A First-Class Spanking
When a beautiful young ticket inspector forgets to announce the Duchess of Belminster’s stop, her first week on the Midland Line suffers a painful derailment. Within a plush private compartment, she finds herself turned-over an aristocratic lap. A First-Class Spanking is an express journey en route to thorough discipline!
The Midland Line's junior ticket inspector, Nancy Briggs, straightened her cap, admiring her reflection in the gleaming window of the first-class carriage. She looked as though she’d marched straight from the uniform catalogue, freshly minted pride stitched into every seam. Her navy-blue jacket, nipped at the waist, underlined the generous curve of her breasts, and the snug, hip-hugging skirt was guaranteed to turn heads. Upon her belt, her brass ticket-punch hung like a ceremonial sword of office.
Having been promoted from the ticket office just a week before, Nancy was eager to set her new role on the right track. At only nineteen, she was the company's youngest inspector, and was determined to prove herself punctual and reliable beyond her years. As per uniform regulation, she had made every effort to pin her brunette hair into a formal bun, although one rebellious curl insisted upon flirting with her rosy cheek.
“No passenger unchecked. No timetable detail overlooked,” she reminded herself as she marched along the platform with exaggerated briskness.
The guard, a wiry fellow with a foxy grin, leaned out of the guard’s van as she passed. “Steady on, Miss Briggs,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Looking like that, you’ll have the whole train steaming!”
Nancy blushed, trying to conceal her proud smile until he was out of sight. She smoothed her skirt, aware that his was not the only admiring gaze that she had begun to attract since stepping out from the ticket counter and into the public eye.
It was then that the Duchess of Belminster arrived in full sail. She swept onto the platform at Leicester like a galleon making harbour, feathers quivering in her elaborate hat, pearls bobbing upon the matronly swell of her bosom as though keeping time to a metronome. A harassed porter trudged after her with a well-travelled trunk, and a weary frown upon his face.
“First class!” she boomed, striding down the platform as the other passengers shrank away in her wake. “I have pressing engagements, and no time for provincial incompetence.”
Nancy sprang forward, eager to impress. “Leave it to me, Your Grace. I shall personally ensure your accommodation and journey are first-class. You can rely on me to announce your station in good time. I won’t let you down.”
The Duchess bestowed upon her a gaze that could have curdled milk. “You had better ensure there are no slip-ups. My diary waits for no man, and certainly no dilatory railway girl. If I am not set down at Lutterworth on the dot, heads will roll quicker than the wheels beneath us.”
“I'll see to it personally,” Nancy assured her.
The express rattled onward, clattering through cuttings and over bridges, while Nancy busied herself with tickets and tea trays. She had just fended off another flirtatious wink from the guard when she overheard a passenger remarking to their neighbour: “No, I've only just joined the train. I came aboard at Lutterworth.”
Nancy froze, the words striking her like a thunderclap. She darted to the window, heart hammering, and saw the countryside sweeping by. The Duchess of Belminster's requested station was now a mere speck, disappearing into the distance.
“Oh heavens above,” she exclaimed, her ticket punch slipping from her fingers and clattering to the floor. A cold chill swept through her, followed by a hot wave of dread. This was her first week on the job, and it seemed she had already managed to let down a Duchess with spectacular efficiency. And, this particular Duchess, was also an influential local dignitary.
“I'm in for it now,” Nancy whimpered, clutching her cap as though that might steady her spinning thoughts.
She tried to concoct an excuse. Perhaps I might say the guard distracted me? No, that only makes me sound feeble. A signalling error? Too obvious. Oh, Nancy! You're such a nincompoop!
With every sway of the carriage her dread grew. She was desperate to keep her career on the rails, and couldn't bear the thought of being returned to the ticket office in disgrace.
Nancy pictured the Duchess waiting in her compartment, glancing at her watch, expecting her station to be announced at any second. She could imagine the frosty tone in her voice: “Miss Briggs, explain why I remain upon this train.”
Passengers glanced in curiosity as Nancy skulked down the corridor, wringing her hands, lips moving as she rehearsed her apologies. In her vivid imagination, every face seemed to glare at her in accusation.
The mahogany door of the Duchess’s private compartment loomed before her like the imposing entrance to a court of judgement. The Duchess was the Judge, and she was the prisoner, about to face trial for serious dereliction of duty.
