Friends Reunited

A sequel to Mrs Gavin’s Prison Spanking

By Katie Hammond 

I heard a tap at my bedroom door and I sleepily said: “OK, mum, I’m getting up,” but I would give myself another ten minutes in bed before getting up this Monday morning. I had been released from prison two months earlier after serving eight years for manslaughter, and was still adjusting to life on the ‘outside’  which was more difficult than I imagined. I was released on licence and had to conform to certain conditions which the Probation Service had set, one being that I had to live with my parents and only seek employment at a place approved by my probation officer. That place was a charity shop in a nearby town where I worked for the minimum wage.

However, today or at least this morning I would not be going there. Instead I was due to have my first meeting with my probation officer, Miss Pritchard. I had met her once before as she was present during my prison spanking and I couldn’t really work her out. Perhaps today I would get to know her a little better.

I reflected on the things that had happened since my prison spanking. I had certainly become interested in spanking and was currently reading some books on the subject, particularly on how to raise the subject with a potential future boyfriend. This leads me on to point out that since my prison spanking as Mrs Gavin, John and I had got an amicable divorce and I had reverted to my maiden name of Shelley.

So here I was, Miss Martine Shelley, aged thirty-six, single, on minimum wage and back living with my parents. That’s progress, I thought, smiling to myself, knowing that although life at the moment wasn’t particularly fulfilling it was much better than being in prison.

That said, there was one thing I was so sad to have left behind; she is Tessa Saunders. Tessa was my twenty-three year old personal officer and also my boss when I worked as an orderly in the prison library. We got on really well and enjoyed each other’s company. She is the only person before or since John that could make me laugh and cry at the same time. In prison she had praised, encouraged and supported me, and on a few occasions had even told me off which for some reason made me like her even more. She was, of course, also the person who had delivered the judicial spanking.

Every time I saw her straight shoulder length dark hair, big brown eyes and pale skin my heart melted especially when she smiled at me. I was, I guess, in love with her, platonically at least. I though back to one of the last times I had seen her. I had won a competition in prison for drawing, which was organised by the local Townswomen’s Guild. The very nice elderly lady from the Guild who presented me with the prize of a bottle of very expensive champagne and chocolate liqueurs was surprised, after I had accepted the gifts, to be told that I wasn’t allowed to drink alcohol and seemed to be bemused when after introducing herself to me as Pauline I then addressed her as ‘Miss’.

As I wasn’t permitted to drink alcohol, I had given the champagne and chocolates to Tessa as a token of gratitude for her tuition, which was true, but of course it was more of a thinly veiled romantic gesture which was picked up by the other girls who then chanted in the next lesson: “Martine loves Miss Saunders,” over and over again before being told to calm down.

I only saw Tessa once more after she had reluctantly but gratefully accepted the gifts when she had told me in the library one Monday morning that: “We really enjoyed the champagne and chocolates at the weekend; thanks, Martine.”

I smiled but it tore me up inside. ‘We’ was her fiancé, Adam, and in my heart of hearts I hoped and dreamed that she would save the champagne and we would have shared it one romantic night after I was released, but it was obviously not meant to be.

The final slightly amusing event just before I left prison also involved alcohol. The gym was double booked, so our gym mistress, Miss King, had us in the car park after visiting hours on litter patrol. I had found a half drunk bottle of Bacardi Breezer and handed it into her. I don’t know why, but she went mad and I was frogmarched into the reception area while the police were called, even though I insisted that I hadn’t drunk any of it. The Police duly arrived and I wondered what the dishy young PC made of the thirty-six year old woman in her sports pants he was breathalysing.

The older WPC also attending announced the results to Miss King as: “She hasn’t had any of it.”

Miss King hypocritically replied: “I knew Mrs Gavin wouldn’t do such a thing.”

God, I really hated that woman.

It was funny as only a few days later I was released from prison and could drink as many Barcardi Breezers s as I wished. At the time I hadn’t seen Tessa for at least a week and hoped that we might have got a chance to say goodbye, but sadly that didn’t happen. The last thing I did was to write Tessa a letter praising and thanking her for looking after me so well when I was in her care and wishing her well for the future. It was the least I could do as I genuinely felt this way, but the main reason was I had to let her know how I felt about her.

On my release day, I handed the letter to Miss Pritchard and asked her to pass it on to Miss Saunders, which she promised to do.

