Events during a holiday in France

By Jill Waterhouse

My name is Sam. During the summer holidays in 1981, my friend Nicola’s mum asked me if I would like to come away to France with her, Nicola and her twin brother Dave. I checked with mum and we jumped at the chance. I had known Nicola since we were 8 and I really liked her mum, Vikky. Like most parents in the 1980s, spanking was part of the punishment regime. My mum was sparing with it but merciless when she did spank me. Since dad left for pastures new when I was 5, she had brought me up alone and done a pretty good job. I did, however, get regular spankings at school as I was a pretty disinterested child in many subjects and occasionally ended up across the headmistress’s knee for a good whacking. Now we were in the sixth form and all turned 17, we were looking forward to a real adventure in France.

Vikky, too, was a lone parent and, again, a regular spanker. Unlike my mum, who favoured bending me over the arm of the sofa and pulling my skirt up or trousers down, Vikky preferred the more traditional over-the-knee position. I had seen Nicola spanked a few times. Vikky didn’t spank Nicola in front of me, but I did see her spanked in the garden twice, and once through the window as I was about to knock on the door of her house. What I found out, but Nicola had never mentioned, was Vikky often spanked her on the bare bottom. Once, when I arrived at their house, there in the lounge, was Nicola being put across Vikky’s lap and given three quick whacks on her skirt to stop her struggling. Up came her knee-length gold and green tartan school skirt, revealing her white school panties which in a flash were round her knees revealing a white bum with three red hand prints. Soon, her whole bottom matched those splodges and she was crying loudly. I snuck away and came back 5 minutes later.

Dave, Nicola’s twin brother, was tall and, I suppose, fairly good looking, for a boy. He was, however, totally weird. He enjoyed sitting under a tree and writing poetry or wandering about with a pair of binoculars watching birds and other wildlife. This is probably why Vikky had invited me. She was a keen painter and was hoping to spend the 2 weeks decluttering her mind and painting fields of sunflowers and the like. This would give Nicola and I a chance to explore. Nicola had passed her driving test, so we could use Vikky’s car to get about and to the beach.

We set off for Portsmouth on Friday morning for the overnight ferry to St Malo and then drove for what seemed forever, really about 4 or 5 hours to a town between the Dordogne and the coast. The whole landscape seemed to be grape vines or sunflowers, really strange. Being used to livestock in fields, this was very different. Eventually, we arrived at the gite which was also surrounded by sunflowers in every direction. Dave and Vikky had their own rooms, and Nicola and I had a huge twin room with its own en-suite bathroom. Real luxury!

Vikky left us to settle in and went to the supermarket a few miles away to get some groceries, she would be away for an hour or so. Dave wandered off somewhere so Nicola and I headed into town. For town, read church, bakery, tabac and corner shop that sold basics and booze. There were also about 80 houses. After an hour or so, we headed home and Vikky had just arrived back, so we helped put everything away and sorted out dinner; a lovely green salad, fresh seafood mix and proper fresh French bread, nothing like what you got back home in those days. Vikky had also bought some wine, but that was strictly for her as she frowned heavily on under-age drinking of any type. This seemed harsh, as the French kids were allowed wine with dinner. Well, we’ll just have to get our own, we thought.

By 8pm, we gave up waiting for Dave and had our meal, minus wine! and put his in the fridge. As it went dark, weird Dave came back and his mum did not look at all happy.

“Where have you been until this time? We have had dinner and you are lucky we have saved you anything!” she said earnestly. “Go and get washed up and get your meal. Wow! Hang on a minute, Mr. What is that?”

“Nothing mum, I’ve been through the woods and there are all sorts of smelly French plants in there.” Dave blustered.

“Plants eh? Mmm, they smell more like weeds, or should that be weed, to me. Turn out your pockets!” she yelled.

Nicola and I were in our room. I turned the light off and we slowly pulled the curtains open to see what was happening. We could see Dave slowly empty his pockets onto the patio table; a handkerchief, a pen and notebook, then a small lighter and tin box. His mum opened the box and exploded, almost literally. It was quite amazing if you were not on the receiving end.

“What on earth is this? Weed? I told you! How dare you buy it and how dare you put us all at risk of arrest by bringing it through customs with you. Do you know the harm this filthy stuff can do and how seriously the French authorities would take it if they had found you with it. Come here!”

What happened next, I found shocking, funny and embarrassing all in the same moment. I had seen dozens of girls spanked over the years; over the knee, holding their ankles, over a desk, etc, but I had never seen a boy spanked before. I don’t wish to offend, but this is what happened.

