The Spankton Chase
Despite the warm sunshine, Christine Summers
shivered as she cowered, terrified behind the hedge. Two farm labourers
poked at the bushes a few feet away, searching.
“She’s around here somewhere,” said Don. “I know it.”
The lads had tracked Christine from the village square. When other villagers had followed the main road, Don had noticed stiletto footprints next to a style. Leaving the others to search in vane, Don and Mick had slipped over the style and set off across the field. Now they were closing in on their prey.
Behind the hedge Christine didn’t dare move.
She hardly dare breathe. The slightest sound would give her away. She
thought back to the disastrous events that had brought her to this point - a
frightened animal hiding in a field.
She had driven to the village with her husband that
morning. They lived in the city and this was a rare opportunity to enjoy
the sweet air of the countryside. They
put the roof down on the Mercedes cabriolet and Christine insisted on
driving. She had laughed at the breeze blowing through her hair as they
raced along the winding country roads. John, her husband had asked her to
slow down but her mischievous brat side was firmly in control and she put
her foot down leaving John gripping the dashboard in white knuckled
terror. As they neared the village she ignored the flashing sign warning
her she was exceeding the speed limit and she was still speeding as she
passed the sign telling her “Spankton Welcomes Careful Drivers”. As
the first houses appeared she hit the brakes. It was too little too late.
The car tyres screeched as the power steering forced the vehicle around a
sharp bend, swinging too wide to stay on the right side of the road.
Constable Harry Brown was unlucky enough to be gently cycling through the
village when he found himself in the direct path of the oncoming car.
Panicking, he tried to pull out of the way. Christine swerved back on to
her own side of the road and Harry ploughed into the pavement, hitting the
curb with a thump and flying over the handlebars.
Stunned, bruised and bleeding, Harry sat in the
tangled remains of his bike. Christine brought the car to a halt,
breathing hard and trembling. She and John ran over to see that the
constable was OK. So it was that an hour later she found herself in the
dock at Spankton magistrate’s court. Christine would not have recognised
the court if she hadn’t been a prisoner. It was not like any court found
in the city. This was a small meeting room upstairs at the Black Bull
public house. The residing magistrate, Squire William Thornton looked
furiously at Christine and didn’t hide his contempt as he lectured her
on the evils of careless driving.
“Unlike city folk,” he sneered, “the good
people of Spankton have a healthy respect for law and order and we take a
very dim view of outsiders threatening the peace of our village. You,
young lady, have caused chaos. You could have killed PC Brown.”
Constable Brown nodded his agreement from the witness
stand and when the village busybodies in the spectator seats looked at him
he held up his bandaged hand and grimaced with his grazed nose and swollen
Squire Thornton continued. “Here at Spankton we
have a most appropriate traditional punishment for behaviour such as
yours, Mrs. Summers. A punishment that will focus your attention on the
people you so callously disregarded. We call it The Spankton Chase.”
A murmur of approval ran around the court and people
grinned knowingly at each other.
At noon Christine found herself in the village
square. On Squire Thornton’s instructions John had taken the car and
been escorted to the village boundary two miles away to wait for his wife. A crowd was forming as word spread that there was going to be
a chase. Thornton stood on the steps of the market cross and addressed
Christine and the growing crowd.
“Your punishment is quite simple Mrs. Summers. You
will be released here in the village square and you will walk out of the
village and join your husband.”
“Walk?” said Christine. “You expect me to walk
two miles in these shoes?”
“Well, Mrs. Summers, I actually expect you to run.
You see, what I haven’t mentioned is this, you will have a ten-minute
start. After that, any villager that meets you will have the full and
legal right to turn you over their knee and soundly spank you.”
Christine turned pale. She looked around the crowd
and realised for the first time that many were carrying hairbrushes,
spoons, slippers and riding crops. Others were simply rubbing their hands
together in excited anticipation of smacking the bottom of the wicked
young women who had blighted their village.
Christine was twenty-two, pretty and slim. She was
dressed for a drive in the country, not for fleeing an angry mob. Her thin
red dress clung to the contours of her shapely body, hugging her breasts and
bottom, offering a tempting target for the spank hungry villagers.
“Well, Mrs. Summers,” said Squire Thornton,
pressing the button of his stopwatch, “ the clock is ticking and you are
free to go. I suggest you hurry.”
Christine did not need telling twice. The crowd
parted and she set off down the main street. Tottering as fast as she
could on her designer heels.
