Ivy Reid stepped from the train onto the platform along with the other commuters and fell in with the tide flowing towards the exit. This was a new experience: the London suburban commute. She had caught the train from the station in the morning and had found her way back in the evening. As she walked, she buttoned her coat, a chilly wind was blowing. What a day, her first at her new job. She had liked it, liked it very much, the people and everything. Unlike the day before nothing had gone wrong... though, all things considered, the day before had turned out not to be the disaster it had so nearly been. Once she had stepped through George Crombie's front door all had been well. He was not hurrying her on either; not saying she needed to leave and find a place. He had said just that again over breakfast, had said it would not be a problem for him and, to be fair, he had not said it with the hope of more sex with her: he had already suggested her staying a few days before she had... was it really seduced him? Well, it had all been so very comfortable before the fire and with the old gentlemen reading Lady Chatterley and all, and his erection coming, or rather poking out through his dressing gown; she shrugged, it had been nice. What would her friends have said, what would her boyfrie... Ivy stopped dead in her tracks and the man behind her bumped right into her.
"Sorry," she said. The man was about to say something probably less than complimentary about women who stop suddenly in the street when he just shrugged his shoulders, "No matter," he said and walked on past her. Perhaps he had decided she was someone well worth bumping into and making rather physical contact. Certainly, he was rather more her type than George Crombie - much closer to her age for one thing. Ivy smiled at the retreating figure and then frowned at the reason she had stopped. Boyfriend? She had no boyfriend. Did not want to see him again and as for that so called 'best friend,' not her either. How much did she care what they thought of her having sex with a man old enough to be her grandfather? Nothing. He was not her grandfather after all - she had liked him, her real grandfather, the one she had known; long gone alas. Ivy started walking again. She would have sex with George Crombie again that night. She did not care what they thought. It was almost defiance.
The knot of commuters was thinning out as she turned at another junction towards George Crombie's house. She had been careful to remember the way that morning. It would not do to get lost.
Would the old gentleman want to spank her? She had teased him with the idea the night before. She smiled to herself. He had been so good to her. Perhaps she should insist. A knock at his door and there was George Crombie opening it and greeting her. Would she like a cup of tea, might he take her coat, how had the day been, did she find the travelling difficult? What a gentleman he was, what a delight, how good to be welcomed back like that. Such a sweet old boy. Yes, she very much would like a cup of tea.
Returning with a tray - and were those really china cups and saucers and did anyone still use a teapot, let alone a tea cosy? It was all so very different from her stoneware mugs, packed somewhere in the boot of her car.
"Did you have any plans for the evening, Ivy, perhaps you met someone at your new job? A girl suggesting you go to the pictures. A nice boy perhaps, I'd like to think of you getting over..."
Ivy smiled, what a nice old boy to think that, "No, it's too far back up into town," already she was getting the local patois, calling London 'town.' I did meet some nice girls there and, perhaps, but boys... Nope, not going to go down that route for a while. So, I've..." her pause was deliberate as were her choice of words, "nothing on this evening."
For a moment George Crombie sat there as if uncertain what to say, a smile and a slight raising of the eyebrows indicated he had decided her words were very deliberate, "I'd better put some more coal on the fire then. Don't want you catching a chill! Do tell me about your day."
And she told him; he was ready to listen and she keen to recount how it had all been. How she had very much liked the place, the work and the people. She very much hoped it was going to be OK. A fresh start; and a fresh start was what she needed.
"So, no need for a spanking," she said.
"Spanking?" He looked puzzled
"You said if the job didn't go well and I was a naughty girl then..."
"Did I really?"
"Like a schoolboy."
"More a schoolgirl, Ivy!"
It was good to laugh. So very different from how it had been on the road the day before and when she had broken down. All so very different. Warm, dry and with a second cup of tea.
"Would you like to spank me even though I've been a good girl? I don't mind. I think I'd like it even if you wouldn't."
"What man..."
What man, indeed. Ivy rather thought the man who had bumped into her might very much have liked to chastise her for her unthinking stop. Would very much have liked to take her over his knee; perhaps taken her home and seen to her properly; given her a good spanking and maybe sought to teach her a lesson or two.
George Crombie, though, was there, was sitting opposite her in his cavalry twill trousers, chequered shirt, tie and Harris tweed jacket. Ivy finished her tea, stood up, came across to him and carefully knelt and bent herself over his knee, bottom very much uppermost.
"Oh, well, this is most, um, unexpected and, err, very nice." She felt his hand resting on her bottom as if unsure. "Are you sure? I mean, you haven't done anything wrong at all and..."
"Spank me. When have you had the opportunity?"
"Well, never. Very well."
The hand left her bottom and then came down, not with a great deal of force behind it though it did rub her bottom through her skirt afterwards. Perhaps to make it feel better or perhaps because the old man liked the idea of stroking young girls' bottoms.
"Come, George, you can do better than that. And shouldn't my bottom be bare?"
"Yes, Ivy, I suppose that's the drill. In that case, I'd better..."
