Two friends spanked in the woods by a dog walker

A long time ago, when we were either 8 or 9 years old, Pat (Patricia) and I were very good friends and spent a lot of time playing in the local park or the thick woods that backed onto it. It was the summer school holidays and by mid-August we were running out of things to do. On this especially warm day, we sought relief from the heat in the woods. We both had our wellies on as, although it was almost 30 degrees in the park, a summer storm had passed through the evening before and we knew the woods would be muddy, which was the whole point of going.

We both wore old clothes as our mums expected us to be caked up to the eyeballs in mud before we had finished, which would be nothing new. Mum left a bucket of water just outside the back door to throw to get most of the thick mud off when I stripped off on the back porch before entering the house. I would be in trouble if I carried the mud into the house. I was wearing an old tee shirt and shorts. Pat was wearing a thigh length cotton dress which looked about 2 years growth too small for her.

Pat found a couple of long, straight sticks which we proceeded to fence with and then they became jousting lances and then poles for the pole vault. These were simpler times when kids’ imaginations could occupy a whole day with just a few random items that they found by the side of a path.

However, we eventually got bored with the sticks and upon finding a large and very muddy puddle decided to play at ‘The Dam Busters’! Yes, although we were both girls, we did tend to play more like boys of that era. We searched around and found some of last year’s pine cones etc to make gun emplacements and laid a piece of wood at one end to simulate the dam wall. After a few ‘training runs’ with flat stones skimming over the surface, we were ready for battle. We stockpiled stones and some big rocks. The idea was that we would skim at the gun turrets and knock those out before launching the big rocks to wash away the dam wall at the far end next to a slightly raised path with bushes either side. Beyond that, there was an old bench on the path, that had seen better days.

All went well and the closest pine cones were easy targets, while the furthest ones proved rather more problematic and took about 15 minutes to knock out, by which time we were getting bored with the whole concept. Pam and I exchanged glances and we both knew what the other was thinking. Without looking at each other again, we both picked up the largest heaviest stones, well more rocks actually, and we heaved them as far up the muddy puddle as we could. The effect was astonishing when two 25 or 30 pound rocks landed within 2 feet of each other. Mud went in all directions, but somehow missed the two of us but sent a tsunami off down the 40 feet puddle.

As the muddy water raced down, an elegantly dressed lady with a small dog on a lead appeared between the two bushes and straight into the line of fire. Before we could shout to catch her attention, the mud and water crashed into the wood, up and over the short slope to the path. Dirty water cascaded around the lady’s feet, soaking her shoes and making quite a mess of the little dog too.

Our first reaction was to burst out laughing, closely followed a split second later with an overwhelming urge to run. Unfortunately, the only way out of the hole we were in was straight past the lady.

“Don’t you dare move, you two!” Boomed the lady.

I remember thinking to myself, ‘That has got to be a teacher’s voice!’

We froze to the spot, any thoughts of humour now well expunged from our consciousness. The dog, a terrier of some kind, was covered from head to foot in the mud, and to be fair was hugely comedic under any other circumstances. There was mud all over the lady’s shoes, which were ruined, her legs were splashed badly below the knee and mud was clearly visible on her skirt front and blouse as far up as her bosom. Understandably, her expression was not a happy one to say the least.

“What the hell do you two think you are up to?” demanded the lady, angrily.

“We were playing at ‘The Dam Busters’ and you got caught up in the effects of the dam wall breaking, Miss,” Pat explained.

“What? Next to a public path in the middle of the day? How stupid are you two? Thank goodness you are not in my class or at my school,” she added pointedly.

I had been correct in my assumption; a teacher!

“Sorry Miss, no one has walked by in the last 15 or 20 minutes. It really was just very bad timing and bad luck, Miss. We didn’t mean any harm, Miss. Honest we didn’t,” I piped up in an almost pleading sort of way.

“Try telling Trixy that, young lady!” said the teacher. “The poor thing is soaked in mud. She’ll take forever to get clean again when I get her home. As for my shoes, they cost nearly £1 and are nearly new and now completely ruined. Come here, the pair of you,” she said with the air of authority you would expect from a teacher, and that you instinctively responded to in those days.

