A girl finds her dreams come true
By Lucybee, a new writer to us
Mrs Hurst is a sweet old lady in her early seventies who has lived in the house next door to us since she moved to the village herself with her family. She was the same age I was when Mum and I moved in next door to her. We soon formed a very close ‘grandmother and granddaughter’ type of relationship within a short period of time; it wasn’t hard, she is a very kind and caring old lady.
Last summer, Mrs Hurst had popped round to see if I was OK, as she has always done since we moved to the area. In the holidays or when I got home from school, she would always pop round and make sure I was safe. I didn’t mind this and enjoyed her company, but on this day things were about to change, and our relationship took a different path.
I’ve just finished my A Levels and am currently enjoying my summer break before going to university in September. A few days after my eighteenth birthday, I went into town to the local adult bookstore, where I bought a large hard-backed book based on schoolgirl discipline. For years I had been fascinated with the idea of receiving corporal punishment. I had gone online and found this book, but was too scared to order it and have it sent to my house for fear of Mum signing for it. So, I plucked up the courage, went into the local town and found it in the adult bookstore there.
It was all sorted that night when I came home from town. I had managed to sneak the book into my bedroom and hide it in my special place. For those of you who are nosey, I placed it under the bottom drawer of my bedside table.
I made a plan that I would read it while wearing my old school uniform, and I set about sorting it out at bedtime. I chose which knickers I would wear; a pair of high-leg white cotton knickers with a little pink bow on the front. I took out my socks from my sock drawer and placed them neatly on my desk chair, like I had done only a few weeks before when I finished school for the last time. The rest of my uniform hung neatly in my wardrobe. I could hardly sleep that night. I kept tossing and turning my head, awash with the pictures and storylines I had quickly read.
I woke early the next day and stayed in my pyjamas till Mum had left for work. Then I shot upstairs and showered and changed into my uniform. I felt amazing as I sat there and put my hair up into a high ponytail. I did a final check in the mirror, grabbed the book, went back downstairs, and flopped on the sofa, laying on my tummy and wiggling my legs in the air.
I never heard the door open or Mrs Hurst say hello. I was transfixed by the story of a naughty girl of my age being scolded and caned by her headmaster for defacing school property. The first thing I knew was Mrs Hurst standing over me, arms crossed and coughing; you know, the kind where you clear your throat.
“Does your Mother know you are skipping off school and reading lewd books, young lady?”
I jumped up with a start and quickly pulled down my rucked-up skirt. I was looking down at my feet when I heard Mrs Hurst ask me again: “Well young Lady?”
I stammered out a few words and shuffled on the spot. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I knew I liked it and wasn’t about to stop it.
“No, Mrs Hurst.”
“How would she feel if she came home to find you skipping school, little Miss?”
I shuffled again and squirmed on the spot while playing with the cuffs of my jumper.
“Not very happy, Mrs Hurst,” I replied back to her.
“No, she wouldn’t be, would she, little Miss.”
Mrs Hurst’s tone did not change; it was stern and strict, but with a hint of love and caring in there.
Before I could say a word, I felt a sharp tug on my ear and Mrs Hurst led me to our dining room, talking to herself.
“No Granddaughter of mine is skipping school. I wasn’t the Headmistress of Sternmoor for nothing, you know little lady.”
Within a few moments, I found myself looking at the wall in the corner of our dining room. I could hear the sound of a chair being moved, and Mrs Hurst talking to herself. She left the room and went into the kitchen. My head was swimming and I was scared and so excited at the same time. The sound of Mrs Hurst walking about and talking were now drowned out by the sounds of my own heart beating so fast I thought it would explode.
It seemed like age before I came back to my senses and heard Mrs Hurst snapping orders at me to leave the corner and stand front and centre. I don’t know to this day how I managed to walk over to her. My body just took control and my legs worked independently to my mind. I stood in front of her shuffling and playing with the cuffs of my jumper. Mrs Hurst calmly but in a strict manner once again started to scold me.
“Stand still, young lady, or I will give you something to shuffle about!”
I tried my best to stay still.
“You know how important education is, don’t you Chloe?”
I still looked down at my feet. My mouth was dry and the words seemed to stick in my throat. “Yes, Mrs Hurst.”
“My dear, will you address me as ‘Grandma’ or ‘Grandmother’ please. I am no longer a headmistress. You don’t need to use my full title.”
“Yes, Mrs Hurst. I mean, Grandma. Sorry Grandma.”
“That is better, my dear.”
Her tone still didn’t change. It was calm and strict; she was like a well-programmed computer, methodical in every detail.
“Now, we need to discuss why you think it is fine to skip school, don’t we, little miss?”
