Back when I was in school, I received corporal punishment. Boys had to bend over the desk of the teacher and got ‘six of the best’ on their bottoms with a long wooden ruler, or sometimes a cane. Teachers were not allowed to spank the girls’ bottoms, so we had to hold out our hands and received our ‘six of the best’ on our hands – three on each. For this the teachers either used a ruler, or a huge compass, which was used to draw circles on the black board. I hated corporal punishment. It was humiliating and it hurt a lot. Sometimes I wonder why, with my kink, the thought of being humiliated doesn’t appeal to me at all, but I think it might be because of being humiliated by the teachers.
However, it was not only in school that I received corporal punishment. No, I also got it from my parents. Mainly from my father, who punished us a couple of times a month. My mom almost never, but when she did it, we knew that we really deserved it. I didn’t hate the corporal punishment by my father as much as I hated his speeches afterwards. He always told me that it was my fault that he had to punish me. I carried a feeling of guilt well into my adult life.
Nowadays it’s different. I love being spanked. I love to feel the hurt, squirm against it, try to get away from it, and then gradually settling into it and accepting the pain. It doesn’t humiliate me anymore; it grounds me. This image is one from the series of our date with The Talker. Don’t you just LOVE the marks? I do!
© Rebel’s Notes