10-year-old Santiago Nolasco was allegedly stripped by Rock Creek Elementary teacher Claudia Wilson, while both boys and girls in his class looked on.
“I was nervous and embarrassed,” Nolasco said. “Some of the kids were laughing.”
About four days after I received my first full-blown spanking, my stepdad’s brother and sister-in-law came over one late afternoon. Neither my mom nor younger brother Matt were home at the time and my older brother Bobby was away with his girlfriend.
My stepdad was still angry and peeved at me and, as he often did, he sought validation of his point of view by others as a way of belittling and embarrassing me further.
Out of the blue he instructed me to go upstairs and show his brother and sister-in-law what a “slutty outfit” I had intended to wear to go swimming in. He just wanted them to add their two cents in telling me how “wrong” I was (and to reinforce that my recent spanking was justified).
I said “no” and said, “What’s the point, anyway? You said I can’t wear it.”
That just got his ire raised.
“The “point” is because I said so,” he growled.
Again, I refused to budge, saying, “No, there’s no reason to.”
His sister-in-law, Nicole, gave me a look of disapproval.
“Becky, don’t argue with your father,” she said, scolding me. “Go and change and let’s see what’s so bad about this swimsuit that he doesn’t want you to wear.”
I shook my head and said, “It doesn’t matter. He won’t let me wear.”
My stepdad was about out of patience with me and said, “Becky, don’t make me go upstairs to your room and bring it down here. Because if you don’t go up there right now and put it on now, I’ll undress you myself, give you a spanking and you’ll still have to put it on.”
My jaw dropped but Nicole just gave a shrug.
About ten seconds later, my stepdad had lost his patience.
“Fine,” he said. “If you want to embarrass yourself, that’s the way it will be.”
And with that comment, he spun me around to face his brother and sister-in-law and then reached around me to being unfastening my pants.
As he unzipped and unbuttoned them, he was still grumbling about my “disrespect” and “crappy attitude.” Within seconds my pants were below me my knees.
Blushing in embarrassment with everyone’s eyes focused on me, I pleaded, “Okay, okay. I’ll go put it on.”
“Too late,” was my stepdad’s reply and then he grabbed the bottom of my t-shirt and began lifting it up.
“No, please,” I begged. “Don’t spank me. I’ll go put it on.”
But my t-shirt was soon up over my head, then off of me completely and tossed aside.
“Now, get those pants off,” he barked.
Reluctantly, I kicked off my shoes and then slipped off my pants – which had already fallen down to my ankles. As instructed, I neatly folded them up and set them aside.
Standing in nothing but a skimpy pair of bra and panties, I blushed red with embarrassment and clenched my teeth knowing what was coming off next.
As I closed my eyes in shame, I felt my stepdad slip his fingers into the waistband of my panties.
I muttered out one final plea, “Please don’t spank me. I’ll go put on my bikini. I promise. I promise.”
Miraculously, there was a pause in the downward movement of my panties before they betrayed my modesty.
My stepdad then said, “OK, Becky, go put it on. But if you don’t listen and I have to spank you tonight, you’ll get not one just a spanking now but another one tomorrow night right after supper.”
My eyes widen with trepidation.
“Huh? But isn’t Janet and her boys coming over tomorrow?”
(Janet, who was then divorced, is my stepdad’s first cousin; her two sons were then 14 and 11-years old.)
My stepdad nodded and Nicole just smirked as she said, “Then, if you don’t want to embarrass yourself tomorrow, you’d better get upstairs and change now. Right, Becky?”
I quickly nodded and rushed upstairs to change. My bra was off before I even got into my room and my panties a few seconds later. With about two minutes I was heading back downstairs in my g-strong thong bikini, albeit with a robe on which was tied closed around my waist.
As soon as I got back downstairs, I untied the robe and did a quick flash of my bikini to my stepdad’s brother and sister-in-law. But my stepdad told me to take off the robe completely.
“What?” I exclaimed. “But why?”
