Thursday, 18 October 2012

Our DD regime resumes with harsh caning

“I’ll be home in 45minutes. Make sure you are dressed appropriately and everything is ready for when I come in.”

I tried to argue the case that I was actually working but Mistress greeted my comments with silence on the other end of the phone. I rambled on, feeling more and more uneasy, realising I was wasting my time.

Then she said: “I’ve told you what I expect when I get home.”

“Yes Mistress.”

It was a Wednesday but I assumed this was going to be the maintenance session for Thursday because Mistress knew both of us had other commitments that night.

My heart was pounding and I had a discernable nervous shake in my hands as I got changed into my plastic punishment pants and black pvc housecoat. Then I placed the bench in the living room with the thin Dragon cane next to it. I wondered how I’d cope being thrashed again for the first time in many months. It was a challenge before to take 36 from that horrible thin rod. After many weeks of no discipline I was worried.

When Mistress arrived home there was none of her usual hugs or kisses, just a derisory look as she walked straight past me, through to the kitchen – holding out her bags for me to grab as she waltzed by.

“Washing up not done. Laundry still in the washing machine. Nothing put away. Explain to me how this so called servitude actually works! You really need sorting out – don’t you?”

“Yes Mistress.”

I was ushered into the living room and watched Mistress pick up the cane, give it a little flex between her fingers. It was an implement she had not used in some time. Our eyes met. She kept the stern demeanour and pointed to the bench with her cane.

She fastened me to the bench – actually a small decorating ladder - and wasted no time in whacking me. She might not have used the cane in some time but I realised immediately she had lost none of her skill in laying it on with accuracy and ferocity. Nothing prepares you for a cold caning does it?

The first stroke was a shock but the second stroke took my breath. By six I was making such a fuss that Mistress sat down in the leather chair facing me, cane still in hand, tapping it on the toe of here black leather boot.

“So, do we stop now?”

I was shocked how I was behaving, so I could imagine how Mistress felt.

“I’m sorry Mistress, I don’t think I can take it anymore.”

“That’s nonsense. You’ve only had six. We’ve got 30 to go yet.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No Mistress.”

She got up and started again. The first stroke was probably the most amazingly cruel cane stroke I’ve ever felt. It was so hard and seemed to land so squarely that the sting went fully across both buttocks and felt like I’d been cut in half, horizontally.

For a brief moment I felt a buzz of sexual pleasure – unusual for me when I’m being punished – and a feeling of wanting more like that. But it was only a split-second before five more followed in quick succession to leave me howling.

Our bench is not ideal. Because it’s a ladder that opens out, I can, at will stand up, pulling the ladder shut. In my writhings, that’s what I did and I stood, wimpering.

Mistress stopped again. “You are being such a pathetic wimp. You’ve only had 12 and not even hard. Do you want me to stop? I will if that’s what you really want. But you know the consequences.”

The consequences were that there would never be any corporal punishment again. I’ve been warned over and over. But this is a bottom that's taken over 100 strokes of Mistress's cane in the past. As I bent back across the bench I tried to contemplate if that’s what I wanted. Did I want to suffer like this every Thursday night in future? And maybe more. Did I want to be at Mistress beck and call?
I answered myself by answering Mistress.

“No Mistress. Please continue.

I don’t know why I said that. I think it’s because deep down, I knew if we stopped there that might well be the last time and I couldn’t be sure at that precise moment if that’s what I wanted. But, on the other hand, apart from that split second hint of pleasure, this was hell. At least I’d had some time to regain my composure.

Mistress gave me the outstanding 24 with no more breaks. I writhed, moaned, whimpered and begged but got through it.

As Mistress released me from the bench she said: “I’m not impressed with your behaviour. I would think the entire street could hear you. I think you are clearly going to need some real training. I’ve not even caned you full force.”

Mistress slumped back into the leather armchair again and I got on my knees to kiss her feet.
“What do you say?”

“Thank you for punishing me Mistress.”

“I should not need to prompt you. You really are going to need re-training.”

“Yes Mistress.”

After each punishment, Mistress likes to inspect her handiwork.

“Let me see your bottom.”

I stood facing the wall and slipped my plastic pants back down.

