Madame B has been busy at her typewriter again and I received the following dispatch hot off the press this morning. She seems to be intent on recounting the whole embarrassing rose bush incident and entreaties to spare my blushes seem to be falling on deaf ears. She always was very good at ignoring the whinings and pleadings of naughty boys. I also managed to find the above illustration amongst my art collection which is quite representative of the scene she describes. The artist is unknown.
When Skippy returned from the hall telephone, I was standing in the centre of the room awaiting him. His eyes fell immediately upon on the formidable hairbrush in my hand, and he seemed to grasp my intentions, for he started to back slowly towards the door.
“Mrs. B-b-b… you c-c-can’t possibly mean…I d-d-don’t….I think I’d b-b-better l-l-leave now,” he tried, his eyes wide as saucers, but of course I would tolerate none of that sort of nonsense.
“Stop that and come back here at once,” I ordered. He halted in his tracks. “We’ve had our discussion about reparations, Skippy, and now we are going to have a little talk about restitution and rehabilitation. You will go over my knee and take a good paddling, and when it is over, you will thank me. Is that understood?”
“Mrs. B! Surely you aren’t serious! You can’t spank me like…like..well, like a little boy!”
I regarded him coolly. “Do you consider a midnight game of football in a neighbor’s roses to be behaviour suitable for a grown man?”
“I.said I was sorry for that, Mrs. B. And I’ve agreed to work for you to pay for the damage!”
“Sorry is not enough, young man. And however useful your labours may prove, I’m still out of pocket for another set of roses. You have behaved as a child and you will be punished as a child.”
I sat down determinedly towards the right end of my sofa.
“I’ve had quite enough of your objections, young man. Come closer. Yes, that’s right. Now, I’ll have those trousers and underpants down at your ankles, if you please.”
“Mrs. B, please! He was now sounding quite desperate and frightened, the very picture of a little boy who knows he’s about to receive a sound spanking.
“This instant, Skippy. Don’t make me say it again. I want those trousers down, at once!”
By this point, my young man was quite on the verge of tears. He was expelling little puffs of anxious breath and his face had gone quite mottled around the eyes. I tapped the back of the hairbrush against my left palm.
At last, poor frightened Skippy reached for the buckle of his trousers. I never took my eyes off him as he fumbled with belt, button and zipper, and finally Skippy lowered his trousers. He foolishly held on to the waist of them so they were only lowered to mid-thigh. I reached out and swiftly smacked one of his hands with the back of my hairbrush, and with a pained howl, Skippy let go of this trousers to rush the bruised hand to his mouth.
“That will teach you to obey the first time I give an instruction,” I said sternly. “Now stop that sniveling and get those drawers down before I smack the other hand as well.”
At last I had his obedience. Skippy pushed his underthings down a great deal more quickly, and when that was done, he stood, very nervously, in front of me. His shirttails were plenty long enough to cover his little boy gear, but even so he had his hands crossed in front of them. Never mind. I’d see all that soon enough, and at a later date, I’d teach him to assume the proper position for a punishment. For the moment, I was focussed on giving his bare bottom a good long dose of my hairbrush.
“Now kneel, boy,” I instructed. “No, come closer to my legs.”
I watched as he shuffled closer on his knees, a process made more difficult by the tangle of trousers at his ankles.
“Please, Mrs. B. Not too hard,” he pleaded.
I adjusted my skirt a touch higher and took him by his left arm. “Across my lap, young man. Right the way over.” I steered his young masculine body across my legs so that his bare thighs were resting against the right side of my skirt and stockinged thighs, while his upper body was to my left, across the sofa. With a swift movement, I then swept up his shirttails to the middle of his back, baring his entire bottom for my view. I heard his gasp of shock, but continued to get him into position, clamping my left arm firmly over the attractive small of his back, and grasping his hip in my left hand so he couldn’t wiggle away when the punishment started. With my right hand, I set the back of my hairbrush precisely at the centre of Skippy’s sweet firm buttocks.
“Prepare yourself, young man,” I warned. And then I raised my spanking arm high.