by Susan Thomas
The girls could hardly argue with that, so didn't, and all were resigned when he told Jane to fetch him the strap.
"How many are you giving us, Dad?"
It was her Uncle Tim who replied. "We've mulled it over, and although I felt more wouldn't go amiss, you're getting twelve."
Olivia felt quite proud at working it out, even if it meant there was a third man she would have to bare her bottom to, before having it whacked. Tracey, though, looked nervously at Uncle Tim; she was clearly thinking it was bad enough without having him watch. Aunt Grace caught Tracey's glance and suddenly discovered that she needed to visit the village shop, and she had to have Uncle Tim go with her. He left reluctantly.
The girls all had walking trousers on in preparation for their day's activity, and once Jane's uncle and aunt had left, her mum told all three girls to take off their trousers. It made Olivia appreciate Mr Kitterick's delicacy in allowing them to leave their skirts on until he actually needed to lift them for the spanking. Tracey was clearly embarrassed at standing there in her knickers while Mr Morris gave the usual parental lecture about responsibility. It also embarrassed Olivia but for different reasons; she realised that this was just the tone she took when telling off some of the kids at school.
"Right, Jane, I know you are the oldest so you can wait until last. Tracey, I think you are the youngest, correct?"
"Yes, Mr Morris."
"Very well, over to the table, pull your knickers down and lean over the table."
Poor Tracey had a face that revealed her feelings; she went red and clearly didn't like the knickers down part, but like all kids of her generation she was accustomed to obedience and quickly obeyed. She didn't drape herself fully over the table but sort of rested her forearms on it so she was bent but not fully. Mr Morris seemed happy with that. He didn't mess about applying the strap but just got straight on and whacked it down hard across Tracey's bottom.
Tracey was a buxom girl and her bottom wobbled mightily under the lash of the strap. It was considered bad by most kids to make a big fuss, and it was expected that they would take their punishments without yelling, crying or pleading. Tracey made unhappy sounds but nothing more. However, each lash of the strap made the sounds louder and her stance grew tenser as if she was finding it hard to hold position. Olivia noticed that Mr Morris certainly didn't hold back in any way. He was clearly one of those who believed a spanking should be good and hard.
As the tally rose towards twelve, it became apparent that Tracey had begun to cry. Crying was really not unusual but every kid who did so felt ashamed of it; to take your punishment calmly and cheerfully was the ideal. Tracey would be mortified this one had made her cry and in front of her friends.
When the last of the twelve sizzlers had set her bottom wobbling, she was allowed to stand and did so slowly. Mrs Morris kindly gave her some tissues without saying anything and they all looked away as Tracey pulled her knickers up and walked away from the table. She went and stood looking out of the window without saying a word, dabbing her eyes from time to time.
Mr Morris waved the strap at Olivia. "Your turn lass."
Olivia liked to wrest some degree of control back from the fact that at her age she was still subject to being spanked. Her technique for doing that was to assume partnership in the proceedings and chat to her chastiser as if they were both doing a job together and she was not the victim. She started as she walked across to the table.
"I've never had the strap before Mr Morris, my dad uses one of those paddles made of the same stuff. It's almost identical to the official one for our monthly spankings at school."
"Really, well you'll find this a bit nastier. It is the narrowness. It tends to leave nasty little ridges as well as stinging like the devil. Are you ready?"
Olivia had already pulled her knickers down and bent over the table. Unlike Tracey, she felt it better to lay flat down and grip the other side which looked more submissive or compliant, another highly valued quality in the young.
"Yes, Mr Morris, fire away."
"Oow! You're not wrong Mr Morris that thing packs a... ow, ouch... punch."
"I'm pleased it's making an impression on you," was the dry response.
Mr Morris rather enjoyed this exchange, and paused as he surveyed the two scarlet welts that had arisen on Olivia's bottom. He swung the strap again three times in quick succession.
"Flipping heck... that was... oooww... a tasty... one... and that was another. Boy you know how to spank a girl, Mr Morris."
