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of a series of recollections of some disciplinary experiences! Don't worry, there aren't TOO many of these... there might be a few ;)\n","description_bbcode_parsed":"One of a series of recollections of some disciplinary experiences! Don't worry, there aren't TOO many of these... there might be a few ;)
","writing":"I looked at my report card.\n\nIn my school, our report cards were given directly to the students. This was always done on the Monday, and we were asked to deliver them home to our parents. They then had to be signed, and returned to the school on the Friday.\n\nNow that I think back on it, this process was likely just in place to cut down on postal costs. But in either case, it meant the report cards were not sent directly to our homes. Now, in my first school which I attended they were posted out – but when I was 12 I changed schools, heading further into the city. This new school was larger, had almost 800 kids in attendance, and was further from where we lived.\n\nLike, much further. I had to get a bus in each day. It was only a 20 minute bus ride, but… well, from 12 until 15 or so, the number of times I’d ride that bus was impressive. And given that I still got spanked at home, and was known to get them before leaving home for school… let’s just say that my butt knew every bump on that road, vis a vis the thin bus seats!\n\nAnyway, I was 13 this time. And I was failing French and Chemistry.\n\nNow let me be honest, those two subjects sucked. Totally blew chunks. But that didn’t matter, the fact was that I was not doing well in them. Now in my school, we didn’t ‘fail’ a subject – the lowest we could get was to pass with an E, which was the lowest possible mark. But my parents expected me to get an A or B in each subject. That was their cut-off mark. If I got a C, D or an E, as far as they were concerned, I was ‘failing’ it.\n\nWhich meant… well, usually it meant the large wooden hairbrush. In previous years that had been the case. But because I was 13 years old now, and my exams were due to start next year, that had been escalated upwards. Now, a failing grade in any subject meant a session with the leather belt.\n\nI was no stranger to having my bare bottom warmed by my folks by 13. In truth, it was almost a monthly experience. I wasn’t even unfamiliar with getting paddled for report cards – that was extremely common. In truth, almost every report card equated to a firm spanking because there was almost always at least one subject I’d flag behind in. But rarely were there two. And given that, as well as my parent’s new ‘turning 13’ edict, I did not want to feel their ire.\n\nI slumped down on my bed, school backpack in hand, and stared at the report card.\n\nPlacing my parent’s signature on the bottom would be such an easy thing to do, I thought.\n\nI knew my mother’s signature well enough. I’d seen it, and I was fairly sure that I could replicate it easily enough. I reached for a pen.\n\nAnd so we skip forward to the next week.\n\nIt was Wednesday. I remember that because when my mother called me, I was watching one of my favourite TV shows. Now, I had handed in the report card with the forged signature to my school, the Friday before this spanking occurred. I guess saying that a spanking occurred counts as a spoiler? Well fuck, what a surprise! In either case, a weekend had crept past. Wednesdays included two of the worst periods of school for me, being a double-period of gym followed by a double-period of maths. All of which had pushed the report card from my mind entirely.\n\nI had completely forgotten all about it until I heard my mother call, “Spark! Sparkle, Get over heree.”\n\nHonestly, at the time I didn’t give it much thought. I was in the middle of the show, and fully intended to be watching Star Trek in about an hour and a half, so I figured that whatever she wanted could wait. \n\nShe called again. “Come on – come on!”\n\nThat call was prompt enough to stir me. I didn’t want to anger her too much. I shuffled up, pulled myself from the sofa and trudged into the hallway.\n\nMy mother was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, holding the belt. It curled, quite softly, in her paws, like a pet cat.\n\nI felt a lump form in my throat. The fur on the nape of my neck tingled and my ears folded down. “Mum?” I asked.\n\nMy mother wasn’t a large woman – she was tall, kept her hair neatly tidied behind her. She had one paw on the hip of her jeans, and her eyes narrowed at me. “Your room” she said, motioning to the stairway behind me.\n\n“But-”\n\n“Now” she replied.\n\nMy stomach started to knot and I felt it flutter. Oh god – the report card! Could it have been found out? Or was it something else? I couldn’t think of anything else – it had to be that! But my fake signature had been so good, so accurate…\n\nI turned and hurried to my room, my tail hanging limply behind me. Mum was holding the belt. I knew what that meant. I’d felt the belt before – it was wide, and the leather of it was decently thick. I had experienced so many evenings sitting in my room, my bottom aching from each hot, hard line that the belt had neatly marked over my plump cheeks.