I had no real interest in spanking as a young man, although I was smacked as a toddler – by and large these were acceptable at the time smacks to the hands and or the legs when deemed appropriate,

 

In the early 1970s, a new kind of school was being built known as the comprehensive. We had a huge comprehensive school in our town, specifically for youngsters like me who were maybe not too academically up to grammar school level but not entirely hopeless either.

 

These new-fangled comprehensive offered a whole new type of education, including practical subjects that had never been taught before, except in maybe an all-girls school.

 

The subject related to my tale is domestic science also known as cookery.

 

One of the first things we were taught to cook was chocolate cornflake cakes.

 

My story really begins with my friend Malcolm and I deciding to repeat the lesson at home.

I am a little foggy here but it may have been his mother’s birthday or Mother’s day that brought this idea to the fore. Again, I am not sure why his mother was not home, but I am guessing we chose to make these cakes whilst she was out as a surprise.

 

Although we did not realize it at the time because we were so engrossed in our well-meaning cooking session, we had made one hell of a mess in marcoms mother’s kitchen. This fact was made even more evident when Malcolm slipped on something whilst carrying a large bowl full to the brim closer to the tray of ramekins.

Down Malcom went, Smash went the bowl and alas there was chocolate mixture everywhere.

 

Once we realized that we had messed up and that our cake mixture was unable to be saved, we set about cleaning up the best we could.

Somehow the family cat also got involved, a stunning Persian Pedigree that objected to me trying to clear up and ran through the chocolate mess, slipping and sliding and getting covered in chocolate in the process. I was trying my best to carry the cat over the mess to avoid exactly that, however, she looked like a right mess.

 

Malcolm got a pan and brush to sweep away the broken glass, which spread the gooey chocolate mess even further around the floor. Who knew that a bowel of chocolate could spread that far. and wide.

 

When Malcolm’s mother arrived back home and entered the kitchen she stood there absolutely dumbstruck by the mess that greeted her.

 

” What in God’s name have you two been doing!” she almost screamed, without actually looking at either of us.

 

Both of us answered at the same time with different answers.

 

I think it was Malcolm who said that it was going to be a surprise.

 

Malcolm’s mother then noticed the cat, sitting on the still and he hands went to her face in disbelief.

 

Slowly but surely, she raised an arm, pointed at both myself and Malcolm, and said quietly but clinically.

“Stay there, do not touch anything or move.”

I really do not think either of us realized quite how much trouble we were both in.

 

 

Back in those days the telephone was usually fixed to a point normally in the hallway. We heard Malcolm’s mother talking and eventually, I was called to the telephone myself. When  I put my ear to the receiver I heard my own mother talk. It was to no surprise that she was not happy with what she had been told.

“You are to do exactly what Mrs Ford tells you to do  and you will be getting more from me when you get home.” Mother Angryly told me.

 

When the call ended Malcolm’s mother marched her son out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I was told in no uncertain terms to touch anything, do nothing except sit there and wait.

 

 

Within minutes it was crystal clear as to what was happening upstairs.

The sounds of a sound smacked bottom filled the house, as did the cries of my friend. Malcom sounded like he was becoming more and more desperate for the spanking to end then hysterical, until there was nothing but a garbled nonsensical able, with the smacks and pops of something hard colliding with his bottom drifting down the stairs.

 

 

It begun to dawn upon me that as my mother had promised me more when I got home, this must of meant that Mrs Ford was going to be giving me the same treatment very soon. I thought about running home. However that appeared a little pointless, because I would only arrive home to more trouble, But really and truly I did not exactly fancy receiving what Malcolm was having done to him upstairs.

 

In the end the decision was made for me. Malcom’s mother appeared at the top of the stairs and simply commanded:

“You- Upstairs now!”

Up the stairs I went and wit in a few moments I found myself being wrestled over Mrs Ford’s Knee, being held in a vice-like grip.

 

There were no signs of Malcolm, he must of been in his own room crying out his own spanking.

 

I then found out just exactly why my friend had made such a noise as I was introduced to Mrs Ford’s hairbrush.

I tensed, gasped pointed my toes, gaped my mouth open and shut, wide eyed at the intense burning pain I was experiencing, and that was just the first 30 seconds or so.

 

I could not move, nor could I barely catch my breath, I simply could not process or comprehend the level of pain being inflicted on my young bottom. Eventually, it all flooded out, and I screamed, begged, and hollered, and then begged and screamed some more.

 

Like most people of my age at the time who were being spanked, the length of time it took was irrelevant- I have no idea, looking back. Malcolm had certainly been upstairs a while before I was called, so I hazard at a guess that my own spanking lasted somewhere around four or five minutes, That in itself was a very long time to suffer the wrath of a very angry mother wielding a solid hairbrush.

 

When I was eventually pushed from Mrs Ford’s Lap, I lay on the carpet for some time, clasping my freshly smacked bottom and unable to speak.

 

After a while, she hauled me back to my feet

 

Shortly afterward and still crying, I found myself being pushed out through the front door being told to go straight home.

 

When I got there both my parents were waiting for me.  On seeing them I burst into a fresh, prolonged bout of tears, which they duly took no notice of, Mother half pushed and half dragged me upstairs to my bedroom.

 

Once in my bedroom, she told me that because I had been soundly spanked by Mrs Ford,  she would be waiting a few days before she would be dealing with me herself.  Until then I was to stay in my bedroom and only come down for meals.

I was then told in no uncertain terms to go to bed.

 

Shen then left me alone whilst slamming the door behind her.

 

I crawled into bed, unable to really comprehend the earlier spanking I had received from another mother, the pain produced or the promised maternal spanking that was yet to come.

 

I know we had made a mess, but even so.

After a bit of lying in bed with a sore bottom, I remember being surprised to find that I was a tiny bit excited. This in itself was very strange, I was relatively young I was in pain, I was upset yet certain unmentionable things were happening to me.

 

Two days into my confinement to barracks, Mother took me by surprise. I was lying face down on my bed reading a comic when the door burst open.

“Up!” she ordered.

Up I stood and there I was deemed fit for another smacked bottom.

 

 

Mother led me by the waist into her own room.

I noticed the customary dressing table stool which my mother sat upon in order to smack my bottom was already in place and waiting for me.

I was duly turned right over my mother’s lap, and my face almost touched the carpet.

 

This was all very odd as despite my fear this new experience did not seem too unpleasant.

 

Suffice to say the pleasure did not last long as my spanking began immediately. After a couple of whacks, I worked out that my mother was using her slipper.

At first it did not pain me anywhere near as much as Mrs Fords Hairbrush but after a few more good hefty smacks it started to hurt in a different way.

This slipper was producing a lighter stinging to my bottom but nevertheless a very painful one and one that seemed most unwelcomed, especially as the hairbrush had left my bottom fairly bruised.

 

The Tears flowed. I did not bed and howl quite as much but I did struggle helplessly and repeatedly apologised over and over again.

 

Once the spanking was over without a word from my mother I was taken back to my room.

After this episode, my mother never spanked me again or even mentioned the possibility of a spanking.