A girl stays with her favourite uncle

By Jenny Tomlinson

“Thank you, John, for putting Jenny up. I’m sure she’ll be good company for you, and you can give her encouragement through her exams.”

“It’s a pleasure to have her, Sis. You know I’ve always been very fond of her and the house has been so quiet lately.”

I was delighted that my younger sister, Sarah, had asked me to keep an eye on her 18-year-old daughter, Jenny, for the next nine months while she and her husband were away on secondment to the United States. They would have chosen to take her with them had it not been for another half year of schooling leading to her A levels and university entrance. She could have stayed at home, but apparently jumped at the chance of staying with me. She was a lovely girl, well-mannered, well-intentioned, and excellent company. As she had stayed with us before, she had a room she could call her own and was able to move most of her things in there.

Before her parents finally left my house, having dropped Jenny off together with boxes upon boxes of essential possessions, and a few suitcases, her mother went back to the car and returned with a well-worn plimsoll which she thrust into my hand.

“You will be needing this,” she said with a grin. “What you normally see is a mature teenager. What you don’t normally see is her naughty side, and she certainly has one. This will save your hand when you have to put her over your knee or the kitchen table, and for certain you will! And don’t hold back, she will accept it if she deserves it, even if you spank her hard.”

We hugged again and she went on her way, I wished her a safe journey. As I walked back in, Jenny noticed the slipper in my hand.

“I will try to be good, Uncle John.”

“I’m sure you will, my dear. Might as well lock this away then, or should I leave it out just in case?”

Jenny turned, lifted the last box and started to take it up the stairs.

“Maybe you should leave it handy, Uncle. You never know. And it would be better than any bad feeling between us, which I would hate, and I am sure you would too.”

The look on her face at that moment suggested that I may have need to use it, and if I did, then it would be because she needed me to.

I placed the slipper in the drawer in the kitchen, but I didn’t lock it. I was intrigued by the whole idea, and, frankly, hoping it would not be necessary. I recalled one occasion, maybe seven years before, when a much younger Jenny got herself into a right strop with her mother on a visit which resulted in my sister taking her by the hand out of the room with an ‘Excuse us’ and taking her into the kitchen, where she extracted a wooden spatula from the drawer and proceeded to discipline her errant daughter at some length. When they returned, Jenny was still crying quietly, but within a few minutes she was thoroughly engaged again, and her normal lively self. It hadn’t got her down; she just seemed to accept the punishment and move on, although I did notice she actually moved on to the softer cushions on the settee.

There was another occasion, some years later, when I went around to their house. My nephew, who was a few years older than Jenny, answered the door and offered me a cup of tea as Mum and Jenny would be ‘busy’ for a few minutes. I took some plants into their garden with the intention of planting some when Sarah told me where she wanted them. It was a hot day and the windows were open upstairs. How Sarah and Jenny were busying themselves became very obvious very quickly. From the crack of an implement landing, and the ensuing yelps and ouches, it was clear that the slipper, now housed in my kitchen drawer, or some other similar implement, was providing chastisement to my niece’s rear end. After about six more swats, the spanking stopped, followed after half a minute or so by a tearful apology from Jenny to her mother.

Then her mother’s voice, “I’m sorry I had to do that, but you needed it, didn’t you?”

There was a slight sob and a catching of breath. “Yes, Mum, I’m sorry.”

“Come here, let’s have a hug. You know I love you so much, don’t you?”

“Yes Mum, I do. I’ll try to behave better, it’s just hard sometimes.”

“I know, I was your age once. You just can’t get everything right. Grandma had to put me right too. Now, I think Uncle John’s here, so get some clothes on and we’ll see you in a few minutes, when you’re ready.”

Sarah joined me in the garden just as my cup of tea arrived. She thanked me for the plants.

“Jenny will be down in a minute. We’ve just had a few words, but everything is sorted out now.”

She had borrowed that expression from our mother. It was a euphemism for the application of the slipper. Jenny arrived a few minutes later, in good spirits despite her ordeal, and gave me the usual lovely big hug. She immediately set about helping me get the plants in the garden as if nothing had happened, although I noticed she winced when mistakenly sitting on the hard slab, and quickly adjusted her position before looking up to see if I had noticed. A sort of shrug and a grin acknowledged her temporary predicament, a sort of ‘such is life’, with a sore bottom being one of life’s hazards.

Whether it was her mother’s disciplinary methods or my niece’s innate good nature, I must admit that I found it strange that a seemingly well-behaved late teenager should still be in need of that sort of punishment, but I remembered that my sister had stayed on at home longer than me and mum’s rule was always that as long as we were under her roof, we would be subject to her rules. Clearly, she was applying the same approach to her own daughter, and as I was in charge for the next few months, it looked as if it was expected of me to maintain the same standards.

