Teenage Girl Babysitter Acts Too Smart for Her Own Good, Ends Up Being Shamed and Spanked on Her Bare Bottom in Front of the Very Boys She Was Babysitting
Not long after I had turned 17, I suffered one of the worst possible utterly humiliating indignity imaginable for a teenage girl babysitter: being completely stripped and fully exposed from the waist down and then soundly spanked on my bare bottom in front of the very two younger boys whom I had been babysitting that night.
I know that many parents (and certainly 99.9% of males who have ever had a teenage girl babysitter who they felt was overly bitchy and bossy and mean) might say it was actually a fitting and proper comeuppance for me to receive. But, in any event, it was a punishment I’ll never live down.
It all started because of my stupid stepdad, his stubbornness and lack of respect for me to make my own decisions.
A family with two boys, ages 10 and 12, lived just down the block from us. I had babysat the boys in the past and really wasn’t keen on babysitting them again because they were a handful for sure.
One weekend in the fall of 2002 my younger brother (age 14) and I were with my stepdad for one of the many mandatory, court-ordered ‘visitations’ we had to spend with him.
I was already ticked at having to cancel a date that Saturday night with my boyfriend. And my stepdad further irritated me by having promised that family I’d babysit that night. But then I started thinking about it and realized it was at least a chance to actually be with my boyfriend.
Only my plan backfired when the boys wouldn’t cooperate by going to sleep several hours before the bedtime specified by their parents. Because they ruined a chance for me to do some cuddling with my boyfriend, I decided to retaliate by exaggerating their misbehavior that evening once their parents got home.
I wouldn’t mind much at all if their parents gave them a firm spanking with the bare hand and I can’t say that I wouldn’t have enjoyed watching their bared embarrassment.
However, if I even thought for a moment they would be strapped with a belt I would have lied from the onset and said they behaved like little angels.
But if I didn’t anticipate the dad’s reaction, what then?
That’s sort of what led to my dilemma and I suffered the consequences for lying and trying to be too smart for my own good.
The dad took off his belt. But before he made the boys pull down their pants, I stopped him and told him that what I initially said about the boys’ behavior wasn’t exactly entirely true.
Instead, I truthfully admitted that the boys actually behaved fairly good and only caused me some trouble when I tried to send them upstairs to bed way too early.
When he and his wife seemed at first to doubt me (probably because they knew how bad the boys often behaved for babysitters!), I finally admitted that after he and his wife left I had intended to invite a boyfriend over after (planning on) sending the boys to bed early. It was only then that the boys acted up.
I noted how the boys overheard me talking to my boyfriend on the phone and upon hearing my scheme they said if I did that they’d tattle on me to their parents.
I said I told the boys it would just be their word against mine and their parents would surely believe me, not them. But because they had ruined a chance for me to be alone with my boyfriend I had planned on retaliating against them by making up lies about them being bratty, rude and obnoxious all night long.
However, I told the dad, upon seeing him take off his belt, my conscience couldn’t permit me to see the boys have their bare bottoms repeatedly hit when they had really done nothing wrong. I said that at worst I thought they’d surely be grounded and that maybe the boys would have to pull their pants down for a bare bottom spanking by the hand.
Then the boys tattled on me and told their parents perhaps the worst of it: that I told them I would enjoy seeing them blushing with their pants down and trying to cover up their little penises while they got spanked. They also noted that I would then remind them of their shame each and ever time I babysat them in the future which I told them I hoped would be every week just so they feel embarrassed again and again because they helped to ruin a chance for me to be with my boyfriend.
But to see them hit with the belt would have been too much for my conscience to take. I then apologized for trying to get the boys in trouble.
The boys’ parents said I should be ashamed of myself as they both berated me and told me how disappointed they were in me and for me violating their trust. Yet, they still wanted to pay me but I said that, no, I couldn’t take their money. The mom said she was at least impressed with my honesty even though if it were up to her I would be sternly punished, while the dad was still a bit visibly angry (probably because he nearly punished for boys for no reason).
I then apologized again and left only to find myself outside at my car with a dead battery.
As much as I hated to do so, I had to call my stepdad (my younger brother and I were with him for the weekend) to come pick me up since it was around midnight.
Although the family just lived down the block from my mom’s house, my mom was away that weekend while my younger brother and I had one of those frequent court-ordered ‘visitation’ weekends with our stepdad. He had got a place for himself after moving out, so we had to be with him. His new place was miles away, hence why I had my car with me.
When my stepdad got there, he brought along not only my younger brother (who was now 14) but also his new girlfriend and one of her nephews, who was around 6 or 7), since he was going to drive Terri and her nephew home that night anyway.
And that’s when my night turned from bad to worse.
Terri’s nephew said he needed to use the bathroom and I went back inside to get my handbag. I then excused myself to the bathroom as well once Terri’s nephew came out. But in that time the parents of the two boys began to tell everything I had confessed about to my stepdad!
When I walked back out into the family room, my stepdad immediately started to go into a fit about how dare I try to get those boys in trouble and that I was going to be the one punished, etc., etc., etc.
I said I was sorry over and over and that I had already apologized, etc., etc., etc.
But that didn’t matter. My stepdad called me over to him and said he was going to spank me right there, looking up at the two boys’ parents to see if they had any objections.
The mother of the two boys just kind of smirked and said, “Well, it would be a fitting punishment for her. If I were her mom, I’d spank her, too. Becky even did say how much she would have enjoyed seeing the boys embarrassed with their pants down getting spanked on their bare butt.”
That set my stepdad off even more: “Oh? She said that, did she?”