Thinking about Miss Pritchard brought me suddenly out of my daydream. I looked at the alarm clock. I was now running late for my first probation appointment. In a panic, I got out of bed and started to get ready. I quickly showered and then selected my clothes; dark blue skirt and jacket, white blouse, black knickers, and white bra, said goodbye to mum and left.

Fortunately the schools had now broken up for the summer holidays and my journey into town was quick. I arrived at the joint Courts and Probation Service car park and was lucky to find a space. As I got out of the car I could see the steps to the Crown Court that I walked up all those years ago. If I could handle that then this should be no problem.

I entered the probation centre and asked to see Miss Pritchard. The young receptionist asked me for the name of my client, assuming I was a solicitor, before I told her I was an offender. Walking up to the second floor, it wasn’t all that hard to see why she had made that mistake. Most of the men were in dirty jeans or track suits, as were most of the women, in fact. As I looked around, some men were even drinking beer, and I noticed I was the only woman wearing a skirt.

There were about fifteen or so people waiting to be seen and just as I was just about to be approached by a member of staff, a door opened in front of me and Miss Pritchard smiled and said: “Miss Shelley, please.”

Miss Pritchard walked behind her desk and invited me to sit. The chairs were to the side of the desk, probably to make it more informal, I assumed, and Miss Pritchard turned in her chair to her right to face me. I was a little surprised that she had Radio 1 on, although it was probably just for background music. I looked at her again. She was around twenty-five and had now dyed her hair jet black, which did in fact suit her. Although she was certainly Caucasian, she had dark features, certainly darker than me and I’m part Italian. I also noticed she was wearing an engagement ring.

She was well presented, wearing a white blouse and black trousers. We chatted routinely about my progress and she seemed happy that everything was fine, although I did raise the fact that I wasn’t happy with my supervisor at work, Mrs Bailey, who thought she was my mum, carer, boss, and probation officer rolled into one.

Miss Pritchard turned to me and said: “I can understand how you feel, Martine, but just ignore her if you can.”

I agreed that was probably the best thing and all I could do. I replied: “Yes, Miss, but she thinks she can tell me what to do.”

Miss Pritchard smiled slightly and said: “Martine, whether you like it or not, at the moment legally you are a vulnerable adult under the supervision of the Probation Service, and therefore it is appropriate that Mrs Bailey does undertake close supervision of you at work, although I don’t intend to supervise you to this extent out of work.”

I was rather annoyed hearing this but just looked back at her and nodded. After a few more questions I could tell the meeting was coming to an end. I was thankful that I hadn’t been asked to undress or anything like that.

“Have you got a boyfriend?” Enquired Miss Pritchard.

“No, Miss,” I replied.

I then remembered the letter I had written to Tessa and asked: “Miss, did you pass on that letter to Miss Saunders?”

“Yes, I did,” replied Miss Pritchard with a smile before adding: “Do you have a girlfriend, Martine?”

“No Miss” I replied and we both laughed.

Miss Pritchard turned away from me on her chair to face the computer. She then leant forward and her blouse lifted up her back away from her trousers, which had also come away from her back. I looked down into the gap between her trousers and her back and could see that she was wearing plain white knickers. In fact, they looked identical to prison knickers and as she held that position I was sure she was inviting the little peek, knowing that I would look.

‘You kinky little minx,’ I thought.

Turning around to face me, smiling, she said: “I will see you in four weeks, Martine.”

Standing up, I replied: “Yes, Miss,” said goodbye, and left her office.

I smiled at the girl as I passed reception and went into the bright warm sunshine of the June morning. It was lovely but tempered by the fact I was due in at work in the afternoon. As I was walking to the car, a woman walking towards me caught my attention. Although I couldn’t get a clear view of her as she walked in between the cars, something about her seemed familiar. I was just about to get into my car when I heard my name being called. It was from the direction of that woman.

I stopped and looked. Oh god, it couldn’t be, could it? Yes, it was Rachael Bland. We walked quickly towards each other, embraced and enthusiastically greeted each other. It turned out Rachael had a probation interview with Miss Pritchard today and said: “Yep, last one, then just got a physio session at half one this afternoon and I get signed off.”

Getting signed off meant your probation period was finished and you were a totally free woman.

We got so engrossed in conversation that Rachael was nearly late for her appointment and we still had so much to catch up on.

Rachael said: “I should only be ten or so minutes with Miss Pritchard. Fancy meeting up for a coffee in town?”

