Story - Shoplifters Caned

Last week I featured a story by Big Billy, The Eternal Triangle, and this week I wanted to showcase another of his stories that I found at the same time. Like all the stories featured in the blog this one was originally posted on one of the Usenet spanking newsgroup's that sadly no longer exist. I'm hoping that in the future I can bring you a few of the stories that no longer exist on the web from the past of the group alt.sex.spanking, but it might be a few weeks away before I post the first of them.

Shoplifters Caned

Author's Statement: Big Billie is opposed to spanking except for consenting adults. However, spanking sexually excites him, so he writes about it. For more information, see Big Billie’s Author Profile.


My name is Bill Baxter. For over 30 years I worked in a steel factory in a large industrial city in England. Then came de-industrialisation, closure and redundancies. My marriage collapsed under the strain, but fortunately our children were grown up and off our hands, so my wife and I could make a clean break. The problem was that she got our house as part of the divorce settlement, and I was left lonely and alone, with nowhere to live, and with only part of my redundancy money to see me through.

In answer to my plight I bought a small corner shop with living accommodation above it. The previous owner was called Mr. Patel. He had worked hard as a mature student to gain professional qualifications, and he wanted to sell up to pursue a more profitable career. He had run his shop well, and he was most courteous and helpful to me. For two months before I took over he hired me as his assistant so that he could train me and teach me the ropes, and to this day he is still helpful on the other end of the telephone if I need any further advice or guidance.

It took me a few months to settle into my new lifestyle, but when I did I enjoyed it. The shop was in a favourable location, and it made me a small but adequate living. My regular customers were all locals who lived in the neighbouring streets. I soon got to know them, and they began to tell me all about their lives and their families. This was something that I had never got as I laboured and sweated in the heat and noise of the steel factory, and I loved it.

One lady in particular was very friendly and talkative. She was called Mrs. Joanne (Jo) Aktar, and she was in her early to mid-30s. Jo’s maiden name had been O’Neill. She had come to England from County Waterford in Ireland when she was 10 years old, and she still had the most delicious, lilting, Irish accent. When she was 14, however, she had got pregnant. The father of the baby was an Asian youth. He and his family wanted to do what was right, and when Jo reached 16 the couple were married. By then a baby daughter had been born, and within 2 years another baby girl followed. Within 5 years the relationship had collapsed, but there was a brief reconciliation that had resulted in the birth of a son. The current position, therefore, was that Jo was living alone, as a single mother, with two daughters aged 18 and 16, and a son of 8.

Jo was a lady of fair complexion, her short, naturally blond hair highlighted by dyes and colorants. She had had a hard life, and was rough, tough, resourceful and resilient. She worked out regularly at a local gymnasium operated by the City Council, and she had the strong, muscular physique of a dedicated body builder. When, as she often did, she wore vest tops cut away at the shoulders I could see a small, neat tattoo etched onto her right shoulder. Sometimes Jo came into the shop wearing short tops that displayed her midriff, and her pierced belly button adorned with jewellery. Wow! There was I, a sexually frustrated male in my late 50s, chatting to a fine, fit, youthful specimen of Eve’s flesh about the intimate details of our personal lives. It was all most interesting and distinctly over-stimulating!

Jo’s daughters Sarah and Ruth were even more stunning, if rather less talkative, than their mother. The happy admixture of Celtic and Asian genes had produced two young ladies of breathtaking beauty. They were tall, slender, willowy and supple, but meaty in all the right places. Their skin was the most gorgeous colour tone of dark, well-creamed coffee. Their facial features were exquisite. Their cheekbones were classically high, their eyes dark and smouldering, and their necks long and graceful. Either of them could easily have graced the cover of Vogue, or of any other top fashion magazine. Jo, Sarah and Ruth were regulars at the shop, and, perhaps more than any of the other customers, they brightened and enlivened my life. To complete the family ensemble there was little David, who often popped in for sweets.

