A FIRST TASTE OF THE TAWSE (2. A sequel to Jonathan's First Caning), a short story by MissB. Date added: 2010-01-14. Times viewed: 21854.

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Intro: Jonathan is introduced to Mrs Weston's friend and her tawse

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Jonathan's first caning at the hands of Mrs Weston had left him unsteady on his feet. He was shocked and his face was tear stained. His poor bottom was covered with a lattice of deep purple and red weals. He could feel the deep ridges as he ran his hand over his throbbing flesh. He had never in his wildest dreams have imagined that the cane could be so painful, and he vowed never, ever, to repeat the experience.

After making sure that Jonathan had recovered sufficiently from his punishment, Mrs Weston allowed Jonathan to leave for home on condition that he should return the following morning to talk about the remedial work he had promised to undertake. Jonathan had to sleep face down that night to relieve the pressure on his sore and throbbing buttocks. The next morning his bottom looked just as angry and he found sitting down very uncomfortable. When he had his morning shower the hot water caused his raw flesh to sting as if he had sat on stinging nettles.

It was a very subdued young man who sat down at the kitchen table he had been caned over the night before. Mrs Weston took some satisfaction in noticing how Jonathan winced slightly as he carefully lowered his bottom onto the chair.

"Right, Jonathan. I think we understand where we both stand now. I'd like you now to propose how you are going to correct the work you have made such a mess of. I want an accurate schedule of when you expect to complete each part of the job, and I don't expect to incur any costs".

This was a problem for Jonathan. "Please, Mrs Weston. When I explained that I don't have any money I was telling the truth. I am absolutely determined to put the work right and I promise that I'll complete it as soon as I can and to make a perfect job of it, but I will need to buy new materials and I can't afford it".

Mrs Weston thought about it for a few moments, then said "Very well, Jonathan. I'll pay for the materials, but I want a perfect job, and be warned, I will have no hesitation in caning you again if you fail me".

The thought of this sent a shudder of dread through Jonathan. "I can promise you Mrs Weston. I won't let you down. I never want to feel that cane again - ever!"

Jonathan, Mrs Weston was pleased to note, did apply himself over the next week, and the job progressed well. Jonathan still, even a week later, had cane marks across his bottom and he was still sore and bruised. It served as a good reminder for him to apply himself to the work.

Unfortunately, on the Monday of the second week, Jonathan overslept. He had agreed to be at Mrs Weston's house by 9.00am because she had wanted to let him in before leaving for a hairdresser appointment at 9.30. Jonathan didn't leave his flat until 9.15, it had been pouring with rain, so the traffic was worse than usual. In his frantic drive to fight his way through the traffic, he cut down the inside of a car that was turning right, and drove at some speed through a large puddle, in the process completely drenching a lady who been walking along the pavement. Jonathan saw in his rear mirror that he had given her a real dousing. About 50 yards further down the road Jonathan was held up at some traffic lights, and he noticed that the lady who he had drenched was heading in his direction at some speed. She drew level with him just as the lights changed, she reached down to open the passenger door just as he sped off, but for a brief moment he had made eye contact with a furious lady with drenched red hair.

Things didn't improve when he reached Mrs Weston's house. He was nearly an hour late and Mrs Weston had missed her hair appointment. She wasn't convinced by Jonathan's story that the traffic had been really bad because of the weather and eventually Jonathan admitted that he had been at the pub the night before with his friends, had a bit too much to drink and so had overslept.

"It seems you have yet to develop a sense of responsibility, Jonathan. I thought we were getting somewhere, but obviously you still have some lessons to learn. I think you need another taste of the cane".

"Oh. No! Please Mrs Weston, I beg of you! I have learned my lesson! It will never happen again! I promise!"

"Please move the kitchen table into the middle of the kitchen, while I fetch the cane, Jonathan".

Jonathan continued his begging, but she was having none of it. "You are to receive 6 of the best, and if the table is not in the middle of the kitchen, with you bending over it, trousers and pants down, by the time I get back, I will give you double - 12 strokes". With that she left the room.

It was just over a week since his first caning and Jonathan's bottom was still bruised and sore. He simply couldn't believe that he was to be caned again. This was a nightmare, but he knew by now that Mrs Weston was not a lady to trifled with so he shifted the table into position and slid his trousers and pants down over his poor bottom and bent over the end of the table just as Mrs Weston returned to the kitchen flexing that awful cane.

For the second time in just over a week, Jonathan felt the cool air on his exposed bare bottom, but this time he was still sore. He was very frightened, terrified at the prospect of what was to come.

