From Blushes Supplement 15
Young blonde Janet Holland eased her tight-fitting tee-shirt off over her head. shook her shoulder-length hair, adjusted her little knickers and settled back into the comfort of her mother’s brand-new sun-lounger. She closed her eyes. It was a warm sunny day, and the first of her exams ceased to loom less than a week away; book-work for the time being seemed more like a million miles away. There was no-one to look over the tall garden hedge and so a bra and pants was adequate covering.
Watching from the patio window, her mother shook her head. ‘That child is heading for trouble,’ she said to the Head. At the opposite end of the room, the grandfather clock struck. ‘Goodness, Len will be here before long, and I haven’t even started on the scones.’ She scampered into the kitchen to prepare for afternoon tea.
Len Holland always enjoyed a visit to his younger sister. He lived alone and had never married. He worked hard for six long days each week. and relished the chance to leave the city on his half-day off from the shop. For once the bus had been on time. It was almost empty as he left the terminus so he could choose his seat. He relaxed as best he could, watching the sun throwing shafts of light through the tall trees lining the route as the single-decker rattled its way out of town towards his sister’s village.
Betty Holland put the kettle on. The scones were in the oven. Anxiously she looked at the sky, now clouding over with remarkable speed. The weather forecast had warned of rain before dusk. She opened the kitchen window. ‘Don’t forget. I want all that garden furniture away before tea! It looks like rain. Do you understand?’ The long slim figure with the blonde hair raised a bare arm and waved. ‘And you’ve been allowed home from college so you can study — so get on with it.’ The arm, rather insolently waved again.
Betty rather surprised herself by slamming the window, but her daughter had been acting insolently all week. The antagonism had been building up.
The door-bell rang. It was Len. As usual, he received a warm greeting from his sister. They had always been close. ‘Come on in, Len. Take your shoes off, and put your feet up.’ Betty knew how to pamper her brother. Len sat down on the settee, and knowing his sister wouldn’t object, took out his pipe, filling it with a mild but expensive aromatic tobacco.
‘So how are you, Bess?’ he asked, turning to the patio door and finding his niece, in brief underclothes, not more than twenty feet away. They talked the usual small-talk of brother and sister, enjoying each other’s company. Betty poured the tea. ‘She looks comfortable,’ commented Len, nodding in the direction of his niece. Betty continued with the tea.
‘Yes, Len. That lady out there is a very sore point.’ She steadfastly refused to admit to herself that perhaps a bra and pants wasn’t quite what her daughter ought to be wearing with her uncle in the house, but he of course, was used to that kind of thing by now.
They sat in silence for a while, watching the pretty teenager adorn herself with sun-tan oil. ‘What she needs is a father,’ Betty said firmly. ‘Not that Jack was any use.’ Her husband had walked out on them over ten years ago, when Janet was barely eight years old. ‘She’s an intelligent girl with everything going for her, and what’s she doing?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘She’s throwing away this new course she’s on, and any chance of a decent career, just because she’s too damned lazy.’
It was rare for his sister to use such language. ‘Have you tried talking to her?’
‘I’ve been talking to her all week. It’s quite obvious she couldn’t care less. My word! To think what would have happened if I’d acted like that at her age!’ Another period of silence followed, as brother and sister remembered their own childhood days. ‘He was firm, was Dad. But fair,’ commented Betty.
‘It never did us any harm, though,’ added her brother.
It was pleasant to relax in the peaceful surroundings of Betty’s country cottage, and to remember those days of childhood, when it seemed the sun always shone. and parents were always firm but fair. After so many years both Betty and Len could look back with happiness, and with some regret.
‘Do you remember that time I fell in the stream by accident? Dad nearly killed me!’ Len nodded, picturing again his younger sister standing by the kitchen door, soaked to the skin. ‘I shouldn’t have been anywhere near it, though,’ added Betty. Again, Len nodded, remembering. A distant rumble of thunder interrupted their thoughts. The gathering clouds looked far more threatening now.
Betty slid open the patio door. ‘Janet!’ Her daughter responded by turning over, presenting her back and her bottom to the fading sun. ‘Janet. It’s going to rain. Get those garden things in now before it’s too late.’ Janet raised again one languid arm in acknowledgement.
‘My God, she’s annoying me!’ muttered Betty. ‘This can’t go on for much longer.’ She excused herself for a moment to brew a fresh pot of tea. Len sat back and puffed his pipe. It was a full ten minutes before his sister returned, teapot in hand.
‘So what are you going to do about her?’ queried Len, nodding towards his niece who was still relaxing in the warmth of the setting sun.
‘Well, I’ve been thinking,’ replied Betty. ‘It’ll have to be a case of like father, like daughter, like granddaughter, if you get my meaning.’ Len understood. ‘I’ll need your help. though,’ she added. ‘I can’t do it without your help.’ Len nodded.
‘Alright; it’s for her own good, after all.’ Betty cut the fruit cake, and they both sat quietly enjoying each other’s undemanding company.
