A spanking, and an enema

There was only one person in my childhood who I feared more than my stepmother Samantha – that was Elizabeth, the family housekeeper. Elizabeth was a young girl who helped Samantha manage us children, as the family was wealthy enough to afford a nanny to look after and (especially) administer discipline the children while they she and my father were away travelling.

This particular memory has stuck with me for years because I think it was the most embarrassing spanking of my life. I was about seven or eight. Samantha and my father had left for work and would be missing from home for a few weeks. That left me and their other children in Elizabeth’s care. She was about 22 years old at the time – a very sweet girl and good at her job, but she was extremely religious and strict. She once grounded me just because I dared to turn up the volume on the radio during The End by The Doors!

It was my parents who had given her permission to resort to spanking if necessary and she used it on all of her protégés. The boys and I took at least 20 spankings from her. But she had such a maternal and sweet, if often severe, manner that I found it hard to hate her.

Going back to that day, at school I had managed to brilliantly solve a mathematics test that was impossible for my classmates (I have always been brilliant at studying, I loved every subject) and a little girl, my classmate Kate, had asked me for help because she was afraid of getting a bad grade. We weren’t particular friends, and me being proud and not too friendly, I decided to ignore her.

I got the highest mark, she got the lowest and the teacher scolded her for a long time. When I went to the bathroom during break, Kate came up to me and confronted me, saying that I was stupid for not helping her and that she would make me pay. I burst out laughing and told her that I would never help her under any circumstances.

Kate lost her temper and pushed me – not too hard, but enough to hurt. It was just the two of us in the bathroom. Physically, I have always been strong and agile and therefore, angry at the gesture, I grabbed Kate by the uniform and lifted her off the ground (I was taller than her). I had the splendid idea of putting her in the waste bin of the bathroom – and I did so.

I still remember Kate’s shocked face when she found herself with her legs between the paper and my laughter at seeing her like that. “I’m going to tell the teacher and have you sent to the headmaster!” she whimpered as she struggled to get out. I went closer and pushed Kate back into the basket. “You won’t say anything to anyone,” I snapped back, “and if you do, you’ll get more like you just got!”

Afterwards, the morning continued calmly. I pretended that nothing had happened and Kate returned to her seat without saying a word, avoiding looking at me throughout the lesson. I was sure she hadn’t said anything to the teacher – but I was wrong.

I returned home with my cousins, all calm and carefree. Elizabeth showed up in the doorway and greeted us with a beaming smile, asking us how our day had gone. We all said that it had gone well, I added that I had gotten a good grade. Elizabeth hugged me and praised my efforts , then she fixed lunch. Everything was perfect.

Once we finished eating, my cousins and I went to play in the living room while Elizabeth tidied up. After about an hour the phone rang. We thought it was Samantha wanting to know how Elizabeth was doing with us, and we continued playing. Elizabeth went to answer it and closed the door behind her.

Then, suddenly, Elizabeth’s voice cut through the air. “Miss Victoria Eleonore – here immediately!” My blood ran cold – I knew that when I was called by both names it meant only one thing – a sore behind.

I went upstairs. My first question was to ask her why she was screaming. A big mistake. Elizabeth landed two sharp slaps on my bottom. “Not only a liar, but insolent as well!”

She led me to the wooden chair at the side of the room and sat down, holding me firmly by her shoulders, pinning me with my face turned towards her. “Now, you will immediately explain to me what happened at school, because I just had a long phone call with Kate’s mother,” she said in an icy tone. I immediately realised that Kate had told a grown-up everything.

I tried to deny anything had happened – and received another slap for my trouble. “Don’t lie! The lady told me that her daughter came home in tears because that little devil Victoria humiliated and threatened her!”

I remained silent. Then Elizabeth said: “I promised myself, your parents, Kate’s mother and God that I will punish you severely – don’t make me do worse!” So I confessed to her everything that had happened between me and Kate.

Elizabeth was furious. “You were bad and ungrateful! You deserve the punishment of the eternal father!” she screamed. She then pulled my pants and panties down firmly, exposing my bottom and locking me in place over her lap, keeping my wrists pinned behind her back.

“I’ll apologise,” I yelled, desperate to get out of the impending spanking. But Elizabeth’s voice came back sternly. “This time you won’t get away with it – raising your hands to another girl is totally unacceptable.”

I hear the first slap ring out, and the pain a nanosecond later – the blow was so hard it made me squeal. A flurry of others followed, all extremely painful. I tried to pull away after a few minutes but Elizabeth held me tight. After a few minutes of hand spanking, she produced a wooden hairbrush from I don’t know where and continued with her work, making me regret my actions bitterly.

I was spanked solidly for around 15 minutes, my bottom by now as red as a ripe apple. All the while she spanked, Elizabeth lectured me about my ‘shameful’ behaviour.

Once the punishment was over, I simply sobbed. Elizabeth gently pulled up my underwear and held me close, comforting me. “I’m so sorry, Victoria,” she said in a voice now softer, “but I have to teach you that your behaviour is unacceptable.” I remained cradled in her arms, without rancour – Elizabeth had punished me with love, and her severity always gave way to kindness once a punishment was over.

But this time, she wasn’t finished. “Now, you will stay in your room to reflect on your actions, and ask God for forgiveness,” Elizabeth said, pointing at my Bible.

“And tonight” – she took a pause – “I wouldn’t be a good educator if I didn’t continue your punishment. After all, you yourself told that poor little girl that if she had spoken up there would have been something else. So you will get a second punishment – and don’t you dare fight back!” I nodded obediently and apologised, hoping that might yet get me out of a further punishment.

That hope was in vain. At bedtime, Elizabeth took me to the bathroom, where I was made to bend over and given a hot enema. In many ways this was far worse than a spanking. It wasn’t the first time I had had one, but the embarrassment of it all, and the discomfort of the nozzle in my lubricated rectum, was terrible and I had another good cry.

After a few minutes, I was put on the toilet and allowed to empty my bowels. Elizabeth wiped my bottom tenderly, then put me to bed, my bottom still very sore inside and out.

She leaned over and kissed me on the lips. “Come on, little one – stop crying. I promise that if you behave well from today on and apologise to Kate, I won’t tell Samantha anything about what happened.” I was amazed by such mercy – if my parents had known, when they returned I would mostly likely have received both a spanking and enema again.

“But you have to promise me that you won’t do pull any more tricks or raise your hands to another child, OK?” I promised and for the next few days I behaved well. I even went to apologise to Kate. There, though, I did not receive forgiveness. Even though I told her I had been thoroughly spanked (I was too embarrassed to mention the enema), Kate just ignored me and from then on sat on another desk.

Contributor: Victoria

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