For the next several days I was not myself. To say that my experience at the Slipper Club had left a deep impression would be the understatement of the year. I found myself watching Gemma covertly, trying to imagine her bent over my knee receiving a spanking. Could I really subject her to that sort of treatment? I had never really believed in corporal punishment, other than a quick slap on the bottom when the she was younger. And would it do any good anyway? I had to take Jack's word about Hazel and she certainly didn't seem to have been damaged by her experience. The problem was that Gemma wasn't really bad. Most of the time she was a bright, normal, lively teenager. She did her homework - mostly. She did her chores around the house - mostly. She wasn't more than normally surly or moody. She didn't swear and curse - except when she was drunk. And I hadn't any real proof that she had done anything particularly bad. It was just…
Even Marion noticed I was not myself. "What's wrong, Gerry? You seem out of sorts."
"Hmm. Nothing. I'm fine. Perhaps I've picked up some low-level virus or something."
"You should take a couple of days off. You're working too hard."
I flashed her a quick smile. "That would be nice but I can't leave things right now. I'll be fine, don't worry."
I continued to fret. Gemma seemed to be okay and I started to relax. Then, one day I went into her room to fix a loose hinge on her wardrobe door. In the bottom of the wardrobe, not very well hidden, was a box. Something made me open it. Inside I found a packet of cigarettes, a packet of cigarette papers, some small strips of thin card and a small tinfoil package. Some things never change. I remembered having a similar kit myself. I unwrapped the tinfoil knowing what I would find. The aroma was distinctive and unforgettable. I carefully put it all back.
I mentioned my find to Marion. At first she didn't believe me and I had to show her what I d found. She looked grim and promised she'd speak to Gemma. I left it for a few days then asked how it had gone.
"She denied it," Marion said.
"But didn't you tell her what I found?"
"I couldn't do that. It would seem as if we're snooping."
"Well, I'll talk to her, then."
I cornered Gemma after tea. As with Marion, she denied it. I took her up to her room and opened the wardrobe. There was nothing there.
"See, I told you," Gemma said in a cheeky voice. "And why were you snooping in my room."
"I was not snooping. You asked me to fix your wardrobe, remember. And I know what I saw. I will not have you smoking dope in the house."
"I wasn't. You were poking and prying in my private things. Don't you ever do that again," she shouted and flounced out of the house.
She was very late back and decidedly the worse for wear. There was no smell of alcohol - she was stoned. She was late for school the next day and went out shortly after tea without saying where she was going. I tried to talk to her when she came back but got an earful of abuse. And so it went on. Every time I tried to reason with her, she became aggressive. Marion was no help. She accused me of being heavy-handed and argued that it was only natural that Gemma should resent my treatment of her. I was getting really worried. The more rebellious Gemma became, the more she would gravitate towards the group she was with and, from what Jack had told me, it would only be a matter of time before things got completely out of hand.
I phoned Jack. "D'you think it would be possible to speak to Felix?" I asked.
"Things are getting that bad?"
"They are."
He gave me number of the club. I sat and looked at the phone for a long time. I knew that, once I picked it up, I would be taking an irrevocable step. But I really didn't know what else to do.
Felix was duly sympathetic and asked me to come down to the club to discuss things. I had to bring various documents with me including Gemma's and my passports. For some reason I was very nervous though whether it was the idea of having to explain my feelings to a stranger or because I was now committed to this enterprise, I couldn't work out.
We sat in Felix's small, tidy office. He had a large sheaf of papers and proceeded to ask a whole series of questions starting with standard personal details and moving on to the situation with Gemma. We spent some time talking about that. His questions were penetrating and to the point and I had to think long and hard about my answers. He would accept no prevarication and continually stopped me and made me explain something more precisely. He carefully noted down my answers. It was more like a formal job interview than a discussion. I was sweating by the time he'd finished. We took a short break. The next set of questions were much more personal an intimate. "What were my marital relations like?" "Did I have sexual feelings for my daughters?" "Had I had any extra-marital affairs?" "Had I been bullied at school?" "Had I been abused as a child?" I began to get resentful. He looked at me over the top of his reading glasses.
"I know these are very personal questions, Gerry, but I need the answers."
"But why?"
