Malayasian Model To Be Caned, Says She Deserves It

A Malaysian model will receive six strokes from a rattan cane after admitting in an Islamic court to the crime of drinking beer in a bar.

Kartika Sari Dewi Shukarno’s sentence was confirmed by her lawyer yesterday after she decided not to appeal, making her the first woman to face corporal punishment imposed by a Malaysian Sharia court.

The case has caused controversy in a country that projects an image of moderation to foreign tourists and businesses but imposes stern Islamic justice on its Muslim population.

Alcohol is served to members of other religions at the country’s tourist bars and hotels but for Muslims — who make up two thirds of the population — its consumption is punishable by a fine, up to three years in prison or six strokes of the cane.
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Ms Kartika, 32, who lives with her husband and two children in Singapore and works as a part-time model, was caught in a police raid on a bar in Cherating in July last year. She said that she accepted the court’s ruling, which included a fine of 5,000 ringgit (£860). “I am not afraid because I was ready to be punished from Day 1,” she said.

The case has outraged some Malaysian women. “Did she harm anyone with her drinking?” asked a writer named Mariam Mokhtar in a letter to the New Straits Times newspaper. “Her crime is between her and her God. Let her receive her punishment when she eventually meets her Maker ... The worse crime is that we, and our society, allow and condone such terrible things to continue under the guise of ‘protecting the religion’.”

Ragunath Kesavan, the president of the Malaysian Bar Council, said: “This would be the first time caning has been meted out by the Islamic courts. We are all shocked and strongly oppose caning male or women offenders.”

Malaysian courts also impose caning for crimes including rape and corruption, and the punishment, administered to the bare buttocks with a cane as thick as a thumb, often leaves permanent scars. Sharia caning, according to those who carry it out, is less violent, intended to embarrass rather than to hurt its victims.

“Sharia whipping is more like caning naughty schoolboys,” a “whipping officer” told the New Straits Times. “In Sharia the punishment is not in the force of the whipping but to bring shame. The whipping implement is supposed to be soft and supple, so as to inflict the least pain.”

The recipients of Sharia caning wear clothes and the blows are not supposed to break the skin. The cane of rattan, or jungle creepers, is as thick as a little finger, and according to Sharia rules the person administering the blows is not allowed to raise the hand so high that the upper arm moves away from the armpit.

“An imaginary book clutched under his armpit would not drop,” the newspaper reported.

Another customer and a waitress who were caught in the same raid as Ms Kartika were similarly sentenced but are appealing against the caning.

Ms Kartika’s father, Shukarno Mutalib, told Agence France-Presse that her family accepted the verdict.

“We are not feeling sad. We are Muslims and I agree she has to be caned,” he said. “She has already pleaded guilty. We will follow the rules.”

Conservative Column to Get A Flaggelant Off

A selection from a recent column from some hicksville called "Mason County." I couldn't disagree with the bullshit opinion of "beat the kids, bring back the 1950s" more, being a survivor of such non-sense parenting methods. However, I will say, as a fetishist, nothing get my penis larger than pro-spank, pro-discipline, "good paddlin'" spare the rod rhetoric. If you share such sexual desires, this article may be right up your alley.



I'm Too Old for This Young World

Bill Bodenhamer

First among the things I am too old for is the lack of discipline in our schools which, in my mind, is the primary reason “Johnny can’t read” and foremost among the reasons so many teachers are leaving the teaching profession.

Born in 1911 my “golden rule” school days started in 1918 which was some years after the slate had been replaced with the pencil and tablet but quite some time before the pen dipped into an ink bottle was to be replaced by the fountain pen. Thankfully however it was within the years when reading and writing and arithmetic were still taught to the tune of that old timey hickory stick,or paddle.

Why would I be thankful that the days of corporal punishment, (commonly knows as spankings) were still in full sway? Because hindsight at my ancient age tells me that due to the threat of that hickory stick treatment class discipline was maintained and I and the rest of the class was able to learn the bits of wisdom the teacher was offering.

Those were the days when parents did not believe that a teacher was trying to beat their child to death when giving them a spanking. As a matter of fact most parents, like mine, told their children that if they were unruly enough to get a spanking at school they would get another one when they got home.
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“Spare the rod and spoil the child”is a saying from the old school of “child raising” that was observed by most parents of my day and as a result strict discipline was the rule of law in those homes observing that old adage. My dad (whom we called papa) graduated magna cum laude from that old school and he used his diploma (commonly called a paddle) which was always available every time mama said “Tom that child needs a spanking.”Papa rarely ever spanked us of his own accord but when called upon by mama to discipline one of his children he pulled out that old school diploma and went to work and there was not a one of his kids that would ever deny that papa was not a hard worker.

There are those who would say that papa’s spankings were akin to child abuse but not one of his children looked upon them as abuse but as something they had coming and we all vowed “never to do it again.”

Spanking At Weddings

This beautiful gem was found at Yahoo Answers
-Editor



First of all my family, including myself, is REALLY old fashioned. We believe that the husband is the head of the household and a wife should submit and obey. ANYWAY. I'm about to get married and our family has this tradition, after I get my gown on before the ceremony my mom and dad will come in. My dad will have a hairbrush then I'll lay across his lap, he'll pull my dress up and spank me with the brush as a last sign of authority over me and my last spanking from him. And it's not a light spanking either, mom says it'll hurt. THEN after the ceremony but before the reception mom and dad will take me and my husband into a room then it's my husband's turn to take me over his lap, pull up my dress and spank me with with the same hairbrush as a sign that he is in charge of me now and as my husband it is now his job and duty to discipline me when needed. After my spanking, if my dad thinks my new husband has sufficiently spanked me and did a good job, my husband is officially given the brush which has been passed down and was used on my mom by dad on their wedding day, so my husband can use it on me in the future when I need it. I'm kind of nervous but I'll get through. Mom said I'll probably just have a sore bottom on our honeymoon.




I just hope I don't get out of line and do anytning to get a spanking for a while after that, cause my fiance spanks hard, and that haribrush really hurts. I'll have to Love, Honor, and definatley Obey. Anyone else have some weird wedding/spanking traditions, or just plain old spanking traditions for that matter?

Looking for Love, A Classic Spanking Story

From the Editor,
This is one of my favorite spanking stories. It was originally published at Spanking Life under the pseudonym "Mrmcspank". It tells the story of a teen girl, who longs for love, discipline, and acceptance from her new step mom, a paddling gym teacher, belt whipping mother, and fundamentalist christian in El Paso Texas. It has a surprise ending, and mystery twist. Enjoy, dear readers.






My name is Carla Emory. I was born in El Paso, Texas in 1973 and have lived here my entire life. Until sixteen, I was an only child. My birth mother drank herself to death so by my eleventh birthday I didn’t have one. After that, it was just my Dad and I for the next five years. Growing up with my mother was a miserable experience. Like all little girls, I needed a mother’s love. Sadly, what my mother loved was her bottle – not me. Almost every day she would drink until she passed out. The house was always a big mess – just like everything else was back then. When Dad was at home, all they did was fight. Hating life and everything about it, she was always cursing, throwing things, breaking stuff and falling down drunk. Things got so bad Dad tried to ignore the situation by staying away. He was always late getting home from work. Even worse were the long nights when he didn’t come home at all. He always spent his weekends at the country club playing golf and I hardly ever saw him. His staying away just made things worse and gave my mother an excuse to keep on drinking. She grew crazier, meaner and more hateful with each passing day of that miserable drunken existence. Life was a living hell for me – I felt so alone and completely unloved.

After my mother’s death, things started to improve. Dad spent lots of time with me and we did all kinds of stuff together. I believe he felt guilty about the miserable existence I endured when my mother was alive. As a result, my relationship with him was more like that of a buddy than a daughter and that suited me just fine. For the first time in my life, I got someone’s undivided care and attention.

The year I turned fifteen, I joined a soccer team and loved playing the game. Dad was always there to cheer and soon started helping the team’s coach, Alice Kilpatrick. While not coaching our soccer team, Ms. Kilpatrick was one of the Physical Education instructors at Eastwood High. She was a divorced woman with two daughters. Her youngest was a fourteen year old named Jennifer who was a seventh grader at my school, Travis Jr. High. Karen was her eldest at sixteen and a sophomore at Eastwood High. Having been held back a year after forth grade, I was in my last year at Travis and would be starting at Eastwood the following fall. Being teammates and so close to the same age, Karen, Jennifer and I became really good friends. From things I related to the sisters, Ms. Kilpatrick learned about my mother and my unfortunate experiences. I don’t know if she was motivated by pity or perhaps, just a caring person, but in any event, she took a special interest in me. It felt really good to have someone like Ms. Kilpatrick care about me and it was a welcomed experience. All seemed right with life whenever I was around her – our relationship was special and I treasured it. She quickly became my hero and idol. Not only was she was beautiful she was strong, intelligent, witty and fun to be with. All the girls on our team loved her and she was highly respected by everyone at Eastwood. I often remarked to the sisters how lucky she was to have a Mom like theirs. It made me realize what my mother had cheated me out of and that I desperately longed for what every young girl needs - a mother that loves her.

