Slow Burn

He's going to be caned this morning, they both know it. He's ok about it, wants it for sure but has never quite known why. This is not a punishment, but part of a ritual that has come to be followed on the rare occasion he and his wife get the house to themselves; it never used to be like this.

His preparation is the removal of every hair that would normally be covered by underwear, and an enema to ensure no unsightly mess, if she should decide to use his arse. He isn't even sure she's aware he follows this routine, it's never mentioned, but it helps put him in the mood to receive her ministrations. After the shower and at his desk, he's vaguely looking at his screen, but mostly focusing on the submissive state he's fostering. The feeling seems to press down on his stomach and through his lower abdomen in a way that encourages his sphincter to relax in readiness of intrusion. As the door opens he's hoping for his vision of domination, but her loose clothes suggest this again is her more-modest version; something he needs to learn to accept. In fact he hopes for a lot of things, but this is the point of submission.

So while she hasn't walked in wielding a cane, wearing stockings, heels and a basque that pushes her gorgeous breasts up for inspection, his heart does still soften at her entrance as she is still the one he loves more than anything else. The subtle variations she brings are always welcomed, but he must learn to walk at her pace despite naturally leaning to the more extreme; an unusual way for limits to be tested.

He places a number of objects out for her use and leaves the drawer open hoping she'll pick up some of the other less-used items, and then looks at her for direction. This is always the point at which the session truly begins as she always seems to expect him to know what to do, but he doesn't want to presume should she decide to do something different. Slightly mockingly she tells him to undress leaving only his briefs and to lean against the wall; amazing how quickly the balance of power shifts towards the person wearing clothes. She sets about warming his bottom with a 2" wide leather strap that has quickly become her implement of choice to start proceedings, commenting on how satisfying the noise is when she causes a suitable crack to resonate around the room. The strap is capable of producing severe marks if used with force but it just stings lightly as she seeks to produce a uniform redness from lower-back to top-of-thigh.

After checking on progress she lets his waistband snap back in to place and takes up his least favourite implement, a stiff tawse he wished he'd never bought. It was a far cry from the quality, supple Lochgelly version he'd wanted, but couldn't afford at the time, but he's paid the price many times since. She knows he hates it, but uses it without fail, maybe because he hates it, maybe because she appreciates the V-like mark it leaves. She's never taken him over her knee and spanked him, but when she places her left hand on the small of his back while he's bent over like this it does afford some of the intimacy an OTK spanking provides. As a point of principle he always tries to take his chastisement without a word, but she does seem to derive some perverse pleasure from using the tawse on him, and goads him when he flinches, which she finds highly amusing.

The roughness of the leather scratches at his chest, as she switches back to the strap on his now bare bottom while using the tawse to agitate his nipple. Eventually her fingers replace the tawse which replaces the strap, and she pinches and tugs with her left as she flays his arse with her right. It takes all his will-power to endure the fire in his cheeks that is tempered only by the sweet burn being induced by her thumb and forefinger. Finally she lets him stand.

Once his briefs have been discarded she has him bend over the arm of his leather chair. In a vain attempt to exhibit himself in the most attractive way he spreads his legs about a foot and a half apart and dips his back in an attempt to look vaguely presentable. He had laid out several canes but she has her favourites and selects one of the thinner ones, not for any consideration to him but because she likes the higher-pitched whistle as it whooshes through the air. He waits patiently; she runs the tip of the cane down his back causing a small shiver and an attempt to push and dip further in deference. Leaving the rod balancing on his back she removes her baggy top and out of the corner of his eye he sees the black satin chemise revealed. He vows to set up a mirror one day so he can appreciate her fabulous breasts swaying as she canes him, but today his imagination is his sole vision. As she lifts the cane from his back he takes a deep breath and mentally sinks to a deeper level, preparing for that first line of white heat. Finally he pushes all the air from his lungs and waits.

