The Story of Thao Pt. 01

Author's note: This story contains graphic descriptions of fully consensual corporal punishment in the form of caning. If this is offensive to you, please be warned, and don't read on.

All the participants in this story are adults over the age of eighteen years. As usual, none of the characters depicted are real and any similarity to real places or people living or dead is purely coincidental.

Please comment and score. Any constructive criticism positive or negative is welcome. Far too few folk score and even fewer make comments, especially after reading BDSM stories.

As always, any errors in editing are mine and mine alone.

The Story of Thao (Part 1)

I am a thirty-year-old Vietnamese lady with a very unusual kink. I am a teacher and a part-time dominatrix. Men pay me to punish them. My services are very specific. I provide straightforward severe corporal punishment and nothing else. My clients are a small group of discrete and wealthy men who, like me, wish their activities to remain hidden.

I do not offer my services to women, only men. I punish men because I do not like them, and not just because they pay me to do it. In general, I dislike most men, but not all of them. I love fucking, and I like Christopher and love to fuck him, but I love to spank him too. That service I provide, quite happily, for free.

I have disliked men for many years. I have good reasons which will become clear, although I have only started to discipline them more recently after I learned how good it felt to hurt them. That, and how I met Christopher, is what this story is all about.

Vietnamese people are not that big, and I am only five feet one inch tall and weigh a mere eight stone, but nonetheless, I am very good at meting out suffering. You do not need brute strength to use a strap, whip, paddle, or cane, just good technique, and a merciless unforgiving nature.

I have both.

***

I came to Canada via the Philippines in 1981 when I was ten years old. My father was some kind of civil servant who worked for the government of South Vietnam in Saigon during the Vietnamese War. My mother was a government interpreter. I was their only child, born in 1971 during the last years of the war.

Following the fall of Saigon in 1975, my parents were sent by the communist government to "re-education" camps, and I was sent to live with my aunt. My mother was released after six months of incarceration, but it was not until early 1977 that my father was released, and we were a family again.

Even with my father and mother back home, life was not easy. They had no official status, had lost their jobs when the South Vietnamese Government fell, had no access to food rations, and I was not allowed to go to school. I still do not know how we survived during that period. My parents did not speak of it, and I knew enough never to ask.

Then in 1978, on a warm dark January night, we left the country on a boat, with maybe thirty other people. It was a cloudless night when we left the beach and set out into the dark and I remember the stars shining brightly above us. There were men, women, and children amongst us, and I remember the boat was open with no shelter from the sea or the weather. I also remember being very scared indeed and hearing my father tell my mother that if we stayed in Vietnam we would surely die and that it was better to take our chances with the sea.

Even at seven years old I found myself hating the soldiers who had brought this misfortune upon us, and rather unfairly my father for holding his political views. Nothing that happened, either on the boat or later, did anything to change my view of men.

I did not know where we were headed but heard the men talking of the Philippines. We had taken food and water with us for the voyage and my father told us that we should reach an island in the west of the islands in about four days if all went well.

Predictably enough, it didn't. But it could have been much worse,

About twelve hours into the journey a Vietnamese fishing vessel appeared on the horizon. They forced us to stop dead in the water by threatening to ram and sink us if we did not heave to, and then six of the fishermen, who had turned pirate, boarded us and demanded our gold. valuables, and money.

One man protested and was hit over the head and thrown into the sea, where he soon drowned. After that, we quickly gave them what they demanded, and they left us to continue our journey.

I was outraged by that event. It was not just the casual killing of a man that upset me, but that my father and his male companions gave up without a fight. Unrealistic as this may have been, I vowed to myself that no man would treat me like this if I survived and grew up.

We did not know it at the time but were very lucky. Then, the South China Sea was infested with pirates who preyed on the hundreds of thousands of "boat people" fleeing Vietnam. Many of these pirates robbed, murdered, and raped, at will.

We encountered no further pirates on our voyage, but on the second day, first one, and then the other outboard motor stopped working. With no sail, we drifted, at the mercy of the elements for four more days. Huddled in the boat beneath our traditional leaf hats we tried to hide from the blazing sun and waited to die of thirst.