\n\nI stepped into my room, and heard the door close behind me. I turned to look at my mother. “What did I do?” I tried, timidly. My voice was shaking. I hoped that if I just played innocent, she would perhaps think it was all a mistake...\n\n“What did you do?” she asked me. “You tell me.”\n\nDamn it! She’d turned it around on me. Now I had to confess – while she stood there, holding the belt in her right paw, watching me.\n\n“I signed your name on my report card”… I said, feeling my footpaws shuffling against the floor.\n\nShe folded her arms. I watched the belt move as she did so. Oh god – oh god oh god!! “What else?” she said, her voice so firm and cold, like steel.\n\nI pursed my lips. “I’m… failing some subjects.”\n\n“Some…” she started. “What subjects? Tell me; which ones?”\n\nI held my breath for a moment. Slowly, my paws crept down towards my denim skirt. I slid my finders around to the seat of my skirt, feeling my bottom, imagining how it was going to feel in a moment. Mum was going to make my take these jeans down, I knew. My parents always, always spanked me on my bare bottom. Now at thirteen years of age, my bottom… well, it wasn’t ‘big’ per se, but it was round. Plump. It shook when they smacked it. The soft layer of padding ‘kept the burn’, we’ll say.\n\n“Chemistry” I said. “And French.” \n\nOf course the school had noticed the signature was false. Of course they’d called my mother. Of course they had. Why would I ever have thought they wouldn’t? \n\nMy mother sat down on my bed, the space-themed bedcovers crumpling slightly. She reached out, grabbing me by my wrist. She pulled me closer. Oh god, this was it – she was going to do it!\n\nShe reached for the button of my denim skirt. I twitched, trying to squirm away. “Mum, please, don’t…”\n\n“Stand up straight” she said. “Stand up – don’t you move.”\n\nWith that, she was already tugging the denim away. The fabric fell to the floor. I could feel tears start to brim up, bubbling up inside me, but… no, they wouldn’t come. Not yet.\n\nI stood there, my legs bare, with only my panties covering my bottom. My paws felt like they wanted to grab for something to protect myself. I tried to cover my panties, but my mother pulled my paws away. “D..do I have to have them taken down?” I asked. My voice had a whimper to it.\n\n“Shh, quiet!” snapped my mother, reaching out for their rim. I tried to touch her paws, as if hoping I could wrest control from her. She slapped the back of my paw. “They’re coming down all the way, Sparkle, all the way…”\n\nNo sooner were they down, around my ankles, then my paws moved back to conceal my front. As soon as I did, she grabbed my wrist and shoved it away. “Don’t you cover yourself!” she barked. “You keep your paws to your side. Now, bend over.”\n\nI looked down at the bed. She wanted me to lay down, over the bed – bottom up and my legs hanging over the edge of the bed, as I’d done so many times before. I shook, my lower half completely bare, feeling my eyes growing wet. Stupid report card – stupid French, and stupid chemistry and… \n\n“Now you bend over!” my mother commanded, placing a paw on the small of my back, moving me forward, over the bed.\n\nI went over. My paws dug into the bedsheets. My tail folded around my round bottom, protectively. I felt my mother reach down, grab it, move it away. As she moved it, I whimpered one last plead, “Mum, please… please…”\n\nSNAP!!\n\nThere was a smack – barely a full blow, but it was enough to draw a sharp whimper from me. Then…\n\nCRACK!!!\n\n“Oww!” That one hurt! Oh god, it hurt! The belt snapped down, across both cheeks of my bottom. Like a firm line across both sides. God, it sounded so loud. “Mum-please, don’t, please!”\n\nWHACK!!\n\n“Ow! Please don’t!” I took the first smack and knew I was going to cry. I remember yelling out loud, and the sound being lost in the echo of the smack. It was an unusual sound, because it was the leather of the belt smacking against my round bottom, and then echoing through the empty bedroom. It was a sound I thought was what a gunshot would sound like. “Please… please!”\n\n“What did I say was going to happen the next time?”\n\n“You said I would get – owww! No, please…” I knew what she’d said. My voice was shaking. Those tears I’d been afraid of earlier were flowing freely now. \n\nSMACK!!!\n\nThis one really stung. Each lick of the belt felt like a red hot line crossing heavily over my bottom. “What did I say?” my mother insisted.\n\n“Oww! Oww! I’m sorr-” I knew that she’d said that if I got failing grades I would get the belt, but this was for more than just that. I knew that. It was for forging her signature. It was for lying and deception. That’s why this was being escalated from a ‘regular’ spanking to a ‘hard’ one.\n\nI felt my bottom shaking. Actually shaking, like jelly. I felt my hips trembling back and forth. It was humiliating, and sore, and loud, and I didn’t know how many whacks I was going to get. I tried to squirm on the bed, pull further away. I sobbed terribly. “Don’t you date!” my mother barked. “Don’t you DARE start crying!”\n\nCRACK!!!\n\n“Oww… I can’t help it!”\n\nBy the fifth crack of the belt, I was in tears. I felt each line of the belt lingering far more across my cheeks than I normally would, as if the belt was quite happy to stay where it was. The sound of each smack was so loud that I thought the sound itself was going to hurt. As humiliating as it was being naked from the waist down, I barely even gave it a second thought. I just clasped my paws against the bed, grabbing on.