“Well, then Becky. Get over here. NOW!”
I glanced over at the two boys and they just had the widest grins on their faces. They were obvious quite content at the thought of seeing ME punished! My brother and Terri’s nephew were already giggling (since they had already seem me spanked in the recent past).
As I walked over and stood in front of my stepdad, who by now had sat down on a dining table chair he had pulled over, he first berated me for how I was dressed. I was wearing a short, mid-riff bearing tube top (no bra) that went down to just above my exposed navel, a pair of tight shorts (and panties) and sandals.
With Terri’s nephew sitting on a chair immediately to my stepdad’s right (Terri and my brother off to my stepdad’s right even further) and the two boys I had babysat and their parents now sitting down behind me, my stepdad then unfastened my shorts and pulled both them and my panties down in one swoop.
The air was filled by gasps and giggles from the boys, my brother at least merely smirking at my exposure and my shame.
My stepdad then stood up, put his hands on my shoulders and spun me around to face the two boys and their parents. I gasped in embarrassment, throwing my hands down to cover my neatly trimmed pubes, which at that time extended upwards over my mound from my clit into a little bush, leaving my lips cleanly shaven on both sides.
I was then ordered to apologize. When I said, by now sniffling and my eyes tearing up, that I had already apologized, the mother of the two boys pointed out that I really hadn’t apologized to her two sons.
Mortified as the boys looked me over, I began blabbering out an apology to them until Terri interrupted and said, “Hands at your sides, Becky.”
When I hesitated, my stepdad walked over a few steps and gave me two hard slaps to my bare bottom and repeated what Terri had said.
Closing my eyes for a few seconds in shame, I did as instructed, hearing the boys snicker and giggle until I mustered up enough courage to open them.
Terri then said, “Becky, start over with your apology.”
Oh, great! More exposed shame!
I looked down at the floor while I muttered my apology again until Terri told me to look at the boys! Of course, when I did so, their eyes met mine only when they weren’t darting back down to glance at my exposed bottomless.
The boys’ mom even snickered about, asking me, “So Becky. How does it feel to have YOUR pants down before you get punished? Like you wanted them to feel? Embarrassed? Ashamed?”
I nodded but my stepdad ordered me to put my feelings into words.
“Yes, I feel very embarrassed,” I noted, as the giggled even louder. And I apologized for lying about them again.
As that all went on for probably two minutes, I tried to avoid eye contact with the boys’ father, but at one point our eyes met and he had a smirk on his face. There was not a sympathetic face towards me in the room!
My stepdad then ordered me to step out of my shorts and panties and walk back over to him as I obviously had to spread my feet apart enough to kick them off. Of course it doing so, the boys got even a better frontal view of me.
I was then soon over my stepdad’s lap and the spanking began.
As he had been doing so recently, he punctuated each word denouncing my behavior with a hard slap to my bare bottom several seconds apart so that I would feel each slap separately, sometimes alternating which cheek to strike, sometimes not, but thoroughly spanking both sides of my bottom and most especially my sit spot.
For a few seconds, I tried to keep my legs together but due to the stinging pain soon modesty was of no real concern despite me hearing all three young boys giggling behind me. Apparently, the boys whom I had babysat for the evening decided to take advantage of the opportunity to get an impromptu education on the female anatomy.
After the lecture part of the spanking, another phase of it began in which I had to issue promises about my future behavior while still being spanked as I responded. By now my bottom was quite red and quite sore. Then it was over. Probably a good three to four minutes.
When I was told to stand up, I was the one doing the spanking dance you referred to, trying to rubbing my sore bottom, arching up and down on my toes, oblivious to the fact that my tube top had slide down to around my mid-section. So, my bare buns weren’t the only things jiggling about as I did the spanking dance.
After the most immediately pain began to subside, probably not for a good minute or so at least, Terri told me, “Shame on you. Pop your tits back in your top, Becky.”
That got giggles from everyone in the room save for perhaps my stepdad. Even the boys’ mom had a look of satisfaction on her face for the shameful punishment that without a doubt just put an impertinent teenage girl in her place.
I fixed my top, but didn’t bother trying to cover up down below. Everyone in the room had gotten a long, good view of my womanhood. Trying to regain any modesty now was pointless.
It was at this point that the mother of the boys incredulously said to my stepdad, “I don’t think we will have to worry now about Becky acting inappropriately when she’s babysitting the boys in the future.”
I thought to myself, did I hear her correctly? She wants me to continue babysitting her two boys?
The woman then added, “Becky had said that when threatening the boys she intended to remind them of them feeling embarrassed ever time she’d babysit them in the future. Looks like she’ll be the one embarrassed now. Won’t you be, Becky?”
When I blushed and nodded, she added she wanted me to babysit her sons each of the following two weekends!
My stepdad said that would be fine with him and when I protested that I had plans to go out with my friends, he said he didn’t care.
He then told the parents of the boys that if I presented any problems, they had his permission to spank me!
I raised my voice and protested, “That’s not fair! They can’t spank me.”
But he asked them, “Do you have a problem with that?”
They each shrugged, the woman saying, “Not at all. I’d have liked to spank her myself for what she did tonight. I think it was admirable of her to confess what she planned but she still needed to be punished.”
When I muttered a “What the fuck?” my stepdad said “Watch your mouth, Becky” and then marched me over to the woman and told me to bend over. When I hesitated, he began to arch my back over until I quickly relented, finding myself over the woman’s lap!
Ten painful swats from her later, I was standing again, my tube top again betraying me.
She then nodded to her husband and I was quickly pulled over his knee and got a good half dozen or so swats from him, too!
