The end of the argument

One day, when I was eight years old, I went round to my aunt’s house to play with my cousin Javier. We went up to his bedroom and played there happily enough for quite some time but eventually whatever game we were playing (I forget now, it’s a long time ago!) ended in an argument.

Pretty soon Javier and I were shouting at each other, hurling insults. The noise we were making eventually drew my aunt upstairs. She asked us what was going on. She then got two totally different accounts of whose fault it was, of course!

Eventually, my aunt told us both: “I don’t care who’s at fault here. If I hear any more out of the pair of you, there will be trouble!” She closed the door and left us to it.

We were chastened and quiet for a while, but then the argument flared up again and this time we both totally lost control, flinging a number of swear words at each other.

Unbeknown to us children, my aunt had been listening at the door, which was immediately flung open. “Right! That’s it! You are both extremely badly behaved children!

”Laura, go home. I’m going to call your mother and see if she likes you talking like that. I am sure she will take care of you! And Javier…” she turned to her son. You wait there and get ready to have your bottom tanned!”

I ran out of the house but as soon as I was out of sight of my aunt I lingered. I was in no hurry to go home, certain of what awaited my young bottom when I did.

I listened intently as I sat behind a bush which concealed me from the house. Sure enough, after about five minutes I heard the unmistakeable sound of a bare bottom being soundly smacked and my cousin’s loud crying as his mother made her point.

I traipsed home listlessly, hoping that maybe my aunt would be satisfied with just the spanking she gave Javier and not call my mother after all. No such luck. I knew from the gloating face of my sister Cristina, as she opened the door to admit me. “Mom is waiting for you – you’re getting a spanking!” she said gleefully.

Feeling sick in my stomach, I nevertheless went through to the lounge. My mom was sitting on the sofa with anger written all over her face. I tried to forestall her wrath. “Please, Mom, I’m really sorry!” “Not as sorry as you’re going to be, my girl – I’m going to give you a good beating to teach you to mind your language!”

I tried one last time. “Please…” Mom interrupted me. “Be quiet. Take off your pants and panties!” Reluctantly I did so, fumbling with the button and zip of my jeans, and seeing obvious enjoyment in my sister’s faced as she watched me remove my underwear too.

Mom crooked her finger for me to come to her. “It was Javier’s fault…” I whined. Again, Mom cut me short. “Javier has already been punished (which of course I knew), now you are going to receive the same punishment. Over my knee!”

Legs trembling, I obeyed and bent over to receive my spanking. There were already tears in my eyes but my mother’s hand produced many, many more as she spanked me systematically, first one buttock, then the other and some particularly hard ones spanning my bum crack.

I cried and begged for mercy but Mom didn’t stop until she thought I had had enough. My butt was bright red and felt like I had sat on an ants nest. All the while I was being spanked, I occasionally caught glimpses of Cristina’s smiling face.

When it was all over, Mom sent me to the corner. “Hands on your head, and no rubbing that bottom!” she ordered. I obeyed meekly and stood in the corner for about half an hour, still crying softly, until Mom eventually called me out again.

Still bare from the waist down, I was stood in front of her. Mom put a finger under my chin to make me look her straight in the eye. “Are you ever going to use language like that again?” she demanded. Of course I knew the answer – and supplied it.

Mom seemed satisfied. She picked up my underpants and helped me step back into them, then handed me my jeans to don those again too. “Go and play in the garden with your sister until lunch is ready,” she said. “And Laura – ” I looked back at Mom from the doorway. “If we ever need to talk about this again, I will beat you with a cane and wash your mouth out with soap as well. Is that understood?”

I managed a choked, obedient ‘si mama’ and went out to play with Cristina, knowing I was about to endure at least half an hour of teasing about how red my bottom looked and what a cry-baby I was.

Fortunately for both my bum and mouth, we never did have to have that conversation again.

Contributor: Laura

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