I've submitted stories about boys I've spanked. I never spanked a child so hard that they cried, some discomfort yes, bare bottom yes, but causing deep pain or shame was not something I could bring myself to do, no matter how grievious their crimes. The reason for this was my onw childhood experiences with spankings, and punishment at the hands of my parents. I love my parents andthey did their best, yet some of the way they punished me has generated a certain _s_e_x_ual enjoyment and interest in spanking and other parts of my punishments, yet being terrified of the physical pain and emotional humiliation I underwent resulted in my not being able to do the same to the children I loved and disciplined.

Spanking was a major part of my parent's way of discipline. From the age of three or four spankings were just a swat on the bottom, sometimes with pants pulled down first, not much ceremony or explaination. But from age five, just before first going to kindergarden, things changed.

My parents started a system of punishment depending on how I misbehaved. Minor misbehavior was punished by one warning then a over the knee, pants down, bare bottom spanking with the hand. The number of spanks and corner time with pants down was always the same as my age. Minor misbehavior was things like spilling milk, running in the house, being loud, etc. The second tier of punishment was for moderate mischievousness, like not doing my chores, being slow at answering when called or coming when called and bugging my older sister, etc. This type of crime when met with an over the knee, pants down, bare bottom spanking with "the stick." The stick was 2 feet long and 3/4 X 1/2 inch wide, heart of red wood, and the wood wasn't the only thing red when it was used. The number of spanks was always twice my age, while corner time remained my age in length. The final level of punishment, for major misdeeds, and one which was only invoked when I'd really blew it, broken something because of disobeying a rule, talking back to adults, embarassing my parents with misbehavior I knew I should not engage in, not putting my dad's tools back after using them, or worst of all; mis-using his tools. This level of punishment was met out from the time I was five until my twelfth birthday. The punishment consisted of having my temperature taken like a baby, being spanked with the stick, three times my age, and then being diapered. I was also given enemas on those occasions my parents felt I really needed punishment time. Between the end of the spanking I did my corner time and then was diapered. I was made to wear the diapers the rest of the day and that night. If I'd really embarassed my paretns with my behavior or mis-used and left dad's tools out I was made to wear nothing but shoes socks, a tee-shirt and plastic baby pants that were reversible, with terry cloth on the outside over my diapers. If it was just a regular major then I just wore plain gerber plastic water-proof baby pants ove my diapers and pull-on jeans, shorts or overalls.

At five I had "the talk" [where all this was explained to me so I was fore warned, as much as a five year old energetic boy can be fore warned. {Dad used to say there were two ways to a boy's brain: through his ears and through the part he sits on.} It was explained to me that the major level of punishment was to enforce the lesson of consequences for being a naughty boy. That this level of misbehavior was like being a baby who thought only of doing what they wanted and my parents were clear they were not about to treat me anyway but like a baby if I was that disobedient.

I was very active and got into a lot of small mischief. Minor punishments were common, once every couple of days or so, moderate punishment took place every couple of weeks, but major punishments happened very rarely, one a month, twice at most. It was 1951 and I was just five the first time I got a major, two weeks after I started kindergarden:

"Micheal, Micheal, get out here NOW!!!" Daddy's voice boomed from the back yard.

I looked away from the TV and the Micket Mouse club and wondered what I was needed for. I ran out through the kitchen, hoping mommy, who was working on dinner, might know what was up, but she said nothing. Daddy'd just gotten home so I wasn't thinking I was in trouble until I looked where he was in the back yard.

We had 1/2 an acre in back of the house and there was one corner where a dirt pile sat and I loved to play. As my eyes fell on daddy they also took note of the handles of three of his screwdrivers sticking out of the dirt pile where I've left them. It hadn't been three days before I'd had my first and only warning about mis-using them for throwing knives, and not putting them back went without saying. I froze. I'd had the stick and it really hurt. I wore diapers every night to bed because mommy feared accidents, I'd had my temperature taken in my go-go for as long as I could remember, but all together they loomed like a mount Everest of punishment before me.

Daddy pulled the screwdrivers out of the dirt and wiped them off and handed them to me. I turned quickly and ran to the garage to put them where they belonged.

"You go in and tell your mother to have Anna [my ten year old sister] take your temperature baby style and get out your diapers. I'll be there in a minute to spank you."

I ran inside, tears forming. Mommy looked at me when I came in with that "what?" look mommies can have. "Daddy said Anna's to take my temperature." I said with color coming from my embarassment at being a naughty boy, a caught naughty boy.

"Is that all?" She asked.

"Daddy's going to spank me and then I have to get on my diapers." I answered looking at the floor.

"Anna?" Mommy called. When Anna came in the kitchen mommy told her to take me to my bedroom and take temperature, "Baby style."

Anna had helped mom take care of me from birth so she knew all about how to take my temperature and all, she'd bathed me and diapered me, but for some reason this was different. I could feel my face getting hot.

My bedroom had a small desk on one side of my bed and a baby changing table, my dad built, on the other side. The changing table had drawers where diapers, water-proof baby pants, diaper pins in a soap bar, powder, oil, and baby jelly were kept. On top was a box of tissues and the plastic pillow log used to lift my bottom up. Also the rectal thermometer that was used on me.

