Spankings between neighbours

By Rob Burton

I really did wonder where I might get my fun from when I retired. Not that I am old enough really, just that the opportunity came up when I reached fifty-five to leave behind thirty-two years as a teacher, and latterly as headmistress at St Jude’s. That, and my dear Aunt Jenny passed away unexpectedly, and even more unexpectedly left me all her worldly goods, including her large bank account. Who knew where she acquired it from, because I thought she was a simple widow living on her war pension. It seems not.

Then, as if by fate, Laura Watts walked into my life. Laura Watts, forty-four, married to Stephen, one daughter Melissa, who had left home, and a Yorkshire terrier called Penny. I bought the bungalow next door with my newly acquired wealth. It was in a quiet cul-de-sac on the edge of the village, and latterly owned by an elderly lady who had gone to live with her daughter in her twilight years.

Laura, being a dutiful housewife while hubby went to be some prominent councillor, duly introduced herself and, more importantly, brought along a home-baked chocolate cake. It would have been just enough that once a week, usually Friday, we met, had a chat, and ate her delicious cake. That was until she started to prick my radar.

Here we have a petite in stature medium-blonde housewife, still good looking for her age, must have been very attractive in her twenties, married to a councillor, who, let us be honest, looks like your typical vision of a councillor. Tall-ish, thin, wears glasses, an unfashionable colour suit, and loafers. I somehow couldn’t see the connection between the two of them. So, why would a seemingly twee housewife ask questions about corporal punishment?

It started slowly. I guess trying not to make it obvious, but gradually there was more and more. It got to the point that I had to find out why little Laura Watts was curious about “Whether corporal punishment did hurt as they said.”

It was that last comment one Friday in May that made up my mind. I was never certain whether her questions came from experience or not. Now I knew, this little madam was indeed interested in finding out what a sore bottom was like. Me, being me, waded straight in. Well, I let her get settled with a cup of tea as we ate a large slice of Black Forest gâteau.

“So, were you ever in the headmistress’s study for six of the best, then, Laura?”

There was a pause. Those unpainted lips that were about to take a sip from the cup stopped, left slightly agape as Laura wondered how to reply. The tell-tale sign of her neck going slightly pink at her embarrassment became clear. She shook her head and quickly took a sip of tea.

“You do surprise me. With all those little questions about me and punishment, I thought you might be comparing notes.” I smirked at her.

The pink neck went quickly to a deep shade of pink.

“Not even sent to wait outside the study for the headmistress to come and tear a strip off you for being late?”

“No, no, never,” she squeaked a reply.

“Are you sure, little Laura Watts? Because girls who told lies got a very sore bottom in my study.”

I could see her cringing as she tried not to look in my direction. It was almost cruel, had it not been so funny to watch a normally confident woman squirm under the words said.

“Honestly, I was never there for anything bad. I was only there twice; once to receive an award for a poem, and the other for my prefect’s badge.”

“So, you were a prefect?” I asked, changing the subject before Laura jumped out of the seat and ran back home. It took her by surprise as well.

“Yes, yes. I did three years. Never quite made senior prefect. It was a privilege, and I took my duties seriously.

‘I bet you did,’ crossed my mind. Laura had to point out the three years to get across the ‘I really was a good girl’ part. There were plenty of good prefect girls at St Jude’s, but I did not exempt them from a whacking.

The subject got changed again by Laura asking if the cake was as lovely as her normal chocolate one. A sneaky trick that, worthy of being upended over my knee.

I did wonder, as she made her way out into the hall, what she might do if I took her by the arm, pulled her over my knee and give her a jolly good spanking. Would she scream blue murder, or just wriggle a little as my iron hand gave her a volley of whacks?

We missed the next two Fridays. Both times, Laura called to say she had to go out. The hesitancy in her voice told me it was a lie. Over the years at St. Jude’s, I had become good at knowing when someone was lying, and that included the teachers. I fawned disappointment at missing her delicious cake and looked forward to seeing her soon.

The Monday after the second cancellation, due to a hair appointment, I called around mid-morning. It was now or never. Either the start of a special friendship or the ending of Friday tea and cake.

