We caught up with Mother early on Thursday afternoon. Salma and I were in our sitting room looking at one of the latest videos when she came in.

Mother said, “Are you busy now? I’ve got some time free.”

Salma and I looked at each other, nodded, and smiled; I took the lead and said, “Mother, Salma and I would very much like to talk to you if you are free, please.”

Mother replied, “Yes, this is a good time. Father is out for a while. Can we talk here, or would you like to come to my room?

Salma said, “Let’s go to your room. It’s so nice there.”

We went upstairs to the parent’s enormous bedroom with a big seating area leading off it. Salma and I sat on the couch, and mother relaxed in a comfortable semi-reclining leather chair.

Mother led off the chat. She began, “I understand this is about the matter of both of you getting sore bottoms growing up?”

We both nodded, trying not to look too embarrassed.

Mother went on, “Father and I wondered how to keep both of you in reasonable discipline as you grew up. You, Faridah, were very high-spirited and had always been quite naughty, but we knew you had a heart of gold and were very tough.

“Salma, you were more wilful and difficult to manage, but we knew you were highly-intelligent. Faridah was smart too but differently and not so academically inclined.

“Faridah, the kick from the horse when you were fifteen, the three broken ribs and the way you did not give in to the pain, were indicative to us of how tough you were.

“That’s what persuaded me I could cane you once you were sixteen. The first time was when you played me up badly that time in the supermarket. I took you home, put you over my knee, and gave you six of the best, not very hard, for your first caning.

“You took it so well, you got up, rubbed your bum, and said, 'Thank you, mother, I will be a good girl now.'

“Do you remember we did it in your room? Afterward, I put you in the shower, and I washed down the cane marks with warm water. You looked at them and said, Ouch, I’ve never had marks like that before. You were more interested than scared or annoyed.

“A few days later, you came home and quietly told me, in the changing room after sports, the girls looked at my marks and one of them showed me her marks too. We all giggled but didn’t talk much about it.”

“That’s partly how I knew you could handle it and were not upset. Your behaviour after a caning always improved for a while before you slipped back into naughty ways.

“Salma, I was caning Faridah from the time she was sixteen, but I did not want you to know, as it might have frightened you. I never talked to you about it. I asked Faridah not to tell you, and Faridah promised to remain silent about it.

“Did you know anything about what was going on? I only ever caned Faridah when you were not around and could not see or hear it going on. Faridah would have her composure back before you came home. I planned it that way.”

Salma was silent for a moment and then she said, “It was just after my sixteenth birthday. Mother, you had just caned Faridah, I guess a little harder by now. I went into her room without warning, but I often did that. Faridah, you must have been nearly twenty. Do you remember?”

I replied, “Yes, I remember very well. This was the first time you knew about my canings. It was after I had damaged the car and our mother gave me twelve hard strokes. I always took great care not to let you see my cane marks nor to admit that mother had caned me.

“The pain had got the better of me that time and I forgot to lock the door. I remember, but I wasn’t crying, though. It was my first caning from mother for a long time and I was ‘out of practise’ at receiving a caning.”

I went on, “Salma, you asked, ‘what happened,’ and I thought I should tell you I had been very naughty and mother had put those marks on my bottom with a wooden stick.”

Salma said, “You were lying on the bed rubbing at your bottom. The red stripe marks on your bum shocked me. They were quite pronounced, and they had formed hard ridges. I could see.”

Salma had an accurate memory.

“Salma,” I replied, “You said that I have seen the bottoms of a few girls in the showers after sports with similar cane marks. One of them told me it was her mother who put them there with a cane, so I knew it went on. My friend didn’t seem too bothered by it, though.”

Salma recalled, “So that is how I knew a little about caning. Will mother cane me? I asked you and I think you said, ‘That’s up to you and mother,’ and left it at that.”

I said, “Mother warned me not to scare you, and I didn’t want to do that. Mother, I thought, would be likely to cane you once you were sixteen. Of course, it was up to mother and I said nothing.

“You rubbed my cane marks for a while. You were curious and not shocked.

“I remember you asked me for how long mother had been caning me and I said since I was sixteen, which is coming on four years ago.

“Salma, you put your hand to your mouth and said, I never knew, you kept it quiet.”

Salma replied, “It told me it can’t have been too bad or I would have seen you crying or otherwise upset and I never saw that. If it’s OK for Faridah, I thought, it’s OK for me. It’s part of the joy of having a big sister to lead the way!”