At thirty-three, Ms. Kilpatrick was in awesome physical condition. Working full time as a PE instructor and soccer coach, she was extremely active and always on her feet. She was a large woman – just over six feet tall and what little fat she did carry was well distributed to all of the right places. She always sported a wide friendly smile on a pretty face framed by her long jet-black hair. With bright amber eyes and olive toned skin, she was a stunning lady and easy to admire.

I guess Dad was as impressed with Ms. Kilpatrick as I was and it wasn’t long before they were dating. Soon, and to my delight, things came together and it was almost like a real family. Dad, Ms. Kilpatrick, Karen, Jennifer and I were doing all kinds of stuff together. We went camping, mountain climbing, fishing – anything outdoors. When it fit into our busy schedule, we went to Eastwood’s football and baseball games. Our lives together centered on sports and other out-door activities. My miserable days as a latch key kid and a couch potato were history and I hardly ever turned on the TV. Home was for sleeping, bathing, eating and of course doing your homework. Ms. Kilpatrick was really serious about schoolwork and making good grades. She insisted that all of her kids – the sisters, team members and students do their best in school. The quickest way off of the soccer team was to do poorly in one of your classes. For better or worse, Report card day was a big event for her and every kid she knew.

With one exception, I loved all of the time we spent together as a “family.” The thing I didn’t like was Sunday mornings and all the church stuff that went along with it. Ms. Kilpatrick was an active member of First Baptist Church where she taught Sunday school to the young adult’s group. Dad had never been much on church before, but because of our budding relationship with Ms. Kilpatrick, he insisted we go every Sunday. Just going was not enough to suit her and she compelled me to be active in the church. Next thing I knew, I was singing in the choir alongside Karen. Whenever we would stand to sing, Ms. Kilpatrick’s warm and approving smile made it all worthwhile. I loved pleasing her.

It wasn’t long before Dad was shopping for a new house and focused his search on the new subdivisions springing up in the desert out past Eastwood High. As it was just Dad and I and we were looking at four and five bedroom homes, I knew something was up. When we found one we really liked, Dad asked Ms. Kilpatrick to check it out with us. I’ll never forget that day. She loved the pool, the spacious kitchen, all the storage, the three-car garage, the master bedroom suite, the yards – everything about the place. Compared to the cramped apartment she and her girls were living in, the place must have seemed like paradise to her. Gaining final approval, Dad bought the place and he and I moved in on June 25th - my sixteenth birthday.

As that summer was nearing its end, Dad and Ms. Kilpatrick announced they were going to be married and I was elated. The big wedding ceremony was held at First Baptist and Karen, Jennifer and I all took part in the beautiful service. After a quick honeymoon and before school started, we were all settled into our new home and living as a family. I was on top of the world.

On Labor Day weekend, we all went to Van Horn to visit my grandmother. We spent Friday and Saturday night at her house and were planning to leave early Sunday morning. It was less than a two-hour drive back to El Paso and the way Dad and Ms. Kilpatrick had it figured we could be at First Baptist by ten o’clock. As Dad was loading the car, Ms. Kilpatrick, started looking for Jennifer who was no-where to be found. The search effort quickly escalated and turned frantic. Ms. Kilpatrick changed out of her Sunday dress and into jeans and a t-shirt as she prepared to start searching the foothills behind Grandmother’s place. Then, just before nine o’clock, Jennifer came running down the street. Like a flash, Ms. Kilpatrick was in Jennifer’s face and demanding an explanation. Quickly, she backed away and with a stunned look on her face she started in on her, “You’ve been smoking Jennifer - I can smell it on you!” She was really MAD. I knew smoking was her biggest pet peeve – and so did Jennifer. For a few moments, Ms. Kilpatrick stood silently with her hands on her hips and let her angry eyes do all the talking.

After a few seconds the stare down ended and things really started to happen. Ms. Kilpatrick took Jennifer by her upper arm and marched her into the house and straight to the bathroom. After quickly pulling her inside, she shut the door. To be honest, I didn’t have a clue what was going on. I thought she was simply seeking privacy for scolding her daughter. Little did I know!

Dad, Karen, Grandmother and I stood quietly in the living room looking inquisitively at one another. Only Karen knew what was going on – the rest of us were at a complete loss. As the bathroom was immediately adjacent to the living room, I could hear Ms. Kilpatrick’s muffled yet very angry voice as she questioned and scolded Jennifer. Karen looked at me and said, “Oh boy – is Jennifer ever going to get it now. Mom isn’t even going to wait until we get home to wear her butt out. She’s dead meat. I can’t believe she’s smoking again.” “Oh Mi-God,” I thought to myself, “She is going to spank her!”

Within seconds, the angry voice coming from the bathroom changed from a questioning mode to one giving strict orders. I was stunned when I heard her bark out, “Get your jeans down Jennifer Anne. I mean it – RIGHT NOW – GET EM ON DOWN”

I looked around the room and noticed that my Dad and his mother were stunned by what was taking place. I had never been spanked or even around a spanking before so this stuff was all new to me. I had always known that Dad was not in favor of spanking and his mother did not believe in it either. Just as I turned to question Karen and hopefully gain some insight, I heard Jennifer pitifully start begging. “Pleeezzzeeeee Mommy…. Pleeezzzeee.. Not here… pleeezzzee…pleeezzzeee….One more chance. I didn’t mean too…. Really Mommy….. Not here….. Not Here……Pleeezzzeee…..I’m sorry….. Pleeezzzeee Mommy - I’ll never do it again…. Pleezzzeee….one more chance……I’ll do anything – just don’t spank me Mommy…..” Her wasted pleading was promptly interrupted by a stern and demanding voice, “Jennifer Anne, I’m not going to tell you again. I want those jeans down right now – DROP EM - DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”

There was a moment of silence and then, in an even more panicked and desperate voice Jennifer resumed with her begging, “No – not the belt…. Pleeezzzzzeeee… not the belt … I’m sorry Mommy…. I’m sorry… Pleeezzzeee Mommy Pleeezzzeee…. Just use your hand Mommy….not Oh no….. no… not that….. No… Pleeezzzeeee not the belt… No….no……pleeeezzzzeee… I’ll do anything Mommy…. One more chance”

In a calm and steady voice Ms. Kilpatrick cut her off, “You just be thankful that I don’t have the strip with me. You got this one coming – now get on over here – lets go little lady. RIGHT NOW JENNIFER ANNE!” There was a pause of about five seconds and then, all hell broke loose. The noise coming from behind that door was like nothing I had ever heard before. The combined sound of hard slapping leather, a stern and relentless scolding voice and Jennifer’s frantic screeching, screaming and pleading was incredible. After quickly building in intensity to an unbelievable point, there was a momentary pause in the steady cracking. As Jennifer’s screeching started reducing to sobbing and unintelligible begging, another stern order was issued, “MOVE YOUR HAND – get that hand off that butt. I’M WATING. Do you want it on your thighs? IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT? – IS IT?” A few seconds passed and then, as quickly as it had stopped, the terrifying sounds returned. Crack, crack, crack, crack, crack…. and Jennifer’s sobbing quickly elevated again to the horrendous screeching and whaling made I had witnessed moments earlier.

Finally, the haunting sound of punishing leather and relentless scolding ended and Jennifer’s screaming slowly subsided back to heart wrenching sobbing. “Jennifer Anne - will there be any more smoking - EVER?” Jennifer was incoherently blubbering something in an attempt to be responsive when Ms. Kilpatrick cut her off. “Okay, get your jeans back up, wash your face and get yourself ready to go. If there was ever a girl that needs to be at church – its you.”

Next thing I knew, the door swung wide open and Ms. Kilpatrick emerged slipping the belt back into the loops of her jeans. “I’m really sorry I had to do that here Connie.” She told my grandmother, “She knew better. Smoking - I just won’t have it. I love her too much to let her kill herself with those damn stinking cigarettes. I don’t know why they even sell those awful things in this country”

My grandmother was at a complete loss for words and simply nodded before looking away. Spinning back around and looking at the bathroom door Ms. Kilpatrick warned, “Jennifer – you’ve been in there long enough. You march yourself out here right now young lady – I really don’t think you want me to come back in there Jennifer… do you?”