An hour later, after running, hiding and taking a
complex spaghetti route to avoid meeting any villagers she found herself
tucked under a hedge at the edge of a large field while the two farm
labourers searched and debated who would be first to redden her bottom.
Christine’s legs ached in her cramped position and soon she could
stand it no longer. She had to move. As she carefully straightened out,
her foot caught a thin protruding branch and snapped it with a resounding
crack. That was the only clue the lads needed to pin her down. In an
instant the hedge parted and Don’s face protruded
through with a wicked grin. Seconds later, before Christine could flee,
Don and Mick scrambled over the hedge and grabbed her by the arms.
Laughing and excited they pulled the terrified girl to her feet.
“She’s mine,” snapped Mick.
“No you don’t,” said Don. “I found her and
she’s mine. When I’ve done her we’ll let her go then catch her again
and you can have a go.”
Trembling and wide-eyed, Christine looked from face
to face as the two farm workers batted her fate back and forth. Finally
Mick admitted defeat and released her arm.
Don knelt down on one knee and pulled Christine over the other. She
tried to resist but he was far too strong. She cried out in fear of what
was to come as she found her face suddenly brushing the cool grass while
her bottom, turned uppermost was exposed and defenceless.
The first smack was explosive. It rang out across the
field like a pistol shot and burned savagely. Christine didn’t have time
to dwell on the sting before a second smack landed in the same spot
doubling the fire. She beat her fists and toes franticly against the
ground and tears rolled from her eyes as blow after blow landed in quick
succession. Don concentrated first on one cheek, raising the pain to an
unbearable pitch before delivering an equally savage blistering to the
other. Mick watched, grinning enviously, desperate to get his own hands on
Christine’s delectable bottom.
Finally, the punishment ended and Don rolled
Christine off his knee. She lay in the grass crying and holding her
“Get up and start running,” said Mick.
Sobbing and panicking, Christine scrambled to her feet. She squeezed and rubbed her bottom and looked pleadingly at the spankers through tear filled eyes.
“Well go," said Mick. "I'll give you a
head start then I’m
coming after you. And when I catch you the spanking Don just gave you will be nothing
compared to what I’m going to do.”
Christine couldn’t cross the soft uneven ground in high heels so she
took them off. Gripping one shoe in each hand she ran. Mick licked his
lips. His eyes were glued to Christine’s bottom as he watched her
disappear across the field.
At the far side Christine came to the
edge of a wood. A barbed wire fence barred her way. She looked back and
she saw Mick and Don start to run towards her. Panicking, she tried to
squeeze between the vicious spiked wires. The fence scratched her arms and
clawed at the thin material of her dress but she struggled on. Suddenly to
her horror she found herself trapped. The barbs had hooked into her dress
above and below her and no matter how she moved she could not free
herself. She gave a heave and cursed as she heard the thin material start
to rip. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw that the lads were almost
upon her. Franticly, she let go of her shoes and grasped too handfuls of
grass. Pulling hard and pushing with her legs, she managed to scramble
forward ignoring the relentless tearing of material and the cool air that
whispered against her exposed skin. Suddenly, with a last mighty push and
a disastrous rip she was free and she rolled forwards across the ground.
Her relief at escaping the fence was immediately replaced by horror and
acute humiliation as she realised that she had left her dress in tattered
shreds still hooked onto the fence.
Mick and Don stared in disbelief at their good
fortune as Christine picked up her shoes and disappeared into the wood
dressed only in her lacy white bra and panties.
Progress was slow for Christine. The woodland ground
was littered with cruel twigs and stones that bit into her bare feet.
She came to a clearing and unable to bear the pain any longer she
stopped to put on her shoes. The brief delay was all Mick and Don needed
to catch up. They came into
the clearing and started to circle her like wild dogs closing in on a
helpless gazelle. Suddenly Mick darted forward. Christine screamed and in
her panic she threw her shoes at him. He ducked and the first flew past
his ear. He straightened up grinning cockily, just in time for the second
shoe to hit him in the face, cutting him below the left eye. He dabbed at
the tiny wound and stared at the blood on his fingers.
“You stupid bitch,” he shouted. “I’m
bleeding. You could have blinded me. Now you’re really going to get
Christine turned to flee into the trees but Don had
closed in. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.
“OK Mick. She’s all yours,” he laughed, giving
Christine a shove and sending her stumbling towards his friend.
