Karen’s Spankings – 1

This is a story version of one of the true real life spankings as told to me by a delightful lady who went to a Girls Grammer School and was kept in line at home by a slipper wielding mother, who used it on her daughters bare bottom… Often!

You can read about Karen here…

Click here…https://www.spanking-emporium.co.uk/spanking-emporium/?p=14741

Karen remembers the day her adventure at Grammer School began. It was the day she received the letter telling her that she had passed the 11+ exam with flying colours.

Her mummy, was at the very least, delighted! “Ohhh you clever girl Karen, you have made your Mummy so very proud. This Saturday, we are off to town you and I, we will go to Rushet’s Cafe on the High Street, and I’ll take you to your favourite bakers and get you a lovely cream cake to have after Sunday tea! Then my dear, we will go looking at uniforms and satchels. You are going to look lovely, you deserve the best….well done!”

Karen beamed. Cream cakes were a weakness!

For Karen’s Mummy, it was perfect news. She was a staunch, highly respected member of the church and in particular the W.I. That glorious English Institution, ‘The Women’s Institute.’

A W.I. Jam making class in the Village Institute

She had friends there, she had respect, she even had a few who envied her. Also, quite possibly, a few ladies, especially the young mothers, were in awe of her, even, more than a little scared of her.

Mummy was a perfect product of the 1950’s. A dutiful housewife who had kept an excellent house since the day she married. Sadly her husband was no longer around, but stoically, with a stiff upper lip and a gallon of fortitude, she had carried on running the house, her home, with pride.

A formidable no nonsense women. Her standing in the community was the fuel that drove her on. At Christmas she probably had to do without, to provide a lovely Christmas for her daughter. She was the woman you went to to get something done, Tombolas, Raffles, Carol Concerts to name a few. In short, she was a very much loved and respected member of the village community.

The Vicar at Saint Hugh’s Church used her as an example many times. “If you are not sure what to do, go and see her, she’ll have probably done it before, she’s marvellous!”

Now she had a vehicle for her pride. She had always been proud of her daughter, a bright intelligent daughter. Not many from the village had got into Grammer School in recent years. She knew that a lot of her peers in the W.I. Would be saying that very night…”I hear Karen got into Grammer school, she deserves it, her Mummy will be so proud.”

Without doubt there would be a degree of jealousy from some with troublesome daughters too, and even though she would never admit it, that gave her satisfaction too!

The W.I. Shaped the nation in many ways. It was almost a school of motherhood. From jam making, to knitting, cooking, pickling, gardening and…discipline of naughty girls, or…to be more precise, daughters.

Mothers throughout the land, in the main, were in charge of home discipline for girls, and many boys. Although there were no official W.I. classes on the subject, it was there in conversation. A naughty girl bought shame, and to a small degree, ridicule behind their back. A mother who could not control her daughters through discipline were thought to be something of a disgrace to the movement. Whenever a village fete or similar event took place, it was generally agreed that the child reflected the mother. If a girl got an award or praise, their Mummy felt it too. But…if a girl bought disgrace, her Mummy would be a blushing, embarrassed wreck for the day, and the girl in question would know about it on returning home, or in some instances, in the W.I. Tent!

Everyone knew that Karen was a good girl, and other than a raised eyebrow at times, her Mummy needed to do little. That is, until her mid teens, when slowly she became more than a little headstrong. That milky white, plump wiggling bottom of hers was going to learn what it meant to bring disgrace into the house.

From the very first visit to the Girl’s Grammer School, it was made clear that corporal punishment was used. After a tour of the school looking at laboratories, home economic rooms and such like, the new girls were sat, with their Mums. At the end of the ‘Inroductory Speech’ by the Headmistress. It was made perfectly clear that corporal punishment was used to keep any naughty girl in line, and that parents had to sign a consent form to say that they agreed with the school’s Disciplinary Code of Conduct. This caused a mumbling stir in the Assembly Hall and the loins of many girls, as Mummy’s turned to whisper to their child.