\n\n“I didn’t give you permission to start crying yet – you hold it in, young lady!” \n\nSMACK!!! - “Oww!! Aahh! Ooww!!”\n\n“After what you did, don’t you cry!”\n\nOh yeah, mum was MAD about this. By the sixth lick, I was begging my mum to stop. I hated doing that. That’s something that I’d do every now and then, during a more serious spanking, but usually never so early into one. Usually by the fifth or sixth lick, I was still on the ‘wincing’ territory. But not this time. I was already on the “please mummy, I’m sorry” territory. I repeated that like a mantra, throwing in the occasional pitiful “I’m sorry! - oww!”\n\nWHACK!!\n\nHow many whacks did I get? The same as I normally got, which was twice my age. Twenty. I’d broken at six. By the twelfth, I could barely see through crying like a baby. \n\n“You are a little brat.” my mother told me. Reminded me. Oh god, she was right – I really was. How could I have thought of trying to cheat my way out of this? My face welt wet, and my shaking bottom was burning with line upon line of her belt.\n\n“And you keep your behind up!”\n\nSMACK!!\n\n“I’m sorry, I…” I whimpered, my face feeling so hot. I must have been blushing terribly. \n\n“I said up – up for mommy.”\n\nI knew what my mother meant – I had been lying flat on the bed, my tail pinned out of the way by her paw, and she wanted me to lift my bottom up – off the bed, lifted up for her. It wasn’t unusual for her. Sometimes I’d try to shuffle away, as if evading the spanking. This way, she made me present my bare bottom for her – both my stinging cheeks, awaiting her punishment. “I can’t…”\n\nShe gave my bottom a warning smack with the belt. Not a full swing – just one strong enough to warn me to do as I was told. “Up – up higher!”\n\n“I’m trying, I’m… sorry, I…” \n\n“Higher!”\n\nI was trying. God, I was trying. I was up on the tips of my toes, my body arched. I hoped that if I did, maybe the spanking would stop. It couldn’t be that far from the end… Tears were landing on the bed, falling from my face. I’d lost count of how many smacks I’d had, but judging from how sore my bottom felt, it must have been… I must be near the end. And if I obeyed, if I did what she told me to do, it’d stop and - \n\nWHHACCKKK!!!!\n\n“OWW!!” I screamed. Oh god, that one hurt! I could feel where the belt connected across the previous lines that it’d drawn. This new one made them throb – it hurt so much!\n\n“There – that’s better.” my mother said. It was, by no stretch of the definition, better. I slumped right back down on the bed, my shaking, jiggling bottom burning like… well, like the last time I’d had the belt, really. \n\nCRACK!!\n\nYeah, she was nowhere near finished. I was blubbering like a baby by then. I remember that I’d lost count of how many smacks he gave me. I only remember that she wasn’t holding a single one back, that she was pacing them all out, that my bottom shook with each slap from her blet. I was promising I’d never do it again, I was promising I’d be good, I was promising anything that would stop the spanking my mum was giving me at that moment. “Oww!”\n\nSMACK!!\n\n“I can’t believe you’re behaving so bad, Sparkle.”\n\n“Please, please… mommy, please!”\n\nCRACK!!\n\n“Owww…. Oww!”\n\nBy the time my mum was finished, I was worn out. I didn’t know how long I’d been over the bed for, my bottom felt as if it had never been seared quite so heavily before. The very surface of it stung with little pinpricks of fire, the heat beneath the skin felt like an inferno. I couldn’t see clearly because tears were streaming down my eyes. \n\nWhen my mum was done, I didn’t know how long she’d spanked me for. It felt like an eternity. It was probably only a few minutes. She told me to get up, but I just laid there, sobbing and blubbering that I was sorry and that I promised that I wouldn’t do it again. I touched my bottom. I couldn’t help it. It felt like touching a warm oven, the heat was so strong.\n\nMy mum ordered me to pull my skirt up, and lectured me some more. I tried to sit on my bed. My bottom was too sore to manage to do so. Instead I laid down on my tummy. She told me, in no uncertain terms, that I’d earned that belting. If I had simply handed my report card to them properly, I would have been spanked, yes, but it would have been a normal punishment, no more than any of the countless others I’d had.\n\nThis one, though, had been special. That was because of what I’d done. The way I’d tried to cheat my way out of it – and in the end, it had come back around to haunt me.\n\nMy bottom was sore for the rest of that day, and I still felt the ache in art class the next day. It wasn’t common to catch a mid-week spanking, as my parents tried to learn them closer towards the Fridays or weekends, specifically to avoid trouble at the school. I guess for this one, it was special. I think it felt like the worst because I’d genuinely deserved it, and my mum knew that I had to feel that I had deserved it. I was spanked for my report cards for the next few years, but never for cheating on them or trying to avoid them. So in a way, I suspect this spanking was quite effective. Don’t you think?","writing_bbcode_parsed":"I looked at my report card.