He smiled thinly. "We put people in a very abnormal and stressful situation here. Corporal punishment is not one of societies accepted norms. Being able to thrash one's children without fear of reprisals can do odd things to a person's ego, not to mention their libido. To be honest, I'd really like to speak to the other party as well but," he ghosted a smile, "that is not really appropriate. We're fairly free and easy and don't put many restrictions on our members but I need to be as sure as I can that, to put it bluntly, you're not a screaming psycho under that normal exterior." He held up a hand as I bristled. "Think of the consequences if we let in someone who took a sadistic pleasure in causing pain. Not the mild and consensual discipline that we practice here but someone whose idea of fun was torture and rape."
I sat back in shock. "Well… yes… I see what you mean. Jack said there were basically two rules; that both the spankings and the sex had to be mutual and there was no incest. So, yes, a complete nutter would cause havoc."
Felix smiled. "I knew you'd understand. Actually there are rather more than two rules and we don't really enforce the incest one. It's there mainly for protection. But essentially Jack has it right."
I was about to question him further but he glanced at his watch and said, "Time's moving on. Shall we finish the questionnaire?"
I tried to answer the remaining questions as truthfully as possible. No way did I want him to think me a nutter.
At last he put down his pen and sat back. "Thank you, Gerry. That's the lot. Although your application will have to go formally before the committee, I don't think there'll be any problem. Now tell me, why do you want to join the Slipper Club."
"I've just told you all that. About Gemma and her behaviour."
"Indeed you have. So you want to join to help sort her out. Is that the only reason?" I looked at him blankly. "You've been here with Jack and Hazel and, I believe, met Henry?"
"Oh," I said, the light dawning. "No. All I want is to get Gemma sorted out."
"You could do that at home, you know."
I shook my head. "No. It wouldn't be the same. She needs a shock - something to force her to re-think her behaviour. It needs to be something special - something formal. She has to see how important it is."
He was smiling. "A good answer, Gerry. I can see you've given this much thought. That's always a good sign. I agree completely. So you will only want a short-term membership - say, three months?"
"If you think that will be long enough."
"Oh, it should be perfectly adequate."
"Can I renew at the end of three months?"
"That depends. If Gemma's behaviour hasn't improved then, no. Our 'treatment' is obviously not suitable and we would recommend something else like psychiatric help. However, you and Gemma may apply for permanent membership on the same basis as Jack and Hazel. Your wife would also be very welcome to join, too. We do like to see families, here."
I blushed as the meaning of what he had said sunk in. "I see. Perhaps a three-month membership will do to start with."
"Good. Now the bad news. Membership is not cheap."
He told me the cost and I could feel the blood drain from my face. "But… but that's extortionate."
"It may seem so just now but I can assure you it's not. Firstly, a club such as this is not cheap to run and, as a member, you have the full run of all the facilities. For example, I am going to find out for you everything there is to know about Gemma's current companions. Secondly, and possibly more importantly, think of the cost if you don't join - and I don't just mean the financial cost. I mean the emotional and social cost, not to mention the possible marital consequences, if Gemma gets into serious trouble. Personally, I think it's a very reasonable price."
I considered his words. He was right. It was worth all he was asking and more. We agreed on half now and the rest in two monthly instalments.
"And finally," he said. "Your night will be Thursday. Can you come and see me, say, on Tuesday so we can discuss exactly how the first session will be played."
"I assumed it was just, you know, ad libbed."
He looked shocked. "Oh, no. We work it out very carefully, even down to the words you will say. I'll have a draft script ready and we can go over it and make any necessary amendments then." He stood and held out his hand. "Goodbye Mr Entworth and welcome to the Slipper Club."
There. It was done. I was really committed now. I got through the remainder of the day on autopilot. I didn't even notice Marion, several times that evening, start to say something then stop. Perhaps she thought I was having problems at work. Whatever, she didn't pry. The rest of the week also went by in a daze. I couldn't quite admit to myself that I had done it - I had joined the Slipper Club. In less than a week from now I would be bending my daughter over my knee and delivering a sound thrashing. I said it aloud. I still couldn't believe it.
I had to believe it on Tuesday. Felix was very thorough. His script seemed almost perfect. We went through it a few times and I made a few minor adjustments. It was then the reality of it all struck me like a ten-ton truck. I began to quake.
"I don't think I can do this," I said.
Felix gripped my shoulder and held my gaze. "You can't back out now, Gerry. You know it's the right thing to do. It'll be fine, take my word for it. I've been through this dozens of times and you'd be surprised how many feel like you. But if you don't go through with it now you'll regret it for the rest of your life."
