Punished by mom, aunty & granny over 3 consecutive nights,
last sensational spankings still warm his heart... And more!
Just one of many marvelous, awesomely illustrated letters featured in RCR #2

No-Nonsense Ladies is the best female-male, old-fashioned spanking magazine of all time! Thank you all for keeping with your original format instead of going heavy mistress & leather like most of the rest. I can only suppose that we traditional naughty boy enthusiasts are in the minority & the other publications want a bigger market share. I only discovered your stuff a few months ago & have already purchased every issue of NNL. They're all great. I especially like the "Where It Began" section. The letters are exciting & bring back a lot of nice memories. Maybe someday women will figure out that some of us guys would be better off if they treated us like naughty little boys from time to time. I'm certainly much different physically than I was as a boy. But inside, emotionally, there are a lot of times when I'm still the brat I was back then. I think every adult is just a grown up kid a lot of the time anyway. Maybe not all adults would benefit from a good old-fashioned spanking, but I think a lot of them would. Especially me!

Unfortunately, I haven't had a spanking since I was sixteen. That's when the spanking women in my life decided I was too old for such juvenile punishment & switched to grounding, lecturing, cutting my allowance, etc.— silly punishments that just made me mad. Given the choice, even back then, I preferred a spanking. It hurt, I cried, but it was over in ten or fifteen minutes, except for a sore bottom for a day or two. I was grounded for two weeks at seventeen for an offense that had earned me one tearful, short, fifteen spanking two years before. (Fifteen minutes versus two weeks? Not much of a choice.)

I was four when my father was killed in World War II. My mother, older sister, & I moved in with my aunt, her son & daughter, & my grandmother. I was too young to much care about the arrangement & grew up thinking it was normal to have 3 mother figures. There was an awful lot of love & affection in our home, but it was an old-fashioned home & that meant naughty kids got spanked. And when it came time for that, there didn't need to be a man around or any waiting until father got home. No, there were 3 women from 2 generations who had felt their share of spankings, administered some, &, therefore could be considered experts!

All of us kids got spanked. None of us liked it much. My grandmother did a large share of the disciplining since she watched us during the day, but all of us could & did get spanked by any relative, any time, &, up until age 12, any place she chose. After 12 you were taken off for a private punishment. I saw more spankings than I can remember, & put on my fair share too when my grandmother, aunt, or mother said the magic words, "That's it, young man/lady. You have just earned yourself a sound spanking." As soon as those words were uttered, the house went deathly quiet every time. The culprit would be crestfallen, & the rest of us kids would be excited or fearful, depending on the severity of the offense.

I don't understand tales where every offense a kid commits earns the same severe spanking. In our home each spanking was directly related to the crime. All spankings were bare bottom up over the knee jobs, but how red your bottom got & how many tears were shed depended on what you did. Tears came almost automatically to all of us when we were in for it-- you can't help crying when you're getting spanked!  But whether you got off with a pink, dusty red, or fire engine red butt was up to the judgment of your disciplinarian.

There were rare occasions when a crime so heinous was committed that retribution or full penance was delayed until the birth mother was present. When that happened, you were really in for a sore or sorer seat. When my cousin Elizabeth yelled back at my mother one day when she was around 13, Mom hauled her upstairs by her ear & let us listen to Lizzie crying her way through a red bottom spanking. Later, when Aunt Jane came home, mom told her about it & Lizzie was hauled upstairs for a session over Aunt Jane's knee too. As far as I recall, Lizzie neither sat comfortably for a few days nor sassed an elder again either.

I've got a lot of fond spanking memories to share, but the one I wanted to tell you about was my last spanking at age 16.

I could, but won't, sum up my last punishment with one word: unforgettable. Partly that's because it is the clearest recollection I have, & partly it's because I consider it the worst I ever got. It wasn't one spanking. It was three: one from each of the ladies of the house. See, I'd lied to them all & it was decided that I owed an apology to each of them. An apology I stridently & repeatedly offered to each well before she ceased spanking my never-before-so-sore seat.

I worked as a stock boy at a store in town after school when I was 16. This was 1955, and in our house, you were expected to be home when you were supposed to be and, when you went out, give a very detailed explanation of where you were going, etc. I was allowed to date and go out, but only on certain nights. I had a girlfriend from school who lived in town, and she figured I could tell everyone I was working late and see her during that time. It really was her idea! I resisted at first, knowing what she didn't— exactly what I'd get if I lied! I wasn't 17 yet. To make a long story short, she and young love convinced me to do it, I got caught, and got red-bottom spanked not once, but 3 nights straight!

How I got caught was a simple conversation. Why was just because I got greedy. Mary, my girlfriend, and I had successfully sneaked time together for about a month and a half without getting caught, so we went for more. It didn't occur to us that the more chances we took, the more risk was involved.

