A CANING – though not for me

I know that in the eyes of many the things I write about here will seem morally reprehensible. A few weeks ago I paid a young women to let me tie her up and beat her with a cane. Where does that act stand morally? Before writing about what I did to Katie, what I did WITH Katie, last time we met, I’m going to delve into the murky moral questions it raises.

I present myself with two types of moral challenge about what I do. Firstly: I am a married man seeking sexual gratification with women other than my wife. On this I plead guilty. It’s more complex than that, but ultimately ‘guilty’ is the verdict.

Then there is the act itself.

I would contend that, if you support the right of a women to undertake sex work, and so long as the important obligations of consent, care and respect are in place, it is illogical not to support the right of a man to pay her for sex. Going a step further, how do you feel about that same man paying to be allowed to hurt her?

Is this act capable of being as consensual, as “moral” as the same act between a lifestyle dominant and his consenting, submissive partner? Sure, if you regard the latter as domestic violence, then you will regard the former as abuse. However, most here will recognise the right of consenting adults in a relationship to explore their sexuality in any way they wish. Does the commercial transaction change that? Katie consented to our session, was fully prepared for it and was positively enthusiastic about the scene I proposed.

Let me describe the session and Katie’s reactions to it. Then you can judge.

The session had  been one of gradual escalation;  spanking, first with my hand, then with a paddle; nipple play with my fingers, my teeth, nipple clips; a prolonged flogging on her back and her bottom finishing with what I knew were hard, stinging strokes. I had checked in several times to make sure she was OK, wanting, as a relatively inexperienced dominant, to make sure I was reading her correctly. We paused occasionally for a sip of bubbly, sometimes in role, me pouring it into her mouth as a reward for her submission; sometimes as a temporary release from the intensity of the games we were playing.

And orgasms. Lots of orgasms. I love to watch Katie come so it would be disingenuous to claim my motives were all altruistic. But she came a lot. She came with my fingers sliding over her clitoris and into her wet cunt after I’d spanked her. She came after the flogging, still tied to the cross, plaintively wailing: “Please, Sir, may I commmmme” before hanging off the straps in a long shaking orgasm. And she came in a way I haven’t experienced before. Tied to the cross, now facing me, she came while all I was doing was stroking and squeezing her nipples, no other physical contact at all. It was unfeasibly hot for such a simple action to provoke so huge a response.

“Now Katie, I’m going to cane you.”

“Yes, Sir. I’m ready Sir.”

I took my time tying her, strap by constraining strap to the bench, gradually letting the sense of fun drain out of the room to be replaced by something slightly sinister. I reminded her of her safewords, not that she needed reminding (they were HER words) but as a way to show her, without breaking role, that I remembered them.

And then it began.

A light plastic cane at first: tap,tap,tap,tap,SMACK…. tap,tap,tap,tap,SMACK; again and again, all over, not just her bottom but her shoulders, back, thighs, calves, the soles of her feet. Little challenges in unexpected places, each causing a little yelp on the SMACK. I watched her reactions, varied the level, now teasing, now hurting; connecting from time to time with the touch of my hands; this was not cold, harsh punishment but sensual domination; exploring her body, her responses.

A more traditional cane with a curved handle. Just her bottom. Medium strokes. This was preparation, for me as much as for her. I was testing her sensitivity to the cane, feeling my way; five strokes, move to the other side, five more strokes with a backhand swing;  forehand again, last five, harder but still not hard. I paused, gently stroked the marks on her bottom, checked she was OK. She seemed very turned on now, supersensitive to my touch when I slipped my hand between her legs and stroked her there just once, moaning aloud in needy response, wanting more, wanting to come again. But this was not the time.

“I am now going to give you six final strokes, much harder. Are you OK with that. You must tell me if you want to stop. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir”

I didn’t stand alongside her but moved 2 or 3 yards away. We watched each other, eyes full of appraisal and anticipation. I tapped the cane on my calf a few times then struck myself  hard, unflinching, holding her gaze; an act I knew would seem redolent with intent, enjoying her gasped surprise. She licked her lips nervously as  I waited a few final seconds, looking onto her eyes, letting the tension build one more notch in the silence.

Now. This was the perfect moment!

Strong purposeful paces up to the bench, one stride, two strides, three; lining the cane up and immediately swinging it, striking with a meaty thwaak, dead across the centre of her bottom. A yell, a moan; her reaction half pain, half sex followed by deep breaths as she sucked it in.

Then I was back in my place away from her, tapping the cane menacingly on my calf. Our exchanged look was now more highly charged, full of mutual understanding and recognition, full of a challenge given and a challenge received. We were all of it now. Me. Katie. The cane. Nothing else existed.

One step, two steps, three steps, THWAAK.

Of course she took all six. Afterwards I used her own vibrator, not gently but hard against her clitoris, then deep into her cunt while I forced her down onto the bench with my body in a last act of dominance, a last demand for her submission. She came hard and fast, gasping out her release.

We kissed. We kissed a lot and I stroked her in surprise and wonder and fucked her gratefully on the bed.

“You know,” she said, as we finished the wine, ate sushi and dressed, “for someone who claims not to be much of a dom, that was fucking awesome. So hot. I loved it.”

So, was this abuse? Paying a young woman to let me hurt her?

Or, once my envelope of money was in her bag, were we really just two people whose perfectly matched kinks were playing with each other, dancing together to a music only we could hear?

 

There’s more sex here – mostly on a theme of ‘necessary’. I guess this post sort of fits. It’s really about how necessary, and how fucking sexy, is the act of consent!