Spanking Stories

by Matt Triewly


Short stories (some are actual encounters) and fantasies about spanking and humiliation. Needless to say this is not suitable for minors. Or feminists.


There's a part of me that really wants to kill her and there's a part of her too that really wants me to beat her into oblivion. I know, just know.

Naked across a footstool, knees drawn up to the edge, flabby white arms supporting her fat upper body which appears more slumped than resting on the blue cushion.

Middle-aged. Pale. Overweight. Ugly. Lonely. Depressed.


We'd got chatting in a bar after I'd accidentally trodden on her toe - both drunk but she more drunk than me - and admitted towards the end of the evening she'd had a rough time when she had been younger, hinted at abuse.

Damaged and vulnerable, I'd concluded as I'd given her my mobile number - my kind of female.

I'd met her the next day for a coffee in town and she'd been uglier than I'd recalled: beady little brown eyes too close together set in a pudgy round face with a snub nose and flared nostrils with a prominent chin. Her hair was a mousey brown, badly styled and touched her shoulders. I can't remember what she was wearing because she was so ugly, too ugly to fuck, but maybe, just maybe, ugly enough to hurt.

She'd talked too much about her job in the local library, her love of literature, tried to impress me, but to no avail - it was a charade and she knew that I knew it.

I'd cut to the chase. "You're damaged. Tell me about it."

Anyone else would have walked out on me, a relative stranger, if I'd said that to them but not her. You see, I can kind of smell it on them, it's a 'hormone' they give off.

She'd opened up about it, relished recounting the sordid brutality yet the details were irrelevant because she needed to live through it in a variety of ways again and again and again - Freud's compulsion to repeat.


"I'm going to fucking hurt you, you worthless, fat and ugly bitch.'

She says nothing so I bring the flogger down with full force across her expansive pale back.

She flinches with the pain, but doesn't yell out, and red fingers from the falls appear across her flesh. I feel good, very good - I like hurting females.

I raise the flogger, savouring the momentary hiss before I bring it down a second time hard upon her skin. This time she cries out and shifts slightly on the stool. I start to become aroused and fear that I may not be able to stop.

I deliver ten lashes, all hard, in swift succession.

She screams and cries, twists but remains in position.

Angry welts rise but all it does is make me thirst for more. More pain. Blood.

I whip her now without respite - her screaming and sobbing become merged into a constant wail interrupted only by the faltering catching of her breath.

"Daddy," she chokes out, "please stop hurting me...why... why?"

I lower my face to the left of hers and hiss cruelly, "Because you're worthless, and deserve to die, die in pain."

"Kill me Daddy, beat me to a pulp. I am nothing. I am ugly and no man will have me," she sobs.

"You are so ugly you are an affront to nature!"

I stand up again then thrash her buttocks caring not that the thongs wrap around her midriff. I observe, with perverse gratification, as I bring forth beads of blood that become lines and smears.

Frenzied I beat her harder and without respite. Her cries become a low moan and then stop.

She is still now, her head hangs down, her elbows slack - I wonder if I have indeed killed her, killed myself because I would rather be dead than serve time in prison.

I kneel beside her and pull her head up by her sweat and blood matted hair. Her eyes are half open and gluey but she is still alive.

"I am going to fuck you now you ugly lucky bitch."

I let her head loll back, drop my trousers and then penetrate her from behind. The sight of her bloodied back heightens further my lust and after just five thrusts I climax, feeling the spunk shoot into her slack cunt.

All the time she lies there inert like a slab of meat.

I fasten my trousers, place the flogger on the bed and walk towards the bedroom door.

I know that she is going to live. I know that she would have let me kill her. I know that at one point I desired to kill her, and I know she would have let me. But not today. Maybe next time.

I place my hand on the doorknob and hear her gulp.

I turn around and she is attempting to raise her head, moving her saliva smeared lips.

"Th-thanks," she forces out through her lips.

"My pleasure, bye," I respond.

I walk down the stairs of her house, let myself out of the front door and into the bright daylight.

Funny how I ended up fucking her after all what with her being so ugly - women can be just so manipulative at times,' I reflect and then chuckle out loud.


"You're a dirty, fat, ugly and worthless slut and I'm going to really hurt you!" I snarl with menace in her ear.

She is naked and I have her left arm pinned behind her head - she is going nowhere, absolutely nowhere till I am done with her.

"All you think about is cocks: Long cocks. Fat cocks. White cocks. Black cocks. Crooked cocks. Smelly cocks..."

"Yes, I do. I'm a worthless slut and only good for fucking," she gasps out.

I have her where I want her, and I can do absolutely anything I want to her. Power, the power to hurt. Intoxicating. Corrupting. Exhilarating.

"I'm going to spank you now. Hard. Turn over, you fucking bitch!"

I release her hand and she meekly shifts her body such that is now lying face down with her lily white posterior thrust up. I bring the flat of my hand down with force repeatedly upon her buttocks, the sharp sound of the smacks echoing off the walls of the bedroom. Sometimes I alternate between right and left cheek, sometimes not, whilst all the time berating her and synchronizing the words to coincide with each blow. "You're a dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty, little slut. You've fucked everybody, your colleagues, your bosses, your best friend's father, your lecturer..."

She yelps and twists with the pain and I observe with cruel and perverse satisfaction as the flesh of her arse reddens and abrases.

"You don't care where you're fucked either, do you? Up your slack and permanently dripping cunt, shoved in your tight little arsehole, in your mouth. Maybe all three at the same time. Fucking ugly and fat SLUT!!!"

I throw her over onto her back and slap her across her face - she takes it well but I know it stings then thrust my face into hers and hiss, "Not the first time you've been slapped across your ugly mug, is it? I bet a few wives and girlfriends have hit you, beaten you up. I can imagine you with your scarlet lipstick and mascara smeared, your tarty clothes ripped, your tits hanging out. And you would have deserved it, YOU FUCKING SLAG!"

I rake my nails over her breasts and nipples. Raised livid lines appearing instantly and causing her to suck breath suddenly through her clenched teeth.

"I bet you're still thinking and dreaming about cock now, aren't you? Cos' that's all you live for. Worthless, worthless, that's what you are. Only good for fucking, fucking behind the bike sheds, fucking at work, fucking from behind, up your behind, with your short little denim skirt pulled up and your knickers pulled down, pissed and in the gutter with whoever will have you, you fucking, FUCKING SLUT!"

She shudders briefly so I rub her swollen clit harder and faster.

"I'm going to scrawl SLUT in lipstick across your cleavage and write FREE FUCK above your cunt with arrows pointing down to your slit."

I feel her begin to tremble, she is about to climax. "What are YOU?!"

She begins to pant but just gasps out, "I'm a DIRTY, UGLY AND FAT WORTHLESS FUCKING SLUT!" before screaming, arching her back and then slumping exhausted onto the bed.

We both laugh out loud and I kiss her gently on the lips.

I love her, really, really, love her...


"Come to Daddy, you bitch, you fucking bitch."

"Are you going to punish me?"

"Punish? No, I'm going to fucking flog you till you don't know what fucking day of the week it is. I mean, how stupid are you?"

She drops to the floor and then crawls over to me. Her eyes are lowered in a kind of catatonic submission - weird. But this is her fantasy, her life and all she really craves for in existence.

"Look up at me."

She raises her ugly head.

I slap her hard three times across her cheek with my right hand. And my god it feels good. I love abusing women and being violent to them. It's the way I am. Nature, the dark will of the cosmos, made me this way. And what's more it's legal. Consensual. Exquisite.

Her cheek is red and I observe a single tear roll down it. Delicious.

"That's for being ugly."

"Yes, I am ugly."

"Did I give you permission to speak?"

I slap her again. Any excuse.

"Keep your mouth shut. Understand?"

She nods.

"Get all your clothes off. Now."

She pulls her top over her head and throws it on the carpet. Next she unclips her bra and lets her pendulous tits hang out and down.

"Fucking hell, you're figure is awful, fucking rolls of fat and flab. And covered with moles and warts. Aren't you embarrassed by your gross little body?"

She blushes a little. Good, I've got to her.

She then removes her jeans, pants and socks.

"Bloody hell, I can smell your pongy cunt. Don't you wash or anything? Filthy bitch."

"Right, up against the wall."

She stands up and walks over to the bedroom wall placing her arms above her and onto the damp wallpaper.

I look at her podgy figure, her fat legs and arms, the broad expanse of her pale back. I just want to hurt her, inflict pain upon her, and reduce her to a blubbering wreck.

Of course it's the ultimate reconciliation: the extreme sadist and abuser versus the ultimate masochist and submissive. Dark versus light. No, matter and anti-matter. Ha, I wax lyrical.

I pick up the cat o'nine tails from the bedside table, her bedside table in her house. Do you seriously think I would opt to live in this shithole of a property?

She's scared. Petrified. She doesn't know who I am. I could be a murderer. Yet still she seeks out my type, my sick type, drawn like the proverbial moth to the flame.

I wonder if a part of her wants to die, to experience the ultimate high, the ultimate orgasm of death, Fuck, she's as sick as me.

I move to the left of her and feel the juices begin to flow as I surrender to my mastery, my sadism.

I pull the flogger back as far as I can and then deliver it in a swishing arc upon the flesh of her back.

It makes a satisfying crack as it lands and she cries out in pain.

God this is good.

I lash her again and already her saggy flesh is reddened and abrased.

Her breathing rate is increasing. Soon she'll be gasping.

Again and again I whip her yet she remains in position pressed against the wall. Addicted to pain. Addicted to suffering. Addicted to the dream of death.

Yet I am an 'addict' myself. Addicted to hurting people in all imaginable ways. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Financially.

I am a psychopath, but a smart psychopath treading a dark path and living in the shadows. Evasive. Lying. Plotting. Role-playing.

<Swish> <Crack> <Swish> <Crack> Her back is sore and red and I espy little pinpricks of blood.

She is crying, crying for herself, her addiction.

<Swish> <Crack> <Swish><Crack>

Panting and gasping for breath.

What is she thinking? What is she feeling?

<Swish> <Crack>

She clenches her hands and sucks in air.

<Swish> <Crack> <Swish> <Crack> <Swish><Crack>

Break her, break the bitch.

Little drops of blood are running down her back.

I am achingly hard.

<Swish> <Crack>

She slides down the wall and collapses in a heap on her back.

I walk over and look down at her. Her eyes are glazed and I wonder if she is dead - I know she has a heart condition. I also made her sign a disclaimer in the event that she did die - I don't fancy prison. But she readily scrawled her near illegible signature to gratify her perverted appetites. Ha.

"You done?" I say.

I just about make out her lips form the word 'yes'.

"Want me to fuck you?"

"Y-yes... p-please."

I help her to her feet. She is unsteady on them and I guide her to the bed where I throw her on the mattress.

I strip off quickly and then mount her.

She is beginning to revive a little and responds to my thrusts.

I squeeze her nipples hard and she gasps. Her cunt is more pungent than before so I increase the rate of my thrusts.

Within a few seconds I reach the point of orgasm and as I do so does she shouting out, "I want to be whipped to DEATH in public... it's all I deserve... I'm worthless and an ugly slut..."

It's over.

I withdraw my sticky cock from her hairy and smelly vagina.

"Yeah, you are a slut. And ugly. And you do deserve to die."

I quickly put my clothes on and walk towards the door.

She is sobbing on the bed - the flogging and rough fucking have drained her - and one day it is likely that she'll die during it. But not this time.

"Same time next week?" she calls out.

"Yeah, probably..."


She is eighteen and I am twenty. I have led her to the top bedroom of my grandmother's house - the Georgian four bed-room property I live in along with my mother - because it is not necessary for anyone to hear what I am about about to do.

Claudia is half Italian but wholly pretty with large dark brown eyes, doll like features and full curly raven hair that cascades to the mid-point of her back.

I had ordered her to strip and now she is totally naked in front of me, and trembling slightly.

Her skin is deeply tanned apart from the intimate areas covered by the bikini. Her tits are large yet firm and the mound of her left breast is home to a rather beguiling mole. She is slim though full figured, her cunt dark and I suspect rather damp.

I make her turn her back to me, bend over and rest the top half of her naked body on the bed. I can sense her anxiety but I don't care if truth be known. And besides this is what she wants. Desires. Craves.

I pick up the wooden table tennis bat lying on the bedside table close by and settle it comfortably into my right hand.

I study her white buttocks contrasting with the bronzed flesh of her back and relish the just discernible quivering of her strong legs.

She turns her pretty head round momentarily and casts me a forlorn look before resignedly turning back and resting her face down on the bed.

I raise the bat high, pause, and then bring it down with full force onto her left buttock.

The loud whack echoes once off the walls of the room.

She straightens up immediately, calls me a sod and rubs her bottom then clambers submissively onto the mattress, rolls onto her back and assumes a spread eagle position.

I throw off my clothes and feverishly mount her. Her cunt is musky, wet and soft. I thrust strongly and roughly, climaxing within seconds, whilst replaying in my mind the moment of impact...

She cries out but I do not know, nor do I care, whether it is through pain or ecstasy.


I am inspecting her buttock, tenderly probing it - the flesh is red and purpling and the outline where the bat impacted so agonisingly just a few minutes previously is clearly begin to show.

"Am I marked?"

She attempts to twist round and view, unsuccessfully, the results of my handiwork for herself.

"Yes, probably be there for a week to ten days. Perhaps sore for a while too."

"Good, it will remind me of you. Thank you for punishing me so hard. I need it sometimes, need a very hard whack."

"I understand, and perhaps next time I will treat you to a taste of the slipper."

She swivels round to face me, still naked, throws her arms around my torso then kisses me passionately.

"I am yours, you know that don't you, totally yours."

"I know, I know," I respond softly whilst stroking her hair gently...


She is naked on the bed next to me. I have been scratching her lightly freckled bare back and smacking her lily white and firm buttocks - she relishes that - and now I have her left arm held firmly behind her head, her long, curly and chestnut hair flowing onto the pillows. My right hand moves to her groin whilst I bring my mouth close to her and begin to whisper in her ear...

"You are at the barbecue... the barbecue we are holding for our friends... but it is also just before a quarter to four... and the first Sunday of the month... and on the first Sunday of the month... every month... at four o'clock without fail... it is necessary for you to be caned... twelve extremely hard strokes of the cane."

She begins to groan and twist gently as I continue to rub her clit with the tips of my fingers whilst all the time gradually increasing the pressure...

"You see, it is necessary for you to be caned regularly to deepen your submission to me... to reinforce your desire to serve me... to please me... to assuage your guilt about your fear of failing to live up to my exacting standards of how a perfect wife should behave... and what you fear more than anything... more than the cruelty of the cane... is an empty existence devoid of purpose... of love..."

She distractedly murmurs 'yes' as she immerses herself further into the fantasy I am weaving for her...

"The time is now exactly a quarter to four and you place the glass of water you have been sipping down gently on one of the picnic tables and although you have been the perfect hostess all afternoon by ensuring that the guests have never been without food or a drink, you yourself have only drunk water since a late breakfast because it is not advisable to be beaten with a full stomach. You then pad gently across the lawn and into the lounge of the house through the open French doors wondering if anyone has noticed you do so. As you ascend the stairs to the large double bedroom and open the door your fear begins to rise. Now inside, you kick off your sandals bend down and tidy them away under the bed. You then remove the sleeveless white summer dress you have been wearing all day before unhooking your bra and slipping off your knickers... you are now as naked as the day you were born... and as vulnerable. You then sink down to your knees and clasping your hands together pray briefly to God, first thanking him that He has seen fit to allow you be punished for your shortcomings and then requesting the fortitude to bear the pain with stoicism. You glance up to the carriage clock upon the mantelpiece and see the time: seven minutes to four... it is time. You slip your dressing gown over your unclad and now visibly trembling pale body for you must be demure and modest for as long as possible. You then retrace your steps, squinting your eyes as a reflex to the bright sunlight, as you enter into the garden..."

She starts to gasp and I feel her muscles become taut...

"With your head lowered and your pace slow you make yourself to the caning bench... the caning bench that has been especially measured and constructed for you... only you... and halt just a couple of feet away. None of the guests are talking and you feel as though a million pairs of eyes are upon you. With your sight focussed on the green recently mown grass, your arms close to your side and your legs together you listen to me as I explain to all those gathered around what is about to happen..."

I am now rubbing her swollen, to the point of bursting, clit hard and fast - her cunt is so damp she is almost dripping...