"Perhaps I should have a chat to your dad about getting a strap," he said as he brought the strap down even harder for the sixth stroke.
"Ooooww! I'd rather you didn't, what he doesn't know can't hurt my bum."
Mr Morris paused to laugh. "Well I don't know, it's my bounden," - he grunted with the exertion of the seventh stroke - "duty."
"Sssssssss, that was a real sizzler. Perhaps I'll mention it to him after I'm twenty-one."
Mr Morris paused again to laugh. He liked Olivia's attitude, not afraid to say it hurt but making light of it as she chatted. He grunted again as he brought the eighth stroke down hard across her bottom. She made that strange 'sssssss' as she had before. He looked at her bottom. Now there was a neat scarlet bar made up of overlapping marks covering the whole centre and more of both cheeks. The strap had left neatly defined edges and he could see at a glance her bottom must not only be stinging painfully but extremely hot too.
"That was number eight, Olivia. OK, I'll leave you to tell your dad about the strap. I am sure you wish your spankings to be as painful as possible."
He brought the strap down hard across her bottom, doubtless reigniting all the earlier strokes.
"Ow, that really hurts. Yes, of course I must be punished properly. Sheesh! That was another stinger, was it ten?"
"Yup, that was nine and then ten. Here's eleven."
"Jeepers... ow flipping heck... that was your best yet. Glad it's only twelve. Never be a head teacher, Mr Morris, I'd hate to get a monthly from you."
"It's the strap Olivia, it is a vicious brute. School paddles were chosen to give you stingers not sizzlers as you call them. Now this will be the hard one. Ready?"
"Yes, Mr Morris."
He powered the strap down across the very centre of her bottom where it looked the angriest. His reward was a prolonged hiss and a very still Olivia with no comment. Clearly she had really felt that one. Finally she let out a long breath and relaxed.
"OK, Olivia that's you done."
She stood slowly and very slowly and carefully pulled her knickers up before turning. He was impressed to see no sign of a tear anywhere. She put out her hand to shake his and to his bemusement he found himself shaking hands with the girl he had just strapped.
"Thank you, Mr Morris. No hard feelings I hope. We screwed up and you've punished us. My dad would have done the same."
"Thank you, Olivia. Good attitude. No hard feelings at all."
She may have made light of her strapping, but as she went and stood next to Tracey so the girl wouldn't feel alone he noticed her rubbing her bottom very gently indeed over her knickers.
Olivia didn't watch Jane's punishment from her dad but noticed that Jane was far more vocal than even Tracey had been. Perhaps it was because her father was spanking her but she did go on a bit which she was sure Jane didn't do with Mr Kitterick.
When that was over, all three were allowed to put their trousers back on and left to go tramping the hills, each nursing a hot sore bottom. The rest of the holiday passed without further punishment, but before it ended all had made a solemn vow that when they were fully qualified and over twenty-one they would join one of the campaigns to have the corporal punishment age lowered to eighteen and end the monthly spanking of student teachers. I doubt they'll have much luck with that for public support is strong.
4. False Identity
Time moved on and the age of adulthood was raised to twenty-one. Those aged between eighteen and twenty-one w
ere assigned a partial adult status which had more privileges but still had restrictions, including a curfew.
When the front door bell went, I thought it was my daft sixteen-year-old sister, Marion, having forgotten her key yet again. She was late back and I was getting really anxious, particularly as the stupid girl had her phone switched off. When I opened the door there was Marion alright, but holding her arm was a woman police officer.
"Are Mr and Mrs Lytham in?"
"Er no they're out, it's their wedding anniversary and they are at a dinner-dance. Can I help?"
"Are you related?"
"Yes." I controlled myself and managed to avoid using the word 'unfortunately'. "She's my sister."
"Are you a full adult?"
I saw Marion's face mouthing yes at me and foolishly I said I was. "I'm twenty-one. What's she done this time?"
