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A poor crying Karen thought it was over, but Mummy was reaching for the slipper. Karen looked to the mirror and saw it, she looked over her shoulder, up to meet her Mummy’s eyes. Now she had a vehicle for her pride. She had always been proud of her daughter, a bright intelligent daughter. Not many from the village had got into Grammer School in recent years. She knew that a lot of her peers in the W.I. Would be saying that very night…”I hear Karen got into Grammer school, she deserves it, her Mummy will be so proud.”
The promised storm arrived on one fateful Spring day. Confidence had grown into over confidence. Self confidence into haughtiness. Pubic hairs had covered her soft pubescent bone, fingers had delved, conversations with friends on the delight of a fingered pussy had taken place. It was one such conversation that made her not even notice her form teacher walk into the classroom. She carried on talking to Barbara, instead of standing up with the rest, to say in a slightly singing way, “Good Morning Miss Weltwell.” Without doubt there would be a degree of jealousy from some with troublesome daughters too, and even though she would never admit it, that gave her satisfaction too! Oh shit! Why today, why does she need a hug? Today of all days when I have let her down.” Thought Karen. Doreen seemed only too delighted to assist. “What do you want me to do?” she asked. “We’ll let’s see how co-operative he becomes,” Aunt Pam replied, “we’ll start with the cane.” The sobbing didn’t as the heat sank in, and pain exploded, she just wailed and wailed.”Now up you get… and straight to bed young lady, AND stay there… Once you have stopped crying I don’t want to hear another peep out of you…do you hear? Or you will be going over my knee again… Okay it’s done!”This was a further bombshell – I’d never been told to take my trousers down for any punishment before. I just stood there transfixed, my heart in my mouth. I was definitely having a huge adrenalised reaction, and I froze like an animal caught in headlights. Penny sat on very cold stone, at first a yelp and then a wriggle, then settled her cheeks in for the duration. Tasha draped over the matronly knee, Penny, though bursting at the seams to begin, stroked the target of her frustration and admiration – the magnificent moon of her pal. So recalling some of the lesson learnt from this morning’s tutorial show, she raised her hand above those cheeks and whapped it down as first shot in an opening salvo. The barrage went on and Tasha did shout out, most satisfactorily “ow!, Oh!, Ah!, aaah” and of course then added “that hurts!”. It is an old line but time-served. From the very first visit to the Girl’s Grammer School, it was made clear that corporal punishment was used. After a tour of the school looking at laboratories, home economic rooms and such like, the new girls were sat, with their Mums. At the end of the ‘Inroductory Speech’ by the Headmistress. It was made perfectly clear that corporal punishment was used to keep any naughty girl in line, and that parents had to sign a consent form to say that they agreed with the school’s Disciplinary Code of Conduct. This caused a mumbling stir in the Assembly Hall and the loins of many girls, as Mummy’s turned to whisper to their child. Well, that boyish bare which was ivory white soon started turning pink. As Mrs F spanked so she instructed, she just couldn’t help it: “now Vicar, its all about rhythm and flow, rhythm and flow, varying speed, altering pace, alternate cheeks. Raising the hand half-way – crash it down – the hand full way – wallop! – Now a flurry, now three, one on each cheek, one in the crease, a hammer hand, an open palm, now six hard to finish”. Don't lie to me young lady! And this, after a DWI last month and for possession of pot the month before. You are 19 now and should know better." I waved a finger at her and scowled.
yes my dear, they certainly are, a sunset glow I must say – quite satisfactory on this day of major lessons and surprises!”.In the corner is Ma, a stout middle aged woman. Sat on a stool by her side at a piano, is Pa. she tells stories, spanking stories, he….just now and then….tinkles a little accompaniment.
Tasha meanwhile was lost in an ecstatic bliss – her bottom stung like crazy. When at last the business finished she asked her mentor a special favour which touched Penny to the core: “Gosh, your spanking hand is tip top shape these days. Are my cheeks red, they feel that way, but are behind so cannot see” :I was about eight years old when punishments became more severe. Several times on the way home from school I had rung a neighbour’s door chime and ran away. The neighbour had complained to my mother who had told me off and warned me not to do it again. I did not for a couple of weeks but then one afternoon the temptation became too much: I pressed the button and immediately the door opened – the lady grabbed my shoulder and marched me straight down the road to my home. In Karen’s case Mummy simply said, “I have signed it, and returned it already. Let me say this just once Karen. If you are ever punished at school, you will be punished again at home, understood?” When she went to catch the bus now, it was wiggle of a young woman. Even the man with the bowler hat who sat in the same seat every day started to smile, and greet her with a tipping of the hat. She had no idea that he began to see her differently, she just assumed it was cordial familiarity with a regular person he saw on the bus. I countered by saying that I was too old to be spanked, and asked what would happen if I simply refused to submit to the punishment, as she wasn’t my parent nor my teacher. This was actually very untypical and rather daring of me – but Aunt Pam simply said that I was most certainly not too old to be spanked. “Boys are at their naughtiest in their teens – they need more spanking rather than less as they get older!” she said.
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