Lynn Gets The Cane - Again

It had surprised me at first. But then I thought maybe I shouldn't be that surprised after all. And nowadays nothing surprises me. Funny how we evolve. Or maybe de-volve to the people we really are.

That said, it all started with an email notification that I had received a message from a spanking forum that I belonged to. I had logged on and read the message which simply stated:

Hi, I have read your story and believe you to be Mr Hartly. I am Lynn Green, and we need to meet up -- I won't be taking 'no' for an answer. 😊

She had also included her mobile number.

Fucking hell, I thought, Chickens coming home to roost and all that.

However, before I go any further with the tale, I first need to share with you the original account that I posted on the spanking forum:

Lynn Green gets the Cane

She holds herself erect, perhaps defiant. I have summoned her.

Her curly chestnut hair tumbles onto her shoulders and frames a round face. Her eyes are large and blue, her nose small and turned up, her nostrils perhaps a little too flared. Her mouth appears tight, compressed, when closed and thin pink lips trace round it.

She is no taller than five four and of slim frame. I know she is eighteen.

She is wearing a sleeveless starched white shirt, and her top two buttons are undone. I glimpse and savour the white flesh of her neck, the V of her upper chest. She is bra-less and her prominent nipples strain against the fabric.

It is Monday, June 20th, 1983, and the weather, hot.

Her regulation navy blue skirt is just above the knees - and tight. Her pale legs are bare, and she is wearing black sandals.

She is facing me over my desk with her uncovered arms hanging limp at her sides. I am the headmaster.

"You know why you are here, Miss Green, don't you?"

"Was it to do with the smoking?" She tries to sound composed but a slight tremor in her Yorkshire accent hints at anxiety.

"As you are aware,wellaware, we do not allow any of our pupils to smoke on the school premises..."

"But I'm over eighteen and allowed to smoke legally," she protests weakly.

"Yes, but you are a bad influence on others more impressionable. Have you any idea how detrimental smoking is to your health and what a disgusting habit it is?!" I counter.

I can see that she realises that she isn't going to win. She will take what comes to her.

"This isn't the first time you've been cautioned. Mrs Clark warned you just a month ago. Or have you forgotten so soon?"

"No, Sir, I'm very sorry. It won't happen again."

"I very much doubt that it will." I have the upper hand -- literally.

"I'm afraid Miss Green I have little alternative but to administer you two strokes of the cane."

I watch her blanch as fear flashes across her attractive features.

"Please walk over to the chair in the corner. I want you to bend over and place your palms on the seat."

She complies and ambles over slowly. Like the proverbial condemned man.

The chair's back is against the white wall of my office. I open the cupboard behind me and bring out the standard school cane: about two foot long with a curved handle. I reflect, briefly, on all the agony that this simple implement has induced in the past.

I stride over and line myself parallel to the left of her.

"I am going to give you two hard strokes. You are not to move till after the second one. If you do, then you will receive an extra one. Do you understand?"

She mutters something and then nods.

I pause and study her. Her skirt is pulled tight, the material shiny over her bum.

Her white arms are taut, and I notice liberally speckled with small moles. Her blonde arm hairs are visibly raised, perhaps out of fear, and her thick lustrous hair hangs down round her face.

I draw back my right arm then swing the cane down with a swish across her buttocks that impacts with a loud crack.

She utters a low groan and lifts her left leg, bent at the knees. I cannot help but notice that her calf is pale and strong.

She returns her leg back into position.

Again, I swing the cane, with full force, onto her buttocks.

"Oh, my God!" she screams, and brings her hands round to grasp her backside.

"That's all, Green. You may return to class."

She straightens up, all the time massaging her behind, and turns to face me, her eyes red rimmed and watering, her face flushed. I have hurt her.

She makes for the door without uttering a word, opens it and disappears into the corridor.

I walk over to the door and close it, close it behind her.

I imagine her at home later, perhaps in her bedroom naked, in front of a mirror, twisting round and probing the parallel ridged purple stripes that now adorn her lily-white buttocks...