Mrs Weston swished the cane through the air a few times to get the feel of it. Jonathan's buttocks nervously and involuntarily clenched. "Right, Jonathan. Six of the best. Grip the far end of the table, feet apart, toes on the floor. I'm not going to restrain you this time, but I warn you now, Jonathan, I expect you to stay in position while I am caning you. If you move out of position, or make too much fuss, or rise before I instruct you, you will receive extra strokes. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mrs Weston. I'm sorry, Mrs Weston. Please don't cane me, Mrs....."

"Shut up, Jonathan!"

"Yes. Mrs Weston", whimpered Jonathan.

"I think we might as well get on with it. Prepare yourself for the first stroke".

Mrs Weston stepped to Jonathan's side with her eyes fixed on Jonathan's bare, bruised bottom. Jonathan's bottom twitched as she measured the cane across his upturned cheeks. He knew what to expect now and he braced himself as he felt the cane snap down very uncomfortably across his bottom for what he now knew were only light taps to enable Mrs Weston to get her aim. There was a long pause, as Mrs Weston held the cane across the centre of his bottom cheeks, concentrating on putting every ounce of strength into the stroke she intended to deliver. Jonathan held his breath and prayed that it would not hurt as much as he feared.

Suddenly Jonathan felt the cane lifted from his bottom, then the cane hissed down and bit cruelly into his so, so sore flesh with a resounding THWACK! Any hope that Jonathan had that the pain would not be so bad evaporated instantly, and line of agonising fire engulfed his bottom. Even before he had a chance to comprehend the agony, stroke 2 had bitten into his poor cheeks, just below. He hung on for dear life, but couldn't stifle a scream of agony. Stroke three whistled down to savagely into the crease between the tops of his thighs and his buttocks to land exactly across the most painful bruise he was still enduring from his previous caning. Jonathan couldn't control himself and longer. He gurgled as he tried to stifle another scream and his toes lifted from the floor as he tried in vain to absorb the agony.

"Toes back on the floor. Now! That will be an extra two strokes"

Jonathan immediately complied. He knew the rules now. He held his breath, grasped the end of the table with all his resolve, and pushed his toes hard onto the floor.

"You have received three strokes, you have another five to come".

The strokes were administered briskly and very, very hard. Each stroke cracking down across a week old, fading but sore bruise. Jonathan managed to grit his teeth and hold on. Then it was over. He remembered to stay in position until Mrs Weston permitted him to rise. He was covered in sweat from the strain of trying to accept agony that was way beyond his pain threshold.

"Right, Jonathan. You may dress and put the kitchen table back in it's place and get on with your work. I'm going to the hairdressers now and I'll be back by early afternoon. I have a friend from the sailing club calling in for tea.

Mrs Weston left with the cane, and a few minutes later he heard her leave by the front door.

Jonathan couldn't bear to look at his poor, damaged bottom. He ran his hand over his cheeks and could feel the ridges of some seriously angry weals. It made him wince in pain just to touch them. He thought it wise to get on with his remedial work.

A few hours later, Mrs Weston returned in a cheerful mood, happy with her hair and looking forward to the visit from her friend, and started preparing scones and snacks.

While Jonathan was working upstairs he glanced out of the front window and noticed a sophisticated lady looking at his car. The she turned and walked up the garden path. To his horror, he recognised her as the red haired lady he had drenched by driving through the puddle earlier that day.

The door bell rang and he heard Mrs Weston greet her friend. As they walked down the hall towards the sitting room, he heard the woman ask Mrs Weston "Do you know who that blue car outside belongs to?" Jonathan couldn't hear what was said next as the door to the sitting room closed. He could hear, however that the conversation became quite animated and voices were raised.

He didn't have to wait long. He heard the sitting room door open. "Jonathan, would you come down here please".

Jonathan walked down stairs trying, but failing, to look relaxed.

"That's him", said the friend the instant he walked through the door. Jonathan just stood there, finding it almost impossible to meet the same eyes that had briefly glared at him under dripping wet hair a few hours before.

The silence was broken by Mrs Weston. "I believe you've already met my friend, Mrs McKay, Jonathan?"

Mrs McKay, very attractive, looked to be very fit and in her late 30's. Her shoulder length red hair, now dry, she regarded Jonathan with a cool glare.

Jonathan remained speechless, looking at the floor, wishing it would swallow him up and wisk him away.

"Let me tell you a little bit about my DIY expert, Sylvia", continued Mrs Weston."This is the "professional" I called in about a month ago to carry out the conversion I told you about". Mrs Weston then went on to tell the full story of the events to date, including the canings she had administered. The whole time, Mrs McKay stood regarding Jonathan with a cold glare.

