Two girls spot a neighbour spying on them, by a new writer to us, although a contributor to our memories website


“Hello Jennifer, are you sitting comfortably?” asked our neighbour, Mr Kane, as I sat exhausted on my favourite bit of wall, some way down the road from my house. It was a good place to sit and watch the world a bit, or to rest on the long walk back from the bus stop, especially on games afternoon with tired legs.

Mr Kane, our nosey neighbour. Nice enough to talk to, but my friend Cathy saw a glint from his upstairs window when we were sunbathing in my back garden. We guessed it was either binoculars or a camera, so what do you do? On Cathy’s suggestion, we gave him more to look at, shed our bikinis and played back garden badminton with a strong emphasis on moonglow. She is such a bad girl! Not surprisingly, complaints got back to Mum, and on a hot summer night with the windows open, we both went over my desk for a thorough slippering, which on balance I think we probably deserved, and which they almost certainly would have heard next door. So, the choice we had, short of getting a police raid on his house for the photographs, was get even or wind him up even more, and effectively prove his interest and likely involvement in our getting spanked.

“Hello Mr Kane. No, I’m not really very comfortable, but I had to sit down. We had games this afternoon and my legs don’t seem to want to carry me any further, but sitting down is painful too,” I replied politely.

Whenever he saw me sitting on that wall, he always asked me if I was sitting comfortably, and I’d wondered whether he was interested in the comfort provided to my backside by the wall, or whether my backside was in fit enough condition to sit on it. Now was the time to find out, and wind him up mercilessly, if I could. After my visit to the Headmistress’s study that lunchtime, I didn’t even have to make it up.

“Oh dear, well, your legs look as if they still ought to work.” He took advantage of one of my shorter skirts to see if my legs were indeed fit for purpose. “But you say sitting down is awkward too? Were you injured during games?”

“Not injured, but I fell on my bum a couple of times and that really hurt.”

“Yes, it’s not nice when you fall awkwardly like that.”

“No, and it was very sore to start with.”

“Oh really, oh dear, that’s a shame.”

I think he was a little unprepared for the ‘sore to start with’ and began floundering a little, fidgety, awkward and embarrassed, judging by the colour in his face, but it was quite a hot day. He was wondering whether he should ask the obvious question, “Why was that?” He asked, he went high, when I thought he might pass and talk about the weather.

“Headmistress at lunchtime!”

My neighbour had quite possibly mined a rich vein, but he still had some shovelling to do, with all the lack of subtlety he could muster. Despite my own discomfort, actual sore bottom and tired legs, I was beginning to enjoy his discomfort.

“Oh dear, is she very strict?” At that point he had already taken the leap from headmistress to strict headmistress and all that might imply.

“Yes, she can be very strict.”

“What did she have to say?”

“She wasn’t very impressed with my behaviour.”

“Oh really, why was that?”

“I lost it and swore at the geography teacher. She was really annoying me, picking me up on everything I did, but I know I shouldn’t have done it.”

“It’s not always a good idea to swear at your teachers, even if they do annoy you. They’ve got a job to do but usually try to be fair.”

“I know, maybe I’ll keep try to keep my mouth shut next time. I really regretted it, especially afterwards. Yes I really regretted that!”

“So, Headmistress had a word with you, lectured you I suppose?”

“Too right she did, said I had behaved very badly, which I know I had.”

Mr Kane, with his temples now glistening in the afternoon heat, thought a platitude would cool the situation down a little.

“Always good when you come to terms with these things.”

“She said I had to go to the staffroom and apologise to the teacher, after she had finished.”

“So that was it then, a lecture and an apology?”

Knowing full well it wasn’t, but could Mr Kane extract from me what he really wanted to know? Was I going to let him or was I going to leave him in suspense, assuming what had happened but not really knowing?

“Well not exactly,” I paused for effect, as the neighbour pulled out a scruffy handkerchief to dab his fevered brow, his face now turning more and more the colour of a beetroot. “She said that swearing at teachers was completely unacceptable, and despite my being sorry, she was going to have to punish me and set an example.”

Mr Kane’s voice was beginning to quake a little with anticipation. He was now looking less at me and my legs, and more down the street, maybe so I couldn’t see the intense curiosity and embarrassment in his face.

“And what was she going to do?” He knew the answer but had to explore the soft side. “Lines or detention?”

“I wish!”

I’d taken him this far, I had talked about punishment, was it time now to end my rest and walk home? He’d been heading down the road, so we would just part with pleasantries and go our separate ways with the burning question left unanswered. This was the moment. To leave him dangling, or wind him up tight?

