As Aunt Sarah slowly pushed herself up, her head lowered in shame before us all, Dad came and put his arms around her, pulling her to him for a hug. Aunt Sarah let her head sink into his chest and just sobbed.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Dad stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. Uncle Ted, too, placed an arm around her back and leant in to whisper something to her.
Slowly, Aunt Sarah's sobs subsided as Dad and Uncle Ted continued to hold her and soothe her, the three bereft siblings standing there, swaying slightly in each others' arms.
After all my desire to see her get her come-uppance, and my guilty pleasure in watching the slipper whack her bottom over and over again, I now felt my eyes watering. A tear gathered and spilled, running down my cheek. Poor Aunt Sarah! How was the Mighty fallen!
But lucky me! I had witnessed a sight that would fuel my fantasies in the teenage years to come; a sight, I must say, that has lived with me to this day.
After Mr Snape had been called back in, and all the necessary papers had been signed, Aunt Sarah was somewhat recovered, though she still clung to Dad and Uncle Ted, and couldn't face the room. That was fine with me, as I couldn't help staring at her bottom, so shapely beneath her tight pink skirt, imagining what it must look like and thinking how thoroughly, how gloriously punished it had been.
Mr Snape cleared his throat once more; we all looked at him.
"There is one more bequest," he said. Picking up the slipper, which Uncle Ted had left on the desk, he held it out to Aunt Sarah. "Your father expressly wished that, if you had agreed to the conditions, you should receive this ... as a souvenir."
Dissolving into tears again, she stepped forward and received the proffered slipper. She turned her face to the ceiling. "Oh Daddy," she sobbed. "I'm sorry. Thank you."
Dad and Uncle Ted then led her out, to take her to the Ladies, I think, because I'd heard Dad earlier, quietly asking Mr Snape where it was. Meanwhile, Uncle Bernard just stood there looking dazed, and the rest of us avoided each other's eyes out of embarrassment - or, in some cases, trying not to let on just how entertaining the whole episode had been.
And so, dear friends ... when people ask me where it all started, well ... that's the story. That's how I became a spanko.
And can you blame me?
Obedience
Ruki hated wearing traditional dress, but it was Eid and she felt she should obey her mother's wishes. She could hear her brothers laughing as she descended the wide staircase, crossed the hall and approached the open door to the living-room. She braced herself.
"Ah, Rukhana, at last," said her father, coming forward and placing his hands possessively on her shoulders. "You look wonderful, my dear!" He looked her up and down appraisingly, and turned to his two sons. "Doesn't your sister look lovely? And a B.A with honours, too!"
Rizwan and Sajid nodded, grinning. Rizwan clapped.
"Three cheers for Ruki! Bachelor of Arts!" he said, adding, "But shouldn't that be Spinster of Arts?"
While he was laughing at his own joke, their mother appeared at the door.
"Riz, don't tease your sister. Dinner's ready, everyone." She looked at Ruki. "I told you those colours would suit you, my dear."
Ruki looked down at her sky-blue and yellow shalwar kameez and shrugged, before following the others across the hall to the dining-room.
They were gathered for the Eid-al-Adda festival which fell that year in early September. The Maliks observed the customs of their faith selectively, as do many westernised Muslims. However, they were careful to be seen to conform, when it mattered, so as not to jeopardise their standing in the eyes of business connections or their extended family.
Imran Malik had made his fortune in retail. Starting from a small shop in East London selling cosmetics, he had built the business so successfully over twenty-five years that he was now courted for donations by both the major political parties. The thought of a knighthood, or even of a lesser honour, was extremely enticing to him.
He had bought Oakwell House five years earlier. Located in a picturesque corner of Gloucestershire, it was remote enough to be quiet yet close enough to the M4 for easy access to London. He'd also bought the land across the river, partly to prevent any development there and partly because of the small replica of a Greek temple in the woods - a rather quaint folly built in the 20's by an eccentric previous owner. Since Rukhana, their youngest, had grown and departed for university, he and Saba spent their summers at Oakwell House rather than in Switzerland or on the Kenyan coast where they also had homes.
