Miranda's Story

"Wow, look at the size of that!" Louisa DiProspero gazed in amazement as the train pulled in at Warwick Park station: she'd never seen such a thing in her life. Oh she'd seen trains; she regularly commuted on them from her home in Three Bridges and into London Bridge, and back: but this was different. This was steam powered. And it was monstrous.

"I've seen bigger," commented Octavia dismissively.

“I don’t care,” replied Louisa, “I love it. Thank you so much for bringing me.”

Louisa and Octavia were friends, perhaps more than friends, (no-one was quite sure), but friends they certainly were. And housemates. In Three Bridges. Three girls living in Three Bridges: Louisa (the Brunette one), Octavia (the Redheaded one), and Frukost (the feline one). Louisa loved trains, having grown up on a small, somewhat backward, terribly remote, island in the Southern Ocean where they did not have trains for people, just for cargo. Since moving to London and shacking up with her Swede-heart she’d taken great delight in travelling up and down the Thameslink line, but she harboured a secret desire. She desperately wanted to ride on a steam train: and for her birthday Octavia had organised such an adventure along the tourist line that snaked the North Sea coast.

“Laydeesanjennelmenallabord. Stanclearpleez.” The ladies, (in the absence of assisting jennelmen), jumped aboard.

The view was breathtaking, and not just because it was springtime and Octavia had forgotten to pack her Ventolin. Flowers to the left, ocean to the right, the dark interior of the train in green vinyl and stained wood, with windows you had to open with a strap, it was everything Louisa had hoped for. She giggled, blushed, looked down, and blushed again.

“Oh thank you Ockie, you are so very kind to me.”

“Call me that again and you'll see neither kindness, nor daylight, for some time.”

Louisa screwed up her face into a smile, then lent across and kissed Octavia’s cheek. “I’m having a lovely time Octavia.”

The sliding door to the compartment opened and the guard walked in. “Tickspleez?” Octavia turned to Louisa and smiled.

Louisa smiled back.

The guard looked at both ladies, smiled, and waited.

They all waited.

“Louisa? You heard the man, tickspleez!”

“But Octavia, you have the tickets in your…no wait I have the tickets in my…where is my bag?”

Octavia frowned. “Louisa DiProspero, where did you put your bag?”

Louisa looked around frantically, “I don’t know…Ockie I …I…umm…”

“Put £10 in the pocket of your dress, with your handkerchief, and then put your bag back in the glove compartment of the car. You locked the door, gave me the keys, and we walked over to the station.”

“Ooh. Umm.”

“Tickspleez?”

“My apologies my good man,” began Octavia, “but it appears as though our tickets are in my lovely friend’s bag, and my lovely friend’s bag is in the Skoda, and the Skoda is in Warwick Park.”

“Y’aint got no ticks?”

“On the contrary, we do gots some ticks, but we got them back in our car.”

“Okay. When we get to Moss you’se needa come an talk a’me in the station office?”

“Thank you sir.”

The guard left.

“Ooh, that was lucky,” began Louisa, “I thought we were in big trouble then.”

“I’m not so sure that we aren’t Louisa, he still wants to see us both when we arrive at Moss. However, regardless of today’s outcome: you are most certainly in big trouble.”

###

The station at Moss was again all that Louisa had hoped for. Small and quaint, yet most certainly a station, it had flags and bunting and two very shiny platforms: the pride of 1913 most certainly. But best of all, best of all, were the staff. Upon the platform stood the brightest array of men in dark clothes that Louisa had seen since leaving her dim and distant homeland.

“I wonder which one’s the fat controller,” Louisa asked Octavia with a giggle.

“I shouldn’t wonder, oh ticketless one, if he isn’t out the back warming up Thomas the Spank Engine.”

And do you know, he was! Well, except for the Thomas part. (Because that would be really corny, and breech all sorts of copyright laws.)

Louisa took Octavia’s hand as they walked toward the Stationmaster’s office, following the guard. Louisa looked down and Octavia looked up as they entered the room.

“Thesetwolaysdinavenyticks.”

“Did they not?”

“Nothaysesthaylefitinthecarinworikarpark.”

“Rather careless of them. Thank you Mr Bruce.”

“Sorrideenytimeh?”

“Ladies. No tickets? Naughty, naughty.”

Louisa looked up and Octavia looked down.

“No sir, I left them in the car at Warwick Park.”

“Naughty!”

“But we do have tickets.”

“In your car, at Warwick Park.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Octavia looked up, “I assure you sir we…”

“…dropped them beside your car where they were collected by one of our staff at Warwick Park and processed there. We know who you are, allowing that I’m not sure who is Miss DiProspero and…”

“Oh, ‘at ‘smee,” offered Louisa helpfully. Octavia smiled.