One stern, disapproving look was all I needed and the robe soon laying on top of my t-shirt and pants as I blushed in embarrassment with one arm draped across my chest and my left one brushing up and down my right thigh, trying to avoid showing the back of my thong to
“See what I mean?” my stepdad said to his brother and sister-in-law. Then to me, “Now turn around, Becky.”
Sure, if I wore it to the lake, people would see me. But there would either be friends. Or strangers who I’d most likely never see again. That would be my choice.
But, now, I was being forced to display my body in it for the sole purpose of being ridiculed so my stepdad could use his brother’s and sister-in-law’s criticism as justification for the spanking I had received over the weekend.
And so I had to do a 360, displaying all sides of my body.
My stepdad, of course, berated me by pointing out how little covering the bikini provided.
While my stepdad’s brother pretty much stayed quiet, mostly just nodding to agree with his wife and my stepdad, Nicole soon lashed out at me. She added to my humiliation by not only agreeing that the bottom front panel was too low cut and too revealing, but pointed out that anyone could see I wasn’t shaving.
When I embarrassing lean over towards her and said in a whisper that I did indeed intend to trim myself, she untied one string and pulled away the front of the bikini and observed that I would need more than just a trim because of how small that front part of the bikini was. I could have died of embarrassment with her husband standing right there looking down at my partial exposure.
At the same time, I mistakenly took that as an endorsement that she thought it was OK for me to wear it perhaps if I shaved myself completely. Until my stepdad stressed again that I had intended to wear it in public at the lake.
Nicole then expressed her disapproval, saying she thought I meant I was going to one of my girlfriends’ house swimming pool.
“Shame on you, Becky,” she scolded. “How could you embarrass your dad by wearing this in public?”
I protested, one hand trying to cover myself, “How would it embarrass HIM? He’s not going to be there. He has NO RIGHT to tell me what to wear!”
My response was quickly met with my stepdad swatting my behind quite hard. The shock made me instinctively reach back with both hands, my bottoms dropping down completely as I tried to grab them too late.
I swore in embarrassment, “Fuck!”
But when I reached down trying to pull them back up, my stepdad stuck his knee out and pulled me over it and I was soon getting a spanking.
“How many times have I told you to watch your mouth?” he yelled.
A few minutes later I was standing up, rubbing my sore bottom without any concern for my bottomless, sobbing and apologizing for talking back and swearing. Then he stood up and spun me around to face his brother and sister-in-law and apologize to them, too, for my (in his opinion) disrespect.
Nicole again told me I should be ashamed of myself, then told me to “pop your tits back into your top”, speculating that if they couldn’t remain covered for a “little spanking” how were they going to stay covered during a whole day of swimming and running about?
Thoroughly humiliated, I turned to look at my stepdad and asked if I could please go upstairs. He glanced in Nicole’s direction, then nodded and I quickly ran upstairs to my room, cried and buried my blushing face into my pillow.
I guess I soon cried myself to sleep, awakened only a few hours later when my younger brother Matt shook my shoulder to wake me up saying, “Becky… Oh, Becky Bare-Butt… Time to eat.”
It was difficult enough for me as a teenage girl to get much privacy with two brothers in the house without our stepdad stripping me bare in front of them to give me humiliating spankings. But that’s what happened when I was 16. I’m sure it’s not hard to imagine my mortification.
Somehow, until that summer of 2002, I lucked out. My younger brother? Not so much. He was regularly picked on, hounded, belittled and spanked. Regularly. Hardly a week or two would go by without poor Matt (who is nearly three years younger than me) having to sit at the supper table squirming as a result of a sore bottom. Even several of my older brother’s girlfriends witnessed his embarrassment, watching him rub his poor backside at the end of a spanking while standing bottomless in front of them in shame.
If I was present when my stepdad spanked my brother, I was never asked the leave the room. Yes, I was free to watch. But I knew my mom didn’t like my stepdad spanking Matt so on my own I’d usually get up and leave. But, until I was a teenager and finally realized how unfair Matt’s spankings were, I’d often smirk at my brother or stay just long enough to see him standing there in his tighty whities.
