Part II: Punishment

REAL Spanking Short Stories from The Life and Times of...

“A dozen with the cane” - Mr. J. James © Jacqui James 2019

“12 with the junior [cane] to be administered in a couple of days.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Post sentencing, I was instructed to report to the library on Tuesday at 10:30am.

Our library is a large converted double bedroom and aside from study, reading, detentions and blogging it is used for all formal discipline sessions.

At 09:30 on the day of discipline, my Head of House (HoH) will furnish me with any final instructions and then, from 10:00 onwards and sometimes earlier we will not communicate with each other at all. Often my HoH will leave the house entirely and only return at the allotted time.

This degree of separation is critical to keeping the punishment formal.

As it just so happens that my HoH is also my primary disciplinarian it can be challenging at times to separate the two roles. Naturally, my HoH awards and administers all household discipline and some on behalf of my various tutors, teachers, coaches and professors also.

However, he is also my husband, confidant, supporter, leader, lover and soul mate. It is sometimes very hard on both of us when I am in need of a severe punishment. Neither of us takes it lightly and we endeavour to play our parts properly.

Having a period of time away from each other immediately prior to discipline allows us both to come to terms with what has happened and what now must happen as a consequence.

My role is arguably the easier of the two.

I’m responsible for the wrong-doing, will likely have been sentenced at least one day beforehand and am certainly experienced enough in all things Corporal Punishment to know what to expect.

I busy myself laying out the implements, checking that the library is immaculate and ready for the discipline to be dished out.

Hopefully, I will have showered, groomed and dressed a couple of hours prior as wet or damp skin stings a lot more than the warm, dry kind and rushing only heightens anxiety which needs no help at all in order to be sky high!

Completing simple, practical tasks in the minutes leading up to a punishment keeps my mind occupied as I know very well that there will be plenty of time for fear and panic once the session has begun.

It’s more difficult for my HoH.

This sounds counter intuitive as he is not the one who is about to have painful consequences applied to him and in no uncertain terms. However, being required to hurt - to really hurt - the one you love is not as easy as you might think.

When I am due a serious and severe disciplinary, I know that he wrestles with his conscience. This is simply because we are husband and wife. Were this solely a professional arrangement then, I know that he wouldn’t give it a second thought.

He’s thrashed many young ladies over the years and entirely without compunction. His problem is that he loves this one and therefore finds it far more difficult.

I made it easier for him this time…

Entirely an accident, you must understand, but I was late for the session. I’m sure I don’t have to tell anyone here that that is a major major no no!

Long time readers will know that timekeeping is not my strong suit, however, when corporal punishment is on the table as a consequence for tardiness, I usually manage to keep my ducks in a row.

Not this time.

I haven’t been severely disciplined for a little while and simply forgot how long it can take to get everything ready. When my HoH swung open the library door to find me in a bath towel instead of in my school uniform bent over the A-frame he was not best impressed.

He gave me his trademark ‘Paddington Bear’ (stare), frowned and left without a word.

Gulp.

Well, that’s extras then.

Schoolgirl error and at this stage of the game I really oughtn’t be making any of those.

Top tip: always be early for your disciplinary!

I then rushed around to ensure that I would be ready, in position and calm before he returned an unspecified amount of time later.

It is unlikely that I had been this nervous since my first two or three punishment sessions all those years ago. Turning up unprepared and therefore late heightened my turmoil significantly. My HoH is especially fond of punctuality and my long history of failure in this department is one of the few things that he really cannot abide about me.

When he next arrived in the library, I was where I was instructed to be, bent down low over the A-frame, bottom right up and in correct uniform - sans undergarments - ready for an exceptionally painful morning.

He took his time inspecting and appraising me, then ordered me to do an hours’ household admin but not before delivering six devastating swats with his hand to my taught, damp buttocks for ‘lateness’.