“But you’re still naughty. Do you know, Miss DiProspero, what happens to naughty girls?”

“Well,” began Louisa with a knowing look to Octavia, “at home I get a smacked bottom.” Octavia blushed and looked down again.

“Ah, then you know all too well. So, who shall be first then, you or Miss…”

“Are you going to smack my bottom?”

“Indeed Miss DiProspero, and that of your…”

“Are you going to smack Octavia’s bottom too.”

“In the absence of Octavia’s ticket, I fear I must. Shall I take it you wish to go first?”

“No sir, I wish to go home!” Louisa looked across to Octavia who was still looking down and blushing furiously, Louisa had never seen Octavia looking so meek. “You see,” she said, turning again to the stationmaster, “it was as special treat for me, I love steam trains but have never been on one before. Please don’t spank us.”

“I’m afraid Miss DiProspero it’s a spanking, or a £300 fine. Each.”

“Each? Three hundred pounds or a smacked bottom, it this some kind of internet-derived spanking fetish story or something?”

The stationmaster smiled. “What do you know of such things?

Both girls curtsied, and said nothing.

###

“So it’s agreed then?”

Octavia looked across at Louisa, tears forming in each girl’s eyes. She herself was visibly upset, how could Louisa have been so careless, but she was also upset that Louisa was upset. Here was a beautiful day and they were enjoying the countryside of England’s pretty East Anglia, (she was Scandinavian, Louisa Antipodean) in the company of a steam train, for Louisa’s birthday, and it had all gone tits-up.

(Or tits down as the case may be, girls going OTK and all that. Hmm.)

“Yes sir, we confess our carelessness and will suffer the consequences. We neither of us have three hundred pounds.” Octavia squeezed Louisa’s hand comfortingly, but it was she who was most afraid of what was to come, after all, Louisa had more experience of being spanked.

To the great horror of the girls, the station master reached across his desk and picked up a large bunch of keys, and a wooden truncheon. (Surely not?) He then instructed them both outside.

An incomprehensible announcement greeted the flogging-party as it returned to the platform, a long stream of random phonemes ending in “stancleerpleez”. Louisa went to ask Octavia what language it was that was spoken in East Anglia, (it had been settled by Vikings after all), but thought the better of it.

“Sir, is the train to depart? That is our train.” Octavia saw what was about to happen.

“A train for which you have no ticket is not your train by any means.” He kept walking until he met a short man carrying an orange flag. The man was about to raise the flag, but at the instruction of the station master he lowered it again, and then motioned to a man further down the platform, a man carrying what looked like a large, plastic, table-tennis bat, to attend to him. This man also came.

“Ooh Ockie, what is to happen to us?”

“Louisa DiProspero we are to be spanked, and I should not be surprised if it weren’t to happen here on the platform.”

“Ooh, with that truncheony thing?” Octavia could see that Louisa was actually warming to the idea, she was of course the spankee at home and so was more comfortable with what was about to happen. Octavia wondered whether Louisa was actually enjoying herself all the more for their little interlude in the journey.

“Two girls here without tickets, nor the means to pay the fine.”

“Right, so it’s…”

“Yes. Take the staff, hand me the signal.” The truncheony thing was replaced in the station master’s hand by the table-tennis bat thing. “Wait for the sign.”

“Famous last words,” sighed Louisa.

“Excuse me?”

“Wait for the sign, the last words of Charles the First, second king of Great Britain. Then they cut his head off. Do you know he wore two shirts that day so as not to shiver on the scaffold? He was beheaded in London on January 31 st 1649, so he didn’t want his coldness to be mistaken for fear.”

“Wise man. Do you think my tights are thick enough to prevent both coldness and fear on this occasion?”

“How will your tights prevent fear?”

“Thick enough to protect my bottom a bit?”

“I should think, on this occasion young lady, that it shall be tights and knickers down, don’t you?” Louisa laughed.

Oh how Octavia regretted saying that to Louisa last night.

###

“Come.” The station master walked over to the back of the platform and sat himself on a slightly slanted box marked “Grit”. Louisa went to follow but was restrained by Octavia; who was still holding her hand and had not begun to move. Louisa tugged slightly and Octavia yelped.

“What was that?”

“Hjalp!”

Louisa smiled. “That never works for me, and don’t bother with Stanna! either.” She was certainly enjoying this, and persuaded Octavia to move at the third tug, at the same time indicating to the stationmaster that she should like to be first across his lap.

“Bend over young lady.”

