The next instalment of the Swishing Sixties series
By Dick Templemeads
On Saturday 18th July 1964, Alice Mariner was once again feeling miffed. She’d recovered from the trauma of being caned on her hands on her final day at school the day before, and then being given a bare-bottomed six of the best from her mother that morning for the same offence. Indeed she’d enjoyed her boyfriend Mark surreptitiously rubbing the wounded area that evening; however when she arrived back home at 10.30 in the evening her pleasure rapidly evaporated.
Alice wasn’t in trouble this time, indeed her parents were in a good mood. Just after Alice’s mother had caned her that morning, Alice’s mother’s sister, Rebecca, a widowed civil servant, had phoned and asked if her daughter, Samantha, who was five days older than Alice, could come to stay at her aunt’s for a week, as Rebecca had been summoned as a last minute speaker at a conference in Spain.
Thus, when Alice arrived home she found not only that Samantha, whom she’d never liked, was staying, but also, owing to the fact that Peter was home from university, she would be sharing her room.
As they undressed that night, Alice slipped off her panties and dropped them in the laundry basket, revealing her bottom still bearing the six red tramlines her mother had imposed that morning. Samantha gawped at her cousin’s bare bottom in a mixture of shock and awe.
“What are you staring at?” Demanded Alice. “Anybody would think you’ve never seen a caned backside before.”
“That’s the thing,” replied her cousin, “I haven’t. My school didn’t use corporal punishment and mummy has never spanked me in my life.”
“Your mother’s very different to her sister then,” snapped Alice. “Today was the twelth time mummy has caned me, plus I had it at school yesterday on my hands.”
“Well perhaps you should behave better,” came Samantha’s stuffy reply. “I’ve never needed to be caned or spanked because I always behave well.”
A response that infuriated her cousin and set her determined to wreak her revenge. But how? She thought she’d have to invoke the help of Mark.
Over the next couple of days the pair hatched their plan. Samantha, it had to be admitted, was a very pretty girl with long blonde hair and a great figure, who was already catching the eyes of the young me in the area and, despite her apparent innocence and naivety, appeared to be enjoying the attention.
Thus their plan was that on the Friday night they would invite Samantha to join them in the pub where she would be paired up with Mark’s best friend, Ian. Ian, who had already agreed to his part in the conspiracy, would spend the night chatting to Samantha and then encourage her to stay when the other two left, as a consequence not meeting Mrs Mariner’s 10.30 curfew.
The plan worked like a dream; Samantha was quickly besotted by Ian and he, in truth, was quite taken with Alice’s pretty blonde cousin. When the time came for Alice and Mark to leave, they suggested Samantha leave also but, prompted by Ian, she said she would stay and let Ian walk her home.
The upshot was, Alice was home before the deadline and able to tell her mother in all truth that Samantha had declined to leave with her and Mark, but would be with Ian. Mrs Mariner was none too happy and by the time that Samantha arrived back, almost an hour later than her cousin, her aunt was both worried and furious.
Brushing aside Samantha’s apologies and excuses, she said, much to the delight of the listening Alice, just twelve words.
“See me in the drawing room at 8 o’clock sharp tomorrow morning.”
Mrs Mariner then turned abruptly and headed up the stairs for bed, followed by the two girls. In the bedroom, Samantha asked Alice what the summons meant.
“It’s simple,” remarked her cousin, trying desperately not to smirk. “Mummy is going to cane your bum.”
“But she can’t,” wailed her cousin. “I’m not her daughter or her pupil.”
“No, you’re not,” agreed Alice, “but you’re her niece and at this moment in time she is in loco parentis so she has every right and believe me she will do so. And,” added Alice to twice the knife deeper, “believe me it will hurt and the first time is always the worst.”
Alice turned over in bed and smiled to herself at the success of her plan.
Samantha, meanwhile, was crying softly.
‘Those tears will be far heavier in the morning,’ Alice thought to herself as she slipped into a deep and dreamless sleep.
The next morning at eight o’clock, Alice lingered in the hall as her cousin, dressed in a summer dress as the pair, plus Ian and Mark, were going to the beach at nine o’clock, made her way to the drawing room, where she met her aunt who was holding a thin yellow crook-handled cane, something that Samantha had seen only in books and comics.
Her aunt lectured her for several minutes and then asked if she’d ever been caned. When her niece replied in the negative, Mrs Mariner said: “Well in that case I’ll reduce the six strokes I was going to give you to four, and you can keep your knickers up, but believe me if this was Alice facing me now it would be knicks down and the full six!”
She then instructed her niece to lift her skirt above her waist and to kneel in the sofa grasping its back. Samantha lifted her dress to reveal a beautifully formed bottom clad in tangerine panties, and then as instructed grasped the back of the sofa.
Her aunt, meanwhile, was placing the cane against Samantha’s behind to gauge her swing. Taking her time, she flexed the cane several times to warm it up and increase its suppleness. Then, after two practice swings which swished through the air and terrified the already trembling girl, she delivered the first blow that Samantha’s virgin bottom had ever felt. For a second, the young lady felt nothing, then the line of fire bit and the startled Samantha screeched.
Mrs Mariner was an expert caner and she allowed half a minute before striking with the second stroke which landed just below where the first had fallen. This time the pain felt instant and Samantha screamed louder than before and tears were falling profusely.
Again, her aunt delayed before striking the third harder than ever and below the previous two weals which had formed in ridges on the pretty young woman’s bottom. This time the scream was deafening and the tears of the distraught recipient turned to sobs. She clasped he hands to her knickers.
“Pl…, pl…, please aunt Catherine, n… n… no more,” she stammered.
Her aunt’s response was to command her to grasp the sofa back once more.
“Get your hands back on the sofa otherwise I shall add a stroke to your tally and make you take your knickers down!”
