A lesson for Lisa

Professor Jim was very cross.  His favourite protégée Lisa was consistently late in handing in her assignments.  Goodness knows what she was doing with her time but it was clear that he was going to have to discipline her.

There was a knock on his door.

“Enter”

It was Lisa, looking lovely as ever.  Jim could not help but admire her.

“You wanted to see me Professor Jim?” she enquired, smiling in her usual affable manner.

“Yes I did Lisa.  I have been noticing with increasing concern that your assignments have been coming in late and regretfully this can no longer be overlooked.  I am afraid that I have to punish you.”

“Oh sir!” she replied.  “Please don’t do that.  I will be good and work extra hard; I have just lost motivation for the moment.  I can soon catch up.”

“No I am sorry Lisa.  You said that last time.  I regret to say that my patience has run out.   Bend over the bookcase and pull up your skirt and petticoat please.”

She looked crestfallen, but she did as she was told.  Meanwhile Jim opened his cupboard and took out the swishy rattan cane which he used to punish his errant students.  It pained him to use it on Lisa but she did deserve it.  It was, after all, for her own good.

He took up position behind her, then addressed six very firm strokes across her pristine white panties which shook and vibrated as he applied them.  Lisa squealed and gasped a bit, but she took them without complaint.

“Right stand up Lisa,” said Jim when the caning was over.  He admired his protégée as she rose a little red eyed and the skirts fell into position over her chastised bottom.

“You may go now,” he said kindly, “But I want that assignment in by first thing tomorrow morning or I am afraid that…..well ….you understand don’t you?”

“Yes sir,” replied Lisa rubbing her sore bottom through her skirts.  “I will see to it right away.  Thank you sir.”

With that she left the office, leaving Jim feeling very pleased with a job well done.

Short Story - Best Friends

Chrissie and Melanie were best chums at school, delighting in each other’s company, sharing the ups and downs of boarding school life, and getting into the odd scrape on the way.

People said that they were like twins, especially in their black gymslips, both being fairly tall and of medium build. They each had shoulder length hair tied back in a regulation ponytail, and the only thing that separated them at first glance was that Mel was a brunette, while Chrissie was a golden blonde.

The school maintained a strict regime, but somehow they always managed to stay below the radar; except that is, for the time that Mel got caught sneaking back through the fence, on the way back from an illicit raid on the village tuck shop.

That had earned her a visit to the headmistress, and caning, which also meant a black mark on her record. Chrissie had been with her on that outing, but had managed to sneak back into school without being caught. Mel, in true British tradition of loyalty to her friends, had not “squealed” and had taken the rap alone; even though it had been Chrissie’s suggestion that they go in the first place.

The incident had taken place a couple of years previously, and each had maintained an otherwise unblemished record but, when they reached the sixth form and the prefectures were handed out, only Chrissie was accorded the privilege. In the role, she was responsible for discipline amongst the girls under her charge and, if necessary, authorised to dispense up to six strokes of the cane.

She was not a strict disciplinarian as such, but neither did she believe in sparing the rod. In her defence however, she was scrupulously fair and only caned when rules had been broken. Rule-breakers could not expect mercy; neither did they receive it.

It was therefore unfortunate when Mel was caught using the Matron’s telephone by Chrissie herself, acting in response to a tip-off from a junior girl, and hauled up to the prefects’ common room to face the music.

Once in the common room, there was only one thing that could happen, and Chrissie reluctantly went to the cupboard and took out one of the canes. Three or four of the other prefects were lounging around, feigning disinterest, but each of them knew of the special friendship between the two, and they were secretly wetting themselves with the prospect of what was about to take place.

Mel wasn’t wetting herself though; she was almost shitting herself instead, because she knew that unauthorized use of the telephone was an automatic six of the best on the bottom. As she stood there waiting, the gnawing feeling in her stomach was transmitting signals to her ass, and she had to pinch her cheeks together to stop herself from farting. She dare not look around the room, but she knew that all the attention was on her.

Chrissie picked up a chair and placed it in the middle of the room. She said nothing but Mel knew it was for her to bend over. It stood before her like an executioner’s block.

Mel felt like crying because it seemed so unjust that her best friend, the one whose neck she had saved eighteen months before, was now going to beat her. And there could be no question of anything less than six vicious cuts of the cane through her knickers. The punishment was prescribed, and Chrissie would have to carry it out properly, or there would be questions asked.

Licking her lips with fear, and with chest pounding, Mel stepped forward, lifted the skirt above her waist and bent over the back of the chair, grasping hold of the seat tightly with both hands. She fidgeted slightly, then pushed up on her tip-toes in the approved manner.

The cane swished through the air and cracked against her bottom, echoing round the room like a pistol shot. Almost immediately, the searing pain ripped through her body in a sea of fire, and it was all she could do to clench her teeth together and gasp inwardly. No sooner had the surging shockwaves settled into a bar of raging torment across the centre of her buttocks, than a second stroke worked its way in; just as hard; just as painful. It was followed by four more, leaving her gasping for breath in their wake.

The tears welled up into Mel’s eyes with shame and humiliation. She stood up when the command came, and hurried from the room, running straight into the lavatories down the corridor. Having locked herself inside a cubicle, she pulled down her knickers, trying to look behind her to examine the damage, but it was physically impossible. She ran her hands over the bulging welts and felt their angry response.

Suddenly there was a knock on the cubicle door, and she heard a girl’s voice through the mist of pain. It was Chrissie………

“Mel! It’s me. Please open the door. I am so sorry. I didn’t have any choice. I had to cane you!”

The door flew open, and Melanie burst out, eyes red with tears and rage.

“You fucking two-faced witch!” she screamed and punched her former friend square on the nose. Then both grabbed hold of the other’s hair and soon they were rolling on the ground screaming at each other, with Mel’s knickers still down around her ankles.

They made such a commotion that half the school heard the noise, and came to investigate what was going on. Soon the lavatory block was filled with excited pupils all straining and pushing to try and get a better view.

In the end Miss Parsons and a posse of prefects arrived to separate the two belligerents, and restore some kind of order.

Then Mel and Chrissie were marched down to the headmistress’s office to explain themselves.

On the way to there, it quickly dawned upon both girls that they were in deep shit. Fighting was strictly prohibited. At the very least, it attracted a severe caning. Since Mel had already received one of those not half an hour before, she was going to be in for a bad time. She could of course ask for it to be deferred, but she would need a good reason, and then it would come to light that she had just been beaten for using the telephone without permission.

Much as she hated to admit it, Chrissie had been doing her a favour by caning her, because that way it had at least kept the offence off the record. Now, with fighting added to her misconduct tally, she faced expulsion.

On the other hand, Chrissie was for it too, unless she got the blame laid firmly at Mel’s door. And in fairness, she had every right to do so, because it was the truth.

Mel had been guilty of breaking the rules and Chrissie had rightly punished her for it. The only reason she had gone to the toilets was to try to offer comfort. Chrissie was innocent in all this, and now she faced the choice of either being stripped of her prefect status, or shopping her erstwhile best friend.

Upon arrival outside the Head’s office, the two girls were instructed to sit down in the waiting room, while Miss Parsons went inside to brief Mrs Wilson, the Head, on the situation as she saw it. Mel and Chrissie sat at either end of the row of hard wooden chairs. Mel was fidgeting and Chrissie was wiping a couple of blood spots away from her nose. They were avoiding each other’s gaze.

Presently the door opened and Mel’s heart sank. Oh dear God this was it. She was ready to beg and plead for reprieve. Okay, maybe if she just kept her mouth shut and she was really lucky, she might just get away with a caning. Could she take another caning? Her ass was already on fire…..

The tall, angular figure of Miss Parsons appeared in the doorway. Beyond her, Mel caught a glimpse of Chrissie’s back, as she stood facing the Head’s desk.

“Right Melanie,” said Miss Parsons. “You may go. Chrissie has told us what happened and we will deal with it.”

Mel’s jaw dropped open. Go? She did not understand. Why…..?

“Go on girl!” snapped Miss Parsons. “Don’t hang around here.”

