So there I was, late for a meeting with a potential client. We’d met before and not only was Ben Chisholm real dishy, he was looking to rent an entire floor of an office block that we handle for the owners. If I could only get his autograph on a contract, the commission would get me that new car I so desperately wanted, and maybe even a date with Ben.

Okay, I know the limit on Westchester is thirty and I know my speed was closer to forty, but I was keeping a good eye out for police cruisers, even those sneaked away in side streets, but I failed to spot a motorcycle cop hidden behind a panel truck. The first I knew, a siren filled my ears, and then a check in my mirror confirmed the flashing red lights. I pulled over.

The cop was tall and skinny as a beanpole. He asked to see my license and I handed it over with an apology. He told me to wait in my car. I watched him stand behind my car while he checked me out on his personal radio. He then sat in his car and messed around with a clipboard. All the while, I sat fuming at my stupidity and checking the time as I fretted about how late I was going to be.

Eventually, the cop came back to my car and asked me to state my full name.

“Jenni Greta Slavinski.”

He promptly handed me back my license with a speeding ticket. I looked at the ticket and written in bold were the words ‘Third Offense’. After a lecture on my driving that seemed to go on for hours, well, maybe five minutes, I was allowed to drive off. And that damn cop followed me for at least five miles! Thus making sure I kept my speed down. Of course, I was late for my meeting with Ben Chisholm, and I was flustered and upset, and didn’t handle things at all well. All I got at the end of the meeting was, “Okay, I have other sites to view. I’ll let you know if we want to take things further.” And no date.

Back in the office, I told my boss, Maggie, the whole sorry story. She wasn’t as angry as I expected when I returned with no signed contract, and she was even a little sympathetic. When she pointed out my make-up was smudged, I reached into my bag for a mirror and then the damn speeding ticket fell on the floor. Maggie was first to bend down and pick it up.

“Hey, it says ‘Third Offense’. Is that correct?” she said as she handed it to me.

I thought for a moment or two. “One in September last year and, oh yes, one in January. So, yes, my third offense.”

“In three years?”

“It’s July, so yes. So what?”

“So, you’re in big trouble. They’re really cracking down on driving offenses now. You’re facing a twelve month ban for sure.”

“Twelve months? They can’t do that! How am I going to do my job without a driving license?”

“Exactly. You’re a good realtor, Jenni, but we can’t afford for you to be hanging around the office for a year. We’ll have to let you go.”

“Oh my god! What if I explain to the court I need to drive for my job? Surely there must be a way out of this?”

Maggie laughed. I didn’t get the joke, but then I realized she was laughing because she was embarrassed.

“What?” I asked.

“You don’t know?”

“What don’t I know?”

“The city’s big clamp-down on motoring violations?”

“I don’t live in the city.”

“They’ve extended the range of penalties beyond fines and license confiscation.”

“I’m facing prison? Oh my god!”

“Calm down. You could get prison but usually there have to be aggravating factors like drugs or alcohol.”

“Doesn’t apply to me.”

“Good. So, you might opt for corporal punishment. The paddle, just like we got in school.”

“Maggie, this is serious. Stop joshing around.”

“I am being serious, Jenni. You’ll have to appear in traffic court and plead guilty, then it’s all just a formality. The judge will offer you two alternatives. One will likely be a fine and suspension of your license, the other will be a number of swats. You then have to tell him or her which penalty you want.”

“I still think you’re fooling around, Maggie.”

“I’m really not. One of our telephone call handlers got a careless driving charge and she went to court and took six swats, I think it was. Mind, she wasn’t long out of school, so she saw swats as a better alternative to paying a fine.”

“I’m thirty-nine, Maggie. It’s a while since I got swats at school.”

“I get that. I’m just saying there is that option.”

“I’ll think about it,” was my immediate response, knowing I wasn’t really thinking about it at all.

