A dog walker gets her comeuppance
By Jo Green
My name is Maisy. I am 28 years old and I work in a bank as a cashier. Most days, when it isn’t raining, I walk to work through a small wood from the little village where I live because I enjoy the exercise. Other days, I take the bus which runs almost in front of my house.
The wood has a prepared path running through it and several clearings, as well as half a dozen picnic benches a few yards from the main path which are very popular in summer. However, it is the middle of autumn and there is an early chill in the air. The walk takes me roughly 25 minutes, 20 if I really walk quickly. It is a Friday evening. The bank closes at 4.00 pm and we have cashed up by 4.30 pm. I say good night to my colleagues, several of whom are going out to the local pub for a drink and a bar meal. I cannot go with them, sadly, as I have arranged to meet my younger sister, Vicky, at my house at 6.00. She is going away for a few days and is leaving her horrid little yappy dog with me to look after. I love dogs, don’t get me wrong, but she didn’t train this one very well and it yaps incessantly. There will be no quiet weekend for me.
I set off for home, and the last of the evening sun is starting to set amongst the trees, casting dappled shadows throughout the woods. It was a lovely evening for a walk. The trees are in their vivid autumnal coats of stunning yellows and oranges.
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my foot. A thorny stick had found its way through the front of my open-toed shoes and was sticking into the side of my big toe. Thankfully, I was only a couple of feet from a picnic bench where I sat down and carefully removed my shoe and the thorns. I used my handkerchief to wipe away the blood and, five minutes later, I was good to go and put my shoe back on.
I then heard for the first time raised voices coming from al little further down the path. People were having an argument or maybe just messing about. I set off walking slowly and carefully on my still sore foot in the direction of the noise. The row was becoming louder as I approached and I could make out two voices, both female, and it was getting quite vocal to say the least. One voice was quite shrill, the other much deeper but definitely female.
The shrill voice was swearing and creating quite a scene, from the sound of it. About half way home, the path turns 20 or 25 degrees, creating a corner which has a couple of large holly bushes a few feet apart. Feeling slightly apprehensive, I carefully left the path and glanced between the two bushes to see what was happening.
Almost next to another picnic bench, some 15 to 20 yards away, a woman, roughly my height, 5′ 7″, around 45ish and quite plump, dressed in jeans and a brown jumper and speaking in a low deep voice, was arguing with a younger woman, may be in her mid-20s, thin and 5′ 5″, I reckoned, and with a more shrill tone to her voice. I could also see a Labrador type dog on a lead tied to a small bush a few feet from the two women.
I could now make out the conversation and it appeared that the older of the two women had stepped in a freshly deposited pile of dog mess.
“I hate irresponsible dog owners!” the older one shouted. “Simply pick up the mess and put it in the bin.” She pointed to a red disposal bin designed for expressly this purpose.
“How can you prove it is from my dog?” the younger woman said mockingly in a really sarcastic tone. “It could be any ones’.”
“There are no other dogs in the area. Yours is the right size and it is fresh. You don’t need to be a detective to work that one out, do you?”
“Look, I don’t give a stuff what you think, to be honest. Try being more careful where you tread in future!” the young one exclaimed.
“Like how, you idiot? You have covered it with a few leaves, which is why I couldn’t see it. My suede shoes are ruined and I have only had them for a couple of weeks,” the older one responded angrily.
“Tough!” With that, the younger one headed back towards where she had tied her dog to the bush.
I could see the older woman’s eyes. They were simply incandescent with anger. I don’t know what her thought process was, or even if there was one, or whether she was acting in anger and instinct, but act she most certainly did. As I watched, she marched quickly to close the 5 or 10 paces between her and the other woman who was almost back at her dog. In one swift action, she grabbed the younger woman by the wrist.
The younger woman turned, both in shock and fear, clearly realising this was not going as she had cockily expected. Before she could resist, she found herself being pulled firmly yet steadily away from her dog, which was barking loudly now. The older woman was pulling the younger one towards the picnic bench.
Checking I would not be seen through the bush, I slowly manoeuvred myself and crouched into position to follow the outcome. To my amazement, the older woman sat on the bench facing outwards towards the barking dog and with one mighty tug, pulled the younger woman forwards until she tumbled helplessly across the well-padded lap of the older woman.
