I make frequent business visits to one of the major cities of the Southern USA, where my company is heavily involved. When I visit, I enjoy a professional and private life in a city I know well. The company favours a certain hotel, and I always stay there. It is a welcoming haven in a very busy place.

However, it has one drawback. The approach to it by road from one direction involves crossing a very busy multi-lane highway that has lane reversals at peak hours. A traffic police officer controls the turn junction. This eases the free-for-all pressure that prevails otherwise.

One afternoon, I was on my way back to the hotel early in the evening rush hour to shower and prepare for an evening engagement. I was in the left-hand lane, approaching the controlled junction with the turn to the left. In my rear-view mirror, to my horror, I saw a medium-sized van bearing down on me. The Police lady held up her hand for me to stop.

The van was approaching fast from behind, the driver seemingly oblivious to the situation. I braced myself, anticipating the impact as the van crashed into the back of my car. The accident did not hurt me and I could get out of the car. The policewoman stood there, looking a little shocked.

Within a minute, a police car arrived. They breathalysed me and got a ‘zero’ reading. They checked I had a valid driver’s license, whereupon they relaxed a lot and became friendly.

Another police car had arrived, and two officers were dealing with the van driver. By now, we were on a grass verge to one side of the highway. I was sitting in the back seat of a police car being interviewed. I said that I had stopped because I obeyed the hand signals of the policewoman. They believed me (it was true).

One of them said, off the record, “In one way, it’s your lucky day. You are sober and we are sure that you are not on drugs. The van driver is drunk and we are drug-testing him. All we ask you to do is to carry on helping us complete this paperwork. You have nothing to worry about.”

I realised they were concerned that the police lady might have misjudged the situation with the truck hurtling down behind me. My car was on hire from one of the big international car hire firms. Finally, an officer said, “We can take you to your hotel. We would be very grateful if you could please come to the police station later on and confirm that the police lady was not to blame for the accident.”

“We can help you with the hire car company if you can help us out.”

I recognised the white flag being raised, turned on the charm, and went along with it.

The hire car company arrived at the hotel about an hour later with a replacement car without a murmur. I drove to the police station to be met by the policewoman. I could not blame her for the accident. She was an African American girl, and in her office uniform and at close quarters, was gorgeous, but was upset.

We sat down in a side office and she produced paperwork related to her involvement in the accident. I acted a little annoyed, to her consternation. “You don’t understand how difficult it is,” she complained. “All that traffic and most drivers behave so badly.”

“But I behaved very well,” I replied. “I obeyed your hand signals, only to be rammed from behind. You should have seen that van screaming down towards me.”

She looked close to tears. “Please Sir,” she pleaded, “Sign these papers that say that I was just doing my job and that the van driver was to blame.” Her lip quivered.

I reached out and touched her pretty hand. She didn’t pull her hand away, and I saw her visibly relax. I got out my pen and signed.

“Well, that’s over with,” I said. There was no sign of a wedding ring. Thus emboldened and occupying the high ground, I pressed my advantage. “I don’t know my way around here very well (not true!). Would you like to spend an evening with me and show me your fantastic town?”

She gave me a beautiful smile. “Sure,” she said, “I couldn’t do so with a local, but it’s fine with you!” and produced a yellow sticky and wrote a telephone number.

“Can you ring me in about two hours when I am free, please?” she said. “We can make an appointment.”

I promised to do so. Back at the hotel, I changed and drove to my evening function. I called the girl on my mobile phone from the car park of my evening engagement. We arranged a meeting at my favourite fish restaurant at seven-thirty the following evening. The appointment filled me with anticipation during the intervening period.

At the appointed time on the following evening, I arrived at the very smart fish restaurant. It was just off an exit on one of the main highways. Within a couple of minutes, my new friend arrived, and we had a drink at the bar.

She looked stunning in a figure-hugging pair of dark blue pants, a washed-silk top, and a silk scarf. I got up and walked over to her. A lovely hug awaited me! She smelled as good as she looked. We retired to a table overlooking an ornamental fish pond and had a drink.

Her name was Nancy. She had been in the local police for three years after leaving school and she was doing part-time college studies in law. Her dad had been a senior officer with the same force and had just retired.

Nancy said that she was very relieved when she knew I was not a US citizen and that I would not be making a complaint. The police regarded duty at that junction with dread. There were so many accidents and some gave rise to complaints against the traffic duty officer. Justified or not, all complaints had to be investigated and they all went on your record regardless of the outcome.

Nancy said that the hotel had powerful political connections. The police campaigned with justification for the left turn to close, but the hotel’s connections put a stop to it.

We went into the main part of the restaurant. The maitre d showed us to a table that overlooked a well-kept indoor garden. We both ordered half a dozen oysters, followed by a grilled trout with salad. It was a delicious meal, and we finished quickly.

“Where should we go next?” I asked, with a bit of a gleam in my eye.

“How about a nightcap at my place?” Nancy replied with a little giggle. I couldn’t believe my luck. “I live in so-and-so (I recognised the general area, and it was close). You can follow me because I will need to ask security to let your car in after me.”

