Spanking Stories – My Fictional Origins

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This post got super long. There’s some good content (not by me) after the jump though. Plus, I manage to write about my childhood without being grim, so there’s that.

And, I’m also posting it at 2:15 AM so it’s very likely there are a lot of grammar, spelling and other errors. Sorry?  

I can’t remember a time I wasn’t interested in spanking. There was never a time I wasn’t looking for and noticing spanking references in popular culture.

I mean, interested, in a way that, even when I was 5 or younger, I knew no one could ever know, that I could never tell anyone about. My fascination has always seemed strange, even¹Or maybe especially. to me. I was “spanked” too frequently and too hard throughout my childhood in ways that, even for the 1970s and 1980s, were abusive. I hated and feared being punished — even now I  remember how terrified I felt. The horrible anticipation; all these things that, when chosen as an adult, when I know I’m safe and loved, are scary in a good and exciting way, were frightening and shameful beyond belief when I was a child.²I knew I had to be truly bad to need to be punished so severely and so often, you see. In retrospect, my sister and I actually were unnaturally well-behaved children; the “trouble” we got into was mostly for dishonesty while trying to cover up mistakes and accidents (so many from ADHD as it turns out) so as not to get punished.

But even so, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t feel a shameful rush of excitement when I saw a spanking on television, or when another child mentioned they were afraid they might get spanked (my child-self’s lack of sympathy for my classmates appalls me), I could feel my heart pound harder, my face flush.³I don’t think I ever spoke about being spanked with anyone other than my sister. Maybe because by the time I was 7 or 8 I knew that the severity and frequency of my “getting it” was a lot more than my classmates. So I just listened. A lot. Best of all though was coming across accounts of spankings in books. Those stories I returned to over and over.  I’ve joked that I learned to read and became such a great researcher, if I do say so myself, looking for anything about spankings across literature, history, and social science.

A number of people (mostly female) over the years have written about reading the strapping scene in Laura Wilder‘s Little House in the Big Woods. A friend commented once that her book eventually opened to those pages on its own, much to her embarrassment. Likewise. I received the whole set of the Little House books for my First Communion when I was seven, meaning I no longer needed to wait my turn to check then out from the library.

The passage we all remember is:

“Aunt Lotty had gone, and Laura and Mary were tired and cross. They were at the woodpile, gathering a pan of chips to kindle the fire in the morning. They always hated to pick up chips, but every day they had to do it. Tonight they hated it more than ever.

Laura grabbed the biggest chip, and Mary said:

“I don’t care. Aunt Lotty likes my hair best, anyway. Golden hair is lots prettier than brown.”
Laura’s throat swelled tight, and she could not speak. She knew golden hair was prettier than brown. She couldn’t speak, so she reached out quickly and slapped Mary’s face.

Then she heard Pa say, “Come here, Laura.”

She went slowly, dragging her feet. Pa was sitting just inside the door. He had seen her slap Mary.

“You remember,” Pa said, “I told you girls you must never strike each other.”

Laura began, “But Mary said–”

“That makes no difference,” said Pa. “It is what I say that you must mind.”

Then he took down a strap from the wall, and he whipped Laura with the strap.

Laura sat on a chair in the corner and sobbed. When she stopped sobbing, she sulked. The only thing in the whole world to be glad about was that Mary had to fill the chip pan all by herself.

Is it any wonder I’m kinked? I mean, there’s a strapping and corner time. Followed by aftercare — something that was not a feature of the spankings/beatings of my childhood:

At last, when it was getting dark, Pa said again, “Come here, Laura.” His voice was kind, and when Laura came he took her on his knee and hugged her close. She sat in the crook of his arm, her head against his shoulder and his long brown whiskers partly covering her eyes, and everything was all right again.

She told Pa all about it, and she asked him, “You don’t like golden hair better than brown, do you?”

Pa’s blue eyes shone down at her, and he said, “Well, Laura, my hair is brown.”

She had not thought of that. Pa’s hair was brown, and his whiskers were brown, and she thought brown was a lovely color. But she was glad that Mary had had to gather all the chips.”

That passage was easy to type. While I copied the text, I could have written it from memory.⁴Except in my memory that last line is “But she was *still* glad that Mary had to gather all the chips.”

Read on, this is a long post, but if you liked the above it’s (probably) worth it.