Terri then suggested that for my disrespect and to help insure my proper behavior, the parents of the two boys should spank me on my bare bottom the following weekend as soon as I arrived there to babysit the boys: “That will help her continue to reflect on how poorly she behaved tonight.”
The woman said, “You mean something like a preventive spanking? I’m O.K. with that.”
The boys giggled. Evidently, they were going to be quite fine with that, too!
My stepdad then told my brother and I to go wait in the car with Terri’s nephew, that he and Terri would be out in a few minutes. (No doubt they wanted to rip my mom about the divorce proceedings).
The two boys waved to me as I blushed in retreat, giggling “See you next week, Becky.”
Terri reminded me to put my tube top back in place, which I did. But I was still bottomless, too. But when I looked around to retrieve my shorts and panties, I saw that Terri was holding them and she told me, “Just go out to the car, Becky. I’ll bring them out to you.”
Embarrassed, I headed outside half-naked with a red bottom, at this point not much caring who would see me. No one else did, thankfully, and within a minute Terri’s nephew, my brother Matt and I were sitting in the back seat, me crying in pain and shame, them smirking and grinning at my embarrassment.
Actually, sitting is a subjective term in this case. Because I wasn’t quite sitting. I was more or less resting half over onto my brother’s lap, not at all concerned that Terri’s nephew was getting a close-up view of everything.
I then made sure the following weekend to humble myself to the boys, literally having to get down on my knees to BEG them not to tell their friends in the neighborhood they saw me getting spanked on my bare bottom. I pretty much ended up their maid and waitress any time I babysat them after that.
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
While I readily admit that it was entirely appropriate and totally justified and completely my fault that, at 13-years old, I had to spend several hours one day wearing nothing but a diaper and be seen by extended family like that (yes, topless and wearing nothing but a diaper), was it really necessary later that day for seemingly the whole extended family of my stepdad’s sister’s in-laws gathering around to watch my diaper get changed?
It wasn’t the first time I was diapered during my school years in front of people and it wouldn’t be the last time, either. But it was without a doubt the most embarrassing time.
The reason for me being in a diaper to begin with was undeniably totally my fault. I had absolutely no one to blame but myself. The blame for my shame was mine – and mine alone.
But still, there I was – less than two months shy of turning 14-years old – sitting in the backseat of my stepdad’s sister’s minivan on a summer day in 1999, wedged between her two grinning and giggling younger boys . . . wearing nothing but a diaper!
I really didn’t want to be with them that weekend, the summer before I started 8th grade. But my mom was away for the weekend and my stepdad had wanted to take my two brothers with him camping – and not have a teenage girl with them.
So I was shuffled off to spend the weekend with my stepdad’s sister and her family. She and her husband had three young boys, two of school age (9 and 10-years old) and a third who was a toddler.
I had spend Friday night at their house and, I admit, it was my responsibility to be ready on time Saturday morning. Pamela’s husband’s family was having a big summer get together at his parents’ house and I had to go along with them.
I had packed some changes of clothes for the weekend but none with me in the car (nor did anyone else, for that matter). We had a 3-hour plus drive to get where we were going on that warm summer day but we were going back the same night.
I wanted look dressed up but still be comfortable. I always was keenly aware there would most likely be at least some teenage boys there. So I wore a very short, very flirty, white backless halter dress. As it had a plunging neckline, I didn’t wear a bra that day. I did wear a pair of white cotton panties (yes, I knew they’d show if I bent over so I knew I would have to be careful to avoid embarrassing myself, one reason I wore them instead of a thong). But, basically I looked, well… hot!
What I didn’t anticipate was that not long after breakfast we were rushed out to the car without much time to spare because we were running late. On top of that, I had overslept so I had rushed to eat, then I guess I took too long trying to look my best, between showering and getting dressed and applying makeup and fixing my hair. But the one think I didn’t do was allow myself time to use the bathroom before we left. I thought we had more time than we did. I had also helped myself to two tall glasses of fruit juice at breakfast.
It was already warm and I soon drank a large bottle of water in the car. But between what I had to drink at breakfast and the water, in less than an hour I was soon begging for us to stop at a rest area.
Just as we were getting to one, I just knew I wasn’t going to make it. I started to wet my panties just as we got to the rest stop. Worried about wetting the car seat, I tucked my dress in between my legs as I winced uncomfortably, crossing my legs, as the boys along each side of me relished in my discomfort.
As we pulled off the highway to the rest stop I was pleading to Pamela’s husband to “Hurry! Hurry!”
But as soon as I stepped out of the car, the dam broke. I had hiked my dress up high above my waist and Pamela, her husband and the boys watched in speechless amazement as pee gushed through my soaked panties, both onto the pavement, down my legs and on my heels for a good fifteen seconds or more. When the gusher finally stopped, the boys were already giggling, both Pamela and her husband grinning and me standing there, still holding my dress up way above my waist and fully exposing my panties, which were undoubtedly quite transparent.
Having no spare clothes at all with us, what Pamela insisted on was really the only viable alternative. I would have to strip, naked, right there at the rest stop. I surely couldn’t wear those clothes for the rest of the trip. But if not, then what?
Then I found out what the answer would be. The boys’ giggles turned to chuckling when Pamela asked one of them to reach behind their seat for the diaper bag!
Pamela then led me to the bathroom (fortunately, there were no other drivers there at the time). Once out of the view of her husband and the boys, she ordered me to strip off my clothes. As all I had on were the dress, panties and shoes, it didn’t take long. There was no argument. I knew what was coming but also knew that Pamela was 100% correct. It didn’t matter that I was 13-years old. I was going to be diapered and – as much as I hate to admit it – justifiable so!
