At home that afternoon, I faced the music. Mum sat me down and explained my sentence. “I’ve spoken to Simon’s mum, and we both agree you’ve been nothing more than silly little boys. But you do need to realise that dropping things from a railway bridge – even eggs – is potentially very dangerous, Paul.
“You are both going to get a slippering for your trouble. It will be on your bare bottom and last a full minute. I’m having no arguing about this, and you’re going to be given it immediately. I think that’s fair, and you will both suffer equally. Once you’ve been done, that will be the end of the matter. There will be no further punishment and we’ll say no more about it. Understand?” My legs were wobbling like jelly now but I managed a nod.
Mum stood up. “Come on – let’s get this over with!” I offered a final, feeble protest about it being ‘only eggs’ but mum ignored me. She headed off to her bedroom and I followed meekly. A slippering. At least it wasn’t the cane, and Simon was getting the same. But I still felt hard done by.
Mum was dressed as she had been when I saw her at school – a dress, cardigan and shoes. She held the door open for me, then closed it behind us. Mum slipped out of her cardigan. “Shoes, shorts and underpants right off, Paul!” she ordered.
She pulled the chair out from her dressing table – it was the very same chair she’d sat in when I’d seen her smack Dad’s bum that night some three years before! She picked up one of her mule-style slippers and stood by the chair waiting for me. “Come on, Paul, hurry up! Let’s get this over with. I don’t like it any more than you do but, it’s only fair that you and Simon are treated equally. The sooner we start, the sooner we’re done.”
Slowly, I edged towards Mum. She had settled herself on the chair, slipper in hand, waiting to introduce itto my bare bottom. My eyes fixed on the slipper, I moved within reach and Mum took my arm. With a short tug, she bent me over her knee. “Come on! That’s it – over you go.” Mum adjusted my position slightly so my bottom was in the right position for the slipper, then she put an arm around my waist and raised the other, as the spanking began without delay.
I had no time to think or prepare myself, and it took just a few whacks of the slipper to catch my attention. A few more good hard smacks and the effect of the slipper began to sink in. Once Mum got into her stride, boy did that slipper make its mark!
She really did slipper me hard, and all the time not a word was spoken. All you could hear in that bedroom was the sound of the slipper as it met my bare buttocks, my yelps and cries of protest. Before we were even halfway through, those cries had turned into sobs, then full-on crying like a baby. It was, without question, the longest minute of my life. I have no idea how mum timed the minute, if she timed it at all, but by the time the slipper had done its work, her son was a very sorry sight indeed.
Mum dropped the slipper in front of me, her hand resting in the small of my back. She said something like: “There – all done.” I hung limply across Mum’s knee, crying openly without shame, my only concern the pain throbbing in pulses through my bottom and deep into my body.
She left me there for what seemed like ages. Occasionally she steered my hands away firmly from my burning rear, to prevent me rubbing it better, giving the heat generated from the slippering time to reach its crescendo.
After a while, a couple of pats of mum’s hand on my newly-smacked bottom signalled that it was time to get up. I was helped off the maternal knee and I cupped my throbbing bottom.
Mum bent down and picked up my shorts, pants and shoes. “I don’t suppose you’ll be wanting these on for a while,” she remarked archly. She opened the bedroom door and I walked behind her, still half naked, to my own room.
She put my clothes on my bed, then put a finger under my chin to make me look her straight in the eye. “Paul, I want you to promise me never do drop anything off that bridge again – even eggs.” My eyes were still awash with tears and my throat sore from yelling and crying, but I promised with a nod. “Good boy. Now, as I told you, there will be no further punishment – and I hope I never have to do that again. You can come back downstairs when you’re ready.”
I lay curled up on my bed and cried myself out before beginning the slow process of recovery. My bum was very sore and tender, and sitting down for my supper later that evening was a very uncomfortable experience. Only when I became an adult and discovered erotic spanking did I understand the difference in feeling between the slipper and a hand smacking. The hand stings more, but the slipper leaves a deeper, throbbing heat in the recipient’s backside.
Over the weekend, I went to visit Simon. I walked, as my bottom was still far too uncomfortable to think of cycling. Simon had indeed suffered a similar slippering, only he had been bent over the end of his bed by his mum for his. He said he was sure his slippering took more than a minute, and he had some bruising. He was keen to show me, so we both took our pants down to compare bottoms.
Actually, the damage was pretty equal. Simon did comment that my mum seemed to have targeted the lower part of my bum whereas his mother had mostly targeted the centre of his buttocks, or a little higher. We both felt hard done by, and we plotted all manor of revenge pranks on the woman who reported us, none were carried out.
