Thanks for a great CFNM session today! I really appreciated the attention to detail and will definitely want to come again.
|“There is a march of Science; but who shall beat the drums for its retreat?”|
The girl with the ponytail reappeared and held the door open for us while pointing down the corridor. As we filed past she gave an encouraging grin that for some reason only increased my anxiety. By now even Graham had gone quiet. “This is creeping me out!” I heard Mazher mutter behind me. Doctor Barzani strode ahead of us, those long, long legs swishing in the fine hosiery and ridiculously I wanted to drop behind her to see if she wore the kind with the seams up the backs. We entered a room that had obviously once been a gymnasium even to the extent of the thick green and orange rubber floor mats, the wooden climbing frames bolted to the walls and the long low forms arrayed beneath them upon which the class would have sat. For some reason the phrase from innumerable news broadcasts flashed through my mind – ‘The executions took place in a converted gymnasium’. I bet they did, I thought, wishing by now I’d never gotten into this business.
At least the misery of uncertainty was about to disappear; for there ahead of us waited six sets of what I could only describe as ‘apparatus’. Each consisted of a pneumatic black shape that resembled a collapsible car seat and – incongruously enough – a virtual reality helmet of the sort favoured by hardcore gamers dangled from it by coiled tubes. Twin sets of parallel loops protruded from the seat at positions equivalent to the limb joints on the human body. The floor and its collection of mats was a network of crazily inscribed wires, Ethernet cables and extension boards. Doctor Barzani stopped and held out her arms to check our progress. “Right, ladies and gentlemen,” she spoke reassuringly. “Well need you to take up position over the equipment so you’re kneeling on the seat with your palms on the floor. Don’t worry, it’s semi-automatic so you will be guided into position.” She then walked briskly over to a raised area like a platform at the bottom end of the gymnasium and I craned my neck to follow her.
There stood another workstation upon which was a desktop computer connected to a portable television set; the type used by industry with the innards gaping and uncased as the domestic set would be. I also noticed an oscilloscope among the equipment maintaining its steady display of a single brief signal across the green screen. Even more ominously, someone had parked a trolley next to the workstation and its sole cargo consisted of a single black and grey cube. Thick plastic pipes snaked from brass terminals on the top of the cube across the rubberised floor to all six sets of apparatus.
I stopped and stood for a moment trying to make sense of it all before Doctor Barzani’s voice floated into my consciousness above the sound of her fingernails clacking on the computer’s keyboard. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you would take your places please?” The oscilloscope waveform continued its steady sinister beat.
By now my mounting sense of anxiety clouded my judgement; I should have turned and fled immediately but glancing nervously at my fellow test subjects and seeing them shuffle toward the chairs I involuntarily followed suit. Gingerly I approached the nearest set of equipment and gripping the back of the seat, lowered myself onto it, my knees sinking into the black Naugahyde. God it felt creepy – cold and clammy. Thee ponytailed girl had drifted over to stand behind me and I was conscious that in this position my rear end was sticking right up in the air. “Oh, you’re wearing jeans … ” she said before her voice trailed off.
Damn! I thought, remembering that I hadn’t read the joining instructions properly. I now remembered they said ‘wear leggings or yoga pants – no thick material.’
“Doctor?” The girls called out and then I heard the click and squeak of those high-heeled shoes and caught the scent of Chanel Number Five. I twisted round to see the doctor in her white coat leaning down over me. “I’m terribly sorry but your jeans are going to have to come off,” she said, her face set in a serious expression. “We need to get efficient conductivity you see.”
“Okay.” Blushing furiously I unbuckled my belt and in this most embarrassing of positions snaked the jeans down around my hips while she leaned forward to retrieve a bundle of wires that terminated in Velcro pads from the floor nearby. To my astonishment I then felt Doctor Barzani’s fingers actually touching my backside through the tight briefs whilst she attached the wires to my posterior. She then circled round to where my head lolled down as I rested my weight on my palms, the seat sinking queasily and knelt in front of me. In such close proximity were we that I had to drag my eyes away as the hem of her lab coat and minidress slid above her knees, exposing a shapely section of charcoal-meshed thigh as she attached more of the pads to my chest and neck. The sweet scent of her perfume filled my nostrils and that beautiful face swam but a few inches from mine but the smile twitching the corners of her flawless mouth had a distinctly vulpine quality to it … All too quickly she was done.
