I had recently turned eighteen when Mrs Anson moved in next door to my parents' house. She befriended my mother, and I quickly got to know her fairly well. Mrs Anson was in her forties, a friendly woman with short, brown hair and an air of confidence, as if she always knew what to do.
She often hired me to do small tasks around the house - mow her lawn, help her with the laundry, that sort of thing. Afterward, we would chat over a cup of tea and some biscuits. Both of her daughters were away at college, only occasionally visiting her, so I sometimes felt like she mostly wanted me there as a replacement daughter. I didn't mind this, and since my own mother was very busy at work, the feeling was somewhat mutual.
One day, we were in her kitchen. I was drying some plates after washing up, while she was sitting at the table and talking to one of her daughters on the phone. They had been chatting amicably, but the girl must have said something that offended her mother, because a scowl suddenly appeared on Mrs Anson's face. "None of that, or you'll find yourself over my knee the next time you're home."
The plate slipped from my suddenly useless fingers, smashing to pieces on the floor. I assumed it made an awful crash, but I couldn't hear it over my own heartbeat. I stared at Mrs Anson with wide eyes. She couldn't have said what I'd just heard, could she?
I'd never been spanked. I had never seen anyone get spanked. I didn't know anyone that had ever been spanked. But the subject was endlessly fascinating to me. I had eagerly sought it out in novels, TV shows, and movies, and had often wondered what it would be like to be over someone's knee. But no one spanked their children these days, did they?
And yet, I had just heard Mrs Anson threaten to take her daughter over her knee. A grown, confident college student, being placed over her mother's lap and soundly spanked. The idea was surreal, but very exciting. I wanted to hear more about it from Mrs Anson, but wasn't sure how to approach the subject. As I entered the living room, I decided to get right into it and asked her about what I'd just heard.
She nodded. "Yes, I noticed you were a bit jumpy when I threatened to spank Allison. Not politically correct these days, is it? Still effective, though."
"It was just a joke, right? You weren't serious about spanking a grown woman?" I fervently hoped it hadn't been a joke, but I didn't want to make assumptions.
"Of course I was serious," she told me. "College student or not, no girl should get away with talking like that to her mother. If she hadn't apologized, I would have taken her over my knee, bared her little bottom, and spanked her soundly - and she knew that."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The friendly, good-natured woman next door subjected her daughters to spankings? BARE-BOTTOM spankings? "And the girls accept this?" I asked.
"Oh, they don't like being spanked – in fact, they protest quite loudly while it's going on, and promise to never misbehave ever again. But growing up, they knew it was better than being grounded or having privileges taken away. A quick spanking, and they're forgiven."
Eager for more information, I started asking her for details about her daughters' punishments. Over the course of our conversation, I learned that she usually started over their jeans, then over their panties, before finishing on their bare bottoms - she only started out on the bare when they'd been especially naughty, or she was in a hurry. She always spanked over the knee, usually with her hand, but she also had a sturdy hairbrush that she made them fetch when necessary. While living at home, were spanked maybe once or twice a month. She tended to punish on the spot, so the girls had often been spanked in front of each other, and sometimes in front of their friends. I blushed at the thought of receiving a spanking while my younger sister or my friends were watching. Or even worse, HER friends.
Mrs Anson answered my questions patiently and good-humouredly. At first, I tried to seem casual, as if the subject wasn't very important to me, but the more I learned, the harder it was to seem disinterested. At the end, I was leaning forward, eagerly drinking in every word.
"You seem awfully curious about spankings," she finally said. "I guess you weren't spanked often growing up?"
"I've never been spanked," I said, hoping I had managed to sound happy rather than disappointed.
"Never?" When I shook my head, she shrugged. "Well, that's easily fixed." Sitting on the couch, she patted her lap. "Come here," she said.
My heart stopped. My dear neighbour had just offered to spank me. She'd seen right through my efforts to hide my true feelings, and knew me for the sick, perverted girl that I was. Part of me was euphoric - finally, I would get what I had dreamt of so often. The rest of me knew that being spanked was painful and humiliating, and I also wondered what effect it would have on our relationship.
"I can't... this isn't..." I mumbled, both hands protectively clasping the seat of my skirt.
"You're curious about spankings, aren't you? You want to know what they're all about? Well, now you can! Come over my lap," she repeated, with a casualness as if she was offering to make me a cup of tea.
The curious side of my nature won out. Gingerly, I took a step forward, then another. Once I was in reach, she reached forward and gently took my hand. I was guided over her knee, and she pushed me forward so that my torso was resting on the couch and my bottom was curled over her lap, raised and ready for a good spanking.
She gently patted the seat of my skirt, before delivering the first few slaps. I jumped a bit in surprise, but it didn't really hurt - some gentle slaps that stung slightly, but no more than that. She spanked my left cheek, then my right cheek, then my left cheek, her hand moving swiftly and regularly.
As the minutes passed, the sting and heat in my rear end was growing, and I was squirming slightly over her lap. "Well, I think that's enough of a warm-up, don't you?" Mrs Anson announced. Grabbing the hem of my skirt, she flipped it up to reveal my panties. Pulling the fabric of my underwear to the side to look at my bottom, she nodded in satisfaction. "Well, I can see some hints of pink here. It's about time for your real spanking to begin."
She gently patted the seat of my panties, causing me to bite my lip and goosebumps to form on my skin. She lifted her hand, slapping it down. I squirmed as the spanks rained down on my backside, shocked at how much more it stung without the protection of my skirt.
"Ouch! It hurts," I whined.
Mrs Anson smiled. "It's a spanking, sweetie. It's supposed to."
I crossed and uncrossed my legs, wincing with every painful smack. I was unable to stop the occasional "Ouch!" or "Ow!" from escaping my lips, but my pain didn't seem to engender much sympathy from Mrs Anson. If fact, every slap was harder and faster than the last.
Suddenly, I felt her starting to lower my panties. Panicking, I reached back and grabbed the waistband. "Woah! I don't think that's necessary!" Getting a spanking was embarrassing enough – she didn't need to see my naked butt!
"All proper spankings are given on the bare bottom, dear. You wanted a real spanking, didn't you?" Not waiting for an answer, she slapped my hand until I removed it, then quickly lowered my panties. She briefly rubbed my bare backside, before continuing the spanking.
The loss of my panties made the spanking so much worse, in a way that can't be explained by the scant protection of the thin fabric. I guess it was because I was naked and vulnerable – fully exposed. Whatever the cause, I saw soon kicking my legs and bawling my eyes out, pleading with her for the spanking to end. I couldn't believe that I had actually agreed to this.
After what seemed like several hours, I slowly noticed that she had stopped spanking me, and was now gently stroking my sore bottom. Once I had calmed down somewhat, she helped me to sit on her lap. I hugged her and cried into her shirt as she stroked my hair, whispering that I had been a very brave girl, and that I was now forgiven.
Eventually, I rose, dried my tears, and pulled up my panties, hissing as the fabric hugged my poor rear end. She handed me one of the sofa cushions so I could sit somewhat comfortably, and she fetched some tea and biscuits for us. When I left, she handed me my usual payment for the washing-up. "Just let me know whenever you need another spanking, darling. OK?"
I gingerly rubbed the seat of my skirt and promised I would, wondering how long it would be before I was back over her knee. Probably not for at least a week – I had to give my bottom time to cool down.
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