The Story of Owen: One Man's Submissive Journey by Claire Thompson Page A

initial interview Isabel had quizzed him at some length about canes, and he’d admitted he was fascinated by the long, cruel welts a cane could raise, but had never experienced its cut firsthand.
    That was about to change.
    Owen allowed himself to be led to the spanking horse, which looked like a very narrow, short picnic table with thick leather padding on the benches and tabletop. The plug felt snug and full inside his ass as he walked.
    Mistress Sylvie opened her hand, revealing a pair of small, bright orange cylinders. “These are ear plugs. Press them snugly against your ears. Then I’m going to place the hood over your head and secure you to the bench. Remember, if at any time the sensations become too much, or you need me to stop for any reason, just flex your fingers. I will be watching. I will take care of you, Owen, and guide you through the process.”
    “Yes, Mistress.” Owen took the plugs, which were soft and spongy between his fingers, and pressed them into place. He could hear the thumping pulse of his rapidly beating heart, crashing like ocean waves against his eardrums. A press of her hand against his shoulder made him kneel in front of her. He closed his eyes as she fitted the hood over his head, tugging it into place so he could breathe through the hole in the leather. He felt rather than heard the metallic sound as the zipper teeth interlocked along either side of his face. The hood fit snugly, contouring along his jaw, sealing his mouth and pressing against his closed eyelids.
    The smell of the leather was rich in his nostrils, heightened perhaps by the fact he could neither see nor hear. He felt Mistress Sylvie’s hands encircling his, and he gripped them back, allowing himself to be pulled upright. She guided him over the narrow tabletop of the spanking horse, where he rested his torso against smooth leather, his shins balanced along the benches on either side, his plugged ass thrust out. Mistress Sylvie pulled his arms down so they were resting against the padded benches from elbow to wrist. Finally she clipped the cuffs to the eyebolts set into the bench for the purpose.
    Nothing happened for several long seconds. Owen focused on the sound of his blood rushing through his ears, and the thud of his heart against leather. He was keenly aware of his splayed ass, the ring of black rubber exposed between spread cheeks. He felt extremely vulnerable, but at the same time, he felt a deep, abiding comfort that calmed him. He realized this comfort stemmed from being bound as he was. He was gagged and blindfolded by the soft, fragrant leather, and securely tethered to the spanking horse, completely available to Mistress Sylvie for whatever she chose to do to him.
    How had he gone thirty-nine years without experiencing this, except in his fantasies?
    He jerked when he felt something moving over his ass and lower back, anticipating the sudden strike of the cane. But instead he realized it was her hands, sure and strong, moving in circles over his skin, easing the tension from his muscles. He could hear her murmur through the muffle of the plugs and leather, but he couldn’t catch any words.
    After a few minutes, her soothing hands were replaced by the light tapping of what he knew must be the cane. It was beginning! His first caning. He fervently hoped her trust in his worthiness wasn’t misplaced, and that he’d manage to handle the caning without wimping out and giving her the hand signal to stop. He vowed to himself that he would see it through, no matter what. He desperately wanted to make Mistress Sylvie proud.
    His mind quieted as the steady, warming tap of the cane gave way to a firmer stroke, moving like electric currents over his ass and the backs of his thighs. His skin felt hot, but pleasantly so, the sting of the cane creating a sweet fire in his belly and sending the blood pulsing hard into his cock and balls.
    When the first real stroke hit, it moved like a line of fire over his left cheek