When a friend turns up unannounced, a housewife is in for a nasty surprise.
By Kenny Walters
The doorbell rang and Jane Vincent’s heart missed a beat. She put her pen down on the kitchen work-surface, gave her hands a quick rub on the towel hanging near the sink and went to the door. With heart pounding, she carefully pulled the door ajar.
“Oh Susan! I’m sorry, I was expecting… oh, never mind. Come in!”
“How’s things?” Susan Carter let her friend close the front door and then followed her through to the kitchen.
“Oh, well, you know.” Jane answered. “Coffee?”
Five minutes later, Jane Vincent, a forty-three year old mother of two was sitting in her own front room with a friend, Susan Carter. They had first met when Jane’s youngest boy had started school at the same time as Susan’s only daughter. That was eight years ago, and through various school and social activities they had become friends, if not close friends.
After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Susan put her cup down and sat bolt upright.
“Jane, you must be wondering why I’ve called.”
“No. Why? You’re always welcome, Sue, you know that.”
Susan Carter smiled. “Thanks, it’s just that this isn’t exactly a social call, Jane.”
“Really? Why, is there a problem? Is it something to do with the kids?”
“No, no, nothing like that.” Susan hastened to reassure the other woman.
When Susan fell silent, as though struggling to find the right words, Jane became alarmed. “Sue, what is it?”
“Jane, you don’t know what work I do, do you?”
“Something to do with the Probation Service? Social Work?”
“Yes, sort of. I now work with the Community Justice Service. It was set up by the government a couple of years ago to try and deal with some of the more minor offences in the community and save on court time. Some of my colleagues, for example, arrange driving courses for those committing motoring offences and that sort of thing.”
“Oh, right. It sounds interesting work.”
“Yes, it can be.” Susan paused, and stroked her blond collar length hair reflectively. “Which brings me to why I’m here. You were involved in an incident in a local supermarket car park, about four weeks ago?”
“Um, yes. I asked someone to move their car a few feet so I could fit mine in, and they refused. I got a bit upset with them.” Jane smiled sheepishly.
“And opened their car door and pushed them when they wouldn’t move?”
“Something like that. Why? Is this not a social call?” Jane looked across at Susan. Suddenly, the visitor’s neatly pressed navy blue trousers, white blouse and short jacket in a similar blue to the trousers took on a fresh and slightly sinister implication.
“Not really, no. Although I’ve been meaning to give you a ring. It seems ages since we last got together.”
“So, it is about the incident in the car park?”
“Yes, I have the paperwork with me. You basically signed a confession?”
“The police showed me video evidence from the supermarket; you know, from the CCTV. It was all there to see. They said by signing the forms I could be dealt with under, I think, the community scheme you mentioned.”
“But they did explain it all to you?” Susan Carter frowned.
“I’m sure they did.” Jane replied. “Although to be honest, all I wanted to do was get out of that police station and get home. I was still mad at that other driver, and angry, and frustrated, and, oh, I don’t know.”
“Sure, I can understand that. But did they go through the likely penalties you would face?”
“I think they did.” Jane nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, they mentioned in my case it would likely involve some kind of chastisement, whatever they meant by that.”
“But then you should have been sent a form detailing exactly what penalty had been awarded, and giving you seven days to appeal. I have a copy in the file here, if I can find it.”
“That’s right, I remember getting the form. I remember putting away somewhere safe.”
“But you did read it?”
“Sort of. I remember reading that the primary sentence was something or other, and that would apply unless I opted out. To opt out meant there would be a custodial sentence of a few days, I think.”
“But you didn’t opt out?”
“No, it said the primary sentence could be dealt with here in my home. That’s obviously a lot better than being locked up, even if it was only for a few days!”
“Jane, are you aware that primary sentence was a caning? In your case, twelve strokes.”
“I saw that. Something like they used to do in school? Something like that?”
“Yes, very similar. Indeed, a few schools are being allowed to use it again.”
“So, do I hold my hand out and get my twelve whacks of the ruler?” Jane giggled.
“Well, it’s a statutory cane that’s used. It’s two feet long, about the thickness of a pencil and made of a selected grade of cane.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“And it’s not your hand you have to present for punishment.”
“You’re making it all sound rather serious, Susan.”
“It’s a painful experience, Jane. It’s a punishment, all said and done, so it’s intended to be a stated number of short sharp shocks; in your case, twelve.”
“But my only other option was prison; five days, I think.”
“Five days custody, yes, that’s correct.” Susan looked at her file of papers.
“So, you think I should appeal? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
“Jane, the time for making an appeal has elapsed.”
“Has it? Oh well, never mind. Would you like another coffee?”
“Yes, love one. Thank you.”
They both returned to the kitchen where Jane put the kettle on.
