Entrapment

I found a game I particularly liked. I would bind him kneeling on the bed facing the wall with his arms outstretched and attached to each end of the headboard and a spreader bar between his ankles forcing his thighs apart. With him Immobilised in that way, I had a perfect view of his arse when I knelt behind him and jerked him off, with a well-lubricated finger in his anus or a wand against my clit.

One Saturday I was slowly wanking him off and admiring his bum cheeks when I heard him softly say something. I didn't hear what it was and thought I might be doing something wrong.

"Is this good? I asked. Is this good?"

And then he said the words that ultimately changed our relationship.

"Spank me. Please spank me hard."

I was happy to oblige. At first, I used my left hand and struck him lightly, but it soon became apparent he liked it as he thrust his bum up to accept each blow. Soon I switched hands and jerked him with my left hand and spanked him with my right, much stronger arm, increasing the intensity and striking each cheek in turn. He wriggled and gasped as his buttocks slowly turned pink and then red until he stiffened. and as I watched, his anal sphincter relaxed and contracted, and he shot his load.

***

It was not until after Christmas that I saw Ursula. It was over five months since I had returned to Plymouth, and I had almost given up hope that she was still in the city and had wondered if Mrs Jenkins had been mistaken. I should not have done.

It was the Saturday before New Year, and I was out shopping in town when I noticed a tall individual hurrying down the pavement on the opposite side of the road to me. They were about fifty yards in front of me and had their back to me but something about their walk and their hair colour reminded me a little of Ursula, and I set off after them but stayed on my side of the street. As I drew parallel to and then passed my quarry, I looked across and saw that it was indeed her.

J darted across the street, dodging the traffic, and stood waiting for her to approach me. As she moved to within a few yards of me I called out.

"Ursula."

She stopped and looked around, and then carried on walking. She hadn't recognised me. She was almost on top of me when I spoke again.

"Ursula, it's me, Julia."

She stopped walking again and looked directly at me. Her face was blank and enquiring until suddenly I saw her expression change, her eyes widened in recognition and her mouth opened in surprise.

"Julia? Is it really you? I didn't expect to ever see you again."

"Of course, it's me. I'm back in Plymouth. I've been trying to find you. How are you? "

"I'm good. How are you? You look great. How long has it been?"

"Ten years? They look as if they've been good to you."

This was certainly no lie. She was no longer the bony, gawky, adolescent girl I once knew. Instead, I saw a lithe, curvy, full-bodied, big-breasted woman. Her facial features had matured and resembled the angular features of an Inca mask. She was immaculately made up and her sleek, jet-black hair was cut short in page-boy style. She was wearing a long sleeveless yellow dress that stretched to her ankles and only accentuated her height which was somewhere around six feet. Her arms were well-muscled and tanned from the sun, and in her hand, she held a matching yellow designer tote bag.

"Do you have time for a cup of coffee," I asked.

"Of course. There's a great place one street over. Do you know it?"

"Lead on," I replied.

We sat at a table outside the coffee bar and talked. I told Ursula about my Chemistry degree and my Job at the university and how I had travelled in Southeast Asia.

In turn, Ursula recounted her life since I had seen her last. She had had a much tougher time than I had. When she was fifteen her father had been caught screwing Mrs Deschamps, her French teacher, and her Mum had divorced him. He had disappeared up North somewhere and she had not seen him since. She left school when she was sixteen after doing her GCSE exams and her mum promptly sold the house, downsized, and moved to Plymstock. Ursula had trained as a hairdresser after getting an apprenticeship with a local salon and studying part-time at Plymouth College.

"And here I am," she said.

I looked at her ring finger.

"Not married?" I observed.

"Heaven forbid. After my dad, I don't trust men as far as I can throw them. I enjoy fucking them of course. In more ways than one."

"Sorry? In more ways than one?"

"Did I say that? Forget it. It's not important. I'm between boyfriends at present. You?"

"I met a nice guy about five months ago He's a teacher."

I had arranged to meet Alan for lunch, and a short while later we parted company. We agreed to meet for lunch the following day and, on my mobile, I now had Ursula's address and telephone number which she had messaged to me. I, in turn, had returned the compliment.

When my phone pinged and Ursula's message arrived, I saw her name appear on my screen; Ursula Gordon.

