Stay There and Relish in Your Caning, Naughty One
Professor,
I wrote this post especially for you.
~Your Naughty One
I am back home from school and back to the normal chaos of daily living. I am reset. And content. And focused. And the world doesn't seem as large as it did this morning.
I have returned from my visit to our secret spanking garden, and amid the scramble of preparing dinner, and participating in the constant flow of conversation...I excuse myself for a moment. I excuse myself from the early evening routine of a bustling household, to steal but a brief moment for myself..... in front of the mirror in the master bedroom to savor. My bottom is bare, my fingertips skip lightly over my sore flesh, tracing the faint lines that serve as a reminder and then.....
.......I am back in your office, curled up in the chair, chattering away about life....spanking... anything and everything, while very aware of the flip flopping sensation that is going on in my tummy as you cradle that crook handled cane in your hands.
Just moments ago, it was safely tucked high up on a shelf amid your books and files and piles of coursework instead of propped up against the desk, or resting lightly against your thigh.
The conversation eventually peters out as that cane becomes an overwhelming distraction and I am unable to think of anything else. Your gaze drifts to the open window in a moment of quiet contemplation, and when you turn back to look at me, my mouth goes dry.
I know my Professor is gone. I recognize the feral look in your eyes....your set jaw...the way your body moves and I know you are transformed.
"I think we have some business to attend to."
The cane is in your hand once again, but you hold it differently this time....with purpose and fear washes over me, trapping me to my seat.
*tap* *tap* *tap*
The cane taps on the cuff of pant leg.....and my head feels stuffed with cotton.
"Up."
Your voice is so soft I can barely hear you and I try to move but I can't.
Time stops and I know all too well that while that cane is in your hand, nothing else will exist. You look at me darkly and your tapping becomes more insistent, the world around us fading rapidly away....blocked out by the walls of our spanking garden.
I stand up...weak.....shaking, propelling myself out of my chair with my arms and I watch in rapt horror as you move the chair to the middle of the office.
I am aware of the staccato beat being played on the inside of my neck.....my pulse...yes...my pulse..... and the growing warmth moving up my torso, my neck....my cheeks....spreading slowly up, up, up until it reaches my hairline.
The silence. The faint droning of the air conditioner and the clicking of the lock on the office door.....
"Bare your bottom."
My stomach drops violently, shaking my insides and my head buzzes when it registers your words. Someone else's trembling fingers reach for the button on my jeans.
I watch as they unbutton and unzip and then material slides over flesh....over my curved bottom.....over the smooth skin of my thighs......stopping to rest at my knees.
I stare at the rumpled pool of fabric....the colors....pink cotton, brown corduroy all jumbled and twisted together...perched on the tops of trembling knee caps.
You are watching me, the cane cradled in your hands and I glance at you before turning away, suddenly embarrassed, to stare at the white board in front of me.
It is covered in writing....your writing?....paragraph after paragraph....every square inch of the whiteness covered in your slanted scrawl. I am unable to read....the words and symbols mean nothing. I can't read that!
I am standing straight, my shoulders back, my hands clutching the top edge of the chair in front of me. My body is frozen....rigid....my muscles taut with anticipation and I frantically try to sense where you are. You are close...very close...your body brushes up against mine and the tip of the cane is now pointing at the middle of the seat cushion.
I bend over the back of the chair, its relenting hardness pressing against my pelvis, forcing my body in half, my hair falling over my face, tickling the tops of my fingers that rest of the scratchy weave like fabric of the cushion.
The skin of my bottom is stretched taut and I struggle to catch glimpses of you under my outstretched arms. I see flashes of movement behind me and my buttocks clench in response as I shift from foot to foot.....waiting.
I am fidgety, pressing my body hard against the edge of the chair, bending and unbending my knees...unable to stop my jerky, agitated movements. You are close once again...I catch a glimpse of light wood and my breath catches in my throat as you rest the cane on my bottom....a solid pressure held up against my most sensitive spot, just below the curve of my cheeks.
