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
Probably the most important thing for a teenager girl who is entrusted with babysitting younger boys is for them to have total respect for her authority. After all, when you tell them to behave for either their own safety or for your sanity, you need them to know that it’s an order not a request, even though you may not be that much older than them.
For example, when you tell them it’s time for their bath and you need them to undress, they’ll comply – however reluctanly and despite their embarrassment – if they recognize your authority as loco parentis. Same for telling them to do their homework, turn down the TV or to stop arguing with their siblings.
But imagine what happens to all that respect you’ve built up over time when suddenly one day they see your panties pulled down and your upturned, completely bare bottom being spanked by your stepdad, your legs uncontrollably flying wide open and about from the pain, your unfastened bra falling to the floor releasing your teenage breasts to bounce about as your body wiggles in pain and, upon your standing up and clenching your sore butt with both hands, see you as nothing but a naked, crying, jiggling, spectacle before them?
Ashamed? Humiliated? Wanting to crawl into a hole and hide? Owned – when you later feel like you’re the one being babysat by them because of their constant teasing?
That’s how I felt when this happened to me at age 16.
Oh, and did I mention that my younger brother was watching, too?
It was the beginning of my ”Summer of Shame” and the first of many humiliating, shameful spankings that left me feeling far much more like a little girl in pre-school barely out of diapers with no need for any modesty to be afforded to her than an often impertinent teenage girl in high school heading into 11th grade with a driver’s license.
15-year Old Girl Has Her Panties Lowered For Spanking By Stepdad In Front Of Younger Boys
Imagine being a 15-year old girl, wearing a midriff-baring cropped t-shirt and bra, trembling with your pants at your ankles and only a pair of thin cotton panties shielding your most private area from the four pairs of male eyes a few yards away belonging to your younger brother, two of his friends and your 10-year old cousin.
Then imagine those panties in the process of being pulled down by your stepdad as prelude to a spanking and you have an idea of what it would have felt like to be me one afternoon in October 2000.
As I have said elsewhere on this blog, I still feel guilty for not doing enough during my teen years to protect my younger brother from the abusive and frequent spankings our stepdad gave him.
I firmly believe I should have and could have helped my younger brother. Anything I could have done to take responsibility and gotten spanked for in his place would have meant one less spanking he would have received.
I remember one time I got into a brief argument with my stepdad who was about to spank Matt. When he threatened to spank me if I didn’t watch my mouth and shut up, I quickly backed down and Matt got spanked. That’s about the closest I ever came to trying to take some blame and I’m ashamed of myself for not having been more forceful.
Here’s just one example:
Not long after I turned 15, a little less than two years before those spankings I feared so much and managed to avoid started for me, my 12-year old brother had two of his friends in the neighborhood over to play. One of the boys, Dennis, was a 11-year old kid who I occasionally babysat. The other boy, Patrick, who I believe was 12 at the time, lived across the street from us. Our 10-year old cousin Jerry was also there and we were all playing in our backyard.
It all started with a crash.
A baseball that my brother had threw broke and entered the window and went into the room where our stepdad was watching TV and he was soon outside demanding all of us to come inside, threatening my brother and I with a spanking.
I was terrified when he called me over first, perhaps because earlier when he saw us outside one of my throws came precariously close to that same window.
“One of you is getting spanked. Becky, get over here. NOW!”
He told me to get my pants down because he was going to teach my “bare butt a lesson.”
All four boys were in the room and not going anywhere. Nor were they asked to. It was immediately clear that if I was to be spanked, they’d be watching.
At first I babbled incoherenty, my eyes welling with tears, standing parlayzed by fear facing the boys after my stepdad demanded for me to turn around, but ignoring his demand to pull down my pants.
It wasn’t the first time I faced the threat of an imminent bare bottom spanking from him, fate intervening each time on my behalf. But it appeared that this time my luck had run out.
My stepdad then reached around me. My pants were soon unbuttoned and then unzipped for me.
As goosebumps covered me and my face blushed with the boys looking at me, my pants were soon roughly pulled down to my ankles to a few snickers from a couple of the boys.
Not one to waste any time, my stepdad then quickly slipped his fingers inside the waistband of my panties, which had already betrayed me and had lowered themselves enough to expose the top of my mound when my pants came down.
As my brother looked cautiously relieved that I, not him, was the one about to be spanked, the other three boys grinned at me in anticipation, their eyes riveted on my panties and the mysterious area to them that was about to be fully revealed.
At that point, I desperately wanted to avoid eye contact with the boys and yet found I couldn’t avoid it, as if somehow I was hoping against hope to see them look away at the last moment.
Then, somehow, just as I started to feel the inevitable tug at my panties, I am ashamed to say that I disgracefully managed to blurt out and plead that I shouldn’t be spanked, that my brother had made the errant throw that had broken the window.
Though a few more giggles ensued, my stepdad stopped the downward motion of his fingers and my panties – although much more of my mound and large whisps of my pubic hair were now exposed – were staying up, barely, for the moment at least.
My brother, with a fear of dread on his face, was then asked who broke the window. I didn’t move a muscle, my stepdad saying if he didn’t answer in three seconds, he’d be spanked ”next.”
My brother could have lied or he could have accused me. Or he could have simply told the truth, that a mere moments before I switched places with him after nearly hitting the window myself. Then both of us would have been spanked for sure, but at least he would have insured that I shared the same fate as he would.
But my brother quickly admitted that it was he who broke the window.
Almost as quickly as I was told to pull up my pants, my brother was soon having his unfastened and pulled down.
