0 comments/ 17598 views/ 0 favorites The Caning By: Metanoia Finding a comfortable, leather chair to sink into, He settled back to watch serena take charge of His hot, little slut. Letting one hand rest on his hardening cock, He sipped a cool drink and watched the two women standing face to face. Such beauty and sensuality, it excited Him to see His small, defiant blonde facing the sleek, sultry brunette. For now He didn't exist, that was apparent from the engagement of the two sets of eyes on each other......cloudy blue to flashing black. There was all of two inches between the two sets of breasts and He was pleased to see they stood nipple to nipple. Knowing His slut's arousal at the sight of full, sensuous breasts, Master R let his palm rest on His hard on and smiled to see rem's fingers twitching slightly at her sides. "rem, this is serena.........for now you will obey her as you would Me. Do you understand, pet?" Without taking her eyes from serena's wicked gaze, rem nodded and licked her lips. Her full red lips parting slightly, serena reached over and took rem by her velvet collar. Obediently, rem followed the swaying hips of the more voluptuous submissive and was led to a large, comfy chaise lounge that had ample room for the two women. Wickedly, serena lay back and spread her creamy thighs for Master R to enjoy the view and for the mesmerized rem to enjoy the scent. Idly, serena began to slide her fingers down over her rounded belly, slipping them along the inner leg of her slinky, black t-back. Soft brown curls escaped around the edges and Master R could see rem lick her lips. Letting her gaze find His, serena sighed and instructed the delightfully submissive rem to lick her cunt through the fabric of the slippery t-back. This was delicious! Watching serena's fingers close over the back of rem's head, pulling her down into the warmth and wetness. From His vantage point and with the help of strategically placed mirrors, Master R felt his cock harden significantly as rem's tongue slid along the curve of serena's vulva. serena lay back, spreading herself wantonly and fondled her breasts as rem buried her face. He could hear the wet, slurping sounds and felt His body respond. Rising, He reached for a cane and approached His rem's sweet ass. "Slide that t-back off, serena, use My slut's mouth to enjoy a first orgasm of the evening." As the scanty piece of fabric fell to the floor, rem's mouth greedily covered the other submissive's swollen, pink cunt. Gently using her fingers, she opened the petals, probing deeply with her nose and tongue, exploring serena's sweet secrets. Standing over the two, Master R loosened the codpiece he'd worn over his cock, setting it aside. Wearing His chaps and nothing else, He could see serena's pleasure at the sight of His rigid penis. "Take my slut's hands, hold her tight." Then He knelt beside His wet-faced slave and caressed her hair and face. "This will hurt. This will hurt worse than anything I've yet inflicted upon you and you will take it. I'm trusting you to endure this, to put off any kind of red-light, to accept this pain as indicative of My love for you." Kissing her eyes, He ignored the imploring look. He straightened and pushed her face down between serena's spread legs. "Scream if you must, scream into serena." Caressing her round, sweet ass, Master R checked the balance and weight of the cane. It's slenderness belied its bite. With deliberate movements, He gently traced invisible designs on His property's now-unmarked flesh. He saw how rigid, how tense the little slave was and set down the cane for the moment, kneeling to massage her tense body. Cradling her breasts, squeezing her nipples and biting the back of her neck. The shudder of pleasure and fear shook her frame and He let His cock rest between the cheeks of her ass. Reaching for the cane, He held it under her tits and pulled up, letting the pressure build, letting the cane bite into the tender flesh under her soft breasts. A quick slide of His fingers down her slit told Him what He needed to know. The little cunt was ready. Rising, He stepped back and smiled down at serena as she held rem's head tightly into her crotch. Starting lightly, He gently swatted her vulnerable ass, enjoying how her body jerked with each contact. Giving no warning, He let the cane slice down hard. THWAAACK! The muffled scream that filled serena's hot cunt made both the submissive and the Master smile. Ignoring any feelings that He might be going too far this time, the Master trusted His own training. Each blow came down onto a new place and soon his slut's poor ass was striped, brilliant red. It was a testament to serena's strength and excitement, that rem's face was never let up from its nest of pubic hair and juice. The screams were constant now and the vibration of them driving up into serena's open hole was making her wild; she began to hump the slut's face. Methodically, rhythmically, with precision and detachment, Master R worked the evil cane up and down His suffering slut's helpless ass and thighs. As her body writhed and the screams drained off to a low, miserable moan that finally sent serena over the edge, rem disappeared into some faraway subspace. The pain had risen to such a pitch that she could no longer tolerate it. This was exactly where He'd hoped to push her, past her tolerance and into a place of bliss. For Himself, the steady rhythm of His arm, the whoooosh of the cane, the sound it made as it made contact with her tender, bruised flesh; all this hypnotized Him and He found Himself as lost as she. The power of serena's orgasm went unnoticed by both the Master and his property. Eventually she lay, limp and twitching, but still firmly holding the rem's head and gently stroking her hair. As delicious as that orgasm had been, serena was jealous of where the other submissive had disappeared to and wished again for a Master such as this, loving and lustful and merciless. The power of Master R's strokes had been steadily increasing, the markings on rem's ass and thighs would be there for days. The arc of pain had reached its zenith just as the Master's arm began to tire; narrowing His eyes he brought the cane up and with swift certainty, finally bringing it down full force across the sweet spot of the now-silent slut's ass. And stopped. The three remained frozen for a moment, the Master's cock began to rise again as He regained His composure. "Now.", He instructed serena. Without question or hesitation, serena shoved the semi-swooning rem's face and head up. Master R was satisfied to see rem's eyes were glazed and unfocused. she was gone. Roughly He grabbed her by her collar and pulled her around so that she was slumped at His feet. Kneeling, He cradled her face and crooned softly to her, fondling her swollen, bruised flesh. Tenderly He rubbed healing oils into her broken, inflamed flesh and then rubbed the oils over His cock. Holding her body up so that the wounded flesh didn't come into contact with anything that would cause more pain, Master R slid his hardness deep into the wet cunt of His slut. Still not fully conscious, rem parted her legs and gave complete access to her Master. His heart was swelling with love even as His cock was swelling inside her. To His pride, she had taken the most brutal of beatings, she had screamed, but never once did she attempt to escape or end the caning. He lovingly held her soft, compliant body close and thrust up into her, His cock finding its place deep in her body. With words of love, with tender caresses, with a steady rhythm, He began to bring her back and could tell when the tears began that she was with Him again. As her eyes cleared, as the pain of her ass and back registered, as the extraordinary love in His eyes beamed into hers, rem relaxed in her Master's grip and let Him drive His hardness deep into her open, pliant body. He covered her face with kisses, licking the tears and softly biting her throat, letting His body own hers. In complete compliance, his slut relaxed into His body, her sweet cunt flooded Him with wetness and then He felt her grip Him. In time to His thrusts, the loving, wounded slut used her cunt muscles to pull and grip and tug His cock deeper into her warmth. His hands were warm and slick with the oils and He held her hot, pulsing body close and drove deep into her. When she gasped at the pain of His grip, He gripped harder and growled softly into her ear. "you are mine. you will remain mine. I have many places to take you and many lessons for you to accept. I love you with all My heart and promise to bring equal measures of bliss and pain into Our lives together." There was more He wanted to tell her, but His balls began to pull up, His penis seemed to swell even more deep inside her body and with breathtaking power He came, spewing and pulsing His hot load deep into her. Closing His eyes, He now disappeared and let His own consciousness ebb. Hours later He awoke to find his sweet slut nestled into His embrace. The Master was supremely happy with His slut and His life. The Caning This is the story of a young attractive schoolteacher in Great Britain in 1890. The teacher, Miss Abigail Strong loses her cool with an arrogant and privileged student and suffers the reprisals of this student and her friends. It is a fictional story for entertainment purposes only. It does not purport to be an historically accurate portrait of the school system in Great Britain in the late nineteenth century. I am telling this story in three parts: Background, The Caning, and Retribution. All participants in the sexual events depicted in this story are eighteen years of age or older. ***** Background: This story takes place in a combined Middle and Upper school in a small English town in 1890. This school educates first through upper sixth form students, ranging in age from eleven to eighteen or nineteen. The school separates of boys from girls into their own classes for each form, in order to increase concentration by the students and benefit the learning process. There are three end-of-school-day bells: first bell is to release forms one through five for all classes, second bell is for lower sixth form boys and girls, and final bell is for upper sixth form students, eighteen and nineteen-year-old boys and girls classes. This last form is for university preparation, and includes advanced classes by qualified teachers. This was the general plan. Since this town does not have the resources of some larger school systems, teachers teach more than one form in the same classroom, with separate lessons taught to each form. Teaching in these schools was a difficult task since teachers had to be conversant with all subjects and to be college educated. The teachers answer to the school's headmaster (or headmistress) for any failing students, or discipline problems. For minor infractions and disciplinary problems, teachers are empowered to administer discipline in their classrooms; but they can send recalcitrant students to the headmaster for stronger discipline or expulsion in the most difficult cases. There is no tolerance for misbehavior, talking, or tardiness, which is disruptive to the class, and teachers may act freely to administer discipline to their students. This mostly amounts to boys being caned (punished with a long slender rattan cane) either on the upturned palms of their hands, or on the backside over their clothes, with girls receiving several swats with either a wooden ruler, a paddle or a cane on their upturned palms. These methods are effective in most cases of minor infractions, but bare-bottomed paddling or caning is also an option; bare-bottom punishment normally is for boys who are slow in learning their lesson. It would be very rare indeed to punish a girl this way due to concerns for modesty. School officials usually give this kind of punishment in a private setting, although the embarrassment and sharper pain of the bare-bottomed approach in a more public setting proves effective for the worst cases. This town is small by some standards, but large enough to have several social castes. At the top of the social milieu are the landowners, business owners, lawyers, bankers, and owners of large shops or farms. Below this