*

We had met up the following Wednesday at midday for a coffee and had sat outside the outlet on a table as far away as possible from the other patrons so we could have as frank a conversation as possible. I recall it being a sunny and hot day. This was May 1995.

I had got there early and had ordered myself a Latte in the meantime whilst people-watching -- it was a busy part of town with shops bordering the square. I liked the activity of it, the buzz, but it was rare for me to get close to others -- I was quite selective who I would let into my life and felt it was better to lose out on a potential friend rather than risk creating a future enemy. 'Safety First' was my motto -- normally. But this wasn't normal. Far from it. And I wondered, a little anxiously, how it would all pan out.

I had spotted her first and had raised my arm in her direction. She had seen me and smiled before heading my way.

When she had got close to my table I had stood up and stuck out my hand. She had shaken it and had said: "Nice to meet you, Mister Hartly, after all those years... and in such different circumstances..."

"Lovely to meet you too, Lynn... and a little bit bizarre too considering the last time... and you can call me, Jon... I'm actually Jonathan... I have to say it all feels a little bit like a criminal meeting one of his victims or a gaoler a former prisoner of his..."

She laughed and said: "Yes, but which one of us is what... criminal or victim?"

I noticed that her Yorkshire accent wasn't as strong as I remembered it. But then it was twelve years ago.

I also saw that she seemed poised and confident, confident in her slightly fuller body and settled looks. She was also showing a lot of her lightly tanned flesh: black sleeveless top, no bra, full breasts, nipples visible through the fabric, short denim skirt -- quite pretty in a serious way, if that makes sense. And maybe a little bit slutty. Knowingly so. Provocatively so.

I changed tack.

"So, Lynn, what are you doing with yourself nowadays, I mean workwise?"

She smiled again whilst running her hand through her thick, long, and curly blonde highlighted chestnut mane - she knew I was skirting round the main issue, the elephant in the room -- and said: "Well, that July I left school... I didn't really know what I wanted to do... I worked in a holiday camp cleaning chalets for a summer season, then I got a job in an office but that was tedious... and finally I ended up working in an estate agents, which I love... closing a deal, pocketing the commission... there's a bit of a slump at the moment but it will change, there'll be an upturn, and the internet will transform selling... so what about you? You're not in education anymore, I hear."

"I left shortly after..."

"Shortly after you caned me really hard, let's not beat around the bush," she interjected.

I momentarily felt awkward and said: "Lynn, I haven't ordered you a drink, how remiss of me, what would you like?"

"I'll have a large coke with ice and lemon, it's a scorcher of a day, thanks."

I called the waitress over who took my order.

"Well, that summer, after I... um, punished you, I realised that education wasn't for me even though I'd done exceedingly well by becoming headmaster at a young age -- I was just thirty -- so, because Physics was my top subject at university, I joined a defence company and specialised in guided missile systems. It pays very well, I get to travel all over the world at times, and it's challenging and fascinating."

The waitress placed Lynn's drink down at this point on the table.

"Thanks," we both responded in unison.

"Lynn, I think we can dispense with the small talk now... I need to know what all this is about, please."

She took a long sip of her drink and then put her glass down gently on the surface.

"Okay," she said. "I'm going to be honest, there's never been a day I haven't thought about the time you caned me. It was agonising and humiliating..."

"I'm sorry, maybe it was the wrong thing to do, but times and attitudes were different then..."

"No need to be sorry... you see I have to tell you this... because I can't tell anyone else, I've never shared it... any of it... and where your story ends, the one you posted, mine starts..."

"Go on, " I said, intrigued.

"Well, immediately after you caned me, I headed for the lavatory and locked myself in. I lifted my skirt up and pulled my knickers down and started massaging my bum -- it was still very sore. A few seconds later I burst into tears, delayed shock, I guess. I also hated you, hated you. I felt anger. Then, after a few minutes I collected myself, vowed that I wasn't going to let you win. That I was going to get on with the rest of the day, the rest of my life, as though nothing really serious had happened, like tripping up and grazing a knee or twisting an ankle. I never told any of my friends that I'd been caned, just that I'd been cautioned. I also believed that with time I would forget it - wrong."