My discomfiture had not gone unnoticed amongst the other members of the group. “Hard cheese, old son!” Graham hooted. “You’ve got to do it in your pants!”
“Great budgie smugglers, mate!” the lanky blonde Aussie girl called derisively down the row to my left as she took her place. “Are they your pulling pair?”
“I’m a grower, not a shower!” I retorted. But I was pleased to say she had to expose her own ‘botty-huggers’ when Doctor Barzani turned back her denim miniskirt to attach the Velcro pads to the tautly curved seat of her pink panties.
At this juncture of course I should have been contemplating what these strange adhesive pads were for. Barely had I the time to register the Australian girl’s embarrassment (and derive some malicious pleasure from it) than Doctor Barzani walked back to my position. Just as I opened my mouth to ask the inevitable question she took the helmet and slipped it over my head. On being plunged into darkness two things happened. With a hiss of compressed air a gag like a car’s airbag punched inside my mouth to cut off any cries and squeals. Having something like that so suddenly inflate in my mouth felt invasive and I experienced a brief moment of panic in that I might choke – ‘the gagging reflex’ as it is (ironically) called. Simultaneously – and certainly quicker than I could react – the wrist and ankle cuffs, which had snaked about my joints, snapped into life, automatically adjusting for a perfect fit.
The machine cinched me tight and drew me down upon it, into something that must have resembled the missionary position so that my buttocks and haunches were positioned up on a higher angle than my head. I could only imagine the others in the same predicament, kneeling forward, trussed thus, displaying our rumps clad in tracksuit bottoms, the fashion of tight black leggings or briefs in the case of the Australian girl and I – ready for whatever came next.
Eerily a computerised voice spoke from a speaker from within the helmet. I immediately recognised it as a synthesis of Doctor Barzani’s except it sounded even huskier. “You are being restrained for your own safety and well-being,” the voice intoned seductively. “Continue to breathe normally: your vital signs are being monitored.” My mind swirled in confusion I could sympathise with a luckless animal caught in a snare. What the hell were these weirdoes going to do to us —?
— Then the voice began to speak again.
UK Mistress Jane
Its been a great month, even more so now Xmas is behind us and the mornings and are slowly getting lighter. Feb will soon be upon us and the buds will be sprouting as we head towards the spring, I can hardly wait!
January saw another visit from the one and only Strapon Jane a very well known UK Mistress, not quite a house hold name, but a legend all the same! Not only have some of you had your life long fantasy fulfilled by finally getting to meet her, but so have I. She is someone I have wanted to session with since I first met her on the scene some 15 years back but never had the balls to ask. Somehow by sheer fate our paths have crossed and some of you have been very lucky to be part of our ‘Jane Sandwich’ wow. She is a true pro and a truly amazing Lady. Strapon Jane is available for sessions with me at my chambers with prior notice. I haven’t got round to publishing some of your reviews about your time spent with us, so sorry about that. I will address that issue soon.
The Launch of the stunning Lunna Latex got under way earlier this year, and she recently opened up her twitter account so you can see her thoughts and progress as she slowly immerses herself in to MJ’s world of kink. Lunna is available upon request on Mondays and Wednesdays with MJ. For other days please enquire to check her availability. Follow https://twitter.com/LunnaLatex
Ms L’Amour, also known as Trixy has been coming for almost a year after making her debut last April ’17. She also had the pleasure of joining myself and Strapon Jane for couple of sessions which involved all three of us wearing strapons for a couple of very greedy boys. Trixy is available upon request.
The Pursuit of Knowledge …
On Wednesday morning I caught the eight thirty three from Brighton to Chichester to begin my little adventure. The day before I had a brief conversation on the subject with Carole who looked at me doubtfully while biting her lower lip: “You did go through it thoroughly with them, didn’t you?”
“Of course,” I lied.
During the brisk fifteen minute walk from the station inside the city walls and close to the Cathedral I saw many beautiful period houses that had been reclaimed from commerce. The character of the city had changed and a domestic hum was replacing the hush of office life and I enjoyed the early spring sunshine on my face as its rays slanted down over the rooftops and between the pilasters to reflect on the windows of parked cars. No wonder North Street received acclaim from Nikolaus Pevsner and Ian Nairn in the Sussex volume of The Buildings of England as ‘the perfect street for an English country town’. And somewhere inside this portentous Georgian façade would be the former school converted by Solaryde into their research facility.
