The Letter

"Is that you Mary? What time is it?"

"Around ten o'clock I think."

"So I've been asleep only a couple of hours?"

"Sounds about right. How's your arse."

"Bloody sore"

"Shall I come over and rub some more salve?"

"If you do, don't get bloody caught. Nobody's meant to be out of bed."

I silently crept over to her bed with the salve in my hand and knelt beside and behind her on the bed. It was a moonlit night, and the curtains were partly open so that I could see the curved outline of her body. I squeezed some salve onto the fingers of my hand and gently rubbed it onto her still ridged buttocks.

As I did this, my fingers strayed between her cheeks, and I heard her gently groan and spread her legs slightly. Unsure of her wishes, I let my hand stray further, and she groaned louder, spread her legs wider, and raised herself towards my hand. Then, as she lay naked and flat on her belly with her arse raised, I found her crack and her bud. She was soaking wet as I frigged her, alternately rubbing her clitoris, or putting my fingers inside her vagina and finger fucking her. Although I was a virgin, I knew she wasn't. She had told us stories about the men she had fucked on several occasions.

Soon she started to breathe more quickly, and her thighs tightened around my hand, and then with three fingers deep inside her, I fucked her to orgasm. She took it quietly, but for thirty long seconds her thighs trembled, her cunt tightened around my fingers, and she dripped fluid.

I heard her silently exhale.

"Thank you," she whispered. I never realised a flogging could make a girl so horny. I needed that."

"Move over," I said.

The bed was narrow and the mattress soft. It could not be described as comfortable. We lay, June still on her belly, and me on my back. Our legs were spread, her right leg overlapping my right. I put my hand under her belly and rubbed her bud, whilst I fingered myself, and shortly we came again. Then we slept.

---

I was woken from a deep sleep when the light was switched on. For a moment, I didn't realise I wasn't in my own bed. Then I looked towards the door and saw Miss Lawson.

"Morgan," she said." Get back to your bed and put some pyjamas on, and cover Deschamps with a sheet. I will talk to you in the morning."

Then she was gone.

I could not sleep after Miss Lawson left. My mind was in a jumble. I realised for the first time I was both a sexual sadist and potentially bisexual (I might have been a virgin but still wanted to feel a man inside me). I was also frightened sick of what Miss Lawson might do.

I was right to be frightened.

In the morning, whilst I was in an English lesson, I was called to Miss Lawson's office. I waited outside her office door until her secretary told me to go in.

"Sit," said Miss Lawson. "What were you doing in Deschamps's bed?"

"Comforting her."

"I don't believe you."

"It's true Miss," I lied.

"Do you think I was born yesterday?"

"No Miss."

"Very well. I can't prove what you were doing in her bed although I can guess. If I could, you'd each receive twelve on the bare. As it is Deschamps is very lucky, but you are going to receive eight..... tonight. I want you back here after the evening meal. Gym shorts and cotton shift only. And before you think of running, think about this. When you are caught, you have seen exactly what will happen to you."

That evening, as instructed, just after dinner I knocked on the headmistress's study door.

"Come," she said.

I entered the room. Miss Lawson was alone and sitting at her desk. She was writing in a small exercise book. The desktop was empty of the books and writing materials I had seen in the morning. Now, sitting on top of it was a crooked-handled punishment cane. It was about a yard long and one-third of an inch thick. The chair in front of the desk, in which I had sat in the morning, was gone and placed against the wall.

I stood in front of the desk waiting. My mouth was dry, and I was trembling. She made me wait for a minute or so before she put her pen down and looked up. She picked up the cane and spoke.

"Good. We are alone. You will find no sympathy from anybody holding you in place for your punishment, and you will get none from me. I suspect you deserve more than eight strokes, but I am a fair woman, and I shan't punish you for what I only think you've done.

"Take off your shorts and place them on the chair then bend over the desk. I want you to spread your legs and grip the far edge of the desk. Hold on tight, because if you get up or lift your feet from the floor you will get penalty strokes."

She remained seating whilst I did as I was instructed. I cannot explain my feelings as I bent over the desk with my breasts firmly against the hard wooden surface, and with my bottom bare and exposed. I was undeniably scared of what was about to happen. I could feel my heart beating in my chest. But.... there was something else. I felt deliciously naked, My nipples were erect under my thin cotton top, and I could feel my sex was moist and tingling. I remember hoping Miss Lawson wouldn't notice but if she did she didn't say. I already knew I wasn't unique.

Still sitting, Miss Lawson looked me hard in the eye and stood.

I heard her walk behind me and stop, and then I felt the cane tapping me gently on the buttocks. Then, the tapping stopped, and I heard a loud whooping and a crack as the cane impacted my behind.

For a fraction of a second, there was no pain, but then a line of white-hot searing pain appeared in a line across my buttocks. It peaked to a crescendo after a few seconds but continued to burn. I took all my willpower not to jump up and cry out, but I bit my lip, planted my feet firmly on the floor, and held on tightly to the edge. I was no longer horny.

Thirty seconds later the tapping resumed. Involuntarily I tensed my bum muscles, and that is when she chose to strike again, just below her first stroke, and a second line of fire traversed my bum. I sobbed.