In Karen’s case Mummy simply said, “I have signed it, and returned it already. Let me say this just once Karen. If you are ever punished at school, you will be punished again at home, understood?”

“Yes, Mummy, of course Mummy.” Replied a strangely curious Karen.

The years rolled by, having a high IQ Karen sailed through the work, many an accolade, merit, or award came her way. Her bedroom was like a shrine to a good girl. A study area, where homework was always done dutifully was her favourite space. As she went to school, on the local rickety bus service, people would smile, knowingly. Safe in the knowledge that our country was safe in the hands of good schools, good parents, and keen scholars.

However, lurking in the body of Karen was a strange little substance, known to the female world as the female hormone, which stealthily attacked in the guise of puberty.

The bedroom mirror saw curvy hips begin to swell, a ripe rump of perfect proportions filled her school knickers, along with the natural curiosity of a young girl turning into a woman filling her mind.

When she went to catch the bus now, it was wiggle of a young woman. Even the man with the bowler hat who sat in the same seat every day started to smile, and greet her with a tipping of the hat. She had no idea that he began to see her differently, she just assumed it was cordial familiarity with a regular person he saw on the bus.

Mummy noticed, and the other W.I.Women noticed. Not only noticed, but mentioned it, in a subtle way. “Your Karen is making a fine young lady, she’ll certainly turns some heads one day!”

Conversations about discipline began to be entered into by Mummy. She knew that a teenage girl would need firm discipline, to keep her mind away from boys, and keep her mind on her studies. She had always ‘smacked her bottom’ and was proud to admit her firm but fair ways.

A mothers instinct is a wonderful thing.

One Saturday out with Karen, she called into the elegant Marks and Spencer’s shop in town. There she bought what was known as a W.I. Trademark. Whenever a pair of men’s scotch plaid rubber soled size 9 slippers was purchased by a woman, the lady who sold it would hand the box over with a knowing smile and a glance down the nose to the girl.

Just the right shape to get a good grip. A wide men’s slipper, big enough to redden a whole cheek nearly, with a heavy rubber sole, almost like a plimsol. It had the ability to sting like a piece of wood, yet flexible enough to wrap around the curve of a pert young buttock. In the right hands it was a ‘weapon of mass destruction’ to an unsuspecting naughty bare bottom.

The shop assistant was indeed a W.I. member, and knew the women in the village. Mummy knew that it would soon be common knowledge that she was now armed.

Karen’s creamy buttocks, held firmly in her regulation green school knickers, swaying from side to side like firm jelly, had a storm coming, and she found out, when on returning home, she asked her Mummy as she unpacked the slippers, ‘who are they for Mummy?’

“They are for you dear.” Replied Mummy.

Karen looked confused, her screwed up face asking the obvious question.

“You are growing Karen. I know from my friends just what a teenage girl can become. The time for smacking your bottom with my hand if you are naughty, has come to an end. These, are for your bottom. I do not want to use them, but, I will. A daughter in my house will never be to old for a spanking!”

Karen listened, and the message sank in. She knew her Mummy did not do idle talk as regards discipline.

The promised storm arrived on one fateful Spring day. Confidence had grown into over confidence. Self confidence into haughtiness. Pubic hairs had covered her soft pubescent bone, fingers had delved, conversations with friends on the delight of a fingered pussy had taken place. It was one such conversation that made her not even notice her form teacher walk into the classroom. She carried on talking to Barbara, instead of standing up with the rest, to say in a slightly singing way, “Good Morning Miss Weltwell.”

They stood up twenty seconds later than the rest, maybe nobody noticed.

“Good morning girls, sit down…BUT YOU TWO, REMAIN STANDING! WHAT ON EARTH HAS HAPPENED TO YOU OVERNIGHT? HOW DARE YOU NOT SHOW THE CUSTOMARY RESPECT TO YOUR BETTERS?” Her voice softened again, you are both on detention, tomorrow after school. Today you can report to the Secretaries Office at lunch. To pick your detention slips up.. You can bring them back tomorrow, signed by a parent.”