When Mrs Weston had finished, Mrs McKay said, her eyes not leaving Jonathan, "Well I don't think he's been punished anywhere near enough, I think you've been too lenient with him, Caroline".

"As I've said, Sylvia, Jonathan has already been caned this morning, but I see no reason why he should not be caned again. In fact, as you are the victim of this stupid boy's deplorable behaviour, I think you should cane him. Now if you wish".

Jonathan just stood there agog, not believing what was happening to him. How could the simple act of oversleeping turn the day into the nightmare of all nightmares.

"I've got a better idea", said Mrs McKay, still glaring at Jonathan. "I have a nice, heavy lochgelly tawse at home, and I know how to use it. With your permission, Caroline, I'd like to give this young man a taste of the tawse, something he won't forget for the rest of his life".

"I think that's an excellent idea, Sylvia. You are most welcome to tawse Jonathan here if you wish. In fact, why don't I get Jonathan to drive you home now to collect it".

Jonathan had no say at all in any of this. The conversation was being conducted as if he wasn't even in the room. Mrs McKay continued to glare at Jonathan, but Jonathan thought he saw the hint of a smile as Mrs McKay said "That will be perfect, Caroline".

For the first time for several minutes, Mrs Weston addressed Jonathan. "Jonathan, take Mrs McKay to collect her tawse".

Jonathan's bottom was still blazing from the mornings caning, and he was reminded just how sore it was as he slid painfully into the driving seat of his car. Mrs McKay seated herself in the passenger seat and made spoke only to issue directions to her home, about 10 minutes away.

"Wait here", she ordered as she left the car and went to collect her tawse. A few minutes later she was back in the passenger seat carrying a sports bag. The drive back to Mrs Weston's was in silence.

Jonathan was under no illusion as to the trouble he was in, but as they drove back he did cling to the hope that Mrs McKay would be shocked when she saw how badly wealed and bruised his poor bottom was. Perhaps she would realise that he had already suffered enough. He certainly thought he had.

"What I usually do, Sylvia, is get Jonathan to bend over the kitchen table. On the first occasion he needed to be retrained because the caning was quite prolonged".

"He'll certainly need to be restrained for what I have in mind, Caroline".

"I also had him place a cushion under his hips to raise his bottom slightly".

"I'd like a couple of cushions under his hips, Caroline. I want his bottom up, sticking well out and exposed, please".

"Jonathan, go and fetch two cushions from the sitting room".

Jonathan had never seen a tawse before. When he walked back into the kitchen he was confronted with Mrs McKay, with her jacket off, sleeves rolled up. He could now see that she was a very powerful looking woman and she was holding the most fearsome looking implement. The lochgelly tawse she was flexing in her hand was about half a meter long, made of very thick leather, was very flexible and ended in two tails.

Jonathan's horrified gaze moved from the tawse to Mrs McKays face. She was now smiling at his discomfort. "I'm going to enjoy this Jonathan".

"Don't stand there gawking, Jonathan. Take off your clothes and put them over there on the chair, put the cushions over the end of the table".

Jonathan slowly complied, this time not daring to argue. He felt totally humiliated as he finally removed his underpants and stood naked under the gaze of the two women.

"Step forward and bend well over the end of the table, Jonathan, making sure that both cushions are under your hips", ordered Mrs Weston.

Jonathan was almost in tears as bent over and felt the skin of his buttocks tighten the angry weals still standing out in raised ridges from the cane strokes of just a few hours ago.

"He's hardly marked, Caroline!" exclaimed Mrs McKay, as she stepped behind Jonathan to study the bottom she intended to have dancing in a few minutes. "He can take a really good, hard tawsing over those few cane marks".

"Sylvia, you are free to do exactly as you wish with him. How would you like him restrained?"

"I'll need his arms secured to the front legs of the table. Very secure, Caroline, please. It's so tedious to have interruptions. His legs tied to the rear legs of the table, well apart, and rope his waist well down onto the table. I'd like his bottom cheeks spread apart so he's nicely exposed for my tawse".

As Mrs Weston went to work with her coils of rope, and Jonathan felt his bottom cheeks gradually being pulled apart by the humiliating posture his body was being forced into, it gradually dawned on him that these women were really enjoying themselves. He knew he deserved to be punished, but this was something else. These women were sadists. They were having fun!

When the rope work was complete, Jonathan was utterly helpless, and so, so exposed. His legs were splayed apart by coils of rope around the back of his knees and the table legs, his bottom was pushed up by the cushions under his hips and his back was hollowed by the coil of rope across the small of his back pinning his waist down onto the table.

