P is for Paddle

My mother was a sixth grade teacher from the time she graduated in the 1970s until she retired five or six years ago.  When she began her career, corporal punishment was still very much an option and it could be carried out by the teacher in the classroom.

My mother had a large classroom-style paddle with her name and room number written on it. She used this to keep order in her class and developed a reputation as a good teacher who could be lots of fun, but who tolerated no nonsense and was a hard paddler when needed.

At the beginning of the 1986 school year, the district implemented a new policy. Paddling could still be used but only by the principal.  My mother had no more use for the paddle in school, but unfortunately she decided that she could find a use for it at home.

My mom had spanked us as long as I could remember. We would be turned over her knee, pants and underwear down, and then spanked with her hand or with a wooden spoon if we had been very bad.

She brought the paddle home from school and informed us that as we got older, we needed a more serious spanking and she had the paddle on hand for just that purpose. I was eight and my brothers were 10 and six when the paddle came home.  My mom only used it for serious offences and at first only on my older brother, as she said it was for older kids. But within a year I would find out that I was quite old enough for a ‘big girl’ spanking with the paddle.

It was a summer day – I was by then nine and my older brother Jake 11. We went for a bike ride and went way outside of our established bounds. Consequently, we came home nearly an hour late for lunch. After a few minutes of tearful questioning and confessions, my mom knew where we had been.

We tried to tell mom that we were old enough and mature enough to roam farther from home. We assured her that all of our friends’ parents let them.  She was having none of it – she was furious.

She ordered us to wait for her in the kitchen and went upstairs. She returned with the dreaded paddle. My brother had felt its sting before but I hadn’t yet, nor had I seen him get it. Mom spanked in private unless she had more than one miscreant to deal with.

Mom always spanked oldest to youngest, so Jake was first.  She ordered him to pull down his pants and underwear, and to bend over and grab his ankles. This was news to me – this would be my first spanking that wasn’t over mom’s knee. Jake did as instructed, sticking out his bare bottom.

Mom tapped his buttocks to take aim and then reared back and landed a mighty wallop. Jake cried out and jumped out of position – there was already a red mark.  She repeated this process again, and Jake began to cry properly.

I was getting more and more nervous.  Jake was my big, tough brother – he rarely cried when he got spanked with the wooden spoon, yet here he was, already wailing after just two pops. Mom hit him again – he cried out and once more jumped out of position.

I was terrified –  I was as nervous as I had ever been in my whole life and had butterflies in my stomach. It was just then that I felt a warm, wet sensation spreading through my shorts and then trickling down my legs to my sneakers.  I was so frightened, I had peed my pants.

This was no little squirt in the panties that you might have if someone startles you – this was a full-on, flight-or-fight bladder voiding.  There was urine in both my shoes and a puddle forming on the floor.  I hadn’t been to the toiler since we started out on our ride. I had needed to go when I arrived home but of course I was immediately in trouble with Mom.

My mother heard the splashing on the floor – she looked up at me and then snorted in disgust.  I hadn’t had an accident in quite a few years and I was mortified. Also, if your whole argument to your mother as to why you should be allowed to bike all across town is based on your maturity, you sort of blow it by peeing all over yourself five minutes later.

My mom didn’t say anything about the accident – I just got The Look. She returned to my brother, who got two more wallops.  Five was the maximum the school was allowed to give and Mom never exceeded that at home. These were very hard hits, though, and they left you red and sore for a few days.

After his five, my brother hopped around the room with his pants at his ankles, rubbing his sore, bare bottom. It was quite a sight – but I was too nervous and too embarrassed myself to appreciate it.

Then it was my turn. Mom ordered me to strip completely. I had to take off all of my wet clothing, including the long shirt I was wearing that had got a little bit of pee on it – so I took my first paddling completely naked.

I bent over to grab my ankles as instructed, then felt the aiming tap and then the crack.  Ouch!  It was worse than I imagined.  I jumped up, rubbing my butt.  Mom ordered me back into position.

Pop! Number two was even harder.  If I hadn’t already peed all over the floor, I probably would have done so after that one. I managed to take all five, although I jumped out of position after every pop. When I was done, like Jake I did my dance with zero regard for my dignity or modesty.

After the paddling was over, I had to clean the puddle I had created off of the floor and rinse out my clothes in the sink, still naked and with a bright red hiney. After that, it was off to the corner to finish my very first paddling.

Following this incident Mom always allowed the child a bathroom break before administering the paddle – a practice I maintained when spanking my own kids.