Friday 25 December 2009


Here is my Christmas present to you all. A story, in part inspired by a conversation with someone. It is not in slightest bit Christmassy, for which I make no apologies. It's hard enough to write porn without trying to throw in Christmas. Maybe next year...

So, with no further ado, Ladies and Gentlemen...


She could feel her heart beating against the wood of the table, the adrenalin pumping through her veins. The culmination of the thoughts she'd had since he'd sent her an email that morning.
“The day that you've waited for, longed for and worried about has arrived. You will arrive at the following address at 6pm. When I let you in the door, you will undress, and go and stand in the corner of the room with your hands on your head.”

And that, apart from the address, was that. He was right. They had talked about this for ages. Cuddled up on the sofa after intense play sessions, she had admitted to him how she wanted to submit totally. Give up control. Be surprised. Now that day had come. She sort of wished he hadn't sent her the email so early on in the day. They were due to be meeting up anyway, could he not have waited until later to spring this surprise on her? She stared sightlessly at her screen, wondering, speculating. What were his plans? What was he going to do to her? Was it worth emailing him back to try and find out? She laughed at that thought. He would already be enjoying picturing her spending the day at her desk squirming and wondering. It would give him true satisfaction if she broke down and started asking details. She wasn't going to give him that pleasure!

It proved to be a long work day, especially when her colleagues had to keep calling her name to pull her back to reality in meetings, and then giving her strange looks, wondering why she was so lost in thought. Eventually, though, it was time to go. She got in the car, set the Sat Nav, and headed for the address he had given her. A house, up a side street, in the next town over from where she worked. It must be one he'd hired, or borrowed from a friend. She paused in front of the door, nervousness and excitement mingling into a heady mix. She knew she wanted this, had asked for it, but at the same time the ignorance in which he had left her about the evening's events was, well, frightening. She swallowed and knocked.

He opened the door, but did not speak – merely pointed her through a door, which, it turned out, led into a room that was fairly devoid of furniture, save for a sofa at one side, and a table in the middle. Remembering what he had said in the email, she, somewhat reluctantly, took off her clothes and put them in a neat pile, and then went and stood in the corner opposite from the door, hands on her head.

She had no idea how long it was that she was standing there until his voice whispered in her ear.

“Spread your legs. Further. Mmm, excited by this are you?”

She nodded.

“I hope you've not been in this state all day. I hope you've been concentrating on your work, and not on what was going to happen this evening? Mmm, I suspect you haven't been. Very well, follow me.”

He led her over to the table.

“Lie over it.”

She obeyed, and from behind the sofa, he produced rope, and proceeded to spread her legs and bind them to the two rear table legs, and the do the same with her arms at the front. She blushed as he was binding her. She knew that he could see anything that he wanted to. She was totally exposed, and now totally immobile, tied to the table. She rested her cheek on the cool of the wood, and tried to calm her breathing as she felt her heart beating.

She could feel his gaze on her, even though he wasn't in her sight line. And then she heard the noise. That unmistakable swish of a cane.

“I thought we'd conduct a little experiment. We both know you protest about how much you hate the cane, but we also both know just how turned on you get by it. Let's be crude: just how wet. So, I'm going to cane you, and see whether you get wetter the more you are caned, or whether there's some point at which that stops. Interesting experiment, don't you agree?”

She moaned slightly, the only sound that she could reasonably make.

“Very well. You will count the strokes, in your own time. And obviously, you may safeword if you need to.”

She drew in breath, wishing for the ordeal to be over, but hoping on the other had it would never start. Start it did though, and twelve evenly paced strokes cut into her backside. Some were harder than others, and made her gasp and wiggle, but all were just about bearable.
She could hear he had put the cane down, and then all of a sudden could feel his fingers inside her, teasing and probing.

Hmm. Well, if anything you're even wetter than you were. My theory is proving right so far. I wonder if caning you harder will make a difference?”

As he had been talking, his finger had been gently teasing her clitoris, bringing her closer and closer to orgasm, until, just when she was close, he withdrew, leaving her craving his touch. She did not have long to ponder that thought, though, as within seconds he had picked up the cane and slammed it into her buttocks. She counted through another 12, harder this time. Longer for the count to leave her mouth, breath more ragged when it did. As the twelfth stroke hit, she could feel her body relax, knowing he would give her a rest, at least for a few minutes.

“Susie, you are dripping wet! Any explanation?”

She blushed and buried her face in the table. Her voice came muffled: “No. I don't know why. I'm not enjoying it.”

“Well, all evidence to the contrary, my dear”. Again his fingers probed. She felt the humiliation wash over her, as he took great delight in telling her just how wet she was. She genuinely couldn't understand why, either. She wasn't enjoying the experience on any conscious level. It hurt, and she knew it would probably only get worse. And yet she was turned on, she could feel that herself without him having to point it out.

Once more his hand was withdrawn. “Harder, I think, this time. Let's see if that has any effect.”

She screamed from the first stroke. Each was like a brand of fire. She managed to continue counting, knowing that if she did not, it might make things even worse. She tried desperately to move away from the source of the pain, but she was tied too firmly to the table for it to make any difference. By now tears were rolling down her face. After what seemed like an eternity, they reached 36.

Again his hand reached down. “Unbelievable... the harder I beat you, the more aroused you are...”

At this point she burst into racking sobs. She didn't understand why her body was betraying her like this. She just wanted the pain to stop. She also, though, on some level, wanted to continue, for him. By this point he had brought her to such a place in her head that she wanted to take as much as he wanted to give. His next actions reinforced that. He walked to the head of the table, bent down to her level, dried her tears and cleaned her face. He gently pushed the hair back out of her face, and touched her chin so that she was looking him in the eyes.

“I know this hurts, and I'm so proud of you for what you've taken so far. I'd like to give you twelve more. Can you deal with that?”

Unable to do more than hiccough, she looked him back in the eyes and nodded. He kissed her gently on the forehead.

“Good girl”.

He moved away from her, round towards her rear. She braced herself. The next stroke was gentle, in comparison, but on her already bruised bottom it still felt like fire. They continued to be gentle, but that didn't stop her tears from flowing. As she reached 46, he paused.
“These next two are going to be as hard as a I can make them, and they are going to be here.”

He rubbed the cane along the crease between her buttocks and her thighs. She gulped, resisting the urge to plead with him for mercy.

He gave the strokes without pause, and her screams as they hit home were almost animal like, her sobbing becoming overwhelming. And then it was over. He was untying her, holding her to him as she stood on shaking legs, crying into his chest. When the sobs had subsided and he had brushed the tears away, his hand drifted downwards. She clenched her legs together, unwilling for him to feel what she knew was there.

“Spread them” he growled in her ear.

She complied, and he looked at her and shook is head.

“And after all that, you're still soaking wet...! Truly unbelievable....”

She giggled and buried her face in his chest once more, wondering to herself how something that was so painful at the time could bring her so much pleasure.


impression caption said...

Wow .nice posting.thanks~^^

Paul said...

Eliane, nicely written, I doubt that this is entirely fiction. :)
Warm hugs,

EmmaJane said...

What a lovely Christmas gift, thanks sweetie!!

Indy said...

Thanks, Eliane, that was quite lovely spanking porn! Did you perchance compose it in your head in the middle of Christmas Eve dinner with family? ;-)

Master Retep said...

"Truly unbelievable....”", I think not.

catherine said...


Erm... embarrassingly, not so ;) But somehow I suspect you know that too!


Alyx said...

That was a great story. It's lovely how our bodies can respond to pleasure (even when they're confused about whether it IS pleasure!), isn't it? :)