A holiday with her friend has a surprise
By Judy S
Part 1: Departures
Parents always feel rights-of-passage far more than their children. In a small way, Susan and Mike Greene came to realise that, when Jenny announced her summer holiday plans. A month had passed since her nineteenth birthday. In her eyes, she was far too grown up for holidays with her younger sister and brother.
Her parents tried to persuade her she would be missing out. Jenny was diplomatic, though she had no intention of changing her mind. Family holidays were fun, to a point, but she was at an in-between age. Too old for playing, too young for pure lazing, and never one for the party holidays some of her friends enjoyed.
It took some persuasion before her parents accepted her point of view. Even then, her choice of alternative holiday had surprised her mother. A best friend from her schooldays, Katie Winchester, had invited her to spend a week in Brittany. Seven days at their family’s beautiful holiday cottage, and Jenny could hardly wait.
They had been lifelong friends. The Greenes and the Thompsons were neighbours, only a few doors apart. During their schooldays, the girls were inseparable. Always playing out, or spending time at each other’s houses.
Katie’s parents were rather overbearing, at least in Jenny’s eyes. In particular, her mother. She never quite shook the feeling that Pauline Winchester saw her as a bad influence. Always acting the tomboy, climbing trees, playing in rivers, coming home muddy.
Their mothers, Susan and Pauline, had never seen eye to eye. It was partly a clash of personality, and partly a clash of parenting style. Looking back, Jenny had felt the tension, but never let it get in the way of her friendship with Katie.
For Jenny, spankings and slipperings were something that only happened in her comics. Never an actual, tangible threat in real-life. She had known it was different for Katie, though it was never discussed. There were only hints, here and there, in the form of veiled warnings.
“Make sure you’re on your best behaviour at Katie’s house,” her mother would say. “Remember, Mrs Winchester doesn’t stand for any nonsense.”
When, as so often happened, their games got a little overexcited, it was a cue for the inevitable phone-call.
“Susan? It’s Pauline. The girls are acting up, again. I’m sending Jennifer straight home.”
Always her full first name, when she was being naughty.
But those days were long gone, back when they were kids. Now, as young adults, things were bound to be different.
“I suppose we’ll have to give you our blessing. But remember, you’d be more than welcome to come on holiday with us, any time,” her mum had assured her. “If you find the grass isn’t greener, you could join us again next year.”
To keep the peace, Jenny agreed to consider it, but without much enthusiasm. It was time for a break on her own. Even the overnight ferry crossing would feel like an adventure. A refreshing change from their typical, regimented package holidays. She would be travelling alone, and then Katie would be there to meet her.
Emotions resurfaced on their drive down to Portsmouth. Her parents sent her off with endless hugs and appeals to take care. Her dad even slipped her a few Euros for pocket money.
It was not a matter of being overprotective. That had never been their style. Growing up, they had been proud to embrace modern parenting. Never trying to restrict her freedom, always keen for her to express herself. Seeing her grow up delighted them, but it would not stop them from missing her on this year’s holiday.
Her crossing, Portsmouth to Cherbourg, was smooth and they docked in glorious sunshine. Jenny had departed to hugs from her parents, and now an exuberant Katie greeted her with more of the same.
“It’s fabulous to see you. I’m so glad you could come.”
“I’ve missed you loads. Thanks for inviting me, Katie. It’s going to be amazing. Exactly like the old days.”
Katie hesitated for a moment. Not exactly like the old days, she hoped, but did not say. All too often, their fun ended in Jenny’s departure, while Katie suffered an early bedtime. Changing into her pyjamas, awaiting her mother’s inevitable footsteps on the stairs. Always that fearful wait until her mother arrived with a slipper, or sometimes her hairbrush.
Putting those old memories aside, they soon found Katie’s dad. He was sitting in his ageing Land Rover. Canvas top, dulling paint, his forearm resting on the open window. A former merchant seaman, Jenny thought his tattoos lent him a roguish charm. She remembered how Pauline, in typical sniffy fashion, preferred him in long sleeves. It was funny, the quirky childhood memories that were all coming back to her.
