We made our way to the door, hoping to escape unnoticed, but as we reached it, the woman suddenly appeared, blocking our path. Her face was no longer kind, but stern, her arms folded as she looked down at us. The door was closed behind her, and there was no way out. “Stealing is a crime—I will have to call the police,” she said, her voice grave. Panic set in. Daniel and I begged her not to call, promising never to do it again. The Beano comic pressed awkwardly against my side, making my guilt feel even heavier. After a long, tense moment, she relented, but with a condition: we would have to be punished.
She led us into the back room of the shop, where another woman—her equally plump sister, who also worked as a shop assistant—sat watching with wide eyes. The shopkeeper announced, “Two thieves for a slippering,” and the woman’s attention sharpened. We stood awkwardly in front of the women, our faces burning with shame. The shopkeeper produced a large, well-worn slipper, and her sister nodded in agreement. The punishment was clear: both Daniel and I would each be spanked with the slipper by both women, one after the other.
Daniel was first. The shopkeeper sat down heavily on a creaking wooden chair, her face set with grim determination. She beckoned Daniel over, and he shuffled forward, his eyes wide and glistening. The room felt close and stuffy, the air thick with the scent of boiled sweets and something sharper—fear, perhaps, or anticipation. Daniel was pulled gently but firmly over her knee, his hands gripping the edge of her skirt. The slipper, broad and battered, was raised high. (pause) The first smack landed with a sharp, echoing crack that seemed to fill the entire room. Daniel gasped, his body jolting, and the sound of the slipper striking his shorts was followed by a muffled yelp. Each smack was deliberate, the leather sole connecting with a flat, stinging thwack that made me wince just to hear it. The shopkeeper’s face was stern, but not cruel—her eyes flickered with disappointment more than anger. Daniel squirmed and whimpered, his face turning red, and the slipper rose and fell in a steady rhythm, each blow punctuated by the soft squeak of the chair and Daniel’s increasingly desperate cries. The sister watched intently, her lips pressed into a thin line, her hands folded tightly in her lap. When the shopkeeper finished, Daniel was already sniffling, his bottom surely burning, but there was no reprieve. The sister stood, her movements brisk and businesslike, and Daniel was passed from one lap to the other. Her slippering was just as firm, but her style was different—quicker, almost mechanical, each smack landing with a rapid-fire sting that made Daniel’s legs kick and his voice rise in a high, pleading wail. The room seemed to shrink with every blow, the air heavy with the sound of punishment and the raw, unfiltered embarrassment of being spanked in front of strangers. By the end, Daniel was sobbing openly, his face streaked with tears, his hands clutching at his shorts as he stumbled away, rubbing his sore bottom and avoiding everyone’s gaze.
Then it was my turn. My heart hammered in my chest as the shopkeeper’s sister beckoned me forward. The Beano comic was still tucked awkwardly under my jumper, pressing against my ribs like a guilty secret. I shuffled to her side, cheeks burning, and she guided me over her knee. The chair creaked beneath us, and I could feel the rough fabric of her skirt against my skin. The slipper was cool and heavy as she tapped it against my shorts, almost as if to warn me. (pause) The first smack landed with a jolt—a hot, stinging pain that seemed to explode across my backside and radiate down my legs. I gasped, the sound escaping before I could stop it, and the embarrassment of being so exposed, so helpless, made my eyes sting with tears. The sister’s arm was strong, her rhythm relentless, each smack a sharp, echoing report that seemed to bounce off the walls and settle in my bones. I could hear Daniel’s quiet sobs behind me, and the shopkeeper’s heavy breathing, and the faint, metallic jingle of the bell in the other room. The pain built quickly, each blow layering on top of the last, until my bottom felt aflame and my pride was in tatters. The sister’s face was set, her mouth a thin, determined line, but I caught a flicker of sympathy in her eyes as she finished. (pause) Then the shopkeeper took her place, and I was shifted onto her lap, my legs dangling awkwardly. Her slippering was harder, the blows landing with a deep, resonant smack that made me cry out and thrash involuntarily. The sound was louder, more final, and the humiliation of being punished so thoroughly—of knowing Daniel and the women were watching—was almost worse than the pain itself. With each smack, the Beano comic slipped further from under my jumper until, with a final, stinging blow, it tumbled to the floor, landing with a soft, accusing thud. My shame was complete. By the time she finished, I was sobbing, my face buried in my hands, my bottom throbbing and my heart aching with regret. The room was silent except for my ragged breathing and the distant ticking of a clock, the atmosphere heavy with the weight of what had just happened. The shopkeeper and her sister exchanged a look—part satisfaction, part sadness—before quietly telling us to compose ourselves.
Both Daniel and I had received the slipper from both women, and the sting and humiliation were far worse than we could have imagined. The Beano comic lay on the floor, a silent witness to our wrongdoing. It felt like an age before the punishment was over, and by then, both of us were sobbing, thoroughly chastened.
At last, the shopkeeper put us outside the shop door, warning us never to come back. We walked home in silence, the lesson clear and unforgettable. That day, I learned that even the kindest faces could turn stern when you crossed the line, and that some lessons—whether from a handful of stolen sweets or a comic you never got to read—left a sting that lasted long after the tears had dried.
