by Stanlegh Meresith
Those readers fortunate enough to have, within striking distance, acquaintances who share their predilection for the creation of sore bottoms (one way or another), may be interested to hear about the ancient game of Spanking Cheat.
The earliest known reference to this delightfully ingenious pastime is to be found in a letter from the playwright Christopher Marlowe to his compatriot, Sir Sydney Browne, dated April 23rd 1589:
Forsooth, my friend, there can bee no greater sport and delighte than a game of Spanking Cheete with a paire or more of buxom wenches when the bloode is highe. Yesterday night at Lambeth, upstairs at the tavern there, I was a cunninge winner and dealt meaty whacks to the arses of Mistress Ann and her friend, in number equal to the cardes left in their hands at the ende.
To best illustrate the sheer fun of this 'sport and delighte', I present here a short fiction that will I hope both entertain and provide guidance on the manner in which the game can be played.
Rachel closed the front door and shook some of the rain off her umbrella onto the Welcome mat.
"Is that you, Rache?" called Susan from the kitchen.
Rachel rolled her eyes. "Who else would it be? Sergeant Pretorius?" An impish smile curled the corners of her mouth.
Susan appeared from the kitchen, drying her hands. "Don't even joke about him!"
The two twenty-five year olds had had a painful experience on holiday in South Africa the summer before. Pretorius had been one of the policemen who'd had a hand in their being whipped with a sjambok when an illegal beach party they'd attended had been busted.
"Sorry, love," said Rachel, still smiling as she removed and hung up her duffle coat. Susan came forward and they hugged, before enjoying a long, slow kiss. Susan reached round and squeezed Rachel's right buttock.
Rachel moaned. "Mmm ... nice."
Susan stood back. "Oh! Guess what?" she said, running a hand through her dishevelled blonde hair.
"What?"
"Prudence and Emily are coming round on Wednesday!"
"They are? Oh goodee! What fun!" Rachel's eyes lit up with excitement. "Yes, of course, it's school holidays, isn't it? I wonder what the fiendish Prudence has in store this time!"
"I dread to think," replied Susan, nervously.
"Don't worry, Susie. I'll protect you."
Susan guffawed sarcastically. "Protect me? Like the last time? If that's your idea of protection, then ... then ..." Rachel raised her eyebrows and gazed lovingly at her dearest friend.
"Then what?" she asked, taking Susan in her arms again. "You know you love it really, if not quite as much as I do."
Susan laid her head on Rachel's shoulder and chuckled. "Yes ... well ..." She began to purr as Rachel ran her fingers affectionately through her hair.
Prudence Waring and Emily Stokes, both in their early thirties, were schoolmistresses at Cropton Hall, the girls' boarding school in North Yorkshire where Rachel and Susan had been educated until the age of eighteen. Prudence, having come into an inheritance two years before, had bought a flat in Fulham, in south-west London, not far from where Rachel and Susan were living. During the holidays, she and Emily liked to come south to enjoy the racier life of the capital city, now on the cusp of hosting the 'Swinging Sixties'. It had been Verily Markham, the Headmistress who'd had such an influence on all their lives, who had suggested some months earlier that Prudence and Emily look up the two former pupils.
It was still raining at seven on the Wednesday evening when there was a rapping on the door. Rachel bounced down the stairs to greet the visitors.
"Prudence! Or should I say, Miss Waring?" she laughed, as Prudence enveloped her in a hug.
"Just don't trot out the old 'Miss Very Waring' line, all right?" said Prudence, stepping back and looking Rachel up and down. "You're looking very well, Rachel. And I like the uniform - is that really your old Cropton outfit?"
Rachel looked down at her white blouse and tie, and the blue pleated skirt and white socks below. "Yes. It's amazing it still fits." She grinned. "Happy memories, you know?"
"Indeed, young lady!"
"But where's Emily?" Rachel peered past Prudence into the dark of the street.
"Oh, she's still trying to park the car," said Prudence, with a grimace. "I gave up and got out. Honestly, that woman needs a space the size of Pickering, and it's only an old Ford Anglia."
Rachel laughed and shut the door. "Susan's just preparing a stew." She continued in a whisper, "She's a bit nervous about ... well ... you know!"
Prudence raised an eyebrow. "And so she should be! I've got a new game for us to play, and I rather suspect our Miss French will not excel at it! And you know what that means."
Rachel giggled. "Oh dear! Poor Susie! And what about me?"
"You, my dear, will, I'm sure, find a way to lose with painful regularity, despite having the talents to succeed at it with ease."
"Oooh! Do tell, Prudence. What's the game?"
"All in good time, my dear. Why don't you see if Emily needs a hand, and I'll go and surprise Miss French."
Rachel ended up parking the Ford herself, and a sheepish Emily found herself being ribbed by the other three throughout dinner, the main course of which was a very acceptable rabbit casserole with carrots and parsnips, washed down with a bottle of claret sent with the mistresses as a gift from Verily Markham.
"And how is old Marky?" asked Susan, as they tucked into dessert.
"Old Marky?" exclaimed Emily. "A little respect, please, French, or you'll find yourself on Punishment Report!" She smiled. "Actually, she's very well. The school's doing better than ever: over-subscribed and getting excellent results ... even in Geography!" She gave Prudence a mischievous look which was met by an arched eyebrow and a narrowing of the eyes. "Uh oh!" continued Emily. "I suspect I'll be paying for that remark before the evening's out."
