The Letter

I had prepared beef stroganoff for Friday evening dinner. It was a labour of love with strips of best fillet steak coated in a creamy mushroom sauce and served with white rice and a green salad. Martin and I sat down to eat just after seven o'clock. I was very pleased with what I had produced and as he took his first taste I looked enquiringly at him. He said nothing but crossed to the kitchen cupboard, retrieved a bottle, and upended a dollop of tomato ketchup into the middle of his plate.

I was aghast.

"You fucking philistine," I said. "You can't do that to a stroganoff."

Suddenly my annoyance turned to glee. He had pissed me off, and I had my excuse.

"That was top-quality steak and I worked hard. Don't say I didn't warn you. You earned yourself a caning. Eight strokes on the bare bottom. You won't sit for a week. Now finish your fucking meal and have a shower. I want you in the lounge naked in half an hour."

Then I took my meal and went to the lounge leaving him in the kitchen to eat alone.

When he was in the shower I pushed the lounge settee and armchair against the wall to create plenty of space to swing. I took a wooden kitchen chair and placed it in the centre of the room with a punishment cane resting on the seat. I was wearing blue jeans and a white tee shirt which would not interfere with my movement. I poured myself a glass of wine and waited.

He arrived downstairs as instructed. When he entered the lounge, he saw the cane sitting on the chair, and his eyes widened. I watched as his penis, which had been hanging flaccid between his legs started to swell and harden and was soon fully erect.

My voice was firm and calm. You know the drill. Bend over and put your palms flat on the seat of the chair. I want your legs apart and your soles firmly planted. If your palms or soles do not stay flat, I will give you punishment strokes.

I took my position to the left of, and just in front, of his bum and took aim. Then I drew my arm back and turning at the waist brought the cane whistling down upon his taut skin. The skin turned white on impact and then the blood flowed back, and a thin red line appeared. He gasped but stayed in position whilst his beautiful bum slowly rotated first clockwise and then back in the opposite direction. I could not fail to notice he had lost his erection.

I was elated. The experience of delivering pain was everything my mother had described, and I felt empowered. He had told me he wanted this. Well... He was going to get it.. and hard.

Thirty seconds later the second stroke was delivered, followed quickly by a second stripe, and a jerking of his buttocks. He moaned.

I delivered the next four strokes at the same thirty-second intervals and by the sixth stroke he was crying in pain and his buttocks were in a state of constant motion.

By then I was confident I could hurt him without causing any permanent damage, and I determined the last two strokes would be special. The penultimate stroke fell on the meatiest part of his buttocks with as much strength as I could muster and was followed quickly by the last stroke driven into the sweet spot where the buttocks and legs meet, and he screamed. The pain of the last stroke was too much, and he stamped his feet.

"That's one penalty stroke you've earnt," I said. "But not today. We'll add it to your next punishment. You may get up."

He stood to his feet, and I crossed to him, took him in my arms, and held him tight against me.

"You've been very brave I whispered. I'm sorry I had to do that, but it was necessary. You needed to know that when I said "I would cane you hard" I was telling the truth. I won't cane you again for something as minor as the inappropriate use of ketchup. You gave me a good excuse. In the future, you will have to try harder to be caned. I promise you never less than twelve hard strokes."

As I spoke I felt his penis hard against my groin. I dropped to my knees and took him in my mouth, and he reached down and gently held my hair in his hands as my head bobbed up and down. I heard him moan, this time in rapture. Whenever I sensed he was close I stopped. I wanted to prolong his pleasure, but all too soon his penis seemed to swell, and he rhythmically pumped his salty white caviar into my mouth.

The next time I caned him he truly deserved it. It was Christmas of the same year and we had been invited to a staff Christmas party at a school to which I had been seconded in the Autumn term. I was the designated driver, and Martin had a little more alcohol than he was used to. I would have forgiven him that, except he showed a little too much interest in Belinda, the chemistry teacher. She was a bum man's dream with a large round ass, small tits, and a beautiful face with brown hair and doe-like innocent eyes. She was far from innocent, and rumour had it "that she had had more pricks than a second hand dart board. That evening she seemed to have set her sights on Martin, who seemed flattered by her attention.

She was dancing with him, with two hands on his bum, when I rescued him from her clutches and reluctantly he left with me to go home.

In the car on the way home, I confronted him.

"She wanted to shag you."

"Oh, come on."

"What the fuck do you think she wanted? To discuss James Joyce's Ulysses?"

He wisely said nothing, although it didn't help him. As we lay in bed later I told him what was going to happen.

"You have a caning coming tomorrow evening. Twelve strokes plus the one penalty, You can blame big, bummed Belinda. Whilst I flay your bare arse you can imagine hers. I can promise you that it will still hurt like hell."

Even after a bottle and a half of wine his penis stirred.

***

That was thirty-five years ago. We married a year after we met. If it was not a match "made in heaven," it was one suggested by my mum. And it worked. We are still together and are still in love. Our mutual kink has strengthened our relationship. Whilst Martin is more assertive than my father, we have disagreed on very little, and any big differences have been easily solved. I do not agree with maintenance punishments or gentle hand spanking. Whenever he has been disciplined it has been very real and very painful and has left him with a swollen, ridged, and striped arse. Punishment has never been required often, maybe twice a year on average. Generally, he receives twelve strokes of the senior cane, but he has needed twenty-four strokes on a handful of occasions. That punishment has been reserved for "crimes" such as crashing the car or pouring red wine on our new carpet after he has drunk too much. He always knows what he has done and accepts his punishment as fair and necessary.

I have never been able to decide which one of us needs it more....the giver or the taker of pain.

Afterward, the sex is always fantastic. I am always sopping wet, and he is always rock hard after I thrash him, When I am really horny, I strip naked before caning him. When he fucks me afterward it is always doggy style. He remains an ass man. I like to show him my big unblemished buttocks which contrast so well with his sore and tattered behind.

Twenty-five years ago we moved to France, and we both teach English and German. We love the country, the people, the lifestyle, and the food. Just after we moved to France I cooked him boeuf bourguignon and put ketchup on the table, but he declined to use it.

We have one child, a daughter. She is now thirty years old with a six-year-old son and a four-year-old daughter. When my daughter was eighteen years old I gave her a copy of the letter my mother gave to me. Unfortunately, we have a way to go before sexual discrimination and harassment are a thing of the past.

But there will always be sadists and masochists. Those that like to use the cane and those that need to feel it.

Felicity Walters, Aix en Provence, March 2005

***

Endnote

Approved schools existed in England between 1933 and 1969 and were residential schools based on boarding schools, but with much stricter discipline. Adolescents aged between fifteen and twenty-one years old and who were repeat offenders could be sentenced to a stay there by a local magistrate. Both academic subjects and more practical skills such as bricklaying, carpentry, needlework, and agriculture were taught. Schools were either for girls or boys and were run by voluntary bodies under Home Office supervision

Discipline was extremely harsh. The use of the strap and the cane for minor infractions of the rules was common. The home office stipulated that the harshest punishment that should be given was for running away from the school. Any absconder should be given eight strokes of the senior cane on their clothed buttocks immediately on their return to school. All punishments were to be recorded in a punishment book.

In practice, not all punishments were recorded and there is anecdotal evidence of breaches of the regulations including, as described in this story, caning on the bare buttocks and more than eight strokes being administered.

***