She made a pot of tea. No cake, as she had not had time last Friday. I am not sure why as she had not been to the hairdresser, or if she had, then she should be asking for her money back as it looked the same to me. There was a silence for a moment, so I filled it.

“Why would you think I’d not realise that cancelling the last two Fridays were just excuses? I can clearly see that the hairdresser has not been anywhere near your beautiful blonde locks.”

Her left hand holding the teacup and saucer shook, making it rattle as Laura sat frozen, staring at me. It wasn’t for a moment, either. It went for too long for it to be funny.

“Laura, Laura,” I called out to bring her back to reality.

She jumped out of the seat and ran upstairs. I should have seen it coming. Slowly making my way up to find her. At least I knew where the bathroom was before I found her face down on the bed. There was the muffled sound of small sobs as I slowly eased myself down, trying not to frighten her further. My hand rubbed her back as I told it was okay, and there was no harm done.

Eventually, she faced me, and I wiped her eyes with my hanky. It all came out, between the tears and hugs, about how she got into reading erotic stories while Stephen attended his boring meetings. How they had got more and more erotic, until she found that the ones with punishment excited her the most. Stephen just laughed when the subject of spanking came up one Saturday night. The subject never came up again, and now poor Laura gets her kicks from reading naughty stories, mainly involving ladies punishing ladies. That part did surprise me.

“You must think me very weird?”

“Not at all, Laura. I, too, have erotic thoughts about punishing other ladies. In fact, while at St Jude’s, I had the pleasure of spanking and caning a few special friends I got to know over the years.”

The look on her face was a picture.

“Oh, yes. You would be surprised that even mild-mannered ladies enjoyed having a sore bottom over my lap or a desk.”

“You are kidding, right?”

“I am serious. There were several, including a school secretary, though not at St. Jude’s, who loved it when I gave their botty a whack.”

She looked at me, still puzzled, not quite sure if I was truthful.

“It’s all true. The truth was, I never enjoyed punishing the girls. It was my duty, as decreed by the board of governors, to put them back on the straight and narrow, and if that meant they got a sore bottom with six of the best, then it had to be done. However, if a naughty lady knocked on my door with a confession, then I would be more than happy to give them their just desserts.”

Finally, there was a small smile. I hugged Laura and kissed her forehead.

“Now I must go.”

“Thanks. I promise not to cancel on Friday.”

The poor girl was undoubtedly in for a shock.

“Good. Now you will be in my front room at four o’clock this afternoon where we will deal with your lies, Laura.”

I caught her brief look of shock before I turned and left the bedroom.


Amazing how time drags when you do not want it to. Every time I saw a clock, it was like time was moving backwards. I was nervous, yet excited at the same time. Finally, after a barren few years, I was going to deal with a naughty bottom again. Mind, there was always the possibility that Laura would bottle it. I did wonder what was going through her mind as the clock reached three forty-five.

Everything prepared. The study was given a quick hoover, desk polished, and papers laid on it to make it seem authentic. Cupboard unlocked, and the three canes checked and ready. I thought about wearing my old gown I brought with me. It was totally impractical for day-to-day use, but did look smart at the ceremonial events. I decided it was too much, so a smart blouse and skirt it was. All I needed now was a naughty little lady called Laura Watts.

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. I opened it, welcomed Laura in, and told her to wait by the door to my study. Quickly, I shot through the kitchen, round through the patio doors and into the study. I composed myself, adjusted my skirt and, taking a deep breath, I opened the door. Laura was about to have quite an experience, one she would not forget in a hurry.

“Come in, Watts. Stand by the desk.”

I held the door as she eased her way past, not daring to look at me. The first experience was about to start.

“How dare you turn up to my office in trousers and top, girl. We might let you sixth formers off without uniform, but when I summon people to my office, I expect a modicum of effort in the clothing department. I suggest you go and get changed, and be back here in a skirt and blouse in ten minutes, or else.”

Laura shot out like a cat chased by a dog after a small apology. I almost forgot to stifle the laughter until she was out of sight.

Nine minutes later, and I get a knock on the study door.