Now, this was powerful stuff for my seven year old brain. But my favorite childhood spanking story –I swear that’s what this is– had always been in our house and the spanking had way less shame attached to it. Like the whacking in Beano (Paul wrote about them), it’s told as a comic story.

Yet, despite it having vibe-y freaking pictures, I haven’t seen or heard it retold in a childhood thrills kind of way nearly so often. The story I’m taking about is “A Friend in Need” by Sydney Taylor, a chapter in her book More All-of-a-Kind Family,⁵Second in the series. published in 1954. The books themselves are fascinating cultural artifacts of early 20th century Jewish American life in New York. If you’re interested in that, I’ve linked to the Wikipedia pages. They’re well written and have all the background you could want.

As a spanking story, “A Friend in Need“⁶This link is to the Google scan of the whole book. Go to the table of contents and click the “A Friend in Need” chapter. is amazing (I’m going to fill in the missing text so keep reading). As I said above, there’s no guilt, not a lot of fear, because the spanking isn’t, as it turns out, about being the girl who gets it having been bad. But I get ahead of myself.

First, there’s the set up, Henny, 14 (so not a little girl) is a tomboy, very much modeled on Jo in Little Women, is going out on a Saturday night to meet her friends and is pushing her father for a later curfew. It opens with Henny whining.

These are literally the first few paragraphs of the story:

“But why do have to go to bed so early?” Henny kept insisting.

“Why, why! Always why!” replied Papa. “I’ve answered that question so many times already. A girl your age needs lots of sleep if she wants to be healthy. If you don’t get your rest, you won’t do your lessons right. You have trouble enough as it is, keeping up your marks in school.”⁷Low blow, Papa-man.

“But nine thirty is awful early!” Henny protested. “You let Ella stay out till ten thirty.”

Her sister, 16, protests that 10:30 is pretty early given her age.⁸Frankly these both seemed late to me, even in the 1980s when I was 14 and, like Henny, longed to be out with my friends, dancing and listening music. Despite her father’s refusal, Henny continues to push, whining still more. Here, the author creates what some of  us writing a story would call, perhaps, a build up:

“Couldn’t you make it ten o’clock, at least?”

Papa shook his head. “No, Henny. I’ve been very patient with you up till now, no matter how many times you were late before. Now my patience is at an end. I expect you home by nine thirty.”

“Nine forty-five, Papa, please!”

“Henny! I said nine thirty, and not one minute more!”

Feel the tension? I did. Okay, I *do* – this is my kind of scene, of course. Henny’s pushed him to put a line (9:30PM) in the sand. What happens next? Does the girl acquiesce? Guess.

“Aw, heck!” muttered Henny. “Not a single one of my friends has to be home that early. You treat me like a baby.”

Here, I imagine *glaring*, both directions. It’s gone from a bit of negotiation to a power struggle. What happens when a child/teen/middle pulls the “but all the other kids” line?

“Never you mind about your friends. Their parents will worry about them,” Papa answered sharply.

Does she stop? Of course not. She tries another tack. Didn’t he say she needed to be rested for school?

“But it’s Saturday night. There’s no school tomorrow.”

“I know very well what night it is.”

Papa was getting angry.

She’s not wrong, but Henny has clearly missed the super giant hints that her papa has had it and is done discussing it. In a spanking story, what would come next?

 He shook his finger at Henny threateningly. “And if you’re late this time, you’ll get a licking for sure!”

Yes, of course. The threat. “If you’re late…you’ll get a licking.”

Seriously, my kind of erotica.⁹Though not with “licking.” Ick. I mean, he’s her *dad.*

The tension is now defused by her (younger) sisters discussing why they *like* to go to bed early. Why do they like to go to bed early you ask? Because, as they explain:

Charlotte couldn’t understand why Henny was making such a fuss. “Gertie and I like to go to bed early,” she remarked. “We have so much fun.”

“Yes,” Gertie agreed. “Charlotte makes up such wonderful stories. All about two naughty girls, even better than the Katzenjammer kids; and every night she tells me another chapter. The stories are so exciting that sometimes I just can’t wait till it’s bedtime!”

Um, yes. Whenever someone is making up and telling me stories about “naughty girls” I’m quite eager to be in bed listening too.

Fast forward.

It was nine-thirty. […] In the girl’s room, Gertie and Charlotte had ceased to giggle and whisper in the dark […] In the kitchen Mama and Papa sat reading.

Uh-oh. Wonder what’s going to happen?

