Careless Cyclist Caned

Last Sunday, we had nice fair weather in Munich. Riding the tram on my way to Josephine, I could see a lot of cyclists on the road. What a pity, I thought, that she hadn't bought a new bike after her accident. True, she was probably safer this way, but talk about a lost opportunity! I could have ordered Josephine to carry the bike up to her flat and bend over it. Palms on the saddle or on the handlebar? Whatever, it would have been a novelty. Too bad.

Still, a more conservative approach had its own advantages. I had been very busy with university studies, launching the blog, lots of other stuff - this would be my first session in over half a year. It was probably better to stick with the tried and true methods this time. I wondered about my accuracy with the cane. You can't help but get a little rusty. Then again, I had practiced a lot with a cushion, so I felt quite confident. There was no need to overdo the severity, anyway. Josephine hadn't played in a long time herself. Even a moderate thrashing would make a lasting impression. I could just take things easy and see what happens, experiment a little.

In a way, it felt like our first session again. Josephine and I first met at a munch, one of those normal pub evenings for kinky people. We liked each other and, after a few phone calls and regular dinners, started playing. Back then, she needed help with an English essay - Josephine enjoys that sense of reality in her sessions. I'm more of a role-player and wasn't sure that I would be right for her, but she liked my style. She wants a top who takes charge and just edcuates her as he sees fit. Her fantasy is to be fully in someone's control, no nonsense, no wiggling out. At the same time, that someone has to be compassionate and a trusted friend.

When Josephine asked me to be her motivation coach for the economics studies, there was a silent undertstand between us that I would take care of other issues as well. Anything I deemed important, just like the old times. Her bike accident and the fact that she had kept it secret from me for so long was a good occasion to remind Josephine of the order of things. And to talk some sense into her about careful riding.

After I arrived at her flat, the first thing I did was check the cane. She had put one in the bathtub, as ordered, to make it smooth and flexible. I didn't begin the session right away, though. That was never the plan - I just wanted everything to be ready. First, we chatted for about an hour while Josephine showed me her homework and talked about the past week's studies. She seems very enthusiastic about the course, especially marketing and, as unbelieveable as it sounds, accounting. Not my cup of tea at all, but I was happy to see the girl in such a good mood. Learning is the easiest thing when the subject excites you.

Just keep it up, I said, and you will be just fine. You won't even need my extra motivation to pass the exams, and no one will be happier about that than me. "Will you be proud of me?" she asked. I stroked her cheek: "Of course I will be proud of you! I always am." I made a pasuse. "Now, about that other thing - your bicycle antics. Let's get that over with, shall we?" Josephine nodded quietly as her expression turned somber.

I instructed her to fetch the cane and strip down to her underwear. Then, as she was kneeling in the corner of the room, facing the wall with her hands above her head, Josephine had to tell me all the details about the accident again. Typical for her, she tried to explain it away: "It wasn't all that bad." It sounds quite different from the last version, I mused. Wasn't the doctor very clear on how close she had come to serious injury? Josephine shrugged: "The guy was just trying to impress me! He was a sadistic doctor!" I shook my head in annoyance. Some young ladies never learn. But I knew from the old days that there were reliable methods to get Josephine's attention. In her case, it just took a little more than kind words.

While she was recounting her story, I noticed that she took one of her hands away from her head. She was kneeling next to a shelf of CD's and started cleaning it. I was in no mood for her little games: "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Josephine protested: "There was some dust there..." I gave her a hard slap on her bottom, which turned her focus back on the matters at hand: "Okay then. Since you refuse to listen to your doctor, you will have to listen to me." I made a few practice swings with the cane, letting it swish through the air. Josephine was very quiet all of a sudden. I couldn't see her face, but there was no need. It is a beautiful thing, the silence of nervous anticipation.

I grabbed her hair and ran my fingers through it, wondering: "Was it painful, the accident?" Josephine nodded violently. I suppressed a grin: "Too bad that you didn't get the message. Now I'll have to make this even more painful for you, as it seems..." Knowing that Josephine tends to squirm a lot, I added: "One more thing. I want you to hold perfectly still. If you have to flinch after a stroke, that's fine. Can't be helped. But while I aim, you will be like a statue. If not, I will repeat the stroke. And if I get too annoyed, I will start over from the beginning." She assured me that she would do her best.

