Nobody seemed to know much about the mature woman who lived, apparently alone, in the secluded cottage on the edge of a small English village. She occasionally appeared in the village shop but she seemed to keep herself very much to herself.

She had moved in about three months previously, but whereas everybody knew everybody within the village she was very much an outsider, although that seemed to be by choice. A couple of local women had invited her to attend the occasional coffee mornings held in the village hall, but so far she had politely declined.

Thirty-two-year-old divorcee Peter Chaplin was a bit intrigued by the woman, although he had only had the occasional glimpse of her. He did not think that she was either particularly attractive or unattractive and Peter guessed her age to be somewhere in the late fifties. He just found the mystery surrounding her to be rather fascinating.

The woman was the subject of speculation in the village with suggestions, some more serious than others, that she was anything from an eccentric millionairess to a famous author just wanting privacy.

Peter made it his mission to find out more about her, for no other reason than to satisfy his own curiosity. He had not gotten deeply involved in any discussions about the woman but he was aware that she was attracting interest.

Peter himself, although a long-time resident in the village, had been the subject of talk when a couple of years earlier his wife left him for a younger man. He had occasional female company but nobody who lived in the village.

The mysterious woman was actually aged sixty and named Pamela Edmundson and she was now in semi-retirement. She had moved to the village from London, where she had been quite well known in certain circles under the name of Mistress Donna.

She would deal with misbehaving males and females by applying various instruments of punishment to their buttocks, anything from a very severe punishment thrashing to a few strokes to make the recipient's bottom smart. The men or women, often business people from the city, would pay a considerable amount for the privilege and, for a further sum, they might get a session or a night in bed with Ms Edmundson.

Since her move to the village, she had had occasional visits by former clients, but she was now very selective about who she entertained and she no longer advertised her services. She had, however, brought her supply of canes, whips and paddles, etc., with her. She no longer charged clients; the sessions were just for the pleasure that she and the men or women got in their different ways.

Although he did not know it yet, this was the woman that Peter Chaplin was determined to find out about.

Peter decided that he could not really go up to the cottage door and knock and then start questioning the woman, so he had to rely on the possibility of seeing her out and about in the village, but the problem with that was that she was not often out and about in the village.

After two further days, Peter was walking in the village late on the Friday afternoon when he saw the woman on the other side of the road, carrying a heavy-looking shopping bag; this was his chance.

Peter crossed the road and offered his assistance. "Hello, let me help you with that," said Peter, stretching out his arm towards the bag.

"No, thank you, I can manage," said the woman, a bit ungratefully. This was the first time that Peter had seen her this close and she was actually quite a striking-looking woman.

"It is okay, I live in the village," said Peter, as if that meant that he could not be accosting her.

"I know you do, I have seen you before. But I do not need your help, thank you," replied the woman, adding the 'thank you' almost as an afterthought.

"It is no trouble," said Peter, although seeing that he was now starting to annoy the woman.

"Are you deaf or stupid, young man?" snapped the woman.

"Neither, I was just offering to help," said Peter, resisting the urge to tell the woman to go fuck herself although thinking that that was probably what she did.

The woman glared at him although a trace of a smile crossed her quite attractive face. "You are a persistent young man, aren't you?" said the woman, not unkindly.

"I can be," said Peter, smiling pleasantly but only getting a scowl in return.

"I really do not need your help," said the woman.

"I was just being friendly, trying to make a newcomer to the village welcome, trying to get to know you," blurted Peter.

"Now why would you want to get to know me?" replied the woman, although unbeknown to Peter she was wondering what his bare bottom would look like bent over for one of her canes.

"I don't know, just trying to be friendly," said Peter, partly wishing that he had not crossed the road.

"Does your wife know that you like to get friendly with other women?" asked the woman.

"I am not married, I am divorced," replied Peter.

"Probably because you got friendly with other women," smirked the woman.

"No, she left me for a man eight years younger than her," replied Peter, slightly bitterly.

"I assume you know where I live?" said the woman, throwing Peter a bit off guard.

"Yes, yes, the cottage at the end of the village," replied Peter, thinking it meant that he was to carry the shopping bag back to her home.

"Be there at eight tonight," said the woman, stunning Peter.

"Um, um, why?" responded Peter.

