Filly’s First Caning, a tale by Master Tom

I don’t have to cane my wife often, and when I do it is always done with love and respect. The night we got engaged I became my wife to be’s disciplinarian, a role she was pleased for me to adopt because she knew that without a guide or mentor her life would spiral downhill. I clearly remember every occasion it has been necessary to cane my wife, but the first time was difficult for both of us.

Why it came about is not important now, but it was at the time. What Filly did she thought was unforgivable, but in my eyes there is no such thing, she is my true love and always will be. But the incident happened; I could see the guilt in her eyes, the fear of what I would think the fear of losing that which can never be lost, my love for her. I knew that for both our sakes I would have to punish her harshly or it would have no value, would not restore the balance she needs so much.

We were not living in our house at the time, we had met as we did most days just to talk and look at each other. I took her hand, made her look at me and told her that what she did was bad, we both knew how bad. I pointed out that nothing could end our love but that this could drive its' way between us and that I could see no alternative other than to make Filly pay for her actions in the harshest possible way. I remember how her eyes had widened and then how her body relaxed, moved closer to me, already beginning the healing, by trusting me to do what was necessary. I forced myself to tell this woman of my dreams that I intended to purchase a cane that day and use it on her bare backside that evening. When I asked her if she was willing to accept this, brave true girl that she is, she just nodded and whispered, “of course.”

I assured her that after she was punished she would be able to put all behind her and be free. The rules I explained would be simple, because of the pain I would expect her to count each stroke and her counting would indicate she felt able to receive the next stroke. Typical of Filly she never asked how hard or how many, she trusts me implicitly. I informed Filly that I would call on her at 7 p.m. and she should be dressed ready for bed.

That afternoon I acquired a bamboo cane just over three-foot long and spent some time sanding all the burrs from the joints. I taped the handle for a good grip and I must admit I practised a little, remembering my old school days. I found an old chart tube that would serve to carry it through public places.

About five minutes before the allotted time I let myself into Filly’s and found her sitting quietly, apparently reading a book. She looked up at me calmly and smiled mournfully, nearly breaking my heart. After whispered greetings and a brief kiss I sat next to her and held her hands. We talked about her behaviour, how we both knew it was unacceptable and had gone beyond reasonable boundaries. I had to steel my heart as Filly sat there, not moving, showing little emotion, but with tears streaming down both her cheeks. When I reminded her that she had agreed to let me act as her guide, mentor and disciplinarian she sobbed for the first time. Her behaviour I said was such that I questioned whether she still wanted me in that roll, but that if she did her punishment would be a caning. It is somewhat embarrassing to admit that I actually asked her formerly to declare herself once more. My chest was tight as she fell into my arms, sobbing hard now and saying that she was sorry and yes of course she wanted me to help her, needed it.

We swayed together until Filly became calmer then I eased her away and asked quietly if she was ready. Bless her, she swallowed once but nodded immediately. Then she spoke in a strange little voice, “Yes Sir, I am, and thank you for giving me another chance.”

Standing up I looked Filly up and down, saw she was wearing her cotton pyjama set, loose top and bottoms. I opened the chart roll and let the cane slide out into my hand. I faced Filly and said, “Take off the bottoms Filly,” and watched as she did it gracefully, as she did everything. “And your pants,” I said when I saw she was wearing brief, eggshell coloured pants. Filly slipped a thumb either side of the waistband and with that inimitable wiggle all women have slipped them down her thighs, let them fall at her feet and stepped clear. Her eyes widened when I swung the cane once or twice making it whistle. I honestly was not trying to increase her fear or anticipation, it just seemed natural.

Taking hold of a chair and a towel I positioned the chair well clear of any other furniture and folded the towel over the back of the chair. Taking Filly’s hand I led her to stand in front of the chair. “I want you to kneel on the chair Filly, facing the back.” With a little help from me Filly did as she was asked. “Now reach over and stretch down and take hold of the bracing rail under the seat.” I took her hands and guided her into position, balancing her as she shuffled about. Stepping back I examined her position. Her thighs were straight and almost touching the chair back, her stomach was folded over the top of the back, her hipbones were touching the top of the chair. Her body and arms were reaching down at the back of the chair and her bottom was so temptingly offered, almost naturally positioned for what was to come. Her pyjama top had rode up exposing her naked cheeks, nothing was hidden from me. Mostly though I felt humbled by the responsibility her trust had forced on me.

Placing the cane against Filly’s naked buttocks, even as her body flinched, I moved to her left until the cane was flat against her cheeks. This meant that I would not actually have a really good view, but it would, I hoped, ensure the cane landed flat across both cheeks, would not strike just one, wouldn’t wrap round.

