Leatherings and Beltings

M and I were talking about the old days tonight and she says it’s about time I told you about my leatherings and beltings as there were plenty; a lot more than the ones I’ve already told you about, so here goes.

One I remember well was when I was in primary 4. I was mucking about at school flinging stones and I hit a girl called Janice Morgan on the forehead, cutting her head. She was taken into school by her pals. I remember all my pals saying: “You’ll get the belt,” and feeling really scared. The head, Mrs Glover, was a strict old teacher and she had two belts, one little black one with no split at the end, for everyday use, and a big brown one with a split leaving two nasty tails for special occasions.

She appeared at the front doorway. The playground went quiet.

“Garry Brown!”

She pointed at me.

“Inside, lad.”

My heart skipped a beat. I put my head down and entered the school, but she hit me across the back of the head as I passed her. She didn’t have an office as she taught. She took me to her classroom.

“You’re lucky, my boy,” she said. “Janice doesn’t need stitches. Do you realise she could have lost an eye?”

“I didn’t mean it, miss. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, you will be.”

She opened the drawer of her desk. I could see out the corner of my eye all my pals and a lot of Janice’s outside the school watching my downfall in the window. She took out the big belt. I started to cry.

“Get your hands up.”

I held my hands up, crossed. I got the hardest belting of my life up till then. She then told me to get out. I stumbled back outside. My hands were numb. I stood at the school front door crying. All my pals came and asked me how many I got. It took the rest of the day for my hands to get the feeling back into them, they were so bruised.

As I was brought up by my mum, I was a latchkey kid. I let myself into the house. I looked at my hands. They were still bruised. Looking back, it was my first six of the best, but not my last by a long shot.

Unfortunately, Mrs Glover had phoned my mum. When she came home she was fuming. She took her coat off, slipped her stilettos off, and went and got the belt from upstairs.

“Garry,” she said. “Into your room and take all your clothes off.”

She pulled me upstairs. As I undressed she wrapped the buckle end of the belt round her hand leaving a long bit of leather.

“Lie face down on your bed,” she said.

She then leathered my bare bottom until it was numb and sent me straight to bed. I cried myself to sleep. I had trouble sitting the next day.

Another time, during the school holidays, I was about eleven. I needed to go to the toilet and, being an idiot, instead of going home I went in the bushes at the park. Since my mum worked at the secondary school, she was on holiday too. One of the younger girls who was with us went and told her. About ten minutes later, I saw her marching across the  park with a lot of kids coming behind her. She had the belt with her.

“Garry!” She shouted at me. “Come here, now.”

God, I felt humiliated.

“Did you do the toilet in the bushes?”

“Yes,” I mumbled.

She pulled my shorts and pants down, held me up by the arm and then gave me about ten hard rattles with the belt. Then she started to drag me home, every so often giving me a whack across the bare arse with her belt. When she got me home I got another dozen rattles across the backs of the legs and bottom. I was totally humiliated. I don’t think I went back out those holidays, plus I had a pretty sore backside for a couple of days.

Another time I remember, I was in first year at secondary school and starting to realise I enjoyed getting my bottom leathered by attractive women like mum and my nan. I was a right little brat then.

We were at home one time; myself, mum’s friend Pamela and my nan I was being smart to mum and she warned me numerous times. She had enough and went for the belt.

Nan said: “Let me deal with him, Beverley.”

I went to go upstairs.

“No, Garry,” nan said. “Let’s see how you like getting leathered in front of everybody.”

My heart started beating really fast. My nan took the belt and wrapped it round her hand. Mum and Pamela lit cigarettes. Nan took my trousers down and my pants. I could smell her perfume. She looked straight at me. She had red lipstick and blue eyeshadow.

“Hands on the wall, Garry, and stick your backside out.”

I did as I was told. She cracked the belt across my bottom really hard. I kept pulling it in when she hit me.

“Get it up!” She shouted and gave me a right good leathering, then sent me to bed.

The next morning before I went to school mum, pulled me over her knee and leathered my tender bottom with her leather Scholl sandal. I sat tenderly that day.

GB


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