Now a constant problem for small shopkeepers is theft. To minimise this, I followed Mr. Patel’s lead and banned children on their journey to and from school. I also permanently banned any young customer who, in my judgement, could not be trusted. Despite these precautions, however, stock was still going missing. I therefore started to load videocassettes into the surveillance camera bequeathed to me by Mr. Patel and to record what went on in the shop. This was not ideal, since I found that to watch all of the footage took too long. But at least I made a note of the times when suspicious incidents had occurred, or when particular suspects had entered and left the premises. I then checked the video footage of these times later.

Soon I got a shock. I discovered that 2 of the culprits were Sarah and Ruth. The video evidence was quite conclusive. In one incident Ruth made a purchase and distracted me by the till, while Sarah stole goods down one of the aisles. Then, as Sarah paid for an item, Ruth took more of my stock. Well, I was shocked, and I did not know what to do. By now I looked upon Jo as a personal friend. She was someone whom I trusted to buy goods on credit when she was hard up, and she always paid me pack. I also knew that Jo was doing her best to bring up her children to be good and honest. Sarah, Ruth and David all attended Church schools, and always had done. Then, every Sunday and Holy Day of Obligation, the family attended the local Catholic Church. Jo and I needed to talk, I concluded, and the next time she came into the shop I asked her to call back at closing time. Jo was puzzled, but she trusted me enough to do what I had requested. When she called by I showed her the video evidence and explained my point of view. I then asked her to think about it, and to call back at closing time on the next day. Meanwhile, a saucy and lascivious plan was slowly forming in my mind.

When Jo called round to see me the next day, I adopted an implacable stance. Shoplifting thefts were threatening my livelihood, I explained, and I could not tolerate them. In this case it was even worse, since I had thought that the Aktar family were my personal friends. I needed a highly publicised prosecution, a show trial to warn off other potential malefactors, and this was my chance. I would be reporting the girls to the police on the next day.

To my surprise, Jo did not disagree with the gist of what I had to say, and she made no great effort to dissuade me from my stated intentions. Her line was that the girls were thieves, and to make things worse they had betrayed a personal friendship. They deserved all that I could throw at them, and she would not stand in my way or try to dissuade me. Then she said something that, happily, played straight into my hands. “By God,” she said. “If they weren’t so big I’d teach them a lesson that they would never forget. I would give both of the little madams the thrashing of their lives.” I said nothing at first in reply to this revelation, and a lengthy and embarrassing silence followed. Then I spoke. “Do you really mean that, Jo?” I asked quietly. “Mean it?” answered Jo. “I only wish that I had the chance. While they were growing up I never laid a finger on them. And look at how they have repaid me. Talk about ‘spare the rod and spoil the child.’ I have been too lenient with them, and look what has happened.” And so she continued, in great anger and frustration.

Well, to cut a long story short, Jo and I talked for two or three hours that night. The outcome was that I agreed to consider not taking the matter to the police if Jo administered appropriate physical chastisement to the malefactors. She left the details of this chastisement to be decided by me. I said that the punishment must begin on the first Friday night of the month, in 10 days time. I would provide the cane, and I must be present to witness how it was used. The girls’ chastening would be in two parts. On the first Friday of the next month each girl would take 6 cuts of the cane across her bared buttocks. The strokes were to be inflicted by Jo, and she must give me her word that she would apply them with every ounce of her strength. Then, on the first Friday of the month after that, exactly the same punishment would be repeated under exactly the same conditions. Then, 3 days later, on the following Monday evening, there would be a meeting of the 4 of us at which I would say whether, in the light of the punishment which they had received, I was prepared to let the girls off without reporting them to the police. I was making no promises, I said, but I was prepared to consider my position.