Once buzzed in through one of the glass security pods I stepped into the reception hall with its high corniced ceiling and which still retained the elegant Adam oval staircase. It wasn’t hard to visualise what this place must have looked like when it had been a school with pupils heading in noisy crocodiles up and down those stairs: all excited chatter; sports bags and gossip. Stepping from behind the dais a girl in a white silk blouse and whose long black ponytail dangled down to the small of her back led me across the lobby toward a series of rooms converted into cellular offices. There seemed to be nobody else around and the building was eerily quiet apart from the whine of computer or other electrical equipment; the noises of the street shut off by the vacuum-sealed doors.
“You’re just in time; Doctor Barzani is expecting you. She’s just about to start the briefing” was her perfunctory greeting and as we walked along the corridor a surveillance camera high up near the veiling panned to follow our progress.
“Here you are.”
The girl ushered me into a barrel-vaulted room converted into an office. Five faces turned to look at me – these belonging to the other volunteers sitting in a semi-circle around a functional metal workstation desk. And there seated at some distance to the side of the desk was the elusive Doctor Barzani herself.
“Ah David! Welcome. Please take a seat. I’m just taking the group through the preliminaries and explaining the background to what are our phase II clinical trials …” The smile switched direction to the girl who had shown me in. “Thank you, Rachael. We’ll be done in about ninety minutes so you can buzz them out then, okay?”
I was barely conscious of the others in the room as I took the vacant chair – so preoccupied was I in drinking in the beauty of the woman opposite. My God was she gorgeous! Jet-black hair, swept up into a simple and completely practical hairstyle, accentuated her high-cheek-bones and a straight, perfectly proportioned nose. Wide-set brown eyes with delicately painted lashes complimented a mouth in which the upper lip curled a little and the lower lip was a little fuller than the upper. She is beautiful, I thought. If you drew a line down the centre, both sides of her face would be almost exactly the same. Her cafe au lait skin was flawlessly smooth. And I’m pleased to say she even wore a white lab coat over her tight black minidress and those long shapely legs were hosed in black nylons that found their perfect accompaniment in spiky-heeled shoes. A name badge pinned to her lapel read SAHIRA BARZANI BSc. Expressions like ‘stunner’, ‘honey’ et cetera would seem ridiculously inappropriate when applied to such an amazing woman …
“You’ll be helping us here today with our work in developing and evaluating novel treatments through the first in the series of single and multi-centre trials …” There were half-a-dozen of us in Doctor Barzani’s office. We were all around the same age – early- to mid-twenties, students from various academic establishments. And her group now being complete, she launched into an exposition of the programme but it proved to be as opaque as Carole’s earlier explanation. To make matters worse (or better, depending upon your perspective) she had this habit of reclining right back in her swivel chair, legs crossed and one glossy high-heeled shoe dangling in a seductive manner from her foot so the ball in the fine-denier hose shone almost pinkly through the charcoal mesh … Stop perving at her legs! I told myself sternly, you’re here for the advancement of science – not to letch at good-looking women. I tried to distract myself by taking the occasional glance beyond the French windows at the stone flags that let out into the garden. But it proved difficult …
After the rather sinister hush of the remainder of the building it felt a relief to be back amongst people. Of the other five volunteers, one in particular caught my eye – tall and leggy girl with a sun-reddened face and a disarranged hairstyle of blonde locks and dark roots that I found quite appealing. She spoke in an Australian accent and asked the most questions of any of us but I was too lost daydreaming about the beauty of Doctor Barzani to hear barely a word of either these queries or the concomitant answers.
“ … Designed to optimise alternative mindpaths through appropriate stimuli to re-engineer neuro-linguistic programming into generating more societally acceptable responses …” To be honest I was so fixated on Doctor Barzani’s lovely face and that ruby lipped mouth I was away with the fairies. I took not one whit of notice of what she was actually saying … until ‒
“– We have laid on some light refreshments for you so please enjoy these, get to know each other and then in half-an-hour we’ll start.” Naturally there was some form-filling and the doctor passed a clipboard amongst us that had attached the thick legal waiver to be signed and of course a slip for the nominated bank account for each person to receive their expenses and remuneration. We then filed out into a common area where tea and coffee urns stood on a trestle table alongside a respectable selection of biscuits, muffins and other pastries. I’d no sooner poured myself a cup of coffee (which proved to be surprisingly decent for this sort of thing) than I received dig in the ribs from somebody and I looked up to see an immensely tall and gangling youth who peered down at me through thick-lensed spectacles. “Hello mate,” he said in a suitably posh voice. “I saw you eyeing up the good doc. Quite a looker isn’t she?”
