I was eighteen, and in the summer before I went to uni, I was working on garage fuel pumps in the days before self-service.

One of our regular customers was a lady in her mid-thirties whom I will call Vera. She always smiled and was very forward and provocative in the way she acted whenever I served her (with petrol, you understand). She would stick her shapely breasts out; make sure I got a good look at her beckoning bottom, etc.

I knew who she was because I sometimes saw her in town and knew about her family business, in which she took a large part. In town, there was a stationer who had an area catering to students for academic supplies. Exercise books, pencils, rulers, protractors, you name it, and during term time, I went to stock up every few weeks, once I started at age sixteen in the technical college. She was often there when I went shopping for whatever I needed. She always smiled and sometimes tried to talk to me. I was polite but made excuses and went on my way.

My studies took an enormous part of my time and mental capacity, and I never thought much about the lady. She had a boyfriend in the town, whom I knew ran a local business. I knew of him through summer activities at which they were sometimes together. He was much older than me and not one of my immediate pals. She was too old for me (so I thought in all innocence). Until that time, I had tried to avoid her.

Bert, the chief mechanic and garage manager, probably thought I was an innocent young lad, which was less than half correct. One day, she came in with a guy sitting in her car who wasn’t much older than me. I wondered who he was.

Vera was upset, and I overheard her as she said to Bert, “They are mad at me back home. They say he is way too young for me and I’m sex mad (and so forth).”

I served her petrol while this was going on and I pretended to ignore the guy in the car and the conversation. It was none of my business, but I was ‘all ears’ and I tried, successfully, I was sure, not to let it show.’

Bert, after she had left, said, “Peter, be careful. She likes her rhubarb.”

It so happened that at the moment I was serving her, one of my pals came by to check how the repair on his mother’s car was going. He must have seen what was happening and may have heard what was being said. We were in the local that evening (I was old enough to drink) when he talked about Vera.

He said, “It looked like she was away for a good screwing.”

“Have you had a crack at her?”

“No, she’s too old.”

“Just as well. Around here, everyone would know,” and I laughed, pretending not to be interested, and we moved on to something else.

But I was as randy as a billy goat and Vera might be an excellent screw, but I felt sorry for her regular boyfriend, Nigel, because it sounded like she was giving him more than a runaround. Why did he put up with it? Maybe he didn’t know, or more likely, he didn’t care. I liked him and didn’t want to upset him. But what bothered me most was that my parents, who were typically small-town and ultra-respectable found out if I went near Vera.

So I said to Bert, “The day I filled up Vera’s car, she didn’t appear to have any camping gear. I wonder where they were going.”

I don’t think he smelled a rat, because he said, “She’s got access to a holiday bungalow along the waterway from the Graseby sailing club, and probably goes up there for sex. Over the last few years, we have had to go out there twice and fix her broken-down car. It’s not far. She’s a cheapskate and doesn’t like to pay to have it serviced. You might have to take me, or someone else, up there one day. Do you know where it is?”

“Yes, because I know the way to the sailing club.”

“Good,” said Bert. “You never know with her.”

I thought, “Yes, and in more ways than one.”

Someone arrived and fortunately, interrupted our chat. I didn’t want Bert to cotton on. I put two and two together, and now understood why she hung around the ‘student’ area of the stationer, usually on Saturday afternoon. She hoped to attract the attention of a younger but 'of age' guy. Good luck with that one.

I had every Wednesday plus one afternoon as a break each week. Each Wednesday, I planned a day of activity, but the free afternoon depended on staff availability at short notice, which often meant I was at a loose end that day, because I never knew very far in advance which afternoon it would be.

I had an old banger for a car, good for a trip of perhaps fifty miles, but which I would not trust on a longer run. So the next Wednesday, I would drive up to the holiday bungalow on the chance that she might be there and see what came of it. If she wasn’t there, the sailing club would be open and there might be the chance of a sail and certainly of a beer or two, catch up on gossip, etc.

The next Wednesday, I drove the fifteen miles to the holiday bungalow area. I had some plastic mac with me in case ‘it’ happened. Be prepared. It was a lovely day and Vera was sunning herself on a lounger. I stopped as I saw her and said, “What a delightful surprise. Are you enjoying a break?”

Vera seemed pleased to see me, and she asked, “What brought you up here?”

So I spun the yarn about the day off, Graseby sailing club, chance of a sail, etc. She laughed and said, “Have you ever gone for a horizontal sail? Bring the car in here and park it behind the bungalow.”