As soon as Amihan, the Filipino maid, had brought the coffee and retreated back to the kitchen, Imran Malik cleared his throat. "I have an announcement to make."
The seriousness of his tone, after the light-heartedness of the general conversation over dinner, made his children turn to him in surprise. His wife looked down and played with the edge of the tablecloth.
"We have found a husband for Rukhana."
There was a stunned pause. Sajid and Rizwan both looked at Ruki. She sat very upright as the blood drained from her face.
"But Father..."
"Silence, Rukhana. You've always known that your mother and I would choose a husband for you. It is our duty to do so, and the custom of our faith. On this we have always been absolutely clear, and we expect you to be ruled by us in this."
Flushing now, Ruki looked down at her lap, saying nothing.
"So, Father," began Rizwan, "do tell us who the lucky man is."
Sajid was still watching his sister. "It'll be okay, Ruki, really it will," he said.
"His name," said Mrs Malik, "is Shazad Khan. He is twenty-eight, has a first-class degree from Oxford and teaches at Bristol University - so, Ruki, quite close to home, yes? He's bound to become a Professor soon, and we're told he is a very spiritual man."
"And," added her father, "he'll be arriving with his uncle tomorrow to make the first arrangements."
"Nooo!" cried Ruki. She turned to her mother in distress. "Mum, please! It's too soon! I've only just graduated. You promised I'd have time to start a career before ... before ..."
Her mother remained silent, looking expectantly down the length of the table at her husband.
"Ruki, my dear," said Mr Malik, gently, "I know we promised that, but the Khans are anxious that the match be made as soon as possible. And anyway, there's nothing to stop you starting a career as a married woman." He laughed. "It's not as if you're marrying some illiterate farmer from the Punjab!"
Ruki pushed her chair back angrily, and stood. She glared at her father. "Thanks. That's a great relief, I'm sure." Giving her mother a hurt look, she turned and left the room, slamming the door behind her.
"Rukhana!" shouted her father, in vain.
They sat in silence for some moments.
"Well, that went well," said Rizwan.
---oOo---
Ruki had undressed, put on her favourite cotton pyjamas and was sitting at her dressing-table brushing her long dark hair when she heard a knock at her bedroom door.
She ignored it, but her mother appeared anyway. "Ruki, love?"
"Go away."
"Rukhana, we must talk," said Mrs Malik with determination, coming forward to stand behind her daughter.
And talk they did, though it made no difference. Despite Mrs Malik's attempts to remind her daughter of the expensive education they'd given her; despite her glowing description of how handsome and clever was her husband-to-be; and despite the picture she painted of the shame that would fall on the family (and especially on her father) if she defied them, Ruki would not be won over to any kind of acceptance.
"Mum ... I'm not ready. I ... I can't get married!"
"But why, Ruki? Is there someone else? Are you still fond of that boy you mentioned? Raheem, was it?"
"No, I got over him ages ago. There's no one." Ruki's frustration whined in her voice. "That's not the point; you don't understand ..."
Mrs Malik stood, saying, "I
think I do, my dear. But it will all work out, you'll see." She went to the door. "At least wait until you meet Shazad - you never know, perhaps you might even approve of our choice!"
Ruki shook her head and turned away to hide her tears. Mrs Malik sighed.
"Good night, Ruki. Sleep well."
As her mother let herself out, Ruki murmured 'good night' and climbed into bed.
Having tried and failed to focus on her book for a good half hour, Ruki turned off the bedside light and lay on her back in the dark. A confusion of thoughts and feelings grappled in her mind. She had never in her life truly defied her parents, and seriously doubted she had the strength to do so now. Since leaving Cambridge, there'd been times when she'd felt alone and uncertain in a world so wide it made her dizzy. She wanted to cast off the security of her parents' protection, yet she was afraid of the void that might await her.
