Being given a switching

Hello everyone I am in the deep south. I have been a fan of all spanking other than M/M and have seen a few over the years. But that the punishment which is dreaded the most down this way is, being sent to go fetch switches for some to punish you with.

Now how many here on this site have been switched as adults for a punishment. If so, how much to you fear it on a scale of 1 to to to.

I'm female, but I had several switch whippings from a former spanker. I had to lean over the arm of the sofa. It was very hard to hold still. One time, he tied several branches together, to form a birch. It stung so much, when he got done, my bottom was all red and bumpy, but he never cut me at all.

Did he make you cry?

After several strokes, my eyes welled up with tears, but I was not sobbing. I had to try to be quiet and endure what he gave me. There is the white-hot stroke of the switch and it burns.

My mother used to make me go out to the pussy willow bush an bring several branches in, then she would peel the leaves off but leave the pussy willow buds on and switch me with them on my bare legs. I would never stand still for this so she would chase me around in a circle holding my arm and trying to switch my legs and promising more punishment unless I stood still, which I never did and would wear her out! My eventual punishment would be administered prior to my next enema, helpless, over her lap with a stinging red bottom!

When young I remember a friend asking me if I had ever been switched. I never was, but for some reason there is something exciting about hearing mention made of being switched or getting a switching that excites me. While I imagine it hurts, seeing thin branches does not seem as scary as other spanking implements.

Grannies words that sparked fear, especially when we were acting up…... “Go Out Side and Cut a Switch” and buddy if it wasn't to her liking she get one Big Enough to make any kid tremble. I hated switchings, much rather have my Dad's belt or Mom's Flip Flop (What a Joke. Seriously). With Granny it didn't make any difference who was there, siblings, friends, relatives or complete strangers if she got the notion to light that ass up it was going to “Hurt Like Fire.” God rest her soul. Having had the fear of Granny put in to us kids we were probably a lot better off in the long run.

@codjer I would never stand still for this so she would chase me around in a circle holding my arm and trying to switch my legs and promising more punishment unless I stood still, which I never did ……..

Another form of the “spanking dance” … brings back memories. Also you mentioned the pussy willow buds were left on the branches, I'd think they would come flying off during the spanking?

Yes, during the spanking the pussy willow buds would fly off but that would still leave the stems that had all of those prickly little pieces on them adding to the pain! However the whole punishment was a dance and I could run pretty fast in a circle and mom couldn’t really keep up despite all of her threats to slowest me down! However, during my next enema when I was very submissive and naked over her lap she would remind me that I had been a bad boy and spank my bottom until it was stinging and bright red before sliding in the well lubed douche nozzle.

Those enemas were never simple. The first was 2 qts of hot ivory soap, expell, then 4qts of plain hot water rinse ,expell, then back in bed, and more trips to expell during the day. It ruined the whole day!

This is an accounting of childhood switchings I received that I have posted under another topic, but think it also belongs here:

From the time I was very young, maybe 7-years-old, up until the time I was maybe 11 or 12, I was subjected to ritualized bare bottom switching at the hands of my aunt. I was born in 1950 and at that point in time, corporal punishment was very common, and even the baring of one's bottom to receive corporal punishment was not viewed as child abuse in the least. As a matter of fact, many felt that was the way corporal punishment should be administered and viewed humiliation as an equally as important part of the punishment as the actual spanking. This most certainly seemed to be the case with my aunt, who used to punish me at the slightest pretext.

My aunt was often left in charge of me while my mother was away, and she would punish me for the most minor infraction of her rules, and every time the punishment was the same.

Whenever she decided that I needed to be punished I was required to go into my bedroom and remove all my clothes, including my underwear, and put on only my robe and slippers. I was then required to go out into the yard and pick a switch for her to use on me and bring it back into the house to her. I always found this trip out into the yard, dressed only in my robe and slippers, very embarrassing. It seemed to me that invariably the elderly neighbor lady would be working in her yard and witness me traipsing into the yard, head held down, and watch me pick my switch and trudge back into the house. And even though I tried to avoid direct eye contact with her, I would always steal a sideways glance at her and make eye contact long enough to see a sort of knowing victory smile on her face, which would add to my embarrassment.