While Ms. Kilpatrick attempted to explain herself to my Dad and Grandmother, Jennifer came running from the bathroom. Both hands were covering her face and without stopping or saying a word, she passed through the living room, out the front door and quickly ran to the car. Within seconds, Ms. Kilpatrick was at the door and scolding again. “Jennifer, you get right back in here and thank Connie for having you as a guest and say good by to her properly. You know about good manners – and I expect to see some right now”

Looking at her feet and still sobbing softly, Jennifer stepped back into the living room. With out looking up and she addressed my grandmother in a soft and trembling voice. “Ms. Emory, it has been very nice meeting you and I thank you for having me as a guest in your home. The meal last night was delicious. I hope I can come back and see you again soon. I’m sorry I caused such a problem here this morning. I really am.” As she spoke, her embarrassment must have overtaken her. She broke down and started sobbing again. My grandmother quickly moved across the room with her arms extended. After the harsh treatment she had received in the bathroom, I know Jennifer was comforted by my grandmother’s understanding and loving hug. I could not hear what she whispered into Jennifer’s ear but by her reaction, I know it was warmly welcomed.

Ms. Kilpatrick was on the phone arranging a stand in leader for her Sunday school class while the rest of us were saying our good bys and moving towards the door. We were all loading up when my grandmother called and beckoned me back to her porch. I responded and as soon as I reached her, she gave me a huge hug and a kiss on my forehead. Then, with a very serious expression of concern, she cautioned, “Carla, whatever you do, don’t you dare give that woman a reason to get after you. With out a doubt that’s the meanest damn woman I have ever seen in my life. The way she treated that sweet and innocent child. I’m telling you honey, if you give her a reason, that woman will whip the living daylights out of you. If she ever lays a hand on you – I just don’t know what I’ll do. What on earth is wrong with your Dad – what was he thinking?? Marry a woman like that! Well, you know you can always come here and live with me and be safe.”

I hugged and kissed my grandmother and assured her that everything would be okay. I told her Ms. Kilpatrick was always very nice to me and that I really liked her. She had never done anything like that before and I knew that Dad would never permit her to hurt me. Deep inside I was really upset. I wanted my grandmother and her to like one another and become friends. “Don’t worry Nana, I’ll be fine. Really – please don’t worry. Okay? Love you!” I gave her a final hug and kiss, turned and headed for the car. As we drove away, I could see her standing on the porch ringing her hands in distress.

On the ride back to El Paso, I was in the front seat with Dad while Ms. Kilpatrick was in the back with her girls. Dad wasn’t saying a word and I could tell he was upset. After we had done ten or fifteen miles, Ms. Kilpatrick broke the silence. “Your upset – aren’t you Robert?” After a pause, my Dad responded, “Hon, I had no idea you reared your girls that way. If you had to do something like that, I just wish you had waited until we got home and done it in private. You should have seen the look on my mothers face when you were in the bathroom with Jennifer. Alice, you need to understand that my mother, Carla and I have never been around anything like that before. Spanking children is just not acceptable to us. It’s barbaric!”

In a disbelieving tone, I heard it coming from the backseat. “Barbaric? What do you mean – Barbaric?” She paused for a moment, thought and started speaking again. “Robert, I grew up with spankings. My Mom spanked my sister and I until we left home. My Dad was always taking Gary out behind the barn for a session with the bridle strap. And you know what, we all turned out just fine. To this day, all of us thank Mom and Dad for having the guts to punish and discipline us as they did. What – I guess you don’t think I turned out okay?” she asked. Starting to break the ice, Dad had to chuckle as he glanced in the rear view mirror, smiled and said, “I think you turned out perfect. That’s why I married you.”

“And how about my Brother? He turned out well – Bobby is one of the most successful road and bridge contractors in Texas. Ask him if he thinks his sessions with Dad and that strap out behind the barn hurt him any. Wait – that is not what I mean. I know they hurt him plenty at the time he was getting it. Oh boy - I can still remember – you could here it going on clear over in the next county. Sure it hurt him, but it helped mold him into one of the most honest, hardworking, and well-respected men in Texas. And my sister – she was getting it all the time – more than any of us. Mom must have blistered Angie’s butt a hundred. Now look at Angie, she’s the Head Nurse at the East Texas Medical Center in Longview. And you know what else Robert? Angie spanks her girls and Bobby’s wife spanks their kids. Those are all well-adjusted and happy kids. The proof is in the pudding – spankings works. Just look at these two – best in the whole wide world.” As she finished up her pro-spanking speech, she hugged Karen and Jennifer and tightly and kissed them each.

Dad responded by pulling me close to him and patting the top of my head. “Hey, my little princess has not ever been spanked and as far as I am concerned, she’s perfect.”

The conversation left no doubt that Dad’s and Ms. Kilpatrick’s views on raising children were as different as night and day. Dad had grown up as the only child of a medical doctor and his wife in the desert of West Texas. In stark contrast, Ms. Kilpatrick was the oldest daughter of a hard-working farming family in Gilmer – a small rural town nestled deep in the Piney Woods of East Texas. Be it at school or at home, in the East Texas communities such as Gilmer, the spanking of kids was as common as the washing dishes.

By the time we had reached the outskirts of El Paso, I noticed that Jennifer and her mother were having fun and playing with one another in the back seat. It was clear by their giggles and silly talk that all had been forgiven and their love for each other was genuine and unconditional. At that moment, my envy of their awesome relationship was almost unbearable. I would have given anything to be Jennifer right then. I needed a real mother like Ms. Kilpatrick so badly it hurt.

It was just past eleven o’clock when we finally arrived at First Baptist. Being late, it took forever to find a place to park. As it ended up, we had to walk two and a half blocks from our parking spot to the church. Ms. Kilpatrick, with one arm around the shoulder of each of her girls walked in front as Dad and I followed behind. We never had a chance to change our cloths and I was very surprised we were going to church dressed in jeans. In the past, we had always dressed up to the max for our Sunday morning church going activities.

As we walked along, there were two objects that I had difficulty taking my eyes off of. First, Ms. Kilpatrick’s brown leather belt looked much wider, thicker and heavier than I had ever noticed it being before. Upon further study, I noted the obvious crease in its’ center and I concluded that must be the folding point where it’s doubled when not being used for its primary intended purpose. “Mi-Gosh, that thing must hurt like holy heck,” I thought to myself as we walked along.

The other object that captured my imagination was the seat of Jennifer’s jeans and the small bottom that filled it. In my mind, I could picture Jennifer in that Bathroom being made to take her jeans down as her mom was pulling that fearsome belt from her own. I wondered if Jennifer’s poor bottom was marked from the strapping. Based upon the sounds I had witnessed, I could only conclude that she had gotten it really torn it up.

Being so late, once inside the church, we couldn’t find a pew with enough vacant spots for all five of us to sit together. To overcome the situation, we split into two groups. Ms. Kilpatrick, Karen and Jennifer sat together in the pew directly in front of Dad and I. Every time we stood to sing, my eyes drifted to the Jennifer’s small bottom and Ms. Kilpatrick’s wicked belt and my young mind filled with all kinds of thoughts.

The sermon that day was fitting. In a nutshell, the preacher was telling the parents that they had a duty to discipline and punish their children. He read from the bible and words such as “rod,” “smite” and “chasten” were used over and over. As he was speaking, I thought about the recent meeting of belt and bare bottom in Van Horn and wondered if that session would have met with his approval. He never came right out and said it, but he was defiantly in favor of parents spanking their kids. Being a straight-laced preacher man, I was wondering what his feelings would be on the taking down of a young girls jeans and the resulting exposure of her bare bottom. As the “beat the devil out of those bad kids” sermon came to a close, Ms. Kilpatrick turned her head back and with a satisfied expression, winked at my Dad.

Looking for Love Part 2: "Sultan of Swat"

The next day was my first as a freshman at Eastwood. It was really great to have Karen to show me around and introduce me to all of her many friends. During one of those introductions, I was surprised by another revelation about Ms. Kilpatrick child rearing practices. After Karen told Libby Hollis that I was her stepsister, Libby looked at me and asked, “Has she busted your butt yet?” I couldn’t believe the kids at school knew about that stuff. During me second day, I ran into Libby again and that time, she was with a group of other girls. She whispered something to them and as they all giggled a couple of them made agonizing faces and rubbed their butts with both hands!