" 'As all of you are aware I will shortly be caning my darling wife... and this is something that we do... have to do... once a month at four o'clock on the first Sunday of the month... and it is never postponed or cancelled. There is nobody here that is not aware of what we do and the reasons... values... underlying it... there are also some here, who are perhaps envious of the strength and happiness of our marriage, would like to emulate what we do. But before I continue I must ask anyone who does not want to witness severe corporal punishment to either go into the house for the duration... or go home. By your silence I assume you are all going to stay... good.' You then sense me move towards you, place my hands around your shoulders and quietly ask you to take off your dressing gown. Totally naked I guide you to the caning bench. I ask you to bend over it before fastening your outstretched arms securely with leather straps to the front part of the wooden frame. I then tighten another strap around your middle before securing your thighs and ankles. You are now effectively restrained into a kneeling attitude with only a pad for comfort to rest the lower part of your torso on with your breasts hanging loose. As you feel your ankles secured you notice the warm sun upon your back... you feel conspicuous... and incredibly scared... once again you pray... and then hear me address the dozen or so of friends and work colleagues for the final time... 'The time is now one minute to four o'clock... as you can all see I shall be using this cane which is a quarter of an inch thick... it is about two and a half feet in length... and quite whippy. I shall be employing full force in order to inflict maximum pain... which is the whole point of course. It is not inconceivable that her skin may break in places... and that the bruises take ten to fourteen days to heal... she will remember it... which is good. Okay... it is time now for the first stroke.' You steel yourself... there is a momentary 'whoosh' and then immediately a line of fire sears across your buttocks... you scream out and tug against your restraints... but to no avail. The burning begins to lessen and a mild breeze blows over your nude and exposed body for a few seconds fanning your flesh... another whoosh... a feeling that you are being cut by a sword... you scream..."

Her back arches and she cries out in ecstasy, her features freezing almost beatifically for a few seconds and then she relaxes, slumps down upon the mattress, before laughing...


You get off the bus. You walk down the road. You have just finished work. You are looking forward to having something to eat. You know that your husband will have cooked a meal for you. Chances are it will be something... bland. There are no surprises in life anymore.

You love him. No, you think you still love him but life with him has become predictable, tedious.

Deep down you have become resentful... angry. You punish him by restricting and denying him sex. It hurts you but it hurts him more. You have become spiteful.

He does not know why you punish him and you do not enlighten him - he must work it out for himself. If he can. If he so chooses.

You turn right into the close where you live. The close could be anywhere in the country, anywhere in the world. You recall with bitterness that he wanted to live here. He said it would handy for work. He said it would be close to town. He said it was modern and easy to maintain - a characterless bungalow in a characterless close...

A characterless husband.

A characterless existence.

The sky is overcast and you feel the first drops of rain on your face as you approach your home. You think of the evening ahead of you unfolding, no, enfolding - is that a word? Who cares? - of soaps, mundane chit-chat, surfing the net like flicking aimlessly through the pages of a vacuous glossy magazine, maybe a film and then...bed... naked together in bed... teasing him... so near and yet... so far... him erect... frustrated... clumsily pawing at you... you saying I'm not really in the mood... him sighing and turning over. Later, feeling his erection pushed between the crease of your buttocks... and the only thing that has given you the least bit of gratification since being home is denying him his gratification - sad.

You slot your key into the lock and see his figure move behind the frosted glass. He pulls open the door for you... like a... faithful dog welcoming home its master... you almost expect him to jump up and lick your face... your contempt for him shocks you... almost.

He leans forward to kiss you on the lips... he seeks, desires to French kiss you... but you turn away at the last instance and his kiss merely grazes your cheek...

"What's for dinner?"

"I thought maybe you'd like..."

You watch him about to flounder, and are annoyed that he has not bothered to even prepare a meal...



You remove your coat and hang it on the hook.

"Thought what... exactly... that I wouldn't be hungry after a hard day at work... hmmm?"

"I thought perhaps... I thought perhaps... because it has been a long time... that we could make love... and then go out for a curry after... be a treat... be something... different..."

"Get out of my way... I'll get something out of the freezer and cook it... myself!"

He remains in front of you... blocking you... so you go to move round him... and he extends his arm to the wall...

"I said... get out of my way."

"No... no, I won't... I want... sex... and I want it... now."

His un-characteristic directness momentarily takes you out of your stride. But you collect yourself.

"In your dreams, in your fucking dreams buster. And didn't I just say get out of my way."

There's a blur and a shock to the side of your face. You realise that he has slapped you across your left cheek. You taste something metallic upon your tongue - blood?

"What the-"

He slaps you again and you stumble against the wall. You feel strong, surprisingly strong, fingers grab round your right wrist and pull you into the hallway. You shoot your left arm out and grip hold of the door frame.

"Let go you fucking game playing bitch. I'm going to get what is mine. What I'm legally entitled to. I'm going to fuck you and you can't stop me!"

You feel fear, real fear, but also something else, something... primal.

"Get off... now or I'll call the fucking police!"

"Fucking call them!"

You try to kick him in the shins and as you do he twists you round and whips his arm from around your neck. You attempt to dig your heels into the carpet but it slips and ravels up. Half choking, screaming mutely and struggling he drags you slowly through the bedroom door. You feel his arm move round to your front and brace yourself for a grope of your breasts but instead he rips apart your short sleeved company shirt and you hear the buttons pop off and scatter in all directions.

He throws you down onto the bed before slapping your face without respite for what seems minutes but is in actual fact seconds and stunned you now allow him to remove the shreds of your shirt. He then unclips your bra and pulls it out roughly from under your back.

You can't believe that this is happening to... you.

Suddenly he is pulling your naked arms behind your head and something cold is being snapped around them. The bastard, the fucking bastard has handcuffed you to the headboard.

"I'm going to get you fucking jailed for this. Make the fucking most of it cos it will be the first and last time."

You hear him snigger. You listen to him grunt. And realise that he is beyond reason, beyond everything.

And so are you.

And so are you.

You look into his eyes, his animal eyes. You have never seen this before in him.

He glares back at you, through you. And then he pulls out his broad leather belt from his jeans. He makes certain you can see him do it and grins evilly.

"You've had this coming for a long time. A long time."

"No... please don't... I'll do anything... don't hurt me... I'll do anything."

"Too late... darling... too late."

You close your eyes and a scorching line of pain travels across your upper stomach and right breasts. You burn and bring your knees up. He lashes you again. And again.

You scream and cry.

Scream and cry.

The waves of pain blur as you are sucked into an ocean of agony as he thrashes your torso with his belt. Your tits and tummy feel as though the flesh is being torn off, flayed.

And then you notice that it is has ceased. There is a lull. You just discern that your trousers and knickers are being tugged off.

You hear yourself say meekly, "Would you mind stopping because I don't think I can really take much more. Please."

Now completely naked he rolls you roughly onto your stomach such that your secured arms cross over. Terrified you wait for the heavy leather belt to strike your uncovered and vulnerable buttocks. And it does. He does. Blow after agonising blow.

Blow after agonising blow.

You hate him. You hate him. You hate him.

And now the hate, the anger, the injustice, the pain begin to fade. Begin to become... nothing.

A feeling of freedom, a feeling of liberation begins to suffuse your being. You wonder if you are dying. A clarity, yes, a clarity, manifests itself, takes root in your soul... freedom is freedom from... freedom...

"Thank you... thank you my husband... my husband... fuck me like you have never before."

You let him penetrate you... yearn for him to rip your cunt apart with his lust... crave for him to spurt his spunk into you... and as you surrender to him a single tear runs down your swollen and hurting cheek, not a tear of sorrow, not a tear of hurt, but a tear of release, liberation, a tear of freedom... true freedom...


"Strip to the waist, it is time for your flogging," I command her.

I do not want to punish her rather would I be tender with her, protect her, but with a slut to be cruel is to be kind; it is, sadly, the only language they understand.

She lowers her blue eyes submissively then, without uttering a word, lifts herself up from the sofa. She is silent because she fears the pain and loathes the humiliation but she has no one to blame but herself - she chose to disobey me.

She unbuttons slowly her pin-striped shirt and I watch as strands of her long auburn hair fall around her face partially obscuring her pretty features. Her shirt unfastened she slips it off and places it neatly upon the back of the arm chair.

She is tall for a female, perhaps five feet six, and willowy.

She gazes at me forlornly for a second - it will not save her - as she casts off her black bra.

She is topless now, as is required for a whipping, and her delicious firm breasts exposed.

I stand up, move behind her and grasp the tops of her bare arms. "I am going to take you to the place where you will receive your punishment," I inform her gently but resolutely.

"Thank you," she responds in a hushed and resigned tone.

I guide her out of my flat into the chill landing. I know she hates it but she has no option other than to submit, and I order her to stand facing the wall with her arms at her sides.

I return to my flat and retrieve the flogger from my implement drawer. I then walk back slowly onto the landing. She knows that shortly, very shortly, she will be wracked with pain.

"You will press your chest and stomach hard against the wall and raise your arms above your head laying your palms flat also against the wall. You will stay in this position till I am done with you, unless you relish extra strokes?"

"I understand," she acknowledges meekly.

I observe her comply with my instructions and wince slightly as her bare flesh makes contact with cold white plaster.

I walk up behind her and place my hands, with flogger in my right hand, gently upon her hips. I put my mouth to her ear and whisper to her, "I do not want to do this but you force it upon me. Did I not say to you last weekend 'Do not smoke more than twenty cigarettes from Friday morn to Monday morn because I will lash you for each one over' and did you not defy me, how many was it my dear?"

"I smoked forty three, twenty three over. I am sorry, truly sorry."

"I am sorry too my love, but it will not save you," I whisper back detecting the trembling of her body now taut with fear.

I bring the whip round to the side of her face. "What tastes better? The taste of a cigarette? Or the taste of leather? Kiss it!"

She turns her head and kisses the tails of the whip. I take it away and move back. She is just seconds away from savouring the true taste of the whip.

I glance at her elegantly formed naked back, her pale unmarked flesh and her slim legs poured into her long black trousers and see her writhing in agony, her skin laced with ribbons of crimson.

I draw back my arm and with the flogger gripped firmly in my hand bring the first of twenty three lashes, delivered without mercy, down upon her bare back...


She phones me from her car - travelling home to an empty house with an empty heart.

"I-I don't want to go home."

"Come to mine, don't be alone."

I want to be kind to her, protect her...

Ryde Harbour. Ryde Harbour at night:

I talk of Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, Ayn Rand. She talks of the artists.

Her auburn hair blows gently across her elegant features in the chill November breeze - she is beautiful. And she is wanton.

I want to be kind to her, protect her...

The yachts rock gently against their moorings, the water rippling.

Beyond lies the old pavilion now a bowling alley and beyond that the town rising gradually up on the easy slopes.

She kisses me catching me unawares. And I in turn catch her hand.

I see the yachts tugging gently against their moorings. I see the dark water rippling in the sodium lights. I see it all, the town and everything as on canvas, but not as an artist would have it, frozen in time but rather as alive and dynamic painted in moving colours upon the canvas of oblivion.

I look at her. Tall and willowy. Her blue eyes are plaintive.

I press my mouth softly against hers.

I want to be kind to her, protect her...



She says nothing, merely obeys.

I want to be kind to her, protect her...

I grasp her fine breasts and maul her roughly.

I pinch her nipples.

"Come with me."

I want to be kind to her, protect her...


  She is naked face down on the bed.

She had told me - defied me - that she would not cry.

She did not say that she would not surrender.

I wanted to be kind to her, protect her, protect her from myself but that was never to be. The cane is in my hand, power. Absolute power.

Her pale legs are long and her back is liberally spotted with moles - a myriad of beguiling islands upon an exquisite ivory sea.

I raise the cane and bring it down like the first drop of rain in a summer shower lightly upon the twin peaches of her cheeks. She says nothing and hardly stirs.

Again I guide it down, harder.

The drops become a shower.

She begins to twist and gasp. And the shower becomes a storm.

She writhes and squeals but does not sob and her beautiful white buttocks are now a palette of crimson.

I cane her hard, very hard and with cruel intent once more.

She pulls her long legs up to her quivering body and pushes herself up onto her elbows - the pain is over.

She throws herself at my body in her moment of surrender.

I can be kind now.

I take her fine head in my arms and stroke her long hair. She is mine now.

I comfort her and then lower her to the mattress.

Her blue eyes are sad.

On her back now I make her grip the supports of the frame such that her sexy arms are stretched out.

I pull her legs apart and force my head betwixt her thighs. She is shaved.

I thrust my fingers into her cunt and suck and lick her clit. I squeeze her tits roughly.

I pump her slowly at first then gradually faster - I keep my tongue in time.

Steadily I increase the pace.

I feel the sudden contractions of her cunt grip my fingers. I merely thrust more strongly.

She cries out as though in pain - cries out my name.

I do not stop. I cannot stop.

Time after time she comes. Time after time she screams.

She is a wanton woman and I am addicted to her. Utterly and absolutely...


Her eyes, like twin emerald hued laser beams, had bored into me. Mesmerised me.

It had been oppressively hot and my eyes were sore from the smoke. There were far too many people and the music was screwed up way too loud. And if it hadn't been for the chance of pulling a bird I wouldn't have been there. Bogart's Discotheque.

She had been leaning provocatively, with a self-assurance that was almost intimidating, against a pillar and supping casually from a glass. Slim and 'dressed to kill' in a skimpy black number.

I'd fancied myself a bit of a 'wolf' back then so I'd meandered over, and for my own self-assurance I'd checked my reflection briefly in the mirrored surface of the walls: neat, well-groomed auburn hair, large brown eyes, strong features and a tallish athletic frame. I was also well presented, groomed, in an expensive patterned Midnight-Blue shirt with pressed, well fitting, tight around my arse, black trousers and shiny polished black shoes. Clothes define a person. Define me. I could still just discern the Zendiq aftershave I had slapped on my cheeks prior to leaving the house. I'd looked good, smelt good and had felt good. Very good.

I'd closed in on her. Cut off her retreat. Predator and prey.

Full and wavy raven locks had cascaded onto the exquisite exposed ivory flesh of her shoulders and had framed her oval face which was pale yet healthy and gifted with high cheekbones. A small, straight and cute nose had sat atop a mouth that was wide and expansive with glossed lips.

"Like what you see?" she had said, with a lilting Irish accent.

Naturally, I had expected to speak first and had almost been taken out of my stride.

"Yes, I do rather. And what I hear-"

The rich green hue of her eyes, the dark depths of her large pupils, had drawn me in like the dangerous swirling waters of a whirlpool.

"My name is Matt, Matt Triewly."

I'd suddenly felt awkward. Gauche.

She'd smiled, reassuringly and had replied, "I'm Maria," she had then paused significantly, mysteriously and not a little teasingly before adding: "It is all that you are required to know."

I'd understood, I'd thought.

We'd talked and she had reminisced, longingly, of Eire. Its landscapes, the people, the music, the myths, and the rich literature. Her family and growing up; I had explained my work in a laboratory, my career aspirations. Shared happy memories from my childhood. Funny stories.

As the evening had drawn on, I had warmed to her as a person. I liked her. I could have loved her. And then we were on the dance floor. The lights dimmed. Slowly rotating to Three Times a Lady and her slender bare arms wrapped tight around my torso. Me erect. And then I'd kissed her sweet lips and had slipped my tongue in her mouth... but she had gently pulled away and for an instant I had feared rejection before whispering in my ear, "Let's go," just as the music had begun to fade out.

I had caught the eye of one of my friends at the peripheral of the dance floor. He had read the situation and knew I wouldn't be requiring a lift back. We had then passed out of the club's entrance into the comparative chill of the night.

"You came here alone?" I had been curious.

"I have a few I chat with here, but yes," she had partially answered.

There had been a pause in the conversation and I had listened to the waves breaking softly on the beach; the club was but a road away from the shore. The air had been still and the swell of the sea, gentle and rhythmic.

She had walked a little ahead of me - maybe she hadn't wanted to draw too much attention to us. She had moved with poise and I had wondered if she exercised, perhaps played tennis or swam.

We reached her car, a racing green Mini 1275 GT, and in a reversal of gender chivalry she'd unlocked the passenger door for me. A strong aroma of rose petal had greeted me from the air freshener dangling from the interior mirror. I'd squeezed myself into the black-leather bucket seats and had drawn the inertia reel seatbelt across my chest before fastening it. She then started the engine and sped quickly out of the car park and onto the main road.

She had driven nippily and I had admired the fluid movements of her limbs as she had shifted gear and handled the sporty steering wheel. I had hoped she wouldn't attract the attention of the law as she was, I had suspected, rather over the limit. We'd travelled fast out of the small seaside town and into the country with the hedgerows and trees eerily illuminated by the cold lunar light.

After a while we'd turned into a new looking road that led shortly to the prestigious 'Garden Village'; a recent development. I doubted that the four or so miles had taken any longer than seven or eight minutes. Maria had swung the Mini onto a drive and had stopped a few feet short of a double garage. She'd killed the engine and then slipped out of the vehicle.

The residence had been large, detached, and like all the surrounding properties, new and in the style, I believe, Neo-Georgian. Everything about it said, money; and 'fuck you'.

Only the distant hoot of an owl had disturbed the peace as Maria had slipped the key silently into the lock. The door had opened into a sumptuous lobby and she had directed me through to the lounge.

"Would you be liking a coffee... first?" she had smiled wickedly.

I had merely stood there gaping at the opulence: oil paintings spotlighted by brass wall lamps; expensive furnishings; curtains with gold braided pull cords. It was casual wealth taken by granted by the occupants. Or maybe that was the image they sought to project.

"Two sugars and cream, please." I had followed her into the kitchen.

