In terms of Spanking Memories a trip to the basement meant only one thing; a very hard paddling from Dad. It was where the most painful punishments always took place. Whether sent down to “get ready for our beating” alone or with others it was expected that you would be lined up and ready to bend over into position as soon as he arrived and had that heavy board in his hand.
A 1 by 4 with a handle cut into it. no stain or finish just a mean piece of wood that meant business and was applied with very solid swats on my butt bent over arms extended and hands placed on the hard cold concrete walls.
You would be given several swats to start. Then with our butts already burning reminded why you were getting beat, verbally chastised for your naughty behavior while our paddling continued. If there was a group of us Dad moving from person to person and back again. Drawing out the punishment, the waiting and the discomfort. Moving up and down the line and back again ensuring each and every one of us were crying real tears by the end. Even the bravest of us always feared and remembered with dread our trips to the basement. It was the spanking we all truly wanted to avoid.
These were always planned punishments so you had time to worry about them and knew exactly when you were going to get it. sometimes the wait was remainder that day, sometimes a few days latert of all hoped you drip down the stairs wouldn’t be set for Saturday morning. If so you could count on being sore all weekend long, and probably getting spanked again later that day for something else not to mention walking shamefully and teary eyed through the kitchen as everyone else was quietly eat their breakfast.