It first began to dawn on me as I was lying secured over Lady Pandora's bench, waiting for my Judicial Caning to begin. She had left me like this for a few minutes, and I was supposed to be contemplating the error of my ways. I was actually wondering about the wisdom of letting myself be trapped like this. I was committed to a caning where every stroke would be given at full force, and the whole punishment would be given in full with no safe words and no mercy however much I pleaded. There was no turning back now; I had to go through with it.

I'd been in a similar position once before. A couple of months earlier we had done a trial session and, as part of that, I had received 12 strokes with the judicial cane as a sampler. That hadn't been too bad, but it was after a nice warm up, and I could have stopped it at any time. I also knew then that I could have got free from the bench if necessary. Lady Pandora had strapped my wrists to the bench tightly, but not quite tightly enough, and I knew I could wriggle them free if I had needed to.

Foolishly I had admitted this, and Lady P had made no such mistakes this time. My wrists were securely fastened behind my back in a leather device from which it really was impossible to escape. Lying across the bench, my weight was thrown forward so that it would be difficult to rise without some support from my arms, which of course were behind my back too. But even that possibility was excluded by the strap running under the bench which held in place the cushion Lady P had thoughtfully placed over the small of my back to protect my spine and hands from any possible mis-hits. In short I was completely helpless and immobile, my bottom bare and ideally positioned to receive strokes from that vicious cane she had left in full view.

Of course, in fantasy it was what I wanted, ever since I'd read about the judicial caning scene on the website. I'm an experienced player; I'd had hard canings before, often while restrained, but never in this strict punishment atmosphere. I'd been sentenced to 36 strokes; not insignificant, but not a sentence I really dreaded. I'd earned 6 extras for not obeying an order quickly enough at my pre-caning interview, and I knew the Corrections Officer reserved the right to add more if she thought that I had not been punished enough. I wasn't sure how serious she was about the extras, but I figured that one way or the other I'd probably get 6 additional strokes. So maybe I would get 42, or at worst 48. I should be able to handle that without too much trouble. It was as well I didn't know then what would actually follow.

At the beginning of a caning, there is little sensation when the first strokes actually hit. The pain swells to a crescendo over some tens of seconds, then gradually starts to fade. The Corrections Officer was obviously well aware of this, because the first strokes were given very slowly, maybe half a minute apart. She was clearly intending to extract the maximum from each stroke. And so my punishment very deliberately proceeded, with each stroke being counted and announced before it was given. At 18, she commented that I would now be half way through if I hadn't earned extras, so she clearly hadn't forgotten about them. Oh well.

I get good "endorphin highs", when the body's natural painkillers start to kick in. It takes 10 minutes or so in my case, but by this point they were starting to work. It's difficult to put into words, but there is an exhilarating feeling that you can handle the pain, deal with it, overcome it. You even start wanting more pain so that you can get the thrill of overcoming that too. This is the start of "sub space" for me.

Endorphins can make you stupid, too. Because of my growing confidence, in role I started to plead with the Corrections Officer to be let off, but really intending to annoy her. It worked. After having told me several times to shut up, she gave me strokes 31 to 36 in quick succession, with only about a second between them, to teach me a lesson. That really made me gasp!

After stroke 42 she announced: "Now we come to the strokes I add if I don't think you've been punished enough. In batches of 6". This didn't sound so good. I was going to get my worst case estimate of 48 at least, and likely more. She stopped counting the total strokes, but instead went back to one at the start of each of the added batches.

Batch soon followed batch, and in a short time I had lost count. The endorphins were struggling to cope. Each new stroke I received now was a separate universe of pain; they weren't in batches for me any more. All of my brain was given over to dealing with the pain, there wasn't anything left over to remember how many batches. So I suppose it must have been at around stroke number 54, or maybe it was 60, in an all too brief respite before Lady Pandora brightly announced the next batch of 6, that the light fully dawned into my thick head.

She was the Domme. I was the sub, and for the first time really a sub. Every other time I had played it had been with a safe word. Not always an explicit one, but there had always been the understanding that I could stop a session if I had wanted to. I had never actually used a safe word to end a session, but I always could have. So really I had always been in control. This was different. This session was going to end only when Lady Pandora decided it would, and I had no influence over that decision whatsoever. And from the tone in her voice, and the evident satisfaction she was getting, she wasn't intending to stop any time soon.

I couldn't move a muscle to escape. I had no safe word; I couldn't have used it even if I had, because by now I was gagged, the result of one final attempt to bribe the Corrections Officer into stopping! I could only try to relax, and so far as possible in the circumstances enjoy this new sub space I had found and to which she had introduced me. I found it to be enormously liberating; I had no responsibilities for anything, nothing else in the world mattered.

I'm happy to report that she did eventually stop, after what seemed an eternity to me. But not until she'd given me a total of 78 wicked strokes with that punishment cane, as she afterwards informed me. The last six were amongst the hardest of them all.

An intense experience I'll remember and cherish for a very long time. Would I have used a safe word to end it earlier if I could have? Hard to say: I was taken a bit beyond where I thought my limits were for sure, but I've never used a safe word before, and would have been very reluctant to on this occasion. Would I ever do this scene again? Probably, but not for a while yet; I'm still much too sore even to think about that! Would I recommend it to anyone else? Absolutely not. A scene like this is something that everyone needs to make up their own minds about.

-- Andrew

Lady Pandora's Reply

Andrew has a lot of experience with regard to canings. He attended for a Pre-Judicial session and I was completely satisfied not only of his need and ability to receive a full Judicial Caning, but also of his ability to cope with the scenario psychologically.

As with any form of domination, at least 90% is cerebral. Therefore, if the build-up and scene setting are not correct, the scenario can easily be a disappointment. Due to problems with emails, there was some confusion as to whether Andrew would be attending and he arrived to find me full of cold and unprepared for the session - something I found most embarrassing. However, we adapted and soon we were ready to commence.

During the interrogation, I found Andrew to be arrogant, unrepentant and downright rude. Because he failed three times to heed my warning, I added six strokes to his original penalty of 36.

Andrew had been daft enough to boast to me that he found the arm restraints easy to release himself from. I therefore produced a large leather collar with restraints for the hands behind the back and promptly incapacitated him. I then had to help him onto the bench, where I restrained him fully. I placed the Judicial cane in front of him where he could not avoid seeing it and left him to contemplate.

At what seemed regular intervals, Andrew would pipe up and ask for mercy. He repeatedly ignored my instructions for silence and so I gave him six strokes, one after the other, with no respite. He very soon learned how difficult it is to take fast strokes, as the pain has no time to be absorbed, processed or subside and quickly becomes intolerable. He agreed he did not want any more at that tempo and agreed to be silent.

As I began to administer additional batches of six, Andrew tried to bribe me. Mortified as I was, this only stiffened my resolve to do everything in my power to help this reprobate to see the error of his ways. To show my displeasure and to discourage further attempts at bribery, I secured a bit gag in his mouth and then carried on.

As we reached 72 strokes, Andrew's posterior was beginning to tear and I could tell he was very near to his limit; so I informed him that the next six would be the last. I feel it is very important to tell people when the end is nigh; although I also intentionally counted the additional batches separately in order that he would relax and stop thinking about how many he had received. This allowed him to completely relinquish control.

Over a cup of coffee afterwards, Andrew asked if I had really enjoyed the session. My response was that if I hadn't, I would have stopped much earlier - it speaks for itself that he received an extra 36 strokes. My giggling whilst caning usually gives it away, anyway!

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