Photo from the Penitents
Her uncle Jack was strict, even prudish. He insisted that Valerie was too young to wear make up. She insisted equally forcefully that, at eighteen years and three months, she most certainly was old enough. And anyway, all her friends wore lipstick and nail polish.
A clash was inevitable, because she was regularly sent to stay with her uncle when her parents - both actors - were away performing in the provinces. Jack had tried to reason with her and had suggested that she accept a compromise: what she did at home was between her and her parents; when she stayed with him, she would observe his rules. Valerie had petulantly agreed. He didn't see the crossed fingers behind her back.
All went well for a short while, then one evening uncle Jack came home unexpectedly early, just as Valerie was preparing to go out. She'd told him that she was going to the movies with some girl friends, so he'd agreed - something he'd never have done if he'd known the truth: Valery was meeting Algy, alone and unsupervised, and their destination was a night club. Thus, when uncle Jack saw her dark red lips and her even darker red fingernails, he exploded.
"You promised me," he thundered, "you gave me your word, but you lied. Just look you, all done up like a tart!"
"Don't you call me a tart, you silly old buffer..."
She got no further. Uncle Jack grabed her left arm and dragged to a nearby stool. With one swift movement, he threw her across his knee and dragged her tights down.
Then he began to spank her. And how he spanked: hard, long, and mercilessly. She hadn't felt the sting of a hand (or indeed anything else) on her backside since she left school and she had almost forgotten how much it could hurt. She writhed and wriggled and kicked and struggled, but she was no match for a zealot who knew he was doing the right thing by God.
Soon, her bottom began to glow so rosily that it even seemed possible, if the thrashing continued much longer, that it would match the colour of those fingernails and lips.