"You've changed your name?"

"My mother's maiden name. I don't use my father's surname. I don't want to be reminded of the bastard."

***

Over the next few weeks, Ursula and I rekindled our friendship and met on three or four occasions in the pub or a local restaurant. Like myself, she was a loner with a few close friends and a large number of acquaintances.

When we had been at school together, we both avoided exercise like the plague but now she exercised regularly, jogging early each morning and working out in the gym three to four evenings a week. I asked her how this had happened, and she explained how she had started to play netball in Year ten, and how it had made her feel better after a game.

One morning she asked me to go for a run and promised to take it easy on a short two-mile run. What she didn't tell me was how hilly the route was and, by the time we had finished, I was knackered. In contrast, Ursula had hardly broken into a sweat. Her long legs and powerful thighs had taken her easily over the ground.

She was dressed in running shorts and a halter top which revealed her well-sculpted body with long muscular limbs and abdomen. She wore a sports bra to hold her large breasts in place. I thought she looked like an Amazon.

In addition to looking after her body, she always dressed well and took pride in her appearance, and this was the first sign that something was not quite right. Her clothes and lifestyle were too expensive to be affordable on a Plymouth hair stylist's salary.

One weekday evening she invited me to her home. Her house was a large, detached house in Plympton, set back from the road and with a well-kept front garden. I rang the bell and Ursula answered and showed me into the lounge. I was shocked. Her home was beautiful. The floor was covered with an expensive tan-coloured carpet with oriental rugs scattered about. The room was minimalistically furnished with Scandinavian tubular steel furniture and brightly coloured abstract oils hung on the walls.

We sat drinking. She had poured us both a glass of cold white wine. I looked around.

"Your home is beautiful," I said.

An unspoken question hung in the air.

"You're wondering how I can afford it," she said. "Don't worry it's nothing illegal."

She paused.

"When we were like sisters back at school we had no secrets so now I'm going to come clean. I'm a professional dominatrix. People pay me to punish them."

I must have looked surprised because she stopped talking for a moment before continuing.

"Don't look so shocked. Some folk need to be punished and I provide a service. Cane, birch, paddle, or strap applied, in most cases, to the bare bottom. One of my first boyfriends asked me to cane him and I enjoyed it. After that, I advertised on the Internet.... I don't sleep with my clients, and I don't do any weird stuff either.

To be honest I don't much like people. School saw to that. And, after my father's behaviour, I hate adulterers. Sometimes wives and husbands bring their respective others to me to be punished as part of an agreement not to leave them. Man or woman, they get it hard. I enjoy hurting them.

The rest of the time I tailor my punishment to the needs of the client. Some want a proper judicial punishment, some want me to dress up in teacher's gowns, and some want me to dress up like their mother and give them a hand-spanking. People are all different. I still remember what my mum used to say, "There's nowt so queer as folk." *

It's a good living and suits my personality. My mum gave me the deposit for the house. Now, I do the rest."

***

Towards the end of January Alan and Ursula finally met. I wasn't consciously keeping them apart, but I had a lot of catching up to do with Ursula and I believed He would have been bored. The first couple of weeks after I met her I think he suspected me of being unfaithful to him, but I was able to reassure him.

The three of us met in a pub close to Ursula's house and then went for a Chinese meal. Alan was the perfect gentleman and was his usual attentive self, but it was also obvious that he fancied Ursula although he did his best to hide it.

The following evening I spoke to her on the telephone. I asked her what she thought of Alan.

"He's a nice enough guy."

"I think he fancies you."

She laughed.

"Some guys do. Some don't. Don't worry, you're my friend. I'm not going to lead him on. If he wasn't going out with you I'd fuck him, but I know he's off-limits."

"I trust him," I said. "He's the faithful type."

"No such thing, Any man can be persuaded to stray. They are biologically driven to follow their dicks. Mother nature drives them to spread their sperm as far and wide as possible. Doesn't mean I excuse it of course, but it does explain why so many of the bastards do it. But maybe you're right. Maybe you've picked that illusive trustworthy man."

***

During the months that followed my friendship with Ursula and my relationship with Alan continued. I should have been happy, but discontentment was slowly growing. Something was missing and finally, in late March, I faced up to what it was.

