Monday, 24 January 2011

A Fine Spanking For Bernadette, Part One

Bernadette... An achingly lovely girl who shared a chunk of my life for a couple of years from late 1985. As I look back down the decades I can say with all honesty that she is the one girl that I still think about with warmth and affection. It wasn't her fault that we split, nor mine: we tried our best but it didn't work out and so we sort of drifted apart.

That doesn't mean that Bernadette was perfect in every way. Far from it as like all females she could be petulant, sulky and generally difficult to handle a lot of the time. She had been across my knee on several occasions and bless her but she found the experience less than agreeable. Quite why she was unable to modify her general naughtiness so as to avoid further correction is something that I am unable to explain, mainly because I cannot get my head that far up my arsehole to make sense of many of the things that women do. That aside the spanking that I want to tell you about now was pretty spectacular and even though I am not a gambling man I would still be willing to bet money that Bernadette will remember it.

She was 25 back in the summer of 1986 which is when these events occurred. A tall, slender, size ten girl, with an infectious smile and the ruddy Irish complexion that she had inherited from both her parents who had hailed from the ould sod. She was researching her M.Sc, part-time, at the University of Manchester, worked as a secretary for Marks and Spencer and lived on the top floor of an old house in the south of the city that had been converted into flats.

Bernadette had been the perfect scatterbrain all  that evening. I had called to collect her at the agreed time to find her mooching around in jeans and a T-shirt, having quite forgotten that we were going to the theatre. So of course she needed a bath first but what was she going to do without a pound coin for the water heater?  I didn't have one either so a minor drama broke out with Bernadette sat in a chair pondering her next move until I went and got change from a nearby shop. Then she couldn't decide which dress to wear so I had to sit in a chair and be treated to a fashion show as garments were tried on and discarded. Finally she insisted, since this was the theatre and people would look at her, and no, don't ask me to explain the thought process at work there, that her admittedly luscious flowing red-brown locks had to be treated to a curling tong when still damp. And so it went on... To cut a long story short we arrived in our seats seconds before the curtain went up, Bernadette looking cool and ravishing, with me feeling like a wrung out rag.

We went to dinner afterwards and of course she couldn't decide what she wanted to eat and then went into pout mode when I called the waiter over and ordered for her. Then I was treated to a lecture on how I needed to be more understanding of her whims, and when I told her to shut her silly female mouth I was told that I was a sexist, which is true, and then the sulks started all over again.

That was pretty much it for me. I sat back, took a sip of wine and smiled sweetly in Bernadette's direction:

"Have you any idea how hard I am going to smack your bottom when I get you home?"

The couple at the next table overheard my comment, and the woman covered her mouth with a napkin to hide her smile. Her companion and I glanced at each other, with me shrugging my shoulders and him rolling his eyes in sympathy at what I was having to put up with. Bernadette had more sense than to say a word  and the rest of the meal was eaten in silence. Once it was over I paid the bill and loaded her in the car for  the drive back to her flat where retribution would follow.

Madam tried to make small talk in the car, but gave up when she realised that I was completely indifferent to her rather desperate attempts to divert my attention from the fact that I intended to take her in hand - and take her in hand pretty damn well - just as soon as we reached her home.

Eventually, but probably far too soon for Bernadette who had begun to pluck nervously at the hem of her silky cream-coloured tea dress, we reached her flat and I pulled the car into the parking area in front of the building.

"Right, young lady," I said to her. "It's showtime!"

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