Wow!

Inside the bungalow with her, before she got her gear off, I said, “Please, I hope you are not embarrassed, but if we have a relationship, please, don’t let it show in public. Discretion, to me, is all because of my family. Just tell me, if we have sex, please, can you keep it quiet and act with discretion about it? If you can’t, well, what do I do?”

“OK, I understand you. I never talk and what I guess bothers you is a display of familiarity or affection in public. If I see you in public, I smile and nod as if we know each other socially. I know who you are, of course. Once I have had a relationship with a younger guy, I never pester him and I wait to see if he comes back and wants a repeat session. Some do. Before the event, I’m a little silly, because if at first I don’t score, I keep at it until I do, and of course, that’s what people notice. Frankly, I don’t care what people think.”

“There are a few other places I look for you younger but ‘of age’ guys. You are all so fit and great performers. I don’t hang around in clubs or bars because I don’t want to be taken for a tart, which I’m not. I can’t help being so horny. The art college is a source of potential partners, and I give a weekly lecture on the art of moviemaking there in the evenings. This gets me a few screws, but a lot of the arty-farty types are wimps.”

“Vera, I know you’re not a tart, and I hope you don’t think I react to you as if you were?”

“Peter, no you didn’t. You behave like a very horny gent. Nigel just wants companionship. I behave perfectly in front of him and I don’t think he cares what I do behind his back. Peter, put your concerns behind you and let’s have a session.”

At least Vera was open about herself and so straightforward! I had heard no one admit to a relationship with her. It was her behaviour when she was ‘on the prowl,’ that attracted attention! Once our little chat was over, she broke the speed record for getting her gear off. We took showers, and I got out the little packet with the plastic mac in it, ready for action.

Vera saw it and said, “You don’t need it. I’ve had an implant,” and showed me the small scar inside her upper arm.

She was a natural blonde with nice firm breasts but was a little chubby with a definite tummy. So what? It’s natural. Vera was so horny, and there was no foreplay. It was my first screw of the summer, and I had to control myself as best as I could not to ‘explode on impact.’ She was soaking as I entered her.

Vera had an enormous orgasm and clung to me.

“Stay hard inside me as long as you can, please.”

I did so, kissing and licking her splendid breasts. My penis was responding to the continuing spasms of her vagina, which was commendably tight. She eventually uncoupled and went to lock the French doors. We had been at it with them unlocked! I went to clean up in the shower. Vera followed and took a pee on the loo, not bothered that I was there! She cleaned up, too. Back in the bedroom, Vera knelt on the side of the bed, bottom in the air. I could see some faint marks on it. What had caused those? I asked the question.

“Peter, you think I am the one who can be indiscrete? You must not talk about this, but I admit I’m kinky and I love to have my bottom given a good thrashing with a cane. This is one of only two places I can do it because of the noise. Look inside the wardrobe over there.”

I looked inside and some crook-handled canes were hanging from the rail.

“Have you ever received a caning, Peter?”

“Of course. A few times since I was sixteen.” It was the norm in those days.

“Would you like me to cane you?” Vera asked.

This was amazing! I had had fantasies about a caning session during sex and now it might take place with so little effort on my part.

“If you give me a caning, will it turn you on?”

“Yes, it’s an enormous turn-on for me and I want you to cane me next. After you have caned me, I hope you will want rough sex! I would love you to cane me good and hard, and you know what follows!”

“OK, I’m up for it as long as you don’t change your mind and complain that it was too hard!”

“Kneel on the bed, bottom up.”

Vera took a cane from the wardrobe. I felt it rest on my bum.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

‘Whistle, crack,’ and my bum was on fire. It was at least as hard as any caning I got at school. This went on with Vera delivering a cane stroke about every twenty seconds. I counted up in my head, tried to keep still and not to yell. At six strokes, I thought she would stop, but no, she carried on. The pain built up, and I asked, “Please, leave a longer time between strokes. I’m in such pain.”

It carried on. I was going to ask her to stop at twelve cane strokes if she didn’t do so, and I kept counting. She stopped after stroke twelve and I thought it was over, but Vera said,

“Can you take a few more?”

“I don’t think I want any more.”

She got hold of my rigid penis and started masturbating me.

“I’ve got a twin cane. It’s very thin. Let me give you three on each side of the lower cheeks of your bum. It will hurt, but they will feel fantastic later on when you sit on them.”

