I like gardening. It's a relaxing hobby and I happen to have the knack of making plants grow. Give my brother and me two identical plants and what happens? He carefully plants his one, adds the right fertilizer, tends it carefully, watches over it like a mother with her baby, right up to the time it dies on him. Me, I slap my plant down into the soil and jump back to give it room to grow. A natural talent and a green thumb, I assure my brother. Pure arsed luck, he tells me.
As a result of this green thumb I have a very nice garden. I've even won a few neighbourhood prizes for best garden, which irritates my brother no end. I have a very nice array of roses along one side of my garden. When they're in flower I have no objections to the neighbours taking a few roses, as long as they don't strip a bush. Some of the local girls take advantage of this to get themselves a nice posy occasionally. Even the odd lad has been known to take a couple to give to his girlfriend.
What was new to me was walking out one day and finding a complete bush gone. Someone came along overnight and dug it up. A very nice 'Love and Peace' rose, a multi-coloured specimen.
Having someone pinch a complete bush really irritated me, especially when I spotted the bush in a nearby garden a few days later. I knew it was my rose but how the hell could I prove it? A few minor bits of pruning and it was no longer my bush. Nothing I could do but swear eternal vengeance and go skulking back home.
Losing one bush was an irritant. Losing a second one a week later was tantamount to a declaration of war. What did the stupid woman think she was playing at? The family was new in the neighbourhood. How did one go about letting them know that sticky fingers weren't appreciated?
I was standing there glowering at my lost bushes, now settling nicely into their garden, when the woman who lived there came out. She was around forty, reasonable looking, friendly and knowledgeable about roses. Did I like her latest two bushes? Her daughter had got them for her. She knew a place where she could get them cheap, apparently. How interesting. I'd really have to have a chat with her daughter at some stage.
I had seen a young woman who I thought was probably her daughter a couple of times. She'd been delighted to know she could pick a few roses as she liked to have some in her room. Now that I thought about it, the first few roses she took were from the 'Love and Peace' rose that subsequently went walkabout. Yes, I really wanted a word with that young lady.
There was no rush. I kept an eye out and bided my time. It happened. Another bush went, and I waited for a certain young lady to come past. She wandered past that afternoon, stopping to admire my roses with a smile on her face.
"Beth, isn't it?" I casually asked her, leaning against the fence.
She nodded.
"You really have a nice lot of roses, don't you?" she said.
"I do indeed. Would you believe that some lowlife actually stole one of my bushes last night? You can get some real scumbags around the place, can't you? I mean, if even the plants on your yard aren't safe, what is?"
Beth was all sympathetic, agreeing that there were, indeed, some low lifes around.
"Third time it's happened," I groused. "Fortunately I've got a nasty shock in store for them this time."
"Ah, you do?" she asked.
I nodded. You can't see it from here but there's a high definition camera installed up in the eaves. Comes complete with low-light penetration, allowing me to get really good shots even at night. I'll just need to print out a few prints and turn them over to the cops while I fill out the complaint. I'll probably tack a few up on the lamp-posts around the neighbourhood, letting the neighbours know who to watch out for."
For some reason Beth had gone a little pale.
"Say, want to come in and watch the film with me? Maybe you know the person and can point them out to me."
"Um, no, I don't think so," she muttered. "I've got to be getting home."
"Ah, no, I think you really want to come in and see the pretty pictures. I'm sure you'll enjoy the show. It's amazing what these modern cameras can show. It's just like filming in the middle of the day and there was only moonlight."
I reached over and opened the gate, indicating that she should enter. Looking a little sick, she did so. I escorted her silently along the path and into the front room.
"Do you really want to see the film?" I asked. "There are some very good shots on it. Would you believe that you actually looked directly at the camera at one stage? The face spotting technology in the software just zoomed in on you for a lovely little close up."
"What are you going to do?" she asked, ignoring the question.
"I believe I've already answered that," I pointed out. "You know, the printouts, the formal complaint to the police, the posting of the photos. I wouldn't worry about the cops too much though. You'll probably only get a bond or a minor fine. I'm assuming this is a first offence?"
"Yes," she muttered. I guess it's hard to speak when your teeth are gritted together.
"Or possibly the first time you've been caught?"
"No. I've never done anything like this before. I just wanted to improve mum's garden."
"Mm. She's going to be real proud of that garden now, isn't she? I wonder how she'll feel when the cops come knocking."
"I'm sorry. Do you really have to go the police? I'm willing to pay for the bushes."
"The cops were my second choice," I told her. "But then I figured that if I take this to the police then you're screwed, even if it is only figuratively. My first thought was to catch you alone, rip your clothes of, and screw you literally. Wiser council suggested you might prefer the figurative screwing to the actual."
