Mrs Tranter

As a lad who grew up in the early 60s in Stoke-on-Trent, England, I was no stranger to the odd swipe across the face or backside etc.

However, one of the most memorable and embarrassing experiences happened when I was about eight years old. My parents had split up and I was fostered out to a lady called Mrs Tranter – Beverley to her friends, and she had lots of them; they were always in our house drinking tea or she was round theirs – it was on a rough council estate and everyone knew everyone.

Mrs Tranter was a very strict woman who shouted a lot. She also had another boy who was about three years younger than me and we both had our share of smacks.

She was tall and slim, had long black hair and wore it in a bun. She was very smart and wore short black skirts and frilly blouses.

The day in question I was on my way home from school when I wandered on to the building site near our home looking for pop bottles to return to the shops for money when the foreman of the site shouted after me.

I started to run for it when I slipped into a load of mud and got covered. The foreman got hold of my arm and marched me to my house. Mrs Tranter opened the door and I could see she was mad as I had on my school uniform and it was covered in mud.

She apologised to the foreman and he left, after telling her that next time it would be the police.

She grabbed me by my ear and pulled me in the kitchen and then gave me two or three good swipes across the face and head. I then noticed that two of her friends were sitting there drinking tea and she started removing my clothes.

First off was my shirt, tie and vest. She then started to take down my trousers – at this point I started to struggle and ended up getting mud on her frilly white blouse.

She was now really enraged and was shouting and smacking me I heard one of her friends say: “If he was mine, he wouldn’t sit down for a week, his arse would be that sore.”

I think that comment spurred her on; she now seemed to be stronger than before and my trousers came down and my pants were taken off with ease – she then held my back under her left arm and smacked my bare backside for all she was worth. I was still stood facing her friends at this point and it was a choice of covering my private parts with my hands or using them to try and shield my bottom as I stood there naked in front of everyone.

After she finished with my bottom she then gave me another couple across the face and ordered me to stand there until she returned – I was hoping she was getting me some more clothes and what seemed like an eternity passsed with me standing there in front of her two friends, naked and with a very sore backside.

She returned with a towel and it seemed there was worse to come. I think she knew the embarrassment was worse than the smacks because as I was still muddy she filled a bowl with warm water from the sink and placed it on the floor.

She then made me stand in this bowl and started to wash me down. I was praying these women would leave but they stayed and watched the whole thing. I still had a few more smacks before being dried off and sent to bed.

I never went on that building site again. I now look back on those years with affection and I can say I never smacked any of my kids although my wife told me she witnessed many a smacked bare bottom while visiting her neighbour friends and now her friends’ boys are grown up, she teases them about it from time to time.

Contributor: Alan

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