With her knees still trembling from shock, and fear of the caning which apparently she was not going to get, she made her way shakily and uncomprehendingly towards the outer door, still unable to believe what was going on.

 As she reached the door, she heard the voices again coming from the inner office, followed suddenly by the unmistakable crack of a cane hitting someone’s bottom. It could only have been Chrissie’s. A second, and then a third followed. Mrs Wilson was laying them on hard; ……four……..five………..

“Oh God no!” Mel realised that somehow Chrissie had taken the blame for the fight and that she, Melanie, was going to get off scot-free. She wanted to burst back into the office and stop it. But she realised it was too late. Her friend had already sacrificed herself to save her, just as she had done when the situations had been reversed, eighteen months earlier. They were even now, but at what cost: their friendship?

Mel suddenly collapsed crying on the floor, great tears plopping onto the polished linoleum. If only she had been able to control her temper….

Eventually the noise of the caning ceased and the Head’s door opened; Chrissie appeared, holding her bottom and crying. When she stepped out into the corridor, she was met by Melanie who was shaking her head and crying too.

“I’m so sorry Chrissie,” she stammered. “I’m…..I'm.....”

She broke off in mid sentence. Chrissie was no longer wearing her prefect’s badge and red girdle of office. She had not only been caned, but had been reduced to the ranks as well.

Mel gasped in horror. “No!” she screamed. “Oh dear Jesus this is all my fault. I have to go and put it right.” She made as if to go back into the office but Chrissie restrained her.

“Don’t be stupid Mel," she hissed and dragged her down the corridor. “If you go back in there and tell them the truth, you are dead meat. They will expel you for sure. Now get your sorry ass upstairs, because we both need to get cleaned up. That toilet floor was disgusting. As regards the beating: forget it. I owed you one ever since you saved my neck that time, and now we are even, got it?”

It was true. But to Mel, it seemed that the price which Chrissie had just paid, was a high one.

“How many did you get?” She asked still sobbing.

“Eight. Now just leave it will you. I hated being a damned prefect anyway, because it came between us and I didn’t deserve to be one in the first place. Be positive: in three months we will both be out of here and finished with damn school. All we have to do is keep our noses clean and pass our exams. Are we friends again?”

“Of course we are Chrissie; friends forever!” cried Mel, as they went into the washroom and stripped off their clothes for a shower.

With the hot water cascading over their bodies, they took turns in soaping each other and examining their well-caned bottoms. It was so erotic, and both simultaneously realised the truth: they were in love……….

The Cheerleaders

A short story co-written with my friend Susie


The football team had lost again and Coach Johnson was in a foul mood.  Waylon Dickens his start Quarter Back had played like a ladies powder room attendant, and his wide receivers had acted like they couldn’t catch a cold in a refrigerator.

To cap it all, his niece Susie, who was the cheerleaders’ captain, had put in a performance that was as inept as he had ever seen.  So, having got the guys to work with extra training and paddlings all round from the coaching staff, Coach Johnson decided to call her into the office.  It was bad enough the players letting him down, let alone the support team.

Susie was a pretty girl to be sure, and in her uniform of gold and navy blue, she looked an absolute picture.  It seemed a shame to have to punish her, but the coach could hardly ignore her poor performance, and so action on his part was unavoidable.

He sent word for her to come and see him and presently there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he bellowed.

The door opened and in came Susie, looking a little apprehensive.  It wasn’t the first time she had been summoned to her Uncle’s office, and she had a fairly shrewd idea of what was coming.

“You wanted to see me Uncle Jim?” she asked submissively.  He was her favourite uncle and, although he was about to punish her, she still loved him with a passion.

Jim looked her up and down before speaking.  She was impeccably turned out in her uniform dress, bobby socks and saddle shoes.

“Yes I did Susie.  I want you to illuminate me on what went wrong with the cheerleaders’ routines on Saturday.  I have never seen such a poor and ham-fisted performance.   I want their asses sizzling like sausages on a barbeque.  But before that we need to have a discussion.  Now, what is your explanation for what went wrong?”

Oh God, this was bad. There was no way Susie that could tell her Uncle Jim how she and the other girls had been out partying the Friday night before the game.  It was strictly against the team rules.

Oh, it had started out innocently enough when Daisy had invited Missy, Lisa, Nicole, and Susie to watch her in the school play.  Daisy’s receiving a standing ovation for her solo performance led the girls to believe they needed to celebrate. What started out as few drinks at the local pub, had turned into an all night drink fest.

The night ended with Missy and Nicole half carrying Lisa from the bar.  Following behind, Susie and Daisy had been clutching each other while weaving side to side and singing at the tops of their voices.   It had been mayhem.

Damn! Susie knew they should have never let Missy buy that last round of shots.  Looking up into her uncle’s stern icy blue eyes, Susie knew she could never tell her uncle the truth. The only problem was that Susie wasn’t any good at lying, especially to Uncle Jim.  He always saw right thru a lie, and the consequences of lying were always a red butt.

 “We were just a little tired from all the studying we’ve been doing for finals.” Susie whispered quietly, as she ran her fingers along the edge of his desk.

Jim rested his chin in his hand and studied Susie.  Something was up. He didn't know what but, while Susie was naturally submissive in personality, she was not usually quiet or fidgety.   Jim knew exactly how to get the truth out of his niece.

“Susie, I can tell when you ain’t telling the truth.  You get one chance to tell me what really happened and I’ll only paddle you.  Continue to try my patience and I’ll get out my cane.”

 Susie eyes grew to the size of quarters and Jim could almost feel her heartbeat thudding from across the desk.  He had never caned Susie because he knew she feared it above any other implement, and with very good reason: it damned well hurt.

 “Please Uncle Jim, you are asking me to rat out my friends.  I can’t do that! I won’t!”

What started as a plea ended with a shout and a stomp of one of Susie’s little saddle shoes.  Uncle Jim slowly rose from his chair behind the desk.  He appeared to get taller and his shoulders seems to grow wider as he leaned forward resting his fist on the top of the desk.  Susie took an involuntary step back, gulping down a cry.

Uncle Jim looked huge and stern. In Susie’s fear addled mind, she thought “gorilla”!  Yes: Uncle Jim had just morphed in to a giant gorilla before her eyes. Then her normally even-tempered favourite uncle sighed and went to a cupboard behind him, opened the door and produced an evil whippy looking cane.  He swished it through the air a couple of times making his niece flinch at the sound.

“Over the desk then Susie,” he said evenly.  “You know: I admire loyalty amongst friends and, in not ratting on them, you are surely making me real proud deep down inside.  Loyalty to your friends is something that society in general could use a whole lot more of but, unfortunately, I cannot overlook your disobedience or your lamentable performance with the cheerleading team.  It wasn’t just you who was bad, but you carry overall responsibility, and therefore must take the blame.  You must be punished severely as a lesson to both you and the others.  That means you are going to get ten licks of my cane.  I want you to be very brave and make me proud of you.  Lift your skirt out of the way please."

He looked down admiringly at Susie's long legs and the way the thin cotton panties gripped her smooth pert buttocks.  Buttocks that in a minute or so would be decorated with some fairly impressive red stripes.  He lifted the cane up and tapped against them with the tip, noting how Susie reached across the desktop and gripped the other side.

"Good girl!" he said approvingly.

Sweat dripped down between the blades of Susie’s shoulders at the feel of the cane tapping against her quivering bottom.

 “Please Uncle Jim.” Susie pleaded. “Ten is too many, I can’t take ten”.

But her pleas fell on deaf ears.  While Jim was a benevolent uncle where Susie was concerned, he couldn’t allow her to get away with such a dereliction in her duties.  The cheerleaders really had put in a terrible performance.

“Yes you can Susie.  You deserve this punishment and ten is what you’re going to get. Now buck up girl, we can get thru this together.”

Together! Yeah right, Susie thought. Uncle Jim will swing his arm and I get to scream my lungs out.  Not much that’s fair about that.  Uncle Jim is right: I deserve a licking; but the cane!!! I can’t take the cane! I can’t take…..  Oh shit, I’m going to have to take it!”  She gripped the desk and closed her eyes.  OK, brace myself, I can do this, I can do this.

