One girl’s error makes another wonder
By Jo Green
When I was 18 and in the sixth form, my friend Carol and I went to Mrs Smith’s corner shop near the school. We were deep in conversation about Carol’s older sister, Becky, and her new boyfriend. I was choosing some chocolate when Carol dropped the bomb shell that Becky had snuck Bobby into her room the previous night and it didn’t sound like they were playing tiddlywinks! I was so taken aback that I inadvertently put my hands in my coat pockets and deposited the chocolate I was intending to buy. This was purely accidental. Carol continued to tell me all the gory details as I stood with my hands over my mouth.
Eventually, I picked up a chocolate bar and walked to the counter to pay. Mrs Smith gave me a very odd look. I had been a customer for many years and she was normally quite chatty. I assumed she had overheard us talking and was quite shocked herself. I turned to leave and felt her grab my arm.
“What are you doing, Jo? I thought you were much better than this!” she barked angrily.
I stood there, mouth gaping, wondering what she was on about.
“I am sorry, Mrs Smith. We were only talking about Becky. I am sorry if we embarrassed you in any way,” I said in all seriousness.
A confused look came across Mrs Smith’s face. She then reached into my pocket and pulled out the bar of milk chocolate.
“This is what I am talking about; you stealing chocolate from me.”
After a moment I realised what I must have done.
“I am so, so sorry, Mrs Smith. I know what I did now. Carol shocked me and I put my hands in my pockets, forgetting I had the bar, and then picked up a second one without thinking. I am very, very sorry. I will gladly pay for the second one.”
“Tosh! I am sick of girls from your school bleeding me dry. Stock doesn’t grow on trees, you know. No, I have a good mind to call the school and the police,” she said sternly.
“Oh no, please don’t do that, Mrs Smith. Genuinely, it was an accident. I’ve been coming here for years. You know me, I wouldn’t do anything like this,” I pleaded.
“You mean I haven’t caught you before, more like! Give me one reason not to make those calls, young lady,” she said, giving me a hard stare.
My mind was racing and my palms were sweating, despite it being chilly in the shop.
“Please, Mrs Smith, I don’t want the school finding out. I am a prefect and I will be stood down if they find out, and the police seems to be a little over the top, if I might be so bold,” I said in an apologetic tone, looking down at the floor.
“So you think I should let you off, do you?” Mrs Smith barked.
“No, Mrs Smith, of course not, but I am sure we can come to some sort of arrangement. Please?” I almost pleaded.
“Very well, what did you have in mind?” she asked.
I blushed a deep red, I am sure, as a thought came to me and I said, “Well, if I were in your position and I caught myself doing this, by accident, I would suggest you put me over your knee and give my bottom a spanking, rather than call the police.”
There! I had said it out loud.
Carol’s face was a picture. “You really want Mrs Smith to spank you, like a child?” she said, almost laughing at the thought of it.
“Yes, I’d rather she spank me than report me, actually,” I said to Carol, then I looked directly at Mrs Smith. “I am serious. You are correct that I should be punished, but this would be a better course of action for both of us, don’t you think, Mrs Smith?” I said, hoping she would agree. I didn’t really want her to spank me, but it was a far better outcome than her making those calls.
Mrs Smith looked at me with a quizzical expression on her face before shifting her weight from one leg to the other, looking a little flustered. Clearly, she was considering this option but was uneasy about accepting it.
“If I do accept your offer, how do I know you won’t call the police yourself to report me for spanking you?”
“I would never do that, Mrs Smith, never,” I promised. “I know I have done wrong and deserve to be punished.”
“Very well,” said Mrs Smith. “We’ll do it your way.”
She dropped the latch on the door and put the ‘Sorry, closed, back in 10 minutes’ notice in the window which I presume she used for short breaks.
“Both of you, come with me,” she said, walking into the back room.
“Hey, wait a second. Leave me out of this,” said a worried Carol, clearly fearful she too was expected to take a spanking.
