For most of my life, I have had to endure the memory of a humiliating spanking I received long ago when I was a teenager. It returns to me vividly when I am trying to sleep and has been the cause of many sleepless nights. Recently, I was given advice that I should tell someone I trusted all about the experience, and that perhaps that would clear the way for it to fade from my memory. As I don’t really have anyone that close that I could trust, I have decided to tell my story here, in the hope that will be almost as good. So here goes:
I think I was 16 or 17 when this happened. I had always had ‘issues’ with the twins; squabbling, arguing, sometimes even fighting. They teased and bullied me relentlessly, but I guess I gave as good as I got. Our mother tried to keep a lid on it with some strict discipline for us all. She was actually my step-mom while the real mother of the twins. They were a year younger than me, and it seemed they could get away with anything, often redirecting the blame onto me somehow.
The day of the incident started out with my friend Glenton coming round to our place after school as he often did. After kicking a ball around in our backyard, I told him quietly that I had decanted some of my dad’s whisky from a bottle in his liquor cabinet into a plastic juice bottle. I had carefully returned the fluid level in the whisky bottle to the original line by adding water. (Dad was away for work for a few days). We decided to go under the house to drink it. ‘Under the house’ was our secret hiding place where we would share secrets and talk about forbidden stuff such as the girls at school. You could enter by crawling through a small door at ground level and then proceeding around behind a brick foundation wall to the rear part that was completely dark. There we had an old piece of carpet and some discarded cushions. We each took turns drinking the fiery liquid from the plastic bottle. When it was nearly gone, I heard a scraping noise and then Belinda’s voice saying, “I know you’re in here. What are you up to now.”
We froze for a minute and then there were more scraping sounds. We could faintly see the silhouettes of Belinda and Catherine edging around the corner.
“Whats that smell?”
“Whisky,” I replied.
“You’re so in for it when Mom finds out,” said Catherine. I could tell the difference in their voices, even though they were identical twins.
“Give me some.”
“You’re too young,” I said.
“Give them a bit,” Glenton said to me. I thought for a while, then came up with a plan.
“Okay, but it’s a pants-off dare.” A pants-off dare was a tradition Glenton and I invented. You had to do something bare from the waist down. It didn’t matter in the dark under the house, you couldn’t see anything. But it felt daring anyway.
“You’ll just turn on your flashlights!” Catherine said.
“No, we won’t! We don’t have any,” I replied (nudging Glenton with my toe).
“Promise?” she said
“Promise,” we both replied.
I could hear a rustling as they both sat cross legged on the carpet opposite us. Then more rustling as first one, then the other removed their skirts.
“And undies,” I insisted. More rustling ensued.
“Okay, here’s the whisky.” I held the bottle out in the dark. After some fumbling, I felt a hand touch my arm and then the bottle was removed from my hand.
“Urgghh!” said Belinda, “its disgusting”.
“I told you, you were too young”
“Give it to me,” Catherine said.
“Wow it burns my throat,” I heard her say, and then heard her take another swig.
“Its all gone.”
At that moment I tapped Glenton’s knee three times with my big toe. Simultaneously we snapped on our flashlights. It must have taken only a millisecond for Glenton’s to zero in between Belinda’s thighs. I only flashed mine for a moment then turned it off. I’d seen my sisters naked before so it was not such a big deal. But Glenton had no sisters and he seemed to be frozen in place with his light playing on both the girls’ rude bits. Needless to say, there were yelps, screams and mad scrambling to gather their clothes as they rushed for the exit. I knocked Glenton’s flashlight out of his hand saying, “Jeeze, are you trying to get me shot?.” He replied that he was sorry but he couldn’t find the off button.
As the girls crawled outside I heard a bonk and another howl. Then I heard the screen door slam and my mother’s voice calling as she stomped down the back stairs, “What’s going on back there?”
Next, I heard Catherine’s voice saying, “Arthur’s drinking alcohol. And Glenton’s with him. And they shone flashlights up our skirts!”
“I hit my head,” cried Belinda.
“Shone flashlights? Drinking? Arthur! Out here now!” I could tell by her voice that I was in for a spanking. And it would probably be a doozie this time. I had no option but to emerge, Glenton trailing sheepishly behind me.
“Go home right away!” my mother said to Glenton. “I’ll be calling your parents! And you, boy, inside! To the veranda!”
The veranda was the pace that our punishments took place. It was enclosed from the back garden by insect screens, had a couple of chairs, a table covered in junk that wouldn’t fit in the house, and at one end was an old piano. At the other end was a low bench like you’d find in a school playground. My mother marched me to the piano – and I knew full well what was coming. The piano stool was where our spankings took place. The girls followed us in, all the while building upon the story of our misbehaviour – but noticeably leaving out the bit about them taking off their skirts or sipping the whisky. There was no point in me bringing it up – it would only make matters worse.
“Girls – on the bench! I’m going to show you what happens to wicked boys who look up girls’ skirts!”
She then roughly turned me around to face the piano. Tugging at my belt she said, “Well, are you going to do it or me?”
“Me,” I said miserably. I then slowly proceeded to undo my shorts and slide them down to my feet.
“Next!” she said. I hooked my thumbs in my underpants and slid those down as well. I was grateful that I was facing away from the twins. They had seen me with no clothes on before, but I was quite a bit younger then.
“Take them right off. And assume the position!” demanded my mother.
“But Mom, please!” I begged. ‘The position’ meant each foot on a black square of our linoleum floor and bending over the piano stool with my hands on the floor. The floor had a pattern of alternating black and yellow squares, so it ended up with my legs spread apart. Making it easier to get at more spanking skin, I guess.
“Now! or you’ll get extras”.
