You said so many things about spanking that I can totally relate to, sammi38. You would probably echo the sentiment that I would've had to invent spanking if it hadn't already existed. Unlike you, I never got spanked growing up. My mum and my sister were my childhood disciplinarians, but they only ever threatened to spank me. I was punished instead by the withdrawal of their affection. This left spanking (and particularly the over-the-knee spanking of naughty, bare-bottomed children) completely free to become my secret fantasy playland.

By the age of six, spanking was laying claim to my imagination. All I needed was to see "SPANKING" on the cover of a parenting magazine, and I was virtually spellbound. I definitely shared your lusting after the details of a certain child having been spanked, with nothing being of any greater interest than whether their bottom had been bared. A traditional parental spanking's focus on the child's bottom was the very most critical element in my obsessive fascination. My younger sister used to let me playfully pat her and her friend's clothed bottoms as they lay across my lap.


There were certainly times when I'd misbehaved and deserved to be spanked. My oldest sister should've spanked me for stealing the change from her coat pocket. She was in charge of me with our mum away at Teachers College. All she did was 'ask' me if I wanted her to pull down my pants and paddle my bare bottom. I plainly should've just been spanked, but no. And at age 10 or 11, Mum phoned home from school late one afternoon, and I told her she was interrupting my favourite TV show. Coming through the front door a short while later, her very first words to me were an angry "For two cents, I'd spank you!" Again, I'd earned a good bottom warming, but rather than regret my naughtiness with the shame and pain of a spanking, I was left to dwell on my personal badness.

Probably as much out of curiosity as frustration, at age 13, I began secretly paddling and strapping my bare backside. I preferred using my parents' bedroom where the mirrors could be arranged to give me a perfect straight-on view of the proceedings. And at 14, my mother privately confronted me one day with a certain naughty paperback I'd forgotten in the bathroom. To my face, she asked me if I felt I'd "missed out by never getting a bare bottom spanking." I melted in a puddle of teenage shame, and was told to "stop being silly." Addicted as I clearly was by then, I mostly just tried to be less forgetful.