As I sat supremely uncomfortably at my desk in the library, contemplating how much more a twelve-stroke caning was going to hurt than those few with sir’s hand, real panic set in.

He’d left me for the next hour to fret in an unprecedented move - requiring an hours’ boring admin and thus prolonging the agony. The thing I want most of all when I’m due a thrashing is for it to be over. Quickly. Naturally, the only way for it to be over is for it to hurry up and begin!

I was mortified by this delay - simply hadn’t seen it coming - but understood perfectly that my HoH was allowing the ‘dread’ to build. Turning up late had been a really, really bad mistake.

*****

A painfully slow hour later, my HoH arrived back in the library to find me at the desk and on my laptop attending to household matters.

“Get in the corner, hands on your head and no messing about.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I trust that the last hour has been productive?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

“Now, this is going to be exceptionally unpleasant and you are going to bear it.”

All I needed in my supremely heightened sate of anxiety was trolling from my Top(!) I knew full-well that I had no grounds on which to submit a complaint, however, my nerves were already shredded and the very last thing on my bucket list was confirmation of just how bad the next few minutes were going to be.

“Get your hands on the very top of your head. You’re not sunbathing on the beach!”

I have no idea what on earth my hands were doing in the wrong position - genuine forgetfulness in the head of my predicament is all I can come up with. One of our collective pet peeves is that spanking models almost universally put their hands behind their heads instead of on top. On the very top seems to hurt much more and looks far less cocky.

To say I know better is a mighty understatement and I was praying that Sir didn’t interpret my action as cockiness. That was all I needed.

Late, due an ‘exceptionally unpleasant’ dozen and now displaying signs (albeit unintentionally) of disrespect.

This was going to be a very bad day.

“Right, when you come and place yourself over the desk, I want you face down and bloody behaving yourself. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied in as small a voice as I could manage. I so hoped he didn’t think I was messing him around.

“Get in position.”

I didn’t hang about. As I was clearing the laptop, USB hub and one or two other items off of the primary desk in the library, I pondered the meaning behind this instruction. Over the desk punishments are supremely rare in this household. In fact, I couldn’t think of a single other occasion where this had happened.

Perhaps at some hotel somewhere in the early days of our relationship, however around 80% of my discipline in taken over the back of the Captain’s Chair and the rest over the ‘A-Frame’. Yes, I receive Over the Knee (OTK) discipline too but the most formal and severe stuff is usually over the frame or the chair.

Having some level of support is a good idea when being firmly thrashed, I find it helps to fortify oneself and, occasionally, when the shooting stars are gathering it enables one to fend off a potential faint.

On the odd occasion I have thought I might pass out - my HoH expects me to inform him if I ever feel faint during discipline. Typically, if I tell him so the thrashing stops immediately and is usually cancelled. Occasionally, we will continue the punishment at a later time or on a different day and once or twice we’ve moved me to the bed, over the pillows in the master bedroom to finish the job.

The traditional toe-touching position can be problematic if the caning is going to be particularly severe. Having the head down causes blood to rush to the head, however being beaten on the buttocks means that blood needs to rush there to help with the damage being sustained thus taking blood away from the head.

It’s a tricky balance and on the rare disciplinary when I’m required to toe-touch, I do try to keep my head up as much as possible whilst still ensuring that my fingers are in touch with my toes.

Thankfully, I’ve only passed out once. Funnily enough it was during ‘funishment’ which I hadn’t verbally agreed to, nor known about in advance. I was dived on at a New Year’s Eve spanking party, rapidly bent over a high bench and was hit for a six with a massive, heavy American wooden paddle.

I was so shocked that someone I didn’t know would do that and without asking my Sir that I passed out - possibly after only one whack. On my way down the back of my head hit some iron contraption and I was knocked out cold.

Several minutes later, I woke up in our bed in one of the guest rooms with an enormous egg on the back of my head. I felt dreadful. Couldn’t move and despite my aversion to hospitals, I thought I might possibly have to go. Incapable of sitting up and finding holding my own head up difficult I was in quite a state.