“She’s that all right,” I cackled, taking a liking to this eccentric character. “So what do you make of all this business? It’s a bit mysterious. I mean nobody’s told us what’s in store.”
“The chance to make a few quid – easy money that’s all.” Flicking back a lock of straight-combed blond hair he suddenly stuck his hand out. “Graham,” he said.
I shook it and replied, “David.”
The third boy in our group had by now drifted over to introduce himself: “Mazher.”
We exchanged handshakes and introductions complete began speculating on the nature of the experiment we would soon be participating in. “I’m not sure I want to be a lab rat,” Mazher confessed; face pensive. “But I need to get my car back on the road.”
“I’m sure it’ll be all right,” I replied although by now I did have a few butterflies in the stomach. Despite the tall arched windows in the room it seemed perceptibly darker outside and the third youth’s words brought back the feeling of unease I experienced earlier. Keeping a discreet distance the three girls also had their heads together discussing the situation. Only Graham seemed unaffected by the mood of apprehension. “Tell you what I’m going to do,” he winked conspiratorially, “once this is over I’m going to invite Doctor Barzani out for a coffee.”
“I mean they keep mentioning Newman,” Mazher persisted. “What’s all that about? Who is Newman and what are his theories? How come nobody’s given us a straight answer since we got here? Don’t you think we should be finding out more about this stuff? Because that’s probably what they’re going to be doing to us? I mean don’t you think we should know!”
“No idea,” Graham chortled, “all I care about is they’re paying us and I want to get my leg over with the doc and that’s all I need to know!”
“And you reckon a coffee’ll do it, do you?” I guffawed. “I admire your confidence.”
“If she’ll have a coffee with me it’s a start, isn’t it?”
Mazher laughed and shook his head. “You guys are hopeless, aren’t you?”
“Okay ladies and gentlemen. We’re ready for you now.”
……………………to be continued
Slut Training~He walked in and removed his coat. “At least its warm in here” he said as he reached into the wardrobe for a hanger. The temperature had dropped recently and we had just entered a cold snap. “Take a seat” I told him as I pointed towards a chair which was by the wall. He reached into his satchel bag and handed me a note. “Instructions from the wife” he mumbled, “Tribute is also in the envelope Mistress”.
“Thank you” I replied. I opened up the envelope and began to read the note.
Thanks again for agreeing to continue the training of my husband. I am still keeping him in chastity, however I have changed the device, and for his visit to you, I’ve fitted a plastic lock numbered 001100. If the device is locked with a lock with a different number, it probably means my husband has released himself, had a wank and fitted a new lock. I’m sure your have ways of finding out.I’ll leave it to your judgement how you deal with that possibility.
As previously, feel free to do with him as you please. However, I have one general and two specific requests. Anything you can do to improve his obedience / subservience would be good, although i’m sure three hours with you will make a difference. On the specifics, I have a sneaking suspicion that he has a fantasy of being a slut. I wonder if you could test that out. I regard my next request a bit like routine servicing. Namely, de-spunk him. Since his last visit to you, I have allowed him to cum once. It was his Christmas present! So a reasonable amount of spunk should have built up. I’ll leave it to you to find out.
After reading the letter I stood up and snapping my fingers I ordered him to remove his male attire ‘pronto’. The first thing I did was to check the serial number on his chastity device corresponded with the number his wife had written in her letter, fortunately for him, it did.
I was going to test him today as well as train him. But firstly, I was going to transform him into a rubber slut. I had a rubber maids dress ready, which had matching latex suspenders, stockings, heels and a little back maids hat which was trimmed with white frills. I decided to call ‘her’ Samantha, once fully made up. As I prepared Samantha for her training I told her the purpose and rules and how I intended to train and test her.
1/ I am to be referred to as Mistress at all times.
2/ You are to be Tested, De-spunked and trained in obedience as requested by your wife.
3/ You are to be trained so that not only I can use you but so that you can be used by others at my request. I may also call upon you when I have parties or events, where you will be expected to meet and greet my guests and in some cases accommodate them in any way I see fit.
4/ How I decide to train you will depend on the results of the ‘slut test’. The ‘Slut test’ will include cock sucking, as well as deep throat and particularly learning to avoid the gag reflex. Strap-on training and willingness to consume your own mess, and to see how keen you are to ‘offer’ yourself to others as a slut.