I was just going to decline as I had to work in the afternoon, but I thought I would have enough time to squeeze it in. I left the car in the carpark and took a slow walk into town before doing some window shopping to kill the time. Rachael arrived just as I was taking my first sip of strong cappuccino, and joined me in a quiet corner. The aroma of freshly ground coffee and pleasant ambience of the coffee shop, and now Rachael, were making me feel very happy. I smiled at her as she sat down. We talked for ten or so minutes about our lives, her little baby and husband, and our respective future plans.

We had just started on our second cups when Rachael asked me, smiling: “So how did the adjudication go, hun?”

She caught me a bit off guard but I know the conversation would inevitably turn to our mutual time in prison.

“Oh, I was found guilty of course.” I replied adding: “By the way, thanks for your support on the phone when Mrs Reynolds rang you.”

“No problem, that’s the least I could do.”

I smiled and took a sip of coffee. I could sense she wanted to say something. I looked back at her tacitly, asking her to continue with a slight smile.

“Erm, ok, um, I take it you were spanked, Martine,” she asked.

I smiled broadly and said: “Yes, I was.”

We both laughed, I knew she had also been spanked in prison but wasn’t going to let on yet.

“Were you angry?” She enquired.

“Yes at first, but by the end of it I would have been angry had I not have been spanked, and if I don’t start getting into spanking soon then I will get very angry.” I said as we both laughed again.

Two women sat at a nearby table glanced at over at me and Rachael. I was worried that they had heard me but Rachael said laughing: “Oh, sod them.”

She was self-confident, happy and lived a fulfilled life. She looked good too; dark eyes and short dark hair, mid height and thin, wearing a black blouse and beige pin stripped trousers over black boots.

‘Quite a catch for the lucky young gentlemen she married,’ I thought.

“So who spanked you?” Continued Rachael.

“It was Miss Saunders, and I was paddled, to be precise,” I stated matter of factly.

“Well you always were her girl.” Rachael exclaimed.

“Wish I was now,” I said truthfully, but in a half joking manner to take the edge off it.

“You need something to take your mind off her.”

“You’re right,” I replied, and she was, but I didn’t want to take my mind off her. I wanted the conversation to go in a different direction so I said: “I know you were spanked, Rachael.”

She seemed very surprised and I thought that perhaps I should not have mentioned it. But she soon broke into her normal smile and said: “Wow! How do you know that?”

I told her that Mrs Reynolds had told me. I then asked her who had spanked her. Rachael told me that it was Mr Greenford, but with his hands not a paddle. I thought back to Mrs Reynolds telling me that Mrs Bland went through the exactly the same thing, so it wasn’t exactly true, Mrs Reynolds, then, was it?

I couldn’t resist the next logical question to Rachael: “So, how did you feel? Were you angry?”

“No, not at all. Like you, I loved it,” she replied.

“I bet you’ve got your husband spanking you now,” I said.

She shook her head. “No, Paul doesn’t get it. I’ve dropped hints but I am too embarrassed to take it any further at the moment.”

“But he knows you were spanked, doesn’t he?” I asked.

“Yes, of course he does. After a spanking the prison ring the next of kin to inform them than you’ve have been subjected to corporal punishment, but thankfully they don’t tell next of kin who did the spanking. I told him I was spanked by a woman. If he knew I was spanked by a guy he would go nuts.”

Oh god, by that time my mum had replaced my then husband as my next of kin, so she knew, but then I thought my sister, Fiona, and my loud mouth niece, Hannah, would have told her anyway.

I could see that Rachael was very relaxed so I said: “Why were you spanked, Rachael?”

She laughed and said: “I was caught drinking.”

“Oh god, Rachael, please don’t tell me you tried some of that prison hooch that Shanice was always selling.” I asked.

“No chance. My cousin used to leave bottles of Bacardi Breezer in the car park and I would go out pretending to collect litter and pick them up.”

“Jesus!” I exclaimed, and I related my story about when I got pulled up after handing in the half drunk bottle. That’s why Miss King got so uptight. It made sense now.

“Sorry about that, Martine. Hope that didn’t get you into too much trouble.”

I assured her it didn’t and was shocked when she said: “I bet you want to spank me for that now.”

As I was laughing the comment off, the waitress came and cleared our table. Rachael looked at her watch, panicking slightly. “I’ve got my final physio session in an hour. It’s been so good catching up with you. Time has just flown. Why don’t you come back to my place so we can talk some more?”

