It was a quarter to eleven when Christine went upstairs to change. She slid into the long black dress she wore for formal occasions. It was full-length raw silk, low cut at the front and with a cunningly engineered internal structure that lifted and squeezed, giving her modestly sized breasts greater prominence and, incidentally and delightfully, dispensing with the need for a bra. The nubbly texture of the material made her shiver slightly as she moved against it, making the butterflies in her tummy even more active.

Marie was waiting for her in the study wearing her navy blue cocktail dress whose somewhat severe lines totally failed to mute her vibrant sensuality. “You'll have gin and tonic?” she asked, as Christine sat down.

“Thank you, yes.” Christine sat there feeling a little awkward while Marie mixed the drink; she could not take her eyes off Marie's quarto notebook bound in red leather resting on the arm of the chair. Smiling, Marie passed her the glass, and she grasped it eagerly. With more restraint, Marie sipped at her dry sherry, then put her glass down and reached for the notebook.

“Well, Christine, let's take a little look at where we are today.” She did not search for a page, she simply opened the book (that notebook would not dare open at any page save the one Marie was looking for). She frowned slightly as she scanned the hand-written notes. “Well, we have that silly business about the parking ticket, and you forgot to pick up the dry cleaning.” She shook her head and smiled. “Pretty trivial that; scarcely worth a single demerit. But this,”  the smile faded, “you missed your hair appointment, which I had made for you.”

“I'm sorry about that; it was just all the trouble with--”

“And,” Marie continued, ignoring the interruption, “you were half an hour late for your BBC interview on Wednesday. That was discourteous and unprofessional, especially when they had rearranged their schedule at the last moment for you.”

“Yes,” Christine mumbled, her eyes on the floor, acutely conscious that she had absolutely no excuse.

“So,” Marie looked up from the notebook, “I assess that at a total of four demerits for the week, plus an extra two because of your chronic forgetfulness.”

“Yes, Marie.” There was a heavy silence as Christine waited for the final verdict

“And that comes, in my estimation, to six strokes with a light cane, and six firm strokes with a dense one. Would you agree?”

Christine nodded, wordlessly. Marie passed her the notebook and the elegant silver fountain pen, and she signed her name beside the handwritten note, formally accepting the estimate. As she did so the doorbell rang.

“That must be David and Adrian!” Marie got up and took the notebook, waving it in the air to dry the ink, “and just in time for lunch.”

Lunch went by in a daze for Christine. David and Adrian were good company as always, and Marie was witty and entertaining -- far more animated than usual. In contrast, Christine was almost totally silent as her mind remained focused on what was in store for her, her eyes continually drawn to the two canes neatly arranged on the Welsh dresser. Everyone else was studiously ignoring them. At last, with dessert out of the way, Marie put down her coffee cup the way a chairman brings down a gavel to call a meeting to order.

“I think we should go into the living room and sit down comfortably, don't you? David, if you could bring the bottle...” They all rose from the table. Christine was about to pick up her glass, but Marie forestalled her with a touch on the arm. “Christine, will you bring your chair in, and place it in front of the coffee table, please?”

Somewhat encumbered by her long dress, she manhandled the heavy straight-backed chair into the living room. David and Adrian sat down on the sofa, while Marie settled herself in the big armchair, the red notebook in her hand. Christine positioned her chair, then looked towards Marie for instructions.  Marie got up and turned to Adrian and David.

“As you know, Christine and I have reviewed her behaviour for the last week, and have agreed that she will receive a formal caning from me, with you as witnesses. David, you are free to take photographs, of course. Christine, you may face the chair and raise your skirt please.” Christine turned to face the back of the chair, reached behind, and lifted up her skirt, then hesitated, but not before revealing a fleeting glimpse of red lace.

“Christine!” Marie's voice cut through the air like a whiplash, “why are you still wearing your undergarments?”

“I-- er-- forgot,” Christine mumbled, blushing furiously.

“Remove them at once, please.”

Sliding her hands under her skirt, she wriggled the offending knickers over her hips, let them slide to the floor. There was a short silence, broken only by Marie tapping her pen against the notebook.

“You remain very forgetful,” she remarked, opening the notebook, “how, I wonder, can we improve your memory?” Her hand holding the silver pen hovered over the page.