It was two weeks before a large envelope hit my doormat. My court date was set for the following Wednesday at 2.40 pm. At least in those two weeks I’d been able to re-establish contact with Ben Chisholm and persuade him to keep in mind the offices we were offering. We were also keeping busy in the office, which meant some good commission payments were in the offing to supplement my salary, but that depended on keeping my driving license.

I was early to my court appointment and sat in a waiting room with around a dozen other people. Every few minutes, a uniformed usher would come in, call a name out, and escort the person to one of two traffic courts that were sitting that day.

As 2.40 got near, I felt myself getting real nervous. At 2.41, a male usher called my name and took me in front of a lady judge, late forties, blond hair, nice face. She was reading through a small bunch of papers. As I stood facing her, she read out the charge against me.

“How do you plead, Ms Slavinski?”

“Guilty, your honor.”

“Any good reason you were speeding?”

“No ma’am, just late for an appointment.”

“Your third offense?”

“I’m afraid so, your honor.”

“Five hundred dollar fine and license suspended for twelve months. You must keep to the speed limits, Ms Slavinski.”

“Yes, ma’am. I mean, isn’t there an alternative I can choose?”

“You want to take swats?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I felt like I was sixteen again in my vice-principal’s office.

“It’s fourteen swats, Ms Slavinski. Care to re-think?”

I hesitated. Last chance to keep my license and my job. “No, ma’am. I-I’ll take the swats.”

“Very well. Next Tuesday at 11.10 am. Next case!”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am,” I muttered as she rubber-stamped several papers relating to my case and put them in a tray. As I turned away, she was already starting to go through the papers for her next case.

Later at home, I checked the court website and found myself booked in for next Tuesday, 11.10 am, at some place called ‘Sentence Administration’. It was on the tenth floor of an office building two blocks along from where I was showing Ben Chisholm the offices.

Next day, I told Maggie about my appointment and she said for me to take the whole Tuesday off, which was good because I doubted I’d have been able to concentrate much on work.

The following few days raced by. We were busy at work which helped keep my appointment on Tuesday at the back of my mind, and I had chores I needed to do on Saturday. Sunday dragged. Monday was tough. I just could not concentrate on anything and Maggie ended up sending me home early.

Tuesday, I took an extra half hour in bed before showering and putting on a dressing gown while I ate my breakfast. Truth to tell, I wasn’t that hungry. I figured it would take me around thirty minutes to drive to the office block where this place called ‘Sentence Administration’ was located. At 9.30 am, I went to my bedroom to get dressed. It was already a warm day. I went for brief white panties and a matching bra, which is the sort of underwear I would put on to go jogging. Loose-fitting jogging bottoms and jacket in light gray completed my outfit. I sat around, fiddling with this and that, until 10.15 am when I reached for my car keys and headed down to my car.

At 10.50 am, I parked in a parking lot at the rear of the building where the ‘Sentence Administration’ was housed. Reckoning that giving it all some thought might not be the best idea, I immediately entered the building and took the lift to the tenth floor. There were a few people around, and I’m sure they realized from my clothing why I was there. I felt they were all staring at me. Nothing I could do about that now.

Stepping out of the lift, I was confronted by a double door. A button said to press for entry, so I pressed. Something buzzed. I pushed the doors and they opened against a spring. Through the doors was a small office with a counter and a couple of desks behind, with just one being occupied by a young woman in her late teens, early twenties at most, tapping away on a computer keyboard. As soon as she saw me, she stood up and came to the counter. She wore dark blue pants and pale blue shirt with an ID badge pinned to the front that said, ‘Sara Hardiman’.

“May I help you?”

I thrust my paperwork towards her, which she took and quickly read the important bits.

“Please state your full name and hand me your driving license.”

“Jenni Greta Slavinski.” I handed over my driving license.

“Thank you,” she said as she handed me back my driving license. “My name is Sara Hardiman. You can call me ‘Sara’. I’ll be your support officer through the process. According to the form, we’re giving you fourteen licks today. Is that correct?”

My mouth went dry and I croaked, “Yes ma’am. I mean, Sara.”