The whistle and crack take him by surprise - WOW, she normally starts gently but that's like a pistol-shot echoing around the room; a second later his bottom is sending messages of distress to his brain. He breathes in sharply and works hard to accept the pain; on the other hand she seems delighted, describing the white line turning to red across the centre of his buttocks. Recovering, he laughs at her gratification as she traces a finger over the welt that has sprung up. Is this signalling a new intention to break his resolve? As if reading his mind she whips the second in equally hard catching him off guard, causing him to hold the breath he had yet to expel. The pulsating fingers of pain shooting from the second welt quickly subsiding to the warm tingle that he craves as he slowly breathes out and closes his eyes. Again she strikes, harder and lower, catching the top of his thigh. By now though, he is ready and accepts the sting, taking a shallow breath before pushing it out again in anticipation of the next blow.

He sinks to a trance-like state as she continues to cane him, each stroke eliciting immediate pain and regret, quickly followed by warmth and acceptance. Unsure of how many strokes she's delivered he dwells on a higher plain now, separating the physical from the emotional as he rides the wave of endorphins coursing through his soul.

The stroke didn't come, but the cane did, running between his shoulder blades and down his spine. He opens his eyes and she tells him to stand. Slowly he rises; she leans in to kiss him as he runs his fingers through her hair. She drops her head to lightly bite and tug at his nipples, he drops a hand to squeeze hers through the silky top; passion consumes them as they explore each other's bodies with a touch that is in complete contrast to the violence of what had gone before. He lifts her chemise over her head and she returns her hands to cup his balls while he enjoys the freedom of her bosom caressing his stomach. He tries to thumb down her loose bottoms but she puts a stop to it immediately...he is going to have to be patient.

He dutifully bends again, both in anticipation and dread. A numbness had set in before, but his buttocks are now swollen and super-sensitive to the touch, so round two will be a tough ordeal. She rummages in the drawer and quickly returns behind him to drip the cold lube between his cheeks. He groans, not through anguish, but with expectation at the imminent invasion. This is not the first time she has plugged him prior to a second caning, but it is not a regular occurrence and at this stage of proceedings he is happy to accept whatever she gives him. The tip of the plug nudges his arsehole and he pushes out to receive the guest, but it is big and he finds himself contracting as the pressure grows. She eases out a bit, drops more lube in and again pushes, harder this time. He reaches back with both hands and spreads his cheeks while relaxing his ring in order to let the plug in, which it finally does with a sting that causes him to tighten his grip, ensuring the invader is trapped.

As the throb reduces he sets his feet apart again and dips his back, but again the stroke doesn't come. She is still behind him but this time grabs his balls so that her thumb and forefinger create a ring separating them from the base of his cock. This is new! Again he moans, and a wave of warmth flows through him as his lover pulls and stretches causing an unfamiliar ache. Now she loops a boot lace around them and pulls tight, and then around again and again until he can feel his nuts squeezed in to a sack too small for its charges. Just as he's getting used to this sensation, she yanks the lace up and slips the loop over the top end of the plug, causing his cock to jut out behind him and an upwards pressure to be applied in his anal canal. Laughing now at his helplessness and her ingenuity he wonders how she came up with this. Not one to watch or even read porn, her creativity astounds him as she lightly runs her nails down his shaft and over his head. The resultant flow of blood to his member causes further pressure between cock, balls and arse, but when she presses the button on the remote for the plug and the slow pulsing vibrations travel through his butt and via the cord to his scrotum, his mind is well-and-truly blown.

While he's revelling in the new sensation, she steps out of and kicks away the material that had encased her lower half, and to his delight she is wearing hold-ups; a personal favourite that seldom make an appearance. Her panties are black and unfamiliar, but from this angle he can't get a proper look as she fetches a heavier cane. For a moment he fears for his trussed up testicles, has she thought this through? Would a miss-hit send him jumping through the roof, or throwing-up in pain; surely that would be a passion-killer? He had to trust her, so he lowers his breathing and waits for the assault.

