The bottom of the garden

"Come for a walk in the garden," he'd said. I thought it sounded a bit ominous and I was soon proved right.

"Your mother tells me you've become very bratty recently. What have you got to say for yourself?"

"I've no idea what she means."

"Not helping around the house, being rude, not keeping your room tidy...I could go on."

"Why doesn't she deal with this herself? Why does she always have to drag you into these things?" I think I pouted. Unwise. We'd just got to the old stone well at the bottom of the garden. He sat down on it.

"She rather considerately asked me to bring you out here to do what I'm going to do. Would you rather I spanked you in the house, while your cousins are staying there? It would certainly be quite entertaining for them, wouldn't it?"

"You're not going to spank me out here, in the open air, where anyone might see? You're not, are you?"

He didn't answer, he just pulled me across his knee, jerked my panties down, and started laying into me. My God, it stung, but what really worried me was whether my cousins might be watching from an upstairs window.

Late home.

When her father said "Be home by midnight", he didn't mean 'Feel free to wander back in at three o'clock in the morning, rumpled and smelling of cigarettes and alcohol.' 

He had sat up half the night, growing angrier and angrier, so that when Melissa finally showed up, he was in a furious mood. Melissa had looked aghast when she saw him: she'd hoped to be able to sneak in quietly and concoct some sort of alibi before the morning. 

He brusquely told her to hang her dress on the washing line to let it air and get the stink of the nightclub out of it. Then he marched her straight up to her room, pausing only to collect his cane from the study.

The rest of the house was deathly quiet, but neither her mother nor her sister were sleeping: they were waiting for the crack of rattan across those pale cheeks, and the yell from Melissa as the first fiery stroke blazed across her bottom. There would be many more to come.

One squabble too far.

He'd had enough of their interminable squabbling. They were both old enough to know better than to spend their time winding each other up, but no: all through supper one or the other had insisted on needling her sister. Both he and their mother had told them to knock it off, but after a couple of minutes of good behaviour they would be at it again. 

So he'd run out patience, sent them both up to their rooms, and finished the meal amidst stiff and forced conversation with his wife. Now they'd finished the washing up and she had said "OK, you'd better go and do what's necessary. It serves them right." He'd collected the paddle from his study and gone to Catharine's room. On the way, he told her younger sister Linda to join them. Linda had appeared from her room wearing sports clothes and claiming she was about to go out jogging.

"Fine idea," said her father, "but before you go, take off your shorts and trainers and wait there in the corner while I deal with Catherine."

He threw the elder girl over his knees, dragged down her tights, and started spanking first the right cheek and then the left. As her bottom reddened, Catharine squealed, kicked her legs, and tried to put her hand in the way. This simply resulted in the smacks becoming harder.

In her corner, Linda gently ran her fingers over her still-unmarked bottom. She wasn't looking forward to the next few minutes.

TV is bad for you (or at least, your bottom)

The strict rule when Debbie was staying with Aunt Alyse was: no TV until after all the homework is done.
So when the aunt returned unexpectedly early and Debbie was perched in front of the box watching Coronation Street, it was not surprising that Aunt Alyse asked to see the completed schoolwork. Of course it wasn't 'completed'; it wasn't even even started.
This was the bit Debbie almost hated most: the moment when Aunt Alyse told her to go and fetch the hairbrush. It was an evil implement, long and stingy. It lived in the second drawer down in Aunty's wardrobe.
When she got back with it, Aunty would - as now - be sitting on a chair. She'd silently hold out her hand for the brush. Debbie knew what had to happen next: she'd have to peel down her panties, and lower herself over Aunty's  lap. Then she'd feel her skirt being folded up, the air cool against her bare backside. That was the moment Debbie would let go of her aunt's knee and put her hands on the floor or grip the legs of the chair..
All this seemed to take ages: the awful prelude to what was about to happen. Any second Aunty would start. The whacks would rain down, each cheek addressed in turn, each smack of the wood against Debbie's reddening bottom feeling like the sting of a bee. She knew that within a minute she'd be howling and kicking, but the spanking would go on and on and on.
How she wished she wasn't addicted to Coronation Street.