We set off and about ten minutes later; we drove into her condo complex. Upstairs in the living area that overlooked a park, Nancy put on a CD of Aretha Franklin and then disappeared into her bedroom. Wearing shorts and a t-shirt, Nancy emerged with rather more of her on view. This made her even more striking.

A generous Woodford Reserve on the Rocks appeared. What a well-equipped young woman, I thought. She joined me with an orange juice, snuggled up to me on the couch, and said, “You’ve been a good boy and it’s your turn for a good time. What would you like”?

I nearly fainted with surprise, replied “How about a shower together for a start and then relax in bed?”

“Perfect, let’s get to it,” said Nancy, leading the way. I got out of my clothes at top speed and we showered together. I washed all her interesting places, to her obvious pleasure. We dried each other and were soon in bed.

She put a finger in her mouth, chewed on it, and looked preoccupied. “You know,” she said, “If things had been different with your accident, I might have been out of the force. I would have to give up all this. Your friendly attitude helped me a lot. There have been about five traffic complaints against me. Perhaps a couple of them are partly justified.”

“If you had pressed your case, it might have been the end for me in the police. I’m so grateful to you. I don’t know what has been wrong with me, but I just sort of freeze up sometimes when I am on traffic duty. The concentration required in all that traffic can just be too much. Perhaps it wasn’t my fault.”

“My colleagues said I did nothing wrong and supported me. But I’m fed up with it. If I received a bad performance hearing at work, my dad would be angry with me. But he is too old to spank me now.”

This was a stunning revelation. What was coming next? I cuddled her, nibbled at her neck, and gently squeezed her bottom.

“Don’t worry, Nancy. If they contact me again, I’m on your side,” I replied.

“But did your dad spank you a lot?” I asked. “Yes,” Nancy replied, “He spanked me regularly for unacceptable behaviour or poor school results until I was eighteen. Then he stopped and told me it would be up to boyfriends or a husband. I was too old to be spanked by him.”

“That’s awful” (what a lie!) I replied.

“No,” said Nancy, “I hated it when he did it hard, but it was good for me and it did me no permanent damage. The spankings straightened me out.”

“Nancy,” I asked, “What did he spank you with if you don’t mind my asking?”

She thought for a moment and then began, “When I was sixteen, he sometimes used a riding crop on me if I was very naughty. That stung like hell and it hurt when I sat down. When I got to about seventeen, he got one of those English canes. For the worst behaviour, he would bend me over a chair and cane me very hard on the bare. It stung worse when he did that, but the pain didn’t last as long as the pain from the crop. Often the cane marks lasted for a couple of weeks.”

“The last time he ever caned me was not long before my eighteenth birthday when I was about three hours late getting home after going out with a boyfriend in Dad’s new car. He gave me about twelve strokes. I don’t know how I stuck it. It was so painful and the sensations lasted more than a week. The worst marks took four weeks to fade completely. You may not know this, but some black parents are very strict and mine were that type.”

Nancy looked at me with what I thought was a mixture of embarrassment and desire. “You are English, and I hear you go in for a serious spanking over there. Please spank me now. I deserve it.”

This was unexpected, and I replied, “Nancy, I will spank you if that is what you want, but are you sure about it? What implements do you have to do it with, please? Apart from my hand, I have nothing with me.”

“John,” she said, “I’m sure about it and I feel bad about the whole thing. You did not get hurt, thank God, and you behaved so well. It surprised all the officers how well you took it and said how easy the English were to deal with.”

Nancy paused and blushed just a little. “I have a riding crop here which I bought a few months ago, hoping I could find a boyfriend to use it on me. When my dad did it to me, although it hurt like hell, it turned me on afterward. So far, I have not met a man who is into spanking. It’s maybe not a big thing for the men here.”

She got out of bed, went over to her wardrobe, and fetched the crop, which was a beauty. It was thin, perhaps less than a quarter inch in diameter, and about two feet long. I thought it was a little longer than usual. I hit my thigh with it and it produced a memorable sting.

“This crop is rather stiff, and the business end is not ideal for spanking a human. It’s for use on an animal. What a pity you don’t have a cane. But don’t worry, I will be careful,” I said.

Nancy bent naked over a low-backed chair. “OK,” she said, “Nice and slow now with at least twenty seconds between strokes.”

At least Nancy’s bottom had received the riding crop or the cane before. She knew exactly what she was in for, which was a relief.

Her legs were apart, which separated her bottom cheeks.

“Please let me pleasure you first,” I said. “You will get more out of the spanking. Let’s do it on the bed and we need a towel.”

“Why do we need a towel?” asked Nancy.

“You don’t want stains on the bedclothes if you leak a bit!” I said.

“Naughty!” replied Nancy with a grin, but she found a towel and laid it on the bed.

“On your back on the towel, please,” I said.

I knelt beside her and asked, “Nancy, please, may I put a finger in your vagina?”

