A night to remember

For the first time in months, we had the house to ourselves for a night. I was hoping that S would be in the mood to play, though conscious that her tolerance might not be what it was when we able to do so more regularly. Sure enough, after a couple of drinks, she said she was feeling naughty and suggested a move into the study.

I went ahead to make preparations. First, I set up my portable workbench. This functions in much the same way as an old-fashioned birching bench, providing good support for the miscreant even during a lengthy session, and having the advantage that I can secure her wrists and ankles to the legs of the bench when she feels the need to be restrained. A folded towel over the top of the bench provides sufficient padding for her stomach, and for her generous breasts.

Next, I got out the cane we currently use, which S herself chose from an online catalogue; three feet of smooth rattan with a rubber handle-grip, it is about a quarter of an inch in diameter, and so slightly flexible without being really bendy. I placed this on top of the bench before summoning S to join me.

S walked into the study, wearing a simple, short white cotton shift, and gave an apprehensive gulp when she saw the bench in the middle of the room with the cane lying on top of it.

After a token show of defiance, she obeyed my instruction to stand at the end of the bench and bend over it. I told her that she would receive 12 strokes and was to count each one; if she failed to count, she would receive 18.

I lifted the hem of her shift and folded it half-way up her back, exposing her firm, pink and as yet unblemished bottom. Standing to her left, I flexed the cane before lining it up carefully and administering the first stoke across the middle of her bare bottom – little more than a gentle tap, as there had been no warm-up spanking, but I followed my usual practice of making each stroke a little harder than the one before, so that the twelfth is moderately hard.

S counted the first nine strokes, but not the next three, so I proceeded to administer a further six crisp, firm strokes.

By this time, she was clearly well into the spirit of things and showed no desire to move. A probing finger between her legs encountered a satisfyingly wet pussy. Clearly, this was not the time to stop, so I gave her a further six hard strokes before telling her she could stand up.

By this time, S had received 24 strokes and the whole of her bottom was covered by red lines, but she had no difficulty in sitting down and soon told me that I must have lost my touch. Picking up the cane again, I said that twelve of the best would show her that this was not the case.

S resumed her position over the bench, and after lifting up her shift again and giving her bottom a rub, I proceeded to give her 12 full-force strokes, each one hard enough to elicit a sharp gasp on impact and leave a distinct, raised welt. The last, and hardest, stroke was carefully aimed to land along the crease where her buttocks and thighs meet, and brought a yelp of pain.

This concluded a satisfying session for both of us. The marks were fantastic and I could still feel the welts on her bottom with my fingers the next morning.