A Beginner's Guide to Being Caned
History of 'The Cane'
It seems to be a particularly British 'instrument of correction'. Other European countries favour(ed) a variety of implements, many utilising various forms of leather and ranging from single rod-like whips that were probably designed for horses, through to multi-thonged flexible whips and scourges. And no list of classic European disciplinary implements can be complete without the inclusion of wooden paddles, switches and birches, and finally every mother's favourite, the hairbrush.
Obviously cane material was never available in Britain until colonialisation of Asian countries, and up to that point the birch rod (a tightly bound bundle of birch twigs originally designed for sweeping floors), was the implement of choice for chastising errant boys and girls. However, use of Rattan and Malacca cane spread back from the colonies and was quickly adopted because of its ease of use and effectiveness. Birches have to be maintained by soaking them in water (brine was the norm) in order to keep the twigs supple, and in use they scatter broken-off twig ends everywhere! This means that they wear away quickly and make one heck of a mess. A good quality cane on the other hand, is equally effective and will last for years. The British education establishment published approved punishment guidelines for schools, the cane being listed as the principle approved implement for corporal punishment of pupils. This principle was never adopted in Scotland, where they managed their own affairs, and instead the Lochgelly Tawse (so named because the approved supplier manufactured them in the town of Lochgelly) was favoured. I once lived in Lochgelly for several years, but sadly the original shop has changed use.
As Europeans colonised North America, they took their children and traditions with them, along with the established means of disciplining said offspring. Disciplinary implements were fairly low on the list of essentials that could be transported on wagons, and consequently items that came more readily to hand tended to be used. I welcome input from U.S readers – who are far better qualified to comment – as to the traditional punishment used by your own individual families.
In British schools then, The Cane was the penultimate sanction, superseded only by expulsion. Very serious offences were dealt with during Morning Assembly, when the offender would be called up on to the stage in front of the entire school. Their crime would be announced to the hushed throng, and they would be severely, and very publicly thrashed, in order to act as a deterrent to all. Being caught stealing from the local sweet (candy) store was a not uncommon offence. And so it was that numerous generations of Brits grew up to expect to see a black-gowned figure patrolling the school corridors, always carrying his discoloured-through-use crook-handled cane as a badge of office. Our Headmaster was not too affectionately known as 'Swish'.
And what is good enough for school is also good enough for home. In the 1950s, in my experience at least, every kitchen door was equipped with a hook, and not for hanging ones apron on! The family cane quietly clattered there, acting as a constant reminder. It was more commonly used by the father of the house, as in 'wait until your father gets home!', and not necessarily exclusively used on the offspring. If the housewife was supposed to be supervising her children during the school holidays, then she must have failed in her duty when they got themselves into trouble.
So the scene is set. Embedded in every Brit over the age of about 40, and regardless of first-hand acquaintance, is an amorphous but dread fear of The Cane. This intangible respect seems to have been absorbed, as if by osmosis, into younger generations, even though corporal punishment was officially banned in schools in the 1970s (I believe), and frowned upon long before then.
'The Cane' in Use
So what makes it so scary? It's a light stick, and you grow beans up it, right? True. But now curve one end into a crook-handle. Now it is not a piece of cane, it is a Cane.
Bamboo is viable for use, but is stiff and brittle, resulting in a tendency to split with very sharp paper-cutting edges. Malacca is more dense, more flexible (but not too much), and remarkably resilient. And there are other varieties of cane with slightly differing properties. Thickness typically varies from 1/4 inch up to about 3/8 inch (approx 6mm – 9mm), with the precise impact sensation varying from switch-like intense sting up to more aggressive stinging, thudding ache.
Being caned is painful. It Hurts! There is none of that gradually warming burn imparted by repeated spanks, or strokes of a belt. Instead there is a single, and very specific, flash of white-hot fire. But a cane stroke is devious. Yes, you will feel the instantaneous impact, and an amount of pain, and you have time to remark to yourself "oh! is that it? is that what all the fuss is about?", and then the tsunami arrives, crashing through your conciousness. The wave retreats, leaving a duller stinging ache in its wake. One carefully delivered stroke is an endurance test as your senses are overwhelmed, to the point that you think it is going to be completely unbearable. But bear it you do, and you are left scrabbling around trying to find where all your thoughts scattered to. It is a vivid demonstration of just how much thinking we cram in to just a fraction of a second. The closest example I can think of is when you hit your thumb with a hammer, hard. You feel the thud, and you know it is going to hurt, and then it does.
But nobody ever gets just one stroke of the cane. Traditionally, there are at least five more strokes to endure. And, as anyone who has been caned by an expert will know, they will have started half way up your bottom, and each succeeding stroke will land neatly parallel, and just below its predecessor, until the final, hardest stroke of all, lands precisely on the crease of buttock and thigh. Sitting down is going to provide a very clear reminder for the rest of the day.