Susie heard the swish of air, felt a burning sensation across the middle of her bottom cheeks. No sooner had the thought “Hey! That wasn’t so bad.” entered her mind, when her mouth opened to emit a voiceless scream at the deep harsh pain that followed the strike to her now wobbling buttocks.

Jim never failed to enjoy the wriggling and squirming of a female ass when he whacked it, and he never tired of witnessing the struggle to retain composure, as the cane imposed its evil will on the hapless victim.  Susie did not disappoint.  He smiled at her desperate attempts to retain her composure.

She failed of course, and little squeals made themselves heard as she panted for breath.  There was something deeply satisfying about the crisp smacking noise that accompanied the cane swishing against a pair of taught panties.  The little indications of anguish as the searing pain took hold of the little pert bottom beneath, sending the owner into previously unknown areas of pain management, were a pleasure to behold.

Yet though she wriggled and squirmed, grunted and gasped, she never once begged for mercy or abandoned her position.  She took her punishment like a real trooper.  Ten hard swishy cane strokes, that left some handsome red traces behind on her little pink bottom, which were plainly visible on the bare areas that the panties did not cover.  He even worked in a couple on her bare thighs for variation.  In her head she counted out the ten, then waited obediently in position, sobbing and wriggling her bottom painfully.

After returning his cane to the coat closet, Jim turned to see Susie’s sobbing form still bent over the desk with her tiny fingers white from gripping the edge of the desk.

 “Princess it’s all over now” Jim soothed as his hands made light circles over the small of her back. Once Susie’s tears turned to light sniffles, Jim helped her up and guided her around to the front of his desk.

 “Now Susie I want you to stand here with your skirt up and your pretty bottom facing the rest of the room.”  Once Jim was sure she could stand, he reached towards his phone. “Linda, ask Mike to send in the rest of the girls please.”

“No Uncle Jim!” Susie pleaded softly.

 “Shush now, don’t interfere or I’ll give you another taste of the cane.  I am very displeased with all of you and I propose to make an example.  Now be a good girl and do as you are told.”

Presently there was a knock on the door and, upon the invitation to “Come in”, Missy entered, followed closely by the rest of the cheerleaders.

 “Step right this way girls,” said Jim

 “Holy hell!” Missy blurted out, as she stopped short just inside the threshold of the door.

“What’s your problem?” Nicole muttered as she bumped into Missy from behind.

Missy silently moved out of the way as the other three girls stepped into the room.  Susie whimpered at the gasps that came from her friends. The girls were speechless.  Four pairs of eyes turned from Susie’s swollen bottom, to focus on Coach Johnson.

 “Girls I thought you would like to see the results of what Susie has suffered for your inept cheerleading routines on Saturday.” All eyes returned to the sight of Susie’s scorched bum. “Susie has refused to discuss why your entire squad did so poorly on Saturday, instead taking on your punishment as well as her own. But that’s not really fair, is it girls?”

Stunned silence met Jim’s question. Finally a “No” squeaked from the kind-hearted Lisa.

 “Are you prepared to tell me what happened?” Jim questioned.

With him standing in front of them, his arms crossed over his chest, all four girls were intimidated into blurting out the truth.

 “We went out”, supplied Daisy.

 “Drinking” whispered Lisa.

 “Really late”, added Nicole.

 “Were sorry” finished Missy.

 Jim spun towards Susie.

 “Drinking Susie, this is all a result of being out late, drinking, and partying?”

Susie shuddered as she nodded her head.

“Words Susie, answer me!”

“Yes sir!”

Jim was appalled.  He realised that these girls could have been hurt drinking and partying on their own.  All four deserved a sharp lesson.

 “I’m sure all of you are aware that drinking is not tolerated during sporting season for our athletes” intoned Jim. “I’m very disappointed and none of you is leaving this office until sitting is a dim memory.  I want all of you touching your toes in front of my desk, skirts up, panties down, legs straight and feet apart.  MOVE!”

All the girls scrambled to get to the desk. The sight facing Jim was too good to be true, five nicely formed bottoms all turned up for punishment. The clenching of Missy and Nicole bums gave the impression of almost eagerness, while Daisy’s quivered in anticipation and little Lisa’s bottom actually shook in fear. Must be her first time thought Jim, and his sweet niece’s already punished bum looked starkly burnt in contrasts to her friend’s alabaster bottoms.

 Jim sighed at the different sized and shaped bottoms.   Maybe this was Nirvana.   A rap on the door turned Jim attention from his musings.

 “Why Mike, come in” invited Jim. “You are just in time to witness the girls’ extra training session! “

Uncle Jim opened the drawer in his desk and produced the leather paddle which he slapped menacingly against his free hand.

“Okay Susie,” he said.  “You can get up.  The caning I gave you is quite sufficient, and you behaved very nobly to defend your friends reputation.  However, the other ladies are not going to be so fortunate.  I shall deal with the first two, and perhaps you would like to take care of the rest Mike?”

“Sure thing Coach!” agreed Mike, licking his lips at the prospect of whacking both Nicole and Missy, who were the two closest to him.

“That’s settled then!” replied Jim moving into position behind the hapless Daisy, who was about to get a rude introduction into the world of cheerleader discipline.  Her little virgin bottom oozed with anticipation as she felt the cold paddle tapping against her pink bum-cheeks.

The smack of the paddle echoed round the room, to the accompaniment of much wailing and squealing.  Susie, with her own bottom smarting in acute discomfort from the caning, looked on in a mixture of horror and secret pleasure as the fluid began to seep around her private area.

It did not take long for Mike and Jim to complete the task.  In the space of just a few minutes, all four girls had dark red oval marks decorating the cheeks of their buttocks, and they were squirming like mad, trying to dissipate the pain.

Each had received twenty whacks, which Jim deemed to be sufficient for the lesson to had been delivered.  Mike handed the paddle back, and Jim replaced it in the drawer.

“Thank you Mike,” said Uncle Jim.  “Right then ladies: I hope that you have learned your lesson?”

“Yes sir; thank you sir!” chorused the heads below the upturned bottoms.

“Right now pull those panties up and get back to your practice routines.  And I wish to see a marked improvement from now on.  Do I make myself clear?”   

“Yes sir!” came the reply as the girls filed out.

With the click of the door behind them, Missy, Susie, Nicole, and Lisa started rubbing their bottoms to try to put out the searing pain.

 “Ow! Ooooh!” Daisy whined as she turned circles like a puppy chasing its tail. “I think your Uncle spanked my bum off Susie”.

“If your butt was gone it wouldn’t hurt so much”, Missy reasoned

“I didn’t realize you all had such sexy bottoms!”

Nicole opened her arms in a "what did I say?" shrug as Missy and Daisy rolled their eyes at her.

 “It hurt, but I kinda liked it” whispered Lisa.

 Silence: all five girls looked from one to the other knowing they all felt the same way, yet it took normally quite shy Lisa to voice the truth for all five of them. Missy and Susie shared a look.

 “Well there’s only one thing for us to do” Missy smiled.

 “Yeah”, Susie giggled thru her tears. “We need to plan some late night fun for next Friday night!

Glamourvision.com

I make no secret of the fact that women wearing slips turn me on big-time.  In surfing the net I occasionally find kindred spirits, and one of them is a lady called Tess, who runs a site called Glamourvision.com

Her's is one site I love to visit over and over, because of the sheer quality of the photography, not to mention some of the most attractive models on the planet.

Tess has kindly allowed me to feature some of her work on my blog and frankly, I am over the moon about it.  Anyway, please admire some of the many photos on her site that really "float my boat".

Six of the best

I came across this photo on the web and could not resist sharing it.  It isn't the most severe caning you will ever see but it represents my idea of what a naughty schoolgirl might have gone home with under her navy blue knickers.

I do have the owner's permission to post.  It is copyrighted.

source: Intored on spankingtube.com

OMG - Just try to tell me this ain't sexy



Martin and Mimi

Author's note: A little story by request from a friend of mine. (incomplete and ongoing)

It was one of those hot summer evenings in the summer of 1964.  Once the ambient temperature had dropped a little, Martin and his wife Mimi had been for a stroll along the beach.  As they had walked along, hand in hand, it seemed that the world was indeed an idyllic place.