The cane is gone and I prepare for the inevitable stroke that will surely follow, my eyes shut, my teeth clenched tight. Nothing. I open my eyes slowly and look for movement behind me.
Nothing.
And then there it is again, the gentle steady pressure of wood against skin and I suck air in again, preparing for the bite. I wait. The cane doesn't move. My body is tensing and relaxing....muscles are clenched and contracted....waiting.
Nothing.
*tap* *tap* *tap*
You tap the tip of the cane on the fleshiest part of my bottom.
*tap* *tap* *tap*
I struggle to swallow an overwhelming urge that threatens to bubble to the surface, choking it down in rapid swallows....Just cane me already! My body strains under the tension....the fear...I am overwrought.....my head spins...
I struggle to keep from squirming and mewing as you keep tapping and resting....tapping and resting. And then I realize to my utter horror that I need to feel that cane....Just cane me already! Please Professor.........Please!
I am craven....afraid.....stuck waiting....at your mercy...my head is a swirling jumble of random thoughts, and worries, and panic, and growing need........and then
CRACKKKK!
There is clarity. My head is clear. Quiet. It is abruptly refocused on the searing bite of whippy rattan against taut skin. I hold my breath, frozen in utter stillness as the ache of the stinging line of fire seems to swell, overwhelming me for one eternally long and torturous moment before fading....slowly....so slowly....leave me gasping and shaking.
My body shivers and I draw air in through my nose sharply....a deep cleansing breath that washes the rest of the pain away.
CRACKKKK!
Three inches of cutting heat explode on my right cheek and then the left as you flick your wrist and send just the tip of the cane down on my bottom. I am gasping and squirming as tiny little lines of burning are left all over my buttocks.
You move away and I lean farther over the back of the chair, allowing my head to dangle loosely from my neck, my mind thick from pain. I sense your movement and my body tenses again, cowering....curling in on itself to escape. And then I feel your hand.
You rest your palm flat on my lower back and I can feel the warmth of you through the fabric of my t shirt. I shift, curving my back ever so slightly, pressing up against your gentle pressure...your touch a comforting reminder of who I belong to.
You bring the cane down hard across my entire bottom and once again I am focused....my head is clear....my entire being held in rapt attention by the exquisite pain that threatens to consume me.
Again the cane falls, and then again and again.....and I am reduced....my world is reduced to the now...the here....to this one moment and everything else ceases to exist. I am reduced....to my most basic self in order to endure. My breathing is shallow and ragged, my bottom transformed into line after line of burning, stinging pain.
One stroke lands hard across the tops of both thighs and I swallow frantically to keep from hurling all over the mauve waffle material below me. This truly is one ugly chair!
You stop for a moment and I struggle to recover. I lean heavily over the chair, my panties and jeans now a tangled mess that clings to my ankles.
I shudder....a ripple of tingling travels through me as your hand reaches down to caress my scorched skin. Your palm moves slowly over my entire bottom, smoothing away the biting sting... soothing.
My body relaxes as you pause briefly just under the curve of my buttocks, your fingers lingering over the welt on my thighs. Tenderly you trace the ache with your fingertips and I become heady with the mix of pain and pleasure.
Your caressing becomes firmer...harder....and soon you are kneading my buttocks, pushing and pulling at my tender buttocks, and I am filled up with the sheer pleasure of it. My body goes limp under your massage, my shoulders droop and I am slipping away....
Until without warning, you flick the top part of the cane against my skin, letting it bite at the cheek you are kneading. My head snaps up and I gasp at the sharp contrast of the new sensation.
And then, just as suddenly, you go back to kneading, rolling my flesh between your fingers and I breathe in slowly, relaxed once again....until flick SNAP! The cane bites at me and my back arches rigidly in response to the searing hurt and I bite my lip hard to keep from whimpering.