I then noticed a silver photo frame lying face down on a window ledge. I had sneakily picked it up. It was a snap of a bald, ruddy-faced businessman with heavy jowls at a 'bash' of some kind. I now knew why I was here.

Her back had been to me as she had prepared the filter coffee. I'd stolen up behind her and had lightly kissed the side of her delicious neck. She had immediately swivelled round and had said, "I'm going to give you what you so desire... me," she drew breath, "but before anything you will have to attend to wayward Maria."

We had moved into the lounge and I'd sat gingerly in an armchair being extra careful not to spill coffee onto the plush cardinal-red velvet covers. She was on a sofa - her toned legs folded under her. We had supped at our drinks and excitement had coursed through my every nerve. This was what life was all about.

"There's no need to worry. He is in Dubai and won't be returning for a month. Don't you think I'm rather naughty for bringing a man back," she'd sucked in air, "and do you not think I deserve to be punished?"

How could I resist?

We had finished our drinks and she had asked me to follow her. We had then entered the master bedroom which unsurprisingly was as ostentatious as the rest of the house.

In front of me, Maria had stopped and then to my utter amazement pulled her dress over her head in one motion with her lustrous dark locks falling back into place onto her bare shoulders as though in slow motion. She was now standing in front of me naked and absolutely shameless.

"What you are going to do now Matt is to strip off yourself and then you are going to beat me first with a plimsoll and then cane me hard on my buttocks. After you have spanked me with the plimsoll you are going to attach clamps to my nipples. When I'm ready - I'll tell you - you can fuck me from behind. There's no need to concern yourself with pleasuring me as I'll come anyway. Have you got that?"

"Yes," I had replied, and had thought that this was one uncomplicated woman who knew exactly what she wanted in life.

"Not get your clothes off, Matt, and try not to ejaculate before you fuck me. I like cocks hard. Really hard."

As Maria had padded over to the corner of the spacious room I had swiftly taken all my clothes off. She had then lifted the lid of what looked to be an antique Ottoman chest and had taken out a small white plimsoll, a school cane and some shiny steel nipple clamps. She picked up the gym shoe walked over to me and plonked it into my sweaty hand. "I want you to smack me with it as hard as you can. Leave about twenty seconds between strokes so that I can savour the pain fully. Don't worry about anyone hearing; the house is well insulated and detached." She then walked over to a similarly ornate chair, bent over and placed the palms of her hands on the seat. I then positioned myself parallel to her and savoured her undraped form which was pale, lithe and taut. Her cunt was shaved smooth and enticingly thrust out. I had hesitated for a second but then thought, 'What the hell' and had brought the plimsoll hard and swiftly down on to her bare left buttock. There was a loud 'thwack' yet she didn't flinch. But straightaway, there was a reddening imprint of the sole upon her flesh. She had thrust out her posterior even further as she relished the impact of the second blow, which I delivered with even greater force. She had gasped and already, her left buttock was beginning to purple. I then switched to the right and gave her two satisfyingly hard swats in succession - she had trembled but I had given her another three hard double-whacks on each cheek ignoring her instructions to leave time between swats. Each blow had caused her to sway forward before she had returned to the punishment position and her previously white skin was now raw. I administered another dozen or so before she said breathlessly, "Cane me now... and don't forget the clamps."

She'd straightened up and turned to me, her pretty face flushed, and had kissed me.

"You're doing a good job, Matt."

She then stared at me plaintively with her beautiful green eyes for a second as I placed the plimsoll back on the chest. I then picked up the steel toothed clamps and as I did she thrust her large firm breasts towards me, her nipples dark and engorged. To each nipple in turn I watched as they bit deeply into the dark sensitive flesh causing her to wince. She then embraced the discomfort with fortitude - she knew what was to come - before swivelling round and assuming the punishment position once again. I remember 'weighing' the curve handled cane in my right hand and again studying the almost sculpted form of her nude body. I noticed the tiny little dark hairs on her toned arms and the cute little mole on the small of her back.

Without any further delay I had swung the cane down in an arc with a whoosh and then a 'crack' as it struck her skin. "Uh," she had uttered. A ruddy ridge had appeared instantly, and my god it must have stung.

I then gave her another, slightly harder I felt and I'd watched with twisted satisfaction as her fingers had clutched at the fabric of the chair. Yet she had suffered in silence.

She shuffled position slightly in anticipation of the third stroke. Her tight bum was scarlet and purple but now with two deeper purple stripes overlaid.

I had then raised and brought down the cane another fifteen times upon her buttocks.

I had observed her body shudder with the agony, her clamped breasts sway under her and her labia was pink and swollen with her juices.

I kind of felt sorry for her but it was what she craved and lived for. She was a masochist, a pain slut who pitted pain against pleasure before the final triumph of ecstasy.

After another six she was shaking and wretched and broken and I feared for her.

"Fuck me now, do it hard, do it fast. Take me, whilst it still hurts!" she suddenly cried out. And I did. I was as hard as I had ever been in my life before. Still bent over the chair I had easily penetrated her from behind. Immediately, her internal muscles had seemed to powerfully grip and caress my shaft. She had moaned but this time in anticipation of pleasure. I had felt the spasmodic contractions as she had attained orgasm and screamed out almost simultaneously as my cock had exploded shooting my hot spunk into her cunt, my fingers reflexively tightening around the naked firm flesh of her upper arms. Her body then went limp and she nearly fell onto the chair taking me with her. She then turned and faced me, her face red and sweating and her eyes watering before kissing me sweetly on the lips.

"Thanks," she said, was all she said. And I understood.

I had dressed, without a word, still dazed and had then headed for the door - she had made no move to stop me.

Before I placed my hand on the brass door handle I had turned and blown her a kiss before exiting. But it felt cheap. Ungracious. Corny.

I then let myself out into the moonlight night and walked the eight miles home. It took just over two hours.

About six months later I thought I saw her in the high street. I'm not certain she recognised me; or would have wanted to have recognised me. She appeared older, about mid-thirties. She was still beautiful, still had style, but she didn't look happy. There was a poignancy about her. About me. About life. I will never forget her though.


About eight or nine years ago Moody and I were on the beach. It was a fairly secluded spot - we were the only ones there - and the time was about half five on a sunny August day. I was ready to go home but Moody had fancied a swim first - she'd wanted to make the most of what was left of the weekend.

"I'll nip off now and start preparing tea, by the time you get back it'll be on the table," I'd suggested.

"That's fine," she had responded.

She'd then stood up and slipped off her shorts - she was already topless - and I'd studied her superb naked body as she'd waded out into the surf.

The beach had gently shelved so she would have had a few hundred yards or so before it became deep enough to swim.

I have to tell you that Moody was sometimes exhilarated by the prospect of exposing herself in public, or rather the risk of being caught nude out in the open.

We had shagged the year previous under the Worsley Monument on an Autumn Sunday afternoon and it had been extremely exciting as we could have easily been caught totally naked by hikers - she had been absolutely soaking and I had been rock hard too. Happy memories.

Sorry, I've gone off on a tangent.

Anyway, as I gathered up our belongings and intending to leave behind for her just her towel, shorts and vest an evil thought entered my mind, an evil thought I just couldn't resist.

I picked up... everything so that there would be no clothes, or towels even, for her to cover herself up. It was mean. It was fucking mean.

Just before I'd turned to leave the beach I'd glimpsed her swimming strongly in the turquoise water - and oblivious to her fate.

I'd then started to laugh - it was hard to stop.

I then trudged up the sandy slipway and headed home.

We didn't actually live that far from the shore, about a third of a mile and only a ten or so minute walk; but that day I daresay it would have seemed just a little longer for Moody than normal...


About forty minutes later I was home having put the joint in the oven and also tidied away the gear from the beach.

I'd been reclining on the sofa in the lounge skimming through Men are from Mars; Women from Venus when a shadow had hurried along the window. The front door had then been angrily drummed.

"Fucking let me in, you... bastard."

I had let her in, totally naked with her long chestnut hair still matted by the salt water - and she had appeared a tad upset.

She'd immediately slapped my cheek hard with her right hand before beating her fists against my chest repeatedly, all the time mouthing obscenities. "You fucking, fucking nasty bastard, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"

"Calm down, dear, you're not at work now!"

This was a sarcastic reference to her having successfully recently completed an Anger Management module as part of her training.

I had then grabbed her wrists at this point but it didn't prevent her from attempting to kick then knee me in the nuts.

Then she tried to head butt me.

"You have totally fucking humiliated me!" she had sniffed.

At this point I'd visualized her running naked, in that ungainly fashion that women do, through the pleasant residential thoroughfares with one arm across her breasts, the other protecting her modesty, whilst all the time sobbing.

I'd also wondered, in addition, if her boss had seen her, since he lived on the route - what a satisfying prospect that would have been!

"Our relationship is... over. I want the bungalow on the market... tomorrow."

At the time I had thought that that would be sad since the relationship had suddenly started to get... interesting.

"Let go of... me," she had said a split second before spitting in my face.

Now that had been a red rag to a bull and I'd flipped - enough was a fucking enough!

I then twisted her bare left arm up behind her back to which she had squealed with the pain. I then roughly manhandled her such that she ended up across my lap on the sofa and then proceeded to spank her on each buttock hard synchronizing each smack with a word:

"Your," <smack>, "problem," <smack>, "is," <smack>, "that," <smack>, "OW, that *really* hurts!" "you," <smack>, "can't," <smack>, "OW! OW!" "take," <smack>, "a," <smack>, "fucking," <smack> "OOO!" "joke!"

I gave her an extra hard smack for the last word.

"Let go of me or I'm going to call the fucking... police!"

I then parodied every word of what she had just said, accompanied each with a smack.

She had screamed really loud and struggled but I had managed to hold her down - and thanked God that the double glazing was soundproofed.

I had then espied the hairbrush just out of reach on the coffee table - she had left it there before we had gone out - and she was very shortly going to rue not tidying it up.

"What are you doing now?" she had exclaimed.

With great difficulty - Moody had nearly broke free - I'd managed to stretch across and grab the brush.

"I'm going to teach you a lesson you won't forget!"

I'd meant it too - nobody, and I mean nobody, spits in my face!

"You'll be taught a lesson in... court," she had retorted with spirit.

I hadn't of cared I'd been so mad.

I then beat her hard with the wood of the brush, once again across each very red buttock.

"Please, please stop."

But I'd merely thrashed her harder and had added, "I've had enough of your selfish manipulation, your little mind games, your contrived moods to get your own way. Report me to the police and have me prosecuted - I really don't give... a fuck."

After about twenty swats I'd become aware of a change in her - she'd ceased hollering and the crying had reduced to a gentle sniffing. Her unclad body had become 'pliant' too.

I then felt compelled to loosen my hold of her.

She'd then twisted with some effort her flushed, perspiring and good looking face round and her large baby blue eyes had clamoured for release, surrender.

She then spoke softly and contritely. "I'm truly sorry. Take me and use me as a sexual object as I deserve nothing less."

At this point I became aware of the dampness on my thighs - and it wasn't seawater.

I then propped her up.

"Get in the bedroom. I'm going to fuck you - hard."

She'd rubbed her badly bruised buttocks and then meekly padded in the direction of the master bedroom, which was kind of aptly named!

A few moments later I'd followed her into the room to be met with the sight of her lying naked and spread-eagle on her back. Her thick and lustrous hair had spread out from around her head still appearing moist from the Solent.

She'd made no effort to resist, none at all, as I'd affixed first her arms to the head rest and then her legs to the footings of the King Size bed with cord.

She'd merely let out a sigh as I'd penetrated her damp cunt.

I'd then thrust hard with my erect penis, the base of my shaft pushing close against her swollen clit - I'd hadn't of cared a bit whether she'd come. But within a minute I felt her strong internal muscles begin to spasm and seconds later she was crying out and gasping.

I had continued to thrust.

Again she had gasped.

I then shafted her with even greater frequency and force.

And for a third time, she had orgasmed.

Seconds later, I had blissfully felt my hot spunk shoot out and instantly satiated, I had rolled off her and to the side...


Later, I had realised that something had changed between us, but it was subtle and our relationship was not the same. I had speculated that it was because we could never top that one violent explosion of passion?

I don't know - we had split about eighteen months later.

Nevertheless, I remember that evening when we had settled in front of the television I had picked up Men are from Mars; Women from Venus and in front of Moody had thrown it in the bin.

"Guess we don't need that anymore?" I had said.

"Guess not," she had replied casually...


"I absolutely despise you, you know that don't you?"

She lowers her head in shame and replies, just audibly, "Yes."

"You've let yourself go over the years, you used to be pretty, very pretty, and slim. Now look at you."

Standing before me next to the bed, in the hotel room, is Claudia and she is naked. She wants me to fuck her more than I want to fuck her and because there is no such thing as a free lunch in this world she is going to have to pay with a beating - maybe blood too.

"I'm sorry, I attempted to lose some weight for you, and I really did-"

"You didn't try very hard did you, hmmm? Okay, I want you to stay absolutely still whilst I examine you."

I move closely and lower myself a little so that I can scrutinise her from toe to head.

"Your toes are chubby but kind of cute - I approve of your choice of nail varnish, vivid red," she barely restrains a smile, "as befits a slut, which you are and *know* you are."

I cup my hands round her calves and run them up to her groin.

"Your calves and thighs are far too fat, you need to do some exercise. In fact your legs remind me of piano legs, maybe you could donate them to a piano mender when you die, probably be the first truly useful thing you've done in your life, which can't be that long either in your unhealthy state."

I glance up at her face for a moment which has reddened as a result of my cruel jibes - good.

Carefully balanced on folded knees I now thrust my face about six inches away from her cunt.

"It's lucky for you that you shaved as I'd be walking out the door if you hadn't, not a bad job, though I can still make out some bristles you missed-"

"I'm sorry for that."

"When was the last time you had an orgasm, and it had better not have been with your pig of a husband?"

"A week ago. I was thinking of you."

"Correct answer - you're learning."

Her cunt is soaking and I can almost see her juices bubbling - it's an effect I have on all my women, my growing list of women.

"Your tummy is too big, you're getting a pot, you'd better start doing sit ups."

I can sense her hanging on intently to my every critical word.

I grab hold roughly of her breasts, taking her by surprise and she gasps. I am not the gentle type.

"Your tits are still a good size even though they're a bit flabby, and sun bronzed too - nice."

I cup my mouth around her left nipple and bite it.


"Your pain threshold is a bit low, and I shall be attending to that shortly."

For the first time in the evening her expression betrays fear - I am evil, truly evil and revelling in that evil.

I place the index finger of my right hand beneath her chin.

"Look up straight."

I study her features: round face, olive brown eyes, a short turned up nose, full lips. She was indeed pretty when she was young, kind of like a porcelain doll but her chin is fleshy now and her hair once long, curly and raven is shorter, dyed blond and curled, almost like a 'bubble perm'. She is middle aged and fucking looks it too.

I glance down at her arms which are flabby from the elbow up: they are tanned deeply, she is half Italian, as is the rest of her flesh.

"I don't know whether I want to fuck you or not, you've really gone to seed, you were beautiful all those years ago, and now you're shit, just a slab of meat yet, I loved you once..."

"I love you, Ima, I never stopped loving you. Do you still love me?"

I slap her hard across her left cheek with my right hand, the sound resounding around the cheap hotel room.

I curse myself for my admission of weakness.

"No. I stopped loving you years ago. I only agreed to this so that I could use you, abuse you, and you, you contemptible female still pine for me, still entertain hopes that I will take you away from your useless, fat cunt of a husband. I hate you, all I want to do is hurt you then fuck you, and then I'll forget you."

A tear rolls down her cheek, the truth hurts, but she is addicted to me, addicted to a fantasy of us together.

"Get on the bed you slut and kneel on all fours."

She obeys.

"I'm going to beat you very hard now. You will take every stroke and when I am done I will fuck you."

I take out the leather studded paddle from my holdall - she is clearly trembling.

I line myself parallel with her so that the swats will impact with maximum force. Her legs are slightly apart and the slit of her cunt clearly visible between the backs of her fat thighs.

I bring my right arm as far back as I can then drive it down upon her left buttock with a loud 'whack'. She cries out and for a second looks as though she will roll over on her side - but she doesn't. A red mark about the size of a hand has appeared already.

"Turn round and face the end of the bed."

She shuffles round keeping her head down.

This time I use my left hand to bring the paddle down onto her right buttock - it's not as hard but she arches her back with the agony and cries out again.

"Get back in position. Do not piss me off by moving."

I discern her sniffling and think: pathetic bitch.

Again I swipe her right buttock hard with my left arm - I'm trying to break the skin but to no avail - and she takes it well, for a 'pathetic bitch'.

"Okay, the last two strokes were soft. Turn back round again facing the wall."

Predictably she complies with my request - the things a slut will do to get a shag, I think then chuckle out loud.

Back in her original punishment attitude I congratulate myself on my 'work' so far - both buttocks are extremely red and appear 'grazed'.

For the fourth stroke I take a couple of paces back then launch the blow such that the force from my arm is added to the momentum of my sixteen stone frame - the whack is louder than before. Curiously she does not yell out, the shock must be too great, though she continues to sob.