“You are for it now, lad,” shouted Vikky as she fumbled to undo the button and zip on his knee-length shorts.

Vicky quickly pulled his shorts down to his knees and, whether she intended to or not, took his underpants with them. He looked embarrassed and, after a split second, covered himself, but as he did so his mum grabbed his arm and pulled him squarely across her knee. I had never seen a boy’s penis before in the flesh and only had a brief glimpse as he was prepared for his spanking. We had seen images in biology and those magazines that some of the girls liked to laugh at, but I did feel so sorry for him and made a note not to get a bare bottom spanking myself with a boy about.

With his bare bottom now ripe for spanking, and illuminated by the last of the sun’s evening rays, Vikky tore into the task with vigour and venum. Even at this distance, we could hear the spanks landing and see his bottom change colour very quickly.

She spanked him hard for 3 or 4 minutes before letting go and saying, “That is your one and only warning. Get up, make yourself decent and get to bed. I don’t want to see you again before breakfast. Do you understand?”

“Yes mum, sorry mum, it won’t happen again, I promise,” he said with a croak, and he carefully tried to get off his mum’s knee without exposing himself again, which I don’t think he managed for his mum, but thankfully did for us.

We quietly drew the curtains and then collapsed in hysterics at what had just happened. I am sure Dave must have realised that we had seen more than we had bargained for. Needless to say, we never mentioned it.

Next day, Vikky settled down to do some painting. Dave had sheepishly disappeared straight after breakfast and Nicola and I borrowed two of the bikes that came with the gite to explore the quiet country lanes. Field after field of sunflowers, pretty but they did get a little boring. We stopped for lunch in a nearby town and had ice cream to follow before completing the circle back to the gite in the afternoon.

On the way back, we spotted a small lake through a patch of woodland and went to explore. The water was too inviting and we were too hot to pass it by so, after we had both made sure there were no prying eyes, we decided to take the plunge. Quickly taking off our shorts and tee shirts, but keeping bra and panties on, we waded in and cooled off for 15 minutes or so, keeping a wary eye out for any passing Frenchmen.

Not wishing to push it, we made our way back to the bank and the bikes and, after drying off for a few moments, got dressed and made our way back to the gite. Although cooler now, we did smell weedy so made sure we showered before seeing Vikky. We had already seen the result of her smelling one sort of weed that week.

The rest of the first week passed slowly, but we had great fun. Nicola and I borrowed the car and went to a proper swimming lake about 30 minutes’ drive away. This had a water park theme and we had a great day. Some of the French chaps tried to chat us up, but we pretended we didn’t speak a word of French, which made understanding their cheeky comments even funnier to us.

However, when one of them slapped Nicola’s bottom, which is a very shapely one and not unused to spankings, Nicola was fantastic.

She shouted, “Non, non, non, monsieur!” whilst keeping her eyes fixed on his so he didn’t see what was coming, and she landed a perfect uppercut on the unsuspecting lad. I know he had seen her beautifully presented bottom, but now all he was seeing were stars! We hurried off, around a corner and collapsed laughing.

“Did you see the look on his friend’s face?” Nicola commented. “I don’t think he’ll try that again in a hurry.”

“You were ace, Nicola. Come on, ice cream. My treat.”

We linked arms and walked off.

We told Vikky that evening and she was really proud.

A couple of days before the end of the holiday, Vikky went off painting near the swimming lake before doing another grocery shop with the car, so we amused ourselves locally. Whilst the cat was away, the mice did play. After climbing a few trees and almost falling out of one onto Dave, who was watching a couple of circling buzzards below, we had a walk into the village. We were thirsty and fancied a cold cider.

As Nicola looked a little older than her 17 years, she volunteered to try and buy the cider, which seemed quite easy and cost just a few Francs for a couple of bottles. We hurried back to the gite and sat on the patio to enjoy our spoils. Neither of us really drank; we were too young to go to a bar and were not allowed to buy alcohol at home. We had heard the French were more laid back about these things.

Needless to say, the fizzy cider went straight to our heads and we became very giddy quite quickly. Nicola threw a jug of water at me and then it was mayhem; water going everywhere, including all over the kitchen floor. As Vikky arrived back home, I was chasing Nicola down to the bottom of the garden. Then we heard it; crash! Followed by a scream and a yell. We rushed back to the house to see what had happened.

“What the devil have you too been up to? Goodness me, we have only been here 5 minutes and look at the place!”

