A long walk in the woods


It had to be the most embarrassing day of my life. I don’t just mean that as a figure of speech as in “oh the door is stuck, silly me I was pushing it instead of pulling it.” No, I mean this was really embarrassing.

There I was in the woods across the other side of the street from my new boss’s house dressed only in my shorty T-shirt and sandals looking for… and get this, a switch.

Just to be absolutely clear. I was naked from the waist down with my backside and front-bottom on display to anyone who happened by while I looked for an exactly described length of tree sapling for the purposes of welting and reddening my bare bottom until it was at least the colour of my stupid face.

To make matters worse every few moments someone walked down the street and I had to hide in the bushes. On several occasions I had to dive into some very scratchy bushes to hide from dog-walkers. To this day I still have no idea if I was spotted when I ran across the front lawn and over the road into the trees in the first place.

To bring you up to speed my name is Elisabeth May Meadows and I am 24. I got this great job working for a writer who is paying me a squillion dollars to help with his research and to proof read his bestselling books.

I get to live rent free at his fabulous house. I have my own TV and his refrigerator is my own personal treat dispenser. So I get paid a lot and have no expenses for one of the best jobs in publishing.

So what is the problem? Me and my big mouth, that’s the problem. It always has been.

I was told to keep it shut when I signed the confidentiality document along with my contract. And I have, really, I’m the soul of discretion. But John Randall, that’s the name of my boss by the way, has an old fashioned outlook on life. He also has a 19-year-old niece called Clinton, seriously like the ex-president, who is quite a handful.

She lives with him on account of the fact that no one else will put up with her and she can’t even hold down a job.

Last week she was grounded for losing her uncle’s car. I mean she borrowed it, without permission I might add, and then got a ride somewhere with some boys and forgot where she left the Jaguar.

Then yesterday, while still grounded, she went to the mall, overspent her allowance and did not come home until this morning.

I was alerted to all these details by the sound of prissy missy Clinton getting one hell of a spanking on her bare bottom right there in the front room. It was an epic spanking too as such things go and long before it was over her bottom was as red as the Jaguar she misplaced and she was a mess of sobbing, running makeup and fervent apologies.

I nearly said something, unaccustomed as I am to domestic discipline, but thought better of it under the circumstances. Then John told Clinton to get out and cut him a switch.

I was not sure what he meant at first, but Clinton sure did.

“Please Uncle John I’m sorry, really I am, I’m real sorry,” she begged.

“No way my girl, oh no you’re not, you are only sorry for yourself. Sorry is what you are going to be when we’re done. Now get and cut me a switch.” John had a voice like rock and handed Clinton a penknife.

By this time Clinton was wearing just her sweat top, having kicked her slacks and panties all the way off while she was being spanked. I expected her to pick them up, but after staring at them for a moment she walked like a condemned woman towards the front door without putting them back on. Then to my amazement she opened the door and after looking desperately about made a heroic dash for the woods on the other side of the road.

I gaped, completely unable to believe that John would be so strict.

“She’ll be a while. It will take time to cut the exact length and thickness that is required,” John said with a casualness that alarmed me.

“Wh-what if she doesn’t?” I gulped.

“Oh she will. If she doesn’t then I’ll send her out again to find another. But she knows that.”

Luckily I was still speechless at this point.

It took almost half an hour for Clinton to return. Even then John kept her waiting on the doorstep for what must have seemed like forever to his niece before he finally let her in.

John had inspected the switch carefully before handing it back to her and sending her to the corner where she held the switch beneath her red bare bottom to wait.

“I can’t believe you are letting him do this to you?” I finally managed to say.

“It’s alright, I have it coming I suppose,” Clinton sniffed miserably.

“Hasn’t she been punished enough?” I persisted, this time directing my confusion at John.

“Elisabeth, please mind your own business and get on with your work.”

“I still can’t believe this, there is no fucking way I would let anyone do that to me.” There I finally said it. I opened my big mouth.

