Where Fantasy Ends Reality Begins

This story has been edited. One constructive criticism of my stories is that I am too quick to get to the end and should make them a little more detailed and this is what I have done here. I have added 350 words but now believe it reads better and the mindset of the protagonist is explained more fully.

Where Fantasy Ends Reality Begins

I am a masochist.

I lie in bed naked fantasising.

It is the same every time, although each time the detail becomes a little clearer, a little better defined.

My fantasy is that I am standing in the dock in court and the judge who is a beautiful but stern woman sentences me to be caned. I do not know what I have done to deserve this punishment.

"You will be taken from here to the place of correction, stripped naked, and a minimum of thirty six strokes of a judicial kooboo cane will be applied to your buttocks."

And then rough hands bundle me out of the court through a door and into a brightly sunlit courtyard. As I blink, and my eyes adjust to the light, I see a padded wooden A frame standing near to the far wall with a metal pail containing the cane sitting by it. As I watch, a tall heavily muscled man, naked from the waist reaches down and removes the cane from the water in which it has been steeped to render it heavier and more flexible. He stands, and dispassionately looks me up and down, and waits silently with the cane held in his right hand.

Then I realise that I am wearing nothing but a prison smock made of coarse sacking and my feet are bare. The smock is torn from me, and I stand naked on the cobblestones.

I am facially beautiful, but I am a little overweight, of medium height with large pendulous breasts and a large flabby bum, and a little bit of a tummy. My boyfriend says that I am voluptuous and "built for comfort."

As I stand in the sunshine I become aware of a crowd of onlookers who have come to see my punishment. Most of them are smartly dressed women who look at me hungrily as they impatiently wait to watch me suffer.

And then I hear a voice. It is the Judge.

"Those nates will take the three dozen easily. She is going to need more."

"Prepare her."

Next I am stretched over the frame, my waist over the padded leather, and my ankles and thighs bound securely. My wrists are bound together and pulled taught in front of me. I feel a padded cushion being strapped in place. This will protect my kidneys and lower back. I am to be severely punished but not be maimed.

As I lie waiting for the beating to begin the Judge walks into view and stands looking into my eyes and she smiles. She is a sadist and will enjoy my pain following each stroke of the cane.

Just for a moment I am no longer myself, but I have become the judge and I am looking down on myself.

I am cold and pitiless but am very excited at the prospect of what is about to happen. On the other side of the A frame the executioner is measuring the long cane across my victim's large plump bum cheeks. My only regret is that I cannot watch both the suffering in her face and the cane bite into her soft pale flesh. And so, I must choose. Maybe later I will move behind her. If she needs to take extra strokes for my pleasure so be it.

I look again at the executioner. He is a beautiful specimen of manhood. His abdominal muscles are taut and sculpted, and the muscles in his arms are well developed and ripple as they move. His skin is the colour of dark wood. His gaze is impassive.

And now my excitement has reached fever pitch. My sex has been slowly moistening since I passed sentence but now I am wet between my legs and my clitoris aches for release, and I imagine the pleasure that the male opposite could give me. Instead, he is now going to cause severe pain to someone else. Not for the first time I ask myself does he need sexual release after he is finished with the cane? My husband knows that tonight when I return home I will need a good hard fucking.

As the cane rises above his head and he slices it downwards into her soft pale bum cheeks and the first stripe appears, and she gasps in pain and shock, I want to reach down, lift my skirt, and place my fingers inside my panties and between my dripping labia and rub my button. I can't because I am the judge..

But I can, and as I have been lying naked here in my bed it is not just my imagination that has been busy but my fingers too. And as in my mind the first stroke is delivered my fingers start to move faster and faster, until I experience my first toe curling orgasm as my legs straighten and my thighs clamp down around my hand.

I lie over the A fame as the cane is slowly and deliberately driven into my bum cheeks. The strokes fall at twenty second intervals. This is designed to give me time to fully assimilate the pain of each one, and to anticipate the next. The cane rhythmically whoops and slaps and although the pain must be extreme I feel nothing.

And now I am the executioner.

I am determined to do my job properly. The buttocks in front of me are large and flabby. I will be able to spread the strokes evenly over a large expanse of flesh although she will probably bruise badly. I will try to avoid drawing blood although a little oozing is probably inevitable. My job is to deliver maximum pain and that will happen. I expect her to be sobbing and pleading before I have finished.

