That day, I came in the front door, called out: "Hallo, dear" and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. There is a doorway through to the lounge and I heard Julie, Mrs T, whose tones are not always soft, say:

'He's jerking off".

I shouted "Hallo, dear", again and there was a short embarrassed silence.

Then Mrs T called "come in here, darling", and I went through to find her sitting with her friend Wendy, either side of a bottle of prosseco on the coffee table.

My wife was wearing her usual jeans and sweater. She only dresses up for special occasions. The ladies tend to come to her for advice - she has been a nurse and now she is a school counsellor. Whether that is relevant to any of the advice she gives her friends I don't know.

Wendy is always immaculate, heels, stockings, tailored skirt or dress. Today: tight black skirt just above the knee, matching jacket, white blouse and . . . slightly streaked mascara, as if she had been crying. She isn't normally the crying kind; I find her quite intimidating, although she is very good looking in a dark, severe way.

"Would you mind", said Mrs T to Wendy, "If I shared your problem with Pete?"

She turned to me without waiting for a reply.

"Mike hasn't been having sex with her. He says he's too tired. She accused him of having an affair. He denies it. What do you think?"

I put on a thoughtful expression. Mrs T turned back to Wendy.

"You see? He knows. He's jerking off".

I smiled, as one who knows. I was actually thinking he was probably scared of her.

"Well, that's no help", said Wendy tartly, but still on the edge of tears. "What do I do?'

"Take a lover?" I suggested, getting a withering look from them both.

"Do you mind ", said Julie, after she had finished glaring at me, " if we share our own arrangements with Wendy?"

My first reaction was that I did. But, hey, go with the flow. I shook my head.

"Good", she said. "Just drop your pants".

"And your shorts", she added, after I had obeyed.

I smiled - inwardly - at the expression on Wendy's face.

"What in heavens name is that?" she demanded.

"A cock cage", said Mrs T.

Wendy leant forward and stared intently at my imprisoned penis. It is a metal cage with open bars - my penis is perfectly visible but not accessible.

"Why does it stay on?" She looked closer. "There's a ring round his . . ." she hesitated.

"Round his cock and balls", said Julie sweetly. "The cage is locked to it".

"Couldn't he get out of it?" Wendy asked.

"It would be a struggle. And he certainly wouldn't be able to get back into it".

"Would he want to?"

"He wouldn't want me to know", said Julie.

"Actually I can't", I said. "Not that I've tried, of course", I added hastily.

Wendy had a hold of the cage and was turning it slightly.

"Really?" said Julie. "Surely if you can get the ring on you can get it off?"

Fancy her not realising why after all this time.

" The - ahem - testicles are outside the cage. They're held in quite a small gap".

I much prefer "penis" and "testicles" to "cock" and "balls". Julie knows this.

Now both ladies were holding the cage and peering at it.

"So they are", said Julie. "You know, I never thought of that".

I suddenly became aware of what was going on and felt a surge of embarrassment.

"Ladies, please".

Wendy jerked her hand back as if she had been shocked. Julie let go and I waited for permission to pull my shorts back up. It's a rule.

"Sorry, get dressed", said Wendy. She has a very bossy voice.

"Yes, pull them up", said Julie, remembering. It is one of her rules, after all.

Although I don't think there has ever been a third party involved before.

"Wait a minute", Wendy said. "Let me see how it comes on and off".

I pulled my shorts up anyway. I only need permission from Julie, who looked at me a little worried.

"How do you feel about that?"

I hesitated.

Julie also hesitated.

"We've never broken the rules", she said.

"What are you two talking about?" demanded Wendy.

Julie turned to her.

"The thing is, I don't just take it off. We have some rules. One of us has to ask for it to come off. That one has to pay a forfeit".

She looked back at me.

"Up to you", she said.

I nearly said no but - what the hell.

"All right. Please take it off".

"Never tell anyone about this", said Julie to Wendy.

"Of course not".

"Go and get ready", Julie said to me. She turned to Wendy again. "We'll have some more wine. You'll enjoy this".

I went upstairs, stripped to my shorts and put on my housecoat. As I came back downstairs I heard the girls chatting and giggling and when I went I in found that Wendy was helping Julie put the spanking bench together.

It's a very discreet thing, in full view all the time but looking like two leather-topped stools and an occasional table. The stools are attached by brackets to the table legs and clips for straps screw into the inside of the table and stool legs. Wendy was just putting a leather cushion from the settee on top of the table - it was now a fully upholstered spanking bench in ash and black leather.

I could see the open bottle of wine and a half empty glass beside each chair. This didn't look good.

The ladies sat down and Julie said.

"Get the book out, please, Pete".

I went the little corner cupboard and pulled the blue book out from under the pink book that was lying on top it, walked over and handed it to Julie.

"Good", she said. "Corner, please".

I took off the housecoat, folded it and put it on the settee. Then I went to the corner by the window, dropped my shorts to me knees and put my hands on my head. Wendy is getting an eyeful today, I thought.

As if on cue she said: "Oh, very nice".

"Yes, he has a cute ass", Julie replied

I prefer "bottom" to "ass". Julie knows this.

Of course I am not supposed to look round when I am in the corner. I could hear the pages of the book turning.

"Hmm", came Julie's voice. "Nine offences. One, two . . . three caning offences. Caning it is".

"What were they?" I asked. This is allowed.