"It's not too serious, but she has been charged with three offences." My mind boggled at the thought. "There is of course the charge of 'inappropriate association' under the Collective Responsibility Act of 2024 as she was present in a pub when a fight kicked off. However, as she is not quite twenty-one yet..." I stared at Marion but the policewoman didn't notice, "...and the fight began at 23:15 she was already out of curfew so there is a charge for that under the Minors Curfew Regulation Act of 2025. In addition, her blood alcohol level exceeded 80 mg of alcohol per 100 ml of blood so there is a charge of 'excessive drinking' under the Minors Alcohol Consumption Act of 2026. Here is a copy of the charges; the actual summons will be with you tomorrow. So do you now accept custody of your sister, Estelle?"
I glared at Marion very hard indeed but managed to spit out, "Yes, I do."
The police officer handed her over and I thanked her, shutting the door as soon as I dared.
"Well? You've been bloody well using my ID haven't you? Come on you stupid idiot, tell me, and where is it?"
"I'm so sorry, Stelle, I never thought anything would happen..."
"No, that's your problem, full stop... you don't think... and why didn't you get back even by my curfew time?"
"I was waiting for the taxi but it was late and then the fight kicked off. It was nothing to do with me but they were at our table. I don't even know them. What am I going to do, Stelle?"
It suddenly dawned on me that we were both in trouble because I had told the policewoman I was over twenty-one and therefore a full adult. Of course, I am only twenty with eleven months to go before I get the full status. Lying to a police officer is a serious offence, especially as a minor, which I am. Potentially, I could be sent to a Minors Protective Custody Unit (MPCU) and that was no joke, but worse still that fool Marion had used my ID. Allowing someone to use your ID was definitely liable to a spell either in prison or an MPCU. I might claim Marion had used it without my knowledge, but in order to get out of it I would have to prove theft, which wouldn't be easy.
I sat down on the nearest chair and groaned. "Oh heck Marion we are both in deep, deep poo now."
"There must be a way out of this."
"Oh yeah, well think about it bird brain. First, you even managed to break the curfew for 18-year-olds but you're sixteen and your curfew is an hour earlier... serious. Second, you had false identity... serious for us both. Third, you were over the alcohol limit for the 18 to 21 year old group... serious but doubly serious because you are actually 16 and shouldn't have been in the bloody pub at all. Fourthly, you were there when the fight kicked off with people at your table... the least serious but still bad enough. Fifthly, you have lied to the police and worse still, managed to get me to lie as well... serious, serious, serious, serious and bloody serious. We could both end up in an MPCU for this."
Marion went white as well she might and sat down heavily. "I'll confess and get you out of it."
"You can't. I lied because I wasn't quick enough to realise what the situation was, plus you used my identity and you know what the courts are like... they will just assume I knew and punish me accordingly. Great, Marion, you've really screwed up this time. We're going to have to tell mum and dad, there's no getting out of it."
The only good thing about telling our parents was that they wouldn't use corporal punishment on us. Most of the parents we knew were doing so and eagerly buying the official canes, straps and 'hairbrush paddles', all made of some sort of recycled and recyclable material that was constructed to really hurt with the minimum of bruising. There were even adverts on TV on the theme, "Are you being strict enough?" They showed little scenes of kids of various ages misbehaving and parents looking worried then the caption, "Are you being strict enough?" The ads didn't actually tell parents to spank them but the advice just about everywhere else did. One 'quality' Sunday newspaper even had a whole coloured supplement on when and how to spank kids of various ages. Not our parents, though, not them; they stuck to their principles that spanking was wrong.
---oOo---
Our mum cried and our dad didn't know whether to despair or get angry. "I'll tell you one thing, Marion, you are grounded from now until your twenty-first birthday. I cannot believe it. We go out for one night on our own, one bloody night is all we ask and you trick your sister pretending to go Susan's and... and... and. Words bloody well fail me at the mess you've got into."