I noticed Clinton stiffen in the corner and then risk a quick glance over her shoulder. Our eyes met for a moment and hers seemed to say: ‘boy are you going to get it now.’

John crossed his arms and gave me a long hard stare. A look that was long enough and hard enough to make me gulp.

“Look I’m sorry but…” I swallowed and took a step backwards. “I’m just not used to this, in our house…”

John raised one finger and crocked it to beckon to me.

“What… I mean… eh… John, Sir… Mr Randall, I know I shouldn’t have said that but…”

“No you shouldn’t have.” He was still beckoning and I took another step backwards. “Elisabeth come here please.”

“Can’t we…” I didn’t know what to say and added lamely, “talk about this?”

“Talk about what?” His voice was hard and his face expressionless as he began to roll up his sleeves.

“You can’t do this… I mean I haven’t been… not since I was… please Mr Randall I’m sorry… I…”

“Elisabeth,” he said softy as he sat down on the couch, “come here please.”

I took several hesitant steps towards him as I thought over what I would say next. This was not happening. Then it did. He caught me easily and tipped me face down over his lap.

“I think you know you have this coming don’t you?”

I opened my mouth to offer an angry protest, but all that came out was a defeated wail. He slapped my bottom hard.

“Ouch,” I gasped, “please Mr Randall I’m sorry.”

He spanked me again and before I could say more, he spanked yet again.

The spanking was long hard and efficient. At some point he stripped off my slacks and pulled down my panties. The panties slipping over the curve of my bottom cheeks was a sudden shock, but all I could think at that moment was ‘when did he take off my pants?’

I glanced at Clinton in the corner in time to see her look round again to check out the action. By now I was thoroughly embarrassed that I was getting a spanking like a bratty teen.

What had been muted spanks on the seat of my slacks and then panties had become crisp loud reports to match the sharp sting of the impact of his hand.

As a late teen, my mom’s attempts at spanking me had been uncomfortable wince-makers that rendered the punishment more embarrassing than painful, but John Randall’s efforts were decidedly more vigorous and my ragged breathing and occasional grunt had started to give way to frantic broken wailing.

“Please Sir, that’s…” I didn’t know what it was, but it hurt and to my astonishment I started to cry.

The point at which I started blubbering like a kid might have been the half-way point in my spanking, I really couldn’t say for sure. All I knew was that by the time he was done I was ready to go and stand meekly next to Clinton in the corner. And I would have been grateful to do it.

Alas John had other plans for me.

“What was it you said no one could make you do?”

I wiped some tears from my nose and looked at him bleary-eyed desperate to put my panties back on.

“I’m sorry what did you say.” I was fighting any instinct to give him attitude.

He handed me the pen-knife.

“You cannot be serious…” I gaped at him.


I didn’t see the dog until almost too late and I had to duck down under a bush.

“What have you got there boy?” Its master said whistling for the dog to come.

“Go away,” I hissed.

Luckily the dog’s owner didn’t see me and the crisis passed. But that still left me bare-bottomed in the woods looking for the necessary, which I was no nearer to finding. As I went deeper into the forest I wondered how the hell do you find a switch like the one John showed me?

Also I was becoming conscious that I had been out freezing my buns off for some considerable time. When I left the house, I was in too much of a hurry to check my watch and when I finally did, I reckoned I had already been skulking out there for 20 or 30 minutes already. Then it took more than another hour to finally find the right kind of tree with the right kind of branches to cut a switch from.

I could still hear traffic on the road and it only took me 10 minutes to find it. However, I had emerged maybe quarter of mile up from John’s house and had to make a hasty retreat into the undergrowth.

It took another 15 minutes of dodging dog-walkers and waiting until the coast was clear before I dared make a dash for John’s house.

Of course John took an age to answer the door, in which time two cars passed by, one of them tooting his horn. At this, I doubled over and clutched at my nether parts and wanted to die.

