Afternoon canings and human connections [MF] | 2016

I attended college at a private Catholic university on the west coast. I was a good student: I studied hard, I never skipped classes and I didn't let myself get distracted by all the attention the boys were paying me. I had a good body with great large breasts and it seemed like every week a new boy would come forward asking if he could "date" me. I turned them all down, except for maybe one or two when I happened to be particularly horny. But mostly during the day I was the perfect little schoolgirl. At night though, I was hanging out on FetLife, searching for that special someone to make a connection with.

That's how I met him. He was in his late twenties with dark shaggy hair, a nice smile and a tall, toned body. He was self-employed and worked from home, which made it convenient for an afternoon hookup. But mostly I thought I found in him something akin to a kindred soul. We shared the same kinks, but he could be gentle and thoughtful as well as strong and domineering. Most doms I either don't like or don't trust. He was different. He seemed like the kind of guy who was more likely to cuddle with you than to hit you, but when he turned it on he sure could make sparks fly.

I had described myself as a pain slut in my online profile. Truthfully I was looking for something more than just pain, but these are the kinds of psychological quirks and hang-ups that are best left for an analyst's couch and it is best not to delve into those. But that's how he and I first connected: pain and humiliation. We chatted for a while and we even talked on the phone, but it was clear what would immediately happen when we met. After some discussion we settled on bamboo canes. He asked me how many strokes I wanted. Without thinking I said one hundred. He said that's what he had in mind as well.

We met at a coffee shop not far from campus. Even though we had talked extensively, I wanted to meet him in a public place just to make sure things clicked as much in person as they did online. We didn't even finish our coffees before we headed out to his car.

"Are you wearing what I asked you to?"

"Yes, Daddy."

Daddy was my idea. Sir just doesn't lend itself to the kind of connection I was after. He had me put both hands on the passenger window and he lifted my short skirt and pulled down my panties right there in the parking lot, inspecting the small butt plug he had instructed me to wear to our meeting. Seeing that I had done everything to his satisfaction he gave my ass a good slap before pulling the panties back up. There was no one in the parking lot to witness our little exchange but it still got me wet.

He lived in a small town about thirty minutes away. As we merged onto the highway he told me to open the glove compartment. In there was a large eight-inch dildo, flesh colored.

"Put it in your mouth and suck on it for the rest of the drive. I want everyone to see what a dirty slut you are."

Few people noticed, or if they did they pretended not to. Two teenage boys honked at us from an old beat-up Honda. A soccer mom's eyes went wide and she put a hand over her mouth, but when she took her hand down she was smiling in appreciation. The other drivers just looked straight ahead like I had nothing but a large chocolate bar in my mouth.

By the time we got to his place my jaw was sore and the top of my shirt was soaked from the drool that had spilled down my chin. He pointed to it as soon as we were inside.

"Take it off. And the rest too."

I stripped slowly, first unbuttoning my shirt, then pulling down my skirt. I wanted to look at him and see his reaction when I unhooked my bra to reveal my large breasts, but I kept my eyes down obediently while he scrutinized every inch of me.

"Get on your hands and knees."

He put the cane in my mouth and stood behind me while I crawled to his bedroom. I could feel his stare on my ass and pussy the whole agonizing time it took to get to his bed. When I finally hopped on he ran his hand over my cleft and I shivered. He coated my lips with my juices, and my upper thighs, even my ass.

"Count."

No other instructions were necessary. This is what we had come here for.

Swat.

"One."

The first stroke is always a surprise. The body doesn't remember pain. It might remember that something has hurt it in the past, like a cane stroke, but there are no details to the memory. Pain has no shape, no color and no sound, nothing for the mind to hold on to. If pain really hurts sometimes it has a taste, but it's like nothing else I've ever tasted. I hissed at the first stroke, suddenly recognizing once more what pain is.

Swat.

"Two."

Swat.

"Three."

I shrieked as he yanked the butt plug out of my ass. I could already feel the heat coming off my cheeks.

"Four. Five. Six"

His hard cock was pressed against my lips and I rocked my hips, covering it in my juices.

"Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten..."

The pain was full-on now and I was slowly drifting into that corner of my mind I go to to handle the pain. In ten more strokes I would be there but not yet. Now is the time I feel the pain most fully. I moaned continuously and shrieked with each stroke, but with each stroke the shrieks sounded further and further away while the moans grew stronger and stronger.

"Twenty-two… Twenty-.... Two…"

I lost the count. Reality was still there, I knew full well what was happening, but it was like only a part of my mind was paying attention.

"Aaahhh!"

I screamed in surprise when he entered me. I was expecting a stroke but instead he rammed his slick cock in me, smashing his hips against my ass. Then I moaned. The pleasure mixed with the pain. The pleasure calling me back to reality, but my mind insistent on not exiting the trance.

"Twenty-four. Twenty-five."

I didn't know if I was counting strokes or thrusts anymore, didn't know which rhythm I was following. I counted to fifty before I lost the thread. A bit more and he dropped the cane and started really fucking me. I pushed my ass back against him, fucking him as much as he fucked me. I was coming back and his hands on my ass had me feeling how raw it was.

Slap!

I shrieked again and bit my finger, pushed my face into the mattress, my hips still rocking against him. I could feel him close, his hands grabbing my ass, squeezing it, parting the cheeks, opening my ass to claim me. I was his play thing, his slut to fuck as he wished, each squeeze of my sore bum it reminded me what I let him do to me. Everything, anything.

"Come for me."

I did. It seemed to come from nowhere, I didn't even realize I was close. But my pussy clenched tightly around his cock and my fingers touched my clit and in an instant I was shaking and moaning, my ass trembling against his hips with his cock deep inside me filling me with his cum, both of us struggling not to collapse on the bed.

I asked if he had a full-length mirror and we walked naked to his bathroom. We stood there admiring the patchwork of my ass, the sore red scratches criss-crossing the hot and pink skin.

"What do you think?"

His face was soft and expressive. That's what I liked about him. He could hit me like a mad, drunken brute one moment, but then feel genuine compassion the next. I smiled.

"I like it."

I felt proud somehow. Like it was a badge of honor. A sign of strength. I had gone through with it, I had endured it. And now I had the scars to show it. To show the entire world, or at least those I trusted enough to show my ass to. It hadn't even been that bad. It hurt at first but of course that's the whole point. I was strong.