I have a good collection of canes, but they do need replacing occasionally, especially when they are used with enthusiasm, as mine are. I love buying new canes because, being a natural product, no two are going to be exactly the same, so a new one might turn into a favourite.
I recently bought another senior cane. These tend to be my standard implement of correction. I reserve dragon canes for very severe canings. I’m always a little anxious when ordering canes because there’s always the possibility of the order going astray. I wouldn’t, for example, want a cane left with a neighbour if it was delivered while we were out. They may wonder what was in the package and take a look if the wrapping was at all loose. For this reason, I paid extra for a guaranteed, next day, morning delivery.
It’s a bore having to stay in to wait for deliveries, so I thought I’d make it more fun. Although Robert was still quite well-marked from his recent hairbrushing and caning, I decided to add some spice to the waiting by informing him that I would cane him with the new cane the instant it arrived.
“So, Robert,” I informed him, “When you hear the door bell, I expect you to present your bare bottom for the cane within a minute.”
To make it more fun, I added a guessing game. I instructed him to guess how many strokes I planned to give him, then write it on a piece of paper. I made it easy for him by telling him that it would probably be either six, or twelve of the best. I would also write down my chosen figure. Both our figures would remain face down on the table, with neither of us knowing what the other had written, until he was bent over with his bare bottom presented. If, when I revealed the two totals, they were both the same, then that would be the number of strokes he would get. If, however, they differed, he would receive the two totals added together.
I decided he would remain unrestrained for this caning, for a change. It would be a good test for his self-control. I would expect him to take the caning without moving out of position and without fuss. Any failing on his part would result in the whipping bench being deployed and the number of strokes doubled.
As the morning dragged on, and the cane had still not arrived, and as I observed Robert nervously glancing out of the front window to see if a delivery van was outside, my resolve to do all I could to break his self-control became irresistible. I did my best to appear relaxed, but inside I was becoming almost desperate to have Robert dancing around the room, clutching his burning bottom. Just the excuse I would need to strap him down over the whipping bench and give him the caning of his life.
I was beginning to think we would be let down, but just before noon the door bell rang. Robert shot me a nervous look as he must has seen my face light up with delight. It was indeed my new cane.
“If you’re not bent over the back of that armchair with your bare bottom presented for the cane by the time I have unwrapped this cane, Robert, you will receive double the strokes.”
He knows I always carry out my threats, so his bottom was presented within seconds.
I unwrapped the cane and it was beautiful. About 10mm diameter and 80cm long, it had plenty weight and was quite flexible. With good wrist action (which I have) this cane would bite nicely into Robert’s bare bottom. I gave it a few swishes through the air. It sounded and felt perfect.
“Oh dear Robert,” I said, as I turned over the two pieces of paper on the table, “You guessed twelve strokes and I wrote six, so you will receive eighteen.”
Robert didn’t look too happy, but wisely said nothing.
“In silence and stay in position,” I instructed, as I took my position to his left then measured the cane across his bare bottom cheeks.
I was absolutely determined to break his self-control. After a few taps, I raised the cane then brought it down as hard as I possibly could. The cane whistled down and bit into his offered cheeks with a glorious CRACK.
Robert gasped, but stayed down. I put even more venom into the next. He still stayed down, but made a whimpering sound, and his legs began to tremble. The third stroke was fabulous. It bit into the crease between his buttocks and the tops of his thighs. There was a muffled cry as he threw his head back, but he managed to stay down – just. I could sense I had him, though, and the next stroke was a masterpiece. It bit exactly into the line of fire from the previous stroke.
It was too much for poor Robert. He shrieked and leapt to his feet, eyes bulging, with both hands clasping his burning bottom. I was delighted! It had taken just four strokes.
“What do you think of the new cane, Robert?”
“It’s excruciating,” he whimpered, still clutching his burning bottom.
“Excellent,” I said, checking my watch, “I’d like the whipping bench ready in ten minutes. The caning has now doubled to thirty-six strokes and I will add another six for each minute you are late.”
I should explain, here, that our whipping bench spends most of its life as a coffee table and it usually takes him about fifteen minutes to convert it.
It was quite amusing to watch him assemble it in panic mode, naked from the waist down. He almost made it, but not quite. He ran over by twenty seconds.
“Just think, Robert,” I said, cheerfully, as I strapped him down over the whipping bench, “That’s forty-two strokes, plus the four you’ve already had. That means that the new cane will have bitten into your bottom forty-six times before its even been out of the box for half and hour. I think that’s a record.”
Robert didn’t seem impressed.
“Might as well round it up to fifty,” I said, as I secured the final restraining strap and picked up the cane.
It was going to be a very hard caning. I was in just the mood. Today, however, I wasn’t in the mood to listen to him begging for mercy, so I fitted the ball gag. Just thirty minutes ago, I thought, as I raised the cane, Robert was almost certainly hoping he’d get away with six of the best. Now the number had risen to fifty.
SWISH – CRACK!
“Life is full of nice surprises, isn’t it, Robert?”
He probably didn’t know, and didn’t care what I was talking about.
SWISH – CRACK!
Muffled screaming accompanied the wonderful sound of rattan biting deep into bare flesh.
I love my new cane.
Other news: My new short story, Spanking Rendezvous, has just been published. It tells the story of a young man who discovers he has to cope with an all female class on an adult education course. A steep and painful learning curve awaits him. More details here: http://www.anniebeebooks.com/id1.html