I was just moments from being taken into the arena to be disciplined. I was in the waiting area of the arena, which was the modern socially acceptable name for the Discipline Centre. They still kept men and women separate and so I knew that I would be disciplined by a female disciplinarian and the watching crowd would be made up of women and girls. Of course, the minimum age requirement for anyone in the arena, either attending to be disciplined or to watch or, indeed, to be a disciplinarian, remained at eighteen-years-old.

I had been caught speeding again. Well, caught wasn’t quite right as I was speeding intentionally, knowing I would be brought back to the arena once again to be caned. It was the new rules that meant that the first speeding offence now earned six strokes of the cane instead of three points on my licence. A second offence earned twelve strokes and this was my third offence and so I was going to get eighteen strokes.

I had arrived at the arena on time and once booked in went to the changing rooms. There I fully undressed and put on a gown, which was like a hospital gown that opened the whole way down my back which was just right for being caned as my breasts would remain covered whilst my bottom would be totally bared. Of course, my pussy would be on show to anyone behind me when I was bent over to be caned, but it was only women so no big deal really.

Once changed, I was sent to the adjacent room to be met by the person who would cane me. There I got my first shock but on balance a nice one. I am thirty-nine-years-old, and I was met by an officious young lady who I doubted was even twenty-years-old, but wasn’t sure. She was dressed in the normal disciplinarians uniform of a dark blue short-sleeved shirt and a light blue skirt, with ankle socks and plimsolls. I knew from her name-tag she needed to be addressed as Miss Holmes.

“I have you down for eighteen strokes, Carson,” Miss Holmes said in a stern tone.

“Yes, Miss Holmes,” I replied, knowing I had to answer respectfully, but then I was here by choice and wanted to be disciplined in public once again, and all those being disciplined spoke respectfully to the officer due to discipline them.

Miss Holmes looked at her assistant, a woman who looked in her forties and dressed in the same uniform, and instructed, “Cuff her.” Miss Holmes then walked out towards the public area.

I knew that would happen and held my hands out. One cuff was secured on each wrist and attached to each cuff was a leather strap that would then secure me to the caning table.

The assistant, who I saw had a name-tag telling me her name was Mrs Watson, put on my cuffs and smiled as she told me, “Miss Holmes is a real terror. She is only nineteen-years-old but one of the best disciplinarians we have.”

I knew the comment was made to ensure my obedience, but it also confirmed to me just how young she was. 

I heard the clapping and cheers from outside and knew it was by members of the public who came to watch the discipline sessions. That was how I started, I reminded myself. I used to come and watch more out of interest in seeing how those caned were repentant, and not because I wanted to be caned. However, I noticed some repeat offenders and that they tended to cope far better with the caning than the others. Most of the those being caned screamed after just a few strokes, but these repeat offenders could take even two dozen strokes and only gasp and hiss their breaths through clenched teeth but didn’t scream out.

That got me thinking and I started to look at web sites about discipline and soon hooked into several that showed women who enjoyed and were aroused by the pain, and that got me wondering. I watched some videos and then found myself masturbating in bed, several times each night, playing the videos over in my mind. Soon enough I was hooked and eager to experience the pain.

My first speeding offence wasn’t intentional but I ended up at the arena, dressed like now and tied to the caning table, and took six strokes. I cried out as it was definitely more painful than I had thought it would be. However, once at home and in bed, I masturbated that night multiple times, and again the following night. I particularly loved running my fingers along the raised welts on my bottom.

My second offence was intentional as I wanted to see what twelve strokes would be like. Well, they were even more painful than six, and, as I tugged at my cuffs after each stroke, I swore I wouldn’t speed again. What I hadn’t expected was to masturbate again that night in bed, and the following morning and the following night. So, it wasn’t long before I wondered what eighteen strokes might be like.

My thoughts were disturbed by Miss Holmes who had come back and who ordered, “Take her to the arena and get her ready. Make sure the sixth formers see her face and not her bottom.”

I was quite taken aback by her comment but then remembered that a couple of times I was watching there were dozens of sixth formers who came to watch as they were doing projects on the new discipline system. I knew that no one under eighteen-years-of-age was allowed into the arena, but still felt a mite embarrassed that a whole lot of teenagers would be watching me being disciplined. However, I didn’t have a say in it and so had to accept it, and supposed it didn’t actually put me off.

