Chapter 12

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1995-2009 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

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Erin's Adventures
Chapter 12

(****, f/f, Intense, Teen caning)

Erin gets a birthday caning. (Approximately 1,521 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

The weeks went by quickly. Christmas was fast approaching and everyone was in cheerful moods and chatting about going home for the holidays. It seemed like I was the only one who wasn't very excited.

I missed my family, yes. And it would be good to see my brother again. But a part of me didn't want to go. At St. Esther's I'd found a place where I could lose myself, and a friend who treated me cruelly and unfairly, but in whom I would trust my life.

Each morning I woke early and waited outside Ariana's door until she got up. (One of the priveledges of being a prefect was having your own private room.) Then I would help her dress and do her hair or anything else she needed. Any mistakes I made were paid for with the slipper across my bare bum.

During the day I had my own schedule of classes and homework, but I also was given assignments by Ariana. Sometimes I was to find some books she needed in the library, do simple classwork for her (she'd recopy it in her own hand, of course), or clean her room. These were easy things, but if I failed in these assignments--for whatever reason, even being held after class by an instructor--I got the cane in the boiler room that evening.

This both thrilled and terrified me. I'd wake up during the night dripping with sweat and crying to discover I'd only been dreaming of being caned by Ariana. It had not been real. Then I'd cry because it hadn't been real, and I'd relish whatever slippering I got the next morning.

I was rather crazy. I did not understand my emotions or motivations regarding Ariana. I only knew that whenever she looked at me in a certain way--sharp and demanding, her eyes flashing seductive fire--my belly would melt and I'd feel like I was shrinking and curling into a little ball under her gaze, tiny and insignificant, and only strokes from her cruel cane would bring me back to life.

One morning in November, I awoke with a peculiar feeling. At first I could not identify it, and then I remembered--it was my birthday. Today I turned fifteen. I went to Ariana's room brimming over with excitment, for I was young and a birthday was special to me. And Ariana had promised me a very special birthday present.

I knocked on her door softly and she told me to come in. This was unusual it itself--she always opened the door for me, as though guarding her domain. The inside of Ariana's room was dim, but I saw she was setting on her bed and holding a long narrow box with a ribbon on it. I could scarcely breathe. It was for me, I was certain of it. What filled me with joy was not the material pleasure of receiving a gift but the knowledge that the gift came from Ariana. Happily I shut the door behind me and knelt on the floor in front of my mistress.

"Good morning, Ariana."

"Good morning, Erin. Are you excited to be fifteen years old?"

I nodded fiercely.

"Good," Ariana continued. "Fifteen is a very special age. You hear all that talk about sixteen, but trust me--fifteen is when it really happens, when you become an adult _inside_, where it counts."

"Yes, Ariana," I said.

"Now I have a special present for you. First, you are excused of all your duties today. It's your birthday, so no chores."

"Thank you, Ariana," I whispered. I wanted to tell her that nothing pleased me as much as serving her, but I could tell she felt she was doing me a favor--I could not disappoint her.

"And I also have this." She handed me the box. Her eyes sparkled and her lips were pursed in a half-smile. She was hiding something, I could tell. "This is a gift of multiple parts," she said. "Opening the box is only the first."

"Oh, thank you, Ariana! You are far too kind to me. May I open it?" She nodded and I began undoing the string and shortly I had the long white box open. The inside was filled with packing paper, and it took me a moment to discover my gift buried within.

Slowly I took it out into the faint light. My heart was beating so fast I could hardly think. My hands trembled as I held it. I caressed it, feeling the smooth polished wood. It was indescribably gorgeous. I knew it was expensive, too, for canes of such workmanship are not easily crafted.

"It is beautiful," I whispered, my voice low and in awe.

Ariana was watching me intently, her eyes alert and hopeful. When I spoke she relaxed and sighed. "I was hoping you'd like it," she said. "It is yours."

My throat was dry and I swallowed hard. I had to be brave. "And the second part?" I asked.

"I believe," said Ariana with complete seriousness, "that you have a birthday spanking coming to you."

My heart melted at these words though my belly turned over. A birthday spanking! What a wonderous oxymoron that phrase is! Such a splendid contradiction.

I humbly looked down at the floor and held out the cane in my hands. "Yes, Ariana. I believe I do."

We took the long walk to the boiler room immediately. The house was still quiet and still, and we walked quietly. I carried my present, holding it near me, marveling at its strength and flexibility. Only once we were in the room with the door shut firmly behind us did we speak, and then it was only Ariana who ordered me to disrobe.

By now I was used to this. This was to be my fifth caning from Ariana, and I knew it was going to be severe. I had no idea what she had in mind, but a birthday spanking suggested a certain number and I feared that number very much.

Ariana kept me in suspense until I was bent across the tiny table and waiting for my caning. "Today you are fifteen," she said firmly, as though her saying it made it true. "Naturally you shall receive one stroke for each year of your life."

I shuddered with a strange mixture of pleasure and horror. This was feverishly exciting--I could feel every part of my body tense with alarm and anticipation. There was a warm dampness between my legs and my breathing was difficult. The room seemed fuzzy and indistinct to me, as though it did not really count. I felt like I was above and beyond all this physical reality, that it was just Ariana and I who were real, painfully real, Ariana and the long brown cane.

The caning was deliberate and severe. It was the worst caning I've ever gotten by far, even surpassing the eighteen from my father. Ariana was far more skilled. She may not have been as physically strong, but she had mastered the technique. Whereas my father practiced the brute force method, Ariana took her time and planned her strokes, laying each one with the precise force and twist of her wrist calculated to deliver the most sting for the stroke.

I was crying by the fourth and weeping by the sixth. By the tenth I thought I had never endured such agony and I broke completely, sobbing. I let myself go completely. I wept and howled and sobbed. It was an incredible release. All my tension vanished. Though there were still three strokes to go I was at peace.

Ariana paused, here, and studied my bottom. I did not care. I only took advantage of the break to catch my breath as best I could and shift my position slightly, as the table was hurting me I pressed against it so hard.

Then there was that dreadful swishing sound followed by the terrible CRACK of the cane. I gasped and writhed in overwhelming misery, tears flooding down my face. In the midst of my pain, as the cane cracked down yet again, I thought, "This is certainly a well-built, well-balanced cane!"

Then it was over and Ariana led me over to the sofa where she sat and drew me across her lap. She cooed and hushed and gently rubbed my blazing behind with her silk nightgown. The feeling was wonderful, luxurious, the smooth material cool and slick, the gentle touch breath-taking in its heady mixture of pleasure and pain.

"There, there," whispered the beautiful dark-haired girl, and when I looked up I saw that she was crying. Instantly my tears vanished.

"Why are you crying?" I asked, frightened for her.

"I am very happy, Erin. I am very happy."

I was too astonished to speak. Gradually I reached up and kissed Ariana's cheek, very softly, with much longing. She smelled wonderful. "I am too," I said calmly, rationally. "This is the best birthday present anyone has ever given me."

More to come next week!

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