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(****, M/f, Severe, severe caning)
A girl is caned for the first time. (Approximately 5,457 words. Originally published 2004-01.)
"Quit looking so grim, girl. You act like you've never been caned before."
"I h-haven't, sir."
"What? You mean your father never thrashed you?" The frightened girl shook her head. I gapped in astonishment. "Not even once? Not even at school?"
This certainly explained Amy's unnatural terror. Her pretty face was pale and drawn, her normally vivacious personality gone quiet and forlorn. Her slender body, blossoming with the verge of womanhood, trembled nervously as she stood in the middle of my study.
"We will change that. Fifteen is much too old to have never experienced the rod." I stood and spoke thoughtfully. "I'd planned to simply give you a dozen sharp ones for your recklessness, but if this is your first caning, perhaps it'd be best if we elaborated on your education."
If it was possible, Amy looked even more frightened. In fact, I worried she might be ill. I decided to break in her slowly. I seated myself on the davenport and patted my right thigh.
"Come here and sit, girl. Let's discuss this situation." Nervously, she eased her bottom onto my leg, sitting stiffly, like a startled doe ready to bolt at the slightest alarming sound.
"Relax, Amy. I will not harm you. A thrashing will not put you in mortal jeopardy. You'll experience some discomfort, certainly, and the unpleasantness of the experience is designed to discourage you from returning too soon for another dose. But there is nothing too terrible, you will see.
"Why by the time I was your age I'd endured a few dozen thrashings, several of them severe. While I did not seek out a beating, when I earned one I'm proud to say I took it bravely like a man should. I hope I can be proud of you today," I hinted strongly.
Amy swallowed uncomfortably. "I-I'll try, sir."
"That's a good girl. Be brave and it will be over soon, I promise. You are frightened because the experience is unknown to you. Let me explain so you understand what will happen.
"In a few minutes, when it is time, I will ask you to remove your skirt and knickers. Don't look so shocked: proper canings are always across the bare buttocks. It makes no difference that you are a young lady. You have earned this thrashing through your reckless and thoughtless behavior and you will receive it across your naked buttocks. Prepare yourself for that inevitability.
"If you are embarrassed at being naked before your step-father, well, that is a good reason to obey the rules your mother and I have set down. If you are a good girl I won't have a reason to thrash you, and you won't have to worry about exposing yourself to me ever again.
"Now the caning itself takes place in the center of the room. Normally I'd have you bend over and touch your toes. That's a challenging position to hold for twelve of the best lashed across your backside, and of course, getting out of position at any time during a beating results in additional strokes added as a penalty.
"My standard penalty rules are this: the first time you move out of position is a warning. The stroke you moved on doesn't count and is repeated. Subsequent disobedience by you, however, is awarded double strokes. That means your second offense is two extra, the third is four, and so on. I take it you can do the math and see that for your bottom's sake it would be much better if you cooperated during your thrashing.
"If you cannot remain in position of your own free will, I can bind you to the table at your request. But you will receive an extra twelve strokes for such a luxury. Do you understand everything so far?"
Amy could only nod, her blue eyes huge with horror.
"Since this is your first caning, I suspect that enduring twelve strokes in the same position will be too much for you. Instead, I will give you four strokes in the touch-toe position, and you will take them without rising or face penalty strokes. Is that clear?"
"Yes sir." Her voice was dry and faint.
"Good. After the four -- and I hope for your sake it is merely four -- we'll come here to the davenport where you'll bend over the arm there for another four strokes. These will be harder, and I'll use my thicker cane, but they'll be easier for you to endure with the furniture to support you. However, the same penalty rules apply.
"Finally, we'll finish across the table. Normally I reserve the table for severe thrashing, especially those where you require restraints, but I think your education would be well served by your experiencing the various positions and implements. The table position requires you to be completely nude -- trust me, after eight strokes you won't care at all -- and you must grip the edge at the opposite side. Letting go will earn you penalty strokes.
"I'll give you four strokes while across the table, but I'll use my most severe implement, the prison cane. That will make up for the easier strokes you'll receive initially as I'm being merciful and starting you off with my lighter canes.
"Now, do you have any questions... or shall we get started?"
My step-daughter had been about to shake her head, but stopped when I added the trailing clause. She jumped at the excuse to delay.
