A family visit brings an unlikely tale

By Jo Green

My husband, Tom, and I were visiting my Aunty Sheila, my mother’s sister, one weekend and, after a glass or two of red wine, we were sitting in the garden as the sun set on a warm July evening. We started talking about the old days when Aunty was still in the sixth form at school. We teased her about being a very well-behaved student, which is what her sister, my mum, had told us.

Aunty Sheila went quiet for a moment, took a glug of her wine and started to turn a little red in the face.

“Strictly speaking, that is not entirely true,” she said. “I did receive one spanking, but not from school or from mum.

“So, who from?” We both asked.

“The vicar.”

“The vicar?” I spluttered, totally astonished.

“Yes, the vicar. You have to remember, these were very different times. Young people were supposed to know their place and woe betide anyone who stepped out of line. Not just parents and teachers, but people like police officers, park keepers and shopkeepers would be likely to give you a clip around the ear or even a trip across their lap if you didn’t behave. Youngsters these days just don’t believe this was the case, but it used to be accepted.

“So what happened, Aunty?” I asked, pressing slightly.

“Yes come on, don’t leave us hanging like that,” Tom urged.

Aunty explained:

It was the harvest festival, and I would have been probably late 17, probably, or maybe just 18-years-old. We had a service in the church near the school and we had to leave offerings. Being 6th formers, we were the last to lay the goodies because we sat at the back and the lower forms were at the front, so they went first. The vicar was a tall, slim chap in his early 30s and actually quite good looking for a vicar.

The service was in the afternoon, and everyone was allowed to go straight home afterwards. My friend, Trisha, and I were the very last to lay the offerings, and we slowly made our way to the back of the church and the exit. The vicar was talking to members of the congregation, especially the teachers from school, as they left. One or two of the younger staff had taken quite a shine to the vicar, who was a single man, and he did cut a handsome figure in his black ‘uniform’.

Trisha tugged my jacket and pulled me behind a static display in the church, out of sight of the door.

She whispered to me, “Did you see what Jenny Moyna has left?”

 “No,” I replied. What was it?”

 “Only a huge bag of chocolate eclairs, our favourite sweets!”

 I thought for a moment before asking, “What of it?”

 Trisha said, “We could skulk about for 5 minutes and nab them. No one will know!”

Of course, I was shocked, but thought about it and decided it wasn’t actually that bad an idea. The vicar was still outside saying goodbye to staff, so we dashed down to the pile of goods by the altar, snatched the eclairs, and I stuffed them into my bag, but not before opening the bag and us each stuffing a couple into our hungry mouths. That was to be our undoing.

At that moment, the last of the churchgoers had left and the vicar came back in. He caught us red-handed. Little did we know, eclairs were also the vicar’s favourite sweet and so he had noticed them being left. Seeing me with wrappers in my hand and us both chewing madly, well, it didn’t take a detective to figure it out.

He spoke sternly to us. “What is the meaning of this? Stealing from the needy, and in the house of God as well. How could you?”

We were obviously caught bang to rights, and we both feared what was to come. Would he run after a teacher, get our details and call our parents, or what? In the end, he thought it through quickly and acted without delay.

“You two really ought to know better at your age! Sixth formers should know better and be beyond stealing sweets from those less fortunate. Give me the bag. I will keep what’s left and purchase replacements from the shops tomorrow.

“As to what to do with you two, well, I know what you deserve; a good hiding, and I am just in the mood to hand one out to the pair of you. Now, get to the front of the church and think yourselves lucky I am not calling the school right now.”

I had never seen a man of the cloth so angry, and to be honest I didn’t really blame him. I felt both sick and totally, totally awful as I thought about what we had done.

When we reached the front of the church, the vicar issued instructions.

“I want both of you to bend over the front of the pew, stretch down, grab hold of the prayer book shelf and stay there. If either of you moves before I am done with you, I will call your headmistress and ask her to cane the pair of you. Do you understand?”

We stood there in silence, looked at each other, and then nodded.

As we turned, he added, “And take off those jackets. I want to be able to see what I am spanking.”

We slowly took off our jackets and hung them across the same pew we were about to be laid across for punishment. We both fidgeted nervously in our school uniform. As well as the jacket, it consisted of a white blouse with green cardigan, green pencil skirt, white socks, black shoes and white panties. With our jackets removed, we felt the cold very much more than before. Or was that just nerves?

“Come on,” the vicar urged us. “I have better things to do with my time than wasting it on thieving girls.”

I suspected that was not the case and that this was, no doubt, to be the highlight of his week by far. It wasn’t every day a vicar got to spank two well-rounded bottoms, was it?

“Now bend over and do not move,” he commanded.

We leaned forward and took hold of the shelf on the other side of the pew, glancing sideways we made eye contact, before slowing lowering our tummies onto the hard, cold wood. As we did so, I was acutely conscious that my skirt was getting ever tighter across my behind. I could see a clear outline of Trisha’s panties through the drum-tight material stretched almost to breaking point over her bottom. Thankfully, I was wearing French knickers so was at least spared that minor embarrassment.

Trisha looked terrified. Outside of her own home, she had never been spanked before.

Now bent fully over, I awaited what was about to come. It seemed to take an age, and then I heard the sound of a spank and Trisha yelped, as much with surprise as with pain. Two more spanks fell in quick succession, each yielding a small yelp from Trisha, and each echoing like an explosion in a cavern around the old stone and wood-lined church.

Then there was just silence, except for quiet sobbing from Trisha. I heard two steps, then the first spank landed square on my bum. At least I knew we were not getting the cane or slipper, or the ignominy of having our skirts pulled up and being spanked on our panties. A second, then a third, spank landed dead centre of each of my bum cheeks. Again, the sound echoed, almost like gun fire in a film. Then; silence.

‘Great,’ I thought to myself. ‘Three smacks? Not that bad.’

 But, the vicar had stepped back behind Trisha and was applying a fresh layer of pain onto that she was already crying from. She was sobbing hard as the sixth spank hit home.

After another silence, three more very firm smacks landed on my drum-tight skirt, sending my head and hair bobbing over the back of the pew. After the second set of three spanks, I held my breath. Had he finished, or are we getting any more spanks? I was not worried for myself, but Trisha was really struggling now. I need not have worried. A voice from behind spoke up.

“Now I want you two to stay there for 5 minutes and contemplate what you have done, and think about the punishment you have just received. Had I a stick or strap to hand, I would have probably used it on you, so think yourselves fortunate.”

Then he withdrew into the vestry.

Trisha and I, bent over the pew like the naughty schoolgirls we were, waited until we heard the door close and then dared to look at each other. Both of us were red in the face and Trisha was still weeping a little. She offered a weak smile and a nod.

 “He certainly spanks hard, doesn’t he?” she suggested.

 I didn’t have the heart to tell her I thought otherwise, so I just replied, “Yes, hard enough.”

 After a few minutes, a door creaked and we heard footsteps. I just hoped it was the vicar rather than a stranger who would be getting an eye-full of two upturned and freshly spanked young ladies’ bottoms.

 “Right, get up and get out of my sight, the pair of you!”

 It was the vicar! After a quick mumbled apology, we made our way out and into the cold evening air.

Her story completed, Aunty took a good mouthful of wine.

“Wow! That’s a great story to bring out at dinner parties!” Tom laughed.

Aunty Sheila punched him playfully on the shoulder and smiled.

“Coffee anyone?” she asked.

The End

© Jo Green 2022