(The photo is probably from Nu-West/Leda. Acknowledged with thanks to this seminal site)

Do NOT be late home (2)!

Jane felt her stomach curdle as the approaching footsteps got closer. Her mother paused outside the bedroom door, knocked, and threw it open without waiting for a response. Her expression was furious, but it wasn't that which caused Jane to catch her breath and put her hand to her mouth: it was what her mother was carrying in her right hand.

Jane knew that she was in trouble the minute she got home from that illegal, post-school shopping trip with her friend Melanie. Of course she should have asked permission from her mother to come back late, but Melanie had sort of egged her on by saying that they wouldn't be long and anyway, if they asked their parents, they might be told 'No'.
So they'd headed into town and once inside the beguiling department store they'd lost all track of time. When she'd finally got home, the reception was frosty, to put it mildly. She'd been ordered to go straight up to her room. She'd spent the last few minutes nervously fingering her bottom, sure that her mother had gone to fetch that infernal, long-handled hairbrush of hers.
But mother wasn't holding a hairbrush. Swinging from her right hand was the horrible, heavy tawse with which her father thrashed her and her sister on those rare - very rare - occasions when the offence was too serious to merit just a simple spanking. Although her mother had never used it on her before, it seemed that history was about to be made. Jane looked up fearfully.
"How dare you go waltzing off shopping without telling me! Melanie's mother and I have been worried to death. We were just about to 'phone the police and the hospital to see whether there'd been an accident. You know the rule: you come straight home after school unless I've given you permission to be late. What have you got to say for yourself?"
Jane tried to look as contrite as she felt, or rather as contrite as that vicious leather strap made her feel.
"Sorry, mum," she muttered.
"Sorry, indeed! A bit too late now. Go on, take your panties off, kneel on the bed, stick your bottom right up."
With her mother in a mood like this, Jane realised that resistance would be futile. She might as well get it over and done with as quickly as possible. She took a deep breath, slid her knickers off and tossed them on to the chair. She prostrated herself the bed, and thrust her hips upwards.
"Higher!"
Her mother had put one knee on the bed and was pressing down on the small of Jane's back with her left hand. Jane lifted her bottom as much as she could.
She glanced back just in time to see her mother raise the tawse high above her head.

Do NOT be late home!

How many times did the girl have to be told? 'After school, you come straight home'. That was the rule and it was inflexible unless she had received prior permission to return later. So when she turned up an hour and a half late and wanted me to admire the new shirt she'd just bought with her friend Jane, she got short shrift. I fetched that little paddle (small it may be, but boy! it stings) and had her over my lap with her knickers down before she could say 'Please, mum, no - please!' 

"If you'd only had the basic respect to ask before you went shopping, I might have said yes. But you didn't, you just waltzed off with your friend leaving me and Jane's mother wondering what on earth had happened to you. We 'phoned the school and I was about to call the hospital. We were worried sick."

"Sorry mum,  I'm very sorry, but please no more, it really hurts."

"It's supposed to hurt and I'm going to keep on spanking you until I think the lesson has sunk in. Now stop wriggling and kicking your legs."

Not far away, Jane was waiting nervously in her bedroom. She'd been sent there as soon as she came home. Now she could hear the sound of her mother's footsteps coming up the stairs.

(See next post)

Sword of Damocles.

She might be almost nineteen, but there was just so much cheek he could take from Vanessa before he snapped and, as he had done so often in the past, threw her across his knee to give her a good hiding. To begin with, he had intended to let her keep her panties on, but she wouldn't stop struggling, clapping her right hand firmly against her bottom, kicking her legs. So he had pinioned her with his left arm and whipped those thin white knickers down to the top of her thighs. Her yells of outrage only served to reinforce his determination to give her a spanking that she wouldn't forget in a hurry. He was deaf to her indignant pleas that she was 'too old for this sort of thing'. He raised his hand high...