My instincts told me I had to go to work but my heart was telling me otherwise. I sat thinking it’s been such a fun day why would I want to ruin it going back to that minimum wage, dull as ditch water, dump I work in?

Sod probation, sod Mrs Bailey, and sod the charity shop; I smiled and said: “Yeah, great,” as we both stood up and walked back to the cars.

We walked briskly as Rachael had her physio appointment and the deep blue, clear summer sky had given way to dark clouds and stifling humidity; the rain was due any second. Rachael told me her address but I managed to keep in sight of her all the way to her house anyway.

She lived on the other side of the large English provincial town that we both lived in. I discovered it was a very nice area having never actually been there before. The 1930s three bedroom semi-detached in a smart close would have cost a substantial amount of money and I suspected that mummy and daddy had helped Paul and Rachael with the purchase.

We got out of our cars and entered the house. As expected, it was clean and tidy and well furnished. Rachael offered me fresh orange juice and we both quenched our thirst on this humid day. Looking at our watches, we could see it was very nearly half past one.

Rachael said: “Just going to get changed, won’t be a second,” as she walked up the stairs.

I looked out of the kitchen window to the garden, again very smart. I turned around as I heard her walking down the stairs. The sight took me back for a second, so familiar and yet almost unreal now. The light yellow jumper and black gym knickers, white socks and trainers. God, it looked so weird, but of course it was the prison gym kit, the one I wore for years without thinking twice about it. I quickly thought it was surprising what you get used to and how quickly you can forget.

Rachael smiled at me and said: “I think that’s her,” as a car in the quiet road came to a stop and the engine ceased. She was right; the doorbell rang and I followed Rachael to the door. She pulled the door open but kept her lower body behind the door and lent over to greet her.

‘Oh my god!’ I thought. This day was getting stranger by the minute. It was the young nurse who comforted me in the prison sickbay after I broke down. She had also expertly applied after-spanking cream to my bottom.

“Martine, how are you doing?” She asked sincerely.

“I’m really good, thanks Miss.” I said automatically before realising that being on probation I should still call her ‘Miss’ anyway.

The coffee tables had already been moved to the side so Rachael could lie down on the floor. The nurse then asked Rachael to perform a series of leg exercises which she seemingly completed with ease.

The young nurse, whose name I still didn’t know, said: “That’s great, Mrs Bland. Only one thing now, which is the four minute jog. We can do it in the garden or in the road.”

“Road please, Miss,” was the reply.

The nurse seemed slightly surprised but I suspected that Rachael didn’t want to damage the bowling green lawn of her garden.

“Do you want to put your gym skirt on, Mrs Bland?” Came the understandable offer.

“No thanks, Miss; it’s upstairs, it will take too long,” said Rachael.

I just about managed to contain my smile. What a weak excuse that was, and I suspected we all knew that. Despite being a strong and modern young woman, there was no doubt Rachael was a little submissive in certain aspects of her life. Taking her skirt off and running round calling people ‘Sir’ and ‘Miss’ was evidence of that, although, seconds later, I realised that was exactly what I had been doing for the past eight years.

I stayed behind at the house as I watched Rachael and the nurse, who was wearing a white tennis style track suit top and short white tennis skirt, depart the house. If ever there was a moment to be a curtain-twitching suburbanite, surely it was now.

Within a few minutes they were back and they started their stretching exercise in the living room. On completion of those, the nurse went to her bag and produced a book. Opening it up, she started writing and asked Rachael to counter sign the slip, then announced: “That’s it, Mrs Bland. I’ve signed you off as passing your physical module which was the last one on your probation programme. You’ve now completed probation and are a completely free woman.”

“Thanks, Miss,” said a beaming Rachael.

“It’s Heather,” corrected the nurse.

“Thanks, Heather,” laughed Rachael.

I took a step towards her and said: “Heather, thank you for looking after me in the sick bay. It is really appreciated.”

She looked at me without smiling and said: “It’s ‘miss’ to you.”

“Yes miss, sorry about that, miss,” I replied, embarrassed at my slip up.

“Not a problem at all, Martine, remember what I told you in the sickbay, we are all routing for you. So, I know life might be hard at the moment but make sure you keep your chin up, ok?” Said the nurse, walking towards the door.

“Yes, Miss,” I instantly responded.