Luckily a nurse was one of the subs and she looked me over, took my blood pressure etc., and explained to me that post eating blood floods the stomach to deal with the food. Then, when being spanked blood rushes to the areas under siege, this can lead to their being a rush of blood away from the head and hence the possibility of fainting.

I hadn’t actually planned on being whacked right after a large dinner and I vowed that it wouldn’t happen again. In fairness to me, I almost never eat anything if I am to be punished - even if it is an afternoon or evening appointment. Call me old fashioned but I just never fancy it!

Whilst the lump on the back of my head prevented me from ringing in the New Year, I was more or less back to normal the next morning but that incident hadn’t half given me a fright. As an aside I wasn’t impressed with the Domme who had taken me by surprise. I didn’t know her and she hadn’t asked my sir for permission. It all happened so quickly neither he nor I had a chance to intervene.

I’ve never worked with a female disciplinarian or Dominant as it goes, mainly for personality reasons. With the exception of the one who pounced on me that fateful New Year’s Eve (and another house Domme who my sir asked to flog me with two heavy floggers at an after-Party of the London Alternative Market - LAM - as a kind of ‘exhibition), I’ve never wanted to go there. I prefer the gentlemen characters and it is the same in my vanilla life. My preferred coaches, directors, teachers and tutors have almost always been men.

Of course, being a pukka submissive, I obey my HoH’s instructions and so if he did insist that I work with a female, then I would have to. However, I’m pretty darn sure I would hate every minute of it and not because I once had one who caused me to pass out - I’m fairly confident that is not the reason I don’t work with women!

Anyway, this ‘over the desk’ malarkey came out of nowhere and I was not for the first time during this discipline session a fish out of water.

The desk felt very hard, cold and unyielding. Unlike with the Captain’s Chair, where I feel supported and strong, the desk made me feel as though I was going to be trapped or squished between it and the junior cane.

I minced about with my hands, not sure whether it was best to grip the far side of the desk or to go for the upper legs - perhaps it would be best to place my palms flat on the desk either side of my head, that way I at least wouldn’t invite unnecessary tension in my hands, wrists and forearms.

“Are you ready?”

“No, sir.”

“Good.”

“Ugh.”

“Count and thank.”

He sent the first one in. I was woefully underprepared for it and it bit me deep right across the centre of both cheeks. I knew immediately that that one would be with me for several days at least.

“One, thank you, sir,” I ventured, anything but thankful. My theory had been correct, I was being almost squashed between the cane and the desk and I didn’t know which way to tilt my head. Do I lay my face on the right side or the left side? All of these questions that I’d never had to answer before.

“Two, thank you, sir.”

My HoH had sent in the next one rather quickly catching me off-guard and almost extracting a yelp. It was far too early in the caning for any complaining, there was a very, very long way to go indeed.

“Three, sir. Thank you!”

I spewed out between gritted teeth. He’d caught me in that awful place right between buttock and thigh. If you ask me, sending the third of twelve in there simply isn’t cricket! Third of six, maybe but this certainly wasn’t playing by Queensbury rules!

“Mind your tone, young lady, or I shall begin again from one.”

Fuck no. Don’t EVER let that happen to you. Trust me, I’ve had that done to me on perhaps two or three occasions only - very early on in our relationship - and it isn’t worth it. Just shut up, do whatever you are told and for God’s sake don’t do anything that makes them start over. It’s murder. Suicide, in fact!

“Yes, sir, I’m sorry - FOUR, sir, thank you.”

The wretch sent in the fourth whilst I was in the middle of my apology and had me reeling. I had never felt so out of control during a caning in my life. Everything seemed to be going against me.

The fifth instalment hit me primarily on the left cheek but the tip of the cane strayed down into the crease on my right-hand side. I hissed.

“Aggggh! Fi-five, sir, thank you.”