I couldn’t bear to watch. Free to go, I moved aside, tripping over my own pants which were still at my ankles. As I looked down to pull them up, I gasped at just how much of my mound had been exposed. To my horror Patrick noticed and snickered at me as I struggled with my pants, as I had not realized I had lifted one leg out of them entirely when I tripped. Anxious to leave the room just in case my stepdad decided to spank me anyway, I stepped out of my pants entirely and ran upstairs to the giggles of each boy there except my brother, who was by now crying from the slaps to his bare bottom.
I also didn’t realize that just as my panties had been partially lowered in the front, they had been partially lowered in the back as well and half of my butt crack was showing to the boys when I stooped down trying to pull up my pants. I only found out how much they had seen when I eavesdropped on my cousin and my brother outside my brother’s bedroom later that night. Apparently, my pubic hair was also of quite an interest to them, Jerry berating my brother that he should have kept quiet until I was bared all the way and spanked.
And that’s just one time because of my cowardness that my brother got spanked.
I don’t feel either of us should have been spanked for that broken window. But my brother did get spanked that day in front of his friends. And since he was so should I have been. And in the same manner, too: bare from the waist down.
Would I have been humiliated if I was spanked like that in front of my brother and the other three boys? Of course!
But I was just as every bit deserving of any punishment that my brother got as it was I who was probably standing too close to that window to catch his throws in the first place. Nor do I feel it mattered I was the girl who would have been spanked in front of boys. Being the oldest one playing outside, I should have known better but didn’t have the courage to tell that to my stepdad and insist that I alone be punished.
The fact that both Dennis (the boy I babysat) and my cousin Jerry would eventually see me exposed and spanked over a year and a half later and that my brother would eventually see me frequently exposed and spanked by our stepdad when I was 16 and 17 doesn’t make me feel any less guilty.
I could have done something that day to prevent a spanking that my brother DID receive and I did NOTHING.
I know that adults opposed to spanking kids would say I didn’t deserve one. And again, I don’t think either my brother or I did deserve a spanking that day.
But I can’t help but wonder how parents who believe in bare bottom spankings, even for teenagers, would have handled it.
After hearing what happened to a 12-year old girl in Fridley, MN, I sure have no right to complain that I was diapered a number of times by my first-grade teacher. I had at least wet myself repeatedly in class, thereby providing a reasonable rationale for being diapered by her.
But this poor girl did nothing wrong. She was sent out to pick up trash throughout her neighborhood as a punishment by her mom and her loser boyfriend – wearing just a diaper.
Even more sadly than that fact is that among the 100 or more people who stood by watching (and probably laughing at her), only two of them acted like a human being, showing compassion. One young boy took pictures of the girl and then called police, showing the pics to them (thus evidence of the abuse). And one young woman got a baby blanket and did her best to help cover the exposed girl.
The mom was sentence to serve at least 90 days in jail before being eligible for parole. When they release her, they should send her out wearing nothing but a diaper and make her pick up trash like that for a year. (And it should go without saying the girl should be put in foster care.)
I originally published this on my blog at the Experience Project, December 4, 2012.
A few months ago, in March 2012, two 15-year old girls were forcibly stripped completely naked by their teachers Preeti Sharma and Reshma Simaiyain front of more than 40 male classmates.
They had been accused of cheating and the teachers claimed there were going to look for notes hidden on their person. When the girls refused to strip voluntarily, they were forcibly stripped completely naked on the spot. Their classmates laughed, hooted and snickered at them as the girls stood there nude. No scraps of paper were found and after being thoroughly humiliated, the girls had to still endure another three hours with their giggling, teasing classmates before being dismissed.
This is by no means an isolated incident. I’m totally appalled at how accepted the humiliation of school girls seems to be throughout India. Child abuse and abuse of authority happens everywhere – and we here in the United States aren’t immune from it. But in most western democracies the populace is outraged by it.
Last year at school in Orissa, a 8th grade girl was stripped naked in front of 25 classmates because her teacher falsely accused her of stealing money. The girl later committed suicide because of the trauma she suffered.
A teacher at a school in Faridabad paraded a school girl around topless in front of all her schoolmates because her parents forgot to pay a fee.
A schoolgirl in Vijayawada was forced to expose her breasts to all her classmates for not speaking English.
A few years ago, a school girl in New Delhi school was stripped naked by her teacher, ordered to stand on her desk totally exposed and her classmates were urged to make fun of her. Why? Because she didn’t complete all her homework.
In first grade twenty years ago, I suffered a number of embarrassing moments. I had peed myself several times in class and as a result my teacher put me in diapers during recess or lunch period. This went on every day for over two weeks and then occasionally after that. On some occasions students, including several boys, returning to the classroom early saw me partially or fully undressed and then diapered. They were not told to leave the room and therefore got a good look at everything. And I do mean everything.
OK. So, it wasn’t the end of the world and I got over it, learning to live with the teasing.
But years later, as an older student, if I had to take off all of my clothes in front of my classmates each occasional time I did poorly on a test, homework paper or in-class assignment, I might as well simply have gone to school completely naked each day every year after that. There would have been no point in trying to maintain any modesty.
That’s how I later felt in high school when nude pics of me and two close girlfriends were circulated. Those two 15-year old girls probably feel that way now. After all, forty boys saw them standing there totally naked and exposed. They feel ashamed. They feel humiliated. They feel mortified every time they are around those who witnessed or even heard of their degrading treatment. They are now “branded” and they can’t make the boys un-see what they’ve seen. But at least here in the U.S. what happened to my friends and I was considered unacceptable.
Unfortunately, those two teenage girls in India probably aren’t going to have a whole lot of community support. I pray that they have the courage to deal with it.
When are Indians as a whole going to demand an end to the humiliating, degrading strippings of school girls? There are hundreds of millions of decent people in India. When are they going to use their collective power and stop the rampant abuse of children and severely punish the abusers?
I originally published this on my blog at the Experience Project, June 17, 2012.