An hour on the N174 took them a few miles beyond Guilberville. The growl of the engine blended with the roof covering as it whipped in the breeze. Either side of them, the lush green of the countryside rolled by. Verdant pastures, undulating vineyards, blossoming orchards. The air breezed through their open windows, creating a magical haze of country scents.
They left the motorway at last, transferring to winding, hedge-lined lanes. As they slowed, the road noise faded, and the tranquillity of birdsong took over. Finally, with a crunch of wheels on stone-chip gravel, they all climbed down.
Jenny was awestruck by her first glimpse of the charming cottage. Bees buzzed in a row of apple trees that marked the boundary between the driveway and a herb garden. She could hear the babble of a stream somewhere behind the garden wall.
“Where’s mum?” Katie asked her dad.
“Out shopping,” he replied. “I’m not in her best books after I forgot to call at the supermarket yesterday. You girls might like to have an explore. Go for a walk until she simmers down. I’ll help you pack a picnic basket, if you like. I’m playing golf over at Granville and I won’t be home until late.”
He apologised for being unable to find them a proper picnic blanket. Instead, he sent them out with a pair of beach towels and an old-fashioned wicker hamper. As they set off, Jenny caught the smell of fresh bread, cheese, and chilled fruit, straight from the fridge.
Part 2: Explorations
Their stroll began along a narrow lane. Here and there, grass was starting to sprout through the ageing tarmac. Through a wooden gate, they followed a hedgerow before turning to the bank of a river. Narrow and rocky, it tumbled in babbling cascades, sparkling like crystal.
“I know the perfect spot for a picnic,” Katie said, leading the way around a low outcrop of grey rock. From here the path continued downwards, beginning to zigzag as it steepened.
At the bottom, for the second time that day, Jenny looked in awe at the sight before her.
They emerged from a small coppice of silver birch into a natural meadow of long grasses and pale flowers. Above and to their left, the river broke over a three meter waterfall into a teardrop pool. Here the water bubbled and raged, but Jenny looked across to the outflow. A narrow channel, where the turbulence transformed into a mirror. It was a narrow, elongated lake, reflecting the blue sky and cotton-wool clouds.
They spread their towels on short, wiry grass above a pebble beach. The place had once been a quarry, Katie explained, abandoned now for decades. Overgrown rock walls behind them and around the edges of the lake kept the air motionless. In tranquil isolation, it felt as if they could be alone in all the world.
It was a stark contrast to Jenny’s previous holidays. The race for sun-loungers, constant chatter, and noisy kids splashing around the pool.
Jenny was the first to kick off her shoes and step into the cool water. Katie followed, apprehensive at first, then relaxing as the water lapped her toes.
“It’s beautiful. We should have brought our bathers,” Jenny told her.
“Mum has never let me swim down here. She’s always telling me these quarry pools are dangerous.”
“I swear she still treats you like a kid,” Jenny replied, rolling her eyes.
For a time, Katie’s mind drifted off into reminiscence. Her friend’s offhand remark was closer to the truth than she could have realised.
Pauline Thompson was a traditionalist. Far from making a pretence of it, she wore it on her sleeve. The morning after Katie’s eighteenth birthday, her mother awaited her in the kitchen. It was late morning, almost lunchtime, when she finally woke up. She had come home after midnight, trying and failing to hide that she was rather tipsy.
Both these acts were big no-noes in Mrs Thompson’s eyes. From the start, Katie had known where this was heading. That day, of all days, she could have guessed her mother would seize some rationale to take a stance. Any pretext to teach her that being an adult in the eyes of the law is no exemption from household decorum.
At the age of eighteen years and one day, she had, yet again, found herself hauled across her mother’s lap. There was the mortification of feeling her nightie yanked half-way up her back. What followed, was one of the soundest spankings of her life!
There were other occasions too. Days when her mother had sent her to her bedroom, where the slipper or hairbrush awaited. Her mother had always been of the view, “my house, my rules.”