“Come in, Watts,” I say for the second time.

A white blouse and black knee-length skirt greet me as she stands in front of the desk.

“Not a good start, Watts, is it?”

There is no response, just a shake of the head.

“In this study, you reply with your mouth, not your head, Watts. Do not try my patience any further than you have already, girl.”


“That should be yes, headmistress, please.”

“Yes, headmistress,” she repeated.

I gazed back at her as I opened the black book on the desk. It was to be my new punishment book, and Laura was about to become its first entry. I had been glad I ran across it when tidying earlier, it was a distraction to rule out a few columns and head them up; name, form, offence, punishment, my signature, and lastly their signature. I wrote:

Laura Watts, 6X, Blatant lie to headmistress, six cane and my name.

Her signature would wait until after. It was always a pleasure to see the scrawl as they fought with the pain of their punished rears.

Putting down the pen, I cleared my throat.

“I dislike blatant liars, Watts. They are up there with cheaters and smokers, in my books.” Watching her trying desperately not to look at me.

I hope she is getting a thrill out this because I certainly am.

“Anything to say for yourself, Laura, before I administer the fully deserved punishment.”

There was a pause. For a moment, I expected just a shake of the head. Pity really, as I would have enjoyed seeing her squirm at the telling-off for not listening to my earlier rebuke.

“I am truly sorry, headmistress. It will not happen again, I promise.”

“Too right, it won’t, Laura. So, to help you keep that promise, I’m going to cane you. Get your skirt up and bend across my desk.”

Crossing to the cupboard, I glanced back at Laura, still stood, having not moved. Was she in shock from the announcement of a caning?

“If I have to repeat myself, Watts, I will repeat the caning tomorrow morning.”

That got her moving. Up came the skirt to reveal plain white knickers. I wonder if she changed them when putting on the skirt and blouse. I doubted it. These were her usual everyday pairs, plain white, but I bet she had a couple of frilly ones for those special occasions. It did not matter because they were coming down, not that Laura knew it yet.

“Right over, girl, grab the far edge and try to stay still. It will be your only warning. Move, and I will repeat the stroke.”

She shifted further over. It was a rather pleasant sight. A pert bottom clad in white, the milky white thighs pushed together. Best stop dreaming and get on with it before she changes her mind. With a quick swipe, down came her undies. There was a small gasp, but no more. It was a good job for her; otherwise, I would have slapped her thighs.

I, even if I say so myself, had become quite proficient at administering punishments, especially the cane. I prided myself that I could land six strokes without crossing them, if I wanted to, that was. But then, where would the fun be without the howling recipient realising exactly where the last one had just landed?

While I did know it was Laura’s first time, it was no reason to let up altogether. I mean, I wanted her to come back again, yet I wanted her to have the full experience of six of the best. I saw her looking pensively back at me. I guess about now was the time when she realised what was about to happen, there was no going back and just how much it would hurt. It is just that they do not understand how painful it is the first time. No matter how much you read, watch, or listen, there is nothing that can prepare you for that first whack. Moreover, I give mine without any warning, none of this tap, tap to measure the stroke. Nope, arm back, and whack is my method.

Laura squealed. Her arms shot back for a moment before I tapped the right wrist. I was ready; I knew what would happen. Laura’s face contorted with the burning pain of the first stroke.

“One,” I called out. Then immediately gave her number two. A little harder, but still nowhere near the full force I could have used.

“Two.” I waited for a moment. The bottom, with its fresh stripe, quivered. Laura stole a glance at me with tears in her eyes.


“Three.” Followed quickly by “Four” and “Five.”

Now, number six is always the hardest one. It is a tradition handed down across the ages from one spanker to the next. The five red stripes all in a line, ready to be joined by the final one. Right at the edge of the curve where it joins the thighs. It will hurt more than the others even if I do not apply extra pressure, and I won’t. It is just that the bottom does have a little padding, some more than others, but the thighs do not.

