Had promised myself this treat through all the dreary months of Lockdown, self isolating, and social distancing. The vaccination programme gave me the courage. And much needed therapy after a few traumatic months that had seen the loss of both my favourite brother and his lovely son. As Miss Sapphire, lovely lady, said as she pulled down my pants, perhaps they are watching. A nice thought that made us both laugh. And I had not done that for months. Alfred Roy
So this is it. After nearly two years, double vaccinated, I am making a long overdue visit to a favourite lady. In those two lockdown years I have missed this indulgence more than practically anything. To have my pants taken down and be whacked on the bare behind by a dominant mature lady is still sheer heaven. Or at least the anticipation of it is. But hardly surprising that nerves kick in as I near my destination. When you have not had a cane strike into your backside in earnest for so long you wonder if the shock and pain will subvert the pleasure. Will endorphins serenely float or will you finally decide that such indulgences are no longer for you.
I am well prepared. White rugby shorts, pale blue jumper and matching pale blue underpants. Change and present the erstwhile schoolboy. Chastisement needs to be bearable to begin with, hence the rugby shorts, comfortably thick, and a second layer underneath. Usually I wear fairly thin grey schoolboy trousers. Not this time, much padding is the order of the day. The lady is very understanding, senses the nervousness and the long absence. Checks my attire, approves, and says that she thinks she will start with a gentle spanking. Over her knee. A little bizarre but not that gentle. This is schoolboy punishment after all.
After a pleasant five minutes things start to get serious and I bend over her impressive leather bench, or horse if you like, for a well overdue introduction to a hefty strap. The first ten or so whacked into my pristine white rugby shorts and created a pleasing warming glow. The next twenty were with those pristine shorts removed and strap applied with vigour to my tight pale blue underpants. These made me squirm a little but were just about bearable to a bottom deprived for so long of such sensations. Getting warm in the rear I steeled myself as she took those underpants down. A heavenly indescribable feeling that those of the disciplinary faith totally understand.
This was now it, what I had waited for and wanted for so long. A heavy strap lashing into my bare and willing backside. A divine feeling, helpless, naked from the waist down, submissive. And a dominant lady raising her leather strap to blister a bottom that both welcomed and relished. It was heaven. I did not want her to stop. I reckon she lashed that strap onto my naked cheeks at least fifty or sixty times. I could have taken more. At least a hundred. But we were both exhausted. I rose, rubbed my burning bottom, smiled thankfully and pulled up my pants and shorts. Still pristine. A short respite. And then the cane. The final curtain from this long lockdown wait. I reckoned I was now ready.
Ready for my Edgware lady. Mistress Sapphire, one of the best in the business if not the best. Put her on the National Health and many of us would not need tablets. And now she held that cane. Not too thick, not too thin. Shiny and threatening. I was nervously ready to bend over that leather bench again. A warm up twenty or so over the rugby shorts, they stung, and a further twenty or so on the gleaming and tight blue underpants. And they stung even more, but I was now in the zone. I could not wait for her to pull those underpants down, and bare behind beckon for the ultimate caning. And I told her to do it hard. The endorphins were surging and feeling the raised ridges on my lacerated bottom I was eager for the final act. A sixty stroke therapy, a la the Leicester Governess, was the requested finale. And Miss Sapphire delivered them in spades. Five at a time, twelve sets, her maths are good. I spread my legs, underpants long pulled off, and shamefully exposed my private bits. I cared not, I cared only for the final lashing cuts of an Edgware cane. My bottom was desperate and I was conscious of keenly raising it to meet each rapturous stroke. Harder, harder, it was saying, whack me to a burning and long desired posterior fire. She did, and when I rose both feeling the burn and floating at its effect I was in that longed for blissful state of disciplined serenity. It had been a long wait but my Lockdown caning was well worth it. A bottom on sensuous fire is a pleasure that should not be denied.
Later on, spent and dressed, we chatted over the traditional tea and biscuits before I left. On my warming car drive home I vowed it would not be too long before I lowered my pants for her again. It makes all those vaccine jabs worthwhile.