Here is another one of those stories I found on the news groups that seemed to stick in the mind that I still have a copy of it on my hard drive.
The old Cotswold farmhouse was lovely and cool after the heat of the sun. My wife, Jane, and I had recently arrived for our regular one-week stay with her sister Liz. My wife had gone out to the local shops for the day and I had elected to stay and rest in the garden, sitting in the shade, allowing my thoughts to drift over some private thoughts. Liz was the younger of the two sisters and, of particular interest to me, a naturally dominant person. She was the one in her family who made the rules and made sure they were obeyed. I also knew from discussions over many years of bringing up our respective families that she believed in the benefit of good, old-fashioned discipline. She had told us in the past of her need to discipline her children and I often tried to imagine the scene as she warmed their bottoms for them. I knew that they had been spanked and I had a suspicion that more serious offences meant something more severe.
I had always enjoyed punishment games, ever since a strict school gave me the taste for it, and the thought of Liz giving a good stern punishment to the children never failed to excite me. Did she, I wondered, punish them across their clothes or on the bare bottom? I had often fantasised about being in their place myself and having to take a severe punishment from Liz. I had never been sure if she knew about Jane and I and that we acted out punishments, but I think she had some idea that I was more than interested in the subject from our conversations.
At my all boys school I had been fascinated with the idea of corporal punishment and many childhood games had been built around caning games. I had also been on the receiving end of some proper punishments from my teachers, real canings with the power of an adult arm behind them, which, despite the pain, I strangely enjoyed. I particularly enjoyed the striped bottom marks left by the cane and would often examine them in the mirror over the days as they faded and compare them with those of my friends who had been similarly punished. The presence of "official stripes" also made it easier to explain the marks and bruises that sometimes resulted from our playground games. Six of the best, given with a garden cane or a swishy tree branch, by a strong 12 or 13 year old across the bare bottom can leave some pretty impressive marks.
After I married I eventually found ways of introducing these feelings to my wife and seeking her help, but she didn't share my interest. After a lot of persuasion she agreed to experiment with giving me a caning and as time passed we began to work out a compromise. She would cane me when I felt that I needed it, but there were some reservations. She could not "play a part" and pretend to be the teacher punishing a naughty boy, and she would not cane my bare bottom. I always had to wear my pants or pyjamas so she could not see the damage caused. This was a disappointment to me as she could not cane very hard and, even through thin pants, she did not really mark my bottom. She did try to compensate for this by giving me lots of strokes, sometimes as many as fifty or sixty, which I did enjoy, but even this failed to produce anything more than a generally bruised area on my bottom. The all important, clearly defined, bruises from a well-aimed cane were missing. My last punishment session had been a couple of days before we came down to stay with Liz and my bottom was still bruised from this session
I got up to go into the cool. I went in and through the house towards the kitchen, which is reached through the study. Liz was in there dusting so I stopped and chatted with her as she worked. After a short while she began to clean and dust the contents of the tall vase in the corner of the room where they kept walking sticks and the riding crops which the girls used when they were horse riding. I had noticed long ago that it also contained a long, swishy punishment cane and I had often wondered if they used it on the girls. It was this one that she picked up and started to dust. It was a pale golden coloured cane, some three-foot long and about the thickness of a pen. It looked as if it could give a fearsome punishment and the sight of Liz standing there with this in her hand made my mouth go dry and my heart beat faster. I don't know if she had guessed what I was thinking and was testing me, or if it was the look on my face giving me away, but she swished it through the air a few times as if practising. Then she grinned at me and said "I've never used this on the kids, but I bet it could give a hell of a spanking!" My mind was racing to think what to say. Was this just an idle comment or was she asking me if I wanted it? All I knew was that I suddenly wanted it badly and, as my bottom was already marked, it seemed worth a try. "I bet it could." I replied. "You look just like my old Headmistress standing there with the cane waiting for me to pull my pants down." "Oh, do I?", said Liz. "Bare bottom as well was it? That must have hurt!" I thought quickly how I could turn this conversation to my advantage and, trying to sound nonchalant said "Oh, not really, you get used to it after a while. I got to quite enjoy it." Liz looked at me. "I find that hard to believe", she said. "Believe me, if I was to cane you with this I would make sure you didn't enjoy it." My heart missed a beat - after all this time I had the chance to try and fulfil my fantasy. I chose my next words carefully. "Well, it was a long time ago, but any time you want to pull my pants down for a dozen or so strokes, let me know." The die was cast and I waited to see how these words would be received. Would she laugh it off, or take the bait? "Well now, there's an invitation" she said. "I always thought you were rather too interested in talking about how we discipline the kids. Well, I'm game, if you are." She stood looking at me now, the long cane still in her hand. "What's that", I replied, "a challenge?" "You can make it one, if you've got the guts to accept it" she replied. After all these years, I knew that I was going to get it from Liz at last and I got that mixture of dread and excitement that I knew so well. "All right then, if you want" I replied, "As long as Jane doesn't find out. It might be fun." She smiled then, "Fair enough" she said "if you're sure you want to go through with this? It won't be fun, I can assure you, but if you want to feel this across your bottom I would be pleased to oblige!"
