Tuesday, 8 January 2008

Shocked, part 3

The third and final instalment of this story. Now there will be some caning. Quite brutal, I must say, maybe a little too brutal but I got a little carried away whilst writing it.

She froze as she felt the cane being placed against her buttocks. It was strangely cold and she was amazed how shapeless it felt. She could hardly sense it. It felt like an odd presence more than anything.

Without a word he removed the cane. She knew it was time. She knew he was going to hit her. She was amazed how calm she felt, how matter of factly she thought about it. She didn't notice that her heart was beating hard. She imagined herself calm.

She heard the hissing sound of the cane through the air quickly followed by a sharp report, like a gunshot, like something very sharp and dangerous. A sound that didn't, really, remind her of soft skin.

The pain was excruciating. It made her body tense, as if a bolt of lightning had travelled through her body and tensed all her muscles. She held her breath, not comprehending the immensity of the sensation.

She was utterly in shock. She could not imagine something hurting like that. She squirmed and tried to gather her thoughts. She started to breathe as she felt how numbness gave way to a burning pain, a hot band across her buttocks.

So this is what it was like being punished. Her head felt dizzy. She draw her breath and froze again as she realised that there was another one coming. She was to be hit again and her whole being protested. She couldn't understand how it was possible for her body to endure another of those whacks.

Then the hissing sound and the sharp report. She cried out this time. It was as if the brutality of the cane forced a scream over her lips. It felt good to cry out as the pain made its way to her brain.

The third whack brought tears to her eyes and she screamed again. She squirmed as she tried to cope with that she couldn't cope with. She wanted to run, to turn away and just flee. She couldn't. She felt as if she was tied to the armchair. She had no choice. She was at his mercy.

'Please!' she heard herself plead. That was all she could do. She was helpless.

When he hit her the fourth time she was crying and squirming, overcome by the humiliation of this pain being inflicted deliberately. She cried in agony as she knew he hit her only to make her suffer. He wanted this. He hit her with the cane and wanted her to suffer.

She felt no hate. She felt only humiliation. She cried out as the fifth stroke hit her naked skin and left a burning band of pain on her buttocks.

She cried like a baby as he caned her. Time and again did his sturdy cane hit her soft and tender skin and she could do nothing but scream and cry. She was helpless and powerless as he whipped her.

He waited between the whacks. He let her compose herself just enough to feel the next one with full force. He kept her on the verge of collapse, almost breaking her down but she seemed always to be able to take another breath and endure another hit with the cane.

The relentless whipping of her naked bottom was grinding her down. She lost count, she lost track of time. She only lived to endure the next stroke. She didn't think any more. She just felt the pain, the searing pain that seemed to drive the screaming voices in her head away, all of them but one, the low murmuring voice of red desire. That voice grew stronger.

Then it was over. She didn't realise it at first. She drew her breath and waited but there was no more caning. She took another breath and she knew that he had stopped. She felt the sweat on her body. She felt the relief of no more new pain. She didn't dare to hope it was over.

'You may rise now!' he said.

She heard his voice as if it was coming from a distance. She didn't comply immediately. She drew some deep breaths, composing herself. Her head was empty.

'I have been punished,' she said. Her words seemed strange.

As she rose to her feet she felt the armrest against her lower belly and felt how she had been grinding her body against it. She felt the warmth from it and blushed as she felt how aroused she was.

She got to her feet and looked at him. She looked at him and felt how naked she was. She wanted him to touch her, to comfort her. She knew she could cry on his shoulder. She had been crying but of pain. Now she wanted to cry because it was over.

He didn't comfort her and she knew it was not for him to comfort her. He had punished her. That was what he had to do.

He left the room without a word and she was left on her own. She felt naked and was overcome with a sudden desire to put her clothes back on. She wondered if she should ask him. She didn't.

She took her clothes from the table and dressed. She dressed quickly, eagerly, wanting to be on her way before he came back into the room. She was clumsy and almost started to cry because it was so hard to dress.

He didn't come back and she didn't see him again. As she stumbled out into the deserted street she wasn't sure what had happened was real. She put her hand under her skirt and felt her buttocks. The welts were real and the pain was real and the heat she felt was real.

She walked slowly back to the pub. The cool night air made her thoughts a little clearer. She wanted to go home but she had to see some familiar faces and hoped her friends were still in the pub.

She had to put on a brave face as she met them and she felt she was succeeding. They knew something had happened but they also knew she didn't want to talk about it. They asked her about the man, who he was. She just shook her head. They said that they had never seen him before and wondered if he was one of her friends. She shook her head and they knew she didn't want to talk about it.

She sat in silence, happy to be among her friends, disregarding the worry that was on their faces. She didn't care. She could not explain. They would not understand. She felt that they could wonder. She didn't care. She knew she was changed. She knew she had been shocked.


Paul said...

Janice, I think your last sentence may be something of an understatement.
Being the individual that I am. I expected a different ending.
Being the writer that you are you choose not to give it to me, I like that.
Your imagination continues to intrigue me, I look forward to it doing so for quite some time.
Thank you for this one, I look forward to the next.
Warm hugs,

wilhelmina said...

Yes indeed, she had been shocked. She endured very well and yet it seems that had she wanted to get up and leave at any time he wouldn't have stopped her. She chose for it to happen, as if she shouted to the world, 'come on, and show me what you are made of' instead she may have found what she is made of.


