This true story was told to me by my roommate at university. Helen was a good looking 18-year-old, almost 19, when the incident happened. It was late April and she had been home for a family party. I believe it was her maternal grandmother’s 80th birthday, if I remember correctly after all these years.

I heard the key in the lock to the door to our flat and Sandy walked in walking very gingerly.

“You OK hun?” I asked, concerned. “Have you hurt yourself?”

“Hi Jo, not as such. But yes, I do hurt,” Sandy replied cryptically.

“So come on,” I pressed. “What have you done, pulled something?”

“No, nosey parker. If you must know, I have just had the cane! Satisfied?” she barked. That was most unlike her as she is the most easy-going girl I know.

“Oh Sandy, I am sorry.”

I poured her a glass of wine, patted the well-cushioned seat next to me on the sofa, and she sat down ever so gently, and took a swig.

“How on earth did that happen? I thought you were going to your granny’s party?”

“I did; this afternoon. Had a lovely time. Afterwards, mum and dad were having to rush off. He’s away to America tomorrow on business and mum is going with him, so aunty Beth said to come back to hers and then she’d run me back here. She only lives the other side of town.

“We chatted in the car for about an hour and went to hers to use the loo, and she made a pot of tea in her really old and, as I found out, highly valuable antique tea pot. Apparently, it dated from about 1800 and was worth £600,” Sandy explained, taking a second sip of wine.

“You say was?”

“Yes, I am coming to that. We were having a cup of tea before she was going to bring me back here and I popped to the loo. When I came back down stairs, she asked me to pass her an apple from the fruit stand on the sideboard at the bottom of the stairs. Without thinking, like I would to you, I threw it, under armed to her. Obviously, she wasn’t expecting me to do this and it went sailing straight into the side of the tea pot. The tea pot slid across the table on its stand and just toppled to the floor before I could get to it. Smash! A £600 pile of broken pottery and a big puddle of tea.

Sandy was almost laughing at this point.

“It was quite funny. I couldn’t do that again if I tried, as I stupidly blurted out to my aunty who, by this stage, was incandescent with anger!”

“Oh dear, what happened then?” I asked, topping our drinks up.

“She shot into the kitchen and grabbed as many tea towels as she could muster to avoid the tea running everywhere, and I went to fetch the dustpan and brush.

I then said something like, “I am so sorry, aunty Beth. That was so stupid of me. Here, let me help you.”

She told me I had been enough help already and snatched the pan and brush from my hand, then tutted as the sound of tinkling pottery hitting the pan broke the total silence in the room.

“Then she told me how stupid I was and did I know the teapot was worth £600. I didn’t, but I do now! I obviously apologised over and over again. However, aunty was really not a happy bunny. Then she said, ‘You will be sorry by the time I have finished with you!’ and disappeared upstairs.

“I could hear rummaging in one of the back bedrooms before I heard her footsteps as she descended the stairs. It was at that point I saw what she had gone to fetch. She held in her right hand an old-fashioned school-type cane, about 3 1/2 feet long, dark brown and quite thin. As she held it in both hands, it flexed quite alarmingly.

“Then she said, ‘This is what I used to punish your cousin Zoe with when she lived at home. I kept it for old-time’s sake but never thought I would be called on to use it again. Clearly I was quite wrong.’

“Needless to say, I froze on the spot.”

“Did you know she had such a thing?” I asked kindly.

“Nope, no idea at all. I know Zoe had been spanked. She had told me, but she never told me she had been caned,” Sandy confessed. “Anyhow, before I had gathered my thoughts, aunty Beth was swishing the cane in front of me a couple of times, clearly getting the feel, before she said, ‘Alright Sandy, you are going to get this across your backside. Now, bend over the arm of the arm chair and stretch out as far as your arms will go.’