She looked surprised and replied, “Of course. Why do you ask?”

“I would like to pleasure your G spot and it pays to be polite,” I replied, and she laughed.

The opening of her vagina was wet. I lubricated the tip of my finger with her juices and gently slid it into her. This did not hurt her and when I felt for the slightly hard area of her G spot, she gasped and the muscles in her pelvic area responded. I licked and then nibbled her clitoris after pulling back the hood. She loved it. I kept this up for several minutes, and Nancy had at least two orgasms.

Nancy lay there, still shaking from the orgasms.

“Please, this is getting on top of me. Give me a minute,” she said. “I never had my G spot fingered and clitoris kissed at the same time. How do you know about that?”

I stopped and said, “I just know it usually works! Please, get up on your knees. Bottom-up, head down, please.”

Once recovered, the good girl obeyed instantly, a sign of self-discipline.

“Hold tight,” I said. “Here comes number one.” I gave her left-hand cheek a moderate stroke, to be rewarded with a gasp and wriggle from Nancy, but she rapidly regained her composure. I counted up to twenty and gave her right-hand globe a similar treatment, perhaps harder. Nancy took it quietly this time with the smallest jerk.

This was a tough young woman. After another obligatory pause, I gave her a slightly harder swing. The leather slapper made an impact with the fleshy part of the middle of her bottom. She jerked convulsively and moaned a little. I looked down at her face. I could detect no tears. Three more strokes followed with progressively increasing force. At the end of stroke number six, Nancy slowly stood up and wiped away a few small tears.

“Wow,” she said, “You are an expert,” clutching her bottom with both hands and jumping up and down a bit. “If you make love to me now, maybe I will want a few more, but you have to take away the pain.”

She lowered herself onto the bed with her burning rump in the air. I felt the marks. The crop had caused hard ridges to form, and they were hot to the touch.

I started on her with some gentle oral attention and when I judged the time was right; I eased myself into her. Beginning with slow deep movements, Nancy was clearly in seventh heaven. She rubbed her marks against me.

After a couple of minutes, she asked, “Give me another stroke, and then come back into me as quickly as possible.”

Well, Nancy requested it. The crop whistled down with a bit of a crack as the slapper landed. She squirmed about, but I got back in quickly and resumed activity.

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” she breathed. “I’ve always wanted to try that. Go down on me again.”

Ever eager to give pleasure, I did as she asked. I had to do as I was told because I had been a naughty boy. These days, I offer a lady a warm-up hand-spanking first, but back then, my experience of spanking had not arrived at that point.

Her pussy was in spasm and she arched her back as I fingered her G spot and nibbled gently at her clitoris. I let her recover again and then got back on board. After about ten minutes, Nancy nearly shook us both apart in one of the most volcanic orgasms that I have ever been party to.

We slowly separated and lay clutching each other. Eventually, Nancy’s breathing steadied. She looked at me through tear-filled eyes.

Shakily, she said, “John, you naughty boy, I won’t be able to sit comfortably for a week at least.”

“Come on,” I replied, “Let’s see if an application of warm water will help.” I helped her to her feet and half-supported her back into the bathroom. She sat on the loo and relieved herself, head between her knees. In the shower, I helped Nancy wash her well-striped bottom.

The skin was unbroken, and I helped to dry her off. Nancy led me back into the bedroom, made me sit on the bed, and collapsed with her bottom over my knees. I carefully massaged Aloe Vera ointment into the marks. She squealed a bit when I put any pressure on a ridge, but my ministrations eased the pain.

Eventually, Nancy stood up and looked at her bottom in the mirror.

“Heavens,” she said. “How will I be able to work tomorrow?”

“You are young and you will recover quickly,” I answered mockingly.

She made a face but came to kneel beside me. She hugged my knees and looked at me with an expression that was somewhere between annoyance and pleasure.

“John,” she said, “That’s the second worst spanking I ever had, but I needed it so badly. I’ve been looking for someone to do that to me for a while, but I dare not ask anyone who lives locally, even if I am going out with them. They need to make the move. The knowledge of my asking for it might get around town and it would be the end for me. I’m grateful to you.”

“There’s nothing to be grateful for. It’s been an amazing experience for me,” I replied. “It was my pleasure.”

We got back into bed and lay in each other’s arms, kissing and cuddling.

“John, please stay the night, if you don’t mind leaving by six-thirty,” asked Nancy.

I didn’t need any asking. “That’s wonderful. It’s so good of you,” I replied. “Do you feel like a bit more fun?”

She grinned at me, grabbed old Percy, who was rock hard again, got up on her haunches, and eased me into her. We made slow and increasingly intense love for nearly an hour, and Nancy had at least three orgasms. I could feel the hot ridges on her bottom and she protested if I rubbed them at all hard, but I noticed that the action had other effects on her!

We eventually collapsed into sleep. Nancy’s TV alarm woke us at five-forty-five. Nancy went into the shower and when she came out, I examined the damage. It was noticeable, and there might be a little bruising. Nancy eased herself into her uniform, wincing as she slid her panties up over her bottom.

