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Confessions of a Spanking Addict
I admit it. I’m addicted to spankings. Getting them; not giving them. From the time I was a
little girl, I have always seemed to go out of my way to get myself spanked or paddled by the man
in my life. At different times in my life, I have been over the knees of my dad, a cousin two years
older than me, and a boyfriend who later became my fiancé and husband--and who continues to
spank me on occasion. I don’t understand my addiction--getting spanked is certainly not a
comfortable experience, but I just can’t seem to help myself. Just the thought of receiving a
spanking still scares me, but it also excites the hell out of me. I fantasize about being spanked. I
dream about it.
When I was a girl and I got spanked I would promise myself I would never earn another,
but then after a few days I’d start thinking about spankings again. Once that happened, it was only
a matter of time before I’d end up over someone’s lap getting my bottom warmed. I know that I
got spankings when I was really little--from the time that I was I was three or four probably, but
they don’t stand out in my mind. Usually, they were given to me by my mom, and they were the
usual kind of spanking. I’d do something wrong, my mom would grab me, give me five or six
swats on the seat of my pants or my dress and that would be it.
However, about the time I was seven or eight, my dad started giving me spankings when I
did something really bad. And these were different. First of all, there was nothing quick about
them. Second, he always spanked me on my panties or on my bare bottom. And third, there was a
kind of ritual to the event. He always took me to my room. He always closed the windows and
shades. He always put my desk chair in exactly the same place. He always made me stand next to
his right leg while he scolded me and told me why he was going to spank me. And, finally, he
would always unsnap my pants, unzip them, and pull them down to my thighs--never any further,
always right to below my bottom. And if the spanking was going to be on the bare, he always
pulled my panties down so that they were alsojust below my bottom, right at the top of my thighs.
Thinking about these details--even today--is incredibly exciting to me.
But it wasn’t until just after my twelfth birthday, that I realized how much I wanted and
needed my dad to spank me when I was bad. I remember this very clearly. My birthday is on May
20th. My dad had gone out of town on an extended business trip on April 15th. So he was gone
over a month. I remember that I had gotten spanked for something about three days before he left
on business. And it had been a pretty major spanking on my bare bottom. But during the month he
was gone, I hadn’t been spanked at all. Not that I didn’t deserve one, my mom just didn’t give
them anymore. I got yelled at quite a bit, and had been grounded for a week (I hated being
grounded), but my bottom hadn’t been smacked for five weeks.
Toward the end of that time, when I knew my dad was coming home, I remember thinking
about spankings a lot. I remember that I would to go to my room, lock the door so my mom
wouldn’t barge in, and then I would pull the desk chair out and stand next to it thinking about my
dad sitting in the chair getting ready to spank me. I even got to the point of pretending that I was
getting spanking. I would put a pillow on the chair, pull my pants and panties down just the way
my dad did, and then lay across the chair like I was laying across my dad’s lap. A couple of times I
even tried smacking my own bottom, but that didn’t satisfy my need. I also remember what had to
be awakening of my sexual feelings. I would be laying there across the pillow and chair, and I’d be
feeling this incredible excitement between my legs. At the time, I had know idea what it meant or
what to do about it, but I do remember spreading my legs and pushing the pillow up between them
while I rubbed up against it.
By the time my dad got home two days before my birthday, I was thinking about being
spanked with a mixture of emotions. I was scared of being spanked because it hurt a lot, but I was
also excited by the fact that since my dad was home, the next time I got in trouble would probably
mean a spanking for me. My birthday came, and my dad jokingly told me he was going to give me
my birthday spanks. I told him I was too old for that, and then squealed and giggled and kicked
my legs as he tossed me over his lap and gave me twelve swats on the seat of my jeans. When he
let me up, I was blushing and pretending to be embarrased. What I fantasized about was being
taken to my room for the real thing.
I think it was three days after my birthday that I got in trouble. My mom was visiting my
grandmother for a couple of days, so it was just my dad and me.We had gone out to lunch at
McDonald’s and when we got home I went down to Sarah’s house. I told my dad where I was
going and he told me to let him know if I went anywhere else and to be home by five for dinner.
But Sarah had to go out with her mom, so I went to Jessica’s house. At 6:30, Jessica’s mom came
into her room and said, “Michele, your dad just called looking for you. He said you were supposed
to be at Sarah’s and that you were supposed to be home by five. I think you might want to head
on home. Your dad didn’t sound any too pleased.” I jumped up, said good-bye and “thank-you
m’am” and headed out the door for home. All the way home, all I could think of was this is it, I’m
in for it now. The more I thought about what I just knew was going to happen, the more scared--
and excited--I got.
When I got home, my dad was waiting for me in the kitchen. I went into the kitchen and
gave him my best “I’m sorry, Daddy.” I can still hear the conversation that followed.
“Michele, where were you supposed to be?”
“When were you supposed to be home.”
“Where were you and what time is it?”
“Daddy, I’m sorry. I was at Jessica’s and I know I’m late. I’m really sorry.”
“Michele that’s not good enough. Mommy told me that you’ve been doing this a lot lately.
Is that true?”
“I guess so.”
“Well, then, young lady, I guess I’m going to have to punish you. Aren’t I?”