So I bent over, all the way down, and slid my feet apart.
“They are not in the squares,” called Belinda.
“I can see that,” said my mother. “Further!” she demanded.
Finally, I was in ‘the position’. My naked bottom facing towards the twins, my body bent over the stool, and my head down on the floor on the other side.
“You are a wicked, wicked boy,” said my mother. “I’m going to give you 20.”
“No,” I pleaded. When my mother smacked, she smacked hard.
“Each side!” she said. “And any complaining and you’ll get double.”
I bit my lip, 20 smacks each side was more than I had ever been give before, and I had had a few.
“Are you ready?” came my mother’s voice.
“Yes,” I whimpered.
She stood beside my bottom, facing the girls. I felt one hand grip my hip and I waited in trepidation for the spanking to begin.
Whack. It always hurts more than you anticipate. Her hand came down vertically on my left buttock. There was a pause as she readjusted her stance. Whack. Another one. The sting was intense. I gritted my teeth. I was not going to cry in front of my sisters. Whack. The third was on the same patch of skin, in the centre of my buttock.
Then I felt the fingers of her other hand dig into my flesh and stretch that side of my bottom upwards. Whack. The next smack came at the top of my thigh, just where it joins my bottom. Two more whacks worked on that piece of skin. Then her fingers stretched my buttock outwards, exposing a new bit of skin along my crack. Whack, whack, whack. Three quick hard smacks made sure that piece of bottom got its fair share of pain. She seemed to be trying to spread the burning redness evenly over my whole left buttock – not leaving any bit untouched, stretching the skin this way and that while smacking harder each time. It seemed more than 20 before she stood up and said, “Right, now for the other side.”
She stepped around behind me and positioned herself by my right buttock, facing the girls as before. “If Arthur bothers you again, and especially if he does anything rude, I want you to tell me straight away,” she told them, “As you can see, he is just a whimpering little boy, and needs to be punished severely.”
Now the hand rested on my right hip and the fingers dug into my right buttock. Whack. She must be stronger with this arm as the pain from this smack was unbelievable. Two more whacks in the centre of my buttock, increased the pain so that I couldn’t help it, tears started to flow down my face and sobs escaped my lips.
“Silence! Shouted my mother. “I told you, no whimpering. You’ll get two extras!”
What could I do? I gritted my teeth harder, determined not to make another sound. Just then, the phone in the kitchen rang.
“Stay right there,” she said, “don’t move a muscle!”. She disappeared through the kitchen door to pick up the phone. I could see her head with the phone to her ear, but couldn’t really make out what she was saying or who she was talking to. I was left bent over the stool, legs splayed with a bottom that I am sure was bright red. I suddenly felt very embarrassed that the twins were looking on. Up until then, it was the pain of the spanking that was upmost in my mind, but as time passed, with nothing much happening except the muffled voice of my mother from the other room, I became more and more humiliated that I was positioned so, naked before my sisters. I carefully wiggled my feet so that, at least, I could slowly bring my legs together.
“Mum!” screamed Catherine, “he’s moving!”
Looking up at the internal window I saw my mother cover the mouthpiece. “Get back into position! And don’t move and inch! Girls, tell me if he does!”
Reluctantly I returned my feet to the black squares. I heard some sniggering behind me. I wondered what they could see. I know they had a clear view of my stinging red bottom. But could they see anything else? Was my willy hanging down enough to be in their view? I tried to estimate the angles, but it was too difficult. I could hear whispering. I could hear giggling. What were they looking at? Could they see the back of my balls and what did it look like? I had never seen them from that angle. Was my willy long enough to be seen dangling below them? The shame and humiliation were stinging almost as much as the spanking did. I closed my eyes tight shut in the hope that it would all go away.
But it was soon to get worse. Much, much worse.
I heard some more giggling, then some footsteps padding on the floor. Suddenly an arm brushed against the inside of my thigh and a cold hand clasped itself around my willy and gave it a hard yank. Footsteps thumped back to the bench.
“Mom!” I screamed in horror.
“Quiet! That’s two more,” my mother yelled back, after covering the mouthpiece again.
Eyes wide, shaking in frustration, my mind raced trying to think a way out of this situation. Meanwhile, on the bench, I could hear choking sounds as the twins tried to stifle their laughter.
Then came more footsteps. A wrist bumped my balls as another hand, warmer this time, grabbed my willy and gave it two sharp, hard tugs, stretching the skin so that it hurt. Around the base, it felt like it was almost torn off. More footsteps and barely disguised hilarity from the bench. What could I do? A stinging backside and a willy that was now stretched and hurting almost as much.
I can honestly say that I was relieved when at last I heard the phone hang up and my mother return. I risked swiveling around to look in the girls’ direction, and they both had their heads over a magazine page doing a crossword.
Again the hand gripped my buttock lifting it up. The whacks were spread up my thigh to the top. Then my crack was stretched open and that was given a peppering.
“Now for the extras,” she exclaimed. It even sounded like she was enjoying it. Whack, one in the middle. Whack, one underneath. Whack, one along the crack. Whack, one in the middle again.
“Now stand up with your hands on your head. Turn around and apologise to your sisters.”
How could I look them in the face?
But I did as I was told. Standing naked in front of them I said I was sorry.
“What for?” demanded my mother.
“For drinking alcohol,” I said.
“And what else?”
“For looking at your, um, rude bits,” I replied reluctantly, looking down at the floor.
“So now I hope you know that that sort of behaviour will have a severe punishment. And I hope you also know what it is like to have your own rude bits on display. Now collect your pants and go to your room.”
I found it hard to talk to the twins after that. It always seemed like they were smirking – but it could have been my imagination. We live in different cities now and I don’t see much of them. I’m glad, really.