Grandma
Despite what my parents thought, this wasn't the first time that I had been on the receiving end of a so-called ‘good hiding’. However, unknown to both of them I had 'received' many times from my grandmother. Over a number of years my grandma, who was a great believer in such matters, had seen to it that my buttocks were trained to meet the pain of punishment, sometimes when I knew I deserved it and sometimes when I thought didn't.
It has to be said that I was a cheeky child. Whereas my parents were loving and largely liberal and tolerant with me, my gran was less so and usually punished me if she thought I needed it. In her mind, good self-discipline was important and if that I couldn't produce it myself she would provide it for me. It has to be said that over the years she saw that I got plenty of her form of discipline. Since I had been small she had punished me on many occasions and for many reasons, sometimes, I thought, very spurious ones. When I was a little girl my gran had come to the conclusion that I did not seem to learn self-discipline easily. She was particularly concerned that I should understand what she considered right and wrong and that I should be spanked for the things I did wrong. It was her view that if you 'spared the rod then you certainly spoiled the child'. Clearly, she saw it as part of her responsibility to ensure I wasn’t spoiled.
It was also true that my grandmother had grown up with this attitude as a central plank of her upbringing. After all, she also had been punished many times. She had been brought up in a middle-class family around the turn of the century, when such things were much more clear-cut than perhaps they are today. Her home was one of servants and she had own nanny as a child. Her nanny had been chosen specially by her mother to make sure that she was brought up in the correct manner. Her nanny had done her job well and had seen to it that her bottom, often naked, was attended to severely, at least once a week from being four years old.
My gran told me that as she had grown older a ritual for her punishments had been set. This was a routine where if the cane was left on her bed she would have to remove her undergarments, lift her skirts and bend over with her naked bottom exposed to wait for her nanny to return to baste her bottom with the instrument. Her mother also strapped her backside regularly throughout her childhood.
These punishments, as she had grown older, had, however, been superseded by her father’s intervention. It was when she was twelve that he had first decided that she needed to be ‘taken in hand' by him when she was naughty. At first, he had used the cane or a hairbrush on her buttocks when he felt she had done something seriously wrong or on other occasions just when he felt in the mood, pulling down her underwear to administer these punishments. She told me on a number of occasions that once, when she was fourteen, and her father felt her naughtiness had reached new heights, he had brought her before the entire family and some of the servants and horsewhipped her, to tremendous effect, across her naked buttocks.
I suppose that in such circumstances it is hardly surprising that grandma was such a believer in the use of corporal punishment. Often she told me, as she set about spanking my bottom, "If it was good enough for me it's good enough for you too".
As I say my grandmother believed strongly in physical punishment. From being very small she would often spank my sister and me for even minor misdemeanours. To my certain knowledge she had smacked us both as infants, sometimes, even at that age, taking our little panties down to do so. We both had known, for as long as we could remember, that she had had a firm hand and that given any opportunity, she would land it smartly across our tight little buttocks.
Jane hated being smacked, and avoided it at all costs. With her though, gran didn't seem to make such a fuss. It wasn't as if she was a real 'goody goody' and from the howls that came from behind closed doors, she certainly seemed to receive a sound smacking on as many occasions as I did. With me though, it was different. I was the one who was always in trouble and always the one who was to 'have her little botty warmed', as my grandma called it. "Come, you need me to warm you pretty, little botty", she would say and I was left without any doubt as to exactly what was coming.
Actually, when I was quite young, I must confess that I quite liked what happened on most occasions. There wasn’t really too much pain when she hit me and it didn’t seem to last too long either. Certainly, I liked the heightened attention these situations brought with it; at least I was the centre of attention for once. The sharp reprimand or rebuke from my gran never really worried me; neither did the sound of my gran's hand as it cracked across my bottom. She would only smack me four or five times perhaps, always hard though with her left hand. Usually each of these landed across my left buttock.
At times even I positively enjoyed the instant pain of the smacking across my bum cheeks, as I did the red rosy glow I was left within my pants afterwards. I don't know why, but I remember distinctly even as child of infant school age positive feelings of satisfaction after it had happened.
What hurt was the humiliation I felt sometimes if I was spanked in front of Jane. For many years I thought that Jane was gran's favourite and I was the one she disliked. This hurt me also. It was only years afterwards that I learnt the real truth.