My thoughts reverted to Miss Holmes who I was quite taken with. Of course, I reckoned she was a teenager and that made me feel even better about so many teenagers being in the watching crowd. I also saw that she was attractive for sure, with black hair tied in a bun, well-toned arms and legs, and full breasts that beautifully pushed out her shirt. Her voice was a joy for me to listen to as she had such an authoritative tone, and I even wondered whether she offered personal discipline sessions at home. Of course, I doubted she did as why should she if it was her job anyway?

Suddenly, I was being led into the arena by a stern-looking Mrs Watson and as I entered it I looked around and saw every seat was taken and there were murmurs coming from every side, and I made out comments like, “The third offence so it’s eighteen for her,” and, “I saw her take twelve three weeks ago. You would have thought she would have learned.”

I loved the comments as none were even close to suggesting I got caught the third time on purpose. I had to ignore any more comments as I was now at the table and instructed by Mrs Watson, “Bend over and stretch so your wrists are close to the metal posts.”

I did as I was told and soon my arms were fully stretched and Mrs Watson had connected the leather straps to the two posts and my movement was now totally restricted. I then felt the buttons of the gown undone and pulled apart and knew the whole of my back and, of course, my bottom cheeks were bared. My feet were on the ground but I knew my bottom cheeks were right on the edge of the table and so perfectly positioned for the caning, and even more so as I felt the straps being tied around my thighs which would stop me kicking my legs. I was now tied tightly into position and had no way of dodging the cane, and certainly had no way of getting up and running for it. I had to just lie there and take the caning, but then I wanted to be caned and so that wasn’t really going to be a problem, I told myself.

I was able to look up at the part of the crowd in front of me and saw dozens of young girls in school uniform. They were all in short-sleeved gingham dresses but some were blue and white check, and others green and white, so I knew they came from at least two different schools or sixth form colleges. One of the schools was at the end of the road I lived in and so I was bound to see some of those watching outside some time soon. At least, they would be likely to know who I was but I wouldn’t know which girls came to watch today as they were just a flood of laughing smiling and giggling faces. I blushed as some even pulled faces at me when they caught my eye to reflect the pained look I was bound to give when being caned. Well, that was humiliating, but then part of being caned was humiliation, so it even turned me on.

I heard more comments, from what sounded like older women, when Miss Holmes entered the arena. “She’s a severe one,” and, “I saw her yesterday and I even felt sorry for the poor woman with the beating she gave her.”

Suddenly I wondered if I had been lucky those first two times and got a disciplinarian who didn’t cane that hard, and as this time it was a third offence I got a tougher one. That was strange, though, as the first two disciplinarians were much older than Miss Holmes. Still, I hadn’t seen Miss Holmes cane anyone so maybe the woman who made the comment knew more than me?

I felt the cane being rubbed back and forth across my bottom and that brought me back to the realisation that the caning was about to start. It was only a few moments later that I heard a thwack and then immediately felt the pain cascade around my bottom. All I knew was the stroke was harder than any I had received on the two previous occasions. 

I didn’t have time to recover because the second stroke landed and hurt even more. The third followed too quickly for me and I know I gasped with the pain. The fourth stroke had me throwing my head back with my eyes tightly shut and my mouth dropped open as I gasped again. Only four strokes, I told myself and wondered how I would cope with so many more to come.

When the fifth stroke landed I knew I was pulling at the cuffs but of course to no avail, and with the sixth as well as pulling at the cuffs and throwing my head back I was telling Miss Holmes and the whole crowd how sorry I was. I knew that got some cheers and more giggles from several schoolgirls, although I also knew there were several women watching who were there to be shown what would happen to them if they earned a caning.

The seventh stroke landed and I again pulled at the cuffs. I even started to wonder why I thought I loved being caned, and as the eighth stroke landed and the pain again intensified I suddenly wondered whether it wasn’t the actual caning I liked but the fantasy of the caning? The eighth stroke landed and I again thought that I really didn’t like being caned.

I did manage to open my eyes and realised that I wasn’t actually crying, which surprised me, and my vision was reasonably clear. I turned my head and could see Miss Holmes holding the cane up, ready to land another stroke. My immediate thought was how attractive and sexy she looked in her disciplinarians uniform, which I knew wasn’t really a sexy uniform but it was sexy to me as I saw her standing there dominating me. I only saw her for a couple of seconds before I saw the cane making its way in a blur for the ninth stroke but the vision of her being sexy remained. As I turned my head away I saw her bringing the cane back down for the tenth stroke and cried out as it landed and the pain overtook all my other senses.

