Amanda Cane
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Mistress Amanda Cane Extracts My
Confession
Fortunately, this Starbucks coffee shop has a few padded leather booth
seats, so I am able to write this story without too much discomfort...
Earlier today I called Mistress Amanda Cane and got directions to her place.
Her charming, matter-of-fact northern-heartland accent set my mind at
ease. It had been some time since I'd sessioned at all, and I had almost
grown accustomed to life without it -- so now I was very nervous, and I welcomed
Mistress Amanda Cane's friendly tone.
At the appointed time I knocked on her door, and there she was, dressed in
casual clothes, and looking me over with her penetrating eyes and knowing smile.
She welcomed me in and showed me to a lavender-painted dressing
room, where she had me sit on a very low-to-the-ground chair shaped like a
high-heeled shoe. She asked me a few questions, and then left me waiting a
few minutes in the room, which was filled with wigs, hats, and other costume
paraphernalia. On the counter nearby rested two obvious wooden paddles.
With a sinking feeling I realized they couldn't be there for no reason. Is
she really going to use *those* on me? Surely I'm too much of a newbie for
that! I was thinking floggers and maybe a switch or something...
Mistress Amanda Cane returned in a startling black leather dress with a very
short skirt that showed off her fantastic legs. She told me to undress;
then she inspected me with approval and then asked me what I wanted.
"Corporal punishment," was all I think to say.
"Marks are OK?" she queried, and I nodded. This would be my
first session to answer that question in the affirmative, and I knew that was
going to make it different, but just how different I would be shocked to find
out.
She nodded approvingly and asked, "Do you want a safeword?"
I smiled slightly and shook my head. "No, Mistress." What
am I going to do with a safeword, I thought. Protect myself from harm?
Hardly -- as the sub I can't even see what's going on anyway, and I wouldn't
know when it was
going too far even if I *could* see. A safeword is just a way of
chickening out, I thought. She's the professional; she'll know when to say
when.
Her eyes lit up and a smile crossed her face, "No safeword? Oh, I'm
going to have fun with you!" My heart sank another notch as I
wondered if I hadn't bitten off more than I could chew. But I kept a
chipper face and followed her down to the basement. Oh boy, I thought,
here it is. A leather-padded St. Andrew's cross was across the way, and
various other
bondage equipment, but before I could mentally catalog them, Mistress turned
around and place a blindfold over my eyes. "You'll get to take this
off when you've earned it," she explained. The foam blindfold was
very well designed -- I never saw even a glimmer of light the whole time it was
on.
Mistress led me to the St. Andrew's cross and tied me up facing the cross.
She played with my nipples a bit while taunting me with hints of what I was
about to experience. Then then the beating began. She started with
the flogger, which made a tremendous noise when it hit my ass, but it didn't
really hurt much and I scarcely protested (except when she gave me some playful,
low-velocity swats to the crotch). Just when I was thinking "hey,
this isn't so bad," Mistress moved on to the leather strap. (I assume
that's what it was.) This was a lot more serious, and after just a few
hard
whacks I found myself crying out and lightly begging for mercy. She pulled
back my head and whispered in my ear that much more was to come. Staring
into the velvet nothingness of the blindfold, I knew she wasn't bluffing.
Then came the paddle. No, oh please god no, how I begged her to
stop. She told me to instead thank her for each stroke, which I managed to
do several times, and she told me to beg her to give me more, and just a couple
times I managed to do that too. The rest of the time it was "Nooo-o--o-o-o-o...",
long drawn-out moans in the form of the word No, supplemented with assorted
cries of "please" and "please-have-mercy-Mistress...(pant, pant,
pant)...please-have-mercy-Mistress". I think she found all this
endlessly amusing. Finally she hit me a few times with a switch or cane,
and although it most definitely hurt, it wasn't bad at all compared to the
paddle. Maybe she wasn't swinging very hard.
To my great but brief relief, she unfastened my restraints ("oh,
thank you Mistress"), turned me around, and refastened them, this time with
my hands behind my back. Still blindfolded, I could see nothing, and
Mistress Amanda
Cane played with my nipples some more and hit my inner thighs with the leather
strap. Then she told me that it was time for clothespins. I didn't
have a lot of self-control at this point, and immediately began moaning the word
"no" in a feeble sort of way, as Mistress proceeded to attach a number
of clothespins to my cock and balls, and one on each nipple. By the time
she stopped putting them on, I was in pretty much continuous pain and my pleas
for mercy became non-stop.
"How many pins did I put on you?" she demanded.
"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know..." I moaned.
"You're going to count them while I take them off, and then you get that
many strokes!" she proclaimed. I screamed the count as she took each
clip off (for the uninitiated: it really hurts when they are removed), and
when the last one came off I said "Thirteen, Mistress!" Then she
decided that I
would get thirteen dick-slaps with the flogger (aimed mostly at the tip of my
cock, apparently). She made me count each one, and when my feet started to
move together after about number three, she said "Put your feet apart, and
if they move again, we're starting over!" My feet stayed apart as I
screamed and cried the numbers up to thirteen once more.