Sometimes, my brother would be carrying on to the point that he got spanked initially over his underwear. I watched a number of those spankings and am ashamed to admit I teased by brother afterward about them. And a few times I also watched my stepdad slip my brother’s underwear off while he was over his lap and spank his bare bottom hard.
One time, when in 6th grade and while my friend Melanie was over the house, my brother was getting a bare bottom spanking. When she heard him crying and asked me what was wrong, I suggested she go into the living room to find out. She returned with a look of horror on her face. Melanie said my stepdad was spanking my brother’s bare bottom and that it was very red. She said when Matt stood up, he was rubbing his bottom when he saw her. I giggled but Melanie said it wasn’t funny.
A few months I spent a weekend at Melanie’s house and found out then that Melanie’s stepmom often spanked her in front of her stepbrothers and, as I witnessed, sometimes with her panties down. I understood the pain, shame and humiliation that Melanie was going through and, in turn, my brother’s. That and then several times after that witnessing just how red my brother’s bare butt turned made me realize just how vicious the spankings from my stepdad were.
But I always lucked out. More than once our stepdad threatened to spank us both for something or sometimes just me. A few times I ended up over his lap with my skirt pulled up but fate would always intervene, usually my mom arguing with my stepdad, a phone call, whatever. And with each time I managed to avoid a spanking, I’m sure my younger brother felt I was getting away with stuff that I shouldn’t have and for which he got spanked, whether it was back-talking, not coming when called, misbehavior, getting in minor trouble at school, getting a bad grade or staying out past a curfew.
Gradually, I came to feel I wasn’t so much lucky as that I didn’t deserve any spankings anyway and that my brother didn’t deserve them either. Our older brother didn’t get them, so why should we? Sure, he hardly ever got into trouble. Bobby received more A’s on his report cards than Matt and I combined (even if counting our B’s, too). But our stepdad seemed to be picking on me more and more, though not nearly as much as Matt. But still, he criticized how I dressed, didn’t want me spending time with boys from school when I was 13 or 14 and would never fail to put me down in front of others, whether talking out a bad grade I had received or what he felt was my improper attire.
One time, at 13, I nearly got my first bare bottom spanking from my stepdad. It was at a family barbecue on the Fourth of July weekend. My shorts were pulled down and then my panties were yanked down inside-out far enough to expose my slit to his two teenage nephews. I’m sure that if the spanking commenced many other guests would have seen me fully bottomless with my legs flying about. But fate intervened sparing me from any additional humiliation.
Another time, when I was 15, I was nearly spanked in front of my younger brother, my younger male cousin and two boys in the neighborhood (one of whom I occasionally babysat). Once again, my pants found themselves down at my ankles. My panties were on their way to joining them but fate again intervened. But not before they were lowered enough to expose my mound and the wisps of my pubic hair and bringing giggles from the boys.
Then in the fall of 2001, I nearly got a humiliating spanking in front of both of my brothers. My older brother Bobby, two years my senior, hadn’t been present during my earlier ”near-misses” but he sure was one weekend morning to see me embarrassed.
Whenever my mom was out of town, my stepdad expected me to do much of the cooking. My brothers never failed to show their appreciation and would sometimes pinch in, if only to set the table or help clean up the dishes afterward.
But our stepdad? He always acted as if he was in a restaurant. And he’d never fail to find something to complain about. He’d bitch about the toast not being dark enough, the coffee too weak or not enough salt on the eggs. Something was always not perfect enough for him.
On that particular weekend while fixing breakfast for him and my brothers, I got so sick of his complaining I told him that if he didn’t like it that he should, “Fix breakfast yourself.”
It was a spontaneous outburst from me, instantly regrettable and certainly not wise, given that he was already angry at Matt who had received a spanking the day before. My quip got me a slap across the face.
When I answered back with a “What the fuck was that for?” without warning he grabbed and pulled me over his knee. He then grabbed the inside back of my panties and jeans and started yanking them down. Had he done so with me standing up I’d have been doomed.
When I quickly let out a stream of frantic, desperate “I’m sorry’s” he suddenly stopped with my jeans nearly halfway down off my butt.
I thought my pleas were being granted, but in reality it was because my jeans were so tight they couldn’t be pulled down off my butt without being unfastened.
