Summer Pastime

From Blushes Supplement 11 with Lucie Martin

Uncle Robert always came to visit during the first or second week of school holidays. Janet hoped it would be the first week since, as the days of the second week passed, the tension within her mounted unbearably. Silly, though, to say that she hoped. She feared. What she really hoped was that he would never come at all.

He wasn’t actually her uncle, she knew. No more than Aunt Esther was a real aunt. Ever since the age of 10, Janet knew she had been fostered out and the terms Uncle and Aunt were merely used as a matter of convenience. Not truly belonging, gave the girl a sense of isolation and loneliness. Through her early teens, she turned in upon herself; became secretive and shy and found it difficult to make friends. Now that she was 17, things had not improved. If anything, they were worse. Janet became more secretive, too. She would never have dreamed of telling anyone about those visits Uncle Robert made, even though she sometimes thought it might help if she confided in someone. Perhaps, then, the visits would cease. But whom could she confide in? Her teacher? No. Janet sensed that she would not be particularly sympathetic. Her friends? Well, she hadn’t got anyone who could be quite called that. A few acquaintances maybe… but one couldn’t confide in acquaintances. Certainly not on the subject of Uncle’s visits.

Far too embarrassing; if not to say shaming.

‘Uncle Robert will be coming next Monday,’ announced Aunt Esther on the Friday of the first week’s holiday.

Janet’s stomach had performed its usual somersault at the news and she had passed the weekend in steadily increasing nervousness. There were moments when she felt as if there were dozens of elastic bands stretched taut inside of her. It was difficult to concentrate, even on reading — of which Janet did a lot. She mooned wretchedly about the house, often with tears in her eyes, wishing it was next weekend. Then it would all be over. Over until next term anyway. Good heavens, she said to herself, I’ll be 18 years old by then! Would he still go on paying his visits, making his judgements and doing what he did? It wasn’t right. More than that, it wasn’t really decent.

Could there be many girls, today, she wondered miserably, who got their bottom smacked at the age of 17, let alone 18?

Yes, she really should complain to someone. But always the nagging question of who arose. Most people probably wouldn’t believe her. Yet, the extraordinary thing was that her uncle and aunt obviously considered this humiliatingly juvenile form of punishment the most natural thing in the world. It was what a girl needed to keep her up to the mark. It had happened to them when they had been young (Janet understood they were brother and sister, but she was never quite sure) so it was perfectly normal that it should happen to the youngster who had been put in their charge.

So, as far as Janet was concerned, there seemed no way she could escape this regular ritual of pain and degradation. There was only one crumb of comfort for Janet. When she left school in a year’s time, Uncle Robert would have no reason to make these visits. How could he? Surely he wouldn’t dare anyway. In any event, it was academic since Janet planned to run away from her foster home as soon as she legally became an adult — and she could get her hands on a small legacy left her by some stranger. She had always supposed that stranger was either her mother or father. Often she wondered who they were and what they were like. it was no good. That only made her even more miserable and, more than likely, would have her bursting into tears.

How cruel life could be!

Uncle Robert arrived at precisely three o’clock on Monday afternoon, looking as primly stuffy as ever, dressed in a grey suit, a collar and tie, and black shoes. With that tight-lipped mouth and vaguely unctuous manner, Janet often thought he should have been a vicar. A lay preacher anyway. As it was, he was a small shopkeeper whose main interest was the Youth Club in Marley, where he lived.

As it always did, the interview took place in the sitting room, with Aunt Esther present.

‘Can I have Janet’s Reports, please Esther.’ He smelt of camphor. It came across faintly to Janet as she stood in front of the desk behind which he sat, stiffly upright. The Reports were handed across and she felt the usual sick dread. She was aware that she had done badly in mathematics (she always did) and, this term, her physics and biology had also been poor.

She watched Uncle Robert read in silence, just making the odd Humph-ing sound. Finally, he put the Reports down and looked directly across at her. Janet could not help flinching away. There was a watery feeling in her tummy at the cold, stiff look on those pinched features.

