A girl has a strange request

by Julie Baker

My name is John Baines and I’m a happily married man living in the north west of England. I an aged 54 and I have a daughter who is 25 and two sons aged 21 and 20. I have a good job in senior management and all of my children have been privately educated. We live in the country and I commute daily to my office which is in a small market town about 20 miles away.

I would have to say that I have had very few involvements with the world of corporal punishment. I went to prep school in the early 1970s and I was slippered by the headmaster three times; a three stroke, a four stroke and finally five of the best. It was administered to me fully clothed and I remember it stinging a bit. I didn’t find it a wholly unpleasant experience and it maybe played some part in my wife and I experimenting in some gentle spanking play later.

My daughter, Rachel, was popular at school and had a wide circle of friends. She had one girl that she was particularly close to, called Sally. Sally came from a large family and, if I was being critical, probably didn’t get the attention from her parents that she deserved. She was, and still is, a very attractive girl although not in the classic beauty kind of mould. She was good at sports, so had a fit and toned body, and was blessed with a lovely face topped with naturally blond hair. But above all, she has the most fantastic warm skin tone which makes her the centre of attention amongst the opposite sex.

This story started nine years ago when Sally and my daughter were both 16. They had started to go to local dances and parties, but always required dropping off and picking up. That summer, they were invited to a dance at our local rugby club. As usual, it was my turn to provide the lifts and I delivered them to the venue at 8.00pm. I arranged to wait outside for them from 11.45pm onwards, and I asked that they be no later than midnight before coming out.

Midnight arrived, and my daughter was safely in the car, but no sign of Sally. Rachel was unaware of her movements latterly, so we could do nothing other than wait. By quarter past we were getting a bit worried. My daughter tried to get her on her mobile phone but without success. We tried some of her friends, but they hadn’t seen her. By this time, I was getting quite concerned, and most of the party goers had departed the scene. I suggested that we drove into the village to have a quick look around and, if there was no sign of her, I would phone her parents.

Then we found her. She was about half a mile away walking back towards the Rugby Club. She got in the car and seemed to be a bit confused and slightly upset. I asked her if anyone had done anything to her, and she said not. To be honest, I didn’t ask her outright where she had been, but I didn’t suspect that she had been drinking to any kind of excess. I drove them home in almost complete silence and they both went off to bed as soon as we got in.

I recounted the story to my wife. All seemed OK, but I couldn’t help wondering where Sally had been for that half an hour. The combination of her being 16, looking a bit upset, not telling me the whole story, and being in my care, all troubled me. By the time the next morning came, I had gone over all the possible outcomes, including her parents phoning me in two months’ time to tell me that Sally was pregnant and that it was my fault!

I chatted with her over breakfast the next day and explained my concerns. She was back to her bright, charming self, but when I said that I would have to phone her parents and explain what happened her face dropped. She said that she would be grounded for months if I did this and she apologised profusely for causing me all this anguish. She assured me she was fine and that nothing untoward had happened to her. I liked Sally a lot and eventually I agreed to not tell her parents.

But I still didn’t know what had happened to her during that time, and my daughter claimed not to know either. They both left school two years later, and Sally went to study psychology in Plymouth. Her parents moved to France and she got a steady boyfriend in Devon. We would see her occasionally, as I think she regarded us as her stand-in parents, but we saw less and less of her. My daughter has always regarded her as her best friend, so kept in better touch. Then she broke off with her boyfriend and decided to move back to the North West.

Sally got herself a job in sales in the textiles industry and rented a small flat. We then saw more of her, particularly when my daughter was back at home. She then got another boyfriend, who was a local farmer’s son, and within six months they were engaged to be married. She was so excited and told us of her plans to live on the farm and start a family as soon as possible. She was looking forward to a fresh start with someone she loved and wanted to put all her past difficulties behind her. We were thrilled for her and we put the wedding date in our diary; October just past.

