Naughty stepped in Tesco's at the age of 44
Back in 2007 I was living with the Beautiful Lisa, And her son Alex, who was 12.
To cut a long story short. Alex and I had been messing about. And Lisa had the grumbles for several reasons, most of them not our fault. Lisa announced a trip to Tesco's. And that we were to go with her. We knew without speaking to each other. That she had a mood on. and just did as we were asked.
Whilst shopping we were messing about riding the tolley and generally being idiots. She just stopped looked at us and said "You're just annoying me now, Why don't you two go and wait in the car" Thrust the keys at us and we left.
On the way out with the two of us giggling I said "Your mum just told us off, Like two naughty little boys" His answer was " I'm twelve what's your excuse"
(Pill Popper Thank you Sasha Shulgin, Thu 14 Feb 2013, 11:06, 2 replies)

A well roasted pea
From the "Mums" question.

Mater (RIP) was somewhat of a nutjob, "Proper" Eng-er-lish Laaadyyy. Here are 2 of my faves that always raise a giggle (@ least from me anyway).
I was 9-10ish and having procured my first cig (stolen by a mate off their old man) I went to try it behind the aircon of the place we were house-sitting. The aircon is a big box with a pump inside surrounded by straw-like matting that water dribbles down to cause an evaporative cooling effect as the outside air is sucked inside (but is completely dry when not in use). Mum was inside in the bath.
Halfway thru my first cig (hack, hack cough, cough) my mum shouts out "WHERE"S THAT SMOKE COMING FROM?" Smoke from said cigarette is pouring through the aircon ducting into the house. I panic & quickly stub the cig out on the tinder dry, easily flammable straw of the aircon...
Smoke suddenly grows exponentially and aircon rapidly burns. Mum screams and runs out of the bathroom in a towel to ring fireys. I run round to the fire-extinguisher (which I had seen mounted on the wall and had been itching to try out) and put the fire out completely.
Fireys turn up douse the aircon (just in case). Mum comes out and asks me what the hell is going on. After mum shouts a lot she susses that something is up and makes me turn out my pockets, finding a lighter (to light cig). She immediately flys into rage and accuses me of being a pyro in front of the fireys.
As penance I had to spend 2 weeks of my school holidays helping & cleaning up around the fire station. When the fire-boss found out the real reason for my transgression he pissed himself.

Modern Day EDIT: Even up to her death about 6 years ago mum my was still suss on me around matches or a lighter. Along the lines of - she would take the lighter off me after I had lit my bbq and go put it in my kitchen. Bless the fire-chief for keeping his word when I made him promise no to tell my mum.

tl:dr - don't stub your ciggies out on old school evaporative air conditioners cause they are flammable & make sure you know where the nearest fire extinguisher is.
Length? - I'd had a couple of puffs so maybe 60-70mm.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Thu 14 Feb 2013, 4:09, 3 replies)

Whilst visiting a pet shop
and wandering around acquiring scratching posts, bowls, litter trays and other assorted essentials for the pending arrival of new cats I was quite suddenly overtaken by vicious, crippling stomach cramps. As I desperately tried to explain to my wife the near paralysing pain I was in she simply turned to me and said "Oh for god's sake! Go over there in the corner!"

TLDR: Stepped by my wife for feeling unwell.
( number5 has been fighting tramps and losing., Thu 14 Feb 2013, 0:56, 1 reply)

Sorry Doesn't Help
Earlier in my career I managed a large team, mostly young people in their twenties, all working on different stages of an important, complex project (to say more would be boring and you don't really need to know the specifics).

One of the project milestones was writing out to all Local Authorities informing them of forthcoming changes to legislation and what they needed to do to comply with said legislation.

I drafted the letter and its attachments, and left it to one of my team to complete the mail merge and despatch the letters (this was just before email).

Three or four days later, I got a phone call from the Chief Executive of Wiltshire County Council, who sounded rather aggrieved, and also slightly embarrassed. He thanked me for the letter - which went out under my signature - and informed me that he would take the appropriate steps to comply with its contents. All well and good. I thanked him for this. Then he went on to enquire why the letter was addressed to Wiltshite Cunty Council.

Without missing a beat I smoothly informed him that it was an administrative error, apologised profusely, and assured him that steps would be taken to address the issue. Perhaps some training was in order for the member of staff responsible. We finished the call cordially, making vague plans to meet up for a round of golf when the weather improved.

I then made myself a cup of tea, drank it, and called the member of staff responsible into Meeting Room 2.2 for a quick chat. As you know, there is nothing worse than a senior manager asking you to come for a quick chat. It's like your doctor telling you to sit down, I have some bad news for you.