‘I am not at all impressed, Janet,’ he said. ‘Mathematics appalling, as usual. And now you seem to be slipping in two other subjects as well.’

His stubby finger ran down the page. ‘Should try harder,’ it says here. And ‘could do a lot better,’ here.’ Uncle Robert frowned. ‘Moreover,’ he went on, ‘in General Report, your Headmistress concludes you are not making enough effort. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, my girl.’ He looked across at Aunt Esther.

‘I agree,’ she said. Her features were rather pinched and stiff like those of her brother. Janet never got any help from that quarter. ‘It’s all the worse when a girl has ability but doesn’t make full use of it.’

‘Quite so,’ nodded Uncle Robert. ‘You won’t get anywhere in this world if you go on like this,’ he said pontifically.

And where have you got, said Janet to herself, with a sudden, unexpected spurt of anger, deep inside. Behind the counter of a crummy draper’s store. Oh it was so unfair. So unfair!

‘I tried my best, Uncle,’ she said hopelessly. ‘Really. A person can’t be good at all subjects.’

‘Don’t be cheeky with me, lass,’ he snapped back.

‘It says you’re not even trying,’ chimed in Aunt Esther.

Janet sighed despairingly. What was the use? They would never understand; never be encouraging. Simply critical.

‘What about general behaviour at home, Esther?’ enquired Uncle Robert.

‘Moderate is how I would describe it,’ came the acid answer. ‘As at school, Janet seems unwilling to make the necessary effort. She’s not exactly lazy, but she can be very slipshod about housework.’

Janet felt tears forming at the back of her eyes. That wasn’t even true!

‘It seems,’ said Uncle Robert heavily, ‘that this lack of effort is a trait which Janet is developing. It will have to be checked immediately.’

‘I agree,’ said Aunt Esther again, getting up. ‘I’ll leave you to deal with the matter then, Robert. You’ll stay for tea? Afterwards?’

‘Thank you, Esther.’ Uncle Robert looked very grave.

This was the moment he looked forward to all through term time. The moment when the girl would have to bare her bottom before him, then go across his knees to get the punishment she had earned herself. Robert’s throat felt a little dry. Janet wasn’t a kid any more, she was a young woman. Not that she was over-developed, with great big boobs and a puppy-fat bottom. No, she was just nicely-shaped as a 17-year-old, coming up to 18, should be.

‘I am afraid, Janet,’ he said in would-be-sorrowful tones, ‘that I cannot let you off lightly on this occasion. You are at a critical stage of your young life. Traits acquired now can become bad habits for a lifetime.’

He saw the girl blanch at this and noticed the first hint of tears in her dark eyes. Well, she had to learn; the hard way if necessary. Although Robert would have been the first to admit (to himself) that he enjoyed these regular visits, he felt fully justified in his actions. The world had gone too soft on youngsters and it was a pity there weren’t more people like him around. People in positions of responsibility who used that responsibility.

Robert considered making the girl take that blue tunic-dress she wore right off, but then thought better of it. That might seem to be going too far. He didn’t want to make any unnecessary trouble. Just the skirt up and the knickers pulled down — as usual — would do.

‘Come here, Janet,’ he ordered, patting his knees. He saw that the girl was trembling as she approached. Then he could feel it as the softness of her light, young body came across his thighs. His throat felt dryer and his heart began to thump so that he feared she might hear it. Ridiculous, that. Still, he must try and keep control of himself. Otherwise she would feel…

And that would never do. This was a matter of straightforward discipline; she must not be aware that he actually enjoyed it. He tugged up the short skirt and exposed a pair of small white knickers clinging tightly to tautly-rounded buttock cheeks. Mmmm, yes, the girl was certainly developing nicely. Even after one term, there was a difference.