These stories were far too embarrassing to share, even with Jenny, who often questioned her compliance with her mother’s old fashioned ways. Did it stem from a pure, honourable desire to maintain filial piety? Or was it to avoid rocking the boat? A mixture of both, she thought. Rebellion was not her style, and she would miss out on too many benefits.
Several times her parents had bailed her out when she overspent her allowance. It came at a price, of course. Six months earlier, a needless first-class train ticket helped blow her monthly budget. A Mason Pearson hairbrush, applied to the seat of her shorty pyjamas, balanced the books.
They also paid the rent on her compact town-house apartment. Opulent luxury, compared to university accommodation. That small flat was the envy of all her friends.
Still, she prayed those days had to be behind her by now. That she would be safe while there was a guest in the house. Her cheeks blushing, Katie offered a coy suggestion.
“You know, hardly anyone ever comes down here, especially on weekdays. I know we don’t have our swimming costumes, but we could, well, you know.”
Katie watched as a cheeky grin spread across her friend’s face.
“You saucy devil!” Jenny exclaimed, teasing, but having a good look round to reassure herself they were alone. “Are you sure nobody will see? We should do it. I will, if you will.”
The water was cold and crystal clear, and Jenny could see down to the glossy pebbles around her toes. The ground shelved away at a steady angle, the water darkening as it grew deeper. The lake was small and they would never be far from the shore.
Giggling, as they had so often in the past, they matched actions, daring each other onwards. Katie lifted her linen dress over her head as Jenny untied her long, white wrap-around sarong. Seconds later they stood face-to-face in only their underwear.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Jenny said with a nervous laugh, trying not to appear shy as she unclasped her bra. There was a hint of recalled memory. It was like playing ‘dares’ when they were younger. But, both of them knew, this was far naughtier than anything they had done before.
“Let’s do this together,” Katie said, her fingers toying with the waistband of her cotton panties.
“Go on, it’s a dare,” Jenny replied with a lopsided grin.
Together they swept down their panties, avoiding their feet which were still damp. The girls were similar in height and build. Katie a little more curvy, Jenny a little taller. They had never felt a romantic attraction, but a frisson of excitement hung in the air. The naughty thrill of exposing themselves, together, naked in the outdoors. Each relished this taste of the forbidden.
“Take my hand,” Jenny suggested, “so we don’t slip on the stones.”
It seemed absurd to look away now, and Jenny took in the details of her friend’s body. The feint tan-lines around her hips and chest, and the firm uplift of her perky breasts. She could see goosebumps forming among the downy blonde hairs along her forearms.
The water felt colder as they stepped in deeper. Still egging each other on, nervous laughter echoing round the pool, they continued. Taking slow breaths, holding hands until the water was almost lapping their armpits.
“Ready?” Jenny asked.
Together they pushed out into the deeper water. Breaststroke, their heads up, drifting out into the centre. It was magical. Feeling free from inhibition, the cool water silken against their bare skin. Conversation and laughter filled the air, until they remembered to be more discreet.
Jenny stayed in a few minutes longer, embracing the chill and watching her friend dry off on the shore. She followed before shivers set in, feeling grateful as Katie handed her the dry towel.
Refreshed, buzzing in the excitement of their skinny-dipping, they sat, enjoying the picnic. It had been a perfect start to her first independent holiday, Jenny thought. So much better than anything she could have expected from going away with her family as usual.
She wondered if anything else this week could leave a greater imprint in her memories.
Part 3: Homecomings
They got back to the cottage at four o’clock, hung their towels out to dry, and chilled on the shady patio. Half an hour later, Katie’s mother arrived, seeming preoccupied.
“I have a bone to pick with you two,” Pauline announced. “Madame Lavigne from the bakery tells me you’ve been swimming in the old quarry. She couldn’t see you, but could hear girls swimming, and they were speaking English. I don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to solve this case!”
“I’ve told you before, Katie, you’re not to go swimming down there. The water’s too deep, and the rocks are dangerous. In fact, you promised me.”
“We were super-careful mum. And we only went down there for a picnic. Away from the footpath, so we could find a nice place to sit.”