"How much-- I... Will it hurt?"
I nodded somberly. "It will be excruciating. A thin wooden rod will be whipped across your bare bottom harder than you can imagine, and it will leave behind a thick, swelling weal. Initially the weal will be a pink line, but it will quickly turn red, then puff up and harden. Before we're finished it will darken and depending on the level of bruising, may become blue, purple, or even black. The mark will last a week or two, maybe longer, and you'll find sitting a tender prospect for the next week. After that the marks still look bad, but don't hurt at all.
"Now when the cane strikes you, you'll feel a fierce sting, like an adder bite. It will threaten to overwhelm you. You must fight against that. If you lose control, you'll stand up or put your hands back to cover your bottom -- that's a natural instinct -- and that will earn you penalty strokes.
"The pain comes in waves, and after you've endured a wave, it will return against in a variation but of less intensity. For instance, the first wave is sting. Then there's pressure, then bruising, then throbbing. The last wave will repeat for a long time before it fades.
"Of course, that's just one stroke. The whole process is repeated for each stroke, and each stroke magnifies the overall intensity of the experience. There's a peak around the third or fourth stroke: the pain's still horrible, but it just continues and doesn't die down the way it did before. Six is difficult, eight tough. Twelve seems impossible until you do it. I was thirteen before I could take a dozen cleanly. I felt like a man. Eighteen or more feels like an eternity: you'd swear an hour or two passed while it's really over in mere minutes.
"Enduring a caning is a challenging exercise in willpower. But you will be embittered by it, I assure you."
Amy was stiff and silent after I finished, so I finally patted her on the back. "Rise and get undressed, my dear. Let's get this over with."
With a final pitiful pleading glance at me for mercy, Amy reluctantly got to her feet. Trembling, she began to remove her skirt and knickers.
It was the first time I'd truly seen my step-daughter's unclothed figure. She was an extremely pretty girl, but young, especially in personality, often behaving as a child of twelve or thirteen. I suppose in my mind I'd unconsciously relegated her to such a lesser age for that is what she seemed to me. Thus I was astonished by her physical maturity. Her waist was narrow, her hips surprisingly sturdy. Already her buttocks were pleasantly full with a deep cleft and twin round cheeks. Most striking was the buttery expanse of her flesh, the smooth flawless flesh of youth that would soon be crimson and sore and wealed from a severe beating.
Amy stood with her back to me, her hands covering her crotch, her mortified face bright pink. No doubt she could feel my eyes studying her bare arse, but there was nothing she could do about it. With her knickers removed she didn't dare turn around lest I see her front.
Seeing such a round and lovely bare arse before me jarred me from my plans. I'd intended to immediately begin her thrashing, eager to see how she'd fair under the kiss of the rod. But now, with such magnificent cheeks to amuse me, I longed to prolong her exposure. Instantly several devilish ideas sprang to mind.
"Well done, Amy. I know that was difficult for you. You are obviously a modest and chaste girl, unused to such exposure of your privates. Remember, this shame you feel is part of your punishment. I will begin your beating in a few minutes, but first I want you to remain as you are and contemplate your crime and your upcoming sentence."
Relief and horror mixed on Amy's delicate face. She hated standing there, exposed, yet it was infinitely better than suffering the cane. Any delay was positive, yet it meant the torment would be prolonged. It was an awkward dilemma: she did not even know which option she preferred. In her innocence, all this was clearly written across the girl's features, and I enjoyed every sentence.
I returned to my desk, which allowed me to look at her from the perfect angle, partially from the side and behind. But as I moved past her, Amy feared I'd see her front and attempted to turn away. I stopped her cold with a stern "Did I give you permission to move?"
Finally, after several minutes of rapt contemplation of those marvelous orbs -- who could have imagined such treasures existed under the mundane protective coverings of Amy's dresses and skirts? -- I reluctantly decided it was time to begin.
"Amy, it is time." I enjoyed her shudder of fear as I rose. "Relax, child. You are much too tense. I have decided to offer you another mercy. Rather than cane you cold -- that is to say, on a virgin, unblemished bottom -- I will begin by giving you a little spanking. This will mitigate the shock of the cane."
I could see by Amy's frantic face that she didn't consider this twist a mercy at all, and rather than simply continuing without her understanding, I decided to elaborate my explanation.
