Caned for Adultery

Authors note: This story contains graphic descriptions of hand spanking, paddling, and caning in the context of sexual activity and domestic punishment between loving partners. The protagonists are all consenting adults over the age of eighteen years old. If any of this offends you please do not read past the first part of the story subtitled Marriage. This section is gentle and vanilla. The spanking is described in the sections titled Crime and Punishment. Contrary to some commentators on my stories who "know" I am describing domestic abuse, I am not. A significant minority of loving couples practice corporal punishment and a large number of others have a vicarious interest. It is just one more kink.

As many writers will know, stories often develop a life of their own, and this one has done just that. After I finished it, I realised it was not just about spanking and an adulterous relationship but also a love story and a story of redemption.

Nevertheless, it is a story, It never happened and is a product of my imagination.

As usual, none of the characters depicted are real and any similarity to real places or people living or dead is purely coincidental.

I make the usual plea. Please comment and score. A lot of work goes into writing stories and only through feedback can an author know if he is doing things right. Any constructive criticism positive or negative is welcome. Far too few folk score and even fewer make comments, especially after reading BDSM stories.

As always, any grammatical errors or typos are down to me alone. Please remember authors on this site, me included, aren't writing for financial gain and mistakes are virtually inevitable. It is a sad reality that errors inevitably show themselves only after a story has been submitted for publication.

Caned For Adultery

Marriage

My name is Anne. I am forty-one years old and married, and I am a masochist. I married David in 2000 when I was only eighteen. He was twenty-four years old at the time and, I thought, a catch.

It was either very brave or very stupid of me. One minute I was living at home and attending a local college to study for an accountancy diploma, and then I was married.

I met David at my cousin, Margaret's, wedding, where he had been invited as a friend of the groom. I was one of the bridesmaids and one of the unmarried single girls invited to the dance floor for the bouquet toss, which followed after the toast and the bride and groom's first dance.

The bouquet was of white roses, and there were at least a couple of dozen of us congregated on the floor when Margaret tossed it over her shoulder. The bouquet flew high into the air and then descended into my outstretched hands. Several other hands tore at me, somebody elbowed me in the ribs, and I broke the heel on one of my stilettos, but I managed to hang onto my prize.

Back at the table, sitting with my widowed mother, I licked my wounds and placed the flowers on the table.

"You'll not be marrying anytime soon," said Mother. "Get yourself an education first and grow up."

***

I wanted to ask her how I was expected to grow up, smothered as I was by her. I was eighteen years old, an only child, and still expected home by ten each night unless I had special dispensation, and she knew exactly where I was. My father died of lung cancer when I was ten and she never remarried. She was a dour Irish Catholic woman and I had had a very strict upbringing. I went to church every Sunday, and more on religious days, and was brought up knowing how a good girl should behave. Needless to say, I was still a virgin. I had never had a boyfriend.

My mother was a strict disciplinarian. Nowadays her methods would be considered abusive, but when I was a child spanking was considered normal and it was not unusual for me to lie, skirt up, panties down, over her lap to receive a hard bare bottom-hand spanking. Then, when I was eighteen, she bought a rattan punishment cane. She called it, The Corrector.

I was three months short of my nineteenth birthday when I attended the wedding and I had already had a taste of that cane, three times.

"You're an adult now," she had said.

The caning was always given the same way and on a Friday. In the morning, before I left for college, she would pass judgment.

"You are going to get a dose of The Corrector tonight."

I would have a full day to think about what I was going to get, and then, just before sleeping, I would kneel naked on my bed and Mother would deliver eight hard strokes to my bare buttocks. She never said a word throughout the process but delivered them at full strength and fifteen seconds apart before silently leaving my bedroom.

As I sat at the table, I was reminded of my last caning which had taken place only the night before. Only a woman as insensitive as my mother would have given me a beating the night before a wedding at which I was to be a bridesmaid. My bum was still bruised and sore, but I didn't mind, I had found that although I didn't particularly enjoy the caning, I enjoyed both anticipating it and then playing it back in my mind. And it made me so fucking horny.