“Lovely. Every stripe absolutely perfect,” she said with some degree of relish. “Go and look for yourself.”

Gingerly I trudged upstairs and looked in the mirror. My bottom was a mass of dark purple stripes with a red tinge background. No wonder the intense burning sensation.

I went back downstairs.

“Well?”

“Mistress, I’m quite heavily marked for caning that wasn’t full force.”

“You’re not questioning me are you?”

“No Mistress, but…..”

“Some of the strokes were quite hard but a lot weren’t. You really are going to have to toughen up because I can see that I’m going to have punish you more regularly to get you back in training and not going to put up with that kind of fuss again. And I’m not going to be lenient again. You said you wanted full force. That’s what you’ll be getting. Do you understand?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Cup of tea.”

I was waved away and did as commanded. I placed the cup on the table beside her and she allowed me to sit on the couch next to her.

With punishment official over we returned to some kind of normality – except I was still sat in my plastic pants and shiny black housecoat. Mistress asked if I enjoyed being caned again.

I had to admit that while I didn’t enjoy the caning itself, I did enjoy the feeling that Mistress was exerting her authority on our relationship again.

Mistress smiled and then settled back to watch the TV while my mind was all over the place, thinking about what just happened but wondering what lay in the future for this very on-off-on FLR.

Later, in bed we talked more. Mistress pointed out that as I’d behaved so badly tonight there would be no pleasure for me – and wouldn’t until such time she thought my re-training was at a point where I actually deserved any.

I asked her if she enjoyed caning me. “Not really. I liked how accurately I caned you. But you made too much of a fuss. I think we’re going to have to gag you next time to see if that improves the situation because I don’t want all that noise when I start caning you full force. And we need to fix that bench so you can’t move about so much. I’m not having that to deal with again each time I thrash you.”

The mere thought made me squirm. So then I asked: “do you enjoy being in charge again Mistress?”
“I would if you were more compliant. If I had more time with you at home I think the whole dynamic would change quite considerably. I would be able to make sure you were better behaved. I would enjoy having a well-behaved servant who knows his place. At the moment you are just playing at it when it suits you. This either has to be 24/7 or it doesn’t work for me.”

My heart skipped. Mistress knows my job is going to allow me to spend more time at home in future.
“Do you think that we can make work,” I asked shakily.

“I think I can. It’s too easy for you to squirm out of you chores and punishments at the moment. You won’t be able to do that if you are here all the time.”

The one thing Mistress and I both agreed is how the evening’s punishment helped us connect again. Neither of us could really articulate our feelings but we both agreed it gave us a much deeper bond, endorsed by the closeness of our pillow talk and hugs.

Despite my suffering and Mistress being annoyed by my pathetic behaviour we both agreed it was a much needed stress relief. Mistress said: “Do you feel more relaxed after your caning?” I had to admit I did but regretted my inability to take the beating with good grace.

Mistress agreed she too felt different. “I think it did us both good,” she said. “And it would have been even more rewarding  if you hadn’t been such a wimp. But it’s given us something to work on, hasn’t it”?

“Yes Mistress.”

“What do you say?”

“Thank you for punishing me Mistress.”





Tuesday, 9 October 2012

First paddling whacks back to DD

Mistress applied the first whacks of the opaddle to my bottom in what she insists is our journey back to a full DD lifestyle this morning.

We were lying in bed, just thinking about getting up when the conversation came around to the reintroduction of our regime. I made some of the cuff remark about it being unlikely to happen in this Millennium when Mistress sat up and said, “Fetch the paddle.”

I didn’t move immediately but when she barked a ‘Now!’ I realised she wasn’t joking and I fairly shot out of bed and went to the cupboard where we keep all out equipment and clothing.

I provided the dreaded bath brush and leather spoon-shaped paddle for my correction and laid face down on the bed.

Mistress playfully tapped my bare bottom and then applied some hefty blows, which felt pretty much full force with the familiar pain of the bath brush and it wasn’t long before I was squirming around.

“You’re being a bit of a wimp. I’ve barely started,” she said, changing from the bath brush to the leather paddle. "You are obviously out of practice. I think you're gonig to need a fair bit of training to get you back to where we were."

