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Obsession

This story is based on an account described in a chapter on obsessions in a first year university psychology text book. The date of the recorded events is not known but that edition of the book was printed in 1958. It describes how some traumatic CP experiences influenced one of the participants over decades and longer.

The role of the housekeeper (the children called her Mrs D for short) and the punishments dealt out to the three children are closely based on the academic account given in the text book. The story follows events over the 8 months that Mrs D was left in charge of the house and kids, Wendy aged 16, brother Mark and visiting family friend Trevor. The two boys, both 14, had been great mates for a couple of years. They were both in 3rdform at school. Wendy was in 5th form at a girl’s high school. Not knowing the real dates, the story has been set around 1955 but it all could have happened 20 years earlier.

Trevor tells the story

How it all started

Just to get one thing straight. I remember this stuff, some of it word for word, because it has been the most traumatic happening of my whole life. The after effects have been with me forever.

My parents and Mark’s mum and dad all migrated to Australia. They met somehow after we had all settled in the same suburb of Adelaide, about 15 minutes walk from each other. The two families became close friends. Mark’s parents had more money than we did, a really big house and garden and had a cleaning woman two days a week.

It must have been about 1953 that our parents first talked about visiting ‘home’. What to do with us kids for 6 months or more was of course a problem. A one way trip to Europe in those days took 6 weeks by ship. Neither family had relatives in Australia that we could have stayed with.

The answer to the problem came with the employment of a new cleaning lady, Mrs D, as we were told to call her. She was married but the man walked out on her. She then lived with her sister’s family. My parents were most impressed that Mrs D had completed something like a domestic science and family management course for nannies at a local college. We all liked her and apparently she was really good at cleaning, washing, baking and other stuff. I don’t know why she didn't have a full time job but she continued being a cleaner at Mark’s place.

One day both our parents got us all together, a Sunday morning I remember. What did we think of having Mrs D move in for a few months to look after us three while they did their Europe trips. I would share Mark’s room. It was obvious that mum and dad were aching for all of us to say yes. I later thought they could have handled that a lot better. Anyway, they were in luck and we all said OK. It would be a sort of adventure. Next February they would get on their big ocean liner with return tickets for October.

The trip preparation was quite calm and methodical. In January Mrs D moved in full time. I moved in with Mark a couple of weeks later. Everything worked well.

On the second last day before departure there was a big lunch and later a serious talk from both lots of parents. We were told quite unnecessarily to be GOOD, to write a letter every month, to do our school work, help around the house, tidy our rooms, be well behaved, etc etc blah blah blah.

Then the bombshell. In front of everyone mum turned to Mrs D and said “If Trevor is any trouble at all don’t hesitate to use the biggest wooden spoon you can find. Don’t stop till he has really learnt his lesson and won’t do it again. It’s a long time since he’s got a spanking from me so a refresher might be needed.”

Mark’s mum said much the same ending with “and that goes for you too, my girl.”

Mrs D took it in her stride. “Not to worry” she said, “I’m sure they will be good but if not then a wooden spoon will help. I also have a little strap that can make a big impression. We had a couple of lectures on discipline in my course so I know how to handle problems. Do you want to see if you think the strap is OK?”

Mum said no need. They still had lots to do.

We all went to the wharf to see them off. Pies and ice creams for a last lunch. Mum again went over all the things I should and should not do, ending with “be good or else." We all got bored for 2 hours waiting for the ship to leave. On the way home everyone had a great feeling of excitement and adventure.

Mrs D in charge

For more than 2 months everything went well. Mrs D, was more like a bigger sister. We had nice food, went to the football, picnics, the pictures and us kids worked well enough to hardly ever get any complaints. There was no thought of getting into real trouble.

I must say that I found it very interesting to be in the same house as Wendy. In those days boys knew nothing about girls except that they had breasts and a bum. My knowledge of sex and how girls looked naked came from schoolyard talk. Mark didn’t know any more either.

Mrs D did lay down the rules right at the start. We thought that she was reasonable and fair. The three of us got an occasional slap on the bottom.

Then one night, for no reason we could work out, she made it clear that a wooden spoon or her strap were going to be used if there was ever a need. She was so different in those few minutes. To make sure we understood she got her strap out and made each of us hold it. It scared me. The leather was only a bit over a foot long, shorter than the ones used at school but thicker and was hard and heavy.

She told us with a grin "it curls around your bottom and leaves a fiery stripe and inch and a half wide". She explained that the leather was attached to the wooden handle so that she could whip it down and really hurt. We got a demo, Mrs D swung her arm behind her back and whacked the kitchen table. The noise on the hard wooden top was terrifying. We were pretty shocked. After that though, things were as before and there was no more mention of the spoon or strap.