Jenny could hear the nervousness in her friend’s voice and tried to come to the rescue.
“That’s right, Mrs Winchester. Please don’t blame Katie, it was all my fault. The sun was so hot and the water was too inviting. It was only a quick dip, not planned at all.”
“It’s true,” Katie echoed. “And, you know that I would never swim down there if I was on my own.”
Pauline considered, but the tense silence lingered. Their explanations seemed reasonable, on the face of it. Jenny’s presence, leading her daughter to break the rules, also gave it a certain ring of truth.
The cottage’s folding patio doors stood open onto the rear garden. Grass and rockery plants, a paved path running to a low fence, then open meadows. A gentle breeze stirred the beach towels drying on the washing line. They were a splash of vivid colour against the background of pastel green.
Something about the scene niggled her subconscious. It took several moments of consideration before being able to put her finger on it. Struck by a sudden realisation, Pauline turned. Crossing her arms, she fixed a suspicious glare on the two girls. Her tone sounded determined, and Katie and Jenny shot nervous glances between themselves.
“Unplanned, you say, so why did you take your towels and costumes with you? Something here doesn’t add up. Don’t lie to me.”
“No Mrs Winchester, there’s a simple explanation for that,” Jenny interrupted. “The towels were to sit on, for the picnic.”
Ignoring her, eyes still on her daughter, Pauline asked again. “You look me in the eye Katie. Tell me why there are no costumes drying on the washing line.”
There was an electricity in the room, intensifying with every passing second. In a heady blend of frustration and a desire to stick up for her friend, Jenny lost her cool.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! So what if we had no costumes? We hadn’t planned to go for a swim, and it was only us. A couple of girls together with nobody around to see. It’s fine to be impulsive when…”
It was not Pauline’s fierce expression that stopped her in her tracks. It was Katie’s anxious grimace coupled with a peculiar hand gesture. A rapid side to side motion, flat-handed, like a film director signalling, “Cut!”
Mrs Winchester was shaking her head in disbelief.
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I can’t believe the pair of you would be so brazen! And Katie, I’m surprised at you. But as for you,” she directed her stern gaze at Jenny. “When it comes to you, I suppose I’m a bit less surprised.”
“Yeah well, now you know, so at least that’s over with.”
Katie felt the old, familiar, sinking feeling. There had been countless similar confrontations over the years. To her, the implications of her mother’s wry half-smile held no ambiguity. She winced in disbelief at the trouble Jenny was so blithely walking into.
“Oh my, oh my! You have a lot to learn, Jennifer. Believe me, this is very far from being over with.”
“Please mum,” her daughter pleaded. “Jenny’s our guest. You must give her a second chance. She’s not to blame.”
“Don’t worry. The pair of you are going to share the blame for this reckless behaviour. You’ll also share the consequences.”
A modern family upbringing gave Jenny no frame of reference for this. She was slow picking up on her dire predicament. That complacency would soon cost her dear. Pauline’s vice-like fingers, grasping her left arm above the elbow, caught her off guard.
“Get your hands off me,” Jenny demanded, amid fruitless efforts to release herself.
It was too late when she realised her struggles were in vain. Unable to break free, she was half-led, half-dragged across to the sofa. Her light flip-flops offered no traction against the soft pile of the living room rug. There was nothing she could do to resist the motion.
As Pauline sat, Jenny felt herself drawn downwards. Her knees collided into unyielding thighs and she felt her balance going. The abrupt motion catapulted her forward and she let out a gasp of surprise. Pivoting like an unbalanced seesaw, she landed prone across the broad, accommodating lap.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Jenny exclaimed. “I’m not a kid! You’ve got no right to treat me like this. Katie, do something!”
“Katie will get her turn soon enough! And, it’s time I made one or two things clear to you,” Mrs Winchester explained. She could afford to be patient now, confident Jenny was going nowhere.
“Whenever you used to come and play at our house, your mother gave me strict instructions. If you ever misbehaved, I was to send you home. She never approved of my traditional approach to discipline.”
