It is Friday March 8th 1963. A young woman is taking in the washing
in the back garden . By her side a boy of about nine
with golden blonde hair stands tensely watching. The sky is dark and a
fresh salt breeze blows in from the sea. On the washing line the white
bedsheets billow like huge sails. Her face which is extraordinarily
beautiful is hard and resolute as she puts the dry clothes carefully
and neatly into the red plastic laundry basket. The wind catches her
short dark hair and she forgets her anger for a brief moment and
laughs. She stretches her trim athletic body and with a catlike grace
puts a couple of pegs into her wide apron pocket.

"Please don't "the boy asks. He will not beg her because he is at
all times careful to preserve his dignity. His large blue eyes are
full of tears. He knows of course that it is no good because once,
she, his stepmother, has made up her mind to do something nothing on
earth can stop her.

"No, I said you were going to get a damn good hiding and that's just what
your going to get my lad just as soon as I finish folding these
sheets" The sheets are folded skilfully and deftly. She hangs the
folded sheets over her shoulder and picks up the heavy laundry basket
and walks quickly into the house, the boy trailing unhappily behind her.

It is a shock to come into the warmth of the house and escape the
wind. The boy's sister is sitting on the sofa reading a book with an
expression on her pretty gamine face that says butter wouldn't melt in
my mouth. She is nearly two years older and nothing pleases her more
than seeing her little brother soundly spanked. Years ago she used to
earn at least as many spankings as her brother but she was quicker to
learn and infinitely more circumspect in her dealings with her
stepmother.

The boy is told to wait as his stepmother makes herself comfortable.
She sits down on the sofa. A damn good hiding has been promised and the boy knows this is not an empty threat. Something out of the ordinary run of hidings is now going to take place and nothing on earth can stop the punishment taking place. Of course what he doesn't know is it will be an incident that will linger in the his memory even when childhood itself is just a distant memory.

Something quite unforgettable will now take place. A moment of personal history which will change his world for ever. He thinks he has had a proper hiding before but he is soon going to find out that a damn good hiding is something else. It begins innocently enough in much the same way as ordinary spankings from his stepmother do. No words are spoken she merely pats her lap invitingly and turns her cold blue eyes upon him knowing he will not
dare to disobey. The boy has a look of tragedy on his pale attractive
face. His sister puts down her book which she wasn't really reading
anyway. She leans forward in her chair as if afraid she might miss
some small detail of what is going to happen next. She is trying hard
not to smile but her eyes are dancing with a malicious joyfulness.

The boy leans over his stepmother, his blue cotton shorts drum tight
over his small round backside. He lies over her lap. She smacks his
bottom, not particularly hard but as if she means it. The sound of
smacking seems to echo through the room. No other sound can be heard,
not even the sound of the wind outside. The boys face turns a deep
rich pink as the smacks land, it is as if he is being forced to take
some unpleasant medicine as he pulls a face, gritting his teeth as the
blows fall with remorseless precision. The infliction lasts for two or
three minutes then as suddenly as she began she stops, pulls the boy
up and looking directly into his eyes says,

"Right, that spanking was for your poor behaviour this next one, a
much, much harder one is for daring to tell me lies. Trousers down please"
She orders. The boy looks at her, his eyes pleading silently for
forgiveness. She turns, her face tilted away from him. Tearfully the
boy undoes his shorts. She reaches over and hooks her thumbs into the
waistband of his underpants. He tearfully grips them but soon let's go
as her eyes flash a warning. The underpants are pulled briskly down
and the boy is once more pulled over her lap. A look of sheer
unadulterated delight spreads slowly over his sister's face. The too
tight blue shorts and white underpants hang disconsolately like flags
at half mast framing the boy's already pink and plump buttocks.

At first the stepmother seems reluctant to begin, brushing her dark
fringe away from her eyes, straightening her skirt, adjusting the
boys' shorts so they slide a little further down his tanned smooth
legs. Then she starts again. The smacks are considerably harder this
time although slower as if she is allowing him time to compose himself
before the next one falls. Each smack lands like a small thunderclap.
The boys face contorts into a mask of agony and his behind twists in a
vain attempt to avoid the relentless punishment. Eventually he can
maintain his dignified silence no more. He sobs then cries in pain.
The cries become louder until he is almost screaming for her to stop.
He sounds just like a little girl as he cries. Still his stepmother
carries on, if anything her smacks become harder still, her mouth still has
its hard unforgiving expression. No suspicion of sympathy crosses her
fine attractive features. Her hand continues to smack each cheek in
turn, as if she will never stop. Surely this spanking will last for
all eternity?

The boy attempts to move his small sock covered feet in the way of the
target but she pins down his legs with ease and carries on with
renewed zest. The boy's sister is on the edge of her seat, hardly
daring to breathe, willing her stepmother not to stop. Then after several long minutes it is over. Still the boy cries, he flops down onto the carpet, his
thin shoulders shaking with inconsolable grief. His stepmother leans forward and
gently strokes his mop of tousled blonde hair.

"Come on pull your trousers up. It's all over " she says softly. He
unsteadily gets to his feet. A small sorrowful boy with a bottom so
red it looks as if you could cook a fried breakfast on it. He gingerly
pulls up his trousers and pants. His sister looking so pretty, still
dressed in her blue school uniform, smiles and brushes away a few
tears of silent laughter as her brother searches for his handkerchief.
Suddenly the girl has hiccups and the stepmother turns to her and
says in a cold hard dangerous voice

"Tell me young lady what exactly is it you find so amusing?"