Of course Jane and I used to swap notes about our feelings afterwards. We had a secret place at the bottom of out garden, behind the old shed, where we would sometimes go when we got home after we had been punished; or perhaps we would go to our bedroom to look at the effect the beating had had on our bottoms. I would pull down my pants and show Jane my bottom and, if she had received as well, she would do the same and show me hers. Sometimes she would touch and caress my reddened skin and I would touch hers, gently with my hand, in an attempt to make her feel better.
“I am so scared", she would say as we rubbed each other's wounds. "Aren’t you scared as well?” she would say. "Don’t you hate our gran?" she would ask me.
"Yes", I would reply, lying through my teeth.
For many years our punishments were informal where we were given our spanking there and then on the spot. It was a case of our being caught doing something, or not doing, it and receiving an instant, on-the-spot punishment. However, when I was nine years old I received what you might call a 'formal punishment' for the first time: formal in the sense that there was a degree of deliberation about how it was done.
It happened one day when I had gone to my grandma's house after school, as my parents were both out and I had to wait there until they arrived to pick me up. When I had been told of the arrangement I had been miffed, as really I didn't want to go. To make matters worse Jane had been invited to a party and I hadn't been and my brother had gone to a friend's house. So I was left to go to my gran's, on my own.
As a result, I had arrived at her house in a mood, somewhat sulky and defiant. She set me some jobs to do which I didn’t really want to do and this made me even more 'mardy' as we called it. Eventually, I refused to co-operate with her when she asked me to help her to set the table for tea. This refusal to cooperate with her made her really angry and, as a consequence, I found myself being bent over the edge of the settee in her front room with my face buried in a cushion.
Even though I hadn't really thought of doing so, when she had got me down for my punishment my gran immediately placed one hand firmly on my back so that I couldn't get up, and then raised my skirt above my waist. With my favourite knickers of the time exposed to her hand and pulled tightly across my little buttocks, it was then that I received my first proper 'good hiding'. At first, I tried kicking out but I was warned immediately that if I continued to do so I would only receive more than I could expect.
I don't know how many times she spanked me. All I knew was that it hurt a lot and lasted what seemed a very long time. Eventually, she let me get up and, as I readjusted my knickers and pulled my skirt back down again, she said that that was my 'first time for real' and that at my age I could expect to receive more, if I deserved it or not.
I didn't understand. Frankly, at the time I was shocked by what had happened. I was even more surprised when she didn't mention it to my parents when they came to collect me. They asked her if I'd been good and all she said was "yes of course."
From that time on I often received punishments from my gran and I discovered that, unlike Jane, I really liked it. I didn’t have to be naughty to get what she called 'my deserts'. It was like a game really, a game that, I felt, we both wanted to play. Sometimes I would set her up by being coy or teasing her in some way. On other occasions for no apparent reason, she would tell me I was a naughty girl and that I must be punished for what I had done, even when it seemed to me that I had done nothing.
After the first time her formal punishments were not too severe, generally she gave me only a few smacks, leaving me with a lovely tingling feeling over my botty. She told me often that I had a lovely bottom that invited a good smacking. When she said that sometimes she gave me what she described as 'a lesson'. This meant that she would give me a good hand spanking, making sure that her hand belaboured all of my rear end and that no part of it had been missed. She was pretty good too, as I was always left with a heavy tingling feeling under my knickers, which at that age were made of cotton and thin. However, this was a positive feeling that I was able to take it. I have to confess that the pain afterwards was a feeling that I liked which left me with a good afterglow.
As I reached my teenage years we would sometimes talk about what she was doing to me and why. She told me that girls should be trained to receive punishments and that my future husband would appreciate what I had learned. It was then she told me about her training and how her nanny had spanked her once every week, every Sunday to make sure that she had been trained as well as her mother's views on the importance of physical punishment. She remembered her mother as a gaunt, darkly dressed woman who would regularly come to her room in the evenings with her strap in her hand, tell her to get out of bed and bend over to be punished.
She asked me if my parents did the same to me but, laughing nervously, I had to confess that they didn't and that I wasn't punished at home. "More fool them", she responded on as number of occasions.
I did confess to her one day that I liked what she did to me and she surprised me by telling me that she too liked 'to receive' as she called it. She also told me that not only had she had often been punished but that since her marriage my grandfather had continued the routine and it was something that she also continued to enjoy.
One day when I was thirteen she asked me if I had a boyfriend. I told her yes I did and she asked me about him. I told her he was a year older than me and he was called Andy. She asked me what we did together. At first I was embarrassed and confessed only that we went for walks and that he had kissed me.
"Is that really all", she asked me gently.
"Oh yes gran", I said, innocently.