“What do you think you are doing? Get off me or I’ll set the dog on you!” the younger woman said to no avail.
She was going nowhere, and the dog was certainly out of the picture as far as helping its mistress out of this predicament.
“Oh yes, he’s a real load of use, isn’t he?” scolded the older woman, who by now had wrapped a leg around the younger woman’s legs and was holding her in a vice-like grip with her left hand. I could clearly see the upturned bottom as it lay across the thighs of the angry older woman. Covered in fawn-coloured, snug-fitting, cotton slacks, her bottom was superbly presented, and a clear panty line framed her backside so clearly. I knew exactly what was about to happen having had my own bottom tanned as a girl by both of my parents.
Seconds later, the right hand of the older woman smacked down hard onto the bottom that was laid so beautifully to spank. The sound was like a gunshot, and several birds took flight.
“What do you think you are doing?” the younger woman yelled between grunts and ouches as several smacks landed, one after the other, on alternate buttocks.
Her bottom distended and rebounded with each spank, and the reaction became louder and louder as each blow landed.
“Stop, stop, stop! Stop now and I won’t report you to the police!” the younger woman sobbed and begged in one sentence.
“Tell the police? Tell them what? That some random stranger stood in my dog’s mess and spanked me when I played up like a brat? I don’t think your dog will make much of a witness,” the older woman retorted, and resumed her steady rhythm on the defenceless bottom which must have been raw and very painful by now.
“Ooch! Nooo! Please, please, stop!” the younger woman pleaded.
Her dog, whilst continuing to bark, seemed fascinated by the rise and fall of the older woman’s hand onto the bottom of its mistress. It’s eyes followed the trajectory in the same way it would follow a hand holding its favourite toy.
I was starting to get cramps in the semi-crouching position I had adopted to see the proceedings more clearly. I moved backwards half a step so I could straighten my back leg. A twig snapped noisily.
“Damn!” I exclaimed.
The spanking stopped abruptly. Both women were staring directly at me. Even the dog had stopped barking.
“Come out, whoever you are!” bellowed the older woman, angry the spanking had been witnessed.
I slowly stood and made my way back to the path, looking quite sheepish.
“How long have you been hiding there?” The older woman enquired.
“Long enough,” was all I said in reply.
The younger woman looked up, tears staining her face. She looked pleadingly in my direction, but amazingly she just laid still across the older woman’s lap as if expecting her ordeal to continue once the conversation was over.
The older woman, however, believed the spanking had been brought to a premature end, just as she was getting into the flow. She released the younger woman’s hand, unclamped her legs and ushered for her to get up.
The younger woman did not need a second invitation, springing up and clutching her bottom as though it were on fire.
“So is that how you get your kicks then? Spying on goings-on in the woods? Pervert!” the older woman spat.
“No! I couldn’t help but notice with the yelling and cursing. You were lucky it was just me and not a group of young lads. Then you would have had a crowd, that’s for sure!” I said, trying to sound self-assured.
“So, you saw it all? So, you would be a witness if I go to the police?” the younger woman said as she glared at the older woman.
“All I saw was a foul-mouthed brat who doesn’t clear up after her pet. For my money she got exactly what she deserved. So no, I would not act as a witness. I saw nothing,” I replied, staring sternly back at her.
The older woman now smiled broadly in my direction.
Then, addressing the young woman, she said, “Right, young lady, unless you want to go back over my knee while I finish what I started, I suggest you clear up what is left of your dog’s mess properly, dispose of it, and get out of my sight!”
Sheepishly, she did so whilst the older woman tried to clean the mess from her shoes which, being suede, looked totally ruined. Having collected her dog, the younger woman made off in the direction in which I would be going in a moment or two.
I addressed the spanker and told her, “You know, I wish under similar circumstances I would have had the guts to do what you just did. I like dogs, but can’t understand irresponsible dog owners.”
I bid her farewell and set off in the same direction as the younger woman and her dog. All the way home, all I could think about was the yapping little dog that was going to be ruining my weekend. If it is as big a pain as I think it is going to be, maybe a trip across my knee on Monday morning for my younger sister should be high up on my to-do list, I thought, smiling to myself.
© Jo Green 2022