Old-Fashioned Girl

by Pam and Mike

Clare was 30 and lived on her own in her small house just outside a village in the north of England. Her only neighbour was 72 year old widower Bill who lived next door. Clare got on well with Bill and she was a bright cheery girl about 5’ 5” tall with a nice figure and collar length brown hair. They looked out for one another and Clare often did a bit of shopping for him.

One day in summer 2008 Clare was going away to her parents for a week. It was about all she could afford for a holiday as she just about made ends meet. She had arranged for Bill to keep an eye on the house and water her beloved greenhouse. She wrote down details of what needed doing and her parents phone number on a sheet of paper in beautiful handwriting using a fountain pen. She took it round to Bill who was more than happy to help. He read the instructions and smiled at the neat writing.

“My, that is beautiful writing, lass. You don’t see much of that these days – in fountain pen too. It’s lovely.”

Clare laughed. “Ah, well, I am an old fashioned girl!”

Bill watched her go back up the path to the front gate and enjoyed the view of her buttocks in her tight jeans before going in and tackling a quick crossword, something he enjoyed very much. The first clue was ‘Part of sugar and spanking’; on his slightly shaky hand he wrote the letters c...a...n...e and moved on to the next clue.

When she returned a week later Bill said that he would be going away to see his brother shortly and would she keep a watch on his house and garden. Clare was pleased to assist so the day he left he gave her a bunch of keys. That evening, as the cat needed feeding Clare went in and got its food ready. On the way out she accidentally knocked over an umbrella stand in the hallway. She stood it up and gathered the walking sticks. There was a red and white umbrella, a walking stick with the head of a bird, two plain sticks and one other. Clare examined it. It was a good three feet long and brown-yellow with a curved handled but it tapered almost to a point at the other end. Clare bent it a bit and realised what it was and took another look before placing it in the stand. Each evening when the cat had been fed Clare took the cane from the umbrella stand just before leaving the house; she flexed it and studied it curious as to why it was there before putting it back.

On the day Bill was to return Clare was in a right state. She could not find his keys. She hunted everywhere and even asked the cat if he had seen them. She went back home to see if they were there even though she had obviously opened the door of Bill’s house with them. When she went back later, Bill was at home. She explained what had happened and stood there looking very contrite.

“Well I guess I’ll have to change the locks” said Bill “but have a look at home, lass, and let me know in a day or two.

On the following Friday evening when Clare got home she had her meal and then decided to face Bill and tell him the keys had not turned up. She went round to his house and he invited her in.

“Bill, I am sorry I can’t find your keys anywhere so if you have to get the locks changed I guess I’ll have to pay” she said fearing the worst as she knew that even getting a single key cut was not cheap.

“Ay, lass” said Bill thinking for a moment. “The locksmith said £87.50, not cheap at all.”

Clare missed the twinkle in his eye as she was staring at her feet and grimacing at the cost. “Well I guess I’ll have to pay but can I pay you in instalments as that is quite a sum to find right now?”

Bill stood up straight. “Well, there is an alternative.”

Clare suddenly looked interested, perhaps a way of avoiding the cost.

“You said you were an old fashioned girl, didn’t you, dear?” he continued.

“Yes, I did, that’s right” said Clare brightly but a little puzzled.

“So how about some old fashioned punishment for losing the keys and to let you off that £87.50” he suggested.

It suddenly dawned on Clare that there was a cane in the umbrella stand but was it worth it? She was of an age that had no experience of corporal punishment but frankly it was an offer she could not refuse. However, it would be painful – no matter, she was wearing jeans and they would take the sting out of it.

“Okay, Bill. I think that is a fair deal. What must I do?”

He showed her into his front room and took a chair and placed it in front of the fireplace. He sat down.

“I think, dear, a spanking to start. Lower your jeans and come over my lap” he said.

Clare didn’t quite take in all the sentence – she got the bit about spanking and jeans down and for the moment thought that would be it and the cane would stay in the rack. She fumbled with her jeans but unbuttoned the waist button and unzipped them. She gingerly lowered the jeans and pushed them the floor.

Bill patted his lap. “Over here, lass” he coaxed her.

Clare laid herself over his lap and Bill folded her T shirt up and tucked it into her bra strap. He admired her smooth bare back and shapely legs and, of course, the lovely rounded backside before him clad in a pair of pale blue cotton pants that well covered that area. He laid is hand on her bottom and began to spank her. Clare’s face was close to the carpet and she started to count but by a dozen or so she had lost count. Twenty slaps landed across her cheeks which reacted in a very pleasing way for Bill. He kept going until thirty had landed and Clare’s backside was red and tingling!

“Okay, lass, you can stand up now...” he started to say.

Clare stood and rubbed her bottom vigorously. Bill watched her standing there with her jeans around her ankles and her T shirt up around her shapely breasts. She was about to thank him for letting her off the £87.50 when he spoke again.

“...and I think we can move to the next stage. Stand there a moment” he said.

Clare had no intention of going anywhere as she was too busy soothing her well spanked bottom greatly relieved at having paid her debt. Bill left the room and came back a few moments later carrying three feet two inches of well used punishment cane. Clare looked at the implement in his aged hands knowing just what it was like to handle.

