A first weekend with Sara - Sex Stories

A first weekend with Sara

... glow a darker red, I asked her, “Would you like to try the cane now?” I was sure that her endorphins would provide some pain relief.

“Yes, please,” she replied. I did wonder if she’d been caned before.

“Right. You’ll feel me tapping your backside with the cane. Each tap might sting a little. Then you’ll feel a proper stroke. I think we’ll start with three. I want you to count them out loud and say thank you for each one.”

“OK,” she replied. Her voice sounded slightly nervous.

I picked up the cane and started to tap it across both of her buttocks. It would have stung each time. Once I had covered her whole backside with small taps, I raised the cane and brought it down hard on her bottom.

She flinched again and her whole body seemed to tense up.

“One. Thank you.”

I started tapping again, watching the weal start to rise where the cane hard met her flesh. Having covered her backside again I raised the cane for the second time and brought it down with a resounding “swish”, being careful to avoid the initial weal.

“Two. Thank you.” Her voice sounded a little shaky.

I repeated the tapping and then gave her her third stroke of the cane.

“Three. Thank you.” The shakiness seemed to have faded a little.

“Would you like to try more? Go up to six, or maybe twelve strokes?” I asked.

“Si-, no twelve.” Although she hesitated, she sounded confident.

The three welts were already glowing angrily across her backside.

I carried on. Her inner thighs were ...

... becoming slick with her juices as the weals slowly increased.

“Four. Thank you.”

“Five. Thank you.”

“Six. Thank you.”

I was running out of space so adjusted my angle. The cane would cross where it had already met her flesh.

“Seven. Thank you.”

“Eight. Thank you.”

Small spots of blood appeared where the welts crossed over one another. The first was already darkening to black.

“Nine. Thank you.”

Ten. Thank you.”

As the tenth stroke crossed her backside, I noticed her quiver. She tensed up a little and adjusted herself, taking her hands from her knees, shaking them, and then replacing them.

I paused as she moved, expecting her to use a safe word, but when none was forthcoming I continued. I had reduced the tapping by now. I maintained the power of each stroke, careful not to add more force.

“Eleven. Thank you.”

“Twelve. Thank you.”

“Well done. Stay exactly as you are for a moment.”

I rushed down the corridor and grabbed a bottle of arnica gel I kept in the bathroom cabinet.

Returning to the living room I found Sara had not moved at all. Her backside was a crisscross of darkening welts. I picked up my phone a snapped a couple of photos.

I then squeezed a healthy glob of gel from the bottle and rubbed it across both of my hands. She flinched once more as her hands touched her flesh, the cold gel immediately providing some relief from the burning. I made sure that I coated her whole backside.

“How was that?” I asked her.

“I’m ...