"You said that you wanted to get to know me. Have you changed your mind?" said the woman, with the nearest that she had been to a smile.

"Yes...I mean no, I do want to get to know you," said an almost shocked Peter.

"Then let me get home with my shopping and be at my cottage at eight o'clock, sharp," said the woman, immediately moving away.

"Yes, yes..." said Peter, stopping short of saying the 'Miss' that he thought he should say to the schoolmistress-type instruction. Peter did look at the woman's wide bottom as she moved away, though, just as the woman imagined he would be.

Peter was quite excited at the prospect of visiting the woman's cottage although he did not think that sex would be on offer. She was more attractive than she had seemed in his earlier impressions and she looked to have quite a curvy body.

Peter was mindful of the instruction to arrive promptly and he resisted the temptation to wank his erect cock when he came out of the shower. He was not expecting his penis to get any action in the woman's cottage but he was hoping that it might.

As she awaited her guest, Pamela too did not know if sex in any form would occur. The man, whose name she did not yet know, was a good twenty-five years her junior and she doubted if he found her attractive anyway, but she did shower and put some makeup on before dressing in a black blouse and a tight-fitting black skirt. Her underwear was also black but that was not likely to be seen. Pamela had not been fucked for two weeks, a good fucking by a client with multiple cane marks on his backside, so she would probably not object if the situation arose.

Peter took a bottle of wine, because he thought that he should, and walked up the pathway to the woman's cottage at a minute before eight o'clock. When the woman opened the door to his knocking, Peter had to suppress a gasp because she looked so attractive.

"Good evening, young man," said the woman, thinking that the new arrival looked rather dishy.

"Good evening, um, this is for you," replied Peter, handing the bottle of wine to the woman.

"We are not on a date, but thank you. What is your name, young man?" said the woman, with a slight twinkle in her eye.

"Peter, Peter Chaplin," replied the man, still on the doorstep.

"Come in, Peter Chaplin, you can call me Pamela," said the woman, turning and walking into the cottage.

"Pamela, that is a nice name," said Peter absentmindedly as his eyes went to the woman's arse in a tight black skirt.

"Is it? You take a seat there, Peter. I will get some glasses," said Pamela, indicating an armchair with a coffee table in front of it.

Peter's eyes followed Pamela as she bent over to take two wine glasses from a cabinet, her skirt stretched across her buttocks. Peter felt his cock stiffen in his trousers.

Pamela put the glasses on the coffee table and sat down on the settee on the opposite side of the table to Peter. She poured the wine and they chinked the glasses together as they both said, 'Cheers.'

"I know that you are here to find out about me, but first we talk about you," announced Pamela.

"Not much to say, you know that I am divorced," replied Peter.

"Yes, your wife left you for a toyboy: Do you have a girlfriend now?" asked Pamela.

"No, not really, there is a woman from work that I see sometimes but nothing serious," answered Peter, still aware that his penis was hard.

"So, what do you want to know about me?" asked Pamela, taking a sip of her wine.

"Anything that you want to tell me. Are you married?" said Peter, suddenly thinking that an accusing husband might burst into the room.

"No, never have been," replied Pamela, looking at Peter, almost daring him to continue with the questions.

"Do you work? Some people in the village think that you are a famous author or something," said Peter, smiling.

"Do they? I am now retired, sort of," replied Pamela, smirking as she warmed to her guest. She was starting to feel aroused between her legs and she had noticed the bulge in Peter's trousers.

"Sort of retired from what?" asked Peter, taking some wine.

"From what I did in London, of course," teased Pamela, squirming her arse on the settee.

The atmosphere was charged with sexual tension and Peter's cock got harder and Pamela's cunt got wetter.

"And what did you do in London?" pushed Peter.

"Might be easier to show you, stay there," said Pamela, getting up from the settee and leaving the room with Peter's eyes on her backside.

Peter did not know what he expected Pamela to show him, but what she had in her hand when she returned from upstairs made him gasp, it was a whippy-looking cane.

Pamela placed the cane on the coffee table and sat down again on the settee. "I was, or am, a dominatrix. A very good and successful one," said Pamela, her eyes on Peter for his reaction.

"Um, oh," was all that Peter could respond.

"I do not want anyone else in the village knowing this, so if they do, this cane will be across your buttocks," warned Pamela, semi-seriously.