Once I was back in the house, my aunt would take the switch from me and swish it through the air a few times to make sure it was supple enough for its purpose. At this point, and after seeing her swish the switch through the air, I would be in tears and hysterically begging her not to give me a switching, but she was undeterred and would simply look down at me with pursed lips and then say, “Lets go into the bathroom and get this over with.” We would then proceed into the bathroom where I was required to remove my robe and slippers and bend, totally naked, over the edge of the bathtub with my elbows resting on the inside of the tub. Once I had assumed this position she would give me a cursory lecture on my misdeeds and then start in on me with her switch. Even though I would already be sobbing, I would start to howl almost immediately as she began to work on my bottom with her switch. And if the elder lady that lived next door had any doubts about why I was picking the switch, I am sure her questions were quickly answered because I am sure I was vocal enough that I was easily heard, even outside the house. However, my aunt was undeterred by my protests and methodically worked her way up and down my bottom with her switch. She never struck me on my thighs or back, but she sure worked on my bottom, making several trips up and down my bottom until it was a mass of red welts. By the time she was finished I would be a blubbering mess and be promising the world if she would just stop. After she had decided the job was done she would stand me up and lecture me again and give me a hug and tell me how much she loved me, and how I needed to learn to be good. I was then allowed to go to my room where I would dive into my bed and cry myself to sleep.

At the time this started to happen I felt only pain and embarrassment but as I grew older I began to sexualize the experience. I think I grew up in a very strange family environment dominated by women that paid entirely too much attention to my bottom. I also received frequent enemas as well as spankings and the imprint of these treatments is that I sexualized both.

It wasn't a switching. But I was 8 years old, I remember that I was in second grade. i got off the school bus and literally 10 feet from the bus were 2 kids fighting. The vice principal came over and took everyone in the immediate vicinity to her office. She decided she was going to paddle everyone that was there. The two kids fighting told her that we weren't involved. She said she didn't care and was paddling everyone that was there. So obviously they called dad. I told dad i didn't do it and could prove it, that I had witnesses. He said he didn't care. I was getting spanked because he was called at work. He didn't give a shit that I was beat for something I didn't do. Then he repeats the act.

So obviously they called dad. I told dad i didn't do it and could prove it, that I had witnesses. He said he didn't care. I was getting spanked because he was called at work. He didn't give a shit that I was beat for something I didn't do. Then he repeats the act.

Seems your dad was having a bad day at your expense.

I was plain out abused

It was abusive. Your dad should have taken his frustration out on the principal, not you. Not so Funny how the memory sticks so clearly.

The vice principal came over and took everyone in the immediate vicinity to her office. She decided she was going to paddle everyone that was there. The two kids fighting told her that we weren't involved. She said she didn't care and was paddling everyone that was there. So obviously they called dad. I told dad i didn't do it and could prove it, that I had witnesses. He said he didn't care. I was getting spanked because he was called at work. He didn't give a shit that I was beat for something I didn't do. Then he repeats the act.

To me, it's the “punish the whole class” mentality that is really lazy. These adults are unable to discern who really caused the problem, so they punish everyone. It's like sending everyone in the bank during a robbery, to jail.

Only for Easter Monday. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Easter_whip Not scary at all😄

I was never spanked with a switch, in fact we didn't even call them switches when I was a kid. I used to think a switch was a device to turn an electrical appliance on or off.

I was never spanked with a switch, in fact we didn't even call them switches when I was a kid. I used to think a switch was a device to turn an electrical appliance on or off.

Switches were a rural thing for spanking I believe. Urban families didn't have trees growing in abundance where one could search for a nice suitable thin branch for giving a spanking.

I also have the impression that it was more of an Old American South thing as well, or maybe backwoods, way out in the country thing.

I got one switching (at age 4, I think) from my grandmother. Mom had gone out shopping and left me with grandma while she tended to her flower beds. It was hot and I was bored and mad that mom had left me with grandma. I went around the house where grandma had just planted flowers and shuffled my bare feet through the flower beds. Grandma came around the house to check on me and discovered what I had done. She was livid and brought me to her garden shack and picked a tomato stake. She unbuttoned the shoulder straps of my Osh-Kosh's which fell to my feet leaving me naked (no underpants). Grandma started using that tomato stake on my butt and thighs.