The bathroom was a single-occupy one. So there was no stall. Just a room with a toilet and a sink. Pamela pointed to the toilet and asked me if I needed to use it. Quite embarrassed already, I sure didn’t need the additional humiliation of her watching me pee a little more, so I declined and said, “No, I don’t.” In truth, I could have probably peed a little more. But I didn’t have a huge urge to, especially not after the downpour I had unleashed in front of everyone.
Once I was naked, Pamela used my dress to soak up most of the pee on me then pulled some baby wipes out of the bag and cleaned me up. As she wiped between my legs and had me turn around to wipe my bare bottom, I felt like I was about four, not thirteen!
My panties and my dress appeared done for the day and, worried about me having another accident since we still had several hours of driving, she rightfully pulled out one of the extra diapers she brought for her toddler. My pee-soaked panties and dress, along with my heels, were put into a plastic bag and soon stuffed into the back of the minivan. The only thing I now had on was a diaper. And one for a toddler at that, a nappy which left the upper half of my butt cracked exposed, that didn’t quite cover all of my wispy pubic hair in the front and which was being barely held together on the sides by a couple of safety pins.
There was literally nothing else I could wear. I tried to keep my boobs covered with my hands to stop the boys from seeing me topless but that lasted until I was told to buckle my seatbelt. There were laughing from the moment their mom and I emerged from the bathroom. Naturally, right at that moment we came out of the bathroom, another car had pulled up and out jumped two teenage boys. I cringed as they stared at me for a moment before bursting out into laughter. I could swear I saw a camera flash from the car where in the backseat sat a teenage girl, laughing in hysterics.
I was hugely embarrassed and felt ashamed that I had peed myself and was now wearing nothing but a diaper, but it was the only practically solution other than Pamela’s husband turning us around and driving back to their house.
So, yes at that point, it was undeniable. I – AT 13-YEARS OLD – BELONGED IN A DIAPER.
But more embarrassment came later when we got stuck in traffic (traffic which we may not have got stuck into if not for the delay caused by my accident). We were going to pull off to one last rest stop but then I wet myself again, this time soaking the diaper, and then lying after I did so since there wasn’t much a point in stopping after that.
When we got to our destination it was unavoidable that pretty much a number of guests who were milling about outside and came up to the minivan to greet us saw me wearing nothing but a diaper. But, even at this point, my shame for the day was just beginning.
It had been my choice to wear a backless dress, with no bra, that day. With my panties totally pee-soaked and my dress wet, too, and with no spare clothing whatsoever with us, me being diapered was the ONLY and COMPLETELY REASONABLE option.
So I completely concede the point that, despite being 13-years old at the time, there was NO OTHER CHOICE but for my stepdad’s sister to change me into NOTHING BUT A DIAPER and for me to remain that way for the rest of the drive to our destination. It was embarrassing as hell, especially with me topless and sitting between her two giggling and grinning school-aged boys (who were about 8 and 9 at the time) in the back seat. But yet it was totally justifiable to have me sitting in the car wearing only a diaper given the circumstances.
I can’t even fault the boys for teasing me. After all, I was a 13-year old girl just a handful of weeks away from entering 8th grade but who had badly peed herself – and was now wearing nothing but a diaper. How could anyone fault 9 and 10-year old boys from enjoying my shameful predicament?
I had no one to blame for my embarrassment and my shame but myself. Nor should I have even expected to avoid additional embarrassment once we arrived at our destination. Though we had encountered delays because of traffic, my wetting myself was as much a reason for our tardiness as anything else. So not being able to slip inside clad as I was without being noticed was again basically my fault too, no one else’s.
If a lot of people hadn’t been around outside, then sure it might have made sense to wait for someone to fetch a robe or a towel. But the longer I sat in the minivan, the doors open and me in just a diaper for everyone to see, the more it made sense when Pamela instructed me to get out of the car and come with her into the house. I naturally trusted that I’d soon be away from everyone to get cleaned up and dressed.
Instead, while I was carrying the bag with my pee-soaked panties and dress in my right hand and trying to cover my boobs with my left arm, Pamela reached up and grabbed by left hand and walked me over to some of her husband’s relatives – and introduced me! Some ten minutes later, now inside the house, she was still being greeted by others and introducing me as I stood there totally exposed from my diaper up as I was repeatedly asked (and prodded by Pamela to answer) all the typical questions, “How old are you, Becky?” “What grade are you in, Becky?” “How come a big girl like you is wearing just a diaper, Becky?”
Nearly all my embarrassment up until that point that day (except for Pamela taking her time to introduce me to many guests while I stood wearing but only a diaper) was the result of my own actions – that is, peeing myself. Yes, I’ll even concede the point it was not unreasonable to make me get out of the car and walk past everyone and into the house in just the diaper. But what happened next I felt was purposeful embarrassment by Pamela and my stepdad’s sister-in-law (they had married siblings of my stepdad’s).
NAKED ON FLOOR, HAVING MY DIAPER CHANGED IN FRONT OF GUESTS
That’s right. Pamela began changing my diaper – in full view of smirking guests and with even her 9 and 10-year old boys sitting down on the floor beside me, getting quite an educational view of a naked teenage girl at my expense. And Pamela? She simply carried on conversations with everyone in the room as if I were a toddler having my diaper changed.
First, while Pamela was still holding my hand as if I were a small child as she and guests exchanged introductions, she matter-of-factly answered the questions about why I was wearing a diaper: “Becky had an accident in the car and there was nothing else clean for her to wear.”
