She straightened up slowly - painfully slowly. Cheryl’s face was awash with tears. They
streaked down her cheeks and her eyes were puffy. The punishment had been as sharp as it
had been severe. The marks from a dozen strokes of the cane were clearly visible across
both of her crimson buttocks. Her burning flesh had been unprotected throughout the
punishment. Her blue knickers remained around her ankles, a wisp of material that had been
pulled down by Adam just before her punishment had started. She had stayed in place for
all of the three minutes it had taken Adam, her husband, to deliver her punishment. She’d
had no choice either. She’d been caught by him in another man’s bed and she knew what
would have to happen. She’d done it before, of course, and had been told if she got caught
again she would either be caned like a naughty teenager or she would face the
embarrassment of divorce and penury. After all, the house and everything belonged to Adam
and she had nothing, not even a regular job.
Cheryl rubbed her backside where Adam had delivered her punishment. He was not
usually a violent man but he had become increasingly frustrated by his wife’s absences
from home when she should have been there. Now, as she felt the welt marks from the cane
on her backside and realised she was bruising up, she knew Adam meant business this time.
She’d never been totally sure that his past threats carried any weight, but now she was in
no doubt. As she gingerly felt the wounds from the caning she shuddered with the trembling
of a woman who is afraid of what might happen next.
The affair she was having had lasted nearly two months before this fateful
afternoon. Adam was supposed to have been at work but evidently, now, he hadn’t been.
She’d slipped out of the house as she had done before on dozens of occasions, travelled
the six miles to Brian’s hotel bedroom, and was naked in the hotel room when Adam and a
friend had burst in on them. She’d felt foolish then as her husband made Brian sit in a
chair, his exposed cock rapidly going limp, while Adam pinned her over the edge of the bed
to feel her cunt. He examined her roughly, found her wet with excitement but no evidence
of the man’s semen. He yanked her back upright, dragged her over to the chair where Brian
was sitting, told her to take one last look at the man’s cock and then dragged her, naked,
out of the room. On the way she grabbed her clothes and in the lift back down to the
ground floor she covered herself up the best she could.
On the way home, Adam drove like a demon-possessed creature, swore loudly at her,
called her a slut and a whore, and said he wanted the dreaded divorce. She pleaded with
him not to do that – anything but a divorce. After he’d sworn at her hand heard her almost
childlike pleading, he went silent. The rest of the journey home he remained silent, as if
deep in thought, and then he’d made a couple of phone calls. Finally, as she sat trembling
on the staircase he came out of his study and dragged her up the stairs to their bedroom.
“If you want to stay here, you will show remorse for what you have done and accept
punishment.”
“Anything, Adam, and I won’t do it again – I promise,” she said through the tears.
“Okay, bend over, grab your ankles and lift your skirt up over your waist.” While
she complied, knowing what was going to happen, Adam rummaged around in his wardrobe. He
came out, flexing the cane. “I knew it was in there somewhere. Right, you disobedient,
unfaithful whore, I am going to give you twelve strokes with Bertha.”
“Yes, Adam.” She replied tearfully. He approached her and she felt the blue wisp of
material being pulled right down to her ankles.
“And that will be just the start. This time you will learn your lesson.”
“Yes, Adam.”
Swish! Thwack! The cane crashed into her upturned buttocks and she sobbed. It was
going to be painful.
Three minutes later the delivery was over. Her buttocks ached and she knew Adam was
still angry. The strength of the caning had been severe but she knew he had not finished
with her yet.
Now, as she straightened, her hands reached round to feel the burning flesh.
“Right, you can stay in here until I call for you. Pack a bag for the night and make
sure you are ready in fifteen minutes.” Adam Brown left the bedroom, closing the door
harshly behind him.
Cheryl Brown was a pretty woman, in her early twenties. Adam had been her one love
of her teens and they had married at eighteen. Now, five years later, she had had three
affairs, been caught each time and threatened with divorce. It wasn’t the fact that Adam
didn’t satisfy her – he did. It was more to do with some craving deep inside her to be
dominated that made her so wilful. Now, with the door closed, she straightened up, felt
the warm flesh that had been punished and had to admit, despite the pain, something was
stirring inside her. It was the second time Adam had punished her and, like the first
time, she now felt strangely aroused.
She heard the doorbell downstairs and Adam answering the caller. The front door shut
and then his study door. Silence returned to the house and she remembered she had been
instructed to pack an overnight bag. She started on the task, wondering just what Adam had
in mind.
Half an hour later she heard Adam call her from the hallway. She opened the door and
as instructed, went down to the study.
“Cheryl, I’d like you to meet an acquaintance of mine. This is Greg Dawson. Greg,
meet Cheryl.” The woman entered the study and Adam closed the door behind her.
