From the Top Shelf - The Spanking Twenties

This is an entertaining piece from Janus published in 1973 about that delightful era between the two World Wars when women became emancipated, skirts got shorter, and girls learned the down side of equal treatment with boys at school and at work. The history is based on the British experience but wherever you are, enjoy.

To any student of corporal punishment the decade immediately following the Great War is perhaps one of the most interesting of all time.

In 1918 the vote was given to women aged thirty and over; in 1920 the University of Oxford admitted women for the first time in its history and in 1928 all women over the age of 21 were enfranchised. In those ten years women made the most of their emancipation. They flew aeroplanes, drove racing cars, and generally let the world know that the liberated woman had arrived.

One of the first things that happened was she discarded her ankle-length skirts, her long hair was bobbed or shingled, and her skirts appeared above her knees.

When she left school, the girl of the twenties cast aside her hated school uniform. She replaced her gym-slip with the shortest dress her parents would allow, and her navy-blue bloomers with the briefest and tightest of rayon knickers she could get hold of. Her black stockings she exchanged for a pair of gleaming silk stockings, gartered as high as they would stretch. Cramming her feet into her first pair of pointed-toed, high heel patent leather shoes, she went out into the great big wonderful world with whoops of joy. She worked in offices, in shops, and in factories.

Out of her wages she had to pay Mum, of course, but there was plenty left to buy silk stockings, undies, make-up, powder, lipstick and mascara, even if she did have to wait until she was out of the house before she could use them.

She found a new world of boys. Boys who were only too willing to take her out in the evening. It was nearly always to the back row of the 'pictures' where she could gaze in rapture at Rudolph Valentino being so thrillingly cruel and masterful in the 'Sheik of Araby'. Of course the boys always wanted to kiss and cuddle but having their eager hands exploring her breasts and a sly hand creeping up her skirt was so thrilling! There was the 'Palais' too. You could dance the 'Charleston' and then it was all right to kick your legs and give the boys a glimpse of your garters. Some girls, the fast ones, even showed their knickers! Yes, life was wonderful!

The only fly in the ointment was Dad. Dad was old-fashioned. He didn't understand the younger generation. Like all previous generations of fathers, Dad was a reactionary and viewed his daughter's goings-on with a highly suspicious eye. Quite often he put his foot down. "No daughter of mine is going to roam the streets until all hours," he said. "Ten o'clock is quite late enough for you, my girl! You better be home by then or you'll get your backside tanned!"

In those far off days Dad was still 'Head of the Household' and his word was law. If his daughter dared to defy him and bounced in at midnight, flushed from struggling with her over-amorous boyfriend and smelling of port and lemon, she was apt to find that Dad had meant every word he said. No sooner had she taken off her coat than she found herself sprawling across his knees. In spite of all her sobbing protests that she was 'grown up' her short skirt went up, her knickers came down, and whack went Dad's heavy work-hardened hand in determined and very painful slaps on her bare and all too vulnerable bottom.

If she lived in the South of England, a good spanking or perhaps, at worst, a dozen or so whacks with his slipper were all that she was likely to get. But if she lived in the industrial North, then woe betide her if she defied him. The men of Northern England, the miners, steelworkers, and shipbuilders had never accepted the equality of the sexes! A woman's place was clearly defined and Dad wasn't going to accept any cheek from some chit of a lass! He said "Sith'ee 'ere lass, tha' be 'ome by ten or I'll skelp tha' backside!" and if she did try it on, she found Dad waiting up for her with his shirt sleeves rolled up and his belt already doubled dangling across his knee.

"Get tha' drawers down, lass!" was all he'd say and, even if she was nearly 21, she'd do as he bid her. When she was ready, she'd go across his knee as meekly as a lamb, and with the fortitude bred of centuries of submission. Dad saw to it that his thick, leather belt raised red weals all over her sturdy buttocks, but, humiliating and painful as these spanking from Dad were, they could have been a lot worse for, as every girl knows, Dads have a soft spot for their daughters, however naughty they might be. She knew that if she did find herself lying across Dad's knees for a well deserved whipping she could easily halt the proceedings with some well timed tears, probably ending up with half the strokes she deserved.

Parents with old fashioned ideas were only one of the stumbling blocks for the 1920's miss to contend with. There were others too who seemed to think they had a natural right to administer correction, especially if the girl in question was dependent on them for her livelihood.

If our girl came from a middle-class background and went to a private school, it is quite possible that she stayed on and left at 16 or even 17, then take a course at Business College. Here she would learn shorthand and typing and would then look for a glamorous office job. She would have a variety of boyfriends from the local tennis club, but would only kiss them discreetly when no one else was looking.

Of course her Mother was very proud when she set off in the mornings for her job in the City. Dressed in a very business-like black suit with a crisp white blouse and new silk stockings, she was the apple of her eye. Life was very good to her. The boss was quite a gentleman and she was flattered that she had been chosen as his 'Private Secretary'. The fact that he was a 'jolly good fellow' did not stop him from looking up her skirt when she sat in front of him to take dictation. Very discreetly, of course, but nevertheless she did have to remember to keep her legs closed and her skirt pulled down.

There were those times when he had to show her some document or other and his hand would come to rest on her hip. Now and then he would give her bottom a little pat of approval. Occasionally he would make suggestive remarks about someone or other deserving 'a damn good spanking' and he would be so emphatic that she sometimes wondered what he would do if she ever made a mistake. However she shrugged it off. He was far too decent to do such a thing.

Then had come the fatal day. That day she now looked back with such mixed feelings. The day she couldn't breathe a word about to anyone - especially to Mummy.