At that point, my stepdad’s sister-in-law Nicole walked up, smirking at me.
One young girl standing nearby wondered, giggling, “Is her diaper wet?”
The answer to that question became clear to everyone when Pamela very nonchalantly pulled away the front of my diaper and answered, “Yes, it looks like Becky wet her diaper,” giving me the tsk-tsk look as those around just smirked.
My stepdad’s sister-in-law, Nicole, probably was just relishing that opportunity to embarrass me further – and did. So to add to my embarrassment, Nicole (who I felt did love to embarrass me) chimed in and said, “Becky’s always having accidents.” (So not true, I wanted to blurt out but kept quiet)
“She had to wear a diaper in first grade all year.” (So not accurate with the “all” part, either, although for a time it seemed like that would end up being the case, if it were left up to my teacher.)
For years, Nicole had told that to people at family gatherings, often in front of me. She had also diapered me herself, including in front of her neighbor and her neighbor’s children (who, adding to my shame, happened to be 2nd & 3rd graders at my school) when I was 7-years old and a handful of times after that. Now, unfortunately, she had a whole new and even more embarrassing story to humiliate me with in the future.
But at that moment, I was in a wet diaper. And what happens to children in wet diapers?
Nicole had that answer, when she quickly suggested, “Why don’t we take Becky into the next room and change her diaper in there?”
“Change her diaper?” Is that what she just said, I repeated in my mind? Could that also mean I was going to be KEPT in a diaper? I glanced into the room and saw that there were several adults and a number of school age kids younger than me in there. True, there were fewer people in the adjacent room than the dozen or so around me in the entry way. But, I was 13-years old at the time! I shouldn’t even BE in a diaper, let alone be changed into a new one in front of mostly total strangers and kids much younger than me.
On the other hand, it was undeniable that I had peed myself, not once, but TWICE in the past several hours. So the fact I had been put in a diaper was totally reasonable. I just didn’t think that I needed to remain in one now that I had access to a bathroom instead of being stuck in a minivan on the highway without recourse.
The distress must have shown on my face.
But Pamela merely nodded, confirming my fears, adding: “At least you’ll be in a clean diaper, Becky, just until we get your dress washed and dried out.”
But I knew that could take hours! And in the meantime everyone would see me in a diaper.
The two women then lead me into the next room and I cringed in shame as my stepdad’s two nephews (who, though sitting on each side of me in the car hadn’t at least seen me put into the diaper) and even a couple of adults followed us in, adding to the compliment of people already in that room. I noticed an older teenager girl (around 17 or 18-years old) smirking and waving with her hand and moments later a cute, teenage boy about the same age was standing next to her. One of the younger children in the room likewise ran out to bring back a sibling or a cousin. It was basically standing room only.
My stepdad’s sister then pulled out her baby blanket and a diaper from her baby bag (her husband was taking care of their toddler at that point) and she spread the baby blanket on the floor and instructed me to lay on it. I could see that everyone was looking in my direction, a few trying to be discreet about it but certainly not the teenagers or the kids or the adults sitting on a couch a few feet from me.
Giggles from the kids in the room and snickering from some of the adults too quickly followed as my wet diaper slipped down, exposing me to everyone. I started bawling like a baby.
My wet diaper was then removed completely and put into a plastic bag. I was now totally bare. I wish I didn’t glance around, because all I saw were smirks and snickering on the faces of those around me, most of whom had their eyes riveted on my most private area or on my boobs or glancing up and down at both.
At that point, another guest walked in and asked for Pamela, who excused herself for several minutes. During that time Nicole remained there, standing over and smirking down at me. I was actually even too embarrassed to even attempt to cover my nudity. What really would have been the point? I felt like a pre-school girl laying there instead of a soon-to-be 8th grader.
Nicole then ask me, “So how many times did you pee yourself today, Becky?”
I whispered, “Twice.”
But she scolded me, “Speak up. I didn’t hear you.”
I answered again, but perhaps too loudly, “I peed myself twice.”
That brought some giggling and snickers from those in the room. I overheard the older teenage girl say something to her brother or boyfriend, something like, “Hear that? What a baby. She DOES belong in a diaper.”
I then thought I heard the whirl of a camera probably being held by the teenage girl followed by a few chuckles from teenage boy with her. But what did it matter? There had already plenty of photo-taking when everyone was greeting everyone earlier. (Pamela did nothing to discourage the picture-taking. At one point earlier, she even made me face the cameras of several of her husband’s relatives, with her two grinning young boys on each side of me.)
When Pamela returned, she began spreading and lifting my legs, first one at a time, then both up high to wipe my bottom too, cleaning me off with baby wipes and got a clean diaper out of her bag.
Nicole then said, “Once Becky’s in her clean diaper she can go outside and join the other children.”
OMG! All I could think of was how more embarrassing the day was going to get and now hoping that there were NOT any more cute teenage boys among the guests.
But, thankfully, at that point, a female guest walked into the room and said, “Found some clothes for the girl who wet her…”
She stopped when she saw me on the floor, ready to be wiped, smirked and completed her sentence, “…diaper.” She obviously was expecting to see a much younger girl, not a teenager.
The “clothes” consisted of was a pair of short shorts and a t-shirt, a change of clothes she had brought for her daughter, but beggars can’t be choosers.
Nicole immediately objected: “I really think Becky should stay in her diaper. She’ll probably just have another accident anyway. We’re just going to have to change her again.”
