My name is Frances and I was still seventeen when I finished my 'Leaving Certificate' in Ireland, having been one of the youngest in my year. Rather than go straight to University, where I had enough points to study Biology, I decided to take a year out as a family friend, a second cousin of my mother who lived in the US, needed an au-pair. It seemed too good an opportunity to miss.

Thus, in late July I found myself swapping the delights of Ireland for a small, well-to-do suburb of Atlanta, Georgia. The Callaghan family had four children; a twelve month old baby girl and three boys aged three, seven and eleven.

The father, David, was a civil engineer, and the mother, Frances, was an architect. Frances was going back to work part-time, so I was engaged to look after their baby girl for three days a week and provide general help around the house on the other days, with alternate weekends off.

The family were very friendly and soon I felt very much at home. The baby girl was really sweet and she had just started to walk and talk so things were never dull. One real bonus was that I also had a car which I needed to use to pick up the boys from school. To start with, the boys were a bit resentful of my presence on the school run but they quickly accepted me as a sort of big cousin.

I had plenty of time off and quickly met some girls who attended the local high school. I became embedded in their social scene, meeting up with them in the evenings and weekends.

By early November, through the girls I’d met a guy called Grant who was a bit of, what the Americans call, a ‘jock'. He was great fun but rather full of himself, a bit spoilt and not really that bright. It was clear David and Frances did not really approve of him, but it was difficult for them to say anything as I had turned eighteen in late August and my private life wasn’t really any of their business.

However, I did need to play by their rules. Broadly speaking this meant that on the night before any day where I was looking after the baby I needed to be home by 11.00 pm. This seemed quite reasonable as I was expected to be ready to work by 6.00 am the following morning.

Boyfriend Grant knew this and I was kind of reliant on him to get me home by the appointed hour as he seemed to think it was his ‘manly’ duty to drive. We managed to keep to the timings at the start. However, things started to slip and twice in a row, just before Christmas, he dropped me home after the agreed 11.00 pm curfew.

The first time, I was around 20 minutes late and the following morning Frances said that my lateness had been noted and that I should ‘be more careful with my timekeeping’ in the future.

The second time, it was just after midnight when I crept in and both David and Frances were worried about where I had got to and were not happy that I had no real excuse for missing my curfew. The real reason was that Grant had swayed me with a trip out of town which was fun. I didn’t want to have to explain this to them, given they already had such a dim view of Grant.

The following day Frances laid it on the line. I needed to stick to the rules or sanctions would need to be applied. We had a discussion and eventually a ‘reduction in wages or grounding formula’ was reached. If I couldn’t keep to the rules I would either lose money or not be going out. I apologised again.

I reminded Grant about the rules but he didn’t seemed that bothered. A week later we were invited to a party but it was on a night before a working day and, as usual, he insisted on driving me. I told David and Frances that it would be difficult to get back by 11.00 pm and they agreed on an extension. They were very reasonable and said they wanted me home by 1.00 am.

Inevitably Grant was too busy enjoying himself at the party to take me home and, after a couple of drinks, I hadn’t really noticed the time. It was 1.15 am when I noticed and asked for a lift home. By 1.30 am we’d had a big row, I’d dumped him and phoned for a taxi. I should have phoned David and Frances but the cab company said they would be ten minutes and it was only a ten minute drive, so even though I’d missed the extended curfew I wouldn't be too late, all things considered.

Unfortunately, I waited outside for an hour with no sign of the taxi. I was just about to go back into the party and phone for another taxi when a police car pulled up. Apparently, David had phoned Grant sometime after 2.00 am and panicked when he had found out I had left half an hour before and that Grant wasn’t with me. So David had then called his friend Brett who was in the local police force and it was he who had swung by the party and very kindly offered to drive me home.

Brett said he had recognised me from the description David had given him and that he had already let them know he had found me and we were on our way home. When we arrived, Frances was in that state between delight that I was safely home, and fury about what had happened. The fact that I had been drinking at the party, which in the US was illegal for under 21s, and that Brett had smelt it on my breath had not helped matters at all.

I sat on the sofa in the living room whilst next door in the kitchen Brett, David and Frances had quite a long discussion. I waited for them to return to the living room.

Brett spoke first. “You are very lucky, young lady, that David and I go back a long way or I would have taken you down to the station for a breath test. It is obvious you have been drinking and so you may possibly have had to stay a night in the cells and most likely have had a court appearance the following morning.”

“Oh,” I replied. “I’m sorry to have caused all this trouble.” I was quite shaken by what was being said.

“Well,” Brett continued. “I have agreed to let David and Frances deal with you appropriately, on this occasion.”

He then said a ‘goodbye’ and left with David thanking him so much for his help and that he would see him at the golf club at the weekend.

“We should all go to bed now and at breakfast Frances will talk to you about your punishment” David said.