"Car low on petrol, no dry white wine and refusing sex".

"When did I refuse sex?"

"Wednesday, when you had been out for drinks with Mike and your other friends"'

Could be true, I thought.

''And, oh dear, it's a penalty day. Two days early is two points and three caning offences is nine. Over the ten limit, young man".

"What does that mean?" asked Wendy.

"Just punishment. No sex. If you'd come round tomorrow the cage could have stayed off tonight. So, young man, butt in the air, please".

I much prefer "bottom" to "butt".

I kicked my shorts off, knelt down with one leg on each stool and stretched out over the table. Wendy giggled - I had never seen the giggly side of her before. In this position my bottom is indeed in the air, not too tightly bent but so that the lower curves will get the attention

"Do the leg straps for me, darling", Julie said, as she strapped my wrists to the table legs and tightened the strap over my back. Wendy fumbled a bit with the straps at knees and ankles; while that was going on I heard Julie go to the taller corner cupboard, a rattle as she took something out, then a swish.

"Dear, are you really going to beat him with that?" asked Wendy.

"Three strokes per offence. Rounded up to thirty"

I could just see the legs - black seamed stockings: Wendy standing right behind and jeans: Julie to my right.

"First one then", said Julie.

The swish was very short. This means the cane is going fast but it isn't much warning. The smack is not loud. The sting was right across the middle of my behind and made me gasp. Julie paused - she likes to draw it out. After each stroke the burning sensation takes a few moments to mount to a peak.

"It makes a long red line, doesn't it?", said Wendy , with a little squeak in her voice.

"First of many. Now for some fun - I'm going to try and put five more on that".

A tap on the stinging line and the second landed directly on it. Whether it hurt more than the first - hard to say.

"There. You can hardly see there are two", said Julie with satisfaction.

The third went a little lower but the fourth and fifth were exactly on the same spot. No doubt about the pain this time: the fifth made me yell.

"Now, I'm just going to fill in that little white band between those marks" Julie told Wendy.

A tap, a swish, the sting, the pause.

"Oh, yes, very tidy. Look, just half an inch wide".

The legs were close now as they inspected Julie's handiwork.

"Are you really going to beat him more?"

"Oh, yes. I can't leave all that white unmarked. So, one upper mark . . ." - a swish to the top of my buttocks which is less fleshy and which I think hurts more - "and one lower", - just on the crease where my legs start.

"Now to fill them in. Seven, so far, isn't it?"

As there are penalty strokes for all dissent I kept quiet. And duly received eight scorching strokes between the upper mark and the sore line across the middle of my bottom.

"Glass of wine?" said Julie. "We can sit down and let him contemplate the next fifteen.

They both sat down where they could see my welted bottom and made comments about which bits were red and which were going purple. I made the most of the respite.

"Now then", said Julie, springing to her feet.

The next fifteen went on the lower curves under the original six. The trouble with the respite was that I found myself hoping the rest wouldn't be as bad: in fact Julie was giving it her full attention, not pausing very long and grunting like a tennis player with the effort. After the first five I realised she was going to make me cry. I couldn't help sobbing during the last ten and as she put all her strength into the last - back on to the sorest part - I was howling through the tears.

I don't know how long it was before they undid me. They were drinking wine and chatting, mainly about Mike and what to do about him. I was just happy to be left alone for a bit.

Then Julie said:

"Dear me, let's not forget why we're doing this. You want to see his cage off. You undo the legs, I'll do the rest".

Released, I stood shakily and, the pain subsiding, my embarrassment, forgotten during the caning, increased. I had never stood naked, in a penis cage and with a welted bottom, in front of anyone but Julie before.

Julie went to the small corner cupboard and took out the handcuffs.

"Hands behind", she said. I obeyed and was duly cuffed.

She took the chain from around her neck. The key had been dangling down behind her sweater, between the two silver bells that make up the necklace.

"I thought that was a charm", said Wendy.

"It is".

She undid the cage, eased it off the pins and my penis and showed it to Wendy.

"It's an integral lock, you see. We've got one with a padlock but it chinked when he walked about".

Wendy was staring at my penis with great interest.

"How does the ring come off?"

"It usually stays on. If it has to come off he does it. Let me see".

She gave it a tug. It stayed in place.

"You need to pull the penis out first", I said. "The rest comes out easily. Getting it on is harder - lubrication and massage".

"Well, we won't bother with that, then", said Julie hastily. "Let's get this back on".

She had no difficulty with that - lots of practice - then let me out of the handcuffs.

"There, that looks so much better, doesn't it? Balls nice and tight and no dangly bits."

Wendy was still staring.

"I'm not sure how to get Mike into one", she said. "Especially if he has to do it himself".

"I'll tell you a few tricks. Let's walk back to your place and leave this miscreant to ponder his misdeeds and his sore ass".

Left to myself I put on my housecoat, picked up the blue book, took the pink book out of the corner cupboard and sat down carefully.

I had a look at the offences page at the back of the blue book. As I suspected, leaving the car low on petrol was a slipper offence, not a caning offence. So it was not a penalty day. I should have been left released.

I turned to the pink book. It has a different list of offences at the back agreed, like mine, over time. I wondered what false punishment came under. At the top of the list, as on mine: "Undermining the integrity of the programme". A caning offence.

I turned to Julie's week page and wrote it in, following it with: use of vulgar words for body parts and overly casual dress. One young lady had something to look forward to.