She also felt humiliated by her mother's patronising assumption that she'd give in and that all would be well. She thought of her English friends, and how she wished she could be free like them, free to choose for herself! And yet ... she'd seen the unhappiness many of them suffered through the poor choices they'd made.
Tired with the effort of pondering such important issues, Ruki turned on to her side and decided to escape into her favourite fantasy. Her mind always slid so easily into this story.
Where should she go tonight? The harem? The school? The prison?
Although her father had never once in her life laid a finger on her, Ruki had for some years conjured up dreams, in the privacy of her bed, of being punished by a strong, dominant man. These fantasies, and the pleasure they stoked, had gradually become more intense and imaginative with time, despite the vague guilt they evoked. One voice told her she was abnormal, a weirdo, a pervert, while another said 'Nonsense' and 'So what?' and asserted her right to her pleasure. Anyway, nobody knew, nor would they - it was her secret.
That night, though, Ruki's mind refused to settle: a scene would appear fleetingly but then fade, her mind restlessly switching to another and another, none of them reaching a satisfactory starting-point. After an hour of tossing and turning, she sat up and rubbed her eyes.
This is ridiculous, she thought. What is wrong with me?
She stared into the dimness of her room for a moment and then an idea started to form, and with it an excitement deep in her belly. She got up, grabbed her dressing-gown, slipped into her sandals and went downstairs. Pulling the front door quietly shut behind her, she set off for the jetty by the river.
The night was warm and still but very dark, and she had to feel her way carefully through the trees by the shore, even holding her arms out in front of her at times. Her stomach fluttered at the thought of what she intended, but her determination was complete and unwavering.
Reaching the jetty, where the starlight offered more help, she untied the painter from its post and climbed carefully into the small boat her father had acquired the summer before. She removed her sandals and lifted one of the oars, which she placed in its rollock, pushing against the side of the jetty with the other oar to give her room to start rowing.
The sound of water dripping from the oar-ends as they rose out of the water at each stroke accompanied her own slightly laboured breathing as she headed across the river. It flowed very sedately at this time of year, so she didn't have to worry about being borne too far downstream. Her destination was slightly in that direction anyway.
When she reached the other side, she shipped the oars, grabbed her sandals and clambered out, hauling the boat up onto the low grassy bank. She felt the grass, wet with night dew beneath her toes. She shivered, more in anticipation than from any cold.
She looked into the woods. She could see only the trunks of the nearest trees; beyond that was an impenetrable darkness. Slipping into her sandals once more, she guessed the bearings she needed and set off tentatively towards the temple.
As she picked her way through the undergrowth, she held her gown to her waist so as not to get it caught on a bramble. An owl hooted nearby. Before long, she came to the edge of the clearing. The white marble columns loomed faintly in the darkness. Letting her gown fall, she turned to a nearby tree. She soon found what she sought: a thin, supple branch. She twisted it and snapped it off at its origin. She ran a hand along its length, pulling away the twigs and leaves, then she tested it in the air: it made a delicious swishing sound that sent more flutters through her loins.
Clutching her switch, she crossed the clearing and mounted the wide, shallow steps that led into the temple itself. The entrance was tall and grand, with no door. Without the starlight, it was as dark inside the single square room as it had been in the woods.
Edging into the middle of the floor, she slipped off her gown and let it fall to the marble floor. She stood very still, listening for any sounds. She heard only her quick, shallow breaths and the thumping of her heart.
She leaned forward. Stretching out her right arm and twisting her wrist, she tapped the switch against the taut seat of her pyjamas.
"Wicked girl, you deserve this," she muttered. She pulled back the switch and flicked it round behind her as hard as she could. "OW!" she screeched, as the thin branch bit across the tops of her thighs - not where she'd intended. As she winced and gasped, she heard a noise.
She froze.
There was someone there, in the room, in the darkness. Her heart beat as furiously as the sting burning the back of her legs. Moments passed, and then she heard another movement, as of someone getting up. She was paralysed.