"Um, no, no, I will not tell anyone," mumbled a still stunned Peter.

"Have you ever been caned, Peter?" Pamela asked.

"No, no, I haven't," replied Peter, now sure that he must be blushing. His penis was now rigid in his trousers and that bothered him because did it mean that the talk of caning excited him?

"The men and women that I cane find it very stimulating, usually. The men's penises tend to get hard," said Pamela, with her eyes on Peter's crotch and very obvious bulge.

"Do they?" said Peter defensively as he tried to close his legs but couldn't because of the coffee table.

"Don't worry, I will not cane you...today," smirked Pamela.

Peter was relieved to hear that, although maybe he wanted to be caned.

"Would you like me to cure that stiffness of yours?" asked Pamela, her eyes back on Peter's crotch.

"Um, um, yes...please," said a confused Peter.

"Just with my hand...today," said Pamela; her delay in the 'today' suggested both a caning and more sexual activity was on offer in the future.

"In the kitchen, I don't want a mess in here," said Pamela, getting up from the settee again. Peter struggled out of the armchair and followed her into the kitchen.

"It will be easy to clean this floor," explained Pamela, as she undid Peter's trousers. Peter was now in a daze as his trousers came down and then Pamela negotiated his boxers over his erection and down to his ankles.

"Oh my, you are excited, aren't you?" said Pamela, standing beside him and taking Peter's rigid penis in her right hand.

"Yes, yes, I am," replied Peter, confirming the obvious as the older woman gently caressed his cock.

Pamela wanked him very slowly, teasing him, as her other hand caressed Peter's bare buttocks. She certainly knew what she was doing as she got him very close to ejaculation but not taking him over the edge.

"After we are done here, we will go back to our wine and discuss tomorrow night," said Pamela, as she continued her slow wanking.

Peter had no idea what discussing tomorrow night meant, but he was torn between wanting what Pamela was doing to him to last forever and wanting her to finish him off and let him ejaculate.

Pamela continued the teasing for a bit longer; she was very aroused too, then she gently fingered Peter's arse crack and started wanking hard and fast. He did not last long.

"Oh, oh, oh," exclaimed Peter as spunk shot high in the air from his penis and splattered on the kitchen floor as Pamela giggled.

"That is a lot of cum," said Pamela, taking a blob off the end of Peter's cock when he finished cumming and licking it off her finger.

"Thank you, that was amazing," said Peter, getting his breath back.

"Let's get you and this floor cleaned up and go back into the living room," said Pamela, getting some kitchen roll and giving Peter some to clean his cock as she wiped the spunk off the floor. Even then, Peter was looking at her arse.

"Would you like me to pleasure you in some way?" volunteered Peter to the woman who was on her hands and knees on the kitchen floor.

"Another time, perhaps, but I will see to myself after you have gone," replied Pamela, confirming that she would be masturbating later.

"I could lick you," said Peter.

"Persistent again. Sounds tempting, but not today," smiled Pamela.

Considering that the two of them had not spoken until a few hours before, it was amazing that Peter had already been wanked and they were discussing ways of making Pamela cum.

With the kitchen floor cleaned and Peter with his clothes now pulled up, they returned to the living room. "I think you can sit on the settee with me now," said Pamela, making room for Peter to sit next to her.

"I really do not want you telling anyone about my profession, I don't want to be known as Miss Whiplash or anything," stressed Pamela.

"I promise," said Peter, and he meant it.

"I was wondering if you would like to come back here tomorrow evening for some fun," said Pamela to the man who was seated so close to her that their knees were touching.

"What is your idea of fun?" laughed Peter, although he was up for more or less anything with this woman.

"With your agreement, I would like to cane you. But only if you want me to," said Pamela.

Peter glanced at the cane on the coffee table. "I thought you might," replied Peter, not yet committing himself to a caning.

"And after that, I would like you to fuck me and spend the night with me," went on Pamela.

"Now that I would like very much," said Peter, putting his hand on Pamela's thigh.

"You come back here at eight tomorrow evening and we can see what happens," said Pamela.

"Can I not stay the night tonight?" asked Peter, hopefully.

"Much as I would like you to, I want to leave it until tomorrow night," replied Pamela, although she thought that she was spiting herself because she would love a good fuck.