The next night Jo arrived at the shop after closing time with Sarah and Ruth. I confronted them with the video evidence, and told them what Jo and I had agreed to do to them. I did not give them any choice or options. Sarah was now 18 and legally an adult, but she made no challenge to my plans. As the meeting broke up Sarah and Ruth were looking very shocked and very apprehensive. “Yes, my girls,” I thought to myself as they left. “You are feeling sorry for themselves now. But just you wait. In a few days time you will be feeling a lot, lot sorrier!” Meanwhile, my cock was already standing rock hard in my underpants as I contemplated the sexy and kinky scenario that I had succeeded in setting up. Later that night I went online and ordered a cane from an Internet sex shop. I wanted the girls to sting, tingle and throb, but I did not want to bruise them too extensively. So I bought the thinnest and whippiest cane that I could find in the on-line catalogue. When it arrived a few days later I inspected it carefully. It was made of rattan, with a curled handle at one end. It was, I should say, only about 6 millimetres thick, or thinner than a pencil, and very springy. I received it 5 days before C1 (First Caning) Day, and during those days I assiduously rubbed linseed oil into it to make it even springier and whippier. I introduced it to Jo with 4 days to go, and then made her practice her caning technique on a pillow in 3x1 hour daily training sessions until it was time for the real thing. I witnessed these training sessions, and wow! The lady had a beautifully poised stance and a strong, powerful right arm. The way that she laid into that pillow was wicked! For the whole hour of each of the 3 training periods I watched in entranced anticipation, with my cock as stiff as a poker.

Just after 8 p.m. on C1 Day Jo, Sarah and Ruth arrived and I took them upstairs to my living room above the shop. I tried to be brusque and efficient, but underneath I was nervous and anxious about the outcome of my proposed sting, and embarrassed by the growing tumescence of penis under trouser crotch. “Right, Sarah,” I said, as authoritatively as I could manage. “You are the older, and you must be presumed to be the ringleader. You will therefore be caned first. Any rebellion or non-compliance will incur further penalties. Is that clear?” “Yes, Mr. Baxter,” replied the victim submissively. “Good!” I replied. “Jo, please bend the culprit over this side of the table.” When Jo had done this I made Ruth stand on the other side of the table facing her sister. I then told her to thread her arms under Sarah’s armpits, and clasp her hands together, as tightly as she could, behind Sarah’s back. In turn, Sarah was told to do the same to her sister. “I want you both to stay clasped together as tightly as you can during the chastisement,” I instructed them both. “This will sting, Sarah, but I am ordering you to stay in position, on pain of receiving extra chastisement. As for you, Ruth, if you want to help your sister, you will cling onto her as tightly as you can, however hard she struggles, and however loudly she cries out. Is that understood?” “Yes, Mr. Baxter,” replied the girls submissively.

I then went and sat on a chair directly behind Sarah, so that I could get a good view of the proceedings from the business end and at crotch height. Jo positioned her daughter by the table. She then unbuttoned her jeans, curled her fingers under jeans and knickers at each hipbone, and pulled hard, downwards and outwards. Sarah’s jeans and knickers were not merely tugged down. On my prior instructions they were pulled completely from off her legs, and thrown onto a nearby armchair. I insisted on this so that I would get as good a view as possible of quivering buttocks, flailing, open legs, and exposed hairy fanny and labial lips.

“Right now, Sarah,” I continued. “I will be counting out each of the six strokes. After each one you are to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Baxter, for having me caned. I am a common thief and I richly deserve it. Could I have another cut now please?’ Is that clear?” I then made Sarah practice her lines a few times until she had them off pat. “Very good!” I said encouragingly. “Now, Jo, would you take up your position, please, and stand ready for the commencement of the discipline?”

Jo did as I requested. I then paused for a short time to get a good view of Sarah’s exposed bum and hairy crotch and fanny. “Oh, my God!” I thought to myself. “That is the sauciest and sexiest sight that I have ever seen!” And my cock, already rock hard in my underpants, stiffened still further. Meanwhile, beads of sweat stood out on my forehead, my mouth went as dry as dust, and my heart knocked fiercely against my ribcage.

I was so sexually excited that I thought at one point that I would go into a swoon. Then I pulled myself together and gave my first instruction. “One” I said deliberately. Jo raised the cane high into the air so that it was almost brushing the ceiling. For an agonising few seconds it hovered there, above our heads. Then down it came, with a loud, hissing swish. CRACK!!!

Oh, wow! Jo was as good as her word, and she brought down that cane with all the strength of her fit, firm, muscular, youthful, sporty body. It hit home with a terrific crack that rang out like a pistol shot. The loud report echoed around my small living room, and could probably be heard in the street below. I had not been expecting anything as sharp or as sexy as that. I was shocked at the sheer number of decibels, and I breathed in suddenly. Then I started panting violently, thinking that, if I were about to die, then there could be no better way to go than this.

