Jenny was a bright, intelligent girl, who had offers from several of the top UK universities to read Law. With her A Level exams finally behind her, she had taken a full time ‘holiday’ job at the bakery in the next village. She stood 5 foot 11 inches tall, had an athletic figure and was quite sporty, having captained the 1st XI hockey team. Every day, she cycled the four miles to the bakery and, occasionally, to shorten the journey she would take a short cut, which meant cycling across Mrs Williamson's property.

Mrs Williamson was the headmistress of a local girls’ school and was, on the whole, a charming, level-headed lady who was well-liked and well-respected in the community. She was in her late fifties and had two grown up daughters, both of whom had left home. She was recently widowed, which left her to tend to the garden as well as look after the rest of the house and hold down her time consuming job.

Despite a couple of warnings, Jenny persisted in cycling up the path which led up to the side door of Mrs Williamson’s bungalow, around the side of the house, past the front door, and, finally, onto the gravel drive, the end of which brought her into her cul-de-sac, about twenty metres from home. It reduced her journey by about ten minutes and was really quite handy if it was raining or she was in a hurry or she was just tired and wanted to put her feet up. When travelling quickly, the turns on the path needed some skill to manoeuvre round, there were occasionally obstacles such as a watering can or wheelbarrow to negotiate, and, finally, there was the smallish gap between the driveway fence and Mrs Williamson’s blue, antique Mercedes car. These ‘hurdles’ added a little bit of excitement to what was an otherwise rather boring journey.

Only the previous month, Mrs Williamson had met Jenny in the Post Office and mildly scolded her for cycling around her garden and, in particular, for going too fast and too close to her valuable car as she sped up the gravel driveway. Jenny acknowledged the warning, mumbled a less than sincere apology and then, of course, totally ignored it. She knew better than Mrs Williamson about riding bikes and was confident that she always had her bike under control and was never that close to the car anyway. The old bat was lovely but no harm was done.

Well, of course, one day, the inevitable happened. On her way home, after finishing a little late at the bakery, and having arranged to meet her friends in the village that evening, Jenny took the shortcut. She turned onto the path, swung round the corner of the house and continued at full speed past the front door of the bungalow. She didn’t see Mrs Williamson coming out, and, by the time she noticed, it was too late to do anything but swerve and lose control of the bike. Jenny jammed on the brakes, the bike skidded onto the gravel drive, and both Jenny and the bike hit the front panel of the car. Jenny was thrown off the bike, rolled over the bonnet and ended up in a heap on the floor. There was a dent in the side of the car, another dent in the bonnet and the paintwork now had several deep scratches where the handle-bars of the bike had scraped down the side of the car as it had continued, riderless, before itself falling over onto the driveway.

As Jenny found her feet and stood up, she was dazed, a bit shaken, but fortunately she had not sustained any major injury. She had a couple of scrapes, a bruise or two and a large dent in her pride. As she walked round the car to collect her bike, she stopped and looked in horror at the damage she’d caused.

“What a mess!” Mrs Williamson barked. She had managed to take a step back to ensure she wasn’t knocked over, and whilst she was quite impressed that her reactions were still as good as ever, she was much less impressed with the damage that the young madam had inflicted on her car.

“Well, young lady, look what you’ve done. I told you about using my path as a race-track only a few weeks ago didn’t I?”

Jenny looked at her neighbour, very embarrassed and somewhat nervously. She was thinking how best to explain all this and moreover how she was going to pay for the damage she had caused.

Breaking the silence, Mrs Williamson continued, “You’d better come in so I can check you are not too badly hurt, and then I had better call the police to discuss what charges I should bring and how you are going to pay for the damages. I am in no doubt that the video camera on the doorbell has caught the incident as proof of your negligence.”

“I’m really sorry, Mrs Williamson.” Jenny sounded very apologetic and more sincere than previously. “Please don’t call the police. How much will it cost to repair? I will pay to have it fixed out of my wages.”

Miss Williamson ushered the girl in through the front door and indicated that she should sit down on the sofa.

“I have no idea how much the repairs will be, but this is an antique car, and it is not easy to match the paint, even if we can get the dents out of the bodywork. So, I am sure it will be pretty costly.” Mrs Williamson now sounded much less angry but was clearly going to make sure that the damage was paid for, by Jenny.

Jenny looked at the floor as she sat on the sofa, rubbed her hands together and was getting more and more nervous by the second, especially at the thought of the police being involved. There was both the trespassing aspect and the criminal damage to think about. It did not look good.

“Let’s start by having a cup of tea, shall we?” Mrs Williamson offered. “Then, we will make sure you are not hurt and afterwards we can decide how we can sort this out.”

Jenny sat on the sofa, took several deep breaths and, although her head was spinning a bit, she was able to calm herself down. She had a couple of scratches on her legs and arms, a bit of a bruise on her hip but nothing was broken. She waited for Mrs Williamson to return with the tea.

