The nurses’ station

I cannot believe this all happened 47 years ago. I spent my teenage years in a large town in the south of England. In our town, there were two legendary events every teenager wanted to attend. For the girls, it was the firemen’s party – the opportunity to slide down the pole was always popular, for some reason! 

For the boys, it was the nurses’ party, which traditionally fell between Christmas and New Year. This particular year, my friend Alan had a pass and was permitted to bring two friends – I was one, our friend Pete the other.

I wasn’t the best looking boy at 17, nor was I the worst, but I wasn’t terribly confident and still a virgin. Still, the nurses’ party was good for cheap beer, a chance of a slow dance with a student nurse and maybe a bit of a grope – most 17-year-old boys would take that.

In reality, the party wasn’t quite the orgy of sex and drugs and rock ‘n’ roll I had been expecting. Yes, there were nurses. Yes, there was cheap beer. But it was a pretty tame affair. Anyhow, the three of us made the most of it and had an under-age beer or two. There was a noisy group of young nurses dancing, but you had to be a brave man to go there.

A group of older women were just sitting, having a good laugh, at one end of the room. Two of them took my eye. One was a giggly woman who wore a silly Christmas hat, who seemed to be the life and soul of the party. Her friend was taller, slim, dark-haired and wearing pixie ears! I rather fancied the taller one – she reminded me of an actress of the time.

The beer began to take effect, and I excused myself and went to the loo. As a child, I’d stayed overnight for a minor procedure in this part of the building. After using the loo, I wandered along the corridor and tried to find the ward where I had stayed.

On my way back I stopped at the nurses’ station, and I was idly reading a noticeboard there when the two older nurses appeared – they’d also been to the toilet it seems. They explained that I shouldn’t go along the corridor, as that part of the hospital was in use. I told them about my overnight stay and we struck up a conversation. It turned out the taller woman wearing the pixie ears worked in that children’s ward. Small world! We chatted easily, walking back to the party. Her name was Susan, and she was a married mum.

The two women had finished a shift earlier, and were enjoying a drink before going home. Back in the hall, a slow song was playing. I asked Susan if she would like a dance – I somehow felt comfortable with her. “Get on with you!” she replied, “I’m old enough to be your mum!” I blushed but managed to say: “That’s why I asked you – I feel more confident with older women.”

Susan looked me up and down a bit, then said: “Oh, go on then – but mind you keep your hands to yourself!” I enjoyed the playful telling-off, and it’s just as well Susan didn’t know the effect it was having in my trousers.

A cheer went up from Susan’s friends in the corner as we walked to the dance floor. Susan was a little taller than me in heels. As we began dancing, she warned me again to behave. Again, I blushed a bit but confessed: “I like you talking to me like that.” “Cheeky monkey!” she shot back.

This flirting was such a turn-on. Even more than the scolding, I desperately wanted Susan to threaten me with a smacked bottom. However, the song was drawing to an end and I had no idea how to go about my aim. I considered sliding a hand down to grope Susan’s bum, but I think she would have simply stopped dancing and walked away, which would have been crushing, especially in front of my mates.

The song finished. “Thank you for behaving,” Susan said, a wry smile on her face. “I thought you might smack me if I didn’t,” I replied. I was trying to imply a slap to my face, but I was hoping it might provoke a spanking reference in return.

The flirting continued: “You’d probably enjoy that, though, wouldn’t you?”she asked. I now went tomato-red in the face but managed to look a little sheepish. “Is that why you prefer older women?” Emboldened, I replied: “Well, a student nurse is unlikely to smack me, is she? I mean, you’re a mum…you’ve got experience of that.” “I most certainly have!” Susan replied, rather dryly.

She steered me over to the drinks table, and said: “You’d better have a non-alcoholic one, we’ll have no more under-age drinking!” “You knew?” “It’s pretty obvious, young man. If you were mine, you’d be getting a smacked bottom for that!”

My head was now whirling: “You’d smack me for underage drinking?” “If you were my son, yes. You’d be over my knee faster than you knew it!” This motherly tone made my burgeoning erection go rock-hard in my pants. I said: “My mum hasn’t smacked my bottom since I was little. I’m too old for that, surely?” Susan shook her head and wagged a finger playfully.

I was putty in her hands. Here I was, 17 and knowing very little of the world. Susan must have been in her late 30s or even early 40s. Looking back, she was definitely toying with me, like a cat with a stunned mouse.

After a while, she finished her drink, then to my surprise and disappointment she gave me a peck on the cheek, said ‘keep off the beer’, stood up and walked out of the hall. My hopes were crushed!

I returned to my mates, who teased me about my ‘grab a granny’ date. After a while, Susan’s shorter friend appeared. She took my arm and pulled me aside, and told me to report to the nurses’ station along the hall. I asked her why, but she just repeated the instruction.

I wandered along the corridor, convinced I was the victim of a wind-up. I stood there for a second like a lemon, and I was about to go to the loo when a door opened and Susan beckoned me in, closing the door behind us.

