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Then

"You're not crazy," George said.

Turning over her two pages of notes, he read more of her misdeeds on the back.

Sarah dropped her shoulders. Explaining her need for forgiveness for her long list of crimes, she'd worried how he'd take her request. She'd sat on her list for several days, mulling over how to approach him, but there was only the direct way.

In his front room, she perched on the couch with her back to the window and watched him scrutinize her admissions of guilt.

"I'd like to ask you about some of these."

"Of course." She was glad he'd asked. Having written them down, she needed to talk about them.

"Didn't anyone see you take food from their trolley?"

"Parents were the softest targets because they have so much distraction. Even if they saw me a moment later, they'd just assume it was my milk or bread. I strolled with confidence."

"How long did the milk last?"

"I made it last the whole day, but no longer. I couldn't keep it with me in the shelter overnight. Someone might realize I'd stolen it and I didn't want them to kick me out."

"I doubt they would have booted you out."

"I couldn't chance it."

"This makes me sad," he said, smoothing the pages on his knee, "very sad."

"Don't be," she said. "I did what I had to do in the full knowledge it was wrong. I stole and I'm prepared to be punished for it."

"Looking at this list, I'm unsure how to deal with you. I will discipline you, I promise. Could you leave it with me for a few days so I can give it proper thought?"

She smiled. 'Proper thought' sounded like what her list deserved.

She sailed the mop across the wooden floor inside her front door. It took the most mopping. Dirt fell from her sneakers when she'd been in the backyard. Conscientious about cleanliness, she brought order to her days, and the perfection delighted her. George had given her this space, and its upkeep was a point of intense pride. She'd ordered herself a comprehensive collection of cleaning products and tools, and deployed them every day to keep the apartment immaculate.

Her phone beeped. Curious because it almost never made a sound, she examined it and touched the messages icon. It was from George.

She'd learned patience on the streets. When he'd asked for time, she'd been fine to wait. Her list wasn't going anywhere, and she had her entire apartment to clean. He'd taken three days to consider her crimes. She was thankful he'd given her problem such respect.

George had feared he was an old fool. Chatting to Sarah when she'd finished her lunch at the Fellowship Church had brought unexpected, insightful intelligence back into his life. He missed Betty. Considering himself a foolish old man, he'd contemplated the vacant apartment downstairs for weeks. Unable to escape the simple logic, he'd come out with it during one of their conversations. Having raised it, he couldn't see her spend another freezing night on the streets.

She'd asked what he expected in return. Her forceful challenge had required him to explain his loneliness, to assure her his intentions were honorable. Her vibrant presence had made him ten years younger, maybe more. He felt sure Betty would approve of what he'd done. Selfish and charitable, neither had been the sole reason.

When Sarah had blown up over their chess game, the negativity had ruptured his pleasant existence, and landed him right back with a girl in her twenties. This time he'd known what to do and hadn't hesitated. He imagined Betty smiling down on him. The firmness he'd brought in to their marriage had strengthened their dynamic and transformed them. The female nature was obedient and their passion for independence had never needed to conflict. But natural obedience had been a casualty of the demand for female empowerment. Sarah's request was the ultimate empowerment. In all their years, Betty had sought punishment maybe ten times.

Reading Sarah's four sides of crime, his heart had hurt. To choose the streets, her home life must have been unimaginable. She never spoke about it, and he never asked. Watching her come alive proved the value in his decision. The apartment, and his life, burst with warmth and enthusiasm once more.

Having introduced Sarah to the power of strict discipline, he must never let her down. He'd provided a firm hand and had to deliver it with consistency. Her list of crimes was so long, it presented a serious escalation he'd never had to confront, but her request for forgiveness had torn into him and required action.

There wasn't a simple solution. But he had a plan. It wasn't something they could discuss. He must sentence her to the punishment she deserved and needed. It was the only approach that worked. He and Betty had discovered there could be no debate. His authority had to be absolute, absolute, but fair.

She went upstairs and found him in an armchair in his front room.

"Do you want to discuss your list now?" he asked.

