Laura and I met at a party when I was twenty-two. She was two years younger than me and in the final year of a biology degree at the city’s university, while I was completing a postgraduate qualification in medieval history at the same university. The party had been organised by a mutual friend and there were loads of people there, most of whom I didn’t know. Our eyes had met across the room, and I was instantly attracted...

Our next date marked a milestone in our relationship, because Laura invited me to her flat for dinner. She even cooked it, and very good it was. However, whilst she enjoyed a glass of Prosecco, she expected me to drink tap water. (“You'll be driving later, poppet,” she reminded me.) I helped her clear up after the meal and, without being asked, I washed the dishes. Then I made us both a cup of coffee, which I took into th...

Back home, I had a troubled night, my mind buzzing from recalling the powerful climax that I had delivered to Laura. Just thinking about it again caused my entrapped penis to swell, resulting in pain. Then, when I did eventually drift off to sleep, I was awoken in the early hours by my morning glory struggling inside my cage, forcing me to get out of bed and take a cold shower to dampen my ardour. How was I going to cope...

I was instructed to report back to Laura's flat the next morning, which was Sunday. After another restless night, I showered and then got dressed, putting on a pair of knickers. Despite my nervousness, my penis started to become excited inside its cage. My mind flitted back to a time when I was sixteen and my sister, Phoebe, had caught me in her room, rifling through her underwear collection. I had been drawn there by cur...

With my bottom still throbbing from my recent caning, I returned to my own flat for the night. Lying alone in bed, on my stomach for comfort, I replayed the events of the day. What had been intended as a friendly and romantic gesture, laying a hand on Laura's shoulder, had backfired. I had misjudged the situation and had paid the price with three strokes of the cane. The irony is that she had been right about my motives w...