I was ordered to stand up and my heart leapt to my throat as I knew what was coming next: he would unfasten my pants to get them down and my panties were sure to go down with them.
My older brother just watched, not saying a word. But Matt smirked at me as he was anticipating watching his older teenage sister not only get a spanking in front of him for the first time but to get it bottomless as well.
After I stood up, my stepdad reached around me and began unfastening my pants. I looked down to the floor in embarrassment rather than face my brothers who were sitting a half dozen or so feet away at the kitchen table.
With my pants unfastened, my stepdad then reached for my zipper and once it was unzipped all the way he began to pull my jeans down off my hips.
I pleaded again just long enough that fate once again saved my butt, literally. The phone rang. My stepdad got up off the chair and walked to the other side of the kitchen to grab the call.
As I stood there, dreading what would almost certainly happen in a few moments, my brother Bobby smirked at me and said, “Shaving it for the new boyfriend, Becky?” At the same time, my stepdad muttered something about the eggs.
I yelled out, “Shut up!”
Realizing that my mound was exposed to the top of my slit and that both my brothers could tell I was obviously “shaving it,” I then yanked my panties up the rest of the way so fast that my jeans slide down off my thighs to around my knees.
Having been preoccupied with his phone conversation, my stepdad turned around and glaring at me said, “What did you say?”
I said “nothing” which led him to think all the more I had back-talked to him. But Bobby quickly spoke up and said he was teasing me about my jeans falling down.
At that point our stepdad told us to all leave the room, the call was something about work and he didn’t want us making noise.
I was never really certain I wasn’t going to still get that spanking until the day ended without incident.
However, nine months later my luck would finally run out and both of my brothers would see my shame (along with everything else).
EMBARRASSED. SHAMED. DEGRADED. DEMEANED. DISGRACED. HUMILIATED. MORTIFIED.
That’s how I felt nine years ago as a 16-year old teenager from having my bare bottom spanked numerous times by my stepdad.
And that doesn’t even get into the other emotions it fed: anger, guilt, hate…
But from having it happen first in front of my younger brother and his 12-year old playmate (a boy I regularly babysat – making those feelings intensify greatly) to the spankings I got a week later on full display in front of not only my younger brother (who was present the whole time) but also in front of my older brother, his girlfriend and two friends of theirs from college who unexpectedly walked into the house during my punishment, my humiliation and shame complete, I also felt new emotions:
Resignation, helplessness and total submission.
As that evening’s spanking began, I was told from that now on, that is how I would be punished: bared from the waist down and spanked regardless of who was in the room – this time it was my younger brother again. And if I continued to reach back with my hands to block the swats, my stepdad would continue to unhook or simply remove my bra each time too (as he had last week and that night), essentially giving me a choice whether to suffer further shame or be compliant and accept my punishment.
As one vicious bare-hand slap after another that night rained down on my bare bottom, I cried and pleaded for mercy that still makes be ashamed to this day for not being stronger and more defiant.
With tears rolling down my cheeks I promised and acknowledged and agreed that I understood how I’d be spanked from that day on and that I knew I’d be spanked each weekend for the next month for my ”poor behavior” and ”disrespect.”
With each demanding question put to me I blubbered out barely coherent answers:
“Are you going to behave from now on?” – yes
“You promise?” – yes
“Are you going to start showing me respect?” – yes
“You promise?” – yes
“Are you going to start dressing properly?” – yes
“I didn’t hear you?” – yes
“You promise?” – yes
“Are you ever going to run out of the house again?” – no
“You promise?” – yes
“Are you going to stop talking back?” – yes
“You promise?” – yes
“And what will happen if you do, or if you don’t listen or behave?” – I get a spanking.
“What kind of spanking?” – a… a bare bottom spanking.
“And if you don’t behave while being spanked?” – my top gets removed.
“What about your bra?” – it gets removed too
“I didn’t understand you. What did you say?” – my bra gets removed too
“Are you going to behave from now on?” – yes
“You promise?” – yes
Resignation, helplessness and total submission indeed.
