Take a bus

Seeing your spanking rules put into practice has been enjoyable and informative, but participation beats observation, so you decide to wend your way towards busier areas where there's more chance of meeting a naughty young lady in need of correction. It's almost time for schools to be letting out their pupils, but you're pretty sure that a middle aged man hanging around outside looking for over-eighteen schoolgirls to spank will attract the wrong kind of attention, so you quickly abandon that idea.

Just a few paces beyond the community centre, you pass a woman maybe ten years older than you, waiting at a bus stop, a large paddle conspicuously protruding from her grey leather handbag. At least some women must appreciate the opportunity to receive corporal punishment, even when it's no longer compulsory. On a whim, you enquire about the schedule and destination and receive the information that the bus expected to arrive in the next couple of minutes goes to the shopping centre at the edge of town.

A shopping centre with boutiques and beauty salons sounds exactly the sort of place to find your quarry, so you thank the woman for the information and wait with her until the conveyance arrives exactly on schedule less than two minutes later. You pay the male driver using your smartphone and take a seat near the front of the almost-empty single decker, where you can see passengers as they embark and pedestrians on the streets outside.

It turns out the journey is longer than you expected, as the route is somewhat circuitous and there are many stops to take on passengers (and far fewer for them to leave, meaning the vehicle becomes more crowded over time).

Your mind is wandering to the other rules you could make, either to improve the world or just to improve your experience of it, when a goddess in human form steps up to buy a ticket. Wearing a uniform of white knee-high socks, black patent leather sandals, a short grey skirt and maroon blazer, the presence of a long white cane hanging from a sparkly pink hair clip in her loose chestnut-brown tresses proves that she's an adult. It doesn't surprise you that girls are required to wear uniforms into the sixth form now, but it does astound you that such a rare beauty has stepped onto your bus. She has the face of a model, a perfect hourglass figure and just a hint of golden tan, whilst her jazzy nail varnish matches her hair clip and lip gloss. You're so taken with her that you hardly notice her friend, a blonde (also of spankable age, carrying a round plastic paddle) who would be considered quite beautiful in her own right if her companion weren't so stunning.

As they walk back to find a seat and the bus pulls off, you wrack your brain to think of an excuse to flog the delightful teen, but so far her behaviour has been exemplary. You're still contemplating the issue at the next stop where another, much younger looking schoolgirl from a different school gets on, followed by a few older passengers. The bus is getting quite crowded by now and the girl remains standing to make sure she's not occupying a seat that will be needed by her elders.

Suddenly, you notice something not quite right. The little girl has a rectangular wooden hairbrush fastened to her schoolbag.

"Excuse me, miss," you ask, "how old are you?"

The innocent question provokes an unexpectedly nervous response. She looks around as if searching for an escape route, before admitting in little more than a whisper that she is, in fact, fully eighteen years of age.

A slight hush has fallen over the passengers and the driver leans out of his booth to see what's going on, a frown on his face. Something clicks in your head and you think you know why the deceptively immature young woman is worried.

"Did you pay for an adult ticket?"

If she was agitated before, she's downright distraught now, tears pouring unchecked from her eyes. She looks at the screen of her mobile device, possibly considering whether she can feign ignorance and express surprise that the e-ticket she purchased was for a child, but the driver speaks up.

"Oi, I've seen you on here before. You always buy a half! What's your game, then?"

"I'm sorry! You just assumed, because I look so young and I didn't want to correct you." It's not much of an excuse and the driver's expression hardens at the implication that he was at fault.

"It's theft and fraud. Would you like me to call the police?"

"Noooo, pleeease, I'm so sorry, I'll pay it all back and I'll never do it again, I promise." She actually drops to her knees, raising her hands in supplication, but you doubt there's any leeway in this. She's committed a crime and the driver is unlikely to have the power to avoid involving the authorities.

You've reckoned without the changes wrought by your rule that all young women are universally considered too immature to make good decisions, however, because the bus company employee has the following reply:

"Very well. I'll call your parents later and we'll talk about repayment. For now, though, you need a spanking and I can't afford to get any further behind schedule, so you're going to have to wait until my shift's over. In the meantime, any passenger who wants to help out can give you a few smacks and you can tip them by paying half their fare. What do you say to that?"

She stares at him in horror: having to tell her parents, riding the bus for maybe an hour or more, getting spanked by all the passengers—because who would turn down a fifty-percent discount?—and then being punished by the driver on top is worse than she could have imagined, but finally she manages to squeak out that she's very grateful.

Sitting at the front, you're the first person to whom she offers her hairbrush, just as the journey resumes. She's a scrawny little thing, flat-chested and, whilst pretty enough, not a patch on the schoolgirl you were ogling previously, but you feel somewhat responsible, so you take the proffered implement and pull her across your knee. Black skirt up and white knickers down, you give five hard smacks to her thin left buttock and then push her on her way. She gave a yelp after each swat, but counted them and thanked you politely enough, so you don't feel the need to prolong the experience. If only it were the other girl, you would have found the spanking far more rewarding.

Ignoring the miscreant currently being spanked by one of the women who embarked with her, you look back at the brunette beauty, who is reading quietly, ignoring the whole situation, as a demure lady should. You can't let the opportunity slip through your fingers and a plan begins to form in your mind.