I decide to administer the fifth stroke exactly as the fourth one and this time she screams and falls sideways onto the mattress clutching her backside.

"Get back into position - NOW!"

Whimpering she reluctantly assumes the punishment position and I can see why she reacted so - little beads of blood have manifested themselves on her abrasions and I am fully erect too.

This time I smash her right arse cheek with my right hand - I can't get the leverage but it still smarts, really smarts.

I feel now that I have 'broken' her. One more for luck, as they say.

She is crying now like a baby - she doesn't care. I want to tell her that pain, extreme pain is a kind of liberation - it frees you from the charade of everyday life because you can be you, really you, when you are in agony but the fact of the matter is that she is too thick too understand that.

I bend down and whisper in her ear, "One more bitch, just one more bitch, and then I'll fuck you hard. You'll like that won't you?"

"Yes, yes, I love you."

She doesn't see me smile sadistically nor does she see the last swat which I administer so hard that I almost spin round on my feet.

She pitches face forward onto the sheets writhing around clutching her left buttock which is thinly smeared with blood.

"Right, your beating is now over. I want you in the doggie position with your legs apart."

I drop my trousers before joining her on the bed. I don't bother with a condom as I am certain neither of us have infections. If she gets pregnant then that is her problem. 'New Age' man I am not.

As I shift around on the bed the springs creak ominously.

"Don't reckon these beds are constructed for porkers like you, Claudia, " I tell her as I guide my cock into her accommodating and damp cunt.

I start to thrust and as I do she starts to groan and this is the moment she has been waiting for all those years, mind you, moment is the right word because I shan't be holding back - once I've come, I'll be going.

After about twenty powerful thrusts I climax - she too gasps, and we both fall down onto the bed with me on top of her.

"Ima, that was wonderful. I love you so much."

"Well, it was good but I don't love you Claudia. Never will."

I wonder if she did have an orgasm after all - I can't say I'm bothered one way or the other.

She wraps her saggy arms around me before kissing me on the lips and saying, "I wish it could be like this all the time."

"Yeah, well it can't as I'm happily married with a loving, faithful wife who isn't an embarrassment like you."

"I'm going to have a shower now, Ima. We can have a cuddle and watch TV for a bit after."

For fuck's sake, I think.

I watch her lift herself off the bed and then walk over to the cubicle. Within seconds I hear the water running. I quickly dress and then stuff all her clothes into my holdall. I then walk over to the shower cubicle where she is soaping herself all over - I can't help but stare at her bruises.

"I'm just going to nip down to reception and order us a couple of bottles of wine. Won't be long."

"Thanks darling."

I inwardly cringe at her use of 'darling' because that is the one thing I am not, as she is about to find out.

I survey the room for one last time, doubly checking I have left nothing of mine behind then exit out onto the landing before making my way down to the lobby, past the unmanned reception desk and out through the glass fronted doors into the car park.

The evening is cool, fresh - I feel good. It's about nine and despite the glow from the town lights I can see the stars - it's good to be alive.

About fifteen feet away from my car I press the button on my car key to release the locks.

I settle into my seat, take the paddle out of the holdall, the holdall with all of Claudia's clothes in, and then place it beside my car on the gravel surface of the hotel car park. I pull my seat-belt across me and then start the engine. Reaching into the breast pocket of my suit I bring out my mobile phone. I compose a message 'Your clothes are in a blue holdall at the far end of the hotel car park :-D' and send it to Claudia's mobile. I wait for the phone to say 'message sent' before turning it off.

I imagine the look on the stupid bitch's face when she realises that not only have I gone but that she's got to walk out naked or with just a towel wrapped around her obese little body to get her clothes back. Not only that, she's going to have to pick up the tab for spending the night in the hotel alone - probably in tears.

As I pull out onto the main road I find I have difficulty steering the car where I can't stop laughing. I admonish myself to be more serious - I don't want to have an accident.

I look at my watch - ten past nine. Good, I reckon I'll just about pick up the last ferry back to the Island. It'll be nice to see the Missus...


She's a minger and she knows it: forty with a wonky eye, overweight and with an abundance of moles on her arms - and a large one on her stomach. Her personal hygiene leaves a little to be desired too - but, she has big tits and nipples though.

She absolutely adores me...

The thing is I just don't give a damn about her: she is just a sexual object to me like the majority of my women, and I have had loads, fucking loads.

On the plus side, she is a tad kinky - it's the only thing the ugly bitch has going for her.

It's Wednesday and my day off - I know she is at home waiting for me to call, desperately waiting for me to call. I'm too good for her and we both know it. After a while I will tire of her and dump her - it will break her heart but what do I care, shit happens, live with it bitch. Still, I will have a bit of fun with her today.

I pick up the phone and dial her number. She answers meekly and all excited. I can't stand all this sweetness and light, it sickens me so I get to the point. "Strip naked and walk round to mine, just wearing your cheap fake fur coat and boots - you've got fifteen minutes so don't fuck around!"


The door buzzer sounds in my hallway. I check my watch: fourteen minutes - not bad, but then she knows not to displease me.

I pick up the intercom phone.

"It's me!" she proclaims in an irritatingly gleeful tone.

"Yeah, surprise, surprise. Right, you are going to do exactly as I say, understand? - or it's all over between us!"

There's never anything to be gained for a man like me, or any man if truth be known, in being soft with a slut, and if ever there was such a creature as an über slut then she was it!

"When I release the outer door you are going to enter the hallway and remove your coat and boots. You will be completely naked. You will place your clothes in the utility cupboard out of sight."

I can just make out a faint 'yes' - the prospect of being single terrified her and besides if she did get another man she would never get a fellow as good as me, not in a million years.

"You will crawl up to my flat and beg to be let in!"

I visualise the two long flights of stairs and the four doors - any of which could be opened at any time - she will have to crawl past. If that happens then I'll just deny I ever knew her.

I release the catch to the communal door on the ground floor...


I reckon she's just started on the last flight - I can just make out the satisfying sound of naked knees and elbows scuffing on the worn stair carpet.

I smiled a wicked smile and then discern a gentle knocking on my flat door - I am in no rush to open it.

"Please let me in." she requests plaintively.

I think of her flabby nude body with all its blemishes waiting outside and wonder if she is aware that the occupants of the house next door can peer, if they choose, into the landing outside my flat - I cannot help but smile again.

I allow three minutes to pass.

"I beg you to let me in!"

She's getting distressed - how sweet.

I allow another sixty seconds to pass then slowly open my door.

"About time, you bitch, what kept you?" I may be a cunt, some say, but I do possess a sense of humour.

I get the impression she is rather pleased to see me.

"Get to my room - I'm going to fuck you, it's all you are good for!"

She pads off meekly along my hall. I strip, throwing my clothes upon the sofa in my lounge and stroll to my bedroom.

She is standing by the bed - awaiting me. I turn her round roughly and without warning viciously rake the top of her expansive back with my nails. She winces and shudders with the pain but she has to take it till I have had enough, not her, the slut.

Her nipples are engorged and the odour from her moist fanny hangs heavy in the air. I notice tiny little droplets of blood have begun to form along the cruel scratches I have inflicted - it is time.

I throw her down roughly onto the mattress and thrust my seven inch cock into her cunt. I make her rub and suck my nipples - she exists purely, like all women should, for my gratification.

It feels fucking good and our rhythm is synchronised. We reach the crescendo of our coupling and climax simultaneously - it is a unique attribute she has, and she is fortunate to possess it as I do not concern myself with a slut's pleasure.


She is lying next to me now all relaxed and clingy, radiating ugliness.

"Ima, what would you have done if someone had opened their door just as I was crawling past all naked?"

"I would have disowned you, and laughed when you were arrested and bundled into the police van. But it wasn't very likely to happen as two of the flats are holiday homes and the other two occupants were at work - unless they happened to have been ill or taking a day off."

"You're a bastard you know that, a kinky and exciting bastard I admit."

"I know," I say matter-of-factly. And shortly I will confirm that for her when I dump her.

I grab hold of her and give her repulsive body a cuddle then kiss her - I want her to feel that she is special to me for now as it will make her hurt just that little bit more when the time comes to callously discard her...


I'm just on the way round to see the Minger; and it'll be for the last time because once I've shagged her gross little body I'm going to dump her. Naturally she doesn't know that. In fact I've really been quite nice to her recently, well nice by my standards, built up her hopes that we will be 'an item', perhaps get married one day.

Me married? That's a fucking laugh, show me a 'happily' married man and I'll show you a fucking loser and I'll tell you why he's a fucking loser - it's because he's a liar, a liar mainly to himself. The marriage thing probably starts out alright but after a bit - my mate reckons about six weeks - it's all downhill. After a few years the geezer isn't getting any sex and when he does he's thinking of some other tasty bird who hasn't piled on the pounds like his missus or he's fantasising about kinky sex which either he's too embarrassed to ask his missus to indulge in or if he does she tells him to piss off. Of course by that time it's too late, he's mortgaged up to the hilt with a couple of spoilt brats and stuck in a dead end job, which he calls a career, working long hours. Of course he can't afford to divorce the fat and extravagant bitch as he'll end up kicked out of his own house living in a seedy bed-sit handing over eighty per cent of his hard earned cash to her and the CSA.

So what does he do?

He lies. He lies to others and he lies to himself. He tells everybody he loves her that the well-being and happiness of the family are well worth the sacrifice when all he's thinking about is spanking his twenty year old secretary and what he'd do if he won the lottery. Loser, fucking loser.

Of course I saw through all that shit from a young age, and it's kind of funny because I'm not book smart or anything, I haven't got any degrees or fancy diplomas, but I'll tell you what I have got that a fucker like him hasn't got - I see what women are really like: money grabbing and demanding, lying bitches, and only good for shagging. And I've got the charisma, charm and confidence to pull them too. Underneath all the middle class pretension, weak twats like him admire real men like me, and whenever I get the chance I rub their turned up noses in it - by shagging their wives!

And I'll tell you something else too: the only woman who truly loves you, unless her name is Rosemary West, is your mother and the only woman who you really know where you stand with is a prostitute. Don't say I haven't warned you.

So, what I do is shag women, sluts mostly if the truth be known, and when I get bored with them I dump them. Works for me...

"Here you are mate!" the taxi driver tells me as we pull up outside the Minger's shabby little house in Ingram Street.

"I won't be a mo, I'll just get the cash, hang on a sec," I say, as I step onto the pavement and walk along the smelly alley to her front door.

I let myself in, it stinks of dog shit and I feel a little sick. And there she is, all smiling sweetly.

"Hi Matt. I've missed you, I've got a present for you..." she oozes all lovingly.

I feel doubly nauseated now.

"Gee... thanks. Have you got the tenner for the taxi, he hasn't got all day. And didn't I tell you to be waiting naked for me?"

"Oh yes..." she picks up the ten pound note off the dining room table and hands it to me.

I nip back outside and hand the cab driver the tenner through his wound down window.

"Four quid please, mate."

"Just give me a fiver back." I like to look generous.

He fumbles around in a cloth cash bag before producing a screwed up fiver which he presses into my hand. I then stuff the note into my trouser pocket and walk back in.

She's topless now, with her big pale tits drooping down, and got what looks like to be a reddish box in her hand.

She approaches me. "It's for you Matt. It's Chinese and you can keep all your valuable little coins in. I spent ages looking for it."

She hands it to me gingerly and I look at it. It is quite nice: hexagonal, carved out of rosewood, varnished and a charming little oriental scene of a fisherman by a lake carved into the top - probably quite expensive.

"Thanks. I thought you were heavily in debt, despite all those benefits you were claiming. 'ere have you put some more weight on since the last time I saw you, you look like you've porked out even more!"

I place the box down on the table. She looks a bit uncomfortable - she knows I hate fatties.

Suddenly I become irritated with her. I grab hold of her lank and unkempt mousey brown hair and drag her to the bottom of the stairs. "I've got to get back for the electrician in an hour's time, we've wasted too much time already. That's why I wanted you stripped and ready!"

"You're hurting me!"

And I'm going to hurt you even more in a minute when I dump you.

I pull her up the stairs. She misses her footing on a couple of occasions which I wonder is to do with the fact she is blind in her wonky eye and can't see too well on the interior darkened stair well; fortunately her hair is quite firmly attached so she doesn't slip. I pull her into her damp smelling bedroom and let go of her.

"Get your jeans and knickers off and lie face down on the bed - you know what to expect you fucking slut!"

I rip my clothes off and toss them over a chair hoping that the fleas won't take up residence in them.

She's on the bed now with her podgy legs apart and her fat, even fatter recently, arse sticking up in the air.

"I love it when you take me from behind Matt."

"It isn't about what you like, it's about what I like - or rather what I don't like, and what I don't like is looking at your ugly mug whilst I'm shagging you. Puts me right off it does at time. How come your face is all lopsided anyway - difficult birth?"

I clamber on top of her and shove my erect cock into her cunt which is really wet and pongy. I fuck the minging slut hard and fast and within a few seconds we both climax together.

I roll off her and catch sight of the time - I'll have to be gone soon.

"Thanks Matt. That was really good. You're such a considerate lover."

I recoil as she gives me a kiss on my cheek.

I stand up and wipe my prick, which is laced with spunk and fanny juice, onto her duvet.

"Actually, I've decided I don't want to see you any more - you're just too ugly and boring."

I watch her malformed features transform from bliss to disbelief and then burst into tears. I just love watching the effect I have on a slut when I dump her - it's almost like a second orgasm.

"Please, please, please don't dump me, I really love you. You're the only man who ever made me feel good about myself-"

"Shut up will you and pass me your phone. And hand me another tenner - I'll need it for the taxi back."

She gives me the cordless phone by her bed and delves into her handbag pulling out a twenty pound note.

"I haven't got anything smaller," she chokes out between sobs.

I take the phone and the note and dial the number for the cab firm. The wailing just increases. She gets off the bed and throws her flabby and blemished naked body, which puts me in mind of those pale slugs you sometime see first thing in the morning, around my feet.

I hear a tinny voice answer but can't quite make out what is being said because of her howling and pleading.

"Shut the fuck up will you - I'm trying to order a fucking taxi here!"

I put the phone in my left hand and slap her face hard with the right hand, I then catch her with the back of my hand on the other cheek. She stumbles back on her heels and ends up resting with her head against the side of the bed - she is stunned and silent.

"Yes... about five minutes... you can't miss the place... it looks like a squat... yeah all run down... fascia boards unpainted and hanging down... slates missing, uncut grass in the front with dog shit on."

As I get dressed I notice all the beauty products on her dressing table. No wonder she's got money problems wasting her benefit money on that; and it's not like it'll do her any good, unlike some women, because quite frankly you can't polish a turd.

"I can't live without you," she mutters in a dreamy manner.

"Don't talk crap you stupid bitch, there's always some desperate fucker out there who'll have you. Right I'm off now, I think I heard a car pull up outside. See you around."

I walk down the stairs open the front door and espy the taxi there. It's a woman driver - and quite tasty too. I hear a very loud wail from inside the house - has the slut no consideration for the neighbours?

"Hang on a minute darling, I've forgotten something." I smile pleasantly at the blonde and rather pretty face at the wheel.

I walk back into the house and pick up the Chinese box from the dining room table I then notice that the slut, still naked is in the kitchen which is adjoined to the dining room. She has a carving knife in her right hand and it is clear to me that she is attempting to sever the artery in the wrist of her left arm.

"You're doing it all wrong," I shout to her. "You need to cut along the veins not across them - much quicker."

She drops the knife and it clatters to the floor.

Make up your mind you stupid bitch.

"I'll be off now." This time I walk out of the door for what I believe is the very last time - I should have dumped her ages ago I conclude.

I get into the cab and make myself comfortable in the back seat. The female taxi driver, who looks late thirties, before she pulls away, turns and says to me, "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

What she, of course, means is: You're a really attractive bloke and I wouldn't mind surrendering my body to you. She then adds, "What do you do for a living?"

"Me? Oh, I'm a marriage guidance counsellor..."


Jane, my ex. She broke my heart. And now she is going to 'pay'.

I have made her strip naked and shave her fanny - I like her cunt bare and exposed. Vulnerable.

Facially she is an amalgam of Jodie Foster and Gaby Roslin.

Her golden hair dances upon her lightly freckled shoulders and her flesh is fair. She is slim but not thin and her breasts are modest. Her legs are strong.

I am curiously drawn to her 'imperfections': single small moles on her wrist and thigh with a couple of cuties on her right midriff.

"I am going to punish you for the pain you caused me!"

"I deserve it. I treated you cruelly. Beat me as you see fit," she says with a 'Scouse' accent.

After all this time I am still captivated by her voice, her body. I love her. But she must still be taught... a lesson.

I move the stool into the centre of the room and she casts me a glance of apprehension - to no avail.

"Bend over the stool. I am going to give you three very hard strokes of the slipper, like the teachers used to give us."

She bends over the stool and I observe her body tense.

