Family problems mean a girl has to stay with her aunt’s family, where the rules are rather different.

By Joanna Jones

About halfway through my upper sixth my grandmother fell ill and my mother went south to the coast from our home in London to look after her. It was agreed, with very little input from me, that I should move in with her sister, rather than look after myself. My dad was away on business much of the time.

My two cousins, Jim and Rob, were no doubt less than pleased to see me; 10 year old Rob having to move in with his 13 year old big brother, to give me his room for the couple of months I was to be spending with them.

I was well aware that Aunt Maria was much stricter than my parents, and it had been made clear to me by my mother that, eighteen or not, while under her sister’s roof I was subject to her rules and discipline.

My inclination to be on my best behaviour was confirmed within days. By the end of the third week I had heard the pleas, then wails accompanying the slaps of a slipper emanating from my cousins’ bedroom on a number of occasions as one or both of them got spanked.

One of those was related to me. On the second Saturday I was asked to baby-sit the two boys, much to Jim’s disgust. He was difficult all night and refused to go to bed by his parent’s curfew time. Eventually I tried to drag him to his room but he was petty much the same size as me, and it was more likely to wake the now sleeping Rob. I gave up and endured his smug behaviour, while cursing I could not study for the mock exams I had the following week.

He only went to bed moments before his parents came in, and I was sufficiently cross that I ensured both Aunt Maria and Uncle Dave knew what sort of evening I had had. True to form Aunt Maria dragged her son from his rapidly acquired pretence of sleeping and brought him downstairs, along with the slipper.

Jim got an almighty telling off which ended up with him over my lap with his pyjamas around his ankles, and an invitation for me to deal with the matter. A subsequent warning to his tear-stained face that I would have carte-blanche to deal with any future babysitting misbehaviour myself was the final admonishment as he finally was released to his bed.

Needless to say, that experience did not endear me to my cousin in the slightest.

Two weeks later my mock exams had finished and a few boys and couple of other girls decided to celebrate with a trip to the pub for lunch. It was a bad mistake; we were caught.

To cut a long story short I ended up with my two female friends in the office of the senior mistress. It was not a pleasant visit; the three of us all left in tears, having each received three sharp strokes of the cane to our non-writing hand. Each blow had been as excruciating as the other girls who had received it claimed it to be.

It was at dinner that Uncle Dave commented that I was more subdued than normal and asked whether I was okay. My reassurance that everything was fine was followed by Jim, who could clearly not bottle up his news any longer.

“I expect it’s as a result of her caning today.” He declared, rather too gleefully for my liking.

My surprise he’d somehow found out was rapidly overtaken by a strong feeling of foreboding as my aunt and uncle looked at each other meaningfully.

It was my Uncle who spoke first. “Is this true, Jennifer?”

Blushing rather red I admitted it was the case.

“Well then, Jennifer Alice Payton,” he continued, “you’d better take yourself up to your bedroom right now and put your pyjamas on. Maria or I will be up to discuss this further soon.”

Ignoring the barely stifled giggles of my cousins, I rose form the table and with as much dignity as possible left the room and headed upstairs.

Outwardly I may have looked calm, inwardly it was a different story as the possibility that my tribulations for the day were not yet over hit. Nothing good ever came of having your full name used at yourself after all.

It was a concern magnified as my Uncle Dave verbally laid into Jim for having the temerity to find others’ predicaments amusing.

I felt sick as I undressed and put my pyjamas on, listening to Jim’s telling off being emphasised with a short dose of the slipper over his father’s knee and Rob being told he was very lucky not to be following suit. There was a temptation to leave my knickers on under but I knew in my heart if what I feared came to be that might make things worse rather than better. My sickness was not helped by the telltale tinkle of the phone. I guessed my Aunt was in touch with her sister.

It was a long wait lying in my bed, the best part of an hour. I tried to read, but my heart was not in it. Similarly I kept finding my hands wandering to my bottom, a bottom that had not been ‘dealt with’ so to speak in over four years (a slippering at school for talking in class) and my parents had stopped spanking me when I started secondary school.

My fear that I was about to be reacquainted with the sensation of a sting in the backside increased when my Aunt, with a very serious determined expression, knocked and entered the bedroom. Then I saw the slipper in her hand with its rather firm plastic sole, and began to quail as any faint hope departed me.

“I am sorry!” I spluttered as I stood in panic at her countenance.

“Take a breath and sit down, Jennifer.” She said rather firmly, but not unkindly as she sat down next to me on the bed.

What happened next was I had to explain what had happened, why I had been caned, and of course she inspected my hand, with its marks still somewhat visible.

Remarkably gently, she explained the family rules that Jim and Rob were subject to, summarised simply as punished at school equals spanked at home.

She then said she’d spoken to my mother who of course was very disappointed in me. The upshot of that was my mother had agreed that I could, no should, be subject to the same ‘deal’ as my cousins; both given my foolishness, and given that Rob and Jim needed to know that the same rules applied to everyone living under my Aunt and Uncle’s roof.

I won’t bore you with the debate that followed. Suffice to say the upshot was I was made to agree that I needed to accept their punishment; their punishment with that slipper now lying on my bed on the other side of my Aunt to me.

Ultimately there was no real option. My aunt told me to fold my duvet and lie over it with my pyjama trousers down.

I did as I was told, with palpitations running through me. The quilt was folded across the middle of the bed, then turning away slowly my fingers went to the elastic of those trousers and pushed them downwards to reveal the pale flesh of my bottom, then to save my embarrassment rather dived over the bed with the quilt now pushing my hips up to provide an easy target. I buried my face in the pillow, already starting to sniff in humiliation.

The first slap was not long in coming. I was shocked as the intensity of the sting.

Of course a few slaps later the stinging was building up rapidly, yet my aunt showed no sign of letting up. Soon I was beginning to squeal and grunt despite my best efforts to keep my emotions in, and show my two cousins that I would not succumb as they so often did. Trouble was, I was close to tears to begin with.

Finally it happened. One hard slap on the lowest part of my cheeks and a wail escaped my lips.

There was no going back.

A couple of swats later I was sobbing like a baby, and soon after was begging for it to stop, just like those little cousins of mine. Yet it was quite a few more spanks with my arms grimly holding the pillow to my face before it stopped.

My Aunt then more kindly listened to my sobbed apologies again and I remember a kind hug, now that it was ‘all over’ and that she was sure it wouldn’t be needed on me again. Finally she gently disengaged my arms as my sobs turned to sniffs and suggested I get an early night.

It was only as she left I realised my trousers were still around my ankles, but before I pulled them up there was a long pause as I tried to caress the pain and humiliation away, and inspect the damage in the wardrobe mirror.

Finally I made myself respectable and went to the bathroom to wash my face.

I never dared do anything again and the only spankings I was involved in after were to my two cousins who found that my lesson at their mother’s hands was one I could use to good effect the next (and last) time they stepped out of line when their parents were out!

The End

© Joanna Jones 2014