Here’s a quaint little spanking story (really, more of a spanking anecdote) from the archives of The Kinsey Institute for Research in Sex, Gender and Reproduction. It’s from a 1936 booklet called “Spanking Stories” by one “Lucy Striker”:
I am a girl eighteen and have been working at house work on a farm for two years. My parents are dead and I am trying to save enough money to go to buseness college in the city.
One day I dropped a tray of dishes on the floor. The boss asked me to come outside he said he wanted to speak to me.
He took me out to the barn where he said we could have privacy. He sat down on a box, pulled out a strap, and before I knew it he had me across his knee, pulled up my apron, shoved down my panties and proceeded to spank me with the strap on my bare bottom. I kicked and yelled but he held me fast. That was not the first bunch of dishes I had broken nor was that the last spanking I’ve received. I kick and squeal but he never stops till I’m crying like a baby.
I know he has not right, not even that of a guardian, but I am too timid to say anything. So I guess I’ll have to grin and bare it till I get enough money to go to the city.