Man up and take it.

“Ok, as you wish.”

She gave me the two sets of twin cane strokes. The thin rods caused an agonising sting, but the pain did not go so deep and faded faster after each stroke. I had taken twenty-four individual cane strokes, reckoning two cane strokes per stroke of the twin cane. As the pain translated into sensation, my erection returned.

“Vera, do you want sex or a thrashing, please?”

Without a word, she knelt on the bed, her bottom towards me.

“It’s up to you, Peter.”

This was the first time that I could cane a female, and I was certain that giving a caning would turn me on enormously and result in even better sex for the recipient.

“Vera, I will cane you first. But, please, how hard do you want it?”

“Peter, it must be a very hard one. If you do it right, I will have an orgasm. The pain does that to me. It may sound unusual, but that’s how I am. For sex, do the same thing, because I like moderately ‘rough sex.’ So, please, stick it to me good and hard.”

“OK. Prepare for a soundly thrashed bottom. I will start with six strokes and see how it goes from there.”

Silence.

I lined the cane up on her plump buttocks, lifted it back and struck forward with plenty of wrist action.

‘Whistle crack.’ The cane bit into the flesh of her buttocks and sprang back. Vera gasped and wagged her rump from side to side. I waited for her to calm herself, and when ready, repeated the action, increasing the force as my confidence in aiming the cane increased.

My aim was perhaps too good and the second stroke was almost on top of the first one.

Vera yelled and put a hand back to rub her bum.

“Naughty girl,” I said, “You will get an extra stroke if you rub.”

I lined up again and gave her a third stroke. She gave another yell and wagged her bum about. The cane marks on her bum were rising into purple welts. If Vera wanted it hard, so be it! I carried on like this until Vera had received six strokes. Her bottom was in the perfect position for a doggy screwing, so without asking, I got on board. I was as stiff as a caber. Her vagina was soaking and twitching from the caning. Vera climaxed before me, and I kept hammering away at her.

I could feel the end of my penis collide with her cervix because I was in so deep. I think she was in a delirium of pain and pleasure and it was less than a minute before I had an enormous orgasm. Her vagina was still in spasm and I knew she would appreciate it if I stayed stiff inside her for as long as I could remain stiff. Eventually, we separated, and Vera collapsed onto the bed, rubbing her bum.

“Peter, you are a bad boy. You gave me the hardest caning ever, but your screwing is beyond belief.”

The marks on her bum were purple with red tram lines parallel to the centre.

“Would you like a few more?” I asked.

“No, thank you. I’m going to wash my pussy, and then you can go down on me, please.”

Vera came back from the shower. “You excelled yourself. These cane marks are the worst I’ve ever had but the afterglow is also the greatest ever.”

She lay on the bed, legs apart. “Finger me and kiss my clitoris, please.”

I did as requested, and Vera was on Cloud Nine.

I took a chance! “You gave me the equivalent of twenty-four strokes and you took only six so far, you wimp of a woman.”

“Fuck me again. If you can fuck me, you can cane me again, but give me time to recover between the strokes, please.

“Stand up, head and shoulders on the bed, and I will give it to you again in doggy fashion.”

Vera was soaking, and I slid into her like a knife into butter. Waves of contraction gripped my penis, and it needed little effort from me to satisfy both of us. She was moaning and almost sobbing in pleasure. It was an effort to remain standing as the waves of unbelievable pleasure swept over me.

“I’ve known nothing like it.”

Hang on, I thought, you are in for another shock. The twin cane was on the bed. Its rods were no thicker than a pencil and it would sting (as I knew) rather than cause heavy welts. I picked it up.

“Stay there,” I said. I moved her feet further apart to separate her bottom cheeks. This lowered her bottom and allowed me to cane vertically across the older marks, out to beyond the crease between the bottom and thighs, which was now separated and presented diagonally. It helped that I was about a foot taller than her. I gave her the first stroke on her right cheek, not using ‘excessive’ force. Vera gasped and wriggled, but remained in position and did not put a hand back to rub.

“Well done. You will love these when you sit on them.”

The next stroke produced a similar result.

“You are such a wicked girl. You have allowed me to understand how much a lady can enjoy the rod of correction. To my pleasure, you take the punishment of your naughty bottom like a lady.”

“Peter, I love it when you talk to me like that. Few men know how to address me to contribute to my pleasure.”