Nancy raised her hand to knock, hesitated, and for a moment, considered fleeing back the way she’d come. Yet somehow, with the timidity of a condemned schoolgirl summoned to the headmistress's office, she tapped at the door.
“Enter,” came the Duchess’s voice, syrupy-smooth, though Nancy suspected any sweetness would soon turn bitter.
Anxious and trembling, she slipped inside. The Duchess peered over half-moon spectacles, appointment diary open on her lap, a watch in her hand, and her foot tapping with impatience.
“Are we approaching Lutterworth yet? It feels like a long journey today,” the Duchess said. “I presume you're here to assist with my departure?”
Nancy’s throat tightened. “Your Grace… I fear we’ve… we’ve just past it. I missed the signal. I can only beg your pardon, but if I help you to change at Rugby, the Local will take you straight back to Lutterworth. I do hope you won’t think too badly of me, ma'am? I really am most awfully sorry.”
The Duchess closed her diary with a snap, rising to her full imposing height.
“This is an absolute disgrace! My driver will be waiting for me already, and now I'm going to be late for my afternoon engagements.”
Nancy’s knees went weak. This was beginning to feel worse than any scolding she could remember.
But, the Duchess hadn't finished. “Since I've ended up somewhere I do not wish to be, then so shall you! Since you seem to have trouble with time, I'll provide a practical demonstration, to help you remember the importance of punctuality.”
The compartment was a jewel-box of Edwardian luxury, with plush velvet seats, polished gilt fittings, and heavy drapes swaying to the rhythm of the train. A polished mahogany table held a silver tea service, and beside it, an elegant leather handbag. The Duchess reached inside, and with a pointed glance at Nancy, she produced a stout wooden hairbrush, placing it on the table with an ominous clunk.
The formidable Duchess seated herself with queenly authority, patting her lap as one might when summoning a pet spaniel. “Over you go, my girl.”
The pretty young inspector gasped, her eyes widening. “But, Your Grace, you can’t possibly mean... a spanking?”
“I most certainly do mean... a spanking! In fact, I mean to give you a very thorough spanking indeed! When I travel first-class, I expect first-class service. Whenever my expectations go off schedule, whoever is responsible soon discovers that my hairbrush always runs on time.”
Nancy felt her toes curl inside her shoes, her whole body fizzing with shame. The hollow feeling that swooped inside her tummy reminded her of being on the Big Dipper during last year's summer holidays to Blackpool.
She was a uniformed inspector, not a wayward schoolgirl, yet she felt as though the Duchess’s withering gaze was reducing her to precisely that. For a fleeting moment, she found herself wishing she was back behind the ticket window, safe from such perilous and painful predicaments. Only a newfound pride in her responsibilities helped to steel her resolve, though she knew her bottom was ill prepared for the onslaught of that awful hairbrush.
Blushing in abject humiliation, Nancy allowed herself to be tipped forward, feeling her skirt whisked up by a firm, unhesitating hand. With a tearful whimper, she felt a cool draught of air rush between her thighs as she settled over the accommodating lap. The delicate lace of her undergarments was shamefully exposed above her silk stockings, a scandalous sight that likely would have made the guard swallow his whistle.
“Now then,” the Duchess told her, her voice a stern blend of authority and maternal disapproval, “I shall address the matter of your forgetfulness... by addressing my hairbrush to your bottom! Since you forgot my station, I'll remind you of yours!”
The first swat came as an unambiguous warning of what was to follow. The heavy wooden hairbrush cracked against her knickers, reverberating in the close confinement of the compartment. Nancy squealed in surprise, aware that her dignity was being thoroughly dismantled.
The second carried even more weight, a thwack that made her posterior prickle with an instant, needling warmth. The third and fourth landed with rapid precision, bouncing from cheek-to-cheek, sending a rippling shockwave through the yielding flesh of her vulnerable, upturned behind.
“And, we'll have no wriggling,” warned the Duchess. Her arm snaked even more tightly around the inspector's hips, pinning her into position.
“I can’t help it, ma'am!” Nancy gasped, squirming as she teetered across the unsympathetic lap. “My poor sit-upon!”
As the Duchess's right arm gathered pace and became more vigorous in its ministrations, Nancy felt her eyes growing damp, a lone tear dribbling to the tip of her nose. Her fingers nestled into the luxurious wool carpet of the first class compartment while she struggled to maintain balance. In matters of discipline, the Duchess of Belminster's philosophy appeared to be one of full steam ahead.