"Don't be afraid," she heard. The voice was deep, calm and authoritative, the accent English and educated. "I understand," it continued, very softly. "Two choices: I leave you here alone, or I help you with this." She felt him touch the hand which held the switch.
Ruki inhaled sharply at the contact but stood absolutely still, hardly breathing. She had no time to dwell on the awful embarrassment of the situation, or even the danger, though she felt herself blush to her roots, and her heart raced.
Surrendering to the moment, she passed the switch to his hand.
"Very well," he said.
A hand on her shoulder guided her gently forward, down the steps into the middle of the clearing. She dared not look back, didn't want this man to see her face.
"Bare yourself and touch your toes," he commanded, a steelier note entering his voice.
Ruki obeyed, peeling down her pyjama trousers and bending over, her whole body now aquiver with intense excitement. Years of nocturnal fantasies were on the brink of realisation.
She felt the switch touch her bare flesh, then withdraw. She tensed, tightening the grip of her hands on her ankles. And then, like an acid kiss, it came, all in an instant: an airy swish, a thwipp and a streak of stinging fire that flashed across the middle of her buttocks.
She gasped as the pain spread out in throbbing waves from its source. Her head shook from side to side, her long hair sweeping the ground, and her knees buckled and straightened as she fought to absorb the reality of what she had so long desired.
It did not disappoint: the moan that escaped her lips bespoke endurance and joy in equal measure.
She sensed him waiting. With a final shake of her head, she gathered herself and took firm hold of her ankles once again, thrusting out her bottom in submissive invitation.
He obliged with a swingeing stroke that knocked the breath from her chest. For long moments she froze, knees bent and eyes squeezed shut, before a strangled "Aaaah!" came from deep in her throat. Her bottom screamed its protest in her mind, twisting and writhing as the burn of this second stripe grew and merged with the first in a consensus of agony.
Her breath came and went in frantic gulps as she fought for control, fought to ride the tiger.
Behind her, patiently, he watched and waited, as still as the night air.
In time she settled and came again to offer her brown, round rear to the rod in his hand. And again he played his part, curving the switch do
wn and in to slice her bottom across its fleshiest part, low down, wide and soft.
She cried out and crumpled, her face contorted, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. Her palms lay flat on the earth by her feet, and she dug into it with her nails as if she could squeeze away her pain.
More slowly this time did she force herself to straighten her legs and grasp her ankles. Twice she pushed her bottom out, only to twitch and cower away before finally she could bring herself to obey her desire and submit to the searing fate she chose.
And even longer did he keep her waiting before he raised the switch again and whipped it down to bite deep into that same soft flesh below, on the tenderest cusp of cheek and thigh.
With a shriek, she fell to her knees, clutching herself behind, her fingers pressing and pulling slowly through her tortured flesh, trying to make the unbearable bearable. Then she groaned and swayed before lowering her head to the ground, her face in the earth, panting, moaning, hands still splayed across her deeply scored rump.
Oh, the pain, the pain! How punished she felt, how thoroughly thrashed and conquered! Then, through the scarlet ringing in her head, she heard a sound. She turned. The switch lay on the ground at her side, and she heard him walking away.
By the time she reached the sanctuary of the house and her bedroom, the adrenalin had given way to a pleasantly dazed excitement. Letting her gown lie where it fell, she went to her dressing-table and switched on the lamp. Lowering her pyjamas, she craned her neck to gaze in the mirror upon the sight she'd imagined so many times: deeply-ridged stripes, dark red and purpling.
Long and luxurious was her pleasure that night, with her story accompanied by an unfamiliar yet welcome sensation: a tender, throbbing rear.
---oOo---
Exhausted, but glowing, at noon the next day Ruki was applying some eye-liner when she heard the visitors' car pull up in the drive below. Her mother's voice came excitedly up the stairs:
Aunt Sarah's Slippering: and other short stories Page 2