Jenny and I got on really well for the first few weeks, without any incident. It was so nice having lively female company after the loss of my dear wife. She helped me around the house, she was great with the dog, she worked hard on her studies. There was just one night I noticed she was a bit quiet after school, and I saw her grimace when she sat down for tea. I smiled to myself and, knowing the very strict girls’ school she attended, I guessed she might have been on the wrong end of a teacher’s slipper that day, just a normal day in a schoolgirl’s life. I was sure it wasn’t the first time for her, although at 18 it might have been her last.

Several days later, the idyllic bubble burst, but thankfully only temporarily. I got home to find the garden gate ajar, the backdoor wide open and neither Jenny nor dog to be found. After about twenty minutes, Jenny turned up, looking flustered and worried. She’d left the gate open accidentally and the dog had escaped. I pointed out to her that she had also left the house completely unlocked. I admit I was none too pleased, and after a further hour and a half with us both looking for the dog, I was beginning to think that maybe the plimsoll could be needed after all.

As often is the case, Suzie, the dog, was not that far away. I heard a neighbour, Mrs Green, from three doors down calling to a naughty dog in her garden, where she was trampling the new shoots and causing a certain amount of havoc, pointlessly chasing a bird which was far above her. I apologised profusely and offered to recompense my neighbour for her losses, slipping the lead onto Suzie, and remonstrating with her for her escape and behaviour.

“It’s not her fault, uncle, it’s mine. I left the gate open. I’m really sorry, and for your flowers too, Mrs Green.”

“That was a bit careless of you,” said the neighbour, turning to Jenny. “Look at the damage she’s caused, and it sounds as if you were responsible, young lady. If you were my niece, you’d be going over my knee for your carelessness. And I hope your uncle has similar plans!”

“I am really sorry, Vera. Please let me know how much I owe you to replace the lost flowers and bulbs,” I replied in an endeavour to restore good neighbour relations.

I must admit I was fuming, not least for the embarrassment, and I was mulling over in my mind whether it was indeed time to subject my charge to some discipline. It was such a shame because things had been going so well, and the last thing I could ever do was hurt her, but her mother made it clear that I should use that slipper if needed.

There wasn’t much to say when we got back. Jenny fed the dog, and we cooked omelette and chips between us, quick and easy, while I considered further whether to open the drawer.

“You know, as well as losing the dog, as well as losing our evening, we could have been burgled because you left everything open.”

“Yes, Uncle John, I know. I got it all wrong, and I am really angry with myself. I know you’re cross with me too and I hate that, but I deserve it.”

Jenny served the meal, and we ate, more or less in silence. When she had finished, she got up from the table, went over to the drawer, and took out the slipper. She placed it on the table.

“You know what Mrs Green said? I think you need to use this, uncle. It won’t make it right, but it will make it better. I hate that I’ve spoilt things between us, but if you punish me, then maybe you can forgive me more quickly and we can be friends again. I will go and wait in my room.”

I was astounded. I never expected that, although, as I mentioned earlier, I thought the need in Jenny for punishment and absolution may have been far stronger than any need I had to punish her. I considered that for a few minutes. I had never spanked her before, in all the years she had been coming to the house, and I had never told on her to her mum, even if she had been a bit naughty on occasions. I thought about the relationship she had with her mother. Her children were absolutely Sarah’s world, she would do anything for them, anything to prevent them coming to harm, Jenny in particular. I thought about that afternoon when she was being spanked as I arrived. By the time I left, they were hugging closely on the doorstep. They obviously loved each other to bits, and yet an hour before mother had disciplined daughter with what sounded like a really hard slippering.

When I got to Jenny’s room, she had changed into her pyjamas. I guessed maybe that was the routine at home. She had also cleared her desk and I noticed she had placed a pillow on the chair. I thought it best to remind her why she was being punished and check with her again that she intended for me to slipper her as she was eighteen and not my daughter, effectively having her own free will in the matter.

“Uncle John, I just want things to be right between us again. If I had done it at home, mum would have spanked me because I deserved it. Just because I am here with you, it doesn’t make any difference. I am sorry about what happened to Mrs Green’s garden, sorry for leaving the house unlocked, but most of all, I am sorry for losing Suzie, especially because something could have happened to her. I gave you the slipper because Mum would have used it on me and I expect you to do the same.”

With that, she picked up the pillow, placed it under her hips and then bent over the desk. She then put her hands in the waistband of her pyjamas and pulled them down, revealing her bare bottom underneath. That was obviously the way she received a spanking from her mother at home but of course I couldn’t give it to her like that. For some reason I found myself apologising to her.