Tapping Filly’s bottom as a totally unnecessary means of attracting her attention I said, “Remember I expect you to count each stroke so I will know you feel ready to accept the next stroke. I shall administer ten strokes and I expect you to remain in position unless it becomes unbearable. Do you understand?”

There was a delay, as I expected, Filly always like to be sure she understands anything new before she accepts; it never entered my head she might have second thoughts. “Yes sir, I understand and I am grateful for this chance.” Oh dear reader, how could anyone fail to love this sweet, generous creature. I vowed silently once more I would do everything possible to make her life as happy as possible.

Tapping the bottom of the women I love I prepared to give her a thrashing designed to empty her head of everything except pain, and I hoped, when her head was emptied I would fill it with love, not let the guilt and poison return.

I lifted the cane and brought it down swiftly, letting my wrist snap it home even quicker to land across the middle of Filly’s bottom with a surprisingly loud crack. The whistle had not been as loud as my practise swings. Filly’s body tensed at the impact, I heard her hiss sharply, saw her head lift slightly, her eyes quizzical more than pained, exploring how the cane had felt. I watched carefully and could, despite my poor position for viewing, make out a narrow white line, edged with red, a line that seemed to grow more defined even as I watched.

“One, thank you Sir,” I heard Filly say clearly. This was more than I had expected, I was punishing her and here she was thanking me, all I wanted was a count to indicate her readiness for the next stroke. This was a learning experience for both of us, I guessed I had not really stung Filly too much and decided she must be properly punished, so when I lifted my hand and snapped the cane down again I put more wrist action into it, made the cane whistle more.

Filly’s body reacted as though touched with an electric prod, her whole body tensed, she yelped with pain as well as surprise; her knuckles went white where she gripped the rail. The sound of the cane against her flesh was louder, sharper, the mark more clearly defined, was growing more quickly visible. Filly began to breathe slowly and deeply. Still I realised that her yelp had not held any real sound of pain and decided that I should try even harder. “Two, thank you Sir,” I heard Filly say still in a calm steady voice.

Careful not to use all my strength which might seriously damage this precious woman I lifted the cane and brought it down a little harder, with some shoulder as well as arm and wrist action. It whistled sweetly and landed with a resounding sharp crack, Filly squealed, real pain in her voice, her body tensed, her bottom wriggled, her hands gripped, released and gripped the rail. I watched the flesh of her bottom magically transformed by another red edged line that seemed to swell before my eyes. I was relieved and proud that I had learned so quickly the threshold of pain I felt my beloved needed. Is it wrong that I also took great delight in the sight of this lady before me, her bottom placed for me to thrash it, offered freely with full consent? I must confess that though I felt guilt at the pleasure of this necessary punishment I did enjoy it.

When Filly said “three, thank you, Sir,” I could hear the effort in her voice as she tried to sound calm and accepting. I raised the cane and with my newly found skill administered a fourth stroke, careful to land high on her naked buttocks, away from the three lines already there. It was most gratifying to hear a similar whistle and sharp crack, to hear Filly squeal again, to know I had succeeded in my attempts for parity. While enjoying the sight of Filly’s wriggling I mentally took aim at a point a third of the way down her cheeks, between the tram-lines now decorating that lovely bottom. The four parallel lines were neat and tidy, clearly etched on her sweet flesh. I could hear the pain and effort in Filly’s voice as she said “four, thank you Sir.” The speed of her response amazed me; the strength of this fine delicately boned lady was truly magnificent.

I made the cane and whistle down once more, landing where I had aimed, bringing forth another hissing squeal, making Filly tense, grip and release the rail. I moved slightly to examine her bare bottom and was gratified to see that the five parallel lines were evenly spaced and calculated this afforded four spaces to be filled, small targets that would need skill from me; and please remember I had good co-ordination but little experience. After Filly had squealed I saw her take two very large slow intakes of breath, each expired in a harsh gasp as if clearing her lungs, preparing her body for effort. There was pain in her voice but she was remarkably composed when she said clearly, “Five thank you Sir.”

I decided the easiest target would be to land the cane between the two uppermost red weals and tapped the space three, four times, settled the cane briefly, brought it up and snapped it down. Filly’s preparations must have worked, she hissed, her knuckles turned white where she gripped the chair but other than that she was motionless. She repeated her long slow intakes of breath followed by forceful expulsions of air then said calmly, “Six, thank you Sir.”

