In-flight champers

When I returned home from Singapore, after just five days there, I found myself in the luxury of club class.

The champagne flowed freely. The lass opposite, in her mid teens, paused when it was offered to her – before requesting an apple juice.

But what if she’d given in to temptation? What if she’d enjoyed not one but several glasses?

What if, in the arrivals hall, her father had smelt the alcohol on her breath? “Have you been drinking on the plane?” “No, daddy.” “I can smell it clearly: we’ll discuss this later.”

The long drive home, to their manor house in rural Wiltshire. The friendly welcome from her mother, her sisters, so glad to have her home. Not another word of the morning’s conversation until the dinner plates had been cleared, washed and drive. “Go and wait in my study.”

The sympathetic looks from her siblings.

The long wait – when even a minute would have been too long.

The total, utter lack of debate when he did arrive. “You know how I feel about you drinking underage. And you know that I will not tolerate lying.”

A prolonged spanking, with her jeans taken down and knickers unceremoniously lowered. Hard enough to turn her internal protests from anger to resentment to acceptance to disappointment and shame at her conduct.

And then, even as she clambered unsteadily to her feet, the sight of him unbuckling his thick black belt. “Please, daddy…” “Had you been honest with me, I would not have felt this necessary. Now bend over the arm of the chair…”