Entering the room, she nodded. It was all she wanted to do. She'd expected a tough afternoon. If he punished her for each item on her list, it would take days, but if that's what he decided was right, she'd steel herself to take it. Throwing herself on his mercy had relieved her of control. Her guilt was still present, but felt lighter with his support.

She sat on the couch as he went over to the bookshelf, opened a book near the end, and extracted her list from under the cover. She appreciated his discretion, even though there weren't many visitors to the house.

Sitting again, he said, "These are all crimes which deserve punishment."

She breathed in and let it out. If he adopted that tone with all of her crimes, she'd be the most punished girl in history. Maybe she deserved to be.

"In most cases, you don't know your victim. I considered sending you back to pay for the black jumper from that store, but it was a while ago and it might cause trouble."

She hadn't contemplated real restitution to her victims. Being hauled into the store and forced to pay might get her arrested. But the justness of the concept still held some appeal.

"I'd like to take one event in particular and discuss it," he said.

"Which one?" she asked.

"Where you broke into that house and stole the milk, cheese, bread and cake."

She remembered the half-open window. She'd contemplated it from a distance for a full ten minutes, but hunger had driven her forward. Gaining two whole days of food, she'd stayed under her bridge, the food worth more than a warm night.

"You know where the house was."

Forewarned, her mind made the leap. "Will you make me go back there?"

"Yes," he said. "I'll come with you, and if they're not nice to you, we'll leave. But you must apologize, explain, and pay for the food. The experience will be grueling, but I expect you to face up to your crime and accept their judgment."

"Can't you just strap me?"

"No," he said, giving her a stern look. "A sore bottom isn't always the solution. But you're getting one as well. You don't have to make restitution for any other crimes on your list."

Chewing her lip, she considered walking up to the front door and explaining herself. Relief flooded her. She looked up at him. "You'll come with me?"

"Yes. All the way."

She nodded. "Okay. It's fair, but I'll find it hard."

"You should. But you'll feel virtuous afterwards. For the rest of your crimes, I'm going to cane you."

Sharp shock spun through her, even though it wasn't a surprise. She'd considered all the implements in his cupboard and expected a sharp change, but the cane still sounded serious. "All at once?"

"No," he smiled. "More punishment doesn't produce a better girl. It must be the right punishment. It's Monday today. I'll cane you today and every Monday for the next year."

She straightened under her stiff sentence as his commitment thrust strength into her. "Thank you," she said.

He relaxed. He hadn't been sure, but her ramrod posture proved he'd delivered the right verdict.

"I don't mean your extended punishment to be arduous, just a constant reminder that you deserve to serve a meaningful sentence for your crimes."

She appreciated his serious solution and wanted her year of canings. Regular punishment burning her bottom would allow her to look herself in the eye once again with pride and self-respect.

"We'll start now. Every Monday I want you in the study at 8am. After next week's caning, while you're sore, we'll visit that house."

She shivered. She was and wasn't looking forward to that visit.

He stood. "Come with me."

She followed him next door into the study. Afternoon sunlight poured in from the garden, spilling over the hardwood floor and across the desk.

"The cane is a sharp, incisive instrument, made from rattan for hard punishment," he said, lifting the slender one from the cupboard and handing it to her.

She ran her fingers along the almost smooth yellow surface and rolled its thinness through her fingers.

"You'll feel sharp lines of intense pain. The hurt will shock you. It's a very painful punishment and it won't be at all pleasant. For discretion, I'll keep the small area of hurt in the middle of your bottom as long as you behave. If I have to include extra strokes, I'll place them on your thighs, which hurts so much more I'd advise strict obedience."

She handed back the cane, and he flicked it hard. The sharp whistle as it cut through the air shivered down her spine.

"Drop your jeans," he commanded.

The shame no less than last time, she pushed her jeans to her knees, exposing her large white cotton panties. She placed her hands behind her back. It had helped last time. Embracing her embarrassment drove rich humiliation through her, humiliation she deserved. He'd humbled her to teach her a lesson she needed.

