No Rhyme Nor Reason

When we are little children and our parents, the people whose job it is to make us feel safe, create an environment of fear and daily perplexity, our reality becomes a perilous nightmare.

When I was a young child my father would spank us, not because we had been bad girls, but so we wouldn’t be naughty.  His method of making us pull our panties down while he hit us with his hard, leather black belt was confusing enough.  However, his need to rub our bare, tiny bottoms after each smack of the belt felt wrong, even as a small child.

Another example of this confusing behavior happened when I was in elementary school.  I had a dress I treasured because it looked like something a ballerina would wear.  Each day I wore it, I felt special but this particular morning my mother was extremely hung-over.

I had no idea what I had done to set her off as she came flying towards me with hate in her eyes!  She grabbed me by the top of my already buttoned dress and put her fingers snugly into the neck of the dress.  My mother then began to pull so hard that I thought she would choke me to death as it was difficult to breathe.  Finally, I heard the dress begin to rip, and before she was done my much-loved dress lay in shreds around my skinny, awkward body.

Then I lay on the couch in the living room, sobbing loudly, with snot running unchecked from my petite nose onto her new couch.  Unaware of my surroundings because I was so upset and hurt, my mother took a cold glass of water and threw it all over my already shaking body.

Bare Naked Bottoms

Dad just lined us all up on the couch, while our panties he pulled down,

The three of us, well we lie there, no one dared to make the slightest sound.

Those spankings were for our own good, and would make us want to be,

Good little girls, made for good parents, and for all the neighborhood to see.

After each strong lick with the leather belt each of us could not help but cry,

But until he was done, there exposed, hurt, and humiliated, we would all lie.

With large hands, our bare buttocks, he slowly rubbed, after every blow,

I will never forget how those confusing spankings would humiliate me so.

Written By Joni Smith, Age 17 – Copyright # Pau 3-617-048 by Joni Caggiano

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