‘U-uncle p-lease… may I… may I keep my knickers on…’

Silly girl, he thought. Of course you can’t. I want to see that bared white bottie, so softly helpless. ‘I’m afraid not, Janet,’ he replied sternly, ‘a spanking always has to be delivered on the bare bottom. It’s not only traditional, it’s more effective that way.’

‘But… but they’re so thin… it wouldn’t make any d-difference…’

Well it was nice to know the girl had modest instincts, he supposed. Not that that was going to make him change his mind. ‘Don’t argue with me, lass,’ he said. Then he pulled the white knickers down in one swift movement, hearing her gasp with dismay. You’d have thought she’d have got used to it by now. Must be her age, he reflected. There it was, deliciously rounded. Vulnerably naked. Waiting tensely. This, he told himself with something like relish, is going to be the soundest spanking he’d ever given her. It was only right that, as they got older, they had a harder time of it.

‘Your punishment, Janet,’ he said, voice a little thick, is going to fall into three sections. First I shall deal with your failure in three important subjects. Then I shall deal with the matter of your lack of effort. Finally, with your lackadaisical attitude in your home.’

‘U-uncle… please… I’ve tried hard… really, I have. Oh… Uncle I’m not bad… not as bad as I’m made out…’

Needless to say, Robert was at the stage where he was quite impossible to please. He was merely considering the scope of the spanking he was about to administer. Twelve smacks for each section? No, that wasn’t quite right. The failure in subjects should be treated most severely of all. Eighteen for that; six for each subject failure. Yes, that was better. Then twelve each for the other two sections. Eighteen… plus twelve plus twelve… that made forty-two in all. Certainly the most severe spanking the girl had ever had. Her bottom would certainly be very red when he’d finished with her — since it was a relatively small bottom and a lot of ground would be covered over and over again. He would have to give her a short rest in between each section, so that she could recover a little. Yes, that would be fair.

‘Eighteen for failing in three subjects, Janet,’ he announced.

‘Oh… Uncle… no! That… that’s too many!’ The girl had obviously realised instantly that that was not going to be the end of the matter. There would be more to come.

‘That,’ he said, gravely, ‘is for me to decide.’

Then he brought his palm down hard on the right buttock-cheek, raised it again at once, and brought it down equally hard on the left buttock-cheek. Janet gave vent to two loud ‘aaahh-ing’ sounds and her hindquarters twisted from side to side. Two red splodges had appeared. Nice! Robert’s pleasure was fast intensifying. He took a firmer grip on that slim waist and began to spank in earnest… but unhurriedly.

Janet’s ‘Aaaahh’s’ grew steadily louder and more anguished as Robert smacked each cheek in turn. Also, her twisting became more frantic and her bottom bounced up and down under the impact of each slap. That was understandable, for Robert was slapping just about as hard as he could. It stung his palm abominably, but that was a matter of small concern. The knowledge that it stung Janet’s tender-girlish bottom even more abominably, was most adequate compensation. He could feel her straining and fighting to escape from his grip, but she had only a fraction of the strength required for that.

Somewhere around the twelfth slap, Janet’s ‘aaahhh’s’ became outright yelps and yells of pain. Also she began to beg him to stop… whenever she could catch her breath, that is. Robert was unashamedly delighted. He was giving the girl a hiding she would remember for many a day. A hiding she fully deserved. A hiding that would do her a power of good.

Apart from feeling delighted, Robert was beginning to feel positively righteous!

After eighteen stinging smacks, Robert rested his burning palm. The bottom before him was glowing hot and a bright pink-red. Janet was sobbing; her flesh twitched and quivered. Robert felt flushed and his heart was pounding even more. He laid his hand lightly on the tormented flesh and felt it contract convulsively.

‘That, Janet,’ he said sternly, panting a little, ‘was for three very poor efforts. I trust I shall see a very marked improvement next term.’ The only answer he got was a long low moan. Robert pressed his right palm against his left in an attempt to cool it a little. It would be a good idea to have an ice-bag for these occasions he thought. His pinched lip twisted in a momentary smile. He’d bet heavily that young Janet would like to have an ice-bag pressed to her burning bottom at that moment!