Janice said...

Dear Paul, I may be too immersed in my own story to see what would be the obvious ending of the story. I am keen to know what you had expected.

Dear Wilhelmina, I think that is a part of the story, that she, actually, allows for this to happen. That she is responsible in the sense that she can say no. Maybe she found something real.



Mick7 said...


I love your writing. You hit so many of the right buttons.

Please add to the 'Waiting' story (part 1 ended with the girl getting into the car with the enigmatic women).


Janice said...

Dear Mick, I am amazed that this story evoked so much reaction. It was just something that came out of my head and I have no idea how it should continue. I feel a little inspired to let it continue, though. I don't know how. Thank you for your comments.



Mick said...

Dear Janice
You wonder why your story 'Waiting' has ‘evoked so much reaction’. Well, here’s why I think it has.

The set up of is brilliant: a young woman reads a curt note informing her that she is to be punished for an unspecified offence, of which she is unaware, committed against an unnamed person; nevertheless, she obeys the note’s instructions and leaves the house; then, after an embarrassing wait in public, a car pulls up and she is bent over the bonnet where she is first whipped by the elegant and superior female passenger before being penetrated from behind by the driver, an act which she silently endures even though she finds it ‘degrading and humiliating’.

Thus, within a few pages, you have left your readers ‘waiting’ (was this double meaning in the title intended?) for answers to a whole bunch of questions: who wrote the note? who is the girl who has to be punished? is she a genuine submissive, given that she is not aroused by anything that has happened to her so far? and, if not, what induces her utter obedience? is she perhaps a slave? or (like ‘O’) so in love that she is prepared to do anything her lover asks of her? or is she being compelled to obey because of, say, a contract she has signed or a debt she has incurred? who has ordained that she be punished, and why? who is the elegant and superior lady who whips her?

There is just one question raised at the start of your story which seems to have been answered: what form will the girl's punishment take? But then comes the wonderful twist right at the end: the dominant female character orders the young woman into the car and obliquely answers her question 'Where are you taking me?' with the staement 'You are to be punished'.

So still more questions: if the girl’s treatment over the bonnet of the car was not a punishment, what was it? is it that it was so trivial compared to what is to come that it didn’t really count (I like this idea!)? where is she being taken? what will happen to her there?

You say in your preamble that you ‘had some kind of setting akin to The Story of O in mind’. Surely, then, the car must arrive at a secluded house (OK, ‘mansion’) where we gradually learn some of the answers to all these questions.

Please, before long, feel 'inspired to let… [the story] continue’ and provide some of the answers I am waiting for.

All love,

P.S. I will now try to post the main part of this in its rightful ‘comments’ place under 'Waiting'. Before yesterday, I had never posted anything in any kind of blog. Already I’m an addict.

Anonymous said...

CMH: Hi Janice. I must say I was shocked a bit by your story. I liked it, KLSE has such clever friends and I include Mina in that of course too. I have never been caned but I have caned KLSE one time. Good Lord! Your story seems well researched Janice I was very impressed. I could just imagine the situation of the girl going away and then coming back to the pub with her striped tail (like a Tasmania Tiger, or something else Tasmanian maybe) to her unknowing friends. Sneaky. I like it it seems very real oddly enough. I shall not comment upon the type of friends *I* have for fear of bias. This is a brave woman and one who gotn what she wanted, I like women like this. thankyou for your story Jancie. Kiltygirl. xx

Wystan E said...

I rad the three parts in one sitting, and the buildup is fantastic. A scorching end, my dear. (Or a scorched one.) (So to speak.)

I am intrigued that you were "carried away" writing it. The ecstasy of the fiction and of reality kiss across the abyss (or through the chink in the wall).

Lovely, dark dark ending.

Ollie said...


A fine story, and even though the caning was severe, that was what the lady required in order to be shocked.

Unlike Paul I thought the ending was exactly as I expected. The idea of an unknown stranger coming to perform this punishment on her was right I thought.

She was shocked, but will she change?

Janice said...

Dear Mick, Thank you for your comment. I think I will have to write the continuation, after all. Maybe this could be a theme. When I read your lengthy comment I am amazed how clever I must be to construct the story in this way. I do agree with what you said but it was not something I planned. It was just a story but perhaps I was in a mood to capture that which you describe. I can't but bow my head in recognition and feel a little proud.

Dear Kiltygirl, well researched, I don't know about that...vivid imagination is more like it. Thanks so much for your comment. I will think of Tasmanian tigers and things from now on when I read this story.

Dear Wystan, I do get carried away at times and when I do it is a joy writing. The downside is that what you think is brilliant when you write it may be not so clever when reading it afterwards and remembering the feeling of writing it makes you a little blind to it. That is what makes me unsure about it. I do like the image of fiction and reality kissing across the abyss.

Dear Ollie, I think I liked the ending too. Was she changed? What a brilliant question. I have to think about that.



sunnie said...

Janice. All I can say is "wow". I am such a woman as you have described. What I wouldn't do for someone to "see" me as I truly am... scared to death to let anyone see what's inside, but wanting it so badly it consumes me. Thank you for writing this. Thank you.

Janice said...

Dear Sunnie, you have no idea what it means to hear that you connect to the story. I think, indeed, it is about being seen. I think, in a way, all my stories are about that. And that mix of feelings, wanting to be seen as you truly are and dreading it more than anything. Thank you for your lovely comment.