Pamela paused and seemed to briefly consider Nicole’s suggestion but ultimately didn’t agree and instructed me to stand up. When I did so, she picked up the baby blanket off the floor and told me to wrap it around myself. It was just a small one, so for the most part I could only conceal my frontal nudity and let my bottom remain exposed. When we left the room it, I had to pass a smirking crowd that had gathered near the doorway.
She then walked me through the house past a number of other guests and upstairs to a bathroom, where I was finally allowed to be alone in my shame. The shorts the female guest had given me to wear were tight, and the t-shirt too, but it was better than wearing a diaper. But still, my midriff was bare and my boobs were flattened by the tight fabric. I couldn’t fasten the top button of the shorts, which barely covered my mound and left the top of my butt crack showing in the back. I certainly didn’t look my age.
Hours later I was finally in my dress (with my panties on underneath, both washed and dried). She at least let me manage changing into my clothes by myself in a bedroom. But the damage to my reputation, granted among people who for the most part I wouldn’t see again, was complete.
The rest of the day went without me having any accident, sort of. But the embarrassment leveled at me wasn’t about to stop just yet.
Pamela’s toddler was acting up and they wanted to leave a little earlier than expected. But it was then when I needed to go to the bathroom. Unfortunately, although the house had four bathrooms, they were all occupied. A few minutes passed, then five, then ten. I was starting to get desperate and it showed, while Pamela was getting impatient.
Finally, one of the bathrooms became available and I dashed in so fast I didn’t even bother to lock the door. I had just made it.
Since they lived not far from each other, Nicole at some point when I was in the bathroom said to Pamela and her husband to go ahead and take the boys home; that she and her husband would drive me to Pamela’s on their way home a few hours later and drop me off.
About five or ten minutes later when I was about ready to get off the toilet, a young boy opened the door and saw me sitting there. He quickly left but didn’t close the door tightly and it soon swung completely open. Understandably embarrassed, I made a quick wipe, pulled up my panties and pulled my dress back down. But I also still felt the urge to pee some more. But just then, Nicole walked by the door and called to me.
I was soon back in the room where I had been shamed earlier. Nicole explained, loud enough for anyone in earshot to hear, that she didn’t want me having any accidents in their new car and that Pamela had left a few extra diapers with her. I was to be in diapers on the way home.
This time I protested, saying I didn’t need to be in a diaper. But she just pointed to the floor, where she had laid down a towel. I knew it was an argument I would not win and so I complied.
A few giggling younger kids soon gathered around to watch and Nicole did not discourage them from doing so. On the floor besides me was a naked boy of about five, his mom in the process of changing his diaper before they left to go home. In a few moments I knew I would be nearly as naked as that boy, my only saving modesty would be that my dress, though raised up, at least still covered my boobs.
But only for a moment. Nicole soon reached down and slipped my dress off over my head, saying “No sense in getting your dress all wet again if you have another accident in the car.”
She then slipped it on a hanger and laid it across the back of a chair next to a few bags that were destined to go into her car on the way home.
The mom attending to the boy next to me smirked and said to Nicole, “So, she has accidents in the car on long rides, too?”
Nicole responded, “Always! She had two just today. Isn’t that right, Becky?”
Totally humiliated, I could only nod and meekly say “Uh huh,” to the snickers of the teenage girl and boy who were once nearby again nearby. I didn’t realize it until days later but when I acknowledged having had two accidents in the car that day, they might have also took it as me agreeing that I “always” had accidents on long car rides, which wasn’t true.
As their chit-chat continued Nicole then slide my panties down and I was now as naked as the 5-year old boy being diapered alongside me. Then she even berating me a little for not wiping better and then doing the whole leg-lift-spread-wipe thing (to more snickers of the two teenagers).
Pamela, her husband, their baby and their two older boys were about to leave but as the boys’ parents started chit-chatting with some other adults, the 9 and 10-year old boys plopped themselves down along side me.
Pamela’s mother-in-law then entered the room and asked Nicole, “Are you leaving? I want you to take some of this food home.”
Nicole stopped attending to me for a moment to answer, “Oh, no. Not for another hour or so.”
An hour? She was going to leave me in just a diaper for an hour? I got so nervous, I just couldn’t help it. I involuntarily squirted out some pee, the boys roaring in laughter, with the others in the room trying to contain their loud snickering and giggling.
Nicole berated me, told her mother-in-law, “See? She can’t control herself.”
Then turning to me, she said, “You’re going to stay in a diaper until you’re back with Pamela and if she’s smart, she’ll keep you in one the rest of the weekend.”
She then proceed to wipe me and clean me up. Within another minute or two, a clean diaper was fastened about me and Nicole had me stand up. Turning me away from the hallway where some guests were saying their good-byes (but unfortunately towards the now diaper-clad young boy, his mom and the two older teenagers), she then began brushing my hair before putting it back in their pig tails. I didn’t even bother covering my boobs, but merely closed my eyes in shame.
At this point, Pamela and her family left, but not before her two boys smirked and grinned ear to ear as they each gave me a hug, with Pamela insisting on the two of them standing on each side of me holding my hands for a photo op, my toplessness and being clad in only a diaper being preserved in time.
(Not that Pamela or Nicole would have spared me any embarrassment anyway, but three years later when my mom filed for divorce, my stepdad’s family wasn’t the least bit shy about sharing those photos with others as if to prove my immaturity: “Becky’s just a big cry-baby who hasn’t grown up. See? She still even wears diapers.”)