The previous evening, after my beating, I had lain naked in my bed, and with one hand tracing the ridges on my arse and one between my cunt lips, I had fingered myself to two shuddering orgasms. Interestingly, as I replayed the event in my mind it was not my mother wielding the cane but Mrs Johnson, the attractive college principal, who was energetically applying it to my naked upturned arse.

When I came, my orgasms were so intense that I had to bite my pillow to stop myself from crying out in pleasure.

***

Normally, after a caning, I would have been grounded but as I was a bridesmaid this didn't happen. Nonetheless, Mother sat next to me, seemingly interested in making sure I didn't enjoy myself.

The disc jockey had just announced the garter toss, and a crowd of bachelors had gathered and were already jostling for position. I remember thinking that if the ladies could manhandle(?) me the way they did, how violent might the men get in their inebriated state?

I needn't have worried, The garter arced into the air, and as it descended an arm was raised, and a hand plucked it lazily from the air. It was an anticlimax. As the group dispersed I spotted the man who had caught the blue garter. He was at least six foot four inches tall, slim and well built, and incredibly handsome. He had blond curly hair cut short, piercing brown eyes, and chiselled features.

He returned to the table where he was sitting on the far side of the dance floor, and I lost sight of him.

About an hour later, he approached the table where I was sitting. By then, a group of elderly relatives had sat with us, and Mother was talking to them and animatedly moaning about something or other. When he reached the table, he towered over me. He held out his hand.

"I'm David," he said. "I thought I should meet the young lady who caught the bouquet. You are very pretty, it's difficult to believe you're not taken."

I wasn't too sure how to respond so I stood and took his hand.

"Anne. I'm pleased to meet you," I replied. "Please sit down."

He sat and laughed.

"You'd make a good lock forward at the lineout."

"I'm sorry."

"You don't watch rugby:?"

"No."

"Well, the lock forwards are the tall guys who compete for the ball when it's thrown in from the sideline." It's a bit like catching the bouquet, only less violent and less dangerous to your physical health."

He changed his tone slightly.

"You've sat at this table all evening without moving. Would you like to dance?"

My mother had stopped talking and I'm sure was about to forbid it when I heard my Auntie Jean's voice.

"Why don't you Anne? Stop sitting there like a lemon and go and enjoy yourself."

So, before my mother could find a reason why I shouldn't; a broken heel maybe? I removed both my shoes and I headed for the dance floor.

Before I met David, I didn't think that I was very pretty. Without being immodest, I now know I am beautiful, and most men and a significant minority of women fancy me. That evening, I looked good. All the bridesmaids wore identical pale yellow dresses and mine showed off my body to perfection. I am five ten tall with a big round bum and breasts the size of pomelos. I am very pretty and innocent-looking with black hair and big brown eyes and for the wedding had worn my hair in ringlets. If I have any physical imperfection, it is my firm thick thighs.

For the first time, I was aware of the eyes of people following me as we walked to the dance floor. I remember assuming they were looking at David. I Hadn't yet learned the power of good looks and the unfair advantages in life that it bestows on those who have it.

We danced. Or should I say he danced, and I did my best? I'm pretty sure I'd never danced before, and never with a man, but he didn't seem to mind as I flopped around in front of him. Then the music slowed, and he took me around the waist and guided me around the flour. I remember my first smell of his masculinity as he held me close, and I felt a familiar stirring in my loins.

We sat at a table together on the far side of the room, away from mother. He told me he was a hydrographic surveyor and worked for an oil company. He spent several months a year at sea on a survey ship but was not going away again for some time and was on leave for the next six weeks. He was spending the time renovating his house in Newcastle, he collected classic cars and was single.

Then he asked if he could take me out the following week.

"My mother wouldn't like it," I told him. "She thinks eighteen is far too young to have an interest in men. She wouldn't countenance it. I must get my accountancy diploma first."

"Where do you go to College?" he asked. "I'll meet you there on Monday lunchtime. We can go to the pub or a café. Whichever you prefer."

I had already arranged my first date when my mother arrived at the table, carrying my shoes and the bouquet. She was not well pleased and did not look at David.

