As you grow and develop you constantly find out new things about yourself. Some of these things may be small, like the realisation that coffee actually tastes pretty good. Others may have a bigger impact, such as discovering that you really like classical music and going to orchestral concerts. And some things may surprise you.
In my eighteenth year I found out something that shocked me, a little. Not at the time, but afterwards. I have always thought myself a rather determined person. I'm not belligerent, but neither am I one for letting someone walk all over me. I can stand up for myself.
In my late school years, and even after I started working full time, I would earn extra money by doing baby-sitting. Easy money if you pick the right children to sit. An appalling nightmare if you pick the wrong ones. Mind you, the wrong ones paid a lot better. The parents were usually desperate for a break.
Anyway, as I was saying, I was free and happy, eighteen and had agreed to babysit for Mr Chalmers. He was a widower, still in his twenties, with a couple of sweet kids, and he liked to go out about once a month. I hasten to point out that he wasn't a romantic interest of mine, just the father of some kids I sit with.
And I screwed up while sitting the kids. I can't even remember exactly what went wrong, but I do recall that it had been my fault. I'd been careless or something. I managed to get it all sorted out without having to call Mr Chalmers, but it was a near thing. Trouble was it was something I was going to have to admit to. Nosey neighbours knew about it and if I didn't confess, and they blabbed, Mr Chalmers would go spare.
To cut a long story short, I tucked the kids into bed, they went to sleep, and I waited in fear and trepidation for Mr Chalmers to come home. OK. Strike out the fear and trepidation and chalk in a little bit of nervousness.
Mr Chalmers rolled up and I made him some coffee and made my little confession while he was drinking it. He continued to drink his coffee, but took the time required to make his feelings on the matter known. It was appalling. Until he started talking quietly to me I hadn't realised that someone could read you the riot act without raising their voice or swearing or anything like that. The whole thing just seemed so much worse when he explained everything in a quiet and reasonable voice. I was damn near in tears without a single loud word being spoken.
Mr Chalmers was winding down and that's when thinks went kind of hinky. He said something to the effect that I could consider myself lucky I wasn't his daughter because, eighteen or no, I would be getting a damn good spanking.
As soon as he said that I suddenly saw Mr Chalmers as a man, not as a father. What was worse, I could just picture myself bent over his knee, with my bottom bare, while he spanked it.
Before I could stop myself I just up and said, "Um, OK. If you think I really should."
I was just standing there, hands behind my back, while he had his little say. With my comment he shut up and just LOOKED at me. If you're a girl you know what I mean by looked. It was one of those looks that men give you and you just know that they're imagining you standing there naked. Annoying if the guy is a creep, but flattering if he's attractive.
I'd had those looks before but this was the first time I felt as though I was actually standing there naked in front of the man. Mr Chalmers eyes seemed to look straight through my clothes and I could feel my nipples puckering and there seemed to be a sudden rush of sweet heat deep inside me.
"Do you realise what you're saying?" he asked me.
I sort of swallowed, but nodded.
"I screwed up," I said. "You think I should be spanked so I agreed."
"Fair enough," he said. "Let's see you drop your panties and bend over my knee."
The tone of his voice irritated me. He sounded somewhat sceptical that I'd do it. I'll show him, I was thinking, and went to push my panties down. Then I was blushing and going, "Ah, um," as it dawned on me I wasn't wearing a dress. I had on track suit pants. Comfortable when dealing with kids and who cared if they got messed up, right? But dropping my panties for a spanking meant also dropping my tracksuit pants and I'd be effectively naked. No panties, while a skirt covered you anyway, was one thing. No panties or anything else at all was something else.
I saw the amused and knowing look in Mr Chalmers eye and it infuriated me. Before I fully knew what I was doing my tracksuit pants and panties were around my ankles and I was stepping out of them. It was immediately worth it for the new look in Mr Chalmers eye. He liked what he saw and that flush of heat inside me got that little bit hotter.
I moved cautiously towards him, not quite sure what I was supposed to do now. He apparently knew. He just steered me over his knee as neat as you please and I waited there, all tensed up.
I yelped when his hand landed on my bottom. I wasn't going to, but I just couldn't help it. To make it worse, he hadn't even spanked me, just put his hands casually on my bottom and let it rest there.
"Brenda, will you please remember that you are not my daughter and consider just what you're agreeing to," he said pleasantly, his hand idly rubbing my bottom.
It was odd how such a casual rub on my bottom could seem so erotic. I'm sure it wasn't intended that way. And what did he mean, consider what I'm agreeing to? A spanking, of course. But I could handle that. No problems.
"A-a spanking," I mumbled. "I stuffed up and now I have to be punished."
"True. You've been a bad girl. Now you have to pay. You will be allowed to apologise properly after the spanking is complete. You know that, don't you?"
For a moment I wondered just what he meant, but than that hand on my bottom just slid over my curves and ran across some much more sensitive curves. He had very neatly cupped my pussy and I was feeling hotter than ever. Was he insinuating that after the spanking he expected to have sex with me? Did he think I was offering to sleep with him? He gave my mound a squeeze, and I realised he thought just that. How was I supposed to explain that I was only agreeing to a spanking?
I dithered too long before replying. His hand left my mound and returned to my bottom, but not to pat it. He spanked me, and it stung. I yipped and he spanked again.
I suppose when I thought of getting spanked I'd automatically thought of my mother or father spanking me as a child. A few sharp whacks to bring me into line and that was it. Mr Chalmers was delivering a good old-fashioned spanking, turning my bottom red quite quickly, and it didn't seem as though he was going to finish in a hurry. What was more he had a terrible aim. Quite a number of those spanks were slapping down against my mound, stinging my pussy lips.
I was squealing and wriggling, although not wriggling too hard, I admit. After all, I had agreed to this. Then he suddenly stopped and swung me to my feet.
"Before we continue," I was told, "take off your top. I want to finish this with you naked."
Here, of course, is where my natural independence should have come onto play. What I should have done was said no, and reached for my panties, calling the whole thing off. After all, I'd been spanked and my bottom was stinging.
You can imagine my surprise when I heard myself saying, "Yes, sir," and peeled off my top and bra without a moment's thought.