Each whack of the hairbrush was perfectly on schedule. No delays, no changes! As promised, it was an express service, transporting its regretful passenger, non-stop, to a burning rear.
“Please, no more ma'am!” Nancy protested. From the blazing sting that was beginning to consume every bit of her attention, she was certain that her cheeks must now be glowing like a pair of red signal-lamps. The Duchess might have missed her stop, but it was clear that her hairbrush never missed a connection.
“This is for your own good young lady. You need to learn that even one missed stop, is one too many. You should be grateful this delay gives us ample time to resolve the matter in person, instead of me lodging a formal complaint with your superiors.”
The train rattled, wheels clattering in perfect counterpoint to the Duchess’s rhythm. Nancy squealed, gasped, and fluttered her hands as each stroke landed with crisp inevitability. Between smacks, the Duchess’s voice rolled on, like a governess giving an earnest lecture.
“Punctuality, my dear, is the key to order. And I do hope you aren't feeling reserved, because these are coming down... right now!”
“Oh no— Your Grace! Please, not on the bare!”
Despite the impassioned plea, her knickers plunged to her knees and Nancy felt the blushes inching down her neck. A shivery tingle entwined mortification with a strange awareness that she had never experienced before. In her mind's-eye she could visualise the ignominious spectacle of her naked behind, presented across the Duchess's knees.
The compartment might be private, but Nancy was certain the sound of this bare-bottomed blistering would echo down the train corridor. A self-conscious dread washed over her as she wondered just how many passengers might be eavesdropping. How quickly would the humiliating gossip spread? With awful certainty, she knew the guard's inquisitive ear would be amongst those hovering closest to the door, no doubt relishing the thought of her cute bottom on the receiving end of a jolly good spanking.
“I think two-dozen more should deter you from getting ideas above your station, young lady!”
The Duchess slowed the tempo, but the force of her swats increased. Nancy winced and squirmed, helpless to resist as the smarting heat blossomed. She had the wisdom to rein-in her protests as this final crescendo intensified the nascent bruises blooming across her reddened, and already thoroughly roasted derrière.
Satisfied, at last, the Duchess laid down her hairbrush with the air of a conductor concluding the grand finale of a riotous symphony. She tugged Nancy’s knickers back into place, raising an eyebrow as she noticed the warmth radiating through to her fingertips. It was like pulling underwear onto a hot-water bottle.
With surprising gentleness she helped the contrite inspector back to her feet. With the lesson over, she adjusted the uniform cap, and even tucked that stray cheeky curl behind Nancy's ear.
“There. A first-class correction, I hope you agree. And you’ll remember your duties next time, won’t you, my dear?”
“Yes ma'am,” Nancy whispered, her voice sounding small.
“Good girl. Now, help me with my trunk at the next station. And do try to control those blushes. Your face is looking almost as crimson as your seat.”
As soon as the train came to a halt at Rugby Station, the Duchess swept out with regal grandeur. The abashed figure of Nancy followed — her movement delicate, her cheeks flushed. With every step, her knicker-elastic shifted against the rawness of her rump, but she forced herself to put on a brave face.
The guard reached the platform first, and was waiting for them. His cap sat askew, moustache bristling, eyes twinkling with knowing amusement. He had seen every railway scandal from lost umbrellas to elopements, but this one had to qualify as his favourite so far. He tipped his cap to the Duchess, then leaned conspiratorially towards Nancy.
“You didn't forget to announce the Duchess's stop, did you? For a lady who has been kept waiting, she's looking ever so pleased with herself. But I'd have to say that you, young lady, have the look of someone whose rear buffers have suffered a salutary brush with authority!”
As she walked away in mortified shame, his gaze lingered upon the delicious sway of her pert bottom. He gave a smile of wry amusement. In spite of its recent misadventure, he noted that it remained as curvy and delectable as ever.
With her blushes deepening, Nancy quickened her pace, her thoughts a whirlwind of embarrassment mingled with chastened enlightenment. Every cloud has a silver lining, she tried to tell herself, and this unforgettable incident had at least given her a signal lesson in the importance of keeping her duties on track.
With a rueful grimace, and a discreet rub of her still smarting rear, she reflected that on this line, locomotives weren’t the only tenders that could be left steaming... when properly stoked.