As soon as school was out, I met up with Karen so we could walk home together. I told her about the butt rubbing and face making and asked what in the hell was going on. “How do they know about the spankings you guys get?” I wasn’t prepared for Karen’s response. As we walked along, Karen explained that they were not referring to the spankings she and Jennifer got at home. The rubbing of their butts was in reference the paddling sessions her mom dolled out at school. She went on to explain that her mother had a reputation for giving the fearsome “swats from hell.” She explained that there were only two people at Eastwood that paddled girls and her mom was one of them. The other was an elderly coach named Ms. Gage. She said her mom swung the board like a pro swings a baseball bat and was known at Eastwood as “the sultan of swat.” She told me that most of the girls that had been paddled by both her and Ms. Gage said that each swat from her mom was equal to three from the other woman.

Wanting to hear more, I asked Karen what her Mom’s school paddle looked like and where she gave the swats. Karen described the paddle as being about 24” long, 3” wide and about as thick as your little finger. She explained that her mom had wrapped the whole paddle with white adhesive tape after it split while delivering an exceptionally hard swat to a sophomore’s butt. She added that her mom gave the swats in her office that was located adjacent to the Girl’s dressing room. She went on describing the process and explained how she would made the girls stand in front of her desk, bend at the waist and with their tummy flat on the top, grasp the far side and hang on for dear life. I got the idea Karen was exaggerating and trying to scare me when she added that her mom would lift the paddle until it touched the ceiling and added that when the swats landed, you could hear the pops from the center of the gym.

Recalling her orders for Jennifer to take down her jeans in grandmother’s bathroom, I had to ask, “Does she make them lift their skirts or drop their jeans for the swats?” Karen shook her head and said that the bare bottom stuff was only used at home. Like an expert, she went on to explain that at school there were rules established by the District. To overcome the problems created by the added padding of baggy jeans and skirts, her mom had developed a procedure where she would send the girl to change into her gym shorts and then report back for their padding.

As we neared the house, I inquired about the spankings at home and if she still got them. She indicated that she did indeed, but qualified it by proudly adding that it had been almost six months since her last one. I inquired as to what the strip was – and Karen started to balk. I asked about the baring of bottoms and Karen got snippy, “You don’t get spanked. It’s really none of your business. I really don’t want to talk about it anymore. It’s a private thing between me and mom and Jennifer.” After a pause she threw in, “She spanks us because she loves us and I am glad that she does.”

The one time I tried to get information about the spankings out of Jennifer she simply responded by saying, “Why don’t you ask my Mom these questions.” It was becoming clear to me that there was a lot of resentment concerning the situation and because I was not spanked like they were, we were not equals in the sister’s eyes.

Looking for Love Part 3: "Almost"

At the end of the first nine weeks, report cards came out and Karen was freaking. She had all B’s and C’s with one exception, she got an F in Algebra. I told her not to feel so badly, I had one B, three C’s and two D’s and it was the worst report card I had ever received. I wasn’t expecting Karen’s response. “I don’t know what you’re so worried about Carla, remember, you’re immune from spankings. If you even get chewed out and put on restriction, I’ll be surprised.” She looked at me and I could clearly see the fear in her eyes when she confided, “Carla, I’m really in for it. I’m scared to death. I never got an F before. The one time I got a D, she spanked me till I was wishing I were dead. I don’t even want to go home. What am I going to do? - How could I be so stupid?”

When we got to the house, Jennifer was already there. Karen and I could not believe our ears when the little brain announced she had pulled it off. Straight A’s with an A- in History. She was dancing around the room shaking the damn thing in our faces. As soon as she saw our report cards, she lost it on Karen’s F. “Mi-God Karen, she is going to kill you. I’ll bet you get it with the strip.” Of course when I asked what the strip was, I was again told it was not of my concern. When I asked about my fate, Jennifer responded with disgust, “If they really get tough with you, you might get sent to your room without supper.” Dad got home before Ms. Kilpatrick. He was really disappointed with my report car. He looked at Karen’s and told her she should be ashamed of herself. He explained to both of us that his help was available any time either of us could use it. For Karen’s sake he added that algebra was one of his strengths. Moving on to Jennifer and following a quick review of her impressive report card, he told her he was really proud of her and gave her a big hug. He then returned his attention to me. After some serious thought and weighing of options, Dad decided that I was to be grounded for the next nine weeks. “These D’s are unacceptable Carla. I know you can do better than that. You’re grounded until these sorry grades come up. I expect you to come straight home from school, and as soon as you come through that door – you will go to your room. You will study, and when you need it, I expect you to ask for help. You will only leave your room to go to the bathroom – do I make myself clear?” I responded that I understood, apologized for letting him down and gave my word that he would see a vast improvement on my next report card.

Just as I turned to go to my room, Ms. Kilpatrick came in from the garage. She looked around the room and instantly knew something was wrong. “Okay girls, lets have the report cards.” Jennifer was quick to produce hers and within a few seconds, she was receiving all kinds of praise, a big hug and a kiss on her forehead. Handing the card back to Jennifer, for some reason she skipped Karen and turned to me. “Lets see it Carla. I know you haven’t been studying – I’ll bet its bad. Is it? Come on – lets have it” I slowly crossed the room, retrieved the document from my Dad and with out looking up, turned and placed it into Ms. Kilpatrick’s extended hand. She looked at the card and then shaking her head in disbelief, she looked right at me. “What do you have to say for yourself Carla? This is one of the worst report cards I have ever seen.” She waited for me to provide something that we both knew did not exist – a reasonable explanation.

Her angry eyes really frightened me but did not prepare me for what was coming next. I felt the floor fall out from under me when she spoke again. “Two D’s – that’s disgraceful and I won’t have it. Okay Carla, you got yourself a spanking coming for this one young lady. Get your butt on into my bedroom and wait for me.” I was scared to death. She was going to really do it. “I’m going to get a spanking! Mi-God what am I going to do?” I thought as I considered my options. Looking around, I noticed that Jennifer looked pleased as peaches and even Karen, in as much trouble as she was in, showed delight at her mom’s surprise announcement. As I was looking at Dad, Ms. Kilpatrick’s angry voice repeated her previous order. “Carla, I told you to do something and I expect you to obey me without question. Now go to my room and wait for the spanking you have coming. Are you going to go on your own or do I need to take you there?”

Not wanting to be hauled to the bedroom the way I had seen Jennifer taken to the bathroom in Van Horn, I was already on my way when Dad finally spoke up. “Alice, you know my feelings on spanking. I have already talked to Carla about her grades and she is being grounded.”

Ms. Kilpatrick jerked her head around and looked right at my Dad. “Talked to her? Grounded her? What a joke. She is on the verge of flunking out of school and you think it’s time for talking and grounding. Okay, fine. She is your daughter – not mine. I can tell you one thing, if she were mine, and she brought this report card home, I would take enough hide off her butt to craft a new lampshade!” Thinking of her own predicament, I knew poor Karen was distressed to hear this colorfully descriptive declaration of intent.

Dad quickly ended the scene when he took the report card from Ms. Kilpatrick, “Well, she is not your daughter Alice – She’s mine - and she is grounded. Okay, get to your room and get after those books Carla. I know you are going to keep your word to me. We won’t have any more grades like that – will we?”

“No Daddy, I’m going to do better.” As I turned and walked towards the hall, I started to cry. Hearing Ms. Kilpatrick say, “She is not my daughter” had really hurt me. I wanted to be her daughter. I needed to be her daughter – I was desperate for her love.

Looking for Love Part 4: "The Strip"

As I left the room, I heard what I knew was coming, “Okay Karen, lets see your report card. By the way, I already know about your algebra grade. I had lunch today with Mr. More. Do you know what he told me? He says YOU DON”T EVEN TRY!” There was a moment of silence and then the request was repeated. “Karen, I want to see that report card and I want to see it right now. Lets have it”

I was already in my room, but I left my door ajar in hopes of hearing what was going on with Karen. All the sudden, I heard Ms. Kilpatrick’s booming voice end the silence. “Good God Karen – I have never in all my life - All C’s – one lousy B and an F. Not a single A. What in the heck have you been doing Karen– or should I ask - not doing?” Once again, she was asking questions that could not be answered without self-incrimination. Problem for Karen was that taking the 5th was not an option for her. After realizing that an answer was not forthcoming, Ms. Kilpatrick provided her own. “Mr. More is exactly right - YOU DON”T EVEN TRY. Well, young lady - that is where I come in. What you need is a good dose of “want to” – what my father called, “ persuasion” Get on your feet Karen, lets go to my room!”

