Birthday Caning, Hard Version

From Designing Intimacy, link discovered via Bondage Blog, a really intense birthday caning:

I still had my 22 birthday smacks coming up, and I just wasn’t sure how I was going to handle them.

And as if he read my mind, Jefferson picked up his cane. That mother-fucking cane. God I hate that thing.

A fine sheet of sweat immediately broke out on my skin with just the first few light raps. My body twisted and strained as I begun to spew obscenities at Jefferson.

I breathed a sigh of relief as he stung my hip with the cat. Anything but that dreadful cane. I moaned, but in pleasure, as the cat came down against my back again and again.

He dropped the cat on the floor and came to me rubbing my back and giving me kisses…

Then he went back to the cane.

I cursed at him, and tried my best to kick and grab at him, with each stinging strike.

“Thanks for the tip about tying you down.”
“Ugh! I hate you!”

And we hadn’t even gotten to the counting…

He kept tapping me- my ass, my thighs, even my feet.

“I’m going to start counting these!” I cried as he kept sending me into overload.
“No you’re not.”
“Ugh, just start already,” I pleaded.

He gave me a few hard whacks, for my brattiness I’m sure, before he instructed me to start counting.

5 strokes into it and I was ready to wuss out.

I made Jefferson wait and give me a few moments to let the pain sink in. He sat down to wait until I was ready to continue.

“I don’t know if I can do 22…” my voice wavered.
“Sure you can. You don’t have any other choice.”

He asked if I was ready to continue and I gave a weak affirmation.

I thrashed on the bed as he spaced strokes for me to count amidst easier taps, constantly keeping my skin on fire. I inhaled my hair as it hung in my face and I cursed myself for not putting it up earlier.

“Grr I just want to chop off all my hair!”
“Heh, aww poor thing.”
“You know…actually no, never mind.”
“Wise choice,” he warned me snapping another strike on me.

I worked hard to not loose count as he took breaks I insisted on.

The obscenities got worse as the count got higher. I wished him to burn in hell as he gave me two brutal strikes for 17.

“What’s significant about 17?” he quizzed me as he held the cane above me.
“Nothing…” I lied.
“You sure about that?” he pushed me, stinging my ass.
“Alright, alright! I lost my virginity!”

I screamed into the pillow as the second 17th stroke came down, trying to kick at him.

“Aww, this is the last song,” he noticed and went to go restart it.

“Now, where were we?”
“22?” I tried.
“Ugh, 17,” I admitted, defeated.

18, 19, and 20 came down in rapid succession leaving me shaking with dry sobs taking over my body.

Jefferson sat in his chair tapping his cane as he waited for me to recover.

I just wanted it to be done and over with. I couldn’t take anymore. As my body recovered, I negotiated with Jefferson about the last 2.

“Just do the last 2. Just two single strikes. No tap-tap-tap in between, I can’t,” I moaned, on the verge of tears.
“You just want the last two strikes? No lead up?”
“Yeah, just do it and get it over with. At medium intensity…”
“How hard is up to me, but I can just give 2. Are you ready?” Jefferson asked standing up.

I nodded, taking a deep breath in.

He stood next to me. I tried not to clench as he took his aim. I screamed out 21 as he hit me square in the middle of my ass.

He gave me a few seconds before winding up for the last one. He hit me hard, high up on the ass. I screamed 22 then punched him the leg and yelled at him for hitting so high.

He rubbed my back and nodded in agreement that it was a little high.

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