Mark and I

Mark and I got on really well, just as expected. We also discovered we had something in common that had not ever been mentioned. We were both great masturbators, like maybe the world’s best. When on my back on top of the bed I once hit the wall above my head. I thought Mark’s cock was a bit bigger than mine but he couldn’t spurt as far. After just a couple of weeks we were doing it together, we had distance competitions and were sharing our very ignorant fantasies about naked girls and breasts and so on.

I had always been sensible enough to clean up and never had much concern about mum or now Mrs D knowing about it. From Mark I learnt a better method. At the last moment he’d put a sock over the tip of his prick and caught it all perfectly. I immediately did the same. So, in our room after bedtime we would share a fantasy and be writhing in pleasure with a sock at the ready. This infatuation helped lead us into disaster.

Wendy strapped

On Thursdays school classes finished 40 minutes early for sports practice. Mark was good at football but I did not get into a team. Kids like me could easily nick off but I always waited for Mark. We were allowed to get home late on Thursdays.

This particular Thursday was the last one before the term holiday. It was that day on which all the trouble started. I had had a run in with two of our year level bullies. Really minor, school boy posturing stuff. I did not give in but they had older brothers so I decided to go home early. Tomorrow was only a half day and wouldn't be a problem. Those sort of kids usually didn’t turn up at all on the last day. By next term it would have blown over. So I hopped on my bike and sped off.

Behind Mark’s house was a park with a gate in our back fence. I left my bike there and headed for the kitchen. As I opened the back door I heard Mrs D shouting angrily and Wendy's voice whimpering some sort of reply. I froze in the doorway.

“How dare you, how dare you. Yesterday you lied to me, at least twice. Today your head mistress sends a letter about you cheating and on top of that you were disgustingly rude to the prefect who caught you. I have to sign that thing and reply tomorrow. She wants me to punish you and that's just what I'm going to do, right now”.

From Wendy, “Please no, it wasn't like that, it's not my fault.....” I could tell they were in the lounge room.

Mrs D was putting the heat on. “Stop stalling Wendy. Pull your skirt up, petty coat too, go on, up higher, quick. Lie yourself over the piano stool, head right down, do it or I’ll give you extra. If you’re not quick the boys will be home and hear you get it".

Pathetic sort of wailing from Wendy.

Then "Six for lying and six for that letter. Now, pull your panties up high, high and tight.” More teary begging which I could only half hear but she must have done it.“Right, let’s get started.”

I couldn’t help it, I put my bag down in the doorway and very carefully sneaked closer. I really wanted to rub my stiffening cock. All the doors were open.

Whack, Mrs D called, “One” then another whack and “One” again.

"Oh no, please no, it hurts, no please" and so on from Wendy.

I just had to look. A quick glance past the open door. Wendy was bent over the stool alright. Head towards me, down near the floor. Her skirt and hair over her face. Mrs D had her back to me, standing level with Wendy’s head, facing towards her bum and legs. The strap was ready, up behind her back.

Whack, “Two” she said. Whack again and another, “Two.” Mrs D was rewarded with loud howls and deep sobbing. How come the count was 1-1 and 2-2.

I risked a longer look. Wendy couldn’t see me because her skirt now completely covered her head and Mrs D still facing away from me. I could not see much of Wendy's bum, only the top swell of each cheek, covered by panties. I felt safe enough to keep watching. Mrs D slowly lifted the strap, flicked it behind her back and them whacked it down,

“Three” and immediately, arm up and the same again, “Three”.

Wendy was writhing all over the stool, lots of yells and then really deep sobbing. I worked it out. Mrs D was strapping Wendy’s bum lengthways. Every count was made up of a whack along each cheek. God that was mean. Wendy was begging, yelling out how much it hurt followed by sniffling stuff like “No more, no more ohhhh please no”. Very exciting.

I pulled my head back, panting. I let 4-4 go and then watched every move of 5-5. Wendy screamed once on the first stroke and lots more after the second stroke. She was throwing herself around, legs kicking all over the place. God, Mrs D hit hard. Her whole body twisted into each whack. If only I could see the strap landing on Wendy’s pants. The end must have been on bare skin below her pants or even on her legs.

While 6 and 6 were cracking down I quickly crept out to the back door in case Mrs D took a break and looked around. I could pretend to have just arrived. Wendy screamed and again and again. There was only a short pause with continual begging and howling and then I heard the seventh pair applied. I so wanted to go and look again but my nerve failed me. I slipped through the back gate and rode away.