I continued with stroke number three, still applying them to the right cheek only, and I took care not to cane into the crack. This was erotic spanking, not torture. Her inner lips and clitoris were in motion. It was doing the trick.

The left cheek beckoned attention, so I moved over to it and gave it three strokes, still with a decent time interval between them. Vera gave no sign of wanting it to end, so I gave it another stroke. She was shaking in the grip of a caning-induced orgasm. There was no need to stop, so I carried on caning her, alternating strokes on the left and right cheeks, increasing the force slightly. Both cheeks were becoming covered in thin red welts. How long would it take before she asked for it to stop?

The moans and slight sobs had increased in volume, and she said, “Fuck me again, you bad boy.”

The sight of her bottom accumulating the welts, her vagina in motion, the aroma of sex and the overall atmosphere kept me hard. I got back on board. Her vaginal tightness and muscular spasms worked their magic on me and somehow, I achieved another ejaculation. Vera wanted me hard inside her for as long as possible. The contractions of her vaginal muscles were such a stimulant. I couldn’t do it these days. But this time, I was going to be out of it and could hardly stand. I needed a rest.

“Help me up. I need to go to the loo,” said Vera.

I had to support her because she could hardly walk. She sat on the loo, beyond caring that I was present.

“Ow. It hurts terribly when I sit on the marks.”

“That’s how to punish a naughty girl. You will remember your caning every time you sit on the loo for the next few days.”

Vera made a face!

She was still in orgasmic throes because the pee came out of her in spurts, possibly in time with her muscular contractions.

“It feels strange when I pee while still having orgasms. You are the first man I’ve ever let watch me when it happens.”

Vera must have been recovering, because she locked my eyes and smiled at me.

“How did you know what to do? I didn’t tell you?”

“I can’t explain, but I knew how it felt when you caned me, and I copied the basic method.”

“Peter, there is a little plastic bucket over there. Be a dear, make sure it’s clean, then put some water in it and give it to me.”

Vera took the bucket, opened her legs, and washed her vulva in front of me. A lady who is not prudish is so wonderful! She got up and washed herself down properly in the shower.

“Peter, please, finger my G spot and kiss my clitoris.”

I knew about ‘sixty-nine,’ so I quickly cleaned myself up and got back on the bed. Vera understood without me needing to say anything. She gave me an excellent blowjob and was more than satisfied with my efforts. Rubbing the welts on her bum whilst nibbling her clitoris had a magical effect on her!

At the end of the afternoon, the muscles in my groin ached thanks to my continuous erection.

“Peter, I thought you were such an innocent lad. Thank you for giving me such a wonderful surprise!”

“We need to stay discretely in contact so we can do this again. It’s been wonderful and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.”

“You young guys have such staying power! We must do it again as soon as possible. One reason I come up here on Wednesday during the holiday season is that it is often the weekday that you holiday job guys get a day off. They all want you to work at the weekend during the season and give you a day off midweek. Some of you come to the Graseby sailing club on a Wednesday and I hang around here, hoping to catch your eye, just like I did today. I have to work like hell throughout the holiday season too, and Wednesday is a good choice of a day off for me too. This place is OK in the summer but too cold in the winter. Do you know the Fox and Hounds pub at Forston?”

“Yes, I know where it is.”

“They have converted the stable block out the back into en-suite bedrooms. The end bedroom is larger than the rest. It’s heated and the walls are solid, so it’s private. I can have a session during the quiet winter season. I manage their bookings so I control the room availability and I get a very cheap rate in the winter.”

“The landlord there doesn’t care what I get up to as long as I’m discrete and don’t pick up guys in the bar, which I don’t. I can’t take anyone back to our large office unit and private house because my old mother is still there, and can hear everything, so I’m out of luck there.”

“Vera, will you be here next Wednesday?”

“If I know you are coming, I will wait inside the bungalow and not advertise my presence.”

“Great. If there is going to be a problem, or if I would like to talk to you for any reason, I will put a book with a red cover in the kiosk window facing the road. There shouldn’t be a problem, because the midweek day off is sacrosanct. If you see the red book, we need to make contact.”

“OK. A good place to make contact is on the far side of the railway bridge over the back road to Clamdon Hall. I take the dog for a walk up there most evenings around seven pm if I’m home. Look for me there at seven pm, give or take. Usually, there is no one around.”

This was before mobile phones. Vera had worked out a system of signs to alert ‘friends’ that there was a message waiting for them at various drop locations and she told me that a blue square would appear in her bedroom window if she had a message for me at my drop location or needed a meeting!