“I want you to act as a witness, plus I want to keep an eye on you,” said Mrs Smith curtly. She then pulled out a chair from under a small table in the corner of the room and placed it in a space near the back. She then sat down on the chair, looking hesitant and a little uneasy. I guessed she had not been in this position before and thought it best to take the lead a little. After all, mum still spanked me, so bending over Mrs Smith’s knee was not the ordeal it would have been for Carol, whose mum didn’t spank her at all.
I slipped off my shoes, which my mum always got me to do for some reason, and stood by Mrs Smith’s right side. Without thinking about it, I reached for the button on my jeans, unfastened it, and slid the zip all the way down, before easing the jeans past my hips, much to the surprise of Mrs Smith and Carol.
Standing there in a pair of pale pink French knickers, which I prefer when wearing trousers as they don’t give a tell-tale panty line. I suddenly realised Mrs Smith hadn’t asked me to take my trousers down, but mum always spanked my on my knickers so I did it without really thinking.
To hide everyone’s blushes, including mine, I quickly pulled my knickers up tightly over my bottom and bent myself over Mrs Smith’s lap, ready for what I had coming. Mrs Smith did nothing for quite a few seconds, unsure as to how to proceed, I think. Certainly, I would not think, when she opened up this morning, by tea time she would have the door locked and me draped across her lap awaiting a spanking. It wasn’t exactly on my ‘to do’ list this morning either.
Supporting my weight on my hands and the balls of my feet, I glanced back over my left shoulder to see what the hold-up was.
“Are you OK, Mrs Smith?” I enquired, hoping to get this over with sooner rather than later.
“Yes, fine,” she answered, clearly nervous at what she was having to do.
She placed her left hand just above my bottom and her right hand on the seat of my knickers. After resting it there for a few seconds, she slowly raised her hand and brought it down, gently, on my bum, which made me jump, not through pain but just surprise after the long wait. She lifted her hand and spanked me again, this time with a little more force but still not enough to say it really hurt. Getting into a steady rhythm, Mrs Smith spanked both buttocks alternately for a couple of minutes. I suspected my white bum was nowhere near as pink as my pale pink knickers.
I thought about telling Mrs Smith she needed to do it harder, but thought better of it. If she thought this was a suitable punishment, I wasn’t going to tell her otherwise.
Soon the spanking was over, and, with one final spank, Mrs Smith rested her hand on my bottom.
“I hope that has taught you a valuable lesson, Jo, and you never do anything like this again. Now you can get up and pull your jeans up,” she said.
I did as she told me and eased myself back to my feet. To help with the impression Mrs Smith had given me the good spanking I deserved, I rubbed my bottom briefly, before easing my jeans back up over my hips and fastening them.
“Thank you, Mrs Smith,” I said, “For not reporting me. I will never make that mistake again!”
I again gently rubbed my barely warmed seat.
Mrs Smith unlocked the door and took down the ‘closed’ sign. Carol and I left without saying a word until we were around the corner and in the park across the road.
“So, go on, did it hurt badly?” Carol asked. “I’ve never had a spanking, but it looked jolly painful from where I was standing.”
“Did you enjoy watching me get spanked then?” I asked, pulling her leg.
“No! No, of course not. It looked horrendous,” Carol added.
“If you are that curious, I can give you a taste if you like,” I said jokingly. “To be honest, Mrs Smith hardly made a mark. What did it look like from where you were standing?”
“From what I could see, your bottom was still white,” she confirmed. “That wasn’t a hard spanking then, I take it?”
I laughed. “I could have taken that all day. Clearly, she has never spanked anyone before. Mum’s spankings leave me sore for quite a while later. I only rubbed my bum so as to make her feel like she had done a good job. That way, everyone was happy.”
Carol was looking strangely at me and obviously wanted to say something.
“Shall we go back to mine, Jo? Mum’s at my uncle’s and is having dinner there.”
“Sure, come on.”
