I grew up in the 1960s and 1970s when spankings were far more acceptable and much more common.

Like most kids of my generation, I was no stranger to a trip over mum’s knee or a slippering at school. It just went with the territory. However, one spanking stood out from the rest, which happened on a very hot day during the school summer holidays. I was 17 at the time.

My friend, Mandy, and myself decided one day to try and bag some grey squirrels. In our part of the world at that time, we still had red squirrels but the pesky greys were taking over quickly. I ‘borrowed’ my brother’s air pistol and we went hunting in the woods behind the church on the other side of the village to my house.

Mandy was spotter and I was the dispatcher. We got three quite quickly and a few minutes later a fourth bounded across the path and into a bush. We set about hunting it down. Mandy stopped and pointed. A fluffy grey tail was sticking out from behind a holly bush. I fired off a shot. A second later, a bark and a scream followed by a loud bellow.

“What the hell is going on?” came the shout.

I turned to Mandy, who was no longer there and was legging it back the way we had come. I was rooted to the spot and Mrs Perkins came into view along with her well-groomed little dog. Mrs Perkins lived in the old rectory next to the church and was in the choir with my mum.

“You, girl, come here!” she yelled.

I couldn’t move.

“Come here, NOW!” was repeated.

Slowly, I recovered the use of my legs and slowly moved forwards.

“What is the meaning of nearly shooting me or Mr Pickles?” (I assumed that was the dog’s name) She enquired.

“I, er, we were hunting grey squirrels and I mistook your dog’s tail for a squirrel. I am really, really, sorry, Mrs Perkins, I truly am.”

Grabbing me by the elbow and half pushing, half dragging me, we moved through the undergrowth and towards the clearing near the church.

“You will be sorry by the time I am done with you, Liz!”

On we marched for what seemed ages, but was in fact a matter of a minute or so. I could see the clearing ahead and the picnic table and bench seat that were inside it. As we entered the clearing there was no one else around, which for what happened next was just as well. Mrs Perkins ushered me further forward and we approached the bench seat.

She tied the dog to the picnic table and sat in the centre of the bench. She was still very, very angry. Holding me still very firmly, I found myself well and truly up-ended and laid flat across her muscular thighs.

“You, young lady, are going to get exactly what you deserve. You could have killed Mr Pickles or seriously injured either one of us, and you are going to be very sorry you did by the time I am done with you!”

Almost before my head had stopped spinning, my bottom was stung by the first blow of what was to be a very painful spanking across the skirt of my thin summer dress. Smack, smack, smack. Mrs Perkins was in her mid-50s but was clearly very strong. The slaps rang out and I was grateful the trees would cover both the sound of my spanking and my cries and sobs. The spanking went on for a couple of minutes and I cried like a young child. Eventually, the spanking stopped and I thought she was done. Sadly, I was very much mistaken. Mrs Perkins grabbed the hem of my dress and whipped it up, exposing my firm but now probably very red bum and my white panties. The spanking quickly resumed and went on for several more  minutes longer before Mrs Perkins was satisfied she had done a good job.

“Get up, girl, and straighten yourself out. We are going to see your mother!” she said firmly.

Five minutes later, Mrs Perkins knocked on the front door of our cottage and told mum what had happened as we stood in the sitting room.

“Needless to say,” recounted Mrs Perkins. “I have taken her over my knee and given her a very good spanking. However, if you wish to repeat the exercise, please feel free.”

“Don’t worry, Mary,” said mum. “That is just what I intend to do,” and with that she sat on the piano stool, pulled me over her knee, pulled up my dress and continued more or less as Mrs Perkins had left off. My poor bottom had never hurt so much, not even after being slippered by the PE teacher the previous month. Mum lectured me on how stupid I had been and how dangerous it had been and how she hoped that by my age this would not be necessary and that clearly it still was.

As I laid there over mum’s knee, taking my second spanking within half an hour, I couldn’t help but think, ‘Wait until I get my hands on Mandy!’

LB