I was fourteen going on fifteen years old and a stereotypical teenager. Leaving a mess wherever I went, being surly, talking back. We have all been there or seen it in others. On this particular day, I was staying with my gran who lived a few miles from home. It was the summer holiday and I was there for a long weekend. Gran was a retired teacher, and headmistress in her last few years at work, so she suffered fools badly and back chat was out of the question.
“Be sure you tidy up when you have finished in the bathroom, Jo. I do not want it left in the sort of mess you left it in yesterday, or there will be trouble. I am off to the bowls club. I will be back at about three o’clock. And stay out of mischief!” she shouted from the hallway.
“Yes, gran,” I shouted back.
Seconds later, I heard the door close courtesy of the open vent window in the bathroom.
‘Thank goodness for that,’ I thought to myself. ‘She has been on my case all weekend!’
As the house was empty, I quickly made my way totally naked from the bathroom to my bedroom. Once there, I dressed in a white bra and matching panties, and a tight-fitting low-necked tee shirt. I had little by way of a chest in those days, but like most girls I wanted to emphasize what I had. I finished dressing with a tiny dark blue cotton skirt. It was so short, in fact, my mum would not let me wear it because if I leant forward my knickers would soon be on display. It was a hot day and I wanted the coolest clothes I could lay me hands on.
Once ready, I explored gran’s room a little. It was strictly off-limits but with her not in the house, I felt safe. I had a quick look through her wardrobes, but found nothing exciting. Her underwear drawer was even less appealing. Then, I had a quick look in the small box room which opened out behind gran’s bedroom. This had a lot of junk in it, including boxes of bits and bobs from her teaching days. One tall box, around three feet in height and maybe one-and-a-half feet each side caught my eye. This had several trophies in it, awards won personally by her during her career.
More interestingly, I found a black leather book with ‘Punishment Book’ written in embossed gold leaf on the front cover and spine. Listed in there were hundreds of names, dates and punishments she had presumably handed down during her later years. Best of all was a cane, roughly two-and-a-half feet long with a leather grip at one end. I had always assumed, like in the comic books, they had a crooked handle. There was also a large black plimsoll slipper. I had to try them and whipped the cane about making a swishing noise, which I found very appealing. I tested it against my left hand, not too hard.
“Bloody hell!” I exclaimed as even what I thought was a gentle test really hurt.
I was going to try the plimsoll on my bottom, but after that decided not to. I hurriedly put everything back, accidentally missing the punishment book.
I went downstairs, made a large glass of iced tea with lemon, and sat outside listening to my music using my earphones. After an hour or so, I must have drifted off to sleep, still thinking about the punishment book and the sting of that cane stroke. Sitting as I was under a huge umbrella, it was very warm but I was not getting burnt. I have no idea how long I had been asleep for, probably at least an hour, maybe an hour and a half. The next thing I knew was being rudely awakened by a sharp prod, not once but twice, in the ribs.
My head was fuzzy and, with the bright afternoon sun, it took a moment to work out what was happening. A large figure with a cape was looming over me. Oh no, wait, it was gran with a sun hat on. But what was she holding? I could hear her talking and I slowly removed my earphones.
“And about time too, young lady. What did I tell you just before I left!?” Gran demanded.
“Err, that you would be back at about,” I paused to look at my watch. “About 3.00 pm.” My watch indicated it was 10 minutes past three.
“Before that, Jo!” she demanded.
I now realise that the cape I referred to was in fact my towel which I remembered that I had left screwed up on the landing outside my room.
“Sorry gran, I completely forgot. Let me take it up to the bathroom and hang it up,” I offered.
“Indeed you will. And you can put these in the wash basket as well,” she said, holding out a pair of shorts, a small tee shirt, a bra and panties. “These were screwed up in the towel. Once you have done that, come back down here. No dawdling. I have something to discuss with you,” she said with the tone of a career teacher.
Needless to say, I did not hang about, running upstairs, putting the towel on the rail and my dirty knickers etc in the wash basket. I ran back down stairs again where gran was standing and waiting for me.
“Sorry gran, I was going to do it when I went inside, but it was so lovely and warm I must have dozed off,” I said by way of an excuse.
“So why then could you not tidy up after yourself? Especially when you are perfectly capable of rummaging through my room, Jo. Well? Would you care to explain?” she said sternly.