Once in bed, I felt pretty guilty and rather silly that I had brought all this trouble on the family. I wasn’t sure what my ‘punishment’ would entail but it didn’t really sound like a simple matter of a reduction in my wages or a grounding, given that the police had been involved.

I meant to get up early and help with breakfast but I overslept and, by the time I had washed, put on my t shirt and jeans I finally arrived in the kitchen just before 10.00 am. David had taken the day off and had dropped the boys at school and then driven out of town with the little one to see his mother. This left Frances free to talk to me about the night before.

Without going into too much detail, I apologised again and explained how the events of the night before had unfolded. I tearfully told her that I had drunk a bit too much, argued with Grant, and tried to call a taxi to get home because he wouldn't give me a lift. I agreed I hadn’t really kept my eye on the time and that it was my responsibility to get home before curfew.

Frances listened intently and waited until I had finished before explaining that both she and, in particular, David were not happy with my behaviour. He had had to rely on his long-time friend to bail me out. I felt embarrassed that I had let them down so badly and that I had broken the law as well.

I looked glumly at the kitchen table. When couched in those terms it sounded awful and I felt awful.

“In a small town, word travels quickly and if the police had been involved it would have brought shame on them,” she explained. “As sponsors of your stay here in America, you have let us down. Having the police involved is pretty serious and you were lucky that Brett was going to overlook it on this occasion. Provided, of course, we take action,” Frances continued.

“Yes, Ma’am,” I replied. I’d never called her that before but it seemed wholly appropriate and natural at that moment in time.

“In the southern states we still use corporal punishment at home and at school when required. We have all agreed that a bare bottom spanking is most definitely called for. I think you would agree, Frances, that this is highly appropriate?”

I was pretty shocked to hear that Frances was suggesting she was going to spank me, and on my bare bottom. All sorts of things ran through my head and I wasn’t sure what to say. I couldn't decline as I would almost certainly end up at the police station and then who knows? Jail? One of those judicial spankings a judge might hand out? Did they exist? A large fine? Sent back home to face my family in disgrace? I had no idea what to expect, but a spanking at the hands of Frances just seemed the least worst of the options I could think of.

“Yes, Ma’am,” was all I could say.

"Okay, let’s get it over with." Frances stood up and looked like she meant business.

Shock hit me. I had no time to prepare mentally. I froze.

"Trust me, it is not going to get any easier if we wait," she continued.

I nodded. My throat suddenly feeling very dry. I stood up slowly.

"I am going to give you the punishment we agreed with Brett last night in the hope you learn a valuable lesson.”

“In line with the spankings I got at home when I was younger, you will first go up to your room and strip to just your top and panties. Leave your door open and wait for me in the corner of the room with your nose to the wall and think about why you are going to get a good hard spanking."

I replied, "Yes, Ma’am," before slowly making my way upstairs.

After a brief detour to the bathroom I did as I was told. I was acutely self-conscious as I unbuttoned and slid my jeans down, took them off and folded them neatly. All too soon, I was ready, facing the corner with my nose against the wall.

I waited, and waited, for what seemed like an age. The anticipation of the unknown was awful. It was pretty nerve-wracking as my body anticipated what was coming. Never having been spanked as a child, and being just too young to have experienced 'the leather' at school in Ireland, I had no idea what to expect. All I knew was, I had let Frances and David down, broken the law, and now I was going to pay the price.

It must have been half an hour before Frances arrived. I turned as she came in but was brusquely told to get back in position.

She came up behind me and I suddenly felt my rather bright pink knickers disappear from my rear, landing around my ankles. I gasped.

Lifting my feet in turn she removed them completely and placed then on my folded jeans. I now felt very, very vulnerable.

I heard her adjusting things and then leave the room. When she came back the order came. "Turn around!"

I gulped. My duvet was now folded in four in the middle of the bed and she stood there with two implements in her hand; a wooden hairbrush and a thick piece of leather which was thick and about 18 inches long. To me it looked very much like ‘the leather’ my father had described the teachers using when he was a schoolboy.

Frances pointed towards the bed.

“Get into position, young lady. Lie down and get that bottom up high. My mom gave me a good hiding like this when I was young and it did me a world of good,” she continued. Clearly she knew from experience how to conduct a spanking.

I was soon in the position. Bare bottom in the air over my duvet, top tugged out of the way. At her suggestion, I buried my face in my pillow with my hands holding it in place.

She gently pushed on my lower back which raised my bottom further and held me in place. I felt the cold wood of the brush rubbing the bare cheeks of my buttocks.

Splat! I gasped as the pain exploded in my right cheek.

Splat! Left check. “Ouch”

Splat! Right cheek. “Oweee!”

Splat! Left cheek. “Nooo, ouch!”

My mind went into overdrive as the blows rained down hard.

