From Roué 43
Lesley Chapman was unaware that her mother’s place of work had recently introduced flexi-time — for she would hardly have chosen to stay at home on her unofficial day off from school. When she heard her mum’s key in the door she decided not to panic. Instead she came up with the idea of feigning illness, saying that she’d come over faint on the bus and that she’d returned home to rest. Mrs Chapman was not in the least convinced; Lesley had gone through a phase of truancy before, and her mother had expected a repetition sooner or later.
‘And you are asking me to believe that pack of lies, are you?’ she enquired sternly.
‘But… but it’s the truth, mum. Honest,’ Lesley rather pathetically protested her innocence, well knowing that she could seldom if ever lie successfully to anyone — especially her mother.
‘There is only one thing that ails you, my girl — and the remedy for that is quite simple.’
So saying, and amid pleas of ‘Oh! don’t, mum’, ‘I’m sorry mum’ and ‘I’m too old to be spanked, mum’, dragged the girl up off the settee, sat down and hauled her over her lap.
Lesley drummed her feet into the carpet, her tantrum giving her the appearance of the very naughty little girl she considered herself not to be. ‘You… you can’t, mum! You can’t spank me! I’m too grown up to be spanked, mum. Please!’
‘You’ll be too grown up to be spanked, my girl,’ her mother announced, ‘when you start to behave in a grown-up fashion. Now, lay still and take what’s coming to you.’
Lesley felt the cool air on the backs of her thighs as her skirt was raised clear of her bottom. Further protestations followed this which, like her earlier utterances, were to no avail whatsoever. She was just about to mouth another plea for clemency when her mother’s firm right palm came into stinging contact with the seat of her white cotton school knickers. That hand was raised and then fell again on precisely the same spot, bringing a gasp from the distraught girl. A third smack — again on the same area — caused Lesley to clench her bottom-cheeks and emit a shrill squeal. As the pain from this surged through her, her buttocks heaved involuntarily and her hips swayed from side to side.
‘Your wrigglings do not fool me, my girl,’ her mother intoned gravely. ‘You are going to take your punishment — and the more you move about the more smacks you’ll get.’
Two crisp spanks landed — one each — to the very tops of Lesley’s thighs, below her knickers and thus on bare flesh. These were particularly painful, the girl’s high-pitched cries bearing testimony to this fact.
The opening blows having been delivered, Mrs Chapman began to soundly and rhythmically chastise her errant daughter’s bottom, attending to each buttock in turn and working her way up and then down each delicious schoolgirl cheek.
Lesley’s contortions were by now the genuine wrigglings of a girl whose backside was under fire from a punishing parental palm. Her cries were no longer make-believe noises; they were very much for-real squeals of pain.
The echoing reports of palm meeting seat of knickers ceased awhile — but only so that Mrs Chapman could bare her daughter’s rear-end. More protests and pleadings heralded this turn of events, the woman treating such entreaties as ‘You can’t, mum!’ and ‘No, mum — not on the bare!’ with the contempt she felt they most decidedly deserved.
With the girl’s school pants around her thighs, Mrs Chapman continued her parental task. Now uncovered, Lesley’s bottom bore the evidence of the thirty-or-so spanks that it had undergone — a pinkening hue covering the entire surface of the once unsullied skin.
The woman was quite impressed with her handiwork to date; satisfied with the warm pink tint of her daughter’s buttocks. But, she told herself, the naughty bottom on display to her could — and would — take a good deal more punishment yet. Warm pink was one thing: but she would not be totally content until those plump cheeks were a bright red.
While Lesley’s bottom was able to undergo several further smacks, her mother’s right arm was in need of rest before this could be achieved. Holding the girl in position with her left arm, Mrs Chapman placed her right hand on the proffered fleshy mounds and felt the warm glow that her ministrations had brought about.
‘That’s enough, mum,’ suggested Lesley.
‘Be quiet, girl!’ her mother rebuked her ‘I’ll decide when it is enough — and we haven’t reached there yet.’
As Sonia Chapman took in the charming sight of Lesley’s well-spanked seat, her mind went back to the last time when she had had occasion to chastise her daughter.
It was four months previously, and on the girl’s sixteenth birthday. Having been unsuccessful in getting her mother to allow her the day off, Lesley had taken it upon herself to journey into town for a day’s window-shopping. Unbeknown to her, her mother had also travelled the three miles to town.
Mrs Chapman decided against confronting the girl there and then; choosing to have it out with her upon her return home.
A surprise party had earlier been arranged, with Lesley’s friends, cousins and other relatives invited. ‘Lesley has been a very naughty girl,’ she informed the throng as they sat at the dining table awaiting the girl’s arrival. ‘So,’ she went on to explain, ‘there will be no tea for anyone until I have dealt with her.’
Lesley’s surprise upon seeing the dozen-or-so guests was as nothing when compared with what she felt when — in front of her chums and relatives — she was coolly informed by her mother that she had been spotted in town when she should have been at school.