The eleventh stroke landed and as well as pulling at the cuffs and throwing my head back and howling I looked at the schoolgirls and this time my vision was blurred and so knew my eyes were tear-filled. It didn’t surprise me, except at how many strokes I had managed to take before the tears came. However, as the twelfth stroke landed I know I sobbed and then heard lots of shrieks from the schoolgirls and they made comments including, “Look, she’s crying so it must really hurt,” followed by howls of laughter.

I wasn’t laughing and, indeed, was feeling very sorry for myself and distraught as the pain was so difficult to handle. The thirteenth stroke landed and this time I know I raised one leg but only below the knee because of the strap just above the knee and so there was no chance my foot could hit Miss Holmes, which I told myself was lucky as I doubt she would have liked that at all.

The fourteenth stroke landed and I know I was now crying as I pulled hopelessly at the cuffs. It did help, I suppose, as any movement somehow helped distract my mind from the pain, but only for a few moments because the fifteenth stroke landed and that, once again, totally took over my mind as my head was thrown back and I cried out and heard the increasing chatter from the watching crowd, and even those from behind me making comments about the welts on my bottom. That reminded me that my bottom would be so hard to sit on for hours but I did like to run my fingers along those welts as I masturbated and so was looking forward to that. The sixteenth stroke landed and as I yelped so I pictured my bottom with so many red raised welts across it and was surprised how aroused I felt just then and wanted to masturbate again.

In those moments before the next stroke I wondered how come I was even thinking about masturbating, and more so as the seventeenth stroke landed and I pulled and pulled at the cuffs, threw my head back and screamed out, shook my head to try to dispel the pain which also didn’t work, and again raised one leg at the knee. I was in such pain but, on the upside, there was only one stroke left.

The eighteenth and last stroke landed and this time I didn’t do any of the normal things except throw my head back and cry out, but otherwise I stayed frozen still and although the pain was almost unbearable that very quickly subsided and could not quite understand how come, but all I now thought about was getting home and masturbating. I was full of relief that the caning was over and knew the erotic feelings that had already started would soon overtake the pain, and I was already wondering what twenty-four strokes would feel like.

Suddenly, I felt Mrs Watson undoing the straps around my thighs and then my wrists were freed although I still had the cuffs on, at least my movement was no longer restricted. However, I wasn’t able to push myself up and felt my arm squeezed by someone and I was pulled to my feet. Not roughly, but certainly with the intent to get me up.

Once standing I was glad that Mrs Watson kept a hold of me as I would otherwise have stumbled, but my unsteadiness brought more comments and laughter from the watching crowd, who were there to be entertained as much as to be taught, and remembered how much I had enjoyed watching the distress caused to those being disciplined when I watched those few times before deliberately speeding and so being one of the women to be disciplined.

I got steadier on my feet as I was led away and back into the changing area. I wasn’t thinking straight, though, and was taken to a room which I thought was the room I changed in. When I saw a bench I thought I needed to sit down and as I did I cried out as I slumped down far too quickly and my bottom stung just too much and I quickly got up again. I stumbled and would have fallen except a woman caught me. I assumed it was Mrs Watson who had presumably stayed next to me knowing that I would be so silly as to sit down on the bench and then automatically jump back up when my balance wasn’t back yet. 

Once standing again and being held up by Mrs Watson I turned to her to say thank you. It was only then that I saw it wasn’t Mrs Watson but Miss Holmes who was smirking at me and slowly shaking her head. She waited for me to look directly at her before saying, “So, do you still like being caned?”

How did she know, I wondered? I was again disorientated though, and looked around and saw it wasn’t the main changing area but I didn’t know where I was exactly.

Miss Holmes must have seen the questioning look in my eyes. “It was quite obvious,” she explained. “Most women are crying by the sixth stroke or before, but there was something even more obvious about you.” She allowed the comment to hang in the air and saw the enquiring look in my face before continuing, “Feel your pussy. It’s wet as your sex juice soaked your hair mound whilst I caned you. Some women even pee as I cane them, but I know the difference and your pussy mound was definitely glistening with your nectar. Go on, check it out,” she said sharply looking down in the direction of my vagina.

I loved her, ‘Do as I say,’ tone of voice and thought I would cum if I felt myself. However, I had to do as I was told even though I knew it wasn’t pee, so slipped my hand inside the gown and very carefully ran my finger along my pussy lips, and withdrew my sex nectar covered finger. I held my finger up, showing its wetness to Miss Holmes, and wondered if I was in trouble for actually getting turned on by the caning.

Miss Holmes smiled and I thought it was actually a friendly smile, and she said, “I am looking for a lady like you?”

“Really?” I asked in a surprised tone but relieved she wasn’t scolding me.

