[Kaela Rogers, 22]
With a sigh, Kaela glanced once more at the text that she had gotten only a few hours ago while at the office. A knot in her tummy, shortly accompanied by butterflies, Kaela entered the London flat that she resided in with her parents. The text, to the point, presented in her mum’s typical forthright way: Friday after work activity, cancel, get home. No clubbing, or going out with coworkers. Kaela didn’t need to ask why her mum had ordered her to stay in; she sort of had expected it. Getting the text however put a gloom on Kaela’s mostly enjoyable work day.
On her way through the flat’s parlor toward her bedroom, Kaela wasn’t a bit stunned when she discovered that the antique chair had been moved out into the room’s center, ever bothersome in front of the flat’s wide windows, a lone ‘antique’ among the otherwise ultra-modern furnishings. Kaela cheerlessly remembered the day she and her mum had gone to choose it. Mum had instructed her to wear jeans that afternoon for their visit to the shop, so as to protect Kaela’s budding womanly virtues. Before mum purchased the accoutrement, meant for one purpose, she had wanted to be sure that the chair ‘fit’ her daughter’s measurements. Kaela, all nerves, and flushed had done as mum instructed. Bent over, gripped the lower crossbar, bum up. Over the slight, bowed back, Kaela found herself lifted on tip-toes. Mum had approved, and handed Mr. Martin his money.
At the memory, Kaela reddened. Mr. Martin, a family friend had known exactly what her mum wanted the chair for. Once again, the heavy accessory would be used for the purpose which it had so often been employed to during her teenage years. Kaela thought at nineteen she had been done getting her ass caned, moving back in with her parents though at twenty-two, for financial, as well as numerous personal reasons proved that notion to be exceedingly wrong. Mum’s thin, yellow cane waited, hooked on the chair, ready for Kaela’s bare buttocks to slice to pieces. Poor her, such a short reprieve from not being obligated to raise her ass to incur a proper thrashing.
Up in her room, Kaela slipped off her expensive Italian shoes, unzipped the narrow sheath of her pencil skirt, all while she admired her reflection in the rooms floor length mirror. Not how she wanted to spend a Friday night, that’s for sure, getting prepared to be caned. Honey-colored hair fell below her shoulders, framed a heart shaped face, where two big green eyes gleamed. An upturned nose, her face’s cutest feature, painted her a girl, no a woman rather, who came across as quite self-assured, all haughty poise, with a princess attitude. Beneath her left eye, a beauty mark made Kaela’s spectacular face even more appealing. The rest of her body wasn’t bad either, and she knew it. Every male at Regency, the PR firm where she worked leered in her direction, and ached for a good grope.
Kaela unbuttoned her shirt, buoyant, D-Cup tits jutted out of a Caressa Roza, cream color floral bra. Over to her bed she went, sat and began to roll chocolate hued stockings off shapely suntanned legs. Free of the hosiery, she got up and headed toward the bathroom, unlatched her bra as she went, let it drop on the tile floor. In the loo, she stepped out of her bra’s matched knickers. Finally bare, Kaela’s trimmed carpet, which as it were matched the drapes, a well groomed triangle tantalizingly arrowed en route to her pussy, which tingled in nervous expectation of her punishment. Kaela flipped on the shower. Mum always wanted her to bathe before she got whipped. Anyway, the cane went much better on a moistened, warmed flesh.
Still hurt like fuck!
Clipping her hair up, Kaela stepped into the rush of water. For the moment, she closed her eyes, enjoyed the heat that streamed over her fit body. Pouring wild cherry blossom bodywash all over her boobs, her nipples hardened at her touch, Kaela massaged herself, caressed each curve – almost forgot herself, and the troubles which awaited downstairs in the parlor. It wasn’t long before Kaela heard her mum get in. Even though she dreaded finishing her bathing, at last Kaela relented to the inevitability of her punishment and turned off the water.
Imagine it? An up and coming, twenty-two year-old publicist, who frolicked among the jet set from all across Europe, with celebrities, royalty (Kaela even had the privilege to meet the Duchess of Cambridge) who continued to get her pert, sexy little arse caned. And in this instance she thought, for a truly stupid reason.