When the hammer finally fell, I found out the hard way. I was happy as a lark after seeing Mary, and smiling when I walked smack-dab into 3 stern, angry women. It was one of those times when you're guilty of some hidden misdeed and just know, without a word spoken, that you've been caught red-handed.

I hardly got a "but I" in while the 3 of them gave me a blistering scolding, and then I was made to reveal the whole sordid story. My mother was the spokeswoman, and when she heard how long I'd been lying, she looked so disappointed that I felt like a worm. She asked me why I didn't just to come her in the beginning? Didn't I think she would have tried to work something out so I could see Mary more often? I felt lower than a worm.

I don't recall my feelings at that point as clearly as I remember the rest, but a part of me really welcomed a spanking. I knew it would be a good one, but I deserved it.

I didn't have to wait long before my wish to atone was granted, but I was overwhelmed when the 3 of them agreed that each should exact her penalty for my deceit. My mouth and eyes had to be wide with shock, but worse words followed— instead of one spanking session, I was to get very sound spankings on three consecutive nights! My mother, aunt, and grandmother agreed that to administer even 2 such spankings in one day would be brutal. They thought they were being merciful. I thought they'd just condemned me to the fires of hell!

Guilt, shock and fear wouldn't let me move or speak until my mother told me to go to her room and wait for her. I hurried upstairs. I wanted to get out of there and I didn't want to earn anything extra. On the way up, I encountered Lizzie, who I suspect was waiting for me. She was 18 and, I'm convinced, was well on her way to becoming a no nonsense lady of sorts. She loved to tease me about getting spanked and sometimes smacked my backside when I teased her. She gave me a knowing a smile and said something about how I was getting what I deserved and she was looking forward to hearing me sing my naughty boy song. I felt humiliated. We lived in a big, old house, but I knew she was right. The thick plaster board walls and heavy doors contained most household noise, but they weren't able to swallow the sound of a serious spanking in progress. I'd heard enough to know.

I slunk to mom's room and waited five or ten minutes until she came up. Then the ritual began: scolding, setting up, and then poor John turned up over mom's lap for a spanking. I was bigger than my mother at 16, but I didn't feel like it. I felt exactly the same as I had at 5, 6, 7... like a naughty boy about to get his bare bottom spanked.

The helpless, hopeless feeling before the spanking starts is pretty close to, if not worse than, the spanking itself. I can't believe anyone who has experienced it ever forgets it. My senses were tuned to maximum intensity as mom told me how disappointed she was, how ashamed I should be, and, worse, that I had earned and was going to receive "the spanking of my life."

Believe me, my mom was an intimidatingly thorough spanker, so that promise made my skin grow cold. I'd gotten several red-bottom spankings over her knee that I was convinced were about as bad as it could get. And she was promising the spanking that hadn't started yet would be worse.

I know I never got accustomed to being spanked. No matter how hard I tried to prepare myself, I never got used to the shockingly horrific sting of the first smack. My body and mind had trouble understanding what was going on, sort of like when I'd smash my finger--I knew it hurt, but I didn't feel it right away. Then, when I did, it was like a jolt of stinging electricity that forced my eyes and mouth to fly open, legs to kick, and body to spasm while my brain tried to register the alarming effect of a hard palm slapping against a very sensitive area of my body. Almost before the gasp of air forced out of my lungs had stilled, I'd hear the second slap crack loudly a millisecond before a repeat of the distressing sensations and reactions the first slap had caused.

My mother was a methodical spanker, just like my aunt and grandmother. Being cut from the same maternalistic tree, each lovely lady would land sharp, stinging spanks from the first slap to the last. The number depended on the transgression, so it could be anywhere from 10 to over 100. Believe me, a 10 slap reminder did make you remember, so you can understand how fearsome an over 100 slap spanking was!

I knew I was getting an over 100 slapper before the first slap landed, so I was pretty well resigned to it, but that didn't mean I didn't forget everything except mom's hard hand as she slapped and slapped each of my 16 year-old ass cheeks. I could feel my bottom bobbling as the sting grew under the repeated slaps of mom's hand. By the time she got to 10 slaps, my whole backside felt like I'd sat on a hot stove. By the time she got to 20, it felt like it someone had turned up the heat and flames were licking along my roasting rump.

I may have been 16, but I felt exactly like I always did when my bare bottom was being spanked, and I didn't act much differently either. I felt ashamed of my actions, embarrassed to be exposed, painfully aware of what was being done to my bottom and how much more was to come, and, at the same time, grateful to be where I was.

Now the gratitude was last on the feeling list, but it was there. I don't mean I liked being spanked or sought it out back then, but I thought of it as an act of love and concern. Tough love, maybe, but love just the same. I never got a spanking I didn't deserve, and I really didn't get spanked all that often. Maybe once every couple of weeks when I was a young kid and every couple of months later on.