Meanwhile, there were interesting developments at Sarah’s seat of learning. The cane was very thin, and Sarah’s buttocks were trim, pert and firm. But, even so, the force of the blow caused her bum cheeks to quiver and wobble in the most provocative and stimulating fashion. “Ayieeee!” Sarah let out a long, shrill, piercing yell as the cane bit into her backside, and as she felt its sharp initial sting. Then, over the next 4 seconds or so, as her buttock meat began to tingle and throb, she cried out in great urgency: “Agh! Agh!! Aaagh!!! AAAAGH!!!!!!” Then, clearly shocked and taken aback by the sharpness and severity of the pain, poor Sarah began to weep and cry out uncontrollably. As for me, I was surprised by the intensity of the victim’s reactions, and I paused to give her a few moments to recover. Soon tears were streaming down Sarah’s face as she begged me for mercy. “Please, Mr. Baxter,” she pleaded between her sobs. “No more, no more. Please stop. It is more than I can stand.” I, of course, continued to leer at the target area where the cane had cracked home. Soon I noted with grim satisfaction that a deep, livid red weal was cut into the light brown buttock meat, right across the back of Sarah’s fanny hairs, just above the tops of her thighs, onto the plumpest and sexiest part of her bum.

It took more than a minute for Sarah to stop yelling, and, even then, she did not relapse into silence, but sobbed and whimpered quietly. By now I was in a state of great agitation. I was very, very sexually aroused, but also extremely concerned about the victim’s welfare. Up until now I had always treated young ladies with polite courtesy and chivalrous respect, and this gentlemanly side to my nature hated to see a beautiful teenaged girl treated in such an abrupt, arbitrary and strict fashion. But I was so excited by the kinky scenario before my eyes that I could scarcely help myself. Here I was, a man in my late 50s, supposedly past my sexual prime. But despite this my cock stood as stiff as a poker in my underpants, and my balls ached excruciatingly from the sharp and unrequited sexual tension in my loins. Unfortunately for Sarah, in my battle between sexual enjoyment and human compassion there could be only one winner. “Say your piece, Sarah,” I said gently, “or you will receive extra punishment.” Sarah snivelled helplessly for 10 to 15 seconds, and then she got out her statement: “Thank you, Mr. Baxter, for having me caned. I am a common thief and I richly deserve it. Could I have another cut now please?” Then she continued to blubber quietly as she waited with apprehension for my inevitable riposte.

I took my time as I continued to leer at the deep, livid cut inflicted by the cane, and at the recipient’s jet-black pubic hair, her dark, bushy fanny, and her labial lips, all of which were thrust out to my excited gaze by her provocative posture across the table. “Oh, God!” I thought to myself. “Was there ever in this world a more beautiful and seductive thief? First she stole my stock, and now, I fear, she will steal my heart.” But then I got a grip on myself. My thoughts changed tack and became less generous. “No she will not,” I mused. “Pull yourself together, man. What we have here is nothing more or less than a naughty juvenile in need of strict and sharp correction. She is a thieving little bitch, and she deserves everything that is coming to her.” Then I called out aloud, “Two!”

Jo had already raised the cane into the air, and at my signal she whipped it down again, with tremendous force. This time I allowed my gaze to rove away from the epicentre of her assault. Instead I looked at Jo. Her face was set into a grim, fixed stare as she concentrated hard on her aim and used all of her strength to administer this second cut. It was every bit as hard as cut number 1. The cane bit into Sarah’s posterior with a second loud, high-pitched crack. As when she had first tasted the rod, Sarah cried out again, loudly and piteously. And well she might because, with wicked effect, Jo laid her second stroke more or less slap on top of her first one. As the sting from cut number 2 was incrementally added to that from cut number 1, Sarah stopped her screaming and collapsed into uncontrollable sobs and tears.