I had a lightning shower, dressed, and we headed for the door. Nancy beamed at me and said, “How about here at seven pm? We think about food and see what follows?”

These American women who take the lead (in some areas) are wonderful!

“That would be just great, Nancy. I am free and your company is worth a year of my life and what a way it will be for me to celebrate my last night in town.”

She pecked at me, and we headed for the cars. I helped her into hers and saw flashes of pain cross her face as she sat down. With a final big grin, she departed, spinning up some gravel. I went back to the hotel, changed, and took an early breakfast.

In the evening, I arrived at seven pm as planned. Nancy opened the car park gate by remote control and I went up. Nancy wore a pair of loose-fitting slacks. I could guess why!

“John,” she said, “Did you have a good day?”

“Of course. How could it be otherwise, knowing that we would be together? How about yourself?” I replied.

“Well,” replied Nancy, “I was sore and the traffic duty was good because it took my mind off it. I have to be careful how I sit down. The spanking seems to have got the blood flowing and I could concentrate very well all day. But is there anything that we can do to reduce the bruising, please?”

“Yes, there is,” I replied. “Can we wait half an hour before we eat and work on you right away?”

“Sure, I want my butt seeing-to before anything else,” was the rapid reply. “OK.” I said, “I guess you have taken a shower already?”

“Yes,” replied Nancy, “I only finished and dressed about ten minutes before you arrived.” “

“That’s fine,” I said, “Into the bathroom anyway.”

I picked up a chair and followed her, sat down, grabbed her by the waist, put her over my knee, and then carefully slid down her slacks. Nothing on underneath, naughty, naughty!! There was a little bruising, and it did look rather sore. I reached over, ran the hot tap in the basin, and rinsed a flannel under it.

With the water as hot as I could bear, I soaked the flannel, then transferred it to the bruised areas of her shapely butt. Keeping this up for about fifteen minutes, I had to put a towel under her to avoid getting soaked. I explained that the heat would increase the blood flow under the skin and help to hasten the repair of tissue damage.

Eventually, Nancy said, “I can feel the heat doing good. It is less sore. Can you contain yourself long enough to go out for a bite to eat?”

She looked round at me with a mixture of lust and good humour in her eyes.

“Of course I can,” I said, “but only if you get off my knee and put some clothes on.”

She laughed. Looking at a pretty girl’s bottom is the most severe attention-grabber for any healthy man!

She got up, dried herself, and went off to her bedroom. Ten minutes later, she emerged in a printed cotton dress and with her hair tied back, which made her look about sixteen!

She grabbed a cushion and said, “Your car, please!”

We went down to my car and Nancy eased herself carefully down onto the cushion.

“John,” she said, “That hot flannel has helped, The sensation is less.”

At her choice, we went to a small local restaurant and had lobster soup each with a couple of bread rolls - only a light meal, but sufficient and tasty.

Finally, we went to a “theme” bar and listened to the band whilst I drank a beer and Nancy sipped at a Tom Collins. We returned to her apartment and fell into each other’s arms.

Nancy said, “No spanking tonight. I have to recover. Also, I’m a little sore inside after yesterday because I am out of practice! Would you just go down on me, please?”

“Whatever you want, Nancy, I’m at your disposal. I need to make you feel better, not worse.”

Nancy leaped up, heaved her clothes off, and rushed into the shower. I followed her example. We stood there fondling and kissing each other. Eventually, we separated and dried off. I knelt in front of Nancy, stroked her silky legs, and gave her a bit of the attention that she had been requesting. She shivered with pleasure and dug her nails into my shoulders.

I stopped, (sharp nails are painful), took her hand, and walked her back to the bed. More of the oral attention followed, and I had a very contented Nancy on my hands (and sitting on my face) in a short time. Without a word, she lay down beside me and manually took care of my major problem. A complete lady.

After a long silence, I carefully asked, “You know I am leaving tomorrow?”

Nancy slowly turned her head and looked at me. “Yes, I know, and I’m going to miss you a lot. Will you be coming back?”

“Yes, probably in a month, but you know, I’m older than you and you will want to settle with a younger guy one day, won’t you?” (I was twenty-two years her senior). Nancy looked thoughtful and chewed on a finger.

“John, you are right, but we can still see each other if you are in town if and until I settle down.”

A little, touching tear appeared in one eye and I felt her catch her breath.

“Of course we can. It’s wonderful for both of us, I think?” She smiled happily, and the cloud passed away. She gave me her e-mail address and asked me to stay in touch.

I flew home and life carried on.

The next time I was back in the US with her, at the end of a wonderful evening, lying in bed in each other’s arms, I said, “You mentioned your father used the cane on you, but you don’t have one here. I’m a little surprised. A thin cane will do less damage than that rather stiff riding crop.”

Nancy replied, “There’s an adult store downtown. I know they have a ‘back room’ where they keep stuff that they think is beyond the local prude tolerance to display in the main part of the store. They sell canes there. Their trading licence comes up for renewal annually and they are very careful not to stray over the boundaries set by the local authority or they might not get it renewed.”