‘Now we come to your lack of effort in general — as reported by your headmistress. Twelve for that…’

‘Oh no… oh Uncle… no… I can’t st-stand any more!’ She was struggling frantically again.

‘You can… and will, my girl!’ said Robert in a hard, tight voice. The blood was beginning to pound in his head.

And now he began to smack that juddering-squirming bottom again. Not each cheek alternately but both cheeks simultaneously, his hand falling almost always in the same place. Janet began to yell louder than ever and kick wildly. Her strength seemed to increase remarkably, yet still she could not break free. Soon all strength seemed to leave the girl and she lay there howling and sobbing while Robert slapped and slapped with steady vigour.

After a further twelve, making thirty in all, Robert stopped again. My word, his hand really was burning! He’d give her a rather longer rest this time. He listened with satisfaction to the repeated, heaving sobs. Yes, this young miss was sure to make a much bigger effort next term. There could be no doubt at all of the efficacy of corporal punishment, no matter what so many of today’s do-gooders might say. A really good spanking, or a sound caning, could really work marvels in a youngster. Didn’t those namby-pambies realise that? Otherwise how was it that educational standards had fallen so drastically? ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child’ was indeed the soundest maxim.

The bottom was redder now; a deep red. The desire to touch it was irresistible. Robert did so, but the girl seemed unaware of it. She just went on moaning, lying weak and spent across him. Yes, that was hot alright; almost like putting your hand near an electric fire.

‘Now, Janet,’ he said at last, ‘we come to the matter of your behaviour at home…’

‘It’s not true… oh Uncle… I sw-swear it! She… she’s just saying it!’

‘Are you impugning your aunt’s good word, girl?’ demanded Robert sternly. ‘I won’t have that! You’ve earned yourself another six on top of the twelve I’m going to give you!’ Would his palm hold out, he wondered?

There was a shriek of desperate dismay; wild kicking and twisting. Once Robert almost lost grip of her. Then she went suddenly quiescent again — sobbing and pleading incessantly.

‘No… more… n-no… more I can’t bear any… any more…’ Quite pitiful he thought; but he hardened his heart. He had responsibilities.

He had something else, too. But he no longer cared much; nor was there anything he could do about it anyway.

Robert, teeth clenched, eyes tight, resumed the spanking, now reverting to his original method of laying slaps on alternate cheeks. Right and left… right and left… right and left. Hard… hard… hard. No matter how much it hurt his now blazing, tenderised palm.

How she yelled! He’d never heard anything like it. Esther would think he was murdering the girl. Lucky too, the house was nicely isolated.

‘Stoooo-ooop! Aaaahhh… sttoooooo…… opppppp!’

But Robert was not going to stop. Not until he’d done what he had set out to do. More than that, in fact. His total had originally been forty-two; now it had risen to forty-eight. That was quite some spanking. No wonder that writhing-bouncing bottom now had patches of purple over its deep-red colour.

Again… again… again… again…

Then only two more to go. His palm was in agony but Robert laid them on just as hard as he possibly could — with young Janet howling like a banshee.

‘You seemed to be giving her what for,’ remarked Esther, pouring a cup of tea.’

‘A strange expression,’ mused Robert. ‘One I have never quite understood. Still, if you mean I gave the girl the kind of spanking she deserved, that is correct.’

Esther nodded with evident satisfaction. ‘Nothing quite like it — for a girl of her age,’ she said.

‘Nothing,’ agreed Robert. ‘Would you mind, Esther, getting some ice out of the fridge and putting it in a plastic bag?’

The drab, middle-aged woman looked rather surprised. ‘For… for her?’ she asked.

Robert shook his head. ‘No… for me,’ he replied, opening a right hand that was the brightest red in colour. It was as if he had been out sunbathing for hours, unprotected. And it burnt just as much.

Just one of the risks of a Summer Holiday…