Sylvia's Mother III

From: Simon Smith ([email protected])



Note: The following story is entirely fictitious and is intended for entertainment only. The author does not advocate the physical punishment of children. Although the punishment described would have been acceptable to some in the period in which the story is set, it would now be considered abusive and illegal within the UK. The story is set in England in the 1950s. For non-British readers, “pants” should be read as “underpants” and “vest” as “singlet” throughout.
 
 



 
 
Once again, I felt inhibited from visiting Sylvia’s house after seeing her punished, but this time the days passed without Sylvia appearing at my door. I began to have a horrible suspicion that now our friendship—if so it could be called—was really over. My mother, tired of me hanging around the house, urged me to go over to see Sylvia, supposing that we had had some childish quarrel. At last, after week of the holidays had gone by, I decided to brave the lioness in her den.

“I’m sorry, Philip,” Sylvia’s mother said when I knocked at her door, “Sylvia is out with her cousin. Did you not know Yvonne was coming to stay for a while?”

“Er, no,” I said, my usual hesitant self.

“Oh well, do come around any time: I’m sure the girls would be happy to see you.”

I doubted it. The old adage about two’s company and three’s a crowd is especially true with children, and I guessed I was not Sylvia’s preferred companion. So once again, I mooched about by myself.

“Philip,” said my mother a few days later, “Dad’s firm is having a event this weekend and I am going with him. As it is in London, we shall have to stay overnight so I’ve phoned Mrs Hews and asked her to have you for the night.”

“But Mum …” I protested, but it was the only sensible solution and so on the Saturday I found myself at the Hews’ house with my pyjamas, toothbrush etc packed in a bag. The girls had clearly been told to stay at the house to entertain me, which they did as ungraciously as they could get away with.

Sylvia’s cousin, Yvonne, was about her age and nearly as tall, but otherwise they were not much alike. Yvonne had shoulder length, black wavy hair and a pale olive skin. Her face was small and, I realise now, almost heart shaped. She had large very dark eyes with long lashes, a button nose and a small mouth. Her chin was rather pointed and she had deep dimples in her cheeks when she giggled, which she did almost incessantly. If she sounds very pretty, you’ve got the right idea. Yvonne was not at all like her sturdy cousin in build. She was very slender and although tall, a high proportion of her height was in her very long legs. She must have been a real stunner in her teens.

At the time, I was not much concerned with the girls’ looks, but more with their characters. I’d have been the odd one out in any case, but understandably Sylvia wanted to get back at me for witnessing her recent punishments and so the more uncomfortable she could make me feel the better. As I was a rather sensitive soul, this was not hard. But of course, there was a limit on how far Sylvia could go and I took comfort from the fact that she would not risk another spanking. Nevertheless, when we played ‘Monopoly’ she and Yvonne openly combined against me and cheated underhand by filching money for each other from the bank. The fact that I knew they were doing it only made it worse for me, but even I had an inhibition about openly sneaking.

I was glad when bedtime came and I could escape on my own to the spare room, Sylvia and Yvonne sharing. I read for a while and then turned off my light and soon went into a deep sleep. Suddenly, there was an earthquake and I was hurled from my bed. For several moments I was utterly confused, not knowing where I was or what had happened, but then through my daze and the enveloping bedclothes I heard the high girlish giggles and the patter of bare feet, and I knew that I had been tipped out of bed by the girls.

Children never realise how loud noises sound through ceilings. After the earthquake came the tornado as Sylvia’s mother dashed upstairs to see what was going on. The girls leapt for their beds as she appeared on the scene, but too late. Their part in my ‘falling’ out of bed was clear. For the time being Mrs Hews ignored them and tended to me, but apart from being startled and shaken there was nothing wrong with me. Nevertheless, Sylvia’s mother decided this was a very serious matter and said, “Right, Philip, lets go and see to those naughty girls.”

