Christmas Canes

He was in an odd and difficult mood from the moment I arrived at his office, and to say that the interaction between us went downhill fast, is putting it mildly. His only words regarding the upcoming punishment were that I was going to determine what it would be, and thereafter he steadfastly refused to engage further in the conversation. No matter how much I tried, he did not budge, only looking at me with that slight smile on his face, patiently waiting. It did not take long before my temper made an appearance, I wanted this session over and done with, I still had some shopping to do for Christmas tree ornaments, and time was ticking away! As anger overtook and destroyed any common sense I might have had, I deliberately strew caution to the wind, rising splendidly to the occasion.   

When he walked back into the room with both canes in his hands, I was already regretting my reactions, desperately trying to think of a way out, yet, with Ms Temper still well in place, I refused to opt for a simple apology. A couple of minutes before I snarled out that he can administer twelve strokes, six with the new and six with the old, sarcastically allocating it as a Christmas gift to him.  As I was reluctantly lowering my panties, feeling them resting below my bottom, I looked at the chair that was waiting. I knew the moment I assumed the familiar position, being bent over it; I will feel him lifting my blouse, feel the air on my bottom, with the inevitable pain soon to follow. I was trying to think of ways to slow time down, to postpone the moment where I have to submit, anything...but nothing came to mind.

When the first stroke came blazing down and across my bottom, I closed my eyes, only thinking, dear gods, what I have done. By the third stroke, all I could think about was the deep burn, the stinging pain that was searing into my bottom, and there was nine still to go. At stroke six, it took every bit of willpower not to reach out and rub my bottom, the pain had become all consuming, every line so far laid on, burning with the brightest of fire. It did appear that some of the gods that I was praying to fervently took some mercy on me, as I had some reprieve when his phone rang, and he left to answer it. While he was gone, I was wondering what he would do when he comes back, and finds me, fully clothed with car keys in hand, refusing the rest. However, I did not move. I stayed in position, bent over the chair, bottom fully exposed and burning, with the coolness of the air only seemingly aggravating the pain, waiting for his return.

At stroke eight, I was openly whimpering, hoping desperately every time when he changed canes, that he will get tired of the new cane. It inflicted a heavier burn than the older cane, the sting lasting longer, and an agony that has become indescribable. Unfortunately, the gods were done with my prayers, and my bottom continued feeling the difference between the canes. With the last two strokes, every bit of my bottom was on fire, and I was too afraid to move, as any slight movement seemed to make the pain more pronounced. As the last stroke fell, my whole body was shuddering but the feeling of relief washed over me, it was finally over...

When I finally managed to move away from the chair, and gingerly pulled my black satin panties over my bottom, I knew I was in for a couple of days of avoiding anything that might resemble a sitting position. I had a final look at the canes, hoping that they will both burst into flames, very much in a similar fashion that my bottom was on fire. It was also there and then that I decided, that no matter how cute or innocent they might look, nothing that even closely resembles a cane would ever have the honour to be hanging from my Christmas tree...ever!