“In my day it would be over to the stables, and a dozen with the crop on the bare!” Adrian observed in her pure Girton accent. Seeing that Adrian was but three years her senior, Christine thought the “in my day” was a bit rich, but wisely she kept quiet.

“No," Marie mused, “I think an additional four strokes of the light cane will suffice...” The pen moved briefly across the page, then Marie looked up, “and perhaps as an additional reminder we should video record this so Christine may review it at her leisure. David if you would be so kind?”

David retrieved the tripod with the little video camera attached from the far corner of the room and set it up. There was a click and a whirr, and a red light started blinking on the camera.

“Now we may proceed.” Marie snapped the notebook shut and put it down. “Christine, will you please raise your skirt again.” Christine complied quickly-- acutely conscious of the waft of cool air as she exposed herself. Marie deftly pinned the skirt up behind, leaving her victim completely exposed from the waist down. “Good,” she paused for a moment, checking that the pins were secure, “now please fetch me the light crook handle cane -- the Governess model. You know the one I mean.”

Christine walked over to the welsh dresser, acutely conscious of her naked rear aspect, and picked up the cane -- long, slender, almost white, and sinuously flexible. Holding it in both hands she was about to present it when just in time she remembered to kiss it first. Glassy smooth, and smelling of beeswax, she held it to her lips then held it out. Marie ran the slender shaft between her fingers, as though checking the smoothness, then nodded to the chair. “Bend over, please.”

Christine bent over the back of the chair until her forearms were flat on the seat with her hands gripping the seat's front edge.  She felt the tip of the cane tapping the inside of her left thigh. “Feet a little further apart please,” Marie murmured. As she shuffled her feet further apart, David raised his own camera to take the “before” picture.

Marie drew the cane across Christine's pale bottom. Christine tensed involuntarily, anticipating the first stroke, then with a deliberate effort, unclenched her muscles. As if this were a signal there was a brief hiss, and with a snap Marie flicked the cane down for the first stroke. The light cane was all sting, and the sting was intense. Christine bit down a yelp, acutely conscious of the recording video camera. Another hiss, and the second stroke landed, but she was better prepared for it, stamping her right heel to counter the sting.

She drew a deep breath and held it for the third stroke. The third was the most intense so far, for Christine let her breath out with a gasp then with an obvious effort drew a slow deep breath as she processed the burning sensation on the surface of her skin.

Marie, watching carefully, waited until Christine had taken her breath before she delivered the fourth stroke. The slender cane hissed angrily and landed with a snap that echoed round the room. But Christine accommodated it better than the previous one. She exhaled slowly, then inhaled again with deliberation. Marie keeping perfect rhythm, delivered the fifth and the sixth strokes. There was a quiet hum of approval from Adrian, and Marie gave a very slight sigh as she relaxed her concentration for a moment. Her hand, cool, smooth and unbearably arousing, slid across Christine's burning, striped skin. The stinging was almost like an itch, on the edge of being infuriating, as her body craved the deep throbbing ache of a firm cane stroke.

“Four more to go, Christine,” Marie said, “and these are to help you to remember.“  Christine took another deep breath. Marie's arm moved gracefully delivering a stroke low down, almost at the top of Christine's thighs. She could not restrain a slight grunt at the shock of it, and her right heel hammered the floor again. Another deep breath, another hiss, and Marie delivered yet another stinging stroke in almost exactly the same place. Christine hissed back, riding out the sensation,  took two quick shallow breaths, then a deep one, and held it. Marie swept the cane down again, even lower this time to land a stroke across the top of Christine's right thigh. Careless of the recording camera Christine gave a shrill yelp and twisted her hips, partly bending her right leg in an effort to escape the sting.

“Please don't move Christine,” Marie murmured, “or I'll have to give the stroke again.”  She paused for a moment and Christine held herself rigidly still. Just as she began to draw breath, Marie delivered the tenth stroke, the slim cane flashing down to bite into Christine's left thigh. Christine gave a gasp, then slowly drew another deep breath and let it out in a long sigh as Marie's hand slid smooth and cool over then brightly striped skin. “You may stand up now.”

Christine straightened up, swaying a little as she did do.  Marie still held the slender cane in both hands. Her cheeks glowed, her eyes were bright and she was breathing a little faster than normal. A couple of beads of sweat showed on her forehead, and the distinct outlines of her nipples showed through her light cotton shirt. Christine's too were highly visible, standing out stiffly through the thin silk. The two women locked eyes for a few moments, then Marie passed Christine the cane. She raised it to her lips again.