In my school, our report cards were given directly to the students. This was always done on the Monday, and we were asked to deliver them home to our parents. They then had to be signed, and returned to the school on the Friday.

Now that I think back on it, this process was likely just in place to cut down on postal costs. But in either case, it meant the report cards were not sent directly to our homes. Now, in my first school which I attended they were posted out – but when I was 12 I changed schools, heading further into the city. This new school was larger, had almost 800 kids in attendance, and was further from where we lived.

Like, much further. I had to get a bus in each day. It was only a 20 minute bus ride, but… well, from 12 until 15 or so, the number of times I’d ride that bus was impressive. And given that I still got spanked at home, and was known to get them before leaving home for school… let’s just say that my butt knew every bump on that road, vis a vis the thin bus seats!

Anyway, I was 13 this time. And I was failing French and Chemistry.

Now let me be honest, those two subjects sucked. Totally blew chunks. But that didn’t matter, the fact was that I was not doing well in them. Now in my school, we didn’t ‘fail’ a subject – the lowest we could get was to pass with an E, which was the lowest possible mark. But my parents expected me to get an A or B in each subject. That was their cut-off mark. If I got a C, D or an E, as far as they were concerned, I was ‘failing’ it.

Which meant… well, usually it meant the large wooden hairbrush. In previous years that had been the case. But because I was 13 years old now, and my exams were due to start next year, that had been escalated upwards. Now, a failing grade in any subject meant a session with the leather belt.

I was no stranger to having my bare bottom warmed by my folks by 13. In truth, it was almost a monthly experience. I wasn’t even unfamiliar with getting paddled for report cards – that was extremely common. In truth, almost every report card equated to a firm spanking because there was almost always at least one subject I’d flag behind in. But rarely were there two. And given that, as well as my parent’s new ‘turning 13’ edict, I did not want to feel their ire.