I grip the plimsoll in my right hand and bring it down hard onto her left buttock - her naked body shudders. Already there is a scarlet imprint of the sole.

Again I swing the slipper onto her buttock with a resounding whack. She moans but takes it well.

I notice the contrast between her reddening left cheek and her pale untouched right cheek - that will soon change I think cruelly.

I hit her as hard as I can and her nude body recoils with the blow. She starts to sniffle but it's not over - yet.

"Straighten up."

She obeys with her arms by her sides.

I approach her from behind and hiss into her ear, "The pain you are feeling now is nothing to what I felt when you dumped me for him!"

Do I detect guilt?

"Reflect on what you did to me, dear, for a minute. Then I'm going to cane you!"

"H-how many d-do I have to take?" she stutters out.

"We were together for nine months in total and you've had three already so six with the cane - a whack for each month."

She is resigned to taking it.

"Bend over again and grasp the lower rungs of the stool. This is going to really hurt!"

I watch her comply noticing the tautness in her sexy bare arms.

I weigh the cane in my hand then swing it down across both buttocks. Instantly a ruddy ridge appears. She is strangely silent.


Number two stroke impacts across the flesh of her buttocks. "OOOWWW!" she cries out.

Four more 'months' to go.

I take my time to prolong her suffering. Her deserved suffering.

"March. And the month of your birthday. Happy birthday... bitch!'' I deliver it as hard as I can.

She screams and for a moment I think she is going to straighten up.

Three crimson stripes now 'adorn' her buttocks with her left buttock already ruddy from the 'kiss' of the slipper.

"April. But it was me that was the fool!"

The fourth stroke lands along the tracks of the second one and beads of blood form. But I am in no mood for mercy.

"May. And no holiday for you!"

She whimpers and sobs but remains - all credit to her - in the punishment position. The cane 'whooshes' and 'cracks' as it connects. Her vulnerable body shakes and her crying intensifies.

"June. The beginning of my pain when you ditched me. But it is the end of yours!"

As the sixth one lands she yells out, straightens up and throws herself into my arms.

"I'm so, so sorry. I love you and I have passed your test. Please, I beg of you, have me back!"

I relent.

"Fuck me!" she pleads.

I strip, casting my clothes to the floor, and then begin to fuck her hard. I thrust as though I might split her in two. She gasps and pants. Her breasts and chest become flushed. As I climax so does she. I doubt that we have even been fucking for a minute. She was also back now with the one man who truly loved her...


She holds herself erect, perhaps defiant. I have summoned her.

Her curly chestnut hair tumbles onto her shoulders and frames a round face. Her eyes are large and blue, her nose small and turned up; her nostrils perhaps a little too flared. Her mouth appears tight, compressed, when closed and thin pink lips trace round it.

She is no taller than five four and of slim frame. I know she is eighteen.

She is wearing a sleeveless starched white shirt and her top two buttons are undone. I glimpse and savour the white flesh of her neck, the V of her upper chest. She is bra-less and her prominent nipples strain against the fabric.

It is Monday, June 18th, 1973 and the weather, hot.

Her regulation navy blue skirt is just above the knees - and tight. Her pale legs are bare and she is wearing black sandals.

She is facing me over my desk with her uncovered arms hanging limp at her sides. I am the headmaster.

"You know why you are here, Miss Green, don't you?"

"Was it to do with the smoking?" She tries to sound composed but a slight tremor in her Yorkshire accent hints at anxiety.

"As you are aware, well aware, we do not allow any of our pupils to smoke on the school premises..."

"But I'm over sixteen and allowed to smoke legally," she protests weakly.

"Yes, but you are a bad influence on the younger children. Have you any idea how detrimental smoking is to your health and what a disgusting habit it is?!" I counter.

I can see that she realises that she isn't going to win. She will take what comes to her.

"This isn't the first time you've been cautioned. Mrs Clark warned you just a month ago. Or have you forgotten so soon?"

"No, Sir, I'm very sorry. It won't happen again."

"I very much doubt that it will." I have the upper hand - literally.

"I'm afraid Miss Green I have little alternative but to administer you two strokes of the cane."

I watch her blanch as fear flashes across her attractive features.

"Please walk over to the chair in the corner. I want you to bend over and place your palms on the seat."

She complies and ambles over slowly. Like the proverbial condemned man.

The chair's back is against the white wall of my office. I open the cupboard behind me and bring out the standard school cane: about two foot long with a curved handle. I reflect, briefly, on all the agony that this simple implement has induced in the past.

I stride over and line myself parallel to the left of her.

"I am going to give you two hard strokes. You are not to move till after the second one. If you do then you will receive an extra one. Do you understand?"

She mutters something and then nods.

I pause and study her. Her skirt is pulled tight, the material shiny over her bum.

Her white arms are taut and I notice liberally speckled with small moles. Her blonde arm hairs are visibly raised, perhaps out of fear, and her thick lustrous hair hangs down round her face.

I draw back my right arm then swing the cane down with a swish across her buttocks that impacts with a loud crack.

She utters a low groan and lifts up her left leg, bent at the knees. I cannot help but notice that her calf is pale and strong.

She returns her leg back into position.

Again, I swing the cane, with full force, onto her buttocks.

"Oh, my God!" she screams and brings her hands round to grasp her backside.

"That's all, Green. You may return to class."

She straightens up, all the time massaging her behind, and turns to face me, her eyes red rimmed and watering, her cheeks ruddy. I have hurt her.

She makes for the door without uttering a word, opens it and disappears into the corridor.

I walk over to the door and close it, close it behind her.

I imagine her at home later, perhaps in her bedroom naked, in front of a mirror, twisting round and probing the parallel ridged purple stripes that now adorn her lily white buttocks...


"Roll over onto your stomach please."

Eager to obey, excitedly, in a not-quite-quick-enough fashion, she swiftly complies.

"Good", I say.

I run my eyes over her nude body: the backs of her strong thighs (she used to be a runner); the firm twin, almost gleaming, ivory hemispheres of her buttocks; the curiously alluring hollows scooped and sculpted of her lower curved back; her upper back, gently arched and lightly freckled reminding me of the shadows of leaves in the autumnal sun...

She is resting upon her drawn-in elbows, head hung low and waiting, waiting for the taste of pain, feverish somewhat...

I reach out, without warning, and grip her upper left arm then, gritting my teeth in sadistic gratification, I rake the untrimmed nails of my left hand, pressed hard upon her vulnerable flesh, fully the length of her back.

She gasps and fights the urge to pull away.

I rake her again, savouring the infliction of pain. And again. And again.

She cries out now, without inhibition.

I bring the flat of my hand down, without mercy, with relish, full force upon her buttocks in turn several times.

"Ooooo... aaaah"

"You can get on your back now."

Silently she obeys.

I catch hold of her bare left arm and twist it behind her head, her long hair flowing across the pillows then bring the fingers of my right hand to her freshly shaved and moist crutch.

"Can you still recall the dreadful pain when I caned you hard recently?"

I know she can...

"Yes, I could have taken more. I need to take more."

"Well, next time I am going to make you write a letter detailing why you deserved to be caned and then, with your head bowed in shame, you are going to read it out. And I am going to film it so that everybody knows that you are a dirty filthy slut, and that the only answer is to punish you cruelly and publicly..."

"Yes, I am always thinking about cocks and being fucked. I'm a dirty and sinful whore."

"That's right, but because I care about you and want to save you I must beat you, beat the slut out of you. How many strokes should I give you?"

"Twenty, really hard. Make me scream with the pain, make me bleed. I deserve it, truly I do."

The 'voltage' begins to rise and I continue to frig her.

"I want you to imagine that you are naked, that you are kneeling in front of me, arms by your side. I ask you to bend over, and then you discern the swish of the cane, the line of fire across your buttocks..."

Her body suddenly goes into spasm and she cries out, grips me, then relaxes and slumps back onto the covers.

We laugh. It's my turn now...


"You're head is bowed and your long and lustrous chestnut hair falls down in front of you like roughly drawn curtains half obscuring your features. Your bare and faintly freckled arms hang loosely by your sides and beneath the coarse scarlet robe, as befits a scarlet woman, a filthy whore, you are nude."

"You have been brought to the town square in an open cart and in front of you is a small gathering of the good and law abiding folk you sought to corrupt and dishonour, and they are there to witness that justice is done, because you are a dirty slut without morals, without shame."

"The magistrate having now finished reading out your sentence now orders his sergeants-at-arms to proceed with your punishment. They remove the robe to leave you completely naked and vulnerable. You are accompanied to the whipping cross where strong hands secure you tightly to the oaken beams with leather straps, your arms outstretched along the cross section and your legs strapped tightly to the upright. You can hardly move and you feel the unforgiving grain of the timber press against your flesh. Turned away from the townsfolk you attempt not to listen to their jeers. 'Look at her fat arse, who'd want to fuck that?' 'She's so ugly.' 'All she's got to offer is her cunt, and I bet that's slacker than a wizard's sleeve...' "

"You hear the tails of the flogger hiss cruelly through the cool air a split second before they agonisingly bite into the flesh of your exposed back, and then a second later across your buttocks. 'Lay it on hard, make the bitch bleed,' you hear one of the crowd shout."

"You cast your mind back to just before you were arrested, on all fours in the gutter with your short denim skirt pulled up and being fucked from behind with your tits exposed and being groped. You remember feeling the spunk running down your leg as you were manhandled into the police van but you had never cared because all you had craved for was cock, big juicy cocks, thrust up your cunt, rammed up your arse, and taken in your mouth, sometimes all three, because all you were - and are - is a dirty, fucking, ugly, worthless slut."

"Your back and buttocks are a sea of pain now, but that is only the first phase because now you are going to have your breasts whipped hard to teach you to flaunt them, to tempt good men into sin. Your bonds are loosened, you are turned round and through the blur of your watering eyes you now face the throng. Your shaking arms are once again drawn out and fastened to the cross bar, your legs and ankles to the upright."

"The first stroke lands across both your tits and nipples feeling as though you had been stung by a thousand jelly fish. You scream out in pain but the crowd bay for more. 'Whip the flesh off the dirty harlot!' "

"You are broken now, your body is numb, almost numb. But there is just one more chapter of agony to go. You smell the coals from the brazier, you just discern the footsteps, and then the searing, blinding, pain as the near red hot branding iron is thrust onto the shaved pale triangle of flesh just atop your slit with the words SLUT burned forever into your skin-"

She arches her back, gasping and crying out whilst gripping my left hand then slumps back down onto the mattress laughing. My spunk is already in her, though some of it has already seeped out, but perhaps there is still enough to fertilise her.

"You rather like the 'Town Square' fantasy don't you?"

"Yes, it really turns me on, though I also like the idea of being abducted."

"I'll have to come with something then won't I?"

"Yes, please. I quite enjoy a... bedtime story."

We both chuckle before I switch off the bedside light...


She is lying on my bed with her ugly face pushed into the pillows. Her fat and unsightly body is naked.

I am raking her bare back with my uncut nails - the minging slut craves that. Every time I run my nails hard along her pallid flesh she flinches with the pain but lets out ever increasing grunts of arousal. I intend to draw blood - I like to see little beads of crimson whether it is from nails, studded paddles or canes. I do not need to see rivers of blood, just a trickle for me to whet my appetite.

People think I am a nice person but it is merely a front to protect myself; and a ploy to lure the unsuspecting in. I love to see females suffer physically but there is also the exquisite gratification of watching them in emotional pain like dumping them the day after they have fallen in love with me... ecstasy! I build their little egos up with false attention and insincere flattery then, like a bored infant knocking over building blocks, I pull out the rug and watch them tumble to the ground savouring every last drop of their anguish. I am a cunt.

She is bleeding now and her back is becoming smeared with her blood - I suck my finger and taste the metallic tang.

"Turn over on your front."

She obeys.

She is the ugliest female I have ever fucked. Her features are lopsided and her left eye is opaque and blind. Her complexion is jaundiced and she has several age spots on her cheeks. Her nostrils remind me of a pit viper's and her lips sit at an odd angle. She is overweight and flabby too.

It is at this point that I want to slap her misshapen face hard but I resist the urge, instead I thrust my fingers into her soaking and smelly unwashed cunt. She gasps and momentarily arches her back. I then grab her tit roughly squeezing it till she asks me to stop - it makes me smile when she registers pain across her uneven features. I begin to circle my thumb around her clit - she likes that - and knead the nipple of her large saggy left breast. Her lips are slightly apart and bring my head down to kiss them. Her breath is rancid so I do not linger but instead suck and bite her right nipple. Her breathing intensifies till she finally heaves and gives herself to orgasm. I feel the contractions of her cunt and thrust hard - thrust hard to hurt. She cries out and then slumps exhausted back onto the mattress.

I look at her with a kind of contempt and speculate that this is as good as her pathetic little life gets - she is an ageing single mother on benefits living in a shit hole she can't afford to repair and the only fellow - who had convinced her that 'beauty is only skin deep' but maybe not himself - betrayed her with a gold digger who subsequently took him for his savings. I guess I'm no better - a sad middle aged bastard in a run-down town preying on vulnerable woman.

"Do you want to fuck me?" she offers.

"Just rub my nipples whilst I wank myself off."

She twists into my body and brings her fat moley arms across my chest. I grab hold of my cock and start rubbing it. She briefly snogs me and then pulls back a little. As I become more turned on I become aware of the pungent cocktail of her body odours - her bad breath, the fishiness of her cunt and perhaps a trace of stale urine from her unchanged and holey knickers. Her over-large tits hang over me and I notice the stretch marks for the first time. I glance down at her pot belly with the large unsightly mole on it and her unkempt pubic hair that is the colour of a sewer rat - she really is fucking repulsive but I really do need to climax.

I quickly reach the point of no return - the slut knows to how to massage my nipples I'll give her that. I 'whiteout' with orgasm with my last vision of her fat white arm across me and then fall back spent onto the bed.

I thank her but all I want for her to do is go - she has served her purpose now.

She brings her face into mine and as she does her unattractive rust dyed hair falls into my eyes making them water. She sweeps it back and then gently kisses me on the lips. I feel briefly like vomiting but manage to fight the impulse.

"Just like old times eh, we should do this more often. I've often thought about you over the years."

I respond, "It was good to see you too, never thought this was going to happen. See you next Friday?" It's kind of a Homer Simpson moment.

We have a cup of tea before she goes. I quickly write the account up of our sordid little encounter and then post it on a website - it excites me to do so, to let people in on my dirty little life and my weird sexuality.

I close the computer down and then walk up town to go shopping - a sad and perverted middle aged man in a downbeat little town extracting all the depravity he can whilst his life, money and health run out like the grains of sand in an hourglass...


I prop my bicycle up against the inside wall of the porch, slip my key into the lock of the front door and let myself in.

I divest myself of my back pack dumping it on the table in the hallway and then walk into the large L shaped lounge and dining room.

I slip my work jacket off and place it around the back rest of one of the dining chairs.

I become aware of activity from the kitchen - Sharon must be home early.

I fancy a cup of tea so I head for the kitchen.

As I enter the room I find myself becoming aroused which is odd since my libido seems to have been fading recently.

Sharon is at the sink and hasn't heard me. Or has pretended not to hear me.

She is wearing jeans and a navy blue sleeveless top. Her chestnut hair, rich and lustrous as ever, hangs halfway down her back.

Her bare white arms, which are liberally spotted with small moles, move industriously, scrubbing each plate, placing it noisily in the rack before repeating the action with another piece of crockery or cutlery.

I feel my erection straining against the fabric of my trousers.

I imagine Sharon in hot pants and flimsy revealing top with thigh length black leather boots plying her trade as a hooker on the streets of New York City.

I steal up behind her, put my arms around her slim waist, brush her hair gently away from her neck and then kiss it.

I expect her to flinch but she doesn't.

Her arms stop working and I press my body hard up against her - I need her to know that I am aroused and ready to take her, take her roughly if needs be.

My hands travel up beneath her top and slip her bra off. Her nipples are hard.

I squeeze her breasts and knead her protuberant nipples.

I pull her top off and cast aside her bra - her torso is still in good shape, and she is forty five now.

I quickly unbutton her jeans and pull them down to her ankles along with her black lace panties - she does not resist but simply says: 'You know it is my period...'

"I know, and you know that I don't care."

She is naked and vulnerable in front of me her elbows resting on the edge of the sink.

I strip swiftly myself, tossing my clothes to the doorway.

I move to her and feel for the string of the tampon - she has given herself up totally to my animal lust now.

I pull the bloody and swollen sanitary pad from her vagina and lob it into the bin.

I grab hold of the tops of her arms and in a slow motion judo move I bring her body, shoulder blade first, down on to the cold lino of the kitchen floor.

I pin her down and penetrate her.

Her cunt, normally tight, is even tighter.

I start pumping hard straightaway.

I do not care if she climaxes - she exists purely for my gratification.

Her normally pale cheeks are flushed and her nostrils seem to flare with each forceful thrust of my cock.

She begins to groan loudly now.

I reach, swiftly, the point of no return, climax strongly and then slump down satiated onto her heavily breathing frame.

"Fuck me! That was good, Sharon. I really needed that."