group, the sales persons in shops, the bookkeepers, owners of smaller shops and businesses, and teachers. At the bottom are the tenant farmers, farm hands, small farm owners, domestics ... butlers, and the like. This meant that teachers are required to teach children of several social castes, and it is natural that more punishment fell on children of the middle and lower castes, while infractions from upper class students often dismissed or overlooked by mostly middle class teachers. Most teachers follow this model, but an occasional teacher coming from a larger city or more prestigious school might want to be fairer between classes of students. Since funding of the school is, in part, through the largesse of the upper classes, they expect better treatment for their children, whereas parents from the middle or lower classes, upon hearing of their children punished in class, would also administer an additional punishment in the home. A few of the wealthier families provided private tutors and governesses for their children, or more exclusive private preparatory academies. This particular school is called Saint Dunstan's School, having been named after a tenth century Archbishop of Canterbury, and the student body represented all social classes in the town, with wealthier parents favoring the more well-rounded socialization of this school, as opposed to sending their children to a private academy. St. Dunstan's is a typical school for this size town, with boy's classrooms on one side of a central hallway, and classes for the girls on the other side. The walls of the hallway are of painted wood, a sort of wainscoting, to a height of one and three-quarters meters (Five feet), and windows above this to a total wall height of two and one-half meters (eight feet). The windows allow teachers, department heads, and administrators to view what is happening in the classrooms. This means that the older and taller boys are able to look into the girls classrooms, but often only on tiptoes. Saint Dunstan's is a good school, and produced many students who had gone on to very prestigious schools, and brilliant careers. This particular school year was the first for Abigail Strong, a single, attractive, very bright and experienced thirty-year old teacher who had received her education at a prestigious college. Miss Strong teaches sixth form students, aged sixteen and seventeen for the lower sixth form, and eighteen and over for the upper sixth form. This last category is a university preparation class, and all students in this form are eighteen or older. She is an excellent teacher, but is very reserved and a strong believer in maintaining order in her classroom. Like many teachers, she keeps a paddle and assorted canes on the wall beside the blackboard in her classroom, and as she goes about her lessons, she often holds a wooden ruler which she uses often as pointer or simply taps against her other palm to make a particularly cogent point during a lesson. The ruler is also a handy tool for a quick wrap on the knuckles where needed. She is from a middle class family in London, but is not as class conscious, as the students or the townspeople of this town. This means that she expects the same comportment and academic focus from all of her students, smart or dull, rich or poor. She is an earnest person, and takes her teaching very seriously and even minor infractions: talking and giggling amongst the girls, missing or incomplete lessons, and tardiness all met with some level of punishment. Due to Miss Strong's attractiveness, the older boys watch her as she walks down the hallway, and they sometimes make whispered comments to each other as she passes. She is tall and slender with an ample bosom, which strains at the material of her crisp high-buttoned blouse—always neatly tucked into her simple floor-length skirt. She has her prize students as all teachers did, but in general, the girls in her classes dislike her for her stoic demeanor. Upper-middle and upper caste girls in her classes resent any treatment without deference to their social position. This is true of one student in particular. Angela Neumann is one of the older girls in Miss Strong's class, and the daughter of a prominent upper class merchant. Angela is a strong willed eighteen-year-old and has a following of several girls who wish to associate with her. Likely, they wish to boost or to maintain their own social standing in the school by associating with a popular girl. Angela also has a very deliberate way of trying Miss Strong's patience. She was several times the recipient of swats by Miss Strong's wooden ruler on her open palms. She received the painful strokes as if it was all some joke, and even though they hurt, she would roll her eyes and giggle on her way back to her desk, and joke with her fawning group of friends. It was becoming increasingly clear that Miss Strong's patience with Angela's classroom behavior was wearing thin. The Caning: Angela Neumann had been guilty of several and repeated minor infractions such as tardiness, late lessons, and talking with her group of friends in the back of the classroom during study time for her class, while Miss Strong was working with lower sixth form girls. On this particular day toward the end of the school day, Angela once again violated study time rules by quietly talking, giggling, and generally holding court with her group of sycophants. This happened after the first bell, so only sixth form students were present in the classrooms. Something simply snapped in Miss Strong's mind; once more forced to interrupt her math instruction for Angela's sake. She turned and glared at the offending eighteen-year-old student. Although Angela knew she was the object of her teacher's attention, she kept on with her private conversations instead of returning to her studies. Miss Strong, with her ever-present ruler in her right hand, tapped it firmly against the palm of her left hand, and said in an even, but authoritative voice, "Angela Neumann, would you please come up to the front of the classroom?" "I'm sorry Miss Strong. What?" The smug reply from the student, delivered with a slight giggle. "Miss Neumann, come up here to my desk! Now, please!" Miss Strong demanded. Angela smiled at her best friend eighteen-year-old Marianne Simpson seated next to her, shrugged her shoulders, rose from her seat, and walked leisurely to the front of the classroom. "What is it Miss Strong?" She asked her teacher with a definite attitude in her voice. Marianne and a couple of Angela's other girlfriends whispered and giggled together at this. Miss Strong studied the girl for a brief second or two, still slapping her reddening palm with the ruler and replied, "Miss Neumann, you are very well aware of the reason for your presence at the front of this classroom ... once again!" "Oh, I'm sorry Miss Strong, Marianne, ah Miss Simpson made a joke, and I giggled, but we did not intend to interrupt your lesson with the younger girls. It will never happen again." She then presented her upturned palms for the attention of the ruler, and as she did, she rolled her eyes and looking up and to the left as if the punishment to come was of little concern to her. Miss Strong noticed by the clock that the second bell dismissing the lower sixth form boys and girls was about to ring, so she waited. The bell rung and all of her lower sixth girls filed out of the classroom and ushered out of the school by student hall monitors. With just her eighteen and nineteen-year-old girls left, Miss Strong looked at young Angela, and began to think that a few wraps on the palms of her hands is not going to suffice this time. She placed her ruler on the corner of the desk, and strode to the side of the blackboard, tested a few, then selected one from the collection of canes hanging there for dispensing discipline. Seeing this, Angela, still standing in front of the teacher's desk, reflexively closed her palms, and stepped back. Miss Strong strode back to where Angela was standing, and noticing the student's growing dread, tried the cane again with a couple of swipes through the air. Angela, flinching each time she heard the cane slicing through the air and not knowing what else to do, asked, "M-Miss S-Strong, do you still want my palms open?" Without looking at Angela or answering her question, Miss Strong turned toward the nervous girl at the front of the room. Using the tip of the cane, she taped the desktop. Then, looking directly at the Miss Neumann she said, "Miss Neumann, please bend yourself over the desk, and use those sweaty little palms to grip the far edge." Angela Neumann now found herself in very unfamiliar territory—not ever having had her bottom spanked due to her position among the students and in the town. Without thinking, and seeing Miss Strong's stern expression, she did as instructed. She turned back to look at Miss Strong, "Miss Strong, girls are not supposed to be punished on their bottoms ... only the palms of our hands." In an even tone, Miss Strong replied, "The time for that has passed, Miss Neumann. Please turn around." "But Miss Strong ..." "Please turn around Miss Neumann, and stay there." With that, Abigail Strong raised the girl's lace pinafore, dress, and petticoat, securing them under her belt at the back so that the back of the girl's undergarments and stocking were visible to the class. In those days, girls wore dresses with a long apron or pinafore extending down the front and back, as a covering to keep clothes clean of paints, chalk dust and other classroom materials. Since the girl's clothing was much thicker than a boy's trousers, spanking on the under-drawers seemed appropriate to Miss Strong. The dresses and pinafores were of varying materials from wool, to cotton, to linen and lace depending on the family resources of the wearer and often had petticoats under the dress. Underwear could be a one-piece undergarment or, as in Miss Neumann's case, a separate camisole top and pantalets bottom. By 1890, pantalets became shorter—to mid-thigh, and were called "drawers," and later, "knickers." Her knickers were of crisp linen, extending to mid-thigh including the fine lace edges. Angela Neumann, now filled with dread, not knowing what was to come was turning red with the embarrassment of having her bottom covered only by knickers, on display for all of her peers in upper sixth form. The other girls interrupted their individual studies to give their full attention to the events now unfolding at the front of the classroom. Angela started to bite her lower lip a little, as Miss Strong approached to describe what was to come, regarding the recalcitrant student before her. "Miss Neumann, for your continued and unrepentant interruption of this class, you will receive ten strokes of this cane followed by another ten more ... twenty strokes in all." "Please Miss Strong, I am very sorry for my behavior, and promise to do better. Please don't do this!" Angela pleaded. There was mixed reaction in the classroom; from the nervousness of Angela's friends, to slight pleasure and thinly disguised glee among the poorer girls at seeing this rich student about receive an embarrassing punishment. Miss Strong's only response was, "Miss Neumann, you will count off the strokes as they are administered, or they will be repeated. Is that clear?" "Y-Yes Miss Strong." Was the whimpered response from the young student. Whack! The whistling sound and sharp crack of the cane, delivered the first blow to the center of Miss Neumann's upturned buttocks. "Ouch!" "O-One, Miss Strong." "Thank you Miss Neumann." Whack! Came the second cut, slightly below the first. Angela was beginning to feel the pain after this stroke and whimpered a little more, but remembered to count it, as she continued to do with the following eight strokes, each cutting into a new portion of the already very sore and burning rear of Miss Neumann. The girl met each new stroke with increasingly tear-filled interjections, but dutifully counted each one. After the tenth stroke the student, now crying with tears running down her cheeks, nearly missed counting this last stroke of the first series, but the teacher waited patiently. Miss Neumann finally intoned, "T-Ten, M-Miss