Vikky was sat on the floor, clearly having slipped in the pool of water on the stone surface. Her bottom was in a mixture of water and milk, and two bags of groceries surrounded her. As Nicola bent down to help her mum up, she too slipped slightly and almost fell into her mother’s face.

“Have you been drinking?” Vikky said accusingly, smelling Nicola’s breath as she struggled to keep her feet under her.

“Err, yes mum. It was just a bottle of cider from the shop,” Nicola tried to explain contritely.
“Looks like two bottles to me!” Vikky said pointedly as she regained her feet and felt her soggy bottom. “I know we are on holiday, but you know my house rules, Nicola. You are too young to drink. Now, help me tidy this mess up and bring in the shopping, then I will decide what to do with you both whilst I get changed.”

Ohh, I didn’t like the sound of that. Surely Vikky wouldn’t spank me? We hurried to get the floor mopped, the groceries put away and the mess tidied up. While we did that, Vikky changed her shorts and knickers, which she put in the washer, and looked at us quite sternly through the kitchen window as we waited outside in the glow of the evening sun.  She came out like a judge about pass sentence on convicted criminals. All she needed was the gown and wig.

“Girls, you have been drinking and made a real mess of the gite. I want us all to have a great stay here and I want you to enjoy yourselves. But, that comes with responsibilities. You are both 17 and too young to buy alcohol. You have seen for yourselves the trouble it can cause. I cannot let this go unpunished, holiday or not. Sam, you are as responsible as Nicola for what has happened and so it is only fitting that you both be punished, don’t you agree?”

Nicola and I looked at each other and I moved my weight from one foot to the other.

“I am very sorry to have let you down after you were so kind as to invite me on this holiday. I accept whatever punishment you deem suitable,” I said, trying to sound like I meant it.

“Very well. You first, Nicola. Over here, please,” ordered Vikky as she sat on one of the patio chairs.

Nicola walked the 10 or so paces to her mum’s side and, without being told, draped herself across her lap. Nicola was wearing a short blue cotton summer dress which was now almost dry following our water-based antics earlier. Vikky pulled up the hem and held it in place with her left hand on the small of Nicola’s back, revealing a pair of damp pale blue panties beneath.

“I hope this teaches you a lesson and that this is the one and only time I have to do this during our holiday,” Vikky said as her right hand rubbed briefly over Nicola’s bottom before crashing down on the centre.

Nicola’s head and hair bobbed forwards as a result of the impact and continued to do so as her mum spanked her bottom again and again. The area around her panties was becoming red so I can only imagine how sore her bottom was.

All too soon, Nicola’s spanking was over and now it would be my turn. Nicola got up from her mum’s lap and rubbed her bottom vigorously with both hands whilst hopping from foot to foot.

“Alright Sam, it is your turn, dear.”

Vikky was trying to be kind and matter-of-fact, but I had never been spanked by a friend’s mum before and it seemed a strange occurrence. As I was wearing shorts, she undid them and pulled them down to my knees like a naughty toddler. Then, feeling very self-conscious in my lace-back panties, I placed myself in the same position Nicola had just been in.  My toes were on the floor, as were my hands, and my hair hung in front of my eyes. I consoled myself that at least she had not bared my bottom, which would have been bad enough without a boy armed with binoculars about the place somewhere.

I felt her hand on the small of my back, and whack! The first spank landed soundly on my left orb. Blimey, did that sting! Vikky has a strong right hand but, before I could come to terms with that, the second and third spanks had already landed and eclipsed the pain from the first one. My mum never spanked me this hard. It was more like the headmistress. The spanking continued and my hair swung in rhythm with the smacks landing on my ever sorer bottom. Eventually, she stopped and let me up. Tears from the pain and the humiliation ran down my cheeks and my bottom was on fire. My hands found their way under my black panties and rubbed my bum for all they were worth, but to little effect.

“Now, both of you, if I see or smell one drop of alcohol near you again I will take a wooden spoon to both of you. Do I make myself clear?”

We both nodded in agreement and went to our room to inspect the damage. We both had bright red backsides when we looked in the mirror and wondered if it was worth it? To be honest, I didn’t enjoy the after-effects of the cider, so there was no need to worry on that score.

The rest of the holiday was peaceful, and even Dave spent a little more time with us before the long trip home and the overnight ferry back to Portsmouth.

Mum grilled me on what the holiday was like and, obviously, I left out the spankings etc, but delighted in telling her about the boy at the lake. What happens in France stays in France.

The End

© Jill Waterhouse 2021