And so it went on. It took a lot longer to administer the punishment than I had anticipated, mainly because it took Sarah an increasingly long time to get out her “Thank you, Mr. Baxter” lines. This gave me ample time to view the effects of Jo’s labours. My word, but the lady had a wickedly accurate aim. By the end of Sarah’s ordeal she was sporting 6 deep, livid cuts, already beginning to turn blue, etched into the fleshy meat of her backside just above her thighs, and slap across the back of her jet black fanny hairs. The cuts were bunched tightly together, with later cuts laid on top of existing cuts and they formed incremental ridges and indentations. Sarah’s increasing distress as the cuts were inflicted caused her to flail about, kicking and opening her legs to give me the most provocative and stimulating views of her bum, her inner thighs, her crotch and her dark, inviting honey pot. At the end of her ordeal, I kept Sarah bent over the table for another 10 minutes to stop her from rubbing her besieged rump. She was thus forced to experience the full stinging, tingling and throbbing after-effects of her punishment. She found this very distressing, and continued to sob quietly to herself.

It took Sarah the best part of half an hour before she had sufficiently recovered to be able to hold Ruth in position to receive her punishment. I was in doubt whether I could take such intense and extreme excitement all over again for a second time, since 16-year-old Ruth was every bit as sexy as her 18-year-old sister. Despite her tender years, however, she caught it just as hard and just as sexily as Sarah had. Her mother showed her absolutely no mercy and Ruth’s nubile bottom, which according to English law was only just old enough to be legally screwed, was chastised just as strictly and just as severely as Sarah’s had been. By now, however, I was not taking it all in. I leered obsessively at Ruth’s caned bum, inner thighs and hairy fanny as she threshed about to the stinging blows from the cane, and I heard her piteous cries and sobs. But it all seemed rather distant and remote. In retrospect, I concluded that my numbed reactions were my body’s defence mechanism against a heart attack, or a fit of apoplexy.

At last, the girls’ ordeal was over, at least for the time being. “Thank you, ladies. You may go.” I said to them. “I look forward to seeing you again in a month’s time. But could you stay behind for a few minutes, Jo? I would like a word before you leave.”

When we were on our own I had my word. “Wow, Jo,” I said quietly. “Nice one! That was awesome! But look. I know that I made you promise to strike as hard as you could. But if you want to go a bit easier next time, feel free. I am not sure that the girls could take the full works a second time.”

Jo looked at me archly. “What’s the matter, big boy?” she asked. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t you enjoy that.” Then she put her arms around my waist, reached up, and gave me a long, slow, luxurious kiss on the cheek. Then, staying pressed up against me, she moved one of her hands down to my crotch and gently squeezed my rock hard willie through my trousers.

Well, although she had always been very friendly, Jo had never done anything so intimate or so saucy to me before. I winced in ecstasy and gave a helpless little cry. But Jo did not remove her hand. Instead she gently grabbed my cock through my trousers and underpants, putting her thumb on my excited frenulum and her fingers on the other side of the stiffened shaft. Then she mischievously pulled my cock skin up and down. “Oh, stop, stop,” I sighed gently. But Jo could tell that I did not really mean it, and with one more delicate, skilful tug she brought me off. In my embarrassment I tried to disguise what was happening. But it must have been obvious, from my involuntary sighs and groans, and from my rhythmically jerking pelvis, that I was ejaculating great wads of spunk into my underpants.

“There, you did enjoy it, didn’t you?” “Yes,” I replied breathlessly. “Well let me tell you something, Mr. Bill Baxter. Unless you specifically order me not to, I intend to whip those bitches’ tails just as hard again next month. What do you say to that then?” “OK, OK,” I answered helplessly, as I felt hot, creamy, sticky semen spreading all over my crotch and balls, “Whatever you say.” “Attaboy! Let’s give those little madams a lesson that they will not forget in a hurry.” Jo embraced me again, this time around the neck, and kissed me full onto the mouth with a long, fierce, passionate French kiss. My ejaculation had calmed some of my sexual excitement, but, even so, I threw my arms around Jo and returned her kiss with fervour. The feel of her hard, fit body nuzzled firmly and intimately into mine sent me into further paroxysms of desire, as we remained clasped together for several minutes, our tongues entwined in delicious and ecstatic wetness. But, amazingly, for the moment that was as far as it went. Jo tapped me, very gently and affectionately, on the cheek with her fingers. “Naughty!” she said, grinning provocatively. “You’re just a dirty old man!” Then she disentangled herself from my embrace, smiled sweetly, and left.