At the age of thirty-seven, Martin was a little older than Mimi, who had just turned thirty.  They had been married for over ten years.  It was their first real holiday together since their honeymoon, which had been a rushed affair because of business commitments.  They had never really had the money to spare on holidays, what with buying a house and other things, but finally they had managed to save enough, and at last they were thoroughly enjoying themselves.

It was fairly modest as holidays go; nothing too ambitious such as "going abroad" had been considered.  Instead they had chosen Dorset, with its quaint old villages, little fishing ports, and rustic charm.  Somewhere where the pace of life was unhurried and they could take it easy for a fortnight.  Nothing much ever seemed to happen in this extreme south western part of England, and that was just what they were looking for: peace and tranquillity.

On the way back from the beach, they had stopped off for a drink at an old inn, down by the fishing port.  Now they were ambling, arm in arm, back to their hotel, which was located at the upper end of the little town.

 Mimi was wearing a blue floral dress with a white cardigan.  She was slightly on the plump side without being overburdened with fat, rather pretty, of medium height and with straight brown hair that curled up at the ends. 

Martin was taller at five feet nine inches; he was quite slim, had an angular face, and had short fair hair parted on the left.  An athlete he was not, preferring reading and the theatre to aggressive spectator sports like football. He was wearing an open-necked white shirt and grey slacks.  For a living, he advised clients on mortgages and financial services in a small building society, which was based near London.

The couple made their way through the little dark backstreets exchanging little endearments and the occasional kiss.  Suddenly, as they turned the corner, they were confronted by four burly men wearing camouflage jackets and balaclava helmets.  One of them put a hand over Mimi’s mouth and held a bayonet to her throat.

“Best not scream love or you’re fuckin' dead meat!” he hissed.  His breath reeked of chewed garlic. To Martin he said.  “You neither pal!  Now, listen you two, and you better listen carefully.  We are going for a ride in my van here, and it would be better if you do what you are told.  Understand?"

His captives nodded vigourously to say that they understood perfectly.

Garlic seemed satisfied with the response. 

"Good!" he said bruskly.  "Now get in the back.”

One of the henchmen opened the back doors of a scruffy white Commer van, which was parked on the other side of the road.  Almost before they knew it, Martin and Mimi were laying face down on a tatty piece of matting, and the van was moving down the road at a fair old pace.  The three droogs were in the back with them.  Mimi clung to Martin.  She was shivering.

“I’m scared.” she whimpered.

“Shad up bitch.” said one of their captors, who smelled of stale tobacco, and had tattoos on his hands. “You don’t know what being scared is yet, but you're gonna find out soon enough.  The others laughed. 

“Please!” Mimi whimpered, getting up on one elbow .  “Please don’t hurt us.  Take our money and jewellery if you want but let us go.  Ahh!”  She broke off abruptly as she got slapped in the face.  Martin wanted to help, but he was too frightened.  He had a knife pressing into his side, and the point was digging into his ribs.  Tattoo man gave him a slap in the mouth too, and sniggered.

The van drove on for what seemed an interminable time, before the alteration in road noise indicated that they had turned off of the made up road.  They were clearly going down a rough track, because they were bouncing about all over the place.  Presently the sound from the tyres seemed to indicate a gravel surface and the van glided to a stop.  The driver pulled on the handbrake and killed the engine.

Outside footsteps could be heard walking along the outside of the vehicle then the back doors opened with a metallic clank and a black figure appeared against the dimly lit background. 

“Okay out.” he snarled, directing his remarks mainly to Martin and Mimi.  “Get in that barn over there.”   He was pointing to a brick building with an open wooden door about five metres away. 

 “Come on shift it, we ain’t got all day!” He gave Martin some assistance with a well aimed boot up the ass.

The four hoods, gangsters, whatever they were, stood two each side and hustled their captives through the door, closing it with a bang behind them. 

The space they found themselves in was about ten metres by five, and it was surrounded by straw bales stacked in various heights around the walls.  Lighting was supplied by a few standard electric bulbs which hung from the rafters on electrical flex.  Next to a rough wooden pillar in the middle of the earthen floor, dusty and straw strewn, stood a couple of dilapidated but sturdy dining chairs.  The structure appeared to be a farm outbuilding.

Martin and Mimi went to stand by the chairs.  They appeared to be for their use and there was no other furniture in the barn.

“Right.” said the tallest of them , pointing at Martin.  “Strip down to your underpants.”  To Mimi he said: “Get that dress off, shoes and stockings as well, and be fucking quick about it!”

“Please……” began Mimi, her face white and tears forming in her blue eyes.

“Save it!” said Garlic Man.  “Now are you gonna do it by yourself, or do you need some help?”

Her lips puckered as she shook her head and reached behind, fumbling for her zipper.

“You too Ass-hole,” he said to Martin.  "Let’s see if you remembered your clean underwear this morning.”  All four of them laughed as Martin began to unbuckle his trouser belt.

The assailants looked on in undisguised pleasure as the clothes peeled off.  Other than Garlic Man, who was about six feet tall, and perhaps fifty-five years old, there were the three others.  All were heavily built and seemed to be in their late thirties to mid forties.  One had heavily tattooed arms and hands, another had a thin clipped military moustache like a sergeant-major, and the smallest; the shortest and fattest of the three had a big nose and yellow uneven teeth.  Garlic Man, Tattoo Man and Yellow Teeth spoke with what sounded like cockney accents; the sergeant major sounded Scottish, maybe Glaswegian.  Garlic Man appeared to be the leader.

Despite delaying the process for as long as possible, Martin and Mimi were soon displaying their underwear.  Martin was reduced to a pair of white cotton boxer shorts and Mimi was wearing a white lace-trimmed bra and a white nylon half-slip.

Garlic man leered approvingly.

“Right!” he sniggered at them, when the undressing had been completed.  "Are we feeling comfortable?"  He walked around both of them, pinging the waistband of the Martin’s underpants and Mimi's slip as he went.

“Very nice.” he laughed.  "Okay,” he went on.  “Now the fun really starts!  You!”  He was pointing at Mimi.  “Take this rope and tie your friend here to a chair.  And I would suggest you do a good job of it; nice and tight so that he can’t escape.” 

With that he threw several lengths of thinnish nylon cord on the floor in front of her.  Then he turned and punched Martin in the stomach, pushing him down on one of the chairs roughly; slapping him a couple of times in the face, and causing the henchmen to giggle with mirth.

“Sit there and enjoy yourself.”  He laughed.  “Ever been tied up by her before?”

When he got no reply two of the thugs hauled Martin to his feet again and he got another couple of  punches, which doubled him over, leaving him gasping for breath.

“Stop it for God’s sake!”  screamed Mimi.  “Please leave him alone.  I’ll do what you want; just don’t hurt him any more.”

“Well, well, well!” said Garlic man gripping Martin’s chin and putting his nose up close to his face.  “Ain’t that nice?  It seems like the little lady cares about you.  How sweet!”  Then he kneed him in the groin causing him to groan in pain and collapse back onto the chair again.

Mimi rushed to comfort him, but got held back by Tattoo man, who pinned her arms behind her back.

“Not so fast Missy!” he hissed.  “Don’t forget you got a job to do.  Pick up them ropes and get to it sharpish, before we give you a good slapping too.”

On the point of hysterics, Mimi turned and picked up the pieces of cord.  Then she went over to where Martin was slumped on the chair and started to tie him up.

"I'm sorry Martin." she cried.  "I have to do this or they will really hurt you.  With that, she pulled his arms behind his back, crossed his wrists and bound them together.  She briefly considered tying them loosely, but their captors would only do it again if she did, only much rougher, so she wound the ropes on hard and fixed the knots as tight as she could.  After that she took more of the cord, securing him to the back of chair by his arms; then each of his ankles to a chair leg, so that his legs were spread wide.

When she stood up, Martin was trussed up like a turkey.