That was all fine and I didn’t give the matter much thought other than to look forward to the wedding day. Then one day in August my mobile phone rang, and I could see it was Sally. She asked if I was on my own and could talk privately. I confirmed that I was. Then she launched into a long address, full of emotion and no chance for me to say anything. She said that she was so grateful to my wife and me for having faith in her and supporting her through any difficulties she had and confirmed again that she only wanted to look forward. However, she said that she was still troubled by that night at the Rugby Club nine years previously and she felt that she had treated me badly at the time.

I managed to get a word in at this point and assured her that, as far as I was concerned, the matter was buried in the past and that she should forget all about it. She said she thought that would be my response, but however hard she tried she could not get this debt to me out of her mind.

“John, would you be prepared to cane me for what I did to you that night?”

I couldn’t believe that I had heard her right.

“Sally, that would be completely unnecessary,” I said eventually. “Just forget about it and move on. You’ve got everything to look forward to.”

“John, please, I want you to do this for me. I’ve been thinking about it endlessly and this is the only solution for me.”

I said that I would think about it and text her when I had come to a conclusion.

For the next couple of days, I had difficulty in focusing on anything else. The chance to cane the bottom of a lovely 25-year-old had obvious attractions, but somehow it felt wrong and potentially risky. Sally and I then exchanged texts as follows:

Me: Been thinking about your request. Have you discussed it with anyone else?

Sally: No

Me: I could do this for you, but you must be sure you want to see it through and nobody else must know about it.

Sally: OK I agree to those terms.

Me: OK, I’ll make the arrangements. I’ll organise the cane and book a hotel room. Can you manage 4.00pm on Thursday 13th August?

Sally: Yes, that’s fine with me.

Me: OK, leave it with me. You will have to do as instructed on the day and this is strictly between the two of us. Will confirm the venue shortly.

So that was it settled. I was going to cane Sally’s bottom at her request. Fixing the hotel room was easy. Clients visiting our offices often stay in rooms at the local well-known brand of budget hotels. By booking three weeks in advance and prepaying, I secured a room for £35. I knew the sound proofing would be good, but I requested a particular room that I knew was at the end of a corridor on the top floor.

I didn’t really know how to source the cane, but the internet made this bit easy. I found a company that seemed reputable and guaranteed to deliver in plain packaging. They had a variety of types on offer and, in the end, I went for something that seemed middle range; ‘K30 Senior Dragon Cane’, which is 8-10mm thick and 80cm long. It promised to be ‘stingy’ and ‘leave clearly defined marks’. I went for the slightly cheaper straight version at £26. The website gave a lot of useful practical advice also. Clearly being too severe is a big danger and it suggested putting a book under your elbow to limit the force of each stroke. It also recommended not applying a cane to a bottom that hadn’t been warmed up.

The cane arrived in the office a few days later. I do a lot of fishing, so the shape of the package was not considered to be unusual. All preparations were complete, and we had two weeks to wait until the appointed day. Sally knew where to come to, and I said that I would text her with the room number when I knew for sure where we would be.

On the day, I had difficulty in concentrating on my normal work. At 3.30pm, I said to my secretary that I would be leaving early and was not to be contacted by phone. I drove across town to the hotel and parked in the supermarket car park adjacent. I went to reception and was pleased to be given the key to the room requested. I said that I had someone else coming for an interview at 4.00pm and to give them directions to the room. I went up in the lift and along to the end of the corridor, before entering the room.

It was typical of its type, with a double bed, a sofa bed, a desk-cum-dressing table with straight backed chair and an en-suite shower room. The decor was plain, and the lighting was just about OK with the curtains drawn and the bedside lights switched on. I texted Sally to confirm the room number and then got myself ready for her arrival. I had decided she would have to be slippered first to get her warm before I applied the cane. I had therefore brought with me a rubber soled deck-shoe of my wife’s, as well as the cane, which I extracted from its cardboard tube. I placed both implements in full view on the desk.

A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door and in walked Sally. She looked nervous and a little flustered. Her face was more flushed than normal, but she still looked very attractive. She had come in trainers, short white socks, light blue skinny jeans and a white tight-fitting cropped blouse which left about an inch of bare flesh above her trousers. She was thanking me profusely for doing this for her, but I could tell that much of her talking was to cover her apprehension over what was about to happen to her. I told her that there was still time to back out, but she was resolute.

