by Frank Martinet
Mama always used the paddle. It's tradition in black families. It was the hairbrush when I was younger, but she switched to a small paddle that got bigger as my booty grew. By the time I was in high school it was an 18-inch board that really busted up my ass.
She didn't do it gently, either. Oh no. It was me draped bare-assed over the back of the living room sofa and her swinging that oak with both hands one, two, or even three dozen whoppers that left me sobbing and begging and promising the moon if she'd just stop whipping my heinie.
You might have thought that at that age it wouldn't have happened often, but you'd be flat out wrong. I got it all the time. Not always a full dose, but a dozen poppers three times a week was pretty regular. I'd get it for little things that didn't matter much to me, but Mama found deserving. Like me not doing my chores in time, getting a bad grade on a test, or saying something smart.
Before I knew what was happening Mama would be reaching for that board on the kitchen wall and telling me to "drop 'em" and "get ready." By then it was too late. No amount of begging or promising obedience did any good. Once she had the paddle, she was gonna use it. If I dallied, she'd start counting, and the number meant that many extras beyond whatever she'd planned to give me.
One or two didn't worry me much, but once she got to three I started obeying quick-like, as three of Mama's pops was pretty serious. If I was too slow undressing, she might get to four or five before I was bare and in position, so I'd get the dozen or two planned and then the extras, which always hurt so much worse knowing they were due to my stupidity.
Still, I was such a brat that such little paddlings didn't bother me or change my behavior much. I didn't let Mama know that, of course. I wailed and whined and made like she'd really blistered my heinie, but I could take a dozen without too much trouble. More than that hurt too much and so I avoided serious misbehavior, like drugs or shoplifting. In that sense, Mama's spankings worked.
I honestly never gave much thought about the paddlings. That was just how things were in our family. A bit embarrassing if people were around, and painful if you got a real whopping of two or three dozen, but otherwise it was just not something I bothered about.
And then when I was 16 we had a foreign exchange student stay with us for a few months. Her name was Carla. She was black like me - darker actually - but she spoke all fancy cause she was from England. We were tight right away, as close as sisters after the first day or two. I only had older brothers and Carla was my age, so it was awesome.
She wasn't there two days before I got my butt paddled. We'd come home like five minutes late. It was so minor I didn't even notice, but Mama did, and when I begged her to let me off because Carla was there, she just started counting. She got all the way to six before I decided she was fucking serious and I'd better get bare and get it over with.
Eighteen whoppers across my "backside" as Carla called it, was an eye-watering experience, but I mostly felt ashamed that my new friend had to see me that way. I thought she would lose respect for me or even make fun of me, but she wasn't like that.
Instead she turned to Mama and said, "I was tardy, too, ma'am. I deserve the same!"
I thought my blurry vision was making me see things, because it looked like Carla lowered her jeans and panties and took my spot across the back of the sofa. Then I heard the boom of the board and I stared and sure enough, Carla was naked and her chocolate ass was being whacked just like mine!
Afterward, in my room, Carla told me all about her posh school in England, how she had to wear a uniform, and how the teachers were as strict as nuns. Masters and mistresses they called them, and if you didn't do what they said you got the cane.
"What's that?" I said.
"It's a long stick about as thick as your finger," she told me. "It's bendy like a whip and when it's lashed across your bare bum it feels like you got branded with a red-hot iron."
Like I said, I'd never thought much about the paddle before, but hearing about the cane made me think about such things. I knew what the paddle felt like, but I couldn't imagine the cane. It sounded awful - yet that's what made it intriguing. I asked Carla a million questions about it, always curious.
She told me it left ridged lines across your bottom, red hot and angry. "They last for days," she said. "You feel them every time you sit down."
"How many strokes do you get?"
"That depends. Four or six is typical at school, though you can get eight or even a dozen if you do something horrid. Mum gives me ten at home for most things, but when I've been really naughty Dad canes me and even though it's only six or eight he hits so much harder it's worse than a dozen from Mum."
While she was with us, Carla got the paddle every week or so, almost always with me. She said she wanted to be treated the same as me and Mama took her at her word. I still got spanked more often, but it was for things that I did on my own, like grades or not obeying. Carla got it when the two of us were in trouble together, usually for coming home late or goofing off.