Garlic Man took a good look at her handiwork and nodded with grudging approval.  "Nice work lady, he said.  "You could have a job in our gang if we didn't have other plans.  But we ain't finished here yet cause he ain't got a gag.  I wonder what we can use for that.  I know: get your panties off and stuff em in his mouth.  Then you can tie em in with your stockings."

Mimi backed away but there was nowhere to run.  She shook her head, pleading, but it was obvious that she was going to have to do it.

"Don't hurt her please!" shouted Martin.  "Do what you want with me but ....."  His voice tailed off as Yellow Teeth swiped him round the mouth again.  Then Garlic Man went over and crouched down in front of him, putting his cold hands inside Martin's underpants and grabbing hold of his testicles.

"I ain't gonna tell you any more times," he said menacingly.  "If you want to keep these little pieces, you better be quiet from now on, got it? "  Then he took his hands away and pulled the underpants up tight and flicked the waistband on both sides.  He seemed to enjoy doing that.

He turned to face Mimi, who reluctantly put her hands up under her slip and pulled down her thin white cotton panties.  She was really sobbing now.  Shaking her head in apology she folded them up and stuffed them into Martin's mouth; they only just fitted in and he almost choked.  She tied them in place with her stockings as directed.

After that she turned and faced Garlic Man again, suddenly aware that it was her turn for attention.  Desperately she said "Please no........" but she knew it would be to no avail.

"Now," said Garlic Man.  "You are probably wondering why we brought you here, so I will tell you.  I have had my eye on you for a couple of days now, ever since I saw you down on the beach.  I thought to myself: "That plump little ass is just right for a caning and, from what I could see, "Dicksplash" here (pointing to the hapless Martin) ain't up to it.  But I am, and you're gonna get your ass whipped good, but first I want to see your tits.  Take off your bra."

Mimi was now past the will to resist.  It seemed that she had no choice.  She either took a caning and hope that they were released, or else they both got beaten up and she got caned anyway, perhaps worse.  With an air of resignation, she reached behind her back and unfastened the clasp, allowing her bra to fall forward on the floor, exposing her full breasts to the others' gaze.  All that she was wearing now was the white nylon half slip.  Garlic seemed to like that too.

It was clear that Garlic Man was the undisputed leader of the gang, because the others did nothing without he ordered it.  Tattoo and Yellowteeth stood beside Martin, one on either side of him, while Moustache guarded the door, which was the only exit as far as Mimi could see.  Her situation was hopeless.

Garlic Man picked up a piece of cord and walked around Mimi, pulling her arms unceremoniously behind her back, and binding her wrists tightly together.  She was helpless too now.  From behind a straw bale, Garlic produced a long thin whippy cane and fixed his eyes on her breasts, running his tongue across his upper lip.  He got hold of the free chair and positioned it about five metres in front of Martin's.

"Turn your back on loverboy and bend over the back of the chair." he ordered.  I want him to see this and learn something."  Upon seeing her hesitate he said: "You better do it love, cause you ain't got no choice.  It's just a question of how rough the boys have to get, before you give in.  We got plenty of rope left."

He was right; she had no choice.  She turned to face the chair.  Moustache, who was smirking with sadistic pleasure, was in her line of vision and guarding the door.  She took a deep breath and bent over, feeling her breasts drop down against the cold hard wood, and the front of her slip fall to cover her knees.  She felt cooler air swirl over her bottom as the back of the slip was lifted and tucked under her bound wrists.  She heard a couple of angry swishes, and suddenly a fierce surge of pain took hold of her, as the cane cut into her unprotected flesh, just below the centre line of the buttocks.

She tried so desperately not to cry out, clenching her teeth together, but after the third stroke she could contain it no longer.  She began to scream; initially no more than a whimper, but progressively louder in intensity, until each stroke was eliciting a loud shriek.  The more noise she made, the better that Garlic appeared to like it.

He worked his way methodically over the cheeks of her bottom and down back of her thighs until, unable to sustain any more, she sank to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably and begging for mercy.  Fifteen; perhaps twenty vicious strokes crashed into her unprotected flesh.  Her buttocks and upper thighs were laddered with livid red weals.  As she knelt, the silky nylon slip dropped down to hide them from view.

Meanwhile in spite of himself, Martin had developed an erection, which was bulging against his underpants.  This was noticed by Yellowteeth, who yelled out for the others to come and look.

"Hey look at "Panty-Boy" here. He likes to see his woman whipped.  Ain't that right Panty-Boy?"  He put his hands inside the fly of Martin's underpants and pulled the penis out for all to see.

"Well now!" said Garlic.  "It would be a shame to waste such a fine hard-on.  Come on little girl, let's see you give Panty-Boy a good time.  He likes seeing you caned obviously.  I wonder if he likes a blow-job too.

He got a hold of Mimi's armpits and dragged her into a position between Martin's legs, with her mouth almost touching his penis.

"Get sucking." he sniggered, and he started to swish the cane on her backside until she put her mouth over the penis and began to suck it off.  "Come on you slut.  Let me hear you slurp as though you are really enjoying it!"

Her position hopeless, Mimi took Martins penis in her mouth, and began to suck.

Then, as she was attempting to find a steady rhythm, Garlic dropped his pants, lifted her slip and slipped his penis under the poop and into her pussy.  He began pumping her hard.  The three of them were coupled together.

"Slurp you slag!" yelled Garlic from behind her, thrusting deep inside her pussy with his dick, and making her wriggle.  "Louder; I can't hear you!"

Desperately Mimi tried to make a slurping sound in response, but all that came out was a gurgling noise.  She carried on sucking for about five minutes.  Then she felt Martin's cock pulsating.  Suddenly her mouth filled with salty semen, as he came in her mouth and it slid all down her throat.  As she choked and spluttered, the voice behind her repeated its instructions. "Slurp and swallow bitch, slurp and swallow!"

"Aaaaaargh uugh." swallowed Mimi.  She wanted to throw up.

Suddenly Garlic's dick was spasming too.  She felt it inside her, throbbing urgently.  Then she felt the warm cum juice squirting inside her pussy like a fountain, flinching as her slapped her badly caned ass with his hand, through the material of her petticoat.

 "Aaaarrrh that feels fucking great.   Like it do you bitch?" he yelled.  He pumped her hard and rough before sliding out, and falling backwards on to the floor.

Mimi also fell to the floor, spluttering and coughing; trying to gag.

But she wasn't to get any respite.  It was the others' turn.  They dragged her over to some straw bales and bent her over.  Yellow teeth shagged her first from behind; then Moustache and finally Tattoo, who turned her over and took her from the front.  When they had done with her,  Mimi was dumped semi-conscious on the floor, immobile and sore, her hands still tied behind her back.

"What are we going to do now?" asked Yellowteeth.

"How about we take out somewhere real lonely and stake 'em out?" suggested Garlic.

"Yeah, great idea!" chorused the others.

They untied Martin's feet, stood him up, then worked him over a bit until his mouth was swollen and bleeding.  Then they dragged both captives outside, arms still tied tightly behind their backs, and stuffed them back in the van.  All of their clothes and possessions were left in the barn.

They drove for perhaps half an hour and then the van stopped.  The back doors opened.  Outside it was almost pitch black, but there was a little moonlight.  They appeared to be on a cliff somewhere.  In the background there was the sound of surf breaking against the shore.

Martin and Mimi were bundled out and half dragged over some grassy ground.  Moustache had some wooden pegs and some rope in his hands.   They were heading towards the edge of the cliff.  Suddenly they stopped and he began hammering the pegs into the ground.  Then he staked Mimi out with her hands and feet spreadeagled and tied one limb to each peg.  Then they did the same to Martin and walked off leaving the two victims side by side in a horizontal crucifixion.

Garlic took the gag from Martins mouth.

"There you go Son." he said.  "You can call for help when we are gone.  I hope you can shout nice and loud, because it's five miles to the nearest house."  And with that they walked back down the slope.

The van started up and drove off leaving Martin and Mimi helpless and alone.  It was still quite warm but there was no way they could escape.  The ropes were tied too tight. They looked up at the stars and realised that, unless someone happened along and found them, they were doomed.

