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

Unhappy homecoming

It wasn't the best start to the holidays. OK - they'd been a bit rowdy on the train from Bexhill. It was the result of end-of-term high spirits and the bottle of cheap white wine someone had brought into the carriage. She knew they'd behaved quite badly. She could tell by the way the other passengers had glared at them and muttered to each other. It had been a really rotten idea to start mimicking the pompous old gits and now she thought about it, she remembered that 'Colonel Blimp' type speaking with the Guard and how the Guard had tried to remonstrate with them, quite reasonably to begin with. Then that silly Vanessa took his whistle and started running down the train blowing it. That was probably the turning point. So when they got to Clapham Junction the police had been there to meet the train and take their names and addresses. The law hadn't seen the funny side of things. They said they were going to telephone all the girls' parents. That's when they started sobering up.

Mum had been pretty grim-faced when she picked her up: the coppers had obviously been in touch. They had hardly exchanged a word in the car and as soon as they got home she'd been tersely told to take her suitcase up to her room. Before she'd even had a chance to unpack or get out of her school clothes, her mother had stormed in carrying Dad's hairbrush. Then she was pulled over Mum's knee, her tights dragged down, skirt raised, and the start of the hardest spanking she'd had to endure in years.

"And," her mother snapped when she'd delivered the last stinging smack, "don't think that's the end of it. Wait until your father gets back this evening."