5/ You will be Edged as part of your obedience and training, you can only cum when given permission. You will be de-spunked and emptied thoroughly before you little cock is locked back in its device for the foreseeable.
6/ Failure is not an option. Poor performance however will be dealt with in a severe manner by use of the cane.
Samantha was ready to commence her ‘slut training’ and as I began to fasten on my strapon harness she immediately fell to her knees in order to help me fasten the strap. She stayed on her knees and held her hands behind her back. As I turned to face her she opened her mouth wide. “Oh look” I said as I slipped my cock down her throat “A cock hole”. Samantha began to suck greedily as my hard dick slid in and out of her mouth. This was a good opportunity to thrust my dick deep into the back of her throat, and if she gagged, I would use my crop to beat her. No sooner said than done, Samantha gagged, her eyes began to water as she gasped for air. “Try again but without the commotion” I barked. Again I slid my cock to the deepest depths of her throat and again she began to gag. “All fours NOW!”. Sam crept forward on to her hands. With my crop held high I brought it down, swishing it through the air and landing it on her backside. She yelped. “Try harder” I snarled.”Yes Mistress” Sam replied. This time Sams efforts were far more satisfying. Its surprising what a little tap of the crop will do. It was quite apparent to me that my little rubber slut Samantha appeared to be enjoying sucking my cock. So much so that Her little locked up cock was dripping with so much pre cum that a little puddle had developed beneath her, which of course I had her lick up immediately.
Unbeknown to Samantha, I would be putting her to the test today. I had my own pet slut Gigi coming soon and I would expect Samantha to accommodate my guest in any way that pleased me. I had a sneaking suspicion that Samantha had a deep seated fantasy to be used as a slut and this was the ideal opportunity for her to exercise that desire.
I told Samantha that I would be soon expecting a guest. I not say whom it would be, I just told Samantha that I expected her full cooperation and obedience towards my guest. There was a knock at the door. That will be them, “Go and greet my guest and welcome them in”. Samantha tottered to the door but no sooner had she reached it Gigi walked in. Samantha looked shocked. “Welcome Miss Gigi, I am Mistresses obedient slut Samantha”.
“Oh how lovely, and what a nice surprise” said Gigi. I clicked my fingers and told Samantha to drop to her knees. Samantha obeyed, but not only that she placed her hands behind her back and opened her mouth. “You’ve got her well trained” said Gigi. “Yes, but proof is in the pudding” I answered. “Ah” replied Gigi. “So you would like me to try her to see if she is of any use?” Gigi paused “It would be an honour Mistress”.
Gigi stood facing Samantha, she slowly hitched up her skirt to reveal her eight strap suspenders and seamed stockings, then as she lifted her skirt above her hips she revealed a bulge behind a pair of lacy panties. Samantha still on her knees watched intently for Gigi’s next move. But Gigi just stood there.
“Samantha” I called, “Gigi would like relief”. “Yes Mistress” answered a nervous Samantha. She slowly lifted her arms in order to pull down Gigi’s panties. She paused as she slipped her fingers into the waist band, then began to pull them down. Gigi’s cock fell out almost hitting Samantha in the face. She opened her mouth and closed her eyes and in it went. It wasn’t long before Samantha was putting in the same effort as she was with my cock earlier.
Upon looking down to watch on Samantha’s progress Gigi noticed a puddle of pre cum collecting just beneath Sam’s cock. Gigi looked at Sam, “You must be enjoying sucking my cock otherwise your cock wouldn’t be sooooo wet and horny, locked away in its little cage there”.
We now had Samantha on all fours with my cock fucking her ass and Gigi’s cock deep down the back of her throat, we fucked here senseless. She certainly passed her slut training.
THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE
‘Healthy young test subjects wanted’, the advertisement tacked to the college noticeboard read. Volunteers (who must have no known health issues) would receive expenses plus a small emolument for their trouble.
“You should apply for it; you’re always crying poverty!” a soft female voice chuckled to my side. I twisted round to see Carole, my tutor on the social sciences course (and young, blonde and lovely into the bargain) standing next to me.
“Maybe I should,” I replied, feeling a rather illogical need to impress her with my bravery. My eyes flickered back over the text, which – like most business writing these days – proved to be a masterpiece of saying everything while telling you nothing. “It’s not very clear, is it? Do you know anything about what it’s actually about? I mean they obviously want people to experiment on?”