“Two hours. An all time record,” John said on opening the door. “I think Clinton has been getting quite impatient waiting.”

I looked in horror at his niece’s still unswitched bare bottom presented in the corner. She had been in the corner for the whole time I had been out; Jesus this man was strict.

“I do hope this is adequate,” he said slicing my switch through the air. “I would hate to send you back out.”

Time stood still. He wouldn’t, I groaned inwardly. Luckily the wand of correction passed muster.

“Alright get into the corner while I deal with Clinton,” he nodded, and then yelled, “Clinton.”

Clinton sighed and then walked to the couch and bent over the back of it so that her bottom was pushed upwards.

I took two hesitant steps towards the corner, although all my attention was taken up with Clinton’s backside, which was thrust up and over and seemed to fill the room. Her neat young buttocks held some definition even from this stretched angle and I felt a pang of something I couldn’t name.

Then I saw that John was watching me and I blushed. Suddenly my own nudity came into my mind with a stark reality and I realised that my little sojourn in the woods was not as embarrassing as being made to stand in the corner like a child while a grown man ogled my bottom. Or did I just hope he did?

Worse still was that I found it almost impossible not to look over my shoulder to see what was about to befall Clinton.

“Do you want another spanking?” John growled at seeing my disobedience.

My nose found the corner where the two walls met and I squirmed.

Behind me the switch found Clinton’s bottom and she squealed with each impact as the thin length of branch cut slices of pain from her firm 19-year-old bottom.

If only I hadn’t been so judgemental and hadn’t opened my big mouth I could be watching the show, I thought. Then I remembered that I was next and my bottom clenched.

“Yah,” Clinton yelled somewhere behind me and I turned to see her bucking over the back of the couch. She was sporting numerous vivid lines that followed her contours, standing out starkly against her pale flesh.

I realised then that Clinton was a tough girl, as it took quite a bit longer for John to extract obvious tears and longer still for any kind of earnest howling.

Her welted bottom held my gaze for a few moments and then I turned back to face the corner before John saw me looking. I remembered that Clinton had been more disciplined than I when she had stood here. I obviously still had a lot to learn. Still? What was I thinking? I went a little light-headed at the realisation that this was bound to happen again and I was going to let it.

“Oh Clinton, what will it take to get you into line?” John asked sadly.

“Sorry Uncle John,” Clinton whispered in a little voice.

“Back to the corner with you.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Now Elisabeth May Meadows,” John said in a tone of exasperation. “Are you ready to pay the piper?”

“Yes Sir,” I heard myself saying. What had come over me?

John didn’t say anymore but gently guided me to the couch and had me lean over it and bend forward as I had seen Clinton do.

“Now are you still convinced that there isn’t ‘a way’ you are going to get spanked and switched when you need it?”

“Yes Sir, I mean no Sir,” I added hastily and then thought about it. “Sorry Sir.”

“You know why you are being spanked and switched?”

“Attitude?” I said tentatively.


I didn’t know.

“We don’t use the F word in this house do we?”

“No Sir, sorry Sir.”

“Are you?”

“Yes Sir, truly.” I still felt ridiculous and completely embarrassed, not to mention apprehensive, but I was also sorry. I looked back to meet his eyes. “Truly sir,” I said again.

John nodded and then laid a line of fire across my exposed bottom. I so wasn’t ready and announced it with a screech just in time to coincide with the second biting sting.

“Oh God,” I gasped. This was going to be something else, was my last coherent thought.

The cuts of pain lined my bottom in a lattice, building stroke after stroke until it was all hurt and time hung forever between the rapid slices that strangely came all too often.

Then John said: “I trust you won’t want another long walk in the woods any time soon.”

“No Sir,” I managed after a moment to catch my breath.

“Good girl,” he said kindly.

I sucked my breath in and held it until it finally escaped as a sob. After that the sobbing wails came broken and heaving.

He patted my shoulder and whispered one word, “Corner.”