I needed no second invitation and followed her into Sylvia’s bedroom where the two girls anxiously awaited us, each well under the covers of her bed. Sylvia’s mother scolded them heartily. “Don’t you stupid girls realise Philip could have been seriously injured… earlier disgracefully inhospitable behaviour…silly giggling…rude beyond belief… disobedient…out of bed… utterly stupid… deserve to be punished. Get out of bed.”

The two girls reluctantly left the security of their bedclothes and each stood alongside her bed, Yvonne in pyjamas and Sylvia in a knee length nightdress. Yvonne’s lovely lower lip quivered and her big eyes brimmed with tears. “Please don’t punish me, Aunt Elizabeth, “it wasn’t my fault, Sylvia told me to do it. It was all Sylvia’s idea.”

“I’m sure it was, Yvonne,” agreed Mrs Hews and I saw Yvonne lower her eyes and smirk to herself. What a little actress, I thought. But Mrs Hews was still speaking. “And because of that Sylvia will be spanked both longer and harder, but don’t think you are getting off Yvonne because you’re not.”

“But Aunt Elizabeth!” Yvonne protested vehemently, all pretence of the sorrowful little girl disappearing as she changed tack in her defence, “Mummy never spanks me!”

“Don’t tell fibs, Yvonne, I know you’ve been spanked ever since you could walk, and your mummy has spanked Sylvia when she has been staying at your house. Don’t forget, your father and I are brother and sister so don’t try and pull the wool over my eyes.”

“Please, Auntie,” begged, Yvonne changing her tactics to a beguiling and penitent expression, “ I promise I’ll be good.”

“Oh, for goodness sake, child,” snapped Mrs Hews in an exasperated tone and quickly stepped forward, grabbed Yvonne by the arm and swung her around.

“Nooo!” yelled Yvonne, arching her back to keep her bottom clear of the expected smack. But Mrs Hews did not attempt to slap Yvonne; instead, she tripped the child’s feet from beneath her while seating herself on Yvonne’s bed. The result was that Yvonne neatly fell across Mrs Hews’ lap with an ‘Ooph’ of expelled breath.

“No! No! No!” yelled Yvonne as soon as she’d gasped more air. She was certainly a lot noisier than her cousin. I thought it was just as well the Hews’ detached house was surrounded by open country or the neighbours would have been thinking murder was being done. Yvonne also kicked and struggled wildly as she desperately tried to avoid the now certain spanking. Mrs Hews was well used to controlling her own sturdier daughter and had little trouble prevailing over the willowy Yvonne. She captured the child’s slim wrists in her left hand and pressed into the middle of her back, pinning her down, and then moved her right hand beneath the girl’s tummy to untie the cord on her pyjama trousers.

“Oh don’t take my jimjams down, Aunt Elizabeth! Not on the bare, pleeease!”

But Mrs Hews’ heartless hand had undone the knot and was now grasping the back of Yvonne’s trousers.

“Nooo! Tell that boy to go away!” Yvonne screamed, her voice rising even higher in pitch and yet louder in volume. She was ignored. Her aunt pulled her pyjamas down over her long legs until they hung around her knees.

Yvonne’s small round bottom looked a lot different from Sylvia’ more oval, ample buttocks. But Mrs Hews showed no second thoughts about spanking her slender niece’s insubstantial cheeks. She raised her hand and landed a mighty slap right in the middle of Yvonne’s bottom. The consequent red handprint covered both cheeks.

“Yeeow!” yelled Yvonne, and straight away, there was a flood of tears.

“You really are a little cry baby, Yvonne,” chided Mrs Hews, “but your tears won’t wash with me. I am going to give you a long, hard spanking and you can cry as loudly as you like. It will not make the slightest difference to me. I know you’ve had plenty of these at home.”

Mrs Hews remained quite pitiless in her resolve as her hand beat a rapid tattoo on Yvonne’s small bottom. And Yvonne did cry just as loud as she could, yelling and screaming and kicking and struggling with wild abandon. Her pyjama trousers were soon thrown across the room by the violence of her threshing legs. As her violent flailing continued, her aunt moved her right leg over and behind Yvonne’s knees so that her thighs were gripped tight between her aunt’s legs. Now the unfortunate child could only squirm ineffectually as Mrs Hews got to work systematically spanking her little bottom. Nothing, though, could curb the power of Yvonne’s lungs and she continued to screech at the top of her shrill voice as her lean cheeks were ruthlessly tanned a fiery red.

