2 hours ago
“There’s not many of us left, you know.”
“Us old school policemen. You know, ones who can remember when the local bobby was feared and his word was rule. When a swift slap or caning was dished out unofficially.”
“Wait! You mean you used to use a cane on criminals?”
“Not criminals really. Would-be criminals. Wannabes, you’d call them nowadays. Anyway, I did use a cane. Unofficially. All the values I held dear count for nothing these days, though. It’s the end of an era. Everything’s politically correct now. I feel like I’m in some weird kind of Closing Down Sale. Such a shame. By the way, I still have a cane. Would you like to see it?”
“Ooooh, yes please Uncle!”
He went upstairs and could be heard rummaging around. Eventually he returned, with a devilish looking crook-handled cane in his hand. Coupled with his neatly pressed black uniform, he really looked the part – a real disciplinarian. He swished the cane around. What an impressive sound it made as it cut through the air.
“What do you think of this then?” he asked and laughed.
“Wooh! Wicked, Uncle! I bet that hurt! How many strokes would you give?”
“Well, six was traditional, of course, but sometimes I’d be asked to give more. Or I just decided that more was appropriate. This cane ruled the village, just as the headmaster’s one ruled the school.”
“Yes, it was a real reign of terror. Of course, as a young copper in my early 20s it helped get me the respect I was due.”
“Not many repeat offenders. The courts could order birchings, too. Life was simpler and better.”
“Uncle, this may sound funny, but may I try a stroke or two of the cane?”
“Whaaat? No, definitely not! Whatever would your parents say?”
“Well, I am 22, so it’s none of their business, really, is it?”
“No, I suppose not. But the answer’s still no. I wouldn’t want to hurt you. You know – and I really shouldn’t tell you this – I always insisted on a bare bottom.”
“It’s alright Uncle. Your secret is safe with me.”
“Cheeky! It’s not a secret. But the answer’s still no. A big no, do I make myself clear?”
“Yeah” was the sulky reply.
“Good. Don’t you ever ask me again.”
Just then the phone rang in the kitchen. A long conversation followed and uncle frowned. As the call ended, he returned to the living room and picked up the cane.
“That was your dad. He tells me you’ve been smoking, drinking and swearing in the house, and that your mum is really upset.”
“I reminded him that I had a cane. He agreed that perhaps a caning is in order, after all!”
“Not so keen now, are you? Bare your bottom for me! Quickly! Now bend over the arm of the sofa.”
“Err yes, Uncle.” The sulky attitude had evaporated, to be replaced by fear and not a little excitement.
“That’s a rather nice bottom, I must say. Two strokes for smoking, two strokes for drinking in the house, and four for swearing at your mother. Eight crisp strokes for you!”
“Yes, Uncle, I’m sorry.”
“Mmm, you will be when I’ve finished with you!”
Deciding I've been patient long enough, I let go of the headrest and grab his belt. My hands fumble as Leon continues to tease my nipples with fingers and tongue... I tug his belt free and lift myself up just a little to unzip his pants. Leon skims his hands down my hips and holds me still. "Stay like that," he says softly...
I can't think straight with his hands squeezing and massaging my ass. He flattens his palm and my knees start to tremble. I know what he's planning just as he gives me a hard smack.
I gasp as the spank echoes in the room. Sizzling heat spreads through my buttocks and he smacks me again. I swallow back a whimper...
Leon spanks me again, only harder. I glance at the shut door. Can his secretary hear Leon spanking me? The idea drenches my pussy.
... I feel dizzy but I can't climax. I don't know what's wrong. And then someone in the other building looks out the window. A businesswoman frowns as she watches me. My pulse quickens as her brow clears and understanding hits... I stare out the window, gulping for air, my heart racing. The woman from across the street guiltily looks away.
I found several canes in a locker that I supposedly overpaid for.
I'm taking these canes to a friend of mine...who deals in high-end merchandise.
There's some nice pieces.
And I just--i just got some canes in.
This came out of a great estate around Baltimore.
What does something like that sell for?