“Sir.” I Acknowledged.

Clinton and I spent much of the rest of the afternoon in the darn corner until I thought that even another spanking would be almost preferable; almost.

That wasn’t to be my last long walk in the woods.


19 Responses to “A long walk in the woods”

  1. Imnsho all fathers and all husbands should learn from mr. Randall…
    No age limit of course 🙂

  2. 2 paul1510

    DJ, now this is my kind of story, punishment well earned and not too severe.
    I really enjoyed it, thank you. 😀

  3. I think the name Clinton may guarantee a propensity for getting in trouble.

    I am somewhat intrigued by running out of doors bare bottomed to cut the proper sized switch. You tell the story so convincingly, DJ, that I can almost believe you’ve sent a girl outside to do that very thing.

  4. 4 Karl Friedrich Gauss

    I gather things are very strict for the young female assistants, chez Black. But after all, they are “research assistants”, no doubt, so it should come as no surprise that they have to help with “the research”.

  5. 5 fatherjim

    What a treat! I was astonished to find yet another wonderful offering on this site this week! All of which was great. This was just right. The setting, the tempo, the level of punishment. It was all just perfect! Thanks for sharing!


  6. 6 Poppy

    Speaking as someone who is surrounded by woods right now, I found this to be far too evocative. This got Chrossed, deservedly so.
    Wonderfully written, as always.

  7. Poppy, you might want to start gathering switches now to bring home with you. I mean, since you’re in the woods and everything already. It may save you dashing about in city parks with a bare bottom.

    Or not.

  8. 8 DJ

    Perhaps I’m just getting carried away – but I get the impression that some of you liked this story? 😉

    Thanks DJ

  9. 9 Poppy

    I switched myself today
    I was wearing shorts though and a horrid mosquito was trying to bite my bum. I left the leaves on.
    Yes, we liked it. 😉

  10. I meant we liked the story- not the mosquito and I enjoying the switching!
    One of us died and the other one was me and would rather not be switched – that should be kept for stories- like this one- which we liked, on case I was not clear about that.
    I am going for a drink now.

  11. I think we all liked the story very much, DJ! 🙂

    I am so very tempted to say something about Poppy switching herself in the woods, but my better judgement keeps stopping me. That doesn’t happen very often, so I am going to listen. Sigh.

    Hi Poppy!

  12. Hi Scarlet, I was wondering if anyone could see my comments besides me. 😉
    I don’t need to worry about switches. Or anything of that ilk- not me.

    • 13 DJ

      I can see them and ver nice comments they are too.

      I have a big Poppy on mine.

      It says in the WordPress handbook to reply to all comments – so consider this a reply.


      • Is it?
        Could it be?
        (checks book nervously)

        Yes, DJ has responded to a comment- it is one of the signs of the apocalypse – everyone should get to the underground bunkers, now!

        I will selflessly stay here and guard the chocolate and wine.

        (Sarcasm is my forte, a girl must play to her strengths)

        • 15 DJ

          bring a couple of switches back (or a forest of them)

          I am going to need them.

  13. 16 jimisim

    A marvellous picture, and one that completely coincidentally would perfectly illustrate my forthcoming entry in the latest ‘Spanking Library’ competition.
    Thanks for your excellent and inventive stories DJB- In addition to their quality I greatly admire your prodigious output-I’ve no idea how you manage it.

  14. Poppy, you scared me, I thought you liked switching yourself with leaves still on the switch. You meant you don’t like leaving the leaves on?
    Maybe you can bundle several switches together and bring them home. 😉

    DJ, I enjoyed the story very much. If it was me I wouldn’t be back ’til dark.

  15. 18 Ayla

    Excellent story. Can’t put my finger on exactly what I liked so much, but it was in the sudden and unexpected (to her) submission of the older woman. Perhaps we are all subconsciously looking for just the right man with just the right attitude?

  1. 1 chross.blogt.ch - Chross Guide To The Spanking Internet

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