A motoring offence in a foreign country lands a woman in trouble.
by Kenny Walters
Adapted from an story related during a travel programme on mainstream British TV during the 1980s.
“Helen, this is not a big town. It must be somewhere.”
“I know that, Sally! But these Greek road names are just so confusing, and I’m sure this map isn’t accurate. For a start, that little road shouldn’t be there.”
“Oh, for Heaven’s sakes! I’m going to turn into that road and see for myself.”
Helen Parkinson impatiently swung the little Fiat into a small side road and slammed on the brakes. She snatched the map out of Sally Wilkins’ hand and studied it.
“Helen, I’m not sure you should have done that. Wasn’t that a ‘No-entry’ sign we just passed?”
“Was it?” Helen looked up and saw the two or three vehicles parked in the street were indeed facing the opposite way to their car. “Whatever! Who cares! This is hardly a busy road and the whole town seems deserted.”
Sally cast her eyes to the heavens in desperation but stayed silent, knowing Helen was tired after the hot drive from the car ferry and that to say anything would only embroil them in another argument.
“There’s the hotel. It’s even marked on the map. Let’s see, there’s supposed to be a road on the right just after that last bend we passed.”
“I know, but there isn’t, is there?”
“Well, I didn’t see one, but perhaps we need to go just a bit further along. Let’s try it anyway. I’ll see if I can turn round.” Helen Parkinson turned the ignition key and the engine burst into life.
“The road’s too narrow to turn round.”
“Well, perhaps we’ll find somewhere a bit wider further down.”
“Helen, you can’t! It’s a one-way street!”
“No-one’s looking. Let’s risk it.”
“There are times, Helen, when I wish you’d act your age.”
“Thirty-two. Young. Carefree. On holiday. What are you talking about?”
Helen Parkinson smiled broadly, shook her long auburn hair and drove off with more speed than was perhaps advisable in such a narrow road, especially since she shouldn’t have been going that way in the first place. A parked van blocked her view ahead and caused her to brake sharply when a bend in the road suddenly became apparent. She managed to negotiate the bend without incident, but then found herself face to face with a man pushing a bicycle. A man in uniform.
“Helen! Look out!”
As Helen Parkinson braked hard and brought the Fiat to a stop, she found herself with nowhere to go, and the policeman with the bicycle was approaching her side window.”
“I’m so sorry. We’re lost.” Helen said giving him the full benefit of her ‘helpless female’ act.
“Yes. We’re on holiday on the island for two weeks. We’re looking for the Hotel Sevelianos. Can you help us?”
The policeman, a short heavily-built man in his late forties with black hair turning to grey around the temples, seemed unimpressed. He held out his hand. “Driving documents and passport.”
After reaching onto the back seat for her handbag and ferreting around for her documents, Helen handed them over.
“You.” The policeman peered into the car in the direction of Sally. “Passport.”
Sally Wilkins retrieved her passport from her own handbag and handed it over.
“Both Eenglish. Helen Jane Parkinson, age thirty-two, International driving licence, and Sally Virginia Wilkins, age twenty-nine.
“That’s us.” Helen responded cheerfully, hoping to influence the man with her friendliness.
“You are driving the wrong way in this street.”
“Yes, I realised that after it was too late. Then it was too narrow to turn round. I was just looking for somewhere suitable. To turn round, I mean.”
“Yes, I realise that. I’m so sorry.” Helen removed the smile and replaced it with a look of contrition.
“Your passport.” The policeman handed Sally back her passport but kept hold of all Helen’s documents. “You, Helen Jane Parkinson, report to police station this evening.”
“Must I?” Helen tried the begging look. “Look, it’s been a really hard day. We’re lost, and I’m hot and bothered. We really need to find our hotel, have a shower and have a good meal. I’m very, very sorry for taking a wrong turning and committing a driving offence. Can’t I pay an on-the-spot fine or something?”
Finally, the policeman smiled. “No, not possible. You must report to police station this evening.”
“Why? Won’t this wait until tomorrow?”
“Must be evening. This evening.”
Why the evening?”
“You must be chastised. Then your documents will be returned to you. Now, turn your car round and go back the way you come. Turn left at end of road, then take first right. Your hotel in that road.”
“Sorry? Oh, right. Back down this road, turn left, then first right. Thanks.”
As the policeman continued pushing his bicycle along the road, Helen struggled to turn the small Fiat round. It took several moves backwards and forwards but eventually she succeeded with some assistance from Sally. Helen drove slowly, especially when she passed the policeman.
“Did I hear him right?” Sally asked as they neared the end of the road.
“You have to report to the police station this evening to be chastised? What’s that all about?”
“I don’t know.” Helen stopped the car at the end of the road and looked carefully each way before turning left. “Some sort of a reprimand, I guess. I could really have done without that after the day we’ve had.”
“I don’t imagine I’m going to get six of the best or anything.” Helen joked.
