Singapore Sting (M/F, semi consensual, humiliation)
by
Alex Birch


    Dear God, I will be anonymous here, won't I?  My husband and family will
never find out?  Very well I certainly need to open my heart to someone or
I'll bottle up my guilt and shame inside.  I'm 42 years old, married and
with a young son who has just started at Cambridge and until six months ago,
we had been living for two years in Singapore where my husband held a post
of lecturer.  Sadly, after six months in Singapore my husband was stricken
with ME and was unable to work.  We had a mortgage, there was his contract
to negotiate around and our son was studying for his A levels.  The money
worries were immense and I began to look in the Straits Times for work I
could do, for I have a degree in languages.

    To my delight I eventually found an advertisement from a Singaporean
importer of French and German farm equipment asking for language experts
with a technical background who could translate the accompanying
instructions into English.  I applied, lying dreadfully about my technical
background, and was duly interviewed in the sumptuous lounge of the man's
home.  He was perhaps thirty five, very charming and business like, with a
very strong, almost overwhelming, personality.  I had noticed how his
maidservants scurried to do his bidding and felt myself blushing with a
strange conflict of feelings particularly when he quite unashamedly looked
my body up and down with undisguised pleasure.  I have kept myself in shape
and for a woman of my age I am quite proud of my full figure.  To my delight
I got the post at a very good salary and was told to read the contract
carefully, sign it then report to his home every Monday and Thursday to hand
in completed work and to collect fresh.

    My first task was a 4000 word technical handbook in German and I
realised when I started how much I'd bitten off and had to guess at some of
the more technical expressions.  I handed the work in on the Thursday,
collected more and the following Monday I called at his house once more.  I
was told, to my surprise, that my employer required to see me upstairs in
his study.  A little apprehensive about going upstairs in a man's house, I
knocked on his study door and was told to enter.  He was walking round the
small room which contained just two chairs and a desk, clearly in a state of
some annoyance.  I was told abruptly to sit down and then he looked down
angrily at me.  He told me there were some fifty technical errors in my
translation, minor ones in themselves but enough to invalidate the handbook
and render some of it positively dangerous.  He accused me of lying about my
technical background and, by now close to tears, I admitted it and
apologised profusely.

    To my distress, he told me apologies were not enough and he would have
to invoke the reparation clause in my contract.  I was devastated, as if the
money worries I already had were not enough, and I pleaded with him to
reconsider.  At this point, he stilled my pleas and said he was aware of my
husband's plight and our financial situation thus he had no intention of
demanding money.  Instead, he continued as if it was the most natural thing
in the world, he would extract due reparation by the application of a cane
across my bottom!

    I heard what he said but I couldn't take it in.  At first I thought I'd
misheard and the room seemed to go round as I grabbed the seat of the chair.
I felt the blood drain from my face and hands in total shock as I must have
just stared open mouthed like an idiot for some seconds.  Then realisation
dawned, the blood rushed into my face and I became completely hysterical.
Crying and almost retching with disgust and humiliation, I got out of the
chair waving my arms around and calling him the most unladylike things,
almost anything I could think of, all the time almost squealing in
hysterical rage as my pride and my dignity rebelled at the very idea.  A
respectable and mature married businesswoman with a young son, asked to
accept the cane across her bottom for poor performance like some naughty
school girl of old.  It was beyond comprehension!

    He just stood there casually as the storm raged and, of course,
eventually it died out and I collapsed into the chair crying and shaking
with no strength in my legs.  My employer seemd not a whit perturbed by my
outburst and offered me a glass of sherry, which I angrily refused.  When I
had calmed down he said that, my being English, he had expected such an
initial reaction as western women had ideas above their station.  He told me
that his Asian staff were far more resigned to corporal punishment for
mistakes and that his three maids were caned regularly.  He added that he
had employed three English girls previously as translators, most staying
with him two years or more, and to each he had offered the choice between
canings for serious errors and dismissal.  All of them, he said with a grin,
had accepted the canings.  I shrieked out to him that I was NOT a girl but a
respectable married woman who was some years his senior.  He told me that
age was of no consequence and that if a healthy woman of any age committed
serious indiscretions she should be punished with the cane.

     I sat there shaking and weeping with disbelief, shame and a whole
spectrum of emotions as he stared at me, not unkindly.  He told me I had
thirty minutes to decide and to go back to the lounge where the maid would
get me some tea.  In that time I could leave and never return, throwing away
a good and lucrative contract, or I could come back upstairs and knock on
his door.