"Stealing is cruel. You assume other people have a lesser need than you. In your case, it was likely true. But it doesn't make it right. When you realize someone has stolen from you, it leaves you feeling violated."

His scolding cut right through her. She knew what it was to feel unsafe and had never considered that she'd done it to others. She wanted the cane.

"Bend over," he ordered.

She moved to the desk and bent over it, stretching herself in supplication. Gripping the far edge tight, she presented her panties for punishment. Her honest surrender thrust the deepest pride through her. She knew she'd need every ounce to handle the impending pain.

"Stay still," he warned.

The cane tapped against her panties and remained resting against her bottom.

A sharp crack of rattan on cotton accompanied the firm impact on her cheeks. A whole millisecond elapsed before searing pain soared through her backside. She pressed her breasts into the desk, unable to do a thing to ease her agony. A thin line of vicious fire burned into her cheeks.

Watching her hold still, he gave her a full minute to appreciate the total extent of the pain and heat from the single stroke.

"Five more," he said.

Her brain screamed no. She couldn't take one more of those strokes, let alone five. She made to rise, but her fingers wouldn't release the desk. They pulled her back down. She'd brought cruel fear into the lives of people who didn't deserve it. The bitter pain in her bottom wouldn't last as long as the harm she'd done.

The rattan tapped her in warning. She held a picture of a full shopping trolley in her mind, not her own. The cane scorched her skin through her thin panties, ripping hundreds of degrees of heat into a single line of piercing agony. She took it to heart. As sure as a judge, he'd sentenced her for her crimes. She must endure her punishment, showing the same maturity which had led her to ask for it.

Strokes stole her confidence, and she wrought it back, fighting herself to obey him and suffer with grace. The fifth stroke landed low on her bottom and stung beyond words. She tried to contain the thousand degree heat in her mind and deal with it, but it broke her and she stood up. Clutching at her bottom, she looked round at him.

His impassive face offered no reprieve, and her heart dropped. He pointed at the desk.

Struggling with the pain of her failure, she bent back over, her bottom begging her not to.

"That stroke doesn't count. You'll get it again, and you've earned an extra you'll wish you hadn't."

She held her head straight as the cane bit deep into her cheeks, roasting lines of punishing pain. Emitting only a brief gasp each time, she accepted the burning shame branded on her backside and held still in disgrace.

"It could have been over," he said, resting the cane across her bare thighs.

Fearful of the sting on her tender skin, but more afraid of letting herself down, she held her legs still. The rattan scorched her sensitive skin. A brutal line of severe punishment ripped heat deep into her legs. She cried out and her head reared up, her hair flaring in distress, but she stayed in position.

As the heat reached its peak, he said, "Stand up."

She struggled to obey, the hot ridge across her thighs contracting as she stood.

"Well done," he said.

"Thank you for not letting me off."

"Discipline during your punishment is crucial. It was your first experience of the cane. I'm not surprised. But I doubt you'll do it again."

"No. I disappointed myself."

"Well, you took your extra very well. Let's not have a repeat."

She appreciated his commitment to her discipline.

"You may go," he said. "Remember, every Monday 8am in here."

"I'll be here and thank you."

On her bed, she luxuriated in her suffering. The brutal blow across her bare thighs was sheer agony. She brushed it with her fingers, making it hurt worse. Stripped to only her panties, she glanced down at the broad swathe of white cotton. Her panties had made her so comfortable when she'd first put them on, but she used to wear bikini briefs or boy shorts. The sole remaining trace of her former life had been her driving permit. She'd dealt with that a few weeks ago. Her new permit had arrived last week, with her address on it. Now she needed some girlish panties, too.

One hand in her high-waisted white cotton, the other scrolling through Amazon on her phone, she examined pictures of colorful bikini panties. They seemed so daring, given her state of dress. Rubbing herself hard, she imagined being bent over in them for the cane. The fierce heat in her bottom and inferno across her thighs powered her imagination. She kept herself on edge, adding panties to her basket with her thumb as pleasure melted her mind. With twelve different panties in her basket, she came hard, surges of pleasure pouring through her passionate sex, and her year of punishment on her mind.