by tbfyb <tbfyb@hotmail.com>

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The above story reminds me of a similar episode that occurred about a year and a half later. Fortunately, in that episode I was not cast as the protagonist.

I was twelve, almost thirteen at the time and our family was now living in California. I had a girl friend, Donna, who was also twelve and just beginning to develop. When she turned 13 she lost interest in "children" like me and moved on to capture the hearts of older boys. But, at the time of this story we were good friends, and we spent a lot of time together, at movies, studying together, or helping each other with our homework. We didn't fool around (no strip poker games either), Donna had an older brother, Patrick (age 15, and already nearly 6 ft tall) who would have kicked my ass if I stepped out of line with his baby sister.

Donna's mother and father were divorced. Patrick was the man of the family and very mature for his age. Donna also had a younger brother, Timmy (age 10, who, like his brother, was very big for his age, about 5 foot 6 inches), and it is Timmy who has the honor of being the star of this story.

Donna and I did our homework together almost every day. Normally, we would come straight home (her house) and work together in the kitchen. Her mother arranged this setting so that we weren't left alone in Donna's room. Meanwhile, her mother got dinner ready. We sat across from each other at a small, narrow, three sided breakfast table (the fourth side was shoved up against the wall.

On Wednesday's we'd start our homework (Social Studies and History) at the library and finish (Mathematics and English) at Donna's house. We'd get back from the library at about 4:30 and work to about 5:30 PM. Wednesday was also Donna's day for chores. She had to set the table and wash the dishes. I almost always stayed for dinner and helped her with these duties.

One Wednesday, we entered Donna's house and proceeded to the kitchen, as usual. When I opened the kitchen door, I had quite a surprise. Timmy was standing at the end of the breakfast table with one hand grasping each side of the table. His shirt and undershirt had been pulled over his head and were now stretched between his two lower arms. There was a razor strap (it must have been at least three inches wide) lying on the table, just forward of Timmy's hands, almost forming a bridge from one hand to the other. His legs were spread, about 18 inches apart, and his pants were pulled down tight about his ankles, his underpants were straddling his knees. Donna's mom, who was working about the kitchen when we entered, went about her work as though nothing were out of the ordinary. Donna too, did not seem overly surprised finding her brother in this situation.

"Did you two finish up your homework at the library?"

"Almost," replied Donna, "we have two pages of math to finish. It shouldn't take us more than 30 minutes or so."

"Well, you'll have to finish your homework at the dinner table I guess."

Donna nodded, and we left the kitchen.

As we sat down at the dining room table, an unsettling sense of deja'vu gripped my stomach; I'd been in something like Timmy's situation more than once myself. I started to ask Donna what was going on but she cut me short and said she'd explain later.

Homework took a little longer than we thought. When we finished, Donna took her books to her room.

Left alone, and without really thinking, I wandered back into the kitchen.

"Did you finish everything?" Donna's mother asked.

"Yes ma'am," I replied.

"Well Bobby, as you can see, Timmy's going to be punished. Since were running a little late, I'd appreciate your setting the dinner table alone. Donna and Timmy have some 'business' to take care of."

"Sure thing Mrs. Kelly, I'll start setting the table right away."

Donna returned to the dining room just as I exited the kitchen. I told her that her mom had asked me to start setting the table. Donna nodded and went into the kitchen.

The kitchen had a swing door, but I had no trouble hearing the conversation voiced on the other side of the door.

"I've told Timmy, over and over again, not to bounce that basketball of his in the house. Haven't I Timmy? (mumbled response). I cautioned him again this afternoon before he went out to play but when he came back in the house he started bouncing the ball again, only this time it bounced off his foot and it tipped over a lamp and broke the glass on our coffee table; thank god the lamp wasn't broken, its an antique. (Pause) Bobby's going to set the table, so you can start taking care of business right now, I'll tell you when to stop."

There was a brief moment of silence, followed by a surprisingly loud crack, as the razor strap must have wrapped itself around Timmy's bare ass. This was followed immediately by a loud outcry from Timmy. When Timmy's crying had diminished in volume, the whole cycle started again (CRRRRAACK!)

With each crack of the belt I shuddered, but continued to set the table. I silently counted off each stroke (out of habit I guess); twenty three in all. Again, there was a long period of silence, broken only by Timmy's sniffling and close to hyperventilating sobs.

"Are you going to bounce that ball in the house again," queried Mrs. Kelly?

"No."

"Are you sure? Is that a promise?"

"Ye....s mo....ther, I pr....omise," Tim replied with some difficulty, still unable to control his breathing.

"You'll have to pay for new glass out of your allowance, you understand?"

"Yes."

The kitchen door opened. Donna and her mother joined me in the dining room. Mrs. Kelly complimented me for the good job I did in setting the table and said she was sorry that I had had to set the table alone.

"These things happen from time to time, I'm sure you understand."

Mrs. Kelly knew that I understood, only too well. She and my mother were good friends. Mrs. Kelly had been over to our house on numerous occasions and had certainly seen the "Board of Education" hanging from its place of honor. I'm sure my mother must have told her just how, and how often, the paddle was put to use. Mrs. Kelly then asked me if I would help her carry the roast in from the kitchen.

I followed her into the kitchen and, in doing so, stole a glance Timmy's way. He was still standing in the same position, only now his underwear were draped around his ankles and his shirt and undershirt were lying on the floor. From just below his waste, to an area just above his knees, there wasn't an inch of skin on Timmy's behind that wasn't painted some shade of red.

