Domestic SlipperingThere were days, it must be admitted, when I was more than a handful and this was one of them. I had been running my mother ragged all morning and come lunch time she was at her wits end. I was wondering where next to raise havoc blissfully unaware of the plan that had formed in her mind.
I watched her go to the drawer in the living room cupboard, take out the writing pad and envelopes and then sit down at the table to write a short note. She finished it off, put it in the envelope, sealed it and said, “Take this to Mr Chandler for me, will you? And wait for the reply. ” Mr Chandler was a teacher in my Primary School who had the reputation of being the strictest teacher ever. There was rarely a day that passed without some boy feeling his ire, or, more exactly the palm of his hand on their backsides. His smacking technique was quick and highly effective. The boy would have to go to the front of the class , bend over touching his toes and “Johnny” would deliver a crisp smack to the right cheek, one to the left, one in the middle and then a final scorcher to the back of the legs under the hemline of the short trousers. I had it a couple of times and it really felt as though the whole area from bottom to mid thigh was on fire. Sitting on a hard school chair afterward was not a pleasant experience.
For special occasions he used a slipper. The boy would be summonsed to the front and the girl who had the largest feet in the class would be asked to fetch one of her pumps from her kit bag. So, there you were, stood at the front with all eyes on you waiting like a lemon for Miss Smarty Pants to come back with her gym shoe. Oh didn’t she love it. The smirk on her face as she handed the slipper over to Johnny and then went back to her place to enjoyt the floor show. All us boys would have loved to have seen her on the receiving end. So, anyway, the slipper having been procured, the boy was told to bend over and touch his toes, bottom to the class and Johnny would give three to the left and three to the right and then one on the back of each leg. Then the boy would spend the rest of the lesson nose to the blackboard and burning backside to the class. I was never on the receiving end of one of those and having witnessed the sniffles and snuffles from the slippered boy, did not particularly want to be either.
But I digress: I got on my bike and went down the road to deliver the letter. It was Mrs Chandler who opened the door; a painfully thin woman in her late fifties with a face dominated by the beak of some bird of prey.
“My mother asked me to give this to Mr Chandler and to wait for his reply”, said I as though butter would not melt in my mouth.
“Mr Chandler is eating his dinner, you had better come in.”
So in I went and stood there twiddling my thumbs as she took the letter into Johnny in the kitchen. Silence and then a loud “Well, I never” from Mr C. “He has been giving his mother a hard time and she would like me to give him a good old fashioned spanking.”
“Oh dear” I thought to myself, or words to that effect. And my state of mind was not improved when I heard her say,
“You carry on eating your lunch, John. I will see to the preparations”
“Preparations? What preparations?” I thought to myself.
Mrs C came out of the kitchen eyes ablaze. “Playing your mother up? Well you are really for it. She has sent you to the right place, my lad. You are for the high jump . You will be getting an old fashioned spanking. Do you know what that is?
“A hard one?” I ventured.
She smiled in a way that would have curdled milk at ten paces. “All spankings in this house are hard; long as well. No my lad, old fashioned means trousers off,”she paused, no doubt for dramatic effect, “pants off as well and bare bottom. That is the only way for you to feel and get the full benefit. “
I did not like the way this was going one little bit.
“Right. Trousers off now.” I thought it wiser to do as I was told and took them off whilst she waited with her hand outstrechted. She neatly folded them and hung then over her arm. “And your pants – I shall be needing them as well, whereas you won’t for an hour or so.” They went south and off as well.
“Now, get in that corner with the nose against the wall and DO NOT MOVE .” (Each word was accompanied by a smack from her boney claw on the back of my legs just above the knee). And there I waited. And waited. And waited. And while I waited I thought about the events that had led to me being there. Perhaps if I said I was very sorry...?
After an eternity there were heavy footsteps behind me and my right ear suddenly felt as though it had been caught in a vice. It was only Mr Chandler’s thumb and index finger but ohhhh did it hurt. He marched me into the living room or rather he marched and I sort of wriggled along, hardly able to put one foot straight in front of the other and squirming as much as his iron grip would allow.
“I have put the slipper on the table,” said Mrs C, “I never thought we would have to use that again since Vanessa left home. It’s a good job I did not throw it out.”
“Thank you, dear. It just shows you never know when these things might come in useful. ” said Mr C picking it up en passant. Out of the corner of my eye I could see it was an old black one with no laces and the rubber sole has been worn smooth with use. It looked as though it had the capability of stinging awfully.
Mr C pulled one of the dining table chairs out, turned it round and in one movement sat down on it and put my over his left knee. He pulled me a little further forward and said “Right lets get your bottom in a position where Mr Slipper can have a nice long uninterrupted conversation with it.” So saying he pushed down on my neck with his left hand and wrapped his right leg around the back of mine. I was doubled over and trapped!
I felt the cool sole of the slipper resting on my left cheek where bottom meets thigh and then suddenly it made real contact followed by another on the right. Well, it stung a bit but not too bad and there were only six more to come, so it would not be that bad and definitely not as bad as I thought it would be. The next two followed lower down and then another two at the tops of my thighs then back to my bottom again. I breathed a sigh of relief. That’s it, it’s over.
Then he worked his way slowly down my left cheek from the top to the sit spot and back up the right. It was not over!!!! What’s more, it was starting to get a little uncomfortable. Then another round. This was getting very uncomfortable and then side to side up and down.
And then a flurry of smacks in no defined pattern. This was hot, very hot, can’t stand it hot. My hand tried to cover my cheeks but no matter where I put itm the slipper landed in another place.
“Pleassssssssssssssssssssssseee. No More. I won’t do it again.”
“You won’t do what?” he asked without stopping in his tracks.
“Play my mo mo mo mother uuuuuuuuuuup.”
“No you won’t” he said and carried on spanking. Up and down, side to side sometimes three or four on the same place, driving me mad. Wanting to escape but not able.
“Give it him good, John” said Mrs C looking on with a grim smile of satisfaction.
Oh he did. I pleaded I begged, I promised. I cried. I would do anything. I would not do it again. Please stop, plllllllllllllllllllleeeeasssssssssssssssseee no more. No more NO MORE!!!!!!!!!! Tears streamed and snot streamed down my face. Oh I was so sooooooooo sorry.
It stopped. All I was conscious of was a white hot burning where my bottom and thighs used to be.
“ And what will you not do again?”
“Play up mommy.”
“And what will happen if you do?”
“I get a spanking.”
“And what sort of spanking?”
“An old fashioned one.”
He let me up. “He can have his trousers an pants back now, dear, whilst I reply to his mother.”
I dressed slowly and he handed me my mother’s note. At the bottom he had written:
Spanking delivered. Please feel free to send him for repeat applications whenever needed.