Angela’s Reckoning

It’s amazing what you find when having a clear-out, and what it may lead to. By Will Pearson Angela and I had been happily married for five years. I was now thirty-three and she was twenty-eight years old. She was a pretty girl without being beautiful, and had a lovely slim figure. Angela’s father had died the previous year, and her mother had decided to move to a smaller house. She had asked Angie to come and clear out her old bedroom, which still had a lot of her things in it. We arrived together one Saturday morning and prepared to sort through everything and take it away in a van we had borrowed. After an hour or so, Angela was emptying a chest of drawers and had pulled out the bottom drawer when I noticed a piece of cardboard sticking out from under the drawer. I went over and as Angela watched pulled out a three foot long thin flat parcel taped at the ends. “What on earth’s this?” I said, somewhat intrigued. Angela, for some reason, looked very embarrassed, and blushing deeply said: “Oh, it’s nothing, I’ll throw that out.” She made to grab the parcel off me, but I held it away and started to open it, while she playfully tried to get it off me. I put my hand inside, and felt a piece of stick. I pulled it out, and was amazed to discover a long thin rattan school cane, complete with the traditional crooked handle. “What on earth is this doing here?” I asked, my interest well and truly awakened. I had been to a boys boarding school and was well aware what the cane was, and what it could do. Angie took the cane off me and said: “Daddy used to beat me with this when I was a girl. I had to keep it in my bedroom, and get it out for him when I was going to get a whacking.” Before I could reply, Angie’s Mum came into the room carrying two cups of tea. “I thought you would like a cup…,” she said, then stopped short on seeing the cane. “You’d better take that with you Will. It will help you keep Angela in order!” She smiled at Angie, who looked even more embarrassed. Her Mum also looked embarrassed, and left the room. Angie put the cane back in its parcel and put it, I noticed, on the pile of things for us to take home. We carried on packing, but as someone who had always nurtured a secret erotic attraction to corporal punishment after my school experiences, I was extremely excited, and couldn’t wait to ask Angie more about her experiences. It would have to wait till we got home though. After a trip to the council recycling tip, we finally loaded the van up with the items to keep, and the long thin parcel was duly loaded. When we got home it was about six o’clock and already dark, so we locked the van up and went inside, poured a couple of drinks and sat down in the lounge. I could wait no longer, and Angie seemed to be expecting me to raise the subject of the cane. “So,” I said. “You were a very naughty girl were you? How often did you get the cane?” “Fairly regularly actually – about every couple of months, I should think.” “Good Lord,” I said, somewhat shocked. “When did he start caning you?” “He started using the cane after I was thirteen. He had slippered me before that, but the first time I was punished after my thirteenth birthday, he produced the cane and said I was old enough to be punished properly in future, and that meant the cane.” “And when did he stop?” I asked, fascinated and very definitely aroused by these revelations. “My last caning was about two months before I got married to you and moved out of the house. I didn’t tell you about it because I thought you would have a row with Daddy, and I didn’t want that.” I just had to know more. Angie seemed to be more than happy to make these revelations, and she was very animated. “Tell me about the canings. Where did they take place? How many strokes did he give you? How hard were they?” “When I was to be punished, for whatever reason, Daddy would tell me that there would be a ‘Reckoning’ that evening at bed time. I had to get ready for bed – get into my pyjamas – get the cane out and lay it on the bed, and then go to the top of the stairs and call to him that I was ready, then sit on the end of the bed. He was very precise about all the routines. When he came into my room, he would lecture me about whatever I had done wrong, and then pronounce his sentence – number of strokes, attire, and position.” “You say attire. Did he ever cane you on the bare? Tell all!” I pleaded. “Yes, I did get it on the bare, but not very often. It was usually over my pyjama trousers. I had to bend over the end of the bed, or sometimes over a chair, and occasionally lie down on the bed with my pillows under my tummy. It was usually six of the best, but it did vary depending on the ‘crime.’” “What was the worst punishment you ever had?” “That’s easy”, she said. “The first time I was caned on the bare. I was seventeen and had been caught with a boy in a state of undress at school. That evening, as I had expected, I was warned of my impending ‘Reckoning’. “His tone was particularly cold, and I remember a shiver running down my spine. At about 11 pm we were watching the TV when he said: ‘It’s time for bed now Angela.’ I went upstairs in more than my usual trepidation, removed the cane from under the drawer and put it on the bed, then slipped out of my clothes and into my pyjamas. “I went to the top of the stairs and called out in a faltering voice that I was ready, then went and sat on the end of the bed. He came into the room and told me how my behaviour had shamed him and my mother, and that I must be severely punished to make sure it was never repeated. “’You will receive eighteen strokes of the cane (twelve was the most I had had at that time) and they will be taken on your bare bottom.’ “I was horrified, but he waved aside my protestations and went on. ‘Now, remove your pyjama trousers and place them on the chair.’ I reluctantly obeyed and stood before him holding my hands in front of myself, though I knew he must see me soon. “’Right Angela, put your feet on the floor either side of the corner of the bed and stretch yourself out over the bed.’ I did so and was horribly exposed, with my skin stretched tightly by my bent over position. The beating was extremely painful, and I never did it again!” By this time Angie was looking quite flushed and her voice had become husky. I decided that I should risk a foray into the unknown. “I’m surprised you didn’t destroy that cane when you left home. And you actually brought it here with us today. I wonder why?” “I… I don’t know,” She said. “I guess I wanted to tell you all about it.” “I’ll tell you what I think,” I plunged in. “I think that you are still a very naughty girl, and it’s more than five years since you have been punished for it.” “Oh Will,” she whispered. “Yes Will, you’re so right.” “Then there will be a’Reckoning’ for you tonight, for not telling me about all this before. I shall go and get the cane out of the van now.” When I came back from the van, carrying the cane in its parcel, Angie was in the kitchen starting to prepare our evening meal. “Are you sure about this?” I asked her. She just nodded her assent. “How hard do you want it, and how many strokes?” “That’s entirely up to you, Will. I am in your hands. I will take whatever you decree. But let me say that I feel that I have been very naughty indeed.” This was a hint if ever there was one and my excitement, which was already at fever pitch, almost boiled over there and then, but I still insisted. “You must have a code. I suggest if you say ‘aah’ after a stroke, I will know it was too hard. If you say ‘ooh’ it means you’ll take it harder. If you say ‘no’, I will stop.” “OK,” she said. “That seems like a good idea.” More than satisfied, I took the cane upstairs and put it on the dressing table in our bedroom. After our meal we had a cup of coffee and a glass of brandy without much conversation. We were both very nervous. Although it was only nine o’clock, I said: “Well Angela, I think we should have an early night. Go and get ready for bed.” Smiling nervously, she got straight up and went upstairs. After what seemed an age, but was probably only five minutes, I heard our bedroom door open and Angie came to the top of the stairs and called down: “I’m ready, Will.” Hardly able to contain myself, I went upstairs, rehearsing in my mind the lecture I had been practising during the meal and brandy afterwards. I walked into the bedroom. Angie was sitting on the end of the bed and the cane was on the bed next to her, stripped of its package. She was wearing a thin blue nightdress which rode up over her knees, and she looked absolutely stunning. “Right Angela,” I said, picking up the cane and flexing it. “I am going to punish you for keeping secrets from me for five years. This is inexcusable, and you must be taught a lesson. If you have any other secrets of this kind, you must tell me them tomorrow. I am going to give you a severe caning. I was thinking about twelve strokes, but as you haven’t been caned for five years, I have decided to be lenient. You will take six strokes of the cane on your naked buttocks. Do you understand?” “Yes Will.” She replied with her head bowed. “Remove your nightdress.” I said, whipping the cane through the air menacingly. It really was a fearsome implement, and I wondered how she had borne her father’s ministrations. She pulled the dress over her head, but although she was naked from the waist up, she wore a pair of skimpy white knickers underneath. “You never wear knickers in bed Angela,” I said. “You have kept those on to protect yourself, haven’t you?” “Yes,” she replied shamefacedly. “Well, you have just earned another six strokes, my girl. Twelve on the bare. Now take those knickers off!” She hurriedly peeled the offending article down and stepped out of them, placing them on the chair with the rest of her clothes. She now stood naked and unashamed before me. “You will kneel on the bed and stick your bottom up in the air.” She complied, presenting a wonderful vision to me. “Legs a little further apart,” I ordered, and again she complied. I walked round to the side of the bed, and raised the cane high in the air before bringing it down swiftly in the centre of those gorgeous bared cheeks. Swiiisssssssshhhh ……. Aaaaah. Swiiisssssssshhhh ……. Swiiisssssssshhhh ……. Oooh Swiiisssssssshhhh ……. Ooooh You get the picture! By the time Angie had taken her sixth stroke, she was writhing about very sexily and pushing her bottom out towards the cane, as if pleading for more. When the twelth stroke was completed, I am sure you can imagine what took place. If not, suffice it to say that it did not involve Angie moving very far from her punishment position, and that it did involve me removing a couple of garments below the waist! The End Posted on Saturday, July 28th, 2012 at 5:09 pm in Domestic Spanking Stories   |  RSS feed Comments and pings are currently closed. Tags: Will Pearson