"Where have you been? Anne," she said and handed me my shoes.

"Your Auntie's giving us a lift home. Come on."

She didn't wait for me but scurried off. I hurriedly said goodbye to David, pulled on my footwear, and hobbled quickly after her. In the car, she spoke to me only once.

"He's far too old for you and he's interested in only one thing. I forbid you to see him again."

I said nothing but sat quietly, torn between my growing interest in the same thing and my Catholic upbringing.

Mother sulked all the way home and went to bed without speaking to me again.

***

The following Monday lunchtime, I stood nervously outside the college gates looking at my watch and concerned that David would not show up. I need not have worried. He was five minutes early. He looked even better in broad daylight than he had at the reception, but now he was casually dressed in jeans and a leather jacket. I was conscious that I did not look as good as I had done at the wedding, but he did not appear to notice.

"Pub or café," he asked.

"The pub would be nice," I replied.

After that, we met every Monday, Tuesday, and Friday, whenever I attended College. By the second week, we were holding hands and shortly afterward he kissed me on the lips, and I knew I was falling in love. At Monday lunchtime in the third week, he broached the top[c of my mother and gently suggested we should tell her of our relationship. I was appalled at the thought. It did not occur to me that as an adult I could make my own decisions.

"She'll demand I finish with you and throw me out of the house If I don't."

"Then you can come and live with me."

"I wish," I said. "But I'm a virgin and a Catholic. You'll need to marry me first."

Things came to a head about two weeks later. As is often the case nowadays, it was a phone call that caught me out. It had become my habit to wait until my mother had gone to bed and then ring David on my mobile phone. I would then delete the call from my phone log.

On Tuesday evening, around ten o'clock, my mother went to bed and fifteen minutes later I called David. Five minutes after that, my bedroom door opened.

I tried to hide the phone away, but it was too late. She'd seen me doing what she'd expected.

"Who were you phoning?"

"Nobody," I stupidly replied.

"It was that man, wasn't it? I ordered you not to see him. I knew something was up. You've been different lately."

Something happened to me, and I snapped.

"Happy you mean?"

"You ungrateful little hussy." she shrieked. "You've been with him. I know you have. You little tart. I'll teach you. You're going to get the thrashing of your life."

She disappeared from the room, and I took the opportunity to ring David. He picked up immediately.

"I'm texting you my address. Please pick me up outside my house. I'm leaving the house now. For good. My mother's throwing a complete wobbler. She knows about us."

I'll be there in fifteen minutes," he said. "Do you have a valid passport and your birth certificate?"

"Yes."

"Bring them."

I quickly dressed, grabbed a suitcase from my wardrobe, and emptied the contents of my drawers into it before throwing in as many skirts and dresses as I could, and forcing it shut. Then I found my wallet, cash card, birth certificate, and passport and put them, with my mobile phone, into my handbag.

Just then Mother reappeared. She was holding the Corrector.

"Now you'll learn to do as you are told. And you learn what happens to fornicators."

I crossed the room, took the cane from her, snapped it in two, and threw it on the floor.

"No mother. Fuck you! You'll not tell me how to live my life. I'm off. Right now, I don't care whether I ever see you again. Don't you dare try to stop me. Goodbye."

She stood open-mouthed behind me, as handbag in hand, I lugged my suitcase out of my room, down the stairs, and into the street, stopping only briefly to collect my coat from the hook by the door.

Once I was in the street, I looked back at the house. My mother was standing at my bedroom window looking down at me. Then she drew the curtains and was lost from my view.

***

Ten minutes later, David pulled up at the curb, jumped out of the car, and put my suitcase in the boot. Then I got into the car, and he drove away. As he drove, I explained what had just happened. He was lost in thought by the time we reached his house and he drove the car into his driveway.

I had never visited his home before. Even in the dark, I could see it was a modern detached house, set back from the road, and with a large garden.

"It's huge," I said.

"A few rooms are being painted but I have four bedrooms. You can have one for yourself for as long as you need. If you are worried I can pay for a hotel."

"Don't be silly. I trust you."

