This story contains graphic descriptions of consensual and non-consensual corporal punishment and descriptions of caning and whipping. If this offends you, you may prefer to stop reading.
All the participants in this story are adults over the age of eighteen years. None of the characters depicted are real, and any similarity to real places or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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As always, any errors in editing are mine and mine alone.
Fulfilment
I remember the Saturday afternoon it started. It was a cold winter's day, and outside, the snow lay deep. In the morning, I visited the supermarket to do my weekly shopping, and on the way home, I stopped at the petrol station to fill the car. Now my time was my own.
***
The reason why
I was living alone after leaving home, under a cloud, four years earlier. I was twenty-three years old, single, and between boyfriends. After three of them, I was not looking for another. Two, I had finished with, one because he fucked a friend of mine, and one because he was shit between the sheets. My last boyfriend had finished with me when I asked him to cane me. He was OK with a little light spanking during sex, but real CP put him off me fast, and we went our separate ways.
Recently, when my bill for batteries became excessive, I bought myself a rechargeable wand vibrator. When I needed a dick, I would have a one night stand. I am an attractive woman and never have any trouble finding a man to fuck.
It was my libido and my mother's prudishness and cruelty which had sparked the events leading up to me leaving home and making me what I am.
My Father was a preacher, and my mother was a member of his congregation when they met. I was an only child brought up in a cold, loveless home. I never saw my parents kiss or hold hands, and I cannot remember any physical contact with my father.
My mother was a bitch. Figuratively, speaking, she ruled our household with a rod of iron, although the instrument she often took to me, for the smallest transgressions, was a heavy wooden hairbrush. For as long as I can remember, it was always my mother who would wield the brush. It would have been unseemly for my father to lie me across his lap, and such was his dislike of physical contact, I often wondered how he was able to impregnate my mother to produce me. He preached fire and brimstone, and my mother practised what he preached. And they slept in separate beds.
Beatings were, with one singular exception, conducted on a Saturday night before bed. When I was going to be punished, my mother would inform me at breakfast that day. She would look at me across the kitchen table and softly announce sentence.
"You are going to be punished tonight, my girl. I want you to think about what I shall do to your bottom. You are not going to be able to sit for a week."
Then, before my spanking, she would lecture me about whatever she believed I had done wrong.
"Young girls today have no morals," she would say. "Sex outside marriage is fornication. Birth control is against God's Law."
Along with sex, she did not approve of gambling, alcohol, dancing, and loud music unless it was religious.
Once, every month or two, my Saturday would be spent thinking about what I would experience later that day.. Then, after my nightly bath, and dressed in a flimsy pair of pyjamas, I would lie pinioned across her lap, and she would blister my ass. When she was finished, and my bum was a burning, swollen mass of bruises, and I was sobbing in pain and remorse, she and I would kneel and pray that I would not sin again.
***
Only once was she so angry with me that she did not wait until Saturday evening to punish me. I remember it well. I was nineteen years old and still living at home. It was difficult for me, on a bank teller's salary, to set up house on my own, and so I had stayed.
Despite my parents' rigidity, by the time I was eighteen years old, I had started to question what I had been told, and that and my hormones were what got me into trouble.
Before I went to work in the bank, I had little contact with boys. I attended an all-girls school and did not have a brother or a sister. I had never had a boyfriend, and men were an alien species. When I met Trevor, that changed. I met him through a female colleague at work, who was his sister. We met one night at the cinema, and he asked me out,
Trevor was the first man I ever kissed, and his cock was the first that I ever jerked and held between my fingers as he spurted his seed. His, was the first cock that I first took in my mouth and sucked until he filled me with his salty sperm. He wanted more, but I was unwilling to let him touch me. I wanted to, and I ached for him to touch me between my legs and rub my clitoris, but I knew what it might lead to, and I feared getting pregnant. Instead, we both remained unsatisfied, although that was when my skill at handling and blowing dick was born.
Trevor never met my parents. I knew that our relationship was not going anywhere, and it was not worth the hassle to take him home. He was a bricklayer, and my mother would have hated him on sight. She wanted me to marry somebody with "prospects." My aspirations were far simpler. I was looking for a good-looking man who would take me away from my domineering parents and fuck me senseless every night. Predictably enough, my relationship with Trevor was short and furtive, yet it left me hungry for more.
"More" came in the guise of David, who was a customer of the bank, and it was lust at first sight. David was the manager of a local branch of a well-known estate agent and was a handsome, single, thirty-year-old man with an easy-going attitude and a long, circumcised prick.
Whilst Trevor was a boy, David was a man, and he knew what he wanted. That was me, and he was not happy with just a hand or a blow job. He wanted to fuck me, and truth be told, despite everything that I had been taught, I wanted him to do it. A month after I met him, I went to see my GP and started the contraceptive pill, and a week later, I lost my virginity.
Discovering proper sex was an epiphany. I had never dreamed that anything in life could feel so good. I discovered that I was multi-orgasmic, and a horny, kinky bitch and I fucked David at every opportunity, even though my circumstances prevented me from staying overnight at his house. Even though I was almost nineteen, my parents expected me home by half past ten, and I was only allowed to go out with him Friday evening, Saturday, and one other evening during the week. Despite this, I managed to fuck him most days but Sundays. A couple of days a week, we visited a nearby hotel at lunchtime, and once he had me doggystyle over his office desk with the door locked. Friday evenings and Saturdays we were able to fuck in his bed. My parents met David and appeared to tolerate him. This surprised me, but I wasn't complaining. What I should have been asking was why David was happy with this restrictive arrangement. Only much later did I learn that he was fucking another woman when I wasn't around.
***
My sexual awakening was not without its problems. By necessity, I was lying to my parents. It was not just that I was sexually active, but that I was consistently lying to them about my whereabouts and what I was doing. I was also breaking many of the moral codes that my mother had attempted to beat into me. I was fucking outside of marriage and practicing birth control. My faith was sorely tested, and I tried hard to reconcile myself with what my mother taught me. How could it be wrong for me to fuck, when I was so obviously designed to enjoy doing it.
As a Catholic, I was brought up to feel guilty about most things, but now, I had a whole layer of guilt superimposed.
None of this stopped me fucking David at every opportunity. The sex was just too good.
***
It was entirely predictable that my newly found sexual freedom should get me into trouble. It was three months after I met David, and it was a Friday evening. I had told my mother that we were going to the cinema, but instead we had gone to the pub. When I arrived home, she was waiting for me, and she was truly angry.
No sooner had I come through the front door than she demanded I come into the kitchen. Then, when I had sat down, she picked up a cardboard box from the table and emptied its contents into my lap. I was shocked to see my dildos, vibrator, and contraceptive pills.
"Those are my things!" I exclaimed. "You have no right!"
"I have every right! This is my house!"
"And you searched my room?"
