The injustice

This story follows on from my story The Awakening which is best read first. It contains graphic description of strapping and caning. If this offends you please do not read on.

Helen.

It was August and six weeks after I had I had disciplined John for his episode of drunk driving and life had settled into a routine. Instead of him driving the car to the station and parking, I did it. Following this, on workdays, we took the eight o’clock train to Waterloo together and then went our separate methods to work before meeting up to catch the half past six train home. If I was gonna work late and John caught the train before me he would take a taxi home.

To be honest, I am a nervous driver and do not enjoy it and we do not socialise quite as much as we used to. Before he lost his license John and I used to distribute the nominated driver role, but it became boring never being able to have a drink whilst socialising with friends.

Invariably we have seen a little more of Anne and Graham since they live no more than one hundred yards away down the narrow lane on which our houses lie. After a few bottles of wine we can wend our way, hand in hand, back home.

After our conversation which happened the evening I caught John wanking whilst watching a punishment video Anne’s curiosity had not let up. Initially she had made comments implying she was suspicious I had taken her advice and caned John, but I had said nothing. Then her questioning stopped, and I had wondered she had stopped thinking about it. I was wrong.

One early Saturday evening Graham and John had not yet returned from a football match in London. It was the first Premiere league game of the season and Watford were at home to Liverpool. Anne had popped around to keep me business and we were sitting in our kitchen drinking coffee. After my second cup I needed to have a wee and excused myself and went to the toilet. When I returned Anne was nowhere to be seen.

My first wondered was that she had simply gone home but then it dawned on me. She must have gone looking in the den and shouting, “Anne. Anne. Where are you?,” I ran down the stairs to the den door, switched the light on and looked inside. The room appeared empty, but I walked into the centre of the room and peered around. I was convinced Anne had decided to take a look there, but I was wrong, and I heaved a sigh of relief. The punishment trestle with its padded red leather seat stood against the wall and my strap and canes hung untouched on hooks beside it.

And then as I turned to leave the den I heard footsteps descending the stairs and Anne walked in.

“I’ve been looking for you…..” And then “Ohhhhhh Helen you bitch. I knew you’d cane him, but this is something else”….. as she looked over my shoulder at my spanking equipment.

It was useless to protest my innocence and the damage was done, I couldn’t even accuse her of spying. She had been in the lounge looking for a cookbook I had borrowed from her and which she was now carrying.

She walked past me and looked at the bench and then the leather strap and the canes.

“I see you took my advice,” she said.

“What can I say?” I replied. “Now if you’ve seen enough let’s have a glass of wine.”

“Oh…. There much more I’d like to see…” and she let her opinion hanging, but I ignored her.

“And before you ask Anne. I’m not about to tell you anything. He’s my husband and what goes on between us is our business only. You’re my friend. Please let’s keep it that way.”

***

A few weeks later, one Monday morning, the builders came in to begin our kitchen extension. I drove home one evening to discover a skip sitting at one end of our U shaped driveway and immediately understood this would mean I would have to back out of our driveway to get back onto the lane instead of simply driving through.

Our driveway is narrow, as is the lane outside our house, and as I have explained I am a nervous driver. The following morning, when we were about to leave for the station, John reversed the car out of the drive and onto the lane and then, very gratefully, I drove to the station.

When we returned home that evening I locked the car and turned towards the front door, keys in hand. It was then that John called after me, “Give us the car keys love. I’ll turn it for you. Ready for the morning.”

And so a precedent was set. Every weekday evening when we pulled into the driveway after returning from work John reversed out into the lane and turned the car around.

It was about two weeks later that the accident happened. I didn’t see it but heard it. One evening after work I had just unlocked and gone inside the front door and was taking off my shoes. John was turning the car. Suddenly there was a loud crash outside followed by silence, and then a few seconds later the sound of excited voices.

Hurriedly I put my shoes back on and ran outside and could see that Graham’s vintage Mini had run head on into the side of our car which was sitting with the passenger’s side of the car stove in. I could hear John apologising to Anne who was standing looking at the front of her car which appeared to have a badly dented front bumper and damage to the bonnet.

“Are you both OK,” I shouted across to them.

“I’m OK,” said John.