Anna walked me to the changing table and turned me towards her. She slipped my suppenders off my shoulders and tugged down my elestic waistbanded pull on jeans down to my knees. My Penney's little boy blue dot briefs quickly followed my jeans and I was lifted/climbed onto the changing table.

I lay on my tummy while Anna got the plastic pillow log which was placed under my weenie to lift my bottm up so it was easier to put the thermometer in. Anna parted my rear end cheeks and squirted a drop of baby oil on my go-go. She then rubbed her finger on it and wormed the finger in. {This may be where I learned to enjoy things going in as well as out of my rectum?}

I heard the drawer open and watched as Anna took the thermometer out of its black plastic tube. She shook it, looked at it and then dripped a drop of oil on it over the tissue she'd used to wipe her finger after slipping it out of my go-go. I felt the cool tip of the thermometer touch my go-go and slowly slide up in my butt. Anna then let it go and pulled my butt cheeks together, holding the thermometer between her fingers like daddy held a cigarette.

Before my temperature was done daddy came in with the stick and a kitchen chair. "When your sister is done with your temperature your mom is going to give you an enema."

I did not know what that was, but feared asking. I soon found out as mommy came in with a large bowl filled with soapy warm water, a strange thing that kind of looked like when mommy used to baste thing in the oven, only the tube was thin and black and had a bulb about the size of my daddy's thumb on the end.

"Turn over and lift up." Mommy ordered.

Being diapered every night made this order clear to me and I lifted my feet so mommy could remove my jeans and underpants. She then lifted my legs and butt by the ankles, kind when she put on or changed my diapers. She up a diaper under me and then put my lefts down while she filled the big rubber end of the tube thing.

"Turn back over." I did and she slipped the plastic pillow back under me, rasing my butt. "Spread your legs." I moved them a bit but she reached down between my knees and spread them further. She them parted my butt cheek like for when my temperature was taken. I then started to realize what was going to happen. The warm mosit tip of the enema syringe touched my go-go and forced its way in. Over the years the tip of the syringe was always seemed to grow with me so that it was uncomfortable when put in. I wiggled and mommy slapped my a sharp slap on the butt cheek nearest her. "Lay still." I did through five insertions and expulsions of warm soapy water into my go-go. I was most uncomfortable with a tummy that felt like it would explode. Mom used her finger to plug me and I had to lay there with my tummy mading strange noised and a terrible need to potty.

After period of time mommy turned my legs over the edge of the table and keeping her finger in me helped me to the toilet. After she finished wiping me I was sent to daddy for my spanking. Anna stood there to watch, not that she wanted to, as a rule she and I only liked watching when the crime for which the other was being punished was against us, but our parents believed in object lessons, and my behind was the object of daddy's lesson today.

Daddy laid me on his lap so I was bet across his knees with my butt up for spankinig. He took my hands and pulled them to the small of my back and held them in his left hand by the wrist so I couldn't reach back and protect my naked bottom from the stick's attentions. The cool wood rested across both of my butt cheeks for a second and then rose.

CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK the first five spanks fell so quicky, moving from the top of my butt to the top part of the backs of my legs, that I only let out one loud wail and jerked head and feet up towards where there was a burning starting.

"OOOoowwwwww. Oohhh nnoooo plleaaassse." I pleaded as the stick rose and fell five more times, adding fire and heat to my already tortured young rear end.

"Next time" CRACK, "You take out my tools." CRACK "You'll put them." CRACK "Back and use them." CRACK "Right!" CRACK These last five all landed in the same general area between the tops of my legs and the bottom of my bottom, "The sweet spot" as my daddy referred to it sometimes.

I was howling, wigglinig and flexing and un-flexing my bruised and burning little rear. When daddy stood me up I did a very dramatic naughty boy dance, rubbing and hopping to try and still the flames in my butt.

Daddy took me by the hand to the corner I was to stand in and set the egg timer down for me to watch. "Anna, when that runs out you diaper this naughty little baby."

After my corner time I was taken to the changing table by my sister and laid down for diapering. She lifted my legs and slipped the folded diaper under me and then rubbed oil all around my burning behind. Her fingers went into my crack and go-go. She then oiled my nuggies. She put my legs down and oiled my weenie [this part never felt bad because she loved to see my penis become erect, and who was I to stop her for learning?]. She then lifted my legs and butt up and powdered my flaming red end and nuggies, then put down my legs.

"Spread your legs Micheal." I did and she finshed poweder my by rubbing the power till it tickled so much I grabbed her hand. She then brough the diaper up between my legs and took a ducky diaper pin from the soap. I watch closely as she slipped one hand in to hold the diaper ends and used the other to stick the diaper pin in. I was always tense during this part of the operation because I had know her to miss at times. This time she did find and after pinning the other side snuggly she took the clear plastic water-proof baby pants and slipped them over my feet and up my legs to the bottom of the diaper. I lifted my butt up without being told and the baby pants were pulled on over my diaper. I then got up andclimbed off the changing table and waited for Anna to pull my jeans back on over my diapers. Ispent the rest of the day in diapers and found another part of my punishment was the shame I felt when I wet and was changed, even though I wore daipers every night to bed, I rarely wet them andneed to be changed---like a baby.