“I dare not even go into the shop because of my job. For the same reason, I don’t want to leave any kind of trail via mail order and card payment, whatever. That’s why I don’t have a cane. The crop comes from an equestrian store. They thought nothing of it when I bought it.”

“Nancy,” I said, “I can fix that. They won’t shoot me or hang me for visiting the store, will they?”

She laughed like crazy. “I’m not bothered to go there, but I can’t because of the job,” replied Nancy.

“Tomorrow I will fix that,” I said. “Is there anything else you would like from there, please?”

Nancy lowered her eyes and said, “Please, I would love a thin vibrator. One of my friends said she loves hers. She’s reticent to say exactly what she does with it, but it comes ‘highly recommended.’”

“Consider it done. Just one thing, please. Where is the place?” I asked.

Nancy explained where it was and it was in a part of town I knew well and which car park to use.

The next lunchtime I went there. In the back room, they had plenty of canes. A thin one about a quarter inch in diameter and a thicker one, about three-eighths inches in diameter, seemed about right. I also bought a light multi-stranded whip with round-section thin strands. It resembled the french martinet.

The girls in the store were used to dealing with male customers, and showed me two examples of a ‘thin vibrator.’ One was about four inches long and the other a little longer. They showed me a ‘bullet’ vibrator. This was new to me. I bought the longer of the two thin ones and the bullet vibrator and paid cash for the lot.

With my treasure trove disguised in a cardboard tube and hidden in the car boot, I went back to the office. This was a minor risk because company rules allowed security to search your car, but they had never searched my car.

Back at Nancy’s place that Thursday evening, I gave her my little presents! She had never seen a bullet vibrator.

“I wonder about that little one,” I said. “Could it ‘get lost’ inside you?”

She laughed and said, “If it was working when it got lost, I might find out the hard way if too many orgasms could be fatal! But the thin one won’t get lost.”

“John, we must get something to eat. I have had nothing all day. There’s a steak house just one hundred yards down the road. Why don’t we go there, have something quick and easy, and come back for some fun!”

We visited the place and were home within an hour.

Nancy said, “Tomorrow is Friday and I have Saturday and Sunday off for a change. Let’s leave a long session for tomorrow night, please, but let’s try out the canes.”

Nancy got ready in the shower.

“Please, get over my knee and I will give you a hand-spanking warm-up first. It will increase the pleasurable sensations of a caning. Did your father hand-spank you first?” I asked.

“No, he didn’t,” replied Nancy. “He just beat the hell out of me, harder than you did it.”

She got over my knee. Nancy was uninhibited and had parted her legs to allow me full access to her golden botty. I could see it turned her on before I started. This was going to be a memorable session, I was sure.

“Here it comes,” I said, slowly spanking her lightly at first, with about ten seconds between spanks. I slowly increased the force. Her botty hardly reddened, and she wriggled about but didn’t complain. After about thirty spanks, Nancy said, “I’m ready for the cane. Please, can you try to do it with me over your knee? The contact with you will be wonderful.”

She was untroubled so far and appeared to be completely relaxed, but very damp between her legs.

I said, “The thin cane will be best at first. I’m going to tap your bottom twice, then deliver the stroke. Please don’t tense up your bottom muscles. Try to relax and think of something nice. It will hurt less.”

Nancy looked round at me, smiled, and said, “You know a lot about this, don’t you? Naughty boy.”

I replied, “It’s for our mutual benefit. How do you think it will be ‘afterward’?”

Nancy laughed a little. I think she was ever so slightly embarrassed!

“Are you ready, please?” I asked. She nodded.

‘Tap-tap, whistle CRACK’ and I planted a medium stroke across the fat part of her shapely rump. Nancy didn’t move or make a sound but took a slightly deeper breath.

I gave her a cane stroke every twenty seconds and slightly increased the force until a definite grey mark appeared after each stroke. I stopped after stroke number six and rubbed the marks. My aim was accurate and none of the strokes had overlapped.

“Nancy,” I asked, “How is it, please?”

“It’s wonderful, don’t stop. Keep going. It’s an enormous turn-on. I never thought I would orgasm from a caning,” she said.

The caning resumed. With the interval between strokes reduced to fifteen seconds and slowly increasing the force, I could tell from Nancy’s reactions if I was overdoing it.

At stroke fifteen, Nancy was jerking about with her gluteal muscles in heavy action. This was her first caning to orgasm. I thought I would carry on until she asked me to stop. After stroke eighteen, she gasped, “No, please, stop, it’s too powerful.”

So I stopped. Nancy lay there, moaning in pleasure.

“Let’s get you on the bed,” I said and lifted her off my knee and onto the bed.

There were a lot of grey lines on her bum. It was clear this was her normal skin reaction to the cane. The lumps and ridges following an application of the riding crop were absent, and I was pleased about that. Nancy might not be in so much pain afterward.

“Please, hand me the thin vibrator,” Nancy said.