“And so am I. I think,” said Anne angrily.

“What the hell were you doing David? You backed out into the lane without looking. Are you even meant to be in a car on the public highway?”

“I didn’t see you. The hedge was in the way.”

“I don’t care! You’re to blame! Fuck! What’s Graham going to say? This is his pride and joy.”

I could see how upset how Anne was, so I stepped in to try to calm things down.

“Don’t worry Anne. The important thing is nobody’s hurt. The cars can be repaired. Now,.. Is Graham about?”

“No. He’s away for a couple of days on business.”

“Were you going anywhere important?”

“Just for some bread, milk, and eggs from the local store.”

“OK. Then put your car back in your garage. I’m sure we’ve got some bread in the freezer and I know we’ve got some long life milk… and I can spare you half a dozen eggs. I’ll bring them around in ten minutes.”

***

We sat together. Anne had already finished her first glass of gin and tonic, poured herself another large glass and gave me one.

“I’ve been thinking Helen. Do we need to inform the police? If John was driving you won’t be insured because he’s been disqualified. I can claim for the damage to Graham’s car on his policy. Its fully comprehensive with no claim discount insurance so he won’t lose out. Trouble is they may need an accident report or at least my dashcam recording. And that means you can’t claim you were driving to claim on your insurance. I’m afraid whatever happens you’ll have to pay for your own repairs.””

I thought quickly and replied. “We cannot tell the police. John will be arrested. Technically he was driving whilst disqualified and would incur a criminal record and I’d rather the dashcam footage wasn’t seen by the insurance business. We’ll pay for all of the damage to both cars.” I paused…” If that’s alright with you?”

“If you are sure you want to do that I guess that’s fine. I’m sorry it’s gonna cost you but if it keeps John out of trouble I don’t see why not.”

At the time I remember feeling grateful, but I shouldn’t have been.

***

The following day both of the cars went for repair. We used taxis to get to and from the station each morning and evening.

I didn’t see Anne until three days later. It was Thursday evening and John had gone to play table tennis when I saw her again. The front door rang and when I answered it she was standing there…and wearing a neck brace.

I showed her into the lounge and switched off the television then offered her a cup of coffee.

“I’d rather not thank you,” she said rather stiffly. Before I could enquire further she continued. “I’ve got whiplash. The GP told me it often happens after this sort of crash, and it will need a collar and anti-inflammatory drugs for a few weeks and some physio but no lasting damage…. Just pain and inconvenience.”

I could tell she was quite angry and decided to wait to see what else she had to say. In a cold voice she continued.

“My first instinct is to sue him. But he’s not insured, and it won’t be worth my while. Suing him will not result in significant damages being awarded to me and will hurt both you and John together since you’ll have to pay. That would not be fair to you, and I don’t want that. You are my friend. But I want him punished for what he’s done to me. I plan to go to the police and report him or……. he can suffer pain with no lasting damage just as I am…… He has a choice. He can receive a severe judicial thrashing on his bare buttocks whilst tied naked across that trestle or I will report him. We can discuss the details if he accepts my offer. Can you let me know tomorrow. When you do I can let you know what the bill for the car repair is.”

A few minutes later she was gone, and I sat alone in the lounge waiting for John to return, to tell him what had happened, and to give him the choices Anne had offered. I already knew what he would say.

I thought I had known Anne but obviously I had been mistaken. I wondered at my apparent ability to be surprised by people. I had not known John was a masochist, and now that Anne was a devious and rather nasty sadist.

***

The following evening I gave her his answer. She smiled. “These are my conditions. Twenty four strokes of the punishment cane. I will watch. You can punish him… or if you don’t feel capable of hitting him hard enough we can discover a dominatrix to do it. We don’t have to tell her why he’s being punished. But If you cane him you’d better make sure you hit him hard enough. I want to watch him suffer.”

I had started to dislike Anne immediately after her ultimatum the previous evening. It was blackmail pure and simple. I also knew that if I fought with her over the punishment it would be worse for John. Don’t misunderstand me… I have given John some very severe discipline which both he and I welcomed because he deserved it. This was different and I wanted to assuage hers and my treatment of him. I pretended to act conspiratorially.

