Angela’s Story begins here.

I loved the way Nan stood defiantly, almost proudly, stock-still in the corner. Even from behind, where I had placed myself, I could see that she was blushing furiously, I knew would be in her position. It has to be said that the scarlet at her face and neck was nothing to the smorgasbord of reds texturing her bare bottom. She had taken one of the hardest canings I have ever seen and had then declared herself prepared to take another 50 strokes.

As I squeezed my thighs together to ease the erotic tension I felt, I thought back an hour or so to when her sun-shy firm round bottom had still been white and marvelled at the impressive transformation.

Nan had been standing in the corner for 40 minutes or so now and the boys still showed no sign of taking up the cane again. I think they were hoping that the long wait would wither her courage and she would take an early bath.

Then finally, after whispering a word to David that I couldn’t quite hear, Alex moved across the room and took up a medium cane.

“Alright my precious, let’s see if I can’t make you see sense,” he said swishing the vicious looking stick.

“Yes sir,” Nan said meekly, but her mood had lightened at once.

The boys had missed it, but I could tell that being caned at Alex’s hands was what she had wanted all along. It was definitely part of her master plan, assuming she had one and had not gone mad.

I caught her eyes as she minced and winced her way to the back of the chair from the corner and behind her grimace they seemed to smile knowingly at me. I didn’t have long to dwell on it as she flopped quickly over the back of the armchair so that her firm separated bottom was again facing skywards. Or should that be ceiling-wards?

“Legs together and bend those knees slightly to present yourself,” Alex said without warmth, as if he were some cruel prison guard.

I shivered deliciously at the image and for the briefest of moments I wished I was in Nan’s place. But one glance at her ravaged bottom and that envy was crushed with one stamp of the illusionary guard’s boot.

“How many is it for this set?” Alex asked.

“Twelve sir,” Nan was almost cheeky again. I wasn’t sure if this was because of the corner time respite or because now it was Alex who wielded the cane.

“Twelve sir. Indeed,” Alex said with a slight twinkle, reassured by the revival of Nan’s spirits.

I was certainly pleased to see her bounce back because now I was free to enjoy myself.

“One,” Alex said suddenly as he laid on an unexpected stroke.

“Fuck,” Nan hissed. “Sorry. Took me by surprise.”

Alex snorted and walked over to the sideboard and made a note in a book that was on the top.

“Bother,” Nan moaned as she saw him do it, “it slipped out, I said I was sorry.”

I gathered that she had just incurred some penalty for swearing.

It didn’t take him long to return to his more immediate target, but this time she was ready and let out nothing but a wordless grunt as the next stroke bit home.

The next 10 strokes were no more welcome and by the end of her dozen her breathing had become ragged again.

“Are you ready to continue?” Alex asked, almost rhetorically I thought.

Nan looked back and offered him her tear washed face, although she was not sobbing, and nodded. Her sad eyes found his face as if to say, its ok it’s me.

The next 13 were indeed unlucky. Nan was obviously not set right and once she lost it she began to buck and claw at the chair seat. After only five strokes she was wailing and began to shout at the fall of stroke.

“I assume that you still want to continue,” Alex said, “do you want a brief respite?”

“No,” Nan sobbed and then broke into open crying.

Alex waited.

I hated myself, despite Nan’s distress I was so slick where it counted. I hoped David had noticed my behaviour because I probably needed a good hiding of my own once we got home. Then I blushed as I realised that if David had noticed, he wouldn’t wait until home to handle me.

“Shall we continue?”

Nan nodded fiercely as she struggled to bring her crying under control.

“Good girl,” Alex said patting her shoulder.

I got the sense that he was rooting for her now. As I was. Nan had taken 75 strokes, another 25 was almost routine for us girls.

Well I can kid myself can’t I? But I know that’s a bit like saying if you can fall 990 feet out of plane without dying then you can surely manage the last 10 feet.

Alex changed to the light cane for the next 12 and delivered sharp lingering uppercuts to her tender under-bum. Nan twisted and squealed almost comically at these, but at least it wasn’t quite so bruising.

“Well, well, well, who would have thought it,” Alex chuckled, “just a baker’s dozen to go and you up £100 pounds. Now remember that you can call a halt at any time for these, so in a way this will be the hardest set.”

What did he mean, in a way? Thirteen on top of 87 bum busters was going to be hell in every way.

This time Alex waited and waited. You could have cut the air with a rolled up newspaper, let alone the black shiny cane that Alex now held. He was using what Nan had often called the Beast, from the look of it. Well it was the grand finale and I’m sure that Nan approved. In a pig’s ear, she did. Poor, poor Nan, I thought and supressed a tiny giggle.

The stroke when it came made a terrifying swoosh-crack and Nan yelled into the seat of the chair at its impact. There was a pause to wait for the surrender and when it didn’t come Alex struck again.

I hugged myself in awe. Talk about see Naples and die, this was a spankmaster’s must-see. Now I was envious. Right at that moment, I would rather walk down the high street naked than take one stroke of this, but in a week, a month, a year, I know I would have been proud to be Nan.

Nan’s bottom was swollen to bursting and I didn’t know which ridge line to count first. It was like an irregular corrugated fence, only in purple and burgundy.

The last strokes were laid on slowly and oh so hard with long moments in between, which I knew would let the pain from each hang separately in her mind and build to meet the next impact.

Nan herself was sobbing incoherently and twisting this way and that as she clawed at the chair and even bit into the upholstery.

“That’s 98,” David intoned and I saw that he was as engrossed as I was.

There was another long pause and Alex tapped Nan’s bottom to line up the penultimate stroke.

“There goes £100 quid,” Alex said with a grim humour.

The stroke, when it came, was met with silence and then Nan began a fresh round of hiccoughing sobs.

“No more,” she said brokenly.

“But…” Alex was dumfounded. We all were. With only one to go, she had settled on a 99.

“I surrender, you have beaten me,” Nan sobbed violently, barely able to speak.

Alex pulled her up into his arms and she clung fiercely crying into his chest.

“What was it all about?” He gasped holding her tight.

“I just wanted… needed… had to…” Nan babbled, “it was you, I had to surrender to you.”

Alex and David exchanged puzzled glances but I understood. Now I really did envy her. Nan I love you, I thought. And I started to cry.

To be continued.