This is a true account of some of the smackings I recieved at home when I was a boy.
I had one brother and two sisters, of whom one sister was younger, and our parents, who were catholic, believed, like all of our friends' parents in spanking as the normal punishment for naughty children. In no way were they cruel or abusive: they were very nice reasonable people in every way, but they just happened to find it most efficient to discipline children with corporal punishment just as they had received from their own parents.
Usually spankings were given more or less on the spot, with a minimum of fuss. Mum would take the culprit into the nearest room, shut the door, give a very quick telling-off, then say "I'm going to smack your bottom; get your pants down." For some reason I don't think we ever argued with this request, and dutifully pulled both pants and underpants down, before being guided over Mum's lap. Once in position she would begin smacking each white bottom cheek with moderate force and complete regularity until we were kicking our legs and our bottoms were red and hot. Often two or three of us would be punished at a time, and would simply queue up and take it in turns to go over her knee. This meant that I often got to see my brother and sisters spanked hard, and I found it a particular treat to see my elder sister, even when twelve or thirteen, pull down her jeans and then her panties, lower herself over mum's lap and have her chubby bottom set quivering with hard smacks. The pleasure was only spoilt by the knowledge that my turn was still to come, as we were spanked in age order.
More serious spankings were surrounded with rather more ritual. Mother kept a large leather slipper in the kitchen, and a short but wide leather strap hung on the back of my parents' bedroom door. Both implements were used for serious offences. The procedure for these was similar each time: "Go to your room: I'll call you soon" was the ominous order which always meant the same thing. After a nervous wait, Mum or Dad would summon you either to the kitchen or to their bedroom, depending on which implement you would be getting. You would get a longer lecture, followed by a description of the punishment to follow: "I'm now going to take the belt to your bottom and give you a really good walloping." At this point the slipper of belt would be brought out and we would be expected to pull our trousers and underpants right down to our ankles without being asked. Guided over the parental knee, the "walloping" would then begin. Mum sometimes paused before administering a slippering and with the slipper resting quietly on the upturned bottom, would tell us that it was this slipper that her own mother had used on her until she was a big girl, and that she knew just what it felt like. After that it was lifted off the bottom and then cracked down again right across both buttocks. A slippering was a long-drawn out affair, while getting the belt was relatively quick: Dad generally delivered about eight to ten hard whacks before letting a sobbing boy or girl stand up and start rubbing away the pain.
These more serious punishments were always in private: when two or three of us were in for it we would be called one by one from our rooms for our punishment: you could hear the cracks of leather on bare buttocks coming down the corridor, which was a nerve-wracking noise if you were next in line. It wasn't as nerve-wracking as when the cracks stopped and the sobbing died down, however, because that meant that you were about to be summoned. I remember passing my brother coming up the stairs from the kitchen with a tearful face, rubbing his bottom, as I was on may to face Mum's slipper myself. There was a single occasion when all four of us were walloped in front of eachother, however. We had been caught playing with matches in the garage outside, and we were all marched inside to the kitchen. One by one we were told to take down our underpants: one by one we settled over Mum's knee and given the most smacks of that slipper I think she ever gave any of us: she had to pause for two minutes after she'd finished with my brother to get her strength back before starting on me. Meanwhile the elder two were made to stand with the pants still around their ankles, facing the wall. Eventually all four of us found ourselves facing the wall, rubbing our bottoms and sniffing miserably, where we remained for half an hour until supper. This was the only time we were made to do any form of corner time.
These were relatively rare incidents however: it was perhaps only once or twice a week that one of us got a spanking, and only every few weeks that the slipper or belt was applied. But my memories of pulling down my pants and underpants and feeling the first smack of the hand, slipper or belt across my buttocks are vivid. My elder sister now has three children, and she has told me that in the drawer of their lounge there is the same old leather slipper: her children have all been introduced to its warming application and my sister says that when she uses it on their bottoms she sometimes pauses before delivering the first smack to tell them about the whackings she got from our mother...