She turned her attention to the cane. Despite being quite thick it was very flexible. She held it in both hands, flexing it, and then she swished it through the air and it whistled and bent fearsomely. She looked at me, watching my reaction. "This should do the job nicely I think. Well, come on then, if you really think you are up to it we'll go into the lounge shall we?"
"This should do the job nicely I think. Well, come on then, if you really think you are up to it we'll go into the lounge shall we?"
She led me across the hall, into the lounge and shut the door. "Right my lad! Strip! I want you to take off your shirt, trousers, shoes, and socks!" Everything except your pants. Though I was excited by the prospect of a caning from someone besides my wife, the idea of standing in front of my younger sister in law just in my pants scared me and I opened my mouth to protest. She cut me short at once. "Get on with it. I've seen men before you know." I began to obey her command, removing all my clothes except my pants. While I was doing this she put the cane on the table and then pulled the swivel leather armchair into the centre of the room and placed it carefully to give herself plenty of arm room to swing the cane. She picked the cane up again, positioned herself and took the cane right back to ensure nothing would get in the way of her strokes.
By now, I had finished undressing and stood there in just my white briefs. "Right, come on then" she said impatiently, "get over here and get yourself ready." I walked over to where she was standing, aware that I was hard inside my pants and jutting out like a flagpole. Her eyes watched me, and she smiled slightly as she noticed my state. " Bend over the back of the chair!" It was a long time since I had heard those words from someone other than my wife. The leather back of the chair was cold and it made me gasp as it touched my bare stomach. "Right over please, arms as far as you can go and legs apart please. I want a nice tight bottom to aim at." I obeyed her orders, aware that my thin pants were stretched tightly across my bottom and would give me no protection at all from her cane. I needn't have worried. "Right" she said. "I think we said bare bottom, didn't we so we'll have these down I think. My heart pounded as I felt her slip her hands into the waistband of my pants and slowly slide them down to my knees. My heart was thumping - at last I was about to get the cane from Liz and I could feel her brushing it against my bare bottom. I also knew that the marks on my bottom from my last session with Jane would be fully visible. "Ah, that's interesting", she said. "A naughty boy who has already been punished. I can still see the marks. Who did this?" I told her that it had been Jane, and that it was one of the games that we played in the bedroom. "Well", said Liz, "she didn't do very well, did she? I've done more damage than that to the kid's bottoms when I punish them. And anyway this, I seem to remember is a serious challenge, not a game. I promised you a good hard caning and that is what you are going to get my boy.
Because of the high back of the chair, stretching right over as she had instructed had lifted my toes off the ground. She slipped her fingers into my pants again and pulled them right down to my feet and then off altogether. For the first time ever I was completely naked in front of Liz. Looking to my side I could see the whole scene reflected in the mirror on the wall. There I was, stretched over the chair with both cheeks of my bare bottom clearly visible in the mirror, a perfect target for her swishing cane.
"Right,"How many strokes does Jane give you?" she asked. I told her that it was sometimes as many as fifty since she did not hit very hard and then I tensed as I felt the cool cane touch my buttocks. "Well I won't be playing games, and I will be beating you as hard as I can on your bare bottom" she replied. "Originally we talked about a dozen, didn't we, but it seems a shame to waste a good opportunity. I think we shall try 24 strokes, 4 times 6 of the best. If you want any more than that you're a better man than I think you are. Stay in position during the punishment. If you get down, or put your hands in the way, you will get that stroke again, plus an extra six. Understood!" I told her that I agreed and awaited my punishment.