Even before reconnecting with Ursula, I had been turned on by videos of women disciplining men. She had reinforced this fetish. My favourite instrument of correction was the cane applied hard to the bare buttocks. Even after meeting Alan, I would sometimes lie awake at night and watch a video on my laptop whilst using a dildo, wand, or my fingers.

Sometimes I would imagine Ursula, tall, lean, and strong, mercilessly caning an adulterer as his wife watched him suffer and his bum cheeks writhed. And then I would imagine it was Alan who was being disciplined and I was the one watching.

I was highly conflicted. I cared for Alan, but even so, I wanted to see him caned. A genuine, severe caning that hurt and left marks that took days to heal. I knew that he had a masochistic streak because he enjoyed bondage and hand-spanking and I suspected he wanted to be properly disciplined but I couldn't be sure. Unfortunately, I was scared to ask him if that was what he wanted, and even more scared to just do it. What if he said no? He had, after all, asked to be spanked. If he wanted a caning wouldn't he ask?

I also doubted my ability to deliver a sound thrashing partly because of my small build but more particularly because I thought I might relent once I knew I was hurting him. I didn't want to start something I wasn't sure I could see through.

And so I devised a plan.

One weekend I went for a drink with both Alan and Ursula and then when we got home, and I had locked the front door I put my plan into action. I turned to him as he was removing his shoes and coat.

"Take your clothes off, come into the lounge, and lie over my lap," I said. "Don't say anything just do it."

Wordlessly he started to strip, and I pushed past him into the lounge, switched on the lights, and sat in the middle of the settee. I sat and waited and a minute later he was lying across my lap, and I started to spank him. At first, I was slow and relatively gentle but soon my hand was cracking down hard on each cheek in turn, and against my will I found myself getting angry. Alan appeared to be becoming aroused by the process as he lifted his bum to accept each new blow and I felt his prick hard against me. His bum was soon a hot, tomato red but still, I continued, and it was only when my hand was red and raw that I stopped.

He lay still.

"Do you know why I did that?"

"Ursula?"

"And?"

"You think I fancy her."

"I know you fancy her. That's fine. If I was a man I'd want to fuck her too. I didn't decide to spank you because I was angry or wanted to punish you, I spanked you to show you what will happen if you ever screw another woman, You can look but don't touch. If I ever find you have been unfaithful to me you can expect far worse; a long hard slow caning on your bare arse. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Julia."

"Good, I said brightly. Let's go to bed. I'm as horny as hell."

***

Three weeks later, I spoke to Ursula.

"It's about Alan."

"Is there a problem?" she asked.

"I want you to fuck him," I said.

"What? Say that again."

"I want you to fuck him."

Ursula looked blankly at me.

"I've promised him a caning if he is ever unfaithful to me. I want you to fuck him and then cane him for me."

"Julia, I'm not sure I understand."

"Ok. I'm into spanking Alan, and so is he, but I've only ever used my hand. I want to go further... cane, strap, paddle, whatever. Just thinking about it turns me on. I need to see him caned; a good hard bare bottom caning, and I believe he needs it too. The problem is he's never asked me to, and I'm frightened to ask him. I may be wrong, but I don't think so. I believe his first caning has to be given when he has no choice in the matter.

I've promised him a sound caning if he sleeps with another woman. That's where you come in."

"Me?" she said.

"Well, any woman really. But yes, you. You said you fancied him, and he fancies you. And I don't have anybody else to ask. First, you fuck him Then, I find out and then you cane him."

"What makes you think he'll want to fuck me?"

"Ursula, what man wouldn't want to fuck you? Has anybody ever said no?"

She smiled.

"He doesn't know you're not a hairstylist," I said. "It will be a pleasant surprise for him when he learns what you really do. Before that, enjoy him. He's really good. When we are at school didn't we share everything? Just like old times isn't it?"

Her smile broadened.

"We weren't sharing boys when we were thirteen. But aren't you the one, Julia? And to think I was worried about shocking you. How fucking devious can you be? But first I have two questions. If he refuses to be caned after he fucks me what then?"

"I'll have to forgive him and move on. And the second?"