“No, well, of course my mother never approved of it,” Jenny retorted. “At our house we weren’t living in some kind of Dickensian novel!”
“Given your attitude, that doesn’t surprise me in the least. And, you’re right about another thing too. You’re not a kid anymore, so I no longer require your mother’s approval!”
Pauline had no difficulty holding the girl down across her lap. A moment later, Jenny felt her stoop forward, heavy breasts dabbing against her back. Glancing behind, her head only inches from the floor, she saw Pauline grab her slipper. A deft flick of a finger, well-practised, the heel rotated into her right palm.
“No way! You can’t be serious. Let me go, right now!”
“You’re going nowhere, young lady!” To reinforce the assertion, Jenny felt a sweeping motion of Pauline’s right foot. Bereft of its slipper, it hooked over Jenny’s ankles, pressing down on her slender calves.
Pauline felt Jenny squirming, making a desperate effort to wriggle forwards. Seizing the first opportunity, she caught hold of Jenny’s right wrist. Holding tight and pushing down, both their hands became sandwiched beneath Jenny’s hip. Mrs Winchester could not have planned it better. Her forearm fitted snug into the curve of the girl’s slender waist, pinning her tight.
“Don’t you struggle with me, Jennifer. What’s coming to you is long overdue!”
The slipper hovered only inches above Jenny’s pert bottom. Unable to move, she felt helpless. Trapped, like the paralysis of a surreal nightmare.
Her scant Brazilian briefs were skin-toned, almost invisible beneath her light sarong. Their leg elastics swept high to her hips, offering little protection to her cheeks. Unperturbed by Jenny’s embarrassment, Mrs Winchester hiked up the back of her dress. Cool air wafted across Jenny’s bottom, but it would not be staying cool for much longer.
The words of her mother, ‘be on your best behaviour’, flashed through Jenny’s mind. And, why had her friend failed to warn her? She could have told her to be more careful around her mother.
Katie’s appeals continued, but it was mere background noise that Mrs Winchester ignored. Her arm lifted high, grip tightening on the slipper’s heel and she brought it crashing down.
Jenny squeezed her lips tight shut, stifling a cry as a prickling sting spread through her bottom. Angry and helpless, she tried to hold back the tears. If nothing else, she wanted to deny Pauline that satisfaction. But, as the spanks rained down on her almost bare behind, a warm dampness formed around her eyelids. She could not remember when she last cried, but tears soon began to dribble down her cheeks to the tip of her nose.
The slipper rose and the slipper fell, relentless in rhythm and force. Jenny was no softy. She felt sure she could have braced herself against a few individual spanks. What made it unbearable was the cumulative effect. Prickling, biting, building. Pauline ensured the smarting sting was never given the slightest moment to subside.
By ten smacks, Jenny was losing count, and Mrs Winchester was racing high into the double-digits. Jenny’s bottom was burning, every impact sending piercing shock-waves deep into her cheeks.
“Stop, please, Mrs Winchester! I’ve learned my lesson now. Please!”
Pauline’s words formed a staccato rhythm, punctuated by the crisp slap of her slipper’s leathery sole. Never the same spot twice in a row, the spanking encompassed the entirety of Jenny’s bottom. The reddening even extended a slipper-width down the tops of her thighs.
“You’ve been asking for this for a long, long, time,” Mrs Winchester chided.
Even while speaking, there was no let up. Her words and spanks blended into a relentless drumming rhythm. Pauline remembered the times her daughter had come home, dress or trousers torn. The many grazes and scratches around her knees and elbows. Jenny was always the common factor in those silly escapades.
Mrs Winchester held a sincere belief in traditional discipline. To her, it was an unavoidable duty, with no pleasure in its execution. But, she had to admit, there was a satisfaction in delivering this belated comeuppance.
Respite came at the peak of a crescendo. A storm of spanks, right into the sensitive crease between bottom and thighs. Speechless, Jenny found herself hoisted back to her feet.
“You stand there and wait. I’ll have more to say to you in a few minutes. And, as for you,” she turned to her daughter, standing nervous, fidgeting with her dress.