Nicole then instructed me to go sit in the other room with the “rest of the children”, which I did, having to walk past several snickering guests. Except for a pre-school boy, who like me was wearing just a diaper, all the seven or eight children in the room were fully dressed, aged between about three and eleven. They were all quite amused at the sight of a girl old enough to be babysitting them wearing nothing but a diaper, standing there topless facing them with my hands at my side as Nicole spoke to me. She then introduced me to each one of them.
One of the boys, who was about 11, asked her, “Why is she wearing a diaper?”
Nicole humiliated me by saying, “Because Becky is always wetting herself. She even had two accidents just in the car today,” inciting giggles all around me.
“Isn’t that right, Becky?”
After told to speak up with my answer, I blurted out, “Yes, that’s right,” causing all the kids to laugh at me.
Nicole then instructed me to sit on the floor with them so there I sat there, trying my best to keep my boobs covered and avoid eye contact with their smirking faces, making as little conversation with the other kids as possible. Periodically, departing guests came into the room to say good-bye, not particularly to me, but to the group of us “children.”
About fifty minutes after having been put in the diaper, Nicole came in with my dress, said we would be leaving soon and that I should put on my dress since the evening had a bit of a chill in the air now and she didn’t want me to catch cold outside or in the car. But not before she told me to laydown on my back on the carpet so she could check my diaper, which she did so by unpinning it and pulling it completely away from my body at both sides in front of the giggling kids who gathered around me. She also lifted my legs up high to check my bottom too before saying, “Good girl, Becky. No accidents – for a change.” But in any case, I pretty much felt like a girl who was otherwise still being potty-trained at that point.
Nicole then re-fastened my diaper, had me stand up and then she slipped my dress on over my head, leaving me with the smirking children who had just seen me totally denuded.
As it was Nicole ended up chit-chatting with other guests and by the time she and her husband were finally ready to leave over thirty more minutes had passed. She then called me over to her where she was sitting with a couple of guests and had me lift my dress above my waist so she could check my diaper – again! As I stood there, she unfastened my diaper and pulled it down to my knees. I heard snickering from behind me as well as seeing the grins on the guests I was facing before, their eyes focused downward, before they looked up to meet my eyes, before I faced away from them in shame. Satisfied, Nicole told me we’d be leaving in about ten minutes. Without telling her, I quickly found a bathroom and peed a little. I didn’t want any accidents in her car.
It was bad enough that Nicole’s two teenage sons had seen my stepdad pull down my panties to prepare to spank me (before being called away to do something else, sparing me the spanking) just several weeks earlier at a 4th of July family barbeque. The only thing more humiliating than that would be if her sons (who were several years older than me) saw her changing my diaper (the boys having been at some summer sports event and weren’t with us that day, but for all I knew could be back at Nicole’s house that evening). I was blushing just at the thought that they would soon learn what had happened to me that day as it was.
As it turned out I had no accidents in the car, they dropped me off at Pamela’s house and from that point on I assumed I’d be on my own to get ready for bed. That is until I was told I would need to sleep with the diaper on me. Pamela, understandably from her point of view, didn’t want me wetting the bed given the day’s events. After being asked, I even reluctantly said I understood why it was necessary.
But what I didn’t expect was a “diaper check” before I was to head upstairs to bed. Assuming that I had probably wet myself in the car, Pamela even instructed me to lay down on the baby blanket she laid down on the floor for a diaper changing – right in the smack center of the living room with her husband and two boys sitting there, her having already put the baby to bed.
Within moments I was denuded again, first my dress then, after I laid down, the safety pins of the nappy were unfastened. By this point after all that had transpired throughout the day, I made no effort to cover my boobs despite the intense embarrassment I felt.
“Good girl, Becky,” she announced to everyone, as the giggling boys stood there looking down at me. “No accidents this time.”
After re-fastening my diaper I then had to stand up, say goodnight and hug everyone before heading to bed.
I vowed that I’d get out of that stupid diaper as fast as I could in the morning. Unfortunately, being overly tired I never heard the alarm on Sunday morning and was awakened instead by Pamela who, after pulling off the covers, told me to come downstairs for breakfast. As I was – that is in just the diaper which she checked to see if it was wet. It wasn’t.
Regardless, it was still very difficult to look her husband and two young boys in the eye while sitting there at the table wearing nothing but a diaper. After breakfast, I was on my own to wash up and get dressed. At least Pamela didn’t keep me in a diaper during the daytime as well as Nicole had suggested.
But that night and the next, I was put back in a diaper several hours before bedtime. That turned out to be problematic (not to mention embarrassing) on Sunday night when unexpected company showed up just after I was put in the nappy.
Finally, by Tuesday evening I was back home. I was too ashamed to say anything to my mom or stepdad, and most especially to my two brothers.
Yet as embarrassing as it all was, I do realize and concede that Pamela was within her rights to do what she did, acting in loco parentis. I don’t think she needed to cause me further embarrassment once we inside at her in-laws house. But she acted perfectly reasonable by putting me in a diaper earlier for the rest of the drive there. I’ll even concede it was perfectly reasonably that I had to get out of the minivan topless, exposed and wearing nothing but a diaper in full view of those around until we were inside the house. All that embarrassment and shame, up to that point, was the cause of me peeing myself. It was no one else’s fault by mine.
It’s what happened after that which I don’t think was fair: Pamela introducing me to so many people while I stood there topless wearing nothing but a diaper; being changed out of my wet diaper, laying naked on top of a baby blanket on the floor, being wiped, as people watched. Being put back in a diaper for the ride back home, again with people watching.