I slumped down on my bed, school backpack in hand, and stared at the report card.

Placing my parent’s signature on the bottom would be such an easy thing to do, I thought.

I knew my mother’s signature well enough. I’d seen it, and I was fairly sure that I could replicate it easily enough. I reached for a pen.

And so we skip forward to the next week.

It was Wednesday. I remember that because when my mother called me, I was watching one of my favourite TV shows. Now, I had handed in the report card with the forged signature to my school, the Friday before this spanking occurred. I guess saying that a spanking occurred counts as a spoiler? Well fuck, what a surprise! In either case, a weekend had crept past. Wednesdays included two of the worst periods of school for me, being a double-period of gym followed by a double-period of maths. All of which had pushed the report card from my mind entirely.

I had completely forgotten all about it until I heard my mother call, “Spark! Sparkle, Get over heree.”

Honestly, at the time I didn’t give it much thought. I was in the middle of the show, and fully intended to be watching Star Trek in about an hour and a half, so I figured that whatever she wanted could wait.

She called again. “Come on – come on!”

That call was prompt enough to stir me. I didn’t want to anger her too much. I shuffled up, pulled myself from the sofa and trudged into the hallway.

My mother was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, holding the belt. It curled, quite softly, in her paws, like a pet cat.

I felt a lump form in my throat. The fur on the nape of my neck tingled and my ears folded down. “Mum?” I asked.

My mother wasn’t a large woman – she was tall, kept her hair neatly tidied behind her. She had one paw on the hip of her jeans, and her eyes narrowed at me. “Your room” she said, motioning to the stairway behind me.

“But-”

“Now” she replied.

My stomach started to knot and I felt it flutter. Oh god – the report card! Could it have been found out? Or was it something else? I couldn’t think of anything else – it had to be that! But my fake signature had been so good, so accurate…

I turned and hurried to my room, my tail hanging limply behind me. Mum was holding the belt. I knew what that meant. I’d felt the belt before – it was wide, and the leather of it was decently thick. I had experienced so many evenings sitting in my room, my bottom aching from each hot, hard line that the belt had neatly marked over my plump cheeks.

I stepped into my room, and heard the door close behind me. I turned to look at my mother. “What did I do?” I tried, timidly. My voice was shaking. I hoped that if I just played innocent, she would perhaps think it was all a mistake...

“What did you do?” she asked me. “You tell me.”

Damn it! She’d turned it around on me. Now I had to confess – while she stood there, holding the belt in her right paw, watching me.

“I signed your name on my report card”… I said, feeling my footpaws shuffling against the floor.

She folded her arms. I watched the belt move as she did so. Oh god – oh god oh god!! “What else?” she said, her voice so firm and cold, like steel.

I pursed my lips. “I’m… failing some subjects.”

“Some…” she started. “What subjects? Tell me; which ones?”

I held my breath for a moment. Slowly, my paws crept down towards my denim skirt. I slid my finders around to the seat of my skirt, feeling my bottom, imagining how it was going to feel in a moment. Mum was going to make my take these jeans down, I knew. My parents always, always spanked me on my bare bottom. Now at thirteen years of age, my bottom… well, it wasn’t ‘big’ per se, but it was round. Plump. It shook when they smacked it. The soft layer of padding ‘kept the burn’, we’ll say.

“Chemistry” I said. “And French.”

Of course the school had noticed the signature was false. Of course they’d called my mother. Of course they had. Why would I ever have thought they wouldn’t?

My mother sat down on my bed, the space-themed bedcovers crumpling slightly. She reached out, grabbing me by my wrist. She pulled me closer. Oh god, this was it – she was going to do it!

She reached for the button of my denim skirt. I twitched, trying to squirm away. “Mum, please, don’t…”

“Stand up straight” she said. “Stand up – don’t you move.”

With that, she was already tugging the denim away. The fabric fell to the floor. I could feel tears start to brim up, bubbling up inside me, but… no, they wouldn’t come. Not yet.

I stood there, my legs bare, with only my panties covering my bottom. My paws felt like they wanted to grab for something to protect myself. I tried to cover my panties, but my mother pulled my paws away. “D..do I have to have them taken down?” I asked. My voice had a whimper to it.