Jenny backed a few steps away. Indignant, pouting, clutching her bottom. Her cheeks and upper thighs were throbbing from the attentions of that awful slipper. Feeling very sorry for herself, kneading her burning rear, she looked on in silence. Mrs Winchester grabbed her daughter’s dress, either side of her hips, sweeping it up over her head.
“No mum, please! Not like this. Not in front of Jenny.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Pauline replied with smouldering sarcasm. “I forgot that you’re so concerned about modesty! Well, it’s a pity you didn’t think about that earlier. Next time, you’d better think about this before you go parading around naked!”
Katie’s bra was front fastening and, by instinct, she clutched her arms into a defensive ‘x’ across her chest. Unfazed by the obstruction, Mrs Winchester stooped and yanked down her daughter’s panties. A despondent wail filled the room as they fell to her ankles, tears already forming.
“Hands by your sides, Katie! Unless you want me to fetch my wooden spoon.”
Eyes downcast, sullen, Katie allowed her arms to fall. Jenny saw her friend’s bra drawn back from her breasts, its straps sliding off her shoulders. There was desperate fidgeting as she fought to protect her modesty. An arm across her breasts, a hand trying to conceal the wispy triangle of her pubic hair. Pauline tossed Katie’s bra to the sofa and sat down.
For the second time today, Katie stood naked before her friend. This time she felt no warm, golden glow of sunlight against her skin. No liberating thrill in casting off her clothes and inhibitions. Now, a chill fear replaced her earlier pleasures.
Katie dreaded the roasting her mother would soon mete out upon her naked bottom. But, almost worse than that was the shameful realisation of discovery. Jenny would know that, even at her age, she was still subjected to maternal spankings. It was a secret guarded from all her friends, until now.
When it had been Jenny’s turn, Pauline had to wrestle her down across her lap. Katie, through bitter experience, had learned it was better to be compliant. Standing close, Jenny listened and watched, astonished by her friend’s calm obedience. She was a witness to an ancient ritual, practised since time immemorial.
“Bend over my knee, Katie! Keep your hands and feet down. Any nonsense will only make matters worse.”
She lowered herself, toes brushing the floor, hands flat against the rug. A meek and tearful, “Yes mum,” confirmed her acquiescence.
Jenny found it hard to believe her friend could be so brave. How was Katie able to present her exposed bare bottom, upturned upon her mother’s knee? How many times before had she found herself in this childish, humiliating position?
Jenny doubted if her fortitude could withstand the slipper’s remorseless sting. As if to answer that question, Katie’s cries of protest soon began to amplify. It was like a volume dial, turning on a relentless path to maximum. The smack of the slipper blended with her squeals to form a cacophony of noise.
To her credit, unlike her friend, there was no struggling or squirming. Her legs shook under the blistering onslaught, but her hands never once left the floor.
Jenny watched Katie’s shapely bottom turning from white, to pink, to crimson. Her bikini tan-lines becoming submerged in a rising tide of redness. She stared, absorbed by the horrifying spectacle. Was her own bottom glowing so bright? Was it also blotched and bruised by so many sole-shaped imprints?
When the slipper came to rest, Katie lay motionless. Obedient, she waited for her mother’s command before climbing to her feet. Far less concerned by the exposure now, she was eager to rub and soothe her smarting cheeks.
“Stand there, face your friend.” Her mother’s words were sharp, inviting no defiance.
The two young women were feeling very far from grown-up now. They stood together, a metre apart, squeezing and massaging their bottoms.
“I’m ashamed of you both. Your behaviour today was a disgrace, not to mention dangerous. You had better believe I’ll be keeping a close eye on you this week. I will not tolerate any more misbehaviour.”
Their replies of “yes mum”, and “yes Mrs Winchester”, arrived to her ears in unison.
Replacing her slipper, Pauline strode to the corner of the kitchen. The girls heard a hard rattle as she plucked a heavy item from the sideboard. The earlier mention of a wooden spoon had puzzled Jenny, but now she understood. The thing was enormous! An oversized, olive-wood salad spoon. It’s texture was glossy, marbled with an exquisite grain. What captured the attention though, was its almost saucer-sized bowl.