She picked up the glass and took another sip out of it.

"The problem is that the more you deny or try to forget something the more oxygen you give it. I also attempted to rationalise that I deserved to be punished. But none of it worked. Of course, I did move on with my life in other ways. I socialised. I dated. I grew up to an extent. I got jobs. I also accepted the fact that I was a flirt and vain. I was a bit of an exhibitionist... you've probably noticed that I like to flash my flesh... even my hairy and freckly arms as you felt fit to mention in your confessional..."

"Your arms aren't particularly hairy... it was just me and the minutia of the moment... savouring it so I could relive it. In fact, I like the little golden blonde hairs on your lightly tanned arms, glistening in the sun, and as for your freckles they're just little random concentrations of pigment which we all have, and which hardly anyone notices. In fact, you have very sexy arms: long, toned, and slender. I'm sorry if I made you feel self-conscious."

"I'm just messing with you -- I don't give a fuck what people think of my body. I know I'm attractive. Very attractive. And I've had a few guys too. But none of them have ever made me happy... fulfilled me... made me fall in love with them... so I've dumped them, cheated on them... played games with them. And it's all your fault... your sadism, your control over me... the fact that you saw me humiliated and hurt, degraded... and never gave a damn or seemed to. It's like fucking Stockholm Syndrome... and that cane of yours was just an extension of your penis..."

I could see she was getting emotional, upset...

"Can you just calm down a bit..."

"I'm sorry. Anyway, after a bit I researched things, and using the net I typed in corporal punishment as I wanted to see if anyone had had the same experience as me... but nothing really matched... and then one night I dreamed of you, dreamed that you were caning me again, and I woke up wet... and that I desperately needed you... that after all those years of denial, I fucking loved you... and that psychologically with that cane you deflowered me that day, metaphorically branded me on my arse and owned me... but I couldn't do anything... I didn't know where you lived, whether you were married, whether you were secretly gay. And then by chance I stumbled upon that website... and saw THAT post... and now... and now..."

"Now what?"

"Now what? It's unfinished business... which you're going to help me finish... because it's also unfinished business for you too... and don't fucking deny it..."

"Okay... okay. What do you want me to do?"

She picked up her drink, sipped from it, and then plonked it back a little too firmly on the surface of the table before taking a deep breath and looking me directly in the eyes and saying: "After all these years, Sir, I haven't learnt my lesson, and I think I'm going to have be punished very hard again..."

For a moment I didn't know how to react. Or what to say. I just froze. I then watched her open her denim shoulder bag, pull out a pack of cigarettes and a disposable lighter, open the pack, select a cigarette, place it between her thin lips, light it, and then blow a plume of pungent smoke directly and provocatively in my face.

She smiled impishly, and added: "As I said, Sir, I really haven't learnt my lesson..."

Shortly after, we finished our drinks, and I drove her back (in my white BMW which quite impressed her) to my large bungalow on the outskirts of town...

The first thing I said to her when we entered was: "There's something I have to show you."

I left her in my expansive north-facing and tastefully furnished (or so I thought) living room casting her eyes all round and me picking up on her nervousness whilst I wandered off into my bedroom. In the corner of my bedroom was a large, hinged and padlocked wooden box which I unlocked with a small key on my key ring. In the box were objects that were personal or had sentimental value to me like childhood toys or valuable souvenirs. There was also a school cane, about two foot long with a curved handle...

"Wow," she exclaimed. "You actually kept the cane you punished me with from all those years ago. That's weird."

"From time to time I would rub linseed oil into it to preserve it. It's still... functional..."

"Oh. My. God. I just don't believe this."

"Okay, Lynn, I'm going to the loo, which is first on the left down the hallway, feel free to use it. I'll be in the bedroom... I mean the study... which is second door on the right at the end of the hallway."

"Thanks, I will. Second door on the right?"

"Yep."