We were still standing in the middle of the room at this stage.

“OK, let’s get on with this, Sally. I’ll hang my jacket on the back of the door and then I’ll explain what I am going to do.”

I walked past her, and she took the chance to look round the room. She immediately spotted the shoe and the cane on the desk. She went over and tentatively picked up the cane.

“Oh, fuck,” I could hear her say under her breath as the full realisation of what was about to happen to her sank in. She replaced it and turned to face me.

“Sally, I’m no expert in handing out corporal punishment, but I have gleaned some useful tips. Please trust me as we go through and you will receive the punishment that you want without it being too distressing and with no lasting damage. I know you want to be caned, but first of all I need to warm up your bottom. I’m therefore going to slipper you before using the cane. Please remove your shoes and jeans.”

Without hesitation, Sally took off her shoes and wriggled out of her jeans to reveal some pretty high cut white panties with a smooth satin look. She placed her trainers under the chair and neatly folded her jeans before placing them on the seat of the chair. I could now see her shapely legs and her firm breasts seemed to be straining within her tight blouse. She left her short white socks in place.

“Sally, you are going to get six whacks from the shoe over your knickers. This will be quite sore as the pain is likely to build as the slippering progresses but remember that this is to make the caning more bearable for you. Please bend over and touch your toes.”

Again, no hesitation, and Sally presented her bottom perfectly for the slipper. Her panties were now stretched tight over her beautiful bottom. I picked up the shoe and rested it in the middle of the target.

“Ready, Sally?”

“Yes, John.”

I delivered the first blow. Quite a noise from the shoe, and I could see the flesh on Sally’s bottom ripple out from the impact. She emitted a low grunt but didn’t alter her stance. I applied the next one a little harder, but this time no noise from Sally. This set the pattern. I increased the severity as the slippering progressed but, apart from the first one, which maybe took her by surprise, there was little reaction from her. After the sixth, I told her to get up and to give her bottom a bit of a rub. This she did and now I could see that she was suffering somewhat; watery eyes and a look of total surprise and pain on her face. She was breathing rapidly, but quickly regained her composure.

“I’ve made tea,” I said. “I thought we might have a short break to allow you to recover a bit.”

“Perfect,” said Sally. “Thanks.”

I poured the tea and we sat side by side on the sofa bed. I asked how she had found the first part.

“Bloody sore,” she said laughing.

She looked so attractive, sat there in her brief panties and long legs stretched in front of her. When she had finished her tea, I asked her if she was ready to take the cane. She confirmed that she was.

“OK, Sally. You might find my next request hard to take but I’m going to ask you to remove your panties so that you are taking the caning on your bare skin. This is so that I check the effect it is having on you and ensure that the intensity is just right. If I can’t see what’s going on, I might go too light, which would leave you unsatisfied, or, worse, I might be too severe and leave you in a bad state. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Now there was a hesitation. Sally had clearly not prepared for this eventuality. I could see that she was not happy with this development and I could sense that she was weighing up her options.

“Could I pull my panties up so that they are more like a thong with my buttocks exposed?” she asked.

My turn to think about a response.

“Oh, come on, let’s get on with it,” she said before I could reply. “I’ll take my knickers off, given that it’s for my benefit and you are only doing this as a favour for me.”

With this, she stood up and eased her panties down over her hips and then over her legs. She stepped out of them and was then totally naked from the waist down, apart from her short socks. Because her blouse was short, I could see that she was totally shaved in the pubic area and, when she turned to place her underwear on top of her jeans, I could also admire her beautiful naked bottom, which was bright red from the recent action with the shoe.

“Right, Sally, this time it is up to you to choose the best position for receiving the cane. I’m not sure that touching you toes again would be a good idea. I think you’ll need something to stabilise yourself against. You could place your hands on the bed or on the desk. Or we could pull out the sofa and you could bend over the back of it. Or you could go on all fours on the bed, if you thought that would be better. The choice is yours.”