At nine forty-five Papa laid down his newspaper. “The child must be taught a lesson,” he fumed. He turned to Mama. “No need for both of us to wait up. Why don’t you go to bed? I know you must be tired.”

Mama pressed her finger tips against her weary eyes. “I am, a little,” she admitted. “But what’s the use? I won’t be able to sleep till Henny gets home.”

Oh dear. The naughty girl has worried her mother so much she can’t go to sleep. And with six (I think) kids and a husband to take care of too. Bad Henny!

“Lie down, anyway,” Papa urged. “At least that way you’ll get some rest.”

“All right, Papa.” Mama started for the bedroom. Hand on the doorknob, she hesitated. “You won’t be too hard on her? You know how children are. They get to talking, they don’t realize the time.”

Oh dear, oh dear. Mama’s now pleading for leniency. Seriously?

On the kitchen shelf, the clock loudly ticked the minutes away. Ten o’clock!

Our author sure knows how to build tension.

Papa’s fingers strummed anxiously on the table. So once again Henny had disobeyed him. Despite everything he had said. Well, tonight she’d get what she deserved! It was long overdue! He stood up, slipped the bolt in the kitchen door shut, turned out the light, and went to bed.

So that’s what’s waiting at home. We know this. Henny’s been locked out. Two exclamation marks have been employed. Yikes! Meanwhile, what’s the girl up to? She’s out partying!

Tonight all of Henny’s friends had congregated in Fanny’s house. Fanny could play the latest songs on the piano, and the girls gathered around and sang. Most of them could waltz pretty well, too; but they didn’t any of them know how to do the new dance called the foxtrot.

Fanny’s big sister and her boy friend, who were very good dancers, showed it to them. The girls were entranced; everyone wanted to learn. Fanny grew awfully tired thumping out the same tune over and over while each girl had her turn at a dancing lesson.

Learning the foxtrot indeed. Shocking! What time is it? No one’s thinking about time. They’re dancing. They’re thirsty. What now? This is New York! They’re heading out for sodas.

Afterwards, everyone felt hot and thirsty. “Let’s go to Mrs. Blumberg’s and buy a penny chocolate soda,” suggested Henny. Down in the candy store they stood around sipping the sweet drink slowly, talking and laughing. 

They’re not worried, but we are. We’re anxious. Anticipating what’s to come. Maybe even excited. But Henny is not bothered. Until:

Before they knew it, Mrs. Blumberg was shooing them out. “Go—go on home already! I gotta close up.”

What? Right. What time is it?

In a flash Henny remembered. She’d given Papa her word!

Had she? I don’t remember that. I remember him giving her a threat. A threat of a “licking.”¹⁰Typing that “licking” I feel a surge of the embarrassment I’ve felt all my life at these fictional as well as real moment. Even now, with everything I’ve read, written, and seen, this story gets to me. Every time.

“Is it nine-thirty yet?” she inquired anxiously.

“Nine-thirty it wouldn’t be any more tonight,” Mrs. Blumberg replied. “It’s ten o’clock.”

Bam. Pole-axed! Suddenly everything is wrong. Henny’s world is collapsing. She’s worried. And she’s not alone:

“Ten o’clock!” There were exclamations of dismay. “Oh, am I late!” “I gotta get home!” “So long, everybody!” All the girls made a rush for the door.

But Henny has good reason to be. Her first thought? Who can I shift the blame onto? How is this not my fault?

Henny caught hold of Fanny’s arm as they ran. “Some friend you are!” she said reproachfully. “Why didn’t you remind me? I told you I promised my Papa I’d be home by nine-thirty. Boy, will I catch it!”

Henny’s unfortunately named friend, at least for a spanking story, Fanny, wisely, is having none of it:

“What do you think I am, an alarm clock?” Fanny replied.

Here’s a bit of denial:

Henny was worried. “Maybe it won’t be so bad. I’m only a half hour late.”

And a bit more.

Papa hardly ever spanked the children.

Get real girl. We all heard him. That was a line in the sand and you’ve crossed it.

Still, she doubted if she’d be able to escape a licking tonight, especially after she argued about the time. Papa had certainly sounded as if he meant what he said.

You think? There’s a bit of reality hitting. But our young heroine Henny is not without resources.

She searched about desperately for a solution. All at once she had a thought.

“Listen, Fanny, how about coming up to my house?”

“Right now? Are you crazy?”