When the rain of mid-summer came, it came suddenly. Betty jumped to her feet. ‘I knew it!’ she exclaimed. It’s pouring, and that girl hasn’t even started to put things away!’ Len heard a short squeal of girlish surprise as the first cold drops of rain touched Janet’s bare skin. Janet grabbed her two text-books and her tee-shirt and made a dash for the cover of the lounge. ‘And what about the furniture?’ demanded her mother. ‘Oh mum. It’s pouring,’ was the reply. ‘Quite, young lady, and I’ve told you at least three times that I wanted that furniture away before it started raining.’
Janet bent forward to put her books onto the low coffee table. Her mother saw the firm round curve of her daughter’s bottom, only just covered by the brief knickers. She slapped it hard. ‘Get back out there and do as you were told!’ For the first time in her eighteen years, Janet Holland had experienced the palm of a maternal hand across her bottom. She turned in a gesture of pure surprise. ‘Out,’ yelled her mother. The girl threw the briefest of glances at her uncle, still seated on the settee, still puffing his pipe, and then fled back out into the rain.
Betty took a deep breath. ‘Well there’s no turning back now, Len.’ He nodded.
‘The piano stool and the table?’ he asked, thinking again of his childhood.
‘No. She’d never stay put. I’ll hold her across my knee.’ Young Janet scampered barefoot across the small garden, folding the sun-lounger and parasol, and stacking them, none too neatly, in the garden shed. She returned to the lounge, breathless, and a little damp. Throwing a quick tantalising smile at her uncle, she slipped past him and was just about to run upstairs, when her mother barred the way.
‘And where are you going, Janet?’ ‘Just… just popping up to my room to get these wet things off, mum,’ replied her daughter. Betty tossed her a large bath-towel.
‘Don’t bother for now, young lady. You can dry yourself down here. Your uncle and I have something to say to you.’
Janet began to feel uneasy. This was very strange behaviour from her mum. ‘OK, mum, but can’t it wait?’ Her mother shook her head. ‘We’ve waited too long already, I’m afraid. This little talk is long overdue.’
Janet draped the towel over her shoulders and patted her wet skin. She became aware of her uncle’s eyes, watching her, through the cloud of smoke that so frequently surrounded him. Len watched the delightful bounce of her firm well-developed breasts. ‘They weren’t built like that when I was a lad.’ He thought.
Betty took a deep breath. Len sensed her anxiety. ‘Janet. I think you’ll agree that I’ve been a good mother to you over the years; and you’ve known your uncle for many years as well. He’s also been good to you…’ Janet nodded in a puzzled sort of way. Her mother continued. ‘Do you think we’re reasonably decent and sensible people?’ Janet stopped drying herself for a moment and stared at her mother.
‘Well, yes, of course, mum.’ That uneasy feeling in her tummy was growing by the minute.
‘So our parents must have brought us up the right way?’ Janet nodded, trying to think of something sensible to say. ‘Well… yes…’
Her mother continued. ‘Well, you see, Janet, I think I’ve been less than a perfect mother to you… and your uncle agrees. We both think we’ve been neglecting our responsibilities.’
Janet sat down opposite her mother. ‘I really don’t know what…’ Betty interrupted her.
‘Well your behaviour this afternoon and all this week proves we haven’t brought you up properly!’
Janet tried to laugh. ‘Now look, mum. We might have had our little differences of opinion…’ Betty silenced her.
‘Len. Tell her about me and the stream.’ Her brother placed his pipe carefully onto the coffee table. He recounted the tale. Janet’s face turned bright pink. ‘But look… those were the old days…’
‘Things haven’t changed in some households, Janet,’ continued her mother. ‘You ought to talk to your friend Lisa down at No. 45, sometime!’
Janet suddenly felt quite weak and vulnerable. She made an attempt to wrap the towel more tightly around herself. ‘Look. If it’s the garden furniture, I’m sorry; and I’ll pay for it.’
‘Oh, you’ll pay for it, my dear,’ promised her mother. ‘You’re going to pay for it right now.’
Len stood up and took off his jacket. His action unnerved Janet. She shook her head. ‘No. No. Please…’ Before she could finish her sentence, she found herself sprawling head first across her mother’s lap.
‘We’ll have this towel out of the way,’ said her mother, pulling it out from underneath her daughter’s body. She felt the dampness of the fabric of her daughter’s bra against her calf. ‘We’ll have this off, as well,’ she muttered, unclipping it with one deft movement. ‘Oh… Mum… please…’ came the muffled response. Betty flipped the bra across to the armchair opposite. Janet tried to lift herself away from her mother’s lap, but firm hands held her down, in the nape of her neck and across the small of her back. ‘Well, my daughter,’ Betty said quietly, maintaining her firm grip on her wriggling daughter. ‘Eighteen years of age you may be, but this afternoon you’re going to experience something quite new to you; the hiding of your life!’
Janet turned her head. She saw her uncle standing behind her, and he was holding one of his carpet slippers in his right hand. A big man-sized slipper, with a smooth polished leather sole. She continued to struggle, but her mother was unperturbed.
‘We’ve got plenty of time, young lady. I shall hold you here until you stop struggling. However long that might take. And of course, the more you struggle, the more your uncle is going to get annoyed.’ Finally, the girl gave up. She lay still, her slim form bent so tightly across her mother’s ample knee.