Desperately Mimi called out for help, but her cries were carried away on the wind and masked by the crashing of the surf somewhere down below them.  No one was going to be around at that time of night.  She tugged against her bonds in a futile attempt to escape but it was no use.  The knots were too tight.  At last her voice gave out and she began to pray.

For six hours they lay together side by side.  Eventually the dawn broke and the birds began to sing.  Fortunately the temperature had not dropped to critical levels, and they were both still alive, although only just and feeling very cold.

Then, as luck would have it, they were discovered shortly after dawn by a middle aged couple who had beeen walking their dogs along the cliff tops. 

Both Martin and Mimi were suffering from hyperthermia and shock.  However they had been found in time and they were rushed to the hospital in an ambulance.  Their injuries were not life threatening and in a few days, they were fit enough to be released from the hospital. 

Their relationship was never quite the same afterwards though.  Mimi was less than pleased with Martin's behaviour during the kidnapping.  In spite of being beaten up and restrained, he had not only got an erection when she was being caned by Garlic Man, but he had retained it through all of the time she was being made to suck him off, and being fucked afterwards.

It seemed to Mimi that, if Martin had truly loved her, he shouldn't have enjoyed her humilliation quite so much as he clearly had.

The Morning After

Author's note: with thanks to my good friend Anna who provided much of the inspiration for this little story.

The sunlight was streaming through the stats in the Venetian blinds when I awoke that morning. I glanced across at the digital clock on the bedside cabinet; half past seven. I started to think about getting up for work and sank back into the pillows gratefully when I remembered it was Sunday morning.

Beside me, Jenny was still asleep, her head resting on my shoulder, shoulder length brown hair spread over her pillow, her left arm lying loosely across my stomach. She stirred and mumbled something incomprehensible; I put my arm around her shoulders exploring the softness of the skin of her shoulder blades, toying with the strap of the white satin chemise that had fallen loosely across her upper arm. Blissfully, I cast my mind back to the events that had occurred just a few hours previously.

I had caned her; not brutally or with malice, but the stokes had been hard enough to cause searing marks across her buttocks, which had turned crimson in hue before my eyes, eventually resembling tramlines traversing the otherwise smooth white skin. They had hurt, but she had taken each stroke without complaint.  In the aftermath, we had made glorious love.

She had done nothing wrong to deserve her punishment. The beating had carried no motive, other than it was something that I had wanted to do, but she had accepted it in the spirit of love that existed between us. I didn’t know how, or indeed what, she had felt; we never discussed the matter afterwards. If she had have complained, or even shown the faintest signs of demurring, then I would have stopped without hesitation; but she never did. It was how it was between us. Theoretically we were equals, and yet she would normally submit to my judgement without question.

Turning my head I kissed her on the forehead, then on her upturned cheek, and then nuzzled into her neck. She stirred and put her arms around me, pulling me toward her as, eyes still closed, her lips sought mine and we kissed tenderly. I slid my hand down to her buttocks running my fingers over the warm bumps that the caning had left behind. I pressed tentatively against them, causing her to wince and breathe in sharply, a testament if one were needed, that the consequences of my attention were ongoing and painful.

“Hurt?” I enquired, somewhat unnecessarily.

“Mmm!” she nodded, declining to add any further comment, but seeking out my lips once more, hugging me a little closer.

Her stoicism and good nature were remarkable. I almost found myself regretting that I could have harmed this gentle, loving creature; almost, but not quite. The truth is, and it is a terrible admission to make, that I had actually revelled in it and our lovemaking had been all the more satisfying as a result. But, if I had enjoyed it, so clearly had she in some perverse way, or she would not have stayed.

Whatever the truth, I was disinclined toward a deeper analysis, for the stirrings of passion were once again making their presence felt in my loins. A further demonstration of my love was forthcoming, she sensed it, and with little gestures and touches, she communicated silently that my advances would be welcome

I needed no encouragement to make love with her; I never did.

*****

Our dalliance with BDSM had begun a few months previously and out of all innocence really. We had been lying in bed one morning when she had suddenly become playful and set about tickling me. I had tolerated it to begin with and then, driven into action by her mischievous behaviour; I had taken her across my knee and spanked her with the flat of my hand until she had been prepared to desist. Fairly soon, spanking had become a welcome feature of fore-play which both of us seemed to enjoy.

The game had ratcheted up a notch when, sometime later, she found out in the course of a general conversation about corporal punishment that I had a weakness, or shall we say an unfulfilled fantasy, for schoolgirl discipline and slippering in particular. The next day she had presented herself before me in school uniform, inclusive of plimsolls. I could hardly disappoint her after taking so much trouble: in no time at all she had been touching her toes and the slipper had been barking out its message on her pristine cotton knickers. One thing had led to another and, a week before the events that I am currently relating, we had taken delivery of our first official school cane.

It was a natural progression to make, for the cane was a far more versatile player in the art of role-play. Now the naughty nurse, lazy maid or incompetent secretary was within our scope, bringing with it a new level of stimulus. Of course, the schoolgirl scenario remained a powerful motivator, but I also had a passion for women in satin lingerie, and somehow that did not sit so well with a school uniform. For me to be completely fulfilled, the scene, whilst contrived to a degree, had to “feel” right. That meant the right attire and just as crucially, an appropriate level of pain; real punishment if you will, as opposed to pretence.

*****

Stroking Jenny’s inner thighs alternately with the lightest touch I could muster, I worked my hand slowly upwards until I reached the pubic area. From the tempo and depth of her breathing, it was clear that she was already in an advanced state of arousal. An examination of the vaginal area merely provided me with the confirmation. The clitoris was swollen, the vulva moist and as my fingers penetrated deeper, intruding tenderly into her most intimate parts, she sighed deeply, opened her thighs a little wider, and began to tremble in anticipation.

The caning had seemingly come out of nowhere. There had been nothing premeditated about it, at least not from my side there wasn’t, but upon reflection maybe there was an air of contrivance after all.We had been out for a meal; an Indian curry at our favourite restaurant in town. Having dined regally, we had arrived home around midnight and, while I had decided to catch up with the news on the TV, Jenny had gone straight to the bedroom.

After five minutes or so she had come down again wearing a white satin chemise and had sat down next to me on the sofa. Anyway, it was clear that she had something in mind because her normal bed attire of choice was comfy pyjamas. She had curled up next to me, drawing her knees up to rest against my thigh.

“Aren’t you coming to bed?” she asked, in that winsome way she had about her, brushing some non-existent fluff off of my sleeve.

“What if I say no?” I replied.

“Mmmm. I could tickle you.”

I gave her my best disapproving look. It was fairly obvious in which direction the conversation was going.

“I might get annoyed if you did.” I retorted. “And you know what happens then!” In a moment of spontaneity I added: “And don’t forget that we have a new toy in the cupboard to deal with mischievous little minxes who torment their husbands. Someone could end up with a very, very sore bottom if they are not careful.”

She appeared to consider the implications for a few seconds before sliding her hand inside my shirt. A wicked glint appeared in her eyes as, with tongue pushed to the side of her mouth, she set about making a thorough nuisance of herself. A warning was clearly not going to be enough to discourage her. The cane was upstairs awaiting its first real outing, and apparently she was not in the least bit perturbed by the prospect of a hands-on, or in her case bottoms-on, introduction.

“Are you going to stop that?” I asked menacingly, wriggling as her fingers impishly tickled me under the armpit.

“No!”

“No what?”

“No, I’m not going to stop it.”

“Sure?” I asked, knowing full well the answer.

“Uh-huh!” she replied, shutting her eyes and coyly nodding her head.

There was no more to be said then. I got up from the sofa, switched off the TV, took her by hand and led her to the bottom of the stairs.

“Up!” I ordered, gesturing with my head in the direction of the bedroom.


With a look of exquisite smugness, she brushed past and flounced up the stairs, wiggling her bottom provocatively, whilst I followed a few paces behind. It wasn’t a long chemise and from my viewpoint there was a tantalising view of her buttocks as the hem swung lazily from side to side.
It was enough to set my pulse racing but, to tell the truth, my mind was experiencing a range of emotions at this point, the over-riding one being apprehension. The cane was about to come out of the cupboard and I really had no experience in using it. The slipperings I had given her had all been fairly firm in nature, but canes were different animals entirely. They bit into the flesh, making marks that could last for weeks. I knew that much from a couple of unfortunate first-hand experiences at school. They hurt like hell too.

