My name is Alison Bathgate. I am thirty-three years old, and fortunately for me, with my radiant face and stunning figure, friends and family frequently inform me that I comfortably pass for a girl in her twenties, if not her teens. That is flattery that I never tire of hearing.

I divorced David, my ex-husband, three years ago after marrying him when I was twenty-four after seven years of courting. We waited that long to tie the knot because he was studying for a degree at university.

I was devoted to my work and was eventually elevated to senior management. I was the company's youngest person to be promoted to a significant and responsible position.

Our marriage was all we had dreamt of to begin with. We had a modern two-bedroom apartment overlooking the Thames and an income that ensured we never wanted for anything. We fucked for England, and we had a corporal punishment fetish that went from strength to strength as our marriage grew.

Neither of us wanted a family, as we knew our ambitions and lifestyles were unsuitable for raising children.

Unfortunately, as we grew older, we realised we had very different aspirations, friends, and interests, eventually resulting in us leading separate lives. We realised it was only the sex, my love of the cane thrashing my palms and occasionally bum, that kept us together as long as it did.

I was sure David was playing away, but I was unconcerned as my feelings for him had dissolved many moons ago. As time passed, I didn't have a permanent partner but had occasional sex when meeting people I liked, and a few one-night stands along the way that I didn't regret.

Getting laid became second nature to me; thanks to my work, the opportunity was often available, and given the right circumstances, I was always up for a good fucking.

I have never been an angel, but in the last few years, I admit that I rarely turned down the chance of a casual affair or good fucking when the occasion arose.

As a senior representative for L'Oreal, without boasting, thanks to my good looks and flirtatious nature, I had frequent opportunities to enjoy a good shag. My job involved plenty of travel, staying in hotels at home and abroad.

I was required to attend many conventions, meetings, and presentations, which made an excellent platform for meeting men that appealed to me and encouraged my desire for uncomplicated sex.

However, it was a chance meeting that confirmed what I had always suspected: that I was bisexual. I often found women captivating and usually imagined girls I knew or those I found attractive being caned when I masturbated.

My dreams became a reality when I had a brief but intense relationship with a girl called Gemma, whom I met at a company convention in Liverpool.

When a senior partner introduced us, I was attracted to her instantly. She was an absolute stunner about my age, and my pussy throbbed just looking at her. As we shook hands, it was like an electric shock running through me, and Gemma later told me she had the same reaction.

We were so relaxed together that, during an early conversation, I was delighted when she revealed that she was obsessed with corporal punishment since having felt the tawse stinging her hands at school.

She said the tawse was the punishment used in Glasgow, and strapping occurred daily. She never knew any pupil at her school, Pollok High, who escaped feeling the strap across their palms.

She added that her friend Emma had been strapped twice in one day, and the second punishment was three cuts on each hand, which had understandably left her a quivering wreck in front of the whole class.

We were soon exchanging stories and were both aroused talking about the punishments we had received and witnessed. I now know we both had a tingling pussy that was leaking during these discussions as we became besotted with each other.

Gemma was Scottish and told me she was frequently strapped on the hands by teachers, which became the accepted punishment for all the girls. She added that although having stinging palms, girls rarely cried after their first experience unless it was an unusually severe punishment.

She said the headmistress's punishment was entirely different. She used a three-tailed heavy tawse for serious misdemeanours, which Gemma told me was unfortunate for her as she had experienced it on several occasions.

She told me she never knew of any girl leaving the head's study with dry eyes after a strapping and confessed she couldn't stop crying when the headmistress punished her palms.

Gemma said after seeing and experiencing corporal punishment, she found the whole topic compelling. Although painful, it was an experience she grew to relish when the stinging subsided to an acceptable level.

She added that she found it incredibly captivating to witness others being strapped. Gemma told me that often her pussy tingled with her knickers becoming wet, seeing girls getting their palms thrashed.

She added that she often excused herself after she had witnessed or received punishment and, whenever possible, vigorously massaged her clitoris until exploding in a toilet cubicle.

I soon realised although I prefer a good shag with a fellow I fancy, there is undoubtedly much to enjoy having sex with a girl, especially when corporal punishment is involved or discussed.

I told Gemma about my corporal punishment fetish, school experiences and adult role-play that had become an integral ingredient in my marriage.

She was captivated when I told her about my caning on the hands at school. However, when I told her that letting David thrash my bum had led to us performing anal sex and having his cock pumping my arse was something which I now embraced, she was captivated.

After our talk, we were both like bitches on heat, and it didn't take long before we hurried to her room. Once there, we passionately kissed while holding hands and couldn't wait to fuck and punish each other.