Regardless of the embarrassment, the stinging to my bottom was just too much and so I let my unhooked bra fall to the floor as I grabbed the lower part of the legs of the chair with my hands to help brace myself, my younger brother having already seen me essentially spanked twice this way before: naked. (As he had done before my stepdad had unhooked my bra that night, figuring that would keep my hands busy trying to hold it up against my breasts than reaching back attempting to block the swats.)
Between my stepdad’s commands, me crying, Matt watching and my mom in the shower upstairs, no one it seems heard the doorbell.
The first indication that others were behind me was upon hearing a guy’s voice exclaim, “Whoa! What the fuck?! Sweeeeeet!”
An unfamiliar female voice then began giggling.
Then I heard a familiar snort – it was coming from my older brother, Bobby.
And I quickly recognized his girlfriend (now wife) Kris’ voice from her, “Oh my God!”
My stepdad stopped only momentarily, before addressing Bobby: “This is what your sister gets for running around the neighborhood half-naked. Isn’t that right, Becky? Well? Answer me! Well?”
I blubbered out a barely coherent string of “yesses” and could only imagine what they all must of thought of my stepdad’s twisting of what had really happened that day.
Then I heard the other female say, “Come on, Cory. Let’s go and wait in the car for Kris.” (As I later found out, the four of them had double-dated and were dropping Bobby off at home; Bobby was starting college that fall.)
“I said, ‘Let’s go!” she said again, even as she giggled.
Then my mom came downstairs from her shower, yelling at my stepdad as the couple who were friends of my older brother and his girlfriend (now wife) made a hasty exit. I could hear the guy telling his girlfriend, “Did you see the way her tits were bouncing?”, both of them giggling as they closed the door on their way outside.
Embarrassed, shamed, degraded, demeaned, disgrace, humiliated, mortified indeed.
Then as I, in retrospect, made the poor decision to answer back to the way my stepdad “explained” to my older brother and his girlfriend why I was being punished, my bare bottom received several more slaps for my trouble – until my mom demanding that he stop and that I stand up.
When I did, I could do nothing but stand there, my bare bottom most certainly a bright cherry red and on fire as if stung by a hive of bees from that evening’s spanking and an earlier one late that afternoon. I could not help rubbing it while indifferent to my nakedness in front of my mom, my stepdad, my two brothers and my older brother’s girlfriend.
As I stood there, my parents arguing, my younger brother held up and dangled my bra in front of me, grinning. I snatched it from his hands before flinging it across the room in anger – my shame and humiliation already complete.
As my parents continued arguing, my older brother Bobby stared at me, a shocked expression on his face of both disbelief but also disapproval from what my stepdad was saying about my behavior that day.
My stepdad continued, “Who knows? Maybe she was flashing truckers on the way back home.”
I protested: “I did not. I had the towel wrapped around me and…”
But he cut me off and made fun of me saying, “Hear that? But she had a ‘TOWEL’ on! If that’s the way she wants to dress in public, then she has no right to complain about being spanked this way. She already knows that from now on, when she gets spanked it will be on her bare ass. Isn’t that right, Becky?”
I nodded, then mouthed a “yes” when ordered to speak up and answered “on my bare bottom” when questioned as to how I’d be spanked any time it was felt I needed a spanking.
My mom began arguing again, “I said that’s enough…”
I heard my dad saying something like ‘”That’s right. On her bare ass… don’t care what her brothers see…”
As my mom was saying, “I don’t want you spanking her anymore.”
Matt started to say something. Then my mom added, “And that goes for Matt, too.”
My stepdad countered and said something like, “Why? Because now that Miss Spoiled Tart here sheds a few tears? You never demanded I stop spanking him. Why should she be treated any differently? Maybe a sore ass and a little humiliation each week will finally teach her to behave.”
“Becky, should you be treated any differently than Matt? Is that fair?” he asked.
“No,” I replied.
“So if he gets spanked for misbehaving or talking back, how should you be spanked?”
“The same. On my bare bottom,” I answered, my head down in shame.
“When?” he asked.
“Every time I don’t listen,” I replied.