She switched it on and eased it into her vagina. “Kiss my clitoris,” she requested.

I went down on her, and within a few seconds, she was in the grip of an enormous orgasm, arching her back and moaning in pleasure.

After about ten minutes of this, she withdrew the vibrator and switched it off.

Dear Nancy looked me in the eye and said, “I never knew it could be so good, the cane and then oral on my little sister with the vibrator running. What can I do for you, please?”

“Do you think you could cane me, please?” I asked.

Nancy looked surprised, but said, “I had fantasised about caning you. You can give it and I would love to find out if you can take it!”

“No problem,” I replied, “But I need the thicker cane. It’s closer to what I was used to getting.”

“Who caned you before?” asked Nancy in surprise.

“It was the normal thing in my day at school,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

There were a few gaps in her knowledge of ‘world affairs’!

I stood up, bent over the end, taking my weight on my elbows.

“Twelve strokes, please, and at the end, I want you to drain my balls.”

Nancy gasped and said, “You are naughtier than I thought, and if you take the twelve strokes well, I will certainly drain your balls. You deserve it and I will follow your procedure. Two warning taps, and then the stroke. Having been on the receiving end more than a few times, I can figure out what to do.”

‘Tap-tap, Whistle CRACK.’ It was harder than I had expected, or maybe I was getting soft. I tried not to react.

Stroke after stroke followed and at stroke nine, she warned me, “The last three strokes will be harder. My father always did that to me to teach me a lesson.”

Those last three strokes were close to agonising and took my breath away. Unusually, my erection had shrivelled under the onslaught.

After the last stroke, I remained in position for a few seconds to get my breath back. I felt Nancy massaging the marks, which were vivid and bore testimony to her skill with the cane.

“Good boy,” she said. “You took it like a man. Your little brother needs encouragement right now. Lie on the bed.”

She took hold of my little brother while she leaned over and kissed me. I reached out and fondled her breasts. Little brother rapidly responded to this, and sensations soon replaced the pain in my bum.

“Come on,” said Nancy, “I’m so horny. Caning you had a huge effect on me and I had an orgasm right at the end. You were in such pain, you didn’t notice. John, I can’t wait. Please, can we do it doggy-style? I want to feel you rub against my cane marks.”

This little speech was music to my ears and my little brother had returned to diamond cutter rigidity.

Nancy bent over and supported her weight on the bed, spreading her legs wide apart. She was sopping wet, and as I entered, her pelvic muscles were still in motion. We had an enormous mutual orgasm within thirty seconds.

As she recovered, Nancy said, “I had to keep a grip on myself, as I need a pee. Come with me. I will find it so erotic if you will watch me pee and help me clean up your cum.”

Uninhibited but otherwise polite women are the best sort!

Nancy sat on the loo, legs apart, and let me watch her take a pee. She was dripping from her vagina. There was a bidet spray, and she used it to clean up.

“Hold me open,” she said and ran water over the entrance, but not directly into it.

This was so erotic. Back in bed, I said to Nancy, “Can I do anything else for you, please?”

Nancy replied. “I’m going to be sore inside and outside after tonight. Let me take care of your little brother. You are very ‘strong’ and recover quickly after you come. It’s quite amazing.”

“Darling,” I replied, “How could it be otherwise when I’m in your company?”

“Please, let me give you a hand job. I love to see you come,” she said.

“Thank you and I accept! It’s so erotic for me to watch you pee and help clean you. It’s so rare that a girl lets you do that,” I replied.

Nancy got on with the needful, one hand on my little brother and the other massaging my balls. As I have experienced with other girls, my ejaculation fascinated Nancy. It went all over the bed.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “There’s a great launderette free to use downstairs.”

“But you are a bad boy,” she said. “Thank goodness I have office desk duty tomorrow and not traffic duty. I feel wonderful. If I had the day off tomorrow, I would ask for more whip strokes and then the cane to see how I felt. I need to plan for that.”

We had a nightcap. We both had to work the next day. Nancy checked with me about my length of stay. This time it was ten days. We had time for plenty of sessions.

On Friday evening, we took our time in the fish restaurant. Nancy was in an enquiring mood. There had been so many people in the restaurant that we had to keep our conversation to ‘vanilla’ affairs!

Back at her condo, she said that she had been on a website on which women who liked sex and spanking held discussions. One such discussion was around breaks in the availability of sex and spanking because of the unavoidable absence of the partner.

A tentative conclusion was that to solve this problem, as much as possible, the last session should be a heavy one. The spanking should be to the limit of tolerance of the recipient or, preferably, mutual recipients.

Maybe the level should be just beyond tolerance to delay the onset of frustration whilst the couples were apart from each other. A very sore bum (and sore genitalia) will stick longer in the memory than a slightly sore version.

What did I think? A hard caning at school always resulted in me having a heavy masturbation session daily, sometimes twice a day, if possible, for a week to ten days. I had been one of those who could always sit down within thirty minutes of receiving the hardest caning and I would do my best to masturbate as soon as possible after the caning. So I partially understood the effect on me of a very sore bum. The expectation of what would follow helped me get through hard canings at school.