S-Strong." With this, the sobbing student releasing her grip on the far side of the teacher's desk and started to rise. "Stay where you are Miss Neumann, we are not done with you yet." Said the pretty, but stern-faced teacher, intent on teaching this privileged young student a lesson she would not soon forget. With that, the teacher set the cane down next to the quivering and sobbing student. Gripping the top edge of Miss Neumann's knickers, the teacher lowered them to Angela's mid-thigh, amidst gasps of surprise and shock from the student witnesses. Angela's response was immediate, and in a loud sobbing voice, tinged with anger screamed, "M-Miss Strong, you can't do this. You cannot punish girls on their bare bottoms. Please do not do this, Miss Strong!" The teacher ignoring this plea saying, "Please resume your positon Miss Neumann, you have ten strokes yet to be delivered and then you may go." Before the first stroke of the new series, Marianne Simpson acting as spokesperson for the group of Angela's friends had risen in her defense, "Miss Strong please, you cannot do this to Angela; it is neither proper nor decent. Only the boys are punished in this way. Angela has been punished enough!" Miss Strong, turned quickly to the group, pointed the cane directly at them and sternly told them to resume their seats; informing them that she had the authority to administer any punishment she saw fit in her classroom. The girls all slowly sank back into their seats, giving each other concerned wide-eyed looks as they did. Angela was sobbing, and her now naked stripped buttocks were quivering from a mixture of fear and nerves as she waited whatever was to come next. As Miss Strong started to administer the last ten strokes, word was about in the hallway among the remaining few older students that something was happening in Miss Strong's class. The taller boys were able to look over the wall into the classroom from the hall, and the shorter ones crowded around the glass window in the door for a view of the happenings. As they did, they had a view of Angela Neumann's pretty and shapely buttocks, and slender upper thighs. Angela was an exceptionally pretty girl, and well developed for her age. General dismissal of all lower form students occurred per normal school protocol, prior to the upper sixth who would receive the last lessons of the day. This left only Angela's upper sixth form peer group, in the classroom and at the windows to witness this most embarrassing punishment. The teacher quickly administered the first three strokes to the naked bottom of Miss Neumann who cried out each time with tears streaming down her face. The crying student was smart enough to remember to count each one, to avoid its repetition. Angela's bottom quivered and flinched upon each stroke, and as she relaxed from each flinch, she involuntarily pushed her buttocks back after each stroke. This exposed to the witnesses, a view into the crease between her buttocks and a portion of her labia. Angela was giving them all an unintentional view of her pretty, little ass and pussy. Unintended also, was a slight glistening of moisture forming on her pussy lips, becoming increasingly apparent to those close enough to see. The boys in the hallway and at the door had their gaze riveted on the naked derriere of their privileged schoolmate—not exactly sure how to react—but made small comments among themselves. A few of the boys pushed a hand in their pocket to adjust for increasing arousal from the proceedings they were watching. A few of girls in the classroom moved a hand to their laps, and one nineteen-year-old girl off to the side of the class, looking around to make sure she was not noticed, then slid a hand up under her skirt toward her obviously moistening crotch. "N-Nine, Miss Strong." The injured and embarrassed student cried, counting the penultimate stroke after a sharp and tear-filled cry. With a very audible whistling through the air, the cane delivered the final and hardest blow. Whack! "T-T-T. "T-T-Ten M-M-Miss Stro-Strong." Said the exhausted student as her damaged and red-stripped bottom continued to quiver, continuing to provide unintended views of her most private lips to the remaining girls in the room, and leering boys in the hallway, still shocked by what they were seeing. It was clear to close onlookers that some of Angela's juices were dripping down the inside of her thighs. The girl who still had her hand up her skirt moving rapidly, was now moaning softly. A couple of the boys quietly excused themselves to the nearest loo to relieve their growing individual urgings. The Caning Others of the girls were trying hard to suppress their sexual arousal at the situation, pressing harder into their laps. Miss Strong did not intend this reaction among the students, but merely wanted to teach a privileged and arrogant student a lesson. She felt that the embarrassment felt by the student would be short-lived, and would provide a good lesson to this girl and to others about disrupting the quiet discipline of her classroom. Miss Strong then told Angela to rise, get dressed and return to her seat. Angela straightened painfully, and the sobs started to turn to anger. She winced and cried out as the material of her under garments made contact with the painful stripes on her bottom. She did not look at Miss Strong, but turned and slowly—painfully—and walked back to her group who were standing at the back waiting with comforting hugs for their friend. Since she had then dismissed the older class for the day, Miss Strong did not challenge the comforting hugs given to Angela by her friends at the back of the room. The classroom started to empty after the third and final bell, and most of the remaining students in the hallway started to leave. Many of the students, both boys and girls were from working-class or farming families, and had to get home quickly after school, to perform their chores before supper and study. Retribution: The only students remaining were Angela and her closest friends, and a few of the boys from privileged families entering the girl's classroom to give comfort and support to Angela. Abigail Strong was putting away some books and other class materials. She faced away from the small clutch at the back of the room, and thus was unaware of the growing anger, resentment, and murmured discussion among this group of students. Other than this small group, the school was now mostly empty. Somewhere about was Jonas Sullenton, the sixty-seven year old janitor waiting to start his cleanup chores. Jonas was a quiet unassuming life-long bachelor, well liked in the school, and good at his job. The students seemed to regard him with a certain amount of respect, despite his station in life and his severe mental slowness. They liked him for his honest, friendly, and helpful attitude towards the students. Mr. Sullenton always had a smile and a kind word for everyone. His mental condition was generally understood, and accepted by the students and teachers. Miss Strong did not notice the small group of students approaching her as she faced the blackboard; assuming she was alone to perform her after class activities. They had hatched a plan to show this young teacher that she could not embarrass a member of their caste in this school and get away with it. Miss Strong only became aware of the plot against her when one of the taller and stronger boys grabbed both of her upper arms from behind, and pulled her back and to the side of her desk. He lifted her up slightly, then pulled her down on top of her desk as other boys took hold her arms to the side, pinning her to the top of her desk on her back with her legs over the side. "What in God's name do you think you are doing!?" came the strong verbal response to this attack. "You had better think about what you are doing and let me up! You cannot do this, I am a teacher!" Angela Neumann appeared, standing in front of the stunned teacher, now with a calm but still angry, if red-eyed expression on her tear-streaked face. "Miss Strong, you have crossed the line, and we are going to teach you about embarrassment." "Angela, you and your friends had better let me up before you get into real trouble! If you release me now, I will forget about the whole thing. If you have concerns about discipline in my classroom we can discuss it later when you have all cooled down." Miss Strong was trying to send a clear message, but her heart was now beating faster, and she there was palpable fear in her voice. Her full breasts were beginning to strain against the buttons on her crisp blouse. "I am afraid we cannot do that, Miss Strong," replied Angela in an even, unemotional voice. "Young lady, d-do n-not let this go any further!" said the now frightened teacher. Abigail Strong was a good teacher, but had never been popular with the students—not even in her previous schools—mainly due to her somewhat detached and dispassionate manner. She had disciplined students before, and perhaps was now thinking that her anger at Angela Neumann's arrogance allowed her to go too far in maintaining her control of the classroom. After all (she thought) I cannot abdicate control of the class to this privileged and spoiled brat! I am the teacher! I am in control! One of the bigger and stronger of Angela's female friends now positioned herself on the desk, and in a kneeling position, and pulled Miss Strong's torso onto her lap while the boys still held her arms down at the sides. Two of the other girls with Angela, stepped forward, reached under the teacher's dress and petticoat, and pulled her knickers down and completely off her legs, discarding them on the floor as one of her shoes also came off in the process. The girl behind Miss Strong then reached forward under the teacher's knees and pulled her legs back as her dress and petticoat slid down and bunched up around her waist. This exposed Miss Strong's pretty and shapely bare legs, pussy lips, and round firm buttocks to the students gathered around her to teach her a lesson. "Please let me up! Please stop this ... what are you doing!?" "Why are you doing this?" Was the tearful plea from the teacher. One of the students—she was not sure who—tied a strip of cloth behind her head covering her eyes to what was happening. In her struggles, Miss Strong's blouse had popped a few of the buttons at the top, and some of the boys who upon seeing this undid most of the rest of the buttons, until her blouse was completely open. Another student pushed up her camisole top, exposing her large firm breasts as others began to roughly fondle them and squeeze her nipples. In her current position, the students had totally exposed Miss Strong's breasts and buttocks to any treatment they cared to give them. Then she heard the familiar voice of Angela Neumann saying, "Now Miss Strong, for your misbehavior toward your students, you will receive ten cuts from the cane, and then another ten ... twenty cuts in all on your bare bottom." Due to her continuous pleading and sobbing threats, Miss Strong was now gagged and could neither see nor speak, and therefore was not required by Angela to count out the strokes as they were administered. Nevertheless, they started to come. The piercing intense pain of each stroke, accompanied by the whistling sound of the cane, as Angela administered them. Abigail Strong was not sure how many, but since the first series had stopped, she assumed there were ten with another ten to follow. Her buttocks were already on fire and she was sobbing uncontrollably into the gag still in her mouth, and tears ran down her cheeks in rivulets under a soaked blindfold. She then felt the beginning of the second series of ten strokes, which came even harder that the first ten. Someone with more strength than Angela possessed was obviously administering this series. Likely, these strokes came from one of the boys. Some of these cane strokes were hard enough to cut into the flesh, and Miss Strong felt a trickle of blood from a few of them. Along with these strokes, she could feel someone continuing to squeeze her breasts roughly, and give her engorged nipples an occasional hard pinch. "My god!" Abigail thought, "What is happening to me?" She realized that to her