by Philip Kemp
I was 18 when I got my first proper job - in the lingerie department at Pearson's, the biggest clothing store in town. It wasn't, to be honest, entirely through my own merits. Hugh Pearson, who owned the store, was an old friend of my dad's - in fact they'd been in the army together during the war. I knew his daughter Marion, too - she'd been a few years ahead of me at school. So when I finished school and was looking for work, Dad had a word with Hugh - and there I was, with a real proper job that paid all of £22 a week. Doesn't sound like much these days, I know - but this was back in 1963, when money went a whole lot further than it does today. I was still living at home, too - so after I'd given Mum £8 a week towards my keep, I found I still had plenty to spend on whatever I liked.
Maybe that was the cause of my downfall. Pretty soon I got into the habit of thinking I could have anything I wanted. So in the run-up to Christmas that year I was spending quite freely - on stuff for myself, my family and friends. Until, with Christmas still a week away, I suddenly found I'd run out of funds, four days before pay-day. Luckily I'd bought all my presents, so I thought I could manage for a bit. And then - temptation struck.
Temptation was a beautiful pair of panties of emerald-green silk - French culottes, and designed by Givenchy too, so as you can imagine they didn't come cheap. They weren't even in Pearson's either, but in the A La Mode store down the street. The moment I saw them I wanted them with an uncontrollable longing, especially since they were just my size. But they only had one pair left in stock, and with Christmas coming up and customers spending freely, I was pretty sure someone would snap them up.
Of course, I could probably have got an advance on my wages. That would have been the sensible thing to do. Mrs Jenkins, the head of department, was a warm, friendly woman and very approachable, and I'm sure she'd have agreed without any hesitation. But I thought she might ask what I wanted it for - and stupidly, I felt I'd appear 'shallow', wanting money for something so frivolous as a pair of French silk panties. Looking back now at my teenage self, I can see what an idiot I was being. But at the time, I made the fatal choice.
So one day just before lunchtime, when I was sure nobody was looking, I slipped some money out of the till. I told myself that I was just borrowing it, and that come pay-day I'd pay it back. Then as soon as it was my lunch hour I shot off to A La Mode, praying that my silken joy hadn't been sold. I was in luck - it was still there. I returned to Pearson's with the panties tucked away in my bag and a secret song of delight in my heart.
I felt certain I was safe. The tills were reconciled every Friday evening, and we got paid at Friday lunchtime... plenty of time to make restitution. But then to my horror Mrs Jenkins announced that since the Christmas period takings had been so heavy, there would be an extra mid-week reconciliation that evening.
Events followed with an awful inevitability: the discovery of nearly £20 missing from my till; my pathetic attempt at making excuses; the disapproving stares or ill-suppressed giggles of my colleagues; Mrs Jenkins regretfully announcing that she would have to "report this to Mr Pearson". And then - oh, the shame, the embarrassment - my summons to Hugh Pearson's office.
Hugh listened patiently while I stumbled through my story and my feeble excuses. When I finally stuttered to a halt he leant back in his chair and gazed at me for a good minute without speaking. He didn't look angry - perhaps a little disappointed but also, rather to my puzzlement, secretly amused.
"Oh Lesley," he finally said, "you're really very young, aren't you?"
Taken aback, I said nothing.
"Still in many ways a child," he continued. "I want - I must have. And no thought for the consequences. In fact really no thought at all. Surely you knew that if you came to me I'd have happily given you an advance?"
Inwardly I was kicking myself. Why on earth hadn't I done that? But I just muttered, "Sorry, Mr Pearson," and awaited my fate.
"Of course," he went on, "you're not the first staff member to help yourself to... well, let's say, an unauthorised loan. And I've never felt it necessary to involve the police in these cases. But of course they've all been sacked."
My heart sank. How on earth would I explain this to Mum and Dad?
"However..." My heart rose again just a little. "... in your case it's a bit different. I've known you since you were a baby, and your dad's a very old friend. So I'm reluctant to sack you. But of course there must be consequences. So I think what I should do, Lesley, is come home with you this evening and have a word with your parents."
Oh no! This was even worse. Having to face my parents' disappointed eyes - and with Hugh Pearson there to witness my shame? "Oh please, Mr Pearson," I begged, "must you? I promise I'll tell them - honestly I will!"
"Oh, I expect you will, Lesley. But I think I need to have a word with George and Mary about the consequences of what you did - and just what form those consequences should take. It's closing time now. Shall we go?"
There was nothing for it. I collected my hat and coat and - dismissing a mad irrational impulse to make a run for it - joined Hugh out in the car-park, where he politely held open the passenger door of his big black Humber Super Snipe. It was a lot grander than the number 42 bus that usually took me home, and a lot more comfortable too. But I was feeling anything but comfortable - and even less so when the imposing vehicle drew up outside our house and I could glimpse curtains twitching all up and down the street.