I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. It was amazing how comforting Felix's confidence was.
That evening I told Gemma we were going out on Thursday. She had a fit. I looked her straight in the eye and calmly insisted, though I felt far from calm inside. I must have done it right for, after a while she calmed down and asked me when and where.
"Six thirty and it's a surprise. Oh, and wear a dress or skirt - not jeans."
After she had left Marion looked at me enquiringly. "Are you going to tell me?"
"No."
She gave me a look but didn't say anything.
I didn't sleep well either that night or the next. I kept repeating Felix's words like a mantra, 'if I don't go do it now, I'll regret it the rest of my life.' Thursday was a torment. I had to force myself to concentrate at work and skipped lunch, my stomach was in knots. Tea was even worse and I really had to work hard to appear normally relaxed and force the food down my reluctant throat.
At six-fifteen I reminded I reminded Gemma we were due to leave soon. I think she was intrigued. It wasn't often I took her anywhere - she was never around to take - and the mystery of our destination piqued her curiosity. Remarkably, she was ready about twenty-five to - and was wearing a skirt and top.
"Where are we going, Dad?" she asked once we were on the move.
"It's a surprise," I said, not taking my eyes off the road. In truth I don't think I could have conversed with her. After all I knew what I was going to do to her.
Again unusually, she seemed to sense my mood and didn't pester me.
We arrived at the club and I drove the car into the garage. It was about half full. Gemma seemed to sense that something was wrong for she looked around her edgily as we crossed to the lift.
"Dad, what is this place?" she asked as we rode up.
"You'll see in minute."
"I'm not sure I like it."
"It'll be fine," I said, knowing that, of course, it wouldn't be.
I stepped through the main door quickly so that Gemma would not have time to notice the sign. Felix was waiting inside.
"Good evening, Gerry. And you must be Gemma. I bid you welcome. Please come with me."
Gemma balked. "I'm not going," she said, her voice rising. "What is this place? Where are we?"
"Oh, yes you are, young lady," I said, grasping her arm and pulling her along.
We entered a small room with comfortable seats.
"My wife, Bea," announced Felix, indicating the tall, elegant blonde lady already in the room.
"Welcome, Gerry and Gemma," she beamed. "Please sit."
"You are wondering why you are here," Felix said to Gemma in a flat monotone. "You are, no doubt, somewhat apprehensive - scared, possibly." Gemma shook her head but I could see the signs. "You are here because your father has become very worried about your behaviour and has turned to us for help. He is concerned about the people you associate with, about how late you come home at night, about your drinking and your drug taking. He is most concerned that, should you continue, you will end up in serious trouble. He has tried again and again to talk to you, to reason with you but to no avail. You have refused to listen. This evening you will be made to understand the consequences of your selfish and inconsiderate behaviour."
For a moment Gemma was silent, staring open-mouthed at Felix who looked back at her impassively, then she turned to me, her eyes blazing.
"What the fuck are you playing at, father? Who to you think you fucking are? Lord fucking God Almighty? Talk to me? Hah! Oh, you're very good at talking - you and Mum, both. That's all you ever do - talk. Gemma don't do this. Gemma don't do that. Well I'm fucking sick of you trying to ruin my life. I'll do as I damn well please and not you nor this pompous arse is fucking well going to stop me. Now I'm out of here. You hear me. Stay the fuck out of my life."
She leapt to her feet and headed for the door, tears streaming down her face. Bea gave me a sympathetic smile. I was stunned. I had never heard Gemma use such language before.
"It's locked," Felix said in a flat voice.
"Then fucking open it," Gemma screamed, tugging frantically at the handle.
"No. Now come and sit down." This was said in such a tone of command that she turned and gaped at him. He pointed to the seat and, meekly, she sat. He nodded at me.
I pulled out the paper he had given me and read off the list of names in a shaky voice.
"Do you know these people?" Felix asked.
"They're my friends," Gemma replied. "Not that it's any fucking business of yours."
"Read the rest, Gerry."
"Billy Paignton: shoplifting, vandalism, four appearances in court. Mike Hunter: drug dealing, one year suspended sentence for possession. Jenny Harrington: shoplifting, theft, three court appearances. John Millsway: attempted robbery with violence, currently in prison. Andy English: stealing a car and driving without a licence or insurance, one year suspended sentence…"
And so the list went on. As I read it out Gemma's face became paler and paler. She looked wildly from one stony-faced adult to the next.