When mom returned she was livid at grandma (her mom) for using a switch on me that left welts.

Never been switched. Only caned. It sounds like switching is worse. Been wanting to try.

Never been switched. Only caned. It sounds like switching is worse. Been wanting to try.

Me too - always been intrigued by the thought of being switched.

Me too - always been intrigued by the thought of being switched.

Never been switched. Only caned. It sounds like switching is worse. Been wanting to try.

Me too - always been intrigued by the thought of being switched.

Give it a try !! - then you will see and feel the difference !!

The ritual of having to go and find a suitable switch is part of the experience. In the ideal world the spankee will have already gotten it with another implement first and then be sent bare bottom to fetch the switches. After that there is the possibility of the switches not being considered good enough or having them tested first.

Knowing me, had I been sent out to fetch a switch, I wouldn't have come back....

As a young boy and young girls, being sent by Mom and/or Dad to fetch switches from the apple orchard was pretty traumatic for my sisters and me.

I'm not using the word traumatic in the way millennials and younger generations use it today. We weren't emotionally/physically scarred for life. In fact, we weren't emotionally/physically scarred for a week. In fact, we weren't emotionally scarred at all, but the painful stripes/welts lasted for a few days, during which simply sitting down at your school desk, or in a church pew, or at the kichen/dinng room table was a reminder that naughty misbehavior was not tolerated! But, it was temporarily emotionally traumatic, during the process of fetching a few switches, peeling off the leaves and outer layers of bark, and ultimately having those switches laid across our bare bottoms for as many stripes as were determined necessary.

The switch was the most severe punishment implement, reserved for cases of severe disobedience, disrespect, and dishonesty (more severe than an OTK paddling with the hairbrush-sized paddle, and more severe than a tanning with the leather strap/strop). A thrashing with a switch was often administered for correction of a pattern of (repeated) misbehavior. For example, in the early springtime (during spring break from school), at about the age of 9.y.o., I remember several occasions when I did not come inside for lunch on time because I was having so much fun playing outdoors with my neighborhood friends. The first time this happened, Mom made me clean up the kitchen (dishes, etc), and do some other chores, by myself, without any help from my sisters (which delighted my sisters, of course). For some reason, I did not learn my lesson, and a few days later I found myself on kitchen clean-up duty again, followed by a trip over Mom's lap (shorts and underpants pulled down), for an appointment with her hairbrush-like paddle (the same size and shape as -- or perhaps just slightly larger than -- a traditional wooden hair brush), but simply a paddle (without any bristles). Unfortunately for me, I was again late for lunch the very next day, and Mom yelled at me from our back door... she said, "Johnny, you're late for lunch again! This is three times in less than one week, which calls for some severe discipline! You need to get your ass in here ASAP, Young Man, but I think you need to take the scenic route, through the apple orchard!". I knew what that meant! My sisters and I would start crying immediately upon being sent to the apple orchard!

Upon arriving in the kitchen, with switches in-hand and with tears in my eyes, Mom and my sisters were eating lunch, and Mom said, "Three strikes and you're OUT, Young Man! Strip OUT of clothes, down to your birthday suit, right now, and go stand in the kitchen corner until I finish my lunch." I responded with the only appropriate response, which was, "Yes Ma'am." And, after lunch, she put me over her lap for anther paddling. After the paddling, she had me stand up in front of her and look into her eyes while she said, "A few days ago, the paddle failed to correct your naughty behavior, so apparently the only way to train you effectively is to put some stripes across your already-tender buttocks! Girls, clear the plates off of the kitchen table, quickly. Johnny, hand me the switches that you fetched, and bend yourself over the kitchen table! Make your sorry ass my target at the edge of the table." While standing naked in front of her, with my sisters watching, my penis became fully erect and Mom said, "At least your penis is always very respectful when you are disciplined, standing at attention like a good boy!" (my sisters giggled). Mom knew how to lay some angry stripes across an already red-hot/sore bare bottom! I was not late for lunch again!