Gemma strapped my palms and me hers, the sex was sublime, and we seemed to keep cumming for hours on end. Our fingers eagerly found and massaged our clits, and she was intrigued that mine was like a small penis.

Our tongues were soon in action, and I was crying with pleasure. Gemma stroked my punished hands as she sucked my clit, and I exploded like I never had before.

I returned the compliment, and seeing this beautiful girl's orgasms and tears of ecstasy made my pussy explode.

When Gemma introduced me to her tawse, which she always said she carried with her, I promised to initiate her with the cane the next time we met.

If Gemma hadn't been happily married with two children or we had lived closer, I have no doubts we would have pursued a closer friendship and indulged more often.

After a week of burning palms followed by some fantastic sex, we became much more than very good friends. We had become obsessed with each other due to our intimacy and our shared fantasy, the love of corporal punishment.

I was intensely attracted to Gemma. Although neither of us considered ourselves a lesbian, we knew we were bisexual and pleased to be. We promised to catch up whenever possible, knowing we were in love and that if circumstances had changed, we would have had a meaningful relationship.

I told Gemma that my ex-husband David had become my boyfriend when I was seventeen, and both were still at school. He was a year older than me when the headmistress, Miss James, discovered we had been playing truant and were caned together in front of our mummies.

The boys and girls were separated for all lessons, and we only saw each other at registration. Mr Sedgwick was head of the boys' school, and when he caned David, it was the first time I had met him.

David told me it was his first caning by the head teacher, but I confessed Miss James had punished me before.

I received six strokes, three on each hand, while David received six stinging strokes on his backside.

I cried, shouted and begged for forgiveness as the cane lashed my tender palms while I was impressed that David took his punishment stoically, uttering no more than a groan as the cane struck his bum.

In our fourth year, the headmistress caned me and my best friend, Jane Stanley. The teacher had sent us to her for dangerous practice while mucking about during a domestic science lesson, and we were punished with two strokes on our non-writing hands.

Although it stung, neither of us cried, and it bore little comparison to the punishment I received for playing truant.

I often reflected on our caning experience when I had seen Jane holding her hand out, palm up while being thrashed, which I admit I found captivating. Seeing the gorgeous Jane's palm being struck by Miss James's stick made my pussy tingle, and I became pretty wet.

However, I didn't say anything for fear that people would think I was strange, especially if they realised I frequently played with myself, rubbing my clitoris to orgasm, thinking about the caning we had shared.

Returning to my punishment with David, my hands stung so severely, and the stripes were so prominent that I could not believe a caning could inflict such pain on my or anybody's delicate palms.

When I got home, my mum felt the time was right to tell me about her school caning that the headmistress had bestowed on her and her friends. She said she had never received or witnessed a caning as severe as mine before and had had tears in her eyes while watching my punishment.

We both agreed that seeing David's arse thrashed was riveting, as we had never witnessed a boy's caning before.

That night while in bed, my friendly rabbit was going ten to the dozen inside my throbbing pussy as I came again and again. Not just reliving my punishment but thinking about my gorgeous mum holding out her hand to be caned. Although enthralled when she told me, I cried my eyes out, imagining my perfect mummy being thrashed.

After we were punished, David and I started courting seriously, becoming an item. Much to our delight, we realised that being caned in front of each other had aroused us both, and we became sexually excited whenever we were reenacting our experience.

Punishing each other gained serious momentum, and once we were married, our fetish knew no bounds. Some of the most memorable sex we enjoyed was after a thrashing.

I was worried then, but now I wonder why I was so apprehensive about being single. I grew to relish the freedom I have been given and have embraced the opportunities it has provided for me. The opportunities for casual sex have become frequent, and I have embraced it with vigour while I waited to meet my Mr Right.

Although John, my current boyfriend, has been my first serious relationship since my marriage ended, I am so lucky because he is the most wonderful man I've ever met.

We have only been in a serious relationship for a couple of months, but the sex is ecstatic, and I am often screaming with delight as he is an expert at making me cum. Although I like him so much, I am still working on the best way to approach him about my beloved fetish, as I would like nothing better to be caned by him before having my brains fucked out.

The opportunity arose in unexpected circumstances; you wouldn't believe it if you had read it in a book.

John and I were on our way to the coast for a long weekend break. He suggested we visit his mum as her house was on the way, and she had told him she would love to meet me.

I eagerly agreed. As time passed, our relationship progressed, and meeting John's mum seemed another step in the right direction.

When she opened the door, I couldn't believe my eyes. My ex-headmistress, Miss James, stood there in all her splendour, older but instantly recognisable.