"Why don't you cane him yourself? "

"Because I am afraid when it comes down to it I might feel sorry for him and not deliver what he needs and deserves. I know you'll do the job safely and proficiently."

"You've really got it all worked out haven't you," she said. "OK, I'll do it, but just remember that this could all go tits up. You might not get the ending you wish for. Are you willing to take the chance?"

I answered without hesitation.

"Oh yes."

***

Two weeks later, Ursula fucked Alan and a week after that I found out and confronted him with the evidence. It was ridiculously easy. Too fucking easy!

One Wednesday evening I arranged to meet Ursula and Alan in the pub at eight o'clock. At ten past eight, I messaged Ursula to confirm that they were together in the pub and then rang Alan, apologised profusely, and told him that there was work I absolutely had to do by the morning and that I would be working late and couldn't come out that evening. I arranged to see him the following night.

Things went as planned and the inevitable happened. I was in bed with an egg inside me and using my wand when my mobile beeped. I had been watching videos of women caning and strapping men for over an hour, enjoyed several orgasms, and was well on my way to another when I heard it. I finished myself off and read the message. Job done. He has just left. I looked at the clock, saw it was two in the morning, and was pleased. That evening, I had surprised myself with my lack of jealousy but nonetheless was happier that it was a "quick screw" and Alan had not stayed the night.

I had given Alan several pairs of brightly coloured and patterned socks which he habitually wore, and I had already spoken to Ursula to arrange for him to "lose one" when he visited her house. The following Saturday morning I met her in Starbucks in town and she gave me a plastic bag containing the sock.

We sat and had a cup of coffee. I did not ask her how he had performed, and she did not offer to tell me.

"When will you confront him," she asked.

"Wednesday I think."

And the caning? If he agrees.

"Saturday, if that's OK? It will give him time to anticipate the discomfort."

"I've got appointments in the morning and early afternoon but I'm free after four o'clock. Let me know what works for you."

***

Wednesday evening Alan arrived at the flat around seven. I had prepared us something to eat, and after supper, we sat and talked.

"I'm rather tired," he said. "Do you mind if we stay in?"

"No that's fine," I said sweetly. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

"What's that?"

"A missing sock," I said. "Can you explain how you left it at Ursula's?"

As I produced the sock from my handbag I watched the colour drain from his face.

"She's told me everything," I said. "So there's no point denying it. Was she a good screw? I hope so because the price is a damn good caning. Now do you have anything to say?"

He just looked at me. his mouth opened and then shut.

"Well," I persisted.

It was only then that he spoke.

"I'm sorry. She seduced me," he stammered. "It didn't mean anything It was just sex. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Now you'll leave me. I know you will. I love you, Julia. I don't know why I did it."

Then he stopped talking and looked sadly across at me, and I realised I had fucked up, and in Ursula's language my scheme had gone "tits up."

I crossed to him, put my arms around him, and started to cry. Afterward, I remembered the last time I had cried before that was in seventh grade when one of the boys had hit me.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," I said." It's all my fault. I'm such a fucking fool. I'll explain but first, you need to know something. I love you too."

It was then that I told him what I had done. The next half an hour was a time of apologies, recriminations, and more tears. I thought Alan would be extremely angry with me, but he was quick to forgive me. Far quicker than I could forgive myself.

Then, as in any argument between lovers, we ended up naked, and in bed. Afterward, as I lay in his arms he spoke.

"So when am I to be caned?"

"Are you serious?"

"Oh very. I made a promise, and I broke it. I deserve to be punished. I have only one request. Don't tell Ursula I know you set me up. I'll probably regret this, but I don't want her to go easy on me. You were right about me. You know what I need. Let her give it to me."

"Saturday evening then. But first, tomorrow at lunchtime I want you to go into town to the sex shop and buy a punishment cane. Then tomorrow evening I want you to cane me.... hard. Twelve, good, hard strokes on the bare. I deserve more but it will have to do. I'm no masochist so it will be a true punishment and at least I'll know something of what Ursula does to you on Saturday."

"I don't want to hurt you, Julia."

"Maybe not. But life has consequences. If you deserve to be punished then so do I. I've been a fool who risked everything. I never dreamed I would upset you so much with my silly plan. If you won't do it, or don't do it properly, I shall ask Ursula. Your choice."