At last, Mrs Hews unhooked Yvonne’s legs and released her. Yvonne rolled off her aunt’s lap and onto the floor where she knelt, head down and red bottom up, her hands clutching the injured part and still howling ear-splittingly.

“For goodness sake, Yvonne, stop that infernal racket or I shall spank you some more. And get up and go and stand over there by the window with your hands on your head—quickly now!”

Surprisingly promptly, Yvonne’s penetrating wails subsided to a more acceptable level and she stood and moved to the spot indicated. As she did so, Sylvia’s mother advanced across the room towards her own child.

It may be that Sylvia was inspired by Yvonne’s show of resistance to dare to dig her heels in. For instead of submitting to a spanking, the girl put up her arms to fend of her mother shouting, “Leave me alone, you beast!”

“Why you insolent brat,” retorted her mother and made as if to slap her. Reflexively, Sylvia stepped back to avoid the blow, forgetting that she stood next to her bed. As the backs of her knees caught the edge, she lost her footing and tumbled onto the bed. In an instant, Sylvia’s mother had grabbed her daughter’s ankles and tilted them right up over her shoulders As Sylvia was wearing only a short nightie she was left in a very exposed and undignified attitude. Worse, her mother proceeded to spank her in this, what I believe our American cousins call, ‘the diaper position’ (although I have never heard it called ‘the nappy position’ in the UK). At the time, I neither knew nor cared what Sylvia’s improper pose might be called, I only knew that it was a very rude one. But not even an expert like Mrs Hews could hope to maintain a sturdy girl in that attitude and spank her at the same time for very long, and after a short while, Sylvia’s mother tipped her daughter sideways and spanked her like that. Sylvia wriggled like a snake to avoid the slaps so her mother sat on the bed and pulled the girl into a new position. Sylvia’s legs were manoeuvred between her mother’s own, with Sylvia’s bottom positioned over her mother’s left thigh and hip. The top half of Sylvia’s body rested on the bed, beneath her mother’s left arm. Having wrestled Sylvia into a satisfactory posture, Mrs Hews now hooked her legs behind her daughter’s calves so that Sylvia was held in as helpless, though different, position as Yvonne had been in. Mrs Hews now had access to the whole of Sylvia’s bottom and her upper legs, and she proceeded to make good use of her advantage, spanking her daughter very hard. Soon, Sylvia was yelling, though nowhere near as loudly as Yvonne had.

After a time, Mrs Hews paused and blew on her hand. “Warm work this, “ she said, “my hand is becoming quite sore.” I thought that if her hand was sore, what must Sylvia’s bottom feel like, but kept quiet. Mrs Hews turned to Yvonne, whose tears had dried up quickly once her cousin had begun to be spanked, and who had been watching with eager interest. “Yvonne, go downstairs and fetch me the wooden spatula hanging on a hook in the kitchen. That’s the big spatula, mind, not the small one.”

“Yes, Auntie, straight away, Auntie,”Yvonne answered with repellent obsequiousness and scampered off without delay. I watched her little red bottom disappear through the doorway.

“”Oh please, Mummy,” cried a tearful Sylvia, don’t use the spatula on me. I’ve had enough.”

“No, you have not,” rejoined her mother, and landed a heavy handed slap on her bottom for emphasis.

Yvonne soon returned with the spatula, which she handed over to her aunt with a gleeful smirk at her cousin’s vulnerable red bottom. This must have annoyed Sylvia’s mother as she said, “I think I’ll give you a taste of this too, Yvonne, once I’ve finished with Sylvia.”

“Nooow,” wailed Yvonne, a fresh deluge of tears washing down her cheeks. “My bottom’s so sore.”