Incredibly, in talking to parents who have diapered older children, some who even believe in using the diaper as a disciplinary tool, my humiliation would have lasted even longer and would have been worse than it was. Some even said that ANY child in diapers should have the bathroom made off-limits to them, meaning that’s what the diaper is for! OMG! And, if so, that would have meant multiple diaper changes throughout the day.
Some asked were there other kids in diapers that day and how they were changed. Yes, a few toddlers were, like Pamela’s youngest son. There was also a girl and a boy who were around 5 or 6 years of age (7 at most), the girl was the oldest of the two, each wearing only a diaper. They, like the toddlers, were all changed as needed throughout the day in the manner I was, on a baby blanket on the floor in a room off the entry way. (Probably a dozen or more other kids from that age to around mine were all fully clothed.)
Perhaps those who asked wanted to know if I was being singled out. Personally, I don’t think even a pre-school 4 or 5-year old should be running around in front of extended family and guests in just a diaper. But if a boy of that age is having accidents and his parents (or those acting in loco parentis) are OK with it, then fairness dictates so should a girl of that age be so scantily attired in nothing but a diaper if she is having accidents and her parents (or those acting in loco parentis) are OK with it, too.
My queasiness in reluctantly conceding that it’s OK, even if I don’t think they should, for parents (or those acting in loco parentis) making a 5-year old girl be dressed before extended family in nothing but a diaper and for her diaper to be changed openly in front of anyone who feels like watching is what to do about, for example, her 7-year old sibling or cousin? It really isn’t that much of a leap in years. Shouldn’t fairness dictate that if the 7-year old had an accident that she or he should be put in nothing but a diaper as well and changed out in the open, too? Saying a 7-year old shouldn’t be just because the child is but two or less years older than the 5-year old just doesn’t seem a good enough reason to give the 7-year old more concern for her or his modesty. I would prefer both be clothed over their diapers and changed in private. But that is no reason to treat each child differently.
But, if it is OK for a 7-year old, some might ask the question then why not subject a 13-year old, like me at the time, to being changed in front of guests and wear only a diaper in front of them as well? The 7-year old and I would both be of school age, yet both having had accidents. Where does one draw the line? Perhaps that’s why I feel a 4 and 5-year olds shouldn’t be wearing only a diaper and be changed in front of everyone. Because I know if I concede that point I’m admitting it would also be OK for a 7-year old school child to be in only a diaper. And with that I might as well admit then that my situation on that day back in 1999 was no different and that there was nothing wrong in putting me in just a diaper and changing me openly in front of guests in the same embarrassing fashion as the 5-year old boy.
For those of you who are parents and believe in making older children wear diapers after having a mere accident, how would you have dealt with the situation from the time I was about to get out of the car? Made me walk past guests like that? Quickly got me some normal clothes to put on or just a small t-shirt to cover my boobs? Kept me in just a diaper for the rest of the day? If so, would I at least be able to use the bathroom? Regardless, should I have been changed privately or openly?
Please feel free to leave a comment or to ask me follow-up questions.
“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.
Should a Teenage Girl or Female College Coed Who Misbehaves Like a Little Girl Be Spanked, Punished and Dressed Like a Little Girl Without Concern for Her Modesty?
The other day I saw a blog post describing the effect of bare bottom spankings on older teenage girls.
It read, in part:
“12-14 is the ideal age for a boy to watch a college-age girl receive a spanking, both in terms of the embarrassment it causes her and the educational value it brings him.
“As mentioned before a good dose of humiliation creates a win-win situation. For the girl it increases the unpleasantness of her punishment . . .
“… she starts kicking wildly her legs and when she ends the show with an undignified bouncing around, furiously rubbing her bottom and pushing forward a bushy triangle as a sign of total surrender. . .
“But for a young lady the worst witnesses of her spankings, I am reliably told, are younger boys. Aarrrgh, that smirk on their faces as you are being scolded: what girl wouldn’t want to scratch these off with iron nails? The sniggering as she is doing corner time with panties at half-mast. . .
“… A big girl, who was looking down on the bratty, nerdy, pervy little pests, but, look, who is laughing now?”
Damn! Reading that hit home hard! Did it ever basically describe how I felt being spanked in front of my younger brother (and his friends, which included boys I regularly babysat!) when my stepdad began spanking me at age 16.
Those shameful spankings 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 (and which wasn’t) than being an often impertinent teenage girl in high school heading into 11th grade with a driver’s license.
One minute I’d be arguing with my stepdad, the next I’d be over his lap with my bottom bared.
Once my spanking began I would soon be reduced to crying and babbling incoherently, which was embarrassing on its own let alone the shame that hit me knowing I was displaying everything as my legs kicked about from the pain.
But the shame was quickly overtaken by the pain as the repeated hard slaps to my bare bottom quickly received my full concentration.
When my spanking was over, whether it be five or ten minutes or how ever many minutes later, I couldn’t help but stand there – bottomless – as I hopped about on my feet rubbing my sore bottom, not even trying to cover myself.
If all my clothes were removed (as often was the case), I would effectively be reduced to a crying, naked, jiggling spectacle – on full display for whoever happened to be present at the time.
Just like a pre-school girl barely out of diapers, modesty was not a consideration for me. And the worst thing about that? My own worries about my modesty would take a back seat to the spanking itself, too, because I essentially WAS FEELING like a pre-school girl barely out of diapers as boys years younger than me laughed and giggled and snickered and made me feel quite inferior in age to them. This would be especially humbling and humiliating when boys who were friends of my younger brother and/or whom I routinely babysat were present to witness my punishment.
Any corner time given to me with my red bare bottom – and almost always everything else, too – on display only solidified my degradation and shame.
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.