The Neighbours

Have you ever wondered what your neighbours get up to?

By Lorna Brand

Have you ever wondered what goes on behind closed doors? Does that old couple, Mr and Mrs Jones, from down the road still share a bath at the weekend? Does the pretty girl who just moved into the street and always smiles sweetly act so passive all the time? Well I don’t have to wonder any more. I got to know rather more than I expected about my neighbour recently.

I live in a small cul-de-sac in a normal quiet area with normal quiet neighbours, or so I thought. We all have our own boring routines and exchange pleasantries as we pass each other on the way to work or putting the bins out, as you do. We also know nothing about each other, which I never really thought about before. I assumed there was just nothing to know but now I look at everyone and wonder what they do when no one is looking.

It all started quite innocently one wet and stormy day. Mrs Mitcham, or Barbara as I now know her, is an older lady, not old, but a few years older than me and in her mid fifties. She is the first around with the Christmas cards or with a casserole if she knows I am sick. I used to feel quite sorry for her because she was widowed young and has been on her own ever since with no children or family.

She never looked frail or old but always dressed very conservatively although modern. She doesn’t dye her grey hair although it still has streaks of her chestnut colour which she always wears up in an old school-style bun at the back of her head. That ages her beyond her years and since she retired early she always seems to be pottering around or watching the world go by at her window.

I never thought she had anything in her life apart from the odd book club meeting and so I would take a little extra time with her to chat when we crossed paths.

On this particular day it had been raining hard for almost a week. The puddles were turning into tiny ponds and the mud was starting to swallow the paths. I was pulling up in to my drive when I saw Barbara rushing from her car with a cake box that she was trying to protect from the rain with her long cardigan.

I gave her a wave from the shelter of my car and as she acknowledged my gesture she lost her footing and slipped on the concrete slabs. Barbara hit them hard, sending her cake box spinning across the sodden ground. She was in a complete state as I reached her. It was obvious that she had done some damage to her ankle and she couldn’t get up. She was most apologetic as I did my best to help her but I didn’t want to move her and make things worse, so after calling the ambulance I tried to keep her comfortable. This was when Barbara told me she had just nipped out to get the cakes for her club and that they would be wondering where she had got to.

I said I would go in and let them know what had happened. Although she wasn’t keen, she agreed and also said I could also pick up an umbrella.

I went running in to the house as quickly as possible so that I didn’t have to leave poor Barbara sitting in the wet for any longer than needed. I burst into the living room dripping wet and dishevelled, panting from my dash up the path. I was amazed to see half a dozen people of mixed ages sitting around a lady on a high-backed wooden chair, and another younger lady standing, waiting, and facing the corner with her hands behind her back.

I didn’t realise what I was seeing as I explained what I was doing. I fetched the umbrella from the front door and returned to Barbara, closely followed by her guests. We all stood in the rain as Barbara was taken away with a friend for company to the A&E to be fixed up, and that is when I wondered what sort of club I had walked into.

We all went back to Barbara’s to gather up jackets and tidy up a bit for her, and that is when I thought I should find out. I took one of only two men that where there aside and discreetly asked what the girl was doing in the corner.

I was flabbergasted when he casually said: “It’s because she was naughty, and Miss Scott always makes her bad girls stand in the corner before she gives a good spanking.”

I couldn’t believe that all this time I thought Barbara had joined a book club, it was actually a spanking club. I had a thousand questions all at once which everyone was happy to answer. It turned out they all got together, had some tea and cake then whoever wanted spanking could be and whoever wanted to do some spanking could, although some just came for the show.

It was a couple of days before I saw Barbara again and I wasn’t sure what to say to my ‘normal neighbour’.

I took her over a cake to replace the one she had lost in the rain. After a little polite chit chat, Barbara finally brought up the subject I wanted to know more about. She said she was so embarrassed and couldn’t apologise enough for making me so uncomfortable, but it wasn’t long before she realised that my interest had been unlocked and I was far from being embarrassed.

Barbara eventually invited me to the next club meeting to see how things worked.

I couldn’t wait until that meeting. I was thinking about it all the time. The day finally came and I found myself in the most surreal situation. We all sat around and enjoyed our afternoon tea while some people said how naughty they had been that week and others told them off in a light hearted way before the main event started.

One lady, Miss Scott, said she should go first as a young lady missed out on her punishment the last time.

We all adjusted our seats to gain a better view as the tall slender Miss Scott took up her place in the centre of the room. Without a word Jennifer, the naughty girl from the corner, returned to her previous place staring at the wall with her hands behind her back. It seemed to take forever as my mouth went dry and my hands began to sweat, my heart thumped so loud I was sure everyone could hear it.

But then: “Come here, girl!” Miss Scott finally commanded.

Jennifer looked so meek. She was no longer smiling or bouncy like she had been during our cake but stood at the refined looking Miss Scott’s knee with her head slightly bowed and going up and down on her feet as if she was full of nervous energy.

“Well girl, don’t just stand there, you know what I expected.” Miss Scott firmly announced.

I could not take my eyes off Jennifer as she began to unzip the side of her long floor-length navy skirt. She let it pool at her feet, showing off her slender shapely legs which drew my eye upwards towards her beautiful round, perky bum clad in the smallest red lace panties that left the bottom half of her bottom exposed. She stepped out of her clothes slowly, still adorning her striking scarlet high heels that had been hiding underneath her skirt.

Miss Scott tapped her knees and Jennifer draped over them placing her hands flat on the carpet and letting her head flop towards the ground allowing her long plait to fall down. Jennifer’s bum was high in the air with her high heels helping to steady her, but she was still visibly shaken. Miss Scott placed one hand on the small of Jennifer’s back firmly while rubbing her behind in circles with other  before she lifted it high and struck with all the force she could muster in the very middle of her bum. Jennifer squealed and rubbed her bum once more as if to calm the nip.

This pattern was repeated again and again as my eyes were fixed on Jennifer’s ever reddening bottom. My heart was fluttering and there was more than a little stirring that my flushed face and slack jaw gave away, making Miss Scott wink at me. Then she suddenly broke her cycle of a harsh slap followed by a caring rub to an onslaught of slaps getting increasingly faster and covering every inch of Jennifer’s bum. Jennifer was wriggling and screaming out.

When Miss Scott had finished, Jennifer lay there for a second to compose herself and I realised I have far more in common with Barbara than I thought. I couldn’t wait until our next meeting.

The End

© Lorna Brand 2015


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