I was in France at the weekend. I drove there with my new partner Sue and her little boy who is Mark. He is 5 and rather tiresome at times. He wzsod on the ferry but as soon as we out him in the car the toher side he started to whine and moan about being in the car. I had suggested to Sue that the journey was too far for Mark but she had insisted we should go. Her life could not be governed by a five year old, she had told me quite firmly.
Anyway, as we drove nearer our destination at Le Touquet, Mark's complaining got wprse. I offered to stp the car for a break but Sue thought it best to carry on to the hotel. She turned to Mark and told him that she would give him a ''hard smacked bottom'' if he did not stop whining. I looked in the rear view mirror and could see that he was becoming quite agitated, bored with the journey.
It was then that the idea struck me. I took a wrong turn, un-noticed by Sue , who had not been to France before, and then started to complain that I had become lost. The detour added at least 30 minutes to our car journey and we arrived at the hotel all very agitated and fed up.
A little later I was delighted to be sitting on the edge of the bed in the hotel room watching Sue pull Mark's little white underpants down before giving the small boy and very hard hand spanking which left the boy's bottom bright red and him crying loudly. I was glad it is autumn and that the hotel was not yet that busy. Sue let me bathe Mark, as normal, and I washed his little bottom with some vigour, hoping to add some additional discomfort to the complaining little fellow. I enjoy rubbing the boy's young bottom but, in truth, I will be happier when I am able to spank him when I think he needs it. I intend to spank very hard, and often.
My email freind Louis had been the inspiration for outr little journey to France. A friend on a spanking mailroom he had told me his story and we had become firm email freinds, exchanging stories and accounts of child discipline.
Louis had two small boys aged 8 and 6 when he became a widower. He was at his wits end with the lively boys who he had attempted to discipline when his wife was alive but with little success, their mother indulged the boys. With her gone, Louis had bought a martinet and, within a few months his lively and noisy sons had become quite, obedient and agreeable sons.
The martinet was used every Friday after school had ended, more ofetn in vacations, on both the boys. Now they cleaned the home, cooked, did the shopping unaccompanied and completed all their chores without complaint.
Louis had told me that all this had been achieved with the help of his martinet which had been bought at a local supermarket for less than 5 Euros. He added that now his sons accompanied their grandparents to mass every Sunday, without complaint. He had not told his own parents that their grandsons new love of church services was a direct result of the red lines that decortated his sons young bottoms well into the weekend. Indeed, if there was a need for the matrinet on a Saturday, the boys would always be marching off to church with red lines across their little bottoms on the Sunday morning. The boys freinds could not understand why Louis's sons suddenly preferred church to soccer club.
The next day Sue Mark and I entered the supermarket and I had only one item on my shopping list. Of course we did the normal English thing of filling the trolley with many cases of wine and some cheese. Mark again became irritable after a while and did not want to sit in the trolley so Sue took Mark to get a drink. I returned to the car with the shopping and then returned to the store, explaining to Sue in the cafe area that I was going to buy Mark a present. I headed for the pets area and chose a nice marinet. I noted that the picture of the dog on the wrapper. Louis had told me that many French parents use the martinet to train their dogs and sons at the same time. I quickly chose a little toy for Mark before returning to the car with the martinet which I hid in the bottom of the glove compartment.
As we drove back to the ferry Mark began to whine again. I looked in the rear view at my 'soon to be' step son. The rest of the way I started to imagine the moment that I would begin disciplining Mark in private, bare little bootm up over my knee with my new french toy in my right hand.