Murmurs and a few stifled giggles ran around the room. Every girl knew what that meant. So too did the teachers.

Miss Weltwell saw them squirm. An image if their reddening bare bottoms settled in her mind. The power of getting a girl a spanking was a wonderful thing. Barbara had had a few visits to both the Headmistresses Office and Detention room. But Karen, sat in shock, with a trembling lip had not, as far as she was aware. She had noticed her fine young body, and delighted in the thought of domestic discipline taking place tonight.

The journey to the end of the day was like some heroic trek in a fantasy novel. Long and arduous. The lunch time collection of the ‘death sentence’ sent a cold shiver to her tummy. The words left the slip and ran amok in her brain. There before her the words threatened her bottom.


Unlike the blank example above, it was filled in, the reason for the detention being, ‘Not respecting teaching staff’. Karen knew that those four words would fly like a dagger to the heart of Mummy. Proof, in black and white that she had been naughty. The words on the line below, shoowed exactly how discipline was maintained at the Grammer school. ‘Please bring this form with you at the allotted time, duly signed by a parent or guardian.’

All the words looked so official, having been typed by the school secretary. And signed by her teacher in ‘Quink’ blue, fountain pen ink.

Mrs.Weltwaay put the detention slips into envelopes at the end of the school day. Then with a stern face told them to go home.

The leaving of school behind her and the journey home was sullen. The man in the bowler hat frowned at her as if he knew. The walk from the bus stop to her lovely cottage was heavy and slow. Two of Mummy’s friends saw her and nudged each other. Was that a snigger?

The gate to her cottage opened with a louder squeak than ever before, like a sign of doom.

The door handle slipped in her sweaty palm, the door made a noise far too loud. Mummy sounded so joyous as she shouted, “Hello dear, had a good day? Come and give Mummy a hug, I need one today.”

“Oh shit! Why today, why does she need a hug? Today of all days when I have let her down.” Thought Karen.

There was no specific reason of course. Mummy just wanted a hug.

Karen took out the envelope containing the slip….the slip…the white crispy slip, the DETENTION SLIP, and walked gingerly by the stairs and into the kitchen. “Hello Mum. I got this today.”

The spit in her mouth had gone, her knees went weak as she saw Mummy swell before her taking a deep breath. Her eyebrow lifted and vanished beneath her fringe. She sat down, and opened the envelope.

“Hmmmmm, what’s this? I hope you have not been naughty at school young lady.”

She read the note. Her head slowly lifted. Eyes made contact. Her own were damp.

“So Karen, you have been naughty at school.”

Karen nodded the affirmative, close to tears.

Mummy signed the note and passed it back. “Here, put it in your bag straight away, you do not want to be in trouble again tomorrow! Have you any homework?”

Karen took the note, her hand shaking slightly. She could feel the cheeks on her face flush. “No Mummy I do not have any homework tonight.”

Mummy stood up and told Karen to lay the table for tea. Which she did. As she was doing so, Mummy dished up some lovely stew and Yorkshire Puddings into the deep bowls. “We will eat our tea, we will wash the pots, and dry them. Then young lady, you can go to your room, and get changed into your pyjamas, ready for bed. I will be up shortly afterwards miss… and… as you well know… you will be going across my knee, for a good smacked bottom…Your bare bottom!”

To say the least, the meal was a slow somber affair. Mummy had given her a small portion, knowing that her tummy would be in knots. Soon the table was cleared, and the pots washed. Once they were all put away, Mummy spoke. “Up you go.”Karen climbed the curved oak stair case slowly, her head down. She reached the landing and sulkily walked to her door. In she went and shut the door behind her, resting against it. She cried, she had let her Mummy down, she had been naughty girl. After all her praise, she was now a naughty girl, about to get a bare bottom spanking

With fumbling nervous fingers she undressed, hanging her lovely uniform up. She looked at it; felt unworthy to wear it, and put it in her wardrobe. Naked, she put her dark green knickers in her wash basket, she noticed the crotch and gusset were damp. She walked towards her bed, pausing to look at her naked self, turning her bottom to the mirror, her naughty bottom. How unprotected and vulnerable it seemed.

