Angela’s story: the cane cometh

19Jan10

Angela’s story continues.

I hated waiting. As usual, time passed slowly as I stood in the corner and as usual with the prospect of the cane in the offing, I found it harder to zone out. At some point the phone rang and I heard David having a relaxed chat with someone. With nothing else to do, I strained to hear the conversation, but the phone had been put down away from where I was standing and I could make nothing out.

For some reason I thought my wait might be over once David was done with the call, but a long time passed and still nothing happened. I wondered if I should literally start thinking about my punishment like a good little girl. But I didn’t want to be a good little girl. I was bad and I was going to be punished. A little thrill surged through me at the thought. Except I hadn’t been bad, not really, not this time. I was undergoing some harsh training to get me over an exam phobia. It was satisfying to know that I had no say in the matter and that I was under David’s command, but it wasn’t as satisfying as when I was being punished and was left cleansed and in a state of total submission.

I tried to think about something else.

I thought about David and how his kind assertive demeanour was at odds with his strict punishments. I thought about the way I looked up at him and my eyes were always drawn to the silver hair at his temples. I suppressed a giggle as I remembered the way he always tugged at his earlobe whenever he put his reading glasses on. Then I thought about the smell of his jumpers before I put them in the wash, it smelt of home and safety.

Something somewhere went crash and I half jumped out of my skin. David had dropped something in the kitchen. What was he doing?

Time passed and I finally zoned out.

“Alright let’s have you.” David said suddenly.

It was too soon I wasn’t ready.

David led me by the ear into the living room.

“How many?” He asked.

I hated this I didn’t want to choose my punishment.

“Whatever you decide.” I said sulkily.

“Does 30 strokes sound too much?” He replied.

My jaw dropped but I closed my mouth.

“Yes Sir, I mean no sir.” I said at last.

“Alright 24 as usual.” He laughed. “But stop being so surly.”

I wasn’t being surly I wanted to protest. But I thought better of it.

I was made to bend over the chair with my feet together so that my head was level with my knees and my bottom well presented as a nice round target.

The first stroke left a line of pain across both cheeks. For some reason I yelled. Well I had a reason obviously, but I didn’t usually take on so this early in the punishment.

I didn’t have time to consider why when the second line blazed a path across my nether cheeks. I drew a heavy breath.

I hated the cane. I wondered if I begged David he would drop it in favour of something else. I knew that wouldn’t happen.

I said something like it when we first started living together. He had said that if I went and got the cane and broke it half right there and then. He would never cane me again. I went and got it but we both knew that I wasn’t going to do it.

I got six of the best on that occasion just to make a point.

I hated the cane, but I needed it.

The caning was strict and I went from heavy breathing to wet gasps by the time the first dozen had been completed. I hadn’t cried out since the first but this changed at 15.

I was crying now and barked out a sob at each stroke. At least I didn’t have to count them this time.

During a caning you can feel the distinct lines of fire at the start, but they soon merge into one leaving a band of hurt across the bottom. I am never conscious of when that change happens, my mind is elsewhere after a four or five strokes.

David put the last stroke right where I sat; I jack-knifed up with the force of it but quickly got back into position.

David patted my shoulder as I sobbed and then he finally let me stand up. We hugged.

“Are you OK?” He asked.

I nodded. I want more cuddles but I knew I had to go back to the corner for a while. However David was in no hurry, he hugged me hard.

“I know there is a point to this, but sometimes it feels like a game that has gone too far.” He said softly.

“Going soft on me big man?” I tried to sound jeering but it came out soft to match his tone.

“Do you need another two dozen?” He tried to sound stern but his tone was still mellow.

“Definitely.” I said huskily. “But please don’t cane me again. I may need them but I don’t want them.”

He gave me a firm squeeze and then both our eyes flicked at the corner and I nodded.

“David.” I said sincerely. “I need you. I need this. Don’t worry about being too harsh with me I can take it. If I wanted a pretty boy to be nice to me I wouldn’t be with you and I am very much with you.”

I turned my nose to the corner so that my throbbing bottom seemed to fill room behind me. I was bound to that wall as if in chains until my master released me.

The next day sitting was not an option. In fact it was all I could do to walk normally.

“Are you alright?” A girlfriend at college asked me.

“Oh sure.” I smiled and nodded. But my hand strayed to my lower back and I winced.

“Yeah I can see that.” She said as her eyes followed my hand.

But nothing more was said and I was left wondering if she had guessed. I realised I didn’t care.

I went to the library and spent an hour tracking down spanking references in history and sociology books. I always felt a little furtive doing this; it was one of my guilty pleasures. Also I could stand at the shelves to read and did not need to go and sit down.

On this occasion, I found a disciplinary manual for the county of Lincolnshire and an article about a woman who had been in an S&M relationship who had decided it was anti-feminist.

The manual was very dry but discussed the pros and cons of corporal punishment, suggesting that girls should only be caned as a last result. The article was full of racy detail about the woman’s sex-life but her psuedo political double-talk and psychobabble annoyed me.

Why was I always more obsessed with spanking after my own punishment?

I got very aroused remembering last nights caning and resisted the urge to slip away to the ladies for some relief. What if I did then confessed to David? Would I get another spanking? If my bottom didn’t ache so much I would be very tempted to find out.

I wondered if Nan ever had fantasies like mine. It would be fun to be able to compare notes, I wondered if I dared?

To be continued.



One Response to “Angela’s story: the cane cometh”

  1. 1 opsimath

    A very nice introduction to what I am quite sure will be a classic tale. Many thanks for your fascinating and most readable blog – it never disappoints!


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