One September afternoon, on a cold winter’s night, my schoolmates and I filed onto the school bus, happy to be headed home for the weekend. Laia, my best friend, plonked down beside me.

“Thank God it's Friday,” I said.

“Yeah,” she replied quietly.

“It's good, right?”

She sighed.

“Yeah. But my weekend won't start until later. I'm in for a spanking when I get home, Sara.”

I giggled. But I was surprised. She'd never mentioned being spanked before.

“My brother is getting one too. I sneaked into Pol's room to play video games with him late at night and they heard us.”

“Ha! I guess being an only child has it's perks!” But I was too curious to stop there. “Will he use his hand?”

“Dad uses this plimsoll. It packs a punch, believe me. Still better than being grounded, though. It gets it over with.”

I saw Laia the next day.

“So, how was it?”

“Hard. And long. We both got about thirty swats of the shoe, and went to bed with very red bottoms. I’m still a bit sore down there, to be honest. But, if I hadn't taken it, I wouldn’t be able to hang out today.”

“Who went first?”

“Pol. Watching him take it and waiting for my turn was probably greater torture than the punishment itself. I just had to sit there in the corner, watching his bum being walloped again and again, thinking about how those whacks were coming my way next. His spanking felt like it went on forever! Finally, dad let Pol stand up.

“He called me over, and when I stretched across the table, it was still warm from Pol's body having been there, which was a bit gross. And then, well, you can imagine. Thirty swats, just my knickers on. Yowch!”

“Did it hurt?”

“Of course it hurt, that was the point! Having my brother watch me take it is just as bad though. It's so embarrassing!”

“So, you won't be risking any more late-night gaming sessions?”

“No way! But at least I’m free this weekend. And, honestly, Sara, being spanked makes me appreciate that I did something wrong more than grounding. It's a one-time event, like whatever I did wrong was. And there's the whole ritual: Assuming the position, hitching up my skirt and feeling the smart of each blow. It's like that cleanses me, you know?”

A month later, I got into trouble at school. It was my own fault. A girl was being picked on by a group of five girls and I joined in. I didn't say anything too awful, just a bit of teasing, but we had gone too far. When her parents called the school, my name was included. All six of us were hauled in front of the headmaster, who gave us a massive lecture, detention and called our parents.

That day, the bus ride home felt shorter than it had ever been. My heart was thumping, knowing I had to face my dad.

“I'm ashamed of you, Sara.” were the most cutting words he had ever said to me. I was grounded for two months and sent to bed hungry.

I lay in bed that night, thinking about the girl I'd bullied and Laia and her punishment. Two months grounded! And dad was so disappointed. It felt awful. I knew I deserved to be punished.

I don't know what made me do it. But I grabbed a pen and paper and began to write.

Dear Dad,

I'm sorry for what I did. I really am, and I know I deserve to be punished. But I have been wondering if you'd reconsider my punishment.

Laia's dad gives them spankings. She said it works, and that all the ritual around it really makes her think. Plus, it gets it all over with then and there.

If you agree, I'll take a spanking or a caning, a proper, painful one, instead of losing two months with my friends. You can use a shoe or a cane or your hand, whatever. It's up to you. But I would prefer an hour of pain to two months alone.

Love, Sara.

I folded up the paper and slipped it under dad’s bedroom door. Nothing was said on the subject the next day, and I was not allowed out that night.  But the next morning, I woke to find a note under my door.

Dear Sara. I'm impressed by your maturity in taking responsibility, and your thoughtful attitude. I agree to your terms. Wait to hear more.

Love, Dad”

On Saturday morning, over breakfast, dad said, “We're going out this morning.”

I found us standing side by side in a sports store, inspecting thick-soled plimsolls. Dad picked several up, weighing them carefully. At last, he made his choice. They were navy blue and heavy in my hands. Knowing what they were for made my heart pound.

“You are paying for these,” he said at the till.

It cost me a week's allowance.

An hour later, we were home again. I knew what was coming. I was nervous. Dad told me to meet him in the dining room. As I descended the stairs, trepidation and anticipation grew in the pit of my stomach.

“Close the curtains,” he told me.

I had not thought of this. The dining room looked out on our street, a pavement and a number of houses. I went window to window, shutting out the daylight.

“Come here.”

Dad indicated the dining room table. I obeyed. One of the shoes was lying on the table.

“Sara, I appreciate that you are taking responsibility for what you did, and I accept that you regret it, as you should. I'll beat you properly, and then the matter will be closed. Sara, I want you to take off your trousers and bend over. Lie across the table.”

I fumbled with my belt, undid the clasp, and lowered my jeans. As I bent over, my nerves were mixed with relief that I would soon be absolved of my thoughtless actions. I felt the muscles of my rear end tighten as I stretched out.

I rested my head on the table. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw dad's hand pick up the plimsoll. I braced myself for the first stroke.

It was the last I saw of the shoe. A moment later, I felt the flat underside crack against my bottom. The sole, I found, reached more than the area covered by my knickers. There was a brief pause, then the shoe walloped me again. I lurched forward.

The third stroke landed squarely where the first one had. The sting was mounting, but I was glad that, unlike Laia, I didn't have an audience.

There was no point in squirming or squealing. I closed my eyes and felt the blows thwack, thwack, thwack, on my bottom. I bit my lip against the growing sting. It started to really hurt about halfway through, because the shoe was striking flesh that was already bruised. I lost count of the strokes, and every inch of my posterior received a blow.

As painful as the spanking was, and as embarrassing as dropping my jeans and presenting my bottom to dad was, I never lost sight of the fact that it would be over soon. I knew I'd made the right choice, even as the last five strokes on my heated backside made me yell, ”Ow! Oh! Ah!”

“That will do,” said dad.

I got up, stooped, and pulled my jeans back up. There were tears in my eyes.

“You can go to your room and compose yourself. I think perhaps we can go out for lunch today.”

The next time I saw Laia, I opened up.

“I knew I'd screwed up, and so I took your advice. I volunteered for a spanking. And you were right. I do feel better.”

Laia laughed.

“Tell me everything! If you had less than twenty, I'm going to be extremely disappointed!”

I told Laia about the letters and the trip to the sports shop and the solemn moment of closing the curtains. Then, I told her about the slippering.

“Sounds like you had a good one,” she said, laughing. “Next time it happens, let me know. I’ll come and watch in the corner!”

And with that, we headed out to enjoy the rest of the weekend.

The End

© Marcella Cabana 2025