"That's perfect, Caroline".

Mrs McKay walked to the front of the table and squatted down so her face was just a few inches away from Jonathan's. "So, Jonathan. This morning you had your fun... and now I shall have mine". She was smiling as she spoke and Jonathan knew for certain that he was heading for hell. This was not just punishment. This woman was without doubt intending to inflict as much agony as she could. The splashing of the water was just an excuse for her to exercise her sadistic appetite. He was absolutely terrified, but at the same time he was in a strange way excited.

"Do you have anything to say before I start, Jonathan?" she breathed into his face. Jonathan could sense, by the way she looked into his eyes, and the seductive tone in her voice, that she was actually getting aroused by the prospect of thrashing him.

"I'm really, very, very sorry for splashing you, Mrs McKay. It was an accident, really it was. Please believe me".

Mrs McKay's face remained just a few inches away from Jonathan's. "Yes, Jonathan. I believe you are sorry, but not as sorry as you are going to be when you feel this tawse across your bare bottom". She held the tawse up to his face and for the first time he realised how thick and heavy it was. He started to feel ill with fear.

"How many strokes am I getting, Mrs McKay?" whimpered Jonathan.

"I haven't decided, yet. I think I'll just carry on until I feel you've received what you deserve. And you deserve a lot, Jonathan".

With that, she stood and took her position to Jonathan's right, tawse in her left hand. Jonathan began to shake with fear as he tried to come to terms with the prospect of the pain he was about to endure at the hands of this obviously sadistic woman.

There was no warning of the first stroke this time. No light, practise strokes. Mrs McKay simply raised her left hand, lifting the long, snaking tawse over her shoulder until the tips of the tawse almost touched her own bottom, then immediately swung the tawse back down, putting her whole body behind the momentum of the tawse. The effect was spectacular! The tawse almost exploded across Jonathan's bottom. The twin tails savaged Jonathans buttocks with the sound of a loud firework and the tips of the tawse accelerated as they wrapped around his flank and bit deeply into the side of his left buttock.

The stroke seemed to knock all the air out of Jonathan. He exhaled in shock as he began to register this new agony, then drew his breath in a hiss between his teeth. He was just beginning to scream with agony, exhaling his sharply drawn lungfull of air, as the second stroke exploded across his buttocks, causing his scream to rise by an octave midway through.

Mrs McKay stepped back slightly and to her right as she raised her arm back over her shoulder to apply stroke three. She was delighted to see Jonathan's buttocks trying desperately, but failing, to writhe about. He was bound so tightly that he could manage only to thrash his buttocks a few centimetres from side to side in vain attempt to escape from the tawse.

Stroke number three was a masterpiece. Mrs McKay managed to snake the tips of the tawse into the cleft between Jonathan's buttocks. The tips made contact with a resounding crack and Jonathan felt agony so sickeningly excruciating that his eyes bulged before he let out a scream so loud that it even shocked Mrs Weston.

It didn't shock Mrs McKay, however. She'd done this before. Now she had her position measured to perfection, she brought the snaked tawse tips into Jonathan's bottom cleft for a second time. Jonathan anticipated the stroke, and tried with all his strength to raise his secured waist from the table so he could clench his cheeks, but it was hopeless and he received the full venom of stroke a little lower down in his bottom cleft. His shrieks of agony reached a new level.

The tawsing lasted a full 2 minutes. There were no pauses as the tawse cracked down relentlessly, the tips of the tawse searched out every inch of Jonathan's bare bottom. The strokes that found the sensitive area between his bottom cheeks never failed to raise a blood curdling scream of agony so Mrs McKay was always sure she had found the spot she was aiming for. Jonathan used every sinew of strength in a pathetic attempt to writhe, wriggle, clench, scream, blubber, cry... but all to no avail. There was no mercy, no compassion. He was at the mercy of a very sadistic and angry woman. Mrs McKay was loving his screams of agony and was trying with every stroke to improve on the previous, to subject this young man to agony he hadn't before believed possible.

Jonathan took in the region of 50 strokes that afternoon. His bottom was very swollen and covered with so many deep, purple and red bruises, that they all merged into one. He was in such a state of distress as he was released from his restraints that he just slumped to the floor, hyperventilating and covered in sweat. He didn't notice that both Mrs McKay and Mrs Weston were flushed with excitement.

Jonathan had just had his first taste of the tawse.

(The completed story of Jonathan's introduction to the cane and tawse is available as a Kindle book from Amazon. It can also be downloaded to a PC. See my website for details of other stories www.anniebeebooks.com).

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