Spelling Correction

Well, the cane was a clear winner in my poll (to the slight disappointment of my lords and I, who had all been quietly hoping the ruler would win). Of course the first half of Tuesday evening was spent making and consuming pancakes. However, not long after dinner had been digested, I was instructed to get dressed in my navy blue gymslip and white socks, while D. busied himself piling pillows in the middle of my bed.

The first twelve strokes were D's. Six over knickers as a warm up, before he moved round to the other side and gave me six more on the bare. They hurt, but not unbearably, and I was just thinking that this wouldn't be so bad after all when D. handed the cane to Mr C, and I sensed him move to stand over me on the left hand side of the bed.

The thirteenth stroke hurt, a sharp whack that bit deep into my cheeks. The fourteenth and fifteenth were even harder, until I was kicking and howling trying to stay in position. D. ordered me to keep my feet down, while Thomas dealt a series of measured, powerful cane strokes across my exposed backside, catching me off guard a couple of times with two in rapid succession. They were vicious strokes - not so nasty they'd bruise, but hard enough to leave angry, raised welts. I clung to the pillows and sobbed.

After I was done, they both gathered me in their arms on the bed, and gave me their hands to kiss. I was more than a little overwhelmed, and when their fingers and mouths started finding the shivering skin under my rumpled school uniform, I wouldn't have had the presence of mind to protest even if I'd wanted to.

I emerged some time later, flushed, buttons undone, hair mussed and tie askew, having lost count of my orgasms somewhere between the number of typos and the number of cane strokes. All in all I think the aftercare was definitely worth the punishment beforehand. :) Thankyou, all of you, for providing the starting-place for such a special evening.