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

and Owen grunted against the confines of the leather hood. When the second searing stroke landed, he gripped the sides of the spanking horse hard with his knees.
    For a while the cane moved rapidly over his ass and thighs, its bite less fierce, though each stinging stroke still sent a jolt of fire over his nerve endings. Then came another hard stroke, and then another.  Owen’s hands beneath the leather cuffs were clenched into fists and. He could feel the sweat breaking on his scalp and upper lip beneath the hood.
    I can’t, I can’t, oh fuck, oh god, I can’t do this. I can’t…
    The words ran like a loop through his fevered brain as the cane came relentlessly down on his abraded, stinging skin. Owen realized his body was shaking, and the leather beneath his torso was slick with his sweat.
    Let go, Owen. Let go.
    Though he knew he couldn’t actually be hearing Mistress Sylvie’s voice, it was as if she’d spoken in his head—the words clear and ringing in her sweetly accented voice. The cane hurt just as much as it had a moment before, but his body was no longer shaking, and his hands were no longer so tightly clenched. With an act of will, he forced his fingers to relax, and let himself ease against the spanking bench, surrendering his tight grip on what was happening.
    Several more whipping strokes of rattan flattened him against the bench. Owen’s chest was heaving, his heart thudding, his ass stinging, his cock near to bursting. The intensity of the caning slowly eased, lighter and lighter until it was again just a whispering stroke against now very tender skin. And then the tapping was replaced again by cool, strong fingers that glided lightly over Owen’s ass and thighs.
    I did it, he thought with a mental whoop of joy. I made it! His heart felt light inside his body, as if filled with helium. His cock ached, and he knew if she so much as touched it, he would shoot his load.
    He jerked against the padded spanking horse when he felt the tug of the butt plug against his ass. The ring of muscles that had initially resisted the penetration by the rubber plug now clung just as tightly to keep it in. There was a flash of pain as the flared base of the plug was forced from his ass but the plug slid easily away after that.
    Owen felt his cuffs being released from the clips and then removed altogether. Mistress Sylvie helped him from the spanking horse and pressed his shoulder gently until he sank to his knees. She unzipped the hood and pulled it free from Owen’s head. He pulled the earplugs from his ears and shook his sweat-dampened hair from his face. His ass and thighs burned, but he forgot the pain as he stared up into Mistress Sylvie’s face.
    She was smiling like an angel, her eyes sparkling. “You did so well, Owen, especially for your first time. Come and see how beautiful your marks are.” She held out her hand, and again Owen allowed himself to be pulled upright in her surprisingly strong grip.
    She led him to a full-length mirror that was affixed to the wall beside the whip rack and directed him to turn around so his back was to the mirror. He twisted around to see and stared, fascinated, at the criss-cross of long welted lines of red on his ass and thighs. Reaching back, he touched one of the raised welts, surprised at how hot his skin was.
    “Those will be with you for a few days,” Mistress Sylvie said. “Marks of courage. You have made me proud.” Owen could see the image of Mistress Sylvie in the mirror, standing just behind him. There was a tenderness in her face that momentarily took his breath away.
    Yet when he turned around to face her, the look was gone, replaced by a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes, which, to Owen’s shocked surprise, were filled with tears. “You may dress,” she said quickly, turning away. “The session is over. Isabel will see you out.”
    Before Owen could even thank her for the amazing session, Mistress Sylvie fled from the room. Thoughtfully, Owen