"Me too. Can you get up now, you're heavy."


I pull my prick out of her cunt. It is streaked with blood and spunk. I like that. Blood and spunk. Good title for a book I muse.

I feel good about us - I think we are over the worst of things now.

"Fancy a tea Sharon?"

"Yes please," she says, bundling up her clothes and heading for the bathroom to clean up...


"Strip." Her voice is husky, her tone, uncompromising.

I strip.

"Kneel down across the foot stool."

I stretch my naked form across the blue padded top of the stool. I am compelled to obey her though I tremble.

I sense her move lithely across the room. I feel the pressure of her scarf around my eyes, feel her knot it securely behind my head with her strength, a strength greater than mine.

"Can you see?"

Her breath is warm and smoky. I like that.

"No, it is black. Totally black."

A tingle of fear runs through my testicles...


The wind howls and throws out cold invisible tentacles to probe the vulnerable overlaps of our clothing. She shivers, her long shiny brown hair blowing across her elegant features, and I catch hold of her hand as though to stop her being swept away.

Culver Cliff: the most easterly point of the Island. And for many the tragic point of departure.

A bunch of flowers propped up forlornly against a fence post with a card flapping in the wind. I walk up to it and attempt to read it but the ink is already fading.

I have been here myself in the past. I may yet end it here. But not today.

Seagulls wheel above us in the grey November sky screeching as they do. It is time for us to go...


She brings the flogger down upon my bare back. It does not hurt. It does not need to hurt yet for she is merely teasing me, softening me up.

Rachmaninoff: Piano Concerto No.2 plays in the background and as my submission deepens she begins to probe my psyche...


A single track road to nowhere now but nearly a century ago it had been the main road to Blackgang till a landslip on a rainy night.

The rain beats down hard but we still leave the car. I show her the cliffs towering impassively above us, the primeval cliffs, and imagine pterodactyls gliding down. Time has stood still here.

We discern the tinkling of running water from the hidden stream below us. There is magic here, the spirits of water and rock.

Knowles Farm, and nearly the most southerly point on the Island. About a mile out is St Catherine's Deep, rich fishing grounds but perilous at times to shipping as the coast is littered with the rotting skeletons of ships long ago come to grief in squalls.

I have not visited this place for over seven years and I was in love then. I do not share this with her...


She flogs me harder, the pain begins to reach into me. I feel myself travelling in the darkness, but where?

"You are fortunate indeed to live here, it is very beautiful," she states then draws hard upon her cigarette, the coals glowing in the fading light.

The Needles jut out defiantly into the English Channel perhaps dagger-like to the Dorset Coast. I watch the choppy waves batter themselves relentlessly against the base of the giant chalk outcrops.

"I wish you could see it in the summer. We could take an open top bus along the sides of the cliff, descend to the beach by chairlift and have a boat trip around the lighthouse. It is truly spectacular."

I am talking as though I am in love. I care not...


Pavane pour une Infante Défunte: Ravel.

She does not strike me hard with the cane yet each stroke stings and then the pain begins to blur and dull. It is a long time since I have experienced this. I yearn for more but then I begin to cry, cry like a baby. Buried memories you see...

"What is it darling?" she soothes.


"Egypt Point. We are at the most northerly point of the Island and it's a great place for viewing the liners as they swing out of Southampton Water. Can you imagine the Titanic passing through all those years ago? Look, why don't we drive to Cowes Parade, we can have a drink in The Fountain and I'll show you the biggest Union Jack in the world. Maybe we'll even catch a liner going by."

It's dark now though only about half five...


She is holding me in her arms. "What do you need to tell me?"

I am not a man anymore - I have regressed.

"I don't want you to hurt me, I want you to love me. Why do you want to hurt me?" I sob out.

"You're safe now."

She holds me tighter and I keep crying but the crying is good, cathartic.


We leave The Fountain and as soon as we do I spot a liner with lights burning brightly navigating its way to the eastern approaches of the Solent. I point it out to her but she seems slightly distracted. Suddenly I feel the need to express something.

"The dynamic has altered between us. You're different and it's not authentic anymore," I blurt out.

"Yes," she replies matter-of-factly.


"How did you know that there was something in me that needed to be released? I felt that all those years ago and I couldn't verbalize it. I feel so much better. Thank you, thank you."

I give her another cuddle.

"I just... knew."

And I knew now that she was the stronger and smarter one. And that made her dangerous, dangerous and exhilarating...


We are in my flat and getting ready to walk down town to Michelangelo's Italian Restaurant on the seafront. It is her last night with me. We have had a good day sightseeing. On impulse I turn to her and say, "I will let you hurt me later."

"Will you now, will you now..."


"You wouldn't be able to take a real caning, you're all talk!" Leanne, my wife snorts derisively.

We are in the lounge of my late mother's house and it is rather warm. I have a feeling that it is about to get somewhat 'warmer' for me in the near future.

I am three years older than Leanne, she is just twenty nine, but there is no doubt as to who is the senior partner in our relationship.

"You think I'm a wimp don't you? Okay, if I can't take four hard strokes of the cane I'll give you forty quid - a tenner for each whack. But you'll get nothing if I do take them!"

"Deal!" she says.

In all the years I had been with her I had never known Leanne to pass up the chance to make an easy buck.

I take out my wallet, count out four brown ones and place the notes carefully on the arm rest of the sofa.

"Right, you'd better strip off, it'll be far more painful on bare skin!" she smiles wickedly.

Despite her protestations in the past to the contrary she is a sadist.

"I'll be back in a mo, don't go away," she says breezily before walking out of the lounge.

I remove all my clothes in compliance with her instructions and await with mounting tension her return...

The door to the lounge swings open and a few seconds later I feel a chill breeze over my unclad body. I shiver but only partly due to the sudden draft of cool air.

She is clutching a bamboo garden cane in her hand: "This will do the trick, I reckon!" she announces evilly.

"Right, I'll take my top off, I don't want anything restricting the power of my swing!"

She does this in part to torment me further as she knows how I lust after her; she is a sexy and beautiful lady and knows it too, uses it to charm men to her advantage.

She can also be a bitch. A complete and utter bitch.

She is golden blonde, and I'll be honest out of a bottle, with full hair tumbling down onto her small shoulders. She is petite and very pretty with a straight nose, high cheek bones and a wide 'Hollywood' smile. Her eyes, though a deep and delicious blue, hint at an inner cruelty.

I loved her, loved her absolutely, how could I not?

I cannot help but watch her pull her black chunky knot jumper over her head and then unhook her black lace bra revealing her golden tanned flesh and large pendulous tits.

"Are you ready to experience some real pain now, and pay for it to boot?" she gently, but menacingly, taps her cupped left hand with the cane in her right one.

I am scared, fucking scared, but I can't bottle out now as I will forfeit forty quid!

"I'm ready." My balls tingle with the fear.

"Four, four, hard ones we agreed on, wasn't it?" She cannot resist the temptation to prolong my mental torture prior, of course, to the real torture.

"Okay, bend over the back of the arm chair so that you are on tiptoe, I want your buttocks really taut. If you straighten up or request me to stop then the money's mine. Keep quiet if you can manage it. Nothing more pathetic than the sound of a crying man!"

I comply meekly with her instructions. Agony is just seconds away.

I sense her pulling her bare right arm back as far as possible. I hear a whoosh followed immediately by a 'crack' and the pain sears across the middle of my naked buttocks. I grit my teeth as the agony peaks then wanes slightly.

"One, only three more of those to go!" she sneers with venom.

Another whoosh. I tense myself.

"Aaahhhh," I scream. The pain is even worse. I just want it to be over.

"Quiet!" she commands and then whispers in my ear: "You're trembling, trembling like a leaf, the money's mine!"

The third swish of the cane lands making me feel as though a red hot poker has been laid across it and it takes every ounce of my crumbling resolve not to straighten up but I remain in position despite the searing pain.

"Hmmm, looks like I've lost the money, and that pisses me off, so this is to remember me by!" She sounds genuinely annoyed by that.

There's a pause - I think she is taking a couple of steps back - and I brace myself for the last cruel stroke...


I cry out loud with the agony - it is as though I have been cut with a sword and simultaneously my legs straighten pushing the armchair a couple of inches forward.

"You've cheated. I demand another stroke!"

I can't take anymore, my buttocks are aflame with pain.

"Okay, okay, I've made you suffer enough, come on, give me a cuddle!" her tone is soft now.

I turn round and hug her, tell her how much I love and worship her.

"Let me take away some of the pain now, darling," she utters soothingly.

She takes my hand in hers and then leads me gently across the room to the long leather settee. She sits herself down on the cushions and then beckons me to lie across her lap.

She takes my achingly hard penis in her hands, kisses it, and then slowly at first begins to rub it up and down. I groan with the pleasure. She increases tempo and within a few seconds I climax strongly calling out her name...

"My, you were horny I've never seen you so stiff before and your spunk shoot so far. I shall have to cane you again and then get you to fuck me but," espying the sorry state of my buttocks laced with red and purple stripes as I stand up to clean myself off, "we shall perhaps wait a bit!"

God! I love that woman. Cruel. Loving. Avaricious.

I put the notes back in my wallet and promise to treat her to a curry. I kind of like my life hot and spicy...


"I am going to punish you in a second. I am going to kick you really hard in the balls. Really hard. It's going to really hurt and I'll be honest, I'm going to enjoy doing it too. Understand?"

"Yes, I deserve it," I respond.

"Are you afraid? Would you prefer that I don't do it?"

"Yes, I'm very scared and would prefer that you don't do it."

"Sorry, no luck there, you're not getting out of it."

A chill runs through my body.

"Okay, I want you to take all your clothes off and then to face me when you've done that."

I remove all my clothes and place them in a neat pile on the black leather sofa.

She smiles evilly at me and I regard her with my head bowed. She is blonde and blue eyed with her hair just touching her shoulders. She is slim and about five foot four. She is wearing a tight black sleeveless top and her slender bare arms are tanned.

I love her. Worship her. But to her I am just a toy. She does not love me in return. It is the way of things. Her nature. My nature.

"Turn around with your legs wide apart and grip your ankles with your hands," she commands me.

I obey her.

"Good, your balls are quite big and make an easy target. I am going to kick you so hard that they will be momentarily crushed between the bone of your pelvis and my foot. It won't be pleasant. I want to remind you that you must obey me totally in the future. You see, the only language that a man understands, truly understands is the language of pain."

A shaft of agony rips up into my groin accompanied by a rising nausea. I drop to the floor and double up desperately wishing for the pain to drop below my threshold. I hear myself groan and then I make out that she is talking to me.

"Hmmm, not bad, I can see that it's really hurting. Good."

She then bends down to my face, which feels flushed and damp with sweat, and says without compassion, "The next time you are late reporting to me, even a second late, I shall give you three hard kicks. Now get up, get dressed and get out."

"Yes, of course, and er thanks for punishing me."

She just laughs...


"... and when I found out he had been two-timing me I went up to him and punched him so hard in the face I broke his nose. When he dropped to the floor I then kicked him hard several times in the stomach and back. When it came to the divorce I took him for every penny I could. He soon found out that I wasn't the kind of woman who put up with any shit from a man. And what's more I never let him see his daughter again. Not that she wants to have anything to do with him - she's got me and I'm all she needs. It was a painful lesson for him. Very painful," she says with an accent that is more 'London' than Isle of Wight.

I feel my cock tingle as it becomes erect and starts to strain against the fabric of my trousers.

I'm chatting with Gina who is slim, blonde, tanned, good looking and in possession of the most beautiful blue-green eyes I'd ever seen. She is wearing a tight white T-shirt and close fitting jeans. I know that I want her. Crave her. Want to fuck her. Will do anything - anything - to make her happy. And I have given myself completely to her in this moment.

I become aware of the sun beating down on my hair and warming the top of my head. Blue sky. Cloudless. Hot. Beautiful weather. Glorious.

I'd just walked over from the bus station to get myself a cup of tea and a sandwich from the café where Gina had worked. I could have brought in my own food and made my own tea and saved myself some money. But I didn't as going over to the café meant I could ogle her and maybe chat her up, though to be honest I did think she was probably out of my league. Anyway, as I got to the perimeter of the outside seating area of the café Gina was coming out as she had just finished work. It was good timing as I'd managed to get to chat to her. For some reason we ended up talking about relationships and that was when she had told me about her and her husband. Or rather ex-husband...

"It's nice talking to you, Matt, but I've got to nip up town and get a new curtain rail for my lounge. I can't say I'm looking forward to putting it up but needs must..."

"Well," spotting an opportunity, "I don't mind coming round and putting it up for you. It would be no trouble."

"You sure?"

"Honestly, it really would be... no trouble, Gina. I get home just after six and I can be round... about half seven?"

"Okay, Matt, that's really very good of you. Thanks. The address is Flat A, which is on the ground floor, Townview House, 31 Oak Street. I guess you know where that is, Matt?"

"I do. In fact it's not that far from where I live - Bell Street. Have you got a mobile number, Gina? I'll let you know then when I'm on my way."


I get my mobile out and click onto 'New Contact'.


"Yes, fire away."

"It's... Zero. Seven. Five. Two. Eight. Zero, Two. Zero. Eight. Eight. Zero. Got that, Matt?"

"Yep, thanks." I finish tapping her name in before slipping my mobile into the right hand pocket of my work trousers.

"Okay, I've got to go now, Matt. I'll see you later."

"See you later."

She turns and I watch her, perhaps longer than I should, head for the pelican crossing that will take her across the busy Esplanade dual carriageway and then up Union Street to the shops. As she reaches the edge of the pavement I turn myself and head for the café.

I walk up to the counter to place my order and I am greeted by Joan. Joan is middle-aged with short brown hair, a roundish face and is wearing black framed glasses. Joan speaks with a cockney accent and is one of them what-you-see-is-what-you-get types. I really like her. She's a nice person.

"How can I help you today, Matt?"

"Um, mug of tea with extra milk and a cheese and tomato sandwich with white bread, please."

"That'll be £4.30 please... sir," she says with mock deference.

I hand her a £5 note and then wait for her to ring up the sale. She opens up the till, scoops up some coins, comes over and drops them into my upturned and open palm. There's a pause for a second and then she says, "Matt, it's not really my business, but I just saw you exchange phone numbers with Gina..."

No, it's not really your business.

"And you're a really nice guy. I know you've been hurt in the past. That all you want, deserve, is happiness, but Gina is trouble. Big trouble."

She stops talking for a second. I wonder if she feels that she's interfering too much. Has gone too far. But then something clicks in her mind and I can see that she feels that she is doing the right thing... for me.

She continues. "Look, Gina uses men, uses them for what she can get out of them - which is mainly financial - and then she dumps them. Nobody knows where she gets her money. She only works when it suits her at low paid jobs. And we reckon she fiddles her benefits too because she's always got money for the things she wants. She can also be quite nasty aw well. Violent. Apparently, she recently slept with a friend of the boss and when he snubbed her afterwards she went round to his house and told his wife what he'd done. It caused no end of trouble. When the boss mentioned it to her, all Gina did was laugh. Matt, just stay away from her. You're a really nice fella."

I feel a little taken aback by what Joan has just said. But on the other hand I do kind of admire Gina for getting her own back on guys that treated her badly. Of course if I'd been out with her I would have treated her like a lady and with total respect. It was the kind of man I was.

"Thanks for your concerns, Joan, but I'll be fine. I'm a big boy now."

"Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you."

I walk to the glass door of the café and push it open. Once outside, I find a free table, pull out a chair, with the metal legs of it scraping noisily momentarily across the concrete causing the handful of other customers to suddenly look in my direction, and then sit down on it.

I listen to the seagulls screeching and watch the procession of cars and vans and buses, with few and intermittent gaps in the traffic, negotiate the tightly curved roundabout before speeding up along the Esplanade as the road straightens. I can also hear the waves lapping up against the sea wall and for a moment I feel quite tranquil. At one with the world...

I see myself on top of Gina. We are both naked. I am pumping her hard and she is moaning feverishly. The bronzed flesh of her chest and breasts is covered in a thin film of sweat-

Joan plonks downs the plate with my sandwich and mug of tea. It startles me. Shakes me out of my little daydream. My fantasy. My desire. My lust. My hope.

"Thanks, Joan."

"Enjoy, Matt," she responds.

I wonder, as Joan wanders across to a now unoccupied table and starts to gather up used and dirty crockery whether she is thinking I'm a fool to get involved with Gina. Maybe I am a fool. Maybe I will really regret it. But then perhaps nothing will happen later anyway.

I pick up the cheese and tomato sandwich and bite into it. It tastes good. I'm hungrier than I realised...


"Thanks so much Matt for putting up the curtain rail. You have really saved me a lot of hassle."

"My pleasure Gina. It really was no trouble," I say to Gina, who is wearing a body hugging white T-shirt that is showing off her lovely tanned arms and tight jeans that emphasise her shapely arse.

"Would you like a cup of tea now?" she asks me sweetly.

"Yes, please."

She then comes up to me, places one of her hands on my shoulder and kisses me on my cheek. "Thanks, for doing that. I really appreciate it."