“Like the trousers, Jane,” Susan commented as they waited. They both looked down at Jane’s pale blue, tight-fitting jeans.
“From that new shop in the precinct,” Jane said, just as the kettle boiled.
As Jane made the coffee, they continued chatting about clothes and shopping and the state of the town centre. Soon, they were back in the front room.
“Well, it’s very nice of you to pop in, Susan. To tell the truth, I’ve been a bit worried about all this parking nonsense, so it’s been good to have someone to talk it over with and explain a few things. From what you’re saying, I’m stuck with my sentence now, whether I like it or not.”
“That’s true. Nothing you can do now.”
“I don’t suppose you know when they’re going to come and do it, do you Susan?”
“Jane, I’m afraid I haven’t called to chat.”
“Jane, I’ve come to cane you.”
It took a moment or two for Susan’s words to sink in. Susan put her cup down.
“You’re going to do it? Is that what you mean?”
“That’s right.” Susan smiled sympathetically.
“But what…? I mean, how…?”
“Take it easy, Jane. Drink your coffee and I’ll explain. I’ve plenty of time, so there’s no rush.”
“I saw your name on the list and told the supervisor I knew you. He thought you might prefer to have it done by someone you knew, thought perhaps it would be easier for you to handle.”
“Very considerate,” Jane commented.
“I could give the office a ring and get someone else, someone you don’t know, round if you prefer?”
Jane took several sips from her coffee. “No, don’t do that.”
“You’re happy that I do it?”
Jane nodded. “So, what happens now?” The warmth was missing from her voice, and there was a nervous edge to it.
“When we’ve finished our coffee, we’ll draw the curtains or go into a more private room, whatever you want. I’ll simply ask you to slip your clothes down and bend over, then I’ll administer the twelve strokes, sign a couple of forms, and then you’re done. It couldn’t be simpler.”
“Slip my clothes down?”
“Yes, the punishment is applied to your bare bottom.”
“Is that really necessary?”
“It makes it fair for everyone. No-one can say another person got a lesser punishment because they were allowed thicker clothing or whatever.”
Jane drained her cup. “I see the point, I suppose. Presumably you’re going to hit me very hard with this cane thing?”
“Fairly hard, yes.”
“Yes, that’s the nature of the punishment.”
“Oh my god!” Jane buried her face in her hands. “I didn’t realise,” she wailed.
“Jane, calm down.” Susan sat on the arm of Jane’s chair and put an arm around her. “Your only other option was the five days in custody. I doubt that would have had much appeal either. This is far more, well, private and convenient.”
“I’m forty-three, Jane. Don’t you think I’m a bit old to be caned like a naughty schoolgirl?”
“That’s not old, Jane, and you’re perfectly fit. Yes, it will hurt, and probably damage your ego a bit too, but from what I saw in the video that may be no bad thing.”
“You think I deserve to be thrashed?”
“That’s not quite what I said, Jane. But I can see how it might have a palliative effect on your future behaviour. But then, that’s why the corporal punishment option was introduced.”
“What if I refuse?”
“I can give you a warning, but basically go away and return in about a couple of day’s time. Then, you either take the caning or you are arrested and taken into custody.”
“And put in prison?”
“You are given one last chance to take the caning in the police station. If you still refuse, then you are taken before a magistrate who will determine the length of time you will spend in custody. But it will be longer than five days, substantially longer.”
“Oh, what a mess!” Jane buried her face in her hands again, and Susan again put a comforting arm around her. “What would you do?”
“I’m not really allowed to advise you, Jane, but I think you already know what I would do.”
Jane sighed deeply. “Okay, let’s do it.” She jumped to her feet, catching Susan by surprise. “What do I have to do?”
“Draw the curtains and put the light on,” Susan suggested. “While you do that, I’ll pop out to the car and get the cane. Don’t worry, I’ll be discreet.”
While Jane drew the curtains and switched the lights on, Susan went out to her car, leaving the front door open. When she returned, she held the cane tucked against the sleeve of her jacket. Susan had the front room all ready with the curtains blocking the view from outside and good lighting provided by a combination of wall mounted lights and two overhead brackets.
“That’s it, is it?” Jane asked, as Susan placed the cane on a coffee table. “Can I look at it?”
“Be my guest.”
“It’s quite whippy,” Jane commented.
“Yes, designed to give good short, sharp shocks to your bottom, but not cause any lasting damage.”
“I think it will still make sitting down afterwards extremely uncomfortable.” Jane carefully replaced the cane on the coffee table.
“Yes, I’m afraid it will.”
“Okay, so what do I have to do now?”
“Could you stand behind this armchair, please.”
“Here?” She asked after moving to the indicated spot.
“Stand a little closer to the back of the chair, please, and turn and face the back.”