For the second time, we were lucky. On the sixth day, a freighter spotted us, took us on board, and transported us to Manilla.

For the next three years, there in the Philippines, inside a refugee camp, we remained. Then without warning, we were informed that Canada had agreed to give us refuge, and when I was ten years old my family was relocated to Montreal.

It made perfect sense. Both my parents were educated in South Vietnam and spoke excellent French whilst my mother also spoke English fluently.

And so, my new life started. I went to school and learned French and then English, and slowly became accustomed to the strange land in which I found myself. Despite my culture shock, I was very keen to integrate myself into the community in which I found myself. My future was now in Canada, and I wanted to be a good citizen. Not so my parents, who found the predicament in which they now found themselves more shocking and did not wish to lose any of the old ways. When I was eleven years old, they insisted I start to learn Vietnamese Ashtanga Yoga at which, to my surprise, I was surprisingly adept.

***

When I was twenty-one, with no little disquiet, I married Dinh. It was an arranged marriage. Although I did not love him, he was handsome and had a future as a teacher. He was a member of the Vietnamese community in Montreal and had been chosen by my parents, as I had been chosen by his parents. My name is Thao. In Vietnamese it means, "respectful of her parents," and that is why I married a man I had no feelings for.

When I married in 1992 my mother was forty-five years old and dying. Years of war and subsequent "re-education," the boat crossing, and her time in a refugee camp had taken their toll, and then she was diagnosed as having breast cancer.

Now all she wanted was to see her grandchild born. That is why I consented to a loveless marriage.

Unfortunately, the marriage was not just loveless but virtually sexless. Dinh had little inclination to fuck me, either for procreation or for pleasure, and soon I learned that he was gay. He had married me as a smokescreen to hide his extramarital activities, and when my mother died, only six months after we married, we separated, Dinh was just one more misogynistic male who seemed to be hell-bent on fucking up my life.

Just a month later my father had a heart attack and died. I prefer to believe he died of grief.

I was alone in the world. My family was dead, and whatever relatives I still had were halfway across the world in Vietnam.

Life is for the living, however hard that may be, and I knew that my parents would want me to carry on. I had already qualified as a teacher and wanted a fresh start away from Montreal and just four months later I was teaching mathematics at a school in Toronto.

***

I did not set out to become a dominatrix, but like so many things in my life, both before and afterward, it just happened.

I was a virgin when I married Dinh and whilst I was technically not a virgin when we separated, I might as well have been. I never experienced an orgasm at Dinh's hands (or his dick for that matter). In the months following my separation, I never had a lover. My sex life was a solitary one, alone with my dildo(s) and vibrator. Although I was attracted to men, I didn't trust them, and while I trusted women, I wasn't attracted to them. It was Catch Twenty-Two.

At first, none of this mattered. I had other things that kept me busy including burying two parents, divorce proceedings, finding a new job, and relocating three hundred and fifty miles west to Toronto.

Only my Yoga, which I practiced six days a week, helped me during this stressful time.

Whilst my sex life drifted aimlessly my career moved forward, and shortly after moving to Toronto I rented a small house with a garden in Delta. My neighbours on one side were an elderly gentleman and his wife, and on the other, a married English couple around my age called Christopher and Aimee.

Christopher was a pharmacist and Aimee was an ER nurse but, apart from their common healthcare backgrounds, they appeared to have little in common. She was loud and extroverted whilst he was a calm soft-spoken man. She was outspoken and rude and did not appear to think before she ventured some outlandish opinion, whilst when he occasionally offered an opinion, it was always well-considered and moderate. She swore incessantly but he rarely used bad language.

Christopher was tall, blond, and good-looking in a rather effeminate way. She was tall, with a full curvy figure, short brown hair, and a severe-looking face,

In their marriage, Aimee wore the trousers. She was the boss and she made sure that Christopher, and everybody else, knew it.