“Shh, quiet!” snapped my mother, reaching out for their rim. I tried to touch her paws, as if hoping I could wrest control from her. She slapped the back of my paw. “They’re coming down all the way, Sparkle, all the way…”

No sooner were they down, around my ankles, then my paws moved back to conceal my front. As soon as I did, she grabbed my wrist and shoved it away. “Don’t you cover yourself!” she barked. “You keep your paws to your side. Now, bend over.”

I looked down at the bed. She wanted me to lay down, over the bed – bottom up and my legs hanging over the edge of the bed, as I’d done so many times before. I shook, my lower half completely bare, feeling my eyes growing wet. Stupid report card – stupid French, and stupid chemistry and…

“Now you bend over!” my mother commanded, placing a paw on the small of my back, moving me forward, over the bed.

I went over. My paws dug into the bedsheets. My tail folded around my round bottom, protectively. I felt my mother reach down, grab it, move it away. As she moved it, I whimpered one last plead, “Mum, please… please…”

SNAP!!

There was a smack – barely a full blow, but it was enough to draw a sharp whimper from me. Then…

CRACK!!!

“Oww!” That one hurt! Oh god, it hurt! The belt snapped down, across both cheeks of my bottom. Like a firm line across both sides. God, it sounded so loud. “Mum-please, don’t, please!”

WHACK!!

“Ow! Please don’t!” I took the first smack and knew I was going to cry. I remember yelling out loud, and the sound being lost in the echo of the smack. It was an unusual sound, because it was the leather of the belt smacking against my round bottom, and then echoing through the empty bedroom. It was a sound I thought was what a gunshot would sound like. “Please… please!”

“What did I say was going to happen the next time?”

“You said I would get – owww! No, please…” I knew what she’d said. My voice was shaking. Those tears I’d been afraid of earlier were flowing freely now.

SMACK!!!

This one really stung. Each lick of the belt felt like a red hot line crossing heavily over my bottom. “What did I say?” my mother insisted.

“Oww! Oww! I’m sorr-” I knew that she’d said that if I got failing grades I would get the belt, but this was for more than just that. I knew that. It was for forging her signature. It was for lying and deception. That’s why this was being escalated from a ‘regular’ spanking to a ‘hard’ one.

I felt my bottom shaking. Actually shaking, like jelly. I felt my hips trembling back and forth. It was humiliating, and sore, and loud, and I didn’t know how many whacks I was going to get. I tried to squirm on the bed, pull further away. I sobbed terribly. “Don’t you date!” my mother barked. “Don’t you DARE start crying!”

CRACK!!!

“Oww… I can’t help it!”

By the fifth crack of the belt, I was in tears. I felt each line of the belt lingering far more across my cheeks than I normally would, as if the belt was quite happy to stay where it was. The sound of each smack was so loud that I thought the sound itself was going to hurt. As humiliating as it was being naked from the waist down, I barely even gave it a second thought. I just clasped my paws against the bed, grabbing on.

“I didn’t give you permission to start crying yet – you hold it in, young lady!”

SMACK!!! - “Oww!! Aahh! Ooww!!”

“After what you did, don’t you cry!”

Oh yeah, mum was MAD about this. By the sixth lick, I was begging my mum to stop. I hated doing that. That’s something that I’d do every now and then, during a more serious spanking, but usually never so early into one. Usually by the fifth or sixth lick, I was still on the ‘wincing’ territory. But not this time. I was already on the “please mummy, I’m sorry” territory. I repeated that like a mantra, throwing in the occasional pitiful “I’m sorry! - oww!”

WHACK!!

How many whacks did I get? The same as I normally got, which was twice my age. Twenty. I’d broken at six. By the twelfth, I could barely see through crying like a baby.

“You are a little brat.” my mother told me. Reminded me. Oh god, she was right – I really was. How could I have thought of trying to cheat my way out of this? My face welt wet, and my shaking bottom was burning with line upon line of her belt.

“And you keep your behind up!”

SMACK!!