“Well that’s one way of putting it!” Carole frowned and teased a lock of wavy blonde hair between thumb and forefinger as she tried to recall the recent conversation with the advertisers. “I remember the principal saying something when the company first came in to ask to advertise. Solaryde they called themselves. But it was more for the psychology department. Something about a new type of dynamic therapy, neurally reprogramming learned shortcuts to anti-social behaviour through disciplinary interventions, that kind of thing.”
“Discipline eh?” I cackled. “Ooh er missus! Kinky!”
Carole laughed softly and shook her head in mock sadness. “Don’t get your hopes up! I’m sure it’s nothing like that. I guess it’s similar to what they were trying back in the Sixties, I suppose.” She wrinkled the bridge of her nose in that characteristically cute manner I liked when she was deep in thought. “The lady that headed the team did say the research is designed to continue the theories of Newman and Benatar from the nineteen eighties and nineties.”
The only ‘Benatar’ I happened to be familiar with was the mini-skirted purveyor of American housewives’ rock but I felt no need to admit that.
Carole shrugged those slim shoulders in her floral summer dress. “Probably best if you ’phone up and ask them first before committing yourself to anything.”
“As long as it’s not the Ludovico Technique I don’t mind,” I joked, mind by now made up. “And the money will come in handy for the end of term ball. Oh, and by the way,” I attempted nonchalance, “will you be going —?”
I realised I was addressing thin air as the object of my desire had by this time disappeared.
There was half an hour until the start of my next lecture. While pacing the college grounds I decided that there would be no time like the present and tapped out the number for Solaryde on my mobile ’phone. After a gratifyingly short period (during which I was still daydreaming about Carole in her party dress) the clinic picked up. A female switchboard operator – clearly computer-generated – queried the nature of my enquiry and hardly had I uttered the words ‘test subject’ than she recited a legal disclaimer before putting me through to the lead clinician. I was impressed by the way they even managed to synthesise the tone of studied boredom before another voice cut in on the line. Again it was female but there the similarity ended. She sounded bright, enthusiastic and spoke in the most cut-glass of English accents. Being a typical young bloke I imagined she would look absolutely lovely and hoped I’d get the chance to actually meet her.
“Hi, Doctor Barzani speaking. How can I help?”
“Hi, Doctor,” I replied. “Actually I might be able to help you. I’m ’phoning about the advertisement you placed in my college for test subjects. Something about a revolutionary new therapy?”
“Oh yes!” she said excitedly. “Thank you so much for enquiring! We’ve had quite a few people ring and we need just one more person to complete the numbers for the first test group. Would you be interested and if so could you come over to our research facility in Chichester on Wednesday?”
“Count me in,” I heard myself reply.
Living proof that you can be intellectual without necessarily being clever.
“Face your front!” Mistress Gwendolyn commanded briskly and as reluctant as he felt, Tom took up the required stance, clutching the edges of the chair’s seat for dear life It cannot be far off five of the clock, the young man pondered sullenly, when is she going to release me so that I may attend the Prince? And damn the Prince, he thought with sudden venom. If the little rascal had not made such a mess of his Latin verbs then I would not be suffering such torment … but that, of course, happened to be precisely the point.
Mistress Gwendolyn glided smoothly into position behind and to the left of him and her fine white teeth flashed as she lowered the cane to the horizontal. “It has a marvellous crooked form does it not, Master Tom? The raised bumps along its length make for some spectacular bruises and the sharp bite it do impart have a truly lasting effect upon the recipient – like a sharp sermon delivered on a frosty morning!” She chuckled once more at her own wit.
“Yes Mistress,” Tom agreed and his sulky mood made him careless. “It is a repandous as the King’s legs ‒ ” Horror-struck at what had just passed his lips he snatched a hand away to cover his mouth.
“Master Tom!” The Lady of the Wardrobe half-laughed and half-gasped in mock horror. It was the worst kept secret at court that the King suffered from rickets and nobody really believed the official story of how his guardian, Sir Robert Carey had cured him of the malady in childhood. “You ought to have your ears shorn off at the pillory for such disloyalty! I was going to give you a dozen – but now you shall receive another six.” She shook her head in supposed sadness, those ringlets falling about her slim shoulders. “You bad, bad boy! In truth I do not know who has been more likely stalled to the rogue: you or your playmate!” Then she set to the denouement of her work.