Miss Lawson was an expert. She struck at thirty-second intervals building pain on pain and working her way up and down my buttocks. I sobbed and blubbered as the cane rose and fell, whistling and biting, and white-knuckled, I held onto the edge of the desk.

And then it stopped, and I was aware that Miss Lawson was speaking.

"Get up, girl. Put on your shorts and go to your room. You are excused from studying for this evening."

---

June had gone to the schoolroom to do her evening self-study when I arrived back in the room, and I was alone. I took off my clothes and stood naked in front of the mirror. When I was nineteen I was beautiful. I was five feet nine, blond-haired, green-eyed with big round breasts and an hourglass figure. I turned and looked over my shoulder so that I could see my sore throbbing bum. Seven parallel deep red lines traversed my white flesh with an eighth superimposed diagonally over the others. Where the lines crossed the skin was dark blue and tiny specks of blood were visible.

I felt behind me, and as I traced two fingers across my stripes I felt the ridges formed by the cane, and as I did the longing in my groin returned. I crossed to my bed, retrieved my night dress from under the pillow, and put it on. Then I lay on the bed, pulled my night dress up around my waist, and pulled the sheet to my neck. I was determined not to be caught playing with myself.

I lay on my back with my legs spread and my bum against the sheets. Very soon my discomfort was forgotten, and I must have experienced a dozen orgasms in the next hour or so before I fell into an exhausted sleep.

---

My caning and that of June had a profound effect on me. It is not an exaggeration to say they changed my life.

Whilst I found the sight and sounds of Junes caning extremely erotic, I did not enjoy my own punishment, which was the most painful and unpleasant four minutes of my life thus far. I did find the sight and feel of both of our striped behinds, to be highly arousing.

I soon realised that I would do almost anything to avoid receiving another caning, but would enjoy the opportunity to administer one. At the time, avoiding any further punishment became very important, and I became a changed person. I worked hard at the approved school and obtained my School Leaving Certificate and then trained as a librarian.

After I left the approved school, I lost touch with June. Unlike me, she did not learn from her correction, and I later read in the newspapers she had been jailed for three years for theft.

It was whilst I was working in Oxford that I was introduced to your father. He was tall and good-looking, but rather quiet and passive, and that suited me. I was not looking for a man to dominate me (except maybe in bed). I was far too strong-willed for that.

I am not going into any of the details of our relationship except to say that when we married I had no intention of "obeying" him. Indeed in time, with the help of the strap and cane, he has learned to obey me. This has resulted in an ordered, structured, calm, and loving home life.

If you wish to see what the absence of discipline in a home does, you need to look no further than your father's brother. I am certain your aunt would love to tie him down and apply a couple of dozen strokes of the cane to his bare flabby arse. In my wilder moments, I considered offering to do it myself.

You are a lot like me. You have the same dominant streak. Choose a partner who fits with who you are. Always remember that it IS a man's world. You will have to be better and work harder to reach the same position in life, and even then the bastards will pay you less. Don't even try to be an engineer.

I have had to tolerate sexist comments, my bum pinched at work, and wolf whistles in the street. I was determined that at home I would rule the roost, and I did. Wife beating remains all too common and I was determined it would never happen to me. In my opinion, a calm strapping or caning of an errant male is different from drunkenly giving your wife a black eye or broken ribs for no good reason.

Despite their confidence in their own superiority, men need us to organise and motivate them, and I can speak personally to the motivating effect of a sound thrashing. There is also the additional benefit of the great sex that follows.

I have reread this letter and realise that I have probably gone into too much detail. I just got carried away. I have always told you to regret the "undone" not the "done" so it would be hypocrisy to change or delete any of what I have written, and these are after all my last words to you.

That's it, honey,

Make good choices,

All my love,

Mum. XXX

***

I read the letter twice. I was done crying and was surprised but not shocked by what my mother had written. It went a long way to explaining the relationship between her and my father. I thought back to the Saturday after Easter when he went to bed "because he was in pain," and wondered how many strokes she had given him.

I put the letter down and looked at the clock. It was now ten to seven and time for the evening meal. I locked the letter away and went downstairs for dinner. My aunt had excelled herself. We were having cheese on toast with baked beans.

My uncle was already drinking his second glass of whisky of the evening and sat at the table and noisily scooped the food into his mouth. He did not comment on the food but suddenly farted long and loudly.

"Better out than in. Better up than down," he said.

And I thought about what my mother had wanted to do to him and shuddered. Rather you than me I thought.

Later that night, I read the letter again, and I realised that I too found the idea of disciplining a fit man or woman very appealing, and I started to play with myself.

I wondered if mother was watching.

***

That September, I went up to Oxford. The death of my parents had left me extremely well off. My organised and forward-thinking mother had insured my father and herself against accidental death and the pay-out had been in six figures. I had also inherited the house in Manchester and had used some of the money that I had inherited to buy a small semidetached house. Despite my wealth, I was not profligate, and I rented out a room cheap, to a girl on my course.

Over the next four years I had several boyfriends, none of them serious, They were all too assertive and sure of themselves for my taste, and when I graduated with a 2.1 degree in French and German at the age of twenty-two I was still a virgin.

