by Hilary Chale
“If this were a cane, I’d know what to do.”
Never having had the cane, I couldn’t help her much. You see, most of the business impact was on my right cheek. But I said:
“What would you do?” and she answered, “take a pace to my left,” so I said “why not try it?” So she did. It made it easier for her when she let fly again. She’s much stronger than she looks, you know. Useful if I’m away and you’re naughty at home, Darling! So then she gave me six which connected with my left half and flicked over onto the right or sometimes even in between. Quite a shock to the sphincter! You see I’m trying to tell All. But I suppose from the technical angle it must have been about right.
Then she stopped because she was out of breath, but said:
“That’s for adultery ... now twelve for man-stealing from Roger’s point of view.” I said:
“What do you mean from Roger’s point of view?” Remember I was still bending my ass double, but looking at her. I thought I knew what she meant. She said:
“What about mine?” So I was right, I said.
“You’ve got a point,” she said, “I wish I had brought my cane,” and then went on “you can choose. After I’ve birched you for Roger, I’ll go straight on and thrash you for myself, or you can come over to me after breakfast tomorrow for a caning ... it’s up to you. Think about it.”
Difficult choice. But then she touched again and started in, from the same point. Twelve this time, with no interval. As I said before, Strewth! Dunno how I was expected to think. All the same here is an oddity: I wanted to open my legs a bit so that they could curl in. I did too ... and they did. Punishment for the offending part. My pussy-lips didn’t cop it every time. Luck of the draw, I suppose, nor did my hole.
After the eighth stroke it went like this:
“Birch,” crash, “now” crash “or cane” crash “tomorrow,” and without thinking I said “birch now,” and she went straight on.
At about the sixteenth she said:
“You’re bleeding, did you know?” I had guessed, but it made no difference to her, she just kept on. At twenty-four she said:
“That’s for boy stealing ... OK?”
“OK, thank you,” I said, stood up and stepped out of my pants. Then we went back into the sitting room and I made coffee. She sat, I stood. I asked her if she felt happier about it all and she said:
“All men have to have their asses caned, but one seldom had a chance to chastise their women.”
I asked her where she got the cane idea from. She’d never been to England as far as I knew.
“A change from the sorority paddle,” she said, “and other flat things like hair-brushes. Someone laid a switch across my ass and I thought a cane might improve on it.”
A bit later I let her out. I was still bare-assed, but nobody (I think) was passing at the time! You should see it. It’s very red with blood-scarlet twig marks all over and round one side and a bit in between. I wish my camera had been loaded. Sex-jumping, pussy-fingering.
Darling, I’m so grateful.
Helen.
PS. She only used one, so we’ve still got three!
Darling,
A funny thing happened on the way to the Forum. I rang Anne and asked her to take a photo’. Then I took my camera along, buying a film on the way. I walked. Couldn’t drive because I couldn’t sit down. Met Lucia Serbelloni. She said “I hear you have your ass tanned.” I said lightly “bright pink. Very fashionable.” She looked at me rather oddly and said “yes, it is, isn’t it?”
I hope you like the pics. As you see, some of the striations have gone black. I have copies, shall I start an alBUM?
Kisses.
Darling,
A less funny thing. Anne came over, not with David. We talked about IT. She said she preferred the cane and went on about it. I said she managed very well with a birch, but she said it wasn’t quite the same thing ... presumably true. In the end I asked if I had made the wrong choice. Was she really happy about it? She hummed and haa-ed and then said “it would have to wait a few days, wouldn’t it?” So it’s obvious what she wants. If she becomes pressing should I let her? She’s an old friend and I don’t want her to feel unsatisfied, but being chastised for you is one thing; this is a bit different, isn’t it?
Helen.
Darling Dilemma,
Before I go on, how is your bottom? I’ve been so obsessed with mine that I haven’t given it as much thought as I should.
Now for Anne. Your idea that you could cane me on her behalf when you get back, might make sense, but I don’t think she’ll wear it because of the long wait ... unless possibly, she cane be there to see it done. On the other hand, if she canes me now, you will complain (muscularly) later, and if I say ‘no’ firmly I may feel bad about it. I wish people with hands on their genitalia weren’t so complicated! I spoke to her yesterday. Humming and Haa-ing again. I’m sure of what she wants, but she is ashamed to say words which might suggest that she enjoys it. (Interruption)
The telephone rang. Anne of course. She has said the words. Six of the best tomorrow after breakfast. Only six because she had already birched me. I’ve said ‘yes’. I hope you don’t disapprove too much.
Apprehensively.
Helen.
PS Love to Aunt Sophia.
Well well well, Darling!
To think that I’ve know Anne all these years and I hadn’t the least idea.
Chapter one!
I arrived at nine-fifteen. She opened the door. She was, frankly, spectacular. A black velvet house-coat down to the floor and open at the front. Underneath, a red jumper, red cling stockings and red high heeled shoes. You’ll notice that I’ve said nothing about anything else, because there wasn’t anything. Bare from navel to stocking tops, pussy and all. And I saw that she had the cane in her hand. A quite straight thing without a crook (as I had imagined) and a bit over three feet long.