As we entered the bedroom I wondered if Jen had the slightest inkling what she was in for; my hand was literally shaking. I was full of self doubt but I could not let her down. She had turned to face me and was awaiting instructions, impassive, countenance devoid of expression. What was she thinking? I made a mental note not to play her at Poker.

“Bend over the bedrail.” I said with as much gravitas as I could muster. It was a sham but I had to try and appear calm, even though on the inside, my guts were tuning somersaults.

Upon hearing my directive, the inscrutable expression gave way to the just the faintest hint of what might have been triumph as she turned away, making a great flourish of taking her position. Was it nonchalance or elaborate act; a challenge perhaps for me to do my worst? I was damned if I knew.

But if it was smugness or indifference, I was pretty sure that both would be wiped from her mind in short shrift. Canings were not fun. Canings were vicious. Canings bit your ass. Canings made you beg for mercy if they went on long enough. As I opened the wardrobe door and took out the instrument of her education, I wondered if we were going to discover her breaking point. She had to have one; everyone did.

A wicked thought now came into my head. What if the freedom to break away were removed? Would she be quite so arrogant then? In an instant my mind was made up and I selected two old ties from the rack. Not quite sure how she would react I took one of her wrists and secured it to the bed rail.

“For safety reasons.” I explained, in response to her searching glance. “We don’t want you moving about too much, or putting your hand in the way. It could cause damage. I’m quite happy to beat your bottom but we don’t want any fingers broken in the process.”

To my relief she nodded acceptance, offering no resistance as I tied the other wrist firmly but not over tightly to the opposite side, so that her arms were stretched out sideways. The very act had calmed my nerves down and replaced anxiety with a feeling of breathless excitement. Then, after a millisecond’s thought, I picked another tie and bound her ankles together. She wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry.

At this point, my penis was threatening to burst out of my trousers, making me feel so uncomfortable that I had to strip down to my underpants to obtain relief. (Author’s note: No! Not that kind of relief!). Even then, the bloody thing was standing out like a barber’s pole, waving about like some macabre phallic truncheon. Perhaps it was just as well that Jenny had been unable to look around behind her, or she might doubtless have burst into fits of giggles, and the mood would have been lost
.
Taking the cane in hand, I wafted it from side to side as though I were a musketeer in the movies, just to get an idea of the balance. It really was an excellent example of the genre; not too heavy or bendy, but just sufficiently flexible to achieve maximum effect in exchange for the least effort. A thing of beauty and grace. I thought so anyway.

I swished it through the air a couple of times to see if she would flinch. No. But then again, she still had yet to feel its kiss on her bare flesh. Things might well be different after she had a couple of real stingers under her belt. I smiled wryly at my unintended little pun. She wasn’t wearing a belt. That was a pity because there was nothing to tuck her chemise into. Just have to hope that she stayed bent low enough so that it fell forward under gravity.

“Right then, my dear!” I said purposefully. “Now we will see what you are made of. Straighten your legs, push your bottom up and keep your head and chest down. Do you think you can do that for me? Push up on to your toes when you want me to begin”

“Yes sir.”

Sarcasm was that? It was difficult to tell. Anyway she complied well enough with the instruction and when I folded the chemise out of the way, the whole garment orientated itself towards her shoulders, dangling downwards, covering nothing. With the flurry of cooler air around her buttocks, I observed how she adjusted her position, pinching the cheeks together instinctively. Perhaps she was a little nervous after all. She certainly paid attention when I touched the cane against the top of her thighs, tensing noticeably. I studied her for one more time. Her head was lifted and facing straight ahead, her beautiful breasts were wobbling and hanging down, and her breathing was deep and even. Perfect.

“Ready?” I asked.

There was a distinct hesitation this time. Having second thoughts? Afraid perhaps? Bloody hell, I knew I would have been!

“Yes.”

The voice was just a little unsteady. She was up on her toes. I drew back my arm in a graceful arc and ..................

For perhaps a another couple of seconds I had hesitated, torn between the overwhelming desire to thrash her insolent pink bottom on the one hand, and struggling with my conscience on the other, knowing full well that she would hurt in the process. In those few moments, when time itself seemed to be standing still; it was though we were players in a low-budget science fiction film. Then, aware that I could neither back out honourably, nor hold on indefinitely, I had let her have it.

Thwack!

With an angry whoosh, the cane had scythed through the air, cutting deep into the naked flesh with a loud report and sending shock waves rippling through her bottom.

Exactly what was going through Jenny’s mind during that initial caning remains a mystery to this day. Since she declined to comment, at least in detail, it will ever remain a mystery; of sorts anyway. She felt something alright, even if it was only the most exquisite and intense pain. On that score, I was happy to make certain that she received the full measure.

For the briefest of instants there had been no reaction, then she had drawn deep breath as the pain took hold, twisting first to the right, then to the left, her head thrown back in silent scream whilst I looked on in awe.

Physically, the solitary visible evidence was a thin pale line that manifested itself across the centre of her buttocks where the impact had occurred. For some reason I had expected something more spectacular. However, I would not be disappointed for long. As she collected herself in preparation for stroke number two, a fiery crimson weal flanked by two pale tramlines, had already began to develop.

I do not propose to describe the caning stroke by stroke; it would only be repetitious. I will merely tell you that after each whack, the reactions became more and more animated. Nevertheless, she held it together magnificently. At no time did she cry out, but by the seventh one it was clear that she was in trouble. The signs were all too obvious: her frantic panting for breath and the long delay it took for her to resume position. She was about to capitulate; I decided to make the eighth stroke her last.

My brave Jenny did not deserve to be made to beg for mercy. Having taken her punishment with a stoicism and determination that I knew in my heart I could never have matched, it was right that she should emerge with her pride intact. Eight strokes was more than enough for such a game battler.

I waited patiently for her to settle, one final time. Her bottom was by now decorated by a lattice work of livid red welts. God knows how they must have been stinging. Eventually she managed to bring herself under control, straightening her legs; she forced herself into the ‘present’ position and after taking just a moment longer to steady herself, pushed up on to her toes. Taking careful aim, I worked the final stroke right up into the crease at the top of her thighs. For the first time in the whole episode, she let out an agonised strangled shriek.

“Ah! Ah! Aaaah!”

That was it!  Any continuing doubts that she was at the limit were dispelled with those shrieks.  I had no desire to continue. Honour had been satisfied on both sides. She was panting desperately for breath and trembling a little, but who could blame her for that? A bloody saint would have buckled under what she had just endured.

“We are done.” I said softly, putting down the cane and moving swiftly to release her from her bonds. “You were terrific Jen. I can’t begin to tell you how proud I am!”  They were brave words, but I felt like a total asshole.

Yet somehow, it seemed to have been the right thing to say, at the right time; it was apparrently the thing she had wanted to hear. She had thrown her arms around me and began to cry.

“I didn’t want to let you down.” she sobbed. “I couldn’t have taken any more. You knew that didn’t you?”

What was the point in lying?

“Yes.” I whispered, squeezing her tight and comforting her as best I could. “Come on and get into bed; I haven’t finished with you yet!”

Jenny turned away and walked to the bed, the silky chemise dropping down over her bottom and temporarily hiding the evidence. God she looked beautiful.

I had never made love to a freshly caned woman until then, but the experience I was to have would be out of this world. Was it the fact that she was in pain? Or was it the fact that I personally had been the cause of that pain? Perhaps it was just that I was, by nature, a heartless bastard who liked beating women. I could not say with any certainty. All I knew was that I had enjoyed the power of watching her wriggle helplessly under the rattan and, the more I thought about it, the harder my penis had began to throb.

We had gone to bed with one idea in our minds, and we wasted no time in foreplay; it was as if it were irrelevant. Actually I see it all now; Jenny had been as turned on by the pain as I was, but for obviously differing reasons. As I mounted her from the rear, she too was already wet with excitement and as I thrust eagerly into her womb, she responded with increased vocal intensity until, in what seemed to be no time at all, she began screaming and gasping as the power of a mighty orgasm seized her battered body, turning her into a frenzied wild beast.