It was not long before I was grunting and gasping. Soon after that, these turned to screams and wails. The blows came thick and fast and all my pleas and begging fell on deaf ears as Frances turned every inch of my butt and the tops of my thighs bright red. Throughout the punishment, she lectured me on how much David and she had worried the night before and how much I had let them down.

It was impossible to escape as I was held firmly in place but I bucked and wriggled quite a bit with Frances reminding me to stay still or I would be getting more.

Eventually she stopped and waited for me to calm down. Despite rubbing my bottom furiously, the pain was still there and my hind quarters felt like they were on fire.

“That hair-brushing, Frances, was for letting David and me down last night. We were worried sick about you. We have become very fond of you and you betrayed our trust,” she said.

“I am so sorry, Ma’am,” I sobbed through tears of pain and remorse. Feeling the heat in my bottom was indeed a good reminder, and it also seemed to lift some of the guilt I was feeling. Like I was paying the price.

Frances spoke again after about 5 minutes. "Now, the more formal part of the punishment is for breaking the law and is something Brett was insistent should be carried out. You are to receive ten strokes with the leather strap. For under-18s it would be a maximum of six strokes but as you are over 18, so the limit is increased. Brett was quite clear you should receive the maximum permitted.”

I gasped, shook my head and then gripped the pillow tighter as she laid the leather on my already very sore rear. I had broken the law and, ironically, I was lucky to ‘get away’ with this punishment being given at home so as to avoid embarrassment in the community.

“Please, Ma’am, no more,” I mumbled. “Please.”

“No, Frances. We need to get this done so that we can assure Brett we have kept our end of the bargain.”

I turned my head slightly so I could see the strap being raised up and over Frances’ right shoulder, and just glimpsed her arm swinging down in one quick single motion.

Crack!

I screamed. It was agony. My father had spoken of how painful the strap was back in Ireland in his day when it was applied to hands and sometimes bare bottoms. Nothing had prepared me for this. I wriggled and bucked on the bed as my bottom felt like it had been branded. A thick band of pain seared across the middle. It was already sore from the hairbrush, but that was just a warm-up in comparison with this.

I looked again just in time to see the strap swiping down at pace.

Crack!

Frances was taking her time and I was already crying. Another dark red band appeared across my bottom, clearly delineated from the lighter red patches caused by the hairbrush.

By the time I had received six strokes, I was indeed bawling like a baby and all I could say was how sorry I was and that I would not be drinking again.

Crack! The next stroke lit up my backside low down and I howled once more, trying desperately not to wriggle and ruing the fact that because I had just turned eighteen I was getting four more additional strokes.

Frances continued to lay the strokes on good and hard, giving enough time in-between each one for the lesson to sink in and for me to compose myself and to get my bottom back up high to meet its tormentor.

After all 10 strokes had been delivered, Frances had ensured the whole of my bottom right down to the crease where it met my legs had felt the kiss of the strap. One had also strayed onto my thighs which had made me buck and writhe even more, that certainly had left its mark.

Frances delivered a few words on how well I'd taken my spanking and gave me time to lie on my bed to calm down and cool off a bit.

“Now we are all done, I suggest you take a nice shower, get dressed and then come down to lunch,” she said.

In the bathroom I looked at my bottom. It was sore all over and the strap marks could all be clearly seen, as could two circles in the centre of my butt cheeks where the hairbrush had been applied more often than to other areas. It would be quite a few days before I could sit comfortably, for sure.

After a shower I applied some lotion that Frances had kindly left in plain view and this cooled things down a bit. I put on a loose-fitting dress and didn’t bother with any knickers. It would have been very painful to pull them up and over my sore, bruised and by now swollen backside.

As soon as I got into the kitchen I apologised again for my behaviour but did feel that some of the guilt had been lifted. I thanked her fixing it so the police and courts did not need to get involved. I was still emotionally a wreck and found myself for the first time giving her a hug, more as a daughter than anything else.

When David returned, Frances explained that I had been punished and I apologised to him as well.

David played golf with Brett the following weekend and they agreed that the case was now closed. I had learned my lesson and the incident was never mentioned again. I was of course careful to ensure that my time-keeping was much improved. I drove myself to and from parties and I didn’t go anywhere near alcohol.

I would like to say that was the only spanking I got, but that would be a lie. I found the spanking experience had awakened something in me. It was a way of removing the guilt that builds up when I do something wrong. So several times, usually at my request, I subsequently found myself in my room, on the receiving end of a number of painful, yet cathartic, spankings from Frances.

The rest of my year in the US went very well as I felt a totally accepted part of the family. I even accompanied them on a four-week tour in their ‘RV’ (Campervan) to the West of the US where we visited the Grand Canyon.

My time as an au-pair was most certainly a life-changing experience.

The End

Anon, based on an idea by Joanna Jones 2012