She said, “hello, Helen,” and shut the door. Then she said, “go up to my bedroom and strip.” I suppose I looked surprised. I was surprised. I was thinking of taking my jeans down quickly. She added, “and come down here.” I said (looking, I must admit, at her pussy) “everything?” “The lot,” she said. So I went upstairs and pulled off all my things. Jeans, shirt, panties, shoes, bra. Absolutely starkers except for my necklace. I wasn’t even wearing earrings. Then I padded down again.
She was waiting, tapping her ankle with the cane. When I reached her, she said abruptly “kneel down.” As you see, I had already committed myself. So I knelt. If I describe her in too much detail you’ll be hankering (about eight inches of hanker, I shouldn’t wonder) but I’ll take the risk. After all, I was only three inches from what endeared her to David. She had quite bit lips which petered out into a furrow up her hairy mound, and for one so fair, there was a lot of it (more than me) and it was all black. She said:
“Are you unclean?”
Obviously I was expected to say ‘yes’, so I did.
“In mind?”
“Yes.”
“And in body?”
“Yes.”
“Should you be purged?”
Can you guess what she was on about? I wasn’t clear; it was happening too quickly to think much. All I understood for certain was, that I had to say ‘yes’ again. The she said:
“Stand up,” and when I did she turned and walked to the back of the hall. You know it. There’s the euphemistically called cloakroom on the left, and a door straight ahead. She opened it and nodded me in.
“Bend over the table,” she said. ‘This is it’, I thought. It wasn’t. She put the cane beside me, did something which I didn’t see, and then (you’ve probably guessed by now ... tell me when you reply) I felt her parting my cheeks with one hand and inserting a nozzle into my ass-hole with the other. It
all seemed quite natural; as if I’d guessed subconsciously. I looked round and saw a large glass tank on a high stand behind the door, and it was connected to my rectum by a clear plastic pipe. I felt her turn on the nozzle-tap and then the flood.
Ever had an enema? I like them, my mother used to give us all enemas from time to time. After a minute or two Anne said;
“Hold it tightly ... or is it too stretched.”
“No, it’s not too stretched,” I said and she replied;
“Neither is mine.”
When the tank had gone down about a third, she turned it off and said;
“Go and empty, and then come back for the next one.” This I did. When I returned she was standing there with the pipe. I bent over the table again, and without another word the nozzle was thrust in and the flood began again; more quickly, of course and it rose higher and higher until the tank was empty. Very satisfactory! I had almost forgotten that I had come to be caned! Then she turned the tap off and carefully pulled it out, saying “hold it in.” So I closed my sphincter tight.
“There isn’t room to swing a cat in here,” she said “so we’ll go next door.”
Chapter Two
The breakfast things were still at the end of the dining table nearest the window. She took off her housecoat and threw it onto a chair. Then she turned her hack on me and said over her shoulder;
“Kneel down and kiss my ass.”
She was looking really terrific. A million dollars. So I knelt, took hold of her thighs and kissed the left cheek and then her right. Very smooth and smelling of Jasmine. Then I kissed them both again more strongly. She was trembling slightly, so I kissed them both yet again pretty passionately. A new one on me, and, of course I was very conscious of keeping my ass-hole tight shut; but the only thing was to play it by ear and give her, as far as I could judge, what she wanted.
Did I get a quim? Even a few months ago I would never have admitted it, but, yes, I began to. Definitely. Has anything similar happened to you? You’re no more a gay than I’m a slag, but I was rising. Masked prospect of a caning? But a paddling would have done more to me.
So there I was kissing he bottoms when she moved her feet apart, bent forward and put her hands on her knees. Well ... I had too, didn’t I? I held them a little apart, definitely not virgin. Rasping it with my tongue while holding my own in ... limitlessly suggestive ... and she still trembling and panting, and me rising. I don’t know how long this went on, but suddenly I heard her voice (speaking deeply and away from me) saying;
“Are you sufficiently abased?”
This was another of those questions. So I said “yes.” She said;
“In that case I’m going to thrash you.”
It didn’t sound like the six strokes which I had been promised, but there was nothing to do but wait and anyway the word ‘thrash’ made me go higher. I stopped rasping her hole and said;
“Shall I bend over?” She moved off and picked the cane off the table.
“Over the corner,” she said. So I stood up and bent over it. Quite convenient, actually. Tucked the corner into my pussy and stuck my bum out, still wondering. She suddenly said, just as I was bracing myself:
“Body nearly done. Now for your mind.”
She was right, of course. Corporal punishment does affect the mind. I said nothing. She said;
“Six for me as agreed and twelve for your purgation. Then you empty. OK?”
I nodded. I didn’t see how I could deviate. Can you?
Then she took up her position and tapped my bottom with the cane.
I suppose that if you had ever been caned when you were in England you’d have mentioned it by now. This was quite something. One knows that the British talk as if they do it in sixes. Anne didn’t! Not being British, I suppose. She did it in pairs. Two strokes then a sidestep to the left and two more and then a second sidestep and two. Then back to starting point, two, sidestep, two and so on. These intervals were quite long, a few seconds, anyway, and I had my anus to think of, and I was quite randy.