Determined to show he could absorb whatever she threw at him, he empties his lungs just as the stroke comes screeching in. Where she had found the strength and technique to deliver a blow like that, he did not know, but it isn't at the top of his mind as the thud hits squarely across both cheeks. Even with the rigidity of the thicker cane, she still manages to get this one to wrap around the curve of his right buttock, causing an instant end mark to appear and quickly go purple. Again she is fascinated by her work and is immediately tracing the bump while he is recovering his composure. He loves how she chatters away to him, telling him all about how he would be feeling that for a long time, while he sinks in to himself.

She is able to repeat the same intensity for at least half of the remaining cuts, not that he's counting; he'd zoned out soon after the first one. As each one lands he is willing each lash to land on top of the previous, so that this time he would carry her bruises around for weeks. She had only lightly bruised him in the past and he had been disappointed at how quickly they turned yellow and faded, but now she seems as determined to brand him as he is to wear them with pride. So it is a bitter-sweet moment when she announces that she will give him the final six, not wanting to split the skin further.

He doesn't mind blood, in fact it makes it all the more of an accolade, but she's allowed limits too. She unhooks his balls from the butt-plug but tightens the lace around them so they're still bulging. Then she has him lean forward more so she can land the cane on the tops of his thighs. As she tells him this he is sorely tempted to give in, he knows he's not going to enjoy this. She uses the thinner cane again and whips it in across the top three inches under the curve of his cheeks. Never before has he experienced so much pain; even after all he'd gone through there was no panacea provided for this. She's breaking down his defences, but he is steadfast in his resolve to withstand. Only after he's counted six does he dare relax a little; sensing his change she sends one last explosive thwack across all the welts, and finally he howls.

Tissues soak up the blood, there isn't much, although that last one across the thighs opened up at a number of points. Unsure of his legs he stays put, but she isn't done yet as she returns to the drawer. Before long he feels her hands grab his tied balls and tug to the left instructing him to swivel around so he is laying down the length of the chair's arm; at this point he sees the dildo she's fixed to her panty. His jaw drops as while she has fucked him in the arse before it has been with the strap-on and harness he'd bought. This is a completely different affair, black, 7", fatter in the middle, and protruding from the panties that he now recognises as RodeoH. She is the complete picture of domination he had dreamed of but had given up hoping for. Again, she's the one who seems perfectly comfortable with the situation, suggesting that she's just ensuring he remembers her when sitting down in the next couple of days; by now nothing surprises him and he cedes to her control.

It's a struggle removing the vibrating plug, which is still pulsing away, until she stops it and leaves it on a tissue on his desk. Then with lube in hand she casually gets behind him, and without too much resistance pushes the strap-on in to his still gaping hole. It's a slow burn as she keeps pushing all the way to the hilt. The endorphins are plentiful but it doesn't stop the pain as he's stretched beyond his level of comfort. Once he's filled she lies across his back letting her nipples gently caress him as she grabs his muscular shoulders. Easing the dildo back out, she runs her nails down his back leaving marks perpendicular to the more severe damage lower down.

She takes it easy for a while, adding lube as she goes until she senses he's finally relaxed, and then she slams in to him with as much force as she can muster, forcing a low guttural groan from him. The balls of the dildo thump in to his tied sack again and again as she rams home with a ferocity never seen before, but the harder she fucks him, the more accommodating he becomes. She fucks him until she can thrust no more, coming to rest, trapping the balls of the dildo between her clit and his tortured cock and balls. Slowly she rotates her hips sending pulses of electricity through her soaked pussy.

She doesn't come, nor does he. She withdraws and removes the panties with the dildo still attached. Before she unties his balls, she swipes his phone from his desk and takes a photo of his swollen, corrugated buttocks, his distended hole leaking lube on to his now purple ball-sack. "Better get that arse in to the bedroom; time I got fucked," she says waving his phone and disappearing through his door in just her stockings.

He pulls himself up and slowly makes his way towards the door, wondering when (and if) he is going to return to being the spanker rather than the spanked. It was all very well switching to become a better dom, but things aren't exactly working out as planned. Still, he isn't complaining right now.