Laughter tinkled across her lips and she said, "Come on Wendy!!" I knew then she didn't believe me and I was in for an interrogation on our more intimate activities.
At first I just looked at her and said nothing. After a short time eyeing me up and down she said "Wendy you're thirteen aren’t you?”
"Of course gran", I replied, unnecessarily but confused by the question.
"Well then you've done more that kiss a boy, I know that. I bet" she continued, "that he's touched you where it's nice. Hasn't he?" she added.
Immediately I blushed roundly and, looked anywhere but at her. She said nothing but after what seemed a long silence I confessed. "Yes" I responded ever so quietly, hoping she would now let the subject drop without any further questions.
But no such luck!
"Let me guess where", she responded, clearly ignoring my red face and shuffling feet. "Your breasts?" she quizzed me. “Does he like to touch your breasts? Yes, of course he does” she said, without waiting for me to respond and answering her own question.
In fact Andy, my current boyfriend, had constantly wanted to touch my breasts and, after persistent cajoling from him, and a particularly nice day at school some weeks ago, I had eventually agreed to allow him to put his hand under my bra and touch me there. Even though I knew they were only tiny, the effect it had had on me was enormous and completely surprising. Since then I had positively encouraged his exploring hands, it had been a constant form of pleasure to me each time he put his hand inside my blouse and into my bra to fondle me.
"Yes", my gran continued without waiting further. "I bet that’s not all either. Is it?" she probed after a short pause.
At this suggestion I went even redder and became extremely embarrassed, shuffled my feet and could feel the heat rising off my face. I though I knew where she was taking me and I didn't like the way things appeared to be going. The road ahead of me seemed distinctly rocky.
"Don't be embarrassed", she responded gently, as if reading my thoughts. "We women have all done it; there's nothing wrong in being touched up." I looked at her, not quite understanding what she was saying, yet fully realizing what she meant. She continued “you understand I think, 'Fingered'" she added. “That’s the word for it I think.
At that, the light really dawned. Although her terminology didn't make sense I knew without any doubt now what she meant. Andy had done that to me a few times recently after he had kissed me and touched my breasts. The other day he had seemed much bolder and while we were standing under a tree in the park he kept putting his hand up my skirt onto my knickers and touching me. After he had done that a few times and I had not really tried to stop him, he found his way into my knickers and found my fanny.
When he touched there I have to confess I thought it was great. When he wriggled around with his finger a feeling of pleasure came over me and all I felt I wanted was him to do it more and more. To my consternation it was the same feeling and the wetness that appeared around my fanny as he searched inside me and touched my private parts as when I was anticipating being punished by my gran. I liked this a lot also, and he made me feel really good when his fingers explored me there.
"Oh yes gran", I responded to her innocently, "I know what you mean…”
"Do not be embarrassed child", she interrupted, it part of being a woman", she added. "You enjoy it I expect. I certainly do”, she laughed. “It’s a good feeling and one you should seek.”
It was than that she told me that for her, a punishment and sexy feelings went together and that not only should I enjoy it but also that she would show me how to. It would be part of my personal education she told me and she would see to it personally. I didn't really understand but I also knew that she would see to it. She always kept her promises did my gran!
After this conversation the style of my punishments changed. Up till then I was always spanked or slippered with my knickers up and my bottom covered, often still across the arm of the same settee as the first time. From that point onwards I was always told to remove my knickers to 'receive'.
My gran said that this was proper and that I should expect to take what I was given across my unprotected bum cheeks. Also from then onward the hand-spankings I received grew less frequent and different implements were used more often. At first she often used my own school gym slipper. I received so often that it got to the point where I couldn't see my plimsolls without feeling the effect of a warm glow coming across my backside. Getting changed for PE became really quite thrilling at times!
After some practice with the plimsoll, the implement was upgraded to a leather-backed slipper. This was my grandfather's and was large, size nine and brown. Not only was it much larger than my plimsoll but it also had a greater flexibility. When my gran administers it properly she could get it to bend round the curves of my buttocks and really hurt my bottom much more that the gym shoe ever did.
The effect of receiving the slipper was devastating. Depending on the severity of the punishment, it could be very painful at the time of it being administered and the afterglow was something else. This was a delight of hotness and a warm glow that could last in reality for many hours and in the memory for days afterwards. My gran, she told me, didn't punish me now in anger but as part of my education. I was told that a girl must take what ever was demanded and that part of this was my training.