Two weeks after I moved into my house, they me invited to a barbecue. It was a warm early summer day and there were about twenty folks invited. There were steaks, burgers, and fish, with slaw and salad, and copious quantities of beer, wine, and spirits. It was the first time I had met Christopher or Aimee to talk to, and I soon found out that whilst I liked him, I disliked her intensely. She spent the entire afternoon belittling and bossing him about.

Later in the afternoon, when I mentioned that my garden gate was broken, Aimee offered Christopher's services to fix it.

"He'll be happy to help," said Aimee. "Won't you Christopher?"

She wasn't giving him a choice.

"Of course," he replied.

Those few words marked the beginning of the end of my self-enforced solitude, and their marriage as they knew it. Her error, if that is what it was, was to assume I was both weak and gay, and to underestimate the power of raw sexual attraction.

***

The following weekend, late one morning, I returned from the mall with a bag of groceries and found Christopher fixing my gate. He had already replaced the hinges and was in the process of fixing the latch.

"Hello, Thao, I saw you were out but got started anyway. I hope you don't mind?"

"Of course not. Thanks for doing it."

"It's no problem. It just needs a lick of paint, and it will be as good as new."

"How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing. I had the hinges and latch lying around, and there's some white paint in my garage from a job I did before."

"That's so kind of you. Can I offer you a piece of cake and a cup of coffee when you finish?"

"Great. I'll be through in a few minutes. I'll paint it another day. It looks like it's coming on to rain."

I short time later he knocked on the door and I invited him in.

"Tea or coffee?"

"Tea, please. I'm English. We live on tea where I come from."

"Where's that?"

"Ipswich," he said. "It's in the east of England."

As I busied myself making the tea and cutting him a slice of sponge cake, he told me about his background. When he asked me about myself, I was reticent, and only told him my parents were Vietnamese and dead, and that I had never been married and had no boyfriend. I was attracted to him, even though, back then, I would not have dreamed of sleeping with a married man.

We talked for maybe half an hour before he made his excuses and left with a promise to return on the first clear day, to paint the gate.

After he had left, I discovered that whilst he had eaten the shop-bought cake, he'd left his tea undrunk.

Three days later, he returned and finished the job. It was a light summer evening and Aimee was at work, so when he had finished, he stopped by for a drink, but this time opted for a beer.

Over the next few weeks, I saw him another five times when he offered to do a few more odd jobs for me, and once when he came to borrow some sugar but left without it. He was always the perfect gentleman but despite this, I was starting to think that Christopher was starting to get ideas about me, I and was starting to wonder how to politely discourage him. As it happened things moved on.

***

On a Saturday morning, about a month later, my telephone rang. It was Aimee, who asked me if I would like to come around for a drink with her and Christopher that evening. In the absence of anything better to do, I agreed. She told me there was a favour she wanted to ask me. I was intrigued, but when I asked her what it was, she only said it would keep until we met.

Just after eight o'clock, I rang their front doorbell and Aimee answered. I was surprised to see that she was dressed in a loose-fitting pair of purple jogger bottoms, a white sleeveless top with no bra, and was bare-footed. She had a glass of white wine in her hand.

"Come in Thao," she said. "Take a seat in the lounge and I'll join you. What would you like to drink?"

"White wine would be lovely, thank you."

I entered the lounge, took a seat, and was further surprised to see no sign of Christopher. Aimee entered the lounge from the kitchen, handed me a glass of wine, and sat opposite me.

"Cheers, "she said, and took a swig. I could see that this was not her first glass of the evening.

"Cheers," I replied. "Where's Christopher?"

"Upstairs waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

She put her wind down on a side table and looked across at me.

"He's the reason I've asked you here this evening. You appear to have grown very close recently...."

Before she could say any more, I broke in.

"Are you accusing me of having an affair with your husband? Because if you are, I'm not. He's a married man and I wouldn't dream of it."

"Oh, I know that, but the problem is he would dream of it. Has dreamt of it. Is dreaming of it.

Now, I'm going to tell you something about our marriage. It is my marriage with my rules. I sleep with whom I want and Christopher sleeps with me and does exactly what I tell him. Imagine my surprise when he told me he fancied you. He didn't think I'd mind if he tried to seduce you. But I do.

