The cost of bad manners

The following story has been submitted by a published author of two spanking novels, with a third on the way. The story he tells below describes the incident which first engendered in him a lifelong love of spanking.

Siblings Peter and Janet – aged 13 and 14 respectively – traipsed along the dusty country lane, each immersed in their own thoughts. There was no point in hurrying; they both reluctantly accepted that the first item on the afternoon’s agenda was already pre-ordained.

They had been window-shopping in the nearby village when they had noticed Mrs Prendergast, a local magistrate, walking just ahead of them. She was wearing an old-fashioned, colourful hat – so colourful, in fact, that the two children promptly dissolved in a manic fit of giggles.

The lady immediately spun round and glowered at them.

“You cheeky little brats! Laugh at me, would you? Well, we’ll see what your mother has to say about this – I’m going round to your farm right now!” She stormed off in the direction of the car park. “Oh, dear!” murmured Janet, with a quick glance at her brother. “Yeah – come on, let’s go and find out what’s going to happen to us. You know how Mummy hates us using bad manners…” answered Peter, gloomily.

So, as their footsteps slowed even more as their farmhouse came into view – with Mrs. Prendergast’s Range-Rover still parked by the front door – both child’s thoughts were fixed on what was certain to happen in the next few minutes.

Their mother, Susan, was most certainly not vindictive – Janet and Peter had both had near-idyllic childhoods. However, Susan put an inordinate amount of stress on good manners in her offspring; and the children – separately and at different times – had both had to suffer a caning across their bare bottoms before now.

By mutual, unspoken agreement they headed for the back kitchen door. They had no wish to meet Mrs Prendergast again before they had an interview with their mother. Just as they opened the door, Susan came into the kitchen, having just said goodbye to the magistrate.

She stared at her son and daughter with a distinctly sorrowful expression on her face. “Well,” she said, “judging by your faces, you obviously know what’s just happened. I’ve never had to cane both of you together before, but we can’t avoid that this time. Mrs Prendergast was most upset about you laughing at her. So upstairs with you both – you know where to go!”

The children trudged reluctantly up the narrow staircase, and headed for the tiny bedroom at the end of the landing – a room that was only ever used for fortunately very rare punishments.

The room was empty, save for two things. One, in the centre of the floor, was a miniature vaulting-horse, about two-and-a-half feet high and topped with padded leather. The other, a metal wastebasket containing half a dozen crook-handled school canes.

Almost immediately, the children heard their mother climbing the stairs to administer the punishment. Janet quickly reached out and touched Peter’s cheek with her fingertip in a gesture of kinship.

Their mother entered the punishment room and stared for a moment at her two children.

She stared at her two children, a resigned but sorrowful expression on her face. With some exasperation, she told them: “You should both be too old for what I’m about to do to you. You’re beautiful children and I love you both dearly. But – I was very, very upset with what Mrs Prendergast told me happened earlier. And you obviously knew what the outcome was going to be… Peter?” Eyes lowered, he nodded. “Janet?” Another little guilty nod.

“All right, then. Peter, stand by the vaulting-horse.”

Peter reluctantly walked three steps forward, until his feet were touching the base of the equipment. His mother went to the far side of the horse, reached down, unzipped her son’s jeans and pulled both them and his underpants down to his knees. She went to the wastebasket and selected a thin, 3ft long rattan cane, then went to stand by Peter’s left side.

“Bend over.”

Janet’s face had flushed beetroot red at her first sight of her brother’s bare bottom – she was still remarkably very innocent, sexually. Now, as Peter flopped down over the vaulting-horse, a single tear oozed out of her left eye. 

Their mother spoke again. “You know what this is for, both of you.” She raised the cane high above her right shoulder.

Whop! Whop! Whop!

Peter gasped with the shock of the blows, but he didn’t cry yet – he was determined not to show his true emotions to his sister.

Whop! Whack! Whop!

That did it. Peter could no longer hold in the tears, and began sobbing noisily at the overwhelming sting.