The next month was a strange time for me. Jo continued to come into the shop. She was as friendly, talkative and vivacious as ever, but she made no mention of the events of C1 Day. As for Sarah and Ruth, I did not see them for several days. Then they started buying things from me again, but, understandably, they seemed tentative, nervous and withdrawn. Then, a few days before C2 (Second Caning) day, Sarah came in on her own at a quiet time. She paid for her purchases and turned to go. But then she paused and looked into my eyes. “Please, Mr. Baxter, don’t get mom to cane us again,” she pleaded. She looked so beautiful, so pure and so innocent with her big, doe eyes, and she sounded so contrite and so sorry for herself that I was tempted to grant her plea. But, of course, that could never be. The hungry tiger does not spare the gazelle. The snake does not release the captive frog. No dirty old man worthy of the title would ever call off the bare-bottomed caning of two beautiful teenaged girls, especially when he had booked himself a ringside seat. However, I decided to give Sarah a civil answer. I explained that she deserved her punishment, and that it had to sting, tingle and throb if it was to be effective. She was a bright, lively and intelligent girl. She was due to take her Advanced level examinations in a few months time, and I knew that she had a provisional offer of a place at a good university. I was very fond of her mother, and it was my duty to try to keep her daughters clear of a life of crime. Then I began to lie in my teeth. “They are for your own good, these canings,” I explained. “They hurt me also most as much as they hurt you, but you will thank me when they are all over.” The appalling thing is that poor Sarah seemed to fall for this pontificating claptrap. “Yes, Mr. Baxter,” she said sadly, and she went on her way.

C2 Day on the first Friday evening of the next month went well, at least from my point of view. I kept to exactly the same formula. I counted out the strokes and I made the girls thank me after each one. As for Jo, she was on top form again. When she started her work there were just a few, very faint, bruises remaining across the girls’ bums. By the time she had finished, her victims were again sporting deep, livid closely bunched cuts and indentations across the backs of their dark, hairy twats. Oh, yes. Jo caned their plump nubile arse meat for them, just above their thighs, every bit as hard as she had last time. The cracks of the cane rang out just as loudly, the girls screamed just as vociferously, and they struggled and kicked their legs just as hard. There were sobs and tears aplenty, and by the time it was all over 2 young ladies felt very, very sore, very, very well chastened, and very, very sorry for themselves. As for me, I was every bit as excited as the first time. During the whole affair, my heart pounded mercilessly against my ribcage, and my cock was so hard and engorged in my underpants that I thought it would explode. This time, however, to my deep disappointment and sharp frustration, Jo did not stay behind to give me any relief. She left with the girls, saying that the 3 of them would be back again on the following Monday night to hear whether, in view of the punishments which they had endured, I was prepared to let the girls off. I then went to bed, masturbated wildly, and plotted my final sexy little shock for the shoplifting sisters.

When they arrived on the following Monday, the girls were dressed primly and demurely in full school uniform of white shirt, school tie, blazer, pleated skirt, short white socks and round, felt hat. They smiled sweetly, and they both looked as though butter would not melt in their mouths. Jo told me later that she had instructed them to do this in the hope that their youthful, innocent looks would placate me. Instead, however, they got me overexcited, and further stiffened both my cock and my resolve to push ahead with my saucy and kinky plans. My cock was thus rock hard as I motioned the three ladies to sit around the table with me. Then I delivered my prepared speech. Sarah and Ruth, I explained, must realise that they were both common thieves. They might think that they had been strictly dealt with, but they had not. The alternative was the shame and humiliation of a public appearance before the magistrates, and the acquisition of a criminal record that would automatically disbar them from a number of desirable jobs and professions. “That is what will happen if I take you to court,” I added, “and in addition you will almost certainly get a heavy fine and 3 years probation. Do you really think that a few swishes across the bum with a cane is equivalent to that?” The girls blushed deeply and appeared nervous and alarmed. As for Jo, she looked very worried. Anyway, I lambasted the girls mercilessly with a lot more of the same. Then I delivered my punch line. Despite their serious crimes, I said, I was a reasonable man, and I was prepared to be lenient with them. They would each take another 6 strokes of the cane across their bare bottoms on the first Friday of the next month, after which I was prepared to call it quits and forgive them.