From the look on her face that decision might have gone either way, although neither appealed. But I suspected that she really did not want the cops involved.
"I said I'm sorry and that I'll pay for the bushes. Can't you just let it go at that?"
"No. Then you'll think you can just buy your way out of trouble. You may not realise it but I am really quite angry about this."
She reddened and looked elsewhere. I let the silence linger for a few moments. Then I offered her a straw to grab.
"You don't want to get screwed literally and neither do you want the cops and the figurative screwing. What would you suggest? That I just give you a beating and send you on your way with your promises to be good?"
"That'd work," she said quickly. "There'd be no need to involve the police or anything. I won't do anything like this again, I swear. I couldn't bear it if my mother found out. And to have everyone talking about me and pointing. . ." She gave a delicate little shudder.
I laughed.
"It's not on, kid," I told her. "Neighbours are not supposed to go around handing out corporal punishment to the kids in the area, no matter how much they deserve it. And if you're considered a juvenile you'll only face the Children's Court and there'd be no adult record kept."
"Stop calling me kid," she said, gritted teeth rubbing together again. "I'm not a child. I'm eighteen. Nearly nineteen. And if I say you can beat me then it's no-one else's business."
"Actually, that probably makes it worse. You'd be screaming rape as soon as I pulled down your panties to start paddling you. Thanks, but no thanks."
"I wouldn't. Honest, I wouldn't. Ah, why would you have to take my panties down anyway?"
"Use some common sense. I don't have a riding crop or wooden paddle to beat you with. That only leaves my hand. I should just slap you around? No way known. The only thing left is to bend you over my knee and spank you. If I'm going to spank you I'd do it on a bare bottom to make sure you got the point. I can see me now, bending you over, pulling down your panties, hearing the loud screams as you shriek your lungs out."
I gave her a 'you must be kidding' look and she was starting to look irritated.
"Look, if it's a choice between hullo, officer, and hullo, spanking, I'll go with the spanking. And I wouldn't scream, I swear. Look, I'll prove it."
With that she reached up her skirt, pulled her panties down and stuffed them in the pocket of her skirt.
"See," she said with a little gasp. "You won't even need to pull them down. They're already off. All you need to do is give me a spanking and we can call it quits."
I reached over and casually lifted the hem of her skirt. She was beautifully naked beneath it. I didn't blatantly stare at her, lifting my eyes to meet hers, showing I wasn't that impressed by her nakedness. She'd given a little start when I lifted her dress but relaxed when I didn't seem to make a big deal about it.
"This is totally against my better judgement," I blustered, and I could see a satisfied little smile playing around her lips. She was going to get her tale smacked and walk away scot free (apart from a sore bottom).
"So what do I do?" she asked me. "Do I bend over your knee?"
"No. Bend over the end of the couch."
She scooted over to the couch and bent over it, kindly lifting her dress up to expose her bottom. How thoughtful of her. Still, it was a very nice bottom.
"If you stand like that you're going to pitch forward onto the couch the first time I smack you. I suggest you move your feet a bit further apart so that you have a better balance."
She did as suggested, blushing a little as she did so. I suspected that she was wondering just how much she had on display. Everything, I could have told her, but chose not to.
I stood by her side and back a little. As well as giving me a good position for a nice paddling it also let me see anything I wanted to without making it obvious that I was checking her out.
"I am really very disappointed in your behaviour, you know," I observed, emphasising this with her first spank, my hand bouncing off a nice round buttock. "Very disappointed," I added, treating her other firm, round, shapely, white, buttock to a similar spank.
A nice thing about ladies bottoms. The curve of their cheeks matches nicely with the curve of my hand. Not that Beth seemed to be appreciating the way the curve of my hand met the curve of her bottom. She wailed, saying it was too hard, which it wasn't, that it hurt, which it was supposed to, and that I should stop, which I didn't.
I warmed her bottom quite nicely for her, giving it a nice red glow. I also warmed her ears, giving a sanctimonious little lecture to go with the spanking. From the muttering that occurred in between the weeping and wailing I would have to say the lecture was even less appreciated than the spanking.
I would like to point out that ninety percent of the weeping and wailing were of the crocodile's tears variety and didn't mean a thing. I knew precisely how hard I was spanking her and, while her bottom was undoubtedly smarting, I wasn't causing any bruising. More tenderising, than anything else.
Of interest to me were the little signs I could use to gauge just how she was reacting. Like the light flush on her bottom and the flush that seemed to be developing around her pudendal area. The swelling of her labia and the way they pursed and pouted. All little indications that she was reacting the way I expected.
