On Tuesday the 8th of November 2016 I submitted to my first ever judicial caning session. After 6 months of being a 24/7 lifestyle slave I finally felt like my tolerance for the cane was at an all time high and I wanted to experience a judicial. A judicial caning is 24 severe strokes of the cane cold. Each stroke has 30 seconds in between and the convict is strapped down to a bench so he/ she can’t move. Before the first stroke the convict is presented to the audience and shown to be fit to take this severe punishment – for me my crime was being caught having sex in a public space. This fantasy is one I heard of in Malaysia where corporal punishment is still inflicted for this particular crime.
After being read my rights and convicted of 24 heavy strokes my Master bent me over the whipping stool and secured my hands and feet. I had been reading up on Judicial punishment play and everyone lists the first stroke as the worst. I had no such anxiety at all – merely an air of excitement as I was about to prove to my Sir that I can take as much as he wants to give.
The first stroke landed and it was a familiar crack, one that I knew so well and thoroughly enjoyed. I thought this may not be as difficult as I had imagined. Thirty seconds in between seems like a lot more time that I usually get when being caned however I’ve usually had a warm up and already somewhat floating in the right zone. I was determined to be the perfect slave so I focussed on not moving an inch. By the 5th stroke it was starting to smart and the time between no longer felt like a long time. I wanted my Master to praise me for the good job I was doing by keeping completely still, he knows this type of punishment is hard for me. I had to count each stroke and thank him. With each deep cut it became harder and harder to oxygenate my lungs and choke out the required 4 words. At stroke 6 I began to cry. Master was thrashing me with all his might and my feelings were hurt as I realised this was no fantasy, this was an actual reality and I was alone. In the early days my tears were an indication that I was crossing over into endorphin territory and full submission. These were the days when my Master didn’t love me – I was just another slave being used for his enjoyment. I would bawl my eyes out while he beat me and we both loved it. These days when I cry in session it’s a reaction to the level of the discipline, an indicator that I’m being really challenged. No longer do I wriggle around or disobey his orders. I am completely subservient to his wishes as I know he is to mine. There is no water in these tears, no substance, because I am not sad I am merely managing my pain so I can take it as hard as he wants to give it.
After stroke 12 the realisation that I was half way there motivated me. The point of no return. My usual coping mechanisms such as visualisations, meditations and mantras were not working. I stared at a speck of dust on the floor hoping to open up a portal to elsewhere but no such luck, not today with these strokes like a baseball bat thumping one to outfield, taking my breath from me. Still no drop, I am completely present. I tried to induce it by recreating the effects, eyes rolling, breathing slowing. Nothing would work, the strokes were just too hard and there was no escalating warm up to ease me in. I could not surrender.
Being so conscious it felt like blood was dripping down the backs of my burning thighs.
Stroke 20, 21 and 22 I got my groove back and even enjoyed some of them. Stroke 23 I knew precluded the most fierce of all. 24 landed with a whirling crack right in the sweet spot. I lay still, completely prone as I had been throughout. Trumpets did not sound nor confetti fall. There was no medal ceremony- this win was all my own and completely internal.
My Master is relentless. He is the hardest caner I have met. He knows I can take it and he never holds back. In fact the harder the stroke the more enjoyable it is for me as long as its from someone whom I know I can trust with my life. While I have many Masters this Master is also my lover and I am the luckiest slave on earth to be treated to such an intense scene by someone who shares my passions – as odd as they may be.
After my intense beating he led me upstairs and made love to me. Another ending could have been that I was dragged half dead upstairs and raped and abused – a brutal ending to a brutal scene but both absolutely get me off.
- me napping while Master snaps my marks 2 days later.
- taking my stripes to the beach for all to see!
- bent over the whipping stool awaiting the first stroke.
- After 24 of the best.