    I tottered downstairs and collapsed into a chair, my mind a confused
jumble of signals.  Twice, three times I got up to leave and then I thought
of my husband and son reliant on my income and I sat down again, ashamed of
my own indecision.  Then other thoughts took over as I imagined myself bent
over the desk with my skirt up and somehow my husband and son were there
looking on in horror.  I beat my head in my hands and walked around the room
thinking of the options and suddenly realised there were no options.  I had
a good well paid job, I had lied about my technical expertise which my
employer appeared prepared to tolerate if I accepted his humiliating and
painful interpretation of due reparation, and what was ten or fifteen
minutes humiliation when our livelihoods were at stake?.  I just prayed to
God that nobody ever found out.

    The shame and degradation as I walked back upstairs was now largely
replaced by my fear of the cane.  I'd never been physically punished in any
way and I'd heard the cane was dreadful.  How much protection would I have
on?  How many strokes would I get?  He hadn't said but...  I realised I had
reached the study and with trembling legs and a thumping heart, I knocked on
the door.

    As I walked in I froze, for he must have heard me climb the stairs and
prepared himself, for in his hands was a 3ft long rattan cane which he
swished twice in front of my terrified eyes.  All my hysteria was gone and
most of my rage, my mind full now of the enormous sacrifice of my dignity I
had agreed to make for the sake of my job.  He told me he was glad I'd made
the right choice then motioned me over to the desk and told me to face the
study window.  I began to tremble and weep again now as the terrible moment
approached, but he quietly told me to take off my jacket and hang it on the
chair which I did quickly.

    Then he ordered me to take my skirt off.  I hadn't expected that and I
gasped with some apprehension but obeyed with trembling fingers and folded
it over the chair.  Below the waist I was just wearing a half slip and my
black panties, Singapore being far too humid for stockings or tights.  He
ordered me to remove the slip and this time I half protested for although
only thin it offered some protection as my panties were extremely brief
revealing most of my very ample bottom cheeks.  Apart from the embarrassment
of bending over in just my knickers, I knew the cane would be striking
completely unprotected bottom.  He would not listen and repeated his
instruction to remove my slip.  I did so, red faced and weeping once more,
standing in front of his desk in blouse and brief black panties knowing his
eager eyes were on my plump bottom cheeks, so bare and visible.

    I waited for the instruction to bend over his desk but instead, to my
utter shock, he ordered me to take off my panties!  At this I half turned in
disbelief, my face crimson and my mouth open in protest but no words came
out.  Instead I just cried in shame.  It's incredible how a brief space of
time and the removal of clothing can effect the change between a self
confident businesswoman and a humiliated submissive but I seemed powerless
to protest or pick up my clothes and walk out.  He simply said "In my
country women are caned on the bare bottom.  Humiliation is part of the
punishment.  Now hurry up and obey!"

    Trembling and crying I pulled my panties down and stepped out of them.
Completely naked below the waist now and facing him, I was ridiculously and
shamefully aware of the thick mass of dark pubic hair which I was now
presenting to his gaze.  Turning back and shaking uncontrollably, I stood
facing the window before he told me to bend low over his desk, gripping the
far edge securely.  I hurried to obey, desperate now to get this over with,
my bare bottom now thrust up in a humiliating posture but he wasn't
satisfied.  He told me to get my legs apart and to bend lower.  I was
weeping bitter tears now for it was clear that to his oriental mind,
absolute degradation was to be the order of the day.  There was no point in
protesting for the point of objections had long since passed.  I bent lower
and spread my legs very wide so that I could achieve his obvious objective
that I display my vagina and anus throughout the caning, the sudden delusion
that my husband and son were present witnessing all this again filling my
mind as I wept in despair..

    I steeled myself, gripping the desk very hard as I heard him take a step
back then I sensed him raise the cane high and then, with a sickening
impact, the first stroke struck the centre of my bare buttocks.  All
thoughts of shame and modesty were temporarily driven from my mind as my
body responded to the most agonising sensation I had ever experienced.  A
white hot burn scorched my buttocks and the pain began to spread through
every nerve ending in my backside.  I felt as if a red hot iron had been
placed on my bottom.  I almost shot upright, but his firm hand on my back
pushed me down and he warned me that if I got up it would mean extra
strokes.  He waited thirty seconds before delivering the second, slightly
lower and again with tremendous force which had me screaming in pain but
somehow I held my position.  Strokes three and four followed rapidly and
somehow didn't seem so bad yet the afterburn caused me to writhe and wriggle
across the desk, my lewd and obscene display being even more graphic.