Where we were was 30 strokes of the Dragon cane every Thursday for maintenance and any other punishments Mistress saw fit during the week. Going back to 'where we were' is a dauting prospect for me. But one I will accpet as graciously as I can.

I’ve no idea how many swats I got, maybe 30 in total – enough to remind me that corporal punishment hurts.

Mistress threw the paddle down and said, “Did you enjoy that?”

Enjoy wasn’t the word in my head. “Yes Mistress,” I said, when I was confronted with ‘the look’ that suggested I had better err on the side of caution.

“What do you say then?”

“Thank you for punishing me Mistress.”

“I should think so.”

I asked Mistress if she enjoyed it to. “Not really, I wasn’t sure if the neighbours were up yet so I thought I had better not make too much noise at this time of the morning. But I thought I’d give you a taste of what it to come. I do intend to make you bottom very sore. It’s been far too long and I’ve become fed up with you persistently being a naughty boy. You have been a naughty boy haven’t you?”

“Yes Mistress. Sorry Mistress.”

It was still only just 7.00am. An altogether interesting way to start the day.



Monday, 8 October 2012

The practicalities of wearing a rubber raincoat

I have a love for my Weathervain SBR mackintosh. Of all the rainwear in my wardrobe, my favourite is my shiny black rubber shortie that I had custom-made by the London-based shop a while back.

Single-breasted and cut just above the knee it has a modern look to it and is the only item of rainwear from my wardrobe that I ever wear in public – but not often enough.

I used to have a big hang-up about wearing it in public but I’m getting over that now and really enjoy wandering around the streets and even go shopping with it on.

When I aired my hang-ups in this very blog a while back several rainwear enthusiasts contacted me – some to agree, but some to say just get on a wear it, no one notices. By and large it’s true, no one pays any attention. I stood waiting at the till in a crowded M&S this week, people watching and didn’t spot anyone watching me!

This past week it’s had a fair bit of use but the heavy rain showed up some real shortcomings in my favourite mackintosh.

Tightly buttoned and collar up in the elements, I noticed how slimy it feels with the upturned, soaking wet collar against my cheeks. Secondly, the rain runs straight off the shiny rubber collar and down my neck. And if I’m walking hands in pockets it runs down the sleeve into my pockets. And worse still, the water runs off the bottom of the mackintosh, straight onto my legs so everything from just above the knee down, gets soaked.

It’s my fault. I wanted a fashionable-looking rubber mackintosh that I could wear in public and wouldn’t draw too much attention. But now I wished I’d gone for the full-length rubber trenchcoat.

I think my shortie mackintosh will be resigned for grey days when it looks like rain but I might well splash out (please forgive that pun) on a new longer one from Weathervain.

I love their workmanship of my shortie so I’m going to save my pennies and see if I can get something a little bit custom-made the combines the wide double breasted look of their fabulous Hussar coat but incorporate the cowl, epaulettes and sleeve tabs of the traditional trench. That way, I don’t have to have those shoulder gun patches which I’m not a fan of anyway.

Length is important for it to be suitable for heavy rain, but I don’t want the full ankle-length style of the Hussar so I’m going to get it cut just below my knee.

The other thing I’m contemplating is whether or not to incorporate a hood. The one thing I don’t like about Weathervain mackintoshes as that their hoods are all big and floppy. If Weathervain could come up with something a little more, dare I say it, stylish, then a hood would be a sensible additions, which Weathervain offer as an option. However, the best option for me would be a snap on/off hood - but I’m not sure it’s something Weathervain do.

The final thing about wearing a rubber mackintosh is the commitment. Okay it’s a labour of love but after reading all the do’s and don’ts of rubber raincoats, I’m paranoid about too much sweat around the collar, sweaty finger prints on the rubber surface, how the mackintosh is hung. So after each time out, I rub the collar with a damp cloth, dry it then apply silicon polish all over the mackintosh and buff it. I’ve got a real quality hanger for it, but only the other day I read that this pulls the shoulders out of shape and rubber raincoats should be folded loosely.

My goodness, did people really treat their mackintoshes with such reverence back in the day?