She put her pyjamas on, and climbed into bed.

Whilst this was happening, Mummy went to the cupboard under the stairs, to take out the right footed, size nine slipper. She patted it on her palm, and went to the kitchen window, looking on to the front garden. Life just passed by as normal, anyone walking by would have no idea. She listened to the creaking floor of Karen’s bedroom floor. Then the creak of the bed. She took a deep breath and climbed the stairs, deliberately firmly, and slowly. the slipper behind her back.

You might wonder why she hid it behind her back. you see, to us spanking enthusiasts things like a swish of the cane, the walking towards a girl brandishing the implement is all part of the thrill. but here we are witnessing a loving mother, doing what in that time of history, what was expected, in the rearing a daughter. She loved her, a short sharp shock now, could bear wonderful fruit in the future. Her daughter had been naughty, she needed a spanking, it was that simple. But there was no need to frighten her unduly.

As she climbed the stairs thoughts of her own upbringing and the spankings she had received raced through her mind, what part of her naughty bottom had taught her the most? What words had her Mummy used to send the message home? What advice from her mentors, the W.I. and the Vicar helped her do what was needed? The memories spoke to her…”Spare the rod, spoil the child.” “It is for her own good.” “She will thank you one day.”

Karen’s eyes were fixed on her brass shiny door knob. The footsteps got louder and closer, her breathing quickened. The knob turned, and in walked Mummy. With a calm but firm voice she spoke…”I told you to get ready for bed, not get in bed! I told you, you are going over my knee first miss, out you get, stand by your bed!”

Karen got out and some involuntary action told her to stand to attention. Anything good right now, might stop the severity of what was to come.

Mummy sat on the bed, and slid the slipper deftly under the pillow. Then turned a nervous, worried Karen to face her. “I told you quite plainly Karen, that if you were naughty at school, you would be punished at home.” As she did this she tugged the pyjama bottoms down, to land in a puddle at her daughters ankles.

Karen felt aroused slightly, which made her feel even more of a naughty girl. But stood before Mummy as she scolded her was such a mixture of feelings. Her pubic hair had grown, it was now a delightful mixture of light fair hair with a hint of ginger, like her hair. The mirror of the dressing table was behind her, so Mummy could see her bottom, a bottom she was so proud of, like her new breasts, pert, and pleasingly plump.

Mummy was still talking, not shouting, and her words drifted back in…”Right then, lets get your smacked bottom started shall we Karen? No need to delay it any longer I think.”

Almost a minute passed, but it felt longer. Karen looked at her beautiful Mummy, the rounded body looked so cosy and even at this moment strangely comforting, her Mummy bear almost. She saw her Mummy looking at her bush, her hips, she could almost read the thoughts in her head…”My my, my little girl is a girl no more.”

Karen liked the strange feeling she felt (in a certain in a certain intimate area) at being exposed.

Karen snapped back into reality, and nodded, almost enthusiastically, and not just to get it over with. “What a strange sensation this discipline is?” She thought.

Over she went, her bare creamy white trembling bottom stuck up high, her finger tips dug into the carpet, her toes pressed firmly the same.

Mummy looked into the mirror, at this distance it was like a well framed photo, her on the bed, her shapely daughter with her upturned rump fine and round, catching the light. She looked at herself, doing what a good loving Mummy should do…her duty.

She looked at the bottom before her, the two round voluminous globes inviting the first smack. The fine hair, the peachy skin….SMACK!

She showed no real mercy, this was supposed to hurt and it did!