I watched her swallow. And felt that the atmosphere was slowly charging... a bit like a thunderstorm brewing. Or maybe that was the wrong simile.

A few minutes later I was in my bedroom when the door was knocked tentatively.

"Enter."

The door swung open and a young woman of about thirty gingerly stepped in.

"You wanted to see me, Sir."

"Yes, I do Miss Green. It has come to my attention that you have openly defied my orders, despite already being punished, by carrying on smoking which is a disgusting, inconsiderate, and highly unhealthy habit. What do have to say for yourself?"

"I believe is my legal right to do whatever I want with my body, and that you have no right to tell me what I should and shouldn't do."

I realised at this point that the script may be in the process of being torn up, but nevertheless I remained in character.

"Oh, you do, do you, young lady. Well, I think you're going to have to be taught a further lesson, a very painful lesson. In fact, I'm going to administer six strokes of the cane to you."

"Do your worst, I'm not frightened of you and your little stick."

"You've become quite the little brat over the years, Miss Green, haven't you. But I doubt that you'll be so cocky afterwards."

"If anyone's going to be... cocky afterwards, it will be you, you pervert."

"Right, that's enough of your cheek, young lady. Get over to the chair in the corner and bend over. You're going to get six hard strokes. And don't straighten up or else you'll get an extra one."

I watched her with an air of contrived reluctance amble over to the corner and slowly bend over. I then picked up the cane which had been lying on the top of the duvet on the bed and followed closely behind her.

My bedroom was quite large and there was plenty of room to do what I had to.

I lined myself squarely to the left of her and, as I did twelve years ago, I took in her form: her tanned arms sprinkled liberally with small moles and freckles, the little golden arm hairs, her lustrous long hair falling over her pretty face with large eyes the colour of sapphires and cute turned up nose, the wide mouth with thin yet sensuous lips...

I pulled my right arm as far back as I could and then delivered the cane with a whoosh and a 'crack' onto her tight denim skirt.

She jerked and I heard her suck breath though her teeth. It would have been agony.

I gave her about half a minute to savour the pain before I administered another stinging stroke across her denim clad buttocks. This time she cried out and I noticed her hands clenching on the seat of the chair.

I also felt my penis beginning to expand.

Despite feeling a little bit sorry for her I didn't let up with the severity -- she needed to be punished hard.

The third stroke made her not only cry out but her shapely legs to momentarily give way. I also thought I discerned sniffling. No doubt she was brave because she never once requested me to slacken off or give up.

After the fourth stroke she started crying openly -- I was hurting her as she had never been hurt physically before. I also allowed her to quickly rub her bottom after each stroke. But, that said, she craved it in only a way she could understand. She was a brat, a masochist and a submissive. And I was a sadist. An empathetic sadist.

The last two strokes caused her to raise her right leg as a reaction to the agony for a few seconds after each one and her body was visibly shaking along with her crying loudly.

It was over and, in a way, we were both relieved. What had to be done had been done.

"You've been punished now, Lynn. It's finished and I must say you've been very brave."

She straightened up and turned round. Her eyes were reddened from crying and tears were still running down her cheeks. Her lips still appeared to be quivering as she put out her arms and wrapped them around me.

Neither of us spoke as she pushed her lips against mine. I could feel her body still trembling from the trauma of the intense and agonizing caning. But in that moment, we both felt at one.

I placed my hands around her waist and drew her closer to me. I kissed her gently and any resistance melted away. I brushed her lovely hair away from her neck and ran my tongue gently along her neck. For what would enfold in this drama there would be no necessity for a script.

I slipped behind her and continued kissing her lightly on the back and base of her elegant neck. She turned suddenly and thrust her face into mine, opening her mouth and letting me enter it with my tongue and probe the soft erogenous tissue. Her breath was hot and smoky, yet I loved it.

And then she was removing her skimpy black top to reveal her firm breasts with prominent and engorged nipples. Her skin was tanned and beautiful and she was in great shape. Her tummy was trim.

I lowered her gently onto the bed, her expression plaintive, her eyes pleading for something that was beyond explanation yet within anticipation.