Any of a number of things might get Kaela caned. Out beyond curfew, drinking too much, a job replete with many perks often let that particular indulgence become a hazard for her derriere. Typically neglected chores were an issue. Excesses of her high class lifestyle, which her occupation almost demanded, as well as a tendency to behave like a princess earned Kaela a trip over the chair. This time though the reason had been bloody stupid! And all her fault too. Kaela should have known better than to borrow mum’s jewelry without permission. The ankle bracelet, which she’d taken to wear with a posh little black dress, the clasp of it had broken off during a work event. Mum had been none too pleased to learn that the fourteen karat chain had been misplaced, even angrier that Kaela had gone into her belongings without first asking.
Needless to say, her impending chastisement hung over Kaela’s head for the whole work week. Canings were typically done on Friday’s to give her the weekend for recovery. Though, more often than not, she ended up returning to the office with a tender bottom. Let’s just say, on those days, Kaela found any excuse she could, in order not to stay at her desk.
Toweling off, Kaela went to her chest of drawers, where she selected an off white cotton camisole that clung onto her washed skin, nipples poked out under the clingy material. As for underwear, she decided on a pair of simple bikini knickers. A perfect outfit to be caned in. Kaela smoothed out her camisole, and went down to the parlor.
“You know why you’re here young lady.” Said Kaela’s mum Fiona, who gestured at the punishment chair, indicated Kaela should get into place. A moment’s hesitation, absently Kaela studied her French manicure nail tips, then, with a reluctant pout, plodded over to the hellish upholstered antique chair, reached forward, grabbed hold of the crossbar, her not yet bared rump squirmed in expectancy of the rattan.
No time wasted, her mum worked the waistband of Kaela’s white bikini briefs off, down over her hips, where they bunched at knee level. Target completely exposed, Fiona nudged her daughter’s thighs further apart. The young woman let out a breath as cool air nipped her private parts. A last adjustment, a push on the small of her back, Kaela’s mum tucked her camisole out of the way, which revealed the under curve of Kaela’s rather impressive boobs.
Fiona unhooked the cane, gave it a test swing.
Kaela tensed, trembled as the breeze from the practice swish met her now vulnerable pussy.
Tap, her mum measured, ready to deliver the first stroke.
Ack! What number of strokes was she going to get? Kaela’s mum always had an accelerative policy where it concerned the quantity of lashes she handed out to her daughter. That is, when Kaela turned eighteen, the minimum delivered had been a firm eight, and at nineteen, she got nine. They’d never talked about the new minimum for twenty-two. If there even were one? God, Kaela hoped it wouldn’t be a full dozen! That would really scathe her arse.
Like always, Fiona concentrated the first stroke on that most delicate spot upon a young woman’s posterior beneath the vagina. Kaela, grunted, and yelped. The rattan raised fresh welts as it advanced, in an orderly process toward the peak of Kaela’s pert rump.
Whack! Kaela’s generous, womanly ass mounds wobbled. These were no love taps. Kaela’s mum gave her disobedient daughter a genuine punishment caning, meant to hurt, and ensure her daughter’s contrition. This would be a thrashing Kaela recalled for a very long time.
“OUCH!” She couldn’t help herself, Kaela bolted up.
Fiona cautioned. “Next time you’re out of position, you’ll get extra strokes. Now, back over.” She tapped the cane in her hand. “And I’d thought to be nice, and only give you nine strokes, though, you deserve many more.”
Wiping her eyes, Kaela got back into place. The blistered condition of her backside didn’t make movement very easy, her butt stung like hell. Brutal! They were at six. Three more! If she could hold out for three cuts, her nightmare would end. Of course there yet remained corner time. Compared however to the actual thrashing, that’d be a piece of cake.
The next three cuts made Kaela’s buttocks bounce, and ferociously jiggle.
Alas, a piece of cake, this caning session did not prove to be. Kaela made the thoughtless mistake when her mother reached stroke number nine, to get up, and clutch her sore bottom cheeks. Not so surprising, as number nine had been a cross stroke meant to be laid across the previous welts.
Kaela wept, and got back into place.
Fiona delivered the extra cuts quite harshly, which caused Kaela to yelp, and shutter as they careened into her rump. The concluding stroke intersected opposite that of the ninth, to brand a rived X on top of the crimson ridgelines that scarred her butt.