Oh, I'm estimating in the auction about $8,000 to $10,000.
$8,000 To $10,000.
So if his canes are worth $8,000 to $10,000, I can't wait to see what mine are worth.
Great, very nice.
Well, hopefully mine are worth a little bit more than that.
Well, let's look at yours.
This is kind of interesting.
Uh, these are a little different.
This particular cane, this is probably a whale tooth that's been put on this cane.
And this is actually a walking stick.
It's very unusual.
You know, it's got some damage.
It's a composition of maybe plastic.
This is really interesting here.
This is actually a plantation cane, commonly known as a slave master's cane.
Very good condition.
Well, it's good that my dad didn't have one of these, because he didn't mind giving me a good ol' whoopin' every once in a while.
You probably needed one once in a while.
I needed several.
Didn't we all?
This is probably walrus tusk on this one.
And this is more of a folk art cane.
A little crude, the carvings.
Got the alligator on it.
That's kind of interesting.
I would estimate these canes ..$150, $250 apiece for 'em.
$250 apiece means an extra 1,000 bucks.
With that and the furniture, I'm looking at $5,000 on this unit.
[laughs] - And it's a nice little collection of canes.
"And now to business," he says briskly... "I think I'd like to bind you. Are you okay with that?"
Speechless, I nod like an idiot as he reaches down the side of his chair and pulls out a length of soft, silky cord. I feel it slide over my hip and flank as he turns me to face away from him, and then, bringing my hands behind me, he fastens them at the wrist.
I think that this is it, but suddenly he produces another length of cord and, pulling my arms back tighter, he winds it around my elbows, drawing them together.
"And now we really begin," he says softly, taking me by the waist and pushing me from between his knees. Then, settling himself more comfortably in the chair, and setting his booted feet more squarely on the floor, he nods to me, his eyes dancing with lights and a subtle smile on his handsome face.
I know what he's indicating. That I should assume the position.
It's difficult to settle elegantly across his lap with my hands tied, but I do the best I can, not wanting to disgrace myself. Even so, he has to more or less grapple me into place, setting me at precisely the right angle and elevation and disposing my limbs and torso in the optimum position to present my bottom to his hand.
I wait for the first spank. The first the first real one...the tap the other day was nothing, I suspect.
But it doesn't come yet.
It's a low, contemplative sound, and as he utters it, the marquess gently cups my bottom cheek, testing its resilience... He grips me harder and I have this sense of some kind of computer in his brain calculating, calculating. How hard to hit. How high to lift his hand for the downstroke. How many slaps is optimum.
"Ready?" he asks, to my surprise. I'd expected him to just take what he wanted. He's in charge, after all.
And yet, is he? I bet if I said "no," even now, he'd immediately desist and help me restore my clothing to decency and propriety. But no way would I do that. I want what I want and it's what he wants too.
"Yes," I whisper, barely able to hear my own breathy voice over the bashing and thudding of my heart.
And then he spanks me.
Oh, dear God! It hurts! It hurts so much.
What a shock! I'd expected a tingle, a little burn...something that's as much pleasure as pain.
Bloody hell, how wrong can you be.
It's like he's slapped me with a solid hunk of wood rather than his strong, but only human, hand. For a moment, both mind and bottom are numbed by it, but then sensation whirls in like a hurricane, I shout out loud--something indistinguishable--and my left buttock feels like it's on fire.
And that's just one blow.
As more and more land, I realize in astonishment that in that first shot, he was actually holding back...
The whole of my rear is very quickly an inferno, and the heat sinks like lava into the channel of my sex, reigniting the desire, the grinding longing I felt...
I know I should be quiet and still and obedient. I know I should just accept my punishment like a good little girl. Perfect poise. The perfect ability to absorb the punishment with grave and decorum...
I feel as if I'm going out of my mind, and yet I know, in some still-sane part of it, that I've never been happier in my life. Despite the pain and the strangeness and the sheer, unadulterated kink of what's happening to me, I know that this is where I should be and who I should be with.