Again, Sally took a few moments to think about her options.

“I think I’ll place my forearms on the desk, if that is OK with you. That should ensure that I’m properly bent over with my bottom in the right position. What do you think?”

“Try it,” I said.

This she did, and it did seem like the perfect solution, given the facilities available. Her bottom was perfectly presented, and her blouse had now risen a third of the way up her back. No obstructions.

“If you are OK, Sally, stay where you are and we will get this over with. Six stokes of the cane and then you can confine all past misdemeanours to the past.”

The cane was just by Sally, and she watched my every move as I picked it up.

“Ready for this, Sally? Another six of the best, but this time with the cane. This is what you came for, and I hope it lives up to expectations.”

No answer, which I took as being my signal to get started. I laid the cane across Sally’s bottom and gave it a few taps. I had decided to go easy with the first one, but I was somewhat horrified when Sally immediately got up clutching her poor behind. No complaint, though, and she quickly resumed her position. Once again, I had taken her by surprise, but I had learnt that the cane was an implement that required careful use. I wanted the caning to be as she required, but it gave me no pleasure to be hurting her beyond what was necessary. I resolved that I would use no more force than in that first stroke.

I also knew the classic caning technique generally required about 20 second gaps between each stroke. Unlike the slipper, the cane is applied on different areas of the target and should not overlap. A recovery period between strokes is needed and the tension builds as each stroke becomes due. Although Sally’s rear was red from the slippering, the mark left by that first cane stroke was very distinct. Quite short on each buttock, as Sally’s bottom is slender but quite rounded, but the mark was quite wide and a much darker red than the shoe markings.

I delivered the next stroke. A bit easier, and no noise or movement from Sally this time. The third was the same. Halfway, and now three very distinct cane marks visible on Sally’s bottom. The fourth one, I stepped up a little, and finally Sally let out a little whimper. The fifth one brought out quite a sharp cry of pain and I could see Sally’s chest heaving up and down above the desk surface.

“Last one, Sally,” I said. “This will be the worst.”

No reply, and I gave it to her right in the middle with slightly more force than the first one. This broke her. She collapsed onto the desk in floods of tears. Her whole body was shaking, and she looked thoroughly miserable. Had I overdone it, I thought. Eventually, after a couple of minutes, she managed to stand up. Tears continued to stream down her face, and I could see that she was exploring the six ridges on her bottom. She walked over to the mirror on the back of the door to inspect the damage. I was waiting nervously for her reaction.

“Thank you, John. You were magnificent. That was everything that I hoped for and more. Right up to my limit, but I truly feel that I have taken my punishment and that I can now move on with the rest of my life.”

All this was said with Sally largely naked, but with no hint of embarrassment on either side. She turned to regain her underwear, which she pulled up gingerly over her bottom. Similar care was taken with her tight jeans and then her trainers were back on her feet. She came over and kissed me on the cheek and I gave her a little hug.

“Thanks again, John, and see you at the wedding.” With this, she turned and left.

Six weeks later, my wife and I were at the wedding. Sally looked gorgeous and radiantly happy. Between Sally and me, it was as if nothing had happened, although I couldn’t help thinking about that bottom hidden away beneath all the folds of her wedding dress. I liked to think of the cane marks still being visible on that day, but no doubt they would have healed and there would be no evidence left of our time at that hotel.

For me, this whole episode has left more questions than answers. Why did Sally have such a need to revisit a relatively small incident from nine years ago? Was there some sort of sexual motive on her behalf? Has she managed to keep our meeting secret, particularly from her now husband who must surely have seen the marks on her bottom? She has never offered to pay towards the costs of that day, so she must have concluded that I was partly the beneficiary. This is true! What an erotic experience that I can reflect on for years! However, there is one question that I suspect will never get answered; what was Sally doing during that missing 30 minutes, nine years ago?

The End
© Julie Baker 2018

Julie welcomes contact from her readers. Email at: julie.baker_cane@mail.com or Julie’s Twitter address is: @JulieBaker_cane