“I’m sorry, Jenny. I can’t do it like that. You’ll have to pull your pyjamas back up.”

Then Jenny apologised.

“Sorry, uncle. I’ve embarrassed you. I didn’t think. It’s just how we do it at home, with mum.”

I had the feeling we could end up just apologising to each other and not get any spanking done at all.

“I’d guessed that, Jenny. No big deal, just get your pyjamas up and we’ll start from there.”

With my target now covered again, I could prepare my position. In the confused last few seconds, I had noticed something which I would not otherwise have known about. Her bottom bore the fading marks and bruises of a caning, presumably received at school. It probably explained her visible discomfort when sitting down a few days ago.

Whilst I was well aware that equality had been rapidly catching up with us, I had not realised that meant girls as well as boys now got caned on their bottoms, rather than their hands. I believe I was more than a little curious as to what behaviour had warranted what must have been a reasonably severe five or six strokes with a substantial cane. As she was technically under my guardianship, I wondered if I should be more than just curious in case she was getting herself into real trouble, or in fact whether I should be complaining to the school about not notifying me.

Seeing Jenny bent over the desk reminded me of the occasion when I inadvertently caught my sister, Sarah, being spanked at roughly the same age. Being quite a few years older, I had left home by then so I was just on a return visit to bring our mother a present. As was often the case, I decided to come in by the back door, lay the present on the kitchen table and surprise her. As I approached the back door, I heard familiar sounds and responses, and as I looked through the window, I was not surprised to see my sister on the receiving end, naked apart from her bra, spread-eagled over the kitchen table, having her bottom well and truly whacked with the slipper. I must confess, and it was very bad of me, I did not pull away from the window but watched as the last six strokes struck her seriously reddening buttocks. Sarah took it well, she always did, better than I ever managed.

As my chastened sister got up slowly, massaging her cheeks, I beat a hasty retreat, and finally entered the house by the front door several minutes later. I wondered if the plimsoll I was now holding might have been the same as the one used to discipline Jenny’s mother that day, and I wondered if her daughter would take her punishment as well as her mother did. I was not disappointed.

I decided to go ahead with my original intention of giving her a robust dozen strokes. She had behaved very carelessly, and foolishly, and without sufficient regard for the dog, so in my view a good hard spanking was exactly what she needed, and seemingly what she expected me to give her. I didn’t want to hurt Jenny at all but, given where we were and the position she was in, it dawned on me that it was my duty to make sure her rear end was roasting by the time we got to the end, otherwise why even bother?

I decided to apply the strokes fairly quickly, with no more than a pause of five seconds between them. I knew this would build some heat rapidly, especially if applied with moderate force and a measurable back swing plus a flick of the wrist before landing on the seat of her pyjamas. Never having been in that position before with a young woman, I simply had to do the best I could.

Jenny took her punishment very well. There were just a few whimpers and groans, no fuss or histrionics, but I could tell I was getting through by the heavy breathing. I was really quite proud of the way she was able to take her medicine, although it was becoming apparent that she had plenty of experience, both at home and at school. Then I thought, for good measure, I would make it a baker’s dozen, just like her grandmother would have given my sister and me. The last stroke provoked an ‘ouch’ as I aimed it low again in the area where she might try to sit later.

She continued to lie over the desk after I had finished and I moved to her side. I put my hand on her back and told her it was all over and she could get up, but she seemed in no great hurry to move. She was no doubt composing herself, and when she did she got up slowly and in a fairly dignified manner, until she plunged her hands inside her pyjamas in an attempt to soothe the heat away. Although the sound effects had been minimal, it was obvious from the tears on her cheeks that I had hurt her, and for a moment I felt a dreadful pang of conscience, but I surmised that when she had handed the slipper to me, she had expected me to use it properly. After rubbing a bit more, she moved towards the wardrobe mirror to inspect the damage, lowering her pyjamas on the way. I beat a hasty retreat, told her I would make the cocoa, and that I would really like to see her back downstairs when she was ready.

I pottered downstairs for ten minutes before I put the kettle on, and got the two mugs ready for our evening cocoa. I was a bit concerned whether I had overdone it. For some stupid reason, I hadn’t expected tears and I really thought that may have changed the dynamic between us, spoilt it in fact. I left the slipper on the table for Jenny to put away, and left the key in the drawer in case she wanted to lock it away until she went home. I poured the cocoa, and had started to run the hot water for the washing up when I felt an arm around my waist, a kiss on my cheek, and a whispered, “Thank you, Uncle John.”

“What on earth for?” I exclaimed in surprise.

“Are you still cross with me?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Well, I’m feeling better about myself and my carelessness too. So, it worked, didn’t it?”

