Sunday session

I was up early on Sunday and made a nice breakfast for the two of us. We decided to get the chores done quickly so we could go out (in the rain of course - this is England after all) in the afternoon. 

My wife S sorted paperwork and I did the ironing. She called me into her bedroom whilst she was getting dressed and whilst I was kneeling in front of her she made me recount what I was going to be punished for later that day. I reminded her of the 20 strokes for being late, added the fact that I had had an alcoholic drink she didn't know about during a non- drinking weekday and that I had not been very amiable whilst on a trip to some shops with her.

 I thought I might tell her about the knicker wearing on the day before, but stayed silent on that one.

S  contributed to the tally by reminding me that she had to tell me twice to phone a builder about a quote. In all she said that I could expect 40 strokes of the cane and possibly more if I made a fuss. She pulled up my face by hooking a finger under my chin. Understood she asked. Yes, I replied.

We had a fun day out in the end because the rain stopped and a walk by the river was followed by a late pub lunch. Once we were home I was sent to fetch the cane and wait  in the bedroom. I stripped to my pants and stood there for what seemed like an age.

I heard the door click shut  and then the swish of the cane two or three times behind me. Telling me to bend forward with my hands on my knees and count the strokes, my wife came up beside me and ran the cane teasingly up and down the backs of my legs and over my pants.

The first whiz and whack of a cane stroke  came as a shock to my unprepared mind and bottom and I forgot to count. 

Then the next one hit me and I remembered to say, two thank you ma'am. The  strokes followed quickly and it was impossible to repeat the counting mantra in  time between the strokes. 

She demanded to know if I was incapable of counting but did not pause and  gave me no chance to reply. I made a a guess at eight but failed to utterly  to get the thank you ma'am part of the phrase spoken out before the next two strokes had landed. I could not keep up so I resolved just to shout out the strokes. I erred  on the side of caution so I said 10 when it was almost certainly more. From that point on I just focussed on taking the pain and growing erotic feeling of being whipped.

At what I thought was twenty I found the caning hard going. My wife was using more force than she might have done in past years. I began to wonder if I had done the right thing asking her to take control once again. Her aim was better than in the past and the cane was not zipping round my flank like i used to.Had she been practising I wondered?

I stiffened my resolve and took 10 more strokes with a steady count but I have to say I lost my way after that and I was unable to keep up. Your not doing very well at counting are you, she asked. Maybe these will jog your memory. She placed 5 strokes rapidly across the back of my legs and i jumped up to a standing position to rub and protest. Get back down she growled.

30, I muttered. Well I think its more but I am happy to oblige if you want extra. Stay still.

I counted slowly as the cane landed in a measured pace. At my 40, she stopped. My bottom was raw with pain but my mind was in a happy place. She was undoubtedly getting stricter with the cane.

S went off to shower whilst leaving me to sort out a supper. We watched an episode of Orange is the New Black and then went to bed. As we lay side by side she asked me how I felt. Great I replied and thanked her for the whipping. Well show your gratitude in the usual way then, she demanded, as she threw off the bedclothes. I muff dived with pleasure.