“No, she slippered me.”

“Oh dear, that sounds awful. Was it your first time? Was it very painful?”

“No, but it’s much worse with Headmistress. She’s got a bigger slipper, so it’s much harder and really hurts. You have to bend over a table and never get less than six.”

“Always six?”

“Well unless you get up too soon or try to rub your bottom.”

Dare he ask how she did it? I had divulged that much, maybe I could be persuaded to part with one more detail or two.

“Doesn’t look like that skirt would give you much protection.” He was back to my legs.

“Are you saying it’s too short then?” I smiled, knowing that would be a question he may not be ready for.

“No, not at all. Young girls, um, and women wear their skirts much shorter these days, it’s the fashion isn’t it, especially if you’ve got the legs for it?”

Whoops, own goal, more to pile on his self-inflicted embarrassment. He glanced at my legs again to ensure they were not injured, and he hadn’t missed the injury the first dozen or twenty times. I thanked him for the compliment. He looked even more flustered. This was his neighbour’s daughter.

“We have to take our skirts off for the slipper.”

This was all becoming too much for him. He was afraid that even just the next word might push him over the edge. His spring was getting tighter and tighter, just like winding a clockwork motor. He part turned away again to avoid ever more embarrassment, and maybe indicate just a partial interest in our conversation. But he has to know, and I know he has to know.

“So, six then?”

” No, I had to get up after four, it hurt so much on the bare bottom.”

He gasped, pretending it was a cough, and then another one. He’d seen that bare bottom cavorting in the garden with my friend and her bare bottom as well that day. Now it was all he could think of, bare over a table, getting six strokes, no seven strokes, of a well-aimed and firmly applied plimsoll.

“Is that why it hurts to sit down?” Unnecessary question, but he had to say something. My revelation could not have been met with complete silence.

I nodded, screwing up my face a little as I moved position on the wall.

“I’m sure it’ll be better soon.” Did he want me to show remorse, or an admission that the Headmistress was right? “How do you feel about it now? Was she right to punish you?”

“Yes, she was, I suppose, but I wish it hadn’t hurt so much.” I started to get up, but winced as I attempted to straighten my legs and clutched my bottom for effect, although that was actually a natural reaction, it needed clutching.

“Oh, you poor girl. Will you be alright?”

“Yes, I’ll cope, not too far to go, and then I’m going to try and sit in a nice warm bath. That’s what I need.”

Credit to him, he’d just about managed to hang on for the gory details, but now he said goodbye in somewhat of a rush, muttered something ridiculous like, “Hope it gets better soon,” and headed off in the direction he’d just come from; he just remembered he needed to get back home for something, left the gas on, no, something he needed from the garage. I suspected his emergency had little to do with gas, or his car, more that he had become so flustered he didn’t know which direction he was headed in.

I called after him. “You won’t tell my Mum, will you? Please, Mr Kane!”

“Of course not!” He called back, now at quite a distance. Given my poorly condition, from the waist down, he could have helped me with my satchel and bag, but he had a gas emergency, of course. I thought I had played that quite well. I couldn’t wait to tell Cathy how excruciatingly embarrassed he was, and how he had been really phased by my brashness in admitting what had happened. Could he ever face me again? Would he ever ask again if I was sitting comfortably on the wall? I doubt he could ever have the nerve to take more photographs. But then I realised my fatal mistake, it was so stupid, asking him not to tell Mum, bit like a red rag to a bull. He could guess why I said it and how Mum would likely react. I had severe doubts about giving her the punishment slip, knowing how she always supported the school, and I had decided to forge the signature and hope no one would notice. But now I had told him not to tell my mother. Looked like the wind-up could well recoil on me.

Why should her mother not know? Mr Kane supposed no schoolgirl would want her parents to know about their bad behaviour at school in case there are further consequences. And he thought back to that summer night, and earlier, the two girls in the garden next door on the hot summer afternoon. He’d got lots of photographs taken with his new telephoto lens, as they played badminton without a single stitch on. The carefree joys of youth.

His wife caught him looking, just lining up a shot of Jennifer bending to scoop up the shuttlecock, and decided to put a stop to it; she was fed up with his looking at teenage girls and especially naked ones. The way they were behaving in that outrageous manner, that bottom needed a good spanking, in fact they both needed a thoroughly good hiding for behaving like that. And then, later, through the open windows on the warm summer night, the unmistakeable sounds of slipper applied to naughty girls’ bottoms, both girls it seems, and the faint cries and groans as the plimsoll made the impression that was so definitely needed. Sorry girls they will be, they won’t be showing themselves off like that again, or it’ll be sore red bottoms cavorting around the garden, mused Mrs Kane, with no objection from her husband, who was just thinking about red bottoms like the ones in his magazines.

