Caned and Able

Caning. I cringed the first time I heard it associated with spanking. To this day I remember Michael Fay, the American teenager who was sentenced to a caning in Singapore for vandalism (though I mistakenly thought it was for chewing gum). No part of me tingled with excitement when that story came out... I only felt bad for the kid seeing how it seemed like it would hurt like hell. And here I am, 18 years after that incident, requesting my own, personal, caning.

My interest was first piqued when the Englishman first mentioned that he had been mentored by a famous Parisian domme in the art of caning. This, of course, led me to exhaustive research on the subject. I would go back and forth on how I felt about the subject: I adored and envied the gorgeous stripes left behind by a caning, but was left horrified at some of the bottoms that were bloodied and raw. I'm willing to try anything once, so I asked the Englishman if he would be willing to cane me. I didn't have to ask twice.

It seemed that all the canes in our little playroom were broken, so it became my duty to pick one up at the local bondage shop. He certainly got a kick out of the fact that this would be the ultimate fetching of the cane. With the cane in hand, I was ready for Tuesday, which has quickly become my favorite day of the week.

Like many sessions, everything felt right as soon as I found myself across his lap. He took his time warming me up, knowing what it would all lead up to. We floated between the couch and the chair, where he offered me a lovely view of my bottom being paddled. We spent a short time at the bar where I received a wicked spanking standing up. As he lowered my arms he surprised me by tying my wrists together with a silk tie. He led me to the other room, where there stood a spanking horse, waiting to be mounted. He instructed me to bend over it. I hung draped across the horse, bent at the waist, wondering if it would be wise to looking into the mirror. Swish... He slices the cane through the air, giving me goosebumps as well as the answer to my question. I look away from the mirror, still wondering what to expect. I notice my breath is quickening as I wait for the cane to meet my bottom. I slow my breath down as I feel him place the cool cane against my warm bottom. I wonder how accurate his aim is and it's only a split second later I discover that it's right on the nose. The lightning certainly came after thunder in this case- I felt the first wave of pain strike my bottom, a dull, throbbing pain. Seconds later I felt the sharp coolness come to the surface of my skin. The corner of my lip curls up into a smile as I allow a whisper of a voice to escape, "Thank you, sir." In the same tone he responds with, "That's my good girl" and it only makes me want more.

I receive six strokes before I'm allowed to look in the mirror. I can't see much in the dim light. He sees the disappointment that paints my face and offers six more if I would like them. I push my body into his and lets him know that nothing would make me happier. He waits for my bottom to cool a bit before leading me back. This time I watch as he skillfully places the cane on my bottom before he quickly pulls it away. The image and sensation don't sync up, but I simply do not care. I receive my strokes, each accompanied by a "Thank you, sir". By the end of the session, I had thanked him eighteen times.

Once my hands were untied, they quickly found themselves reading the welts on my bottom. My eyes grew big as I felt how swollen my bottom was. I checked the mirror and surprisingly enough, my bottom looked nothing like it felt. He pulled me across his lap and rubbed arnica into my freshly caned bottom. I laid my head over my folded arms, satisfied, and felt as if I could take a long nap.

The next morning I rushed to the mirror as if it were Christmas morning and there were presents waiting for me to unwrap them. I lifted up my slip and pull down my underwear. My jaw hit the floor as all I can see is one large bruise on my right cheek with three tiny stripes below it. My left cheek had two or three small bruises, similar to ones left by much less threatening implements. I can't help but take the lack of stripes personally and feel that in some way I've failed as a bottom for not being able to achieve the stripes I've earned. Below is the evidence of my shortcomings.

Session notes: I'd love some advice on how to better achieve those lovely stripes. The cane used was a 3/8" rattan cane. Also, I'd love to hear about how to avoid lightheadedness...coming off of the horse I felt it, and at one point thought I was going to faint.