The scene that followed was even worse than I'd imagined it. Mum and Dad's initial surprise and delight at seeing Hugh soon turned to astonishment, disappointment and anger when they learned why he'd come. I wasn't sure which was harder to bear - Dad's look of furious shame, or Mum's quiet, miserable, "Oh Lesley - how could you?" To cap it all, I had to produce the fatal panties from my bag and display them for everyone's inspection.
"What - for that little bit of nothing?" gasped Dad incredulously. "Well, you'll take them straight back tomorrow, my girl!"
"Well, that's one possibility, George," remarked Hugh. "But if I might make a suggestion? Of course, it's entirely up to you how you deal with Lesley. But just suppose - for example - we let Lesley keep these glamorous little scanties, and I take the purloined money out of her wages, in four weekly instalments?"
"That's very generous of you, old man," said Dad, sounding rather puzzled. "But wouldn't it mean she'd be getting off pretty much scot-free?"
"Oh, not quite," replied Hugh, glancing at me with a grin that I knew boded no good. "You see, when I first heard about Lesley's little escapade, I told her she'd behaved like a child, looking for instant gratification. So it seems to me she should be punished like a child. Tell me, do you ever spank her?"
Dad looked totally flabbergasted. "We-ell, we used to, sure, when she was younger - but not for a few years now. Thought she was maybe a bit old for that?"
"And now, do you still think so?" asked Hugh. "I don't mind telling you, my Marion still goes across her dad's knee to have her bare bottom spanked, even now she's 20 - and will do, just so long as she's living at home. A girl's never too old, I've always believed."
Mum and Dad exchanged a glance. I watched, appalled. Surely they couldn't really be considering spanking me? At 17?
Slowly, very slowly, they both nodded. I didn't like the look of those nods, not one little bit. Still less so when Dad turned to Hugh and observed, "You're quite right, old man. A good spanking is just what this naughty girl of ours seriously needs. In fact," he paused, seeming to reflect, "I'm not sure that a single spanking will really be enough. Since she'll be paying for her precious lingerie in instalments, perhaps she should receive her punishment in instalments too. What do you think?"
Hugh's grin, now expanded to Cheshire Cat dimensions, left little doubt as to what he thought. "Excellent idea, George - quite excellent! What kind of thing did you have in mind - a spanking every night for a week?"
"Hmm, sounds about right. What do you think, Mary?"
"Perfect, dear," responded Mum. "If we start this evening, that'll take us nicely up to Christmas Eve for the - the grand finale, if you like!"
I listened in total disbelief. A spanking - not just tonight, but every night for a whole week? This just couldn't be happening!
But it was - and it did. No sooner had Hugh cheerfully taken his leave, with the parting admonition to my parents, "More power to your elbows, my friends! And make a bit of a ceremony of it - enhances the effect no end!" than Dad ordered me up to my bedroom.
"Change into those ridiculous scanties you were so keen to have, and your school gym slip - then wait until we call you!"
Up in my room I donned the fateful silken garment, then checked it out in the mirror. No question, Mr Givenchy's creation was elegantly sexy. I couldn't help noting, though, that over the last few years my rear end had developed some rather well-rounded curves that, I feared, would offer a tempting target for whoever was about to administer punishment. Mum or Dad, I wondered - or even (gulp) both of them?
I soon found out. "Down here now, young lady!" came Dad's stern tones. Apprehensively, I descended the stairs.
An upright dining chair had been placed in the middle of the sitting room. On it sat Mum, a determined expression on her face. Dad, equally stern, stood by the fireplace. And an unexpected, puzzling detail: leaning against the wall and lying on its side, just opposite where Mum sat, was the tall mirror that usually stood in the hall.
"Well, Lesley," said Dad, "we've decided that, since your behaviour's in some way the responsibility of both of us, it's up to us both to punish you. So we'll be taking it in turns. Your Mum's going to spank you tonight, then me tomorrow night, and so on."
"That's right, dear," said Mum, with a crook of her finger. "So get over here now, please!" As if in a dream I moved over to her and, almost before I knew what was happening, found myself ignominiously face-down over her lap, while she lifted up my ridiculous gymslip to reveal - as I could now see as I glanced to my right, my curvy and all-too-vulnerable bottom encased in expensive green French silk.
For now I realised just what the hall mirror was doing there in its unaccustomed position. Not only were my parents resolved that I should feel my spanking but, as an additional embarrassment, that I should be able to watch it too!
Mum felt the material of the panties between finger and thumb.
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