On the other side of the park I sat under a tree. My head was full of what I had seen and heard. I went over it, several times and it got more vivid each time. The way she swung that strap. First stepping away half a pace, arm right back so the strap dangled towards her own bottom, wooden handle clamped in her fist. That was the moment I saw the top bit of Wendy’s bottom, the swell of the two cheeks in their panties. Then Mrs D sort of uncoiled. Her arm went over, her elbow straightened, her body twisted forward. I couldn’t see the last bit but I heard the crack. I liked the way Wendy reacted instantly, how her head shot up but her face stayed hidden. I imagined the pain. I kept on seeing the two number 5 strokes. Wendy had really howled. Her screams were like nothing I had ever heard before. She kept on howling while waiting for the next pair. I had seen glimpses of her feet as she kicked madly and twisted her legs over each other.

I just sat under that tree drooling, going over all of the whacks I’d seen and imagined the rest of the 12 double hits, 24 bursts of pain. I imagined the tip of the strap biting into bare skin below the hitched up panties and right down onto her thighs. God that was a sexy thought. The whacks would have had to have landed pretty well on top of each other. That must have been pure agony. Then without me even touching myself I spurted in my pants. It took me a bit to get over that.

I went back to the house and pretended to have just come from school. There was no sign of Wendy. She must have been in her room. I listened as best I could when passing her door but there was no sound. I did not dare ask where she was in case I betrayed myself.

Boy's turn

Mark came home pretty late. We had no homework. Mrs D got us to help in the kitchen. I was itching to tell Mark about Wendy but there was no real chance. At dinner Mrs D told us that Wendy was in trouble and had been sent to bed with a piece of bread and cup of water. After dinner we played monopoly and had fruit salad and cream. Bed time was 10pm. We washed and got into pyjamas. Only then could I tell Mark all about it.

From there events moved really fast. Mark made me tell him every detail over and over again. We both had gigantically hard erections poking out the slit in our pyjama pants. We were groaning and fingering our cocks. We moved into the competitive position, standing next to each other and rubbed. It took me barely a moment and I spurted, just as Mrs D pushed open the door and stared. We had both been too distracted to hear her coming.

I think she might have seen it mid air. Her face instantly turned dark red. My cock continued to ooze. I was so embarrassed and frightened that I just wanted to laugh. Mark had let go of his cock and just stood there with it sticking out the front.

Mrs D sort of gasped and took a deep hissing breath. “I thought you boys might have been doing this sort of thing, but standing in the middle of the floor! You are pigs. You are going to ruin your whole lives and I know just what I have to do to save you from this disgusting wickedness. Never have I heard of anything so blatant. What if Wendy had seen you”?

She needed another breath. “I learnt about boys doing self abuse in college. They say it’s really difficult to break you of the habit. I was in a study group with five other girls and we spent hours doing research on how to cure boys like you, hours. You are lucky I know what has to be done before you become more damaged.” Mrs D was obviously getting angrier and angrier. She couldn’t stand still, arms waving.

She had paused for a few moments, then “I never thought I would have to do this. I know there is only one way. Tonight and for the next 9 nights I am going to beat your bottoms with a stick until they go bright red all over. It will hurt so much that every night you are going to cry yourselves to sleep. You are not going to ever want to play with yourselves again. One day you will thank me for this”. I was really scared by then and Mark looked the same. The delightful thoughts about Wendy getting the strap a distant past. Mark had managed to get his cock inside his pyjamas but could not hide the bulge where it was half up and sticking forwards.

“Don’t you dare move, either of you. I’m going to get a stick.” We saw her go past the window to the garden. She came back all too soon with a green stick, less than 2 foot long and as thick as a finger. It did not seem to flex, just hard and stiff. I thought the whippy cane at school looked a lot worse.

Mrs D did not waste any time. "Right Trevor, you're first, pants right off. Get over that stool. Bottom right on top”. The stool was an old padded chair without a back. I lay on my bare tummy with the prickly stuffing poking into me through the worn out cover. “Bottom right on top, come on.” When I didn’t move fast enough she grabbed my arms and pulled me forwards, till my shrunken cock ground over the prickles.

No more words. She just started, up high on my bum. Six on the side of my left cheek, then six on the other. It wasn’t so hard. I thought I could take a dozen like that easily. Each whack came quickly, no pause, and then again and again. Still not very hard. My first touch of panic came when she didn't stop at twelve and seemed to keep on hitting almost on the same spot. I wasn’t counting but about another twelve later it was really hurting. She was working her way down my cheeks very slowly. By half way down I was crying like a little kid and had started howling. I kicked and writhed. There must have been another 30 or more and believe me, I was begging her to stop before she got anywhere near the lower end of my bum.