I picked up the roast and carried it to the dining room. Mrs. Kelly stayed in the kitchen for a minute or two then joined us at the table. She asked Donna to tell Patrick, who was in his room, to join us at the table. Patrick joined us and sat down. A second or two later, Timmy, now dressed, bolted out of the kitchen and ran straight to his room, he didn't join us for supper. He wouldn't talk to me for weeks.

Donna and I had never really discussed discipline before, but the next day, during school lunch, I asked her about Timmy's punishment. Why did her mom have Donna, and not Patrick or herself, spank Timmy.

Donna said it all started a long time ago, when she was seven and Patrick was ten; Timmy's age now. Patrick, like Timmy, was big for his age. When Patrick misbehaved Mrs. Kelly would take Patrick to the kitchen and give him a good strapping. This wasn't very often though, Donna commented, Patrick had always been very responsible and seldom misbehaved.

Donna continued, "One day Patrick and I were sent off to the corner grocery, a Mom-N-Pop operation, to buy some canned tomatoes or something mom needed to fix dinner. Patrick had been given just enough money to buy what was needed. When we got to the store I threw a tantrum, I wanted a candy bar and I wasn't going to accept no for an answer. The store's owner came over and tried to calm me down by offering me a butterscotch but I threw the candy on the floor and said I wanted a candy bar. I was behaving like a regular spoiled brat. Patrick picked up the butterscotch and told the owner he was sorry about my behavior. He said he would be sure to tell our mom about this incident when we got home and that I'd be punished."

"When we got home I went to my room. Patrick brought the needed groceries to my mom, who was in the kitchen. True to his word, he told mom all about my little temper tantrum at the store."

"Mom was making a stew of some kind. When she had everything cooking she and Patrick went to my room. My mother asked me if what Patrick said was true. There was no use denying the story, mom would only have walked us back to the store to get the grocer's confirmation. Mom then told me to follow her back to the kitchen."

"I'd heard her spank Patrick before so I had a pretty good idea what was going to happen. I started to cry and promised that I'd never be bad again, but mom wasn't listening. When we got to the kitchen she had me grab the table with my arms, undid the zipper at the back of my dress, pulled it up over my head and pushed it down along my arms. Then she pulled my long stockings down about my ankles and my panties down to my knees. She left me in that position for a minute or two, returned with the razor strap which she placed on the table so that I had little else to focus on but that strap. She kept me standing like that for over a half hour, while she continued to work, walking in and out of the kitchen."

"On one of those return trips, she entered with Patrick at her side. She said that since I had misbehaved for Patrick, she was going to have Patrick spank me. She told me if I let go of that table we'd be there all night. She told Patrick that he was to spank me just as hard as she spanked him."

"Patrick certainly fulfilled his part of the bargain, I let go of the table more than once and, as a result, probably got twice as many licks as I would have received ordinarily. The same thing happened with Timmy yesterday. That's how his shirt ended up on the floor, and why he got such a long spanking."

"Anyway, from that day on, it's been sort of a tradition; Mom spanks Patrick, Patrick spanks me, and I spank Timmy. Mom calls it 'taking care of business', but it's really a spanking."

Donna knew I had been spanked on a pretty regular basis. Things had slowed down recently, but would pick up considerably when school let out for the summer. It was that summer that I got caught shoplifting. Anyway, as I said, Donna knew I had been spanked on a pretty regular basis, but she didn't know any of the particulars. She asked who spanked me and whether or not I was spanked with my pants down.

I felt embarrassed but since she had been open about her spanking I saw no reason to hide anything. I told her that my father did all the spanking (which was true enough at the time) and that as far back as I could remember, I'd always had my pants pulled down. Indeed, since the age of nine, I remarked, most of the spankings I got were given to me while I was buck naked.

Donna smiled a little when I said that, and asked if I was spanked right away or whether I had to wait a long time, as was customary at her house.

I was uncertain about that smile, but I told her that it all depends. If I was being punished for some minor infraction I usually got spanked right away, if I had done something very bad I was sent to my room, or to a corner, and made to wait.

"Do you have to wait with your clothes off? I hate the waiting," Donna replied.

Just then the bell rang and we had to get back to class. I was glad when the bell rang; this conversation was getting a little too personal.

I've lost track of Donna over the years. If she's a spankophile? I have no first hand knowledge of that, but the thought of her smile always makes me wonder. One thing for sure, I can attest to the fact that she knows how to wield a mean razor strap; Timmy knows it too.

* * *

As indicated, the above story was only half true. Still it was fun to write. Donna and I did discuss Tim's spanking and we did discuss some of the spankings that each of us had received from our respective parents. The school bell did ring and, while I was glad about that at the time - Now, some thirty-five years later, I think it might have been fun to ignore the bell and continue the discussion.

The recollections collected here were originally posted, individually, to an appropriate newsgroup. I sent a short 'EPILOGUE' as installment (#5) as this marked the end of the original series. After the series was posted I started to receive a number of e-mail'ings that asked for more stories. I got spanked a lot as a kid but my memory is fading and, to be honest, most of my spankings are too boring to warrant repetition here. Nonetheless, I did continue to search my memory and wrote down what surfaced. So, without further ado let me continue with this autobiographical sketch..