"So what will the next entry be - Gemma Entworth: shoplifting, possession, aiding and abetting, or something worse?" Felix asked.
"But… but… they're my friends," Gemma wailed. "Okay so they've been in a it of trouble with the cops but so what?"
"It's hardly a 'bit of bother'. I count at least six imprisonable offences and it's only the fact that they're under eighteen that they're not in gaol. How old is John Millsway?"
"Eighteen."
"And he's in prison. And that's where the rest of them are heading as soon as they reach eighteen. If you continue to associate with them that's where you'll be going too."
"But… but… but… What's going to happen to me now?"
Felix nodded at me. "I'm going to do something I should have done a long time ago. I'm going to give you a thorough spanking," I said in a flat monotone.
"What? No way. Don't you dare to lay a finger on me. Spanking? Fuck off."
"It's time," Felix intoned.
He and Bea rose and left us alone.
Gemma looked at me wildly. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"
I nodded. "I've never been more serious in my life."
"You're a fucking pervert."
"Gemma, in a moment we're going through that door. I'm going to give you the spanking you deserve and your punishment will be witnessed."
"Witnessed? You mean other people will be watching? Oh, shit. Oh, no. You can't do this to me."
"I can, Gemma, and I will."
It was beginning to dawn on her that this was real. This wasn't a joke or a scheme to make her behave. It was actually going to happen. Her face became ashy white and her eyes as wide as saucers.
"This is for real?" she whispered.
"It's for real."
Then she was clinging to my arm, no longer the big tough teenager, only a scared little girl. "Daddy, please don't make me do this," she pleaded, tears streaming down her face. "I'll do anything. Anything you say. I'll stop seeing my friends. I'll be a good girl. I promise. Just don't make me do this."
"I'm sorry, Gemma. It's far too late for that, now. Come along." I grabbed her arm and dragged her into the auditorium.
It's one thing watching something from the safety of the audience: it's quite another being the main attraction. As we stepped through the door my heart quailed and my legs turned to jelly.
Gemma seemed to sense this. "Daddy, you don't have to do this. I really do promise I'll be good," she said in a little-girl voice.
I hardened my heart and straightened my back and pulled Gemma across the three miles of empty space to the waiting chair. I could sense the watchers. A wave of sympathy seemed to wash over me.
"I'm Gerry and this is my daughter Gemma," I began and, to my surprise, my voice was clear and steady.
I gave my little speech and sat down. The fight seemed to have gone from Gemma. She stood, eyes downcast, sobbing silently.
"Right, Gemma, over my knee," I said softly.
She looked up at me with eyes that reminded me of a deer's caught in the headlights of an on-coming car. I almost melted. Then she sighed and laid herself across my lap. I folded her skirt neatly up around her waist exposing her round bottom, quivering slightly, clad in a pair of pink cotton panties. 'Well, at least it's not a thong," I thought. Sensing Felix behind me, I held out my hand. He placed the slipper in it and squeezed my shoulder.
I took a deep breath. "I wish I didn't have to do this," I whispered to Gemma.
I raised the slipper and, with a prayer to whatever gods might be listening, brought it down sharply on her exposed bottom. The crack of leather on flesh seemed to echo through the room.
She screamed and arched up. "Shit, that hurt."
"It's supposed to, dear. Lie still."
I spanked her again. And again. And again. She screamed, she wailed, she sobbed, she writhed, she squirmed. But, I'll give her her due, she didn't try to escape. Her bottom turned pink then pinker then flaming red. The writhing and wailing died down and she lay quiescent across my knee. Suddenly I knew it was time to stop. I don't know how or why I knew, I just did. I let my arm fall limply to my side. Reaction set in. I started trembling. I couldn't stand if I'd been paid.
Then Felix and Bea were there. Bea gently and helped Gemma off my knee and led her away. I handed Felix the slipper with a tired smile. Then I hauled myself to my feet and walked off, only dimly aware of the collective sigh from the on-lookers.
"Well done," said Felix when we were alone. He was beaming like a proud parent. "You did that exactly right. And Gemma - I think we've caught her just in time." He handed me a drink. "I know we don't normally serve alcohol, but this is special."
I took a slug. The scotch burnt its way down my throat.
"What am I supposed to feel?" I asked.
"What do you feel?"