I ordered her to get up, remove her underwear and put her hands on a chair. Not quite as good as bending her over a bike, I found, but a fine classical punishment position. Fully nude, too... "How many am I going to get?" she asked. I told her that I hadn't decided yet. I would give her sequences of ten and she would repeat a particular line after each one. Josephine gave me a confused look: "Are you going to count, then?" I sighed loudly: "No, I'm not counting. You get the stroke, you say the number, then you say the line. That's not too complicated, is it?" Sheesh, I thought! Time to stop the pleasantries and get serious!

So I gave her the first ten. The line was: "I must not ride my bike too fast." I didn't hit hard, but it was not a warm-up, either. After all, I had already done that during practice at home. The accuracy was fine. Once you have learned how to apply the cane, you never really forget. It comes back to you very quickly. I suppose it is a bit like riding a bike. If you pardon the little pun.

While the feel was the same for me, the results were slightly different, in a pleasant way. Josephine doesn't mark too easily, but it was obvious that she had not been caned in a long time. The first few, moderate strokes were enough to produce a nice set of red tramlines. Satisfied, I added the next sequence. The sentence: "I must not hang my bag on the handlebar." That is what had caused the accident. Another ten lines on Josephine's bottom. Her gasps and moans confirmed that she was beginning to appreciate the significance of this. Content with my aim so far, I decided to fire off a proper, hard stroke at the end. She rewarded me with a painful yelp and a rather strained: "Ten! I must not... Hang...!" Hang what? "My bag on the handlebar!"

I gave the Fräulein a brief pause while I contemplated the upcoming part: "You didn't see a doctor right after the accident. So that is what I'm going to teach you next..." She didn't agree: "I can't run to the hospital after every little thing!" I reminded her that falling off your bike at God knows what speed and getting knocked on the head is not a "little thing". Not when you shift one of your vertebrae. It was better to be safe than sorry, so the line was: "I have to see the doctor after an accident." Josephine was still talking back: "But Ludwig...!" My hand pulling gently on her hair convinced her that it was wiser to shut up.

So I started the next segment. After our little banter, she forgot to count the first one and I had to repeat it. Eleven strokes in total, fairly hard ones this time. Her reactions became louder and more agitated. Gorgeous marks, a few darker, raised welts in addition to the previous weaker lines. Josephine didn't feel like arguing anymore. Instead, she meekly wondered how many more she would get. "A few" I said while I assessed the results so far. "There are still some missing in the lower half..."

As she had kept the whole story secret from me, fearing that I would make a fuss, the fourth lesson was: "I should have told you about it immediately." Against her will, Josephine broke into nervous laughter: "Oh no! These will be severe, right?" Submissive gallows humour. I told her not to ask for answers she already knew. Ten vicious strokes followed, one of which produced my favourite reaction of the session, a fairly desperate: "PLEASE!" I calmly reminded her to call out the number and the line, which she did.

Josephine had obviously had just about enough, so I decided to give her five more, without a sentence attached, and that would be the end: "Just count, and think about what you learned today." She noted that it was an odd total. Amused, I wondered if she would prefer another ten instead. Josephine was quick to point out that it wouldn't be necessary. On second thought, 45 seemed like a perfectly reasonable number. I did the last five, and that was it. Clenching her teeth after the final one (another magnificent stripe), she started to take her hands off the chair, but quickly jolted back into position. I smiled at the narrow escape - in one of our previous sessions, Josephine had discovered that it was not a good idea to stand up before I had given permission.

I took some time to ogle the fruits of my labour. They were truly beautiful. The caning hadn't been excessive, but fairly severe towards the end. Definitely some good welts, a few of them noticeably raised as I ran my fingers over them. Still, I wasn't happy. One of the 46 strokes (if you count the one repetition) had landed a little higher than I wanted. Not a catastrophic miss, but certainly too high. Awful, it almost ruined the whole thing. I was beating myself up over it all evening. Josephine didn't mind, but I couldn't look past that stray stroke. A lot of cushion practice lay ahead of me.

However, I was pleased with how still she had been during the punishment. Well, before the strokes, anyway. At least that little threat had worked. I put my hand on her head and stroked her hair: "And the next time when you are riding a bike..." Josephine interrupted me with bubbling enthusiasm: "I will be careful!" Exactly, I nodded, and allowed her to get up. She hugged me and smiled: "You were really worried about that, weren't you? That's sweet..." Of course I was worried, hence the very deserved thrashing.

Before I left, we had dinner to round out the evening. Judging from Josephine's pained expression as she sat down, her contrition was genuine, and my efforts were not in vain.

(Picture courtesy of Girls Boarding School. Some resemblance to lovely Josephine. Similar figure and hair. The marks looked about the same, too. Except for the one that went too high. Grrr...)