Tap tappity-tap. The tip of the cane played its little dance upon his mottled proffered buttocks as she measured her first stroke. The ferula was a brutal weapon – a veritable a broadsword or a war hammer in the disciplinarian’s armoury – but the cane, a relatively new import from India required skill and precision, in the manner of a rapier, to employ it properly. “Well, my boy,” she teased him; “you shall earn your firewood this day!” Having gauged the distance, while the poor suffering Tom waited, she gave a deft, lateral flick of the wrist
A half-strangled cry of pain was wrung from him before Tom almost quite realised it. And immediately came the tormenting, mocking tap-tap-tap as she calculated her second stroke. Again he heard the hollow whoosh of displaced air followed at a discernible interval by that hateful sensation which threatened to overwhelm his senses. His buttocks were erupting, a blistering pain searing through skin and flesh. Every subsequent stroke of the cane seemed to be lacerating them afresh. He desperately wanted to tear his hands away and evade that next blow but he checked himself. He had absolutely no doubt that she meant her threat of a flogging at the at the cart’s arse – a shaming punishment for prostitutes – in front of all those leering, cackling fishwives.
He gripped the chair until his knuckles turned white.
Mistress Gwendolyn paused for a moment to allow him to calm his breathing. Sumptuous and gilded though it undoubtedly was, the court of King Charles could be staid at times with much emphasis on decorum and reverence for the monarch. One had therefore to take one’s pleasures where one could find them. And seeing the young man’s muscular hindquarters positioned over the back of the chair, already crimson in their fury and now transected by mauve lines darkening at their edges, she delighted at the sight of her handiwork – especially when made so on such a fine-looking lad. He was no town-raised cokenay milksop softened by easy living but a village youth, rangy and strong-looking. He took his undeserved punishment stoically: his head of dark locks held low; back straight and legs slightly parted. Other ladies at court would have taken their pleasure with him in a different manner, she knew but this she found much more enjoyable. Oh yes, my laddie, she thought, we shall have this dance again …
Tap-tap- Thwatt! As her victim flinched visibly and as yet another parallel carmine stripe appeared, with its distinctive white line in the middle, she felt her nipples harden beneath her shift and a warm glow stole throughout her body from her loins. She almost lost herself in the sensation but even while drawing back the cane again for its next biting sting she knew she could not exceed the boundaries of the punishment. A solemn responsibility is after all conferred upon the disciplinarian and duty is duty after all. Even so, something about the young man’s dumb resilience, the way he kept his head bowed and suffered that lashing irritated Mistress Gwendolyn in an unfathomable way. He must be close to tears by now, she reasoned and how better to force the issue by a nice, hard low one delivered right across his previous marks — shwack!
The effect proved immediate and dramatic. A piercing howl that most certainly frightened the life out of anyone within earshot in the palace reverberated in the scullery as Tom left to his feet, clutching his backside. Mistress Gwendolyn had to dig the tip of the cane into the floor and rest her palms upon it as she fought the urge to collapse with laughter as he hopped about, hobbled by the garments about his ankles and looking at her in hatred with eyes puffy, red and awash with tears.
“Adjust your hose, my boy and smarten yourself,” she giggled evilly, dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “It is five of the clock now and I’m sure you will not wish to be late. We spent a merry afternoon together; did we not?”
The glare from Tom’s handsome face slicked by tears told otherwise. He bent forward to pull up his leggings, gasping because the motion caused the skin of his buttocks to stretch. The Lady of the Wardrobe smirked in satisfaction when he winced as the fabric of the hose snapped on the lambasted flesh of his rear end. Taking a small cloth she began wiping her implements clean of the perspiration and other bodily oils before replacing them in the calico: until next time.
“Go to the Prince now and impress upon him how much you have suffered at his behest and of the necessity of his improvement. You are – as no doubt you truly see – the hostage of his good behaviour: the Whipping Boy!”
Dick, Taste the Cane!!
As Dick stepped out of the shower he twisted to view his right buttock in the mirror, and there, still perfectly clear, were two parallel lines – the final remnants of his ‘taste the cane’ and the striping he had received from Mistress Jane’s rather more severe canes. Still visible after 28 days.
A month earlier, Dick had been building up to his little treat for some time, desperately curious to find out just how intense it would feel, but always concerned lest the resulting tell-tale marks leave him with some explaining to do at home. But after over a year in waiting, the opportunity presented itself with 10 days “healing time” between cane and home. And so, Dick had made his appointment and at the allotted time was naked and arranged, arse in the air, over MJ’s new whipping bench.