Would Laura be expecting the final one to be extra painful? I guess, if she had been reading those naughty stories, then I think she probably was. Clean as a whistle, it landed perfectly. Well, for me. It did for me. I guess the recipient thought otherwise, as she flinched, her arms flailed, and she squealed a lot louder. To be fair to Laura, she had been relatively quiet up to now. I gave her a warning just in case.

“Do not move, Laura, otherwise I will give that stroke again, and in the same place. Do you hear?”

Usually, I would have wanted a reply, but under the circumstances, I let it slide.

“Stand up, arms by your side, and face the desk,” I said, hanging the cane on its little hook in the cupboard.

Gingerly, I watched her stand, her thighs twitching, also her left-hand pumping as she desperately tried to adhere to the instructions. Her tear-stained face taught with pain as she fought back the urge to rub her very sore bottom.

“Right, Laura. You can sign the punishment book and be on your way. I do not want to see you in my study for lying again. Is that understood?” I said, turning the black book around and holding out the pen with which she could sign to say what a naughty little Laura she had been.

“Yes, sorry, I mean, headmistress.” She corrected, just in time as she inked the page with L Watts.

I watched her with an inner joyful grin as she reached down and eased up the knickers, then the grimace as she felt them on her bottom. Finally, down came the skirt, with a quick brush front and back to check it had all gone into place.

Opening the door, she looked at me. Possibly, the first time she had done so since being in the study. I am not sure what she was expecting; a quick, how are you? Not a chance.

She got just level with the door, only a mere millimetre away from freedom.

“And I will see you on Friday morning at nine-fifteen, where we will discuss your uniform infraction.”

She gave me a look of thunder. By rights, I should have dragged her back in the study and given her a walloping just for the look alone. However, I was content with my afternoon’s work and dismissed her with a wave of my hand.


It was an exciting evening. Well, for me, it was. The thoughts of a pleasant afternoon would drift through my head as I listened to the evening entertainment on the wireless. As I sat, I wondered how Laura was occupying her evening at that moment, or was she upstairs lying on the bed face down trying to cool off her hot stinging bottom. Perhaps she told Stephen everything. Before I finally went to sleep, I vowed to call round in the morning to see how Laura was. Maybe I might have some cream to rub into her stingy bits.


I am sure it was panic I saw on her face when she opened the door just after eleven o’clock the next morning. Whatever it was, she stood to one side and let me in. I was ushered through to the kitchen with the offer of tea.

Smiling warmly, I enquired how she was feeling. Laura just blushed.

“Yes, I am tickety-boo, thanks for asking.”

It was sarcasm, albeit with a smile. There was only one way to deal with that.

“Unless you want to go across my knee, you had better cut the sarcasm.” I gave a big toothy grin back.

“Sorry, but having six whacks on your bare bum makes you like that. Actually, I am still in pain, unable to sit properly, and anxious Stephen will see the marks. How will I explain that? Sorry, dear, but you know that nice lady next door, who used to be a headmistress and you think is a very sweet lady, caned my bare bottom yesterday. Oh, and yes, I have another appointment in her study on Friday.”

Put like that, I could do nothing but smile and give a little chuckle as I popped the jar of cream from my pocket.

“Perhaps this might help. Matron’s medicine, we used to call it.”

Laura giggled. “What is it?”

“It is cold cream. It will soothe and moisturise your stingy bits.”

She looked at the small jar for a moment before going to put the kettle on.

“If you pop your skirt up, I will put some on for you, if you like.”

Well, it would have been rude not to offer. As expected, there was a shake of the head. I had already decided not to be too pushy.

There is something about seeing a caned bottom the day after. Not that it often happened, but occasionally it did, and still it amazes how red they still are. Fascinating, and so was rubbing the white cream gently into the bare cheeks. There are some chores that one loves to do repeatedly, and this is definitely one of those.

I let her go to finish making the tea.

We adjourned to the lounge, perhaps best as the wooden seats at the kitchen table would have made her squirm quite a bit, I suspect. Even on the soft cushion, it was not hard to see her change position once or twice. We both tried to start a conversation at the same time. I gave her the first chance.

“Are you really going to cane me on Friday?”

I took a sip of my tea before giving her the good news.