Mick wrapped a strong arm around Christine’s waist
and lifted her off the ground. He carried her, kicking and fighting, over
to a nearby stump where he sat down and wrestled her over his knee. With
one hand firmly holding her waist he swung back and slapped her hard on
the bottom. Christine’s panties offered little protection and left most
of the skin on her soft cheeks completely exposed. Mick concentrated his
tirade on the naked flesh, quickly raising crimson hand marks and turning
her whole bottom red.
Christine kicked, struggled and wept but the spanking
continued. Her bottom blazed and she begged for Mick to stop but he was
determined to deliver a punishment that this spoiled brat would never
forget. She cried herself hoarse before the pain in Mick’s hand finally
made him rest and Christine was able to scramble tearfully off his knee.
With the task done, Mick and Don reluctantly set off
back to the village, leaving Christine alone in the wood, still crying and
nursing her stinging bottom. Eventually she choked back the sobs and
recovered enough to move on. The sooner she reached the village boundary
the sooner this nightmare would end. She could hear running water and in a
short while she arrived at a stream. There was no one around so she
slipped down her panties and lowered her burning cheeks into the ice-cold
water. As the soothing stream eased the fire, she listened to the restful
sounds of the wood. In the distance she thought could hear voices - girls playing some sort of game. She stood and pulled her panties up over
her wet sore bottom. It was still really tender but at least the
relentless burning had settled down. Setting off through the woods, she
moved towards the voices. She knew she had to avoid meeting the villagers
but she needed clothes and she had a plan.
Christine came to the edge of the wood and saw that
it opened up to a huge immaculate lawn. At the far end stood a magnificent
stone building. Christine thought at first it was a stately home but then
she spotted a group of girls playing hockey and she realised it was a
school. She had entered the grounds of Spankton Ladies College. This
prestigious sixth form institute offered private education for the sixteen
to nineteen year old daughters of the rich and famous.
Working around the playing field, taking care not to
be seen, Christine made her way to the school sports block. She entered
undetected. Inside it was a maze but eventually she found the girls locker
room where she had undisturbed
access to clothes in a variety of sizes. She worked her way through the
girls clothes and quickly found an outfit that
would just about fit. She started to dress. It didn’t take long to
realise that despite the age of the students, Spankton Ladies College took
pride in its school uniform. Christine fastened the white blouse over the
swell of her breasts with some difficulty. Next she pulled on the pleated
skirt. The waist fit fine but the length ended uncomfortably high on her
smooth thighs. Clearly the owner was several inches shorter than
Christine. Finally she pulled on socks and shoes. She found the experience
of being in a school dressed in school uniform surprisingly erotic and she
couldn’t help finishing off the outfit by putting on the striped tie.
She checked the corridor was clear and left the changing rooms. She
wasn’t sure which way she had entered and although she tried to find her
way back she was soon lost in the body of the school. To her relief she
finally found the main entrance and she made her way towards it.
The stern voice stopped her in her tracks and she
“Come here. What are you doing out of class?”
Christine turned and found herself under the steely
eye of Mrs. Gertude Clutterbottom, the head mistress. Clutterbottom by name
but Clatter Bottom by nature say her students. The headmistress had a
well-earned reputation for keeping alive the traditions of corporal
punishment. Mrs. Clutterbottom didn’t notice that Christine was a little
older than her usual girls. It never crossed her mind that a uniformed
girl in the school could be anything other than a pupil.
Christine was lost for words. If she admitted that
she was an adult she would be arrested for stealing clothes. If she
admitted she was escaping the Spankton Chase she would be in even more
trouble. Spanked by law and still arrested for theft. She had no choice
but to pretend to be a student and face the consequences of skipping
class. How bad could it be? lines, detention or some other trivial
punishment? She was soon going to be out of here and she was never coming
back so she didn’t really care.
“Ah, I see,” said Mrs. Clutterbottom. “No
answer. Well young lady, I know how to deal with insolent defiance. Come
The headmistress led Christine back to her office. As
they passed the school secretary Mrs. Clutterbottom requested the
punishment book. Once inside she wrote in the book and asked Christine to
sign it. Christine stared in horror at the entry. “Six strokes of the
cane for insolence, defiance and truanting. Christine had no option but to
cooperate. She signed the book with a false name and prepared herself for
yet another assault on her tender bottom.