Once inside the soundproof room (a measure I had lobbied for), I let Nigel sit down, threw a copy of the offending letter at him, and then immediately launched into a diatribe that went something like this:

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING? HOW THE SHITTING PISS DID YOU THINK YOU'D GET AWAY WITH IT? I've just been on the phone to the CEO of Wiltshire COUNTY Council and he is FUCKING LIVID. He wants the person responsible SACKED. SACKED! SACKED IMMEDIATELY. And let me say this now that you ARE fucking sacked you MORONIC FUCKING CUNT! I mean... for God's COCKING sake... are you some sort of tard? Did you think they WOULDN'T NOTICE?! Have you got a CAREER DEATH WISH you disgusting, worthless LUMP of FILTH!? EXPLAIN YOURSELF! If you can."

I then sat opposite him, arms folded. Nigel was, by now, a blubbering wreck, wretched and broken, and soon to be unemployed. A life of depression, privation, squalor and alcoholism patiently awaited him, followed by a tawdry suicide, an unmourned funeral, and a pauper's grave visited only by dogs who would copiously urinate and defecate upon it.

Of course, by now, I was nursing a hard-on like a milk bottle. "EXPLAIN YOURSELF!" I roared.

Nigel emitted a burbling stuttering series of choked, broken sentences, from which I was able to garner that he thought that it must have been one of his work colleagues getting on to his computer whilst he was away from his desk and interfering with the mail merge.

I considered. This was probably true - Andy, another junior team member, was notorious for pulling japes like this. It probably was him. Neil probably was innocent. But I liked Andy - he sometimes sucked me off in the toilets - and, besides, Nigel wasn't completely innocent.

"Then you clearly failed to lock your computer before leaving your desk! Everyone knows that, even if you leave your desk for a minute or so, you should lock your screen! It's basic security!"

Nigel, no longer a man but a sort of quivering, broken jelly-thing, let out a mewing ululation of despair.

"And that's if I believe your lie about another team member being responsible. Which I don't. Get out of my sight, you spineless, useless, gormless, worthless MAGGOT! Clear your desk and leave immediately, or Security will throw you out." I stood up. "Go on - CUNT OFF OUT OF MY SIGHT, YOU MILQUETOAST KITTEN'S FART! AND IF I EVER SEE YOU AGAIN, I *WILL* *KILL* *YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!*"

Through the mist of my rage I glimpsed his abject form stumble from the room. By the time I left the room, he had gone, leaving on his desk his Swansea F.C. mug, which I took to the executive bathroom with me to be the recipient of my semen at the climax of my much needed and well-deserved power wank.

About 7 inches, should you need to know.
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Wed 13 Feb 2013, 21:04, 7 replies)

The diagram
So, as a teacher, giving punishments is part and parcel of my daily grind. I don't particularly enjoy telling-off as a rule, but when it needs to be done, I do try to find some way to add amusement value, particularly when the crime deserves some special attention.

My favourite, and one of my own devising, is the punishment for a naughty boy who decided to draw a giant man-sausage on his exercise book. He wasn't a bad lad, but could step out of line rather far on occasion, and so I couldn't let it slide. I kept him behind at the end of the lesson, and his lecture went as follows.

"This is an absolutely pathetic diagram, one of the worst I have seen you produce. (*pause for blank look). You are going to finish it, at home, tonight. (Pause for more confusion.) It is going to be correctly, accurately labelled. No mistakes. No mis-spellings. No crossings-out. This diagram is going to be perfect. Do you understand? Now get out of my classroom."

He leaves, rather puzzled, and the next day, returns with a magnificently labelled version. It is accurate, detailed, and he has done more work on it than any other homework that year so far. In front of him, I tore it out of his book, placed it in an envelope and put it in my desk drawer.

"Now, the next time you muck around in my lesson, what do you think I will bring to the meeting I have with your Mum?... Clear?"

This brought, in fairly quick succession, 1) more puzzlement. 2) a moment of brief panic, and 3) a polite nod and a mumbled "sir".

He was pretty well behaved after that...
(Serotonicity was a naughty boy on..., Wed 13 Feb 2013, 17:32, 6 replies)

Stepped for life
Mrs Moon Monkey never misses a chance to remind me that I read an entire book while she was in labour with our first child. Personally I can't see the problem - it was 36 hours, FFS, and a lot of the time - especially during the build-up to the main even - there was very little I could actually do to help. So I read. Apparently that was a crime somewhere between ethnic cleansing and selling babies on the internet.

I was delighted to find, in a book, advice to expectant fathers which included the suggestion that they take something to read in the maternity ward to pass the time... surprisingly, even this didn't placate her. Women are strange.