And all the while, you have been expected to bend yourself properly, offering your bottom up for further chastisement.
A Punishment Cane is an awesome thing. That simple, 32 inch yellow notched stick, with its iconic curved handle. Somehow you have accepted that it is going to be used on your bottom, and as you stand there now, while it is being slowly flexed in front of you, you begin to question your own sanity and work through dozens of potential ways to get out of it.
But you continue to stand there, mute, and inwardly trembling with absolute fear and wild excitement. You feel sick. Your heart is pounding against the inside of chest, breathing is an effort, your skin prickles with heat and perspiration, and all he can do is drone on about why you are there, and why you deserve this punishment, and how disappointed he is in you.
You have been lucky, sort of. He has already put you face down across his knee and given you a damn good spanking. Your bottom is still warm and gently throbbing, but the time you had to spend contemplating your fate in the corner has given it a chance to recover slightly. You are lucky because that spanking has already woken and then dulled the nerve endings in your bottom, and endorphins are surging around your brain, acting as natures own pain suppressants.
The atmosphere in the room is electric, your eyes are glued to that cane. He forces you to look him in the eyes, you manage to glance at his face for a split second but that softly gleaming thing is magnetic, polished against a thousand bottoms.
A single sharp word penetrates the fog, requiring you to rewind what he just asked you. Are you ready? Swallowing is hard, and your tongue disobedient.
"Ynn.." His eyebrows raise. "Yes, S-Sir." You give him the go-ahead signal, eventually.
He points. You move, shakily. The wood of the desk cold against your stomach as he presses you down and positions you to his satisfaction. Air wafts around your upper thighs as your skirt is raised and arranged carefully across your back. There is a sensation that the entire world is staring at your rudely proffered backside. A sudden urge to rise and get the hell out of there. But the cane is already tapping against the crown of your bottom. Too late to run now, it fixes you in position. Some final instructions about staying in position, and then a 'swoosh', and a 'snick' and your world explodes.
You are amazed, everything you read in earlier on this page happens precisely as described. And now the cane it tap-tapping again. You suddenly become aware that you aren't breathing. Several deep breaths and some of the tension goes out of your body, but then the tapping is gone…
Each one of those six strokes is an immense test of your willpower. The pain is extreme, but somehow rising isn't an option.
Then he is lifting you upright. You remember hearing words in the room now, but you did not take them in. He holds you tightly, and through that embrace all the gathered tension leaves you. A rest, and a gentle rub soothes you. There are reassuring words wafting around you.
And when you are told to bend over again it doesn't matter. You can do this, you want to do this. Bare this time, you absorb the strokes and thrust yourself back to meet the next one. You are lost, floating in a dark sea of pure eroticism.
Hopefully by now, those of you who were not already familiar with this particularly British obsession with caning will have gained a better understanding of how and why we like it so much. And just maybe, you are sufficiently intrigued to try it out for yourself. If you intend to wield one on some poor unsuspecting naughty girl's bottom, I cannot recommend strongly enough that you receive a few strokes yourself in order to experience and understand the peculiar transmission of pain that a cane produces.
The deliberately unbuckled belt resonates with many, especially those for whom it has childhood echoes, but in my opinion no other implement carries such a strong visual impact. And once you have heard whippy rattan swish through the air, or clatter noisily on a desk, it can mean only one thing.
As I alluded to previously, a caning has the potential to send the recipient into deep sub-space (a trance-like state in which submission becomes everything, without conscious thought and without care). If this occurs it is beholden on the other partner to take complete responsibility for the submissive's welfare. She (he?) is no longer competent to signal when they have received enough, and a strong cane is capable of inflicting unwanted damage if used to excess.
Before offering your bottom up to your S.O. for a caning, it might pay to check out which sports they play. A golfer's leading left arm will equip them with a good firm backhand stroke, while a tennis player's whipped forehand will certainly get you up on your toes!
So what, I hear you ask, should you expect by way of after-effects? Individual skin type plays a part, as with any other disciplinary implement, but visible marking varies enormously depending on the type, weight, and length of cane, and on how enthusiastically it is applied. A cane stroke raises a tram-line weal on the skin, one on each cheek if delivered evenly, and multiple strokes merge to make the buttock swell slightly. This effect may last for a few hours but will probably have returned to normal by the morning. Visually, anything from pretty pink stripes that fade away after about 12 hours or so, up to angry dark purple tram-lines that spread to form green-tinged black bruising that takes several weeks to fade down to normal brown bruises and gradually disappear. There are many images of both, and variations between, freely available with a quick Google image search.
A recently caned bottom will throb, sting, burn and prickle in equal measure. Later, it exhibits a slightly tender-yet-numb sensation when sat upon. But sit down carefully! Failure to observe that caution will lead to embarrassing explanations as you shoot back to your feet after carelessly plonking yourself down at the weekly team meeting!
In summary then, by all means experiment with a cane, beginning gently, slowly and accurately. But please, handle with care!