Then the kneading begins all over again and soon I am trapped......pain....burning sting of the cane...... soft warmth...the soothing caress of your hand. The cycle continues until pain and pleasure become one and I am unable to distinguish one sensation from another. I am intoxicated...swept away....
And then you are next to me....close to my face. I look at you through locks of my own hair and you are crouched down, your knees bent, the cane resting across your thighs.
"Twelve more."
Waves of nausea wash over me.
"Count them. I want you to count loud enough for me to hear you."
I nod weakly as you stand and slowly move out of my line of sight. This time however, I don't look for you....I don't attempt to sense you. I am unconcerned where you are. Instead I am focused on enduring......my caning is almost over.
I have twelve more strokes to go. Good God! I lock my knees to keep my legs from giving away under me and plant my hands firmly on the seat, my mind focused on enduring.
CRACKKKK!
I gasp and count out "One!", my voice slightly hoarse.
CRACKKK!
"Two!" I am filled up with pain as the cane lands high on my bottom, where the skin is at its thinnest. My whole body trembles....my mind, quiet.
The strokes continue as you place each one carefully, leaving one searing line after another, neatly spaced, intent on giving every inch of my smoldering backside your undivided attention. Once again I am reduced....my brain quieted as I am forced to focus on the simple beauty of pain.....and my total acceptance of it.
When it is over, I am satiated and sore, my bottom a jumble of tingling ache and sting. I stay bent over the chair, waiting for you....waiting for my breathing to slow....my eyes closed. I feel you next to me again...crouched down, knees bent, the cane gone.
"I want you to stay put, understand? Stay there and relish your caning, Naughty One. Relish how it feels."
"Yes, Professor."
You are gone again and I can't see you, but I am too exhausted to care. When moments later, I hear the click clacking of keys, I know you are sitting at your desk working while I remain bent over a chair in the middle of your office, my freshly caned bottom on display.
My whole body is relaxed, my eyes, heavy and soon I am forced to close them....lulled by the sound of the keys clicking on your keyboard and the tingling warmth of my bottom.
I wrote this post especially for you.
~Your Naughty One
I am back home from school and back to the normal chaos of daily living. I am reset. And content. And focused. And the world doesn't seem as large as it did this morning.
I have returned from my visit to our secret spanking garden, and amid the scramble of preparing dinner, and participating in the constant flow of conversation...I excuse myself for a moment. I excuse myself from the early evening routine of a bustling household, to steal but a brief moment for myself..... in front of the mirror in the master bedroom to savor. My bottom is bare, my fingertips skip lightly over my sore flesh, tracing the faint lines that serve as a reminder and then.....
.......I am back in your office, curled up in the chair, chattering away about life....spanking... anything and everything, while very aware of the flip flopping sensation that is going on in my tummy as you cradle that crook handled cane in your hands.
Just moments ago, it was safely tucked high up on a shelf amid your books and files and piles of coursework instead of propped up against the desk, or resting lightly against your thigh.
The conversation eventually peters out as that cane becomes an overwhelming distraction and I am unable to think of anything else. Your gaze drifts to the open window in a moment of quiet contemplation, and when you turn back to look at me, my mouth goes dry.
I know my Professor is gone. I recognize the feral look in your eyes....your set jaw...the way your body moves and I know you are transformed.
"I think we have some business to attend to."
The cane is in your hand once again, but you hold it differently this time....with purpose and fear washes over me, trapping me to my seat.
*tap* *tap* *tap*
The cane taps on the cuff of pant leg.....and my head feels stuffed with cotton.
"Up."
Your voice is so soft I can barely hear you and I try to move but I can't.
Time stops and I know all too well that while that cane is in your hand, nothing else will exist. You look at me darkly and your tapping becomes more insistent, the world around us fading rapidly away....blocked out by the walls of our spanking garden.
I stand up...weak.....shaking, propelling myself out of my chair with my arms and I watch in rapt horror as you move the chair to the middle of the office.