That summer, I had ten sessions with her. Sometimes, the marks on her bum had not faded sufficiently, and it limited the spanking activities, but the sex was amazing!

I had to tell her I would be away at uni in the autumn and had planned to be home for a long weekend around Guy Fawkes Day. But I didn’t have to go home. Sex was a far stronger attraction. We maintained contact while I was at uni, which was easier to do than being at home, there being no prying eyes or ears, and I could receive mail unbeknown to any snoopers! The difference my relationship with Vera made to my self-confidence was enormous, and I mentally thanked her for it.

The long weekend arrived, and Vera collected me on Friday evening at a mainline station a few miles away and put me back on the train on Sunday. We were at the Fox and Hounds pub and Vera was as insatiable as ever. The accommodation units were on one side of the car park, and the best time to have a session was during the afternoon when the place was quiet before the evening crowd arrived. I liked the fact that Vera, who was not a big drinker, got her kicks out of sex and spanking.

In my absence, she had made two leather floggers. One was smaller, with six small leather strands for use on her breasts, and the other was a heavier item with longer and thicker strands. She had bought a ball gag to keep the noise down. At her request, I gave her ample bottom a good whipping of twelve strokes with the heavier unit. At the finish, thin red welts covered her rump, and for the first time, she was in tears.

“Vera, I’m sorry, but you asked me to do it, and you didn’t use the safe word.”

“Don’t worry, I wanted to be taken past my limit and you obliged. I can see why the ‘cat of nine tails’ was so feared. I haven’t felt like that since they caned me at school for the first time.”

“Tell me more, please.”

“I was sixteen, and they caught me playing with myself in the toilets. It was ‘six of the best’ for that in those days. I felt so humiliated and scared, and I pissed myself during the caning, but a few hours afterwards, at home, in bed, I played again. My mum saw the stains on the bedclothes and she caned me, telling me it was a wicked, dirty thing to do. I soon understood that the canings, whilst painful, were an enormous turn-on as the pain departed and the sensations arrived.”

“I got used to the pain of the caning, knowing what it would lead to shortly afterwards. So I misbehaved deliberately at school and after my fourth or fifth caning, they expelled me. Of course, Mum gave me the cane about that. Mum got worried when I didn’t react to the caning, mainly because she didn’t do it hard enough! She didn’t know what to do with me. I refused to be sent to a convent! I told her if she tried to send me, I would burn the place down, and she recognised the look in my eyes! Mum suffered misplaced concern about me and wasted effort in reacting to it, and the family business needed me. It wasn’t long before, in the mid-fifties at age eighteen, I had sex for the first time.”

“In those days, erotic spanking had a low profile. It was only recently it emerged from the shadows. I went for several years without spanking until I hooked up with an older man who was a headteacher and a widow. He talked about how he enjoyed giving canings and I was over the moon. This is how I got caned for the first time in five years. It must have been too much for him, because after one of our sessions, he had a heart attack and died at his house. When he didn’t show up for work, they looked for him and found his body.”

“Someone had seen me leave his place the previous evening and told the police. I had a very interesting interview with them, during which I showed them the vivid cane marks on my bum, and said, ‘he must have got too excited, poor old fellow. He wasn’t much of a sexual performer, but he could hand out an excellent caning. Perhaps that’s a sign of a weak heart.’ You should have seen their faces! The autopsy revealed a heart attack, and they estimated the time of death to be after I had left.”

“They found no other incriminating evidence, apart from his collection of school canes and spanking pornography. He was dead, so they couldn’t do him for that. I was over eighteen by then, so nothing happened to me. There was no evidence that money had changed hands during our relationship, so they couldn’t do me on ‘immoral earnings,’ not that they ever did regarding the girl. There doesn't seem to be an offence of fucking someone to death! Given his position in the community, it was hushed up in those days. By then, I was well past caring. But I can tell you, some of the older police officers thought it was funny!”

I laughed like anything!

“Peter, please don’t worry. The flogger stings terribly, but it doesn’t cause bruising. The sting lasts for a time, but it leaves a wonderful fiery feeling. Come on, screw the arse off me.”

Vera was as insatiable as ever.

I had a three-year sex and erotic spanking relationship with her. There was never a word from her about any other (living) gentlemen who gave her a seeing-to, and my parents never found out, so Iron Bum Vera was as good as her word. It stopped only when I went abroad to work.