Daughter/Sister Part 1 - Sex Stories

Daughter/Sister Part 1

Children born in the North of Scotland during the 1950s and early 1960s had a tough upbringing. Parenting was Puritan and very strict, and since my brothers and I engaged in our fair share of mischief, our bottoms were regularly set alight. However, even then, there were well-entrenched differences in how I and my brothers were dealt with. Many of their misdeeds were dismissed as ‘boys being boys’ and dealt with by a severe talking-to. By contrast, I was not given this leeway by Mum. Every failure to meet her standards was tackled in the same robust manner: the hairbrush or plimsol applied to my bottom, with the number and ferocity of her smacks varying according to her level of anger.

At the time, I hated Mum for her rough treatment. But I forgave her once I found out the reasons for it. She was supportive and generally lenient with me during my early years. However, the ‘spare the rod, spoil the child’ brigade, who held sway then, got wind of her supposed laxity, and she became their target. For them, the traditional strict discipline approach was the only way to raise children, and any new-fangled ideas were a sin. Sadly, their extreme views were all-powerful, and Mum eventually succumbed to relentless pressure and began disciplining me in a proscribed manner. I hate to admit that it worked. While I was never a badly behaved child, I could be feisty and argumentative. However, regular warmings of my bare bum at appropriate times soon taught me those traits were ...

... improper, and I steadily became a sweet, docile daughter, at least most of the time.

After talking with other girls, I realised that Mum’s punishments were, in fact, far less severe than those inflicted on their daughters by most mothers. So, Mum was adhering to her initial instincts. But given all the eyes upon her, how did she get away with this? Perversely, it was due to supposedly perfect, image-conscious mothers insisting their daughters not create unseemly scenes when they were punished. That would never do, would it? The result was that girls generally bottled up their anguish and, unlike me, kept relatively quiet while pain seared through their bottoms. While I initially reacted that way, Mum encouraged me to let my feelings rip. So, I often shrieked like a banshee at every hit to my bare bum.

To my utter astonishment, the effort of screaming somehow diminished the pain of each strike and made my punishments more bearable. Furthermore, my very vocal reactions allowed Mum to reduce the severity of her smacks until they were the minimum necessary to cause me to shriek at each hit. This clever approach left no one in doubt that Mum was doing her job, but it also allowed her to limit the actual amount of pain I suffered. For that, my bottom and I are eternally grateful.

I was a goody-two-shoes at school. So, until I was eighteen, I had no acquaintance with the school tawse or cane. However, this blissful situation ended once I moved into an all-girl class taught by Miss ...