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over a year ago
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(This is a true story, the pictures of this caning can be seen on my profile)
This was it, a really harsh caning top that I knew was about to give me a beating.
I was naked and leaning slightly forward so that the upper and lower halves of my arse cheeks were clearly accessible.
These were to be hard cane strokes to the arse cheeks only. Restricting the area (no thighs) would increase the pain and intensity of the marks. This also worried me as I usually have a spread of marks over my buttocks and thighs so repeated hits are less common. This would be a test indeed.
I was excited and really wanted to experience his harsh strokes, but was worried that I would let myself down and not be able to take it.
I could see myself and my top in a web cam. I enjoy this because I think it is more difficult to stay still if you can see it coming. I like to try to be brave.
He had an array of canes and I noticed that he chose a thin one to start with. This cane was solid and could cut the skin but did not hurt as deeply as the other canes, So I braced myself
I had no warm up so the first one Really stung. He hit at full strength with a long draw back.
The second hit just as hard and the burn intensified, he was hitting the same place. Then the third ,in the same place again. The pain was building up, but bearable. I stayed still as the fourth and fifth landed, just counted each stroke out loud.
Then I saw him change the cane to a thicker one and swish it in the air a couple of times. As he drew back I thought, this is it, hold steady. This is really going to hurt.
A swish was followed by an explosion of pain.
I let out a quiet groan and tried to hold myself together as the feeling of panic welled up. My self-preservation instinct was telling me to get out of the way of the next stroke.
Sure enough as the cane swung towards me for a seventh time, I shifted forwards. "I must fight to control this instinct" I thought
8, 9 , 10. I did not move, I had beaten my instincts … for now.
11, I expelled a loud breath , the sting was excruciating.
12, another hard stroke and another exhalation.
Now, the pain of each stroke was varying in intensity as a hit to new skin it was less uncomfortable than one to an already injured stripe of skin. This in itself gave me hope of endurance, as I realised that the pain was not absolute.
On strokes 17 and 18 he (intentionally) hit the crack between cheeks and thigh so I recoiled slightly.
19 and 20 were bearable, just.
Strokes 21 to 25 were delivered as fast strokes, all landing within 2 seconds. This gave me a thrill straight through my core, and signaled to me that I was now enjoying the session, and all doubts suddenly left me. I would endure. Relief and a feeling of satisfaction filled the gap before the next stroke.
My new found comfort was abruptly interrupted by the sting on number 26, which along with 27 and 28 landed in the same place and on web cam I could see that they nearly split the skin. It may have been this that made me let myself down by moving just before number 29.
Stroke 30 landed with such ferocity that it broke the cane. I thought to myself that 30 was far harder that 1 but I just took it in my stride, I may be winning the battle against fear and self doubt.
I also realised that I was sweating from the pain. At the beginning of the caning, my world only consisted of the cane and the pain. Now I was aware of other things going on. Yet another sign that I was still in control of myself.
At 33 I was surprised to hear my top ask if I wanted to carry on. I immediately replied “Yes”. Then, I wondered why he had asked. The marks were getting bad but there was no blood yet. I was not about to quit when 50 was within sight.
Despite my optimism, make no mistake, the strokes were hurting, really hurting. I was sure I would make it but was paying the price.
Soon I was at 40, each stoke was now becoming a real challenge and the cane landed on skin that had already been hit many times.
The end of the cane (the very fast bit) was landing on my right cheek, so it was really raised, tender and red. There was also a node near the end on the cane that was always landing in the same area on my left cheek. That was also lumpy and sore. Both areas were ripe for split skin, but I hoped that they would hold out a while and not stop the caning. It was a solid rule that we always stopped at blood.
With all of the pain I miscounted, saying 42 twice (an extra stroke.)
Strokes 46 to 50 were administered in quick succession again and being on top of the worst marks, causing me to move on the last stroke.
Because of this move I asked for hard extra stroke. This was to show him that I still had some control, and to prove to myself that I could take it.
I assumed the position with a feeling of defiance so the very hard stroke that he landed was easily bearable.
A total of 52 (due to the miscount) which I am very proud of, and a set of marks that I love.
It is a shame that the raised bumps and the bruises disappear, but never mind, we can soon replace them.
But that will be another story……