The "baby" is about to turn 10, and is herself a voracious reader... I wonder if there's a connection?
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Wed 13 Feb 2013, 17:13, 5 replies)

Future Mrs Speed
She told me off in a shop a few months back because I wanted to get two bottles of coke (which were on offer for £1.50) a packet of crisps and an ice cream. It was like being told off by my mum (Seriously, remember back to when you were a kid and you know what I mean). She even said "Hurry up now because the man is waiting!" tone that mothers do with their kids. I'm 26 for fuck sake!.
(Claude Speed was a Roman called Claudius Speedicus, Wed 13 Feb 2013, 17:02, 3 replies)

So there was this guy dealing drugs to kids ...
Blah blah blah Honda Accord, kung-fu, supermodels, mulitple squirting cum-gush, &c.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 13 Feb 2013, 13:46, 14 replies)

So there I was
With my girlfriend on a camping trip out in the arse end of nowhere looking for a place to park up the 4x4 so we could set up camp. As evening was closing in with came across some locals who had a nearby camp themselves, so through the universal language of charades (we didn’t speak the dialect) they offered us space to set up camp for the night. Turned out to be quite a spectacular evening, we were guests for dinner and after the lovely meal they broke out some sort of local alcoholic drink which was consumed with much relish and enjoyment by all. As the evening went on things got rowdier and all sorts of shenanigans between the locals started to happen, I’m not sure what was in the alcohol but it was blunting any inhibitions me and the girlfriend would normally have. We dragged ourselves off to our tent in the early hours where lots of sexy stuff happened.

We said our goodbyes the following day to our gracious hosts and continued on our journey. We eventually came home and occasionally we talk about what a great time we had, particularly that night with the locals. We ended up calling it the night on the Mongolian naughty steppe.
(ParaSitius is an Optimistic Pessimist, Wed 13 Feb 2013, 12:51, 2 replies)

(◉‿◉)
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Wed 13 Feb 2013, 12:10, 9 replies)

I shot a couple of people, so the police burned down my shed :(

( BraynDedd Natasha Kaplinsky's labia majora, Wed 13 Feb 2013, 9:05, 9 replies)

Church window
When I was about 12, me and a mate smashed a church window. Me dad found out eventually from the police and hit me continually around his large desk. It was about 6 foot in diameter and we circled it a good few times
(slipmatt Thats sooper dooper, Wed 13 Feb 2013, 5:52, 1 reply)

Not me but my brother
When he was about 2, my brother looked like an angel. An angel wifh a mop of white blonde hair and mischievous green eyes. Unfortunately this was misleading. He was actually the goddamned devil.

One day my mum had taken him shopping at sainsbury's and he had totally misbehaved, throwing things out of the trolley and other such naughtiness. Reasoning, naughty steps, shouting - nothing worked with that child. So eventually my mother pulled out the big guns, the only thing that ever worked.

"I'm not going to smack your bottom now," she said. "But when we get home I will. And you can think about it all the way home."

Instant angelic behaviour from the little shit. So my mother promptly forgot all about it, as you do when you have a million other things to do. Until the car pulled up in the driveway and a defiant little voice piped up:

"I haven't been thinking about that smack."

Foolish child.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Tue 12 Feb 2013, 23:01, 2 replies)

I was expelled from a school
which I loathed.

Kicked out of uni, which I loathed.

What did I learn on the norty steps?

Never let the bastards grind you down.
(roysin, Tue 12 Feb 2013, 21:17, 19 replies)

Duffield...
Was my English teacher. A brummie bully, who if he took a dislike to you (me) would make life a living shit pile. Until one day. Listening to him reading 1984 one afternoon with his nasal drawl I made the mistake of resting my head in my hands. No sooner had I done this when a large piece of chalk flew at me, striking me directly in the eye. "WAKE UP RIPLEY!" He bellowed. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" Came my reply. Blood was now spilling from my cut eyelid. Unnoticed until someone said "oh shit he's bleeding". Wipiing my shirt sleeve across my face only made me look worse as I continued to shout at him. "You and I will sort this once and for all after this lesson". Just as the deputy headmistress walked in. She to one look at me. The turned to Duffield and said very calmly "Get out of the classroom, then get off these premises then when you've done that resign from teaching altogether because when I'm finished with you your career will be as well".
Good old Mrs Hegaty. Not all brums are bad, there are bastards everywhere.
(Ripley isis spelt backwards is sisi, Tue 12 Feb 2013, 21:16, 5 replies)

But I didn't let it lie.

( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Tue 12 Feb 2013, 15:15, 1 reply)

I too have a dozen tales of the times where something nearly happened to me.
Does anyone have any stories about being naughty stepped?

Just wondering.
( Infidel , shit and wrong, Tue 12 Feb 2013, 12:53, 6 replies)