The Au Pair

In charge of two boys, a young au pair makes mistakes

By Pat Greenham 

“I am going to cane you for this.” 

I already knew that I was in serious trouble and also knew the only alternative was dismissal, so I told him that I would accept and was sent to his study to wait. 

This was over twenty years ago and remains a very powerful memory. At the time I was employed as an Au Pair by an author who worked from his home in Southern Ireland. My employer had two boys and they had sadly lost their mother to a terminal illness; my role was to look after the boys, take them to and from school and run the house doing the shopping, the cleaning and preparing the meals. 

When I had been interviewed for the job he told me that he was a strong believer in discipline and both boys knew that if they misbehaved badly they would be caned. They could also be caned at their strict catholic school. I well remember him adding that if I ever needed correction he would have no hesitation in employing the same methods on me. At the time I told myself that such an event would never happen, but now I was about to be caned for the second time. 

I was twenty-two and had been working for the family for nearly two years. About a year previously, I fell foul of him for the first time and experienced six strokes of the cane given across my bottom through my jeans and pants whilst I touched my toes in the middle of his study. I had got into bad habits regarding getting the boys to school on time, not always leaving quite enough time. When I delivered them to school late for their morning assembly for the third time, I was horrified to discover that they had both been summoned to the Headmaster at morning break for an explanation. The Head was not satisfied with their explanation and had caned them both on the spot, calling their father afterwards to report of their punishment. 

I was immediately summoned, told that my tardy behaviour had got both boys the cane and asked if I had remembered the conversation at my interview. I nodded and told him: “Yes, I remember.” 

He then told me that he felt it completely appropriate for me to be punished, unless of course I wished to resign. Moments later I was touching my toes to receive six severe strokes across my backside with my jeans tightened across my bottom as I bent over. I had never received any kind of spanking before, let alone the cane, and the experience was a real shock and very painful. 

Now here I was again, and I knew that I deserved whatever punishment was coming my way. Driving out of the school gates earlier that morning I was putting my make-up on and not concentrating when I drove straight into the back of another parent’s car. It was entirely my fault and I admitted as such to the other driver. Driving home, I knew that I was going to have an uncomfortable discussion with the boys’ father and I had no alternative but to admit exactly what had happened. I sort of knew that it was likely that I might be feeling his cane for a second time. 

Standing in front of the damaged car, I was told that unless I wanted to lose my job I would have to be caned again and that I should go to his study and wait. 

I suspected that this caning would be more severe, and was soon to find out that this was indeed the case. I was made to wait for about five uncomfortable minutes before he came in, went to his cupboard and removed the cane. Turning to me, he told me that this was more serious and that I was going to have three choices; if I wanted to retain my jeans I would be given eighteen strokes, which sounded just too many. The second option was that if I removed my jeans I would be given twelve strokes across my pants or finally if I was prepared to take the cane across my bare bottom he would limit the strokes to six. 

My mind was in a whirlwind. I knew it was probable that I would be caned but never thought that I might have ‘options’. I did not want to take off my jeans and pants in front of him; the idea was just too embarrassing, but the other extreme of eighteen strokes sounded too much. The middle option was probably better being less strokes and some dignity. But, as I thought about it, would my skimpy knickers really give me enough protection to justify accepting an extra six strokes? 

Probably not, was the answer, which was leading me to the horrifying thought that six to my bare bottom was the best option. 

He asked me for a decision and I hesitated before telling him that I wanted to take the six-stroke option. 

He looked at me and told me: “Please take off everything below the waist.” 

Having to strip off in front of him was horrifying, but there was nothing to do but get on with it. Kicking off my shoes, I undid my jeans and pushed them down my legs before stepping out of them one leg at a time. He was looking directly at me as I knew that my knickers were next and I turned sideways to him as I peeled them off and stepped out of them. Now completely naked below my waist, he told me to face him as I was lectured about my careless behaviour. I went to cover my pubic area feeling very self-conscious only to be told to forget about modesty and put my hands by my sides. 

As he cleared his desk, I was told to bend right over it and hold onto the far side with my legs straight out behind me. He added that I was to remain in position throughout my caning unless I wanted to risk penalty strokes. I was extremely conscious of my bare bottom completely exposed and presented to him and had not given much thought to the thrashing I was about to receive, instead just being overcome by the embarrassment of my nudity. 

It had been a while since my previous caning but I was completely unprepared for the pain of the first stroke right across the middle of my bottom. I well remember to this day the massive step-up from the cane being given across the seat of my jeans and experiencing it across my bare bottom. This was a completely different level and he left me in position across his desk for what seemed like nearly a minute trying to absorb the pain before I was given the second stroke which was equally as devastating. 

I remembered the previous caning being quicker, but he was leaving significant gaps as he thrashed me for the third stroke. All I wanted to do was to jump up but told myself to remain in position to avoid the thought of penalty strokes. I was not looking forward to the next stroke but at the same time wanted him to get on with it. The fourth struck my bottom lower and I cannot remember if I was taking this caning quietly or not. 

Two strokes to go and I just clung onto the far side of the desk for grim death as he gave me the fifth stroke to what felt like just below the middle of my bottom. He reminded me there was only one stroke left and that I should make certain to remain in position. He left an even longer gap than previously before thrashing me right across the middle of my bottom with perhaps the hardest stroke of all. 

He told to remain in position and I heard him put the cane back into the cupboard before he told me he hoped this caning would result in me taking more care when driving the car. 

Eventually he told me to stand up and face him, telling me not to rub my bottom as he asked if I felt I had deserved punishment. Standing in front of him naked below the waist was strangely not as embarrassing as it had been earlier but with my bottom now feeling as if I had sat on a red hot fire. 

I told him that I was sorry about the car and, yes, I had deserved to be caned. 

He told me to remain standing for two minutes with my hands behind my head and to think about why I had been caned and what I was going to do regarding changing my habits. It seemed like a very long two minutes as I remained naked below the waist. I felt him glance at my pubic triangle before he told me to turn away from him. 

He commented that I now had six stripes across my bottom which I would certainly feel for the next few days. He told me I could now rub my bottom and advised that I find some cold cream. 

Putting my pants and jeans back on, I left and went to my room to have a look at my bottom, which as he had said was sporting six red stripes very equally spaced out. It was painful to sit down for a couple of days and it took over a week for the stripes to go. I held no grudge against him; he had made it clear at my interview that if I did something seriously wrong I might be subject to corporal punishment. 

Being thrashed across my bare bottom was both very embarrassing and incredibly painful, but I had to admit I had deserved punishment. Unfortunately he found reason to cane me on two further occasions. However, as I look back I have fond memories of the five years I worked for him and we had a good relationship. He taught me a lot about myself and certainly kept me ‘in-line’ and ultimately made me a better person. In retrospect I would not change anything and certainly not the four times I felt the cane across my bottom during those five years. 

The End 

© Pat Greenham 2016


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