At this time she often told me more of her experiences as a young girl; of the thrashing she had received from her father once when she was my age and how her mother would ask her nanny to punish her at least once a week as part of her training. She told me of my own mother and how she had only "received" once and why she had not been punished more often.
It was after my fourteenth birthday that every thing changed again. As before this was in a way that I had not expected. One day I did something she disapproved of, was told that I was to be severely punished and that I was to face the wall in the kitchen while my gran went to find the slipper. I was told to wait there until she came back.
By then we had an understanding that once I knew I was to be punished that I could not say or ask for anything and all I must do was to wait to receive. My gran told me that this was part of my self-discipline training. However, I had been caught short on this occasion and, as I realized as soon as I was told to stand facing the wall I desperately needed to go to the toilet. I knew that I couldn't wait long and my gran seemed to be an age in coming back. Eventually I could hold on no longer. I knew I had to break the understanding and ask her.
"Gran", I said, "can I use the toilet?"
"What!" she replied? "You may not! Certainly not, you know your duty", she added. "You will wait until you have been punished!"
My need was so great that I asked again after that. Again I was refused. Eventually, after what seemed a very long time and she had not returned, I was as the point of desperation. "Gran", I said, "I shall wet myself," and I cried out “please let me go.”
"No"' she said again.
"No", she repeated firmly, "you will not go to the toilet and what's more you will be punished for asking again", she added.
I knew that I could not wait any longer and that I was going to wet myself, if not worse, if she did not come back almost immediately.
She didn't return. At that point I knew that she had made the deliberate decision not to return, at least until I had got past the point where I could no longer wait and I would have disgraced myself. How humiliated I felt.
It was ‘cat and mouse’ and I knew the cat would win. So did the cat!
After I don't know how long, and I had squeezed and squeezed my buttocks together to stop myself and hopped from one foot to the other with all the anguish of a fourteen-year old, I could hang on no longer. At first I thought I might be able to relieve myself a just a little and without really wetting myself too much if only I could let my bladder go only slightly. I thought perhaps if I did that the wetness in my pants wouldn't show up too much and my gran wouldn't realize exactly what I had done.
I was wrong on two counts. Firstly, once I had released my bladder slightly I could not stop pissing myself. The flow not only showed on my knickers but also ran through them, down my legs, onto my shoes and to the kitchen floor. I was fourteen years old and for the first time in more than a decade I had wet myself. I stood there wet through with my knickers clinging to me, I was so embarrassed and ashamed of what I had done. Only later I realized that I had been set up and my gran had all along intended to wait, however long it took.
Worse was to follow though. Even after I had wet myself my gran did not return. Naively at the time, I felt that she didn't know what had happened and that she was still looking for the slipper. Even though I was all wet and was standing in my own wee, I knew almost immediately I had finished that the situation was going to get worse. I realised I was also going to have to defecate. The thought of shitting myself horrified me but as with the piss, I knew that I was going to have to have to do it. I realised I was going to have to open my bowels and I was going to fill my knickers. Nothing could help me if my gran did not come back almost immediately. God how awful!
Again even though I tried so hard to clamp my buttocks together again I eventually reached the point of no return and had to do it in my knickers. I cried aloud with frustration and tears rose in my eyes. As with the earlier flow, once I started I couldn't stop and just stood crying aloud leaning against the kitchen wall filling my knickers with the soft slime of my own excrement. I just stood there; at first, all warm and thoroughly wet in my blue school knickers. All I could do was to stand and wait while the initial warmness turned cooler and more unpleasant.
Of course the whole situation was now desperate. My knickers were wet through, as was the floor around me, as the warmth of my faeces sat tightly between my bum cheeks, in the gusset of my knickers. I was totally ashamed of what had happened. In my embarrassment I stupidly tried to cover up what had happened by putting my hands behind my back as I stood and waited. The wetness of my knickers under my school skirt made them cling to my bottom and I realized that when she raised my skirt the excreta, however I tried to cover it up, would be clearly obvious to my gran. I hung my head with sorrow and total discomfort.
My grandmother now let me know she was aware of what had happened. At first, I suppose my obvious discomfiture was a dead give away but then I realized she had been standing silently in the kitchen doorway watching. I stood facing the wall in the kitchen as she cursorily inspected the damage.
"Put your hands down beside you", she said eventually.
I did so and she then told me to bend over. Again I did so. “Pull up your skirt up over your waist”, she commanded.
‘Oh my God’, I thought. I knew now everything was going to be revealed. I dare not do otherwise than I had been told though. To disobey was unthinkable.