What is sauce for the goose is most definitely not sauce for the gander, and tonight he is going to learn that, and you are going to help me teach him."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Oh. I think you will. You asked me what he was waiting for. Well.... He's waiting to be caned. I cane him regularly, so he knows what to expect. I shall bend him naked over the table in the dining room, tie him down, and cane his arse. There are only two things he doesn't know. The number of strokes and that you are going to deliver half of them."

I put my glass down and got up to leave, but as I did, Aimee spoke again. Her voice was soft but insistent.

"Right now, he is sitting naked in our bedroom. Soon he will receive his punishment. He will be caned whether you leave or not, but if you leave, he will receive thirty-six strokes. If you agree to stay, I will deliver a dozen following which you will administer a dozen. Your choice. Do the math. But if you agree, you must hit him hard, or the stroke won't count."

I sat down again, reached for my glass, and drained it in one gulp.

"May I have another glass, please? I need time to think."

As Aimee disappeared back into the kitchen, I knew that I needed time to think about what my answer would be, and I needed time to compose myself. For some unknown reason, my initial reaction to the news that Christopher was to receive a bare bum caning was not pity but excitement, and the thought of being able to watch it was making me wet between my legs. I didn't really care whether he received twenty-four or thirty-six strokes, but I was unsure about my ability to use a cane.

Aimee returned with another two full glasses of wine and handed me one. As I contemplatively sipped, I spoke,

"I've never seen a caning before, let alone give one, and I'm not very big or strong."

Aimee smiled.

"Just watch me and try to do the same. You look quite strong enough to do a good job, and if you don't, then I will have to give him a further twelve strokes."

I knew that I was, "quite strong enough." Years of practicing yoga had made me strong and supple. It was whether I possessed the mental strength to hurt him that I doubted, although I desperately wanted to watch as Aimee caned him. I had grown to quite like Christopher but If Aimee wanted to cane him that was hers and his business. I wasn't sure I wanted to inflict pain on her behalf. I had nothing against him. Or so I thought.

"Why is it so important to you that I cane him?"

"To shame him."

"Can't I just watch? I'm not sure I'll be able to cane him," I said. "Me watching you caning him will shame him too, won't it?" Then I looked her in the eye.

Aimee caught my gaze and held it, and I could see that she was thinking.

"OK, but you can help me tie him down. He'll get twenty-four."

"Does It hurt very much?"

"Oh yes, judging from his squeals and blubbering and tears, it looks quite excruciatingly painful."

"Then why does he let you do it to him?"

"I don't know. You'd need to ask him. He needs the pain and I need to give it."

***

There was nothing more to say, so we sat quietly and finished our drinks, then Aimee rose and took the empty glasses into the kitchen before returning to the lounge.

"It's time," she said. "Wait here whilst I fetch him."

A couple of minutes later she returned with Christopher. He was naked, and for the first time, I was able to truly appreciate his physique. He was well over six feet tall and flat-bellied with well-muscled thighs and arms. His prick was dangling down between his legs and swinging as he walked. When he reached the centre of the room, he stood still and waited.

For a moment, he did not notice me, but then he looked in my direction and he started, and his eyes widened. He didn't say anything but continued to stare at me. It occurred to me, that he had been instructed not to speak. Then, I heard Aimee's voice.

"I've asked Thao to watch your punishment. Quite appropriate don't you think?"

As I continued to look at him, my eyes were drawn to his groin, and his prick, which had been flaccid only moments before, had rapidly started to harden and was soon stiff and erect. It was uncut, thick, and at least six inches long and I realised that my ex's penis was puny compared to this, and suddenly knew I wanted to feel Christopher inside of me. For now, however, there was his caning for me to enjoy, and for him to endure.

Aimee had noticed his erection.

"That won't last twenty-four strokes of the cane," she said. "Go into the dining room and lie over the table. We'll be through in a few minutes."

When we entered the dining room, Christopher was already lying lengthways across the table, his arms spread out in front of him, and his rump raised by a large block of polystyrene foam placed under his belly.