Standing On The L From Bushwick

There were seats on the midday L train from Bushwick back to Manhattan, but I decided to stand. I had just been caned for the first time by a very lovely and sweet, yet highly sadistic Domme and my ass radiated heat and pain. The thought of sitting was not in the least appealing. Even just standing hurt, and walking was worse, as I was reminded when I got off the train at 14th street.

The remarkable thing was how good I felt. As I made my way down the crowded sidewalk to my apartment, I was still floating on a heady cloud of adrenaline and endorphins which blended in with the pain that glowed from my burning ass.

Only a little more than an hour before, I had arrived at the basement studio of my Domme. When the door opened, she smiled such a sweet smile. She was the consummate sadist with the smile of an angel. She wore a leather catsuit. Her skin was pale and flawless, and her eyes flashed with dangerous delight.

"Come in," she said, as I felt myself drawn into her lair.

"Be right back," she said, disappearing behind a black curtain. I took off my clothes, hung them on the rack on the wall, and kneeled on the dungeon floor, waiting.

In a few minutes I heard the click, click, click of her heels on the floor. Then she was before me, towering over me as I knelt.

"So good to see you again," she whispered. She reached down, casually, almost absentmindedly and started toying with my right nipple. She started to squeeze, ever harder, adding a twist for emphasis.

I gasped slightly but managed to say, "Wonderful to see you as well, Domme."

I gazed up at her smiling down at me. She released my nipple and brought both hands up to gently stroke my face. "I am going to have such fun with you today," she said at barely more than a whisper. The she bent down and gave my ass a sharp swat.

I smiled. We had been discussing either a fisting or a caning session. She would either fuck my ass with her fist or thrash my ass with her cane. Either way the focus would be my ass.

"Your fist or the cane?" I asked.

She bent over to whisper in my ear. The warmth of her breath sent a chill coursing through me. "Both, she whispered. "Both." She gave my ass another hard swat with her hand and said, "Get on the spanking bench. Let's have some fun."

I climbed on the bench, wondering how much "fun" I would be having. I was feeling a wildly contradictory sense of exhilaration and of fear. I had never been caned but knew the cane's fearsome reputation. Was it a masochist's heaven or a decent into hell? I wanted the cane and I was scared to death of the cane.

I lay face down on the bench. The center portion supported my torso, leaving my ass in the air wholly exposed. The pads on either side kept my legs spread. My Domme started securing the straps that guaranteed my commitment to my imminent beating.

All that strapping took a while and it gave me time to get my mind adjusted to my fate. As she tightened the ankle straps and then the calves, I feel a moment's panic, the flight or fight response. But, it is too late. I breathed deeply to calm myself down. Would I be able to take the pain? Would it be more than I can bear? I had absolutely no idea. And it didn't matter. This was what I asked for. This was what I wanted.

My choice was not fight or flight. My only choice now, as my Domme tightened the strap across my lower back, was to submit and to surrender. She put cuffs on my wrists and shackled my hands down to the side of the bench. I was helpless, immobilized and ready to take whatever I was given.

My breathing was slow and deep. I could hear the clicking of her heels across the dungeon floor but could not see what she was doing. There was a ominous moment of silence and then "wham," I felt the tails of a flogger slam across my ass.

"Let's warm up that ass of yours before the main event," she said, as I feel the next blow. It was hard but not brutal, a stinging thud followed by a warm glow. And then there was another and another as I slipped into the rhythm of the flogging.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it ended. I felt my Domme's hand sliding gently across my glowing ass.

"Such a lovely shade of red," she murmured, as if to herself.

I heard her walk back to the rack on the wall and then return. I heard the sound of a cane whistling viciously through the air.

She walked over to my head and bent down. "I will be giving you two rounds of six strokes each.

"Remember when you told me that you wanted a proper caning? Perhaps in the future you will be more careful what you wish for," she said with a sweet yet infinitely evil smile.

"I'll be using a 9mm dragon cane." I turned my head to look at it. It was long and slender with a red braided handle. She flexed it and tapped it against her hand. It was at once beautiful, commonplace and so very threatening.

"Do you wish to continue?" she asked. "It is your choice."

A wave of fear and anticipation washed over me. "Yes," I said barely audibly.

Her smile widened. "Good. Kiss the cane and you shall receive the proper caning you asked for."

She held the tip of the cane to my lips. I kissed it and closed my eyes.

She stepped behind me and I heard the cane whistle through the air several times. She was either warming up or trying the scare me to death.

"Count the strokes as you receive them."

"Yes, Domme," I replied.

Then she swished the cane through the air several times before the real swing, which hit my naked ass like a thunderbolt.

I let out a cry of shock and agony. The cane stroke felt like a blow from a rod of molten steel. My entire consciousness seemed to explode and the only thing I was aware of was the fire that threatened to consume me. An instant later, I was hit by the aftershock, a second wave of flame reverberating through my ass and up my spine. I was gasping for breath, trying to process the sensations that almost overwhelmed me, waves of pain breaking upon the shore of my ass. I forced myself to breathe, to sink into and to master the pain. To become part of the pain. I only partially succeeded.