“Right, young man – I’ll give you the spanking you deserve if you promise me there will be no hanky-panky!” “Um, yes, I promise,” I replied. I could hardly believe what was happening. “Are you smacking me for under-age drinking, then?'” “That seems as good a reason as any, doesn’t it?” she replied tartly.

Susan had pulled out a chair ready and sat down on it now. She crooked a finger for me to come to her. My legs were shaking and all sorts of crazy thoughts were rushing through my head. What if someone came in? What if someone in the corridor outside heard? I was brought out of this whirlwind by Susan saying: “I’m waiting, young man!”

I fumbled with the button of my jeans – I’m sure Susan couldn’t help but observe the bulge in the front now, but she was in no mood for delay. “Hurry up, now!” I somehow unbuttoned and unzipped my trousers and drew them down to my ankles. Then I stepped a little closer towards her.

Susan raised a finger of warning. “Absolutely no hanky-panky!” “I promise,” I said. Then I blurted out: “I want you to treat me like I was your son and had been naughty.” “Oh I will, young man, just as soon as you get yourself across my knee!”

So over I went. I hadn’t had my bottom smacked since I was about three or four years old, and even then, it was only a few mild pats from Mum, largely symbolic to make me behave. But I had fantasised about spankings for a long time – and now it had become a reality. I was across the knee of an experienced nurse and mother!

Susan pulled my underpants up so the fabric was tight against my buttocks. As the disco music blared on in the distance, she said: “Right – this is the spanking you would receive for under-age drinking!” She put her left hand in the small of my back, then the right made contact with my bottom for the first time. Susan smacked firmly and steadily – and it really stung. You could tell she was experienced in dealing with naughty children! She seemed to be carefully placing the smacks rather than just spanking away wildly, concentrating most of her efforts on the crease between my thighs and buttocks.

For a while, it was a pleasurable sensation. My penis was hard as concrete and I’ve no doubt Susan could feel it against her lap. Before long, however, there was a gradual transition as pain overtook the pleasure – the steady build-up of heat in my behind began to become extremely uncomfortable. I stopped worrying about us being discovered and my primary concern became the sting in my bottom.

The smacks stopped momentarily, but only so that Susan could pull the fabric of my underpants into my bum crack, effectively leaving me bare-bottomed. She started spanking me again, increasing the speed. By now my erection had totally subsided. I rolled from side to side on her lap, trying to evade my punishment, but she held me firmly. I was sorely tempted to reach back to protect my bottom but God knows what she would have done, had I done so!

I tried to find something to grab on to, and in my confusion I put my hand on Susan’s ankle. Her leg was warm to the touch, but I couldn’t enjoy the feeling I was much warmer on a certain part of my anatomy! By now, I can really honestly say that I wasn’t enjoying myself. I held my breath and squeezed my eyes shut as tight as possible, maybe to keep from crying. I had no idea a spanking could hurt so much!

Susan slipped her arm around my waist to control me better and spanked with renewed vigour. She smacked slower now, but the blows were much harder. I couldn’t kick my legs much, with my jeans around my ankles – all I could manage was a slow cycling-type motion. Wow, could Nurse Susan smack a bottom!

I think it last a total of about three or four minutes but suddenly it was all over. Susan gave my more or less bare bottom a playful pat. “Up you get!” I stood up on very wobbly legs, slowly regaining my balance as I pulled my jeans back up. My face was flushed and my bum stung like hell.

Susan stood up, slipped her coat back on and picked up her handbag. Then she gave me a motherly look. “No more beer – understood?” I nodded and rubbing my bottom meekly, replied: “Thank you for spanking me.” “Well, you certainly deserved it. Seriously, though, love, try to find a girl your own age, OK?”

She departed, and I was left rubbing my bum in the office behind the nurses’ station, trying to arrange my thoughts. I had thought about spankings constantly throughout my teen years, but my sore bottom was making me question my fantasies. Spankings hurt a lot! I was 17, hardly a child, yet Susan had put me across her knee like a little boy and made me wish she would stop long before she actually had.

I went ruefully to the toilet and washed my face, then returned to the party. Alan was trying his lucky with a young nurse on the dance floor, so I joined Pete by the bar. “Where the hell have you been?” I lied my face off. “Gave me a blow job, didn’t she?” “Bloody hell – you and your older woman!” There was envy in his voice, though. “Was she any good?” My burning rear gave me the answer. “Oh yes,” I replied. “Really good.”

Well, I was still a virgin, but I had had my first sexual experience – a sound spanking across the knee of a mature woman. It remains a treasured memory.

I’m assuming Susan is no longer with us, or if she is, she’ll be a very old lady. But I remain eternally grateful to her for one of the best spankings of my life. I took her advice and found a long-term girlfriend and, after much deliberating, I confessed my kink to her. That girlfriend became my wife, and I still get put over her knee even today.

Contributor: Joe

All Maman stories are copyright, unauthorised reproduction may lead to legal action.