My name is Anna, and I am a French girl. I admit that I had a rather wild and for a while, almost undisciplined adolescence. In my late teens (I was seventeen) I bought some cannabis and sold some of it to a school friend. The school found out and to make matters worse, my mother worked there on the administrative staff. I was suspended from school because they regarded it as “dealing."

However, my mother sent me to my uncle who lived in the same town to be strapped. This was explained to me and I was told to go and get it over with. I was too scared and confused to disobey.

My uncle had been educated in England where he had been caned at school as an adolescent. He was disgusted with me and very angry.

To make matters worse, when I arrived at his house feeling very scared, I had to go to the toilet first. When he heard me finish in the toilet, he pulled the door open and dragged me out still with my panties around my knees. He made me strip naked for my beating, it was all so humiliating.

He held me down naked over a table in his house and whipped me with a thick belt like a razor strop. I took thirty-six very painful strokes on my bare bottom. It hurt terribly but it also excited me a lot and later at home, I took care of my feelings.

I began to realize that this sort of physical discipline, whilst very painful, was not unwelcome and was even exciting, within limits.

Eventually, they let me go back to school, but my mother was too submissive and could not get me under proper control. I continued to have problems.

My uncle’s strapping stopped me for a while, but soon I carried on smoking. I was nineteen when I got into serious debt with a drug dealer from whom I had bought cannabis and ecstasy. He threatened me with a serious beating with black eyes, broken teeth, etc., if I did not pay up.

Eventually, he offered that if I would perform oral sex on him, I would be let off; so in a mixture of fear and self-disgust, I did that to him.

I hated myself for it and I was scared because he would not wear protection. I had a check-up a few months later and thank God I was OK.

I thought of what was happening in my life; it was too scary. I had an urgent desire to get myself under control. I looked around for someone to confide in and to help sort me out. I have a much older uncle who married a younger lady called Marie who was about forty-five years old at the time.

She worked in our judicial system and I think she had some idea that I was watched by the authorities. I was known locally as being wild, although I had never been arrested by the law.

She and my uncle were repairing an old farmhouse to set it up as a ‘Gite’. They asked me if I could go with them one weekend to help out and that they would even pay a bit because they needed another pair of hands to help with the work.

They were washing the place out thoroughly before it got re-plastered and decorated. They needed help with it which included clearing undergrowth out of the courtyard in front of the old house.

My cousin had gone down to the village to buy a few things and I was on my own with Marie. We were sitting in the kitchen and Marie began to talk. She mentioned my earlier problems at school and asked if I was settling down and thinking about what to do with my life. I was silent for a few moments, and knowing that it would be at least half an hour before Jean-Paul was back,

I decided to confide in her. She seemed so self-assured and understanding to a young girl like me and I was very glad of the opportunity to confide in an adult at last.

I told Marie everything over about a quarter of an hour.

Marie looked a bit shocked at first, but she said, “You may not believe this, but I had similar if not so severe problems. I confided in a much older cousin who was in Merchant Shipping. I too was nineteen at the time. He offered me the opportunity to take a hard dose of the Martinet to ‘straighten me out.’

“He said I would be restrained for it but he would give me a safeword to use if it all got too much for me. I agreed to be punished because deep down I knew I could not carry on in the way I had in the past. I had been yearning for someone older whom I respected to do something to help me.

"He took me to his house and tied me to one of those trestles that carpenters and builders use to hold wood when they saw it. He beat me for ten minutes with the Martinet until I was red and raw.

“I howled and screamed but I managed not to use the safeword, I often wonder how. He left me there tied to this thing for about thirty minutes until I calmed down, and then he released me. I fled into the bathroom and washed my aching, burning bottom on the bidet.”

Marie continued, “When I came out about a half hour later, he was sitting in his living room with a glass of white wine poured for me. He had put a thick cushion into an easy chair for me and I sat down carefully. I went red when I realized he had planned all this and anticipated my reactions; he was a true man of the world.”

Marie paused for a moment then went on, “Then my cousin said, 'Marie, do you feel you have paid the price now?'”

Marie went on, "At first I could not speak, so I just nodded in agreement."

My cousin carried on, "If you feel the need for anything like this again, please let me know, I think this may have cured you of your wild behaviour for a while; but if it has not, let me know and we can try again with more vigour with a wooden cane next time.”

Marie continued. “I was shocked. The Martinet was bad enough. I could not imagine the searing pain of the caning of my soft white bottom which glowed and twitched after the Martinet as if it was alive, and my 'little sister' within me was in a state of high excitement. I finished my wine and he took me home in his car.

"I never paid him a return visit and dear Anna; you are the first person apart from Jean-Paul, I have told about it. Now, I can tell you one more thing. We brought you here this weekend not only to help us but to offer you correction and direction.

“I knew you had been strapped hard by your uncle because your mother spoke of it to us. She is so worried about you. I have not told your mother what Jean-Paul and I have in mind, but it is very isolated here and we could give you corporal punishment. You can freely yell and scream without the thought of anyone being able to hear you.

"We have a cane here, hidden, ready to use on you if you agree. But if you do not agree, we will take you home and leave you to struggle on as best you can.

“What we are offering you is a chance to sort yourself out and get a grip on your life. The physical pain in your bottom will remind you of the seriousness of your problems and may stiffen your resolve to straighten out your life. If you want to think about it for a while that’s fine. Jean-Paul will come back when I call him on his mobile. He left deliberately as we had planned so I could talk to you alone.”

