Bare Bottom Bognor Caning Over Bar Stool By Female Friend For Complaining About Women Going Topless In Public
By: Me
Written on September 11th, 2012
You can’t expect life to fulfill you, but you can do things to fulfill your life.
When you think of it, in a society that has no tolerance for tears, affectionate caning can be an intimate blessing.

What she did was an act of female power conducting, the opposite of man-hating!
There was nothing detached about it, and i experienced nothing of what she did as being cruel, or in any shape or form wrong.
Like most Dutch girls she is a natural born feminist without ever having to read a word about it: it’s in her DNA and I’m glad of it!

(I walked her through similar experiences I had with pro doms years ago; I stopped seeing pros once I learned enough to train amateurs to go through the events with me! This was the first caning Leah ever gave, but certainly not the first one for me to receive. It was much safer than two amateurs going at it for the first time! If you accuse me of taking her “virginity” as a corporal punishment administrator, you must also admit i did get my hide tanned for it!)

Caning was still legal throughout my childhood, and I was horrified of it.
As an adult, one Saturday afternoon in August, naked, I bent over a bar stool and touched the floor in front of me with the tips of my fingers.
The effect was to spread my bare buttocks wide apart completely exposing the sitting muscles, soon for a time to be less comfortable for sitting on.
Dutch pretty, sincerely polite, considerate, utterly charming, ever so girlie girl Leah gave me six-of-the best.
With black electrical tape I had wound around the stem just before the crook handle so as to give her a good grip on it, and to make it a true English school–I had it shipped over from England–“Bognor,” she used the 5/16″ rattan.
This was the first time she had ever even held a cane in her hands, but she knew what she was doing because she had listened to the instructional audio, Miss Marianne Martindale’s “The Art Of Caning.”
Strong, flexible, fluid, whippy, good “crack” and a good “fall” to it, there were low whooshes and six loud smacks.
And, six tramlines on my bottom afterwards.
With each stroke, there was a caress across my bare bottom, followed a few seconds later by the pain.
The thin red lines stood out for a few days.
It was like she was still with me.
By the next Saturday they were absolutely gone.
Whenever I sat down, for a couple of days immediately after the incident, I had a mild raw feeling, like something was missing .
I put an extra cushion on my chair.
That solved the problem.
Not a big deal.
There was no other subsequent discomfort than this tenderness.
By getting it as an act of friendship–and education–I conquered that one terror in my life, much like turning snake poison into an antidote.
The experience gave me power and took none away.

It was a totally satisfying experience for Leah, and that makes it totally satisfying for me.
While using it she felt the cane was a part of her. So did I.
I don’t so much feel that the cane was used as that it was shared.
I opened myself to intimacy, and it was quite a forceful connecting, a fusion, a very personal energy going into me.
“I liked everything about it,” said she. “I did it on your bare bottom because on the seat of the underpants it would have been like eating a candy with the wrapper on it. I stopped only because I felt sorry for you. I didn’t use follow through because I didn’t want to cut you in two. You have a cute asphole.”
It was more than just a somethingness, a lack of a void.
Pain, and the possibility of transcendence, there is something empowering about having “survived” a good thrashing!
I feel love for Leah, but it isn’t.

It is a unique kind of bonding.

It’s like she got a piece of me and made it a part of her, but the piece also grew back quickly and without a trace, and I have a piece of her which I treasure as a part of me now.

Thirteen years later, grade ten dropout, two kids by two different men, a never wore her seat belt car accident, god knows how many cigarettes, experimenting with drugs to keep from getting fat, arrested for stealing form her employer, I wonder if she still giggles, and just how aware she is that, as I understand it, no man since has ever been willing to let her do anything at all like what she did with me to him.

Resignation is giving away your power.
Surrender is getting your power back. In no way did I resign myself to the cane, but rather I surrendered myself to it, and just thinking about it right now electrifies me.

I loved feeling the air against my bare skin, and the cane against my bare bottom.

She got the right end of the stick for her.
I got the right end of the stick for me.
I feel closer to women for it.

A satisfied woman is always an accomplishment to a man who loves them!
Three cheers!

If you try to hold onto wisdom it will just run through your fingers. The more you share of it, the more you keep.
All the things you love about another person are inside you, and can never be taken away.

And of course, now that she has educated me, I apologize for ever saying women are wrong to go topless in public!

One Type Of Cupid’s Bow!

drawing

the

bow

the

snap

of

the

string

when

she

shoots

an

arrow

raising

the

cane

the

whoosh

of

the

cane

when

she

starts

a

stroke

huting

she

loves

to

drop

the

meat

on

the

ground

with a

perfect

arrow

kill

and

later

me

on

the

floor

with a

perfect

cane

stroke