This story has been edited. One constructive criticism of my stories is that I am too quick to get to the end and should make them a little more detailed and this is what I have done here. I have added 350 words but now believe it reads better and the mindset of the protagonist is explained more fully.
Where Fantasy Ends Reality Begins
I am a masochist.
I lie in bed naked fantasising.
It is the same every time, although each time the detail becomes a little clearer, a little better defined.
My fantasy is that I am standing in the dock in court and the judge who is a beautiful but stern woman sentences me to be caned. I do not know what I have done to deserve this punishment.
"You will be taken from here to the place of correction, stripped naked, and a minimum of thirty six strokes of a judicial kooboo cane will be applied to your buttocks."
And then rough hands bundle me out of the court through a door and into a brightly sunlit courtyard. As I blink, and my eyes adjust to the light, I see a padded wooden A frame standing near to the far wall with a metal pail containing the cane sitting by it. As I watch, a tall heavily muscled man, naked from the waist reaches down and removes the cane from the water in which it has been steeped to render it heavier and more flexible. He stands, and dispassionately looks me up and down, and waits silently with the cane held in his right hand.
Then I realise that I am wearing nothing but a prison smock made of coarse sacking and my feet are bare. The smock is torn from me, and I stand naked on the cobblestones.
I am facially beautiful, but I am a little overweight, of medium height with large pendulous breasts and a large flabby bum, and a little bit of a tummy. My boyfriend says that I am voluptuous and "built for comfort."
As I stand in the sunshine I become aware of a crowd of onlookers who have come to see my punishment. Most of them are smartly dressed women who look at me hungrily as they impatiently wait to watch me suffer.
And then I hear a voice. It is the Judge.
"Those nates will take the three dozen easily. She is going to need more."
"Prepare her."
Next I am stretched over the frame, my waist over the padded leather, and my ankles and thighs bound securely. My wrists are bound together and pulled taught in front of me. I feel a padded cushion being strapped in place. This will protect my kidneys and lower back. I am to be severely punished but not be maimed.
As I lie waiting for the beating to begin the Judge walks into view and stands looking into my eyes and she smiles. She is a sadist and will enjoy my pain following each stroke of the cane.
Just for a moment I am no longer myself, but I have become the judge and I am looking down on myself.
I am cold and pitiless but am very excited at the prospect of what is about to happen. On the other side of the A frame the executioner is measuring the long cane across my victim's large plump bum cheeks. My only regret is that I cannot watch both the suffering in her face and the cane bite into her soft pale flesh. And so, I must choose. Maybe later I will move behind her. If she needs to take extra strokes for my pleasure so be it.
I look again at the executioner. He is a beautiful specimen of manhood. His abdominal muscles are taut and sculpted, and the muscles in his arms are well developed and ripple as they move. His skin is the colour of dark wood. His gaze is impassive.
And now my excitement has reached fever pitch. My sex has been slowly moistening since I passed sentence but now I am wet between my legs and my clitoris aches for release, and I imagine the pleasure that the male opposite could give me. Instead, he is now going to cause severe pain to someone else. Not for the first time I ask myself does he need sexual release after he is finished with the cane? My husband knows that tonight when I return home I will need a good hard fucking.
As the cane rises above his head and he slices it downwards into her soft pale bum cheeks and the first stripe appears, and she gasps in pain and shock, I want to reach down, lift my skirt, and place my fingers inside my panties and between my dripping labia and rub my button. I can't because I am the judge..
But I can, and as I have been lying naked here in my bed it is not just my imagination that has been busy but my fingers too. And as in my mind the first stroke is delivered my fingers start to move faster and faster, until I experience my first toe curling orgasm as my legs straighten and my thighs clamp down around my hand.
I lie over the A fame as the cane is slowly and deliberately driven into my bum cheeks. The strokes fall at twenty second intervals. This is designed to give me time to fully assimilate the pain of each one, and to anticipate the next. The cane rhythmically whoops and slaps and although the pain must be extreme I feel nothing.
And now I am the executioner.
I am determined to do my job properly. The buttocks in front of me are large and flabby. I will be able to spread the strokes evenly over a large expanse of flesh although she will probably bruise badly. I will try to avoid drawing blood although a little oozing is probably inevitable. My job is to deliver maximum pain and that will happen. I expect her to be sobbing and pleading before I have finished.
I see the Judge watching. I both despise her and fancy her. She enjoys the process of punishment whilst I don't. It is my job to be the instrument of justice and I take no pleasure from it. But I would take great pleasure from having the judge strapped down across the frame and let her experience the cane and then my long, hard, thick dick.
I put these thoughts out of my mind and concentrate on the job in hand. I am to administer a sound thrashing and when I have finished this young woman will never forget this day; the day she received her first judicial caning.
But I know it will not be the last time she suffers at my hands. The Judge will see to that. And experience tells me that next time she will receive a minimum forty eight strokes of the birch as payment for her imagined transgression.
But for now she is to be caned, so time and time again I measure the supple punishment cane across her buttocks and then in a single fluid motion raise it swiftly high above my head and twisting at the waist bring it down fast and very hard.
And as I work my way up and down her tortured bum cheeks she sobs and gurgles and screams.
The punishment continues and then after an age of suffering I hear the judge speak.
"Stop. That's thirty. I want you to give her another twelve strokes, but I want the cane tip to properly bite. You can start again when I tell you to."