This revelation was met with silence, but Jo looked relieved, and much happier. Then Sarah started to sob, slowly and rhythmically. Her younger sister, Ruth, however, was made of sterner stuff. She confronted me fiercely. “You dirty old bastard,” she yelled. “This isn’t about justice and punishment, is it? You just want to get your rocks off leering at our naked cunts and arses. You filthy old sod! You dirty, filthy old sod. You bastard! You absolute fucking bastard!”

Well, of course, Ruth had nailed me in one. But I could not let her assertions go unchallenged. “Ruth!” I replied sharply. “How dare you! I’ll teach you young lady! I’ll curb that foul, vicious, swearing, lying tongue of yours. You richly deserve to be punished for that. Apologise immediately, or you will get 6 extra cuts of the cane.” There was then silence, but I could see from the way her face crumpled that I had broken Ruth’s spirit. She lowered her gaze, tears welled up in her eyes, and then, like Sarah, she started to sob. “I’m sorry, Mr. Baxter,” she said contritely. “Please don’t do that, I beg you. Please, please don’t do that.” “Very well,” I answered severely, “but just you be on your best behaviour, young lady, or I will exact that extra penalty, and, unless you are very careful, a lot more besides. Right, you can both go now.” Then Jo chipped in. “Carry on home, girls,” she said. “I want to have a talk to Mr. Baxter.”

After the girls had left Jo rose from her seat at the table and stood in the middle of the room. “Come here,” she said invitingly. I rose and went over to her. Then Jo did something that shocked me. She reached down and unzipped my flies. Then she put her hand into my trousers and gently pulled out my stiff, engorged cock. “You know,” she said archly, in that delicious, lilting Irish accent of hers, “Ruth was right, wasn’t she? You ARE a dirty, filthy old bastard, aren’t you?” And she squeezed and tugged at my naked cock with such skill that if she had continued for just a few more seconds I would have ejaculated. “Guilty,” I murmured helplessly. Then Jo wrapped her spare arm and hand around me and, while she held my cock with her other hand, gave me a wet, passionate French kiss. “Wow!” she exclaimed admiringly. “I never thought that you had that in you. When you told me to go easy after the first session I had you marked down as a wimp. Ouch! You really stuck it on those 2 little madams, didn’t you? Another 6 cuts each, across their bare bums, just when they thought it was all over! I bet they’re feeling sorry for themselves.” “Not as sorry as they soon will be,” I added with grim satisfaction. “Oh no! You are right there,” replied Jo. “Don’t you worry about that. I’ll whack them just as hard again for you, if not harder. But in the meantime is there, perhaps, some other service that I can perform for you?” And she gave my cock another expert tweak. “What do you think?” I asked breathlessly. “That’s settled, then,” replied Jo. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

In order to understand what happened that night, dear reader, and how important it was to me, you have to remember my personal circumstances, and the nature of the lady who was so freely and generously offering herself to me. I was in my late 50s, and more than 25 years older than Jo. I was tall, and still fairly fit after 30 years of hard physical labour in the steel mill. It was about 3 years since the break-up of my marriage, and since then I had lived as a celibate. I had enjoyed an active sex life with my wife for many years, but when we split up she was in her mid-50s. Even as a young woman she had been very different from Jo, soft and pneumatic where Jo was fit and hard. That night, with Jo, I entered unknown territory and, despite my advancing age, I found it all very new and exciting.

But what did Jo see in me? Well, I had no illusions on that score. Like me she was living a life without a partner, and she was very sexually frustrated. But, even so, she would have been unlikely to tip her cap at a man who was a quarter of a century older than her on the grounds of physical attraction alone. No. It was, I was convinced, the caning of her daughters that had turned her on to me and, if I wanted to keep her, I would have to work that theme into our sex play.