But like I said, I acted like a baby every time I got spanked. Call me a wimp if you want, but I pleaded and cried through a red bottom spanking as hard at 16 as I did at 10. There's just nothing else you can do when you're getting your bottom spanked.

Mom spanked and spanked while I went through all my changes. By 30 slaps I was making a lot of noise and wriggling uncontrollably. By 50 I was promising to behave and kicking my legs. By 65 or so my voice started getting choked and it was hard to hold back tears. Not long after that I'd start breaking down in degrees: Tears and whining pleas. More tears and loud gasps for forgiveness. Even more tears and wails for mercy. Sobbing tears and wordless cries.

Somewhere in the above series of events mom would stop and review the details of what had led me to her lap. I was forced to answer some questions during this stage, though my answers were simple and quick, the better to sneak in some pleas when she wasn't scolding. It was as if the charges had to be clarified before you received the worst part of your sentence. As if anyone getting what I'm describing could be confused about why they were there. Every fiber in your body knew why, and what was coming!

Once done, mom set about indelibly imprinting the lesson into my poor bottom. Her arm never tired, so the slaps that rang from cheek to cheek and top to thighs were as sharp as ever. In no time I was at the gates of the final spanking stage: mindless, fitful crying and total capitulation. Once there, all senses shut off and time stops in time to how long the spanking lasts. I don't know exactly how many spanks I ever got in a red bottom spanking because it's impossible to count or do anything else once you break down. And I broke down every time.

Thinking about it now, I know that a big part of this last spanking stage was emotional. My backside really hurt like blazes, but a lot of the tears were those of shame and anguish for what I'd done. They mingled with the tears of pain and together my sin was washed away. It's a hard way to find peace, but that was the feeling I always got once the tears had stopped, hugs were exchanged, and some of the more intense coals had stopped burning inside my bottom.

I was always a wreck when the dawning came that my spanking was finally over. How long I had been gone, what a spectacle I'd made of myself, or how many spanks landed, I didn't know. And my usual, overwhelming sense of gratitude that the spanking was over was diminished that day— I had 2 more spankings to endure before my slate would be washed clean. Even in the state I was in at the time, there was no forgetting that fearful fact. I think I cried a few extra tears when that occurred to me!

Over mom's knee I hung, flaming fanny pointed at the ceiling, wet-faced, and breathless. She scolded me a little more, told me she hoped she'd never have to spank me again, and told me to get up. I did so as quickly as I could and got my pants back up as fast as I could, but I had to have given mom a beautiful view of my spanked seat as I bent over to haul them up.

Thankfully, corner time with bottom bared had been abandoned as too juvenile years before, so after exchanging hugs, words of endearment, and my promise to never lie again, I was allowed to leave.

I hurried toward the room I shared with my cousin, glad that he was out and I'd be alone to recover. But my ordeal wasn't yet completely over. Lizzie was waiting for me and I didn't like the happy smile on her face at all. She said something about me being in very fine voice that night, and I snapped at her to shut up.

I thought I was past her when she grabbed my arm with one hand, pulling my rubbing palm away from my butt, and landed a really hard smack on my already sore cheek. I was painfully surprised. Lizzie had never smacked me that hard before and it hurt!

I think I yelped and jumped, but before I could do anything else, Lizzie's stern voice in my ear asked if I wanted to go over her knee too. I couldn't answer. She said that's exactly where I'd be if I ever told her to shut up again, or did anything she didn't like. Another spanking woman in the house? I couldn't handle that right then. I apologized, promised to behave, and was let off with one more slap.

From that night on, Lizzie teased me a lot about spanking, and threatened me too. She sounded just like my mom, aunt, and grandmother, and I didn't doubt for a second that her spanking ability would be their equal too. Lizzie never did actually spank me, but she did swat my backside once in a while. Now, I kind of wish she'd done it. But, back then, I wasn't eager for any more action than I had.

The next 2 nights held just about what the first night did, with personal variations to suit the spanker and the state of my bottom. It was still sore and a little red the second night and worse the third. My grandmother and aunt made sure I learned my lesson all right, but I know they both tempered their spankings to suit my condition. Needless to say, my seat was well-spanked sore after 3 straight nights. Lizzie was there to tease me after each spanking, and I found out later she'd canceled a date just to be there one evening.

I hope I haven't gone on and on too badly, but I had a lot of fun writing this and remembering details I thought I'd forgotten. I've included my experiences in my erotic fantasies all my life, but they'd lost some of the detail over the years. Writing this has brought them back. I'll have to try it again. It's the only way I have to enjoy what I wanted later and found out was impossible to get. A good, old-fashioned, soul-cleansing spanking over the knee of a loving woman.

Keep up your great work. Please sign me, A wishful naughty boy at heart.

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