“All right, darling, you can stand up again.” The boy levered himself upright. Susan immediately put her arm round him, and hugged him for a few moments. “Go and stand next to your sister.”

Peter’s hands both went back to cover his bruised buttocks. Turning around, he limped over to Janet – oblivious to her sharp intake of breath as she got her first view of her brother’s by now semi-erect penis. He stood next to her.


The girl shuffled forwards, risking a furtive glance over her shoulder at her brother’s developing erection – which was immediately noticed by her mother. Peter! Cover yourself up at once!” As her son fumbled for his underpants, her daughter reached the horse, and stood stock-still. Susan placed the cane on the horse, then pulled down Janet’s elasticated-waist jeans and light blue knickers. Then the mother picked up the cane again.

“Now, Janet – bend over, please.”

It was now Janet’s turn, and a sudden rush of embarrassment washed over her as she realised that her own bare bottom was now on view to her brother. She began to weep silently, and the cane rose – and fell.


“Ouch!” Janet promptly forgot about her embarrassment, and yelled out at the sting.

Whop! Whop!

She began to cry unrestrainedly and, in an act of mercy, her mother completed the caning as quickly as she could.

Whack! Whop! Whack!

Tears cascading from her eyes, Janet jusabout managed to stay in position during all this, making funny little squeaking noises each time the cane hit her young bottom. Peter’s eyes moistened as well; Janet’s reaction to her beating had shaken him more than he had thought possible.

“That’s it, Janet…” murmured their mother, now in some measure of shock. She had hated what she had just had to do to her beloved children. “Come on, lovely girl, you can get up again now. And pull up your knickers and jeans!”

When Janet had obeyed, her mother hugged and comforted her for a moment, then shepherded her over to where her brother stood. She addressed them both.

“Right – that’s your punishment over and done with, and you both took it very well. Now, I’m just going to drive to the station to pick up your father, and then do some shopping. I want you two to go to your rooms, lie on your beds for half-an-hour and reflect on why I had to cane you both. All right?”

The mother’s voice became softer. “Oh – and I promise I won’t say a word to your father about what’s just happened. OK?” Susan flashed a brief smile at her offspring, then went back downstairs.

Janet’s face promptly started to crumple – she was on the verge of a major crying jag. Peter put his arms round her and held her tightly. “Come on,” he murmured, “it’s all over now. ” His own bottom was continuing to throb, and it was about time he rubbed it better. Peter took his sister by the hand and guided her to her bedroom door, then went next door to his own room.

Once there, the boy pulled his pants back down and lay face-down on his bed. He began to gingerly massage his sore, red bottom.

After a few minutes, there was a timid knock on his door. A wobbly voice called. “Peter? It’s me. Can I come in?” Peter briefly thought about pulling up his pants, but his sister had already seen everything that went inside them, so he simply replied: “Yeah – come in.”

Janet entered. She stifled another gasp as she stared at her brother, naked from the waist down. Today was the first time she had seen Peter’s bottom or genitals since they were very little children. Her mind was in an absolute whirl – and not just because of the pain and humiliation she had just suffered.

Eventually, she spoke. “Peter…my…my bottom’s still very sore. Will you…will you rub it better for me? Please?”

Peter levered himself upright and sat gingerly, bare-bottomed, on the side of the bed. His sister had taken her trousers off and had a large bath towel wrapped around her waist. Her eyes were locked on her brother’s now fully-erect penis. Janet unfastened the towel and let it fall to the floor – she wore nothing underneath, and Peter stared back at his sister’s own smooth genitals. Reaching forwards, Janet laid herself across her brother’s lap.

Peter began to comfort his sister’s well-marked bottom. After a while, she began to move her body back and forth on his lap, moaning with both relief and – eventually – pleasure.

Her brother’s erection was not the only thing which had grown – it was accompanied by a blissful smile across Peter’s face. Perhaps, he thought – just possibly – bad manners might be a good idea…sometimes.

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