She looked back at both of us and said somewhat presciently: “Have fun, ladies.”

That just left me and Rachael.

I looked at her and said: “Shanice did have a point about those gym knickers.”

She looked back and said: “Yep, she probably did.”

It was about ten to two now and I asked Rachael what time she had to pick her daughter up.

“Oh, mum will pick Sophie up from the nursery at three then she baby sits until I arrive at mum’s from work at around six,” she explained.

“And today?” I asked.

“Same, I was planning on going into work this afternoon but I’ve thrown a sickie.”

‘Ah, ok,’ I thought.

I asked: “What time does your husband get in?”

“Normally around half six or seven, but they are really busy at the moment so he’s working to about eight this week,” she said.

“What does he do, if you don’t mind me asking, Rachael?”

“No problem, he’s a car panel beater.”

I nodded and, with the greatest of respect, I was sure that mummy and daddy had helped with their house purchase. So there we were and she knew I had just sounded out the afternoon. The next four hours were clear. Was it really going to happen? We both looked at each other and I must admit my temperature was rising; those long bare legs, those skimpy knickers, that bum.

Rachael smiled and said: “So, do you want to spank me then?”

I looked at her, my heart thumping, and just said: “Yes.”

She took her jumper off and threw it to the ground, revealing a thin white back bra strap. I followed her up the stairs. She turned right into master bedroom. It was large with gold wallpaper and a beige chaise lounge, dark brown carpets, large mirror, and I could see an en-suite bathroom. The bed was super king size with black metal frames with vertical bars for the head and foot boards.

“That’s almost your prison cot there, Rachael,” I joked.

She smiled and said: “You’re right, it nearly is. I don’t wear pyjamas any more.”

‘Why didn’t I think about doing that,’ I thought.

We both turned as we heard a noise. It was coming from outside. We opened the windows. It was now pouring down with rain. The cool fresh air entered the bedroom along with that lovely fresh aroma you get when it rains after a long dry spell. I could hear thunder in the distance.

The atmosphere was electric especially in the bedroom. Rachael turned and walked back to the bed. Standing in front of the foot of the bed, she waited as I followed her and stopped. Her hands went down to her waist and in a second her black gym knickers and white prison knickers came off in one go.

I gasped at her perfect small firm bottom, something I could never have imagined seeing let alone been invited to spank. It occurred to me that nearly all the men that had ever met her would have wanted to have done this, and no doubt a few women too, but I was living the dream. Rachael walked forward and lay face down on the bed. I followed. My skirt was restricting movement a bit when I climbed on, so I undid the button and zip and threw it to the ground.

I hadn’t even started spanking, but I felt in control so much so that I told Rachael to remove her bra.

She wriggled around and took it off, whispering: “Yes, Miss,” under her breath.

“Good girl, now back on your front.” I commanded.

I looked down at that perfect bum which I would now own for a few hours for the first and probably last time in my life.

‘Martine,’ I said to myself. ‘Make sure you lap up every single last second of this and give that girl the time of her life.’

Smack, my hand connected with her left buttock on the sweet pot and then the right buttock, then the left and right again. I started to build up a rhythm, gently leading her on to some harder spanks to come. Rachael gave me all the green light signals with lots of ‘uuumm’ ‘arrgghh’ and ‘yes’. Her cheeks slowly became slightly red.

As I continued, Rachael put both arms under the pillow and buried her head into the pillow, also obviously enjoying the experience. I then moved up to the middle of her buttocks, just doing one cheek at a time, but now with increased force. Left buttock, SMACK, pause, right buttock, SMACK.

I was absolutely loving this and evidently so was Rachael, giving me lots of ‘Oh Yes Oh Yes’ ‘Ahhhhh!’ and ‘god’. I carried this on for over twenty minutes before slowing down and spanking slightly softer. I looked down at her slightly red bum. I was mesmerised by it. In fact, I could have just stopped and literally just looked at it for hours. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. I couldn’t believe this was real.

Just to prove this, I poked my right index finger on her right buttock thinking this was a dream and I would wake up, but the flesh was real and Rachael gave out a surprised giggle. I then smacked her hard on her right buttock and she groaned. Yes, this was very real.