I tapped the cane between the two lowest welts, found it to be awkward and bent my knees slightly so the cane laid flat and parallel to the weals already raised. I drew back the cane and eased it forward once or twice, visualizing this stroke which I knew would need supreme accuracy. Then as sure as I could be I lifted the cane and swung it hard, bringing an immediate animal moan of pain from Filly. She released the rail, reared up her hands on the back of the chair, she gasped for breath, her hands slowly moved round over her hips and bottom, not quite touching, just hovering. It must have been nearly a minute before Filly slowly settled back into position, again gripping the rail, raising her striped bare bottom. She whispered, “Sorry Sir, that was seven thank you.”  I saw then why she had responded as she had; the tip of the cane had overlapped the lowest welt for the final inch. I was relieved that the final two strokes were less challenging for me.

I tapped the highest unmarked gap twice, hesitated then lifted and swung the cane. Almost as part of the meaty thwack Filly squealed and gasped, but she held her position. Even as she began to draw in large gulps of air and expel them forcefully her hands relaxed then renewed her grip on the bottom rail. I ran the cane up and down her sadly bruised but (to my eyes) beautiful bottom. Every time the cane passed over a welt her gasps stalled and started. “Thank you Sir, that was eight.” She whispered.

I tapped her bottom on the last uncaned gap, waited for Filly to inhale and become still then swiftly brought the cane up and snapped it down hard. Another low animal moan was forced from her lips, I watched the latest red line develop and rise to a real welt. Filly’s bottom was now covered from top to just above her thigh with angry raised weals. Her heavy breathing was evidence enough of the pain she was in, the effort she was making. Finally she said in a louder voice, as if she wanted to reassure me, “Nine thank you Sir.”

I knelt down to Filly’s left, measured her bottom and said clearly and firmly, “last one Filly, it will hurt, but then it will be over, brace yourself but try to keep your bottom relaxed.” When I laid the cane diagonally across her naked bottom she realized what was about to happen, that the cane would cross most of the weals and she lifted up on the seat, held on to the back and turned to look at me with tear filled eyes, wet trails running down her cheeks, eyes red but still full of intelligence. She searched my eyes, what she saw I don’t know, but she smiled softly and nodded. “Thank you Sir,” she said as she moved herself back into position. Her striped bottom lifted, her hands went knuckle white on the rail, she managed to control her breathing so her bottom was perfectly positioned. I put the cane back on her cheeks, moved forward slightly, checked where the cane would land. I tapped her bottom, heard her gasp at each touch as the cane stimulated her bruised cheeks.

I lifted the cane over my shoulder and snapped it down hard enough to wrap somewhat round her curved cheeks. This time Filly screamed, she must have been in agony; but she resolutely remained in place. Her sobbing became pitiful, great sobs of air, I could hear her sniffling like a child. I leaned forward and examined her lovely form. Five of the nine welts were covered by the diagonal stripe; where they crossed their was a raised angry red and white lump. I was awash with emotion, pride at Filly, sorrow that it had been necessary, guilt that I could do this, joy that she had submitted to me. Slowly Filly regained control and said in a tired small voice, “Ten thank you Sir, I am so sorry.” She continued to cry but now it seemed to be healthy crying, not tears of pain. I carefully helped Filly stand and gathered her in my arms and led her to the couch, sat and brought her onto my lap where she cried into my shoulder and kept telling me how sorry she was, and thanking me. I held her, rocked her and whispered sweet words into her ear, told her she was wonderful and it was all over and she was forgiven. After 10 minutes or so her breathing became shallower and slower, I looked down and saw she was sleeping the sleep of exhaustion. I must confess I shed a tear or two, had a lump in my throat that this marvelous woman could trust me so much. When she woke she tilted her head to mine, looked sleepily into my eyes, saw the love in them and smiled contentedly as I leaned forward to kiss her sweetly.

Filly walked stiffly when I led her through to the bedroom, limped occasionally. She stood still as I stripped her naked, winced and uttered a soft “ouch” as she climbed into bed. Filly lay face down with her head in the crook of my shoulder, her right arm over my chest. We spoke well into the early hours, she thanked me for not giving up on her. I reassured her that would never happen. We agreed the punishment had been traumatic for both of us bet also decided that if necessary it would be repeated. It has never been repeated so harshly but Filly has been caned by me since. The next day Filly ate breakfast standing up, her bottom bared at my behest. Her cheeks were a mass of straight lines joined by bruising, a terrible sight, but to me also wonderful. Filly walked stiffly for three days, on the third day we made love with Filly moving very carefully on top of me. Remarkably the marks faded to almost nothing within six full days. That whole week our awareness of each other was total, she showed no resentment whatsoever, just gratitude, then pride then realizing that there was no reason to dwell on what was behind us became her normal bright and cheerful self.

So that was Filly’s first caning, an experience that drew us closer, proved how much mutual trust and love we had for each other. Now reading this I think I shall go and fetch Filly, invite her over my knee for a friendly spanking. Night night dear reader.

The End © Master Tom