Often the canings took place at the end of the school day. Afterward, I would rush home and take care of myself, trying not to draw attention to what was going on. So I discussed all this with Nancy.

We had not tried out the thin multi-strand leather whip. I suggested she might like to try it on me first so we would gain experience of its effects. If we wanted a long session, discovering the optimum way to lengthen it without causing unacceptable skin damage was worth considering.

Nancy said, “You think about increasing our pleasure, don’t you? Let’s try out the whip on you. When I have caned you, so far, your reaction to those canings shows they are within your comfort zone. Whilst my canings hurt, I’m tremendously aroused and wonder how I would feel if you gave me the cane much harder. I’m happy to find out, and perhaps the whip followed by the cane is worth a try.”

“We only come this way once, and unless you are a religionist who thinks otherwise, we won’t get a second chance. So we need to make the most of it!” I replied.

The direct question beckoned. I said, “Nancy, have our spanking activities, which others might think are ‘beyond sex,’ done anything for you, please?”

“Oh yes,” replied Nancy, “Very much so. Some girls in the department have slyly mentioned I look happy and have ‘colour in my cheeks’ and I think they wonder why. They know I have had boyfriends before and I’m sure they guess sex was involved, but something is quite different this time and they don’t know what it is! I don’t tell them anything.”

“It’s my sore bum and the feeling in it when I sit down to thank for it. I have to stop myself squeezing my thighs together to bring on an orgasm or do it in the loo. I can’t go around with a damp patch in the seat of my uniform, can I? If I did it on traffic duty, I would lose concentration!”

“So far, I have always been able to sit the next day after you caned me. I don’t think you ever used excessive force in the caning because you have never cut my skin. Cutting the skin is excessive, and you never crossed that line. There are some awful examples of skin-cutting canings on the internet. You know what you are doing, and it’s wonderful to trust you.”

“John, get into position and I will try out the whip on you.”

I bent over the side of the bed as usual. Nancy swished the whip and got used to the way the tails travelled through the air. They needed to hit something to bring them to rest.

“Are you ready?” she asked

“Yes,” I replied. “I can’t wait to find out.”

This time, there were no warning taps. The whip went ‘zwip,’ then ‘crick’ as it hit my bum. The sting was more than I had expected. Nancy gave me five more strokes with it and the sting built steadily. The initial sharp pain was at least as bad as that of the cane. I stood up and rubbed my bum. To my surprise, the sting did not die away as fast as that from the cane. I could feel a host of lines of fire crossing both cheeks of my bottom.

“Nancy,” I said, “This is different. I’m surprised that those thin little strands of leather have such an effect. Please give me six more strokes and a little harder. It’s the only way to find out.”

Nancy looked a little concerned. “Are you sure?” she asked.

“Yes, perhaps the next lot won’t be so painful, but there’s only one way to find out,” I replied.

I bent over, stuck my bum out, and said, “I’m ready.”

‘Zwip crick,’ the next stroke landed. Nancy had not increased the force very much, so I asked, “Please do it harder for the next five strokes.”

‘Zwip CRICK,’ the stroke was quite a lot harder, and the sting increased. I stayed in position and tried not to show much reaction. I made it through to the end of this second set of six strokes. The overall sensation at the end of a second set of strokes wasn’t much different from the sensation at the end of the first six strokes.

Still bent over the bed, I said to Nancy, “I am getting in the mood. Please give me six more strokes and let’s see how that goes.”

I had kept my voice steady and I think this reassured her. She replied, “OK, but little red and pink lines cover your bum. You must be sore.”

“Yes, I’m a little sore, but if we want to find out my tolerance limits, this is a way to do it. I’m doing this with both of us in mind,” I replied.

“I’m ready again,” I said.

Six more strokes struck my flaming bum. I think I was getting numb. I stayed down and said, “Please, six more strokes.”

Nancy gave me the next set of six strokes, making it twenty-four in total. I got up and looked in the mirror. My whole bottom was a dull red and the individual marks were visible where they had wrapped a little. It was warm to the touch, and it was stinging, but tolerably so.

It was time to try caning my flaming bum and see what difference six cane strokes might make.

“Please,” I said, “give me six very hard strokes with the thin cane. It’s time to find out what a few cane strokes will feel like on my whipped bum.”

I bent back over the bed, and without a word, Nancy picked up the thin cane.

‘Tap-tap crack,’ the first cane stroke landed on my bum. To my surprise, I could hardly feel it. This was both welcome and unexpected.

“Nancy,” I said, “This is having little effect on me. Please carry on caning me with greater force to the last of this set of six strokes.”

“As you wish,” replied Nancy.

The next five strokes landed hard enough for the force to rock me forward a little on my feet each time. I wondered what my bum would look like at the end, which soon arrived.

I stood up and rubbed my bum, feeling the ridges caused by the six cane strokes. In the mirror, I could see that the skin had not broken, and the ridges were turning purple.