Mistress took me down from the cross and led me over to some sort of
spanking bench. I couldn't see anything, but I was lying face-down on a
leather bench, with my knees on either side (also on leather rests), and was
tied down in multiple ways so that moving wasn't an option. Mistress
warned
me that the worst was to come, and I found that hard to believe, but knew it had
to be true.
"So you think you're ready for Mistress Amanda Cane?" she asked.
"I'm not sure, Mistress," I replied lamely.
"Oh, you're not sure! Well you're really in for it now, aren't
you?" "Yes, Mistress." Several paddle hits followed and I
cried out in pain. Then, to my infinite relief, Mistress took a powder
upstairs and left me secured to the spanking bench for some time. I lay
there in my blindfold-black world and soon found myself softly saying her name
as if that would somehow make things better when she returned.
My respite didn't last forever -- Mistress Amanda Cane returned and really
brought it on with the paddle. After each stroke I sobbed and begged her
to stop. Great globs of phlegm hung off my face and I hoped they wouldn't
hit the floor and make her mad. Mistress Amanda Cane walked around beside
me
and said, "You're being punished."
"Yes, Mistress, I'm being punished." I instinctively agreed with
everything she said.
"You've been naughty, haven't you?"
"Yes, Mistress, I've been naughty. I've been naughty."
"What have you done that you deserve to be punished?"
"I ... I don't know." "You don't know? Maybe I can help you
answer!"
One paddle hit was all it took. "I'll tell you, Mistress, I'll tell
you,
I'll tell you!" I gasped, not really knowing what I was going to tell her,
but so glad to have a way to get her to stop. I heard her walk around
beside me again, and she demanded that I tell her.
What could I say? There was only one thing I could think of in that
frantic moment of terror. The words almost hovered in front of me in the
inky void. "Mistress," I confessed, "I gave my little
sister hell when we were growing up." My body sagged with relief.
Mistress approved of my confession, then proceeded to punish me some more in the
same fashion.
After a bit, she released me from my restraints, took off my blindfold, and led
me upstairs, where she had me kneel in the living room, waiting for her.
Soon she returned with a tissue for me to blot my face. Then she
had me bend over a metal cage in the next room. Two canes lay on a chair
very close by, and I started feebly begging again. "You know how I
love to cane,
Sammy," she said. How can she do this, I wondered. Hasn't she
read my previous reviews? Doesn't she know I'm a newbie? Is she
trying to force me to ask for a safeword? No ... of course not.
She's just having fun. She enjoys this! That's why she does it.
"How many strokes do you need?" she asked me.
I was afraid not to answer, so I said "Five?" She laughed and
then gave me a few quick strokes with the cane. It didn't hurt too badly,
but again I had to suspect she wasn't really going all out. Maybe she's
saving that for another day, I thought.
She sat on the couch and had me lie on my back on the floor in front of her.
Then she demanded that I get an erection. I couldn't. I tried to
explain that the combination of pain and fear made it hard for me to get
aroused. "I'll give you one minute," she said, "then you
get punished." I couldn't do it, so she ordered me to bend over the
couch, which I did.
She left and came back dressed in her casual clothes and with the paddle.
"Thirty," she said without explanation.
"Oh no, no, noooooo.." I started crying.
But thirty it was. She had me raise to my tip-toes, and count the strokes
out loud. Twice I sagged from my position and she ordered me back up.
When we got to about eleven I started clearly annunciating my plea for mercy,
but Mistress Amanda Cane just said, "You didn't give your sister mercy, did
you?"
"No, I didn't," I sobbed. Mistress switched to the cane
for some of the count, and then asked me which I would like for the remainder.
"The cane," I quickly replied, and she laughed and picked up the
paddle. She gave me the last several hits in rapid succession, so that I
was screaming the numbers from 25 to 30 without pause.
Finally, it was over. She took me back to the dressing room and showed me
what she had wrought. I knew it would be bad, but I wasn't quite prepared
for the two huge purple-and-red spots that stared me back in the mirror.
"At this point," she explained, "I always give my sub the option
of stopping. If we go on from here, there will be bleeding."
Certainly among the easiest choices I'd ever made, I elected to stop.
Mistress told me I
should be proud of myself -- many subs safeword-out as soon as the cane appears.
I dressed, and to my surprise I found that it had been exactly one hour.
Somehow, despite all the agony, it seemed half that long.
Mistress was in a relaxed, friendly mood again, and I bid her adieu and left her
studio. I guess I can officially say I'm not a newbie anymore. Maybe
I have a lot more to experience, yes, but after an hour with Mistress Amanda
Cane, I think in all fairness I can call myself "experienced."
Thank you, Mistress. You are beautiful, wonderful, and sincere, and if you
will have me, I will certainly be back.