He continued arguing with my mom: “I’ve had it with her attitude, her disrespect and her dressing like a hooker. From now on, that’s the way it’s going to be until she goes off to college and I don’t give a fuck how embarrassed she says she is. If she’s embarrassed naked and bare-assed being spanked over her father’s lap, if she’s embarrassed with her brothers seeing her like that, then she can start behaving herself and watching her sassy mouth. Otherwise…”
At that point I just lost it. Not over my humiliation, my nakedness and the twisting of the truth as to what had happened that day. Not over the spanking.
With my hands on my hips, I turned to face him and yelled back, “You’re NOT my father. My father’s DEAD. Stop calling yourself that, you don’t know the meaning of the word, you son of a bitch! I HATE you! Do you hear me? I HATE YOU!”
There was quite a hush in the room and I just sort of stood there, then began trembling, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Kris, Bobby’s girlfriend, left the room for a moment and walked in the kitchen, returning with an apron for me to drape around myself. As she handed it to me it fell to the floor; I didn’t bother picking it up.
My mom said, “Becky, why don’t you go upstairs and put something on?”
My stepdad replied, “After that outburst? You’re going to let her get away and go unpunished for that? Apparently two spankings today weren’t enough.”
At that point, I outstretched both arms away from my and yelled back at my mom:
“Put something on? What for? You heard him. From now on, why should I bother wearing anything around the house since this is how I’m going to be spanked?”
I stood like that for at least ten seconds or so, everyone staring at me, until finally an incredible sense of shame came over me. I threw my hands across my boobs and pussy and went running off into the living and flung myself onto the couch. There I lay crying, burying my head into the pillows for I’m not sure how long. Then I felt Kris’ hands caressing my shoulders.
A robe in her hand, she whispered to me that my mom wanted me to spend the night at my best friend’s house, that hers and Bobby’s friends were still out front in their car all that time waiting to drive her home and that they’d drop me off, Kris having already called my girlfriend that I’d soon be coming over.
As I stood up, putting on the robe, my mom walked over. She hugged and kissed me and told me that everything was going to be alright. That she was sorry she didn’t act sooner. She handed me a small overnight bag that she had Kris hastily pack for me and walked out of the room, saying she’d see me in the morning. As Kris led me out the door, I didn’t look back into the dining room where I could hear my stepdad still arguing with her but in a much more subdued tone. My mom had told him she was filing for divorce.
There were still more spankings, more humiliation and more shame to come as the divorce progressed. Nor did it matter whoever may have been present as I was often reduced to a crying, naked, jiggling spectacle throughout most of that summer.
For years afterward, I was in denial. Whenever in conversation if asked had I ever been spanked by my parents, I’d deny it. Sure, I’d sometimes acknowledge that my younger brother was spanked while growing up. But not me. And certainly not as a teenager. And never, never, NEVER by my stepdad.
He hadn’t seen me naked since I was in diapers, I’d reply. Only my family and my closest friends knew the truth. Had guys at my high school knew, I would have never lived it down.
But the embarrassment, shame, degradation and humiliation was still there. It still is. Though I’ve finally come to terms that at least the shame isn’t mine. It’s his – for treating me like that.
But even though it has faded with time, the embarrassment and humiliation will always be there.
This was initially published on The Experience Project, July 21, 2011
“A teenage girl who behaves like a child should be dressed like a child.”
That’s what a reader wrote on my blog, making me blush as I read it, as I recalled an embarrassing weekend. Having your bottom bared for a spanking as a teenager was bad enough, but these parents felt that punishment needed something else to be even more effective.
“Teenage girls need an occasional session in which they’re reduced to the status of a little girl.”
That’s what one father, freebooter48, wrote on the Experience Project. Again, my face involuntarily blushed as past embarrassments flashed before my eyes. I protested, but it was freebooter48 who found agreement from others, not me.
