A Caning to remember

When Uncle Nick and I initially met, I was on a diet and had already lost quite a bit of weight. The reasons for my weight problem are of a painful personal nature, and for that, I will give Uncle Nick credit for his compassion and understanding. However, it did not stop him from challenging me to increase my efforts to shed the weight. In effect, I had to lose over 25 kilograms in less than three months - which, mildly put, is bloody impossible. Failure obviously had its own penalty that translated in a stroke with a cane for every kilogram not lost. The proposed punishment also included the little humiliating fact that the cane was originally obtained for me, as a gift for a friend in South Africa.

I had no one except myself to blame for little predicament I found myself in. I could have told him the figure is to high, I could have told him even if I stop eating in totality there is no way on this earth that it can be done, face it, I could have plainly told him, "No". However, so typical of me, I reacted with my usual tact and diplomacy when the subject came up and simply put, I rose splendidly to the challenge with a sneering "FINE!” Needless to say, this whole little transaction was meticulously recorded in his moleskin notebook.

So, there I was, 18 kilograms not gone anywhere, a rattan cane in a cupboard, Uncle Nick and my poor bottom which was still slightly larger than life. During the last day with him, we spent the morning quietly together, and inside me, hope was building - surely, he will not cane me on what is our last bit of time together. But when his voice rang down the passage instructing me remove the cane from the cupboard and put it on the bed, hope died a horrible death, and I experienced the first three stages of mourning:  Denial, Anger and Bargaining.

Denial failed dismally, he only repeated the instruction on entering the room and on my refusal to present my bottom, a swat or two at my thighs quickly put an end to all that. Anger was no better; Uncle Nick has the remarkable ability to totally ignore tantrums. Bargaining? I desperately tried to bargain the caning down to a spanking but it has become clear to me that my bargaining skills need some drastic improvement.

I found myself on my stomach, my bottom bared, and with the cane lightly tapping against my bottom I was gritting my teeth - it was lecture time! When his voice stopped, and the first stroke came down over my bottom, I was clenching the bed sheets between my fingers. There was a line of fire over my bottom, burning deep into my flesh, with seventeen strokes more to go! After stroke four, I moved. I was told to re-assume and maintain the position and keep count of the strokes. At stroke eight, my legs came up, but quickly went down again as Uncle Nick prodded them down with the end of the cane, promising additional strokes if it happened again.

By stroke twelve I was in pure agony. My bottom was on fire, I was not allowed to make any movement to alleviate some of the pain, and as such, I went into a small rebellion. I flipped around, saying "No", but have to report that my battle skills are severely lacking and short lived. At stroke thirteen, I actually pleaded for him to stop, and to my own amazement, I started crying. Both a first for me, but yet, I remained in place for the balance of the strokes. 

When it was all finished, and he folded me into his arms, with me sobbing my heart out against his chest, I gingerly felt my bottom. It was welt upon welt, and any thoughts of rubbing a very sore bottom left my mind - I was going to have enough problems in just wearing knickers...Have I learned not to rush into things? Alas, no, and suffice to say, a new agreement has been reached on the same terms as above. So apart from only eating rabbit food for the foreseeable future, I am going to do my utmost to ensure that Uncle Nick, a rattan cane and my bottom will never, ever be in the same space again...