Horse riding can lead to a sore bottom in more ways than one.

By Lisamum

We visit the Barrington-Brown household where, on the last weekend of the school holidays, Fiona and Emma have just been out horse riding. Emma was just eighteen, while Fiona, two years her senior, was home from university.

“Fiona, Emma, come here,” said their mother as they entered the house.

“Yes, mummy, what is it?” Asked Fiona, puzzled at her mother’s rather stern tone.

“Your father is waiting for you in the study,” replied their mother.

“What for?” Asked Emma.

“I’m sure he’ll tell you soon enough,” said mother.

“Are we supposed to have done something wrong?” Asked Fiona. The girls were only called to the study when one or both of them had misbehaved.

“Go and see your father and don’t keep him waiting.”

“Come on Em, let’s go and see what we’ve done wrong this time.” Said Fiona in a tired sounding voice.

Both girls were still in their riding outfits of black shiny boots, jodhpurs and white blouses as they made their way to the study. At the door they knocked and Mr Barrington-Brown called them in. They went in and stood in front of his desk as they had done many times before. The first thing they noticed was a cane lying on the top of the desk in front of their father. Both girls shot a glance at each other and Emma swallowed hard.

“You wanted to see us, daddy?” asked Fiona in her best innocent voice.

“Yes, I certainly do. What do you mean by riding across Mr Greenwood’s field and frightening the sheep? You’ve been told often enough about doing it!” snapped their father.

Both girls looked at one another, it was no good denying it. Mr Greenwood had obviously seen them and phoned to complain.

“Well? I’m waiting for an answer,” demanded Mr Barrington-Brown, drumming his fingers on the desk.

Both girls had now turned white at the prospect of what was to come. Emma rubbed her bottom in expectation.

“We’re very sorry, daddy,” blurted Fiona, not really knowing what to say.

“We won’t do it again,” interjected Emma.

“And I’m expected to believe that, am I?”

“Yes daddy,” replied Fiona trying to sound credible.

“I’m not prepared to listen to any excuses, even if you have any, which I doubt. You’ve been caught red-handed and now I’m going to punish you both severely,” said Mr Barrington-Brown, picking up the cane from the desk.

Both girls knew that it was useless to argue when their father had made up his mind; best to get it over with.

“Emma, go and stand over there and face the wall.”

Emma slunk over to the wall.

“Fiona, bend over and touch your toes,” instructed her father, walking round the desk and giving the cane a swish.

The cane was a fairly thin one with plenty of whip in it and Fiona knew from past experience how much it stung. She bent down and placed her hands on the front of her boots.

“I said, touch your toes,” growled her father, pushing Fiona down as far as she could go.

Her bottom, encased in her tight jodhpurs, made a wonderful target which was not lost on Mr Barrington-Brown, who knew how to get the best out of a caning. As he took up his position he eyed Fiona’s bottom with the outline of her knickers showing through.

“I’m going to give you six of the very best and I don’t want all the usual fuss,” said her father.

By now, Fiona was shaking with fear and wishing she’d never got into this mess. She felt the cane tap her bottom as her father took aim. She took a deep breath and tensed herself for the first swipe. And a swipe it was indeed.

Swish, THWACK! The cane made a juicy sound as it bit into poor Fiona’s bottom.

“Oooooowwwww!” She yelled, jumping up and dancing around the room clutching her bottom.

“Get back down this minute,” ordered her father, flexing the cane in his hands.

Fiona continued to rub her bottom as she stood trying to compose herself. After a few seconds she bent down again.



The same performance followed.

“The sooner you bend down again the sooner we get this over with,” snapped her father. “I can take all day if necessary.”

“Oh daddy, it hurts so much,” pleaded Fiona, trying to hold back the tears.

“And whose fault is that? You should have thought of that earlier. Now bend over.”

Reluctantly Fiona bent down and waited. Meanwhile, against the wall, Emma was wiggling her legs backwards and forwards trying to calm her nerves.

Mr Barrington-Brown did a practice swish with the cane before landing it across the middle of Fiona’s increasingly sore bottom.


“Yeeeoooowww!” She yelled, jerking up again, although this time she managed it without jumping around. Tears were now flowing freely. Without being told she bent down again.

Swish THWACK! This time lower down.

“Ooooowwww!” Again, she jumped up and rubbed her sore backside.

“Come along, only two more. Let’s get this over with,” said her father.

Still sobbing, Fiona bent over.



Somehow she managed to take this one without standing up. ‘Last one,’ she thought, and tensed herself.



She leapt up again and danced around. The final swipe had caught her just across the top of her legs and did it hurt.

Her father stood and watched as Fiona stood crying and rubbing her burning backside.

“When you’re ready, you can change places with Emma.”

Finally, Fiona walked over to where Emma was standing and they silently changed places.

“Alright Emma, you know what to do.”

“Yes daddy,” replied a trembling Emma, tears already in her eyes.

Slowly she bent over. There was a little more steel about Emma who, despite her fear, was determined to put up a better show than her elder sister. She tensed herself and was determined not to cry out as the cane landed.


Emma jerked upwards but only made aloud grunt. ‘Done it,’ she thought as the searing pain shot through her body.


Again she managed a loud gasp but still stayed in position.



She could contain herself no longer and jumped up as the third stroke landed precisely on top of the previous one. She could also contain her tears no longer, and started sobbing as she rubbed her backside.

“Come along now, Emma; bend over,” said her father, sounding just a little sympathetic. He actually admired his younger daughter’s fortitude at taking her punishment.

Emma got down again.



Again Emma somehow managed to stay in position. ‘If only I can hang on for two more,’ she thought as her bottom burned and throbbed.


“Ooooowwwch,” squealed Emma, stamping her feet to stave off the sting. ‘Only one more, only one more,’ she kept repeating to herself.


“Ow, Ow, Ow,” she yelped and stood up and grabbed her backside. Tears were running down her cheeks as she stood there.

“Fiona, come here,” ordered her father.

Fiona, who by this time had calmed down somewhat, walked stiffly across and stood next to her sister.

“Now, what have you to say for yourselves?” Snapped Mr Barrington-Brown.

Emma was unable to speak; she was still in a state of shock.

“We’re so sorry, Daddy, it won’t happen again,” pleaded Fiona in a pathetic voice.

“You’re darned right it won’t, unless you want another dose,” growled their father. “Now go to your rooms until you’re told you can come downstairs.”

The two girls left the room, heads bowed, still rubbing their throbbing backsides. What a lovely picture it made. Mr Barrington-Brown returned the cane to its place in the cupboard and sat down with a sigh. Another job well done, he thought to himself.

The End

© Lisamum 2015