"Is sleeping with you dependent on taking a caning?" asked Peter, far from ruling out a caning because he felt strangely excited at the prospect.

"Not necessarily. I would like to cane you but only if you agree to it," answered Pamela.

"Can I kiss you?" Peter asked out of the blue.

Pamela giggled and moved her face towards his and what started as a gentle peck became a tongue-swapping snog.

Pamela got very close to changing her mind about Peter staying this night but she resisted. "I think we should finish our wine and then see each other tomorrow evening," said Pamela, her knickers wet with her excitement.

"Okay," Peter reluctantly agreed, although if he had pressed the point he might well have been staying for the night.

After finishing their drinks and another long kiss, Peter went home already looking forward to coming back.

Peter had not been gone very long before Pamela was upstairs, her skirt and knickers off, her legs spread and her vibrator rapidly taking her to a shuddering orgasm. The next night promised to be a good one for both of them.

During Saturday, Peter made up his mind that he would take a caning, although as eight o'clock got closer, he was feeling both excitement and trepidation.

He arrived at Pamela's cottage, not expecting to be leaving it until well into Sunday.

Pamela was again in black but this time figure-hugging trousers and a black jumper. She looked sensational to Peter when she opened the door; they were kissing before the door closed.

The closeness of their bodies proved to Pamela that Peter was already very aroused. Her plan was that the caning, if Peter agreed to it, would be early in the proceedings, but she was now thinking of making a fuck earlier on the agenda.

"Have you thought about a caning?" asked Pamela when they broke from their initial kissing.

"Yes, I would like you to cane me," answered Peter.

"Are you sure?" asked Pamela.

"Yes, I am sure," replied Peter.

"Maybe we should do it now," said Pamela, putting back the need for a fucking.

"Okay," answered Peter.

"I have a room upstairs I use for such things, follow me," said Pamela. Peter's eyes were delighted to follow her arse in tight trousers up the stairs.

"In here," said Pamela, showing Peter into a room that contained a headmistress-type desk, a wardrobe and not much else.

"Wait here, I will get changed," said Pamela, leaving Peter wondering what she was changing into.

He did not have to wait long for her to return wearing a headmistress gown and very obviously nothing underneath. She went to the wardrobe and selected a cane. "Trousers down, boy," said Pamela, sternly.

After a very brief delay, Peter undid and lowered his trousers. His penis was rock hard in his boxers as Pamela flexed the cane. "Those down, too," ordered Pamela, pointing the cane at Peter's boxers.

Peter lowered his boxers and his erection sprang free. "Bend over the desk, boy. Twelve strokes," said Pamela.

There was another slight delay before Peter turned and bent over the desk. Pamela moved the back of Peter's shirt well clear of his bare buttocks. "Grip the edge of the desk and don't you dare let go until I tell you," ordered Pamela.

Peter did as he was told and Pamela lined the cane up across his backside as Peter anticipated his first-ever cane stroke.

The cane whistled through the air and CRACKED against Peter's buttocks and for a split second, he felt nothing and then he felt heat spreading across his rear as the sting registered.

Pamela waited a while before delivering a second and then a third stroke and Peter was groaning softly as he swayed his bottom trying to alleviate the stinging.

By the time that six strokes had slashed across his arse, Peter was thinking that he could not take more as his knuckles whitened as he gripped the desk.

The seventh stroke slashed across his upper thighs and Peter yelped, let go of the desk and gripped his stinging buttocks.

"Get back down, boy, or you will get extra," warned Pamela.

Peter managed to get back down, and eventually he had taken twelve strokes of the cane and his arse was on fire.

Pamela waited a while after landing the last stroke before giving Peter further instruction. "Stand up, boy," ordered Pamela, and Peter struggled up and clutched his whipped buttocks.

"Turn around, boy," instructed Pamela and she was delighted to see that Peter was as stiff as he had been before the caning started. His face was red and his eyes were filled with tears but he looked straight ahead, still clutching his arse cheeks.

"You did well. You can have a little while to recover and then we fuck," said Pamela, now in a very gentle voice.

"Thank you," said Peter softly, but whether that was for the caning or the offer of a fuck, Pamela was not sure.