further embarrassment, and in front of her students, she was now becoming sexually aroused—even from the rough handling. She could feel the increasing moisture beading up on her pussy lips accompanied by the familiar warmth and tingle building up inside her. Her breathing quickened. "Please God, don't let this happen ... not in front of students!" (She pleaded to herself) The strokes from the cane had now ceased, and she could feel hands and fingers massaging and fondling her bottom. She was only semi-conscious now as her bottom burned more intensely than she could stand. She could not remember when the strokes finished or when the fondling of her breasts and bottom started, or how many students were doing this to her. As fingers started to trace the edge of her labia—her moistening pussy, she started to feel her sexual arousal more intensely. The fingers continued their work on her most private parts, and she parted her legs to allow better access for whoever was assaulting her. She felt a strong middle finger enter her pussy lips and push into her. The strokes of the invading digit became deeper and more intense and as another finger filled her moist and most private spot. Her breathing intensified, and her body tensed in a sudden but very intense climax, as her juices coated the hand and fingers still inside of her, other hands and fingers found their way into her skirt from the top onto her stomach, over her mound and onto her clitoris. Miss Strong was now openly sobbing the bitterest tears she had ever shed in her young life, as she felt the most acute pain and embarrassment ever. Her students were joyously doing the unspeakable things to her, with the violation of every possible taboo. She must have now had at least six or eight hands on various parts of her exposed flesh, she was not sure, but the initial abject embarrassment slowly gave way to feelings of pleasure and increasing sexual arousal at the hands of her young tormentors. All of a sudden, although her legs still bent back exposed her bottom; the students removed their hands and fingers from Miss Strong's breasts stomach and crotch, as she lay in the afterglow of an intense sexual experience. Throughout this experience, she could hear various students making remarks, laughing and reacting to what they were doing. But, she could not make out what they were saying, or who was speaking. Then suddenly, she clearly heard one of the girls say, "Oh, hello Mr. Sullenton." At this, Abigail realized that her embarrassment had now reached a new level, and in the delirium of her petite mort, her spirits reached their lowest point. Her eyes opened wide under the blindfold, as she screamed,"Nooo!" into the gag in her mouth. Jonas Sullenton was a sweet man, but no one really knew him very well, except that he was not very bright, and did his job as school janitor very well. Jonas approached the group of students and the exposed teacher, with a quizzical expression. One of the girls explained to him, "Miss Strong has been a bad teacher today, and we are teaching her a lesson." A second female voice chimed in, "You can touch her if you would like to. You can do whatever you want to her ... see she likes it." With this last remark, Abigail felt a female finger trace her crotch across her pussy lips, collecting some of the copious amount of moisture. Then there was the sensation of strong hands massaging her buttocks, and then strong fingers tracing her slit from her clitoris down to her perineum, and finally, a finger massaged her her most private little puckered opening. There was then a short period of absolute silence, broken only by the sound of cloth rustling, as if pants buttons were being undone. "Go ahead Mr. Sullenton!" Someone said breathlessly. After a few seconds, Abigail felt something approach her very moist slit, and then slowly enter her. It was very much thicker than a finger. "Oh, my god!" Abigail thought as her spirit sank even lower, "Mr. Sullenton is fucking me!" (She despaired) "How in God's name, can this be happening?" She felt her knees drawn further apart as the school janitor's pelvis moved in between her wide-open legs. Although her pussy already very moist, his large thick cock entered her with some initial difficulty. As her pussy stretched around his cock, he was able to enter her smoothly after a few forceful jabs, and then all the way inside of her. She felt great initial pain with the rough entry, but ignored the continued pain as it soon became very pleasurable to her. He held himself inside her not moving for several seconds, and then she felt large rough hands gripping her hips. Jonas slid himself almost all the way out of the pretty teacher, then swiftly plunged it back in again, all the way. She could feel her insides gripping the invading phallus. She could feel her insides expand to accommodate each new stroke. As Jonas' excitement increased, so did his strokes as he was soon stroking this beautiful young woman roughly and with great force. The thrusts were painful to the teacher, and she cried out at each one into her gag. Jonas experienced great sexual pleasure he still did not fully understand. Along with Jonas' grunts, she could hear students making various exclamations and remarks—laughing and giggling—but was not sure what they were saying as she was now being fucked hard by this man. His large cock felt so good to her after a while, that Abigail soon found herself voluntarily spreading her legs to accommodate Jonas' girth and even lifting her buttocks to meet his thrusts. She was also surprised to find herself moaning, "Yes! Yes! Oh, God yes, fuck me! Fuck me hard!" Abigale Strong, mortified by her response, was thankful that the still present gag in her mouth muffled her words. She could feel herself coming again, as her moans increased until the familiar feeling of warmth, and tingling all the way down to her toes, and up into her stomach, returned and she suddenly shuddered into the most intense orgasm she could ever remember having in her entire life. She could feel the heat in her stomach, and inner thighs, as her vagina, buttocks, and anus involuntarily and repeatedly clenched and released. At almost the same time, Jonas started loudly moaning and grunting, and then she felt the warmth inside of her as Jonas, in a final forceful thrust, grunted loudly, seemed (to Abigale anyway)to fill her vagina with his cum. Both Abigail and Jonas shuddered, convulsed, and then subsided into warmth she felt in every part of her body. The intensely pleasurable feeling temporarily replaced the shame she felt earlier. Jonas softened and pulled out of her. Almost immediately, she felt another penis slide into her, beginning to stroke her hard and fast—obviously a student. What followed for the rest of the afternoon to early evening was mostly a blur of involuntary orgasm after orgasm. Cock after cock used the supple young teacher, as she felt mouths and fingers on her breasts, nipples, mouth, pussy, and ever her little asshole. Mouth after mouth, and tongue after tongue sucked and licked her now overly sensitized clitoris past the point of painfulness. She finally lost consciousness with physical, emotional, and sexual exhaustion. As intense as the pain was from Mr. Sullenton's hard thrusts, the pain caused by his pressing against her cane-damaged bottom was excruciating to the damaged teacher. At some point, Miss Strong lost consciousness from combined mental and physical exhaustion. When she awoke later, she was alone in the classroom and in the schoolhouse. She was still lying on her back, on her desk, and still leaking from her well-used pussy. Her legs still dangled over the side of her desk, with her breasts still exposed to the cool evening air. Abigail Strong had stepped over the line. She knew that now. However, there was no way she could face these children in the morning; her career at Saint Dunstan's School was over. She began slowly to stir; she somehow got herself painfully to her feet, crying out at the effort. She removed the blindfold and the gag, buttoned her blouse, and winced as she readjusted her clothes over the painful stripes. She could feel her knickers sticking to her bottom, confirming for her that some of the cuts of the cane had broken skin and still bled. She felt the throbbing, painful damage to her bottom, as she attempted tentatively to sit at her desk to decide for sure what to do next. She was only a teacher, these were the children of privileged families in this town, and they could make anything they wished out of these events, and would prevail with parents and authorities. She moved slowly and painfully and stiff-legged, as she collected her clothes, her books and private property from her classroom, wincing at each bend. With tears freshly filling her eyes, she wrote a resignation letter—signed it—and placed it on the Headmaster's desk. She used the excuse of a family emergency for her sudden departure. She was able to find an older woman in her apartment building that was a nurse, and was discrete. The woman laid the damaged young teacher on her table, and carefully peeled away Abigale's bloody underclothes so that she was completely naked and could feel hands on her exposed little ass. The soothing touch and the lotions felt good to her and she could feel her pussy beading up a little under the nurse's gentle touch. The nurse applied the lotion in a slow circular motion, and she moaned when an occasional finger slid down her crevice and touched her little ass-pucker. Later in the morning, with a thick cushion of bandages covering her ass, she cleared out of her lodgings, and hired a driver to take her out of the town. She would start again in another town far from here, and far from young Angela Neumann and her friends. As for Angela and her group, there was much joy and celebration with their victory over their stern teacher, and they continued to test each new teacher as they came along. The townspeople never knew what happened that day at the school, outside of the small group of the perpetrators. They maintained a strict code of silence among them. Jonas Sullenton never truly comprehended exactly what happened to him that evening. He just quietly returned to his daily tasks at the school without a word, his memory of those events faded and he died some years later. No one in the town ever knew just what became of the pretty, young teacher ... Miss Abigail Strong. End The Caning of Annette and Erin There are those who might find parts of this story distasteful, but I wish to relate to you all how it all happened. I'm not perfect, and my willpower sometimes fails me. You might judge me as an opportunist and maybe that's true, but I believe in life that one should take every opportunity that's on offer. I'll let you be the judge of my guilt. I need to go back over twenty five years to my early teaching career; looking back it was all a bit bizarre really as I was only about five years older than the more senior students. I was teaching maths and science at Carrington High School, a smallish country school with just over three hundred students. As well as teaching maths and science, I was also the first fifteen rugby coach which took up a fair mount of my so called free time. My other responsibly was the discipline master for the male students which included the handing out of any well deserved canings. Against the general consensus that teachers actually enjoyed punishing students, I did not. In fact it was a chore that I tried to rid myself off, but with a shortage of male teachers at Carrington it wasn't to be. But I confess to agreeing that it was an effective method maintaining the required behavioural standards of the students. Since the world wide abolition of corporal punishment in western schools, there has been a remarkable increase in disrespect and wayward behaviour of our young people. I've always liked the saying that you reap what you sow; and this is a fine example of not giving our young, values, direction and consequences. One disadvantage of having a shortage of male teachers was the problem that some female teachers sent boys to me for discipline for rather minor misdemeanours on a regular basis. I rectified this problem by one day