John's mummy was the woman who introduced me to my compulsive fetish, who had thrashed my hands and made me cry when I was at school.

She didn't seem to recognise me, although she said it was lovely to meet me as we left and added it felt like she had seen me before. As we shook hands, she looked deep into my eyes and told me she thought John had chosen a perfect girlfriend.

As we waved her goodbye and drove away, John smiled and asked me what I thought of his mum.

I told him the truth. I recognised his mother, although she looked and acted very differently from the person who was my headmistress when I was at school. I told him she had caned me on my palms in her study on two occasions, once with my friend Jane and more memorably, I would think, along with my future husband.

I added that I had changed over the last fifteen years, and your mum must have caned many girls, but I was a little surprised she hadn't remembered me.

I was a prefect and house captain, played hockey for the county, passed three (A) levels, and progressed to Warwick University. I am sure she will eventually remember me even if we don't tell her I was her pupil, Alison Bathgate, whom she thrashed fifteen years ago.

I told him I was saying this because I didn't know of any other seventeen-year-old pupils who had been caned with their boyfriends while their mothers were observing.

My appearance must have changed much more than I thought since leaving school. I thought your mum suspected she knew me, and when she said I looked familiar, even if she did remember, she probably didn't think it was the right time to mention the caning as I hadn't.

I said, let's be honest, John, not every girl gets caned by their boyfriend's mummy. Just looking at the expression on your face and the bulge in your trousers, I know you will relish what more I have to tell you, but I suggest we wait until we arrive at the hotel as you have to drive.

John agreed with me but said that he felt he was a little perverted with his reaction to me being punished at school. So we decided the conversation would be best saved for later, but my tingling pussy and John's bulging trousers promised an exhilarating night.

Arriving in the hotel car park, I grabbed John before we got out of the car and kissed him hard with my tongue down his throat. I told him, let's hurry and register, as I'm so desperate for you to fuck me I'm hurting. I gasped as I whispered gently in his ear that my throbbing pussy was leaking so badly that I felt like I had pissed myself.

John said to me, "If remembering being caned by my mum has this effect on you, I will be ordering at least one cane as soon as possible." I looked into his eyes, smiled, and told him I hoped that was a promise as you hadn't heard anything yet.

Once I explained everything, I was positive our relationship would become even more fulfilled, and based on his reaction, I was sure he would love it as much as I would.

I can't remember registering at reception as I was conscious I had cum starting to trickle down my leg, and I was desperate to enter our room and feel John's cock fucking my pussy.

We ignored the lift and ran up the stairs; we entered our room so fast that we bumped into one another and roared with laughter at our eagerness for sex.

We ripped off our clothes and threw them aside. Our only thoughts were on the shag we were desperate for. Within seconds, we were lying on the bed fucking like rabbits.

No foreplay, fingers or tongues, just a bone-hard penis eagerly sliding easily into my wet and throbbing pussy. We didn't need to talk. The joy of his cock inside me thrusting away was ecstasy.

I've had more than a few orgasms in my time, but this one just blew me away. As John pounded my pussy, telling me he loved me so much and I was the best fuck in the world, I kept screaming and cumming until I ran dry.

When he exploded inside me, I couldn't imagine being happier, but hopefully, when he canes me, it will be surpassed.

We blissfully lay in each other's arms, naked, satisfied and in love. John asked me tongue in cheek if I was as good at holding out my hand for the cane as I was at fucking. I then proceeded to tell John about my school and past and present experience with corporal punishment.

He told me he still finds it hard to picture me being thrashed by his mother but admits to getting horny thinking about my lovely hands being caned by his mum.

He started to rub my clit as his tongue pushed into my mouth. He said He would cane my hands as I had requested, as he was getting hard thinking about it.

As I exploded, I told John I loved him so much, and the fucking I would give him after he canes me would be earth-shaking. I added I hoped the ability with the cane ran in the family.

I've achieved everything I ever wanted and dreamed of. John and I married later that year, and five years later, we are blissfully happy. His mum passed away, but not before telling us she remembered me well and didn't want to mention the caning when we had first been introduced for fear of embarrassing me.

She added, "Especially the caning I received when my mummy was observing," as she can only remember one other girl being caned with her mum present and certainly never with her boyfriend's mum as a witness.

She added that I was one of the most outstanding students they had produced at the school during her tenure. She told us this applied not just academically but also as a sportswoman.

She also mentioned that, unfortunately, I sometimes needed to feel her cane thrashing my palms to remind me of my responsibilities. Still, she was sure I learned from being caned the need to abide by the rules, and it stood me in good stead for the future.

Neither John nor I will ever forget his mum, even if it is for different reasons.