Knowing they were on their way, I quietly pushed my bedroom door closed. As the pair passed by my room, I could hear Karen whimpering and starting to beg for mercy. A few seconds later, I heard the door to Ms. Kilpatrick’s and Dad’s bedroom slam closed. I cracked my door open and quickly tiptoed to the bathroom in hopes of being able to hear better. Taking a big chance, I left the bathroom light off and the door wide open. Although muffled, I could hear almost everything going on across the hall.

Ms. Kilpatrick’s voice was firm and steady as she prepared her daughter for punishment. “Karen, I want you to remove your jeans, fold them neatly and place them on my dresser. Don’t you dare look at me like that missy. I don’t feel sorry for you at all. I said get those jeans off and I mean it. I’m not going to ask you again Karen. Have you forgotten that I can and will take them off for you if I have to?”

All the sudden I could hear Karen’s frightened and desperate pleading. “Oh no! No… please no. Not the strip…. Please… please, I’m begging you Mommy.. please don’t use that thing on me. I’ll do good at school… please…”

“Oh, I know your going to do good in school. I’m going to see to that. You brought home that disgraceful report card and now, you get the strip! It’s not like you haven’t been warned. You got this one coming to you Karen. Okay, panties too. I don’t want anything to come between us during this talk.” There was another pause and I could hear Karen desperately begging and pleading. She sounded more like a five-year old than the teenager that she was. “No mommy.. please no. don’t do it…pleeezzzeeeeee don’t pleeeezeee… no…no…no mommy… I’m begging you….don’t ….don’t …don’t…don’t..” Within seconds a stern, determined and authoritative voice interrupted the childish mumbling. “I’m warning you Karen – when I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it. Don’t you dare shake your head no at me young lady. Get em off right now – I want it bare! I’m going to tear up your naughty butt and I need to see how good of a job I’m doing.”

Poor Karen must have complied and bared herself as ordered because the next instruction was issued. “Karen, I want you to get on that bed and drape yourself face down over those pillows. Right now little lady – go on - do as you’re told. We’ve done this before - You know the drill. Face down, bottom up and get your hands under the pillows.”

Karen’s pitiful whimpering continued to increase as she was enduring the final preparatory stages for what was to come. “Move on forward – lift up your tummy Karen I need to double these pillows.”

“Pleeeezzzzzeeeee mommy… plllllzzzeeees.. not too hard… I’m begging you… I’m going to do better – I will – I will…..”

Once again, as the wasted pleading fell upon deaf ears, her mom cut her off. “Karen, please - shut your mouth and listen to me. Act your age. This isn’t easy for me either. It’s tearing me up to be in here and having to do something like this to you. I love you more than life itself. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. You are precious to me. One of the two greatest gifts God ever blessed me with. I love you dearly and I care about your future. If there was another way, you know – I would be all for it. But we both know nothing else works with you. Isn’t that right Karen?”

Her mom’s kind and loving words had brought a refreshing moment of badly needed peace to the room and helped Karen to somewhat compose herself. Nevertheless, she responded to her mother’s question by resorting back to pleas for mercy. “I know, I know.. but please mommy.. please – just this one time. Give me one more chance. I’ll show you. I’ll do better. You will never see another report card like that again – ever. Just don’t spank me. Please, please – don’t.”

No words coming from Karen’s mouth could change what her mother had made up her mind to do. “I’ve told you about the last time Mom used the strip on me. I was a year older than you are right now. By the time she finished whipping my butt that night, we were both in tears. I knew how badly it had hurt her to have to punish me like that. That was the last time she ever had to spank me – let’s hope this is the last time I have to spank you Karen. Okay, let’s get this over with keep your hands under the pillow.”

Learning that her pardon had been denied, Karen’s desperate and pitiful mumbling resumed. Suddenly she cried out in agony. A second later, she screeched out another ear piercing scream. Then another and another and another and another… Although the screaming and crying was similar, the rest of what was going on sounded nothing like what I had heard coming from my grandmother’s bathroom when Jennifer was getting it with the belt. There was none of the loud cracking this time – just a hissing sound followed by a loud click and then Karen’s anguished cry. Whishhhhhhhhhhhh Splittttttt…..YEAOWWWWWWWWW.

Suddenly, there was a pause and I was in hopes the punishment was over. For the next few moments, all I could hear was Karen’s pitiful sobbing and saying no more mommy…pleeeezzzeeee no no no.. pleezzzeeee mommy pleeeezzee.”

As soon as Ms. Killpatrick finally spoke again, I knew it was not finished. “Karen, you are to get your hands off of your butt, get back up on that bed and drape yourself over those pillow. I was almost done when you did that.”

Karen’s blubbering was so pathetic that I wanted to burst into that room and stop what was taking place. “I can’t…..pleeeeezzzzeeee.. I’ve learned mommie…. No.. no…no.. don’t make me…pleeeeezzzeee… I’ll be good for ever…..no more…no more…can’t it be over?? ---- pleeeeezzzeeeee”

Sounding more determined than ever, her mom interrupted her daughter’s pitiful prayer. “No Karen, I’m sorry, we’re not done yet. Get back over the pillows – damn-it lets get this over with. It’s killing me. I hope you remember this next time you decide not to do your best at school. Please Karen, don’t you ever cause me to have to do something like this to you again. Please, get back over those pillows right now so we can finish it correctly.”

After a short pause I heard Karen start begging again, “Oh no…no no no mommy….No pleeeeezzzzeeee no – not the hairbrush.. pleeezzzeeeeee….oh no….” Her mother calmly responded, “Karen, you have elected to act like a little girl – so now - you’re going to get spanked like one. All right, get over my lap. Now give me your hand.” A second later it sounded like a freight train was going through that bedroom. Words cannot describe the haunting noises that filled that part of the house. Judging from the loud rapid pops of cracking hardwood against bare flesh, Ms. Kilpatrick’s relentless scolding and Karen’s frantic yelping and mournful sobbing, what was taking place behind that closed door was obviously a living hell.

After what seemed like an eternity, the awful cracking and vicious scolding ended and Karen’s bellowing slowly subsided to steady yet completely unintelligible blubbering and sobbing. Knowing it was ending, I quickly returned to my bedroom. As I moved past the closed door, I could hear Ms. Kilpatrick’s concerned and loving voice as she comforted and cared for her sobbing and well-punished eldest daughter. Once in my room, I could not make out what was being said but it was obvious that the session had entered into a much more gentle, loving and pleasant stage for both of the participants. Within an hour or so, I could hear Karen and her mother giggling and enjoying their special relationship and private moments together. It was almost ten o’clock when I finally heard the door open and Karen and her mother exchange parting words of love as they finally separated from their experience. Without even having a punishing finger touch me, I cried myself to sleep that night. Even knowing what Karen had endured and how much she had suffered, I wanted to trade places. I wanted to be her. I wanted to be loved. I wanted to be Ms. Kilpatrick’s daughter and I wanted everything that went along with that honor and privilege. Jennifer and Karen were so lucky – they had what I needed so badly – a real mother that loved unconditionally

Looking for Love Part 5: "Trouble and Love"

After that night, things between my Dad and Ms. Kilpatrick started going down hill. The relationships between the two sisters and I became more and more strained with each passing day. Clearly, they were her girls and I was his. We were not equals in any way and we all resented it. I know that Dad and Ms. Kilpatrick argued over me a lot. Her view and his view on how I should be handled were as opposite as black and white – or should I say – red or white! Anyway, things were changing fast – and not for the better. Worst of all, the special and cherished relationship between Ms. Kilpatrick and I was falling apart. Even though I admired and loved her more than ever, I could sense she was growing more disgusted and un-happy with me each day. Things were so different with the relationships she enjoyed with her two daughters and the one she had me.

Within hours after Jennifer’s belt whipping in Van Horn, all was forgotten and she and her mother had quickly returned to being best friends. The same held true for Karen. Even after the awful punishment session with the strip for her failing grade, there was not only forgiveness – there was renewal of trust and more love than ever. There were no questions and neither her initial shortcoming nor the resulting punishment was ever brought up again by either of them. They kept the slate clean and that provided them with the foundation upon which their mutual respect and unconditional love for each other flourished.

My case was so different than that of Karen’s and Jennifer’s. I was grounded for nine weeks. Every day, something about it would come up. Questions, explanations, lack of trust, hurt feelings and cross words. I could feel Ms. Kilpatrick’s disgust for me growing steadily and that filled me with a hurtful shame. It created a vicious and destructive downhill spiral from which I could find no escape. Feeling like a failure was not going to cause me do better in school? Did Dad really think taking me off the soccer team and away from my mentor was a positive thing? At times I wished I were back living in that hell with my drunken mother. In any event, the way things were progressing, it was just a matter of time before Dad and I would be living alone again. There was no way things were going to keep going like they were. Then, by the grace of God and the wisdom of Ms. Kilpatrick, something happened that would change my life – all of our lives forever.