demanding they witness the delivery of six of the best to a student who vandalised school property. The look on the female teacher's faces at the savagery of the punishment greatly reduced the number of referrals to my office. A lesson well learnt I think. The female students did not miss out on their share of discipline. Mrs Prescott, the head mistress was a formidable lady when crossed, and had no hesitation in using a leather strap or a cane on wayward female backsides. She could be fierce when crossed and I have no doubt the female students were more scared of her than the male students of me. It was a week before end of year examinations were to begin that Annette Mears got into trouble. Annette was one of those girls who liked to push all the boundaries but cunning enough to avoid any detection or resulting punishment, well, until now. She was a big strong girl in the last year of school, dominant both in size and in school hierarchy. The mistake and cause of her demise was the stealing of a piece of jewellery from a first year student. When the student would not back down from Annette's bulling tactics and threatened to inform a teacher, Annette decided that she would hand out a beating. Unfortunately Mrs Prescott, on one of her tours of the playing fields caught her in the act of handing out that beating. Once both girls were ordered to her office, it didn't long before Mrs Prescott got to the root of the situation. Although Annette tried to lie her way out of the situation, the head mistress was too well experienced to be duped. It was the intention of Mrs Prescott to firstly expel Annette from the school, and secondly contact the police due to the severity of her attack, which included kicking her assailant while she was on the ground. It would have meant Annette leaving school without sitting her final examinations, which I might add she was bright enough to pass. Her parents pleaded with the school to let her stay at school, and after a couple days of negotiations, Mrs Prescott finally agreed to allow Annette to sit her examinations so long as she left afterwards, and that she received 6 strokes of the cane. Unfortunately for Annette, her embarrassed and angry father was ex-army and had a firm belief that the punishment should fit the crime. He agreed that the six strokes should be administered forthwith and well delivered. It would be fair to say that Annette was devastated at the news as much as the teachers and students alike were pleased. I reckon we could have sold tickets to the event to see Annette Mears get her comeuppance. So how did I become involved you might ask? Well, on the morning that Mrs Prescott was to deliver those six stokes was a stormy morning. The high winds caught the door of her car and collected her right elbow as she was getting in. Not only was she in a fowl temper from the pain it inflicted, the resulting injury prohibited her from any thought wielding the cane effectively. Mrs Prescott was adamant that Annette was not going to escape or even delay her punishment, but her endeavours to get one of the female teachers to administer those six strokes fell on deaf ears. I wasn't surprised as not one of them had ever administered corporal punishment in the past. At 10 am that morning, I was summoned to Mrs Prescott's office and informed that I would have the privilege of delivering six strokes of the cane to Annette Mears formidably sized rear end. I of course was not happy, for it was an unwritten rule that male teachers did not punish female students. However my argument fell of deaf ears. Mrs Prescott was in mood to argue and I would deliver six of the best in her presence, and any leniency on my part would not be tolerated. A few minutes later Annette was escorted into the office where she received a fierce dressing down from the head mistress. Her staunch demeanour faded as she eyed the selection of canes lying on the desk, and what bravery was left disappeared when she learnt that it was to be me who was going to be holding the business end. Annette's tears and apologetic pleads were ignored as she was directed to the middle of the office and to bend over touch her toes. Mrs Prescott's eyes then fell on me; a nod to get on with it told me my responsibilities were clear. I selected a thin wispy cane from her desk and gave it a flick to test its flexibility, it would do the job. The first thing that stuck me as I positioned myself and measured off the distance was how big my target was. Annette Mears backside was a vast wide space, her dress pulled tight over the large buttocks. My first stroke cracked hard down and a loud wail of Annette's anguish filled the room half a second later as the searing pain took hold. Her knees slowly gave way and her body fell to a squatting position. Mrs Prescott ignored the urgent pleas for forgiveness and ordered Annette to stand up or receive additional strokes. When she finally did manage to assume the required position, I could see the horizontal indentation of my first stroke on her dress, and promptly delivered my second a perfect inch below. Without going into more detail, I think you get the picture. The caning of Annette Mears was a long drawn out affair. The shuffling of feet, the squatting after each stroke and the wailing cries of despair only prolonged her agony. I half expected Mrs Prescott to stop me after four strokes, but she waited most patiently until the sixth stroke was administered before the blubbering wreck of a young girl was ordered to leave the office. Mrs Prescott smiled as she thanked me for my efforts, that girl was well due for it she informed me. There was no doubt that Annette was a different person after her caning. Evidently half the school heard her pleas for mercy and the wails of her pain. Her reputation of being strong and confident had gone; the other students were no longer in fear of her and treated her accordingly. From my point of view, Annette was the only female student I ever disciplined. While I didn't feel too bad about it, I certainly was not going to let it happen again, if I could help it. It wasn't too many years after that episode when I left Carrington and began lecturing the sciences at university. Right from the start I loved university life, the students older and wiser, and there because they wanted to learn. The years flew by; I married and had two wonderful children. Our divorce was caused by my philandering ways, just one affair too many for my wife to contend with. And that was the problem with university life, disproportional amount of females who freely enjoyed soothing their sexual appetite with men, even married ones like me. By the time I began to reach my mid fifties, I was still in good shape, physically, emotionally and full of mischief. I was both well respected as a lecturer and as a person, my list of friends long and my social life more than adequate. Part of it I think is my fine sense of humour. I have an uncanny gift of making people laugh, even at my own expense, for if you can't laugh at yourself you shouldn't laugh at others. My love life was a string of mostly short relationships which usually ended amicably on good terms. In other words, life was full on and good. Like any teacher, from time to time you run into your old students and it great to see how they've developed into adults. Thankfully, mostly are an asset to our country, but a few are fine examples of why some people shouldn't be allowed to breed, namely their parents. But I can't remember a time when any of my old students gave me a hard time, for even back then I was considered a good teacher. It was pleasing to see a new cafe open up on a corner close to where I was living. One of my other vices in life is coffee, there is nothing like a finely blended coffee made just how I like it, hot and strong. Like other coffee lovers, I will travel a fair distance out of my way to get it just right. I waited a few days after the café opened before making my appearance, just to make sure all was okay. I was not disappointed, both my latte and the accompanying home made Russian slice were worth the compliment I offered in return. The woman behind the counter smiled. "You don't remember me then?" she asked. I looked into her face, her features and mannerisms somehow familiar but not that I could put a name to. I shook my head. "Annette Mears." My brain clicked into gear at the name, and then the big round backside bending over in front me registered. I smiled politely and replied that I did indeed remember her. We chatted for a few minutes about those school days, but not about the day we both remembered most. Life had treated Annette well for she had turned into a handsome woman. Not beautiful by any means, but her hair was nicely styled above her rather attractive face. While her breasts were substantial, her body curved nicely into a knee length skirt and flat shoes. It was only natural that our interactions developed over time, the craving for the perfect cup resulted in a regular morning visits. If the café wasn't busy, Annette would often sit at my table where we would chat. The stories of our lives were swapped; mine consisted of my days after Carrington, fatherhood, divorce and my life as a single lecturer. I learnt of Annette's journey, she married young, had one child before her own marriage break up. I soon learnt about her wayward daughter Erin, now nineteen years old trouble with a capital T. A spoilt brat by all accounts and who liked nothing better than to drink copious amounts of alcohol and smoke marijuana. Annette seemed comfortable in taking me into her confidence and explained that her daughter had been left a sizable inheritance by her grandfather. While an impatient Erin wasn't able to get her hands on all the money until the age of twenty five, she did get a weekly allowance under the control of her mother. The problem was that this allowance was quickly squandered on drugs, alcohol and good times, and that Erin wasn't above stealing from her mother to make up any shortfall. The problem was that Annette has limited means of controlling her daughter behaviour. The one time that she turned Erin's allowance off, she borrowed from friends and then stole from her mother to pay it back. My heart went out to Annette, for she was no doubt a good person and mother. I could often see the tears in her eyes when Erin's name came up in conversation. It was a flippant comment by Annette that started the whole thing, the suggestion that maybe a good caning was required. It was the first time that her own caning had ever come up in conversation, but Annette confessed it was the turning point in her bad behaviour. She told me that she had not feared anything until that day, but her caning was both humiliating and painful, and the marks on her backside were visible for over a week. It was another flippant comment that she might bring Erin around to my home for a dose of the same medicine, we both laughed at the audacity of the idea. It was then forgotten, but only by me. It was a few weeks later that Annette brought it up again after she had caught Erin red handed stealing money from her handbag. She had put a stop on her daughter's weekly allowance and had no intention of reinstating it. Erin had just laughed and suggested that she would give in eventually. It was then a frustrated Annette told her daughter that she wouldn't be getting her allowance until she agreed to a good caning from an old teacher friend. This was of course all news to me, for it had been many years since I had swung a cane. I wisely declined the offer for all the right reasons, mainly was it assault? Annette wouldn't take no for an answer, and each time I dropped in for a coffee was asked if I would change my mine. My answer was always an emphatic no. So what changed my mind? Early one morning I had the pleasure of meeting Erin for the first time. While she was no doubt a good looking girl, both tall and vivacious, her arrogance was overwhelming. In front of other café patrons and myself; she badmouthed and ridiculed her mother something terrible reducing her to tears before sneering at us on her departure. A tearful Annette fled to the rear of the cafe and hid in embarrassment. Again my heart went