Mother said, “Salma, you were very strong-willed, and we knew you were highly intelligent. At sixteen, I did not like you playing around outside after dark. You went walking out quite a long way one evening in direct disobediences of my repeated warnings not to do it. The cane came out for you that evening for the first time.

“I put you over my knee and hand spanked you at first, then I gave you only three light cane strokes for your first experience of the cane. You cried at that and looked upset, so I took care of you. We had a lovely cuddle, and I rubbed your bottom. You soon calmed down and told me you would behave.

“Well, you did for a while, but it didn’t last long. I warned you if you didn’t behave, it would be another application of the cane and six strokes this time. About two weeks after that, you went too far, and it was over my knee, this time with no warm-up, and you got your first set of six strokes, but not very hard. You cried again, but as usual, we cuddled and made up, and I rubbed your bottom.”

We fell silent; we had opened the discussion with mother.

Mother said, “It’s time to tell you all about it. Faridah, you may remember my old mother who, of course, was your grandmother and who died when you were six. I doubt if you, Salma, remember her.”

Nodding in agreement, I could remember her.

Salma shook her head, saying, “I have a vague memory of the old lady, but nothing more.”

Mother went on, “She was a fierce old thing. She built up the family business that your Father and I now run. People were afraid of her. She had fourteen children, including one by a British Army soldier before World War Two. Eight of those children didn’t survive beyond five years; it was the normal thing in those days.

“She caned all of us. Her beatings often ran to thirty or more strokes. She only used a thin, shortened camel stick, but it hurt.

“When I married your Father, I was nineteen. My mother gave him a selection of canes. She told him that the first time I upset or annoyed him; he was to cane me and bring me to her to inspect the results.

“I think about three months after our marriage; I got bored at a visit to the house of a business associate. We had been in the women’s quarters, which at the time were not air-conditioned, on a hot day.

“I complained, saying, ‘I am not coming back here until they get the AC fixed.’ Our hosts didn’t like that and the grumpy old business associate told Father to take me home and give me a dose of the camel stick.

“Your father did just that. He got out a thin cane and gave me about eighteen hard strokes, having tied me to the bed. He untied me and when I stopped crying, he put me in the car and took me over to my mother’s place.

“In the lady’s quarters, they inspected the marks. My mother gave me a caning of six hard strokes with the aid of the servants to hold me down. I was howling in pain. That was the traditional way here of showing severe displeasure with an errant female. It still happens sometimes today, as you found out Faridah.

“When I, eventually, quieted down, she took me back downstairs and told your Father to take me home. He did. I am told she looked very pleased with my father. He had arrived in the family.

“By the time we arrived home, the pain had subsided into a huge, horny sensation. I was desperate for sex. My canings had sexually aroused your father, so the sex was beyond description. We were so horny.

“You, Faridah, resulted from that sexual encounter after my first caning at the hands of your father. I’m sure that this is partly why he is so fond of you!”

This was the biggest shock I had ever had in my life. I almost stopped breathing. This explained so much, it had been wonderful to hear it. This was going to help me with my life. It was wonderful to know so much more.

I stammered, "Mother, thank you so much. The stories I’ve heard about my grandmother are now making more sense. We have her to thank for all of this, and sore bottoms are at least a part of it.”

“Exactly,” replied mother.

Mother went on, “Salma, what do you think?”

Poor Salma sat there in a little of a trance-like state. Mother got up, came over, sat by her on the couch, and took her in her arms. She cuddled her and Salma put her head in her mother’s lap. It was a touching sight.

Salma was softer than me and was tearful.

“Mother,” she said, “I’m sorry I was so naughty. Now I understand why I get these urges within me. It’s grandmother coming out.”

Mother stroking Salma’s cheek, replied, “Don’t cry, Darling, there’s nothing to cry about, I know, grandmother comes out of both of you in different ways.”

Salma replied, “When I was seventeen, going on eighteen, I used to be deliberately naughty so you would cane me. It was such a turn-on. It embarrassed me, and I hoped you would not see how it affected me. That is why I asked Faridah to do it.”

Mother smiled, picked up Salma gently by the shoulders, and looked at her.

Mother went on, “I knew you were getting turned on by your canings. You are my daughter; of course, I thought it might happen. I thought it better if I let Faridah do it. I was worried that you would get fixated on me. That would not do.

“I went to a psychiatrist about it. She advised me to ‘give’ you to Faridah for discipline. I explained how well you got on and were inseparable. The two of you are of the same generation. I thought you would work things out between you, and it happened.

“Faridah had been through the same process as you when she was eighteen. Sex filled the vacuum for a while when I stopped caning her. I was sure Faridah would come to you to be caned one day, and that is how it has turned out. It has all worked for the good.