After a while, Pamela helped Peter out of the trousers and boxers that were at his feet. She also removed the gown that she was wearing so Peter saw her naked for the first time. She had the body of a woman considerably younger than her age, she had hair around her vagina, her large tits sagged a bit but not much and Peter wondered what her arse looked like.

Pamela undid and removed Peter's shirt as he caressed her breasts and then they kissed and his hands went to her buttocks as his erection pressed against her.

"You ready to fuck?" asked Pamela.

"Yes, very," replied Peter.

"Bedroom then," said Pamela and she led the way out of the room and Peter got to see her bare arse, and what a lovely arse it was.

Moving was a bit painful for Peter but he followed Pamela into the bedroom.

They kissed again and Pamela lay on her back, bringing Peter with her. She guided his erection into her wet cunt and they started to fuck.

Peter was finding the stinging from his caned arse to be a wonderful additional turn-on as he shafted this previously mysterious older woman. They were fucking hard and fast and Pamela came. "Shit, oh shit, shit, shit," squealed Pamela as she orgasmed.

The fucking went on and on, the best fucking that Pamela had had in ages, and she came multiple times before Peter groaned and shot jet after jet of spunk into her.

"Now that was what I call a fuck," laughed the sweating Pamela, once she got her breath back.

"It was wonderful," agreed Peter.

"Did getting caned turn you on?" asked Pamela.

"I am turned on anyway with you, but it certainly added to it," answered Peter.

They kissed and cuddled some more and then Pamela asked Peter if he would like some cream to soothe his caned buttocks, and he thought that a good idea. Pamela very gently spread the cream along the lines of the cane strokes and teased Peter's arse crack a bit. His penis was hardening again.

Pamela continued with the soothing for a while and Peter was again fully erect. "Would you like to fuck again?" asked the thirty-two-year-old man.

"Ha, why not? It would be a shame not to make full use of this erection of yours," laughed Pamela, gently stroking Peter's penis.

"Can I see your arse?" asked Peter, who had not really had a proper look at Pamela's backside.

"This arse, you mean?" giggled Pamela, flipping onto her knees and putting her upper body on the bed and her arse in the air.

Changing position for Peter was painful but he got behind the woman and caressed her buttocks. His fingers went to her cunt lips and she was very wet. Peter, painfully again, moved to have his erection brush Pamela's arse cheeks and he then held the tip of it against her cunt lips.

She pushed back as he eased forward and his cock was again in her cunt. He thrust hard and fast and soon had Pamela shouting into the bedclothes as she came. He had her cumming once more before he ejaculated into her.

They later went downstairs, naked, and had some wine before showering and going to bed, although going up and down stairs added to the pain in Peter's rear.

Peter spent the night on his stomach and, in the morning, he and Pamela inspected the cane marks on his arse in the wardrobe mirror. They had a shower and then Peter had a question. "Would you like me to lick you now?" asked Peter, having first offered to do it on Friday evening.

"Okay," smiled Pamela, getting on the bed and spreading her legs.

Peter soon had his head between her legs and with kisses, licks and sucks inside and outside her cunt; he soon had Pamela squirming and writhing on the bed. "You taste so fucking good," announced Peter, briefly taking his face away from the older woman's vagina before going back to his tongue work.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, yes," shouted Pamela as she came, and she was still shuddering through her orgasm when a mouth was replaced by a cock in her wet cunt and another fucking commenced.

Pamela came twice more that Sunday morning before Peter again ejaculated in her.

They spent most of the morning naked before they started to think about the future.

"I am so glad that you crossed the road on Friday," said Pamela, referring to their first contact.

"So am I. Can I see you again?" asked Peter.

"I fucking hope so," laughed Pamela, who thought it wonderful to have such a proficient lover in the village.

"Give me your phone number," said Pamela.

Peter did so and then Pamela continued about what the future might hold. "Please don't turn up here unannounced because I do entertain from time to time," said Pamela, referring to her former clients from London.

"No, I won't," promised Peter.

"I will phone you and we will get together again soon, okay?" said Pamela.

"Yes, okay," replied Peter, as it was sort of mutually agreed that they would part now.

Peter got dressed and they had another long kiss before he departed.

He now knew the secret of the mysterious woman who lived in the secluded cottage, and he hoped and expected to spend much more time in her company.

Pamela was delighted to have found a local lover barely half her age, and she too hoped and expected to spend much more time with him.