I see the Judge watching. I both despise her and fancy her. She enjoys the process of punishment whilst I don't. It is my job to be the instrument of justice and I take no pleasure from it. But I would take great pleasure from having the judge strapped down across the frame and let her experience the cane and then my long, hard, thick dick.

I put these thoughts out of my mind and concentrate on the job in hand. I am to administer a sound thrashing and when I have finished this young woman will never forget this day; the day she received her first judicial caning.

But I know it will not be the last time she suffers at my hands. The Judge will see to that. And experience tells me that next time she will receive a minimum forty eight strokes of the birch as payment for her imagined transgression.

But for now she is to be caned, so time and time again I measure the supple punishment cane across her buttocks and then in a single fluid motion raise it swiftly high above my head and twisting at the waist bring it down fast and very hard.

And as I work my way up and down her tortured bum cheeks she sobs and gurgles and screams.

The punishment continues and then after an age of suffering I hear the judge speak.

"Stop. That's thirty. I want you to give her another twelve strokes, but I want the cane tip to properly bite. You can start again when I tell you to."

She walks behind me.

"Begin."

And now I experience my judicial thrashing through the eyes of a tall, sophisticated lady with a long dress and hat in the crowd.

I wonder how anybody can tolerate such pain although rationally I know she has no choice. I am so pleased to see this plump slut getting what she deserves and have been getting progressively more aroused as the well-muscled executioner does his job. Although I have seen it many times I am still fascinated by the long blue, ridged, rope-like marks that a sound caning can cause. And now after thirty strokes her buttocks are a blue, swollen, and throbbing mess.

But the best is yet to come and as the final twelve strokes are applied and the cane tip bites deep first six times on the far bum cheek and then six times on the closer cheek, the little cow shrieks and her big arse gyrates and writhes in its agony.

And as I watch her receive her well-deserved punishment I am planning what excuse I am going to find to give my maid a sound bare bum caning when I get home. My cunt is dripping beneath my drawers, and I desperately want to frig myself. I am so horny.

And so am I. As my imaginary caning has progressed, my hunger and need has returned, and my fingers once again deliver the orgasm I crave. My bum cheeks contract, my vulva and perineum spasm, and I climax.

And as I slowly recover the reverie is broken and I hear a voice.

"You were told not to wank without permission."

"You know what happens next. Get up. Stay naked. And come downstairs. "

"I need you bent over with that arse of yours in the air."

And I know my boyfriend has come home early. And he has caught me. And I know what will happen next. Very soon I am going to be bent naked over an armchair in the lounge and he will apply the heavy leather prison strap to my bare arse cheeks before giving me twelve very hard and very real cane strokes to my large bottom.

There will be no mercy, as with all his strength, he swings the long supple rod.

He enjoys inflicting pain and watching me suffer.

The cane will sing, loud and happy, each time it pitilessly bites deep into my taut bum flesh.

I will hear him grunt as he slowly delivers each vicious, well placed stroke.

And I will smell the sweat of his excitement and the sweat of my fear and need.

And this time the pain will be very real, and the marks will take weeks to heal.

And my screams of agony will not be imagined.

I am a masochist.

The pain will be both awful yet wonderful!

And when I later kneel with my arse cheeks swollen, burning, blue ridges carved deep, and with my big pendulous tits swinging, the long, rock hard dick that impales me, nudges my cervix, and enters my moist eager cunt from behind to give me multiple trembling rapturous orgasms, will also be real.

Finally, when as an act of love and contrition, I take his engorged penis in my mouth and suck him until he orgasms and I feel his shaft rhythmically contract and pump his semen into my mouth for me to swallow, that will be real.

Now, as he goes to fetch the strap and the punishment cane and clear a space in the lounge to swing them, once more I spread my legs wide.

And I feel my large, round, smooth, and unmarked bum cheeks with my hand. Soon the cruel rod I have come to know so well will bite and sting and mark them. The pain will be awful.

I am so frightened and yet so excited. My need for discipline is overwhelming.

And as I frantically finger myself to one last (for now) orgasm,

I hear his voice.

"You've just earned yourself six extra strokes."

And my cunt continues to tingle.