The year: 1956. The town: Brocklehurst. The place: a study in a large detached house in The Avenue. Rupert, aged eighteen, was lodging with his Uncle Robert during the Easter holidays from his elite boarding school. Things had not been going well. Uncle Robert had many rules and chief amongst them was one forbidding cigarette smoking. Uncle Robert was a medical doctor and he understood very well the causes of lung cancer.
It was to be regretted that Robert had been a habitual smoker from the age of about fourteen. His uncle had caught him twice that week taking furtive puffs. He was outraged. His rules had been deliberately flouted. Not once, but twice. There could be no other course of action.
Uncle Robert and Rupert were in the study. It was late evening and Rupert had thought his Uncle was in bed and the coast was clear. Alas, no. He had been caught red handed. He could not escape the consequences of his actions. Uncle Robert sat on a large wooden chair. He scrunched in his right hand a heavy, leather-soled bedroom slipper. “I want you to take down your pyjama bottoms, come here and bend across my knee.”
Rupert was no stranger to corporal punishment. He was a young member of the social class in England that believed it had been born to rule. At his school they learnt that their place in the world could only be assured if they were able to obey orders. Only then were they capable of giving them. Once that state of affairs had been achieved the future of what was left of the Empire would be secured.
Rupert accepted without question Uncle Robert’s right to punish him. He had broken his rules, he had been found out, now he must take the consequences. That was the gentlemanly thing to do. He was less sure that he should submit himself across Uncle’s knees for a bare-bottom spanking with a slipper. That hardly seemed the action of a gentleman. Some oik from the lower orders might be punished in such a way by a parent or guardian. Rupert supposed it might conceivably be possible that a small boy of good breeding might be punished like that by a nursemaid. Any of these situations might be permissible, but he rather drew the line at himself being punished this way.
He was not the least concerned about the amount of pain the slipper might cause him. His housemaster at school was a renowned flogger and Rupert had suffered cuts of the whippy rattan cane across his naked buttocks just as any other boy in his House had. The slipper held no fear. No, dash it, it was the principle of the thing. If Uncle Robert commanded that he lowered his pyjama bottoms, touched his toes to receive a bare-bottomed caning, he would present himself without hesitation. Six, twelve, or even eighteen stokes would be warranted in the circumstances. Rupert had been caught smoking twice, but there were many other occasions when his crime went undetected. He was an honourable gentleman, he would take his beating.
A beating yes, but an over-the-knee spanking with a bedroom slipper? Had Uncle Robert taken leave of his senses?
“I am waiting,” Uncle Robert was a man of little patience. Rupert hesitated further, should he remonstrate with his uncle? But to protest would also be ungentlemanly. It would look as though he did not accept he should be punished. That wasn’t the case. He knew he deserved a beating, but not a spanking.
“I’ll take a swishing Uncle, if you’d rather,” it seemed the perfect solution. “Six-of-the-best or whatnot,” Rupert added, to make sure his uncle was in no doubt about his offer.
“I rather think that is my decision to make,” Uncle Robert grunted. “Now please do as you are asked,” his eyes narrowed perceptively, “Unless you would rather I took down your pyjamas myself.”
“Oh, Uncle,” Rupert gasped, blushing slightly. It would be one humiliation piled upon another. Uncle Robert brandished the slipper, then tapped it gently across his own right thigh and snarled, “Take down your pyjamas and bend over.”
Rupert knew the game was up. It surprised him how much time it took his trembling fingers to untie the drawstring on the pyjamas. At last it was undone and the bottoms hurtled to his feet. Instinctively, he clasped his hands in front of his privates, “Silly boy,” Uncle Robert smiled mirthlessly, “I am a doctor, you have nothing there that I have not seen before,” then he demanded, “Bend over.”
Rupert shuffled a step forward and then awkwardly lowered himself forward. He was a tall teenager and his body did not fit well across his uncle’s lap. He had never been spanked in this position before, nor had he seen it done. He assumed the expected thing was to stretch his arms ahead of him and rest the palms of his hands on the carpet. His legs would have to take care of themselves and he found his knees bent of their own accord so that his bared buttocks were thrust upwards. He stared down at the ground, conscious that his heart was racing, much more than it did when he presented himself at school for a flogging.
Uncle Robert took hold of the pyjama jacket and eased it away from the naked cheeks. He did not want anything to obstruct him from his mission. He took a moment to admire the youthful bottom presented to him for punishment. He noted silently that Rupert had a meatier behind than the butcher’s delivery boy.
Rupert’s spine trembled when Uncle Robert gently caressed his right cheek with the palm of his hand. He patted and preened the left cheek and brushed away some imaginary dust. The eighteen-year-old’s bottom was almost hairless. He remembered how repulsed he had been when he first saw his apprentice’s black, thick tangled hair.
He clutched the slipper in his right fist, then tap-tap-tapped it into the fleshiest part of the right cheek. He counted to three in his head, raised his arm high and returned the slipper so that it connected with great force across Rupert’s buttock. He repeated the move across the neighbouring cheek.
It hurt, but the pain was nothing when compared to the housemaster’s cane. Rupert closed his eyes tight, he could not stand to image what he must look like, draped across the older man’s knee, bare-arse to the wind while he received a spanking from his uncle’s slipper. What would the chaps at school say if they found out?
The thwack as leather sole connected with meaty flesh resounded around the study. Rupert lay motionless across his uncle’s lap, waiting patiently for it to be over. He could not – would not – bring himself to consider how humiliated he felt. How he despised Uncle Robert; not because he was punishing him, but because of the manner in which he did so. He was not a gentleman.
Uncle Robert had his method. He started by whacking the highest points of the mounds and when the pounding from his leather slipper made them hard he would turn his attention to the top of the cheeks. After maybe three dozen slaps he would go underneath to the area where bum cheeks and thighs met. Rupert would feel an ache when he tried to sit down later. Finally when there was no square inch of flesh left untoasted, Uncle Robert went for the back of the thighs.
Rupert was stoical boy, his backside had been flogged raw on numerous occasions, a spanking with a slipper, no matter how expertly executed, would leave little impact. Uncle Robert could not hide his disappointment. He hammered the slipper across the naked cheeks until his arm ached and the back of his shirt was soaked in sweat. But no matter how hard he pounded he failed to break his nephew.
“Bah!” he cursed silently, then aloud he snarled, “Stand up. Get dressed. Go to your room. Don’t let me catch you smoking again.” With contempt (as much for himself as for his nephew) he roughly pushed the teenager from his lap so that he rolled onto the floor. Rupert lost no time replacing his pyjama bottoms over his battered bottom. He wanted urgently to regain his dignity. Without uttering a word, he strode from the study.
Uncle Robert peered at the slipper in his hand as if suddenly seeing it for the first time. Puzzled, he let it slip to the floor. Suddenly, his young manservant James was looming over him, with whisky decanter, soda syphon and glass on a silver tray. “I thought Sir, might require a little pick-me-up,” he drawled. He placed the tray on a table and withdrew from the room very conscious that his master would be admiring his taut buttocks as he sashayed away.
Picture credit: CP Services, London
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More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website
Also writing school stories as Scholastic here
Charles Hamilton the Second
charleshamiltonthesecond@gmail.com
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