I am always interested when clients write to share their perspectives and recollections of a session with me. I often post such communications on my testimonials page. They make good reading and can be helpful to others, especially those who are curious or just beginning their journey into the world of CP. I do not normally add my own comments. In this case, however, I would like to thank and commend George (far from a beginner, as will be clear) both for his wholehearted trust in me to skirt his limits, and for the mix of relish, humour and raw honesty with which he has recorded his experience. I would call his account “unflinching” but I’m not sure that’s an appropriate word in the circumstances 🙂

Read on and, hopefully, enjoy.

Miss Brown

The Court of Love

I was sent to find a Punishment Mistress by the Court of Love (because my ex had complained about me) and found myself turning up at the door of Strictly Miss Brown in South London. Miss Brown welcomed me with a cup of tea and friendly enquiries about what the Court had ordered and seemed perfectly nice, but once the introductions were over and the session began I realised that she had not taken in what I had said about the Court of Love being a bunch of embittered feminists bent on revenge. I had told her that we did not need to take them seriously. But she insisted that she would indeed punish, to the full extent, each of the six offences listed in the silly Court document. She undid my belt, unzipped my trousers, and told me to strip off! It was very alarming. When I objected, she slapped my face. Then she told me to hold out my hands and gave me the most godawful thwacks on each hand with a vicious heavy strap. Horrible! I was shocked to the core. I tell you, it’s very nasty.

Caning is Miss Brown’s thing. She’s the expert. You would have thought she’d have taken my hint, earlier on, that my bottom is sensitive. Not a bit of it. There was no warm-up, no preparation for the skin. No womanly sympathy. She fixed me with her fierce brown eyes and implacable glare and ordered me to bend over the desk. The blows whistled through the air and crack! crack! exploded on my bum. Each stroke hurts very much, initially, then the pain fades. At least, that is true for the first six strokes. After that they start piling hurt on hurt. She actually took delight in showing me the livid red stripes across my arse in the mirror. “Raised welts!” she crowed.

Miss Brown insisted on dwelling on my supposed offences and threatening me with merciless punishment. “You are going to hurt me,” I stammered. “Yes, I am most definitely going to hurt you. And I am going to  enjoy it, George,” she replied. “Are you going to bleed for me, George?” She is fearsome, with a mesmerising intensity. She reads out my next listed offence, pausing for effect before the next punishment set.

Cane strokes focus your attention like nothing else, as you convulse and yelp. She pauses to admire the carnage she has wreaked on my skin. “There’s a little grazing,” she says. Blood! It’s not “grazing.” There are furrows of blood! She knows, so she compromises. “I am going to put a small plaster on your left cheek. Don’t for a moment think that it won’t hurt as much just because you have a plaster on.”

So she is staunching the blood but determined to carry on with the vicious beating. What a woman. I am falling under her spell, but she is musing over the selection of canes. “A thick, heavy one,” she murmurs, swishing something through the air.  It sounds like Concorde.

The next complaint my ex had listed in my offences was, That he did have low, vulgar, obscene and contemptible tastes. Miss Brown demanded an explanation, and I’m afraid I started badly. I said, “No reflection upon you, Miss Brown, but she meant …”

I was about to say ‘caning’ but Miss Brown cut me off, “Do you want another six, starting like that?” and wouldn’t listen to my explanation. I could have clarified what I meant, but she was having none of it.

She turned her attention to the job in hand. “Right, now things are about to get worse for you,” she announced. I was a bit slow on the uptake until I noticed that she had hoisted her skirt up so that she could adopt a more stable stance with legs further apart, and was swinging the cane behind her shoulder to ensure that she could get a full 240 degrees of power into the stroke.

“Bend over,” she said, “And let’s start doing this properly. Count, George.”

Suffice it to say that the last sets were full power shockers leaving me gasping, abjectly babbling about how I admired and respected womankind and would never offend any woman again.

Miss Brown was kind enough to allow me to audio record some of our session. Don’t tell her this, but I listened to it back and had a monstrous wank. I think I’m in love. She won’t know because I don’t suppose she reads this far.