Without thinking I embrace her, put my mouth to hers and begin to snog her. She feels so good - so good. In response I feel her hands on my chest as she undoes a couple of my buttons. She then commences to lightly caress my chest and nipples. I close my eyes and immediately I become erect imagining us naked and fucking on her expensive black leather settee -suddenly a sickening spike of pain shoots up into my groin. I feel instantly nauseous as though the insides of my stomach are being sucked out and I double over and slowly sink to the carpet. I pray desperately for the crushing pain, which is way beyond my threshold, to lessen and go away.

Fucking hell! You've kneed me in the balls, Gina.

My eyes now wide open and watering, and the agony beginning to subside a little, I look up to see Gina standing there with her arms folded and a curious half smile playing across her lips.

"How dare you think that you can have your evil way with me. Just because you do me a favour it doesn't mean you can fuck me. Now get up, collect your tools and get out."

On unsteady feet and not knowing whether standing up will induce more pain I manage to straighten up. "Gina, I'm really sorry about what happened. Really, I'm very sorry."

"I don't think you're sorry at all, you're just sorry cos I've kneed you in the nuts and injured your pride to boot. Typical man. Time for you go."

With her stood at the door, her arms on her hips, I do as she requests and stumble out into the street.

The air is chilly and the street lights are now illuminated with a hazy yellow-orange glow.

As I walk unsteadily along the road I put my hands to my crotch which is still very tender.

I realise also paradoxically that I want her now more than ever...


I am sitting on my sofa with my feet up and flicking through the television channels when my message alert sounds. I pick up my mobile, which is on the small wooden table to my left, and read the message:

Hi Matt I think it would be nice to catch up for a chat - we may have got off on the wrong foot the other night. Anyway, pop round at 8 tonight and don't be late. Punctuality is important to me. It is a sign of respect. X

I glance down at my watch - the time is 18:28 - and immediately reply.

Hi Gina. Nice to hear from you and very much looking forward to seeing you shortly. X

A few seconds later:

I'm looking forward to seeing you too Matt x P.S. Bring £100 in cash.


The door to Gina's flat swings open inwards.

"Hello, Gina," I say a little sheepishly, a little overawed.

She is wearing a sleeveless black top and black trousers. And both are tight fitting. It doesn't look like she has a bra on either. Her feet are bare and her toenails painted red, as are the nails on her fingers. Her fragrance is kind of cloying, overpowering.

"Leave your shoes at the door, Matt, and then come in."

I bend down, unfasten the laces of my black, recently polished, shoes before slipping them off and placing them neatly next to the door mat. I then stand up and for a moment I find myself lost for words - such is the effect of her presence upon me.

"Well, it's good to see you Matt, why don't you go and sit yourself down in the lounge whilst I make us both a cup of tea. I've also got some fruitcake. Do you fancy a slice?"

"Yes to both please, Gina."

"Do you take sugar, Matt?"

"Two please."

"Okay, I'll be back in a minute."

I push open the door to the lounge and plonk myself down on the expensive looking black leather reclining sofa.

You like the good things in life, Gina, don't you?

After a couple of minutes of twiddling my thumbs Gina enters the lounge with a tray upon which are two mugs of tea and two plates with the cake on. It all appears quite mundane and cozy.

"Make certain you don't spill tea or drop crumbs on the carpet Matt or I shall be very cross," Gina says with mock severity.

"I certainly won't," I respond kind of jokily whilst recalling the crushing pain and the humiliation of the ball kick just three days earlier.

I carefully lift the plate to just under my chin and pick up the slice of fruitcake with the other one.

"I don't really know a lot about you Matt. Quickly tell me about yourself. Or rather the important bits."

I hurriedly chew upon the cake and swallow quickly - I don't like making Gina wait any longer than she should for an answer. I place the plate down on the glass coffee table to the left of me.

"Well, where do I start? I'm a bus driver as you know, I have my own house, two bedroomed, in Bell Street. I'm thirty-seven years of age-"

"Hmmm. Just two years younger than me," Gina had interjected. "But... continue."

"I'm single, I broke up with my long term partner, Sharon, just over a year ago. Um, my Mum died six years ago and I never knew my father. I normally go swimming about twice a week, occasionally go out for a bike ride. I like reading-"

"Stop. Is your mortgage paid off?"

"Yes. My mother left me a house, it was a bit too big, which I sold and then bought this one outright."

"Good. We'll leave it there with your bio for the moment. Now, whilst we've been chatting it hasn't escaped my attention that all you have been doing is looking at me, ogling me, undressing me with your eyes. Is that correct?"

I feel my cheeks flush. But she is right. I had been staring at her exposed, smooth, deeply tanned and unblemished (that is, apart from couple of small black moles on the upper forearm of her right arm and a slightly larger one at the base of her neck) flesh.

I drop my eyes and feeling decidedly uncomfortably say, "Y-yes, I have been, I'm sorry-"

"No need to be sorry. I am an attractive woman, very attractive some say, even though I'm nearly forty. I'll also let you in on a secret - I'm quite vain and totally in love with myself. I keep myself in shape and I'm even luckier to have good genes. I reckon I'll still be able to get the fellas for a good few years yet. Does that shock you, Matt?"

"Y-yes, I m-mean, no..."

"Well, let's put it this way, if I was a fat, ugly minger you wouldn't be here, would you?"

"Yes, you're right," I say, quickly regaining a small degree of composure.

"Okay, let's put the boot on the other foot. Finish your tea and cake, whilst I nip to the loo and when I come back I want you to have stripped naked. Don't argue, Matt, just do it."

"Y-yes... of course."

She leaves the room taking out her plate and mug, closing the door behind her.

For a second I am paralyzed. Stunned. It all feels so surreal. But nevertheless I unbutton my check shirt, pull it off then drop my black trousers. Next I take off my underpants and socks. Now naked I then pick up my discarded clothes and place them into a neat pile on the carpet. As I stand there, momentarily alone, a curious mix of humiliation and excitement washes over me so much so that my cock becomes as stiff as a broom handle. I wonder how Gina will react to that when she sees it.

I discern her footsteps padding along the hall and wonder whether to cup my hands around my genitals. But I opt not to.

Gina enters the room and faces me.

"I'm glad to see you've done as I instructed. Okay, what I'm going to do is inspect you, and when I've finished that I'll make a decision as to how much use you're going to be to me. Understand?"


"Right, let's start at the top." She comes up close to me. "Well, firstly, your hair's too long, looks scruffy, it would look a lot better if it was short and neat. I reckon a grade three every three weeks will keep it smart - I like my men, no demand them, to be smart."

You have other men?

"Secondly, your little goatee beard is fine, but make certain it is trimmed every other day at the minimum. Thirdly, you should shave your face just before you see me as I like smooth skin on a guy. Incidentally that also applies to your pubic area and armpits - I don't want to see any hair there at all as it can become smelly."

She takes a step back and says, "Swivel round, give me a little twirl."

I move slowly round.

"Okay then. You're not in bad shape, reasonably good looking but not handsome, and you haven't got any unsightly blemishes, though you are a bit overweight - maybe a little more swimming will help with that. You've got nicely shaped balls and your cock's probably a little bigger than average - I've seen a few larger but a lot smaller - so that's a plus point." She then adds, "Despite what women say, size is important and even though it isn't a guy's fault he's got a small one I'd never go out with a fella with a tiny cock. I'm also pleased to see that you're pleased to see me as I'll be needing you to perform at a drop of a hat. Or should that be a drop of the knickers." She smiles at her little witticism. "However, when you're not seeing me you do not masturbate or have sex with anyone else."

For a second there is a silence and then she says, "Stay in position for another minute, Matt, as I'm going to take a picture of you. It's one for the scrapbook." She then picks up her phone off the coffee table, points it at me and presses the shutter button.

"So, Matt, are you okay with the rules?"

I nod and say, "Yes, Gina."

"That's good to know, Matt. However, if you disobey or piss me off in any way then I'll dump you. I'm a hard and demanding bitch, amongst other things which you will find out. Or maybe you won't find out. Of course, you can walk away at any time, it's a free country."

"I'm fine Gina and I want to make you happy."

"Well, I'm glad that's settled, Matt. But I'd better make clear right from the beginning that I'm never going to fall in love with you, that underneath I don't really care for you, and in actual fact, apart from a few close relatives I don't actually give a shit for anybody in this world. I know exactly what kind of a person I am and I know exactly how the world works. I intend to take as much as I can in life from life for as long as I can. One day I'll die and that'll be that. Nobody will mourn me, nobody will thank me for a being a decent person, unless they're false and want to be liked by the people they intend to con. Yeah, I see the world the way it is. I see you the way you are and I shall use you, abuse you and make your life hell at times. And do you know what, you'll love me all the more for it..."

She trails off at this point and I wonder if she is perhaps regretted revealing too much of her inner thoughts.

"Okay, Matt, you'd better go to the loo now and when you come back I'm going to see what kind of a man you are... but probably not in the way you're thinking. And it's going to cost you that hundred quid. I ain't a cheap woman." She smiles in what I am increasingly begin to see as rather spiteful or even evil.

I walk down the hallway to the toilet. As I pee into the bowl I discern Gina's soft footsteps as she walks first down the hallway and then into her bedroom where I just make out the sound of a wardrobe door opening. I then hear her walk back along the hallway and into the lounge.

What are you up to Gina?

I finish up, flush the loo, wash my hands and then open the door.

As I enter the lounge the first thing I noticed is that there is a red towel over the head rest of the sofa and another directly below on the carpet. Gina is standing at the far end of the sofa and in her right hand she is grasping a long bamboo cane. It is clear she is intending to use it on me.

"Before I forget, Matt, could you give me the hundred pounds now and put it on the coffee table. It'll go to a good cause, don't you worry."

I kneel down and slip out my wallet from my trousers before pulling out the £20 notes and placing them on the table.

"Good boy. Now tell me Matt, have you ever been caned before?"

"W-well, n-no I haven't."

"Even better. It's going to come as a bit of a shock. You see this is a way of making you... compliant. Instilling obedience in you. Proving your loyalty to me. And also I rather like seeing males suffer... turns me on at times."

I gulp.

"I want you now to bend over the sofa, at the end, with your hands on the seat and your torso and feet on the towels"

I do as she orders. Pain, no agony, is just seconds away - fear is already coursing through my now trembling naked body.

Gina, behind me now, whispers in my right ear, "I'm going to really hurt you and in some ways it will be worse than the knee in the groin as it's going to be protracted. By the way, since you were ogling at me all evening, I just thought I'd let you know that the clothes I'm wearing now are what I always put on when I'm going to formally punish a guy - the sleeveless top doesn't restrict my swing. So, in future if I'm in that top then you'll know that you are in for some punishment. Right, I think we'll get on with it."

There's a brief 'whoosh' followed almost immediately by a 'crack'. And a split second later a line of fire ignites along my buttocks accompanied by an unpleasant tingling sensation in my cheeks. It takes all my resolve to remain in position.

"I told you it would hurt. Now, Matt, tell me what I expect of you."

I swallow and reply, "You want me to have a grade three haircut every three weeks. You want me to shave before I see you. I must keep my beard trimmed. I must shave my pubes and under my arms every day-"

<Whoosh> <Crack>


"You needn't bother with giving me a speech. All I need for you to do is... obey"

My face is hot and I begin to sweat. I understand the reason for the towels now - she doesn't want perspiration on her sofa or perhaps blood and other bodily fluids dripping onto her carpet.

<Whoosh> <Crack>

A 'hot wire' is dragged across my flesh.

"I promise to TOTALLY obey you."

"That's more like it. Obedience. Total obedience. Yeah, I like the sound of that. Almost as much as like the sound of the cane impacting on your skin."

<Whoosh> <Crack>

"Oh... oh... my God..."

"Ha-ha," she laughs, there is no god..."


"It's over, Matt. You can straighten up and get dressed."

It was just a blur of pain towards the end and my buttocks... tenderized meat. Dazed. Broken. Tame. Obedient. Surrendered.

"You can go home now. I will text you when I want to see you next, but don't contact me and don't say hello in the street should you see me either. You can go to the café because I've left now - it was a shit job."

I am too stunned to speak.

How could you do this to me, Gina? I love you.

She comes up to me and kisses me gently on the forehead. "You've been very brave, Matt. It's so touching that you care for me that much," she says compassionately and then adds, "Oh look you've got a little tear rolling down your cheek." She puts a finger up to it and wipes it off."

Something breaks inside of me and I drop to the floor crying like a baby...


I am standing there naked and trembling and broken and wretched. My buttocks are tender and torn and burning and beaten.

Facing me is her. Her tanned and toned arms on her hips. Black sleeveless top. Tight jeans. Slim. Cruel blue-green eyes. Blonde. Beautiful.

We are in her front room. Snow coloured deep-pile carpet. White walls. Brass fitted wall lamps. Black leather sofa. Heavy green patterned curtains. Lighting just right. Temperature just right. Television situated just right. Everything just so. Controlled. Perfect. Perfect for her.

She looks at me and smiles and then walks over to me. She places her hands each side of my cheeks and gently raises my head. Then she wipes a tear off that has almost reached my chin.

"I enjoyed that, really enjoyed that," she says, with a husky almost cockney accent. "You've never had two hundred strokes before. I wondered whether you would pass out at one point. But you did well. Very well."

I nod and sniffle. I need her approval. No, I crave her approval.

"I can't help the way I am, you know. Nature made me that way. I am cruel one minute and kind the next. Jekyll and Hyde. Sweet and sour. I regret nothing in life. Feel no guilt. Every decision I make is for me, and I seldom get it wrong. I love myself. Love my body. Love my, so the hypocrites say, depraved and lustful desires. I get what I can out of life and I intend to live my life to the full for as long as I can."

She takes her hands away and adds: "I couldn't resist the video to 'entertain' you whilst I caned you. Nice little touch wasn't it? The thing is I knew you had fallen in love with me and had maybe entertained the notion of me being totally 'exclusive' to you. You probably thought that I would fall in love with you in return. But that ain't going to happen. Not now. Not ever. Not with any man..."

I cast my mind back about thirty minutes. I am naked and scared and shaking, and strapped firmly to the caning bench, the caning bench she had made me pay for. I had been waiting for the first stroke of the cane to land agonisingly across my bare and vulnerable buttocks. But there had been a pause and then she had brought a kitchen chair into the room and placed it in front of me. Less than a minute later she had returned with her laptop and plonked it on the seat of the chair. I had watched her, intrigued, open the lid and select a file prior to clicking it. She had then walked behind me to pick up the long rattan cane she used to punish me with. As she did the video began to play. At this point I discerned a 'whoosh' and a split second later the excruciating pain of the stroke seared across my buttocks. As the agony began to wane slightly I saw on the screen a view of her bed - the camcorder obviously placed at the foot of the bed. Just at the edge of the screen I could see her taking all her clothes off. There were voices, hers and a man's. She then administered the second stroke and when I had opened my eyes which were already watering she and the man were both nude and on the bed. Gina had then whispered in my ear, "You're just going to love seeing this." The third stroke had followed. And whilst I had been caned I had watched her - tanned all over, small but shapely breasts and shaved cunt - and the guy - dark and swarthy and ruggedly handsome with a big cock - caress each other's naked bodies. He had snogged her and grabbed her crotch, she had taken his cock in her mouth and stroked the shaft. He had then gone down on her and licked her cunt and just before she came, her eyes glazed, she had smiled into the camera, smiled for me. She had screamed with the pleasure of the orgasm and thrown back her head. They had both laughed together for a moment, as though sharing some private joke, before she had then turned over and he had shagged her up the arse as his guttural grunting became a crescendo prior to the inevitable conclusion. And I had felt like shit, jealous and hurt and betrayed. And she had carried on beating me, beating me to a pulp. And when the film had finished she had started it again. And I had wept...

Back in the lounge I watch Gina smile and then let out a small chuckle. I can see that hurting me both physically and emotionally gives her great pleasure.

"I'm going to make you a nice cup of tea in a minute, but first I want to tell you something else."

I nod automatically. Numb. Emotions scrambled. Blitzed.

"Let me you tell you this, Matt, I know how you are feeling - shit. But the fact of the matter is that you are obsessed with me and that you will never have anyone as good as me. I may be nearly forty but I'm an attractive woman, a very attractive woman. I can get pretty much any guy I want. Incidentally, the fellow in the video is married and his wife is dowdy and boring. I told him I wanted to film us shagging and he readily agreed, provided I didn't show it to anyone else. Naturally, I lied, it's what I do, I'm a manipulative bitch, and if he gives me any hassle I won't hesitate to show it to his missus..."

I start to cry again.

She wanders over and puts her arm around me.

"Aw, how sweet of you Matt. But don't worry, I'm not going to dump you. Well, not yet. You see, you're so wonderfully... pathetic and weak. You give me lots of money... and I love spending. On clothes. On days out. On meals. On holidays. You see, for a girl who was brought up on a South London housing estate I ain't done bad. It taught me what life was all about and how people really were, and I've learnt those lessons well. I use people, men mainly, and I play the system to get the most out of it because at the end of the day nobody really gives a shit about you. Well, maybe apart from a few loved ones and close friends."