Mrs. Clutterbottom pointed to her desk. “Bend over
Christine moved to the desk and took up her position.
The short skirt barely covered her bottom.
“Why is your skirt so short?” demanded the
headmistress angrily. “Don’t you know the school regulations.”
The answer infuriated the headmistress even more. She
took it to be more defiance. Taking hold of Christine’s skirt, she
flicked it up out of the way and almost as an afterthought she took hold
of her panties and dragged them down her thighs. Then fetching the cane
from its spot on top of her bookshelf, she tapped it against the bared
flesh and took aim. Christine whimpered.
With a swish the first stroke cut its savage path
across her bottom and Christine took a sharp intake of breath. She
shuddered as she struggled to stop from screaming. The pain grew and
spread out across her rump. The soreness from her earlier spankings made
her bottom super sensitive. She longed to reach back and rub her tortured
flesh but she knew how Mrs. Clutterbottom would reward such behaviour.
The second stroke landed next to the first and
compounded the pain, magnifying it. Tears flowed down Christine’s cheeks
and her legs shook. A suppressed cry hissed between her clenched teeth.
The pain wasn’t the only torment. She was twenty-two years old yet she
was dressed as a schoolgirl and was being caned by a real headmistress in
a real school. It was the sort of fantasy that Christine’s dreams were
made of and it was actually happening.
She was faint with sexual excitement.
The remaining four strokes landed with slow,
well-practiced, agonising precision leaving a stinging pattern of angry
red lines across the soft curves of Christine’s bottom. Mrs. Clutterbottom put down the cane and Christine slowly stood up. Carefully
she eased her panties over the inflamed flesh.
“Now young lady. Go and wash your face then return
to your class.” Mrs. Clutterbottom opened the door and ushered Christine
out into the corridor. “I am expecting a marked improvement in your
behaviour young lady. I do not want to have deal with you again.”
Five minutes later Christine was out of the school
and disappearing over a wall into a neighbouring field. Her bottom was
stinging and she felt as though she would never be able to sit down again.
The sun was shining, the birds were singing and the
country air was fresh and pure as Christine strolled across the field.
Despite the searing heat in her bottom she felt a relaxed contentment. She
took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Suddenly she was snatched back to
reality by the unmistakable sound of horse’s hooves thundering over the
grass. Looking back over her shoulder she saw a girl, maybe eighteen years
old, dressed for the hunt, galloping towards her.
Christine started to run but the horse was closing
with terrifying speed. Suddenly the ground dropped away down to a stream.
Christine lost her footing and rolled down the hill, just managing to stop
herself from landing in the water. The rider trotted to the edge of the
drop and looked haughtily down at Christine. She dismounted and picked her
way down the slope, tapping her riding crop menacingly against her leg.
“Hello,” she said. “I’m Penny Thornton. My
Dad’s the Squire. I’ve been looking for you. Daddy says we have to
find you and spank you but I’m going to do much more than that.” Penny
smiled wickedly and swished her riding crop through the air. “I’m
going to give you the thrashing of your life.”
Penny pointed at a tree where a branch was growing
horizontally at waist height.
“Go over there,” she said, “and bend over that
Christine stood up and moved slowly over to the
branch. Penny followed her.
“Now, bend ov…”
Before Penny could finish, Christine twisted around
and grabbed her wrist. She wrestled the crop out of her grip and pushed
her arm up her back. Penny screamed as Christine forced her around to the
tree and bent her over the branch.
“Let me go,” yelled Penny. “I’m going to tell
my Dad. You can’t do this to me.”
“Oh can’t I?” said Christine. “People have
been spanking me all day and now it’s my turn to mete out some
Christine rested the crop against Penny’s skintight
jodhpurs then pulled back and delivered a mighty thwack. Penny howled and
burst into tears. Her boots hammered against the floor as the intense pain
burned deep into her bottom. All of the anger and emotional turmoil of
Christine’s day came to the surface as she frantically flayed the young
brat’s rump. After a dozen stinging whacks Christine started to calm
down. She released the struggling girl and pulled her back onto her feet.
Penny paced around clutching her bottom.
Christine pointed at Penny’s horse with the crop.
“Get out of here before I give you another good hiding.”
Christine raised the crop and Penny scrambled back up
to her horse. She grabbed the rains and mounted, taking care not to let
her stinging bottom make contact with the saddle.
“My Dad’ll get you for this.” spat Penny,
“and I’m going to let everyone know where you are.”