Louisa felt a surge pass through her body, how clever of Octavia to organise this for her, a train ride and a public spanking, a public spanking: ooh, a public spanking. Ooh. She let go of Octavia’s hand, (or rather waited until Octavia had let go of hers), and lay herself expertly across the stationmaster’s upturned knees.

He wasted no time.

WHACK!

The first smack struck Louisa in the centre of her bottom. It was quite hard, but she’d had worse, even from Octavia. Several more hard smacks followed, but Louisa only moaned slightly and wriggled: indeed she had to remind herself that she was not face-down over the chair in the kitchen with Octavia but was somewhere in fragrant Norfolk and at the Jarnvagsstation. (What better place for a “young wag” than over a stern man’s knee?) A gasp from Octavia drew Louisa’s attention back to the action: her dress had been flicked up and the spanks had increased in force. Louisa lifted her head and let out a moan, and as she did so she saw the train gently steaming away from her: its passengers glued to the window and the sight of her plight.

“Ooh…ouch!” said Louisa.

“Ooh…nice!” thought Louisa as her mind took her away to the train, where as a third person observer she saw the young brown-haired woman having her bottom soundly smacked, her dress lifted away from the place where the signalling paddle was spanking down repeatedly. There was a rhythm to the whacks that could have put Louisa to sleep, this was the best birthday present ever, she loved Octavia so much!

When the spanking had finished Louisa was allowed to stand immediately: Octavia usually made her wait in place with her bottom glowing while a lecture ensued. But of course there was a second spanking to come, and not a moment to lose. Louisa smiled happily through her tears and squeezed Octavia’s hand. Octavia, as was customary, looked down.

“Bend over young lady.”

Octavia obeyed immediately, but with far less enthusiasm than Louisa had done. She comforted herself that there were no trains in the station; it was only her, Louisa, and the station staff present: and not even all the staff was on the platform now. She was also happy that Louisa’s underwear had remained in place during her spanking; Octavia comforted herself as she wriggled into place at the thought of her 150 denier-covering.

WHACK! The humiliation was unbearable, the pain only slightly less so. Octavia had not been punished horizontally as a child, Scandinavians don’t do that she continued to remind Louisa. (To which Louisa would retort that Scandinavians drive with their headlamps on in the middle of the fricken day, in cars made by companies that make fighter aircraft but still can’t win a Grand Prix, or a war.)

(Louisa usually got spanked for saying that.)

Octavia had only rarely been spanked as an adult, and never as a punishment. It is true that she and Louisa had a bet going that Kimi Raikkonen would finish each grand prix ahead of Mark Webber, (despite neither girl being Finnish nor Australian), the results of which were usually delivered “down under”: a spanking for the loser and something more pleasant for the winner.

This, then, was new to her. And she didn’t like it. Not at all. No.

“I think it would be unfair to continue.” Octavia sighed in relief at the sound of the stationmaster’s voice. She’d had nine very hard smacks and was sobbing solidly. She felt her skirt being lifted back. “After all, this other lass did not have tights on, and she had the embarrassment of the train. No, this underwear needs to come down as well. Miss DiProspero, some help?” Octavia cried out the forbidden word as she heard Louisa agree, and felt her tights (but only her tights) being drawn down for her: Octavia tried to sink her hips into the stationmaster’s lap to make this a difficult task, and was rewarded with a slapped bottom from Louisa. Octavia would be sure to make Louisa pay for that, it would be bare-bottom and over the arm of the front room sofa, with the belt. And the drapes open.

WHACK! The punishment continued, even through the arrival of the next train. Octavia could see Louisa’s legs dancing happily in front of her as she heard the train pull to a halt. “Oh me again, me again,” Louisa was saying as the stationmaster motioned for Octavia to replace her hosiery and return to vertical. Louisa kissed Octavia on the mouth and held her in her embrace as she continued to dance on the platform. “Thank you, thank you; Ockie’s the best, chuck out the rest!” Louisa chanted as a now breathless stationmaster regained his feet.

“Enjoy your visit to Moss, ladies. I shall expect to see you back here at 20:07 for your return to Warwick Park. Oh, and Octavia?”

Octavia looked up.

“You might be interested to know, I am guessing, that there’s an Ann Summers store in town: it’s just next to the Saddle and Bridle store.”

Hmm, thought Octavia, a saddle and bridle store. I wonder if they sell riding crops?

“Thank you sir, for both your patience and your professionalism. Come Miss DiProspero, we shall buy a lovely lunch at the bakery and then I think we’ll take a visit to the park…I hear they have some lovely picnic tables of a most suitable height.”