    After the first four strokes his firm hands began to rub my bottom, his
fingers tracing the weals in my skin and his palms massaging my buttocks
very thoroughly.  I know now that this was to prevent 'numb bum' and was to
ensure that I felt the rest of the strokes as keenly as the first but to my
shame and horror I began to realise it was turning me on.  As a result of my
poor husband's illness I had not had sex for over six months and like a
dutiful married woman had tried to suppress my need for it but my God, in
this awful, humiliating environment the signals were becoming unmistakeable.
It's probably no great surprise that any woman lying naked over a table with
her vagina and anus on display and with an attractive man massaging her bare
buttocks should feel like this but to so unwillingly and so visibly
surrender in these circumstances was grossly humiliating.  I cried bitterly
for my shame was compounded by the realisation that my sexual arousal must
be visibly obvious to him.  His palpation of my buttocks continued as I
writhed and moaned in a now ill disguised sexual choreograph.

    As I lay there trembling under his ministrations, I began to believe I
was in some sort of a dream fantasy and that soon I would wake up.  Here I
was a 42 year old housewife and mother whose formative years had been free
of any physical correction, who was married to a dear, gentle man who would
never dream of laying a hand on me.  A woman indeed who had reached an age
of maturity which presumed respect and which should preclude even the
thought of such debasement.  Yet I lay here in the study of virtually a
stranger, bent over degradingly and submissively offering my bare bottom to
his cane.  I began to sob once more at the thought of how humiliating this
was and what would happen if my husband or son ever found out.  Perhaps
worst of all was the shame of his knowing that I was becoming aroused by all
this and how much I desperately needed sexual relief.

    My reverie was interrupted as he stepped back and whipped the cane in
twice more across the lower slopes of my bottom as I screamed in pain and
writhed across the desk.  He left me for two or three minutes bent over the
desk in that lewd and degrading position as he studied his handiwork and,
presumably, the obviously engorged state of my labia.  He made no comment
nor did he make any attempt to interfere with me sexually.  This just seemed
to be a further punishment in my emotionally and sexually disturbed state
for it must have been obvious that I was absolutely desperate for a man's
penis and would have offered no resistance whatsoever.  I longed to scream
out for him to fuck me but instead I hung my head and cried in utter
degradation.

    Abruptly he announced that the punishment was over and that he had been
lenient as it was my first time.  He told me that on future occasions he
would be more severe.  Then he told me where the bathroom was and said I
could go and freshen up before taking the work away for next time.  I could
hardly look at his face for I was crimson with shame and humiliation as I
tottered on unsteady legs, half naked and carrying my clothes, to his
bathroom.  I first sat on the toilet, painful though it was, and masturbated
vigorously, soon bringing myself off in a glorious shuddering climax which
left me in tears.

    Before I showered and got dressed, I stared at my caned bottom in the
bathroom mirror and was astonished.  Six neatly laid thick red weals stood
proudly above the white skin of my buttocks, the stripes already turning a
fine purple shade.  The caning had been very painful but I was forced to
admit that it had also been incredibly sexually stimulating in a way I would
never have believed and I knew at that moment I was hooked.  I knew it would
take two weeks before those bruises went down and I resolved to be very
careful about exposing my bottom in the presence of my husband for at least
that period.

    After that the procedure became familiar to me and for the rest of my 12
month contract, he caned me perhaps once a month, the strokes now a minimum
of twelve increasing to a maximum of twenty four for serious indiscretions.
The only difference after the first time was that I was ordered to strip
completely naked for the cane which, strangely after that initial exposure,
I didn't mind and in fact I loved the feel of the cold teak of his desk
against my bare breasts as the cane thrashed my buttocks.  I only wished he
would complete the experience by fucking me but he never did and, in fact,
always caned me with clinical objectivity.

    Now we are back in England and my dear husband has made a considerable
recovery, indeed he has been able to begin teaching again and has recovered
some of his sexual urge but I have been left feeling empty and desperate as
a result of my belated awakening to corporal punishment and find that in
order to be in the mood for sex, I desperately need a good dose of the cane
at regular intervals.  I cannot tell my husband about this for he would be
shocked and distressed so I have written to contact magazines to find
willing partners but it is difficult to meet without attracting suspicion
and so far my experiences have been unsatisfactory.

END