"Do you remember last spring when we went swimming at Lighthouse Lake?"
She nodded hesitantly.
"The water was freezing, right? You didn't want to go in. I could have just tossed you in like a sack of meal knowing you'd eventually get used to the chill. But I didn't. Instead, I took you swimming in the shallow water hole where it was warmer -- still cold, but not as frigid as the lake. Afterward the lake didn't seem as bad, did it?"
Again Amy nodded.
"This is the same situation. Instead of shocking you with the intense pain of the cane right off, I'll warm you up a little with my palm. That way the cane won't be quite as bad when you first experience it."
She seemed slightly relieved by my story, but of course the idea of a spanking before her caning didn't sound much like a mercy. While there was legitimate truth in what I said (a caning on a warmed bottom isn't quite as painful as a cold caning, something I knew from personal experience), the reality is that the difference is subtle and only a bottom well-experienced with caning would be able to tell. For Amy, the sharp bite of her first caning would seem just as horrible whether I warmed her bottom or not.
In truth, I was merely eager to get my hands on the girl's luscious bottom, in the most literal way possible.
I guided Amy to the davenport where I sat and carefully drew her across my lap. She kept her private area covered until she was face down across my legs, naively unaware that I could see everything that she was attempting to keep hidden through the gap between her thighs. Physically, she was indeed a woman.
I placed my left hand in the middle of Amy's back and with my right palm I cupped her right cheek. The fit was perfect. My hand covered most of the lower portion of her cheek, with my fingers wrapping around to the outside of her buttock. The flesh was delightfully solid and deliciously smooth. After a moment's enjoyment, I slid my palm up and down her buttock, exulting in the sensuous curve.
Amy's underbum was most pronounced, the cheeks high and round. I gently pinched this flesh, thrilling at the way this made the teen squirm across my thighs. I had given her no real pain yet, but I could feel her anticipation. Soon she'd be begging me for it just to no longer have it on her horizon.
I drew out the torment. "Keep your bottom cheeks unclenched during your spanking," I warned sternly, patting her arse ominously. "Any non-cooperation and I will add penalty strokes to your caning. I know this is your first spanking and it will be a difficult experience for you, but I will not tolerate kicking, wild movements, or attempts to escape or cover your bottom. If you must you may weep or cry, but do so as quietly as possible. You are not a four-year-old child any more but a young lady and you must learn to take your punishments with as much dignity as you can master. If you make too much noise I shall give you one warning; after that I shall add penalty strokes. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir," breathed Amy, fear making her voice sound suspiciously eager.
"Are you ready for your spanking?"
"I'm ready, sir."
With no further ado, I began to spank my step-daughter. What I'd initially regarded as a cumbersome fatherly duty I was now relishing as I had few things in life. The girl's bottom was fantastic, positively made for spanking. Young Amy was equally sweet, for her docile nature and virgin bottom enhanced the experience. She was too frightened to wiggle or cry much, yet it was obvious the degree of pain was a shock to her.
Her lithe body lay half-naked across my lap, the proud buttocks dancing to my pounding hand. I spanked her hard and fast, for this was supposed to be a punishment. My palm tingled furiously but I ignored it, concentrating instead on the lovely shades of scarlet maturing across the plump cheeks of my step-daughter.
Amy gasped and writhed slightly. She cried out "Oh!" and a moment later, "Ow!" followed by a drawn-out groan. I alternated cheeks, smacking first one, then the other, and her body followed my lead and slowly rocked from side to side, each cheek rising to meet my descending palm. I increased my strokes to two smacks per cheek, then three.
"Oh, no more, please!" cried Amy, panicking at the intensity of three hearty wallops in a row.
"Be quiet, girl," I grunted, not stopping the spanking at all. "No talking or pleading. That's your warning."
I watched her grit her teeth in desperation and determination and calmly smacked her butt still harder. Now it was five smacks per cheek and by the fifth in each series Amy was practically rolling over to offer me the other cheek.
After several more rounds of five I suddenly switched to ten, breaking the girl's fragile will. She screech in surprise when I didn't stop at five and was screaming by the tenth.
"No no no no!" she yelled, throwing her hands back over her bottom. Gone was the shy docile girl: she thought she was in pain and wanted it to stop.
I stopped. "That's one penalty stroke," I said sternly. "Take your hands away or it'll be doubled."