"Tired, drained, exhausted. Shouldn't I be feeling proud, elated, satisfied or something?"
He shook his head. "Your reaction is quite normal. I'd be a bit concerned if it was anything else."
I knocked back the rest of the drink. "I don't know if I could go through this again."
"You must, Gerry. It's very important."
Bea and Gemma came in. Gemma was looking sullen and she was still sobbing slightly with intermittent sniffles. I looked at Bea enquiringly. She nodded. Good, so Gemma was okay.
"Let's go home, dear," I said.
"Is it over?"
"For now."
"You mean there's more?"
"We come back every two weeks."
"Huh? How long for?"
"Until I am certain you've learned your lesson and mended your ways."
"Oh, God. Oh, no. You can't," she wailed and buried her face in her hands.
I put an arm around her shoulders and held her tightly. To my surprise, she didn't resist.
"We'll leave you now," Bea said quietly. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, and thank you, I think."
The ride home was uncomfortable, particularly for Gemma. She wriggled and twisted unable to find a comfortable way of parking her sore bottom.
"Do I have to go to school tomorrow?"
"Yes, of course."
"But I'm very sore."
"I know. You're meant to be."
"Surely I could stay off. Just for one day."
"Gemma, you will go to school tomorrow. You will act normally. This is between you and me. Understand?"
"Yes, Dad," she sighed.
"You don't have PE, do you?"
"No." She glanced up. "But thank you for asking."
She went straight up to her room when we got home while I slumped in a chair. Marion was absorbed in something on the TV.
"So, where did you go?" she asked, most of her attention on the box.
"To some classes Jack told me about. He thought they might help Gemma."
"That's nice. Are they?"
"Too early to tell. We've to go back in a fortnight."
"Right. You making coffee?"
I grinned and took the hint. I had fallen lucky and had managed to 'tell' Marion without being subject to the Inquisition.
Gemma was subdued for the next few days. Over the weekend she was religious in telling us where she was going and was back at the agreed time every night. I deliberately didn't try to curb her. The idea was to stop her errant behaviour, not put her in a strait-jacket.
Jack phoned and invited me for a drink. He wanted to know how it had gone.
"I don't know. Gemma seems to be better but it's too early to say. As for me, I wish I felt better about it."
"I know what you mean. I felt like a complete shit; like I was a total failure as a father. That is until Hazel came around. Don't worry. You're doing the right thing. Can I tell Hazel?"
"Not yet if you don't mind. I'd rather it was just between Gemma and me for now."
On Friday Gemma did not come in till the wee, small hours and she was definitely the worse for wear. I met her in the hall. I didn't say anything, just looked at her. Her gaze was defiant. She was late again on Saturday. On Sunday she was sullen and defiant and only just managed to stop herself swearing at one of us on a number of occasions.
On Wednesday she sidled up to me. "Dad, do we have to go to that awful place again."
"We do."
"But why? I've been good. I've done all my homework and all my chores and told you where I was and everything," she said in her most wheedling tone.
"Oh? And what about Friday? And Saturday? And Sunday? Or had you forgotten?"
She flushed and looked guiltily away.
"But I don't want to go. I hate it," she stormed. "And I hate you, you bastard."
"Whether you want to go or not is irrelevant. We're going and that's that."
I don't know why but she didn't demur when it came time to leave. She gave me a look fit to kill but put on a skirt and top and was ready to leave on time. The second session was easier - at least for me. I was no longer intimidated by the auditorium and the audience. I knew they were on my side. No I knew they were on our side. Gemma accepted her punishment stoically.
She was surly and incommunicative for several days. I sensed she was struggling to come to terms with things and pretended I noticed nothing unusual. Marion gave me some enquiring looks but said nothing. The third session went much the same way.
A couple of days before our next session, an article in our local paper caught my eye. It said that one, Andrew English, age 18, had been arrested for stealing a car and had remanded in custody. I showed it to Gemma. She blanched, burst into tears and fled to her room.
"What was that about?" Marion asked.
I showed her the article. "One of Gemma's so-called friends," I said shortly.
A subtle change came over Gemma after that. On the surface she seemed quite bright and cheerful but I could sense that, under the surface, there was a lot going on. She did not try to wheedle her way out of the next session at the Slipper Club but was ready in time and, if not exactly cheerful, was at least accepting of her fate. I commented on this and received a small half-smile in response. As before, she accepted her spanking with stoicism.