All the same, she could hit, and I had begun with trouble. You know, it rolls up your body to your throat. So I gritted my teeth and took it and after about nine, well ... I said I was randy and, as with you, I began to want it. Very much! So much that when I’d had my eighteen I stayed bending, with Anne just looking on. Eventually I looked round and caught her eye. If she had asked me, I believe I’d have said ‘yes’. Actually spoilt it (in a way) by saying ‘thank you’. Nicely brought up little girl.
Then I went and emptied. That was quite something too. Hot, smarting bruised ass on a cold seat with everything bursting out in between. Ten minutes, I should think. When it was over, I nearly asked for more but instead we went upstairs together. She put the cane and housecoat away in her wardrobe and I looked at myself in the big mirror inside while she applied surgical spirit. It showed up the stripes fiery red, with six reaching square-ended round my right cheek, and six more deeply bruised outliers on my left and a solid red mass in between. Some blood.
I can guess what you’ll make of that BUT what do you make of Anne?
Lots of kisses in the right places, from your Helen, whose scarlet ass is ready for you whenever and however you like.
Jasmine Remembers
Jasmine’s aching bottom woke her up, and her hand stole with excited deliberation to feel the bruises. They seemed to cover it from the divide at pelvis level right down, down and down to the creases which pointed the way to her sexual entrance. Touching and handling were delicious and irresistible. She started again at the top with a firm stroke and the occasional prod, moving downwards to evoke the pain arousal. She turned from lying on her side, when she could reach only one buttock properly, to lying flat on her stomach. Then with both hands she pressed her haunches smoothly down so as to get as much sensation from them as she could. With her fingers she felt the irregularities. These were harder swollen ridges, presumably formed by several cane strokes falling upon the same place, and there were delicate serrated surfaces arranged in lines where, no doubt, strokes had broken through and the place was now healing.
It was all very interesting.
The compulsion to feel her buttocks had been a throat-catching body-urge, which had soon translated itself into a passion-longing. There were times when her clitoris could enlarge beyond the usual swelling of sexual interest. Her vagina was becoming oiled. She scarcely needed to make herself rise, but she would do so just the same, to the height, if not beyond. She moved her left or courting hand, now often but exclusively engaged with the rods and purses of male-sexuality, to a point beneath her where her middle finger could, but did not, just touch the tip of her own love-swell. With the other hand she pressed down hard on the right buttock, which was the more painful of the two. The swell came to meet her finger. It reminded her of Isabel’s. She pressed the buttock harder and then grasped it so as to wring pain and pleasure from the tight grip. The ecstasy blinded her as ecstasies are apt to do, for her concentration was in feeling or touch or being touched; in the world of her body, not in her surroundings. Even the image of Isabel momentarily disappeared. It made no difference whether her eyes were open or closed, for they registered nothing to her mind; in fact, later, when she recollected the incident, she had no idea whether they were open or shut.
She remained in this state for an infinity ... or at least a thousand years worth ... of time. Her mind understood her corporeal state but, oddly enough considering the circumstances, contained no images from the immediate past. It was as if, for an instant, the delicious condition of her behind had conjured itself out of nothing.
She had noticed at waking that it was nearly ten o’clock, which was much later than usual, but as it was a Saturday, this did not matter. The Saturday chores could wait. If she turned onto her back she would put some pressure on both fesses and increase the ache. She d
id so, put her courting hand back to its proper place and her right arm behind her head. Self-absorbtion enveloped her like a cloud for at least another five hundred years ... or so ... until the telephone blasted its way in. The telephone, dammit, was in the next room. Leave it to ring?
But after an interval it rang again and kept going like a tracker dog in pursuit of a bitch in heat. Dogs are not troubled by a need for privacy. Only yesterday somebody’s setter had mounted a very beautiful Labrador amid an admiring audience of other dogs, and other humans at windows besides herself. Ring-ring. Ring-ring. Ring-ring ... She struggled out, hand on clitoris and walked naked through the hall to the sitting room. She picked up the receiver, nearly replaced it, put it to her ear, curled her legs into the corner of the sofa, and felt the delicate pressure of her weight over her behind on the cushions.
“Jasmine?”
Her hand began to move as if a current had been switched on, and she caught her breath.
“Ye-es, it’s me,”
“You sound ...”
“I feel as if it’s only an interval.”
“Randy, I suppose?”
“Yes.” She lay back, opened her legs and gently and silently began to frig. Isabel suspected that this was happening.
“Obvious question; what’s your bum like?”
The finger moved in and out of the top of the vagina bringing the lubricant with it. She made breathy sounds and closed her eyes.
“Are you still there?” said Isabel, superfluously.
“Yes, Darling ... And I feel gorgeous.”
“Were you properly thrashed?”
“M-m ... Yes.”
“Tell me what it looks like.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen it yet.”
“Haven’t seen it?”