I chewed my lip as she asked why I wasn’t at school. I didn’t know what to say. Then I felt this red-hot pain burn up on the side of my thigh, just below the hem of my skirt. It felt amazing and painful. It’s hard to put into words, but if you are like me you will understand it. I jumped, and a loud squeal came from my lips.
“I’m waiting, little miss.”
The words from nowhere started to flow from my mouth.
“I didn’t think it would matter. There are only a few days left, and I didn’t think I would miss much anyways, Grandma.”
Her tone went up an octave. “You didn’t think it would matter!!”
There was another red-hot jolt, to my other thigh this time. I jumped up and down and let out a squeal as it spread up my thigh.
Mrs Hurst continued the scolding.
“I spent my whole adult life telling girls like yourself the importance of going to school, yet you girls think you can skip classes and misbehave and do what you feel. Well, I will say to you what I said to the girls under my care when I was headmistress. You will not disobey the rules. Rules are there for a reason, not so you can pick and choose which ones you want to follow. Answer me this, Chloe. What would’ve happened if you had an accident and your mother didn’t know where you were?”
In this case, my mother did know where I was. I had told her I was spending the day at home, but it made more sense in the world I found myself in now.
“I don’t know, Grandma.”
“Yes. You don’t know, do you little Miss? It is a good job I said to your mother I would pop over and wait for the package she was expecting.”
With that, I felt another red-hot shooting pain across my left thigh. Another loud squeal left my lips and I tried my best not to rub and keep my hands still.
“Right, little miss. Do you know what happens to naughty little girls who skip school?”
My mouth was as dry as I could ever remember. My heart felt like it was about to jump from my chest, and the tight knot of butterflies took off in my tummy. The words fell from my lips in a whisper. “They get smacked, Grandmother.”
With that, her hand made contact with my right thigh, and another red-hot patch formed on my thigh.
“Speak up girl.”
I took a sharp intake of breath and repeated my answer.
“They get smacked, Grandma.”
“Yes, they do, my dear, on their naughty bottoms,” she replied. “And in a moment, little lady, you will go over my knee for your naughty little bottom to be smacked.”
This was the moment I had waited for my whole life. It felt like being in the eye of a great storm. Everything was so calm and peaceful. My heart felt like it had stopped and I was in one of my dreams, except it wasn’t a dream. It was real, so very real.
I felt Mrs Hurst take my hand and guide me around to her right-hand side. Then I heard the words I had mumbled to myself many times when I had self-spanked myself.
“Over you go, young lady.”
Without question or forethought, I was over her knee like a shot, wiggling myself so my short stature was in the right position for her. My feet didn’t touch the floor, and my hands grabbed the crossbar of the chair. I felt like I was floating. I could see Mrs Hurst’s legs, and my own, if I looked up a little. I could feel Mrs Hurst move me about on her lap till she was comfy with me.
“Right, little Miss, let’s check to see what knickers you are wearing!”
With that, I felt her tug the hem of my skirt up. The cool air rushed over my skin and I felt goose bumps rise on skin. There was a small pause as she adjusted my knickers, and a clearing of her throat.
“Good girl, Chloe. I’m pleased to see you haven’t gone with them silly thongs girls of your generation seem to be wearing these days.”
I felt a warm glow of pride sweep over me as she called me good. This was replaced by the feeling of her hand on my bottom. Then down came my skirt again, and more rubbing on my bottom, before a dull echo of skin on fabric echoed around the room, and a sharp fire sprang into life on my covered bottom. She slowly smacked from cheek to cheek, building up her speed. My legs seemed to dance freely under the rain of her hand, and as quickly as it started, it stopped.
It seemed like an age between me noticing the echoes stopping to the moment I felt my skirt being tucked up around my waist and my knickers being adjusted once more. Then, without warning, the smacks started again. In between each smack she gave me a long scolding on how education was important, and how my safety was too. Again, it seemed like an age, but in honesty it could only be a couple of minutes at most. Tears now slowly ran down my cheeks and the pain coming from my bottom felt like a thousand nettle stings.
Without asking, her fingers slipped into the waistband of my knickers which were slowly peeled over my hips, finally letting the cool summer air flow over my burning bottom. My fingers rushed to them to stop them being pulled down, and I felt a sharp smack to my hand, to which I let out a loud yelp.
“All smacked bottoms should be finished on the bare, in my honest opinion, little lady, and you will be no exception, granddaughter or not, so don’t you dare try and cover up.”
I felt my knickers finish around my knees, and I answered back: “I’m sorry, Grandma,” my voice now cracking as tears trickled down my flush cheeks. And once again, without a warning, she started to smack my bare bottom.