We sat there in silence for a minute then Marie got up and walked out. I stared across the courtyard and thought this was the best chance I was going to get. This was an older lady whom I could trust, it was isolated so a bit of yelling would not matter and I certainly was very worried about myself.

I recognized right away that I would never get another opportunity like this. It came to me in a flash that I was quite keen to let Marie beat me as I had been fantasizing about an older woman doing something similar.

I got up and walked outside to find Marie in the barn, wiping the dust off one of those trestle things with a damp cloth. The blood rushed to my face when I realized why she was doing this!

Marie smiled at me and said, “Well?”

My mind was almost made up and I nodded to her. “Yes,” I said, “When Jean-Paul is back”.

I was playing for time, as whilst enthusiastic about it, I was nervous too.

Marie replied, “We don’t need to wait, I can cane you.”

I looked at her and saw she was quite athletic. I knew she played tennis and there was quite a lot of muscle in her arms. I had wondered if Marie might be about to offer to do it and it was an attractive option; I immediately knew that I would not mind her seeing my naked, exposed bottom with its soft lady's parts and caning me.

Marie said, “Go back into the house and relieve yourself, wash your bottom on the bidet then come back here wearing shorts. Take your time, there is no hurry.”

I went back over to the house, took a pee, ran the bidet and washed thoroughly, dried myself, and put on a clean pair of thin shorts that I had brought with me.

I decided not to ask for a safeword. I needed to accept this correction in full.

I went back to the barn and found Marie piling up some hay bales. The trestle was positioned towards the rear. Watching her heave the bales about, I could see how strong she was and maybe I was in for a worse beating than I had anticipated. I was beginning to get wet.

Marie finished piling up the hay bales and gestured to me to get over the trestle. I did so; Marie helped me to slip off the shorts and then tied my wrists and ankles to the legs finally fastening a thicker rope around my waist. I could not move when I tugged at my bonds.

Marie walked around in front of me, having picked up the cane from a hiding place in the hay. She showed it to me, it was about ninety cm. long and I suppose it was about six or seven millimetres thick. She bent it almost in half between her strong hands and then swished it in the air. I shivered with anticipation.

Marie said, “I’m going to cane you very hard, I will give you a stroke every thirty seconds or so and I will stop when I see you have had as much as you can take. You can beg and plead but I won’t stop for that. I will stop only for the safeword. It will do you no good if I stop too soon.”

Marie walked around behind me. I felt the thin, cool cane go tap-tap on my bottom then, ‘crack’. I felt nothing for a couple of seconds, then a white-hot searing heat blazed across my rump. I yelled in pain and surprise. I had never, ever felt anything like it in my life. It was in a league of its own. I tugged at my bonds and cried out for her to not do it so hard but I felt tap-tap again, ‘crack’, and that white-hot blaze was repeated. I burst into floods of tears.

This went on steadily unit I lost count. In spite of the pain, I knew I had to endure it for my own good. Marie carried on caning me in total silence. The cane strokes rained down every thirty seconds or so, just as she had promised.

I didn’t know how many I had taken, but I realized I was no longer feeling the individual strokes quite so strongly against the all-consuming burning pain in my bottom, I must have begun to weaken and slowly I began to 'enjoy' it, and drifted into a sort of half pain-wracked, half sexual 'dream'.

The strokes continued but I think I was not reacting very much. I don’t know how many I had taken but I think it was more than thirty when I became aware that Marie had stopped and suddenly felt cold water being thrown over my bottom. This jerked me back to reality and the pain increased dramatically as I came out of the sort-of trance I had fallen into.

Marie said, “Good brave girl, you took it well, that was forty-eight strokes in all and my arm is tired now.”

I was aware that Marie was untying me from the trestle. My buttocks were burning and twitching with a life of their own, but the agonizing impact pains had ceased. Marie helped me to my feet.

I reached back and felt the huge, swelling welts across both cheeks of my bottom. They started just above my thighs and covered the whole surface, which felt very swollen, ridged, and very hot to the touch. No way was I going to be able to put those shorts back on. Marie produced a towel which she wrapped loosely around me and she helped me walk unsteadily back to the house.

In the bathroom, she held me under the arms so my weight did not compress my tortured bottom flesh against the porcelain whilst I squatted over the bidet and rinsed my flaming rump with cold water from the ascending spray.

After a few minutes, I got up with Marie helping me to dry. She led me to a bedroom and got me to lay face down on the bed left and came back with some ice cubes which she ran over the cane marks to reduce the swelling, finally leaving me alone to recover. She told me that whilst I had enough energy for a good yell I was in no danger and she had stopped only when my reactions to each cane stroke began to fade away.

I drifted into sleep and woke up a few hours later when I heard the sound of Jean-Paul’s car. Back downstairs, with a towel wrapped around me and sitting carefully on a big cushion, they questioned me about my feelings.

I said I felt relieved and mentally 'cleansed' after that beating. I said I wanted to go home and discuss it with my mother and show her the marks. I profusely thanked them for their efforts on my behalf and I thought indeed it would help me get a grip on my life.

Back at home, I told my mother what had happened and insisted this time she looked at my well-thrashed bottom. Up in my bedroom, she put her hand to her mouth as she stared at it.

“Don’t let it worry you, Mum,” I said, “It’s for the best, I needed it, I think I will be OK now, I never want this to be repeated.”

Mum burst into tears, poor dear, and rushed out. I took care of my post-caning feelings for the first time!

I’m happy to say it turned out to be the case that I more-or-less behaved thereafter and I wonder if a good caning might not be an excellent therapy for other errant but otherwise fit young people.