It was then that I met Martin. I had decided I wanted to become a teacher and had enrolled at a teacher training college. Marin enrolled at the same time and with the same degree in French and German, albeit with a first-class degree. Despite his brilliance, he was surprisingly humble, and when he asked me out I was happy to say yes. He had boyish good looks with brown hair and eyes and was about five feet ten tall; a couple of inches taller than me. His most attractive physical feature (at least to me) was his tight bum. He looked great in tight-fitting trousers.

He was shy and it took him until the second date to kiss me, but by then I had already decided that I wished to lose my virginity to him; and the quicker the better. On our third date, we went to the cinema to see Clint Eastwood in The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, and on the way home from the bus stop I popped the question.

"Have you ever slept with a girl?"

I could not see his face as it was dark, but I am sure my question surprised him because he did not reply immediately. Eventually, he spoke.

"Yes, Only one though. It didn't work out well."

I was silent for a moment before I spoke again.

"Will you take me to bed tonight, please?"

He said nothing but stopped walking, turned to me, held my head gently between his two hands, and kissed me firmly on the lips.

"What do we do for protection?" he whispered.

"Don't worry about that I went to the chemist this morning," I replied.

***

Half an hour later we were naked on my double bed and a little later I had a man inside me for the first time. Martin popped my cherry with ease. His penis was like a bone, and as he entered me there was a little resistance, a moment of discomfort, and then he was fully inside. I was extremely aroused and well-lubricated as his penis slid in and out of me. He first took me in the missionary position with my legs wide and knees bent. At first, his strokes were long and slow, but as my pleasure grew I urged him to move faster, and I started to say things I would never have believed I would.

"Faster. Harder"

"Give it to me. Give it to me. Give it to me!

"Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me deep!"

"I love it. I love it, Oh how I fucking love it!"

His strokes became harder and faster, and the bed was banging against the wall when I reached climax. I came hard and long. My thighs and glutes trembled as I bucked under him, and I wailed.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhh!"

He continue to bang me, and then after a few seconds his strokes shortened, and he softly moaned.

"Aaaaahhhhhhh!"

Over the following week, my sex education continued. Martin fucked me doggy style, and I rode him, cowboy and cowgirl. I gave him a hand job and a blow job, and in turn he licked me out, and we did soixante-neuf. I was insatiable.

One evening, I was lying naked and in his arms following a session of lovemaking. It was then that I popped the second question.

"Have you ever been caned?"

"I went to public school," he said. "Everybody got caned. Why do you ask?"

"Something I read," I replied. "I'm interested. Did it hurt?"

"Oh yes, and it leaves long red marks.

"Were you ever caned on the bare?"

"Now you're getting personal," he said.

"Do you mind getting personal? After all, you're fucking me."

Martin took his arm from around me, sat up, and looked down at me. He seemed to be trying to make his mind up about something.

"Do you really want to know?" He said. "I don't want to shock you."

"Oh, I don't think you can shock me. I know I want to know more about you."

He paused.

" I'll tell you a story."

So he did. It was about meeting a young farmer's daughter called Natalie, who seduced him. At the time he was still at school despite being eighteen years old. One weekend they were caught fucking and the farmer's wife insisted Martin be birched by the school's headmaster. Martin described being tied over a birching block naked and receiving eighteen strokes. His birching was witnessed by Natalie and her parents, and the school matron. His girlfriend was given twenty-four strokes of the cane on the bare by her mother later that night. Immediately after his birching, he was thinking about Natalie and wanking, when the school matron caught him and gave him six of the best on his bare bum. Then she gave him two more penalty strokes for moving. Two weeks later, she made him strip naked, tied him down, and gave him another twelve strokes of the cane. She hit him very hard and appeared to enjoy doing it. The marks lasted for weeks. (This is a precis of Martin's story The Making of a Masochist)

"I'm a masochist," he said. "I both loved it and hated it when she caned me. I liked the marks she made."

"She was very strict and attractive, and I dreamt of fucking her for months afterward."

As he had been talking I had been getting more and more aroused and my pussy started to leak once more.

"Would you like me to cane you?" I asked.

He stared at me, and his dick started to grow stiff.

"All you have to do is piss me off, and I will cane you....You will be bent over a chair naked and a minimum of eight strokes will be applied to your bare bum. I promise you I will hit you just as hard as I can, and it WILL hurt, and it WILL leave marks!"

Five minutes later he was deep inside of me. He fucked me to a half dozen brain-melting orgasms as I fantasised about what I was planning for him. I am sure he was thinking about it too.

***

The following Monday morning I went to College late. First I visited a local sex shop and purchased a couple of senior punishment canes as described by my mother. Before going to classes, I took them home wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string.

That evening after tea, I placed a pillow over the back of a kitchen chair and practiced. After about fifteen minutes I could strike hard and accurately and had worked out it was most effective if I held the cane lightly as I swung and let the cane flex and straighten as it impacted. For the time being, I was as ready as I could be.

The following weekend Martin and I were alone in the house. My student lodger had returned to Leeds to see her parents.