The Art of Discipline: v. 1: A Pictorial History of the Smacked Bottom (The Art of Discipline: A Pictorial History of the Smacked Bottom)

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Once again, I got the command: “Get them down!” Refusal having got me nowhere, I tied to cry, beg and apologise my way out of the situation, asking for another chance and promising never to hit Katie again. All the words looked so official, having been typed by the school secretary. And signed by her teacher in ‘Quink’ blue, fountain pen ink. Well, it wouldn't be punishment if it didn't make you uncomfortable in some way. Punishment *hurts*, and people don't like it - that's what makes it punishment. If something doesn't hurt or people don't mind having it, it's not punishment, and is unlikely to have much deterrent value. This thread stirred up a few memories, and I've just fished out my old copy of 'Stories For Bedtime' to confirm them! Two examples here. Firstly there's 'Simon's Clean Handkerchief' where a boy through forgetfulness, carelessness or just misfortune fails to bring a clean handkerchief to school each day, much to the increasing annoyance of his teacher. At one point she threatens to spank him the next day if he doesn't bring one. So he actually turns a hankerchief into a cap, wears it on his head, but forgets it's on there. When he can't find his handkerchief the next day, the teacher says "Take off your cap and come indoors and be spanked!" When he does take it off, realises it's his handkerchief and points it out to her, she says "Well, if you aren't just the silliest little boy! You've only just saved yourself a spanking!" I was six or seven at the time. It was a beautiful summer and it was arranged that I should go with Hannah and her parents to a summer house they had rented for a couple of weeks. I was more than happy with this plan – I loved Hannah and her parents. Hannah was like a sister to me and her folks were like second parents.

Needless to say, as a boy of 13 I hated the idea, and I was going through a period of constantly falling out with Katie anyway – not just arguing but also physical fighting at times. Naturally, I had protested to Mother about Katie sleeping in my room. Needless to say, my objections were ignored and Katie took great delight in getting one over me, as she saw it. Well, of course, I knew full well what she had told me – indeed, I’d had many a wank thinking about it – but I replied sullenly: “Don’t know”. Mother looked daggers at me. “I will ask you again, Mark – what did I say would happen?” “I…I can’t remember.” 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. By now really embarrassed, I went a bit further up the garden so I couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation, but then my mother shouted at me: “Simon! Come here!”Once again, the room was full of the combined noises of a little bottom being spanked and a little girl crying hard. I was in floods of tears before I was allowed to throw myself face down on my own bed. The following day, there was still a hostile atmosphere between Mother and I. I remember doing my best to behave and do extra chores in an attempt to get ungrounded. Needless to say, the ploy didn’t work and I was kept in for around a couple of weeks. Mother looked very stern. “Mark, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt this time – but I tell you this: next time you hit your little sister, I’m going to pull down your trousers and pants, put you over my knee and thrash you within an inch of your life with the hairbrush. Do you understand me?”

The phrases "don't speak until you are spoken to", "waste not, want not", "no dumb insolence", "respect your elders and betters" were drummed into us, and I can't say that it did us much harm! Now she had a vehicle for her pride. She had always been proud of her daughter, a bright intelligent daughter. Not many from the village had got into Grammer School in recent years. She knew that a lot of her peers in the W.I. Would be saying that very night…”I hear Karen got into Grammer school, she deserves it, her Mummy will be so proud.” Spanking a man requires the same technique as spanking a woman or indeed a naughty child. However a man... The child would be given a Punishment Slip, detailing the offence and the punishment, that they had to take home, get a parent to sign and return the next day to my office. Some children you felt a bit sorry for at that point, because you knew they’d probably be going home to another dose.This is a story version of one of the true real life spankings as told to me by a delightful lady who went to a Girls Grammer School and was kept in line at home by a slipper wielding mother, who used it on her daughters bare bottom… Often! Mummy noticed, and the other W.I.Women noticed. Not only noticed, but mentioned it, in a subtle way. “Your Karen is making a fine young lady, she’ll certainly turns some heads one day!” The pain did not leave, it was still growing. Even in the dark of night she could feel the heat on her hand. And lying on her tummy, stroking her poor bottom, she fell asleep. Karen was on her tummy. She was sniffing now, not crying, and trying to understand the lovely feeling she has in her most intimate area, as she gently pushes up and down on the bed, her bright red bobbing up and down, which she can see, in the mirror, if she looks over. Which of course she does…