“This is a very old fashioned item” he said “but I think it can be very effective even today. Move the chair away, Clare, dear, would you?”

Clare shuffled a short distance and placed the chair by the wall and went back to her original spot.

“If you are an old fashioned girls you will know what this is?” he asked.

“Yes. Yes. It is...it is a cane...” she answered.

“And you now what I mean by ‘six of the best’?” Bill enquired.

“Yes. Yes...I do...well I know it means six strokes of...of the cane...bending over and all that but I’ve...I’ve never...” said Clare clearly as she tried to work out if it was a fair deal for £78.50.

“You have never been caned. I fully understand. I don’t suppose many of your generation have” he said almost sympathetically.

“No...I mean that’s right...” replied Clare.

“Will you bend over just there so I can cane you” he said.

Clare turned so her back was facing Bill and she bent over hoping it was to his satisfaction. Her fingers could not reach her toes so she grasped her shins and her feet were apart. Then she felt Bill tug at her knickers and he peeled them down, right down so that they were resting on her jeans. Again she pondered if this was a fair deal but the lure of avoiding a bill was enough to make her avoid resisting. Bill glanced at the view and tapped her leg so she moved them apart so far as her jeans would allow. He could see her smooth reddened backside, now bare, and her pussy between her legs and a good helping of pubic hair showing as well as a smattering in her cleavage and around her anus. It reminded him of the time her had been with a girl from the village in a hayloft when they were both 18...

He placed the cane on her bottom and rapped it several times against her naked cheeks and then drew it back – well back. It swished down with vigour followed by another stroke. Clare gritted her teeth and exhaled loudly through her nose. The next stroke made her throw her head up but being an obedient girl she stayed in position. Two more swished down and then after a brief pause the sixth bit home. She stayed bent over as Bill looked at his handiwork; six red lines at a slight angle across both cheeks. He told her to stand up as he sat on the chair.

Clare stood and her hands immediately went round to her bottom but she was acutely aware of Bill’s eyes on her thick pubic bush that was now plainly visible. On holiday at her parents house she had been swimming one day and when changing afterwards she was in the shower with several other ladies. Two had been completely devoid of pubic hair and three had partial hair. She had been aware of them looking covertly at her bush as she showered and as she left the showers she thought one of them made a comment about ‘a jungle’ to another woman. This had happened once before when she was showering at the same sports centre; a woman of about 25 had been chatting to her and had actually asked if she had ever thought about shaving her bush. The woman was very friendly and had even offered to do it for her! She nevertheless rubbed her bottom as it needed attention then placed a hand over her triangle and wait for Bill’s next instruction.

“Okay, lass, get dressed. You took that well and the debt is paid” he told her.

Clare was greatly relieved and a sore bottom and giving the old man a view of her intimate parts was a small price to pay and did not involve any handing over of cash.

“Thank you, Bill...I agree...an old fashioned girl needs old fashioned corporal punishment sometimes...” Bill smiled and Clare pulled her pants up and her jeans. As they went to the door he put the cane back in its place and the closed the door once the well striped bottom hidden by the tight jeans disappeared through the gate at the end of the path. He then went to his jacket pocket, tore up the estimate from the locksmith and took out the bunch of keys her had found by the path among his bedding plants the afternoon he had returned from holiday.

Clare went straight home and went to her bedroom where she stripped her jeans and pants off. She examined her bottom in the mirror and traced he weals with her finger but this hurt too much. She faced the mirror and ran her fingers through her thick bush. Almost without another thought she removed her T shirt and bra and her socks. She went to the bathroom where she took a pair of nail scissors and a razor. Clare took down the shower head and started to run the shower and she squatted in the bath and washed between her legs. The nail scissors were used to cut away as much pubic hair as she could making a good sized pile on the side of the bath and then she lathered some soap and picked up her razor.

Meanwhile Bill sat down to do his crossword. 9 across, 8 letters ‘hirsute waste left by a carpenter’ – he pondered on it for a moment and then started writing s...h...a...v...i...n...g...s. Soon he had completed the crossword and he thought for a while about the caning. Would it be a long while before that cane ever saw action again? He hoped not.

Clare was now washed and dried and kneeling on her bed knees apart with her backside facing the wardrobe mirror. She felt she had got as much hair off as should could and her fingers explored the smooth area previously hidden by the bush.

Some days later the sum of £8.50 was still playing on Clare’s mind and she decided that one sound caning might not have been a fair repayment. Ten days later Clare shaved off the new stubble that had grown in the intervening days, pulled on some clean clothes and went downstairs. In the hallway of Bill’s house he put his umbrella back in the rack and paused for a moment. He withdrew 3’ 2” of well used cane and examined it closely especially the part that had made contact with Clare’s naked bottom. He wondered if it would ever again get another chance to sing through the air and kiss a bare backside of a pretty girl. He replaced it in the rack just as he heard the catch on his front gate spring closed as someone came through it. He glanced out of his kitchen window and saw Clare walking up the garden path.

Writers thrive on feedback to their stories, both good and bad. Your comments provide incentive to write better, write different, write more. If you want more stories to read, then you must encourage the authors. Your comment will be posted under the story.

Click here to add a comment on this story