Miss Holmes continued, “I want to build up my experience and need a woman like you who wants to be caned. I want to give you twenty-four and then thirty and then thirty-six strokes of the cane and learn just how hard I can land the cane to maximise the punishment. It will help me learn how to deal here with women who want to be caned as well because I need to cane them even harder so they aren’t aroused. For you, though, it means you needn’t break the law to get caned and I will do it for free. What do you say?”

I liked the idea but asked tentatively, “Can I masturbate after you cane me, Miss Holmes?” I wasn’t sure why I asked as she was a teenager and so probably masturbated herself all the time and no doubt had one or more vibrators to use on herself.

Miss Holmes laughed as she pulled the gown off my shoulders but I caught it as it was about to drop to the floor as I was too embarrassed to be naked in front of her. Miss Holmes said with a smile, “Don’t worry. This is my personal changing room and no one will come in.”

I looked around and with clearer eyes saw that it wasn’t the changing room I used as it was much smaller and had a desk at the other end and so supposed it was also her office. Feeling more relaxed, I let go of the gown and let it fall to the floor and stood there totally naked. Miss Holmes placed her finger right between my breasts and with a lovely smile ran her finger between my breasts, down my tummy, and as my vagina fluttered her finger continued and ran down and along my pussy lips. I groaned erotically as her finger ran up and down my pussy lips a few times before edging inside and I gasped more loudly as she flicked my ever so taut clit and within a few seconds exploded with the most wonderful orgasm. I so wanted to lean in and kiss and hug the so delightful teenager but was too scared to as she was a disciplinarian after all.

To my surprise, though, Miss Holmes leaned in and kissed me on the lips and then cupping my face with her hands pulled me close and kissed me more firmly on the lips, edging her tongue into my welcoming slowly opening mouth until our tongues were entwined. The kiss was delicious and I never wanted it to end.

Miss Holmes pulled away but only by an inch and she was smiling at me in such a friendly almost loving way. She then said, her sweet breath pouring over my face, “You don’t remember me, do you?”

I was taken aback as I didn’t remember her. “No, Miss Holmes, I’m sorry.”

Miss Holmes smiled. “I used to attend the sixth form college at the end of your road. I knocked on your door once and said I was doing odd jobs for charity. You let me make your bed and gave me much more money than anyone else. You even gave me a drink and cake and we chatted for a while and I thought you were so nice.” After a moment she added with a lovely smirk, “So, when I saw you today and how you seemed to want to be caned, I thought you were the ideal choice, particularly as I am attracted to women your age who like to be dominated by a girl my age. It’s like me disciplining someone my mum’s age, but not my mum, which is a real turn on for me.”

I still didn’t remember her but she was right about my desire to have to obey a girl her age, and so said, laughing, “Maybe if you wear your school uniform when you cane me I will remember?” I knew I had masturbated many times picturing a girl from the sixth form college in my road caning me, so it would be great to live the fantasy with Miss Holmes.

Miss Holmes laughed as well and asked, “I will if it means that you will you let me practice on you whilst I satisfy your obvious craving to be caned?” 

I thought Miss Holmes was even nicer once she told me how we had met and I really couldn’t think of a reason to say no, even when she added, “We will be watched by several teenage girls but they will all be training to be disciplinarians here at the arena and will be dismissed before I give you finger and tongue sex as a thank you.” She smirked as she added, “Of course, you might well say thank you to me in the same way.”

“Yes, Miss Holmes, oh yes please, Miss Holmes,” I said enthusiastically. It was exactly what I wanted, really. I would be getting more and more cane strokes and, although watched, and no doubt reduced to uncontrolled crying which I supposed was a turn-on all by itself, it would be followed by loving sex with this gorgeously dominant young lady who I was starting to fall in love with. What could be better?

Miss Holmes took out a sheet of paper and handed it to me with the same friendly smile. “Here, sign this. It is a contract and I need it to protect myself but also will mean you are called back to the arena and given twenty-four strokes on three consecutive days, in public, if you fail to show up to an appointment.”

That seemed fair, I thought, and was actually the incentive I needed to make sure I didn’t back out. I took the pen she held out to me and happily signed my name feeling flutters flying around my vagina. As I gave her the pen and contract Miss Holmes slid her arms around my waist and as I slid mine around her neck she placed her hands on my welted bottom and squeezed. I gasped as she smiled, and then I smiled too.

“This bottom is mine and so get used to it,” she said smiling and in a loving tone.

So, today was a new start for me, and I couldn’t wait for the first appointment.