“Stop being such a feeble little coward, Yvonne. You’ve been happy enough to watch Sylvia being spanked. Put your hands back on your head and go and stand back where you were, but this time facing the wall.” As Yvonne turned to obey, Mrs Hews cracked the spatula across her bottom, which brought a fresh wail from the unfortunate child. “And keep your nose pressed right up against the wall paper. I don’t want to see your face, you unpleasant child.”

Having sent Yvonne on her way, Mrs Hews turned her attention back to her own child. The spatula was clearly a very handy implement. It was quite light with a short handle and a blade about the size of Mrs Hews own palm, over which it had several advantages. First, to judge from Sylvia’s reaction to its use, it delivered a much more penetrating sting. Second, I soon saw that with its extra length Sylvia’s mother could reach further down her daughter’s legs. And third, its use did not hurt Mrs Hews’ own hand.

Despite her aunt’s warning, Yvonne could not resist peeking over her left shoulder to see the spatula in action on her cousin’s defenceless bottom. But Sylvia’s mother was vigilant and yelled, “Face the wall!” which nearly made Yvonne jump out of her skin. And when Mrs Hews had finally finished with Sylvia and left her lying on the bed crying loudly, she advanced on Yvonne saying, “Right, little lady, now for you.”

“Oh please, Aunt Elizabeth, “ begged the child, “I didn’t mean to look, honest.”

Mrs Hews actually laughed. “Oh, Yvonne, that is the feeblest excuse I have ever heard—even from you!”

Sylvia’s mother grabbed Yvonne and hauled her over towards her bed with Yvonne pulling away and imploring her aunt not to spank her. As usual, Mrs Hews remained unmoved by all entreaties and determinedly forced Yvonne into a similar position into which she had recently constrained Sylvia, except she did not bother to lock Yvonne’s legs. By now Yvonne was yowling loudly, but not half as noisily as she did once Mrs hews started plying the spatula. She worked over Yvonne’s small cheeks and then down and up her long legs. Sylvia managed to disregard her own troubles long enough to enjoy Yvonne’s. This spanking didn’t last such a long time, but by the time it was over Yvonne’s bottom and thighs were well reddened.

“Right you two naughty girls,” Mrs Hews said to the crying children, go to bed and stay there.” This they did, as did I. And I, at least, slept sweetly till the morning.

I awoke to the sudden realisation that for once I should have to confront Sylvia—and Yvonne—straight after a punishment. I wondered how she—they—would react. I wasn’t much looking forward to it. I got up, washed, dressed and went downstairs.

Mrs Hews was alone. She welcomed me cheerfully and began preparing some breakfast. She asked me how I had slept, and then said, “I guess the girls would have been sleeping on their tummies.” She laughed and then added, “Speaking of those brats, it is about time they were up.” She went to the bottom of the stairs and called, “Wakey, wakey, lazybones! You have five minutes to get yourselves decent and downstairs.”

I wondered rather hopefully what might happen if they overstayed their time, but five minutes proved just long enough for the girls to wash and dress (no showers then). As I heard them hurry downstairs, I felt an acute and most unreasonable embarrassment. After all, they were the ones who had suffered the pain and mortification. I avoided their eyes as they came into the kitchen, though from a sideways glance saw both were wearing dresses.

“Good morning, girls,” Mrs Hews greeted them cheerfully. They mumbled a reply. I risked a quick look at their faces. Neither seemed the worse for their experience as far as I could see. “How are your bottoms?” Mrs Hews asked with a smile. The girls glanced at each other and muttered some answer. “Perhaps we should have a look?” Mrs Hews suggested brightly. Both girls looked horrified.

“Oh no, please, Aunt Elizabeth,” pleaded Yvonne, her eyes brimming with tears.

Sylvia’s mother laughed. “Only joking,” she said.

When my parents picked me up later in the day, my mother asked anxiously. “You did you enjoy yourself Philip, didn’t you?”

“Oh yes,” I said. “I enjoyed myself all right.”
 
 


Back to Issue 27
Back to All the Stories

1