A boot up the backside

Let me take you back to a cold winter morning in 1987. I was eight years old, and I was quite a naughty boy – running off, rarely listening to my parents, not doing my homework etc.

I got fairly regular spankings alongside other punishments, and the odd public smack or two as was also still common in those days.

On this particular morning, I’d had two warning smacks before we’d even left the house. My parents loved car boot sales, and every single Saturday my siblings and I would be dragged to one at the crack of dawn so they could snag the best bargains. They’d give us 50p or a quid – not really enough for anything exciting – and off we’d go.

On this particular day, I was tired and grumpy and didn’t want to go, but only being a child, I had no choice of course. I whined and complained, I threw my gloves at my brother, and generally caused problems.

By the time we arrived at the boot sale and parked, the sky was still dark and the moon still out. Dad pulled me aside and told me that if I caused any more problems, he’d give me a tanning.

But I was in a foul mood and ignored him, hands in pockets, walking behind my family and kicking pebbles. After walking past a few cars, Dad spun around, grabbed my arm and gave me an almighty wallop on my arse before stalking off ahead again.

This still didn’t settle me. A couple of minutes later, I kicked up another pebble – and this one smacked my mum on the back of her leg. Although it probably didn’t hurt much (Mum was wearing thick winter trousers and probably had tights on underneath too), she yelped at the unexpected sensation.

That was it for Dad – he told my mum and siblings to carry on without him, grabbed my arm and dragged me ominously back to our car.

The car park was in the same field as the boot sale and everyone could clearly hear me yelling, even if they couldn’t see me. Dad opened up the boot, sat on it and dragged me across his lap. I was expecting a spanking over my jeans and wasn’t too worried – but after yanking off one of his gloves and shoving it in the boot behind him, Dad dragged my jeans down to just below my bum. With just my briefs in place, the cold winter air was shocking.

Then he spanked me. I got about 20 really hard smacks, making me yell even more and kick my legs. Dad asked me if I was going to behave myself now, and of course I said I was.

With one final extra hard smack, Dad yanked my jeans up, pushed me off of his lap and put his glove back on.

As we walked around the rest of the car boot sale, I was very aware of how cold the skin around my bottom was from exposure to the chill and wind, but how warm my actual buttocks were, and how they throbbed in time with my heart. 

Contributor: John