“Now, you’re here nicely on time, so can I presume you’re willingly presenting yourself for the court sentence to be carried out?”

“Um, I guess.” The question appeared odd to me.

Sara, wavy blond hair and a pretty face, smiled.

“What I mean is, are you going to cooperate with us?”

“Yes, of course.” I answered without really thinking. I mean, I wasn’t there as a fun thing to do on my day off but because I wanted to keep my driving license and my job. I’d asked the judge for licks and I wasn’t about to change my mind.

“That’s good to hear, Jeni. May I call you ‘Jeni’?”

“Um, sure.” This was getting weird, or so I thought at the time. She was conniving to give me the whipping of a lifetime, yet she put on this ‘friends’ act.

“It’s all so much more pleasant when the recipient cooperates with us.”

I smiled, if rather weakly. I wasn’t expecting there to be anything pleasant about this ‘process’.

“If you care to go through that door, Jeni, there’s a corridor with several doors leading off. Enter the door numbered ‘05’ and take a seat. I’ll be along shortly.”

She smiled, but that wasn’t anywhere near enough to settle my nerves. I knew this was all leading to what I was really dreading.

I pushed the door open and, sure enough, a corridor extended for maybe eighty feet and, like she said, there were doors on either side. Door ‘05’ was to the right. I turned the handle and slowly eased the door open. It was a small room, maybe ten feet wide by twelve feet deep. There was a single, quite narrow, small bed with a thin mattress against the far wall, a couple of chairs and not much else. Oh, there were some hooks on one of the other walls.

I stood around for what felt like ten minutes and then I heard footsteps approaching that stopped just outside. The door came open and Sara entered carrying something orange in a clear plastic bag.

“We’re a little quiet today, so there shouldn’t be much of a delay,” she announced.

Right at that moment, delay was fine with me.

“So, I need you to strip off. That’s everything, please,” Sara requested quite pleasantly.

She leaned against one wall and nodded towards the opposite wall where there were hooks.

“Feel free to use those hooks for your clothes and stuff.”

So, I’m thirty-nine, she’s maybe twenty-two at most, more likely still a teenager. Stripping naked in front of her didn’t come easy to me, but then despite having a good figure, well, it never did.

“Please don’t be shy,” Sara smiled coyly. “I see naked women every day. It’s my job. I have something you can slip on in a moment.”

That didn’t help, but I realized it was part of the procedure that I’d have to change into the thing that was in the plastic bag, whatever it was. I peeled off my gray jogging jacket and stood in my white bra. Sara looked approvingly, or was that a figment of my imagination? Her gaze seemed to settle on my lower half. Reluctantly, I pushed my jogging pants down and stepped out of them.

“You can hang your clothes on the pegs,” Sara suggested.

I turned towards the hooks, and kind of felt Sara would now be paying close attention to my butt and my brief white panties. I made a swift one-eighty and noticed her gaze was certainly downwards before she quickly looked up.

“Do I need to take my bra off?” I asked, trying to sound like I hadn’t noticed anything.

“Yes, you have to be naked. You’ll wear this little gown and flip-flops.” My new ‘friend’ started opening the little plastic bag.

As I reached behind me to unfasten my bra, my fingers started shaking and I struggled with the double catch. Sara practically leapt to assist.

So, now I’m standing in just my brief white panties after hanging up my bra, and Sara is standing there, apparently awaiting the grand finale. I wanted to ask if I could put this orange gown thing on before removing my panties because Sara clearly wasn’t going to make the offer. I didn’t ask, though. I just slipped my panties down, unhooked them from my feet and put them on a peg with my other clothes. Sara now had the treat of seeing me in my full nakedness.

“Put these flip-flops on,” she said, placing them on the floor in front of me.

I grinned with embarrassment as she straightened up and handed me the orange gown. I unfolded it and found it was made of thin cotton, had short sleeves, and was like a T-shirt in style. When I put it on, the lower hem came down to little more than three or four inches below my butt, and it was quite tight-fitting against my torso. I tried to pull the hem down further but it didn’t give much.