Over half an hour had passed and Rachael was bearing up well. She hadn’t moved and as a fit young twenty- eight year old she was more than capable of taking the punishment. I increased the strength of my smacks now and they landed on her tight bottom with a thud. For the first time, Rachael squirmed and slightly shifted her pelvis while tensing her cheeks. Her marble-like buttocks were now turning rose coloured. I continued the spanking encouraged by moans of ‘Yeah Yeah Yeah’, ‘Oh Yeah Oh Yeah Oh Yeah’ and ‘aaghhhhhh’. She then lifted her head up and started head banging the pillow.

WHACK, I smacked her across the whole bum this time with my hardest smack so far. I followed this up seconds later and she let out a ‘oh god oh god oh god’ before pulling both hands from under the pillow and thumping the mattress in what I hoped was ecstasy. WHACK again I smacked her hard straight across the bum and she let out a moan that seem to come from deep inside her.

I noticed a photo of her and Paul on the bedside table and although I was deep in my spank space I couldn’t help but think with more than a little humour that while Paul was panel beating cars probably right at this very moment, I was beating his wife’s bottom on their marital bed, but of course with care, love and responsibility. In fact I had been so into the spanking over the last two hours that I didn’t notice it had stopped raining and the clouds had cleared to give glorious sunshine which the bedroom was now bathed in.

I looked down at Rachael and for sure nothing had been on her mind other than the spanking. WHACK, I dealt another hard blow to her bum and she recoiled against the smack slightly. Well over an hour had passed and I thought it was getting time to build this spanking up to its climax.

W-H-A-C-K, my hardest yet across all of her backside. She let out an ‘AArrrrgghhhh god,’ then wriggled before head banging the pillow. She then stretched forward and with both hands grabbed the vertical bars on the headboard in preparation for another hard spank. W-H-A-C-K, again this was harder than the previous spank and Rachael gripped the bars tightly and let out another ‘AAAArrrrgghhhh before biting the pillow.

Her bottom was wriggling beneath me and I raised myself up onto the back of her legs to restrict her. W-H-A-C-K, again slightly harder than before. As she couldn’t move her legs now, she took her hands away from the frame and thumped the mattress, moaning.

I moved back and released her legs. W-H-A-C-K, I thrashed her bottom yet again and, now unrestricted, she lifted her bum into the air. Before it got very far, I put my hands on each of her buttocks and pushed them gently back down to the bed. W-H-A-C-K, another hard blow landed straight across her derriere. She let out an ‘oh god oh god please no’ before raising her bum again.

Again putting each hand on her respective buttock, I slowly pushed her back down again. We had agreed safe words before the spanking commenced but even so I was aware that this was probably enough and I was beginning to reach Rachael’s pain threshold.

The last W-H-A-C-K was the hardest yet and the hardest I would want to do. She cried: “Ooowwwwww! Arrrgghh! God!” Then she drew a sharp intake of breath. Again, she raised her bum and I think she was surprised when I offered no resistance to her surrender. I looked up at her and was greeted by the most intimate view of a woman’s bottom I have ever had in my life.

Stunned, I waited a few seconds before gently planting a kiss on her left buttock. She gave out a girly giggle. I then kissed her right buttock. This again produced an appreciative giggle. I then told her to turn over. We were now face to face. We both smiled at each other and our faces drew closer. We stared into each others’ brown eyes, lent forward and for a second kissed on the lips.

“Thank you,” Rachael said to me in a serious tone.

“No, thank you,” I replied.

“That was awesome,” she said.

I nodded and replied “Yes, it was,” equally seriously. “Now, do you want some cream rubbed in?”

“Yes, please,” came Rachael’s enthusiastic response.

I told her to turn over and she opened her bedside table to produce a small tin of ‘after spanking cream’. I opened it up. It was, of course, unused due to her husband’s lack of spanking interest. I applied it very gently to her left buttock, slowing working in a circular motion, then down to where her leg met her bum. As I started on her right buttock, she stretched her legs and moved her feet, looking around at me and saying: “Yummy yummy yummy.”

Her bottom was still red. Tonight, perhaps, Rachael should wear her pyjamas. As we had around forty minutes before Rachael had to pick her daughter up I suggested she continue to lie down to let the cream soak in. She did and I lay next to her discussing the spanking. I was happy to hear she wanted to do it again sometime soon.

We got up and both prepared to leave. Rachael reached down and pulled out her prison knickers from inside her gym knickers which had been left on the floor. She then put her black blouse and beige pinstripe trousers on. We left and kissed goodbye and got in our cars. Driving back home, I passed Paul’s place of work and suddenly felt very guilty.