Mrs Williamson, after her initial outburst, seemed very calm and almost friendly.

‘Maybe this will work out fine,’ Jenny thought to herself.

“Here we are, my dear, have a drink of this.” Mrs Williamson returned with a tray, which she placed on the coffee table and then set about pouring the tea from the china teapot into two cups, offering both milk and sugar, which Jenny agreed to.”

“Are you okay after that fall?” Mrs Williamson enquired. “Nothing broken?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am fine, thank you. Just a few scratches and a bruise or two. I’m sorry about the accident and the damage to the car.”

“Well, I’m glad you're OK.” Mrs Williamson looked at the scratches and bruise and decided they didn’t need any further treatment. The pair sipped their tea and had a digestive biscuit in an awkward silence.

“Now, I told you about riding your bike on my property a few weeks ago didn’t I?” Mrs Williamson said, as she continued to sip her tea. “And because you didn’t listen, and dismissed my advice, this is the result, is it not?”

“I’m sorry, I will pay for the damage, honestly,” said Jenny.

“I am sure you have worked out already, there are two issues here,” Mrs Williamson continued. Firstly, there is the damage to my car which needs paying for and, secondly, your behaving like a naughty schoolgirl who won’t listen to advice from those older and wiser.”

Jenny looked downcast and couldn’t think of much to say. “Please don’t call the police, ma’am. I want to go to Law School and a police record would not look good.”

“I see,” said Mrs Williamson. “Well, I will see how much it will cost to fix the damage to the car and, if you can’t afford it, maybe you can do some chores during the summer holidays to pay for the damage. Since my husband died, I’m not always on top of the housework and the garden.”

“Yes, I could definitely do that,” Jenny replied, eager to please.

“However, you were quite dismissive of me in the Post Office when I asked you not to cycle on my property. When I first started teaching, naughty girls who were rude and didn’t want to follow the rules were punished for their bad behaviour by having their bottoms spanked either by their teacher or by their parents. My daughters certainly had a few trips over my knee.”

Jenny looked up at Mrs Williamson, taking her time to think. “Yes, ma’am. I understand and I really don’t want the police involved. I won’t do this again I promise. I will take the spanking and pay for the damage.”

“Good. I think that we have reached a solution.” Mrs Williamson smiled. “I will get some quotes for the car repairs and you can come round on Sunday morning, say around 10.00 am, and we can sort everything out. I will draw up a contract, so you are assured that once you have been spanked and have paid back the money you owe me, either in cash or through chores, the video evidence will be deleted. There will then be no need to involve your parents or the police.”

“Thank you, ma’am, that will be fine. I will see you on Sunday,” Jenny replied.

She left the bungalow a little bit happier knowing that the police weren’t involved and that she could pay for the damages. She collected her bike and returned home to see what repairs the bike would need.

****

For the next few days, the spanking side of the bargain with Mrs Williamson concerned Jenny. She had heard and read about the punishment of girls before it had been outlawed in schools and homes and they sounded frightful; the slipper, the cane and the strap had all left their mark on girls’ bottoms up and down the country. She feared the worst, but tried to put a brave face on it. She was, after all, 18 and a spanking was surely better than a criminal record. Mrs Williamson was a strict lady but seemed fair, and it sounded like she had experience of dishing out discipline.

****

Jenny arrived at Mrs Williamson’s bungalow at exactly 10.00 am on the Sunday. She wore a knee-length pale green dress, grey ankle socks and plain flat black shoes. Today, she had chosen her underwear quite carefully, and had put on her navy hockey knickers as she thought they may provide a bit more protection than flimsy lace or cotton knickers, or even a thong. Hopefully, she would be allowed to keep them on for her spanking.

Mrs Williamson opened the door, gave her a smile and welcomed her in. “Jenny, do sit down on the sofa. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Not right now,” Jenny replied nervously. “Maybe later?”

“Certainly,” said Mrs Williamson as she too sat down in a comfortable armchair next to the sofa.

“Now, getting down to business. I am afraid the damage is about £1200, which is quite a lot of money.”

“I haven't got that much saved up,” said Jenny. “I’ve only got about £300 in the bank at the moment.”

“I didn’t think you would have the whole amount,” said Mrs Williamson. “So maybe if you give me, say, £200 in cash, that would leave £1000 to pay off. You can do chores each day for the rest of the holidays and if I pay you, say, £10 an hour you would need to work 10 hours a week for the 10 weeks before you go to university.”

Jenny readily agreed and said that sounded fine as she could work any day after she had finished at the bakery and maybe more on Sundays if that was necessary.

“Good. That just leaves the other matter to deal with. The punishment of a disobedient girl,” Mrs Williamson said in a very matter of fact voice.

Jenny looked glum and nodded. ‘I can tell she is a headmistress,’ she thought to herself.

“In deciding your punishment I have looked at various options, “Mrs Williamson continued. “And this isn’t really school related so I think we can look on it as more of a ‘maternal’ spanking. Just like the ones I used to give to my daughters.”