“You’re right Anne,” I said. He’s due a sound caning anyway. I’d recommend twenty four strokes of my leather punishment strap first. It hurts like hell, and he’ll mark up lovely before the cane.

Anne was only too happy with my suggestion. She thought I was making his punishment more severe. I knew it was a small mercy and would warm him up prior to the cane strokes.

“And we don’t need a dominatrix. I have become very proficient.”

“Excellent,” she said. “Today’s Friday. How about a week tonight? Grahams away again. Say ten pm before bed. Give him time to think about it and recover for work Monday. I’ll be around at around nine to have a drink first if that’s OK?”

“That’s fine,” I said. “But bring your dashcam with you.”

***

Next Friday evening arrived. We ate a light supper and at eight o’clock John went for a bath and changed into jockey shorts and a tee shirt. I had offered to oil the strap, not wanting to stick to our routine prior to discipline, but he refused and had spent half an hour the previous evening rubbing oil into the dark leather strap.

“My job,” he said.

It now sat gleaming on the red leather seat alongside a 32 inch long Rattan cane I had selected as suitable for the task.

Promptly at nine o’clock the doorbell rang and as I went to answer it John went downstairs to the den. I showed Anne into the lounge. She was no longer wearing the neck brace, was fully made-up, and was wearing a low cut red midi dress. She was carrying a handbag and a long cloth bag. I felt underdressed in my white tennis dress and tank top. She sat as I prepared us each the customary G and T.

She handed me the bag. “I don’t think you have one of these,” she said. “It’s a present for both of you. I don’t expect any thanks from John.”

I put my hand inside and pulled out a yard long ochre coloured and heavy cane. It had a black leather handle and it looked fearsome.

“Sixteen mm Tohiti,” she said.

“Thank you but I’m not giving him twenty four with this,” I said. “The last twelve only.”

Anne took a sip of her drink. “That will do nicely,” she said.

***

Just before ten o’clock we entered the den. John was sitting in the leather sofa with his back to us and turned his head as we entered. The heavy punishment trestle sat in the middle of the room.

“Good evening John,” said Anne. “I’ve come to see you punished. Does he know what he’s getting? Please tell him Helen. Show him the Tohiti.”

As I showed him the heavy cane his eyes widened for just a moment. Then I asked him to strip, and he did as he was told. He is tall with a flat stomach and well developed, broad, and well-muscled bum cheeks. As he stood in front of us I saw Anne admiring him Her eyes shone, her face was flushed, and her lips were moist. It was obvious this was an exceptionally sexual experience for her.

Then in front of our eyes and under her unwavering gaze his penis started to slowly grow until it was fully swollen, rigid, and erect.

He lay over the trestle immobilised by bindings around his wrists, ankles, thighs, and across his back. I deliberately left the strap across his back a little loose so that he could move and wriggle under the strap. This was not for his benefit but for mine. I had discovered that the more he struggled the more turned on I became and the harder I wanted to hit him.

I had asked Anne where she wanted to sit, and she had taken an old wooden kitchen stool from the corner of the den and placed it a couple of feet from the end of the trestle and sat with her face only a few inches in front of John’s.

“I want to see him suffer, and I can watch you work from here and see his bottom in the mirror.

I had worried I would not be able to punish him as severely as Anne wanted but now I knew I both could and would. He was all the time hard shortly after I finished with him. but never before. This time he had hardened under Anne’s gaze. I didn’t know exactly why he had developed the erection. She was fanciable enough, but I didn’t think it was that alone. It was obvious that the wondered of being disciplined naked across his bare ass by me with Anne watching had turned him on. He was psychologically ready for what I was gonna do to him.

I took the strap in my right hand and spoke. “Prepare yourself.” Then I brought the strap down across the centre of his nates and there was a loud slap and at the point of contact a pinkening appeared. He made no sound, but I saw Annes smile, and her lips moved. I waited twenty seconds and delivered the second stroke and still he made no sound. The third stroke brought the first signs of pain when his bum jerked and on the fourth stroke I heard him groan and his bum started to wriggle. It was then I saw Annes smile and once again her lips moved. It was at that stage that I realised she was talking to him as he was being punished.