“Yes, I am Laura. I cannot have girls turning up to my study dressed how they like, especially when they know they have a punishment due. Your attire is fine here, but in my study I expect better. So yes, you will be getting six of the best.”

I amazed myself at how efficient I managed to say it without smirking.

“Please, please headmistress, I’m so sorry about not dressing appropriately. In all the confusion of preparing for my first ever time, I forgot. I did not think. I am truly, truly sorry.”

Poor Laura. Desperate to get off her whacking. Maybe it was a bit too quick after Monday. Do not say I am not a caring headmistress!

“I appreciate your apology. Under the circumstances…”

I deliberately left it to hang in the air as I watched her face for that momentary glimmer that she was being let off.

“I will postpone it until the following Friday.”

Laura pouted.

“Pout again, young lady, and I will slap your legs and reinstate this Friday.”


“Stand up!” I ordered, jumping up from the seat, my cup still in hand, before I placed it back in the saucer.

Laura placed the cup on the table and faced me. Lifting her skirt, I slapped her legs as I scolded her for the error.

“I have told you before, and yet you still continue not to refer to me as headmistress.”

My hand was now hot, so her legs must have been as well. She rubbed them frantically as she grimaced in my direction. This morning was turning out to be most enjoyable, and there was still time for it to get even better. As if by magic, it did. I am not sure why this popped into my head, but it did.

“Right, you can write out one hundred times, ‘I will not forget to refer to Miss Paige as headmistress in future’. You can hand them into my study tomorrow morning.”

She sat down briefly.

“I would get a pen and write it down if I was you, Laura. Any mistakes and there will consequences.”

She limped off to get paper and pen. Also, to give her legs a rub, if I were her, as I blew on my warm hand.

“Give,” I said, holding out my hand.

I wrote the words across the top of the paper and underlined it.

“One hundred times,” I reiterated, handing it back.

“Yes, headmistress.”

Good girl, she will learn one way or the other. Hopefully, the other.

Tea all drunk, I said my goodbyes and left her to the rest of the day in which she would have to find time to write the lines. I bet she never ever expected that on a slightly dismal Tuesday.


Laura was prompt the following morning and in acceptable attire. ‘Boo-hiss,’ I heard my brain say as I walked through to the study and closed the door behind us.

“I trust you have completed the lines?”

“Yes, headmistress.”

She handed over three pages of A4 ruled paper with impeccable writing on them. I studied them intently. I was disappointed as I could not see a single error anywhere. I rechecked it. No, nothing. However, wait.

“How many lines have you written, Watts?”

“One hundred, headmistress.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, headmistress.”

“How do I know that there are one hundred here? Were you never told to number each one?”

There was a look of horror on Laura’s face. The sudden realisation that maybe all her hard work to make it so perfect had all been for nothing.

“You had better take this pen and start numbering each one. Any less, or indeed more, and you will be a very sorry young lady by the time I have finished with you.”

She took her time, diligently numbering each one followed by a full stop. I watched in the hope that there was an error, but to my dismay, there was not.

“Good. Next time, you had better remember.”

I swear she skipped out of the house and down the path. So, there was to be no fun today with Laura.


We had tea and cake on Friday as usual. It was nice to get back to the usual routine in a way, mainly because of the chocolate cake. We touched on her sore bottom briefly. Sigh, if only there had been the opportunity to smack it once again. Still, I was content in the fact that at least I only had a week to wait.


Friday morning, and I was up bright and early. I was genuinely excited about today. Well, it is not every day that you get to see a bare bottom, let alone spank it, or should that be cane it? Six lovely red marks adorning the pale flesh of a pert bottom. The pert bottom of Laura Watts, to be precise, who, for forty-four, kept herself in trim. Breakfast, though a rush compared with my usual leisurely one, was enjoyable as I hummed along to the wireless playing quietly in the background. Bathed, dressed and ready for nine-fifteen. Bless her cotton socks if Laura did not pop round yesterday to check what time she was due before me. How sweet it was to see her, as I suppressed the urge, firstly to smirk, then to whack her bottom for forgetting something that she should have known.