She saw three little red stripes from the bones of her middle three fingers leave their mark. The the glow of a blushing bottom. She followed them with more, raising her hand high…SMACK, CRACK, WHACK SMACK!!!

Karen howled, she had never smacked her this hard or so quickly!

“Owwwwww, oooooooh, oooooohhhhhhhhhh, OOOOWWWWWWWW!”

Soon her bottom was a lovely red, spreading down to her upper thigh. Mummy remembered the sit spot and how it stung, so delivered ten right across the point where her voluptuous cheeks joined her thighs. How they bounced, sinking in, then springing up instantly, and how she wriggled trying to pull free of the pain. But Mummy held her firmly, a tight grip around her waist holding the hand that tried to protect her. This annoyed Mummy, she was in mid flow!

“Stop that!” WHACK, WHACK, SMACK, SMACK!!!!

How Karen yelled.

It was then that the recent thought of the normality beyond the house returned, and Mummy noticed the bedroom window open. It was a secret no more, the sound of this spanking would travel! In a strange way it encouraged Mummy. Who stopped.

A poor crying Karen thought it was over, but Mummy was reaching for the slipper. Karen looked to the mirror and saw it, she looked over her shoulder, up to meet her Mummy’s eyes.

Mummy raised the slipper and said…”This is the first time for the slipper, now you are older, this will be my implement for spanking your bare bottom with. You are sixteen, so, for this first time you will get sixteen whacks, eight on each cheek. Then in future it will be more, many more”

So she delivered them, hard and firm.

THWACK, the sound of a rubber sole on plump flesh sounds hollow,a WHUP! Mummy noticed straight away that the herring bone pattern on the rubber imprinted itself on those wonderous globes of bright red flesh!

Karen screamed….no! KAREN SQUEALED! Sixteen long howling times as the rubber thwacked her bottom, cheek to cheek, then three on a cheek, then the sit spot.

Mildred was walking by, the strains of the spanking symphony drifted through the window turning into a cocophony of sound, hard whups! and long, long howls of pain! She nodded satisfactorily. “Good old Mummy, keeping up the standards, that’ll teach her!”

Back in the room the final four were landing hard and crisp. A tightly held Karen was out of control, kicking violently against the floor, her hands and fists too, her head and hair flying around.

Mummy too, her hand with the slipper firmly gripped rising and falling like a conductors baton….





The bouncing, crimson, herring bone patterned bottom wobbled still.

Mummy, panting, hair tussled, came to rest.

The sobbing didn’t as the heat sank in, and pain exploded, she just wailed and wailed.”Now up you get… and straight to bed young lady, AND stay there… Once you have stopped crying I don’t want to hear another peep out of you…do you hear? Or you will be going over my knee again… Okay it’s done!”

“You can stand there for five minutes, and think about what you have done, put your hands on your head and leave your red bottom on show!”

And that was it, with her hands clutching her round glowing red cheeks, she got into bed.

The pain did not leave, it was still growing. Even in the dark of night she could feel the heat on her hand. And lying on her tummy, stroking her poor bottom, she fell asleep.

Mummy listened downstairs to her crying subside.

Mildred went to Ivy’s, where she met Betty and Mary. Like the fire in the plump bottom of our naughty girl, news of the good irls downfall began to spread.

Time to leave them, until the next time…Mummy is downstairs, putting the slipper away, until next time. She knows this will not be the last time it will be used, it will probably have just been the first of many.

Karen was on her tummy. She was sniffing now, not crying, and trying to understand the lovely feeling she has in her most intimate area, as she gently pushes up and down on the bed, her bright red bobbing up and down, which she can see, in the mirror, if she looks over. Which of course she does…


To view Karen’s own blog, she is on Tumblr as ‘karen-redbush’

Dilan has her own site, with a link to galleries and Twitter etc, this can be found at ohdeardilan.com

You will find Mummy on Twitter as @Mistress_Iceni

Thank you to them all.

More to come…

Be patient!