out to her. Over the next few days I considered Annette's request, for in this instance maybe a good caning was well deserved. It was also apparent that Erin was making her mother's life a misery at home. So, I finally relented and offered my services. The smile on Annette's face was great to see, for the first time she had some leverage over her daughter. It had now been sometime since Erin's allowance had been stopped and she was in no doubt getting impatient, but it still didn't amount to giving her mother any respect, in fact quite the reverse. Annette suggested to me that she would offer returning the allowance only if she agrees to a caning. The next day Annette advised me that her daughter declined the offer and told her to 'get fucked'. A now motivated mother hid her cell phone, cancelled the home phone line along with the broadband internet connection for good measure. The pressure was now on. It took a week before Erin came to the party, the loss of her income was bad enough, but the missing cell phone and disconnected internet swiftly curtailed her social activities. Erin all of a sudden became a nice girl and pleaded that she had changed forever. Her wise mother knew better and didn't give an inch. A second week passed before Erin accepted her fate. I watched with some fascination at the proceedings, but the day that Annette informed me that I was to administer the punishment was the day that I got cold feet. But a perceptive Annette made it clear that there was to be no backing out on my part. The first problem I had was to find a cane or two. It was off to the local garden nursery where I found suitable canes normally used for staking tomato plants and tall shrubs. I then got to practice my swings on a cushion strategically positioned on the couch. It didn't take long to perfect both my swing and accuracy. The chosen night was a Tuesday and I was more than nervous by the time Annette and Erin arrived at my apartment. By this time I had moved the lounge furniture to the sides of the room to give me room to swing my newly acquired weapon. The difference between mother and daughter was obvious, Annette confident and determined, Erin trying to be brave but failing miserably. She had made the mistake of wearing tight jeans which would offer little protection for what was she was going to receive. Again my reservations came to the fore and wondered what resulting repercussions there might be. "Are you okay with this?" I asked. Erin looked at me with utter contempt. "What the fuck do you think?" she snapped. "Just get this over with so that I can get out of here, I just want my fucking life back." "Okay." I said pointing to the middle of the room. "Stand over there, bend over and touch your toes." Erin turned to her mother, "I fucking hate you." The hurt on Annette's face was plain to see, and my anger soared. Without hesitation, I picked up the cane I had previously chosen for its flexibility. Erin glanced at it wide eyed as her fear mounted, but obeyed my second request to bend over. Her tight backside trembled as I placed the cane on it to measure off the distance. I raised it high in the air and brought it down solidly across her buttocks resulting in a loud crack as it bit home. A loud sigh escaped from her as the pain registered. I waited another few seconds before delivering the second a perfect inch below. Erin's legs sagged but she steadied herself for the third. A brave girl I thought to myself, for I'd seen a lot of big tough boys buckle at this sort of punishment. She took the third stroke well with the exception a little whimper, but it was the forth stroke that did it. It was the perfect stroke, the exceptional timing providing a louder crack that filled the room. Erin cried out loudly as she stood up clutching her backside. "Please, no more." she cried as she paced the room in tears. "I can't take anymore." I looked over at Annette to question what to do. "We've come this far, let's finish it." she replied without hesitation. "Keep going." Erin pleaded with her mother, but she wouldn't relent an inch. Erin was eventually ordered back to the centre of the room and bend over, the problem was that her legs were now shaking so much she couldn't stand. I suggested that she bend over the back of the arm chair, and the final two strokes were delivered amongst tears of despair. When it was all over, Erin ran head in hands from my apartment without saying a thing. I looked over at Annette who had tears running down her face. She thanked me before taking her leave; thinking back I don't think it was easy on any of us. I avoided the café for the next few days as I felt most uncomfortable about the whole episode. But when I bravely returned, Annette greeted me warmly again thanked me for my services. She told me that Erin was now towing the line, especially as she threatened a repeat performance if she gave anymore trouble. When Erin complained, her mother suggested that she could leave home anytime she liked, but life was far too comfortable there for her to do that. I honestly thought that that would be the end of all the problems, but it wasn't to be, it was just a short six weeks before Erin returned back to her old habits. Up to this point, my handling of this situation was beyond reproach as far as I was concerned. But it was all about to change, I was about to let myself down as well as Annette. If I'd known what was about to happen I would have probably packed my bags and done a runner. Annette had taken a week off to visit friends on the other side of the country and the running of the café had been left to her trustworthy staff. On the Saturday there was a one hundred dollar short fall when cashing up, something unheard of amongst the tight working team. It seemed too much of a coincidence that Erin had visited the café during the day and had been left alone in the vicinity of the cash till. The senior waitress rang Erin about the discrepancy which was first denied but then admitted on the pretence that her mother owned the café and she could do what she wanted. Unfortunately, the next call went to Annette who went ballistic at her daughter's theft. She immediately hung up and rang her daughter. Erin was given two options, either she took another caning or the theft would be reported to the police. At first Erin didn't believe her mother would have the guts to get the police involved, but her mother's anger boiled over. The decision was Erin's, but she had to make that decision right now. Not wanting a police record, Erin made the only decision she could. The Caning of Annette and Erin My first inkling of all this was a phone call from a still angry Annette; was I free tonight she asked? When I confirmed I was, Annette told me that I should warm the cane up as Erin would be arriving for another six strokes. My refusal was over ridden and Annette told me what had transpired and that the caning was well deserved, and as she would not be there to witness it, I would be trusted to do the right thing. Before I could argue any further, Annette offered a hurried goodbye before I could argue further, and promptly hung up. I was most uncomfortable about the whole thing; especially that Annette wasn't going to be there. The whole thing was a recipe for disaster, but not in the way I imagined. Erin arrived at just after 7 pm, her demeanour a mixture of arrogance and nervousness. She eyed the furniture which had already been pushed to the sides of the room to provide the required swing space; her attention soon fell to the cane which was leaning against the couch. "We don't have to do this do we?" she asked hopefully. "I mean, if I promise to be good and never steal anything again, we could just pretend that you caned me." I smiled grimly, for in the past I'd heard many excuses to escape punishment. If you do the crime, then you do the time, or bend over and take your punishment as in this case. Her pleas were going to fall on deaf ears as far as I was concerned. "You stole a hundred bucks from the till at your mother's café." I replied. "You would've been quite prepared to let the other staff come under suspicion and take the blame. I think that's deplorable, and I think that a caning is far too an easy way out for you. If your mother went to the police, you would have a criminal record that would hang over your head for the rest of your life. Have you returned the money yet?" She shook her, "No, I've already spent it." "Well the decisions up to you. Either you take the caning, or you can leave and I'll advise your mother. It's simple as that, your choice." Erin looked at me, the pleading in her eyes obvious. "I don't know that I could take it." she replied after a minute or so. "It fucking hurt so much last time, I don't know if I could go through it again." I shrugged my shoulders for the choice was still hers, not mine. I gazed over at her as she pondered her decision. She was an attractive girl I thought to myself as my eyes took in her voluptuous figure. Again she had worn tight jeans which would offer no protection to her curvaceous rump. A grey tee shirt hung loose over her top except for where her substantial breasts stretched it tight. A nice package I thought to myself as my eyes lingered a fraction too long. I found her big eyes focusing on mine when I finally lifted them from her breasts. I was immediately embarrassed at being caught. "Maybe we could approach this a different way." she offered after a few seconds. "How about I forgo the caning for a blowjob, or maybe a quick fuck? Would that work for you?" I was stunned at the proposal for it was most unexpected and didn't no what to say. Erin gazed coolly across at me as she started to take control of the situation for the first time. She placed her hands on her hips and provocatively pushed one leg slightly forward like a model posing for the camera. "Look, fucking an old prick like you isn't my idea of fun, but I'd rather do that than having you thrash my arse. I'll just close my eyes and think of England." Now, at this time I should have bent her over and taken to her arse with the cane that was just two feet away from me. My brain told me that was the correct and proper thing to do, but I could feel the familiar stirring in my loins. How long had it been since I'd ravished a young body like that, the devil asked me? Who would know; just me and Erin? Would I be able to live with myself, my conscience asked me. But just look at that body the devil asked me, look at her tits and her lovely arse, and how tight would her pussy be. Just how much fun would it be to fuck that young luscious body? Any willpower was then ripped from me as Erin walked to the arm chair and kicked her shoes off. A knowing sultry smile appeared on her face as she slowly undid the belt and button her jeans. I watched in fascination as she eased her jeans downwards over her lovely round thighs and stepped out of them. My eyes were drawn to her pink panties before they too were pushed down and discarded. A thick triangle of dark unkempt curls sat atop her perfect thighs, her legs slightly brown from the sun. A small glimmer of back light appeared between the slight between the gap of her thighs as she sat down on the arm chair and spread her thighs wide. "Here it is, come and get it." she said. "Its all yours." I stepped closer and looked down at her wide spread thighs, her thick curls completely hiding the lips below. Any hesitation on my part had now gone. "Just turn the lights off and get on with it." she said impatiently, licking a finger and slipping up and down her pussy lips. Wanting to memorise all the action, the voyeur in me turned the lights down just enough to keep her happy, and then I walked over to Erin and knelt between her wide spread thighs. She no doubt wanted a quickie, but I had every intention of drawing this out and teaching her a thing or two. I leaned forward and ran my tongue between her pussy lips causing her to jump and pull away. "No, not that. Just fuck me." she said sarcastically. But there isn't a woman alive who doesn't like a good licking. Again I leaned forward and flicked my tongue through her pussy lips and found her clitoris, she jumped but didn't object. I spent the next few seconds flicking