Bare Bottom Bognor Caning Over Bar Stool By Female Friend!

PLEASE give me my grade on this essay as soon as you have read it!
Thank you:

I handed her the rattan.
"You want me to cane you?"
"Yes. You need a reason."
She hesitated a few moments thinking it over.
"Questioning my authority!"

Caning was still legal throughout my childhood, and I was horrified of it to the point where I wouldn't even consider going to a school that featured it.
As an adult, one Saturday afternoon in August 1999, naked, I bent over a bar stool and touched the floor in front of me with the tips of my fingers.
That "hairpin," or "paperclip" position stretched and spread my bare buttocks wide open for total exposure.
Incredibly radiant smile, Dutch pretty, sincerely polite, considerate, utterly charming, ever so girlie girl, also naked Leah gave me "six-of-the best."
With black electrical tape I had wound around the stem just before the crook handle so as to give her a good grip on it, and to make it a true English school "Bognor," she used the 5/16" rattan.
This was the first time she had ever even held a cane in her hands, but she knew what she was doing because she had listened to the instructional audio, Miss Marianne Martindale's "The Art Of Caning."
There were six loud cracks. And, six tramlines on my bottom afterwards.
With each stroke, there was a caress across my bare bottom, followed by the pain which went no further than the area struck.
"I am surprised you can sit down," she said.
The thin red lines stood out for a few days.
By the next Saturday they were absolutely gone.
Whenever I sat down, for a couple of days immediately after the incident, I had a mild raw feeling, like something was missing .
I put an extra cushion on my chair.
That solved the problem.
Not a big deal.
There was no other subsequent discomfort than this tenderness.
By getting it as an act of friendship, I conquered that one terror in my life, much like turning snake poison into an antidote.
The experience gave me power and took none away.

It was a totally satisfying experience for Leah, and that makes it totally satisfying for me.
"I liked everything about it," said she. "I stopped only because I felt sorry for you. I didn't use follow through because I didn't want to cut you in two."
Pain, and the possibility of transcendence, there is something empowering about having "survived" a good thrashing!
I feel love for Leah, but it isn't.

It is a unique kind of bonding.

It's like she got a piece of me and made it a part of her, but the piece also grew back quickly and without a trace, and I have a piece of her which I treasure as a part of me now.

Thirteen years later, grade ten dropout, two kids by two different men, a never wore her seat belt car accident, god knows how many cigarettes, experimenting with drugs to keep from getting fat, arrested for stealing form her employer, I wonder if she still giggles, and just how aware she is that, as I understand it, no man since has ever been willing to let her do to him anything at all like what she did with me.

Am I a good essayist?
A person who has been caned should have to write an essay about it afterwards.
I haven't been caned again since then, but when it does happen, I am sure I shall have to read this essay out loud, paragraph by paragraph, between strokes.

She got the right end of the stick for her.
I got the right end of the stick for me.
That cane was just the key to unlock good things for both of us.
I feel closer to women for it.
Three cheers!

A satisfied woman is always an accomplishment to a man who loves them!

harvard2 harvard2
61-65, M
2 Responses Sep 20, 2012

It's all about turning pain into pleasure!

LOVED your story. Wish I could make a man understand why I want that -- it's not about excruciating pain.