Len eyed the sun-tanned legs, long, slender, so well-shaped; and he studied quietly the gorgeous curvy bottom, placed so prominently across Betty’s knee. At that angle, her pants were little more than a thin white band around her waist and between her bottom cheeks, and the rain had made even that rather transparent. ‘Shall I…’ queried Len, pointing to the girl’s pants.
‘Oh, Good Lord, yes. Let’s do things properly, for goodness sake!’ Janet felt like dying as she realised what was happening. Len inserted his fingers under the elasticated waist of the pants, lifting them clear of the warm, and still a little damp, female flesh. He eased them down over the roundness of his niece’s bottom. He finally slipped them off over her ankles and tossed them over to the armchair to join the girl’s discarded bra.
Janet was not totally naked. Len was able to admire, at close quarters, a curvy, well-formed, shapely teenage girl, with a very pretty, very vulnerable, and very smackable bottom. Betty changed her posture slightly, bending her daughter even more tightly across her lap. Len quite clearly saw little tufts of blondish curls, peeping out from between his niece’s legs.
‘Right, my lass.’ Betty patted her daughter’s upturned bottom, casually, but none too gently. Len noticed the flesh wobble a little under the impact. ‘Your uncle is going to tan your bottom; and I’m going to hold you very still so you get the full benefit.’
Janet made one final attempt at protest. ‘I’m… I’m too old to be spanked… Come on, mum… please, mum… please…’ Mother simply slapped her hand once again across the wobbly fullness of Janet’s bottom, and smiled at her brother.
‘It’ll do you good. young lady, believe me!’
Len stood, holding the slipper, running the palm of one hand across its shiny hard sole. He imagined the impact, full-square across that pinkish bottom; cold shiny hard leather meeting warm vulnerable girlish bottom-flesh, just lying there, waiting to be punished. He decided to shock the girl from the start; after all, she more than deserved it.
He raised the slipper, and using considerable force, brought it down firmly across the lower, most tender area of the girl’s bottom. The result was dramatic, and so satisfying. Janet yelled, and kicked. A red rash sprang into existence, shaped remarkably like the slipper in Len’s hand. He raised the slipper again, and brought it down across the opposite cheek. Janet squealed and kicked, but her mother maintained her firm grip on her errant daughter.
In the next five minutes, Len Holland found out more about a big girl’s anatomy than any text-book could have offered. As each impact of the slipper forced the girl to yell and to kick, Janet revealed some very girlish secrets to her uncle. As Len dropped the slipper onto the coffee table, Janet was displaying a crimson burning bottom, well-tanned, and her uncle knew a lot more about his niece. She was crying real tears now, sobbing loudly into her mother’s skirt, and gently feeling her burning bottom with her hands.
‘In future, Janet, this is what you can expect if you misbehave; and remember, your Uncle visits us every Thursday afternoon.’ She waited for a response. The girl continued to sob. ‘For now, your punishment is almost over.’ Janet had been paying attention, because she responded to her mother’s cryptic remark. ‘Yes. You’ve been punished for letting the family down, and in a moment you can go upstairs and sort yourself out. But first, I want to remind you that this afternoon you have insulted me, your mother. I am going to smack your bottom one dozen times, and then you can get up and go.’
She looked at her daughter’s reddened bottom, and knew that the next twelve smacks were really going to hurt. She raised her hand. SLAP… SLAP… SLAP… Three across Janet’s right bottom-cheek. Janet yelled with renewed vigour. SLAP… SLAP… SLAP… three further painful slaps across the other cheek. Betty remembered her father, her own bottom, her own feelings; and she slapped hard, making sure that every impact of palm against teenage bottom-flesh really counted.
Finally she sat back. ‘You may go,’ she said quietly. Big, grown-up Janet, her bottom as crimson as a ripe tomato, clambered to her feet, blushing from her head, all the way down to her firm young breasts. She clasped her hands across the little triangle of blonde pubic hair, and ran sobbing from the room, her well-punished bottom wobbling as she moved.
Betty smiled at her brother. ‘It’ll do her no harm: in fact it ought to do her good.’ Len agreed. As children, their father’s discipline had been far more strict. ‘But just in case things don’t improve, Len, did you inherit our father’s hairbrush?’ Her brother stopped to think.
‘Goodness, I do believe it’s still at home, up in the loft!’
‘Well, if you’ve got time to look it out, perhaps you could bring it with you next week?’
Len promised he would. He and his sister were reasonable people; good manners, politeness, moderation, good taste; all these things had been instilled in them from childhood. Quite honestly he had been embarrassed by his niece’s behaviour and the way she treated her mother; but after seeing the girl stretched naked across Betty’s knee, other thoughts were rising to the surface.
As he travelled home that night, on the last bus into town, he closed his eyes. He imagined the kiss of that well-worn shiny hairbrush-back across young Janet’s up-turned bottom. Before he went to bed that night, he promised himself he’d find it. Young Janet had better behave herself during the coming week.
Suddenly he realised that he was rather hoping she would continue to be disobedient, lazy and insolent. The next seven days would pass very slowly!