Mrs Williamson rose from her comfy chair, went out of the lounge and returned with a solid oak dining chair which had no arm rests. She placed it next to a coffee table and sat down. On the coffee table there was a wooden-backed hairbrush and a piece of A4 paper and a pen all within reach.

Jenny looked on as the scene unfolded before her and she was now in no doubt that the hairbrush was going to be applied to her bottom very soon.

“Right, Jenny, if you still agree to the spanking please read and sign the document on the table.”

Jenny read the document, which seemed to contain everything that had been agreed earlier, so she signed it.

“Let’s begin then. Stand here by my right leg, lift your dress up and bend over my knee. You should be able to put the palms of your hands on the floor and keep your feet on the floor at the same time, as you are quite tall and the chair is not too high.”

Jenny thought about running off but she remembered the police and so did as she was told. It was a bit embarrassing lifting her dress up and bending over so that her navy gym knickers were on show, but there was little choice. She had been smacked a couple of times at home but only with the hand and only when she was much younger.

Mrs Williamson made sure the girl’s bottom was in position, that the knickers were stretched tightly across the target and took the brush off the table. It had been a while since she had done this but it felt very familiar.

“Jenny, stay still and we can get this over with quickly. Whenever I spanked my daughters there was no fixed number of strokes, but it will be clear to us both when you have learned your lesson.”

“Thank you ma’am,” Jenny mumbled, although thanking the lady didn’t seem quite right somehow.

WHACK, the first stroke hit the right buttock which wobbled. Jenny gasped as it stung way more than she expected. Just as the pain registered, WHACK, the second stroke impacted her left cheek.

“Aghh!” she squealed as the other globe started to smart.

As regular as clockwork the hairbrush was deployed. Every part of each globe felt the sting of the wood and Jenny soon started to wriggle and yelp as justice was thoroughly applied. Mrs Williamson sure knew how to dispense a good, hard spanking.

After what seemed like an age, but was only really two or three minutes, the spanking stopped and Jenny was able to catch her breath. Her bottom was feeling very warm and sore and she was gasping from yelping and squirming after each cruel blow. She sobbed a little and tears were beginning to roll down her cheeks.

“I hope that you are learning a salutary lesson, young lady,” Mrs Williamson spoke.

“Y-e-ss!” sobbed Jenny. With her backside burning she was absolutely sure that she was.

Mrs Williamson had of course noticed Jenny’s choice of knickers and mentally applauded the girl for choosing wisely. She wasn’t one for asking young ladies to pull their knickers down for a spanking as she thought it inappropriate. However, as she had done with her daughters after warming their bottoms by spanking over their knickers, she tugged at Jenny’s knickers so that the material folded into the crease of her bottom, revealing both dark pink, and, no doubt, sore cheeks.

“No more, please,” begged Jenny, in hope. But she knew that Mrs Williamson was not yet finished.

WHACK, the brush collided again with the bared right cheek, which wobbled again under the impact, and again there was a loud cry from the recipient. Another three minutes of good, hard, sharp, stings with the brush followed as Jenny began to regret her choice of a cycling shortcut. She spent her time wriggling around on Mrs Williamson’s lap trying to angle her bottom so the brush would land on a spot where the pain would be less intense. No relief could be found, though, and the pain increased further, and Jenny’s yelps and squeals and grunts increased proportionally.

When the last couple of spanks, WHACK, WHACK were delivered, Mrs Williamson put the brush back on the coffee table and admired her work. The up-turned bottom was now crimson and there were two very sore looking patches in the middle of each cheek which she knew would make sitting down pretty uncomfortable for the next few days. She had not lost her touch.

“Up you get in your own time,” Mrs Williamson said.

Jenny stayed put for a few seconds and then, summoning up the energy, she rather inelegantly rolled off Mrs Williamson’s lap, stood up, straightened her knickers with a wince as the elastic bit into the sore flesh, and let her dress return to its normal place. She wasn’t crying any more but looked thoroughly miserable as she stood in front of the lady rubbing her bottom through her dress, with minimum relief.

“Shall we have that cup of tea?”

“Maybe another time, if that’s okay. I’d rather go home, if you don’t mind,” Jenny said.

As she turned to leave, she remembered her manners and said, “Thank you, ma’am.”

“You are welcome, my dear. I hope you have learned your lesson. I’ll see you soon, so you can get started on those chores. Bring the cash any time you like.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jenny left the bungalow, walking quite slowly to try and avoid too much rubbing of material against her bottom. She couldn’t wait to remove her knickers and lie on her bed until the pain had subsided.

****

The following morning, Mrs Williamson noticed Jenny catching the bus to work.

‘Obviously, the poor lass is still too sore to ride her bicycle. She will certainly think twice about using my garden as a shortcut,’ Mrs Williamson chuckled to herself.

The End

© Colin Brooks 2024

Colin is happy to be contacted and take feedback from his stories: colinbrookscp@gmail.com.