A real caning

Ever since I started playing in the scene and experienced my first caning I've wondered what a real caning would feel like. By real I mean what actual school kids had to endure. Of course I'm not really 12 years old and terrified out of my wits, so roleplay can only get me so far.

Therefore I define a real caning for me, as one where I'm not enjoying it one little bit. Where each individual stroke is feared and I certainly don't want to incur extras. Where I don't relax into it at all and I can't surf on the endorphin rush. Where I'm crying purely because of the pain. Where once I'm finished all I feel is relief and lingering pain.

I always figured things like no warm up beforehand or a more severe type of cane or having it applied with much harder force would get me as near to a real caning as I could go. I'd never considered the effect of getting caned on an already extremely sore bottom, as so happened during my recent playdate with Abel.

On the day we had done the 300 scene and a few gentler spankings and strappings afterwards. I was feeling a lot of pain by then and playing was difficult, if bearable. But it was the final scene of that visit that broke me. I hadn't cried in any of our previous scenes, yet I cried in this one.

I had done something quite bratty, pushing Abel off the bed to land on the hard floor. He was not happy. Especially as I'd just been warned to behave, sore bottom or no sore bottom. So I couldn't argue that I was too sore to play, having been so blatantly naughty. I was quickly made to regret my rash behaviour.

Ordering me to lie face down on the bed he promised six with the cane. Peering fearfully over my shoulder I saw it was the whippy cane and not the dragon cane. I breathed a short lived sigh of relief. Until he started placing each stroke right on the delicate crease of my bottom, each stroke on top of the previous. It hurt so much I couldn't help but move out of position each time. Kneeling up and clutching my bottom and shrieking in pain.

He gave me two before warning me that none of them counted unless I stayed in position. So with great difficulty I clung to the bed and hissed through six more. I was sweating with pain and effort by the end of it. Played out. Done in. No more. Except he was looking at me with that look on his face. The look that says we're not done yet.

He then instructed me to lie on my back with my legs straight up in the air, holding my ankles. I could see him lift the cane and strike it down. Once more it landed right on my crease, except now my skin was pulled tight from the position. It hurt so much that I shot up into the air and off the bed completely. The tears came straight away, tears of pure pain.

I looked at him in shock. What an earth was that? But he merely instructed me to get back into position, uncompromising in his tone. Trembling I lay there, waiting for the next stroke. How could it only be number two? Again another burning stroke and a corresponding leap from me. I honestly didn't know how I was going to get through six of them. Counting was an effort, staying in position was impossible. The only saving grace was that he didn't give me extras for it.

For the first time ever I thought I was experiencing a real caning. Each stoke felt like a brand. I couldn't comprehend how much it hurt. Trying to steel myself to take each one, I waited for each to fall with real, stomach churning dread. I cried miserably through each and genuinely wished I was anywhere but there. Time slowed down to a crawl and getting through all six seemed to take forever.

And to make matters worse, he started to coax me back into position by telling me how 'brave' I was and that I was a 'good girl really'. His gentle, encouraging tone only served to make me feel like I had no choice but to take my punishment. No choice but to be the good, brave girl he wanted me to be. The tears flowed and flowed.

I'm in no hurry to repeat the experience. Honestly, I'd rather have another 300. But now looking back I can appreciate it for another wonderfully intense scene. And I can revisit that feeling of utter helplessness and despair that a real caning invokes.