“Oh, I don’t mean to stay. Just come upstairs with me.”

“I can’t. I have to be home, too. I’m late enough as it is.”

“Oh, come on. It’ll only be for a few minutes.”

“What difference would it make if I came along?”

What difference indeed? Fanny is right to be wary.

“Well, Papa wouldn’t spank me in front of a stranger-I don’t think. Then we could sort of explain what happened, and maybe he wouldn’t be so angry.”

“Well-” Fanny debated with herself for a moment and finally gave in. “All right. But I must go home right away.”

Not a bad plan. I mean, it could work. Or Fanny could be about to have to/get to watch her friend get whacked. What happens now? Why the tension ratchets up, again.

The hall lay in utter darkness. The two girls had to grope their way up the stairs. No light streaked through at the sill of the kitchen door, either.

Okay, the house is dark. That’s it. Maybe I’m not that good a friend because if I’m Fanny, at this point, dear Henny is on her own. How bad is this going to get?

“Everybody’s asleep already,” Henny said in an undertone. Stealthily she turned the knob, her knee pressing against the door. It did not yield.

“How do you like that!” she whispered fiercely, “I’m locked out! Now I’ll have to bang on the door and wake everybody up.”

How do you like it, Henny? Are you actually feeling indignant at being locked out? Really? Fanny, on the other hand, is not completely dim:

“Gee, that’ll make your Papa madder than ever. I’m going!” Fanny started toward the stairs.

Fanny, in the immortal words of Mr. Rod Williams, “GET OUT!”

But, as we’re about to find out, Henny is the stronger personality. Also, just for fun, let’s crank up the tension a little bit more:

Henny pulled her back.

“You can’t leave me now,” she begged. “You promised! Anyway, I’ve got an idea.”

“What?”

“Ella’s and Sarah’s bed is right up alongside the wall. I’ll knock on the wall for a signal. When Ella hears, she’ll understand. She’ll open the door for me, and I’ll creep into bed without Papa even knowing.”

“Do you think she’ll hear?”

“Sure!” She felt along the wall till she reached the spot where she imagined the bed to be. “Well, here goes,” she murmured, tapping out a signal. “Ta ta—ta ta—ta ta ta ta.” She paused, then tapped a second time. With her mouth against the wall, she called softly, “Ella! Ella!”

The girls held their breath for a moment, waiting.

What music plays here? Something with a lot of harmonic tension for sure. And then:

The door unlatched and opened. A strong arm reached out into the darkness. Without a word, Papa turned his captive over his knee. Whack! Whack! Whack!

“Papa! Please, Papa, stop!” Henny yelled.

What more needs to be said? A perfect spanking, complete with comic book sound effects.

Papa went right on with his spanking. Once, twice, three times more.

As I said above. The author is even counting them now. How many does the girl get?

A hand tugged at his sleeve.

But wait. This next part is my favorite bit.

“Papa! You’re hitting the wrong girl. I’m Henny. That’s Fanny you’ve got there!”

Papa’s hand stopped in mid-air.

Fanny had been too terrified to utter a sound. Now she started to bawl at the top of her lungs. A light went on in the kitchen, and Mama appeared. 

Surprise! Papa is whacking the wrong girl. That is, he’s spanking Fanny’s fanny er,  bottom, rather than Henny’s. Because it’s dark, you know?

Mayhem ensues. Fortunately, Mama comes in to straighten things out.

Also, aftercare.

“What’s going on?” she demanded. She looked down at the bawling Fanny. “And what happened to you?”

Abashed, Papa tried to explain. “It was dark, Mama. I was giving Henny a spanking-“

Mama looked around, puzzled. “Then why is Fanny crying?”

“Well, you see, Mama,” Papa stuttered -“I couldn’t see it was a mistake-and-“

“He whacked Fanny instead of me,” Henny finished for him.

Mama gathered the weeping Fanny into her arms. “Oh, you poor child!”

Here is the picture. Seriously. The story/chapter basically ends with this illustration. Note the excellent bum rub. Poor Fanny!

But it’s not so bad, right? I mean, this sort of thing could happen to anyone. An aside – did anyone other than me sometime have exciting/disturbing fantasies (or whatever) about being smacked at someone else’s house by their dad? Or was it just my neighborhood where there were garages with a paddle ominously hanging among the tools on the dad’s peg board?