Surprise turned abruptly to astonishment when it was calmly announced that the spanking her truancy had warranted was to be carried out in the presence of Lesley’s unexpected guests. Her entreaties were ignored as her mother pulled a vacant chair away from the table and, seating herself, hauled the wide-eyed girl across her lap.
The attentive audience, perhaps expecting a game of ‘pass the parcel’ or ‘musical chairs’, looked on, mouths agape, at the spectacle that was unfolding before their eyes. There were heard a few cries of ‘Make her squeal, Aunty Sonia,’ but, for the most part, as Lesley looked around her the kids pitied her, giving her reassuring glances.
At least the spanking didn’t take too long. Once her skirt was flicked up and her school knickers had been taken down, there followed about a dozen — albeit extremely painful — blows to her bare bottom. She remained silent throughout, not wishing to make any more of a spectacle of herself than was absolutely necessary.
The hiding over, her knickers were pulled back up, her skirt smoothed down, and she was permitted to join her guests at the table. Although she’d have preferred to have made for the nearest exit, Lesley was glad that it was all at an end and that the party got under way; her punishment being soon forgotten once the goodies were served up.
‘If you’re going to do it, mum,’ Lesley broke the silence, ‘get on with it — please.’
‘In my own good time,’ her mother said, landing a crisp smack to the back of the girl’s right thigh. ‘Now, be still and it will soon be over; struggle and the worse it will be for you.’
Thus the bare-bottomed part of Lesley’s spanking began, her mother attending again to each teenage cheek in turn. The girl moved this way and that, clenched and then unclenched her buttocks. As her bottom underwent some particularly stinging swipes, she put a hand to her rear and quite a struggle ensued between the two.
‘This is no good whatsoever!’ her exasperated parent announced. ‘It’s too much like hard work. Stand up!’
Believing her ordeal to be over, Lesley got to her feet in seconds flat — only to hear the instruction to bend over the settee.
‘Do what, mum?’
‘Put your hands on the top of the backrest and stick that bottom of yours out!’ Mrs Chapman insisted.
A slap to the back of each thigh brought about swift obedience from the girl, and her mother — holding her skirt up out of the way — brought her hand into contact again with Lesley’s prominently positioned backside.
In between smacks, Mrs Chapman warned her daughter that if she attempted to avoid any of the ‘final dozen’ spanks she would ‘take the strap to you’.
This strap Lesley had never even seen — let alone felt, but convinced that it would be worse than her mother’s hand, she decided to take the remainder of her punishment without any fuss — and in fact did so.
‘Hello, Mrs Donaldson?’ Lesley’s mother spoke down the telephone, having dispatched her well-spanked daughter to her room for an hour’s reflection. ‘Ah! This is Mrs Chapman. My daughter was not at school today… I just thought I’d ring to tell you that I caught her playing truant… Yes, that’s right… And I’d like to let you know that I have dealt with the matter… Yes, she has been punished… Sorry what was that?… All week!… No, I had no idea she hadn’t been in all week!’ She tried to compose herself after hearing this disconcerting news. ‘I’ll… er… I’ll be in touch, Mrs Donaldson. I think I’d better pop up to see her… Yes, I certainly will, Mrs Donaldson. I certainly will!’
When her mother confronted her about what her Headmistress had just told her on the phone, Lesley confessed — she was hardly in a position to do otherwise. In fact she also asked for two other cases to be taken into consideration — this coming after hearing that her parent intended to see Mrs Donaldson the next morning. ‘I shall go back downstairs now,’ she said to the girl, ‘and give her a ring to tell her that I shall be escorting you to school tomorrow, to apologise for the trouble that has been caused, and to inform her that you have been suitably punished.’ Lesley bowed her head. How utterly humiliating it would be to be taken to school by one’s mother, she thought, well aware of the fact that her chums would ridicule her She was just about to protest at this when her mother spoke again — and what she had to say served to strike her momentarily dumb and make her forget all about the embarrassment she would doubtless suffer the next day.
‘While I am phoning Mrs Donaldson,’ she said, ‘you will strip down to your underwear?’
‘Strip off to my…?’
‘Your underwear,’ her mother repeated the instruction.
‘You will do as I say. And you had better be ready when I return.’ And, with that, she stormed off out of the room.
Somewhat reluctantly, Lesley divested herself of her outer school uniform, her skirt, tie, jumper and blouse being tossed onto the rocking-chair. She then stood, in just her vest, knickers and socks, staring blankly out of her bedroom window. She could not be sure what Fate had in store for her but had a fair idea that it would involve that oft-mentioned but hitherto never used strap.
To say that she was surprised when she saw what her mother had in her hands when she returned to her room would be something of an understatement. A strap she would not have been shocked to see… but a cane!