Christine started to climb back up the hill, swishing
the crop. Penny panicked. She turned the horse quickly and galloped away
yelping as her bottom smacked against the saddle.
Christine knew she couldn’t hang about. She had no
doubt that Penny would carry out her threat and if she didn’t reach the
village boundary soon the consequences would be unthinkable. She thought
back to the villagers armed with their spanking implements and single
minded purpose. Penny started to run. She reached the edge of the field and
climbed over a wall. At the other side was a country lane. It wound off
around a wide bend to the right where a pub, the Kings Head sat. A similar
bend wound away to the left. She was just debating which direction to take
when to her horror a mob of villagers came around the side of the pub.
“There she is,” someone cried. The mod started to
rush towards her.
Christine was exhausted but fear powered her muscles.
She ran fast along the road but the crowd were closing on her. As she
rounded a bend she saw her car in the distance parked at the side of the
road, just under the village sign which read “The village of Spankton
thanks you for driving carefully. Please come again.” Her husband, John,
had waited three boring hours for her to arrive and had fallen asleep. He
was oblivious to the drama that was unfolding behind him.
Before Christine could reach the boundary the
swiftest of the villagers caught up to her and dragged her back. He hauled her over
his shoulder and carried her towards the waiting crowd. Christine kicked
her feet and beat her fists against his back but it made no difference,
her fate was sealed.
The villagers gathered outside the Kings Head. The
mood was festive. Food and drink were brought out and benches were lined
up in a long row across the car park. The Spankton Chase was an ancient
tradition and the villagers gathered now for the climax. The prey was
caught and now justice would be served.
As Christine was deposited back onto her feet before
the waiting crowd, a group arrived from the school, one still wearing her
hockey kit. “Hey, that’s my uniform,” cried the unfortunate girl.
Everyone stared at Christine. “Right,” shouted one woman. “We’ll have that back.”
"Oh no no. Please," begged Christine, backing away and looking around for an escape route. It was no use. She was surrounded.
The woman led a small angry group of the
village ladies. They
grabbed Christine and despite her struggles, began to strip her. The uniform was quickly pulled away but these
women wanted vengeance. “Let’s
see how you like losing your clothes,” cried one. She unfastened
and pulled off Christine’s bra while another yanked down her panties.
The other villagers lined up along the benches and sat down.
Naked, terrified, red faced and pink bottomed, Christine was dragged to the
first seated villager and pulled across his knee. Fred Billson wrapped an arm around Christine’s waist and set about giving her a
blistering spanking. It had been many years since he had enjoyed the pleasure of
a beautiful young woman draped over his lap and he made the most of
it, only reluctantly stopping to pass her on when other villagers complained that
he was hogging the prize.
Christine barely had time to dwell on her blazing bottom before she was hauled along the line to the next pair of knees.
This time it was the turn of Elizabeth Wilson, a well-built woman who
owned the local dairy farm. She had brought an ancient butter
paddle with her and Christine yelled as Elizabeth raised it high and
smacked it down on her naked bottom. This was a new level of pain for
Christine. She had been spanked, caned and spanked again but the paddle
was by far the worst. Big enough to take in both cheeks at the same time,
every smack of the butter paddle turned her bottom a deeper hue and added
a new depth of stinging torment.
One after another, the villagers pulled Christine
along the line and took their turn, the butcher, the midwife, the blacksmith
(and he can really wallop), even the vicar - a human conveyor belt of incessant,
furious spanking. At last she reached the end and she was finally hauled
to her feet. She stood before Squire Thornton, trembling and tearful. She
longed to hold her raw scarlet bottom but she needed her hands to try and
cover her nakedness.
“I hope this has been a valuable lesson Mrs.
Summers," said Thornton. "Now leave our village and if you know what’s good for you, you
will never come back!”
Christine said nothing. She ran from the car park and
headed to her husband without looking back. John awoke suddenly and was
startled to find his wife, out of breath, naked beside the car. He pulled off his
sweater and Christine struggled into it. The thin knit clung to the
contours of her body and made a passable mini dress. She climbed into the
car and gently lowered her bottom onto the soft leather passenger seat.
Constable Brown and Squire Thornton watched with
satisfaction as the couple drove away.
“These city folk,” said Brown, shaking his head.
“They live life at a break neck pace. It does them good to enjoy a
bit of traditional country life every now and then.”