"Pull your knickers up properly and lift your skirt higher" was all my gran said after I had bent over. I did so and was again instructed to pull my pants up even higher. Consequently, the cloying wetness increased against my buttocks and the slime of my excrement drew tighter around the top of my legs.
I waited while I was inspected. At first, though, my gran actually said nothing; all she did was to call me all sorts of horrible and unrepeatable names.
I was then told to bend right over and touch my toes. I did so, and as I did I knew that my grandmother was inspecting me closely again. At this point she pulled up my pants so tightly that cut into my bum cracks that they hurt me. I knew that my tightly pulled up school knickers hardly covered my buttocks now. I was not sure what was going to happen next but rather than being filled with my usual feelings of anticipation and pleasure I felt upset and apprehensive.
Clearly, my gran wasn’t playing games now. Although she had contrived the situation the same could not be said about her anger. She was really angry and in her anger was real. Without warning, she smacked me soundly twice across the fleshiest part of the middle of my bottom. I suppose she chose this part of me deliberately in order to avoid the mess lower down in my pants.
"Keep touching your toes” she said, “and open your legs wide. You will receive six of the best this instance", she said firmly. They will be really hard so brace yourself.”
Naturally, I did as I was told. The first loud crack of the slipper, she had originally gone to collect, seared into my bottom. Six times my gran brought the leather-backed slipper down across my flesh. Each time she brought it down on exactly the same place across the middle of my bottom and each time it hurt intensely. I was already conditioned well to the implement and, despite the pain and my intense embarrassment, I refused to cry. Despite the severity of my punishment, I took it all as my training had led me to do. The pain was hot and intense and spread across all my fleshiest parts. The pain I was feeling from the slipper was overwhelming I felt humiliated and frustrated, both at the same time
Throughout the leathering my faeces sat less tightly in my pants. As the punishment continued they were seemingly spread somewhat more across my bottom. Fortunately, as I was wearing school knickers there was little chance of much of the mess escaping and it continued to stay intact, if somewhat uncomfortable inside my pants.
After the slipper came down for the last time I was left writhing with the pain. My punishment had been doubled. By then I had received six extremely hard strokes from the flexible leather sole on each of my buttocks. This had not been the playful, teasing experience that I had got used to from my grandma. Each smack of the slipper she had given me had been both deliberate and purposeful.
"Stay where you are Wendy" my gran commanded, "and keep on touching your toes." She had stopped then, only slightly out of breath and I knew she was inspecting me to see what had happened. I knew I was a sight. My knickers clung wetly to my bottom and my excreta filled the space where I would have normally sat down. I knew I was in real trouble.
"Fancy dirtying yourself at your age", my gran suddenly said. "What a dirty, dirty thing to do. You really do need some proper discipline my lady, never mind play. I don't know how you dare do such a thing. I will see that you are punished properly for what you have done."
"I'm sorry gran" I blubbered. "I couldn't help it", I cried.
I felt awful. This was the first time for many years that I had cried and it was for the second time in the same afternoon. I felt awful, disgusting and embarrassed at the same time.
"Sorry!" said my gran. "You will be my girl. You need a proper good hiding", she continued "and I'm going to see that you get one now. In my experience really naughty girls should get caned", she said to me, "and that's what you are to get now."
"Stand up", she commanded.
I did so as quickly as I could and faced my grandmother. When I turned to face her I could not help notice the cane in her left hand.
"Yes Wendy", she said "this is a cane that I am going to use on you. This will also be an important part of your training and I intend to dedicate to your bottom from now on."
I stared at the long whippy piece of bamboo that she held in her hand. It looked fearsome and I swallowed hard, realizing that this was to be my next experience. As I was watching her she brought the instrument through the air with a great sweeeesh and stopped while it was still in mid air.
"Yes Wendy this can hurt you and I intend, on this occasion certainly, that it will hurt you very much."
I listened to what she said and shuddered. I had heard of boys getting the cane at school usually across their hand, sometimes only one or two strokes at the most. I had never heard of a girl being caned. Would it be across my hand and how many strokes would I get? I really had no idea what to expect, except that I knew that it would be very painful.
"Remove you knickers," my gran said, "and step out of them."
Again I complied without question; I hoped that this was an act of kindness and that as she knew of my discomfort I was being allowed to feel slightly better before I received my caning. After all it was my first time and there is no way that you can be prepared for such a situation.
As I removed my pants, I noticed that much of my excreta had come away in them and I hoped that little remained on my bottom. Nevertheless, I was apprehensive, trying hard not touch myself or to let my skirt touch my bottom.