It had reached a point where Karen and I hardly spoke. Before long, I had made some poor choices that included a couple of new friends. Searching for attention and acceptance or just being stupid, I followed my new friend’s examples and secretly started smoking. Every day at lunch, we would sneak off campus and gather between two houses where we kept our pack of cigarettes hidden. Looking back on it, I know I wanted to get caught. But as a group, we were trying to avoid detection.

One afternoon, a notice requesting that I appear at the front office arrived at my Journalism class. Responding to the summons, I reported as requested. After handing the notice to the receptionist, I was instructed to take a seat. As I waited, my two new friends arrived with their notices and were promptly seated along side of me. As we waited, Ms. Kilpatrick entered the room. After giving me a glaring look, she passed by and entered Mr. Marcel’s office. A few minutes passed, and then the receptionist instructed me to join Ms. Kilpatrick and Mr. Marcel. As soon as I entered the room, the door was closed behind me. The first thing I noticed was the pack of cigarettes on Mr. Marcel’s desk. By the brand and the manner in which the pack was folded closed, I knew exactly where it had come from.

Ms. Kilpatrick was standing at the back of the room and leaning up against the wall. I could feel her angry eyes drilling into the back of my head. Breaking the silence, she asked me a question. “Carla, before you answer this question, I want you to think long and hard. You know my feelings on honesty – right?”

Without looking up, I responded, “Yes Ma’am.”

Pointing to the desktop in front of me, she asked her next question “Have you ever seen that pack of cigarettes before?” I responded by admitting that I had and that answer drew the next question, “Carla, have you been smoking?” Thinking I could wiggle my way out of the situation I responded. “No Ma’am. I was with some girls that were smoking – but I wasn’t. I know how you feel about smoking.”

“Oh really? Are you sure about that Carla? You’re telling me that you weren’t smoking?” From the tone of her voice, I knew I was busted. Nevertheless, I was not about to admit to both lying and smoking – so I went on. “I wasn’t smoking.”

As the last word left my lying lips, Mr. Marcel spun around in his chair and switched on the VCR behind his desk. To my horror, there it was. The recording showed us arriving and sneaking up between the houses, it showed Bobbie fishing the pack out from behind the gas meter, taking one out and passing the pack to me. I could clearly be seen tapping my smoke from the pack before passing it on the Kathy. I watched with dread as the recording showed the matches being passed around and each of us lighting up our cigarettes. Just as the image showed me exhaling, she quizzed me again. “Carla, were you smoking?” To which I had no option but to be truthful and responded, “Yes ma’am – I was.” Then she asked the next question that I knew was coming, “Did you lie to me?” Again, I responded, “Yes Ma’am – I did.”

Shaking her head in disgust, and with a look of complete astonishment she glared at me while speaking. “Carla, will you please step out of the room, I need to visit with Mr. Marcel about how this will be handled.”

As I turned to leave Mr. Marcel cautioned me, “Carla, when you go out there, don’t you dare say a word to either of your friends about this recording. Understood?” After I nodded he continued, “By the way Carla, you don’t belong with those girls. They are nothing but trouble. Did you know that Bobbie and Kathy stole money from the cafeteria? We have been watching them for weeks. These video recordings are something else. Those two are going to be kicked out of this school and will be lucky if they don’t end up in the D-Home. You are not like them Carla. From what I hear, you’ve never been in trouble before. At this point, all I can tell you is that you are not going to be suspended or expelled over this single incident. You will however receive the same punishment that any student caught smoking at this school would receive. As for the lie you told your stepmother - that shall be a matter that you and she will need to take up at home. In this case, and only because of your special relationship with her, I am going to overlook the fact that you lied to a member of this institution’s faculty. Don’t ever let that happen again. Understood?”

After acknowledging his instructions and thanking him for his benevolence, I left his office. Back in the waiting room, I followed Mr. Marcel’s instructions. I sat in my chair and only engaged in small talk with my x-friends Bobbie and Kathy. Ten minutes or so later, I was invited to return to Mr. Marcel’s office and stand in front of his desk so that sentence could be passed upon me. Looking me in the eye, Mr. Marcel started, “Carla, as you may know, the punishment for a first-time smoking offense at Eastwood is the student’s choice of either 5 swats or two Saturdays in detention. Oh, and just so you know. Second offense for smoking is the same student’s choice plus one full week of summer detention. Third time – you are out of here!”

After quickly considering my options, I responded by agreeing to take the 5 swats. Shaking his head, Mr. Marcel looked at Ms. Kilpatrick. “Carla, after talking to your step-mom, I don’t think that is an option for you. Now don’t get me wrong. We both think that’s exactly what you need. In fact, just be counting your lucky stars you’re not my daughter, Brenda. You know, we have a rule at our home – you get it at school, you get it at double when you get home. And if she were coming home and reporting conduct such as yours – well – God be with her once her Mom took her down the hall. Anyway, the way things stand, and because of your Dad, your only option will be to serve two Saturday detentions and they must be served within the next three weeks. You may go back to class now Carla”

As I was walking to his Door, Ms. Kilpatrick stopped me and asked that I face her and look her in the eye. As difficult as that order was to comply with, I obeyed. “Carla, right now I am having a hard time even looking at you. I no longer trust you and I don’t know if I can continue living in the same home with you. I’m not going to have another fight with your Dad over this either. I have my two girls and their futures to think about. The only thing I know that I am permitted to do to you is ground you. As far as I am concerned, you can stay in your room every night and weekend for the next year. You are off the soccer team and you will not be trying out for girl’s baseball. I have never had a child act like this – you are not my child. Any questions Carla?”

I stood silent, trying to bring myself to look at me hero – my mentor – my idol - my once best friend. I knew I had hurt her – I knew I had let her down – I felt as if I had ruined everything. All at once, I lost it. I broke down, crying my heart out, “The only thing I ever wanted in this world was to be your daughter. I wanted for you to love me. I wanted to have a relationship with you like Jennifer and Karen have – they are so lucky to have you – to have your love – for you to be their mother. You are my hero – my world revolves around you. When Jennifer got caught smoking – you punished her and it was over. An hour later, you two were like best of friends again. Now look at me – I am being sent to my room forever so you wont have to look at me. It’s not fair…. It’s not fair. I need you to love me…..please ….please….momma – I need you – I love you mom….ah.” I caught myself - I had just slipped and called her “momma”.

When I looked up, I saw tears running down her face. As she extended her arms to me, we fell together and hugged tightly. As she comforted and rocked me back and forth in her arms she kissed me on my forehead. Pushing me back, yet still holding me firmly by the shoulders, she looked into my eyes and spoke softly. “Oh Carla - oh my precious girl. I do love you – I love you to death. You are right – this is not fair to you – it’s not fair to me and it’s not fair to your sisters. Your Dad is wrong on this one and I’m going to straighten it out. But lets you and me get one thing straight right now – I am your mother and you are my daughter – and I love you very much - and that will never change. We are going to fix this situation – my way”

After considering the scene unfolding in his office, Mr. Marcel offered a suggestion. “Alice, I think you and your daughter need to go on home – take a walk – go do something together. I’ll take care of your last classes today. And Carla, for what it’s worth, you are a very lucky young lady – you have one of the finest mothers that ever lived and she loves you dearly. I have witnessed that love here today.”

Looking for Love Part 6 "One of her own."

Instead of going home, Mom and I went to the soccer field where we had first met. The place held fond memories for us. We walked to the bench under the shade tree and sat together. It was obvious that positive change was in the air – and that we both wanted badly. As we visited and shared our feelings it became crystal clear that I finally had a mother – a real mother - and that she loved me unconditionally. When we finally departed, there was a new understanding between us. We were not just mother and daughter, it was a special relationship we enjoyed – we were best of friends and I loved her to death. It was dark by the time we headed home.

Once home, Mom asked me to tell Dad what I had been caught doing at school that day and I confessed to smoking at lunch. I was then asked to tell him what else I had done wrong and I had to admit that I had lied to my mother. With a puzzled and concerned expression he asked, “Your mother? Your mother is dead honey?”