“About me, you must never repeat this. I’m sure it will not surprise you when I tell you I still get caned, and I’ve got a carpet beater thing for when I want a hot bottom. You should see the marks it leaves.”

Salma’s interest picked up immediately.

Salma said, “If I wasn’t so bruised, I would ask for a few strokes of it. I would love to find out. “

So I said, “Does anyone think it’s my turn? Would someone like to give me six strokes with it?”

Mother looked at Salma and said, “You or me?”

Salma replied, “Faridah and I, in terms of canings, are about even nowadays. I took that last twelve out of respect for Faridah being caned in prison. Mother, I think you should do it.

“But I have about two and a half weeks to go before I am due back at university. If my bruises have gone, I want six strokes with it before I leave, and one of you can do that. You choose.”

So I said, “Mother, let me get ready. “

Removing my abaya and in my underwear. I went to the bathroom, leaving the door open. Stripped off to the bare, I took a pee and washed on the bidet. Mother sneaked a look as I was cleaning myself.

“Good girl, said Mother, that’s what I like to see.”

Mother went over to her cupboard and got out the carpet beater. It was a fearsome thing.

Bending over, I stood with my elbows on the bed.

Mother had a towel in her hand.

“Stand on this Faridah,” she said.

I did as I was told. It was a sensible precaution; I was already soaking between my legs in anticipation.

“Are you ready?” asked Mother, standing off to the left. “I am going to give you three strokes only. You will soon find out why.”

I felt the carpet beater touch my bum, and, ‘whoosh,’ it crashed into me. It nearly knocked the breath out of me. There was a white-hot, searing pain in my bum. I jumped from foot to foot, trying to reduce its intensity. I was dripping onto the towel. Mother rubbed my bottom and the pain slowly decreased.

“Are you ready for the next one?” asked Mother.

I nodded, hoping not to look too miserable. There was another crashing impact. I wriggled about and broke the rules by half-standing and frantically rubbing my flaming bum. I had previously felt nothing like it, ever, not even from the prison caning.

Mother said, “I will give you the last one. Three strokes is plenty. You will have respect for the punishing power of the carpet beater.”

I bent over again. I had to keep a grip on myself for the first time, not to burst into tears with the pain. Tap-tap, and I felt another violent impact with my burning, twitching, tortured rump. Yelling out in agony, I rubbed my bum frantically.

I moved so I could see my bum in the mirror. It was a mass of overlapping, rounded lines. After only three strokes, they went everywhere and, with the weight of the thing, spread out over my flanks, which didn’t usually feel the cane.

The marks had driven deeper into the crack between my bottom cheeks. I was going to feel this for days.

Mother said, “I get this twice a year, the first on the anniversary of my first caning by Father and six months after that. I only get three strokes, the same as you did. I know what it is like.

“This is perhaps the last time I will cane you. I wanted you, Faridah, to feel this thing. When I receive it, I am reminded of how lucky I am to have everything, and you two in particular.”

We both burst into tears, and I hugged mother, not caring about the fierce pain in my bum.

After smothering her in kisses, I made my way slowly to the bathroom. Mother and Salma followed. Mother put me in the shower and rinsed down my bum with warm water. With only three strokes, it was oozing in a few places. Salma found the antiseptic cream and the plasters.

Not caring what mother saw, I wanted to get on her bidet and pleasure myself.

Salma said, “No, let me take care of you.”

She let me lie on a towel on the bed. She gently opened my legs and kissed my labia and clitoris. The naughty girl. Mother looked on affectionately.

“Girls, it doesn’t matter. We belong to each other, and we have no secrets; It’s fine for Salma to do it in your hour of need.

“But Salma, I’m not going to beat you with the carpet beater. Your build is too small, it would amount to torture.”

Salma cast her eyes down, going a little pink. I did not realise my mother was so considerate.

Mother said, “You need to know a little more. With the oil boom, our company made more money than ever and we built this place with four floors. We built your rooms and the woman’s quarters on the third floor and, of course, father and I live upstairs.

“There is space on the fourth floor too, for any male children, but they never came along. Father insisted we use the latest soundproofing techniques so we would have total privacy.

I arranged for you to have bedrooms next to each other and share a bathroom. It would give you a chance to ‘teach’ each other about female sexuality, so I thought,

“Watching from a distance, I could see my ideas worked well. The mutual development of you went as I hoped. There never were such two lucky girls.

“My hope was this would give you two a chance to get to know each other and share things in private. I kept a very careful eye on...