After a moment, I said, "One."

"Well done," my Domme replied.

This time I heard the cane whistling through the air the instant before it struck. Even knowing where the first blow took me, the second carried me farther and I fought not to drown in the wave of fiery agony. The air was forced from my lungs and I moaned as the aftershock swept over me. Then, in the silence, I heard myself speak.

"Two."

The third blow was the same yet somehow different. A rising tide of endorphins and adrenaline did not so much extinguish the flames as temper them. After almost being overcome with agony, surfing on the edge of oblivion felt alright, not safe, yet almost exhilarating.

"Three."

My Domme stopped for a moment, walked over and gently traced her fingers across the three welts left by the cane on my ass.

"You are marking so nicely," she commented with a hint of admiration.

My ass was on fire. The pain which peaked and crested with each stroke had left behind a residual burn and with each stroke the flames licked higher.

"How are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm OK," I mumbled.

It occurred to me that all I had to do was say my safe word. The next stroke would not fall. The session would be over. Just one word whispered loud enough for her to hear and the pain would stop. Just one word.

"Shall we start again?" she asked.

I took a deep breath but instead of saying my safe word said only, "Yes."

And the fourth stroke fell. Each blow seemed harder than the one before. But I was OK.

"Four."

"Five."

"Six."

She walked over and again ran her fingers lightly across my welted ass. "Beautiful. Such beautiful marks." She stepped to my head and ran her fingers though my hair. It felt wonderful. "You are doing so well. I'm going to give you a few minute break and then we will start again."

The next six strokes were a blur of pain and endorphins. I am not sure if I took the pain stoically or screamed with each blow. I was not sure of anything except that the beating had stopped. When it was over, my ass was still on fire, but oddly I felt warm and safe. My ass hurt like hell but I found myself smiling through the pain. I felt my Domme's hand gentling sliding across my back.

"You did very well for a caning virgin. Perhaps I should give you a dozen more. What do you think? Could you handle it?" I held my breath, not sure whether or not to refuse the suggestion or to ask for more. What she serious or was she joking? Sometimes it was hard to tell. I felt her fingers lightly tapping the welts of my well-battered butt. She chuckled. "No, I think you have taken enough for today. Next time perhaps another dozen. How are you doing?"

"I am doing well. That was amazing. Intense. Overwhelming. Wow."

"Wow. Indeed. Lovely, lovely welts on your ass. You will be sore for a some time." She paused. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."

I laughed. Strapped securely to the bench, I wasn't likely to wander off.

In a few minutes, I heard her return and stand behind me. I gasped as well lubed fingers of a gloved hand slid into my asshole. The lube felt cold in a delicious contrast to my still burning ass cheeks.

"You didn't really think I was going to forget about fisting you?" she asked as she twisted her hand and pushed ever deeper into my ass. I moaned. Her probing hand felt so good and distracted from the other pain. I may have been an a caning virgin but I had taken her hand before.

I gasped as she tucked in her thumb and slowly but relentless pushed her hand deeper. It always felt that it would never fit, that I could never stretch quite wide enough until that magical instant when her hand slipped just deep enough so that my ass started pulling her hand in on its own accord. The juxtaposition of sensations was amazing. My cheeks still hurt, while the pressure of her hand and part of her forearm in my ass was bliss. It was just as overpowering as the cane had been but was a completely different set of feelings.

She began slowly fucking my ass with her hand, pushing deeper, pulling back. Then she would twist her hand back and forth before fucking me harder. I was in heaven. The pain from my cheeks disappeared as she worked her hand and arm inside me.

I felt her fingers slowly curling into a fist. She began rocking her knuckles against my prostate, slowly at first and then faster and faster. The feeling has both pain and pleasure, heaven and hell, building and building until I couldn't take it any longer. At that moment I was rocked by an incredible orgasm that shook me from head to toe. I heard her laughing as I came. With her right hand still buried inside me she slapped my battered ass with her left. The pain and pleasure were overpowering and indistinguishable.

***

After my trip on the L train, I made my way to my apartment. I went to the hall mirror, dropped my pants and surveyed the damage to my ass cheeks. There were rows of angry red stripes with tinges of blue forming, parallel to each other, in almost a ladder of welts up and down my ass. My Domme had been right. They were beautiful.

What did they signify? Why was I fascinated by them as I stood twisting around to get a good view in the mirror? They might be badges of honor that I was capable of taking such punishment. Or simply reminders of the catharsis I felt when the caning set free all my tensions, worries and fears, washing them all away in the breaking waves of pain. I don't know. Maybe there is no answer. Nevertheless, they were strangely beautiful.

I filled a large freezer bag with ice cubes, took off my pants and gingerly positioned the ice against my battered ass, as I carefully lowered myself onto the couch. The ice numbed my new bruises nicely. In a few moments, the cold began to feel hot, slowly growing to a burning sensation. I smiled to myself. The burning of the ice felt like the fire of the caning itself. It was as if the caning wasn't quite over yet. I settled back on the couch and enjoyed the flames.