Samantha resumed the punishment stance, she certainly didn’t want an extra stroke, nor did she want her panties down round her knees. So she grasped the back of the sofa, but made no attempt to suffer in silence, screaming, sobbing and yelling as the fourth and final stroke landed in the crease where her bottom met her thighs.
The punishment was over but the stricken Samantha remained on the sofa convulsed in sobs.
Her aunt addressed her. “Samantha, over the last 25 years in a combination as mother, teacher, and now headmistress, I have probably administered about 1,500 canings and never have I known a girl take her punishment less stoically. I’ve known first years get six on the bare bottom and be braver than you. Dry your eyes and get yourself off to the beach as planned.”
A gloating Alice met Samantha in the hall. Offering her cousin a hug, she took out a handkerchief and dried the weeping girl’s eyes. Alice had to do her best to keep Samantha away from the bathroom where she could view her wounded bum in the mirror. If Samantha viewed her bot then the plan would only have half succeeded.
Fortunately for Alice her plan did work. She’d dried her cousin’s eyes and hugged her again, by which time Mark and Ian had arrived, and the four made the brief stroll to the beach.
On arrival at the sandy beach, they spread a blanket on the ground and then all four wrapped large beach towels around themselves as they undressed.
The two boys were quickly into brief trunks, while Alice was not much longer in changing into a striking black bathing suit. Samantha, her bottom still burning and now also starting to throb, took longer, easing her knickers away from the stricken flesh of her wounded bottom, but finally they were removed and replaced with the, bottoms of what was clearly, in the words of the song, an itsy bitsy teeny weeny, yellow polka dot bikini, and yes, she was wearing it for the first time. With no discomfort above waist level Samantha had quickly exchanged bra for bikini top and now the four were ready for the water.
As they made their way to the water’s edge, Alice held back for a moment and noticed to her delight that the plan was working to a treat. Two vivid red weals clearly showed beneath Samantha’s bikini briefs and were visible to all who looked and, with such a beautiful pert bottom as Samantha’s, there were plenty of glances. Three young men of roughly the same age as the cousins, and not long out of school themselves, noticed but noting the presence of the burly Mark and Ian who were well known as two of the stars of the county rugby team, considered it prudent to keep their comments to themselves.
An elderly couple residing in deck chairs also noticed Samantha’s behind and the woman, no doubt jealous at the amount of focus her husband had made on the young lady’s posterior, remarked: ”Brazen hussy, flaunting herself like that,” which was actually anything but true of Samantha. “I’m sure she deserved the thrashing she’s just had. I know one thing, I never showed my backside off after a caning.”
Her husband, however, responded: “Yes you did, you showed me once after the head gave you six when she caught you kissing me outside the school!”
“Okay,” she snarled back, “but I didn’t display myself to an entire beach full of people.”
By now the four had waded knee deep into the water, when Ian suddenly pointed to a diving platform anchored about 100 yards out in the bay, and shouted: “Last one to the platform buys the ice creams.”
He was quickly away followed closely by Mark while Alice, a strong swimmer, was matching the two men. Samantha, eager to compete, dived into the surf herself, and then the saltwater made contact with her burning rear and the pain increased dramatically.
Not for the first time that morning, she let out an anguished scream, drawing the attention once more of those on the beach. She couldn’t bear the pain and, still oblivious to the fact that her stripes were on view, ran back to the beach.
This time, with Ian and Mark out at sea, the three young men could make their teasing comments. “Been a naughty girl have we?” Asked the first, while Graham, normally shy among girls but being somebody who received several bare bottomed canings at school, ironically from Alice’s father, asked: “Did you have to take your pants down like I used to have to do?” The third merely offered to kiss her bottom better.
Samantha’s humiliation was complete. She quickly changed, this time enduring the pain that still persisted in her wounded behind. Taking a pen and paper from her handbag, she wrote a quick note to Alice to say she was returning home right away to her mother who was flying back that morning.
Back at her Aunt’s now empty house, she quickly packed and wrote a note to her aunt.
Dear Aunt Catherine,
Thank you for hosting me this week. However, I am so upset by the caning and my subsequent embarrassment at the beach that I am returning home right away.
As you know, I am starting Teacher Training College in September, and the punishment you gave me has only further strengthened my resolve to never cane a pupil.
Her mother was surprised to find Samantha home when she returned and soon her daughter was reliving to her the agony of her first encounter with corporal punishment.
Samantha’s mother looked at her daughter. “How bad are the marks?”
“I don’t know,” replied the girl, “how would I know?”
Her mother explained that whenever she had been caned, whether by her mother or at school, she’d always made a point of checking in a mirror as soon as possible after the punishment.
Samantha was shocked. “Were you caned a lot, mummy?”
“Yes, quite often,” came the reply. “In fact, far more than aunt Catherine was, but she’s continued to use the cane as a teacher, but I’ve never even spanked you; you were always much better behaved than I was.”
Her mother then led her up to the bedroom where she eased down her daughter’s panties to view a very red and wounded bottom. “Aunt Catherine did a thorough job, just like your Grandma used to do,” remarked her mother who was now rubbing cold cream into the wounds.
“Mummy, it was agony I will never cane a pupil once I’m teaching.”
“That’s easily said, darling, but children can push you beyond your limit. Remember, I did once send you up to your room, fetched a hairbrush and put you over my knee, but then couldn’t bring myself to whack you. And remember Anne Shirley in ‘Anne of Avonlea’? She had the same ideals as you, but ended up caning a boy who pushed her too far.”
Samantha reflected on her mother’s words of wisdom. “Hopefully I’ll never succumb to that,” she replied.
“Time will tell, darling; you won’t be teaching for a few years yet.”
© Dick Templemeads 2014