my tongue over the little mound before exploring deeper. At first her lips were dry but it didn't take long before her juices to run. I gently pried her lips apart with my fingers allowing my mouth to completely cover her petite pussy. At first I got no response from Erin as my tongue lashed her clitoris and tormented her opening. But after awhile I sensed little tremors and her pussy being pressured against my face, subtle but there. I continued for few minutes as she began to slowly respond to my fine work. I then slid my mouth upwards to her clit and eased a forefinger just inside her lips and got a loud sigh for my efforts. Now I had Erin just where I wanted her. Licking pussy was something in which I was well talented in. Many years of womanising had taught me that once I got my tongue onto a women's clitoris, then she up for anything, and as an unselfish lover, I simply loved licking a woman into a senseless state. I began to tease her with my mouth and finger expertly tempting her towards the beginning of an early orgasm, but each time sliding my mouth away to loving explore the smoothness of her inner thighs. I could feel her impatience, but continued to play my little games. Her clitoris was now engorged and pussy a sopping mess allowing my tongue to slide effortlessly through her slit. Her little whimpers grew louder as I teased her each time closer towards an orgasm before moving my face away. Her pubic curls were now flat and transparent against her skin, and even in the dulled light I could see the perfection of her finely shaped lips. I continued for many minutes before releasing my fully erect cock from my trousers and stroking it slowly. As mentioned previously, I have a fine reputation as a lover and one of my finer attributes is my cock. It's not huge like you see on adult movies, but it's a nice thick seven inches. Previous lovers have remarked that they like the upward bend and especially how it thickens dramatically at the base and stretches their pussy when pushed in all the way to the hilt. Those lovers who get enjoyment from their g-spot seem to get great pleasure when I rub the head of my cock back and forth just inside their pussy, a technique I perfected in my early days with the lady who would later become my wife. Most will agree that more mature women enjoy foreplay and like to spend lots of time getting fully aroused before engaging in any form of intercourse. For a whole lot of reasons, mature women will want to curiously inspect the cock of a new lover to ensure that all is okay. There have been a few women who have been a little reluctant to allow my sizable cock between their pussy lips, but I have encouraged them to let me try on the promise that I will be gentle. Once entered, never once have I been asked to stop by a new lover. Unfortunately for Erin, she was so wrapped up in her own enjoyment, she hadn't any inclination to even open her eyes and look my appendage. I smiled knowingly as I positioned the head of my cock between her lips and leaned forward. So wet was she, that my cock slid effortlessly but unintentionally in to the hilt. A loud surprised cry of surprise filled the room as she tried to ease back away from my length. "No, nooooo, it's too big." she cried. "Take it out." I eased my cock out so that the head was just inside her pussy, but she still tried to pull away. "Just keep still and you'll get used to it." I replied while steadying her thighs with my hands. "Pleeeease nooo." she whimpered a few times. But I continued to slowly work my cock inside her with gentle movements slowly getting deeper. Her whimpers slowly died and after a short time I began to feel her buttocks moving with me. Her pussy was deliciously warm and tight on my cock and I purposely went slowly to ensure I didn't ejaculate at this early stage. Erin soon got used to my size and became more comfortable with her situation; she lifted her legs to circle my buttocks, and then a short time later up over my shoulders. My strokes were slow and gentle and Erin then dropped her feet to the arm rests of the chair. Her thighs were now spread wide and displaying youthful suppleness, her pussy lips were now gapping wide and I could see her opening changing in shape as my glistening shaft slid back and forth between them. A few minutes later, Erin was actively moving her slippery wet pussy back and forth against me ignoring the loud squelching sounds. "Jesus, you can fuck good." she whispered after awhile. I then began to experiment with my strokes and became aware that my shallow strokes were catching her g-spot. I began to concentrate on her g-spot and soon had Erin squirming in the chair. She lifted her top exposing her bra which was then lifted above her breasts. Her substantial mounds now lay almost flat, but her large dark nipples were distinctly erect. Erin sighed deeply as she began to tease each nipple in turn before working on both. I watched eagerly as she caressed them, her pretty face now full of concentration as pleasure flowed freely through her. A few minutes later, one hand sneaked down to her clitoris and began to slowly caress it in little circular movements. A few times my cock fell from her pussy and a moan of disappointment escaped her lips, I placed my hands on her thighs to secure her erratic movements and continued to work on her g-spot. Slowly but surely Erin began to climb towards her orgasm, her body squirming as one hand continued to tweak her nipples and the other her clitoris. "Don't stop." she begged. "Please let me cum this time." Our bodies were now glowing with sweat and her juices, the springs of my sturdy chair creaking with our increasing erratic endeavours. And then Erin raised her buttocks from the chair and cried out loudly. Her body trembled violently as her orgasm ripped through her, and I looked down as her pussy ejaculated violently over me. Her ejaculation took me by complete surprise but I continued work my cock in her sodden pussy until she began to relax. "Oh fuck, I suppose I've made a real mess." she muttered a few seconds later as my cock fell from her. "A bit." "Sorry. It's the first time a guy's made me cum like that. I only have wet cums when I play with myself." Her juices were beginning to run down my legs towards the carpet. I quickly went into the bathroom and got a towel. Returning to Erin, I quickly cleaned her and myself before any real damage was done. Erin looked down at my still erect cock. "Did you cum?" she asked. I shook my head. "Good, I wanna fuck some more. How about we do it in bed?" she suggested. Erin got up from the chair and removed her tangled bra and top, then picked up her jeans and after rummaging through one pockets pulled out a hair tie. Her breasts lifted as she pulled her hair back into a pony tail and slipped the tie over it. "I hate it when my hair flicks in my face when I'm fucking, drives me crazy." she commented while eyeing my swinging cock. I led Erin into the bedroom, pulled the covers back and lay face up onto the bed with my cock pointing towards the ceiling. My partner in crime knelt beside me and took my cock in hand. "Its quite big." she commented as she fondled it. "Biggest I've had anyway." She moved astride me and guided it towards her pussy but winced as she tried to sit down on it. "Got any lube or anything?" she asked. "I'm always dry out real quick after a wet cum, it's like all my lubrication disappears at once and my pussy gets real sensitive." She reached for the bottle of lube that I retrieved from my bedside cabinet and removed the lid. She dribbled a long line down my shaft and massaged it in with her free hand. After applying a little between her pussy lips, she positioned herself over my shaft and eased herself downwards until there was only an inch left. Then gently began rocking herself back and forth a few times until the last inch disappeared inside her. "Mmmm, I like fatness at the end." she whispered as she began sliding up and down, and rotating her pussy when it was right in. Taking my hands in hers and intertwining our fingers, Erin manoeuvred her feet under herself. Using her hands to balancing herself, she began to lift her body high and slap heavily down on my cock. Her balance and dexterity were perfect as she picked up speed, the slapping of our bodies filling the room. Displaying great stamina, she hammered my cock for what seemed an eternity. Her breasts swung heavily in the air, a line of perspiration glowed on her forehead as she worked. "Awwww shiiiit." she muttered when finally began to run out of puff. She released my hands and leaned forwards allowing her feet to slide downwards on the bed outside my legs. Her pussy slowly rode my shaft for a few minutes until she slipped sideways from me and rolled face up on the bed. She grinned over at me as her hand found her pussy and caressed it. "What are you going to do to me now?" she asked coyly. I rolled her over and eased her buttocks from the bed; kneeling behind her I guided my cock between her visibly swollen lips. She raked the pillows underneath herself and got comfortable as I began to work her. After a few minutes, she whimpered and pushed her hand back against my thigh when I pushed hard into her once too often. "The angle isn't right for this." she commented after a few more seconds and pulled away from me. Pushing the pillows away, Erin rolled onto her back and spread her legs wide. I slid eagerly between her legs; she took my cock and guided it between her lips rubbing it up and down her slit before placing it at her opening and pushing up on it. She moaned with pleasure as she took me easily to the hilt, her long legs slid upwards and up over my shoulders. Looking down, I watched her pink lips hug my cock as it moved back and forth inside her. "Need more lube." she suggested after a short time of rolling her buttocks against me. I reached for the lube, then eased my cock from her until the head was nearly out, and dribbled a little over my shaft and her gapping lips. "Put some on the bottom of my lips." she asked. "It's getting a bit tender down there." I pulled my cock right out and gently applied lube to her well battered pussy. Erin then reached down and impatiently guided my cock inside her. "Mmmmmm, that's good." she commented once we got back into a nice slow rhythm. We continued for sometime before Erin removed her legs from my shoulders and dropped them flat on the bed. I lowered my chest to hers and suckled on her breasts before nuzzling my way up to her neck. It was my intention to kiss her, but she turned her head away at the last second. "Sorry, I like fucking you, but I don't wanna kiss." she said. Surprised at her comment, I stopped moving inside her and looked down at her pretty face. "Look, let's not get all lovey duvy." she said meeting my gaze. "I don't particularly like you for thrashing my arse, but I am enjoying your cock even though you're old enough to be my father. So just keep on fucking me and everything will be okay. Just forget about kissing me and have a good time." Her cruel comments brought me back to earth and angered me more than a little, but I'd come too far not to finish what I started. I began pumping Erin, slowly at first but then picking up the pace. To my surprise, Erin locked her arms and legs around me and began meeting my urgent thrusts. Little moans of her pleasure egged me onwards as my orgasm began to build. A gentleman might have asked if it was okay to cum inside her, but by this time of the proceedings I was no gentleman. My pounding of her pussy was severe and I could feel her teeth gripping my neck as I rode her. And then my orgasm arrived with intensity filling her delicious pussy with cum. Erin giggled at the sloshing noises as my orgasm and urgent strokes slowly ebbed. I waited a few seconds before rolling from between her legs and onto my back beside her. Erin's hand reached over for my cock and slowly caressed it. Her other hand slipped between her pussy lips and scooped out my cum and thoughtfully placed it on her flat belly before it leaked out onto the sheet below. "That was the best sex I've ever had." Erin purred. "I've never been fucked like that before. You're the first man that's ever made me ejaculate." "How do you