"I suspect you will," laughed Rachel. "Anyway, Prudence, do tell us what your new game is."
"Have you ever played Cheat?" asked Prudence.
Rachel and Susan shook their heads.
"Well," continued Prudence, "it's a card game where the whole idea is to cheat like mad, and the first to get rid of their cards wins."
"Rachel should be good at that," mumbled Susan into her apple crumble.
"I heard that, French," responded Rachel, with mock indignation. "So, Prudence, how do you get rid of your cards then? And how many cards do we start with?"
"Well, we deal out the whole pack - so, with four of us, that's 13 cards each," explained Prudence. "And you take it in turns to place a card, or cards, face down on the table, announcing what the number is, and how many you've put down. So, for example, I could start by putting down two queens. Then the next person has to put down either a jack, a queen or a king - in other words, any card next to, or the same as, the previous one."
"So where does the cheating come in?" asked Rachel.
"Well, because you always put the cards on the pile face down, nobody actually knows if you're telling the truth. And if they think you're cheating, they say, "Cheat!" and you have to reveal them. If you were cheating, then you have to pick up the whole pile, but if you were telling the truth then the person who accused you has to pick up the pile."
"Oh, I see," said Susan.
"And then the loser starts off the next round," said Prudence.
"Can anyone say 'Cheat' at any time?" asked Rachel.
"Yes."
"It's great fun," said Emily. "Especially with the ... er ... extra forfeits Pru's come up with!"
"Uh oh," said Susan. "Here we go..."
Rachel rubbed her hands in glee. "So, do tell, Pru - how do we get sore bottoms?"
Prudence laughed. "Well, whoever loses when there's an accusation - either the cheater, or the false accuser - gets six of the best from the other player involved. Then ..."
"What with?" interrupted the ever-practical Rachel.
"We use dice to decide."
"Dice?" asked Susan.
"Yes - we'll have six implements, and each one will correspond to a number on the die."
"On the bare?" asked Rachel, her eyes shining.
"Oh, I think so, don't you?" laughed Prudence.
Susan groaned. "Well, I'm going to tell the truth every time, and I don't care if anyone else cheats - I'm not going to risk making any false accusations!" She got up. "Coffee, everyone?"
They all nodded.
"Yes, Susan," said Emily, "but the trouble is, pretty soon you find you haven't got any of the three cards you need, so you have no choice but to cheat. And then of course there's the final reckoning..."
Susan froze. "The ... final reckoning?"
"Ooh! I like the sound of that!" said Rachel.
"Yes," said Prudence. "The winner - once they've successfully put down their last card - gets to give the other players as many strokes as they each have cards left in their hand."
Susan gulped, shaking her head as she disappeared into the kitchen.
Rachel leaned forward and whispered, "Um ... I think I may have to take some of Susie's for her - assuming I don't win, of course..."
"Of course, assuming you don't ..." said Prudence sardonically. "Well, it's not called Cheat for nothing, Rachel, so I'm sure we won't mind if Susan slips you some of her cards at the end, will we, Emily?"
"I think we could turn a blind eye to a bit of girlish solidarity." Emily winked at Rachel. "Verily would definitely approve, and it wouldn't be the first time, would it, Miss Thomas?"
Rachel grinned. "No, Miss."
"A seven," said Prudence, placing the card face down on the pile in the middle of the table. They'd been playing for an hour, and she only had six cards left in her hand.
"Cheat!" cried Rachel.
Prudence smiled and reached forward, ready to reveal the card. "Are you quite sure?" she asked.
"Yes, dammit! You can't have a seven - I'm sure I've got them all myself," said Rachel, trying to sort through the profusion of cards which she was struggling to contain in her hands.
"Not quite all." Prudence flipped the card over: it was a seven.
"Oh no! Not again!" Rachel stared in disbelief. "Prudence, you're too good at this! Why do I always think you're lying?" She picked up the small pile of cards that had gathered in the middle, and added them to her collection - she had about two thirds of the pack now.
"I have no idea," said Prudence, standing up, "but once again, young lady, you're about to pay the price." She picked up the die and handed it to Rachel. "What's it to be?"
Emily and Susan looked bemused as Rachel rolled the die around on her palm.
"We haven't had the cane yet at all," observed Emily, who had herself already been whacked with the hairbrush and tawse by Prudence and Susan respectively - though this was nothing compared to Rachel, who'd had the hairbrush twice, the tawse and the slipper, mainly from Prudence, but once from Emily. The experienced Prudence, and Susan, with her cautious play, had yet to make a mistake. Both sat comfortably.
Rachel tossed the die onto the table.
"Five!" exclaimed Susan.
"The strap!" said Emily, eagerly. Rachel groaned.
"If you would be so good as to fetch it, please, Rachel," said Prudence icily, taking a sip of the brandy Rachel had poured for them all after the coffee.
With a sigh, Rachel got up and went over to the sideboard where the implements were arranged. She picked up the razor strop that Susan had inherited from her late father - a family heirloom she'd had painful experience of.
Not to be reposted, reproduced or distributed, in part or whole.