Hands on head, Kaela found herself, nose pressed into the parlor’s corner, beside a bookcase. An hour she had to wait like this. It shouldn’t have felt as humiliating as it did. Compared to the thrashing anyway, but as she stood there, looking at the canary yellow wall, she realized corner time wasn’t going to be as smooth as she hoped. The urge to rub her abused ass soon set in, very tempting. But Kaela knew she mustn’t, or things would get worse.
Instead, Kaela shut her eyes; a warm feeling began to grow inside her pussy, even as the ache in her swollen buttocks intensified. Were her cheeks ever bruised too, purplish-yellow welts ridged her ass, and thighs, right at the crease between butt and legs. Just the act of breathing caused her butt to throb. God, she wanted to rub it!
While she stood there, bottom on display, knickers around her knees, Kaela heard her dad come into the parlor, she didn’t glance over to look at him, nor did she speak. He opened a drawer at a desk, removed a paper and soon after left the room, without any comment.
Finally it got to be too much, the ache, her pussy a gathering fire, a fact which made her blush. Intellectually, the caning did not ‘turn her on’. There existed a world of difference between a thrashing from mum, and a guy flipping her across his lap to spank her butt to a rosy blush. A mild spanking appealed to her, like it did many girls, the punishment, not so much. Even though the dampness of her pussy betrayed her true urge. Kaela wanted to go to her room so she could cum!
Though she should have known better, Kaela gave in, attempted to rub away the soreness. Yet to no avail. Of course, this proved to be a profound mistake on her part. Next thing Kaela realized, she got herself hauled over the sofa, mum walloped her caned ass with an oversized slipper. “Corner time, means hands on head young lady.”
“OW! OW! OW!” Kaela yelped, but her protestations got her no mercy.
Fiona continued to slipper for a solid ten minutes.
When finished, Kaela’s mum put her back into the corner, added an express warning. Don’t move or touch your butt, next time she’d get another caning. Kaela was fairly convinced she couldn’t endure more of the cane…
Now her arse really felt swollen, and misshapen. More bruises began to form over the barbarous scarlet X which the cane had tattooed on her butt. Miniskirts would be out of the question next work week, nor did she enjoy the thought of wearing jeans. Too painful! It’d have to be stylish dresses. Not that sitting at her desk would be a joy. Fashion! How could she think of clothes now? Tears continued to drop out of Kaela’s green eyes, the urge to try and cool the heat that pounded her buttocks went on. The temptation to rub became overbearing. On the threshold of reaching for her ass, Kaela’s mum dismissed her from the corner. Rapidly she hiked up her knickers, headed for her bedroom. Not the best move, the fabric, rough on her sore buttocks stung like a bitch!
First thing first, Kaela discarded her moist panties in a wad, flopped down on her opulent, cushioned bedding with a breathless exhale. Out of a nightstand drawer, Kaela produced a jar of aloe vera cold cream, began to knead it into her bruised hindquarters, as well as between her thighs where the cane tip had bit, leaving nasty blemishes. The cool lotion removed a portion of the burn, yet not by a much. Pain gnawed her booty.
Other needs required her attention.
On her luxury linens Kaela writhed, her hand crept in the direction of her pussy. What Kaela really wanted was a rock hard cock jammed into her snatch. Oh well, Kaela thought, her fingers would have to provide for now. Maybe she could fuck the supply clerk, a new hire in the supply closet on Monday? He’d been given her glances. Though, she didn’t exactly know how she’d explain away the welts. Maybe it’d turn him on? A few guys got off on that kink. Parting the folds of her slit, Kaela began to masturbate. Her two finger caress elicited a husky moan. Kaela contorted, increased the movement of her fingers, in-out she pushed, welted hips raised. Using her freehand, Kaela lifted her camisole, in order to fondle her nipples. A spasm, her back arched. Damn! Kaela didn’t want to be aroused by the images of her own caning. On the brink of her climax, as she started to cum, Kaela rolled over, so as to muffle her orgasmic holler into a costly, bulky, goose down pillow. Exhausted, both from the wear inflicted onto her body, as well as from masturbation, Kaela reached for a plush Paddington Bear, yawned off to sleep.
[Kaela Rogers, 22]