Soon Jo and I were lying naked together in bed. Jo had only had one previous lover, but from they way that she worked on me you would never have known it. She was young, healthy and very, very active, and the things that she did to me that night blew my mind. She started off by gently tweaking my cock and talking dirty. Had I enjoyed the way that she had caned her daughters, she asked me, and already she had my cock as stiff as a poker and feeling fit to burst. “Wow,” I replied admiringly, “You roasted them alive. Why did you whack them so bloody hard?” And so on. As for me, I was already captivated by Jo’s physical charms before the shoplifting incident occurred. Then, the bold and saucy way that she took down her daughters, and the fact that she had caned them with such vigour, added considerably to her charms. It did not take more than a few minutes of Jo’s kinky verbals and saucy cock tweaks before I was opening her legs for her and ramming my stiff and excited truncheon deep into her soft, warm, receptive, dripping wet pussy. After that, for most of the rest of the night, Jo learnt of one of the advantages of an older lover. Unlike potent and over-excited younger men, we do not tend to suffer from the problem of premature ejaculation. As I recovered my stiffness after my initial act of coitus I reinserted my cock into my partner’s love slot and trip-hammered her mercilessly and at great length. Jo enjoyed three orgasms, and was exhausted and dripping wet with sweat. Then, at last, she whispered to me to come inside her and we enjoyed a shattering mutual climax.

I made love to Jo for between 3 and 4 hours, but then I asked her to go back home to the girls. “We do not want them to know what we are up to,” I explained. “At least, not yet. We have to maintain the illusion that their upcoming caning is purely disciplinary.” Jo agreed with me. She left, and told the girls that she had spent the time pleading with me on their behalf, that it had been a long hard job, but that it had paid off, and that after their next caning the matter would be closed.

I do not know why, but on C3 (Third Caning) Day the girls seemed to take their chastening better than during C1 and C2. Perhaps practice was making them braver. Or perhaps the knowledge that this was their last ordeal stiffened their resolve. This time they both strode up purposefully to the table to get their jeans and knickers removed and their buttocks bared to take their punishment. They were also rather better at getting out their “Thank you Mr. Baxter” lines. But, on the other hand, Jo was as good as her word. She knew that this was the last chance she would have to cane her daughters, at least for the present, and she resolved to make the most of it. If possible the C3 canings were even harder than those of C1 and C2. Despite their best efforts, after the first stroke the girls were again screaming, yelling, sobbing deeply and rhythmically and begging me for mercy. Instead they both got a third set of tightly bunched, livid, red and blue indentations cut into their naked, plump nubile arse meat, right across the back of their dark, hairy twats. The more that they screamed, and the more that they yelled, the harder Jo brought down that cane. What with the constant pauses that were necessary for the girls to regain a modicum of self control the canings took more than half an hour. For me this was half an hour of leering helplessly at bare quivering bum cheeks, naked flailing legs, and dark, nubile, hairy twats.

When she had inflicted the last stroke, Jo turned to me brightly, with a crafty smile on her face, and handed me the cane. “There you are, Bill. Keep this safe and keep it oiled. And if you catch these little madams thieving again, I hope you make it 6 canings not 3, and 12 cuts per caning not 6.” “Yes, OK, Jo,” I answered helplessly, “I will.” And at this thought my already rock hard cock came as close to orgasm as a cock can get without someone touching or rubbing it. Then Jo addressed her daughters. “My God, but you two little thieves have got off lightly,” she lied. “Now get back home before Mr. Baxter changes his mind.” And the girls made a sharp exit.

Even before her daughters had closed the door behind them Jo had come over to me. Without saying a word she threw her arms passionately around my neck and lifted her legs off the floor. She had caught me unawares, and we both tumbled onto the carpet in front of the cheerful and friendly glow of the gas fire. In an instant Jo had her tongue into my mouth for what was, I think, the deepest and longest French kiss that I have ever enjoyed. Meanwhile she had my belt and flies undone and my trousers and underpants down around my knees. “Hey, you’re no going to cane ME on the bare bum, are you?” I asked playfully. “Chance would be a fine thing,” replied my lover archly. Then she resumed her French kiss and started to work on my engorged and excited cock with the skilful fingers of her right hand. Then, at last, the French kiss ended. Jo bent down and took my cock in her mouth. Then she fellated me with her lips, her tongue, and her teeth with consummate confidence, skill and aplomb.

© Big Billie 2003. Not to be distributed or sold for monetary gain.