When we were older, Dad eventually introduced my sisters and me to the dreaded "river willow switch" (longer and thicker, but still very supple/flexible), which we had to fetch down at the riverbank. If a tanning with Dad's leather strap/strop failed to correct our misbehaviors, a few stripes with a river willow switch, across our already-tanned bare bottoms, always did the trick.

My wife and her siblings were raised receiving very similar/traditional disciplinary punishments, including having to "fetch a switch" when necessary. Now-a-days, my wife and I reserve the switch for those occasions when we, even as adults, deserve a severe punishment. Although we "like" the "Domestic Discipline" lifestyle, because of its many benefits, neither of us actually enjoys administering nor receiving stripes with a switch! But, on those occasions when such strict correction is deemed appropriate/necessary, we reluctantly follow through with our commitments to administer and accept severe discipline.

Unfortunately for me, I was again late for lunch a few days later, ..... Mom said, "Three times in one week, Young Man!

Just out of curiosity, at your age, did you have a watch? Any way to more or less accurately estimate the time of day?

When I was young, getting a watch was something you got when older, say at around 12 or so, often on one of those religious occasions like with a Confirmation.

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Just out of curiosity, at your age, did you have a watch? Any way to more or less accurately estimate the time of day?

When I was young, getting a watch was something you got when older, say at around 12 or so, often on one of those religious occasions like with a Confirmation.

@agracier

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No watch.

We lived on a small ranch, several miles outside of town (in a small rural community). But, one of the local churches was located on the outskirts of town, only a few miles from our ranch. The church had a bell tower with chimes/bells that rang on a schedule. Chimes rang at 15 minutes, 30 minutes, and 45 minutes past each hour. On the hour (each hour), the big bell would toll (one gong at 1pm, 2 gongs at 2pm, etc ... 12 gongs at 12noon).

So, by 9.y.o., it was my responsibility to pay attention to the church chimes and the bell, which could be heard throughout the community and out into the surrounding ranchlands. Mom served lunch at 12:15pm sharp every day. So, when we heard it ring 12 times, my sisters and I still had 15 minutes to get home for lunch. And actually, Mom was strict, but an isolated occurrence of less than 5 minutes late would usually just result in a warning.

On the occasions described in my previous post, if I remember correctly, my first tardy appearance was approximately 10 minutes late, and my second tardy appearance was approximately 5 minutes late. On the third occasion, I was on my way home and probably would have been only about 3 minutes late, but Mom was already waiting for me at the door as I approached the house. She felt that after recently having been late on two prior occasions, it was very disrespectful of me to AGAIN be late, even if only a few minutes late. Three strikes and you're OUT, as they say. For me, it was three strikes and I was OUT... OUT in the apple orchard fetching switches!

Great post, BottomFromTheTop!

@agracier Just out of curiosity, at your age, did you have a watch? Any way to more o r less accurately estimate the time of day?

Interesting point - I never had a watch; yet somehow I knew when it was time for supper, and time to come home when playing outside. Guess I had some kind of internal clock. Extremely rare for me to come home late.

Never got switched as a kid, it’s like the one form of spanking that I’ve never received. I knew a couple of girls in high school (one of them I would end up dating after we graduated) that got switched and loved listening to them talk about it. I’ve felt implements that are similar enough to know that it’s more of a burning or cutting sensation though.

I’ve always wanted to get one, but I want the full package that you read about in spanking erotica. I want to be made to go out and pick my own while being made to be completely naked, with a very stern warning that if I don’t pick ones that will hurt enough then I will face a much more severe punishment. So, I would do just that knowing they would be inspected before I got whipped. I would genuinely try to find the most painful ones, all the while not having any assurance they would be to my spanker’s satisfaction. The idea of being made to participate in just how much the switching will hurt, along with that anticipation of not being able to be sure if they would be considered good enough is EXTREMELY exciting to me. And of course, being made to do this naked is like the apex of humiliation. 🫠🫠🫠

Oh, and I absolutely love the marks. I’d want them all up and down my bottom and upper thighs!