This was it. I was so excited and scared, I thought I was going to wet my pants.
“I guess so, Daddy.”
“Alright, starting right now you are grounded for two weeks. Go to your room until I call
you for dinner.”
He grounded me! I was devastated. I trudged up to my room and threw myself on my bed and
cried in frustration. I didn’t want to be grounded. I wanted my daddy to spank me.This was awful.
Not only was I not getting what I wanted, but I was grounded for two weeks. I was sooooo upset.
I must have been in my room for over an hour before my dad called me for dinner. When he did, I
trudged back down the stairs and sat at the table for dinner--beef stew. Not one of my favorites. I
finished and sat there staring at my bowl. My dad finally broke the silence.
“Michele, it won’t do any good to be mad at me. You know what you did was wrong.”
“Then you know I had to punish you.”
“Well, if you know, then why the silent treatment?”
“Well, it’s just that, well, I, uhhh, it’s just that.....well, how come you didn’t spank me?
Why did you ground me?”
“Well, Michele, I just kind of thought you might think you were too old for a spanking.”
“Michele? Look at me honey.”
I looked up from my bowl. I was crying a little.
“Michele, would you rather I spanked you than grounded you?”
“I think so, Daddy.”
“I don’t know.”
Obviously, I did know, but I couldn’t tell my dad that when he spanked me I got excited as all get
out. But I had to answer something.
“Well you must have a reason.”
“I guess I’d rather just have my punishment over with than have it last for two weeks.”
That sounded like a logical answer. At least it did to me.
“I see. Even if it means getting spanked with your pants and panties pulled down?”
“I see. Well, then maybe we ought to go up to your bedroom, then. What do you think?”
My heart was pounding. I had this incredible feeling in my tummy--and someplace else, too. I
couldn’t speak. I just nodded yes. I watched as my dad stood up and held his hand out to
me.Silently I took his hand and stood up. Silently, my dad led me up the stairs to my bedroom.
The hallway seemed to go on forever. What had I gotten myself in for I thought. I’m about to be
spanked, and it’s what I want. But I was still scared. Daddy led me into the bedroom. He closed
the door. He walked over to the window and closed it. Then he closed the shades. Going over to
the desk, he pulled out the chair and sat down.
“OK, honey, come over here, please.”
Silently, I walked over and stood next to my dad’s right leg. I remember I was biting my lower lip.
“Michele, are you sure this is what you want?”
“Do you understand why I’m going to spank you?”
“Uhhh, is there any reason why I shouldn’t pull your panties down for this spanking?”
I knew this was my dad’s code for “do you have your period?” Ever since I had gotten my first
period about six months earlier, he had asked this question.
My dad reached for my belt buckle. I raised my hands out of the way and kind of chewed on one
knuckle. He undid my belt. Then the snap on my jeans was undone and he pulled the zipper down.
I was getting more and more scared and nervous--and excited. Daddy took hold of the waist of my
jeans and tugged them down over my hips. They were a little tight, so it took a little effort to
wiggle them down over my hips and bottom. I remember looking in the mirror across the room. I
was facing it. I remember I was wearing light blue cotton panties that were about one size too
small. They fit tight across my bottom and bulged slightly with the soft curve of my vulva. My
pants were just at the top of my legs. Daddy hooked his thumbs into the waistband of my panties
and pulled them down below my bottom. My bottom was bare. I felt his right hand in the middle
of my back as he guided me over his lap.
I was almost in position. Daddy shifted me a little so that my bottom was directly over his
right leg. My toes touched the floor behind me. My hands gripped the rung of my spanking chair. I
was more excited than I had ever been before. My crotch was pressing in just the right way on my
dad’s thigh. I felt him sigh. I felt him raise his right hand. I looked up into the mirror just in time to
see him bring his hand down on my bare bottom. I heard the sharp smack as it connected with the
left cheek of my bottom. Then I felt the sting. It really hurt and I gasped. Again, I watched in the
mirror as he raised his hand and brought it down on my right bottom cheek. This one stung even
more. I stopped watching because tears were starting to fill my eyes. I hung my head down and
just cried with pain--and relief--as my dad spanked me again and again. Ten spanks, twenty, thirty,
forty....my bottom was on fire. I cried and sobbed. I kicked my legs up and down. I wiggled my
bottom from side to side. Fifty spanks, sixty, seventy. The spanking just seemed to go on and on.
Then, about the time I had gotten a hundred spanks, I began to notice that while the spanking was
hurting something fierce, the tingling between my legs was becoming more intense.
As much as the spanking was hurting, this other feeling was downright pleasureable. I almost
wanted the spanking to go on. But at that point, after about 150 spanks, my dad stopped. I was
sobbing and tears were streaming down my face as my dad lifted me off his lap. Kissing me on the
forehead, he told me to lie down on the bed until I stopped crying. I could come downstairs
whenever I wanted to.
That night I laid on my tummy on the bed for a long time. I rubbed my bottom a lot, and I
thought about the other feelings, but for the time being I just thought about them. Over the next
couple of months and years, I would learn a whole lot more about those feelings. At that moment,
though, I was just a well-spanked little twelve year old with a heinie that practically glowed in the
dark. I promised myself I would never earn another spanking. Riiiiiiight!
End Part 1
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