Gingerly I put the disgusting piece of clothing on the kitchen floor and turned my eyes towards her.
She looked at my soiled knickers and then at me.
"Bend over!" I was told again. I hesitated. Surely my gran was going to cane me across my hands. In my surprise I vaguely waved them in front of her and it was only then that she clearly understood my confusion.
"Oh no, you don't understand", she said to me. "When I give it to you, you will always 'receive' the cane across your bottom."
I couldn't believe this, across my bottom I thought. This couldn't be true. No one was ever caned across her bottom. Nothing had prepared me for this and my bottom was naked as well. I looked at my gran in sheer amazement and disbelief.
"Bend over," she repeated. "Now!" She said it with a firmness that said do not challenge me, just do it and quickly.
This time I did as I was told and bent over but not as much as was wanted though it seemed. "Touch your toes", my gran said. I did so and my gran said "no, no properly Wendy. Keep your legs together and then touch your toes.
I tried to comply with her command. It was very difficult I had to strain the muscles in the back of my legs to do this and the skin across my arse grew taught. It was then that I realized that this was part of the plan. My arse, with its tightened skin drawn across it, would really make the next experience painful.
"Good", my grandmother said, "That’s better. Now," she said, "dip your back". I did so and she said "good" again. I was told to hold this position and I tried to do so while my gran explained that for a caning the back must be dipped so that the bottom exposed as much as possible. She also said that I would get six strokes of the cane to match the six I had received with the slipper. She told me that she would start the caning at the top of my buttocks and work down with each stroke until she had reached my 'crack'. She also warned me that I must not move and, if I did so, she would start the punishment again.
At this point she walked towards me and lifted up my skirt. My nakedness was there exposed for her to see. It was as if my bum was about to be used for target practice. I realized then that there was to be no remission.
My grandma stepped away and through my legs I saw her carefully measuring the distance. She brought the cane down with an enormous swissssh through the air and struck me with it across the top of my bottom. It was terrifically painful. Unlike a slipper or a plimsoll, the cane cuts into your flesh and rather than a burning sensation, a cane is sharp and focussed. It was a pain the like of which I had never felt before.
There was hardly a moment's respite before the second slashing sound could be heard in the air and the sharp insistent pain returned across my buttocks. It was as if I had been hit by a flash of lightning. I could no longer stand the pain. I cried out loud and tightly clutched my buttocks, in an attempt to quell the agony.
"Straighten your legs properly child", my grandmother shouted. "Do it now girl or you will receive double what I had planned for you."
Gingerly, I returned to my position lifted my skirt to receive and stuck my bum out defiantly with my buttocks ready to receive again. I wasn’t sure how I could cope with a further caning as well as everything else but I knew I was about to find out.
The cane sliced through the air again and wrapped its whippy force around my bottom for the third time. Again I cried out loud as the pain gripped my backside and shook my bum in agony.
"That was better", I was told and "keep that position," she added, "but open your legs now."
I did my best. I kept the muscles at the back of my legs slacker now and this was much less difficult. It was also easier to dip my back as I had been told. Again my bottom was ready to receive, as it never had before.
As promised, the fourth stroke was lower than the previous one and this time I felt myself moving onto my toes. The fifth came quickly and raised me further onto my tiptoes. The last stroke was placed right across the crack at the bottom of my buttocks and the top of my legs. As with all the others, I could not evade this stroke as it caught my cunt hard and made me wince with pain.
"Right that's it." I heard my gran say as I collapsed weeping onto the floor. Oh how I hurt. My bottom felt like a sheet of fire. I hurt so much that it ached. All I could do was to wriggle against the pain in a vain attempt to suppress it and cry big tears to vent my feelings.
Briefly she went away and then returned with a cloth and warm water. She proceeded to kneel, down and bathe my bottom with tepid water. She cleared away the last of my excrement and rubbed my buttocks gently with the cloth. After the basting she had just given it this was like heaven.
Gradually she removed some of the hurt and pain. After a considerable time she told me that despite everything I had been a brave girl and had received well. To my mystification she added that for a woman, pain was often accompanied by pleasure. Without saying anything further she stood up and walked out leaving me to recover my composure alone.
Now straddled across the dining table at home with my school skirt again raised above my waistline and my knickers removed. My father watched. He stepped to one side and brought the flat of his hand down across the exposed flesh for the first time. I made no sound as his flesh met mine. It did hurt, of course it did, but thanks to my gran I had been well prepared for this moment.