We walked the 200m or so back to her house, arm-in-arm, laughing and joking about what had just transpired. However, I could see Carol was troubled, but I was not going to say anything unless she brought it up. I was very happy to talk to her frankly and honestly about being spanked, if she was that curious. After we had drunk a cup of tea in her kitchen, Carol said something very surprising.
“Jo?” she asked awkwardly. “What you said before, did you mean it?” she asked sheepishly.
“I don’t know. What are you referring to? That Mrs Smith didn’t really know how to spank?”
“No, the other thing you said. If I would like a taste?”
Wow! She was very nervous saying this to me in the kitchen.
“Hey Carol, I was only joking. But, if seeing me spanked has made you curious, I can certainly help you with that. But only if you are serious and 100% sure,” I told her.
“Yes, I am sure. Everyone I know I think has been spanked at some point, and I have sometimes wondered what it was like,” she said, blushing as red as a tomato.
“Would you like to sleep on it and decide later?” I asked.
“No, if I don’t do it now, I’ll chicken out. While I have the house to myself, I’ll never get a better opportunity.”
I was still taken aback by her boldness.
“Do you want to do it here, or in your room?” I asked gently.
“Here, please. No one can see in,” she answered.
I turned my chair to face the centre of the room and sat down on it, took Carol’s hand and gently guided her across my lap. Slightly clumsily, she settled on my lap, hands and feet resting on the floor like she had seen me do earlier. I gently started to pull her skirt up over her bottom.
“Oh!” she exclaimed as she realised what I was doing.
“You did say you wanted to experience what I had just experienced,” I explained, and drew her skirt fully up and over her panties. She was wearing figure-hugging black ones; her bottom was quite small but firm.
“Yes, I suppose I did. I hadn’t thought you would be doing that. It’s fine, carry on,” she said, visibly shaking at what was about to come her way.
“I will start off spanking like Mrs Smith did, then I will finish with a few spanks more like my mum dishes out. Are you ready? You can still get up now, no harm done and with no shame.”
“I’m fine,” she said, still shaking slightly.
“OK, I’ll get started,” I said.
I gently placed my hand on her bottom, then raised it a few inches above her bottom and slapped it sharply onto her bottom.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, more out of surprise than genuine pain. She really had no idea what to expect. “That wasn’t quite what I expected.” I gave her a second spank and she cried, “Ouch!”
The next six spanks were evenly spread around her bottom, but yielded little by way of response.
“Right,” I said. “Now for a few harder ones, to show you what a proper spanking feels like. Ready?”
“Okay, but not too hard, eh?” she almost pleaded, half turning to face me.
“Naughty bottoms get what they get. Eyes forward!” I ordered, trying not to laugh.
I raised my hand higher and brought it down much more firmly onto her black panties; three spanks in close proximity.
“Ouch! Hey Jo, that really hurts you know!” Carol exclaimed sharply.
“That, my friend, is the whole point,” I responded, and landed four more spanks well-spaced around her bottom. I gave her two final, really sharp, spanks and left my hand resting on her sore bottom. Red marks could just be seen around the edges of her panty line. “There, all over. Up you get. How was that for you?”
Carol jumped to her feet, rubbing her bottom through her panties as her skirt cascaded down. Hopping from foot to foot, she asked, “Is that really how your mum does it? That hurts so much!”
“Oh yes, it does, doesn’t it? Sometimes she uses a slipper. Now that really does bring tears to the eyes, but I suspect that would have been far too much for you, Carol.”
“You’re not joking, Jo. Thank you for the experience. It’s not something I will repeat anytime soon, thank you very much!” she said, hugging me, perhaps to hide the small tears forming in her eyes.
“Sorry if it hurt you too much, Carol. Will you be OK? Only mum will be wondering where I am,” I said gently.
“Sure, you get off. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, attempting a smile as I headed for the door.
I smiled back and headed home after what had been quite an eventful afternoon, one way or another.
© Jo Green 2022