“I'm sorry, Michael, but I'm going to have to double what I charge you,” Ashley explained in a very matter-of-fact manner. I was still groaning from the caning she had administered as I had been spread over her kitchen table—twelve fiery strokes of a whippy cane expertly applied across my bare buttocks. Consequently, it took me a couple of minutes to process what she was saying. “Sorry...” I gasped, easing myself up and f...

The next day, Sunday, still feeling stunned and bewildered by my visit to Mrs Campbell, I reported to her daughter, Ashley, for my weekly caning. She looked cheerful as she opened the door to let me in. “Hello, Michael,” she greeted me. “How did the cleaning go with my mum?” “Er... fine, Miss. She's taken me on.” “Cool. So now you can afford my increased rates. Everyone's a winner!” I nervously nodded as I stripped down t...