“Oh, my fucking God! You fucking bastard. Ahhhhhhhhhhh Shiiiiit Ah Ah Ah AH…..!”

She had never been like that before. I could scarcely believe my eyes and ears. Feeling the power surging through my whole body, I held her there as if she were a jiggling puppet on the end of my penis. I pinched the welts on her bottom, squeezing every last ounce of pain from them and she only thrashed harder in response.

 Then suddenly, I too could hold on no longer and the sperm squirted inside her, propelled by an explosion of sheer unadulterated ecstasy, as if the floodgates of hell had been cast loose and we had been consumed in the tidal wave of pleasure which followed.
“Ahhhhhhhhh Ooooooooh Mmmmmmmm!”

It was me this time! Jesus. Oh God. I was no Christian, but this was unbelievable. If this was Heaven then I was a believer. Hallelujah brothers! I have been delivered! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!

We were as one, joined at the hip, inseparable. Voyagers both, cast adrift in a sea of joy until finally we could hold on to the moment no longer. Together we sank exhausted beneath a blanket of euphoria, panting and seeking comfort in each other’s arms, sleeping gratefully on a journey toward the speck on the horizon that was morning.

And when morning came, I once again found myself on the bridge of her ship, pulling the levers, sending messages to the engine room, feeling her respond to my signals.

(This is flowery language of course but how can one truly describe the sensuality of making love to the woman of your dreams? It is beyond this writer’s humble talent.)

In no mood to be denied, with me as more-than-willing accomplice, she pulled me into the vacant space between her thighs and, reaching down, guided my penis inside her vagina. Then taking a deep breath, she pushed her arms out into a crucifix position grabbing the bedrails tight and wrapping her legs around the back of mine.

I was taken aback for a second before comprehending what it was that she was about. Then I understood. She was reliving the caning of last night with arms stretched out and helpless. When I put my hands down to stroke her bottom, she responded by murmuring approval, panting, and pushing up with her abdomen, willing me to get on with it and take her. As I said before, I needed no encouragement.

This time our lovemaking was slower and more measured, a steady momentum that increased by small increments, my hips gyrating in a rotary pattern, trying to make contact with every part of her vaginal wall. With my right hand I stimulated her pubic area, the clitoris, the frontal lobe, whilst my left explored her buttocks, feeling the heat of the bruises as she groaned and panted her pleasure. Eventually the reflexes within her kicked in and I had her, she would play my tune now! In and out, in and out; come on my beauty, dance for the master.

Dance she did; I could feel her trembling as the contractions took hold, hear the low guttural noises she was making as she became their prisoner. In the throws of rapture she went stiff and held on tight, almost crushing me, until the spasms passed and with a whimper, relaxed her grip, and lay back on the mattress gasping for air.

I had not matched her for orgasm this time; perhaps I was a little too sore, but somehow it did not matter. I had brought her fulfilment, and as we lay together again, that was all that mattered to me. Love is in giving and not wanting reward.

“Happy?” I asked her at length.

“Mmmmm!” she replied, hugging me and kissing my chest and neck.

“Me too.” I said lamely, and dozed off into blissful sleep.

I must have slept for about an hour because when I opened my eyes next, the clock had moved round to half-past nine.  Jenny was no longer there beside me and I must have been awakened by her getting out of bed.  From the bathroom at the end of the hall came indications of activity.

I heard the lavatory flush and the hiss of the shower running.  She had clearly decided that the games were over with, at least for now.  I couldn’t really blame her.  I thought of getting up myself  but I too needed a shower, and there was no hurry.  Wistfully, I looked at the depression in the mattress where she had been sleeping.

My mind wandered to other things, the result of the Arsenal v Chelsea match yesterday afternoon, the penalty that should not have been given and the one that was.  Jesus Christ some of those refs were right tossers.  If I had my way they would be strung up between the goalposts, stripped and flogged.  The asshole yesterday had lost me ten quid at the betting shop.

My eye strayed to the corner of the room where the cane was propped against the wardrobe door.  It was one of our better acquisitions on the face of it.  We had got it mail order and it had come encased in a cardboard packaging bearing the legend: ‘do not bend’.

I laughed aloud at the irony.  It was designed to bend, not excessively, but more than enough to wrap around any unfortunate backside that got in its way.  I wondered if the courier had guessed what it was.  Possibly he might have, but then he probably hadn’t thought too much about it.  I bet they have to deliver all kinds of strange stuff; and to some odd places as well.

The background noise of water running stopped abruptly, there was the noise of cupboard doors being opened and shut, and presently Jenny reappeared with a green towel wrapped around her body and another around her hair.  She was carrying the chemise which she tossed into the laundry basket along with the clothes that had been so hastily discarded the previous night.

The bathroom is free, she said unnecessarily.

Well, it would be wouldn’t it, unless we had acquired some hygiene-conscious burglars during the night?  I tactfully refrained from mentioning this and maintained a respectful silence whilst she finished drying herself.

Damn she was a handsome woman.  At thirty-seven years old, she was not quite in the first flush of youth, but she took care of herself and ate wisely, so that she remained slim without being skinny.  Her breasts had retained a beautiful shape and I loved them.  I said so and she smiled.

When she turned to the dressing table and bent forward slightly to open a drawer, I had a first class view of my handiwork.   Eight crimson stripes tarnished the white flesh of her bottom, a couple encroaching on to her upper thighs.  They looked horribly painful and doubtless were.  Again I felt some slight pangs of remorse, but at the same time, a sense of achievement.

From the drawer, Jen had taken a white brassiere and some white cotton knickers.  They looked brand new and in all probability they were.  She rarely kept underwear that had started to look shabby.  It was another one of the good points that she had: always believing in looking good even if the things she was wearing were not meant for the general gaze.

Having donned the bra and pants, she selected a pretty white lace trimed half-slip, which she stepped into and pulled slowly up into position, flicking the waistband into place with a flourish and smoothing it out with hands.  Then she turned to examine the results in the mirror, turning first to the right and then to the left, making slight adjustments until she was satisfied.

She knew that I was watching, and I knew that she knew that I knew.  It was a bit of play-acting calculated to arouse my interest and it worked flawlessly.  She knew how good she looked in her lingerie, and she knew how much I liked to see her in it.  It was all a game and she had me in her pocket; or she would have done, but girls don’t normally have pockets.

“Right!” she said turning round and displaying the ensemble to its best provocative advantage.  “Would you like some breakfast?

“Certainly would,” I replied.

“What would you like then?” She asked.

I looked down at the bulge in the duvet which concealed my erect penis, then gave her a quizzical look in return.  She rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her chest, lifting her bosom slightly in the process.

“Oh no!” she said in mock scolding tone.  “You have had quite enough for now, and if you haven’t, I certainly have.  My fanny is sore, my ass is sore, and I have just had a shower and put on clean clothes.  You can have bacon and eggs, toast or cereal and that’s it chum.”

“How about some tomatoes?”  I asked hopefully, as she was picking up a floral kimono style wrap and putting it on.

“Yes we have tomatoes,” she said, sliding her feet into some big fluffy slippers.

“Mushrooms?” I enquired, as she headed across the room towards the door.

She gave me a sideways glance to see if it was a wind-up.  It was, sort of, but my expression gave nothing away.

“Yes we have those as well.” she said.  “Sex is obviously good for your appetite, or caning my ass is.  Now you had better get up if you want it because I’m not going to bring it to you, and I don’t want you lounging in bed when I am going to change the sheets.  Right?”

“Okay darling,” I replied meekly, as she left the room and started down the stairs.  “How about some fried bread?” I shouted after her.

There was a pause in the footsteps and I heard her say something unintelligible which sounded like “Mumble, mumble off!”

I lifted the duvet and stared down at my penis with an air of passive resignation.  It looked all forlorn and lonely.  I needed to get up and wash but it seemed a shame to waste an erection.  I decided that a few more minutes in bed could not do any harm.

After all, it was Sunday.

The End.