“Keep your head still. Get it down. DOWN!”

“Uhm, yessir, I’m sorry.”

The unbearable pain of having two of the first five stray down into the most delicate of area - the crease between the tops of the thighs and the very bottom of the butt cheeks was having a significant impact on my ability to remain calm and still. My head was shifting about as I tried to put first the left and then the right side of my face down on the desk.

I couldn’t make my mind up how it should be and then my HoH insisted that my nose touch the desk instead. This was most uncomfortable, squashing my delicate little schnoz into the unmoved table top.

“Sssssssssix, sssir, thank you,” I squeezed out feeling branded. At the moment of impact my nose accidentally lifted from the desk and I horridly put it back down again reminiscing about how much I loved being down over the Captain’s Chair and what a wonderful time (relatively speaking) I’d had there!

“Sev-en. Sir. Thank you.”

“DOWN! I won’t tell you again, Jacqui.”

My nose had once again popped up off the desk on/immediately post-impact, it wasn’t that far off the desk but obviously sir was now watching me like a hawk. I hate making him cross and especially during discipline.

I know better than to think he wouldn’t begin the whole ordeal again - he’s done it more than once before. Now, he’d probably go right back to the very beginning and make me do another hour’s admin!

I jammed my nose into the desk (ouch) and squeezed my shoulders in closer to my ears in an attempt to box my nose in. By now I was gripping the far side of the desk involuntarily and I prayed that this time my nose would stay down.

“Agggh. Agggggggggh. Owwwwwwwww! … Eight, sir. Thank you,” I howled pitifully. Somehow having to keep my nose in such a desperately uncomfortable position had translated into a significant upping of the pain ante. No, I can’t rationally explain that one but trust me, the caning was now hurting much more.

“Please…,” I begged as he was lining up number nine.

“What do you mean please?”

“Ow… owwww, oooooooowwwwww! NINE, sir. Ugh. Thank you. Ugh!”

Both of us loathe fuss. Any kind of fuss but especially the kind of fuss made by those who are receiving their just deserts! There was no doubt that I’d earned this. It was a bona fide, nailed on necessary punishment and I clearly had no right to raise any complaint whatsoever.

I was hating that it was now me that was making a fuss. So rare. I must have taken around 95% of all discipline I’ve ever received stoically. I keep still and I keep my mouth shut except to count and thank. This was unlike anything I’ve ever done before.

The unusual circumstances, the bizarre ‘crime’ committed, the alien position down over sir’s desk - everything about this disciplinary was different. Strange. Unfamiliar. I simply wasn’t at the races. I wasn’t as willing to suffer as I ought to have been.

“If I stopped now, you wouldn’t be happy about it, would you?”

“No, sir. I didn’t mean that, it’s just-”

Number ten cut me off and almost cut me up. It was the hardest stroke yet, a real humdinger. That one might last the next week.

Aggggggh. Ten. Sir. Thank you.”

This was all so very embarrassing. I was already dreading the debrief. Two more to come and I knew now that I would indeed survive. The same couldn’t be said however for my ego which was now hiding under my squished nose!

“Eleven, sir. Thank you,” I managed after a slight pause to allow me to swallow some almost involuntary swear words as the tip of the cane once again strayed down into those oh-so-sensitive nether regions(!)

Twelve was a home run. Sir has really caned me so harshly as that last one, he obviously had a distinctive point that he wished to drive right on home. Mission accomplished, sir.

“Twelve, sir, thank you,” I said as though nothing had happened. I was prepared for the last one to be horrendous. Not unlike falling bottom first into a wasps’ nest! Consequently, I flung out my line almost like a reflex and before I’d had time to properly process the pain.

My sole concern was would that, in fact, be the last stroke?

Jacqui James
Live-Lash-Love

That was from the “PRO” section of my website, more of which can be found here: https://jacquijames.substack.com/s/pro-disciplinarians

[ALL materials ©Jacqui James 2024]