“I’m sure neither of you would be silly enough to doubt my resolve,” she told them. “But, this is what you can expect the next time you try my patience. Believe me, after two minutes over my knee, neither of you will want to sit down for the rest of the holiday!”
Mrs Winchester patted the spoon against her left palm. Even these light taps made a crisp slapping sound, and both girls cringed in apprehension.
“We’ll be good mum, I promise,” Katie assured her.
“Make sure of it,” her mother warned. “Now go to your room! Reflect on your behaviour and don’t come back down until I call you for dinner.”
Katie scooped up her clothes and they trudged, disconsolate, to their room. Exiting in single-file, Pauline watched them go. In an abstract thought, she saw her daughter’s red bottom like a vehicle’s rear tail-light.
As the girls turned towards the staircase, Pauline put aside the spoon, for now, and made a start on dinner.
Part 4: Bedtimes
In the bedroom, Katie dressed, wincing as she pulled her snug panties up over her blazing bottom.
“You could have warned me that she hasn’t changed, Katie. I never had my bottom spanked before.”
Katie was full of apologies. “I didn’t think she would be so strict. Especially not while I had a guest to stay. I’m so sorry, Jenny. You got a real roasting too. I couldn’t bear having to stand there and watch.”
Jenny’s first ever spanking had been a literal baptism of fire. She got close to the bedroom mirror, trying to assess the damage. A blotchy redness covered her bottom, feint bruising near the centre of each cheek. Sensitive to the lightest touch, she felt a persistent throbbing and smarting.
“You could try rubbing in some cool moisturiser. It sometimes helps. If you lie on the bed, I have some aloe vera after-sun gel. It’s the least I can do after what my mother put you through.”
Managing a half-hearted smile, Jenny lay on her tummy. The feeling of her best friend easing down her panties gave her a shiver of goosebumps. Her fingers were slow and delicate, careful to avoid scratching Jenny’s reddened skin.
“Your backside looks like it’s on fire! This gel is going to feel freezing cold at first,” Katie warned her.
“Thank goodness for that!” Jenny chuckled, beginning to feel more like herself again.
She was never sure if it helped to ease the stinging. But, for the next few minutes, her head felt a little swimmy as Katie massaged her cheeks. Her palms and fingers moved in long, lingering sweeps. It was strange to feel the sensation of her panties pulled down, bunched around her thighs. In another context it could have been the preparation before another smacked bottom. Instead, her friend’s soft hands were a delightful contrast to Pauline’s slipper.
Dinner was a subdued affair. Neither of them could sit in any comfort on the wooden dining chairs. After dessert, Pauline made a polite but firm suggestion they should have an early night. In their discomfort, neither girl demurred.
In bed later, beginning to doze, Jenny saw a dark humour in how they lay. Young adults, nineteen years old, obliged to lie on their tummies, bed-sheets turned down. The ceiling fan provided sweet, cooling relief as it stirred the backs of their nighties. The burning sting was fading, but sitting down to dinner had reignited its glowing embers. That had been a salutary reminder, long after the actual punishment was over.
As she drifted off to sleep, the memory of her friend massaging her bottom came back to her. She thought of the delicate, soothing touch, the soft fragrance of the after-sun gel. Jenny admitted to a guilty pleasure in those moments of intimacy. With a smile, she drifted off into dreams, and fantasies.
Sometimes the grass might look greener on the other side of the fence, but Jenny had learned it comes at a price. Long-forgotten warnings like, “be on your best behaviour”, felt abstract in the past. Now, they had become real, reinforced by Mrs Winchester’s monstrosity of a wooden spoon.
Was she really too grown up for old-fashioned family holidays? Jenny knew she would never feel able to share this story of what happened during her week in Brittany. But, next summer, taking one more family holiday was something that might be worth considering.
© Judy S 2022
Judy is happy to correspond with readers. Contact her at: https://steamybedtime.co.uk/page/about-us