“Please give me six more cane strokes,” I said. “This will make it thirty-six strokes in total. Please take a careful look at my bum after this set of six strokes to see if I am leaking at all.”

Back in position over the bed, Nancy gave me six more stingers. I lay with my bum over the edge and said, “Have a look and tell me what you see, please.”

Nancy was rubbing the marks, and she said, “Goodness, these must hurt. The cane marks are purple and some are turning blue. By some miracle, the skin has not broken. Can you sit on them?”

I stood up and walked over to a hard wooden chair by her dressing table and sat on it. My bum hurt, but nowhere near the limit of my tolerance. I smiled at Nancy.

“How do I look?” I said. “I think a long session with this little whip will desensitise the bum to the cane. How about giving me twelve more with the whip and making them hard, please?”

“John, are you sure? Your bum looks awful sore!”

“Please,” I said, “The whip makes me feel horny (it did!) Are you ready for me after the twelve strokes?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied. “I can’t wait.”

I bent back over the bed. The twelve whip strokes landed hard and fast but added little to the sting in my well-thrashed bum. As they landed, I was fantasising about having my balls drained by the lovely Nancy!

As soon as the last stroke landed, I got up and took Nancy in my arms. I reached back to her bottom, which I grabbed with both hands.

“Let me give this bottom a good seeing-to and then a whipping, or would you rather have it the other way round?” I asked.

Nancy replied, “I want sex again. So let’s do that and see about a whipping once I have enjoyed sex.”

She got into position for a doggy-style coupling. I had a raging erection and did the needful. We had a mutual orgasm within a minute and I remained hard within her, still thrusting away. Nancy had at least one more orgasm.

As the orgasm died away, Nancy took her weight on her elbows, legs still well apart, and said, “Give me twelve strokes with the whip, please. Don’t hold back. Make sure they leave marks.”

I gave her the twelve strokes with what I thought was moderate force. Little grey lines appeared on her rump, and she let out a few small yelps.

After the last strokes, she stood up, rubbing her bum, and said, “It stings. My bum is so hot. This whip is just great for a long whipping, and then a caning to see if I react similarly to you. But not tonight. We have the rest of the weekend ahead!”

“Darling, lie on the bed and I will take care of you again,” I replied. I fingered her G spot and nibbled at her clitoris. Nancy was in seventh heaven, shaking with reaction and moaning in delight.

“We have plenty of time to work out the best way to have a hard ‘spanking’ session,” I said. “It may not be a caning. I have been reading that nerve damage can result from caning and that infection risks could follow breaking the skin. The caning you gave me tonight did not hurt as much as it did during earlier canings, but the marks are worse.”

“Perhaps it’s a warning sign. The little whip may be our best way forward if we need a heavy session. There’s a limit to what we can take and we need to recover!”

“John,” she replied. “This is just magic. The caning or whipping, whatever, hurts like hell, but I always have orgasms, even during it. The sting doesn’t last long.”

“It may if I give you a longer whipping,” I replied. “We can find out later.”

“It’s so different,” Nancy replied. “When my dad punished me, it was humiliating, and I was upset. But I knew I deserved it and I was the better for it. Horny feelings later made it worth putting up with the pain of the crop or the caning. It’s not like that with us. Waiting for you to warm my bum is an experience of its own.”

“Orgasms that come with the caning are incredible and, well, you know what happens next! The entire process exceeds expectations. It has been ‘prayers answered,’ and you have not taken advantage of me.”

“Nancy,” I said. “We have a tremendous time together. I love it. I have never spanked a girl before, although I have fantasised about doing it.”

“John,” she replied. “I feel so sharp and alert the next day. When you went back to the UK last time, you left me sexually aroused, with a very sore bottom. The erotic feelings stayed with me for over a week.”

“If, when I had privacy, I remembered our first sessions, my pussy jumped, and I had to take care of myself. Those masturbated orgasms were stronger than I had ever had before. I’m so happy that you take care when we play. There’s a lot more we must do.”

Dear Nancy. I saw her on several more visits to her city and once we took a week’s holiday, which was an education in itself, spending continuous time with her.

She grew more experienced in dealing with a heavy session and at the end of the holiday we had one, which took me to my limit. Poor Nancy was in a place I thought was a little beyond her limit. She lay on the bed, bum up, with me tending to her well-thrashed and slightly swollen rump with hot flannels.

My bottom had suffered fifty strokes of the whip, followed by a thirty-sixer caning. My buttocks were raw, swollen, and twitched with a life of their own. But I was still in good enough shape after about two hours to give Nancy an excellent seeing to. It was the only time I took a painkiller afterward to let me get some sleep!

Nancy had taken thirty strokes of the whip and eighteen of the cane, with the last six strokes from the thicker cane, used very hard. She said the cane strokes hurt less than they should on top of the whip marks. Her swollen buttocks told me I had gone far enough and fortunately, her skin had not broken.

We are still seeing each other. Life could not be much better!