“There’s the right turn.” Helen pointed, smiling as she shared the mirth.
After finding their hotel, registering, cool showers and a late tea, both women felt much better and chose to relax under a covered veranda at the rear of the hotel.
“What shall we do about dinner tonight, Helen?”
“Shall we have dinner in the hotel, Sally? Perhaps around nine o’clock when the heat has died down a bit?”
“Sounds good to me. What are you going to do about this police business?”
“Oh drat! I’d forgotten about that. Let’s see. If we’re going to have dinner at nine, then I could pop round to the police station at eight o’clock. I should be back in plenty of time.”
“Do you know where it is? The police station, I mean.”
“Yes, there’s a street map in reception. It’s only three streets away. I can walk it in about ten minutes. A little exercise in the fresh air should work up a nice appetite for the meal.”
“If you still feel like eating after your chastisement.” Sally smirked.
“Very funny! I can’t say I’m looking forward to meeting that horrible little man again, much less getting another lecture from him on my driving.”
At a quarter to eight, Helen Parkinson left Sally sipping a martini under the shade of the veranda while she went up to their room, showered, slipped into white bra and brief cotton knickers, and held up two light cotton dresses. She opted for the flowery one in green and slipped it over her head. It was a little tight around the hips, but the thin material, short length and low cut made it just perfect for the warm evening.
“I’ll see you later.” Helen called to Sally, just before leaving the hotel. She walked slowly, taking in the pleasant scenery and the views down to the small fishing harbour, arriving at the small two storey police station at seven-twenty.
“Good evening. Do you speak English?” Helen spoke politely to a young, dark-haired policeman leaning over the counter reading a girly magazine.
He shrugged, then showed rather more interest in Helen once he’d ran his eyes down her slim curvaceous figure and small dress.
“I’ve been asked to report here this evening after a minor traffic incident.” Helen ignored the naked girl on a sandy beach that covered both pages of the open magazine and looked the young policeman straight in the eye.
“Eh Fedor!” The young uniformed man called over his shoulder in the general direction of an open door. The following sentence was beyond Helen’s very limited Greek, but it elicited an equally baffling sentence from the man in the next room whose voice Helen instantly recognised from earlier in the afternoon.
“You go through.” The young policeman allowed himself another eyeful of Helen’s figure as a nod of his head indicated the open door.
“Thank you.” Helen went through with as much dignity as she could muster despite the young man’s leering gaze. She found the older policeman from the afternoon leaning back in a large chair behind an old light coloured wooden desk.
“You keep good time, young lady.” The man smirked.
“I wanted to get this over with before dinner.” Helen was anxious to dispel any notion the man might have had that she was in any way interested in seeing him again.
Her response, though, made the man laugh even more openly.
“Do you have my documents, please?” Helen tried to sound polite despite her growing irritation with the man’s attitude.
“All ready.” The policeman dug his large hand in a drawer and held up Helen’s passport and driving documents for her to see.
“Thanks.” Rapidly though, as Helen reached out to take the papers she found the man snatched his hand back and thrust all the papers back in the drawer, closing it with a firm push.
“You get papers back soon enough, young lady.” The policeman looked up at Helen’s confused expression. “After punishment.”
“Punishment? What punishment? Do I have to pay a fine or something?” Helen reached into her bag, looking for her cheque book.
“What, then? Surely you’re not going to put me in prison for a minor traffic offence?”
“You say minor? Could be very dangerous. But no prison.”
Helen looked angrily at her watch. “So what do I have to do, then? Only, could we get on with it please? My friend and I have booked a table for nine o’clock. For dinner, I mean.”
“Come round here.” The portly policeman sat up straight in his chair and waved a hand to his right, as though that was where he wanted Helen to stand.
Getting any closer to this wretched man was the last thing Helen wanted to do, but it seemed she would have to play along with his little game if she were to ever get out of the police station that evening. Reluctantly therefore, she slowly went round to the opposite side of the desk and stood about three feet from his chubby thighs. She looked down onto his greying temples with some trepidation.
“Now what do I have to do?”
“You really need to be told?” The man’s voice was slow, calm and with the rich tone that typifies the Greek male voice, the tone that Helen normally found quite endearing.
“Yes.” Helen’s voice squeaked with anything but calmness, her senses telling her she almost certainly didn’t need to be told.
The policeman nodded thoughtfully. “You bend over and lie across my lap, English girl.”
“Why?” Helen knew her question was patently ridiculous, but she was playing for time.
“So that you may be chastised, of course.”
“Ah.” The young woman’s mind raced. She desperately wished she’d asked Sally to come with her to the police station. Equally desperately, she wanted to get out of that place as soon as she could, and off the island too for that matter. “I can’t pay a fine?”
“Perhaps I could spend a day in the cells, or something?”
“Could I see the British Consul, perhaps have some form of legal representation?”
“After. Then you can do what you like.”
