Bend Over Jessica

For the first time in ages, I got properly caned last week. For various reasons (having a month off, not playing that much in the summer, getting back into the swing of CP after month off blah blah), I’ve been taking my corporal punishment and my play slow and steady, remembering why I like the sensation of being punished, easing myself gradually back into the water….

But last week, I felt I wanted a proper caning and Jessica decided that Uncle Edmund was the ideal person to engineer one from. Particularly as I was feeling cheeky and if there’s one thing that Uncle Edmund can’t stand, it’s being cheeked*.

So over dinner, Jessica gradually wound up Uncle Edmund to breaking point and quite soon after they got home from dinner, retribution struck. After a perfunctory warm-up spanking and a quick taste of the stingy little dragons-tongue strap, Jessica found herself over the arm of the sofa, skirt flipped up and bottom stuck up to feel the cane across her bare nates. Suddenly the roleplay was forgotten and I was ready for the pure physical sensation of the pain.

When it began, the first thought was that the cane really bit. Each stroke seemed to sear a red hot brand across my backside, making me suck in my breath sharply from each stroke and the initial sharp line of pain was followed by a wash of sensation as the burning brand spread and rippled across the surface of my bottom.

After six strokes, the pain was more constant – there was no longer any relief between strokes, because the itchy burning pain was there the whole time. Now each stroke cranked up the level a little bit more, another step up the pain ladder. At almost the same time, I felt my endorphins start to crowd my body, to speed down my veins and race round my blood. My breathing grew faster, my skin prickled all over, sweat broke out on my upper lip and forehead and I jerked, jerked my body in pain away from the punishing cane but my hips developed a rounded rhythmic dance of pain – a circular motion as cringed away from the stroke, absorbed it and then eagerly thrust my bottom out to meet the kiss of the next stroke. My legs drifted apart and I could feel the hot pulse of lust between my legs and I wanted some relief. But first, I had to take my punishment.

The final set of strokes hurt so much that I had to focus madly to stop myself from leaping up and begging. When this happens, my line of vision narrows until I can really see or process anything – just the relentless lash of the punishment implement and the body’s reaction as I deal with the burst of agony and tense myself for the next. It’s like tunnel vision and the world shrinks until all you are aware of is the rhythm of hurt and all you can do is wait until it stops. But at the same time, those treacherous endorphins are getting you through it, forcing you to embrace it, your mind willing to take far more than your physical body can. This is where it sometimes gets dangerous as a less experienced or less caring top will take you out and beyond that, not caring if blood starts to run down your skin. But my playmates aren’t like that and sure enough, just when I thought I’d had nearly too much, the caning stopped.

Shakily I stood, body wired with pain and pleasure. Uncle Edmund sat me on his knee and I cuddled him, only aware of my blazing bottom.

It felt good.

Around ten minutes later, still driven on by the endorphins, I was ready for more and quite honestly, pushed my luck. Uncle Edmund responded, as I had expected and for the second time, the cane lashed into my already welted backside. This time, it was beyond painful, each stroke – there were only six – forcing me to choke back a scream of pain and bite the sofa cushions, tears forming in my eyes, breath rasping, chest heaving. This time when I was allowed to stand up, there was no back-chat, no pretence, just a meek nod at the command to go upstairs and make myself ready for Uncle’s pleasure.

And later, when he slept and I lay on my back, I scrunched my sore bottom against the cool sheets, to reawaken the throbbing, burning, itching pain. Because I didn’t want the feeling to stop. Ever.

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*Actually, there’s a lot of things Uncle E can’t stand, but this is a big one.