Marion wailed and sobbed but nobody comforted her, we were all trying to think what to do. The trial was the problem; it would be one of the Saturday jobs held in a supermarket car park somewhere, very popular with the public but not the supermarkets! If Marion went with my Estelle ID there was a very high chance someone would recognise her. The police hadn't looked very closely at the ID, had they done so they would have seen that, although similar, she is different to me. I have blue eyes, for example, and she has brown. I suppose they had too many kids to deal with to pay much attention. If I went it was doubtful the police would notice I wasn't the same girl, but the audience would know I really was Estelle. The police rarely attended these Saturday trials, but just provided a statement, and only if a not-guilty plea was entered (rare indeed) did they attend. However, if I attended I'd either end up with a record or I would have to take the alternative 'therapy' route. Therapy! That's a joke, they mean corporal punishment and good and hard it is too. What a mess it all was.
By morning, while Marion continued to sob and apologise, we all came to the conclusion I would have to go to trial. It was safer to plead guilty to the three offences than risk both of us ending in an MPCU. The worst part was I would end up getting some form of corporal punishment because no way did I want a criminal record and if I took the 'therapy' and didn't re-offend the record would be expunged. It was so annoying because I had managed to avoid any trouble, even when at school I had managed to avoid getting caned.
Marion was horrified. "I'm so sorry Stelle. I'll do all your chores from now on."
I was not gracious. "It would be nice if you just did your own chores for a change."
The summons to attend arrived the next morning. You have to hand it to the Ministry of Justice, they are very efficient. As my dad and I had feared, it was in our local supermarket car park this coming Saturday, so there would be bound to be people that would know if Marion stood up; we left her at home to be on the safe side.
They'd erected a large covered platform with a big sign, "Ministry of Justice. Justice seen to be done." It's open on one side like one of those things you see at open air pop concerts. If the weather is bad hardly anyone watches, but the forecast was dry and even warm for the time of year.
You know all those stories about the guillotine in the French Revolution with the old women sitting knitting? Well it's just like that. The whole front row was full of elderly people with blankets wrapped around their legs, packed lunches and bags of sweets at the ready. Some of them even had knitting for goodness sake, and they kept a running commentary usually along the lines of, "a good hiding will do her (or him) a lot of good."
I was very nervous in case any of the police officers did chance to attend but they didn't. I
pleaded guilty but then the magistrates started to confer and announced that the sentence would be delayed until the end. We were all worried. Had they smelt a rat? Did they somehow know that Marion had been the actual offender? We all got very nervous because even my parents would be in trouble for this deception and Marion and I would certainly end up in an MPCU. However, it turned out that they just didn't know quite what the sentence should be.
"Young lady, we hope you realise just how important it is that you stick to your curfew time."
"Yes, sir, I am most dreadfully sorry, it will never happen again."
It was that sort of thing. Finally, they sentenced me to a £6o fine for the inappropriate association plus £100 each for the other two offences (curfew breaking and excess alcohol) with a total of 200 hours of community service. I didn't worry about those as there were the alternatives and we went straight to the Clerk of Court to find out what they were.
He was so thin and dry, I felt that a strong wind would be enough to blow him away with the autumn leaves that swirled around the car park at the slightest gust.
"Yes well," he spoke in a thin precise way while looking as if he had a bad smell up his nose, "the magistrates are most concerned about you. They believe that you are not as innocent as you have tried to appear. They believe you have somehow avoided being caught before..." I began to think about murdering Marion. "...and accordingly feel that you need a sharp lesson. There is the standard 12 with the strap for the inappropriate association but the minor violation of curfew is to be treated more severely and 9 with the cane is the alternative with 6 of the birch for exceeding the alcohol limit."
I reeled, normally first offenders with minor offences just got extras with the strap, but this was sort of carrying drugs and street fighting stuff.
"The magistrates feel that if you don't choose the alternative then a record will be created and your actual behaviour may be monitored closely. If, however, you chose the alternatives it will give you a short sharp shock and the opportunity to reform your behaviour. The magistrates have put the re-offending clause at two years."
