Fiona’s Punishment

This happened when my wife was a fairly inexperienced
nurse in a private hospital in England where we live.
She had been acting up in a senior role and was in
charge of a number of patients, Fiona was enjoying her
opportunity to show how well she could cope with more
responsibility and we were hoping it would lead to
promotion and more money, something we desperately
needed as my then fledgling business was barely breaking
even.

One night after a particularly busy shift she came home
and burst into tears. Sobbing she told me she’d done
about the worst thing she could have done, and given the
wrong drugs to a middle aged woman. The patient had
reacted badly and emergency measures had had to be taken
to remedy the situation. It had been a very tense
evening and the woman’s husband had been called in to be
at her bedside. He of course had been extremely anxious
and then, very angry.

The hospital reprimanded my wife but let her carry on
acting up as she had been, but said if the patient made
a formal complaint and took the matter further, then my
wife’s position and her very job were at stake. We had
an incredibly nervous few weeks. The patient was
discharged and we hoped nothing more would be said.
Sadly that wasn’t to be the case and we were faced with
a very difficult situation.

A few days later my wife again broke down in tears when
she returned home from work. Her senior manager had told
her that the patient’s husband was threatening legal
action and wanted to make a formal complaint. It was up
to my wife to write a groveling letter of apology and
try to persuade him otherwise. She was totally
distraught and was in no position to put together such a
letter, so I offered to do it for her, and asked her to
give me all the details of what happened.

It was an easy, if not bad mistake to have made, but
nonetheless I wrote on her behalf, a detailed account of
what had happened and pointed out her good service,
dedication and so on. I also explained that I was her
husband and she was so distressed she couldn’t write the
letter herself. I asked if there was anything she could
do to make amends and persuade the patient and her
husband from continuing with their action.

The hospital passed on a reply from the patient’s
husband a few days later. It simply invited her or us to
call him to discuss the matter. My wife was again unable
to bring herself to do this so I picked up the phone.

He was a stern sounding elderly man who said his wife,
the patient, was possibly prepared to forget the
incident, but, he said, it shouldn’t go unpunished, and
whilst he accepted they didn’t want to ruin my wife’s
career, she needed to be taught a lesson.

I asked what he had in mind. He said in his opinion my
wife should be punished in an “old fashioned way”. He
said he would drop the matter if she would accept being
caned. Now this both shocked and excited me. The idea of
my shy, pretty wife being punished like this gave me an
erection, and it also gave us a way out of a dire
situation. I said I would get back to him.

That evening I dropped the bombshell to Fiona, telling
her I’d spoken to the patient’s husband and the deal
was, if he could give her a caning they would forget the
matter entirely. She gasped, stood up and said “no way,
not a chance”. I took her hand and explained that the
alternative would be awful. She may have even lost her
job.

After a few minutes she asked how and where it would
happen and would I be with her. I said I’d call the
patient’s husband back to discuss it. He sounded pleased
when I said Fiona was considering accepting his
punishment, and feeling very guilty and very excited, I
said to him “I suppose she will have to strip naked for
this?” He replied.

“of course!” He told me his wife wouldn’t be present for
the caning but would meet us first to accept Fiona’s
apology and then allow the punishment to proceed. She
would also hand over a letter to Fiona to give to the
hospital stating that no further action would be taken.
We agreed a time and date and agreed to come to the
patient’s house.

The next week passed slowly with neither of us talking
about the forthcoming meeting and Fiona’s impending
caning. Until that is, the day arrived. It was a
Saturday, and after lunch, Fiona went to have a shower
to get changed for the meeting which was to be at four
o’clock that afternoon. I told her the patient’s husband
had requested she wear her nurse’s uniform as it was a
professional matter.

She was surprised, but nodded and came out of our room
dressed as if for work. We drove to the patient’s house,
some thirty five miles away. It was a large Victorian
villa, set back from the road with an established, neat
garden. We parked on the street outside and walked up
the drive. The door was old and foreboding.