normally do it?" I asked inquisitively. "When I'm by myself and with my fingers or a vibrator. Better with fingers though and a towel under me to catch the mess. Sometimes I can't manage it and get frustrated, it's a bitch when that happens." I looked over and took in her body, her nipples still erect and her legs slightly parted. A tuft of dark curls visible on her pubic mound. She looked over at me and grinned, "You know, if my mother finds out about this, she'll kill both of us slowly and painfully. This will have to be our little secret, and we'll pretend that you thrashed my arse instead of my pussy. Okay?" "Okay by me, but I can still whip your pretty little arse if you want." "Never again. I can't believe how much that hurt. By the way, have you and my mother been at it?" "What do you mean?" "You know, this, fucking." "Hell no, what makes you think that?" I replied. "Dunno; it's just cross my mind a few times. You're both so together whenever I saw you." We continued to chat aimlessly until we both unintentionally fell asleep, but woke in the early hours when Erin rolled towards me. "Sorry." she muttered drowsily. We lay beside each other with just our feet touching. "Suppose I should go." she said after awhile. "Wanna fuck some more before I do?" Her hand reached for my cock and began to play with it and giggled mischievously when it started to respond. "Just a quickie." she said. "Even though my pussy loves your cock, I don't think it'll handle another hiding." Erin got me hard while I endeavoured to find the lube which had fallen to the floor beside the bed. I was soon mounted and allowed Erin to ride me slowly at her whim until she had to stop when she couldn't go on. "I'll finish you by hand." she suggested while lifting her pussy from me for the last time. The Caning of Annette and Erin "How about a blow job?" She shook her head, "Sorry but I don't do blow jobs cause it hurts my jaw, it's a hand job or nothing." Erin's handjob was not to be scoffed at; with a skilful technique she brought me quickly to an exquisite orgasm and continued to work me with cum covered hands until my cock had fully wilted in her hand. She then retreated to the bathroom and showered while I recovered in my bed. It was a pleasant sight when she returned to the bedroom and dried her naked body while chatting. I enjoyed the sight of her swinging breasts and the curves of her luscious thighs. She gathered her scattered clothing and dressed while I continued to marvel at her voluptuous curves. The idea of tempting her back to my bed for a third romp was a fine one, but far fetched for a man of my advanced years. I laughed when seeing Erin to the door; she took hold of my cock and shook it. "I was very pleased to meet you." she said humorously. The next morning guilt over took me when Annette rang to thank me for looking after Erin. Annette told me she had previously rang her daughter and been told that I'd punished her more severely than the previous time. I had indeed punished her, just not in the way she imagined. I confess to not being proud of myself over the following days, for I had let Annette down in her time of need. I had let myself down and was now in a compromising position if Erin caused any further problems. But other times I was quite proud of myself for taking an attractive young woman to new sexual heights, it was good to know that I still had it in me. On the following Wednesday night I answered a knock at the door. I was surprised when I found Erin standing on my doorstep. She smiled mischievously while inviting herself in, and after checking I was alone headed straight for my bedroom. I stood transfixed as she faced me and slowly removed her clothes. She then slid on the bed and spread her thighs wide and began fingering herself. "Come fuck me." were the first words she uttered. Erin's visits became a regular thing, the only warning I would get would be a short text, "ok to come over'. I would simply reply with the letter k. Our sexual romps became more physical as we explored each other's wants and needs. There was no passion, just lust and lots of it. Erin would just want to fuck and fuck until she ejaculated which sometimes she managed twice on a good night. We would both be exhausted before she had any intention of giving up and going home. She relented to blowjobs but only after perfecting a little technique that was easy on her jaw. Initially I was only allowed to cum on her face, but she progressed to taking it her mouth if she was in the mood. Erin confessed that she fucked the occasional other guy, but they could never deliver what I always managed to. As the months passed me by, I too took other lovers when the opportunity arose, but like Erin struggled to find the same satisfaction elsewhere. I stopped frequenting Annette's café due to my guilt, and I suppose that she thought I did so because I was uncomfortable with me caning her daughter. For obvious reasons, I was quite happy for her to think just that. As for Erin and me, sometime in the future we both know it will have to end. But for the mean time, we will continue to enjoy each others bodies until one of us or both decide its time to stop. Until then we are both content with the circumstances of our lust. Am I proud of myself you might ask? Sometimes I'm not but I am enjoying some of the best sex I've ever had. So please, do not judge me too harshly. The Caning of Her Life She answered the door just as he had taught her previously, wearing nothing except the wrist and ankle restraints which made noises when she walked from the clips on the end of them. She always walked more gracefully with the restraints on to minimize the clicking noise but it was still there regardless. All of the implements were laid out for him to pick and choose what he wanted to use but she didn't know that he had no intention of using any of them, all he planned on using was the ball gag that she hadn't experienced yet. He didn't even plan on using the restraints she was wearing, not yet at least. It had been a week since he saw her last, a week too long for both of them. They were drawn together very strongly and the desire was very intense between them. She craved to be his submissive slut and he couldn't wait to make her one. Completely owned and dominated by him. This evening, however, he had had enough of the attitude she had been displaying all week. He wouldn't give her his cock to suck on regardless of how much she begged for it until she was placed back in the submissive mindset that he so loved her to be in. The time apart wasn't good for either one of them. She liked to push the bounds a little too much whenever he wasn't there to put her in her place daily. This evening he would do his best to change that. He hugged her tightly before grabbing her hair and directing her to the side of the couch. He pushed her harder than usual over the arm of the couch as she realized that he wasn't going to be going gently with her this weekend. She opened her mouth to protest and he surprised her by putting the ball gag in her mouth and tightening it tightly behind her head. He told her to be quiet, that tonight it was going to be all about him until she learned her place as his submissive slut. Even though she had already apologized for treating him as she did, tonight she was going to truly be sorry. He pulled his thick and long cane out of his bag that was very similar to the ones they used in school canings. She looked back at his with fear in her eyes as the first cane strike landed and the pain seared through her butt. She was shocked at how much it hurt and how rough he was being with her. She was use to the warm ups and to having things her way but this time she had pushed him too far. He was tired of the attitude and he was going to make sure it ended tonight. He always spoke to her in such an even tone even when he was lecturing her and this time was no different. He told her that everything she did reflected on him and that the attitude she had all week was unacceptable. She was going to have to accept eighteen cane strokes, no less, and if she didn't hold position then she would get penalty strokes. He informed her that he placed her over the couch to give her some stability so that she didn't have to worry about losing her balance and that all she had to do was lay there, grip into the pillow that was on the couch and bite the ball gag. He wanted her in a comfortable position so all she had to think about was the pain that would sear through her ass. He raised the cane high in the air and she winced as she heard it swish through the air and send the pain searing across her ass again. He waited about thirty seconds to make sure the pain was processed fully and she was calm enough to take the next one. It would have been letting her off easy to just go through the eighteen quickly without giving her time to process each and every stroke. The next ten strokes landed as her ass began to stripe very nicely from the cane. He was amazed with himself with how well the strokes welted up and looked great on the canvas that use to be such a pure white. Now there were twelve welts covering the center of her ass all the way down her sit spot. As he brought the cane up for the thirteenth stroke she winced and moved just as she did with most punishments causing the strike to land a little higher than intended. She heard disappointment in the sharp intake of air he took as he placed his hand on her back and growled in her ear that she had earned this and she would take all of it regardless of what she wanted. After all, accepting the entire caning was want he wanted and what would make him happy and since she wanted to make him happy then she should want to receive this punishment without any more of the attitude that put her in this predicament to begin with. Because she chose to move, she would be receiving an additional stroke at the end. She cried into her ball gag, the drool dripping on the pillow she was grasping ever so tightly. The pillow was now wet with her tears and drool and was even out of shape with how tight she was grasping it. She was still caught up in the words he just said as another stroke came down harshly on her ass. She wasn't expecting it and she cried out loudly but she managed to stay in position. He was proud of his little slut accepting the punishment she had earned and couldn't wait for it to be over to take care of his hard cock that was beginning to get uncomfortable under his boxers. The next four strokes came at a steady pace as they overlapped previous strokes that covered her sit spot. He wanted her to wear his marks for weeks and for her to feel this for days so he paid special attention to her sit spot. He calmly told her that she was such a good submissive during the caning that she only earned herself one penalty stroke. She was upset with herself for moving out of position earlier. She barely was able to take the eighteen, how could she possibly handle another stroke? He brought the cane high up in the air but this stroke didn't land on her ass like the rest, it came down harshly on the top her thighs and she let out a scream as one leg jerked up. She immediately regretted moving, knowing it would only give him reason to punish her further. Normally he would let it go, she was the ideal submissive throughout the caning but he knew that if he let her get away with it now then she would expect to get away with it in the future and tonight was supposed to let her know that her days of getting away with things was over. He wanted until her breathing calmed and her sobs lessened before telling her that that another penalty stroke was going to be added since she didn't remain in position. She held her breath for a minute while clasping the pillow tightly as he brought the cane down harshly across the back of her thighs again. She cried out loudly but she didn't move. She waited until he put the cane down before relaxing over the back of the couch. He told her to stand up and removed the ball gag out of her mouth. He hugged her tightly and she thanked him but he said that she needed to truly thank him. He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her to her knees where she knew what to do...