A Woman’s Shame
Have you ever seen something that no matter how many years pass by you always recall with such clarity that it might have happened only moments before? A scene permanently etched into memory, both beautiful and ghastly. I was probably sixteen or so at the time and my comprehension of the scene has evolved as I have matured. Still, my initial impression is forever stained on the memory. Why was she crying as she exited her car? Did she know what her immediate future held? Why did I stand there, watching and waiting? Did I know? Interesting questions that I will never be able to honestly answer for the truth is I don?t know.
She was a young woman, mid to late twenties most likely. Her golden locks fell just below her shoulders. The ends curled inward framing her soft angular neckline. She stood around five feet six inches tall and her frame fit. Curves in all the right places and none of the wrong ones. Even with tears streaming down her face and ruined mascara, she was beautiful.
At first glance I thought perhaps she was upset about some rather obvious damage to her car. Somehow that didn?t seem to fit though. Perhaps it was the way she was looking at the front door to her house or maybe it was the fact she wasn?t looking at the car at all. Either way I stood still captivated by the scene in front of me.
The front door opened and an older woman emerged. It was easy to tell she was related to the young woman crying in the street. Most likely her mother judging by the similarity in the facial features and body build. The older woman was confused at first and then she saw the car. I wouldn?t have wanted those angry eyes focused on me. The young woman handed a piece of paper to the older and let out a single sob that might have been an attempt at an apology. The older woman ignored her, studying the paper she had just been given. After a moment the older woman spoke to the younger. I was too far away to make out the words but, the tone was stern and I recognized it well as the one my parents used when I was in trouble. A moment later the young woman walked rather quickly inside the house and the older woman followed. The front door slammed closed.
Why didn?t I leave then? I don?t know. I just stayed where I was across the street and kept watching the door. I?ll admit I was curious if I might hear the familiar sounds of a spanking coming from the house soon. I was intrigued and my mind was racing with the possibilities. Would a woman that old really be spanked? Would it be bare bottom? Would she cry out and plead for mercy as I would? Was I wrong in thinking she would be spanked? My patience paid off with answers and more.
It was about fifteen minutes later and I was just about to head home thinking I had misread the situation. Suddenly the front door to the house opened again and the young woman stepped outside. My breath caught in my throat. How embarrassed she must feel. The young woman had exited the house nearly naked. She was clad in only a skimpy white bra. It seemed her breasts were ready to bust out of their meager covering. She held something shiny in her right hand and after looking around a bit, she didn?t notice me, she walked slowly to the large tree in the center of the yard. She reached up with her left arm and found she couldn?t quite reach the lowest branch. She pushed up on her tip toes and grasped the branch with her fingertips. She pulled it down lower and then used what must have been a knife in her right hand to cut off three fresh growths. She had to stand on her tip toes to cut them off, stretching herself so that her bosom was peeking at the world and nearly straight at me. The young woman?s cheeks were flushed. I was certain she was cutting switches and I was definitely not leaving at that point.
She stood in the middle of the yard under the tree cleaning those switches for a good five minutes before she went back inside the house. I could tell she was more afraid to face her mother than to be seen nearly naked by her neighbors. A moment after the front door had closed it opened again. The young woman came back outside her hands empty now. She was followed closely by the older woman. A short discussion of irrelevant content and the young woman was bent over grabbing her ankles in the middle of the yard underneath the tree. Her buttocks were pointed in my direction and her mother took position behind her with one switch in her right hand and two in her left.
There was only a brief pause from when she took position to when the first stroke fell. The older woman started swinging high and fast. From where I was I could barely hear the swish through the air but the impact seemed to be silent. The silence didn?t last long. After about the twentieth stroke the young woman started crying out. At first it was just yelps of pain. As the switching progressed the yelps were joined by pleas for forgiveness and mercy. Eventually there were the promises for perfect behavior forever more. The older woman showed no mercy and only slowed her pace when apparently the switch broke. She took one of the two waiting in her left arm and went straight back to work. The switching continued until all three switches were broken and the young woman?s bottom was brightly reddened and clearly welted. Her cries were easily audible throughout the neighborhood.
The young woman dropped to her knees facing her mother and appeared to be begging for forgiveness. I couldn?t hear the words but, I don?t think it was given. The young woman rose to her feet and walked to the front porch. She stood in front of the main front window for the house. Her arms folded behind her back, each hand grabbing the alternate elbow. She then went down to her knees keeping her body straight. Her mother went inside and closed the door. The young woman continued to cry and sob but she was otherwise motionless. Her position and location put her welted and sore bottom on display for anyone who might pass by and her face must have been visible from inside the house.
I waited for a few moments watching the young woman in awe. I could hardly believe the punishment I had just witnessed let alone the fact that it was quite obvious it was meant to be witnessed. I felt pity for the young woman and I hoped her mother wouldn?t make her stay outside and exposed like she was for much longer but, I think she was there for a long time.
I felt a bit guilty about having witnessed the whole thing. I decided to head home and leave the poor woman to her shame. The noise of my footsteps startled the poor woman and she turned her head just for an instant but I know she saw me. Her face was all tears, humiliation and pain. Still she was beautiful and I was incredibly aroused. I went home and left her there but, she was in my fantasies that night and many nights since.