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Domestic Slippering

There 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.

“Noooooooooo, pleaaaase!”

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.






jimmyengels jimmyengels 56-60, M 13 Responses Nov 28, 2011

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Jimmy
You and I are about the same age so grow up in a country that was not afraid to discipline their children.
I was given the slipper at school mainly for indisgresions like talking in dorm after lights were switched off
Matron or the duty person it could be a master or mistress would if they heard talking switch the light on as they opened the door ask who was talking if nobody owned up the whole dorm got whacked so you always owned up.
You were then told to follow the matron or duty person and in a small office doubling as matrons room were told to bend over touch your toes and given between 6 and 12 smacks
If you got caught more than 3 times and it was recorded you got between 3 to 6 of the cane.
All spankings were given over the underpants or pjs never on the bare
Chris

Great story so well told

"White hot burning where my bottom and thighs used to be"....yes...yes...yes

Did you ever get sent to Mr Chandler again?

No never. Once was enough.

This is my fave story! I've read it so many times but I never tire of it :-)

Glad you like it and thanks for taking the time to say so.

I never got the slipper!

I was on the receiving end of the slipper many times at school. At home my mother usually slippered me by my father gave me a few slipperings too. At school I got it across my knickers but at home it was almost always bare.

Thanks for the comment, Ruth!

My parents would sometimes use the slipper they were wearing but, most of the time, they used a plimsoll.

My mother didn't delegate like that. If she thought I needed a slippering, she slippered me - as hard and as many whacks as she thought I deserved.

My father probably could slipper harder but my mother usually put more effort into doing it. It was the same at school, female teachers put more effort in so actually slippered harder than male teachers.

Neither of my parents fell for it but I think my mother was a little harder on me than my father was. From what I've read and heard, both here and elsewhere, women were harder on girls than men were. Men see us as the weaker sex but women know better.

I don't think my parents bought plimsolls especially but they were man's size and always left tread marks.

2 More Responses

Nice story.<br />
I loved the bit about the smirking girl fetching the slipper

Thanks Jgoldspk. The thing is, it's also true. We boys would have loved to see her on the receiving end. :-)

I bet. I have to say at that age there were one or two girls who I knew who I would have loved to see slippered

Thanks, whackedboy!

love that story.moor please

What a great story! Mrs Chandler with a beak like a bird of prey,priceless.<br />
My Dad was a deputy headmaster of a boys school &amp; boy could he weild that slipper,many times my sister &amp; i would find it difficult to sit.No wonder the boys in our neighbourhood would be on their best behaviour when my Dad was around.

Geez that would have been tough...your Dad a deputy Head....boy could my deputy Head at school lay on the cane!

I never got to feel the slipper at school, it wasn't a tradition in Australia, worse luck.<br />
My Dad walloped me with his slipper once though, read "Slippered in the Yard" and my bottom was stinging red for maybe 36 hours. <br />
I'll never forget the feeling.

This reminds me of a character in the comics called, "Slipper of the Yard". Scotland Yard that is. I digress sorry

Yes, a good account and a good reminder of those days when the local schoolmaster was a pillar of the community who's authority was held as sacrosanct. It really is a pity we could not go back to those days, I am sure that the world would be a much better place if they were and I for one can think of a certain little madam this morning who would be trotting off with a note to get a Christmas present she would remember for a very long time. <br />
<br />
<br />
I also think personally that the traditional gym shoe delivered in a memorable manner was a very effective assistant whebn it came to the development of good behaviour and mannersw in the young and not so young.

Ted,

Sounds as though she would benefit from a visit from the traditional European Santa, birch rod in hand :-)