Before I could say anything, my Mom spoke up. “Robert, she does have a mother – and you are looking at her. Carla is my child and don’t you ever forget that. Today, she made two mistakes. First, she broke my rule and Eastwood’s rule relating to smoking – but that wasn’t the worst thing she did. She lied to her mother – and that Robert, is one thing I’m not going to have. Carla and I have spent most of the afternoon visiting and reaching some understandings. She knows how much I love her and she knows what I expect from her. Right now, Carla is in about as much trouble as a girl can be in.” Turning her loving smile to me she issued an order. “Carla, you were caught smoking at school today and then, to make things worse – you lied to me. You are no different than Karen and Jennifer and I think you know what would happen to them if they did the things you have done. Carla, you are going to get the spanking you deserve.” Turning her attention to my father she continued, “Had your Dad not interfered with my decision when you brought home that disgraceful report card, you would have gotten it good that night. Had I worn you out then, I do not believe we would be dealing with these smoking and lying issues now. Nevertheless, what matters now is that your mother is instructing you to go to her bedroom and wait to be punished.”

Looking around the room, I noticed that both of my Sisters were smiling from ear to ear. I rose to me feet, looked my Mom straight in the eye and said, “Yes Ma’am, I’m going right now. I love you Mommy – and you too Daddy” As I passed by Dad on my way out of the room, he sat in his chair and looked at me in awe.

I went to their bedroom and closed the door. The only experience I had with what was about to happen to me was gained from overhearing my sisters getting theirs. I didn’t have a clue as to what I should be doing. That didn’t turn out to be a problem however, within a few seconds of my arrival, the door opened and my very angry but loving mother stepped inside. From that point on, for my part – it was “no experience required.”

Closing and locking the door behind her, she walked straight to me and took me firmly by my upper arm. As she propelled me along my way, she moved by her dresser, opened the drawer and pulled out a huge wooden hairbrush. With it in one hand and me in the other, she marched me on to her dressing table where she released me while turning her vanity chair out to face the room. Taking a seat, she placed the hairbrush on her lap. Witnessing her expert handling of this naughty girl and recalling the frightening sounds of my sister’s sessions, I started to panic. Still, having never been spanked before, I did not fully understand the horrid experience I was facing. Looking back on it now, I know the only reason I wasn’t begging and pleading for mercy at this stage as my sisters had, was the fact that I did not yet know what I was in for.

Like a woman on a mission, Mom quickly moved me to a standing position at her right hand side. She hadn’t said a word to me since entering the bedroom. That was all about to change. After looking at me for a moment, she stood up, slipped the hairbrush into her hip pocket and finally, spoke. “Carla, I want to show you something.” She returned to her dresser, bent over and opened the bottom drawer. Reaching inside, she extracted a long and whippy black object, closed the drawer and returned to face me. “Carla, this is what your sisters and I refer to as “the strip””

Finally, my question had been answered. The strip turned out to be a highly flexible piece of round, hard, black rubber measuring about eighteen inches in length. Judging from the way she held it, I would estimate its diameter to be about equal to that of a pencil. “Carla, My Mom used this on me and my sister whenever we really screwed up. Both of your sisters have felt it. In fact, if you recall the day the report cards came out – well – this is what had Karen making such a fuss in here. Just like my Mom did, I use this on a bare bottoms and I really lay em on to hurt.”

After pausing to again to consider options, Mom resumed with her explanation, “Carla, the only reason you are not going to get it with the strip tonight is because it’s your first time. I always try to be fair – and everyone deserves a warning. Please consider this to be yours. Know this, if you ever lie to me again – or smoke - you get a session with this. And to be positive you fully understand what you will be dealing with, I think a demonstration might benefit you” She re-established her grip on my upper arm and marched me to a position at the foot of her bed. Leaving me standing, she gathered and stacked two pillows at the foot of the bed.

Standing with that wicked strip in hand she issued a detailed instruction. “I want you face down – bottom up - tummy over the pillows – keep your feet together and both of them on the floor.” Once I was in place as ordered, she pushed me slightly forward causing my bottom to be raised even higher. Satisfied with my bottom’s waiting presentation, she spoke again. “Okay, you are to place both of your hands under the pillows and keep them there.” As soon as my hands were tucked away, she stood at my side and let the strip come to rest across my bottom – it was dense and heavy and as a result, I could feel it clearly – innocently resting at her skillfully and knowledgably selected target - just above the tender juncture where bottom meets thighs. “Okay, now you keep in mind that this is only one lick - and it’s over your jeans. And don’t ever forget – if we ever have to do it for real – your bottom’s going to be bare and it will be a heck of a lot more than one lick – that is a promise. This is just a partial demonstration – with protection - so you will know, and hopefully – avoid.”

As she stopped speaking, I felt the heavy strip lift away from my bottom. As I turned my face, I saw that she had hoisted it high above her head where it momentarily hovered. As I glanced at her face, I noted her eyes were fixed upon my clenching and waiting bottom. Suddenly, her entire body went into a smooth and highly coordinated motion as she swung the dreaded strip down with extreme force. I heard a frightening swishing sound that completed with a snapping crack as the vicious thing landed precisely at her pre-selected target. Instantly, a deep penetrating burning sting of hell exploded across my bottom and quickly intensified to a degree that words cannot describe.

Reeling from the vicious lash, I sucked in air so deeply that it completely filled my lungs. My legs flew straight out and my back arched to a point at which my head was at least a foot above the bed. By reflex, both of my hands extended back to clutch and claw at the incredible scorching pain radiating from my battered behind. With complete loss of control - I jumped to my feet and cried out at the top of my lungs. OhhhhhhhWeeeeeAhhhhhhhEeeeeeeeeee… My hands continued to franticly clutch, rub and squeeze at my butt cheeks through my jeans as I spun in circles dancing at foot of her bed. As I continued to react to the first-ever spank of my life, she showed no concern whatsoever as she casually replaced the strip in the drawer, took the hairbrush from her hip pocket and reestablished her handle on my upper arm. Unlike when I was marched to the foot of the bed a few moments earlier, now I was bawling my eyes out.

Before marching me back to the spanking chair, she warned, “Keep that in mind Carla – and think what it’s going to be like with those jeans down. I bet you can understand now why your big sister is working so hard on her algebra these days? She knows damn good and well that I’ll put her right back over those pillows if there is not a big turnaround in that class. Failure is just not an option for my girls! Always remember that Carla - Failure is not an option for you!!”

By the time we arrived back at the chair, she positioned me standing in the originally selected place. As before, she was seated and the hairbrush was on her lap and waiting for use. “Well, because you lied to me today – your getting this spanking. So, lets get to it. Carla, I want you to get those jeans on down. I’m not going to have anything come between me and my daughter while I’m talking to her about you lying to me.”

Still not completely certain of what I was facing, I tried to control my sobbing. Bravely, and without the need for repeated instruction, I opened my belt, un-snapped my jeans and un-zipped them. I guess I wasn’t moving quickly enough because Mom reached out and grasped the waistband of my jeans at each of my hips and started tugging. The jeans were very tight as my bottom has never been small. In fact, it’s a bit on the plump side. Taking my jeans down has never been easy for even me to do. Tugging away, Mom was not making much progress. I knew from experience that wiggling of the hips with coordinated downward tugs or pushes would be required – and I wasn’t wiggling – at least not yet I wasn’t. Little did I know that in a few moments, as the hairbrush was raining down vicious licks, my bottom – it would be wiggling it for all it was worth!

Tired of tugging with little results - Mom went off on me, “These jeans are entirely too tight Carla. I’ve never liked how tight you wear them – and little lady – these jeans are history. Don’t you dare ever let me catch you in this pair again or any others that fit around your bottom like these. Understood? No wonder that lick with the strip hurt you so badly.” Then, getting back on track to task at hand, I received an order accompanied with a threat. “Carla, you get these jeans on down right now. I don’t have all night to fool with you. You have to the count of three to have them down – then I am getting the strip.” Before her count passed one, my jeans were bunched up around my knees.

With the jeans out of the way, I reached back and tried to provide comfort to the damage inflicted upon my poor bottom by the single lick of that awful strip. I could not believe what my fingers found! The well-developed and puffy welt covered both cheeks at the “sit spot” and felt to be almost an inch wide. Not having experience with such things, I concluded I was feeling a blister. Just the gentle touch of my fingers gliding over the enflamed and tender surface was completely unbearable. “Surely she won’t spank me there” I tried to assure myself.

Looking back on it, I realize the painful single welt was just a minor concern at that point. What I should have been worrying about was a far bigger one – a bare bottom hairbrush spanking for lying to my mother. As I was rubbing my butt, sniffling and feeling sorry for myself, the next and most dreaded order was issued. “Carla, you need to bare that bottom for me completely – when one of my daughters lies to me they get a bare bottom spanking. And that is just what you are going to get. So help me Carla – if you ever lie to me again – get those panties down right now!”