I am aware of the staccato beat being played on the inside of my neck.....my pulse...yes...my pulse..... and the growing warmth moving up my torso, my neck....my cheeks....spreading slowly up, up, up until it reaches my hairline.
The silence. The faint droning of the air conditioner and the clicking of the lock on the office door.....
"Bare your bottom."
My stomach drops violently, shaking my insides and my head buzzes when it registers your words. Someone else's trembling fingers reach for the button on my jeans.
I watch as they unbutton and unzip and then material slides over flesh....over my curved bottom.....over the smooth skin of my thighs......stopping to rest at my knees.
I stare at the rumpled pool of fabric....the colors....pink cotton, brown corduroy all jumbled and twisted together...perched on the tops of trembling knee caps.
You are watching me, the cane cradled in your hands and I glance at you before turning away, suddenly embarrassed, to stare at the white board in front of me.
It is covered in writing....your writing?....paragraph after paragraph....every square inch of the whiteness covered in your slanted scrawl. I am unable to read....the words and symbols mean nothing. I can't read that!
I am standing straight, my shoulders back, my hands clutching the top edge of the chair in front of me. My body is frozen....rigid....my muscles taut with anticipation and I frantically try to sense where you are. You are close...very close...your body brushes up against mine and the tip of the cane is now pointing at the middle of the seat cushion.
I bend over the back of the chair, its relenting hardness pressing against my pelvis, forcing my body in half, my hair falling over my face, tickling the tops of my fingers that rest of the scratchy weave like fabric of the cushion.
The skin of my bottom is stretched taut and I struggle to catch glimpses of you under my outstretched arms. I see flashes of movement behind me and my buttocks clench in response as I shift from foot to foot.....waiting.
I am fidgety, pressing my body hard against the edge of the chair, bending and unbending my knees...unable to stop my jerky, agitated movements. You are close once again...I catch a glimpse of light wood and my breath catches in my throat as you rest the cane on my bottom....a solid pressure held up against my most sensitive spot, just below the curve of my cheeks.
The cane is gone and I prepare for the inevitable stroke that will surely follow, my eyes shut, my teeth clenched tight. Nothing. I open my eyes slowly and look for movement behind me.
Nothing.
And then there it is again, the gentle steady pressure of wood against skin and I suck air in again, preparing for the bite. I wait. The cane doesn't move. My body is tensing and relaxing....muscles are clenched and contracted....waiting.
Nothing.
*tap* *tap* *tap*
You tap the tip of the cane on the fleshiest part of my bottom.
*tap* *tap* *tap*
I struggle to swallow an overwhelming urge that threatens to bubble to the surface, choking it down in rapid swallows....Just cane me already! My body strains under the tension....the fear...I am overwrought.....my head spins...
I struggle to keep from squirming and mewing as you keep tapping and resting....tapping and resting. And then I realize to my utter horror that I need to feel that cane....Just cane me already! Please Professor.........Please!
I am craven....afraid.....stuck waiting....at your mercy...my head is a swirling jumble of random thoughts, and worries, and panic, and growing need........and then
CRACKKKK!
There is clarity. My head is clear. Quiet. It is abruptly refocused on the searing bite of whippy rattan against taut skin. I hold my breath, frozen in utter stillness as the ache of the stinging line of fire seems to swell, overwhelming me for one eternally long and torturous moment before fading....slowly....so slowly....leave me gasping and shaking.
My body shivers and I draw air in through my nose sharply....a deep cleansing breath that washes the rest of the pain away.
CRACKKKK!
Three inches of cutting heat explode on my right cheek and then the left as you flick your wrist and send just the tip of the cane down on my bottom. I am gasping and squirming as tiny little lines of burning are left all over my buttocks.
You move away and I lean farther over the back of the chair, allowing my head to dangle loosely from my neck, my mind thick from pain. I sense your movement and my body tenses again, cowering....curling in on itself to escape. And then I feel your hand.