In the months prior to this event, Dick had danced around the issue, experimenting with cane strokes to the hand (light cane and relatively gentle strokes to ensure no risk of injury), and had indulged too in a little bastinado (similarly injury risk averse)… the latter pushing Dick to his limits… but no-where near satisfying his curiosity about the cane. Dick had also “enjoyed” several increasingly severe thrashings with MJ’s tawses and straps (recorded on earlier blogs), under the guise of general bruising, which so far too had not prompted any unwanted conversations at home.
Often, ahead of these encounters Dick would write to Jane to encourage her… not… to be too gentle, and perhaps to suggest a minimum number (which had squeezed into 3 figures) on more than one occasion. And on a suitably warmed up buttock, Jane had treated Dick to a few strokes with her lighter canes.
But now, naked, tethered, with no warm up, and anticipating the first strike of Her cane, Dick was relieved that he had had the wisdom to make no such bold requests. Tonight, he would take each stroke as it came and see for himself just how far he chose to go. Jane had laid out for his perusal a selection of canes, and Dick had noticed that none of Her lighter canes has been included. Dick knew from recent correspondence with Jane that She had recently acquired one or two more severe implements, Tahiti canes– which were now also laid out for inspection.
Then, having ensured he was suitably secured, ankles, thighs, wrists and back – Jane selected a senior dragon cane and moved in to the optimum spot behind Dick. “So Dick,” said Jane “any little requests before we start… you seem to have forgotten to ask me… not… to be too gentle… and to tell me just how many strokes you want… before I may grant you mercy.” Dick hadn’t forgotten and had no intention of raising the point now either, so he gave a nervous chuckle – and Jane chuckled back – as She gently stroked Dick’s upturned buttocks with her cane.
“Are you ready Dick?” Jane asked, and as he nodded She brought the cane down smartly across the very centre of the target. And for the first time Dick got his first inkling of just what the fuss was all about. Unlike the strap and tawse, both of which gave a “cold” sting which rose and fell fairly quickly, the cane drew a “hot” line across the cheeks, and the burn just rose and rose… and lasted… for so much longer. Jane left him to stew for almost a minute – before asking gently if he would like another. And with a second nod from Dick, and a swish and a crack, Jane gave a him a second stripe just below the first.
After about another 30 seconds, and with no further enquiries Jane switched to a heavier cane and administered a 3rd, and then a 4th. And already Dick was struggling… and much of his curiosity seemed to be ebbing swiftly away.
Dick had imagined himself at this point retaining the courage and urge to know… and asking MJ to swing harder… and as he panted and sweated and tried to process the sensation… he found himself facing the question of just why he was doing this. And right up to this moment Dick had had no doubt why, and it was to satisfy his curiosity… but here Dick already had some answers (at this moment 4 to be exact)… and was anything but sure that he needed any more evidence. But as he deliberated, Jane picked up her heaviest cane… and explaining this to Dick invited him to take a few more.
Now unsure, but still not quite ready to give up Dick nodded again and in fairly swift succession Jane gave him two more “answers” completing the decoration of his buttocks with now 6 perfectly parallel lines, and with the final blow catching that sweet spot just at where the buttock meets the thigh – and Dick was almost levitating. “That was a real ball-breaker,” Jane announced rather pleased with the accuracy of the final blow.
And there he was – pretty much all questions answered… and to his surprise feeling a little nauseous. He knew of course that Jane had more power in her wrists, and could have caned him harder. He knew too that She could have caned much faster, and could only imagine what that might feel like, but still worried about the marks, and already quite clear how caning could so easily be pushed into the “unbearable” zone, Dick opted to call it a day… and once untethered, sidled over to the mirror to see just how vividly he had been marked.
To complete the session, Jane cheered Dick up with Her usual – and far more pleasant – combination of prostate massage, milking and vibration… and very soon a spent and satisfied Dick stood in Jane’s kitchen, coffee in hand… and wondering if he was now cured of the urge to receive the cane.
A month on, with the odd stripe still visible Dick had felt absolutely no urge to repeat the process… and indeed his penchant for “femdom caning porn” seemed also to be on the wane. Just as well that Jane had so very many other treats to offer… as Dick, though no longer curious about the cane, still enjoyed pretty much every other sensation in Jane’s dungeon… and even now found himself wondering if perhaps another battle with Her strap’s and tawses might not be in order.