We went into the lounge; It was decorated with expensive modern furniture.

"You need a drink," he said, giving me a large gin and tonic and pouring himself an even larger scotch."

We drank, and then I saw him take a deep breath before he started to speak.

"You're in a bit of a fix," he said. "Would you consider trying to apologise and return home in the morning?"

"No way,

"I thought not, but I had to be sure. I suppose we'll have to marry then?"

"I'm sorry, What did you just say?"

He paused and looked earnestly at me.

"I'm not doing this very well, am I? I love you, Anne. I think I loved you from the first time we danced. Please will you marry me? You may not love me now, but I can look after you and I know I can make you happy."

His words came as a complete shock, and I was completely unprepared for them. For a moment or two, I looked at him blankly. I imagine I must have had the most gormless look on my face as he anxiously studied it waiting for a response.

"David," I said, "don't you know I love you too? Of course, I'll marry you."

I put my drink down, crossed the room, and we kissed properly for the first time. I felt his penis through his trousers, stiff and hard against me. I felt a combination of pleasure that I aroused him, and sadness for his frustration and for denying us both what we wanted.

"We'll need to find somewhere we can marry soon, or you are going to pop," I said.

Minutes later, we sat discussing our plans. I was deliriously happy for so many reasons, Foremost was that David loved me, but I was also delighted to have left home and my unhappy domineering mother. There had been times when I feared I would never get out from under, but now I was free.

There was also a third reason. Lately, I had started to think of sex. Not masturbation, which for some reason that I could not understand, the Church called self-abuse, but the real man's-dick inside me variety. I had had these "impure" thoughts for over a year, predating David by many months. Now after dating David, I longed for him to make love to me, bang me, screw me, jump me, or fuck me. I didn't care what you called it, but I craved sex with him. Marriage would make it possible. It would no longer be a sin.

"How quickly can we marry?" I asked. "What about Gretna Green?"

"No good anymore," he replied. "It's a wait of a month or so, any place in the UK now, I think."

"I don't want to wait that long. I can't wait a month. I'll pop too."

"Gibraltar, then," he said.

"Where?"

"You heard me, Gibraltar."

"How do you know that you can marry quickly there?"

"One of the guys In the office got hitched there. It's closer than Vegas and you don't need a visa. You will need your passport and birth certificate."

He laughed.

***

Two days later, we flew business class from Heathrow, and late on Thursday afternoon, I saw the Rock for the first time. It had all happened very fast. David had managed to arrange for us to get married at the Rock Hotel the following Monday morning. We needed to be in Gibraltar on Friday to complete some paperwork and obtain a special license to marry. It was that simple. We had decided to stay in Gibraltar for a week, following which I would return to College, and David to work. I didn't think missing three days of college would be a great loss. For the first four nights, we had separate rooms at the Rock Hotel. He had booked the wedding suite from Monday lunchtime onwards.

"We will be married exactly six weeks after you met me outside college for the first time," I remarked.

Before the wedding, David took me shopping for an engagement ring and wedding rings and then he took me shopping for clothes. Over the weekend we went sightseeing, although I took time on Saturday to attend confession and on Sunday to go to mass.

On Monday morning I took my breakfast separately and then went out to buy a white silk nightdress to wear to my wedding bed. Back in my room, I showered, and the hotel hairdresser arranged my hair for me. A little later the manicurist painted my nails and a beautician applied cosmetics and lipstick. My wedding dress was pure white, and I had ordered a bouquet of white roses very similar to the one I had caught just over six weeks previously. I was ready, and at eleven thirty in the morning I joined David in front of the registrar. Fifteen minutes later we were married.

I still remember the first words he said to me when we were alone, a few minutes after the witnesses and registrar had shaken our hands, congratulated us and left.

"You are so beautiful," he said.

"Please take me to bed. If I have to wait any longer I will surely pop and die." I replied.

***

When we entered the wedding suite our clothes and our belongings had been taken from our rooms and were neatly put away in the drawers or hung in the wardrobe. A bowl of fruit and a vase of freshly cut flowers sat on the table next to a bottle of champagne on ice.