Meowing like a wounded animal, Amy reluctantly moved her hands away. Her bottom was a gorgeous deep pink, almost exactly where I wanted it. Unfortunately for her, I couldn't stop now, not after her disobedience. I had to give her two more rounds of ten on each cheek.
Pausing, I rested my hand on the summit of Amy's bottom. The firm flesh felt wonderful. The heat radiating from the surface was impressive. The cheeks had colored beautifully, making me anticipate the marking of the cane. I reveled in the moment, thoroughly enjoying sensing such a smooth, warm bottom.
"You may rise," I said finally, allowing Amy to get up. I noticed she clutched at her hot buttocks immediately, apparently completely forgetting I had a splendid view of her nude front. Typical. Girls worry about their modesty until something more pressing comes along.
I again delayed the climax of our session by retreating to my desk for several minutes of contemplation. Amy stood in the middle of the room fidgeting nervously, her hands reluctantly held in place on her head. Her red bottom had darkened a little since I finished the spanking and looked even more impressive. The red blush somehow made her buttocks seem even larger and more womanly. I could hardly wait to thrash them.
Finally, it was time. I selected my thinnest, lightest cane from my collection. This one is three feet long and stings like a nest of hornets, but it bruises the least of all my rods. It would be a salutatory introduction to the cane. I was anxious to see Amy's reaction.
"Touch your toes," I ordered, fully aware of the dramatic import of my words. For the rest of Amy's life, those words would carry power, reminding her of this instant, of how she felt, naked and vulnerable, bottom tingly and warm, dreading the lash of the rod.
Her face pale, she obeyed. The round ball of her arse curved forward as her back arched, the base thrust outward toward me. It was an impeccable apple bottom that I intended to thrash soundly.
I whipped the cane through the air, the fearsome swish loud in the confines of the room. I saw Amy tense, her hindquarters shuddering slightly. I swished the cane a few more times, my own heart quickening at the sound. How many times had I waited in her position, my arse bared for the rod?
I laid the first stroke on solidly but with more wrist than arm. I cut right into the middle of the fleshiest portion of her anatomy. Her bottom, now the apex of her body, swayed back and forth as she struggled to absorb the pain. Across the middle of her buttocks was a thin pink line. As I watched it was darkening to red.
Amy gave a squeal of alarm, her eyes shooting open.
"Oh my God!" she gasped. She stood upright, hands grasping at her burning cheeks. Tears dripped down her face as she howled.
"Foolish girl! That's another penalty, your second."
"Oh I can't take it! It hurts too much, it's horrible!"
"Of course you can take it. Don't be absurd. Now get back in position for the rest of your punishment before I add another penalty."
As soon as she was in position I lifted the cane, leveled it at the point I intended to strike, pulled it back, and lashed it hard across her bottom. This time her reaction was even more pronounced. She squealed loudly, wiggling her arse frantically this way and that.
I quickly delivered the third stroke. This one was even harder, with an extra snap of the wrist for a truly stinging blow. The thin rod whipped across the presented buttocks, the tip wrapping around to the far side of the right cheek. The three weals were at different stages of development but all were beginning to look remarkably tender.
This time Amy stamped her feet, writhed, and uttered a low, pleading moan. For a moment I thought she was going to rise, but somehow she stayed down. The intensity of the struggle was obvious, but apparently her brain won out as she continued to present her bottom properly.
With such an inviting target, I couldn't refuse, so I lashed down her fourth blow. This one was perfectly vicious: low and hard, and it left a wicked weal that rose an eighth of an inch off her skin.
It was too much for the poor girl. Though she somehow managed to stay in position, she couldn't control her tongue, and let slip a foul word.
"Tut tut, child! You shall not use such profanity. That's another penalty, your third." I tapped the rod against her bottom to get her attention. "With three penalties assessed, how many penalty strokes do you have coming?"
"Oh please, I can't think -- I'm in such agony!"
"You'd better think, girl! You won't like my math if I do the calculations!"
Groaning, Amy concentrated hard. "The first penalty is one stroke, the second double that. The third is four. That--that's seven total! Oh my God I'm going to die!"
"You won't die, my dear, but you will remember this thrashing, especially if you insist on earning additional strokes. I suggest you work hard at obeying the rules: your next penalty will be an additional eight strokes!"