‘You… can c-can’t use th-that on me, mum,’ she protested.
‘Why on earth not?’ the woman responded, flexing the whippy instrument between her hands. ‘Was it not you who said that you are too grown up to be spanked? For once, young lady, I’m forced to agree with you. A spanking is too childish a punishment for a girl of sixteen. Now, clear your clothes off the chair and kneel in its seat, grasping hold of the sides.
More entreaties ensued — all completely useless, and Lesley complied with the order. She was told to stick her bottom out more, and did so, feeling more vulnerable than she’d ever felt in her young life. Her bottom seemed so prominently positioned as it awaited the first stroke; so utterly helpless. She was only glad that she had for protection her white cotton knickers — though she doubted that this solitary garment would reduce any of the pain that her mother’s lithe cane was quite obviously able to produce.
Mrs Chapman gave an almighty swish of the cane through the air. Lesley, expecting to feel the implement land on her bottom, clenched her buttocks. But there was no pain. It was nothing more than a practice stroke. Terrified at the sound, Lesley put a hand onto her right bottom-cheek and, in a last desperate attempt to avoid her punishment, pleaded with her mother.
‘Mum… c-can’t you spank me instead?’
‘We have already established that you are too grown-up to be spanked,’ the woman replied, ‘Now, get your hand out of the way this instant!’
Lesley obeyed. She then felt the length of the cane across the seat of her knickers. Mrs Chapman was taking aim. The cane was raised high into the air and came down to meet the girl’s thinly covered behind.
For a couple of seconds there was silence. Then, as the pain from this initial stroke rushed through her Lesley emitted a loud cry of pain. This was followed by a gasp, and she swayed her hips from side to side in a vain attempt to assuage the awful sting.
Poor Lesley. She had no idea that a cane could be so painful — not that she’d ever given much thought to the matter. She clung on to the sides of the chair her breathing coming in short gasps. Her bottom lip quivered. She was on the verge of tears.
The second stroke landed — this one higher than the first; right across the centre of her buttocks. Another yell heralded its arrival, and it took all the girl’s will-power to stop herself putting her hands to her punished bottom.
There was a lengthy pause, Lesley shivering as she awaited the cane’s next visitation. Her buttocks closed then opened, her hips swayed, her knuckles went white as she gripped the arms of the chair.
The next stroke took her completely by surprise, and Lesley’s reaction was a high-pitched scream. Her hands flew to her bottom’s defence.
‘Oh, mum… p-please stop… please!’
Mrs Chapman tugged the brief cotton knickers even tighter over her daughter’s smarting hindquarters. Smoothing out a couple of creases, she said: ‘I bet you wish you weren’t so grown up now, my girl, eh? This is what sixteen-year-old young ladies receive for their naughtiness. And this is what you are going to get from now on. Now, get into position properly, remove your hands from your bottom and take the rest of your punishment without all this ridiculous fuss.’
Lesley’s mother said that she felt the final two strokes would be better appreciated if delivered to the girl’s bare bottom. While not being happy about this, Lesley did at least know just how many more whacks were to come. One would have been preferable; none at all even better — but two more would, perhaps, not be too bad.
She felt the cool air on the warm flesh of her rear-end as her knickers were lowered to her knees — this movement involving her having to dismount from the chair. Standing on the carpet and leaning forward over the rocking chair she waited for what seemed like an eternity for the first of the last two strokes.
The very centre of her naked buttocks was the site of the cane’s next lash, and Lesley cried out upon receipt of this. Up the cane went again before being brought down for the final time. The tender area at the very top of her thighs was where this one landed, just under the curve of her buttocks. It came so quickly after its predecessor and stung so much more than any of the others had done that Lesley, after sucking in her breath, cried: ‘Arrghh! Shhhit!!’
She was completely unaware that she uttered such a word — but it had not gone unnoticed by her mother ‘I will not have such language in my house,’ Mrs Chapman informed the girl.
‘But… I… I didn’t mean it, mum,’ Lesley protested, ‘It… it sort of slipped out.’
Such a pathetic excuse didn’t impress the girl’s mother. Within a mere thirty seconds she had left the room and returned with her strap. Lesley was told to stand, and then received one almighty stroke with the leather implement on her chubby sit-upon. She was then told to bend over and touch her toes for one last stroke.
With great reluctance, Lesley complied with the order, putting the palms of her hands flat on the floor in front of her stockinged feet. The strap rose and then fell with an almost deafening splat right across the centremost, the fullest part of her daughter’s well-attended-to bottom.
----//----In bed that night — lying on her tummy with her hands gently massaging her bottom — Lesley reflected upon the day’s events. A spanking, the cane and then the strap. She wasn’t sure whether the strap was more painful than her mother’s swishy cane. What she was certain of, though, was that she’d opt for a spanking any day. The problem was, however, that she was now too grown-up. She had suggested that in the first place. How she regretted mouthing those words…