How many more? And then what's he going to use on my poor bottom ?

Backchat.

Samantha's mother had had enough backchat from the girl for one day: she was late back from school, and could offer no proper excuse. Her breath unmistakeably smelled of tobacco, and despite the denials, lo and behold, there was a packet of Rothmans in the pocket of her satchel. The final straw came when Mrs Peters had telephoned and asked whether anyone was aware that Samantha and a group of friends were becoming rowdy in a pub in the centre of town. Her mother had been on the point of getting the car out to go and fetch the girl when the wretch had come lurching up the drive.

Well, now it was payback time and Samantha was just making it worse for herself by trying to claim that she was too old to be thrashed. The girl would be too old to have her backside tanned if and when she learned how to behave properly. In the meantime, her bottom was going to resound to the crack of the family paddle, and when her mother had finished talking to the Headmistress, that pert little rear would undoubtedly find itself on the receiving end of a very whippy cane after the School Assembly the next day.

Teenagers! Who would have them? 

Next illustrated story HERE

Photo from The Penitents