“I’m sorry, I…” I whimpered, my face feeling so hot. I must have been blushing terribly.

“I said up – up for mommy.”

I knew what my mother meant – I had been lying flat on the bed, my tail pinned out of the way by her paw, and she wanted me to lift my bottom up – off the bed, lifted up for her. It wasn’t unusual for her. Sometimes I’d try to shuffle away, as if evading the spanking. This way, she made me present my bare bottom for her – both my stinging cheeks, awaiting her punishment. “I can’t…”

She gave my bottom a warning smack with the belt. Not a full swing – just one strong enough to warn me to do as I was told. “Up – up higher!”

“I’m trying, I’m… sorry, I…”

“Higher!”

I was trying. God, I was trying. I was up on the tips of my toes, my body arched. I hoped that if I did, maybe the spanking would stop. It couldn’t be that far from the end… Tears were landing on the bed, falling from my face. I’d lost count of how many smacks I’d had, but judging from how sore my bottom felt, it must have been… I must be near the end. And if I obeyed, if I did what she told me to do, it’d stop and -

WHHACCKKK!!!!

“OWW!!” I screamed. Oh god, that one hurt! I could feel where the belt connected across the previous lines that it’d drawn. This new one made them throb – it hurt so much!

“There – that’s better.” my mother said. It was, by no stretch of the definition, better. I slumped right back down on the bed, my shaking, jiggling bottom burning like… well, like the last time I’d had the belt, really.

CRACK!!

Yeah, she was nowhere near finished. I was blubbering like a baby by then. I remember that I’d lost count of how many smacks he gave me. I only remember that she wasn’t holding a single one back, that she was pacing them all out, that my bottom shook with each slap from her blet. I was promising I’d never do it again, I was promising I’d be good, I was promising anything that would stop the spanking my mum was giving me at that moment. “Oww!”

SMACK!!

“I can’t believe you’re behaving so bad, Sparkle.”

“Please, please… mommy, please!”

CRACK!!

“Owww…. Oww!”

By the time my mum was finished, I was worn out. I didn’t know how long I’d been over the bed for, my bottom felt as if it had never been seared quite so heavily before. The very surface of it stung with little pinpricks of fire, the heat beneath the skin felt like an inferno. I couldn’t see clearly because tears were streaming down my eyes.

When my mum was done, I didn’t know how long she’d spanked me for. It felt like an eternity. It was probably only a few minutes. She told me to get up, but I just laid there, sobbing and blubbering that I was sorry and that I promised that I wouldn’t do it again. I touched my bottom. I couldn’t help it. It felt like touching a warm oven, the heat was so strong.

My mum ordered me to pull my skirt up, and lectured me some more. I tried to sit on my bed. My bottom was too sore to manage to do so. Instead I laid down on my tummy. She told me, in no uncertain terms, that I’d earned that belting. If I had simply handed my report card to them properly, I would have been spanked, yes, but it would have been a normal punishment, no more than any of the countless others I’d had.

This one, though, had been special. That was because of what I’d done. The way I’d tried to cheat my way out of it – and in the end, it had come back around to haunt me.

My bottom was sore for the rest of that day, and I still felt the ache in art class the next day. It wasn’t common to catch a mid-week spanking, as my parents tried to learn them closer towards the Fridays or weekends, specifically to avoid trouble at the school. I guess for this one, it was special. I think it felt like the worst because I’d genuinely deserved it, and my mum knew that I had to feel that I had deserved it. I was spanked for my report cards for the next few years, but never for cheating on them or trying to avoid them. So in a way, I suspect this spanking was quite effective. Don’t you think?","pools_count":0,"title":"The Report Card","deleted":"f","public":"t","mimetype":"image/jpeg","pagecount":"1","rating_id":"1","rating_name":"Mature","ratings":[{"content_tag_id":"2","name":"Nudity","description":"Nonsexual nudity exposing breasts or genitals (must not show arousal)","rating_id":"1"},{"content_tag_id":"3","name":"Violence","description":"Mild violence","rating_id":"1"}],"submission_type_id":"12","type_name":"Writing - Document","guest_block":"t","friends_only":"f","comments_count":"2","views":"194"}