How did she know I had been in her room? I hadn’t taken anything, and I had put everything back. Hadn’t I? Gran could read my expression like a book.
“How do I know? Firstly, dried wet footprints on the floor by my wardrobes. I never come out of the bathroom without my slippers on. Secondly, I always fold my underwear, all folded identically. Some of it looks like it has been looked through. Finally, you left the punishment book out of the box in which it resides. The book has gathered some dust over the years, so your hand prints in the film of dust when I saw it really was the final nail in the coffin. What do you have to say for yourself? It is not a hard rule, is it?” she asked, expecting an answer.
“Sorry gran, I have never been in there before and I was just, err, curious,” I said, quite flustered by gran’s comments.
“Curious about my knickers?” she went on.
“No, err, yes, err,” I didn’t know what the correct response should be.
“Very well. If you insist on going into places you should not go, and touching things that are not yours and that you should not touch, do not be surprised if the results are not what you were expecting.”
It was like being in front of the headmistress at school when she was about to dish out a detention.
“Sorry gran,” was again about all I could muster.
“Oh, you will be, Jo,” she said.
She sat on a chair and, all in one motion, took hold of my wrist and drew me closer and over her lap. I suddenly realised I was about to be spanked! Gran had slapped my bottom a few times as a young child, but it was mum who handed out the spankings, even when gran was about. I had never been over gran’s knee, up until that time. I lay there, slightly taken aback by this turn of events. Then, to make it worse, I felt my skirt being raised, exposing my bottom now only covered by a pair of cotton knickers.
Without delay, I felt gran’s hand smack into my bottom, the sound echoing off the back of the house which was only a few feet away. Her hand beat steadily on my bottom. Thank goodness her garden was not overlooked by anyone else’s house. Soon, my bottom was aching and I was kicking and struggling. Despite her 10 years of retirement, she had not lost the knack, more’s the pity. Finally, her hand landed on my bottom and stayed there.
‘Thank goodness that’s over,’ I said to myself.
But then, to my horror, as I turned to see why gran had not let go of me, I saw her reach down and pick up a plimsoll, the very same one I had wondered about just a few hours earlier.
“No doubt you tried out my cane and my slipper for curiosity. Well, this is what it feels like to be slippered,” gran said in a very calm and measured way.
Without warning, the sole of the slipper struck my already sore backside and made a very loud, almost popping sound. Tears immediately welled up in my eyes from that first whack. By the second, I was sobbing and tears flowed down my upturned face and onto the stone slabs below. Thankfully, gran only intended to give me a taste of this instrument of punishment and only applied four strokes with it. That was more than enough.
“Now, Jo, you may get up and let that be a lesson to you. Go snooping where you shouldn’t again, and I will have to consider dusting off my old cane.”
At this point, I had no reason to doubt her words.
“Come her,” she said gently.
She took me in her arms and hugged me tenderly.
“I am sorry I had to do that, but when I give an instruction, I intend that to be followed.”
“Yes, gran,” I replied as the sobbing subsided, and I rubbed my bottom through my panties.
Handing me the implement of my own punishment, she said, “Now, you know where this lives. Please be so good as to put it back for me. I sincerely hope I do not have to ask you to get it out for me again in the future,” she said with a wry smile. “I suspect you could do with another glass of iced tea,” she said, looking at the large glass with melted ice and a lemon slice in it.
“Yes please,” I said, turning and heading inside.
I climbed the stairs more slowly than I had ever done before. I placed the slipper back in its box and made to leave gran’s room. However, I could not help myself as I walked past the full-length mirror in the front of gran’s wardrobe. Bending over the foot of her bed, it felt almost like being back over gran’s lap again. I flipped up my skirt and very, very carefully eased my knickers down from over my bum. Both buttocks were a variety of shades of pink where gran’s hand had been spanking it. Four marks, deeper in colour and more angry looking, showed where she had slippered me.
Having read in the punishment book eight, ten or even twelve whacks with the plimsoll or six with the cane, I thought maybe I had gotten off lightly after all. After carefully pulling my knickers back up, I made my way back outside and made a point of taking a cushion to sit on which made gran laugh out loud. I have to admit her reaction did make me crack a small smile, not that I had that much to smile about.
Sadly, that was not the last time I would be put across gran’s knee. But she never again used anything other than her hand, and to be sure that was plenty bad enough for me, even at that age.
JG