I pulled over and sent Rachael a text. ‘I feel so guilty.’

She responded instantly and the exchange went like this.

‘Why?’

‘I feel that I have made you unfaithful.’

‘No, you haven’t. It wasn’t sex, Martine.’

‘But it felt like sex; it was so intimate.’

‘It wasn’t sex.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because what we did today was hundreds of times better than sex.’

I laughed and it put my mind at rest. We texted our goodbyes and I continued on the drive home.

Walking through the front door, I said: “Sorry I’m late,” knowing that even a slight delay to the dinning times at my parents’ house was regarded as something close to a national emergency.

“Where on earth have you been? You weren’t at work this afternoon, were you? I had Mrs Bailey from the shop on the phone three times, and your probation officer Miss Pritchard also called,” said my Mum.

‘That’s all I need!’ I thought. “Sorry, something cropped up. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.” I said.

Dad replied: “Well, ring now.”

“It’s half past seven, Dad, they’re not going to be there.” I said slightly exasperated.

Although he was a clever man, he was now getting old. He also slightly irritated me when he slurped his tea and made noises when eating. We had dinner in almost complete silence, as normal, only interrupted by plates and cutlery clinking together and the second cup of tea being poured.

“Oh, I almost forgot. A package arrived for you this morning,” said Mum.

I was intrigued. I excused myself from the table and opened the package. It was a nice box of chocolates and, looking further down into the box, I pulled the top of a bottle up to find it was a bottle of very expensive Dom Perignon champagne.

‘Who on earth has sent me this?’ I thought.

The only person I could think of was Craig from the charity shop. He had a bit of a crush on me, but he wasn’t really my type, and he knew where I lived, something that I probably shouldn’t have been so open about. I was just about to throw away the box when I saw a white card at the bottom. I quickly opened it.

It said: ‘Thank you,’ and there was a picture of a woman sitting by the swimming pool of a seaside Mediterranean villa.

‘At least he can pick a good card,’ I thought.

I opened the card and was shocked to read: ‘To Martine, so sorry I didn’t get chance to say goodbye. Thank you very much for your lovely letter which really touched me. I hope you are well and I wish you all the best for the future. All my love, Tessa xx.’

Wow! I couldn’t believe it. As much as I had enjoyed my time with Rachael, getting this card from Tessa blew me away. What a day it had been.

I told my Mum it was from Tessa and Dad said: “Isn’t it that woman that spanked you? She should be ashamed. You need to report her to the authorities, horrible woman.”

“For Christ sake, Dad, what are you stupid or something? She is the authority, and by the way she isn’t a horrible woman at all, she’s a really nice girl in fact.”

Dad looked up and replied: “And how dare she spank you, subjecting you to that ordeal. What a horrible woman?”

I stood up. “How many times do I have to say it? She’s a lovely girl and as for the spanking, I loved every fucking minute of it!”

I stormed out, went to my bedroom and cried. After a few hours I had time to reflect, and I was sorry for speaking to my Dad like that. He was old and a bit unwell so we all didn’t know how much time he had left with us. He and mum provided for me again with as much love and care as they did when I was a little girl. I was being a bit ungrateful and I would apologise to him in the morning. I showered and walked back to my bed. I put my pyjamas back in the drawer and got in naked.

A few minutes later, I heard a knock at the door. It was my Dad.

“Mum sent me up to apologise. Sorry, Martine, I shouldn’t have said those things. We sometimes forget what you have been through these last eight years,” he said with his hand on my shoulder.

“No, I should be the one apologising, Dad. I thought you had gone to bed I was going to say sorry tomorrow. I should have never spoken to you like that.”

He smiled and held my hand.

“Dad, do you remember when you used to take us to Hampton Hall House and Gardens and would treat us to an ice cream at the end for being good?”

He laughed. “Yes, of course I do.”

“Well, I was thinking that you, Mum, Fiona and me could go over on Saturday and then I will cook a meal for you all in the evening and we could have that champagne.”

“That’s a great idea, Martine. We haven’t been over there for a while. Their gardens are fantastic now.”

Dad left, turning the light out as he went. Naked under the sheets, I turned onto my tummy and like Rachael I raised my bottom up just to feel what it was like. It felt good and, after what had happed today, I felt I may, just may, get the chance to raise my bottom for Tessa.

(To be continued)

© Katie Hammond 2016