When she stopped I put my hands back to hold the flaming pain and started to roll off the stool. “No you don’t, there's more to come. I have to go over you again to make sure I haven’t missed any bits down the middle.” She held my wrists together on my back and started again, hitting straight down on both cheeks. It hurt 10 times as much. A deep throbbing agony. After a few I was again screaming hopelessly. She gave me at least another dozen.

Mark’s turn next. I stood up, writhing around, holding my bum, crying my eyes out. Nothing helped, the pain just continued. I saw and heard Mark get the same but didn’t take much notice. With tears still streaming down my face I could not even see clearly. Mark howled louder than I had, maybe she hurt him worse.

Then it was over. It must have taken only seven or eight minutes in all. Pyjamas on and into bed. I cried myself to sleep.

Nine nights to go

Next morning it had stopped hurting. Bum examinations showed just a couple of faint lines. No one could have guessed how painful it had been only a few hours earlier.

We went to school for the half day before the holiday. We had good fun playing around with other kids in the afternoon. Dinner was normal followed by another game of monopoly (TV came some years later). We couldn’t tell if we should be worried about bedtime or not.

Just before 10 Mrs D went to the broom cupboard and got the stick.“Right boys, off to your room. Same as last night and I’ll add a bit with my strap if you don’t do as I say”. Wendy might still have been sore from her strapping because she had been so quiet all night but now she grinned and stared at us. Months later Mark said how she had told him how she had loved listening to us howling and begging.

In our room we didn’t even put our pyjama pants on. Mark was first that night. This time I watched closely, morbidly fascinated. She certainly wasn’t hitting really hard. The thick rod left a pink line about half an inch wide on his bum. Every line overlapped or even came right on top of the previous one. The first 6 were angled up on the outside of his left cheek, not quite reaching the top. Then she reached over and did the same on his right side. An almost untouched narrow strip was left along his bum crack. Mark had been crying since about 20 and started really howling a bit after that. She stopped just at the top of his thighs. I reckoned it had been five dozen. A couple of times Mark had put his hands back to stop her but he just got it on his knuckles till he pulled them away.

Mrs D paused a bit then. Mark tried to get up but he got held down by his wrists in the middle of his back. This lot went right on top of his bum, turning the pale strip down the middle a dark red. This lot was harder and Mark really turned it on. He screamed and struggled. He got 18 that way. Then it was my turn. I don’t remember my own details, just that it hurt more than the night before.

She did the same every night. It hurt worse each night. After 6 nights we had become so bruised that we still hurt lots from the night before. We begged and begged her to give us a break, not to hit us that night. Wendy piped up “I’ll help hold them down for you if you like”. I nearly died. Mrs D did not accept the offer but it seemed she had no problem with Wendy being interested.

We kept on begging. With the bruises I already had another whacking that night would have broken me completely in the first few seconds. “Alright.” she said finally, “but I am not letting you off scot free. Come out here in your pyjamas and you can have 6 with the strap on your hands. Tonight won't count towards the 10 nights and if you make trouble I’ll just bend you over and give you the stick anyway.” Wendy smirked, I knew what she was hoping for.

Mark and I sweated till bedtime. I could hear Wendy chatting about something. She was going to be watching. I had tears of frustration. Mark felt even worse. On top of that his prick had swollen up enough to be obvious through his pyjamas.

At 10 o'clock Mrs D yelled out to us to come to the lounge room. We went. At least we wouldn’t have to pull our pants down in front of Wendy. The strap was lying on the table and a lounge chair had been moved to the middle of the floor. And of course Wendy, watching, hands clasped, arms pressing her knees together.

“Right you boys. No stick tonight, that is if you do as I tell you. Instead I am going to make sure your hands are so hot from finger tips down that you’ll keep them above the covers and not touch anything”. She picked up the strap. “You first Mark, come here”. She made Mark stand behind the lounge chair, face left and lie his right arm and hand along the backrest. “Fingers straight, forward a bit, finger tips just poking over the edge here, hold still”. She then carefully bent the strap back under the handle so only about 8 inches of the hard leather stuck out. Nice and short for accurate aiming.

Then, just like when Wendy copped it, Mrs D turned a bit and leant back. She paused a moment, then her body twisted forwards and the arm swung down. This time I could see the last moment. Her wrist was cocked back so the wooden handle stuck up. When her arm was just above Mark's hand the wrist straightened. The strap cracked down along Mark's two middle fingers and over his palm. She sort of hit right through his hand, the srtap ending up next to her leg.

