How Did I Get Into This

As I stood there, my hands tightly laced above my head, to prevent another brushfire being lit over the one recently visited upon my burning buns. My chest heaving as I breathed in great gulps of air in between the broken sobbing as I cried and cried.

The thought of receiving a strapping on top of the 30 strokes already received as well as a follow up every night for the next three nights prevented me from cradling the ruins of my sit upon in my hands and trying to rub some comfort into them. So I cried and sobbed standing nose to the wall in the corner until called for.

I had forgotten the sheer pain that a cane inflicts, especially when a very determined woman wields it. I had, on numerous occasions, during my formative years at school felt the bite of both the junior as well as the senior cane.

This was supposed to be a joke, a lighthearted foray into spanking. My wife, raised as she was, in a conservative home really had a problem with swearing, so my “Oh FUCK that FUCKING hurts” following the second stinger delivered with precision to the junction between thigh and buttock was the catalyst which resulted in the caning.

A “What did you say?” followed by her gripping my ear and frogmarching me to the bathroom helped along by the palm of her hand slapping my butt for a mouth washing, interrupted the caning. The relief was very short lived as I soon found myself bent over the back of the sofa, where she laid down the “new and improved rules” all the while spitting as I tried in vain to remove the foul taste of soap from my mouth.

My sentence for profanity was a dozen stokes of the cane. She said, “I intend for them to hurt, if you move out of position or try and prevent me in anyway, you will get extra, so take my advice and follow instructions. Count and thank me for each as follows” “One, thank you ma’am”, and so on. She warned me that any deviation meant she started over. The result, an hour and 30 strokes later I stood still crying, my hands tightly laced above my head.

Hearing her call my name I turned towards her to find the bed opened and to be told that well punished little boys do not deserve nooky but go to bed early with no supper. Her voice softened as she told me to lie face down so that she could spread some very soothing balm on my butt.

As the soothing balm was gently applied and I drifted off to sleep, my last waking memory was “I think this cane works quite nicely, Mommy is going to keep it, just in case you decide to disobey me.”