“Fine. Now, slip your jeans and underwear down, please.”
Jane started unfastening her pale blue jeans. As she pushed them off her hips, her black brief panties came into view.
“These knickers are very brief, especially at the back.” Jane half turned and raised the tail of her white cotton top to demonstrate the point. “They don’t really offer any protection at all to my bottom.”
“They still need to come down, Jane.”
“I can pull them down just before the caning, if you prefer, Jane?”
“Don’t worry!” Jane huffed. “I’ll do it!”
She thumbed the pants down quickly, and they joined the jeans that now collected around her ankles.
“Can you tuck your top up, please, so it’s well clear of your bottom?”
“Oh, for Heaven’s sakes!”
Feeling the top was not going to cover very much of her backside, and therefore the request was needless, Jane did as she was asked and folded the thin top well up until pretty well all below bra level was exposed.
“Yes, thank you. Now, please bend across the top of the chair and get your head nice and low the other side.” Susan asked calmly, in contrast to the other woman’s demeanour.
Jane hesitated, the reality of the moment giving rise to panic. She froze.
“Come on, Jane,” Susan said quietly, giving the other woman a hug with one hand while the other held the cane. “It’ll be all right.”
“Yes.” Jane croaked weakly. “I know.”
“Good. Then bend over.”
The gentle request, with an equally gentle slap on her bare bottom, convinced Jane the time had come to surrender. She bent forward until all her weight rested on the softly upholstered top of the armchair.
“Just come back an inch,” Susan asked, and helped Jane make the adjustment until the woman’s bottom was perfectly positioned. “That’s good. Keep still!”
A couple of taps from the cane on Jane’s bare bottom alerted her to what was about to happen.
The stroke, across the middle of her bottom, stung wickedly and was far sharper than she had been expecting.
“Oh my god!”
“It stings, doesn’t it?”
Another couple of taps stopped Jane from commenting further. The cane whipped down and caught her slightly higher than the first.
“Keep still, you’re doing fine.”
The cane whipped again, slightly lower than the previous two.
Without delay, the fourth cracked down.
Then a fifth.
And a sixth.
“That’s half way, Jane. You can take a break if you want.”
Jane lifted herself off the back of the armchair and started rubbing her bottom.
“When you mentioned short, sharp shocks, you certainly weren’t exaggerating, Susan!”
“I know. It really does sting.”
“I suppose a coffee break isn’t a possibility? Maybe a whisky?”
“Maybe a sip of water? You might find it easier to get back over, take the rest and get it over with.”
Jane nodded. “You’re right. No point in delaying the inevitable.”
Jane was very soon bending over the back of the armchair once more, with her bottom presented for the remainder of her punishment. A tap from the cane reminded her what to expect.
She was scarecely kept waiting.
The next stroke lashed quite low down and made Jane shift forward and up on the back of the armchair.
“Aaaaaahh!! Sorry, wasn’t expecting it so low,” She excused herself as she settled back into position.
“Don’t want you sitting down too much for a couple of days,” Susan commented, and lined up the next stroke.
The following stroke was similarly low down.
“D-don’t w-worry, I won’t be!” Jane gasped.
The cane whipped again, and struck Jane’s bottom just a little higher.
When the next stroke cracked across Jane’s bare buttocks, just a little below centre, she twisted and flopped against the top of the armchair.
Susan gave her a moment or two to settle herself, adding: “We’re nearly there, Jane. Just one to go.”
“Any chance you could let me off?” She asked, knowing there was no serious prospect of that happening.
In a final act of submission, Jane settled back across the chair and offered her bottom for the last part of her chastisement.
Susan took careful aim and swept the cane sharply down until it whipped across the now well-striped and bruised buttocks.
“Oooooooohhh!! Ooooowwwww!!” Jane squealed. She edged off the back of the armchair and began tenderly rubbing her bottom.
“That’s it. You’re done.” Susan told her. “You can get dressed now. I’ll sign the paperwork, and that’ll be it.”
“I’m not sure I want my panties rubbing against my poor old sore bottom,” Jane said. “Not for a few minutes anyway.”
“As you like. Do you want me to fetch you a dressing gown or something?”
“Maybe a dress? There’s a loose green one on a hangar in my bedroom.”
“Hold on, I’ll fetch it.”
In the couple of minutes it took to fetch the dress, Jane had stripped her jeans and panties off her feet, removed her top and was waiting in just her bra. Susan helped her slip the dress over her head and shoulders.
“Here, this is the form to say the punishment has been completed. Best to hang on to it, just in case there’s any queries.”
“Right, thank you.”
“Okay, I’ll be on my way. Let’s meet for lunch soon.”
“Yes, let’s do that. Unless I beat up another ignorant motorist of course!”
© Kenny Walters 2016