Yes, he understood why I’d asked him not to tell Mum. As he was rushing home, all sorts of plans were going through his mind. The sympathetic and kindly neighbour had turned into a conniving plotter. Perhaps after his public embarrassment in front of that girl when she made a cringing fool of him, it was time to take revenge. Jennifer needn’t have said anything and why would she except to wind him up, and she’d succeeded, damn it! He opened up his secret album, locked away in the garage, and viewed the pictures of Jennifer and her friend mocking him, mooning him, making fun of him. Not that he didn’t cherish the pictures.

A week later, Mr Kane was sitting reading his new magazine, just extracted from the brown paper bag, with a very severe looking headmistress on the front cover, but he had to return it quickly and push the bag under the chair when his wife came in.  It was a warm night again and the windows were open. There began a familiar sound from next door, the sound of an implement, that same plimsoll, striking my bottom at regular intervals. I gasped and yelped through the twelve stroke slippering that my big mouth and silly idea of a wind-up game earned me, bent over my desk, knickers around my ankles; and then more for the forged signature on the punishment slip that meant Mum knew nothing about my appointment with the headmistress when Mrs Kane happened to imply it in passing, mention of school discipline, but of course Jennifer would know all about that. Yet another poor move on Jenny’s part reflected in the building heat in my bottom. Mum was determined that I should get the message that night. I was getting a real roasting. That ridiculous dishonesty was going to ensure an uncomfortable night.

“Sounds like Jennifer’s mother is not too pleased with her again,” said Mrs Kane, smiling, observing her husband’s apparent disinterest in proceedings but knowing him all too well. On instructions, she had done her bit and made sure Jennifer had a lot of explaining to do. An especially loud crack extracted a noisy response, as the strokes kept coming.

“Strikes me that girl is a bit wild, needs a few spankings like that to sort her out,” she said to her husband. “They never did me any harm, at home or school,” she said with a wink in her eye. “You know how strict daddy could be, and headmaster.” She paused to allow my mother to complete her ministrations, adding to the woes my poor bottom had been suffering in recent days.

“Are you coming to bed then?” said Mrs Kane.

The first act had finished. I was lying on my tummy clutching my stricken bottom, tears on my pillow, but I will come through. I’ve survived yet another self-induced spanking, and it won’t be the last. Me and my big mouth and silly ideas.

Act Two was about to start. Wasting no time, Mr Kane got up, switched off the lights, passed by the airing cupboard to collect the slipper, and joined his wife in the bedroom. “That was a mean trick you played on that poor girl, now wasn’t it?”

Next morning, I was tired. The state of my bottom had forced me to lie on my front all night. I looked at the neighbour’s house as I passed it, wondering why I had been so stupid as to try that wind-up. It was fun at the time, great fun just watching his face and his manner. In a way, it was something that Cathy and I had plotted as revenge, but it seemed like the wind-up had come back in the form of mum’s slipper and bitten me on my own bum. It will have to be revenge next time!

I was worried about the forged punishment slip. Mum had twigged it was missing straight after her conversation with Mrs Kane and forced a confession out of me. Now I wondered whether the school would notice, if they ever checked them, another six at least if they do, maybe even more for dishonesty.

As I looked at the neighbour’s house, I saw he was standing at the front window, holding a cup of tea. He waved and, by natural instinct, I waved back. After the trouble and two spankings he’d caused me, I had no reason to wave back.

His wife came into the room as he was watching me walk, a bit stiffly, up the street. “Longer skirt today, I see. Probably making sure that sore bottom of hers is well hidden. Those other skirts are far too short. Her mother should tell her about them, in fact her mother should exert more control over her altogether. Discipline is what that girl needs. I suppose you’re looking at her legs again? Don’t lie to me, you know what happens to naughty boys when you do.”

“Yes, dear,” he replied with a schoolboy smirk, as she turned to face him, slipper in hand.

“And we’ll have to do something about that, as well, won’t we?”

“Yes, miss.”

Two weeks later, I got a message from the school secretary; some problem with a parent notification slip. My heart fluttered, my stomach cramped, and the goose-bumps were almost instantaneous. I was in real trouble now. I may not be sitting comfortably on my wall this evening. I may not be sitting at all.

The End

© JT 2021