We walked slowly and carefully, trying not to slip over in the muddy mess we had, in part, helped to create. As we did so, the teacher walked the 5 or 6 yards behind the bush to the old bench and tied Trixy, her dog, to it before returning carefully to the muddy spot where the incident occurred. We slipped and slithered our way towards her and as soon as we were within arms-reach, she firmly grabbed both of our shoulders and took a step backwards onto less slippery ground.

“Right, you two. You are coming over here with me,” she said, half pushing us over to where the dog was shaking itself dry and rolling in some long grass at the end of its lead. “I hope you two are very sorry for what you have done,” she demanded.

“Yes Miss, we are,” we both said quietly before I added, ” It was just an accident, Miss.”

“Hardly just an accident as it resulted from your stupidity, is it girl?” she barked back at me. “You say you are sorry. You will be by the time I am finished with the pair of you.”

I did not like the sound of that and before the possible range of outcomes even had a chance to formulate in our minds, taking Pam by the top of her sleeve, she sat herself down on the bench and pulled Pat over her lap, legs waving about in the air and her bottom facing the heavens. With one fluid move, which I could only presume she had carried out countless times before, she grabbed the hem of Pam’s dress and pulled it up and over her bottom, exposing her washday grey knickers which, like the dress, were a couple of years too small for her bottom and had seen far better days.

Wasting no time, the teacher began to apply her flat hand to Pat’s bottom with some speed and power. Pat immediately howled in pain and shock as the spanking really started to take effect, even after only 2 or 3 spanks had landed. Her bum was becoming redder and redder by the second. After half a dozen or so, she was sobbing her little heart out and I would have felt so sorry for her had I not been expecting to be the next over that lap.

After about 20 or 25 spanks, it was hard to keep count as her hand moved so quickly and with such purpose, she pulled Pat’s dress back down and told her, “Right, that is your bottom taken care of. Get up. Stand there,” she said, indicating Pat should stand to her left. “Now, it is your turn,” she said, leaning far to her right and taking a firm hold of my bony wrist and pulling me, without resistance, to my fate. Before eventually taking me across her knee, she quickly undid the button and zip on my shorts, pulled them down to my ankles, almost but not quite taking my bright blue knickers down with them, which I hastily pulled back into place.

Within a second, I was over her lap, bottom to the sky, as the first of 20 or so really firm spanks landed on my bum. The pain was instant and vivid as the slaps rang out.

As she landed the 6th or 7th, a lady jogged by, commenting, “It looks like someone’s been naughty!”

The spanking continued for another couple of minutes and seemed to be much longer than Pat’s had been, but I suppose it was not. Like Pat, I was in tears by the end and was so glad when she told me to get up.

“Now, let that be a lesson to the pair of you!” she said, and then she warned us, “I come here regularly with Trixy. If I see you up to no good again, it won’t be my hand you feel on your sorry backsides. I’ll cut a switch from a tree and use that on you both, do you understand?”

“Yes Miss,” we whimpered through our tears and sobs, and I struggled to pull my shorts back up over my aching bottom.

“Good. Get out of my sight and get yourselves home,” she said, untying Trixy and heading off back to the park.

I realised mum would be home and she would probably see my red bottom. It was almost tea time so I couldn’t delay. I said goodbye to Pam and dashed off. Once home, I opened the door, stripped off, and tried to get upstairs before mum spotted me. No chance.

“What on earth has happened to you?” Mum said as I crept upstairs. “Come back down here immediately, young lady. Kindly explain why you have such a red and sore bottom.”

I had to come clean; there was no point in doing otherwise really. I told mum the full story, finishing with, “It was an unfortunate accident, so can we just put this behind us, please mum?”

“Thank you for being so honest,” mum replied. “But you know the house rules; if you are punished at school, you get punished again at home.”

I always thought it was a stupid rule.

“But I wasn’t spanked at school, mum. It was in the woods,” I bit back.

“Don’t talk to me like that, young lady,” mum responded. “You were spanked by a teacher, and that is good enough for me.”

With that, I was thrust over the second lap in half an hour and my already sore bottom received another firm spanking, which this time I felt was most undeserved. After that I was sent to my room and not allowed out until tea was ready. Thankfully, mum did not seem to have mentioned anything to dad when he arrived home from work.

Needless to say, Pat and I gave those woods a wide berth for the rest of the school holidays.