Helen knew she had two choices. She could try running, but she had to get past the young policeman in the outer office, and even if she managed that, would they run after her? She was wearing sling-back sandals and didn’t know her way around the streets outside. That would put her at a considerable disadvantage. They would surely soon catch her and then what? Would her fate still be the same, but perhaps even worse? Equally, there was no way she could get official protection or complain about this detestable man until after she’d been across his knee.
“If I accept my chastisement, as you put it, do I get my documents back? Will you then allow me to leave?”
“This is an extremely unorthodox way of dealing with things, you know. For heavens’ sakes, I’m not a child!”
The older policeman shrugged. “Maybe.”
“There’s no ‘maybe’ about it!”
“It’s up to you. Do you want to spend the next three months locked up waiting for the magistrate to hear your case or do you want to get on with your holiday?”
“Things move slowly here. Especially if the paperwork were to go missing. It might be six months.”
“Right. I get it.” Helen smiled falsely, aware she was in a trap for which there would be no easy way out.
“Like I say, it’s up to you.”
“I either take a spanking or I’m locked up for as long as the mood takes you. Is that it?”
Again the policeman shrugged.
Helen knew her options were limited. They clearly weren’t going to allow her to seek help or advice before she’d either been spanked or locked up, and she was pretty certain the facilities in the cells would be extremely basic and unpleasant.
“Okay, I accept.”
“You choose? What?”
“I choose to be spanked.”
“Okay.” The policeman patted the tops of his thighs and Helen begrudgingly moved forward and awkwardly placed herself face-down across the man’s lap. She found herself being pulled further across and then her left hand was twisted up behind her back pinning her down.
“Do you have to do that? I’ve said I’ll take the spanking.” She protested.
The policeman ignored her, but then Helen felt the back of her short dress being pulled up so that her brief white cotton knickers were exposed.
“Hey! I never agreed to that!”
Again, the policeman paid no heed to the young woman and simply but firmly took hold of the elastic top of her knickers and pulled them up higher so that much of both cheeks of her bottom were quite naked.
“Hey! This is too much!”
“You prefer I pull them down? You choose.”
“No. No, that’s fine.” Helen realised it was no idle threat.
For a few seconds nothing much happened, apart from the policeman’s grip on Helen’s wrist tightening, then suddenly a firm hand slapped her sharply across her almost bare right buttock.
In steady succession these hard slaps continued across either sides of Helen’s bottom and very soon she felt a hot, tingling soreness mounting until it became quite painful.
“Ouch!! You’re hurting me!”
“That is idea. No?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so.” Helen agreed reluctantly as the pain became even more acute.
With more and more spanks landing, mostly on the naked portions of her bottom, Helen began to struggle and writhe as she lay across the man’s lap. His strong grasp, though, prevented any attempt to escape the spanking.
If Helen thought things couldn’t get any worse, she looked to her right and saw the young policeman standing by the doorway watching every moment of her humiliating punishment.
“You didn’t mention there was going to be an audience.” Helen said tetchily between screwing her face up as smack after smack hit hard across her nearly bare bottom.
“He is young. He needs to learn how to deal with naughty young women.” The older policeman laughed.
“Ooooww!! How much more do I have to take?”
“A little more yet.” The man tightened his grip on Helen’s wrist and continued spanking her, the smacks getting harder and harder.
“Yeeeouch!! Please! No more!” Helen pleaded as the pain really bit home.
Finally, the spanks stopped. The grip on her wrist, though, remained tight.
“Well aren’t you going to let me go?”
“Just checking your bottom nicely sore all over.”
The reply caused Helen to blush deeply, not helped by an audible smirk from the young policeman still standing by the door.
“Okay. You done.”
Finally Helen found the grip on her wrist was released and she was able to struggle up from the man’s lap, albeit with little sense of decorum. She quickly rubbed her sore bottom several times, then adjusted her knickers into a more comfortable position before pulling her dress back down into place.
“May I please go now?” Helen used a show of anger to try and conceal her embarrassment.
“Of course.” The older policeman watched Helen squeeze past the younger man in the doorway, then called after the fleeing young woman. “Hey, missy! You forget your documents.”
“Thank you!” Helen said with little sincerity as she snatched the papers from the man’s outstretched hand.
“You’re very welcome.”
Thrusting her passport and driving documents into her bag, Helen hurried out of the police station and into the deserted street. Only when she had the hotel in sight did she slow down and allow herself the time to catch her breath and regain some degree of composure.
By the time she actually entered the hotel, it was just after nine o’clock and Sally Wilkins was already sitting at their table in the restaurant.
“All sorted out?” Sally enquired, slightly perturbed by her travelling companion’s flustered appearance.
Helen didn’t answer. She picked up a menu from the table and gave the impression of studying it.
“All okay?” Sally tried again.
“You are not going to believe this!” Helen slammed the menu back down on the table. “You just are not going to believe this.”
© Kenny Walters 2010
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