The missing report

My sister Rebeca and I were raised in a strict, traditional home. Our parents spanked us for a wide range of misbehaviour, and among the things which could earn us a sore bottom was bringing home a poor school report.

Unfortunately, when I was 10 years old, my attempt to get out of such a punishment badly backfired on me. When I was given my report at school that afternoon, I looked at the shocking grades and knew in my heart that I would be going over my father’s knee that night. Then, arriving home, I had what I believed at the time to be a very clever thought.

There was no-one else home when I got back, so I took my report to my room and, after a few practice runs on a sheet of waste paper, I forged my father’s signature in the place indicated. It turned out quite well, I thought. My plan was to pretend that no reports had been issued that term.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t the brightest of kids and it had not dawned on me that Rebeca was also on her way home with a similar (and far better!) report. Indeed, as soon as my parents got home together, my sister ran up to our father and handed him her report. Dad skimmed through the report with an approving smile on his face. “Very good, Rebeca!” he said at last. “Keep it up!”

Then he turned to me and I felt my stomach churn. “Manuel, where is your report?” “Erm, they didn’t give me one,” I lied. I’m not sure how I expected to get away with that – and I didn’t. Dad’s face was now like thunder. “Bring me your report right now, young man!”

I reluctantly went to my room and picked up the report with hands which were now trembling with fear. I handed it over to my father. The first thing he noticed were the slew of dismal grades. But his face went darker still when he noticed the signature. “What the hell is this?” he demanded. “Did you forge my signature?” Well, of course it was going to be no-one else who had done such a stupid thing, and I gave my first sensible answer of the afternoon by admitting my sin, adding desperately: “I’m really sorry, Dad!”

My father looked at me and his eyes pierced mine. “You’re going to be sorry, all right. Sorrier than you have ever been before in your life! Take down your pants and underwear!” “Please, Dad,” I begged, not in front of Mum and Rebeca!” “Down – now! Or do I have to go and get the belt?”

I was left with no choice. I nervously lowered my pants and then, blushing madly as I did so, followed them with my underpants. It had been a long time since either Mum or Rebeca had seen what I kept in there, and I was completely humiliated.

Dad sat down and tapped his lap with his hand. “Get yourself over there!” I obeyed quickly, if only to get the worst of the embarrassment out of the way. But there was obviously more embarrassment to come, as Dad spanked my bare bottom thoroughly. He only used his hand but fire was soon spreading across my bottom as he hit first one buttock then the other, occasionally landing a particularly painful smack across my bum crack.

At times I looked up through the tears and saw my sister smiling, obviously enjoying every moment of my discomfort, and my mother looking sterner but no less attentive as she watched Dad work on my backside.

Finally, my shame complete, I was sent to bed without any dinner, scrambling up the stairs with my lower clothes still round my ankles. Once in my bedroom, I changed quickly into my pyjamas and got into bed, where I had a proper cry for some minutes, my newly-spanked bottom throbbing from the attention’s of Dad’s hand.

It was a hard lesson for a very serious offence – and I learned it well. I never tried such a foolish or dishonest trick again in my entire life.

Contributor: Manuel

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