A
BRITISH SLAVE |
by:
Mistress Caitlin |
He was an English slave who had craved
the cane as a young boy. He came to the United States,
and Mistress Caitlin caned him.
The British Slave
He had submissive, subservient, slavish
longings his entire life. He grew up as a small
boy in Britain. He was small and slight, and when
he was in grade school, the other boys tormented
him. He could not control himself, and he used a
curse word at the big bully. Oh no!!! The headmaster
heard him. He was ordered to come into the headmaster's
office.
Mr. Smithley said, "Young man, you
can't use those foul, disgusting words in our school.
Drop your pants now, and bend over that desk. You
are getting ten strokes with my bamboo cane."
Poor Jeffrey shivered with humiliation,
anticipation and guilt. There was part of him that
was so degraded and humbled. He felt that he was
totally worthless. However, a secrect, inner, shameful
part of him inside felt excited about the caning.
He shook so much that he could hardly get his pants
down. His hands trembled, and he could hardly unbutton
his pants and get his zipper down. Finally, he got
his knickers down to his ankles, and his poor, scrawny
ass was bare. He bent over the desk. The rough wood
of the old desk abraded his tender skin, as his
stomach was pushed against the edge and his elbows
slid across the top. Jeffrey felt splinters penetrating
his tender skin, and he felt the tears coming from
his eyes.
The office of the Headmaster was so cold,
that his skin had goosebumps all over it. The anticipation
of his ordeal was killing him. Mr. Smithley barked,
"Young man, I want you to count the strokes
of my cane and thank me after every stroke. Do you
understand?" Jeffrey whimpered and whispered
in a tiny voice, "Yes, Sir."
Mr. Smithley went over to the cabinet that
was on the back wall of his office. He opened the
doors, and there hung wooden paddles, canes and
whips. He selected a bamboo cane that was one-quarter
of an inch thick. He slowly walked back across the
floor, tapping the cane against the palm of his
hand as his heavy steps dragged across the floor.
When he reached the desk, poor Jeffrey shook so
much he almost fell down.
Mr. Smithley tapped the cane against the edge of
the desk next to the poor, pathetic boy.
"Now count!!!" he barked. The
cane flew through the air. The pain of the first
stroke was searing and Jeffrey felt the skin of
his bare buttocks flaming. He began to count, and
after his count, he said, "Thank you, Sir."
The cane whipped through the air again and again.
The poor boy thought he would never make it through
all ten strokes. He felt the welts and bruises being
raised on his ass. Now, he began to feel a secret
thrill in his groin. Could he actually be getting
aroused at this? Could he be getting sexually thrilled
over this caning? Was he a secret masochist? His
cock got hard as more strokes landed, and he said
the final count of ten. What would the future bring
for him?
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