In the mirror on the wall I could clearly see her, as she adjusted her stance to get her position right and my bottom twitched with anticipation as she tapped it a few times to get her aim. I saw her take her arm right back so the cane was round the back of her head, rise onto tip toe and then .Whoosh ..Crack! the cane lashed across the centre of my bottom. The sharp crack of the cane hitting bare flesh was very different to the sound of it hitting my pants. And so was the effect. The pain of the stroke was intense and it drove all the breath from my body. She paused too let the pain expand and then, just as it began to subside, Whoosh Thwack. Whoosh Crack. Two more strokes crashed down right next to the first one, causing a thick band of fire to erupt across the centre of my bottom. Looking in the mirror I could see the results, three swelling red and blue stripes which were blending to form a wide raised bruise across both cheeks of my bottom. I saw her arm raise again and another three strokes lashed down. These, as hard as any so far, landed exactly on top of the first three causing pain that I hadn't felt for years. As the sixth landed I realised that I was already beginning to twist in an effort to avoid the worst of the strokes, without much success.
"Beginning to have your doubts, are you?" Liz enquired. "Good cane this, isn't it, really effective. Another 18 strokes to go - are you sure you can take it?" Despite the burning agony in my rear end, her mocking tone of challenge made me determined to see it through. "Get on with it Liz", I said, "I can take it all right." As I saw her arm take aim again I only hoped that I could stick it out. The next 12 strokes proceeded slowly, but didn't seem any worse than the first six. Half of them were above the first group and the other half below covering the tender area where bottom joins thighs. They were very hard and I twisted and heaved with the pain of the strokes, though I managed to stay quiet. At the end of the third group of six, Liz paused again.
"That's a very satisfactory sight," she said, and she ran her cool hand across the swollen bruises that had been the smooth cheeks of my bottom. "That's what I call a well punished bottom." Looking in the mirror I could only agree with her. I was in the hands of an expert who had turned the whole of my buttocks, from the top of my cleft right down to the tops of my thighs, into a sheet of swollen, red, painful tramlines. I was still twitching from the effects of her cane when I remembered that there were still six to come. She had also not forgotten. "Now for the last six" she said. "I know exactly where they are going to land and, take it from me, they will be six that you will remember for a very long time! Ready?
I nodded my agreement, and saw her take up position again, tapping the cane on my bottom to get her aim. She brought the cane down, in one flowing movement, the hardest she had hit me, as it crashed down across the centre of my naked, swollen buttocks. The effect was immediate. As the searing pain of the stroke landed on top of some of the earlier bruises my legs came up in a vain attempt to protect myself from her lashes and I shouted in pain. I felt as if I had been cut in half by the severity of the stroke, which burned and ached with an intensity hard to believe. Determined not to suffer a further dose, I managed to keep my hands away from my backside as the next stroke, also delivered full force, fell on exactly the same spot as the last one. I yelled out again as my bottom pumped and heaved trying to escape the pain, all pride gone, just determined not to let her win. Another two followed, each crashing into my bottom to bring me to new heights of agony, each bringing a shout of pain. "Last two now" I heard her say. "You've done quite well, so try these for size!"
I saw her take up her position and then, raising the cane high, she lashed the cane down across the tenderest part of my bottom, right where it joins the thighs. It was like being hit with a red-hot poker and I shouted with pain. The final stroke, delivered like the previous one, slashed down in exactly the same place, the two final strokes landing on top of each other to produce an explosion of pain which I had hardly dreamed possible. I shouted again and lay twitching over the chair writhing and twisting with the fire in my bottom. As I began to recover from the worst of those last two strokes I realised that I was sobbing, tears rolling down my cheeks, like a naughty little boy.
In the mirror I could see my poor, battered, bottom, covered in angry raised wheals turning various shades of red, blue and purple. Right at the base of each cheek where those last two dreadful strokes had landed there was a large swollen bruise that looked as if sitting was going to be a problem for some time to come. Liz told me to get down from the chair. "You had better get dressed now," she said. "I don't know what you are going to tell Jane, but I won't say anything until you or she does. Oh, and if you ever fancy another punishment, you have only to ask next time you know. I would be pleased to oblige. Perhaps we might try a different instrument?" She left me then and, after a close examination of the battle zone in the mirror, I slowly began to dress. Did I want another punishment session with my expert sister in law? Probably yes, but as I carefully pulled my pants back over my striped and swollen posterior I had another worry. The marks from my caning not only showed through my thin white pants, they also covered much of my bottom and thighs which were not covered by my pants. It was quite obvious that I had had a recent, very effective beating with a good solid cane.
I sleep in my pants. What on earth was I going to tell my wife when we went to bed that night?