Jazz and the Cane

I got caned in Sheffield on the weekend and it was unexpected and really quite..ahem..delicious. You might wonder what the cane and jazz have in common and to my knowledge nothing at all but what binds them in my mind is that my husband likes jazz and I, well, you know. We went to see Post Modern Jukebox perform there on Friday night and although I wouldn't class myself as a real jazz fan I did enjoy them. The fact that I was sitting on a sore backside during much of the concert was a bonus.

Sheffield's a ninety minute drive for us although it took a bit longer in Friday afternoon's traffic, P said we'd drive back after the show but I thought that was a bad idea and booked us into a budget hotel, I only told P about that on the drive up and he wasn't best pleased. I said we could get up, have a leisurely breakfast, have a wander around the town (I'd never been), maybe shop a bit, drive back in easy traffic etc, sales person that I am. He said he had stuff to do Saturday morning, I asked him what it was and if it was important, he wouldn't say so I assumed he was just irritated that I'd done something without telling him. He told me I should call them and cancel, I said I couldn't it was a no-cancel deal, we'd lose the money. I was annoyed, he knew it and five minutes later he said OK we'd stay over but he wasn't happy he hadn't brought any clothes or toiletries or anything. I smiled and told him not to worry, be a big boy. I'd thrown some stuff together for both of us, it was in the boot, I hadn't told him and still didn't.

We had plenty of time because we'd planned to grab a snack somewhere, so P asked me to get the route on my phone and changed course and drove straight to the hotel, he said we'd leave the car there and get a taxi to the show being as I'd booked us in, then he could have a beer, might as well make the best of things now I'd committed us, he said it a bit grudgingly. I told him not to be so miserable and after we'd checked in and found our room I asked him if he'd pop and fetch my bag out of the boot. He said he didn't know I'd got a bag in the boot but off he went. When he returned he had my bag and a short garden cane with white paint on the end of it. My eyes widened. I'd actually seen it in the boot and not given it a second thought, we'd been helping our son with some decorating recently and it didn't seem odd.

"What are you doing with that? Have you just walked through reception with it?" I asked, more concerned at that point about what the girl on the desk might have thought. 

"Well it wouldn't have got here any other way," said my husband, "and as to what I'm going to do with it, you'll find out soon enough." He put my bag on the bed and held the cane across both hands and flexed it a bit, I suppose it was about two feet long maybe a bit more. I told him he couldn't cane me with it, there was paint all over it. "Oh that dried ages ago, it was no good for stirring paint anyway, too bendy," he said, "but it will do very nicely to give you an impromptu caning. It's obvious that you had this planned or you wouldn't have brought your bag with you, I think a sore bottom is in order. Now take down your jeans and stand by the bed."

He came and stood along side me. I could have protested but I'd still have got it. He didn't seem genuinely mad with me, I didn't think it would be too hard and anyway I was starting to feel aroused by him telling me off in his own way. "Bend over, hands on the mattress and stay there, don't dare try to get up until I tell you to." He lifted the tail of my shirt. "That paint better not be wet," I said stupidly, "I've only just bought that top." My husband told me I was hardly in a position to threaten him and that even if it was wet it would be marking my bottom not my shirt. Then he pulled my knickers down and I gasped sharply and emitted a tiny whimper. Then he stood a bit to the side and I felt the first stroke of pain from his paint stirrer cane.

It felt like a regular cane but not quite as hard, the length I thought. It got harder though and I squealed that he hadn't warmed me. He just said that he was warming me now. I couldn't disagree. He gave me more than twenty four strokes, I knew that because he moved from one side of me to the other four times, which he usually does each six strokes to keep things even and in case wrapping occurs which can happen with longer whippier canes but I thought not with this one. He added a few strokes at the end, from the left, really hard ones to leave an impression.

"Right, up you get, pull your knickers up and let's get going." He sounded pleased. I said I just wanted to go to the bathroom and put my face straight, I took a couple of things out of my bag, I hadn't been crying but it makes him happy. "Well quick about it then," he said.

I came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, my bag was fully open on the bed, he'd been in it. "You brought stuff for me too," he said almost sheepishly. Then he came over and pecked me on the cheek. "You are a silly girl the way you do things." But I'm not silly:)

We got a burger before the concert, it was terrible. The concert was fantastic. Couple of beers afterwards and we fucked back at the hotel after he'd asked me how my bottom was.

In the morning I was online and noticed the band were playing in Estonia in June, I told P we could go and see them there, it had been ages since we'd been to Tallinn. He said, "I thought you weren't all that keen on jazz." I told him I wasn't but these guys were different and, in any case, the accompaniments were good. He told me I'd probably like to see the Hot Sardines, it didn't mean a thing to me, I just thought as long as he brings his paint stirrer along..

Ronnie

xx