Oh my gosh! It seemed like she was smacking me harder, and she could have been, or possibly it was because I no longer had the protection of my skirt and thin white cotton knickers to protect my bottom. I squealed and bucked under each smack to the point where my knickers flew down my legs to my ankles, then onto the floor.
After what seemed like a lifetime, it was all over. It took a while for me to notice she had stopped. My bottom was on fire. The heat spreading over my bottom and thighs felt amazing, in only a way you can understand if you have had your bottom smacked. It’s an odd feeling of pain and joy. Your whole body is alight and dancing.
“Right, little lady, to the corner with you. I’m not done with you yet, but I feel a nice little time-out will sharpen your mind on what has just happened. And don’t you dare let me catch you rubbing or you will be back over my knee before your feet touch the floor, little miss! Do I make myself clear?”
I sobbed out what could only be described as a noise that sounded like: “Yes, Grandma.”
Whatever the sounds were, she was happy with them, and I felt her hand lift from the small of my back and help me up. I stood in front of her, my eyes red and puffy and tears rolling down my cheeks. I managed to catch a short glimpse of my bottom from the mirror in the room. It was so red. I had never managed to get it that red when I had self-spanked. I felt proud of my red bare bottom and wanted to show it off to the world, but only Mrs Hurst would see it.
While this was happening I noticed she had tucked my skirt up into its waistband and was just sorting it out so it would leave my whole bottom and thighs on display. With a swift but sharp swat to my bottom, I was ordered to the corner. I walked as fast as I could and stood nose tight to the wall, hands on my head, sobbing and hiccuping away like the naughty girl I was.
After ten minutes, I heard the kitchen timer go off. My sobs had now calmed down but I wish I could say the same for my bottom. It was still as hot as it had been when I was sent to the corner, or it felt that way to me anyways.
Mrs Hurst called me over to her and I went without question. I knew if I didn’t, I would be in for more of the same, but what had she meant by ‘I’m not done with you yet?’
I then realized what it meant when I turned to face her and saw her sitting there with a small wooden spoon from our kitchen. I stood in front of her as best I could. The whole time my eyes never left that smooth round wooden spoon. It looked so harmless and yet I knew it was going to be used to make my bare bottom dance under it.
“Now, little lady, to finish off the last part of your chastisement.”
My eyes were wide and round, and fixed on the spoon the whole time during the scolding. I barely heard the words and just managed to answer in the right places with the help of one or two short sharp swift smacks to my thighs to bring me back to my senses every now and then.
Once the scolding was done, I was ordered back over her knee. I went to her right-hand side and wiggled over her lap. My bottom pushed up high, I felt her left knee push my bottom up higher. I grabbed on to the chair leg for dear life till my fingers went white. The cold wooden spoon felt lovely on my poor burning bottom just for a few brief moments till it was lifted up and brought down with a loud crack that seem to fill the air for ages, followed my scream. This spanking with the spoon went on for the next two minutes. Mrs Hurst just worked in the middle of both my cheeks, never failing to miss the same area each time. After the two minutes, I just lay there sobbing like a naughty little girl. My poor bare bottom felt the size of a house. I couldn’t believe such a small thing like that spoon could cause so much pain and yet, deep down, such joy. I felt so overcome with it; it flooded over me like a wild wave. I felt happiness and joy which I had never felt before, like a key had been turned inside me.
I came to a few moments later with the cold spoon brushing my cheeks.
“Nearly done, my dear! You have been so brave and I am so proud of you, honey.” The harsh strict tones had left her voice and were now replaced with tones of love and encouragement. I beamed through my tears.
“Right, little miss, I want you to count to six after each one. Do I make myself clear?”
I somehow managed, between my sobs and hiccups, to say: “Yes, Grandma.”
“If you don’t, or forget and I have to remind you, I will start again, young lady.” Her tone changed again to the strict harsh tone she had used the whole time during her disciplining of me.
I agreed again, and with that the spoon was run once more over my bottom and brought back down with the same sharp force as the last set of smacks.
I sobbed and kicked, and said: “One, Grandma.”
I don’t know how I did, it was like my mind was on my bottom and my mouth was just saying what it was meant to say. The spoon returned with another loud crack, this time on the other cheek. I sobbed and squealed again, and a few moments later said: “Two, Grandma.”
I counted in my head to make sure I wouldn’t displease her and get it wrong. The spoon landed again and again, and each time I squealed and sobbed but kept up the right score.
The final one was due and Mrs Hurst said in a calm but strict voice: “The last one is always the hardest, brace yourself Chloe,” and with that I closed my eyes tight and grabbed Grandma’s leg.