Well, at least you could say she was always punctual. Not likely to get her in my study for being tardy. Well, not yet anyway. I followed her towards the study, keeping one eye on the prize as it swayed slightly down the hallway. She stopped outside the door.

“You might as well go in, Watts. I will be there presently.”

I composed myself in the kitchen, behind the closed door, giving her just enough time to feel uncomfortable waiting for her appointment. Perhaps I was wrong, maybe she was enjoying standing there, waiting for her unknown punishment. Yes, she knew I had said it was to be the cane, but having thought about it during the week it was an ideal opportunity to try out another implement. It had been a toss-up between the slipper and the strap, and the slipper won, narrowly though. Okay, here we go. Opening the door, I strode with purpose to the study and opened the door.

“Right, Laura Watts, here we are again. Though this time for having the audacity to turn up to my study in highly inappropriate clothes.”

It was a little over the top, I grant you, but I was on a roll and having fun.

“You were warned of the consequences, were you not, Watts?”

“Yes, headmistress.”

“And what were they girl?”

“That I would receive a punishment for it.”

“Correct. Was there a punishment mentioned?”

“Not sure, headmistress.”

The little Laura was playing with fire as she looked at me for a brief second before resuming inspecting the carpet.

“I hope you remember shortly, or you will be coming back on Monday, having written an essay on the best way to deal with a poor memory.”

“I think it might have been six of the best, headmistress,” Laura managed to chirp up.

“Yes, Laura, six of the best and with what?”

“The cane, headmistress.”

“Indeed, it was.”

I walked across to the cupboard, took out the cane, flexed it twice.

“Any reason why you should not get six of the best with my cane here, Watts?”


“Headmistress,” she added before I could reprimand her.

“Well, Laura, I think this might just be your lucky day. As the offence for the inappropriate uniform came about because of your first visit to my study, I am not going to cane you today.”

I waited for the look in my direction before replacing the cane. Was there a momentary thought that she was going to be let off? Was it joy or disappointment I thought I saw in her eyes?

“However, I cannot let you off completely. So, we shall, just this once, substitute the cane for my trusty size twelve slipper.”

It was still hard to judge what she was thinking as I took the black plimsoll from its resting place.

“Skirt up girl, and bend over, touching your toes.”

I always thought the slipper worked far better when the miscreant touched their toes. No idea why, it just did. The cane was administered across the desk or arm of a chair, as the receiver always struggled to keep their position just bent over.

Correct uniform again. I did wonder briefly if Laura had that teeny-weeny thought about something a little racier while dressing this morning.

“Stay still and in position.”

Then it was up with the arm and down again. Whack! Right in the middle of the gorgeous behind, which was now sporting a red imprint on it. Another soon joined it as Laura swayed slightly after it landed, just to the right of its companion. I was not one of those headmistresses who went left cheek then right, or vice-versa. No, all six right in the middle. Number three duly followed, and Laura gave her first squeak of pain. Unlike the last visit where I deliberately held back when caning her, this time she was getting the full treatment. Why should she not? I would not have been lenient with a pupil, so why should she, my new pseudo pupil, receive special treatment?

Four and five came almost together, causing the squeaking Laura to flinch as the fifth one landed. The fingers instinctively leaving her ankles for a moment in the silly notion of rubbing her sore, now deep red-looking bottom.

The sixth and final one followed. As always, the hardest to remind them that this should be the last time they step into my study ever again. Well, not in this case. I hoped Laura would be popping back many times in the future for a little role-playing fun.

“Get up, Watts,” I said, putting away the slipper and closing the cupboard.

Laura had her arms by her side, no doubt itching to rub away the pain as I completed the punishment book.

“Sign here and get out. I hope this is the last time, Watts, because next time, I will not be so lenient. Is that understood?”

After completing her signature and handing back the pen, she nodded before adding, “Yes, headmistress.”

Good job she did, or otherwise it might have the quickest anyone has ever received an additional whacking.

I opened the door and left her to leave on her own. Then I remembered, perhaps I should have asked about tea and cake later. Note to oneself; perhaps Friday is not the best day to whack lovely little Laura Watts.

The End

© Rob Burton 2022