I left my office shortly after five yesterday afternoon for my meeting with HH. I had a brief conversation with him a couple minutes before that, wanting to confirm that the appointment is still on. He answered my question with a question: "Do you think that you want to keep the appointment?” He knew that given the chance I would have wanted to opt out, but that little question took away any escape routes I might have considered. I tried for a clever retort; "Yes is the correct answer, but No features quite a bit as well" but his response was just as quick: "Yes No then".

True to myself, I was trying for a way out, but I realised that there was not much of an option, and that this appointment should be kept. He knew it as well and by understanding me rather to well, he was gently directing me towards total submission – a simple acknowledgement that I will report to him as was agreed. On my arrival, he did not waste much time. We had our chat, albeit much shorter than usual, and when he uttered the dreaded “Right, let’s get down to business”, I did not argue. I must admit when he reached for the cane, a couple of words were muttered, which dried up drastically when he threatened to take out the paddle.

Bent over, waiting with a bared bottom, I could feel that panic was close at hand. The last time I could barely manage six strokes, and I knew that this time, he will not stop at six. However, instead of receiving that first searing stroke, HH started striking my bottom with quick and light strokes gradually increasing the intensity...and then, that first hard swish of the cane could be heard, but before I could even draw a breath, the cane was back, quick and rather harder little strokes warming my bottom all over. This was, I soon found out, to be the format of the caning.


I started dreading the tapping in-between the hard strokes...never I have been so alert, so tense – on tenterhooks, not sure when I would feel the deep line of fire across my cheeks. There was no format to the taps (that I might add, grew a little bit stronger in force as time went pass) that I could accurately anticipate the hard strokes. And, the little quick taps started to add to the soreness; it was as if they were sealing in the deeper strokes...my bottom soon felt as if it was on fire!

I have no idea how many strokes I did receive in the end (I lost count after twelve), but I do remember staring at the yellow files on the desk, trying hard not to cry...for I did not want to get his files wet, and my bottom was hurting so badly that I could not summons the energy to move them out of the way. Although I slept on my stomach, and had (and still do) some problems in sitting comfortably today, I am calmer, more relaxed and reacting to the world in a much softer way...

Thank you, HH.



bree512 said...

You know what? I forgot why you were to be caned now....doesn't matter. Does it? Is that what your bottom really looks like now, Raven!! Whoawee!!!

Raven Red said...


Suffice to say there was no particular reason except that it was way overdue. Photo is not of my bottom - but mine looked very similar.
Erm...tender, very tender...



sixofthebest said...

A beautiful naughty females bare bottom encased in a red corset, being caned. What a sexually and erotically exciting photo. I only wish that I could have wielded that pliable painful spanking implement across her bare bottom.

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