“Please return the cane, and bring me the dark straight one, with the burgundy handle,” Marie instructed. Christine walked slowly across to the Welsh dresser, the thin bright stripes glowing clearly across her pale skin, as evenly spaced as if they had been ruled. She replaced the crook handle cane and picked up the straight-handled one. It was a little shorter, but noticeably thicker and heavier than the first -- a very dense piece of dark rattan. It looked as stiff as a rod of iron, but she knew from experience how flexible this implement really was. She presented the cane, not forgetting to kiss it. Marie flexed it slowly between her hands a couple of times. “You may bend over again,” she said.

As she assumed the position Christine felt the familiar ache, the urgent need for the internal throbbing heat that would counter the superficial irritation the light cane caused. She shivered as Marie traced the tip of the cane up the inside of her left thigh, then rested it across her bottom. Then, with an audible sigh, Marie raised the cane and swung it in a fast, short arc. It made a “whoosh” and landed with a sharp “crack!” A dark cold line of intensity blazed across Christine's bottom. As the cane rebounded from the quivering flesh the watchers saw a livid white stripe appear which, in a second or so, changed to a dark red. For an instant, Christine was overwhelmed by the intensity, the cold sting, and then the deep aching throb spreading through her.

As the stroke landed her hips had jerked forwards but now, as the first wave spread through her, she pushed her hips back and up to receive the next stroke. It took at least five seconds... And just as she returned to the position with hips back and legs and thighs straight, Marie delivered the next stroke. Once again there was the hollow “whoop” of the cane’s passage through the air and the sharp “crack!” as it landed, less than an inch from the first stripe. Once again Christine's hips jerked forward, something like a groan escaping from her lips, and another livid white line appeared, then turned red. And as soon as Christine recovered her position Marie swung the cane for the third time.

Now Marie and Christine were sharing the same rhythm, and as closely connected as though they were making love. Which, in a very real sense, they were. The sweat was running down Christine's forehead and her hair was lank with it. She could also feel herself getting wetter elsewhere, but she no longer cared if anyone noticed, no longer cared if the damned camera was recording her gasps and moans. She was lost in the exultation of that intense internal warmth and internal ache, reinforced by each stroke of the cane.

The sixth stroke sliced right into the point where Christine's bottom cheeks began to curve out from her thighs. She gave a loud cry as her hips made their sixth convulsive jerk forward. Silence fell, broken only by the click of David's camera as he recorded the brightly striped skin.

“You may stand up now, Christine,”  Marie said calmly. Slowly Christine straightened up, swaying a little, stepped back from the chair and turned to face Marie. Marie’s cheeks were flushed, there was a definite sheen of sweat across her forehead, and her usually tidy hair was disarranged. She was breathing hard, as though she'd just run up two flights of stairs, and her nipples were now even more clearly visible through the fabric of her shirt. “You may put the cane away now, Christine,”  she said, holding out the shiny dark rod.

Christine kissed the warm rattan with perhaps more passion than an inert piece of giant grass deserved. She walked a little stiffly across to the dresser, the drum-tight skin over the stripes constraining her like tight straps of some kind of harness. These stripes would not be fading soon, she reflected happily. There was a hum and a click as the video camera was switched off. And of a slight rustle of movement as David and Adrian took their wine out to the verandah.

Marie stood waiting for Christine. Clasping her tightly in her arms she then let her hands slide downwards, caressing the stripes. Christine shivered a little as Marie's touch sent darting little messages through her loins. Slowly Marie unbuttoned Christine's dress and let it fall to the ground. She led the naked woman to the sofa and eased her face down onto the soft cushions. Then in a few swift movements she shed her skirt and blouse and, naked herself, leaned over Christine, caressing her shoulders, and pressing her breasts against Christine's striped bottom.

Murmuring, Christine arched her back, pressing herself against Marie's cool skin. Marie opened a bottle of lotion and trickled it across the angry stripes and into Christine's rear cleft. Moaning and arching her back once more, Christine spread her thighs wider. Marie's hands began their beautiful stroking and probing and, slowly at first, but with increasing speed and intensity, a hot velvet wave of desire spread through Christine and exploded outwards to engulf them both.