I used my wrist for the penalty strokes, lashing her buttocks with swishy licks that took her breath away but did minimal damage to her backside. After all, we still had eight strokes of her "official" caning to come!
"Stop that sniveling and crying," I scolded her when I finished with the seven stingers. "Remember, I used the light cane for this initial portion of your punishment. Future punishments for you will always be with a stouter rod: a big girl of fifteen like yourself should be able to take a six with the prison rod without a peep!
"Now get up and go to the davenport. I want you bending over the arm for your next four strokes. For these I shall use my senior cane: it's like those used in school."
Still sobbing, Amy obeyed, staggering to the sofa where she draped herself over the arm. She used the opportunity to rub her sore bottom with her hands, an action I normally forbid, but since this was her first caning, I decided to let it go. After all, I didn't want to be unreasonable.
Meanwhile, I'd selected the heavier cane for the next portion of her punishment. I was curious how the girl would react. Granted a light rod stings intensely, but it's nothing compared to a finger-thick weal left by the senior cane. This caning would begin Amy's real introduction to the rod.
I took a few moments to adjust Amy's positioning. I wanted her buttocks prominently presented with her entire body serving to elevate that portion of her anatomy. Her face and chest were thrust into the cushions of the sofa as she braced herself, and I spread her legs wide and insisted they be flush with the side of the sofa. This thrust up her bottom nicely, and I couldn't resist a moment of studious assessment.
Her perfect apple bottom was splendidly balanced atop the arm of the davenport. The split sphere was already an elegant pink from her spanking, and a scattering of maroon marks from the penalty strokes scored the middle of the cheeks. Four thin weals crossed the divide between her cheeks indicating the bulk of her punishment so far. I was pleased. Between her spread legs hung the succulent fruit of her sex, which I chose to ignore as she was my step-daughter, but I couldn't help but notice it was already mature and elegantly formed.
I waited just long enough for Amy to show signs of nervousness and impatience, and then I let fly the first stroke. The thicker cane took a bit more effort to cut through the air than the thin rod, but I was pleased with the speed of the stick as it made contact. It sank deep into the fleshy middle of Amy's presented buttocks, a white line appearing instantly as the cane bounced backward. The white quickly turned pink, then crimson.
The "crack" of the impact was definitely louder. Amy gave a light shriek, her hair flying as she threw her head about. Her hands flashed to her backside but buried themselves in her hips, rubbing and pinching the flesh at the sides of her buttocks. This of course did nothing to relieve her agony as it was her bottom proper that was stinging so fiercely, but Amy was already learning that penalty strokes hurt and it wasn't smart to earn them.
I placed the second stroke a little lower, just above the crease between buttock and thigh. This had Amy writhing over the sofa arm, her buttocks wiggling frantically.
The third sank deep into the crease and was my hardest stroke yet. Amy gasped but seemed too shocked to even scream. A low moan of despair escaped her open lips and tears flooded down her face. Her hands were white-knuckled fists that pounded futilely against the sofa cushions or the sides of her thighs.
The three latest weals dwarfed the original set. These were much thicker, more raised, and were an angrier red. The third was the darkest, especially on the right, a maroon approaching purple.
Impressed with how Amy was enduring her discipline, I laid the final of this set right in the crease again, exactly on top of the previous weal. Amy's reaction was electric. Her whole body jolted as though a lightning bolt had struck her. Her voice came out as a series of inhuman howls, and her frantic writhing produced fantastic undulations of her buttocks.
Then it happened: a chill of excitement went down my spine as I saw her hands frantically clutching her hot cheeks. She'd broken!
"That's another penalty!" I said in a stern voice, and her body gave a shudder of despair. "Eight extras to come."
"Oh please, I can't bear it!"
"If you'd behave you wouldn't be in this position, naughty girl. And you've only earned extras because you can't control yourself. Now I shall give you these hard and fast, so I suggest you keep your fingers out of the way unless you want them broken."
Using the cane as a prod, I forced Amy to adjust position until her body was again properly presented, the taut buttocks the highest point. Taking a deep breath, I lined up the cane. I wanted to do these fast. Partly this was a mercy -- Amy was inexperienced and surely couldn't take eight slow strokes without more penalties -- but fast canings are also unbearably painful, and I wanted this day to be a memorable one for her.