“Worked?”

“Yes, cleared the air. You see, we youngsters can teach you old folks a few things too!” she said with a huge grin.

I laughed, and we hugged as we usually did. Friends again, although, to be honest, we never weren’t. I watched as Jenny put the slipper away in the drawer. She left the key in and did not lock it.

“By the way, uncle, you don’t take prisoners, do you? That really hurt! Mrs Green will be very pleased with you.”

“So, I passed the test then?”

“You did, and as your reward I will do the washing up.”

“You don’t have to. Why don’t you go and sit in the lounge and have your cocoa?”

“Like I said, I’ll do the washing up. I’m not ready to sit down just yet.”

I found it really strange that Jenny could joke about it. It seemed to be just a natural way of life to her. She was in no way submissive. She had grit and determination about her. She was going to get on in this world, and she has. But when it came to spanking, as I mentioned, it seemed that as well as clearing the air, it gave her not only closure, but some sort of absolution. She could move on and, so it seemed, could the rest of us. I remember once Sarah coming out of our mother’s room, tears streaming down her face, and clutching her bottom as if it was about to fall off, and no doubt wishing it would and take the pain with it, but she just joked about what a really good mood mum was in. She didn’t care that I knew she’d been spanked; it was just over and she had paid the price for her poor report grades. Jenny was the same. It was over, move on.

I was going to ask her then about the cane marks on her bottom but just couldn’t find the right way to approach it. It was only by pure chance that I saw them, and it might make it seem I‘d taken too much notice when she bared her bottom briefly. I decided it best to bring the topic up in conversation somehow at a later time. I felt I needed to enquire, if I could, for Jenny’s sake, and because I knew her mother would have pursued it if she had known.

Anyway, my lovely niece Jenny was back in the sensible frame of mind and in good spirits. She was right, the mood was completely lifted, and harmony was restored. The dog seemed happy too.

Needless to say, it wasn’t the last spanking she got in the months she was with me, but she never lost the dog again.

We went back the next day, on the way out with Suzie, to present Mrs Green with a cake Jenny baked specially, and a variety of seeds and plants from my greenhouse to help repair the damage in her garden.

Mrs Green took Jenny inside so they could cut the cake, serve three plates, and place the remainder in the cake tin on the table, while I emptied the tray of plants into the greenhouse. Jenny brought a plate out to me and then they chatted for a few minutes in the kitchen. Mrs Green thanked Jenny enthusiastically for the cake, her favourite apparently, then turning to her, “Did Uncle John take my advice?”

Perhaps a stroke of curiosity too far, but Jenny took it well, maybe thinking that Mrs Green deserved the chance to enquire, given the mess in the garden the previous evening.

“Yes, Mrs Green. You can be sure he did!”

“Good for him. No harm in a bit of discipline from time to time when you get things wrong. If you were my daughter or niece, I would have made sure you had a lasting reminder. Everything forgiven now though, and with me.” She paused. “Oh, I am going on. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, Mrs Green. I’m the one who is sorry. It was a stupid mistake, and I did learn my lesson.”

“Good! As you are staying for a few months, feel free to drop by. You seem like a lovely girl, if a bit naughty or careless sometimes, just like my daughters. I hope we can be friends.”

“Yes, I hope so too, Mrs Green. That would be nice. And we must come and help you with the garden.”

“Thank you, and thanks again for the cake. I hope you made yourself and your uncle one too. Now you better get on, the dog needs her walk!”

“Good-bye, John,” she called over to me.

“Good-bye, Vera,” I called back.

I suggested to Jenny that from what I could hear it had gone pretty well as an apology. She agreed.

“She seems nice. Pity she was cross yesterday, but I think we have made amends now. She asked if you had taken her advice with me.”

“What advice was that?”

“To put me over your knee!”

“And what did you say?”

“Told her sitting down was still a little uncomfortable.”

“You fibber, you never did!”

“Well, it is still a bit sore, Uncle John. Mum would think you’d done a really good job. And surely it didn’t matter if I was across your knee or over a desk.”

“Sorry?”

“Mrs Green advised putting me over your knee, uncle, not a desk! Keep it together, Uncle, you’re not that ancient!”

I shook my head in disbelief.

She laughed, and grabbed my hand to march me off with the dog. I was fearful that the spanking might have damaged our relationship, but in fact that was far from the truth. I think it might even have strengthened it. It really was strange, though, the way it cleared the air and everything was back to normal afterwards.

There was still the outstanding question as to why the school had found it necessary to cane her. I was going to have to use my fading detective skills on that one, and maybe put her through an interrogation without her knowing it. Well, good luck with that!

The end

© Jenny Tomlinson 2022