The day had been much like any other until late in the afternoon, when it was nearly time to go home. There had been a phone call which changed his normally pleasant expression to one of surprise, then dismay, then, as he slammed down the receiver, one of fury. Slowly he'd put both hands on his desk and stood up.

"You careless little idiot," he'd said in a tone that made her shiver, "Do you know what you've done?"

Dumbly she shook her head.

"Those contracts you posted last night went in the wrong envelopes and now there is hell to pay. Those people are bitter rivals. God knows what I'll be able to do."

Then, very quietly, and in a way she could not fail to understand, he added, "But I know exactly what I'm going to do to you, young lady." Her knees suddenly felt like jelly as she stared at him in dismay. He glanced at the clock on his desk.

"Send the rest of the girls home," he said tersely and, as her unwilling legs took her to the door, added, "and lock the outer door!"

She never knew how she mustered sufficient sang-froid to dismiss the typists, wait for them to get ready, and then bid them a smiling good-night, just as if nothing had happened, or worse, was going to happen. Reluctantly she dropped the latch on the outer door and still more reluctantly turned her steps back towards his office. All the time she was praying she had misunderstood. He wasn't really going to spank her? Perhaps he just meant a good ticking-off, but as she reached his door her hopes were completely shattered. Her heart gave a sickening lurch, for her chair had been turned around and he was waiting with obvious impatience beside it. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

All sorts of things came into her head. Desperate appeals for clemency. Varied excuses, threats to tell Daddy. A flood of thoughts went through her mind but she was unable to muster one word of protest. Suddenly he was unfastening her jacket, slipping it off her shoulders, folding it and putting it beside his own on the desk.

Then he was sitting down, taking her arm and pulling her, gently but firmly, down, down, until she was completely across his thighs. Oh why wouldn't her thoughts make sense? Why wouldn't the words come? Why didn't she struggle and shout, "No you can't. I won't let you. I won't be spanked like a naughty schoolgirl. I'm a young woman! I deserve to be -"

Oh my God, he's pulling up my skirt and my petticoat. I ought to stop him now, but he is my boss and I suppose he has the right. I don't know. Anyway if I refuse he will sack me and that will be awful. Mummy will be ashamed. Yes I DO deserve it. I was stupid and careless. Anyway a spanking is not much. I'm so glad I'm wearing my new cami-knickers! At least I look nice. Thank God I put them on. It would be awful if I had ordinary knickers on. He might have pulled them down! What's he doing? Oh my God, he can't! He's feeling between my legs for the buttons!

For the first time she found her voice. Clamping her legs tightly together she gasped, "Oh no, please! No. I-I'll do it for you, please." But it was too late, his fingers had found the two little pearl buttons that joined the narrow strip of material between her legs. Speechless with embarrassment she could only squirm in silent protest as his hot male fingers fumbled against her soft, feminine flesh until th strip parted. It was almost a relief when the back of the cami-knickers came up, even though it left her nude from waist to thighs. At least his hand wasn't fumbling between her legs!

Flushed and embarrassed she lay there; too acutely embarrassed to be even apprehensive about her forthcoming punishment.

"Oh Lord," she thought desperately, "I'm bare, absolutely bare! How shameful! I'll never be able to face him again. I never felt like this when Daddy did it. Oh he's looking at me down there, the beast!" She felt his right leg rising, felt herself being lifted as he wedged his heel high up in the leg of his chair.

"Oh no," she felt herself go hot, "how could he? As if he couldn't see enough already!"

All thoughts were abruptly banished as his hand suddenly descended on her raised bare buttocks. She felt her bottom quiver, then heard the sharp sound of the slap, then a tingling sensation in her right cheek. A second or so later a second slap made her left cheek quiver and tingle. Time passed and the spanks continued to fall with clockwork regularity and much harder than when he began. Her bottom began to wriggle and weave in rhythm with the spanking. Eventually she began to shout "Please Sir, do stop. I can't stand any more. Oh my poor bottom! Please STOP!"

She wriggled and beseeched until like any naughty girl anywhere she burst into tears.

Dazed and bewildered, sobbing her heart out, she found herself standing up, her face pressed to his chest, her tears wetting his shirt. One of his strong arms was around her shoulder. His voice was softly soothing while his other hand was gently rubbing her bare bottom. It was, by this time, a painfully smarting bottom that throbbed like an enormous aching pulse.

She refused to listen to the little voice that was trying to remind how improper it was, not to mention dangerous, for a decent girl to stand being caressed by a man with her dress up around her waist and her knickers undone. A good girl was completely at the mercy of a brute who had just given her the spanking of her life and whose hand was still caressing her bottom.

Slowly she pressed against him and abandoned herself to an orgy of weeping that left her strangely relaxed and contented. When she could no longer sustain her sobs she turned her face towards him. Her lips were suddenly kissed, at first quite gently, then more and more urgently until, blushing, she had struggle from his arms and accepted a cigarette, a practice new to her.

"You're not going home yet, my dear," he said smoothly. "phone your mother and tell her you are with a girlfriend. We'll have a drive out to Maidenhead for dinner and a little fun. I promise to get you home by ten."

Oh no, that day was certainly not one she could EVER reveal to her mother. Even if you could get her to understand the spanking and how it made you feel, what about the awful lies you told her on the phone? It would be impossible for her to comprehend the rest of the story. After a simply wonderful dinner of lobster and champagne, and you were lying on the back seat of his luxurious Daimler well, what was a girl to do? I mean if a man has unbuttoned your cami-knickers once that day and explored all you have to offer, there is no earthly reason why you shouldn't let him do it again!

Mother had best be left in the dark about what happened next ;)