I was infuriated. The way she was smiling at him and whispering to him seemed so intimate. It was almost as if she was making love to him in front of my eyes. In that moment I really wanted him to suffer.

You must remember. By then I was fairly experienced in the use of strap and cane. I knew I wouldn’t damage him, but I wanted him to feel my displeasure.

And so the fifth stroke was delivered with all of my might. I had stepped back a pace and then stepped forward, twisted at the waist and with the strap held behind my shoulder brought it down in a wide sweeping arc across the centre of his buttocks The heavy leather, cracked, wrapped deep, his bum flesh rippled. his cheeks started to rotate, and he wailed.

“Ohhhhh fuck!”

Helen whispered softly…

“I spoke loudly,” You bastard!

Then I hit him as hard again, on exactly the same place on his arse, and his bum rose and fell and gyrated as the skin started to redden further.

“Fuck no. It hurts! it hurts so much!

“Good. It’s meant to fucking hurt” and I hit him again. Once again with all the strength I could muster.

He screamed out loud, “You bitch!”

And I gritted my teeth, flung the strap way above my head, stepped in, swivelled at the hips and drove the strap directly over the centre of his bare fleshy posterior.

The result was electric. He gasped, Ohhh! NNNo! And his buttocks bucked wildly.

“Oh Yes,” I replied coldly. In my anger I had forgotten why he was being punished. Now my intention was to deliver pain as efficiently and safely as I could.

I kept at it… striking him at 20 second intervals. His bum was in constant motion first grinding against the seat and then bucking away from it whilst all the while rotating first clockwise and then anticlockwise, With each crack the skin reddened and then darkened until it was all over a bright shiny red with areas starting to darken and turn blue.

All the time he babbled and wailed.

At times it was if he was replying to her as she whispered softly.

“Yes it hurts. I’m sorry.”

Sometimes he spoke to nobody at all.

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck no!”

And sometimes he pleaded with me.

“Stop! Please stop!”

And I remember, quite unfairly, replying, “You deserve this. And more.”

I delivered the twenty fourth stroke and stood back. John slowly stopped moving, quietened, and lay still. Anne sat still, gazing backwards and forwards between his face and arse. Her face was flushed with excitement.

Just then I was filled with an intense feeling of dislike for her and would have loved nothing more than to have had her tied down over the trestle with her large bare bum in the air trembling whilst she waited for punishment.

It was not to be.

“Ten minutes to recover John,” I said. “Then the cane.” I was still unreasonably angry with him.

I left the den and Anne, grudgingly, accompanied me.

A short while later I measured the Rattan cane across his bum cheeks. John lay quiet and waiting. Anne sat transfixed in her wooden chair.

I brought the cane quickly behind my back and then in the same movement brought it quickly forward across his buttocks whilst using my wrist and drove the tip deep into the far buttock cheek. He groaned and a little later a red line appeared across his bum cheeks, and he whimpered.

Anne had started her almost incessant silent mouthing.

I hit him again slightly lower. He writhed, wriggled,screeched loudly, and another stripe appeared.

I maintained a regular rhythm, whipping the tip of the rod into each of his bum cheeks every twenty seconds. The supple rod whistled and cracked as it rose and fell. Each time I struck he jerked and whimpered, and a new stripe appeared. With each stroke his struggles decreased, and his moans grew quieter.

His bum was ridged, swollen, and blue when I picked up the Tohiti cane. I was no longer angry with him. I figured he had suffered enough but mine was not the decision to take. I looked enquiringly across at Anne who smiled and nodded for me to continue. The bitch wanted her pound of flesh, and I must deliver it.

I swung the cane almost lazily across his buttocks. It made a low pitched whooping noise and cracked as it impacted, and a fresh broader mark appeared. His cheeks quivered under the impact, but he took it silently and I knew he was in subspace, that endorphin fugue like state where pain becomes pleasurable. As I drew the cane back I watched him raise his backside as if to welcome the next stroke which again he took with quiet acceptance. I did not strike with anything like full strength. There was no need, and I could no longer hurt him…. He was beyond pain. Now I wanted to safely deliver the remainder of the punishment and each strike was still producing a fresh wheal as he lifted his backside to receive it.