My grandpa and grandma weren’t really farmers, but they had a small parcel of land at the back of their property with a few animals, which ran into dense woodland, which they harvested for fuel.
When I was eight years old I was sent to stay with my grandparents for a few days while my mom and dad had an anniversary break. I loved staying with them because they were always so mild and easy going; I could get away with murder compared with my home environment. Or so I thought.
The other really neat thing about staying with grandpa and grandma was helping with feeding the animals, collecting the eggs their chickens left all about the place. I was indulged and very happy for those initial few days.
The one thing which was forbidden was to go into the woods. Grandpa said there were wild animals in there you wouldn’t want to meet and that it would be easy for me to get lost.
However, kids – as we know – think they know it all, and I was really curious to explore those woods. On about the third day of my stay, I got my chance. Both my grandparents were busy with indoor jobs, so I slipped out, saying I was going to play in the yard. As soon as I got outside, I went through the back gate which gave out on to the woods and ran in among the trees.
I had a wonderful half an hour pretending I was hunting, following every small sound of creatures moving around the undergrowth. Then I realised I was lost. Really lost. I went in what I thought was the right way for home, but nothing looked familiar. I began to cry.
After about 10 minutes, I heard my grandpa shouting: “Glenn? Are you out there? Glenn!” I called back and eventually, with a huge surge of relief, I saw Grandpa standing in a small clearing, and I rushed into his arms. He was just so delighted to find me, he gathered me up in his strong arms and cuddled me, then took my hand and walked me back to the house.
When we got there, I was astonished to see that my grandma had obviously been crying. She also hugged me, but then stood me away from here and looked me angrily in the eye. “That was an altogether stupid thing to do! Weren’t you told not to go into the woods? Upstairs to your room, right now!”
I scuttled up the steep staircase but before I was halfway up, I could hear my grandparents talking about my recent escapade. My grandpa, ever the mild-mannered gentleman, said: “Maureen, I really think you should leave this to Millie to deal with.” My grandmother shot back: “He needs to learn his lesson now, not in a few days’ time!”
I didn’t wait to hear any more but scrambled into my bedroom. And waited.
Eventually, I heard footsteps coming slowly up the stairs, and the door of my bedroom opened. It was Grandma, and in one hand she held an oval, ebony hairbrush. She must have seen the shock register on my face, because she said: “Yes, you are going to be spanked. And spanked well. You could have been seriously hurt out there, and you need to learn to obey Grandpa and me. Stand up, young man!”
I did as I was told, as if this was a bad dream. I was actually very rarely spanked, and then only really got my clothed butt dusted a bit with Dad’s hand. It hurt a bit, but was more humiliating than painful. I had a feeling this was going to be much worse – and I was right, as it turned out.
Grandma didn’t waste any more words. She knew that I knew I had done wrong. She took my place on the bed and turned me to face her. Then she began to unbutton my pants. “Please, Grandma…” I began desperately. “You just be quiet while you can be,” she said ominously.
By eight, I had already a fairly well-developed sense of modesty, so when my underwear followed my pants to my ankles, I immediately cupped my hands in front of my penis. Bad enough that she was going to see (and spank) my bare bottom. However, modesty was almost immediately lost as she took one hand off my groin and used it to firmly pull me across her knee.
Then the hairbrush went to work on my butt, and boy did it ever! Grandma covered every inch of my behind, and the backs of my thighs, with hard, regular spanks which quickly had me crying like a much younger child. Spank, spank, spank! For quite a young boy, I think I got it pretty severely – Grandma was obviously determined that I should really learn a memorable lesson.
I guess the punishment only took a few minutes, although it seemed like years that I was bottom-up on her lap. I was finally allowed off stood there in front of her, wailing – hands cupping my tingling, hot cheeks. I no longer really cared that Grandma had seen my wiener – I was far more concerned with the handiwork of that brush!
Grandma eventually pulled my undies and pants back up and hugged me. “You sit here for a few minutes and think about what you did, then you can come down for some supper,” she said. Well, in truth, I didn’t do much sitting that evening – at least not with any amount of comfort. When I went to bed, I inspected my behind in the dressing room mirror – it was still bright crimson from the spanking.
What was even worse was that when my parents came to collect me, Grandma described my paddling in great detail and gave them the hairbrush she had used, with instructions to use it on my bare bottom from then onwards. And that’s exactly what Mom and Dad did.