You rest your palm flat on my lower back and I can feel the warmth of you through the fabric of my t shirt. I shift, curving my back ever so slightly, pressing up against your gentle pressure...your touch a comforting reminder of who I belong to.
You bring the cane down hard across my entire bottom and once again I am focused....my head is clear....my entire being held in rapt attention by the exquisite pain that threatens to consume me.
Again the cane falls, and then again and again.....and I am reduced....my world is reduced to the now...the here....to this one moment and everything else ceases to exist. I am reduced....to my most basic self in order to endure. My breathing is shallow and ragged, my bottom transformed into line after line of burning, stinging pain.
One stroke lands hard across the tops of both thighs and I swallow frantically to keep from hurling all over the mauve waffle material below me. This truly is one ugly chair!
You stop for a moment and I struggle to recover. I lean heavily over the chair, my panties and jeans now a tangled mess that clings to my ankles.
I shudder....a ripple of tingling travels through me as your hand reaches down to caress my scorched skin. Your palm moves slowly over my entire bottom, smoothing away the biting sting... soothing.
My body relaxes as you pause briefly just under the curve of my buttocks, your fingers lingering over the welt on my thighs. Tenderly you trace the ache with your fingertips and I become heady with the mix of pain and pleasure.
Your caressing becomes firmer...harder....and soon you are kneading my buttocks, pushing and pulling at my tender buttocks, and I am filled up with the sheer pleasure of it. My body goes limp under your massage, my shoulders droop and I am slipping away....
Until without warning, you flick the top part of the cane against my skin, letting it bite at the cheek you are kneading. My head snaps up and I gasp at the sharp contrast of the new sensation.
And then, just as suddenly, you go back to kneading, rolling my flesh between your fingers and I breathe in slowly, relaxed once again....until flick SNAP! The cane bites at me and my back arches rigidly in response to the searing hurt and I bite my lip hard to keep from whimpering.
Then the kneading begins all over again and soon I am trapped......pain....burning sting of the cane...... soft warmth...the soothing caress of your hand. The cycle continues until pain and pleasure become one and I am unable to distinguish one sensation from another. I am intoxicated...swept away....
And then you are next to me....close to my face. I look at you through locks of my own hair and you are crouched down, your knees bent, the cane resting across your thighs.
"Twelve more."
Waves of nausea wash over me.
"Count them. I want you to count loud enough for me to hear you."
I nod weakly as you stand and slowly move out of my line of sight. This time however, I don't look for you....I don't attempt to sense you. I am unconcerned where you are. Instead I am focused on enduring......my caning is almost over.
I have twelve more strokes to go. Good God! I lock my knees to keep my legs from giving away under me and plant my hands firmly on the seat, my mind focused on enduring.
CRACKKKK!
I gasp and count out "One!", my voice slightly hoarse.
CRACKKK!
"Two!" I am filled up with pain as the cane lands high on my bottom, where the skin is at its thinnest. My whole body trembles....my mind, quiet.
The strokes continue as you place each one carefully, leaving one searing line after another, neatly spaced, intent on giving every inch of my smoldering backside your undivided attention. Once again I am reduced....my brain quieted as I am forced to focus on the simple beauty of pain.....and my total acceptance of it.
When it is over, I am satiated and sore, my bottom a jumble of tingling ache and sting. I stay bent over the chair, waiting for you....waiting for my breathing to slow....my eyes closed. I feel you next to me again...crouched down, knees bent, the cane gone.
"I want you to stay put, understand? Stay there and relish your caning, Naughty One. Relish how it feels."
"Yes, Professor."
You are gone again and I can't see you, but I am too exhausted to care. When moments later, I hear the click clacking of keys, I know you are sitting at your desk working while I remain bent over a chair in the middle of your office, my freshly caned bottom on display.
My whole body is relaxed, my eyes, heavy and soon I am forced to close them....lulled by the sound of the keys clicking on your keyboard and the tingling warmth of my bottom.