I was embarrassed when my mother unbuttoned me jeans and pulled them and my underpants down to my ankles and told me to bend over knees Penny sat on very cold stone, at first a yelp and then a wriggle, then settled her cheeks in for the duration. Tasha draped over the matronly knee, Penny, though bursting at the seams to begin, stroked the target of her frustration and admiration – the magnificent moon of her pal. So recalling some of the lesson learnt from this morning’s tutorial show, she raised her hand above those cheeks and whapped it down as first shot in an opening salvo. The barrage went on and Tasha did shout out, most satisfactorily “ow!, Oh!, Ah!, aaah” and of course then added “that hurts!”. It is an old line but time-served. I countered by saying that I was too old to be spanked, and asked what would happen if I simply refused to submit to the punishment, as she wasn’t my parent nor my teacher. This was actually very untypical and rather daring of me – but Aunt Pam simply said that I was most certainly not too old to be spanked. “Boys are at their naughtiest in their teens – they need more spanking rather than less as they get older!” she said. For what seemed like the longest time, I stood there dumbfounded, staring at this diminutive but imperious female before me. She sat down on that vestry chair, creaking slightly under the weight of bare acre, which made Tasha giggle. Her freshly spanked cheeks on wood nestled. She was ready! Vicar went over, displaying a bare quite boyish but chunky, too much indulgence and not enough fasting. In looks both fore, and aft, Penny was reminded of Finn, husband and partner to Laywoman Lawson, who as it happened gave and received as Penny suspected (found out on a visit one night). A spanking husband and a spanking wife was quite the zeitgeist among the 40 somethings. Equal opportunities.

Thank you, William,” Vera said shortly. “Leave me now and don’t disturb me while I sort things out in here. You may put the time to good use in straightening up the rest of the house,” she added. “I’m sure you never would have let it get to this condition while my sister was alive.”I agree and felt my mother taking my hand and leading me to her bedroom. She pulled a chair out, grabbed her wooden hairbrush and sat down. I told her how I felt and blushed deep red as I asked her to start spanking me again. We talked about my reason for wanting to be spanked and I told her that I needed it and deserved it because of my bad behavior. I could feel Vera’s eyes on my exposed, blistered bottom as I stood teary eyed at the sink, washing a week’s worth of dirty dishes, and the image was making me rise again. It was very clear my depression, loneliness, and self-pity would no longer be allowed.

One early morning fair, whilst out for a walk, Penny and Tasha strolled past the church. As oft they did when Tasha was home on leave.

Although we did have the cane at my sweet little primary school in Wembley, London, in the 1960s, I managed to avoid it. However, at my senior school I was regularly caned and slippered as we all were, going into the 1970s. The tawse was the worst as it was delivered with the same force as the cane but only seemed to cause lingering pain in one place. This was a similar feeling to having fallen very heavily onto a garden gnome wearing a cone shaped hat. It maybe that only one corner of the tawse is ‘making an impression’ and that is what is producing a weird slightly ‘unpunished’ feeling as, apart from the one small area on my right bottom cheek, the rest of my bottom was pain free.

Yes, ma’am,” I said through my sniffles. “I’m sorry, and I won’t let it happen again.” I felt the paddle resting against my bottom, and I prayed Vera would not raise it again. Surprisingly, my former depression had disappeared, completely replaced by the long-familiar feelings of respect and fear of further punishment. Finally, she turned to me, all smiles and said: “Well, Asher, I think we have an understanding now, don’t you? And now you’ve met my little helpers!” Looking it the add now it’s easy to read between the lines, young mummy’s boy with no girlfriend wanted to live with older experienced woman; I can’t believe I was so naive. You can’t,” I cried. “I’d never live it down. My boss would never understand, and my friends would think I was a wimp if they knew Lucille had been spanking me over her knee like a child all these years.”Next weekend, I’ll be moving out of my apartment and into the master bedroom here,” Vera stated as I copied what she’d written. “Make certain it is ready for me. You may take one of the boys’ rooms. I’ll need to be near my sister’s records, and all her other responsibilities, if I’m to do an adequate job with them.” Then I heard her trot out this little ditty. “Spank a boy and do it right, trousers down, pants up tight. And if he smiles when he should frown, then spank him with his pants right down.” With that, Aunt Pam pulled my jeans down, exposing my underpants. My face was now near to the floor and I remember clearly the smell of the carpet, mixed with tobacco smoke as Doreen lit up a cigarette. Spankings were common after that first one, ranging from what Lucille referred to as, “a nice little spanking,” applied when she wanted to get my attention, to an all-out and prolonged punishment paddling to correct some willful misbehavior. Always fair, Lucille was also always strict and demanding. Always, that is, until two weeks ago when she suddenly left me, losing a brief but spirited bought with cancer. The next thing I knew, Aunt Pam was holding my arms firmly so I couldn’t move, and Doreen was unzipping my jeans. Then I was pulled across Pam’s knee in a daze. I was not pleased by this interruption, nor Vera’s imperious attitude, but I suppose since Lucille left Vera her business, it was only reasonable she would have to spend time with the documents and records in Lucille’s study, at least until she was able to transfer the whole lot to her own apartment.