I realise that she is right. I am pathetic. I am weak. And I will do anything I can to make her happy. She can beat me and humiliate me. I will give her money. My hard earned money. My inheritance money. All of my money.

I drop to the floor, to my knees.

"I love you Gina, I will serve you in any way-"

"I know darling. I know," she says softly. "Now, I'm just going to make you a nice cup of tea. I've also got some Victoria Sponge if you'd like a slice. Afterwards, I'll wank you off. How would you like that? Mind you, it will cost you a hundred quid. Maybe I'll even let you lick my fanny - I love oral sex. But, that will cost you another hundred quid. Deal?"

"Yes, I'd love to."

She turns and walks out the door to the kitchen...


Drifting. Drifting. Drifting.

Me. Now. Today. This morning.

Erect. Semi-erect.

"Sounds like Oscar Pistorius has just tried to kill himself. He's been seen with bandages over both his hands. Reckon he's attempted to slit his wrists," my missus says, who has just opened the door to the lounge.

She's walked out now and is along the hallway.

Not erect at all now.

Yeah, pain. Intense pain. Can you really remember it? Can you re-live it in your mind? Can you?

You see, I don't think you can. I think you can remember things you have seen; things you have smelt, things you have heard. I think, no know, that you can kind of recall the fear of pain, the dread, your reactions to it...


It all kind of came back to me a few days ago when I'd been trawling through the spanking videos of a site I subscribe to and I'd been shocked to see a video of a naked man secured to a wooden frame being birched full force across the buttocks and screaming and struggling vainly against the leather straps holding him. I'd been shocked because it was... *me*. And I'd never known that the worst beating of my life had been filmed and was on the internet now for everyone to see, to savour, to maybe masturbate over.

But when I'd looked again I could see it wasn't me.

But it brought back memories. Horrific memories perhaps and re-evaluations of the kind of person I thought I was and sought in a vain way to be.

I'm not going to go into a long winded tale or the details of how I ended up in the situation I did, but basically I answered an ad for a master seeking a sub or a masochist - be careful what you wish for!

The trip up there had involved a longish train journey with two changes on the way and I had arrived at the station at about six o'clock. At the station I had been met by 'him' and then driven to his house which was in the country and reasonably remote.

He was a man in his late fifties, tall, slim and quite well spoken; educated too. He was also extremely polite and charming. There was no doubt in addition that he was pretty well off.

That evening he'd cooked me a dinner and he had been the perfect host. Afterwards he'd asked me questions about my life, my job, my interests and my family. He'd told me a few things about his life but probably more significant was what he *didn't* tell me; things that could identify him. He was a nice guy in many ways and he also made me laugh - I warmed to him; at the time.

Just before ten he suggested that we turn in as he thought that it would be best for me if I was fully rested for what he had planned for me.

My room was lovely, en-suite, and my bed, with freshly changed sheets, wonderfully comfortably. On the bedside table was a glass jug containing iced water.

Once I'd tucked myself in I had fallen asleep quite swiftly...


I had been woken by him coming into my room, placing a tray of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast along with a cup of coffee onto the bedside table and then pulling the curtains across to let the light in. The time was about seven and I did indeed feel rested and alert. I also felt a kind of rising anticipation and fear; I knew what was in store for me. Or thought I knew what was in store for me.

As I had yawned and stretched in bed he had placed the tray across the bed and said with a smile, "The last meal of a condemned man."

I had chuckled at that. Nervously.

He had then added, "I haven't made you a lot of food as it's not good to be beaten with a full stomach. Enjoy it and then get showered. Afterwards you can then watch T.V. for a bit so as to allow your food to go down. I'll come for you in due course. But in the meantime, relax as best you can."

I wasn't sure I would be able to relax but nevertheless I luxuriated in the shower after shaving not just my face but under my arms and pubic area too - it looks better, neater and I feel more hygienic.

Once I'd dried myself I had slipped into a dressing gown he had provided and after flicking through the channels on the television had settled into watching a documentary about Hitler's campaign in Russia.

Just before the programme had ended he had knocked gently on the bedroom door before letting himself in.

"It's time now," he had said. "Go to the toilet and then remove your dressing gown."

When I'd done that I'd felt a chill run through me.

He then ushered me downstairs - I was completely naked - and out through a back door into his long garden. As I had gone outside I had shivered because the temperature was clearly below zero and I could see my breath condensing as I breathed out.

We walked along a stone path which had a thick coating of frost on in places to what resembled a kind of log cabin at the bottom of his garden. I had wondered if he had had any neighbours but I could see no other buildings close by - the location was remoter than I thought; obviously intentionally so.

Once inside the cabin, which wasn't much less colder than outside he guided me to a solid wooden frame - probably hand-made - which consisted of a 'step' to place my folded knees on, a leather padded platform for my torso and various strategically leather straps to secure my limbs with.

For a moment I inwardly panicked - I was extremely scared - but managed to calm myself down. I remembered that we had talked about safe-words and rationalized that if he had killed someone in the past he would most likely have been in jail by now.

Once I had been strapped down quite firmly - I could hardly move - he bent down and whispered in my ear, "Comfortable?"

I had responded, "Yes, thank you."

He then disappeared for a few moments before returning.

I have to say at this point that I know he came back with the implement but I'm not sure whether he filmed it or not.

Just before he commenced he walked in front of me with the birch and waved it in my face. "This is what I'm going to beat you with in case you're wondering. The twigs have been placed in boiling water to make them more whippy and also to sterilize them. I really think you're going to appreciate this. By the way, I'm not going to use safe-words, as I'll be the judge of when you've had enough."

At the time alarm bells should have rung but because he'd been so 'civilized' up until this point and I had trusted him implicitly.

Seconds later I had briefly heard a 'whoosh' before a burning and lacerating pain had seared across my exposed buttocks. I think I had taken the first stroke in silence but I had jerked against the restraints. It was absolute agony.

He then administered stroke after stroke at regular intervals and it was sheer hell. After a couple I was screaming and probably after about ten I was begging for mercy. But he never responded.

I wondered if indeed I would die and bitterly regretted ever agreeing to this - he was clearly a psychopath and an out of control sadist.

My buttocks felt like they were being shredded and I was sure I could feel blood running down the backs of my thighs.

I begged him for mercy and then I prayed to God to release me from this hell. But there is no God.

I don't know how many lashes I took but there was a moment when my senses swam and I experienced a brief sensation of falling and everything went white for a second.

When I came to it was to the agony of my rectum feeling that it was being split wide open - he was buggering me. Something that I hadn't agreed to.

And then it was over.

He undid my straps and helped me to my feet. I could hardly walk but nevertheless he got me back in the house.

Totally shocked, dazed, he had got me to lie down on the bed. He had then tended my backside by applying some sort of stinging antiseptic to it whilst all the time acting caringly and sympathetically towards me as though I was a victim of an unprovoked and vicious assault.

"Okay, just try to lie on your front, I know it's been a shock for you, but in the end you'll see it as one of the most wonderful experiences you'll ever have. Trust me."

I was speechless.

After about an hour I felt a lot better though of course my buttocks and anus were still very tender to say the least.

As he drove me to the station he explained that he didn't want to see me again because he sought out constantly new people. He also thanked me profusely and told me that because he hadn't been 'absolutely straight' with me he had slipped 'a little something into my wallet'. That was presumably hush money.

Whilst on the train on the way back which I had spent mostly standing I had gone into the toilet and checked the contents of my wallet - there were two thousand pounds in there.

Suffice to say I never said anything to anybody about what had happened - until now. I also questioned for a good few months whether I was indeed a 'true masochist'.

So that's the tale. Maybe a cautionary one. I don't know.


I had just avoided a slippering from the green track-suited, stocky and powerfully built, sandy complexioned, Mister Butcher the P.E. teacher, when the internal phone buzzed...

October 1973: I was just eighteen years of age and my name, Ima Kant.

'Butch', as he was more commonly known, marched over and with barely concealed irritation, picked up the receiver.

"Sports hall, Mister Butcher speaking... yes, he is... right you are!"

The sports master turned and then barked at me in his strong Yorkshire accent: "Triewly! Get yourself down the Headmaster's office - pronto!"

I felt momentarily self-conscious as I briefly became the focus of attention for the class. I made for the exit, pushing against the reinforced glass of the wooden framed doors and emerging into the corridor. My bare feet padded on the mica tiles and bar a pair of borrowed navy blue sports shorts, I was completely naked, the wearing of underpants being forbidden on the grounds that they were unhygienic after a vigorous and sweat inducing games session.

That particular day, however, I had forgotten my kit bag, fortunately, Joe Bayley's mother had slipped his old shorts into his bag should his newly purchased ones proven unsuitable for whatever reason. Joe, by lending them to me had saved me from the trauma and humiliation of a three-stroke, full force, slippering with a gym shoe in front of the rest of the class.

Two weeks previous I had received one stroke for being late and that was bad enough - the pain was horrendous, though thankfully subsiding fairly rapidly. At home that night I had, by twisting round uncomfortably, inspected my naked buttock in the bathroom mirror - there was a patchy purple-black imprint of a sole on my soft pink skin, and still tender to the touch!

Anyway, Butch had exercised clemency on this occasion for me not being suitably attired and I was permitted to continue with the gym session topless. "But," he had added chillingly, "there would be no second chance!"

I carried on down the long corridors past classrooms where I would catch glances from other pupils. I wondered why I had been summoned to the Head - I wasn't aware of any wrong doing.

The Downs High School was comprised of three separate buildings: two blocks for general education and one exclusively for science and technology. The school had become comprehensive after a merger between the neighbouring Grammar and Secondary Modern schools.

I now left the East Block by its main door and into the sunny but chilly autumn air, a gentle gust of wind causing me to shiver slightly due to my partially clad state.

I felt conspicuous, and not a little embarrassed when passing giggling female students.

I don't suppose it had taken me more than five minutes to reach the Headmaster's study - it had seemed longer though. I knocked tentatively on the plain wooden door yet I was convinced I had nothing to fear.

A crisp, 'cut-glass', female voice bade me to enter. I did so.

Miss Katherine Adams, the recently appointed Headmistress, sat upright at her desk. I cannot deny the fact that she was entrancing - she was in her early thirties with boyish bobbed hair framing a neat featured face tanned from active outdoor pursuits. Her build and posture confirmed her athleticism, but most of all I was struck by her eyes: piercing and cobalt blue.

"Why aren't you properly dressed for physical education?" she inquired, calmly enough.

"I forgot my kit but I managed to borrow some shorts, Mister Butcher said it was okay this time-"

She broke in abruptly. "In future, Mister Butcher will be instructed to administer a severe slippering to any boy who breaches the dress code, however minor. The problem with this establishment is that we are still suffering from the laxity of the previous incumbent," her voice softened, "to continue, I haven't called you in to berate you for your oversight..."

I breathed a little easier but, What a bitch! I thought. Rumour had it that she was a lesbian and even had a partner.

"Well, I must say that your academic record, apart from French, is good, Triewly. I would imagine that you will do rather well in life," she looked me up and down, "and love."

I felt rather awkward at the last remark but started to feel relaxed as the meeting was obviously concerning some of my recent job applications.

"What are your plans when you leave?" she inquired sincerely enough.

"I'm actually hoping to join the Civil Service working in the field of Chemistry."

"You don't feel that perhaps your career would be better served by attaining A' Levels then University?" she suggested.

"Um, probably but there are part-time college courses such as O.N.C and H.N.C which are well recognised, besides my mother is unable to work and my father is on a modest income. I don't want to be a financial burden to them."

"Perhaps you are right, an individual will naturally find their true level within a career structure regardless of qualifications, which brings me to this..."

She handed over a slip of typewritten paper which I willingly accepted.

Christ, I thought - it was the absence note from last week when I had skived off last Friday due to attending Pete Randall's 'farewell do' the evening before he departed for the army. I had composed it quietly in the early hours of Sunday morning, on my mother's typewriter, the contents apologising for my non-attendance on Friday due to a 'stomach bug'.

"Spot the deliberate mistake." Her lips twisted malevolently into a half smile.

Buggering hell! I had signed my own name instead of my mother's.

"It would appear that you have attempted to take us for fools, Triewly!" Her tone was now serious.

"I do not take lightly to boys truanting, especially in their last year which is the most crucial."

"I-I r-really m-must a-apologise, Miss,' I choked out.

"Too late," she retorted coldly.

I experienced my testicles tingle as they constricted with fear.

She slipped off her Westminster Grey jacket to reveal a white sleeveless shirt. Her upper limbs were still tanned and appeared strong after a summer engaging in open air pursuits. Tiny little freckles and moles coaxed out by the sun adorned her bare arms and her golden arm hairs reflected the daylight. I was confused, she was a demon in the guise of an angel. I desired her though I trembled.

She opened her drawer and rummaged around momentarily before producing a garden cane: bamboo, yellow, knotted, thumb thick and about eighteen inches long. With an end in each hand she tested its strength by first flexing it. Satisfied, she stood up and cleared a few files from her bureau, placing them on a filing cabinet in the corner.

To this day, I can recall the green whorled pattern of the carpet and the magnolia decorated walls with water colours of local rural scenes and the afternoon sun streaming through the large single window.

"Turn round, drop your shorts and prostrate yourself along the length of the desk. Grip the edges. Do not move till the punishment is complete."

Her tone was matter-of-fact yet I swear her lips curled cruelly. I obeyed and hoped she hadn't noticed my involuntary erection which was flattened between the surface of the desk and my lower stomach. I had lowered my shorts and I was naked from the ankles up.

I was facing the window as three pretty sixth form girls glanced in. I could see, but not hear them laugh at my plight. My humiliation was total.

In the corner of my eye I caught the sight of Miss Adam's bare arm rise. There was a blur followed by a brief 'whooshing' then a 'crack!' The agonising red-hot stroke shook my unclad body. I gasped.

The second blow felt as though my skin was being sliced by a sword.


Curiously, despite the terrible suffering, I could feel my penis swell.

The now excruciating sting of the third stroke caused a tear to flow down my cheek.

"No more please, Miss!" I begged. In vain.

"Silence boy, unless you relish an extra one!" she reprimanded.

I gripped the edge desperately.

There was a pause, the calm before the storm. Then the fourth and last one was delivered, I'm sure, with even greater force and venom than the previous three. Her taut, caning arm, viewed through the misty, peripheral vision of my watering eyes, almost touched the ceiling then curved with a 'forearm smash' and seared into my already burning posterior. I screamed and nearly leapt up, only fear of more compelled me to remain in position.

"That will do, straighten up so that I can ascertain whether medical attention is necessary. Keep your hands by your side."

I wanted to grasp my flaming behind but I had learnt to obey without question. I managed to stay still whilst she inspected, what must have been, welts behind my back.

My seven inch cock remained stubbornly proud. I prayed that she couldn't see it.

"I must be losing my touch," she seemed genuinely disappointed. "Normally when I mete out punishment I draw blood. Right, turn and face me."

What?! Oh my God! How embarrassing!

She laughed derisively.

"Back on the table!" she commanded. "We'll soon address that!"

I was terrified as I once again assumed the caning position - I surely couldn't take any more!

"No, I mean lie with your back on the table!"

It was bizarre - what was she up to now?

She lowered and closed the slats on the Venetian Blinds then flicked on the fluorescent lights. I manoeuvred myself, gingerly, onto the desk and lay back. I expected more torture, but nothing prepared me for what happened next.

Standing in front of me, she unbuttoned her shirt, discarded it casually onto the carpet. She deftly unclipped her black bra but placed that on the back of her chair - she was completely topless!

I had found her arms alluring enough but this was beyond belief. Her torso was also sun bronzed and well-conditioned. Her breasts were large but firm and her nipples, brown, pert. The mound of her left breast was home to a rather beguiling mole and sexy freckles topped her strong shoulders.

For the first time, I became aware of a faint flowery fragrance - she had moved close. With her left hand she stretched across my chest and gently rolled my sensitive left nipple between her fingers and her expression was now one of compassion and concern.

"Sorry I had to make you suffer so, but it was very, very, necessary and for your own good."

Her right hand, so recently and mercilessly instrumental in my agonies, grasped my impossibly hard member and began to move rhythmically along my shaft. I moaned with the anticipation of release. She teased me a light kiss on my lips, like a butterfly alighting upon a flower. Her every caress drove me swiftly, feverishly and inexorably to ecstasy-

I climaxed explosively, my hot juice shooting across her nude arm and bosom and immediately sank back totally spent, totally satisfied.

Calmly, she wiped my seed off her flesh with a hankie.

I wanted to weep, to declare my undying love for her and throw myself into her arms - but she was an enigma.

"Tidy yourself up and return to class," she commanded. "I trust you not to speak of this incident, though nobody would believe you anyway!" she smiled thinly.

I walked uncomfortably and totally satiated out of her study, her palace of pain and pleasure, never to bodily return...

Except when the 'fever' gripped me, and I would once more present myself to Miss Adams though, alas, only in my dreams!

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