“That’s fine,” Sara said.

So my scant covering was presumably intentional.

“Now what?” I asked, not really wanting to know.

“We wait,” Sara replied, adding, “It shouldn’t be long now.”

I didn’t ask for what. Then Sara took one of the small chairs and placed it purposefully close to the small bed at the back of the room. Was I supposed to sit on it while we waited? Why would I want to sit facing the bed? Then I remembered my one school paddling. I’d had to bend over the back of a small chair, not unlike this one, while the vice-principal gave me three good hard licks.

“Are they going to do it here?” I asked. “Is that what the chair is for?”

“You got paddled at school?”

“Three licks. Just the once.”

“Hey! Me too!”

“It is going to be done here in this room? Right?” I repeated when Sara didn’t really answer my question.

“Sorry, yes. You’ll bend over the back of the chair and put your head on the mattress.”

I pictured myself in that position. It was simple and would offer my backside perfectly for my paddling.

“What if I don’t stay down? Or can’t?”

“I’ll help you, Jeni. It’s not vital that you take all fourteen licks in one go, although it would get it over more quickly if you did. Worst case scenario; we could take you to another room where you would be strapped down if you really resisted. I’m sure it won’t come to that, though. You said you were willing to cooperate and take your punishment.”

“I’ve never had fourteen licks.”

“I know, but don’t worry. I’m sure together we can get you through this. I’ll be with you all the way.”

It was like she thought she was sharing in my ordeal. Should I have offered my little pinky so we could bind our little fingers and say, “Sisters!” That was me thinking stupid. I kept quiet.

Then, footsteps in the corridor outside. Footsteps getting closer. They stopped. Someone knocked on the door. Sara went to open the door. After a brief conversation through the half-open door, Sara suddenly pulled it wide open and I saw an older woman wearing the same dark blue pants and pale blue shirt as Sara, only she was carrying a school-type paddle!

“This is Mina,” Sara proudly announced.

“Hello, Jeni,” Mina said, all friendly-like.

“Hi,” was all I could think of in reply. I needed water for my throat.

“Mina will be carrying out your sentence,” Sara explained, as though it wasn’t totally obvious from the paddle in her hand.

I looked at the paddle. It was typical school style. Around twenty inches in length, maybe a little narrower at around three inches wide, and about half an inch thick. It was made of a darker wood than my old high school’s paddle, and maybe seven inches of the length had been narrowed down into a handle that black tape had been wrapped around. I’d been fearing they’d use something larger, not that this paddle wouldn’t do the job perfectly adequately.

Mina, shorter than either Sara or me, around one-fifty pounds, short, very dark black hair, appeared amiable enough, but her firm arm muscles suggested she could dish out a hard spanking. She already knew my name, so I guess they kept good records behind the scenes.

“Jeni, as you know, I’m going to be applying fourteen swats to your behind. We all know it’s going to hurt; there’s no getting around that. Let’s work as a team, then you get whatever it was that brought you here all done and dusted. A third speeding ticket, wasn’t it? Then you can leave here and enjoy the rest of your life.”

I guess I was surprised at the lack of formality. It somehow felt more pleasant even than when I got paddled at school, though taking fourteen licks was going to be much more painful. I realized they were only doing their jobs, but they were doing it in as congenial a way as possible. It kind of helped. All I wanted now was to get it done.

“Ladies, I know I got myself into this and I know I freely chose to take a spanking for my misdemeanors, so I’m ready to take my medicine. What do you want me to do?”

“There’s no urgency, Jeni,” Mina replied. “When you’re ready, bend yourself over the back of that chair. Maybe fold your arms and rest them on the mattress?”

I knew there was no point in delaying, so I straight away went and bent over the back of the chair. I folded my arms like Mina said, placed them on the mattress and rested my head on my arms. I felt the hem of the orange shirt rising as I did so, and guessed Sara and Mina would now be studying my bare butt. In some circumstances, I would be embarrassed by that, but here it felt okay.