Papa tried to smile. “You’ll have to excuse me, Fanny, dear child. I made a bad mistake. I didn’t mean-“

Besides, it’s all kind of funny when you think about it. Spanking someone else’s teenage daughter because you’ve mistaken her for your own, hilarious. I mean, unless you’re Fanny.

But at least Fanny’s dear friend Henny feels bad and goes to comfort her…. right?

Henny walked over to Fanny and took her hand. She felt awfully guilty, but somehow the whole thing suddenly seemed very funny. She felt a fit of giggles coming on. She tried to control herself, but it was no use. She just doubled over with laughter. In another moment, Fanny’s screwed-up face changed to a smiling one. A moment more, and both Papa and Mama were laughing so hard they couldn’t stop.

Awfully guilty indeed.

Now the other kids want in on the action. Because what’s going on?

The sounds of such unusual merriment brought the sisters running, their startled eyes blinking at the light.

Mama shooed them in. “Back to your beds! It’s late!”

“But why is everyone laughing?” sleepy Gertie asked.

Mama has to explain. Briefly. Giving a hint that this will be a family story for years. And that maybe Mr. Papa should have listened to her when she gently objected to his plan to whack Henny.

“It’s your Papa. Such a way to carry on! He’ll have good cause to remember this night. I’ll tell you all about it in the morning. Into bed now, every one of you!”

Here again we see Henny’s practical nature.

Henny needed no urging. No sense hanging around to remind Papa that he still owed her a licking. “Thanks loads, Fanny,” she whispered quickly and skedaddled off to bed.

“Go right home, Fanny,” Mama went on. “Your folks must be anxious.”

Ya think? Isn’t anyone even going to walk the girl home? I mean, it’s late. In New York. She’s been (unjustly) spanked and to tears yet. But no, we don’t even hear anymore about Fanny’s part of the story. The tail ends with the parents:

Papa locked the door with what sounded like a sigh of relief.

“Oh, Papa!” Mama shook her head at him in comic distress. “How am I ever going to explain to Fanny’s mother?”

The End.

Something I like about this story, aside from the excellent build-up which I find as embarrassing and exciting now as I did when I was 8, is that it devolves into farce. There isn’t a dark story of scary abuse here, which I can sometimes read into Laura’s strapping. Even if Henny had been spanked, it would be hard to argue that, given the time (1915 or there abouts) that a hand spanking was a terribly unfair punishment under the circumstances. It’s made pretty clear that in this family, her’s would be a rare punishment.

But even then, the attempt to punish Henny goes wrong, tipping into farce. Papa, we’re told, will have “good cause to remember this night” and perhaps won’t be so quick to deal out “lickings”(not my favorite word for our Topic of Greatest Interest by the way) to his wayward teen daughters. Meanwhile, Fanny, presumably, is expected to suck it up. It was only a few whacks, after all. Embarrassing (and funny) all around.

This is so different from what my 1970s – 1980s home was like as to be unrecognizable.

So there you have it. A ridiculously long post to discuss a charming short story.

Were you aware of your kink as a young child? If so, what bits of culture (books, TV, film, music) thrilled and/or embarrassed you? Did you somehow know this wasn’t something you could talk about?

• 1
  Or maybe especially.
• 2
  I knew I had to be truly bad to need to be punished so severely and so often, you see. In retrospect, my sister and I actually were unnaturally well-behaved children; the “trouble” we got into was mostly for dishonesty while trying to cover up mistakes and accidents (so many from ADHD as it turns out) so as not to get punished.
• 3
  I don’t think I ever spoke about being spanked with anyone other than my sister. Maybe because by the time I was 7 or 8 I knew that the severity and frequency of my “getting it” was a lot more than my classmates. So I just listened. A lot.
• 4
  Except in my memory that last line is “But she was *still* glad that Mary had to gather all the chips.”
• 5
  Second in the series.
• 6
  This link is to the Google scan of the whole book. Go to the table of contents and click the “A Friend in Need” chapter.
• 7
  Low blow, Papa-man.
• 8
  Frankly these both seemed late to me, even in the 1980s when I was 14 and, like Henny, longed to be out with my friends, dancing and listening music.
• 9
  Though not with “licking.” Ick. I mean, he’s her *dad.*
• 10
  Typing that “licking” I feel a surge of the embarrassment I’ve felt all my life at these fictional as well as real moment. Even now, with everything I’ve read, written, and seen, this story gets to me. Every time.