Mark cried out, tears poured out of his eyes in seconds. His fingers went into his mouth, then between his thighs. He danced around and yelled. I'd seen the headmaster cane boys on the palms but this must have been worse. Wendy stared. Stupid, but what I clearly remembered was how her pink tongue ran over her lips.

In no hurry Mrs D gave Mark a while to control himself. “Now, face the other way, left hand on top of the chair. Put those finger tips out”. Same again, a real scream. It took even longer for him to put his right hand out for its second whack. The strap came down exactly on the red line left by the first one. Mark was on his knees twisting around begging to be let off. He said he couldn’t put his hand out again.

Mrs D went to the kitchen and came back with the stick. “Now Mark, hand on the chair or you can take your pyjama pants off right here and I’ll whack your bottom like on all the other nights”. Wendy stared at Mark, lips parted, just about slavering. Then I saw that his now very soft little prick was poking out the slit of his pyjamas. Mark did make himself put is hands out, screaming his way through the next three strokes and then just kept on howling.

It was my turn. It was 100 times worse than it looked. It was like getting three cane strokes side by side all at once. The pain in my fingers was sickening, an infinite, blinding sting, worst in the tips of those two middle fingers. After a few seconds it turned into a deep throbbing agony. I think I screamed and carried on just like Mark but at least I did not have to be threatened me with the stick. The pain blurred it all. I didn't seem to notice what she was doing. I just remembered how bad it was.

After the strap on our hands it was back to the stick for another four nights. To our huge embarrassment each night Wendy offered to help hold us down but Mrs D said no. If Wendy had been allowed in she would have seen our pricks and the bit of hair in front of our balls, from in front and behind. In the last two nights I saw Wendy peak around the door but I didn’t even feel like complaining. She must have been just as fascinated seeing us half naked as we would have been watching her. It wasn't fair that I had not had such a good look at her.

I thought Mrs D had hit harder on the last 3 nights or maybe it just felt that way. I just wanted to get it over. Right then I knew I would never rub myself again.

The aftermath

After the horror of those nights life in the house simply went back to normal. I never noticed Wendy getting into trouble again and neither did we.

A few weeks later Mark and I would not have complained about some more punishment, we quite longed for the strap or a session with a stick. We got to be quite naughty on purpose but Mrs D never took the bait. I did not talk about my longing for more punishment to Mark but I think he felt the same way. I don't know if I missed the pain or the attention or the excitement of being naked in front of Mrs D. I would have let Wendy watch, no problem.

I should say that Mrs D's treatment of our 'problem' did work for a while. No masturbation at all for the next 2 weeks. Then it came back a bit. We were very cautious, chair against the shut door, no noise, no splotches on the sheets. By four weeks we were doing it most nights. One side effect was that Wendy was often a part of our fantasies. We would tell each other how we caned her, hard enough to make her scream.

When our parents retuned nothing was ever said to them.

Maybe a year later, when thinking about my sexual state, I realised that my fantasies had became progressively more violent from that time on. Mainly about how kids got punished with a cane or strap. Sharp, excessive punishments, 20 cuts at least, sometimes deserved, sometimes not. All resistance got broken and then the kid would get twice as much again. Usually bare bottomed or naked, needing to be held or tied down, sometimes in front of other people. Wendy was often the recipient. Overall about 70% of my fantasies used girls, 20% boys and 10% was me. Sometimes I did the whipping but often it was some imagined person in authority and when they ended I'd ask them to put on another 10. Family members were never involved but friends, others from school or later from work or someone I just made up all made good victims.

My infatuation has continued to this day. I could not help daydreaming and wasted many hours but still managed to get on pretty well.

Thus life has gone on. With me, CP has always been entirely a fantasy. Apart from getting the cane at school a few more times I have not had any sort of corporal punishment ever again. More importantly I have never ever hit anyone with a cane or anything else. Maybe this has been the result of lack of opportunity rather than virtue. I always felt a total inhibition about hitting my own children while dreams of whipping 10 or 20 strokes into a fantasy victim was a joy.

How did this really start. Was I made that way, a sort of freak set of genetics, or was it all induced by my early life, mother's wooden spoon, the school punishment or Mrs D. The pain I had from Mrs D was far greater than all other punishments put together. Maybe masturbating together with Mark somehow amplified the impact on me. A drug addiction must be similar. I have never understood it, I cannot explain it. It seems I have always been like this. All the same, I have survived well.

Trevor