“Good girl, Jeni,” Sara said, which sounded odd with her being so much younger than me. She was standing next to me now, and I felt her hand brush against the top of my thigh as she swept the tail of the orange shirt up so high it half-covered the back of my head. I guess it was the fear of what was coming next that stopped me feeling mortified.

Next thing, Sara was sitting on the bed next to where I was bent over, and she was stroking my hair. I somehow didn’t mind.

Hardly had many seconds passed than I felt the paddle being rubbed over my backside in a kind of circular style. My high school vice-principal did that when she spanked me.

Sure enough, in the next moment the paddle slammed against my buttocks and set me on fire. I whimpered, even though I’d intended not to. I don’t think I jerked much, but I felt Sara holding my head more firmly.

After just two more swats, my backside was feeling real sore, on top of each strike of the paddle hurting like I’d just sat on a barbecue. By the time I’d taken seven or eight swats, (I lost count) the feelings of soreness intensified and each spank hurt even more. I guess my backside was well bruised by then, so that was inevitable.

After maybe ten spanks, I was feeling overwhelmed. I whispered to Sara, “Can we take a break?”

Straightaway, Sara told Mina, “Hold on, Mina. Jeni needs a few minutes.”

“Do you want to get up, Jeni?” Mina then asked.

“Yes, please,” I replied, and Sara helped me stand up. I started rubbing my behind without thinking. “Is this allowed?” I queried.

“Sure,” Mina said. “Go right ahead.”

“How does my backside look?” was my next question.

“Sore,” Sara answered. “There’s blue-red circles on the peak of each buttock, but mainly they’re deep red all over.”

“How many more to go?”

“You’ve taken ten, so four more,” Mina replied.

I nodded. I hoped for a few more minutes before I’d have to take them, and neither Sara nor Mina seemed in any hurry. I figured just four more swats wasn’t going to be that tough, given that I’d already survived ten. But I also was in no rush to take them.

We’d all been standing around for minutes without saying very much, and getting out of this place and back home was a thought that was growing ever more strongly on me.

“I, um, I guess we could continue, if you want,” was how I put it.

“Up to you,” Mina returned.

Sara, bless, took charge. “Come on, let’s get you back over that chair and get you finished off.”

She took my arm and put me at the back of the chair. “Bend over!” Her hand at the back of my head almost forced me over, and then she was sitting on the bed and holding me down.

“Here we go,” Mina said, and she rubbed the paddle, thankfully quite softly, over my butt.

Mina applied the remaining four swats with very little time between. God, did they hurt! But at least it was all over. I was again allowed to stand and rub my sore butt.

“Sorry we had to meet in these circumstances,” I heard Mina say. “Thank you for making it easy.”

Next thing, I heard the door click shut and Sara and I were alone.

“Back in the day, I thought my high school paddling was the worst thing imaginable,” I commented, just for something to say.

“Me too,” Sara answered with a hint of a snicker. “Did this take you back?”

“Not really.”

“Maybe you could leave your panties off while you drive yourself home? Maybe that would be kinder for your backside?”

“Good idea.” I went to the hooks on the wall and pulled down my bra.

“Let me help you,” Sara offered, and she hooked up my bra at the back.

She took my jogging jacket off the hook and helped me on with it. As she threaded my feet into my jogging pants and pulled them up, I felt her hands brushing against my sore behind.

“Ouch!” I exclaimed.

“Sorry!”

I wasn’t sure whether she was sorry for hurting me or for touching me on my backside. Then at that moment, I wasn’t really caring.

Sara put the orange shirt I’d been wearing and the flip-flops back in the plastic bag, ready for disposal. I took her arm while we returned to the reception desk and found a young guy and a teenage girl waiting for attention.

“Must get on,” Sara said as she held one of the double doors open for me. “I’d love to meet you again, in nicer circumstances.”

So far, I’ve not followed up with that suggestion!

The End

© Carol Chrsitensen 2025