In the late 1980s, when I was 18, I lodged with a retired couple in the sleepy town of Budleigh Salterton. Their accommodation was in the upstairs flat of a grand old Victorian house in extensive grounds near where I worked. Mr W was a retired police chief and his wife had been, for much of her working life, a matron at a girls public school They had two children, a girl and a boy, slightly older than me who lived in London. They were both tall, elegantly dressed people and well spoken. Mrs W had shoulder length black hair and mainly wore 1950s style clothing and heels.

When I read the advert for a lodger in the ‘Exeter Express & Echo’ I rang the number and arranged a meeting. I was thrilled as it was five minutes walk from my work. Upon arrival I rang the bell and was invited in. The house was converted into two flats and, as we ascended the stairs, I noticed an ornate oriental style vase half way up on a landing area with various umbrellas, a sturdy walking stick and a crook handled rattan school cane.

I remember the electric shock feeling as I looked at it. Mrs W might have noticed my staring at the vase as she was following me up the stairs. I had been caned twice at school and knew that I had certainly developed a fascination with corporal punishment and especially the cane. When we arrived in the kitchen, I was offered a cup of tea and sat drinking it. I’m sure I was blushing and hardly able to speak, much different from the confident young man who rang the door bell earlier.

My future landlady began to explain various house rules and the amount of rent, and eventually asked if I’d like to move in. I replied that I would. She then thought it necessary for me to meet her husband and asked me to call him Mr W or sir and herself Mrs W or Ma’am. This seemed old fashioned but respectful. Over the next few weeks I longed to feel that cane across my bottom and, upon at last being on my own in the house on my day off, I removed the cane from the vase and proceeded upstairs where I lowered my trousers and pants, bending over to swish my own bottom as best I could. I remember it certainly hurt! Some time later, with several self appointed stripes on my bum, I replaced the cane in the vase and went to the bathroom to admire my handiwork. As the months went by I was convinced that I was being made to obey an ever stricter regime within the house regarding the use of the kitchen, my night time curfew, etc, cleaning of the bathroom and many other rules. I realised this would make it difficult to bring back a girl friend should I eventually get one!

On numerous occasions they had both mentioned the use of corporal punishment as a deterrent against laziness and inconsideration for others. Mrs W particularly spoke of how the girls at her school would be thrashed for failing to obey school rules and she had first hand experience of such matters! And Mr W of how his frequent thrashings held him on the path to redemption. My head was spinning. I just wanted to ask her to cane me, but it never seemed like the right thing to say. Eventually, after nearly a year, I had applied for another job and was successful, which meant moving away from the area. She seemed to take the news of my leaving with ambivalence and, although I’d given a month’s notice and had paid in advance, the atmosphere in the house was frosty. My last day finally came and on my day off I loaded my car with my meagre possessions and for the last time ascended the stairs for my final farewell, this time with the cane in my hand. I knew Mr W was out for the day as he always left his wife to deal with everything. My heart was pounding, my mouth dry and the adrenaline rush I can still remember!

I saw the cup of tea steaming on the large farm style kitchen table and Mrs W standing holding hers some distance away in the large room.

Placing the cane on the table, I said: “I think I deserve the cane from you and should have had it several times already.”

I remember how she stood smiling, looking at me, and didn’t say anything or move a muscle. I’d already worked out what to do in my head many times. Standing in front of the table, I undid my jeans and let them fall to my ankles. Wearing no underwear, I bent fully over the table holding the other side and sticking my bare bottom out as much as I could. I heard her put down her cup and walk towards me. Staring straight ahead, I didn’t see her pick up the cane. “You silly boy, look at you!”

The atmosphere was electric with anticipation. At that point, I didn’t think I would get what I had requested. As I turned and looked over my shoulder, I saw her bending the cane in her hands. In one elegant movement, she raised the cane high above her head and lashed it hard against my bare jutting bottom. I was instantly shocked at the viciousness of the stroke. It echoed around the room and stung very badly. I was determined to take it impassively but produced a yelping sound that surprised me.

“One,” I said, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

Five more strokes descended in a flurry and amongst “ouch” and “ow” I got to six and said a grateful: “Thank you, Ma’am.”

My bottom was on fire! I remained bent over the table breathing deeply and quite breathless. I wondered if I was due some more. I felt vulnerable but very much alive and enjoying the feeling of my exposed bottom being on display. I knew, as I dropped my jeans earlier to bend over, that I soon achieved an erection bending over the table. I could feel it pressing against my stomach as I lay in position. I had no desire to allow Mrs W to witness my excitement, being shy at the time.

I heard the cane being placed on the table next to me and felt her soft hands gently caressing my striped bottom. I hadn’t expected that to happen but remember how soothing it felt. She said several things about applying cream to various pupils’ bottoms in the course of her work and if I’d enjoyed my caning. I replied I had and asked if I could have some more.

“Very well, another six and that had better be your lot, young man.”

I reached over to hand her the cane and as I lifted up from the desk she saw my state of excitement as we both looked down below my T shirt.

Taking the cane, she smiled and said: “Bend over.”

The next six were, if anything, harder than my first caning, but I was allowed much more time between strokes. I was just about able to keep in position, but several times I lifted from the table and yelled loudly. Quietly and firmly, I was told to bend over.

My lacerated cheeks were caressed again for some time, although nothing was said. Eventually I was told to get my jeans up.

As she approached me offering her hand, I shook it gently and thanked her for my well earned caning. She wished me well on my journey and told me how sad she was that we hadn’t done this before and more often. I agreed with her sentiments. Walking me to the front door, I heard her drop the cane back into its vase.

I opened the door, turned and kissed her on the cheek and said: “Good bye, Ma’am and thank you so much.”

She just smiled and closed the door. Upon arrival at my new residence I was amazed at the accuracy of the burgundy and purple stripes, perfectly aligned across my cheeks. They lasted well over two months!

Anon male