“In the circumstances, I could hardly say no, could I? The arms on the chair are actually quite high, so my legs were more or less straight and I could easily reach across to the arm opposite. My tummy rested on the arm and the skirt of my cocktail dress rode up on the backs of my thighs. My bottom must have made a really tempting sight, but to add insult to injury she whipped my skirt up from over my bottom, exposing my black lace panties. She told me to hold onto the other arm as she guaranteed this was going to hurt.

“She tapped the came across my bottom 3 or 4 times, then I heard a whooshing sound and then crack! The cane swept down and bit into my bottom. At first, for a split second, I felt nothing, and then after that split-second the pain ripped through me like a very hot knife through butter. I screamed, literally screamed, in shock. Aunty told me to be quiet and that I had 5 more coming, but if I carried on like that it would be 12.

“The second stroke landed close to the first, and then 10 seconds later the third. I was sobbing my heart out, but the fourth followed soon after and, to be honest, I did not know how I was going to lay there and allow her to give me two more strokes without getting up and trying to get away.

“The fifth made my legs buckle, so I was not going to be running anywhere. I just collapsed onto the arm of the chair, my head and arms fell onto the seat and my bottom stuck up, making it even more of a target. Aunty Beth didn’t need an invitation, taking the opportunity to land the last stroke on my now perfectly presented and striped bottom.”

“So what happened when she finished?” I asked.

“She just told me, ‘You can get up now. I’ll get the car keys and I’ll take you back to your flat before you can do anymore damage.’ She did, however, give me this out of her hand bag.” Sandy showed me a small tube of aloe vera cream which she had put in her bag.

“We drove back in almost total silence, only punctuated by me trying to apologise yet again, but she just waved my attempted apology away like a fly.”

Sandy moved awkwardly in her seat, clearly still in considerable pain.

I took the cream from her, opened the tube and sniffed at it, it was quite thin but smelled wonderful.

“Would you like me to rub some of this into your tiger stripes?” I offered, expecting a firm no.

“Oh, would you? Yes please. I’ll get on my bed; just give me a moment. This may take longer than normal.”

With that, Sandy slowly rose from her seat and tottered uneasily towards her room.

Opening the door, she flicked on the main light and drew the curtains. There were more flats opposite and she didn’t want to give someone a free voyeuristic show. As I got to the door, she was just easing the black cocktail dress off of her shoulders and onto the floor. She stood in her matching lace bra and panties. She put her pillows in the middle of the bed, delicately inserted her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and carefully eased them over her bum and down to her knees, then stepped out of them as they pooled around her feet. Six angry red welts were clearly visible, crimson stripes that stood several millimetres about her otherwise lily white bottom. Carefully, she mounted the bed and lay, tummy down, across her pillows. I could clearly imagine the target her aunty would have had before her when she was wielding her cane.

“I’ll be as careful as I can, Sandy, but I know from my own experience, this is going to hurt like hell, but you’ll feel much better afterwards. I squeezed some cream over each buttock and then a little into my hands. With the most delicate of touches, I gently moved the cream around. I was barely making contact but I could see Sandy wince and groan with every movement. I left her for a moment before putting more cream on. When I put my hand back on her bottom, she didn’t wince as much and I very gently started to rub the cream around a little more.

“How is that?” I asked.

“Stings like hell, but I think it is starting to help. Can you rub some more in please?” Sandy said with tears in her eyes.

I put the rest of the small tube on her bottom, equally on each cheek, and rubbed it in as carefully and gently as I possibly could.

“That’s it, all rubbed in. Are you going to get decent and come and finish your wine?” I asked cordially.

Sandy eased herself off the pillows and lay down on the bed. Turning her head, she said, “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll lay here for a while until the pain dies down. Thank you for sorting my bum out, it really does feel a lot easier now.” She cracked me a wide smile as the last of the tears shone brightly on her face.

“Okay, hun, just shout if you need anything.”

I closed the door, finished my wine and eventually went to bed, not hearing a peep from Sandy until the next day. She was still not wearing any panties as she went to the bathroom, but I could see the angry marks had become purple stripes as the bruising was coming out. She smiled at me and we never mentioned the events of the previous evening again.