The other man in the room stood up and turned to face the woman. He didn’t smile or
speak but held out his hand in greeting.
“Nice to meet you, Mr Dawson,” she spoke softly. The mere mention of his name had
stricken terror into the very depths of her heart. One of her friends, Kathy, had
previously met up with the redoubtable Greg Dawson. Cheryl Brown had a pretty damned good
idea what was about to take place.
Dawson sat down as Adam Brown continued speaking.
“I have explained to Mr Dawson all about your misdemeanours and the fact I have
given you the cane. Mr Dawson is a specialist in punishment and correction which is why I
have called him here this evening. Actually, I have known about your affair for some while
and today you simply gave me the opportunity I have been waiting for. Mr Dawson considers
that twelve strokes of the cane are insufficient to drive the message home. He, like me,
does not approve of faithless sluts and considers they should be properly chastised.”
“I’m not a slut.”
“He says you are and I agree with him – you are a slut.”
“I, I, oh I don’t know what to say.”
“Good. Meanwhile, Mr Dawson and I have had a number of conversations in the past few
weeks and your actions today have only brought matters to a head. Let me tell you a bit
about Mr Dawson. He is a therapist, the kind who deals with naughty people like you. He
calls himself a Corrective Action Therapist and his aim is to ensure you do not misbehave
again.”
“I see, and how does he do that?”
“You will find out soon enough. Now, Mr Dawson has my full and written permission to
punish you in any way he sees fit. As you are an adult you will also give him your
permission.”
“I will not.”
“You will. All the time you delay you are only making things worse for yourself.”
“Mr Dawson can go to hell. I know what he does and he isn’t going to touch me!”
“He is going to teach you a lesson you will not forget. Now, you can either be
taught that lesson or we can go ahead and get divorced.”
“You fucking piece of shit,” the woman blurted out. “You fucking piece of shit.”
She turned and made to go to the door of the study. She tried the handle and found
the door locked. “Open this fucking door now, you piece of shit,” she screamed.
Dawson stood up and walked over to the woman. Without talking, he grabbed her arm
and propelled her back to the great oak desk that occupied the centre of the room. Without
ceremony he pushed her over the edge of the desk and yanked her skirt up.
“Get off me, you pervert,” she yelled.
“Your husband has requested I punish you for your recent misdemeanours. I fear that
will have to wait until you have learned some basic manners.” Dawson spoke evenly and his
strong arm across her back as he held her arm twisted behind her was far more than Cheryl
could struggle against. She didn’t see the leather strap Dawson held in his hand, the same
strap he had been sitting on when she’d entered the room. In a flash he raised it high
above her and she felt the sting of the first impact on her already burning flesh. The
second stroke landed on top of the first and she screamed.
“Please, Mrs Brown, do not make such a fuss. This is only the beginning. It would be
well for you to apologise sooner rather than later.”
“Apologise!” She exclaimed. “Just wait until I get the police onto you, you …
arghh.” The next stroke of the strap landed. This was followed after a few seconds by a
fourth stroke.
“Okay, okay, I give in. I’ll sign the bloody letter, only don’t whack me again.”
Dawson let her arm go and stood back. The young woman straightened, pulled down her
skirt and took the pen her husband silently offered her from the other side of the desk.
She fumbled with the sheet of paper and added her signature to the bottom.
“Good,” Adam Brown muttered as he took the paper back from the girl. “This is yours,
Mr Dawson, and you can now take Cheryl with you and drum some discipline into her.”
“What?” She muttered. “Go with him?”
“That is what I said. Mr Dawson has far more appropriate facilities at his own
place, facilities he could not hope to have brought with him here. Now, Cheryl, you would
be advised to do everything he tells you to do.”
“Yes, Adam,” she demurred, realising she had lost. As she did so, she turned round
to look at Dawson. “Well?” She asked.
“Go and get your overnight bag and then meet me in the hallway. Its gone six now and
I doubt you will have learned your lesson this evening. Your husband has my number and my
address and he has been round to inspect my facilities, so you are quite safe.”
The young woman walked to the door and waited for Dawson to unlock it. When she’d
left his study the door was closed and she could hear muted conversation taking place
behind her. She climbed the stairs, resigned to her fate, knowing the next several hours
were going to be the worst of her life. Still, she had no choice other than to go through
with it. She had no choice – that was it, plain and simple – no choice.
Five minutes later, complete with her small, blue overnight bag she was standing in
the hallway.
“Good,” said Dawson as he opened the front door. “It’s only a short drive and while
we’re travelling you would do well to heed the information I am going to give you.”
The young woman followed Dawson out of the front door.
“I’ll let you know how things are going later on,” Dawson called back to Adam Brown
as he closed the door behind them.
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