Upping the stakes

When I was growing up, my father was around only periodically, leaving my mother to raise me and my siblings by herself, with frankly more help from neighbours and friends than from Dad.

Mum was fair and respectful to us and expected the same in return. If she didn’t get it or if we were naughty, she wouldn’t hesitate to bare and smack our bottoms despite any protests or pleading. One sweltering summer day, a secret was uncovered which led to three boys’ rear ends being very, very sore.

It started when my brothers and I were in the backyard having fun. We stopped suddenly when we heard Mum calling our names, in the last tone of voice anyone ever wants to hear their mother calling them in. We ran quickly inside, so as to not keep her waiting.

Back then, I shared a room with my two brothers. Among the items in it was a chest of drawers. Each boy had the use of one of those drawer, while the fourth was shared and was where we kept all the things we used for fun.

Looking very stern, Mum informed us that she had found an ‘inappropriate’ picture of a lady in that drawer. She scolded us soundly, emphasising that nude pictures were strictly for adult eyes only.

We all immediately denied knowing anything about the picture, to which Mum asked: “Well, did it just walk in by itself, then?” I honestly didn’t know anything about it so I knew it must be one of my two brothers, and at least one of them was lying. I had my suspicions about which it was, too, but kept my mouth shut.

When none of us would fess up, Mum made us all stand in a corner off the room each. She told us that we would not be allowed to leave that position until one of the guilty boy owned up. Well, we were all so determined to avoid a smacked bottom that we stood staring at the wall for ages.

Mum came back. “Whoever did this is going to be put across my knee for a good spanking,” she said exasperatedly, “so you might as well own up and get your punishment over with. You’ll only make it harder on yourself.”

None of us said anything. After a short silence, Mum said: “Right – whoever is responsible is now going to get the slipper instead. Come along, boys – I can make things much worse, you know!”

Mum possessed that sixth sense most mothers seem to have about their children, and I’m pretty sure she knew it was just one boy and not all three of us. But still no answer came.”

“Very well,” she said at last in a steely voice, “now it’s going to be the hairbrush. You can’t say you weren’t warned. Last chance, boys!”

I prayed for one of my brothers to crack. I felt like I was going crazy looking at the bedroom wall, but I refused to take the blame for something I hadn’t done. To be honest, I nearly did say it was me just to break the tension, but not only did I not want a sore bottom, I felt that all that standing in the corned would have been for nothing

It was at that moment that Mum took away the choice. “Right then,” she said, “I’m just going to have smack all of your bottoms to make sure that whoever did this is punished. Perhaps you’ll all think about telling the truth in future. Get into your pyjamas, all of you, because you’ll be going to bed early once I’ve seen to you!”

She left the room to fetch her hairbrush, then led us all to the bathroom, where we each had our mouths washed out with soap.

Mum sat down on the toilet, then one by one, she took down our pyjama trousers, put us over her knee and smacked our bare bottoms soundly with the brush. It hurt very much indeed and all three of us boys were blubbering long before Mum had finished with our backsides.

It was summer, and all our windows and doors were open because of the heat. So perhaps even worse than the pain in our bottoms was the embarrassing knowledge that at least some of our neighbours could hear the spankings in progress. We had frequently heard their own children being spanked, so we knew the sound would carry.

Mum left us in the bathroom for a moment, all crying freely and holding our bottoms in our hands. When she led us back to our bedroom, we saw that she had removed the bottom drawer with all our fun stuff in it. “You’ll only get that back when I think you’re responsible enough,” she told us sternly. Then we were all put to bed, our young bottoms buzzing and very sore.

For those wondering, I did eventually discover that it was the middle sibling who hid the photo there. Apparently, he had run into some classmates after school and they quickly sprang it on him, thinking it was cool. He just ended up keeping hold of it even though that wasn’t the original plan. “It all happened so fast” he explained later.

I thought my oldest brother was going to kill him when he finally confessed – and I think I would have too if I could – but he said he’d tell Mum, so we reluctantly left him alone.

Contributor: Paul

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