In a blur of movement I lashed the cane up and down eight times in less than five seconds. The lovely buttocks that were my target writhed and bounded with amazing energy as the rod quickly implanted six glorious scarlet weals across those meaty cheeks. As the fourth stroke landed the true pain of the first was beginning to be felt and Amy rose up, lifting her butt slightly off the arm of the davenport only to bring it closer to the incoming arc of the cane as it descended for the fifth blow. That flattened the girl, and in her agony she rotated to the left, inadvertently raising the left cheek for punishment. The sixth and seventh left cruel weals there and I was pleased, for as a right-handed man I tended to over-punish the right cheek leaving the left somewhat neglected. After that Amy collapsed again, presenting both cheeks ideally for the eighth and final blow.
It was over in seconds and Amy still writhed and screamed as though the cane still ravaged her arse. Finally she seemed to realize it was over and rolled off the davenport, stumbling to her feet and staggering away, howling as her hands massaged her buttocks furiously. While technically this was a violation of protocol -- she's supposed to remain in position until I release her -- I let it go. In part this was because it was her first thrashing, but primarily I think it was because she looked so delightful dancing about the room half-naked, tears streaming, her bare arse the color of stewed tomatoes.
Besides, it was almost a certainly she'd break during the final four and earn yet another penalty. After all, the prison cane was no joking matter: a meter long and as thick as my thumb, it was a formidable implement. It was still flexible, though not as bendy as either of the previous canes. It did devastating damage to a pair of buttocks.
"Stop that bawling and get up and strip completely," I ordered. A sharp poke into the tender right buttock with the tip of the cane got Amy moving. Still sobbing, she stripped without a word of protest. Like before, when she'd first bared her bottom, I was again surprised at the maturity of her slender body. Her breasts weren't as full as they would be, but they were nicely palm-sized. She was a remarkably sexy girl.
Stretched across the table and grasping the other side put Amy's body fully on display. Her legs were wide, exposing all her secrets. The gorgeous round bottom was excellently presented at the edge of the table, the proud cheeks just begging for a thorough thrashing. The marks visible now were mostly red; after the caning with the prison rod, I knew they'd be purple and black.
This proved true from the first stroke, which left a thick purplish weal across the middle of Amy's arse. The bruising stroke was not as stingy as previous lashes, and Amy seemed to bear it better. Perhaps she was just growing accustomed to corporal discipline. I resolved to break her.
I lashed down the second hardest of all, literally crushing the teen's buttocks with the heavy rod. Where the tip buried, at the base of the right cheek, a massive black mark sprang up, ugly and unbearably sensitive.
Cruelly, I laid the third in the same place, and without waiting for her to recover from the second. The effect was magical and produced the result I desired. Amy, already writhing on the table from the second stroke, was unprepared for the third so quickly. It was too much for her and she released her grip, her hands flashing to her bottom as she rolled off the table. She lay on the floor, flailing wildly, her hands grasping her tortured bottom.
"Shame shame," I scolded gently, pleased as could be by the result. "That's another penalty. Sixteen more strokes after we're done!"
Amy just wept in misery. She didn't say anything as she climbed back onto the table, her hands gripping the far side, her trembling buttocks once again a target.
The fourth and final stroke was masterfully done, if I do say so myself. Right into the plumpest portion of Amy's arse, the weal purplish-black almost immediately. Amy staggered as though felled by a club. Her body flopped helplessly on the table, the wild gyrations no doubt bruising her hips and knees.
It was over. I decided to postpone the sixteen penalty strokes for the morrow. It would give me something to look forward to, as well as give Amy's arse time to heal and tenderize and therefore better feel the penalty. Besides, now that she had experienced her first caning, the anticipation of another sixteen to face tomorrow would be an excellent character builder for her.
"You may go," I said. I watched as my sobbing step-daughter grabbed her clothes and departed naked, no doubt straight for the bathroom where she could soak her battered rump.
I put the cane away and reflected on the experience (as Amy was likely doing as well, though from a completely different perspective), already anticipating tomorrow's penalty dose. Sixteen across an already well-punished bottom would be magnificent agony, and if I was lucky, I could get Amy to add a few penalties to extend the punishment even more. She was indeed learning, as every girl should, the consequences of disobedience.