“The principle that if you behave like a little girl you will be treated like a little girl should be upheld.” [- HighStandards]
Surely, I countered, that would at least not apply as part of the punishment given to a grad student in a hypothetical situation: (but which I left unsaid, as I was first too embarrassed to admit it, had actually been in REALITY for me) having helped her younger teenage cousin break curfew and then getting caught lying about it all while having previously agreed to being subject to her aunt’s house rules while staying there, which also included being spanked. One of the responses left a lump in my throat, a clear-cut independent confirmation that my aunt had indeed punished me justly.
“Her cousin acted immaturely for her age. [But] the grad student acted even more immaturely for her age, she should wear a t-shirt meant for a younger girl and little girl panties and nothing else. The panties should be small enough so everyone can see that she was spanked. If she violates the dress code, she would lose the panties. It doesn’t matter if there are guests around. She should have thought of that before lying. When she goes out, the t-shirt can be long enough to cover her panties part of the way.” [- powerman2000]
As I gasped and continued reading, he continued:
“And no bra. Bras are a privilege reserved for big girls.”
When I read that all I could think was how my aunt told me in front of my young male cousins, as I stood there bottomless in just my bra, before my spanking:
“If you want to behave like a little girl you will be treated like one. And do little girls have any need to wear a bra?”
As I meekly answered, “No”, she unclasped my bra and pulled it off to the giggles of the boys standing in front of me, adding:
“Maybe a little embarrassment will do you some good.”
My punishment went beyond just the bare bottom spankings, however. (Yes, I received a number of them while I stayed there – and yes, in full view of the boys.). And being made to dress like I was a little girl again was part of it.
(This was not to be the first time I had been punished like this. But at least the previous time happened when I was a teenager. This time I was in my twenties taking grad school classes, making it all the more mortifying!)
The morning after one spanking I woke up to find all the clothes (both outerwear and undies) I had brought with me gone.
All I had to wear was the thin nightie that I had be given to put on the preceding evening(immediately after another spanking) and that barely went below my navel, leaving nothing else to the imagination. It was with only that on with which I had to head downstairs for breakfast with the family, my bare bottom still aglow with redness from the previous evening’s spanking – a fact my younger male cousins were only happy to point out to each other.
During breakfast, my aunt explained that since I had behaved like a little girl, I would continued to be treated and punished like one during my entire extended stay there. That meant not only being subjected to continued disciplinary spankings, but also early bedtimes, supervised baths, no locking of the bathroom door at any time, not being allowed to dress or undress myself and being dressed as if I were still in early middle school!
That last part of the punishment meant I would specifically not be allowed to wear a bra, whether there at the house or anytime when out with my aunt, the only exception being for work (which was also the only time I’d be allowed to wear my “big girl clothes.”). This also meant no jeans, no thong panties and no attractive bathing suits (just one-pieces or frilly two-pieces designed for young girls). To emphasis how serious she was, my aunt announced she intended to take me shopping at the mall that day to pick out my “new” wardrobe for my time there.
My measurements are 34-24-35 and I wear a size XS (sometimes S depending on the manufacturer). I had no major difficulty fitting into juniors small size panties, although the coverage in the front and rear was lower than I liked. A girls’ size medium stretch cotton bikini panties also fit, once the leg bands were snipped to allow the cotton to rip a bit for more leg room.
T-shirts were too problematic and my aunt decided against a t-shirt and panties only rule for me. But a girls size camisole was less restrictive on the shoulders and arms, thus allowing me to wear a smaller size than even a t-shirt. Of course, embarrassingly, neither the front nor back came down far enough to cover even the top of my panties.
I was told that from that point on whenever I received a spanking during the day for disobedience, back-talk or “make-up” ones (for my past inappropriate behavior that my aunt discovered concerning me colluding with my cousin Mallory to get her brothers punished), the only thing I was permitted to wear around the house until bedtime was the small camisole and panties. It did not matter if guests happened to drop by. Disobeying (such as tying a sweater around my waist or wearing a robe) meant the panties came off for an immediate spanking followed by corner time – and the panties were to stay off for the rest of the day. It only took several instances when that happened for me to obey the camisole and panties only rule. Unfortunately, those instances happened when guests had dropped by – much to my consternation and much to their amusement.