The sound was so loud when the wood made contact with my bottom, it took all my strength to lay there still. I let out a loud hiccupping sob and made a sound that to Grandma must have sounded like: “Six, Grandma.” To me, it was a collection of noises. Tears poured down my cheeks and my eyes became red and puffy. I sobbed over Grandma’s knee for a good few minutes as she rubbed the small of my back.
“Now, Chloe, I want you to make your way up and to the corner, and on your way you may collect your knickers which you kicked off a long time ago. You will stand there and no rubbing, hands on head, as before. If you do rub, I will give six more. Do you understand?”
I wiped my eyes and agreed. Snot ran down my nose, and tears stained my cheeks as I stood and collected my knickers from the floor. I slowly and painfully made my way to the corner and stood as before, nose tight to the wall with my hands on my head, this time holding my knickers. I sneaked a quick look in the mirror as I headed to the corner. The sight of my bottom was amazing. The only way I can describe it is, it was dark red with two large whitish red marks in the middle where the spoon had landed. It was so tender, each step I felt the burn from the spoon on my cheeks. I was so proud of myself and my bottom. I was once again flying; my body awash again with pleasure.
After five minutes, I was called out of the corner and Mrs Hurst, or from now she will be known as Grandma or Grandmother, took me by the hand and we walked together into the living room. She smiled at me, the kind loving smile I had seen a thousand times before, but this time it was different. I beamed back with pride. She sat down on the sofa and helped me on to her lap so my bottom overhung knee knees. She rubbed my back and set about telling me how proud she was of me. I beamed with every word, I lapped up every ‘good girl’ and ‘brave little girl’ she said. I pushed my head deep into her shoulder and snuggled for a little while with her, till she helped me up and told me to stand still, hands by my side, while she brought one of the breakfast bar stools. These are wooden counter stools with a round top and wooden legs, and they lift you up high. I cannot reach the floor when I sit on one, my legs tend to swing freely.
“Up you go, my dear, and sit there while we chat.”
I did as I was told, put my feet onto the rung and pulled myself up, slowly wincing as my burning bottom touched the cold wood. Grandma just smiled at me and told me what a good girl I was.
“Now Chloe, I have something very important to ask you. But, before I do, I will make us a nice pot of tea.”
With that, she got up and went to the kitchen. I took the time to quickly stand up and rub my bottom and check it. It was fantastic. It was everything and more that I have ever dreamt about. The burning pain was a true mark of my submission.
I had always known I was a submissive, but it wasn’t till a few months before that I found the group I fitted in to. I was a middle-aged submissive, or school submissive, some people called it. For me, it was who I am. I have always felt younger than my years, even at this age, and now I had found my place in this large vast kingdom.
I heard Grandma returning and I jumped on the stool with a loud squeal, which seemed to please Grandma as she walked in and said in a joking but strict tone: “That will teach you to jump up there, won’t it little miss?”
I just nodded with embarrassment.
Grandma poured the tea and she remembered to use my ‘Tigger’ cup. I beamed again and watched her.
“Now Chloe, how long have you felt like this? And don’t be coy. After what we have done, there can be no more secrets.”
I took a mouthful of tea and went bright red, and then answered her in full detail about it, from the time I could remember to the self-spankings, to even the diary I kept of them. Grandma didn’t look fazed at all, and waited till I had finished.
I would like to see that dairy, if I may, but not yet. When I was headmistress at Sternmoor School for Girls, there were pupils like yourself who would come and see me at your age, and would ask to be punished. In fact, I still have some of the girls come and see me now. Yes, my dear, even now when they are your mum’s age.”
I went bright red and took another mouthful of tea. Before I knew what I had said, I was asking Grandma if I could be one of those girls, if I could still come and see her.
She smiled and nodded to me. “Yes, you can be, honey. You have always felt like a granddaughter to me. You are very important to me, and you always will be, and now we have an even bigger, special bond, don’t we?”
Tears of joy filled my eyes, and Grandma could see this. I wanted ever so much to run up and hug her, and she knew this too. She opened her arms and said: “Come here, silly.”
I bolted into her open arms and hugged her so tight.
“Back to the stool, Chloe, till we are done.”
With that, I went back, but this time put myself down softly on the stool so as not to squeal.
We spent the next couple of hours chatting and sorting things out. I even showed her my diary. She was very impressed with it, and had me fill it out with today’s punishment. I grateful did this, sat at the table on the wooden chair, still with a bare bottom. It only seemed right to me.
After a while of sorting out school days and maintenance days during the holidays and some lunch, Grandma returned home, and I quickly got dressed into something that wouldn’t show off my bottom to mum. I spent ages looking at my bottom in the mirror, and was so happy, the happiest I had ever been to that point in my life.
© Lucybee 2020