I only remember a few times she got it by herself, including once when she was dancing and broke Mama's favorite vase. She apologized and fetched the board without even Mama asking for it, and didn't complain when it was two dozen whoppers.
"How does the paddle compare to the cane?" I asked her later, in my room. She was on the second twin we'd set up there for her, naked with her blistered butt exposed for cooling.
"It's totally different," she said. "The cane is worse in some ways, the paddle worse in others. The paddle hurts the whole bum, the cane just a narrow line. Both are bad."
I studied her butt, which was even bigger than mine, very full and round and deep. "Mama says we black girls got big butts so she's got something to paddle," I said. That made Carla laugh.
"Maybe so," she said. "Mistress Snow at school tells me I can't possibly feel the cane with all the padding I've got back there. It's just an excuse to give me extras, I think."
I laughed at that. "Sounds like Mistress Snow and Mama would get along."
Carla put the back of her hand to her head dramatically and pretended to be frightened. "Oh my Lord, can you imagine if they got together? Our bums would be chewed up and roasted!"
"Mama would paddle us and then Snow would cane us," I said, wondering what that would feel like. "We wouldn't be able to sit down for a week!"
I suppose such thoughts should have terrified me, but they did the opposite. I actually wanted to meet Mistress Snow and I was intensely curious about the cane. I knew it would hurt, but the paddle hurt, I got that all the time. Was the cane that much worse?
This interest haunted me for years. Long after Carla returned home, I thought about her, about England, and about the cane. The more I thought about the more my curiosity grew. Soon I had no fear of it. Even when I had nightmares in which I was severely caned, my fascination continued.
I went to the library and bought British books about school life. Many of these had canings in them and I was enthralled. Though they sounded agonizing, the more awful they sounded the more I wanted to experience it.
Once I cut my own stick and tried to whip my bottom with it. It wasn't effective at all and I stopped trying. What I wanted was the real thing, a genuine punishment where I had no say in the matter. I wanted it burn like Mama's paddle, except with a cane.
I didn't know why I wanted this. It seemed crazy. I certainly didn't go out of my way to get a paddling from Mama. Why would I want possibly even worse pain from a cane? It made no sense, but I couldn't shake it. As the years went by my fascination didn't fade, it grew.
Carla and I kept in touch, regularly at first, not so much later. I wrote to her when I was near graduation, telling her about my college plans. That's when she suggested I visit her in England. I loved the idea. We'd talked about it casually when she stayed with us, her inviting me, but I'd never really thought it would happen.
I started telling my folks it would make a great graduation present. At first they were hesitant, but knowing I'd be with Carla made things a little less scary. Then my Aunt Gayle surprised me with a plane ticket. I wrote Carla with the news and she was ecstatic. We started sending letters back and forth like mad, talking about all the exciting things we'd do.
Finally it was time. I left in late July and flew to London. Carla met me there and we took the train north. Everything was so foreign and yet the people spoke English. It was amazing.
The first few days were a blur. I ate strange food, saw sights, met Carla's parents, and we visited pubs and night clubs and hung out with handsome 'blokes' who found my American accent as charming as I found their British ones.
I'd been there just five days of my three-week stay when I finally got the courage to ask Carla something I hadn't dared put in a letter.
"Does your Mum still cane you?"
Carla laughed. "Does your Mum still paddle you?"
"You know the answer to that!"
"And my mum's the same as yours," Carla said. "I got caned just two days before you arrived. She said I was being cheeky and wanted to remind me to behave while you're here. She said if I'm naughty I'll get it in the study even if you're in the next room."
A shiver went through me and my breathing was a struggle. "What about... me?" I asked. "Will I get... it?"
Carla frowned. "I don't know. I never thought to ask. I suppose, if you're naughty in front of Mum. Just like I got the paddle from your Mum."
"But you asked for that. You said you wanted to be treated just like me."
"That's true, I suppose I did. I didn't think it was fair you getting whacked when we'd come home late together."
"So I could do the same here," I said. "Tell your mother that she's to cane me just the way she would you."
"If you want. But are you sure? The cane hurts."
"I suppose I'll find out."
Carla grinned. "You'll have to be naughty first."
I put on my most devilish smile. "That's not hard," I said, and we both laughed.
The next morning I went to Carla's mom and explained to her that I wanted to be treated just like her daughter.
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