Fiona was shaking and holding my hand as I rang the
bell. After a few moments which seemed like house the
door opened, it was the patient. She nodded and beckoned
to us to come in. Fiona immediately started to blurt out
an apology to which the woman told her to be quiet. She
said she’d read out letter and understood how easily the
mistake had been made, however she agreed with her
husband that Fiona should be disciplined.

She took our coats and placed them on a table in the
hallway, on top of that she put a letter addressed to
the hospital’s Director of Patient Care. She told us
that after this afternoon, it would be the end of the
matter. She then showed us into her husband’s study and
told us to wait.

What seemed like hours went by although it was only ten
minutes. Neither of us spoke. The study had a large old
desk with a chair, and a leather settee, behind which
were rows of books on built in book cases which lined
the wall. Paintings and photographs hung on the other
walls, and a fire burned slowly in the fireplace. Coal
glowing with smoke rising up the chimney. Then the door
opened and he came in.

I felt my wife’s hand tense up and knew she was fighting
a desperate desire to just walk out and run, but I held
it firmly and whispered that it would be ok and would be
over soon.

“Stand up when I come in!” Shouted the patient’s husband
as he closed the door behind him.

“So you’ve come here for your punishment young lady, and
rightly so.”

He lectured Fiona for five minutes and told her, and me
to just be quiet and listen.

He told her that she would be given twelve strokes with
the cane, naked. She started to shake and began sobbing
quietly. He explained that humiliation was part of the
punishment and his wife was to witnesses the first part
of the proceedings. He opened the door and she walked in
and stood by his side.

“Nurse” he instructed my wife. “You will now take off
your uniform, and shoes.

I pushed my wife and she got up shaking. She couldn’t
undo the poppers on her uniform and was sobbing even
more loudly. I stood up and offered to help. He nodded.

I undid her uniform and pulled it to the floor. She
stood there in matching bra and knickers with tights
over the top.

“Now for the underwear, you need to be naked nurse.”

I pulled off her tights and knickers, and she stepped
out of them.

“Not my bra as well,” she pleaded, but it was ignored. I
unclipped her bra and he 34B breasts were exposed. He
nipples grew in the chill of the room. I stepped away.

“Hands on your head!” He barked. And she complied.

His wife. The patient, spoke, “You will now feel the
force of my husband’s cane. I have on many occasions. I
will leave you to your fate.” She left, closing the door
behind her.

“Bend of the back of that settee nurse!” he instructed
and she did. He pointed to a tub of baby lotion on his
desk and told me to apply it to her buttocks to reduce
the marks from the cane which would follow. As I put
some on my hands he came very close and watched. With my
wife bending over and sobbing, I rubbed the cream into
her buttocks, deliberately opening them so he could see
her vagina and anus. He smiled. Then unable to resist he
grabbed one of my wife’s hanging breasts and squeezed
it.

“Very firm” he said, and then added: “Now for your
caning. You will count the strokes”. He picked up a thin
cane from the side of his desk and instructed me to hold
my wife’s hands to keep her still. I did. She was
sobbing loudly now.

Then came the first swish, she yelped and shouted “one!”

The others followed with my poor wife squirming and
crying, her breasts swinging from side to side.

After the last, red marks glowed on her exposed
buttocks. He put down the cane and said:

“Stay still, I have some soothing cream for you.” With
that he took a tub of cream from his desk top and
liberally put it on his hands. He then rubbed it into to
my wife’s bottom, she winced and then jumped whispering
to me:

“He’s fingering me!”

I whispered back to ignore it, as it would be over soon.
My erection was straining against my trousers and I
wanted nothing more than to fuck her there and then but
couldn’t. Then the wife came back into the room to see
the result of her husband’s cane. My poor Fiona was told
to stand up, hands on head whilst the couple surveyed
her body. Then we were told to leave, letter in hand.

We never talk about the events of that day, but now,
even thirty years later, I always get an erection when
thinking about it.

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