The problem that the camisole would not be long enough to go out shopping at the mall was solved when while standing in the kitchen with two of my younger male cousins present, my aunt pulled off the nightie I was wearing, left the room (leaving me naked in front of my grinning cousins) and returned a few minutes later to hand me an old pair of my younger cousin Mallory’s panties. I put them on, but they were tight and only covered the lower half of my bottom while also leaving some of my bush showing in front. Next, my aunt handed me one of my other younger cousin’s Megan’s old sleep gowns that she wore in pre-teen years, an absolutely horrid, short tiny thing with animals prints all over it. Although it was a sleep gown, it could also marginally pass as a dress. I was then instructed to put on my socks and shoes at nothing else.
Without allowed to wear high heels or make-up and with my hair put into pig-tails, I was horrified! If it were legal, I’d have rather worn a string bikini to the mall. At least I would have looked my age! Instead I neither felt nor looked like it.
When I protested and used some inappropriate language to suggest what the sleep gown looked like, I soon found myself over my aunt’s knee, panties at my ankles, for a quick but solid spanking on my already sore bare bottom, much to the delight of my cousins. My vocal protests that I was soon to be seen in public dressed in nothing but my shoes, socks, small pair of panties and the sleep gown ended there.
Listening to the snickering behind me, especially when on the escalators at the mall, was humiliating. Not to mention the smirks from sales clerks who were freely invited into the changing cubicle as my aunt slipped the small gown I was forced to wear up over my head and off, leaving me topless in just the small pair of panties while having me try on various dresses in the juniors’ department.
The constant giggling from the two youngest boys who she brought along with us, including into the changing cubicle added to my embarrassment as they were only too happy to blurt out to the sales clerks that I had received a spanking that morning (as if it wasn’t obvious enough to them already with the small pair of panties I was forced to wear!).
At least a half dozen times my aunt even paraded me out in the open in front of the half circle of mirrors in the main area of the juniors’ department. A number of shoppers snickered at the sight of me with my panties clearly visible, being scolded as I hesitated to turn and let my aunt view the latest thing she had me try on. A few times, a quick lift of whatever dress she had me put on before a sharp slap or two to my butt quickly had me comply while I tried to avoid eye contact with a couple giggling shoppers.
At one juniors’ clothing store, she stood there holding the changing cubicle door wide open, since it was too crowded for the four of us to fit into. That other shoppers could get a peak at me didn’t concern her in the slightest. She even struck up a conversation with one woman who said she liked the short dress my aunt was having me try on.
The woman asked my aunt, “Where did you find that? I’d like to get one like that for my daughter. She starts junior high next year and is tall just like your girl.”
As the small talk continued, it became evident to me the woman thought that I was in junior high as well! I cringed in embarrassment knowing I certainly did not look my age.
At another store, the few cubicles there were occupied so after I was reluctant to do so myself, she simply and nonchalantly lifted up my gown up over my head and handed me a dress designed for a 12-year old to wear, leaving me standing there in nothing but my panties in front of a shocked but soon smirking store clerk. When I tried to hurriedly put on the dress over my head and pull it down to cover my exposed body, I was confounded by it being pinned together near the waist, resulting in complete topless exposure as I struggled with it over my head but not knowing why I couldn’t pull it down further.
Another store had a common changing area for girls (with a number of mothers, like my aunt, bringing in young boys). There she left me blushing and standing in nothing but my panties for five or ten minutes at a time as she went back out onto the sales floor to get something else for me to try on.
I know the purpose of the punishment was to treat me like a little girl until I showed my aunt I could again behave like the college grad should behave. But being spanked and punished like that also MADE ME FEEL like a little girl again. As people stared and smirked at me being scolded and talked to like a little girl, and being undressed in front of them without concern for my modesty and knowing that some of them saw that I had recently been spanked, I most certainly felt like I had regressed backwards in time 20 years.
So obviously, I can’t deny the effectiveness of the punishment freebooter 48 and the others suggested: that of reducing a teenager or even a college-aged woman to the status of a little girl as part of the discipline dished out. The initial bare bottom spankings are bad enough. But the additional humiliation is what really sinks in the shame.