she started giving me quick hard swats with the brush.

The only conclusion that a reasonable person can draw is plain and simple, they didn’t love me, they never will, for all practical purposes I consider myself an orphan. This was also during a three day period in which I was not allowed to eat for the same reason I was earning the nightly marathon spankings. By two years old, my sisters were no longer dressed in rompers–they wore dresses and jumpers and pinafores. As if being painfully punished on the bottom with a stick was not enough, having one’s required covering forcibly removed was a special humiliation. That day I had just done it again, probably for no good reason, and she gave me several hard swats over my pajama bottoms and told me that if I did it again I'd be in for a real spanking.You know, you’re not too old to spank,” was said more times than I would like to admit during the summer I was home after my freshman year.