Now in addition to being scared to death, I was mortified at the thought of having to bare myself in such a situation. Nevertheless, I was far too smart of a girl to dilly-dally around at a moment like that. I promptly moved my fingers away from my burning sit spot and moved them to catch the inside of the elastic waist band of my panties. Taking a deep breath, I slowly eased them down just clear of my bottom.

Well, that wasn’t good enough for my Mom! “Carla, just so you know for future spanking – if there are any, when I ask you to bare you bottom, that means that there is to be absolutely nothing in my way from the small of your back to the tops of your knees. I expect both your bottom and your thighs to be completely bare for my attention. Now, will you please take you panties down correctly?” That order was simple and I quickly complied. My panties joined my lowered jeans - just below my shaky knees.

Noticing I was trembling and finally moved by my pitiful sobbing, Mom’s strict and demanding voice momentarily softened. “Carla, you know it’s only because I love you that I am doing this. I wish this were already over for both of us. This is very hard for me. I know how badly this is going to hurt you and I wish there was another way – but there isn’t. My precious one - you do know how very much I love you – right?” After I nodded yes, she continued, “And you are still glad to be my daughter - correct?” As I responded to that question my emotions completely overtook me. “Oh yes Mommy – I am so happy to be your daughter. I’m proud to be your daughter. I’m lucky to have become your daughter That’s all I ever wanted – remember – you are my hero. I love you Mommy and I always will. I am sorry I lied to you – I feel so guilty about that – can you ever forgive me? – trust me again? You deserve so much more from me than that – what I did was awful”

Our eyes met and I doubt either of us will ever forget the warm feeling we shared at that special moment. I had all my questions answered and so did she. Even standing there with my bottom bare and about to be spanked - I felt completely and unconditionally loved – so very cared about – so fortunate to be her daughter.

With a concerned expression upon her face and a loving tone in her voice, she started speaking again. “Carla, we need to figure something out. It’s both of our problems. You understand, the spanking I am about to give you is for lying to me – right?” I nodded yes and hung my head in shame for what I had done.

“Well, after were done here in a few moments, our problem is going to be the smoking issue. Mr. Marcel offered you a choice today. Do you still want the swats at school and not the Saturday detentions?”

Recalling what I had been told about the “swats from hell” and the “sultan of swat” and considering my one lick experience with the strip, I had my concerns. Praying for a certain answer, I meekly asked, “Who would give me that swats at school Mommy? I sure didn’t get the answer I was praying for. “You would get them from me Hon, Ms. Gates, bless her heart, is not qualified to give you the kind of swats you deserve for smoking at school. Okay, so what is it going to be, 5 licks from me – or the two Saturday detentions? Its still your choice Carla” Knowing we had weekend plans to travel to the Van Horn, the choice was a no-brainer. “I’ll take the swats Mommy.”

“I think that’s the right choice too. Problem is, after tonight’s spanking, you might not even be able to sit down for a few days – let alone take one of my school paddling sessions. Tell you what - I’ll talk to Jack Marcel and see if we can put your swats off for a week or two. He is an understanding man. How does that sound to you?” As soon as I said that would be perfect, she presented another problem. “Carla, did you hear Mr. Marcel mention their family’s rule – if you get it at school – then you get it double at home?” I nodded yes and she continued, “We have the same rule - and those spankings are not delayed. You get it at school during the day – and it’s bare bottom at home that night at bedtime. Oh, and since it will be a spanking for smoking – I’ll be using my belt – just like Jennifer got it for smoking in Van Horn.”

I was starting to wonder just what I had gotten myself into. I was standing there in front of my Mom with my jeans and panties around my knees. From just a single lick – my butt was already on fire and as I was about to get a blistering with her hairbrush - plans were already being made for 5 swats at school to be followed up that night with a bare-bottom belt spanking at bedtime. Not wanting to upset the apple cart though, I softly whispered that I deserved both the swats at school and the belt spanking at bedtime for letting her down by smoking. I was sure that response would clear the way for my hairbrush spanking to finally get underway – but I was wrong.

“Carla, one last thing. You know you are still grounded for that disgraceful report card you brought home. Do you want to stay grounded or do you think a session with the strip like Karen got might be best?” I thought for a second and decided there was no way I was going to get my bare bottom thrashed with that strip of hers. Shaking my head I answered, “Mommy, can I stay grounded?”

That response resulted in Mom giggling and smiling at me. “You know, I love you and there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. I pride myself in being a fair mother. So, Carla, here is what we are going to do. I’m going to put you over my knee in a moment and give you a hairbrush spanking that is every bit as long and hard as the worst ones your sisters have ever gotten. Once that’s over with, you and I are going to cuddle and get back to being what we really want to be – and that is best friends. It might be an hour or two from now, but once we are done in here, you and I will walk out that door. At that point – your slate will be clean. It will be like there was never a lie told, a cigarette smoked, or any bad grades brought home. I will advise you Dad, you Sisters and Mr. Marcel that you have been punished – and that is all there is to it. Fair enough?” I agreed that it was more than fair and then right over her lap I went. Without delay, she let into me with that hairbrush – and did she ever know how to use that dreadful thing! Talk about getting your bottom blistered - That brush burned my bottom and thighs to a crisp. Even over the loud cracking and my screaming, I could hear Mom’s warnings about “next time” lying to her, smoking and not giving it all I had at school. She scolded and spanked - I kicked, I twisted, I wiggled, I clenched, I bucked, I screamed my head off and I pounded the floor. I begged and pleaded for mercy – and she just kept on spanking.

At one point, I gave it all I had and somehow managed to roll myself half way over while still on her lap. She was so strong there was really never any contest. She quickly rolled me back into place. Slid me forward till my nose was near the floor. Wrapped her left arm tightly around my waist and after giving me some extra hard reminder licks at the tops of my thighs, went right back to blistering my butt again.

Then the problems with control of my hands started – and from experience, she knew just how to deal with it. The first time I put one of my hands back - I received a stern verbal warning – and slowly moved it away. The second time, I put both hands back and tightly cupped the lower portions of my burning cheeks – and for that blunder – I got my thighs turned into ground zero until my hands moved away. At that point, she issued my second verbal warning that included mention of the strip. Try as I did, I just couldn’t take it – and as that that wicked brush spanked and spanked and spanked away at my tender sit spots – by reflex - my right hand flew back for a third and final time. Being the expert that she was, Mom grasped it, ended it’s protecting mission, moved it away from her target and kept it pinned at the small of my back until that god awful spanking of finally ended.

Let me tell you, that was my first spanking, and to this day – my worst spanking. My bottom and the tops of my thighs were bruised and at the sit spots – even blistered. I was weak from the frantic kicking, pulling and twisting of my gallant fight for freedom that was lost due to her expert skill, strength and determination. I was a sight – a real mess. My hair was tangled and knotted and my eyes were blood shot from crying. My face was covered with the snot that had come from my nose, the copious volume of tears that had flowed freely from my eyes and the trails of saliva that slipped past me blubbering lips. That hairbrush in my Mom’s highly skilled hand had done its work well. My voice was hoarse and almost gone from screaming my lungs out, begging, pleading, promising to do better, giving assurances that I would never do certain things again and would always be doing other things in the future.

Later that night, as Mom and I cuddled and reaffirmed our mutual love, I told her how badly my bottom burned and that I believed she had given me over a hundred licks with that vicious brush. She corrected me and advised that I had only received twenty-four licks to my bottom and four to the backs of my thighs. When I claimed the spanking must have lasted at least half an hour, she informed me that from the time she bent me over her knee until the last hairbrush lick fell, less than four minutes elapsed. When I asked if it was a long and hard spanking – she smiled and said it was way too long and much to hard to suit her taste and please – don’t ever make it necessary for her to spank me like that again.

Yep, I finally got the spanking I deserved. Like my grandmother had warned, Mom had spanked the living daylights out of me. But as far as I was concerned, that was fine. I had the best Mom in the whole world and she loved me dearly. I had a clean slate – and there was nothing that needed to be talked about. I wasn’t grounded – and I wasn’t in trouble at school. I had the perfect Dad and two of the best sisters a girl could ever want. But most of all, I had what every girl needs – a mother that loves her enough to spank her to tears when she deserves it and loves her unconditionally because she is her daughter.

Hard Paddling for Carelessness

15 Painful Wacks. Moans of pain and apology. Crying.

Huffington Post Interviews BDSM Business Community

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Realistic Punishment Spanking from a Southern Mom

I found this two part vid on SpankingTube.

This is the most realistic spanking I have ever seen on the internet. This literally looks as if it could be a hidden camera in a house in my hometown in the rural midwest.